#and nobody is allowed to be cool in those books because i am unable to continue reading about cool people sorry

[trans-cuchulainn]

i guess the reason so many books featuring trans characters have them able to go stealth and make it so other characters don't know they're trans unless they say something is because that's an escapist fantasy for many trans authors who don't get that and want to imagine what it's like to live in a world where you don't get misgendered on sight every single day, and because they don't want to write about the latter (very fair)

but also when these are YA books it depends on the characters being able to medically transition at like 14 and i have literally never in my life met a single person who was able to do that (partly because I live in the UK where you can't and also I am old enough that for people my age, coming out as a preteen would've been way harder and rarer than it would be for current teen-aged protagonists)

so idk. i would like to read a book with trans characters who feel like real people living in the real world occasionally. it's hard to walk a path when you never get to see other people do it first and never get to witness it safely in fiction before you experience it IRL, and only ever seeing people walk roads that don't even exist in your reality doesn't really help at all tbh

[the-insomniac-emporium]

for the WIP ask game >_> "Pandora's Bastion" sounds so cool!

HECK YEAH I could talk about this one for HOURS

(sorry this took a million years to post, I am easily distracted and have the memory of a foghorn)

Okay, okay, so, like, it's a weird (ish) one, which is already saying something because most of my personal projects are some degree of strange, in one form or another (probably because I've had most of these as concepts for years at this point, and most of them at least partially stem from any combination of Gender Identity, Complicated Family Dynamics, and Mental Health)

This is also one that I haven't done anything concrete for other than note-taking, but there's still a lot of stuff in my brain about it. It's legit one of my longest existing ideas! This has been cooking since 2013! Since there's a lot I can say about it, I'm going to put a 'short' summary below, then expand upon it under a read-more :3

Summary: The last (known) Earth-born human, who has given up most of their humanity to stay alive centuries after the planet's 'death' (no longer viable for human life), discovers another of the lost "sleeper ships", AKA one of the vessels that humanity used to travel to other habitable planets. Inside is only one living human, Jeremy King*, who has a small connection to the protag's family. Unfortunately, he is unable to cope with how long he has been asleep for, and becomes the novel's antagonist, desperately attempting to reassemble any remaining pieces of Earth culture/history (even if it means dismantling the systems that have been built upon those remains). His knowledge of Earth is what allows him to pose a threat to the protag. However, he does not actually realize who the protag is until the very end of the book, at which point he experiences a breakdown. Going along with the themes of the novel (elaborated on under the cut), the protag decides to 'let go' of a piece of their immortality. *working name, of no relation to the several people with that name I found just now by googling

Protag Summary: In another (several) reference(s) to various pieces of religion/mythology, the protagonist has several names. It's also important to note that their gender identity, biological features, and other identifying traits are intentionally kept vague/unknown (you'll see why later). Most commonly, they are referred to as Legion ("My name is Legion, for we are many." -Mark, 5:9), but also answers to Nobody (Odyssey my beloved), Zero, and Unison. There might have been another name I am currently forgetting. Anyway, the main reason for that goes back to their form of immortality. The actual original Legion is in a form of cryosleep at the very heart of the titular Pandora's Bastion (originally called Pandora Station, before I got worried about the online radio service and copyright). The Legion that everyone knows... is actually several dozen cybernetically enhanced clones, that are all linked together and work in, you guessed it, perfect unison.

Read-more time!

The Setting, Universe: So, when I was younger, I was kind of obsessed with the idea of having this huge, branching story taking place over thousands of years. I called it Bloodlines, and it was split into three sort of sections: The Era of Earth (from roughly modern times to eh maybe a thousand years later?), The Span of Space (the first several hundred years after humanity leaves Earth, as they become a part of intergalactic society), and The Time of Triam (everything past that). Triam being the name of one of the most important characters in the whole series/a Goddess from an important Space Religion. Now, a lot has changed over time, and I'm still debating whether or not to break things up into more universes, because of conflicting ideas. But originally, Pandora's Bastion was going to be the only story that really involved all three sections, although it primarily takes place in The Time of Triam.

The Setting: The story mainly takes place around the titular Pandora Station/Pandora's Bastion. Originally, the name was chosen simply because I liked the sound of it, but I think in some ways it has actually become pretty fitting. Pandora Station is essentially a city built on/around a huge chunk of space rock (not big enough to be considered a moon, though I've considered changing it to be one). If you've played/know about the Mass Effect series, than know that Pandora was heavily inspired by Omega, to the point where the initial version was basically just "Omega but translated into my story universe". Honestly still needs more editing. The original (in canon) purpose of the city was mining/research, but it was abandoned after the research was completed. This was all conducted by one of the non-human species from the setting. Eventually, Legion's "sleeper ship" encountered the station, and Legion (who was already on the edge of what most would consider human at that point) moved in. A couple of decades later, a group of alien mercenaries decided to build upon the pre-existing structure, being unaware of Legion's presence in the heart of the city. Over time the city became a sort of haven for mercenaries, bounty hunters, criminals, and general misfits (think Omega from ME2/3, Knowhere from Marvel, or any part of Nar Shaddaa from SW). For a few hundred years prior to the official start of the story, the station/city has mainly been controlled by one lady, currently named Caldhrik Tarakova. She serves as an anti-hero of sorts throughout the Bloodlines storyverse, and is arguably Legion's closest ally, although even she isn't aware of Legion's status as being Technically Several Dozen People With A Hivemind (at least not at the start of the story). The two of them have a deal, with Legion supplying extra security and intel, while Caldhrik makes sure nobody tries to get into the maintenance areas of the city, since that's where they chill.

Legion's Backstory (More mythology references whoooo): So, as previously stated, Legion's birth name, gender, and race are all left intentionally unstated. The purpose behind this is that they act as a sort of representative of Earth, being the last Earth-born human alive (excluding Jeremy King, but they'll outlive him). I didn't want to have any sort of awkwardness where the symbolic vision of humanity is just, like, a white guy, or something. I can't find my notes about it, but there's supposed to be some stuff that encourages the reader to see Legion as a version of themselves. Honestly, I've sometimes wondered if the story would work better as a weird multi-media thing. Anyway, Legion was born on Earth a few years before their family left Earth. At that point in the setting, Earth was already going downhill fast, and space exploration was a HUGE thing. As Earth declined, however, there was a realization that it would be easier for the big companies to abandon the planet than to help heal it (there's a whole bunch of stuff that leads up to that, but it's mainly explored in Burn-Smoke, not Pandora's Bastion). So, naturally, they start fucking off into deep space, sending dozens of massive Sleeper Ships to planets that have the most potential for life, knowing the journeys will take close to a century. While this starts, huge conflicts break out among those left scrambling on Earth. Jeremy King was one of Legion's neighbors, and was deployed in combat not long before they were born. Various countries and their governments form alliances (some of them unlikely) to create more Sleeper Ships, forming gigantic waiting lists to ensure the "important people" get off world. Legion's family is fairly lucky, managing to get their household on one of the mid-tier ships (as time went on, the ships that were made lost quality, as the available resources diminished). Because of this mixed quality, the ship initially launched with most passengers awake (as opposed to being in cryosleep, as intended). By the time they enter the cryo pods, Legion is roughly 13-15. Again because of the lower quality, not all the systems are fully automated, requiring occasional human work. As part of an agreement made by the human passengers, the ship's AI (named Prometheus) occasionally wakes up a human, trains them in maintenance, and has them be a helper for 5-10 years before selecting a new human to take their place. The humans rotate out in such a way that there are actually usually 2 people awake at once, with one starting to train their replacement. Eventually, young Legion is selected, and spends several years with a kindly stranger as a mentor, before the mentor is returned to cryosleep. Not long afterwards, there's a disastrous malfunction, caused by impact with space debris. Most of the ship's power becomes limited, and Prometheus has to hurriedly teach Legion how to access and repair equipment that is meant to be fully automated. As things worsen, the AI is forced to decide which systems to cut power to, in order to A: ensure there's enough power left to complete repairs, B: ensure Legion survives long enough to make said repairs, and C: maximize how much of the ship and it's contents will survive.

Prometheus, although very conflicted about it, ends up needing to shut off most of the power to the cryo pods. Legion is able to complete repairs and reboot the system, but by then the damage is done, with most of the other passengers dead, and the rest with little to no chances of survival. Now essentially truly alone with an AI, Legion becomes devoted to going through the ship's digital archives, which contain immense records of Earth history, culture, and scientific marvels. The mentorship between Prometheus and Legion turns into a friendship, and eventually the two end up performing a merge (Prometheus getting linked into Legion's cybernetics), which they deem necessary as part of extending their lifespan (allowing them to finish what's left of their mission). By the time Legion reaches Pandora, they're fully accustomed to having a super computer for a brain.

Rough musings on themes: The story goes over the ideas of preservation vs adaptation, exploring the difference between upholding tradition and refusing to grow. Both J.K. (Jeremy King) and Legion are desperately grasping onto pieces of the past, with J.K. tearing apart the present for it, and Legion diluting both the past and themselves in an attempt to save even the smallest fragments. At the start, neither of them are fully accepting of the fact that humanity lives on through what it has become- not just by what remains of Earth. Both of them are relics of the past, but Legion (who has no actual memories of their homeworld) acts as a representation of future generations, of the sort of Mythological Children that we talk about when discussing the legacies we'll leave behind. (that is to say- what did J.K. and his generation leave for Legion to inherit? what culture, values, what problems? what did their fear and desperation instill in the last cradle of humanity?)

Anywho/anyhoo/anyho/anyhow/anyway (all of which I am fond of saying), this is already a mountain of information that probably actually says very little, and I could (and gladly would!) talk about it for even longer. But I think this is good for now :D

[marindram]

full transcription of Marin's blog from Omega Mart!

huge thanks to @b0chelly for recording a scroll-through, which i typed this out from. (and warning for Omega Mart lore/story spoilers. second half is in reblog)

Marinknows.best

Location: Seven Monolith Village

Last Login: 12/31/2019

Profile Views: 101,275

About me: I love listening to music and glitter

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June 26, 2018

Happy Birthday to meeeeeeeeee!

So 14 feels way different than 13. For real. I think it's because I was expecting 13 to feel different, but sometimes when you expect something it turns out the opposite ya know?

Plus, 13 is like, "I'm new to being a teenager!!"

14 is more like, "I'm becoming the person I want to be." At least that's how I want it to be. I wanted to start this blog as a record of all that.

I should ask Did you guys feel the same way when you turned 13 and 14?

But probably nobody's gonna read this because I'm just a weirdo in the weird dessert. I mean, I know my best friend Jesse is reading this (hi Jesse). Besides her, crickets.

But yeah, if you are reading this and you don't know me - I live in Seven Monolith Village, a teensy tiny town that you've only heard of if you're into aliens or homesteading. And I'm literally stuck. As in, I'm physically unable to leave. My first memories are of all the adults in my life (Charlie, my great-uncle/father-figure - Rose, my what? Roommate? Mother-figure? Pseudo-aunt? All of the above? and my mom, Cecelia. who doesn't live here) telling me that for some reason, there's something wrong with me that makes it so I can't leave a certain radius of where we live. I got older and thought that they were just exaggerating to keep me safe, but then last year I tried. And it was, let's just say not good.

Anyway. That part of my life sucks, but not everything sucks. This year is all about Marin Dram 2.0. Not new, but definitely improved.

And maybe someday, somehow somebody will read this and care about what I have to say. Somebodies, even. Until then, this is Marin Dram signing off and sending my lame contemplations into the void!

July 1, 2018

Things I Want To Do Before I Turn 20 (and some of these will never happen like are literally unable to happen but JUST LET ME DREAM

1. Kiss someone (who???)

2. Meet HTB (kiss him) (jk he would never) (plus meeting him would be enough)

3. Go to Paris

4. Go to Rome (or somewhere cooler in Italy, look up where is the best pasta???)

5. Go to Greenland (why not???)

6. Go to New York City

7. Go to LA (with a dream and my cardigan lol)

8. Go to the Grand Canyon (this isn't mine, but 9, Jesse is sitting right here and she went to the GC when we were 12 and she's like blah blah blah it's my favorite place in the world and you'll love it. I'm doing this so she'll shut up.

9. Live in a normal house with normal rooms → ideally 12 of them: living room AND TV room, kitchen, dining room, 3 bathrooms, 3 bedrooms, study/library.

-plus an upstairs downstairs

-I'm willing to compromise on the number of rooms as long as there's more than ONE for TWO PEOPLE and I got my own

-plus an upstairs/downstairs

-I'm willing to compromise on the number of rooms as long as there's more than ONE for TWO PEOPLE and I get my own room with an actual door. Very into doors.

10. Go to a mall (Jesse says there's a bunch of bonkers ones in Vegas)

11. Make friends who aren't Jesse (no offense, Jesse)

12. Get Cecelia (my "mom") to teach me about business stuff so I can open my own cool coffeeshop/bookstore someday

13. Learn to drive (ask Charlie to teach me, he's obsessed with his truck) (Jesse says she can teach me because she's Little Miss Mechanic and thinks she knows everything about cars but news flash Jesse: you're you get than me)

14. Figure out my signature style- like I want people to send me pictures of things and be like "this just screamed Marin" and for that to be true

15. Liquid eyeliner??

16. I'm stopping here because I just read over all this and want to die/cry because easily 3/4 of these are literally impossible?

17. Kill me

18. Bye

19. Lololol Charlie just came in and I was complaining about this, not being able to leave and stuff, etc and he said that I should visit new places by... reading books?? And I mean I like to read. But dude. That's the dumbest thing I've ever head.

July 30, 2018

Okay so this is what I want my life to look like:

I want a pink room. Not just pink... P I N K. Cool pink wallpaper (floral? jacquard??), pink carpet, lots of pink flowers everywhere, a four-poster bed with a pink silk canopy, lots of cool pink throw pillows. Like, so pink that

people think I'm being sarcastic! Oh, and BOOKS. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and some of the shelves have, like, STUFF on them that isn't books, like gifts people gave me, or things I've collected on my JOURNEYS. You know, normal stuff that people who live on normal places and do normal things have.

If I lived in in this room, it'd be in awhite three-story house at the end of a cul-de-sac (did you know "culs-de-sac" is the plural? Not "cul-de-sacs"? crazy) and I'd wear very classic girly clothes and my hair would always do what I wanted it to. It'd be one of those towns that people call small, but it's actually a city. just one with a kinda small, cozy feeling. Somewhere that gets cold enough to wear cute jackets but not so cold I have to to like, shovel my driveway. Not a non-place with like 100 people where you can't even go outside without going crazy.

August 2nd, 2018

I guess I should explain where I live, for all my avid fans out there! (lol) (hello??)

So like... I don't live on Earth. At least, not the Earth you think of when you think of EARTH. I live in some some weird off-brand version of Earth called the Forked Earth where there are aliens and magic wells of magic energy and everything is MAGIC but like the crappy kind of magic, where the sun never fully rises and some goo called "runoff" has made everything wacky and oh yeah, my mom is responsible for that and everyone here hates her!! LOL

Also, I can't leave! Like, literally can't! Rose says I'm a "special child of Source" and that's why but that LITERALLY explains tells me nothing, in fact it just raises further questions that no one can seem to answer! AHHHHHHHHHH

Anyway, the last time I tried to leave I felt. When I try to leave I feel like I'm being pulled back by something, like you know those old cartoons where someone's on stage doing something dumb and then someone offstage pulls them away with a giant shepard's crook? It felt like that, and when I opened my eyes I was back in 7 Monolith Village. UGH.

I know this sounds crazy!!!!! But believe me when I say that I am the least crazy person here. Also, """here""" is C R A Z Y. Runoff has made everything the bad kind of psychedelic and then people here actually DRINK IT! Not only do I not DRINK THE STUFF THAT HAS MADE THE WORLD INSANE, I also do not talk to aliens (or whatever Nula are) like Rose or believe crazy conspiracy theories like Charlie, so I believe that qualifies me as the most normal person in the Forked Earth, thank you for this honor, I accept this award with humility and grace!

September 4, 2018

I had the weirdest dream last night?? I was swimming in a pool full of cereal, and when I came up for air, my mom was pouring milk on my head like she was rinsing my hair. She had her hand over my face like I was a little kid and she was shielding me from soap getting in my eyes.

Anyway I have no idea what it's supposed to mean. I went to bed hungry and I need to take a shower? Lol

October 16, 2018

I was trying to hide this entry from Jesse, but JESSE IS A NOSY PERSON. She says that blogs are for readers, and if I wanted something to be private then I should "Just write in a fucking notebook and hide it under your bed like a normal person, Marin." I'm allowed to have secrets!! Anyway, I'm making her a freaking playlist, that's why I wouldn't tell her what I was writing about. but EVEN STILL! I'm allowed to have secrets!! But I have this blog because I wanna get my feelings out, I wanna see everything in my head typed out all nice in a way that doesn't make it look insane. You know? I don't know who I'm asking.) Because, it's not like I go to a normal school or have a normal life where I'm surrounded by normal people I can talk to. No one knows about me! I'm trapped in this crazy place and This blog is my only outlet to the world outside. I KNOW that's heavy but it's true! The point is: Jesse's birthday is coming up. The central consistent thing in pretty much my whole life is sharing headphones with her and listening to music. The soundtrack to my entire existence is her. I wish I had money and could buy her the best presents of all time, but I can make her the best playlist of all time. I want it to be so good it feels like magic. I want her to think I'm magic. I had another dream the other night. I don't remember much, just glitter. I must be crafting too much. Or looking at festival makeup tutorials. Or both.

November 12, 2018

WARNING- Weird thoughts ahead, lol.

I can never tell which feelings are normal, and which are me being a giant weirdo. But for as long as I can remember, I've had this feeling like every part of my body that's possible to have a ribbon tied around it, has a ribbon tied around it. It's so weird. I can't see the other end of the ribbons - how far they go. where they're attached, nothing. And sometimes it's fine, because sometimes I can hardly feel them. I can forget about them for days at a time, weeks, months if I'm lucky. But then other times I can feel them like, pulling at me. It's freaking spooky, to have something pulling at you from somewhere you can't see. I can't tell if it's pulling me toward whatever it is? Or if it's trying to warn me? Or if I'm just insane??

Does that make sense? Does anybody else feel that way? (she asks into the void)

So idk I guess this ribbons-feeling is why I'm really careful all the time. Like I'm just a careful person. Charlie tried to give me a hard time about it, and I can't be like "I don't wanna pull back in the ribbons too hard without realizing it and wreck something!" because he'd be like "WTF Marin, do we need to get you help?" But also, more and more, I want to be the opposite of careful. I want to take a pair of comically oversized scissors and cut the ribbons into so many pieces that nobody can even tell what they are any more.

I don't know why I'm such a freak, only that I am. I don't know why I can't leave 7 Monolith, only that I can't. But there must be a reason, even if I can't see it, and I feel like it makes sense that the ribbons-feeling is part of that reason, right?

There's just a lot.

January 15, 2019

Happy new year! Lol I forgot to write on the actual first day of 2019, but OH WELL!

I got this new glitter nail polish, thanks to the monthly makeup subscription box my "mom" sends me as an outlet for her abandonment guilt. It has like, every color glitter imaginable without quite reading as "rainbow" which is fine just not really what I was in the mood for and it's vaguely halographic and shifts into all these different colors depending on the light. I'm obsessed. Anyway.

I was putting on another layer because I chipped it like 20 minutes into wearing it, and all of a sudden I had this feeling like I recognized the glitter? Like I felt this thing way deep in my gut and for a minute I couldn't breathe. It's the closest thing I've felt to how books and movies make Christmas look. Like I was home, with family, cookies and cider and all that stuff. Familiar and safe. I almost didn't recognize that feeling. And it came from the nail polish. How weird is that.

I mean, I don't want to make it sound like I've had this awful Charles Dickens childhood - Rose and Charlie are the best ever and always there for me and I love them a lot. But things never feel like...home. You know?

My mom always says this cryptic stuff about how I'm "special" and I wanna strangle her because I'm not, but you try getting my mom to stop doing anything she wants to do. Rose told me once that one day, I would "lead the charge into a new era of existence and access" because I'm "of the Source" and I was like uhhhh okay?? Charlie mostly treats me pretty normal, except when I ask him questions about our family. my mom or any Dram. He knows that I want to know more about them and he's my only real entrypoint, but apparently he's like the black sheep of that whole family. He and my mom were close way back right before I was born, but now whenever she comes to visit he barely even looks at her.

So that's to say: nobody tells me anything, ever.

January 16, 2019

Okay this is so weird. I wrote that entry yesterday about glitter and then last night I dreamed about glitter. Then I woke up with purple glitter in my bed?? Like not a lot, so at first I thought it was from my nail polish, but it was just a handful of purely purple glitter that looks nothing like my nail polish. SO WEIRD!!!!!!

February 14, 2019

Rose has an old book full of "ye olde" style fairy tales, and I flipped through it for the first time in forever today.

Not so weirdly, I've always been drawn to the story of Rapunzel.

Rapunzel couldn't leave the tower, or else she'd break her neck and die.

Same.

February 19, 2019

I was reading this article the other day in one of the teen magazines my "mom" gets me a subscription to and it was all about body positivity, which is great, but it was basically just like "wear a crop top if you wannna wear a crop top! it doesn't matter what size you are! You go, girl!" And like, sure. Yes. I am all for that. But doesn't it seem like there are some steps missing in there? Like, I can physically put on a crop top and wear it outside. But how do I convince myself that everybody isn't looking at me and making fun of me in their minds? How do I unlearn the last almost-fifteen years? How do I get actually positive about my body, not just put on a crop top and fight the urge to cry all day?

It's the same thing like when my mom sends me brochures from the CEO camp she ten when she was my age (her dad started the camp for her, which is an insane thing just by itself, but she did all the work, which is even more insane) and she's like "Marin, you lack direction for your life" and I'm like, cool mom. Yeah. I can see that. What I can't see is how to get there from here.

March 2, 2019

This is what I want my life to look like, volume 2:

The walls of my room are covered in Polaroids of me and my friends. There are lots of mirrors in all kinds of shapes. hearts and moons and stars. There's a record player and a lot of vintage records by Billie Holiday and Lena Horne and Peggy Lee and Nina Simone. And Christmas lights! Everywhere! Lots of of pink and purple Christmas lights everywhere.

If I lived in this room, I'd have so many friends and be part of so many clubs. My best friend would have a collection of vintage cameras, and every place we go to that has a photo booth, we'd get photos taken. Every time I'd look at myself in one of those mirrors, I'd feel happy at what I see and never weird or sad. (Jesse hates taking pictures, so even when I actually do normal stuff with her there's no evidence. What even is a life supposed to be without evidence? That's not an actual question you need to answer Jesse, it's just a question)

Anyway, if I lived in this kind of room, my mom would probably be like, an art history professor at a liberal arts college. That's how come everything looks so cool, because I would know stuff about art. My mom and I would love to try new recipes together. We get each other new cookbooks for every special occasion, and right now we're working out way through a Moroccan one. Moroccan Mondays.

In actuality, there's a dust storm happening outside and my eyes sting.

March 9, 2019

Here's what I'm obsessed with lately.

Can. You. EVEN???

February 3, 2020

Omg I totally forgot this blog existed!!

I lost the password and instead of just resetting it I got in one of my super stubborn moods (Taurus moon lol) and just kept putting in guesses and jokes on me, it locked me out. Anyway, that's a boring story.

But my friend Ximena is really good at hacking and stuff, so she got me back in. Yeah you read that right - I have friends. Obviously a lot has happened since my last post. Ximena moved out here a couple months ago (X's family used to live here but they moved away a while ago) and she introduced me to Lora who I sorta-not-really already knew, and Jesse and I have been hanging out with them a ton. Jesse kind of more than me. Which is fine!!

Anyway I'm 15 now? If I lived somewhere normal I'd be psyched about almost being 16, because I'd get a car and have a Sweet Sixteen and eat a huge PINK cake, but I don't!

February 16, 2020

I read this fanfic the other night that was written in the second person so everything was like "you." "you're doing this" etc you know?

So... You go to a drive-in movie with Heartthrob Boy, and he spills soda on you by accident. And you take off your shirt ( you have a tank top on, don't worry) to clean it up, bit you're still all sticky and self-conscious about being sticky and HTB like... used his tongue to get it off??? AAHHHHH I'M DISGUSTING

but also I wonder if a boy will ever touch any part of me with his tongue

March 2, 2020

Hi I don't know if you heard but I have friends :)))

March 15, 2020

I think I'm so into painting my nails and doing my hair because those are things that always fit. I don't have to worry about places not carrying about a size 8, or places that carry XLs but when you read the measurements they're actually size 8s too and it's like jesus if that's an XL what am I

My "mom" was confused why I needed new pants because mine still look new, but I showed her the thigh holes and she was like "that's a weird place for a hole, how did that happen" and I realized that when your legs are a certain size, you just don't know about thigh rub and what it does to clothes. Pants could just last for years.

No matter what, I can paint my nails with a different color nail polish on every finger, and I can always do a braid crown. And I know I'm cute as hell, etc, so this is not a Marin Needs to Learn to Love Herself thing. It's just an UGH thing

April 17, 2020

So Rose does all these Source experiments on plants and flowers and stuff. Tbh, it's just one if those things I hardly even register anymore because it's just always there. She's explained to me a million times what Source is/does/means, but the way Rose explains things sometimes is just a LOT to take in and she refers to me as a "child of Source" but I kinda figure that's like "child of God" right? What else would that mean?

But anyway, it's really annoying because dried flowers are a part of my new aesthetic and I pinned a bunch of them up on my wall but I woke up this morning to a freaking jungle of very alive flowers. I freaked out. on Rose, and she Rose said she didn't do it and I was like WELL THEN WHO DID and she said that I did??

Which like. Obviously that doesn't make sense. I asked her what she meant and She just shook her head and said " It's happening. We should have known" which is some horror movie shit that she refused to elaborate on. I love to feel safe and normal!!

Or maybe it's not a horror movie at all. But maybe it's a superhero movie? Maybe there's some kind of origin story I don't know about yet, and all of this will be worth it once I figure out my powers. I wonder what my costume will look like. Lol.

April 23, 2020

Is it possible to die from longing? I know that sounds melodramatic, but I'm also kinda serious?? Because it seems like one of those things that could fester and get infected and kill you. It's like when you fall down and bang up your knee, and you need to put a band-aid on the scrape for a while, but THEN you need to air it out - but how do you know when you're supposed to do each one of those things? And if you do either one too much, your knee gets infected. What if I smother my heart with band-aids for too long and it gets infected? This isn't about anybody. I just keep having these dreams about someone I never expected to have dreams about and they're so intense that they keep leaking into my life and I wonder if I need to do something about them.

May 2, 2020

So Jesse's gotten really into metal music, and I tried to get her to play me something since, AS PREVIOUSLY ESTABLISHED, that's what we've literally ALWAYS DONE with music and each other, and she kinda looked at Ximena out of the corner of her eye and said like "I don't think it's really your thing" And it was the meanest thing anybody's ever said to me.

So later I looked up Zenion, the band she was talking about, and I listened to every single fucking song they've ever recorded turned up as loud as it could go with my own headphones that are better than hers anyway, and I loved it. And I didn't love it just because she said I wouldn't. I loved it because it was loud and weird and wild and when I listened to it it made me feel like it's not crazy when so feel stuff so hard it's like my heart's gonna vibrate out of my body. And I would have told Jesse all this and we could have shared it, but I guess she thinks just because I like HTB and glitter and stuff, I don't have the capacity for anything else.

She clearly doesn't know me at all. So much for any kind of whatever, why would she ever want to kiss someone she clearly sees as like a stupid baby.

May 7, 2020

The dreams are getting weirder and they're happening more. I'm getting scared to go to sleep. Not that the dreams are always scary (they almost never are, or not scary like in a typically scary horror movie way). I mean, I've only ever been me. I don't know what other peoples' dreams are like.

The other night in one I was jumping on a trampoline, which is something I've never done in real life. I told Rose about it when I woke up, and she said "do you even know how to jump on a trampoline?" and I said "Rose, it's not like riding a bike. You don't have to learn. You just jump." and then we got into this whole thing about how some things we just know, and jumping's one of them, and how that's so weird. Sometimes I really like talking to Rose about stuff.

May 19, 2020

So, it's prom season in the real world. If I lived somewhere normal, my prom dress would be pink with lots of tulle and silk flowers at the shoulders, and it would fit perfectly and trying in dresses would be fun and not anxiety-inducing.

But since there are only like 10 teenagers currently in 7MV, were not having a homecoming. Cool.

May 27, 2020

So, mom came to visit this weekend, and I asked her about her prom. She was Typical Cecelia at first, very "Prom is a waste of time and money, Marin. It's a night when lesser people play dress-up to engage with their aspirations of grandeur." And I was like eyeroll forever and just stopped talking. BUT THEN she actually talked to me like a human being. She was like, "I actually didn't go to my prom" and when I asked her why she said that she didn't have a date, and was very self-conscious about it. I almost passed out at her admitting that she's ever been anything less than perfect.

(gonna continue this in reblog)

[silksandcravats]

Unlocked -Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Summary: Flip comes home to find y/n has failed to follow his instructions, punishment and smut ensues.

masterlist

WARNINGS: swearing, smut, spanking, spanking with belt, bratty reader, dom!flip, Flip is MEAN, slight subspace/subdrop, aftercare

A/N: hi there! i haven’t written any kind of fanfiction in quite some time, and this is my very first piece ever with an Adam Driver character, so I may be a bit rusty. Please let me know what you think/if you’d like to see more stuff like this in the future! Also if you’re a regular in the AD community please come say hi!

You realised your mistake as soon as you heard the front door twist open. You had been leaning over the kitchen island, lazily flipping through one of the new cookbooks you had picked up last week, hoping to stumble across something new to try for dinner, when you heard your fiance come home early. 

“Doll…” his voice called out sternly, loud footsteps echoed through the house as he made his way into the kitchen. You could feel your heart drop into your throat as you fought off the urge to run for the hills. Between the halt in his heavy shoes coming down against the hardwood floor and the overwhelming feeling of his presence taking over the room, you didn’t have to look up from your book to know he was now standing in the doorway. Gulping as quietly as possible, you looked up to him, deciding to try your luck at wiggling out of trouble.

“Sorry baby.” You pouted, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Third time this week y/n, how many times have I told you, you lock that fucking door when I’m out.” he scolded, finger pointed, brows furrowed as he took a few more steps towards you.

“I know honey, but I just forget. And besides, it’s still light out.” You turned outwards towards him as he continued to stalk towards you, closing the space between the two of you. 

“I don’t give a shit if it’s light out, just this mornin chief had to send someone into the area for a break in. Two fucking blocks away! And you sit here with the damn door unlocked for anyone to just stroll in!” He scolded glaring down at you. 

“But nobody did! I’m fine baby.” you insisted looking up to him.

“Never fuckin listen to me…” He grumbled. Your brows immediately furrowed, his comment set something off inside of you. You didn’t appreciate him throwing such a fit over something so silly. 

“I do too fucking listen!” you snapped, “You’re just being a fucking dick about shit that doesn’t matter!” Regret began pooling in the pit of your stomach moments after the words left your mouth. You looked away but he responded quickly, his hand reaching out to snatch your jaw, your cheeks squished between his thumb on one side and his pointer finger on the other.

“You wanna say that again?” He asked, eyes daring you. You quickly shook your head no in response, not that you could get a word out properly if you wanted to with the hold he had on your face.

“No? My baby done being a little brat?” He practically cooed in the most condescending tone. You nodded. He looked at you for a moment longer before he seemed satisfied and let you go, only to huff out a “over the fucking counter.” 

You hesitantly complied, getting spanked was not how you wanted your evening to go, but you also knew better than to push him any further. You leaned over pressing your elbows against the cold marble top and pushing your backside out towards him, to which he responded by bringing his hand down on your ass once, still covered by the skirt of your dress, but hard enough to make you yelp.

“You know why I’m punishing you doll?” he asked, lifting up the bottom of your dress to expose your panty-clad ass.

“Because I didn’t lock the door like you told me to.” you mumbled, already feeling sorry for yourself.

“And?” he pinched the back of your thigh lightly, causing you to squirm.

“And I was a brat.” you admitted. Suddenly he grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head up by the makeshift ponytail so that your ear was against his mouth.

“You’re gonna learn to watch that pretty little mouth of yours, or I’m gonna find a more creative way to make you sorry that you’re gonna like a whole lot less, am I being clear, peanut?” He practically snarled making your legs shake.

“Yes sir.” you squeaked.

“Good girl.” he said, releasing his hold on you, allowing you to fall forward against the counter again. He yanked your panties down, exposing your backside and your now slick cunt to the cool air. “Open your legs more, no point in hiding now you little slut.” your face turned pink but you complied, pushing your legs apart so he could have a clear view of both your holes. Your stomach practically churned thinking about how you were fully on display in the middle of the kitchen. 

The next time he touches you, it’s his hand cracking down on the left side of your ass, leaving a stinging red mark. Sometimes you enjoyed when Flip spanked you during sex or when you were teasing each other, it could be quite an arousing act when he wanted it to be, but this clearly wasn’t one of those times. 

As his hand came down again, swatting you on the right side, at the extra sensitive spot right where the top of your thigh began, you knew he was trying to hurt you.

On some level, he must have known it really didn’t matter that much that you left the door unlocked half the time. Known that you’d be fine. But your Flip is fiercely protective, always worrying about you, always wanting to keep you safe and secure, he’d probably tug you along with him to the station every day so he could keep an eye on his girl if he could. 

Flip is also admittedly a bit on the bossy side, and as much as you loved his naturally dominant nature, you often found yourself unable to challenge him and be well, a brat. Which is why he now seems determined to punish you oh-so-cruelly until he was damn sure you wouldn’t leave the door locked ever again.

Your groans and whimpers of protest were becoming more frequent, and you were jolted forward by every sharp burning swat that came down against your poor, unprotected skin. 

Finally you received a moment's relief when his giant rough hand took a break from abusing your poor bottom, to run along the slick that had still somehow managed to collect between your legs.

“It would seem I’m not getting through to you at doll,” he hummed, teasing dragging a single thick finger into your weeping cunt for just a fleeting moment, before he pulled to fumble with his belt, a move he only pulled on rare occasions. “Such a little pain slut hmm? I guess I’m being too soft with you.”

“No Flip not that!” You whined, whipping your head around to plead with him the moment you heard his belt sliding out from the loops in his jeans. “Hurts too much, I've already had enough.”

“Do you need to safeword?” he asked genuinely, gazing down at your backside, pressing the back of his hand against your red skin to feel how hot it had become. And you knew he would stop if you needed him to. And you did want him to stop his attack on your poor bottom, and you certainly didn’t want him to add his belt to the mix, but you never could bring yourself to safeword unless you actually needed to.

“No sir.” 

“Then turn back around.” he said, folding the belt in two. The next thing you felt was the sharp bite of leather against your already sore backside.

“OW! Flip!” you shrieked, raising to your tiptoes to try to get away from the sting. He shushed you, pressing your arched back down against the counter again while the other hand whipped the belt down again in nearly the same spot. A few more hits came down steadily, you must have been dripping down your thighs at this point, but wetness was also pooling in the corners of your eyes, as tears threatened to slide down your cheeks. You took most of the belting quietly until a particularly cruel whack against your sit spots made you lose it.

“I’m sorry! Flip I promise!” You cried, pressing your face against the counter, shoulders shaking as you cried softly. 

He must have believed you this time because he finally set down the dreaded implement and reached for you, running his hand up and down your back and cooing softly at his baby. “I know pumpkin come here.” he helped you up cupping your sad little face in his big warm hands. As you stood your dress fell back into place, mostly covering you, though your panties had long been kicked off to some other spot on the kitchen floor.

“Such a prettier crier,” he hummed running his thumbs across your cheeks collecting the tears you had shed.

“ shoulda locked the door like you asked ‘m really sorry.” you hiccuped looking up into his big brown and hazel eyes. 

“Shh good girl, always m’good girl.” he scooped you up into his arms, gently tucking you into him, you gripping his flannel, wrapping your legs around him, burying your head into the crook of his neck. He held you for a while, mumbling sweet words to you. When he felt you had settled against him he moved, carrying you to bedroom, leaning down he placed you on the bed and followed you down moving sloppy passionate kisses down your neck, as your fingers slide into his dark curls pulling slightly and moaning as he began to work on the little sweet spot he had memorised. 

Finally after enough wiggling he pulls away, allowing you a break and he had to hold back a laugh when his eyes landed on you. “Now you’re gonna start pouting on me?”

“You spanked me really hard.” You whined furrowing your brows. Normally you wouldn’t get away with whining, but he must have decided you had been through enough discipline for one day.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, running his hand up along your bare thigh, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose and then on your lips. You eagerly reached up, unbuttoning his flannel and pushing it off his shoulder to reveal his tight white undershirt, which you worked off of him as well, letting your eyes settle on his wonderful broad chest. His hand slid between your back and pillows, and he pulled you up against him. You pressed a line of kisses across his  jaw, facial hair rubbing roughly against your cheek. You could feel his hands working behind you, one hand busy undoing the little buttons at the top of your dress, then moving to unzip it the rest of the way down, while the other hand held you steady against him. 

Your mouths found each other again as you continued to undress one another, him now moving on to your bra as you did you best to undo and wiggle down his jeans and boxers from your position. You let out a quiet moan as your lower lip was sucked in between his teeth and he bit down playfully. 

One he had you fully naked from the waist down, he moved you down against the bed again, and slid your dress all the way off, leaning down to press little kisses to your exposed sensitive lower tummy. The sensation made you squeal, reaching down in an attempt to pull his head away from the ticklish spot, but your efforts didn’t amount to much. Massive hands quickly captured your wrists, pinning your arms down so he could continue his attack, your sweet laugh music to his ears, he might even like making you laugh a little more than making you cry.

“Flip! Please!” you managed to get out, bucking your core against him trying to get the message across.

“Jesus ketsl.” he finally granted you relief, pulling off of you. “Would you rather I moved my attention elsewhere?” he released your wrists, moving a couple fingers to just barely ghost over your entrance, not granting you the pleasure of any real penetration.

“Shit yes please!”

“Words, honeybun. Gotta tell me what you want, y’know that.” he locked eyes with you making you feel flustered.

“Want you.” you tried to be as vague as possible.

“’m right here baby girl, did you want anything specific?” he probed, but he must have been feeling generous, because he began easing two long fingers into your slippery cunt.

“Wantyoutofuckme.” you mumbled shyly, looking off to the wall to avoid his piercing stare. He leaned forward bringing his face close to yours, his fingers working to scissor you open for him, but you would have to ask properly first.

“Didn’t quite catch that baby,” he used his free hand to nudge your face to look at him. “Why don’t you try a little louder this time?” You swallowed.

“I want you to fuck me.” You admitted, blushing furiously. 

“Should’ve just said so honey.” he grins, retracting his hands, moving to give his length a few strokes, the remnants of your wetness on his fingers coating him. Wasting no further time he lined himself and slammed into you. You gasped and reached up to dig your nails in his back for stability, he grunted at the ways your walls wrapped tightly around him, setting a quick, rough pace. 

“Shit shit, honey you’re as tight for me as ever.” he groaned fucking you so deeply your entire body rocked with his thrust. The room around you became foggy, your senses blurring, you squeezed your eyes shut and in that Flip Zimmmerman was your entire world, though if you strained, you think you could vaguely make out the sound of your bed frame slamming against the wall in rhythm, and the slight cries of springs from a poor bed that had put up with too many nights of you two.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezin’ me pretty girl.” He moaned, reaching down to play with your clit, making you hiss. Every other thrust was landing right against your sweet spot, sending you into orbit.

“Me neither baby feels so good, shit, can I?” you asked, the knot in your stomach tightening further and further. 

“Have to look at me if you wanna cum, got it?” He ordered, soft but firm, clearly on the edge. Your eyes flew open, wanting to be good for him you nodded.

“Yes sir, please can I come-fuck!” your gaze slipped up for a moment, but you quickly corrected yourself, focusing on his deep dark eyes.

“Go ahead gorgeous, come for me.” he gave you permission, before spilling into you with a final loud moan. 

You came hard on command, toes curling, back arching, bliss overriding you systems, as your cunt clenched, milking him through his high as he rocked you through yours. He all but collapsed on you, sweaty and panting but you didn’t mind at all.

You felt dizzy and warm, your head somewhere far up in the clouds, and though you thought Flip might be speaking to you, you couldn’t really tell. Your eyes were closed and your head rolled to the side. Slowly the distant voice grew focused, and you peered your eyes open as you realised the voice was talking to you.

“Peanut? Pumpkin? You ready to come back to me honey?” a wonderful deep soft voice cooed at you. Suddenly, still in your haze, you wanted nothing more than to be as close to the owner of that voice is possible. You groaned reaching up with arms still shaky from your orgasm. Flip chuckled at you before scooping you up, shifting slightly to a seated position, he pulled you in his lap and cradle you to his chest as you re-familiarized yourself with your surroundings. 

At some point Flip had put a new pair of boxers on, and now he was gently coxing one of his big old t-shirts over your head, and then pulling your back into him, your head resting against his should, his calloused hand running up and down your thigh, grounding you, and you found yourself lazily running fingertips along his toned chest.

“Dropped into your headspace there for a little bit baby, was that too much?” He hummed against your hair.

You shook your head, “was good,” was all you could manage to get out.

“Love you so much baby,  y’know that?’ He said pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You nod happily. It’s quiet for a while longer, and Flip was beginning to think you’d fallen asleep when you speak again.

“Made me so sore though,” you mumble, “and my bum really hurts, don’t know how I’m gonna get around tomorrow.” 

Flip has to stop himself from laughing, smirking instead he squeezed you tighter to him, “Y’know I’ll carry you around pumpkin, I’ll always take care of you.” he promised. You allowed yourself to drift off, safe warm in his arms, feeling entirely protected and satisfied. 

Flip stayed up a while longer, just holding his girl, running his hand along your thigh, before forcing himself to lie you down and tuck you into bed. He then quietly moved around the room, putting away the clothes that had been tossed on the floor. He slipped downstairs turning off the lights and smiling and shaking his head as he locked all the doors, knowing despite your bargaining earlier, it wasn’t the last time you’d bicker about them.

And sure enough enough when you woke up in his arms in the morning, much more coherent, and grumbling about your sore ass and your legs feeling like jello, Flip was true to his word. Carrying you around, bringing you whatever you need, doting on you and caring for you all weekend long.

[hold-my-hand-kuroo]

phases of the moon

tbh when they told me that i’d need eighth grade biology in the future, i didn’t think it’d be for this

also it’s almost 2 AM so forgive me this isn’t proof-read

pairing: tsukishima x reader

i. waxing gibbous

At the young age of seven, you meet your lifelong friend for the very first time. Initially, you’re a little bit scared to meet your new neighbors, especially when you’re told that one of the sons is the same age as you. It doesn’t make it easier that Tsukishima Kei is especially cool for a five year old. He’s quite tall, fast at his subtraction tables, and exceptionally good at naming dinosaurs and reading big words. To you, he’s basically an adult and completely unapproachable, even after sitting quietly in his room while the real adults were chatting elsewhere.

His room is clean, and you’re amazed at the stacks of chapter books resting on his desk. They have pictures of fossils and big-toothed birds and when you open it, pages are filled with blocks of long words; you’re amazed, curious, but unable to read any of it.

“Do you like dinosaurs?” the blonde boy asks, watching you flip through his books just for the pictures. You jump a little bit, surprised that he finally decided to speak to you after what seemed like years of silence. He has a raised eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem too mean. You’re still a little scared. “Or maybe not…?”

“They’re cool,” you finally answer, flipping back to the page that caught your attention. “I like this one the best.”

“That’s the tanystropheus.” His reply is instant, and you start to think that all kids that wear glasses must be smart. He gets up from his chair and walks toward you, taking a seat right next to you on the floor. “Its neck is three meters long which is like, way longer than its entire body.”

He continues on listing facts and saying large words that completely go over your head, and really, you’re in awe at his knowledge. You can’t believe that he’s really seven, but you also can’t believe that the quiet boy from two minutes ago is actually quite talkative. It’s almost like a switch was flipped, turning him into a more animted version of himself. You don’t mind, but you wish he’d slow down just a little bit so that you could follow.

“Which one do you like?” you ask, diverting the topic and hoping that he’d stop. He flashes you a grin before flipping to another page. It’s clear that he has the book memorized.

“I like the pterodactyl.” Pointing to what seemed like a dragon, his eyes are practically glowing. “They can fly, you know?”

“Like birds?”

“Yeah, but birds are a little different since they have feathers.”

For the next three hours, Tsukishima reads to you, and even though you’re confused with some of the names, the effort you put into understanding seems to please him. It’s not every day that he has a companion to talk about dinosaurs to; usually, his friends would call him boring and leave, so he doesn’t bother expressing his interests. In fact, he’s so ecstatic at his newfound companion that you find him at your door almost every day with a new book in hand. Over sweets, preferably strawberry shortcake, Tsukishima reads to you, pausing once in a while to see if you have questions. Sometimes, he’d adjust his glasses a little, and you’d find yourself thinking over and over again, “He’s such an adult.”

Afternoons get loud when Tsukishima introduces the card game Dinosaur King to you. He’s all smiles when you walk into his room one day, running up to you with his deck and a deck of your own that he bought with his carefully saved allowance. Once the two of you get into it, hours feel like seconds. Rather than gameplay, you’re more fascinated by the card design, but since you know that Tsukishima likes a good challenge, you try your best to play well. You find your math skills improving drastically, calculating lost life points almost every day, and when you beat Tsukishima for the very first time, the two of you laugh at your own excitement and flailing arms.

Once it got warm enough to play outdoors, you pass your time in his backyard with his older brother, Akiteru, who’s actually a real-life giant. Even though he’s tall and a whole twelve years old, he smiles a lot and is just like a kid, except not. You don’t know much about him except for the fact that he plays volleyball, and according to Tsukishima, who practically glows with pride every time you watch him practice, he’s very good at it. You think volleyball might run in the family’s blood considering that whenever Akiteru throws a ball for you and Tsukishima to receive, you’d always miss while Tsukishima would bump it back. You’re a little proud that your best friend is smart, athletic, and incredibly kind and wonder if he’s just naturally good at everything.

Childhood is filled with reptiles, backyard volleyball, and laughter, especially Tsukishima’s. You can’t say you hate the sound of it considering that it makes you giggle too. For Christmas that year, you write a letter to Santa wishing that things would stay the same forever.

ii. waning crescent

Things begin changing when you’re both twelve. Tsukishima’s tall as ever, looming over most of the other kids in your class, and with his height comes the expectation for him to be a real adult. You almost feel bad for thinking the same thing five years ago, especially when he starts to smile less. It’s childish, he says at one point, renouncing his card games in place for constant volleyball practice.

If anything, Tsukishima’s more focused on volleyball than ever, and you’re not surprised. With Akiteru being both his idol and the ace of Karasuno, you figured that he’d want to follow his brother’s footsteps at some point. You’re not sure what being the ace means, but Tsukishima’s convinced that only the coolest grown-ups are allowed to have that position; you suppose that’s why he’s trying so hard to act differently, but you don’t mind helping him out. Tsukishima’s the happiest when you’re throwing balls for him to receive or spike after school, and because it’s the only time where he genuinely smiles without holding back, you’re more than willing to keep helping him practice. It’s the closest thing to normal and is painfully nostalgic.

You’re not sure what to do when Tsukishima begins to tease you. Sure, his tongue has gotten significantly sharper within the past few years, but you know well that he’d never tease out of malice. Not to you anyways, so you just laugh and tease back, because you hate letting him have the last laugh.

When rumors being to spread at school about Tsukishima being some big bully, you’re more than eager to debunk each and everyone, to show them all that your best friend, although a little bit cold, is nothing of the sort. He stops you though, because he doesn’t care. You don’t understand what’s so fun about being feared or ostracized, and you definitely don’t know why he continues to push his classmates away, but you don’t want to force him to do something he doesn’t. Still, you wonder if the whispers ever bother him. Being cool and an adult at the same time seemed incredibly lonely.

Yamaguchi is a special exception much to your delight. Rather than being frightened, he reminds you of your younger self being attracted to Tsukishima’s maturity, and you find it oddly reassuring that Tsukishima is still able to let people into his life. You suppose it’s because Yamaguchi is interested in volleyball too, and now, he can pass the ball with someone besides you during his free time since you’re not that good at the sport in the first place. Nonetheless, Yamaguchi urges you to join. “The more the merrier,” he says, and Tsukishima seems to agree but never verbally. It’s been five years though, so you know that when he fiddles with his glasses and looks at the ground, it means he wants you to play with him.

Whenever you’re free, you visit the junior volleyball program to cheer on your friends. Tsukishima pretends that he hates the attention, but you know he doesn’t, and when you’re asking Yamaguchi about how practice went, you catch the blonde’s eyes flickering at you and then away. You know he wants you to ask him too, and you almost always comply if he isn’t being too mean to you. It’s fun to tease him back since it always catches him off guard. It’s then that you begin to hope that maybe, just maybe, Tsukishima would replace some of those condescending smirks with more smiles again.

Your hopes are for naught.

Despite fully immersing himself into the sport, Tsukishima’s first time watching a high school match ends with an abrupt realization. You and Yamaguchi are with him, and it’s devastating to see his face fall when his eyes meet with Akiteru’s in the stands, cheering for the guy he’s been lying to Tsukishima about being. It’s the highest form of betrayal, and after that single match, everything changes.

No longer does Tsukishima walk to volleyball practice with hidden excitement, and no longer does he ask you to practice with him after school. It becomes hard to talk to him, much to your dismay, and you often find yourself sitting in his room in silence as the two of you study. He doesn’t read to you, he doesn’t flaunt his knowledge. He just sits there across from you, not meeting your eyes at all. Maybe it’s out of shame for trying so hard to be someone who wasn’t what they said they were. Maybe it’s just the crippling disappointment eating away at his spirit. You don’t know and neither does Yamaguchi.

His image doesn’t improve that much in class either. You’ve noticed that he has a newfound distaste for excessive energy and big expectations, and it makes him more dislikable by the kids around him. His tongue is venomous, and even though you know deep in your heart that he’s a nice person, nobody se can believe it. Still, he’s never genuinely rude to you aside from occasional snide and playful remarks. That’s the only thing left that you can keep a hold of, so you settle for it.

The two of you are so far away from being adults, but it feels so lonely even then.

iii. new moon

Tsukishima’s aware that he’s different from how he was during his childhood, but it’s always comforting to know that you understand him inside-and-out. He’ll never say it out loud though, since he isn’t exactly good at things like expressing his feelings or showing genuine sincerity, but he expects that you’ll understand. The knowing silence that the two of you shared is practically irreplaceable.

Which is why it hurts a lot more when you choose to confront him.

It’s the night before his summer training camp during his first year of high school that you have your first serious fight with your best friend. In the past, your fights have been more like playful banter or simple bickering. You’ve never raised your voice against him and vice versa, but when you’re sitting on his bed and watching him pack his bags while complaining about what a hassle practice is, you can’t help but question his motives.

“Then why are you still in the club?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He hums, his usual sound for acknowledgement, but doesn’t turn to look at you.

“It’d look good on my resume,” he answers matter-of-factly. You’re not convinced, especially since you know for sure that his grades are already stand-out and that he could’ve done anything but continue the sport.

You sigh. “Are you sure that’s it?”

“What do you mean by that?” You notice the small change in his tone and suddenly become aware of the awkward tension in the room. Slowly, he turns toward you, feigning a smile. “You know that it’d just be easier for me to continue, since it’s the only sport I know, right? You can’t expect me to learn basketball-“

“Kei, you like volleyball don’t you?” you interrupt, shaking your head. You’re desperate to know why he keeps burying his feelings, especially since the trust between the two of you was a piece of work years in the making. It stung a little bit, and frankly, you’re sick of it. “You like volleyball, so that’s why you keep playing.”

“Haven’t you been listening to me since like, forever?” he asks, laughing sarcastically while rolling his eyes. “I hate sweating, and you know I can’t stand the weird duo. I’ve said it thousands of times, hello?”

“Then you would’ve quit.” You say it bluntly, because in reality, it is that simple. Tsukishima liked to pretend to be complex, but he never was. “I’ve known you for years, Kei, and you wouldn’t keep playing if you actually-“

“I hope you aren’t pulling the childhood friends card.” Now that one hurt. “Even if we’ve known each other for years, you can’t be so sure that you know everything about me, right? I mean, I barely know anything about you-“

“Liar.” You feel yourself getting heated. You’re not sure if it’s because the conversation is getting nowhere or if it’s because you’re shocked by his words, but you don’t want to just drop the topic. “Kei, you’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Of what?” he scoffs. He grips the shirt he’s holding to the point where his knuckles begin to turn white. That’s how you know you’ve hit bullseye.

“You’re scared of trying hard again, because you think everyone around you are better than you-“

“But they are. That’s just facts,” he scoffs again, this time becoming more tense. “No matter what I do, I can’t even compare. Have you see how Hinata jumps? I’d just get eaten up, so why would I even try?”

“Because you want to, but you’re just scared of failing.”

His gaze at you becomes icy, and you feel chills running down your spine. Gulping, you try your best to not waver under his pressure, because you meant everything you said. You know you’ve struck a nerve when his eyes turn into a glare, face close to a scowl. He’s mad, and you’re at a loss of what to do.

“I don’t know why you’re being like this, but I’ll have you know that failing isn’t impressive,” he says with a wave of his hand. His tone is like nails against a chalkboard, and you feel as if the relationship you’ve built throughout the years has completely disappeared. “Let’s say I do try, and I get benched anyways. That’d be worse than if I didn’t-“

“See? You’re scared.” You sit up straighter this time, refusing to lose your edge. He glares at you, jaw clenching, but says nothing. “You want to become a better player, don’t you? You shouldn’t be afraid of being like—“

“Enough.” He’s curt and to the point. If there’s anything that he hates more than wasted effort, it’s being confronted and having the confronter being correct. Of course, he shouldn’t be surprised since it’s you, but he’s still annoyed. “It’s getting late. You should leave.”

You frown. It’s not late at all. In fact, dinner probably wasn’t even ready at your house yet, but you know what he’s trying to say. Getting up slowly, you pace to his door, opening it quietly. He’s not facing you anymore, and you turn around to see that he’s occupied with folding more clothes to add into his duffel.

“Kei…you know I’m telling you this because I know you’re capable right?” you try one more time, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve seen you block before, and you can read other people so well-“

It falls like fake praise against his ears, and in his mind, Tsukishima remembers all the blocks he couldn’t stop, the ones that he knows that even if he tried, he couldn’t have due to a sheer difference in skill and talent. There were other people who were good or even better at his position, and he’d be damned if he were caught trying and still couldn’t compete. He knows he’d lose in the end, and he wants to avoid the sinking feeling of disappointment at all costs.

He thought you knew. You were there with him when he saw his entire dream diminish into nothingness within the span of seconds after all.

“Someone’s getting all cocky just because they’ve known me for a while, huh?” he lies through his teeth, nails digging into his own skin as he says it. He wonders why he can’t come to terms with you, but more importantly, he wonders why he’s choosing to hurt you instead. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. Like I’ve said, maybe we’re not as close as you think, Y/N.”

You wince. It’s his first time speaking to you like that, and you realize it’s the same tone he used to mock others. Other that weren’t close to him at all. It hurts a lot more than you expected. Still, you refuse to have him have the last word.

“Fine. Be like that.”

The two of you don’t talk for the next few days, and you don’t even receive the regular texts complaining about Hinata and Kageyama while he’s gone at the training camp. It’s lonely without Tsukishima to vent to, and you miss the snide remarks he’d make about the people you hated. He was always there to cheer you up, but now, he only makes you frustrated. You don’t think you’re wrong, but you wonder if you had gone too far that night. Maybe you should have just left it as it was, or better yet, not have brought it up at all.

It’s not until Tsukishima returns home that you hear from him.

“Hey,” you star awkwardly when you open your door. He’s showered but looks exhausted from playing the sport he supposedly hated for days on end. The worst part was that he still wasn’t looking at you, and you’re so bothered by it that you don’t hear his mumbling. “What did you say?”

“Sorry,” he mutters again, staring pointedly at the floor. His brows are furrowed in clear frustration, and when you let out an audible gasp, he only grows more flustered. “I said too much before.”

“Me too,” you respond after taking in his apology. You don’t remember the last time, if ever, that Tsukishima had said sorry to you, and you’re surprised that he’s even capable of doing so. “I shouldn’t have brought it up-“

“No, I was being…rude,” he struggles. It looks as if he’s physically pained with the idea of admitting his faults, and if it weren’t for the situation, maybe you would’ve laughed. “I didn’t mean it when I said that.”

“About what?” you probe, and he grunts, foot shuffling ever so slightly.

“About us not being close,” he practically grits through his teeth. He’s conflicted with what to say next, but you’re more amazed at his honesty. “We are. I didn’t mean it. And you were right.”

He stands still, bracing himself for a response. In reality, Tsukishima Kei is afraid of a lot of things, and he hates to admit it. He knows that you’re aware of his fear of humiliation and being overwhelmed by others around him, but he wonders if you also know about how scared he is to lose you, his closest friend. His tongue is sharp, too sharp for his own good. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t lose sleep during the past few nights worrying about how he might’ve made you cry.

“I like you a lot more when you’re honest, Kei,” you chuckle finally, and he lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders sagging. You can tell that he was anxious and that it took a great deal from him to see you, but it’s almost endearing. “And here I thought that I’d have to open up applications for a new best friend. I was thinking about Tadashi, actually.”

He smirks, looking up. “If you’re in the mood to tease me, could you at least let me in? You’re letting all your air conditioner out with door open, and I’m in the mood to complain about people.”

You comply almost instantly, pulling him by the wrist through the door and into your room. Like clockwork, he sits against your bed right next to you, and it almost feels normal again with him telling you about terrible the training camp was and how he couldn’t sleep because the people around him snored too loudly. It’s relieving.

“I learned how to block better,” he adds finally after debating whether or not to tell you. Your eyes glow, and oddly enough, he can’t find it in himself to hate how smug you look. “I still hated the camp though.”

“Because you missed me, right?” you joke. Tsukishima outright stiffens straight, holding his breath and hoping that you wouldn’t notice. But of course, you do. “Oh man, I really got you there.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, looking away again with a scowl.

iv. third quarter

You remember a few things. The sound of Ushijima’s spike hitting Tsukishima’s hand followed by the slam of the ball that lands back on the floor, the roar of the crowd, and Akiteru’s yelp as your iron grip around his hand tightens and practically cuts off his blood flow. When you break down the memory further, you see Tsukishima just seconds before the block wearing an awfully cocky smirk, and that’s when you realize that it’s all premeditated. From the way he kept glancing at the setter with such a cold and chilling stare to the way his arms moved over toward his left, Tsukishima had played the block over and over again in his mind. It was the seed of his efforts finally coming to fruition.

And then there was his declaration of love for the sport that was no longer “just a club,” his yell that silenced the court and stunned everyone in the stands. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the stray glance that he spared you, as if to ask, “Did you see that?” You almost laughed, because of course you did.

These thoughts flood your mind as you cling on tightly to Tsukishima in the lobby after the game, ignoring all the obnoxious howls and cheers from Tanaka and Nishinoya in the back. You feel like you’re about to cry again, as the tall boy desperately tries to pry you off of his body without being too forceful, pushing you by your shoulders and desperately trying to walk out of your hug. He says something about you making a scene, but you honestly don’t care enough to listen.

“Are…are you crying?” he asks, voice mixed with surprise and frustration, still trying to shove you off. “You’re getting your snot all over my shirt, Iet go, Y/N-“

When you finally do decide to put some space between the two of you, Tsukishima sighs in relief and sends Yamaguchi and Hinata a glare for giggling in the back; however, what he didn’t expect was for you to take his hand into yours, gently tracing your fingers over the bandages. He sighs as you being to tear up again and runs his free hand through his hair.

“Pretty lame, right?”

“Kei, you’re literally the most stupid person I’ve ever met in my life, and I hope you know that.” He’s not used to being insulted, let alone twice since Yamaguchi had also given him an earful in the bathroom. He’s startled and annoyed but chooses silence over bickering. He’s still a little scared of fighting with you for the second time.

“It was only one block, and I got hurt anyways. It’s-“

“It was a whole block against Ushijima,” you wail loud enough for the entire lobby to hear. Tsukishima’s absolutely mortified, giving a look to Yamaguchi and telling him to get something to wipe your tears with, anything. “You touched the ball so many times, and you knew where all the spikes were going, and you read them like an open book, and you made their setter scared, and then you even tried to run to do that slide spike thing, and then you did the yelling thing for the first time ever, and-“

“Okay, okay, I get it, you thought I did well,” he practically pleads, trying to steer you to a less crowded area. The boy is desperate to escape the grins of his team members. “Now will you please stop crying? Actually, why are you even crying? I don’t understand-“

“It’s because you’re stupid.”

You ignore the affronted grunt he lets out and instead wonder how you could possibly explain to him about why you were crying. Would he even be able to understand what it felt like when you witnessed his fall from grace, the abrupt end to his childhood, only for him to rise again and become more than what he could ever expect? You doubt it, but just thinking about it keeps your tears going, and you’re sure that you’d have worst pair of swollen eyes after you were done.

“Why are you crying harder now?” he huffs, exasperated.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes and does his best not to tease you about your futile attempts at hiding your face. He groans inwardly, not knowing what to do when you were emotional. He’s not very in tune with his own feelings, let alone someone else’s, so instead of struggling for proper words of consolation, he heaves a very heavy sigh and pulls you back into his chest. He’s a bit awkward with his hands, not knowing where exactly to put them after you lean in. His arms hover around your waist, but he doesn’t dare touch you. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, but he keeps his arms awkwardly in the air until it’s time for him to leave for the awards ceremony. Even then, he doesn’t actually want to leave you alone still crying.

“I’m gonna call you later,” you tell him right before he’s about to turn around, “and I’m gonna tell you about how dumb you’re being. Again.”

“Looking forward to it,” he mumbles under his breath, and you barely hear it. Barely. “I’d clean myself up if I were you though. You look terrible.”

Your laugh comes out as some kind of sniffle or snort. Tsukishima shows a face of disgust. As is turns out, mean Tsukishima and happy Tsukishima weren’t mutually exclusive. And you could live with that.

v. full moon

You suppose that after years of pretending to be some kind of mature and cold adult, Tsukishima has to make up for the childhood that he ended earl on. Or at least that’s what you reason as he wraps his long arms around your waist, pulling you in between his legs. Placing his chin on your shoulder, he presses his cheek against yours, moving around ever-so-slightly, because he knows that you’re terribly ticklish.

“Kei, I’m trying to type a paper,” you whine, trying to shake off his long arms. Of course, he doesn’t let you, and you feel his fingers sink into your sides. You let out a yelp. “It’s due in an hour, so I’d really like it if you stopped tickling me.”

“Maybe you should’ve worked on it earlier this week, then.” He’s trying to provoke you, and even if you can’t see his face, you know he’s wearing his signature smirk. “I mean, you had all that time, but instead, you just-“

“Why are you acting like you weren’t the one who made me rewatch all the Jurassic Park movies?”

“You could’ve just said no,” Tsukishima laughs, running a hand through your hair. It didn’t take a lot to realize that he was trying to get you to fall asleep before you could finish properly.

“Even though you were clinging onto me so that I wouldn’t be able to leave the couch?” you muse, refusing to be deterred. Your fingers continue to move at a lightening pace, but you’re not sure what you’re actually writing.

“I don’t remember that happening, though.” His voice is playful and teasing, yet soft enough for you to start feeling your eyelids grow heavy. “Looks like someone’s getting sleepy. Why don’t you just call it a night?”

“I’m almost done, Kei,” you try to reason with him. You hear him sigh, and roll your eyes. “If you want cuddles so badly, help me edit my other pages so I can get this done faster.”

“I never said anything about cuddles,” he denies almost instantly, voice raising. You can tell that he’s flustered and smile to yourself at your small victory.

Despite his protests and clear explanation that he wants you to hurry up because he can’t sleep with your laptop screen being that bright, he takes his phone to access the document that you’ve shared with him, still refusing to let go of you. He always hated editing on his phone, but he chooses to tolerate it just for you. He won’t admit it, but he likes the way your body feels pressed against his chest and how you’ll jolt when he accidentally pokes your rib. He laughs at your little typos while scrolling carefully through your paper, making sure to tease you about them, as he also enjoys it when you get frustrated and try to get out of his arms. He’s fully aware that you can’t, and he’s sure that you know that too, but he finds the effort amusing.

“Why does it feel like you’ve returned to being a kid,” you groan quietly, annoyed that your concentration was being broken. “I know you want to be spoiled and want my undivided attention, so it’d work out a lot better for the both of us if you just edited my work quietly. Like a good kid, Kei.”

“I’m 23,” he corrects pointedly, casually skipping over the fact that he really did want your attention and was getting annoyed that you were so focused on your essay instead of him. Sure, he understands that it’s an important final for you, but he can’t help but feel just a little bit irritated that the bed was feeling colder than usual.

“You look like a hag but have the mind of a toddler, I swear.” Just one more conclusion paragraph and a works cited page. “I’m almost done, baby. Promise.”

“Am I really being called a kid when you can’t even do your work on time?” he snorts, eyes tiredly scanning the wall of words. He yawns and buries his face into the side of your neck. Setting his phone down on your lap, he lets his finger brush against your thigh and laughs when you grumble something about him being more of a kid for stealing your strawberry from your cake earlier today. “When you’re free tomorrow, I’ll buy you a new slice.”

“Yeah, so that you can steal my strawberry again,” you mutter with a roll of your eyes. “I know you, Kei.”

“Such a shame that you couldn’t have it,” he chuckles. “It was good, I’ll tell you that.”

As an act of grace, Tsukishima gives you a moment of silence to quickly add the finishing touches to your paper before watching you hit submit with excessive gusto. Laughing at your over-dramatization, removes his arms and all but drags you to the bed.

“It’d be more romantic if you carried me instead of pulling me around like luggage,” you complain. He extends his arm for you to rest on, and you adjust yourself so that you can face him.

“You’re dating the wrong guy if you’re looking for a Casanova.” He allows for you to take his glasses off and nearly presses into your hand that you place on his check. Moving his palm to cover your own, you hum as his fingers trace over your skin.

“Should I break up with you, then?” you tease, making it apparent that it was just a joke based on the amount of tenderness in your voice. “After all, my boyfriend looks at me the same way he does at dusty, old dinosaur bones.”

“Even though your mom literally called me today asking when we’re planning on getting married?”

“I wish she’d stop,” you sigh and frown. “I can’t believe she’s already talking about marriage when we haven’t even graduated yet.”

“She’s been talking about marriage since our second year of high school. This isn’t anything new.” Tsukishima breaks into a small, rare smile. “We’re going to graduate soon, though.”

“And? Are you saying what I think you’re saying-“

“I’m not trying to imply anything,” he denies with a grin. Cheeky. “Rather, what are you implying?”

“Well, do you want to do the whole marriage thing?” You question him out of curiosity rather than with an intent to pressure. After all, you had a hard time imagining Tsukishima in a domestic setting, especially since all he ever did was bother you and distract you whenever you had chores to do or cooking to get done. “I mean, not like right now, but in the future.”

“I wonder,” he muses. Running his thumb over your ring finger, Tsukishima thinks about which types of rings would suit you the best. His mind plays through design, color, and cut of the diamond, but he does this silently while chuckling at your look of confusion. He doesn’t want to say anything now, not when the two of you were still very much overwhelmed with what life had to offer. There’d be a better, more appropriate time, and he tries to picture what that day would be like and when it’d be. He gets a little excited by his own imagination.

“Kei, what’s that supposed to mean?” He only looks at you in response, eyes tender even if he won’t say exactly how much you make his heart grow crazy and how he feels like he’s the luckiest man in the world. He’s sure you know how he feels anyway.

“You’re tired, right?” he chooses to respond instead. Placing chaste kiss against your forehead, he closes his eyes much to your dismay and protests. “I’m already asleep.”

There’s something about his delicate and warm kisses that puts you at ease. From the way his arm always stayed around your waist at night to the look he’d give you first thing in the morning, you have a sinking suspicion that you already know the answer to your question.

“Love you, Kei,” you whisper, and despite him being “asleep”, you the corners of his mouth quiver slightly before turning upward.

[timeagainreviews]

My Series 10 Rewatch: Knock Knock

Hello, my fantastic friends! I am sorry I have been so quiet. I got coronavirus in February and it really wiped out my energy. I am finally starting to bounce back and feel like leaving the house once more. This beautiful Scottish spring we’re having has definitely helped. I also lost my grandpa this week, so I've been all over the place, emotionally. Obviously, such a big pause in the middle of a series 10 rewatch is disruptive, so I would rather just dive back in if it's all the same. When last we were gathered, I was talking about "Thin Ice." Since then, the ice has thawed and I am now up to series 10 episode four- "Knock Knock," by one-time Doctor Who writer Mike Bartlett.

An aspect of Doctor Who which I love about Steven Moffat’s era is that the Doctor and his companions didn’t spend every waking moment of their lives together. Unlike companions of the past, who basically left behind their family lives to galavant across time and space, the companions of the Moffat era had home lives. Not only did this make for some humorous moments, such as the Doctor landing his TARDIS in Clara’s bedroom on date night, it also set up the characters for something of an actual life. "Knock Knock," uses this separation of worlds to establish one of its central themes- can you have a normal life with the Doctor? 

Being a poor student in London, Bill is forced to look for a flat with a group of people she only sort of knows. This is your typical group of students, eclectic and young. The biggest commonality they have is they can’t afford a place on their own. One of the ways in which this makes the episode suffer is that none of them has much chemistry together. However, it does enable Bartlett to explore deeper concepts, such as the fear of meeting new people. Our characters are forced to deal with a deadly situation with people who are basically strangers. 

The other commonality they have is Bill’s mate, Shireen. I got momentarily excited the first time I heard her name, but only because I thought it was going to be Rose’s best mate Shareen. Also, it would mean that Rose and Shareen had like a 10 year age difference, which would be weird. Shireen is a bubbly sort that seems gung-ho about everyone getting on. This doesn’t stop 90% of their interactions from being a total cringefest. Not one of these characters is particularly likeable. Pavel, the musician of the group, and the one character with maybe a bit of culture becomes a wall pretty early on, so it’s a bland time from there on out. But that’s getting a bit ahead of ourselves. 

After a montage of disappointing flats ("Oh my god, the toilet is is what room?") the gang stands defeated. But like a beacon of light, comes a glimmer of hope in the form of John, a man who clearly prowls the streets for groups of youths. The gang is willing to overlook the obvious stranger danger about John because he has something they need- a giant house at a reasonable price. It’s another one of those deeper concepts being explored here that I think Doctor Who does so well. The show operates well when it preys upon basic fears. In this case, it’s the fear of the creepy landlord. The fear that your home life may be dictated by a creepy man who carries a tuning fork and forbids you to enter certain parts of the house like it’s Beauty and the Beast. 

 Arriving as if to say "No, Bill, you can’t have a normal life," is the Doctor. After using his TARDIS to move her belongings, Bill is quick to send him off. She even foregoes the traditional six-pack of beer and pizza, the universal payment for friends helping one move house. Of course, the moment the Doctor enters the derelict abode, his Time Lord senses are pinging. The Doctor isn't just an embarrassing "grandfather," type, but also a threat to any semblance of a normal life Bill can hope to have. As I said, this is familiar territory in the Moffat era. A funny side effect of the Doctor's attempts at allowing his companions to live normal lives is it only adds to the sharp contrast between both existences. Perhaps this is immersion therapy on the Doctor's behalf. Letting his friend remember what the world is actually like so as to not disassociate her from her own time and place. Or perhaps it is the Doctor softening the blow of eventually losing his friend.

The Doctor leaves long enough for two things to happen. Firstly, Pavel is listening to some music and suddenly is eaten by the house. Nobody seems to notice. Secondly, the new housemates have a bit of a games night for their first night at 11 Cardinal Road. There's no cellphone reception and the house is nowhere near up to code. I applaud them for trying to build up these characters, but it never really gels. Their merriment is cut short after hearing a noise in the kitchen. Scooby-Doo style, Bill leads them to the pantry where she finds the Doctor never actually left. They decide to head to bed, but the Doctor decides he's going to stay up with Felicity and Harry and listen to music. He also reminds Bill to maybe check on Pavel who has not been seen all day.

Now back in the sitting room, the gang is surprised to find John present. He addresses their problems with the amenities and waxes strange about having a daughter to look after. The Doctor asks John who the Prime Minister is, but he is unable to answer. Before they can ask more questions, John disappears down the hallway, but not before sounding his tuning fork against the wood. On her way to bed, Bill has the most cringe conversation with her new housemate, Paul. Paul fancies Bill. Bill fancies girls. I get that they may have wanted a scene where Bill flat out says to the audience that she's gay, but Paul comes off as super creepy. I wouldn't have an issue with this, but I feel like we're meant to find Paul endearing. It's hard for me to place what exactly they were going for in this scene. Paul, mate, you just met her. You just moved in together. Maybe let the paint dry first.

Luckily, like a shot from the dark, the plot saves us from having to stand in the hallway of awkwardness. Paul, having gone to his room, screams. Thinking he's having a laugh, Bill and Shireen go knocking on his door, only to find the return knock sounding across the hallway wall. The house begins to creak and shudder while doors slam shut. It's like something from a haunted house movie. In many ways, it follows a familiar trope from Doctor Who. The house haunted by aliens. We've seen it in "Ghost Light," "Hide," or even Edward Grove from "The Chimes of Midnight." Though I would argue that here, there is less grist for the mill. "Knock Knock," is a more stripped back, simple story. And in that way, I find it begins to lose me as the mystery unravels. 

As the housemates run through the house, trying to escape whatever is happening, they find Pavel in a state of flux. Something about the music on his record player skipping has kept him from being completely absorbed by the house. I will say, this is a great bit of body horror on the makeup department's behalf. Everything about Pavel looks like a guy getting eaten by a wall. As it turns out, the tuning fork and the music have more to do with what's going on as the Doctor discovers the house infested with alien lice known as "Dryads." Using his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor is momentarily able to draw the bugs out from the grain of the wood. The Dryad is not your common woodlouse, as it appears to move through wood like water. Even in my second viewing, I found myself wondering if this is kind of cool or kind of dumb. I vacillate between the two. 

In many ways, this is both Doctor Who's greatest strength and its greatest weakness. The surreal nature of a time-travelling police box affords us things like sentient planets, talking chair frogs, and killer mannequins. On the other hand, it gives us farting aliens, gamma radiation in the form of lightning, and the Doctor screaming until a window smashes. I remember reading an Eighth Doctor book where horse people read books on their planet by licking them and tasting the story. Sometimes, Doctor Who is bloody brilliant, and other times, it's bloody embarrassing. But that's partly why I love it. This kind of freedom gives it freshness. One week we get a priest buzzing like a wasp as he talks, the next we get River Song and the Vashta Nerada.

Now, I'm not saying "Knock Knock," is bad, but it is a little dumb. I've already complained about the dopey kids nobody cares about, and the silly aliens that aren't that scary, but the end of this episode is where it really kind of evens itself out. As I said, I vacillate between this being a good and a bad story. We learn that the reason John doesn't want anyone up inside the tower of the house has nothing to do with safety, and everything to do with a dark secret. After discovering the unclaimed belongings of previous occupants over the span of decades, the housemates learn that they are just the latest in a long line of people being fed to the house.

I found the motivation of the Dryads a little hard to understand. It seems weird to me that a woodlouse would want to eat people, but here we are. As it turns out, John has found a way to keep his "daughter," Eliza, alive using the Dryads. After noticing they respond to sonic vibrations, John has been using the tuning fork the make them do his bidding. It's a simple arrangement- he feeds students to the Dryads, the Dryads keep Eliza alive as a wooden woman, hidden away in the tower like some forgotten ghost. Once again, the makeup department has done its job. You genuinely believe Eliza is a woman made from wood. I especially like how they used papery twine for her hair.

They do a good job giving reasons why the housemates can't call for help. No wifi, no reception. But it is hard to imagine that over the course of decades, nobody came looking at this giant house for clues of their missing loved ones. Maybe they did and the house ate them as well. All I know is that it's mighty convenient that not one prospective tenant said to their mum or dad "Hey, I'm moving into a giant house at 11 Cardinal Road." Hell, even the Doctor helped move Bill in. What was John's big plan for when the Doctor came around looking for his "granddaughter?"

By this point, several of the housemates have been eaten by the house. Honestly, I could care less about which ones. I think Paul got his, and of course poor wooden Pavel. Or would that be wooden panel? I can't stress how little I care about these characters. Am I cold? I don't think so. We never see them on the show again. They don't matter in the slightest. With the Dryads closing in, the Doctor and Bill have to think quick. Which is when they realise that the timelines don't match up. If John were Eliza's actual father, he would be long dead. Seeing as he is not also made of wood, they deduce that he is in fact not Eliza's father, but her son. Unable to say goodbye to his ailing mother, John has been preserving her. Eliza has been through so much trauma that she has completely forgotten this fact. It's all rather depressing if I'm honest.

Depressing is okay though. What's Doctor Who without the occasion trudge through misery? Of course, it's not all doom and gloom, as Eliza restores all of the young people, once again leaving me to question why they were eaten in the first place. Were they transmuted into energy and simply recombined? It's the best explanation we're going to get, which is fine. David Suchet gives a powerful performance as he begs his mother not to end their lives. His performance is, by far, one of the strongest elements of this episode. Eliza and John are both overtaken by the Dryads, who are off presumably forever. I suppose the threat of Dryads is no longer looming now that their puppet master is no longer pulling their strings.

All in all, I find myself without much to say about this episode. It's not bad, but it's not a banger either. Even writing this review has been a bit of a slog. I find myself hard-pressed to really have any strong feelings one way or the other, and sometimes, that's just how it is. I will say it is the brownest episode of Doctor Who I’ve seen since the ‘70s. The BBC really knew how to dull down colour back then. Sigh... The best I can say about "Knock Knock," is that it's fine, really. There's nothing really wrong with it other than being kind of dull. I think if they'd have tried harder to make the characters more relatable it could have helped. Not every villain needs to be the new Daleks or Weeping Angels. Unlike some of the other episodes in my series ten rewatch, my opinion on this episode has changed very little. I would be as equally surprised to hear someone say this episode was terrible as I would be to hear it's their favourite. This is the kind of Doctor Who you can have on in the background. 

Much like we followed the lacklustre "The Unicorn and the Wasp," with the transcendent "Silence in the Library," I am very excited for the next episode in my rewatch- "Oxygen." Another anti-capitalist romp in the vein of "Smile," is just what I need right now. Now that I am back and feeling up to writing again, you should expect to see a bit more output. I wanted to cover the BBC's Youtube Dalek series, of which I have not watched a single frame. I've been putting it off because I wanted to talk about it on here. I have a few non-review articles in mind, but I don't like to promise too much. What I am saying is that you can expect more, soon! Take care!

[alatismeni-theitsa]

This post is based on my knowledge of traditions of the north and center mainland of Greece. However, I am pretty sure most of those things apply to Greek Orthodox people universally. Needless to say, each village and town can has its own local traditions when it comes to religious occasions.

I am a Greek Orthodox living in Greece, raised into the religion.

I will translate some phrases directly, hoping to give a more “raw” meaning.

If you are not sure you understood about certain information in the post, feel free to ask me on Tumblr!

Google Drive Link for the post in .docx format

Table of Contents

Philosophy.

The Church as a building and as a center of faith.

Chapels and even smaller churches.

The Communion.

Livanisma / Thimiama – Incense burning.

Home Altars.

Clothing.

Komboskini - The prayer rope.

Tama - Votive

Crosses in high places.

Wedding

Baptism

Wedding & Baptism.

Burial customs and honoring the dead.

Agiasmos - Blessing.

Protomaya.

Martis - The protective bracelet of Spring.

Easter Traditions.

Vasilopita on Christmas

Kalanda

Mount Athos

Pilgrimage to Tinos

The Catching of the Cross

More customs

Random Information

1.   Philosophy

Love and Forgiveness are the main pillars of the faith. Some people follow the Bible to the letter, others pick the parts that think reflect our age and most of people keep the general message of the teachings. The Holy Texts are interpreted differently by different people and there can be contradictions in lifestyles and believes. However, the notion that having love and forgiving is what makes you a Christian is widely believed.

Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. - 1 John 4:8

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.- 1 Corinthians 13:4-5

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. - 1 John 4:18

Don’t say ‘I am hated, and that’s why I do not love‘. For this is why you out to love the most. - Ioannis Chrysostomos

“But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” Luke 6:27

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” -  Luke 6:37    

"Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, 'Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?' Jesus answered, 'I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.' "  -  Matthew 18:21-22

 2. The Church as a building and as a center of faith

Jesus and the Apostles gave us some directions for the worship but most of practices, as well as the architecture of worship came from the Greeks themselves. I jokingly say that Greeks are low key pagans, because religion didn't change the culture. (It did, but only a bit). Christians first worshipped inside the old temples of the Hellenic gods (the Parthenon was once the temple of Virgin Mary) and they built their first churches in that style. The architecture changed with time but it still carries the mark of ancient temples.

Agios Demetrios Thessalonikis

In this link you can view the different styles of architecture for Greek Orthodox Churches. (Link)

In Orthodox churches you don't have to have a feeling of the dominance of God, like in the Catholic or protestant churches, but a feeling of warmth and belonging. In the hall you can buy a candle to light on a display of candles in the hall, to get a blessing for yourself and the soul of anyone you want. Nobody supervises you there.

You can also not pay but I haven't seen anyone not giving money, so far. After that you kiss all the icons displayed in the hall and cross yourself.

As you enter church, men on the left side, women on the right. There is also a special place for women, an interior balcony which is really cool and women go there if they want to. Nowadays man and women can go there.

 3. Chapels and even smaller churches

Chapels serve the same purpose as churches but liturgies rarely happen in them. You can get married in them sometimes.

They can be carved in stone or into a cave - even in a tree or in between multiple trees.

The also exist in big hospitals to bless the patients and invite people to pray for their sick.

They can be seen in some big hotels, too!

But the churches can become even smaller!

Traveling the roads of Greece you will see dollhouse-sized roadside chapels. Some are elaborate little things made of terracotta or even marble, plonked in the middle of nowhere, high up in the mountains; no village or houses for miles, and yet impossibly, most of them are faithfully maintained with a candle always burning inside.

There’s a number of reasons for these heartfelt shrines, some as old as the roads themselves. Placed by the roadside, an initial assumption is that they’re built to remember a victim of a traffic accident victim, and sometimes this is exactly the case. But just as often, shrines will be built by survivors of accidents, thanking a saint at the location of their ordeal.

They can be found in home yards of people who want to come closer to God

4. The Communion

We all take part in Communion with the same spoon. The Communion has bread crumbs in. Even babies drink a tiny bit of the wine (blood of Christ). Traditionally you were "unpure" if you had your period - others believed the blood of Christ would come out of you as period blood if you drunk it, so generally getting the communion during your period is a no for many.

 5. Livanisma / Thimiama – Incense burning

Today, Orthodox Christians use incense throughout the church services. The priest “censes” certain areas at certain parts of the liturgy. The incense is placed inside a device known as a “censor”, which is fairly ornate in appearance and has bells on it so that we not only smell the fragrance, but hear the jingling sound as the priest uses it. This action is meant to remind us that are prayers are rising to the heavens to be heard by God.

Typically in the Orthodox Church, dried incense cones are used. In order to provide the heat needed to allow the cones to burn, a special type of charcoal is used. You also may burn resin, such as Frankincense or Myrrh, directly in an incense burner using charcoal without taking the extra step of mixing it with a binding agent.

Churches often get their incense from special suppliers and maybe even monasteries where the monks or nuns make their own. Typical scents that are used include Frankincense, Myrrh, and Rose.

The believers can also burn incense in their homes and say prayers to ward of Evil.

6.  Home Altars

An Orthodox Christian is expected to pray (to be connected with God) constantly. According to Bishop Kallistos Ware, "In Orthodox spirituality, [there is] no separation between liturgy and private devotion." Thus the house, just like the Temple (church building), is considered to be a consecrated place, and the center of worship in the house is the icon corner.

An icon corner is normally oriented to face east. It is often located in a corner to eliminate worldly distractions and allow prayer to be more concentrated. Here is where the icons that the family owns should be located, normally including at least icons of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the Patron Saint(s) of the family.

An oil lamp normally hangs in front of the icons. The careful trimming of the lamp to keep it burning at all times is interpreted as symbolic of the attentive daily care faithful Christians should take over their souls. Relics of saints (if the family possesses any) and a Gospel Book and a blessing cross would be kept there, as well as incense, holy water, palms and pussywillow from Palm Sunday, candles from Pascha (Easter), and other sacred items, as well as a personal Commemoration Book (containing the names of family and loved ones, both living and departed, to be remembered in prayer).

7. Clothing

People should enter the church in modest attire. No shorts and no short skirts. Women don’t need to cover their head. In fact, almost no woman under 80 covers her head in church.

With special occasions being the exception, Greek Orthodox Priests wear a black himation because of the fall of Constantinople. They wear it all the time, even to grocery shopping. They have long hair and beard. In rare cases you will see women dressed with a long black cloth - something like a burqa but the whole face is uncovered. They are nuns or devoted to Christ.

 8. Komboskini - The prayer rope

The prayer rope, known in Greek as a κομποσκίνι (komboskini), has long been a powerful weapon for the Orthodox Christian. It has a very simple design, but is filled with meaning. The rope typically comes in one of three lengths, 33 knots, 50 knots, or 100 knots, though there are some in use which are as long as 500 knots. The 33 knots of the shorter rope symbolize the 33 years Christ spent on earth.

It is used in conjunction with the Prayer of the Heart. On each knot is said, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." This prayer is occasionally shortened to, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me," and other prayers are sometimes said, such as, "God be merciful to me a sinner." Prostrations can also be made with each prayer or after a certain number of prayers. By carrying a prayer rope on us discreetly, we are reminded to “pray without ceasing”.

The prayer rope is attributed to St. Pachomius (4th century). The devil would untie the simple knots he would make to count his prayers. Inspired by a vision from an angel of God, St. Pachomius was able to create a special knot composed of nine interconnected crosses (representing the nine angelic classes), that the devil was unable to untie.

 9.   Tama - Votive

Tama is a form of votive offering or ex-voto used in the Eastern Orthodox Churches, particularly the Greek Orthodox Church. Tamata are usually small metal plaques, which may be of base or precious metal, usually with an embossed image symbolizing the subject of prayer for which the plaque is offered.

The tradition comes from the ancient years, when Greeks offered metal or marble plaques to the gods, often for the cure of an ailment. Eyes may indicate an eye affliction, hands or legs may indicate maladies of the limbs, a pair of wedding crowns may mean a prayer for a happy marriage, etc.

Tama also means Promise. Usually the believers promise something to a saint in exchange for their help on something. My aunt made a tama to the saint Anastasia Farmakolitra ("saves through medicine") to change her name day from the day of the Resurrection to the day of Anastasia Farmakolitra's day if her daughter passed to Pharmaceutical School. Many promise to light big candles (Lambathes) as an offering to the saint or make a donation to their church. Making a lambatha in your height is a standard tama.

 10. Crosses in high places

The Greeks want to feel watched over by the Divine but also leave their mark in the area they live. A way to show their devotion is to place big crosses in hills and mountains which overlook their city, town or village.

In some cases you find those crosses in high, remote places.

Some crosses light up at night!

 11. Wedding 

When the priest says "and the woman should     fear the man" in a wedding, the bride may step on the groom's foot to     show dominance. 

In the bride’s shoe sole her unmarried friends     write their names. The woman whose name fades first will be the first to     marry

The relatives also put money into the shoe of the     bride “so it can fit better“ - but really it’s just a gesture to give     money to the couple

The Crowning is the highlight and focal point of     the Sacrament of Holy matrimony. The priest then takes two wedding crowns     (stefana), and blesses the bride and groom in the name of the Father, and     the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and then places the crowns upon their heads.     The Best Man or Best Woman then interchanges the crowns three times as a     witness to the sealing of the union. People keep their stefana in their     house and even frame them.

12. Baptism

Greeks take their names from their grandparents (since ancient years) and the name is kept a secret until the baptism.

It is a ceremonial moment because prior to the Christening, the individual is not yet part of the church family. In the church hall the priest asks the person to be christened to renounce Satan. If the individual is an infant, the godparent does it for the child. In the next major part of the ceremony, the person being baptized is immersed in the water three times, which is symbolic of Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection. The person is oiled - so they can be blessed and slip from the hands of Satan - and a tuft from their head is cut - to symbolize new beginnings, devotion to Christ and to give Satan less hair to grab them from. If baptized as an infant, after immersion the child is placed in the arms of the godparent with a white sheet, which symbolizes purity. Then, the child receives the sacrament of Chrismation.

The godparent gifts a golden cross to the baptized and, as long as the baptized is young, they buy them shoes for Christmas and an Easter Candle for Easter.

13. Wedding & Baptism

You can do a wedding-baptism to save money. First     the marriage, then the baptism. If the child is about to die before a     baptism gets arranged - God forbid - they get baptized in the air (and not     in water) by a priest.

Koufeta (Sugar Coated Almonds) are mainly served     in weddings but also when wedding and baptism happen in the same day. They     are placed in little bags in odd numbers and are served on a silver tray.     Odd numbers are indivisible, symbolizing how the newlyweds will share     everything and remain undivided. Tradition holds that if an unmarried     woman puts the almonds under her pillow, she'll dream of her future     husband.

After wedding and/or baptism there is - of course     - a feast with hundreds of guests. 

 14. Burial customs and honoring the dead

Pouring wine on the graves during the burial, as an offering or to prevent the dead from coming to life. (I am not sure but that is probably wine blessed in the church).

There is a feast after every mystery. Even funerals.There are more feasts for the dead as time passes. You have to do them in 3 days, 9 days and 40 days. You don't have to do all of them but it's showing respect to the dead and most people do them. 3 and 40 days feast are very important. For the 40 days feast - as for the funeral - there are flyers on the area, which invite people. When 1 year and 3 years pass you go to Church and the priest mentions the name of the dead in the blessings and later comes from the grave to chant.    

During the Sabbath of Souls you have to bring koliva (wheat) to offer to the dead in the family. Supposedly the dead "feed" from them. So it has to be boiled!

Charon is the one who takes souls in our recent tradition.

Graves stones often have sketched pictures or photos of the deceased on them.

15. Agiasmos - Blessing

The start of the New Year in the tradition of the Orthodox Church is marked with the blessing of homes and businesses with Holy Water, or an Agiasmos (literally, to make blessed). This practice commences immediately following the Feast of the Theophany (the annual celebration and remembrance of the Baptism of Jesus Christ – January 6). This blessing is not something done for good luck or to prevent bad luck, but rather a blessing to help strengthen and protect.

The following items are needed for the ceremony:

Small or medium size bowl, filled halfway with     cold tap water

Small twig of fresh basil (floral kind)

Icon displayed behind the bowl

Hand censer, lit and burning incense during the     service

The service is also provided in schools when the new school year starts. This is a particular occasion which can be annoying but also fun for the students because... water shower! Please watch this video (Link). I love it because the priest comes too close to the children - sometimes they want to bless too much - and the kids try to avoid getting wet from head to toe!

 16. Protomaya

May, according to Greek folklore, has two meanings: The good and the bad, rebirth and death. The custom celebrates the final victory of the summer against winter as the victory of the life against death go back at the ancient years and accumulated at the first day of May. This day was also dedicated to the goddess of agriculture Dimitra and her daughter Persephone, who this day emerges from the under world and comes to earth. Her coming to earth from Hades marks the blooming of nature and the birth of summer.

Another ancient celebration that Protomagia has its roots is Anthestiria, a celebration in honor of Dionysos (the Greek God of theater and parties) a festival of souls, plants and flowers, celebrating the rebirth of man and nature.

The custom of May 1st  is to decorate the doors of houses with flower wreaths in a way to welcome the power of nature into our home. The wreath is made ​​from various flowers, handpicked and knitted together. In some parts of Asia Minor, people put on each wreath, except flowers, a garlic for the evil eye, a thorn to protect the house from enemies and an ear for good harvest. The wreaths adorn the doors of the houses until the day of St. John the Harvester (June 24) when all the wreaths of the neighborhood are gathered and burnt in a big fire, the fire of the saint.

See my hashtag #protomaya for more

17. Martis - The protective bracelet of Spring

It’s said it’s an ancient tradition dating back to the cults of Demeter and Persephone. Eleusis was the ancient city where the ancients performed secret rites for the cult. As a form of initiation into the cult, which was one of the Eleusinian Mysteries, the faithful wore a bracelet called a “kroki” around both their right hand and left ankle. Amazingly, the ancient tradition still lives on today in modern Greece. However, there are certain rules that one must abide by when creating and wearing the symbolic bracelet which celebrates the arrival of Spring.

Most importantly, the bracelet must be woven on the last day of February and it must be made of white and red thread. The white thread of the bracelet symbolizes purity while the red represents life and passion.

In ancient times, people believed that the bracelet helped protect the person who was wearing it from diseases, as well as the strong rays of the spring sun during the month of March. Today they say it protects from the strong rays but also the cold of March. Since it’s a transitional month you can burn from the sunrays but you also need wood for your fireplace!

Part of the ancient tradition in Greece calls for the person wearing their red and white “Martis” bracelet to take it off and tie it to the first flowering tree they see in March, in order to yield a healthy harvest and to keep the tree healthy.

Another practice with Martis bracelets occurs when the first swallow of the Spring is sighted. The first person who sees a swallow upon the bird’s return from its winter migration, ties their bracelet around the nearest rose bush to encourage the bird to make its nest there.

 18.  Easter Traditions

Easter is the biggest celebration of the Greek Orthodox tradition. The Holy Week, preceding Easter Sunday, is a time to ponder on Jesus’ Passion and Crucifixion. It is often regarded as an opportunity for body cleansing through fasting, visiting their town of origin and embracing local traditions.

We fast for 40 days (cutting more and more foods every week). Before the fasting we have Tsiknopempti when we eat as much meat as we want, to give our body what it needs before cutting it for 40 days. (It's sort of a celebration and people go out). University restaurants and private restaurants always have fasting options this period. The first day of the fasting is called Clean Monday and it's also like a celebration. It’s the first day we start eating “fasting” food and we also fly kites!

Kyra Sarakosti - Lady Lent

She can be made out of paper or dough. Lady Lent has seven feet. They represent the seven weeks of Lent. Each passing week, on each Saturday, children get to break off one foot. This is a great visual way to countdown the weeks until Easter.

Lady Lent has no mouth. The missing mouth symbolizes fasting. No consumption of meat, dairy products or eggs. She has no ears, this means that she refuses to listen to gossip. Her cross represents the easter religious services in the church, her hands are folded for prayer.  

After the last foot is cut off, it is tradition to place this foot in a bowl with fruits and nuts and whoever finds it receives a special blessing.

You don't have to fast if you don't want to. Fasting from bad thoughts and words is equally - if not more important - than food fasting.

Epitaphios threnos (funerary lamentation) is the name of the matins of Holy Saturday, served in Good Friday evening. Within a liturgical context, this is also the name of an icon, usually made of cloth and richly embroidered, depicting the body of Christ being laid in the grave, often by the Virgin Mary and some disciples.

On Good Friday morning, the icon is placed on a platform, resembling a bier, typically topped with an elaborately carved wood canopy. In most cases, the canopy is heavily decorated with ornate flower arrangements, ribbons and sometimes candles. Young girls (the "virgins") have to adorn it with flowers.

Throughout the day, people can come into the church and venerate it. Kids have to pass under the platform in order to take a blessing.

In the evening the service begins; near the end of the ceremony, the canopied platform bearing the icon is lifted on the shoulders of priests or churchgoers (usually four to six people) and carried through the streets followed by the believers.

In towns with more than one parish, the processions starting from different churches may converge to a single spot (usually the town square), where they temporarily stop and a common hymn is sung before they resume their routes. In large towns, the chants are often performed by a marching band.

The epitaphs in the Central Square of Larissa (Short Video)

These practices have numerous variations according to regional traditions. On the island of Zakynthos in the Ionian, instead of an embroidered cloth, a lamb is used: this is a figure of the dead body of Christ, cut out from board and painted from both sides, placed vertically so that it can be seen from either side of the bier. Another famous custom, the “burning of Judas”, where an effigy of Judas is set aflame on a bonfire, is usually regarded as an Easter Sunday ritual; in some parts of Thrace and Macedonia, however, it takes place on Good Friday, after the procession. In some coastal towns, most notably on the islands of Hydra and Tinos, the men carrying the Epitaphios march right into the sea, until they are at least waist-deep in water, where they may remain for several minutes, often holding the platform high to protect it. During this time, prayers are said for the welfare and safe return of the many seafarers coming from those communities.

Watch footage from the Epitaphios procession in Kaminia, Hydra (Short Video Link)

Τhe flowers used for the adorning of the Epitaphios are considered blessed and women used to put them under their pillow for protection or to dream their future husband, or to put them in talismen for their beloved or use them as medicine, or they put them in the home altar.

On 00:01 on Easter Sunday the priests happily chant "Christ has risen from the dead!" in one of the most known and iconic chants in Greek Orthodoxy. There are fireworks and we kiss each other on the cheek having this exchange: - Christ has risen! - True! This exchange is used by many as a greeting for 40 days after the resurrection. In the Resurrection the priest offers the Holy Light and people go to get it and pass it to their own company or anyone else who asks for it. The candle is held in candles you buy yourself but for children their god parents buy them. With the smoke of this fire you make a cross above your door and you don't clean it up - never. A door can have multiple black crosses above it. With the Holy Light you light up the lamps of your home altar. Some people have breaking eggs contests right after the announcement of the Resurrection, others do them when they come home. We also eat a special soup that night called Magiritsa. It has meat so with this we cut our feast. When the morning comes we host family gatherings and eat as much meat as we want.

19. Vasilopita on Christmas

The Greek word Vasilopita is directly translated as “Sweet Bread of Basil”. When the Vasilopita is prepared, a coin is baked into the ingredients. When the observance begins, usually on New Years Day, the bread is traditionally cut by the senior member of the family, and the individual who receives the portion of the Pita which contains the coin is considered Blessed for the New Year.

Vasilopita is also cut in educational institues and the workplace. Whoever finds the coin usually receives a gift.

This age old tradition commenced in the fourth century, when Saint Basil the Great, who was a bishop, wanted to distribute money to the poor in his Diocese. He wanted to preserve their dignity, so as not to look like charity, he commissioned some women to bake sweetened bread, in which he arranged to place gold coins. Thus the families in cutting the bread to nourish themselves, were pleasantly surprised to find the coins.

20. Kalanda

Caroling (kalanda) has roots in ancient Greece. Children would carry small boats and sing songs honoring Dionysius. In Ancient Greece the children would praise the head of the household. At this time in history they would also gift the head of the household with an olive branch, which signified prosperity. Greek Christmas carols date back to the Byzantine times.

After singing for the household, the children receive money (and sometimes sweets). Before the financial crisis one could gather hundreds of euros from Kalanda.

Children say Kalanda on Christmas Eve, on New Years Eve, on Epiphany Even and Lazaros Sabbath. The songs are different for those four occasions.

21. Mount Athos

Mount Athos is a mountain and peninsula in northeastern Greece and an important centre of Eastern Orthodox monasticism. It is governed as an autonomous polity within the Hellenic Republic. Mount Athos is home to 20 monasteries. It’s commonly referred to as Agion Oros (Άγιον Όρος, 'Holy Mountain').

According to the Athonite tradition, the Virgin Mary was sailing accompanied by St John the Evangelist from Joppa to Cyprus to visit Lazarus. When the ship was blown off course to then-pagan Athos, it was forced to anchor near the port of Klement, close to the present monastery of Iviron. The Virgin walked ashore and, overwhelmed by the wonderful and wild natural beauty of the mountain, she blessed it and asked her Son for it to be her garden. From that moment the mountain was consecrated as the garden of the Mother of God and was out of bounds to all other women.

22. Pilgrimage to Tinos

15 August is a national holiday in Greece and sees a mass departure from the cities to the islands and holiday homes in the mainland. However one island in particular witnesses more activity than most; the island of Tinos. Across Tinos are churches and shrines, the most famous of which is Panagia Evangelistria, the most holy church in Greece which houses the ‘Miraculous Icon of Virgin Mary’. In the Greek Orthodox religion, the Icon is considered to be the protector of all of Greece.

In the Orthodox Church the 15th is ‘Virgin Mary Assumption Day’ where the Virgin is believed to have ascended to heaven. The ritual of travelling to pay homage to such a sacred Icon at this time is highly emotional for Pilgrims, with the Holy Icon in Tinos serving as a main passage between the Virgin and the believers who seek comfort and miracles on their trip.

Often pilgrims crawl to the church from the boats that they arrive on on their hands and knees to show their devotion and pray for compassion, good health and healing. The final part of the pilgrimage often happens in the blazing heat which makes the effort even more momentous.

The atmosphere at and around the Church in the days proceeding the event is sincere and intense. Other pilgrims will arrive at Tinos the night before and sleep in front of the Church to ensure they have the opportunity to see and pray to the Holy Icon.

On the day itself the Holy Icon is carried through the streets of Tinos by members of the Greek army and navy, followed by the Greek Orthodox priests, political figures and the public. The procession leads down to the port when the Icon is stationed on a marble podium and speeches are made. The desire of members of the public to touch the icon often leads to a frenetic atmosphere as pilgrims try to touch the Icon itself. After the procession and speeches the Holy Icon is returned to the Church.

__________________________________________

In the same day Epitaphs of the Virgin Mary are honored and are taken to the streets so everyone can pay their respects. 

23. The Catching of the Cross

On the sixth of January, the Christmas holidays in Greece officially come to an end with the ‘festival of light’ (‘ton foton’ in Greek), also known as Epiphany.

In the Greek Orthodox Church, Epiphany is celebrated as the revelation of Christ as the messiah and second person of the trinity, at his baptism, by John the Baptist, in the River Jordan. 

Another cause for celebration in the Greek Orthodox Church on this day is that Christ’s baptism was only one of two occasions when all three persons of the trinity revealed themselves, at the same time, to humanity:

 God the Father, speaking from the clouds, God the Son, being baptized in the River Jordan, and God the Holy Spirit, revealed as a dove, descending from heaven.

On Epiphany, the Greek Orthodox Church performs

 the ‘Great Blessing of the Waters’.
 This ceremony is usually performed twice, once on the eve of Epiphany which is performed in the church, and then again on the actual day outdoors with priests blessing large bodies of water, sea, rivers, lakes etc.

The tradition is that

 a priest, surrounded by brave young men and boys, throws a cross into the sea, either from the harbour or from a boat at sea; the minute the cross leaves the priest’s hand, the divers jump into the freezing water to catch the cross. The lucky one who finds and returns the cross is blessed by the priest. As the cross is victoriously brought back, the priest releases a white dove, as a symbol of the holy spirit. 
This tradition is carried out to commemorate the baptism of Christ and to bless the waters.

  24. More customs

Each city, town and village is protected by a different saint. When the saint of the area celebrates a fair is organized. There is music, dance and stalls where the peddlers sell their merchandise.

But Greeks know that some of their customs are not approved by the church. We do it anyways and sometimes the priests join, too!

Το celebrate the Epiphany and chase away the evil spirits some residents dress up in scary attire and make a lot of noise with their voice and bells. They drink excessively, they dance and even fight with each other “to the death“ (it’s fake, don’t worry!). This custom exists in many areas of Greece, from Thrace to Cyprus. Even though the people who dress up have many names - momogeroi, babougera, ragoutsia etc - they all symbolize the carefree spirit, childish fun and trickery. Don’t get in their way because they will chase you though the village!

In these festivals there are different characters like the bride, the devil, the cop etc, who can symbolize fertility, the New Year, the Old Year and other concepts.

Sometimes the bride (usually played by a man) is abducted and it’s said to be a remnant of a re-enactment of the abduction of the goddess Persephone by Hades.

In other areas the Dionysiac character of the festival is eccentuated by the presence of a man who pretends ot be the god of wine, vegetation, happiness, Dionysos.

In some areas there is also dancing around a gaitanaki!

In some areas a fake camel (three people under a cloth) is presented on the streets. It probably started as a spectacle for kids but in some cases today it’s a symbol of resilience and patience. It can also remind us of the magi who rode camels to visit baby Jesus.

There is also the story where a Greek woman is abducted by a Turk and three young men pretend to be a camel to enter the Turk’s wedding with her and steal her back! (Something like the Trojan Horse!)

25. Random Information

Namedays are the days when the saint who has your     name died. It's said that you actually take your name from them - even if     it comes from your grandparents the saint is the reason you have it.     In that day you bring treats to your school or work, or you treat your     friends to drinks or coffee. People give you wishes ("enjoy your     name" is the most common) and they call you on the phone to wish if     they are away. The most common name in Greece is Maria and in Maria’s     nameday everybody has to call half of their relatives and friends to wish.     It’s a bit offensive if someone doesn’t remember your nameday or if they     don’t call.

We bring food to the workplace in happy events -     like when your child was accepted into a university.

Lots of people cross themselves when they pass     outside a church.  They could be passing on foot, on the bus, or even     when they drive a motorcycle.

You also cross yourself when you call god for     protection or when you hear something strange (accompanied with "come     Christ and Virgin Mary!")

Making embroidery with the face of Jesus and/or     Virgin Mary is a thing.

40 days after the pregnancy women and their     newborns can     woman can go out of the house but they have to go to Church to be blessed     by a priest first.

We say "Christ!" when a person is     chocked and "Small healths!" when someone is sneezing.     When a baby is yawning bad spirits could come in so we cross their mouth.     We also give them eye bendants so the Evil Eye won't get to them. People     spit (just saying "ftou ftou ftou") the child after saying good     words for them so they can protect them from others who will flatter them     with malice. The Evil Eye is recognised by the Church. See more in my #mati     tag.

Bell ringing every day before the morning and     evening liturgy. It also chimes every hour. On Good Friday it rings solemnly all day.

Priests are considered spiritual leaders by many     in the sense they can listen to you and guide you like a psychologist. "My spiritual" people     call them.

You don't have to have your mind unguarded,     that's why Greek orthodoxy is against yoga which teaches the emptying of     mind 

Mondays and Wednesdays of all year are for     fasting - just meaning you don't eat meat. Some people also fast sexually on those days.

Hatzis- (from middle eastern "hajj") is     for people visiting the holy land (Israel) on pilgrimage.

The icons of saints you buy have to be blessed by     the Church before you hang them, so they can offer you a connection to the     divine.

Every day at school children gather in the yard     and one child says the Lord’s Prayer

We don't know the hymns by heart. They are too     many and long. But there are books you can read and older people (usually     women) usually study them.

All the saints in hagiographies look kinda     malnourished because they are supposed to avoid the earthly     pleasures. 

We give epithets to the saints according to their     characteristics - like we did with our ancient gods.

Lots of saints probably “covered” the dominions of older deities because Greeks were used to having smaller powerful entities for different stuff (there is even a saint who helps you find stuff if you dedicate a pie to the church)

We have a set of explanations for dreams (Ονειροκρίτης). For example, if you see something very good in your sleep about a person, misfortune will find them. If you see them dying, they will live for many years.

We read the future in the bottom of the cup of Greek coffee.

From the Byzantine era and today people buy holy wood - from the cross of Christ they say - and bones of saints. In the old time those were also used for witchcraft.If you are born on a Saturday you     don't see creatures or ghosts. Also people born on Saturday are lucky and     whatever they wish comes true.

Dick festivals are a thing in some areas and they mostly happen on Greek Carnival. Traditional sex songs with dances are also a     thing.

Virgin Mary is the mother of Greece, and you see her as a mermaid even. We are pretty chill with our divine figures - we use them in swearing a lot, too.

Many people cross themselves before and after     eating.

We take oil blessed from the Church and we put it     in the lamps of our home altars. We also anoint people who want to keep     safe with it. (My grandma made a cross in my forehead, for example). Many     take it home the myrrh produced by the bodies of saints.

We place a bone of a saint on the ground where a     church is going to be built.

Sometimes we call a priest to bless our new     vehicle!

Also, it’s not a very safe practice but a lot of people hand crosses and icons from their front mirror.

Notice that the #mati is also there!

[swanqueeneverafter]

Sins of the Past Pt.6

Camelot. Past. Forest. Night. (With the help of Arthur, Morgana and Mordred have successfully escaped the castle grounds. After riding a short distance, they meet the Druids in the woods.) Iseldir: “We are forever indebted to you, Morgana Pendragon, for returning the boy to us.” Morgana: “You must not let it be known that it was I who brought him to you.” Iseldir: “We will tell no one. You have my word.” (The Druids turn to leave.) Morgana: “Wait, please! I need your help. There have been incidents… I fear I may have…“ (Morgana is unable to say the words.) Mordred: (Telepathically to Iseldir:) "She is like us. She holds great power.” Morgana: “Did you hear that? (To Mordred:) How did you do that?” Iseldir: “We don’t always need words to speak to one another.” Mordred: (Looks to Iseldir, who nods. Holds out his hand to Morgana:) “Now I can take care of you, like you did me.” (Taking the boy’s hand, Morgana allows herself to be lead deeper into the woods, towards the Druid’s camp.) Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. Present. (Emma prepares breakfast in the kitchen when her phone rings.) Emma: (Answering:) “Hey, Lily. What? Seriously? No, of course I’ll cover you. (Disappointed:) Yeah, I’m coming in. Bye. (Hangs up:) Dammit.” Bedroom. (Placing the food-laden tray on the bed, Emma walks over to the bathroom and opens the door.) Emma: (Calling out:) “Gina, I’ve got to go in to work. Lily’s been called to Arendelle.” Regina: (From the shower:) “What?! (Turns off the water:) Today’s your day off.” Emma: “I know, but Lily’s covered plenty for me since the baby and- (Regina pulls back the glass partition to glare at Emma in all her naked, wet glory:) Oh, Jesus.” Regina: “Get Hook to cover you. God knows he likes playing cops and robbers lately.” Emma: (Averting her gaze:) “They can’t find him. Lily thinks he went on some drunken bender with Rumple.” Regina: (Muttering:) “I knew those two becoming best pals would bite me in the ass someday.” Emma: (Glancing at her wife then quickly closing her eyes:) “I’m sorry. (Backing out of the room:) I’ll try to be back as soon as I can.” Regina: (In a softer tone:) “Emma, look at me.” Emma: (Opening one eye slowly:) “Oh, you don’t play fair.” Regina: (Pressing herself up against the glass:) “Are you sure you have to go?” Emma: (Her mouth suddenly extremely dry:) “Yes. (Closing her eyes tightly shut again:) Yes. I’ve got to, I’m sorry. (Emma turns and leaves the bathroom, immediately stubbing her toe on the armoire, which causes the sheriff to hop on one foot. Losing her balance, Emma falls backwards, making just enough contact with the bed before hitting the floor to send the food tray toppling over on top of her:) Great. Just great.”

Storybrooke Free Public Library. (Mulan gently deposits Merida on a makeshift cot at the back of the library.) Belle: "Wouldn’t the hospital be a better place to take her?” Mulan: (Shaking her head:) “You know how delicate the political landscape in Dun Broch is. If anyone gets word that Merida is sick, there’ll be a power struggle.” Belle: “So you brought her here?” Mulan: (Holding up the petal:) “This was in the goblet she drank from. Anhora claims to have no knowledge of how it got there, but I know you’ll have a better idea than Whale of what flower this came from.” Alice: (Feeling Merida’s forehead:) “She’s burning up.” Belle: (Taking the petal from Mulan:) “Fetch Alice some water and a towel.” (Mulan nods and does as she’s told while Belle pulls out a book.) Alice: “Is she going to be alright?” Belle: “I won’t know until I can identify the poison.” Alice: “Her brow’s on fire.” Mulan: (Returning:) “Here. Keep her cool; it’ll help control her fever.” Wonderland. Morning. (Will is asleep against a tree as the sounds of chopping can be heard.) Will: (Jumping awake as a branch lands on him:) “What the bloody hell!” Ella: “Oh good, you’re up.” Will: “What are you doing?” Ella: (Continues practicing her swordplay on a defenseless tree:) “I’m getting ready. I’m a bit rusty.” Will: (As another tree limb goes flying:) “There. Now you’ve gone and hurt the tree. Happy?” Ella: “I’ll be happy once we find my mother. We need to get moving. We’ve been in Wonderland for too long. Our enemies know we’re here.” Will: “Our enemies? Who would they be?” Ella: “Excellent question. (Holds out her hand:) Come on. (Pulls Will to his feet:) I have a plan, Will.” Will: “Of course you do.” Ella: “Our biggest problem is we don’t know where my mother is. She could be trapped somewhere, or captured.” Will: “Look, is there any chance of a coffee? I can’t really think until-” Ella: (Continues:) “But then I realized we don’t need to know where she is.” Will: “Oh, we don’t?” Ella: “Because we know something. Something nobody else does.” Will: “I’m not sure you’re clear on what the word ‘we’ means.” Ella: “Come on, Will. Time to get going.” Storybrooke. Dragon’s Lair. (While Xena sits picking the olives off her pizza, Henry sits talking with Gabrielle about writing.)

Gabrielle: “The best advice I can give you is to write what you know.” Henry: “But that’s just it. I’ve already written everything I know. I was ‘The Author’. I’ve written three storybooks. I even wrote my own happy ending and still…” Gabrielle: (Nods:) “Retirement not turning out to be all it’s cracked up to be huh?” Henry: (Scoffs:) “I’m working more now than I ever have.” Gabrielle: “Some would argue that’s not a bad thing. For the longest time traveling with Xena, all I wanted was for her to find a sense of peace. For us to settle down somewhere and grow old together. But now, since coming to this land where everyone seems to have found their place in the world… I don’t know how to put it into words. It’s like-” Xena: “It’s god-damn irritating is what it is.” Henry: (Turning towards her:) “Thank you! (Xena nods before devouring her pizza:) Everyone around here seems so settled and happy. Meanwhile Ella and I are still struggling. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s great that everyone’s together and at peace but-” Gabrielle: “You feel like you’re playing catch up to everyone else’s happiness?” Henry: “Honestly, sometimes? Yeah.” Wonderland. (Ella and Will travel through the forest. Ella uses her sword to cut through the tree branches as Will follows a short distance behind.) Ella: “Keep up, would you? We’re making good time.” Will: “You’re thinking about what happens if we find her?” Ella: “When. When we find her.” Will: “What if it’s nothing like you thought?” Ella: “Meaning?” Will: “Well I just think to protect yourself, you should consider the possibility that things may be different. You’ve been apart a long time.” Ella: “My mother is waiting for me. She needs me.” Will: “Then why hasn’t she contacted you?” Ella: “The only reason she hasn’t contacted me is because she must be in trouble. That’s why we need to pick up the pace.” Will: “Or she’s moved on.” Ella: “Not a chance. Nothing will get in the way of us being together. (They finally come to the end of the tree line:) Except possibly this. (A large lake sits before them:) I suppose we could swim across.” Will: “No, we can’t.” Ella: “If you’re afraid of dangers lurking beneath the surface, I can handle-” Will: “I can’t swim.” Ella: “How have you lived your whole life and never -” Will: “I was doing other things.” Ella: “Like what?” Will: “Like being afraid of water. When Alice almost drowned in that frozen lake, it was the last time I got anywhere near the water.” Ella: “Fine. We’ll just have to wait for the ferry.” Will: “How do you know about the ferry?” Ella: “Alice told me.” Will: “Hm. Or better idea, we walk around it.” Ella: “Walk around the entire thing? That would take two days at least. We’re taking the ferry.” (Ella walks onto the beach and begins to clap.) Will: (When Ella glares back at him:) “Oh, for…” (Will joins her on the beach and together they begin clapping. In no time at all, Ella spots something in the distance and waves.) Ella: “There she is. Over here, Fairy.” Silvermist: (Landing before them:) “I am the fairy Silvermist. Where may I… I.” Will: “Heya, Silv. (She slaps him:) How’s it going? (She slaps him again:) There it is.” Ella: “I take it you two know each other?”

Silvermist: (To Will:) “Awfully bold of you to show your face in this part of Wonderland. Do you know how many people are looking for you?” Will: “Might be easier to figure out how many aren’t.” Silvermist: “You think you’re funny?” Will: “I think I’m buggered no matter what I say right now.” Ella: “Perhaps you two might continue reminiscing while we make our way across the lake.” Will: (Whispers:) “I think we have to walk.” Silvermist: (Composing herself, to Ella:) “Not at all. I’m happy to take you.” Ella: “The both of us? Are you sure?” Silvermist: “Of course. It’s my job, and I’m a professional. I don’t let feelings get in the way of my work, especially old feelings that I’ve completely moved on from.” Ella: “Okay. Thank you very much.” (Ella nudges Will in the side.) Will: “Yeah, thank you very much.” Ella: “Excellent.” Silvermist: “Don’t worry. You can trust me. I’m here to help.” (Waving her wand and showering them both with fairy dust, Silvermist turns and heads over the water, Will and Ella flying through the sky behind her.) Camelot. Past. Morgana’s Chambers. Day. (Servants clean up the burnt fragments and glass scattered across Morgana’s floor.) Guinevere: “I came back in with some extra blankets. There was a candle, but I put it out.” Uther: “Are you sure?” Guinevere: “I blew it out, I swear.” Uther: “She could’ve been burnt alive.” Arthur: “Lightning struck the castle roof last night, that could’ve started the fire.” Uther: “No, this was no accident.” Arthur: “What other explanation is there, My Lord?” Uther: “Last night my daughter attempted to return the druid boy to his people and this morning I find her window broken and the curtains torched. The answer is simple. The Druids saw Morgana as easy prey. They used their powers to break into the castle, retrieve the boy and take my daughter hostage. (To Arthur:) We’ve long suspected that the Druids are hiding in the forest of Essetir. Take no prisoners. It’s time we rid ourselves of these Druids once and for all.” (Uther leaves. Guinevere starts to protest when Arthur stops her.) Arthur: “Listen to me. You must leave, find Morgana and warn the Druids. I cannot go against Uther’s orders. I’ve done all that I can. It’s now down to you to save them, Guinevere.” Druid Camp, Morgana’s Tent. (The Druid leader Aglain enters.) Aglain: “I trust you slept well?” Morgana: “Better than I’ve done in days.” Aglain: “Here, this might make you feel more at home.” (Aglain hands her a druid cloak.) Forest. (Leading the King’s soldiers, Arthur pursues Morgana’s trail with dogs.) Druid Camp. (Aglain walks with Morgana.) Aglain: “They are surprised to see you here, if not a little afraid. Your father would have us killed.” Morgana: “They have nothing to fear from me. I do not share Uther’s hatred of magic.” Aglain: “No. I imagine you wouldn’t. These forests are dangerous. What brings you so far from Camelot?” Morgana: “I’m searching for answers. I hope the Druids might be able to give them to me.” Aglain: “Come.” (Aglain ushers her into his tent.)

Aglain’s Tent. (Guinevere sneaks into the Druid camp and listens in on Aglain’s conversation with Morgana.) Aglain: “What would you like to know?” Morgana: “Why I can see the future in my dreams. Why I’m able to start fires with my mind.” Aglain: “People who are able to do this are few and far between. You have a gift.” Morgana: “Is it magic?” Aglain: “Of a kind, yes. But it will be many years before you’re able to understand it fully, let alone use it. This isn’t something to be afraid of.” Morgana: “It is if you have Uther as your father. If he found out, lord only knows what he’d do.” Aglain: “He won’t.” Morgana: “But if he did…” Aglain: “We won’t let that happen. You’re safe here. You shouldn’t be scared of Uther. You should pity him.” Morgana: “Pity? Why?” Aglain: “Because he’s a broken man, consumed by fear. His hatred of magic has driven goodness from his heart.” Morgana: “I’ve always been taught that magic is evil, that it corrupts your soul.” Aglain: “Uther told you this. Just because he decrees it, doesn’t make it so. In time you will learn that magic isn’t a dark art that must be shrouded in secrecy. It can be a force for good.” Storybrooke. Present. (Emma pulls into a seemingly abandoned alleyway in a police cruiser. Getting out of the car, she looks around before reaching through the window for the radio.) Emma: "Sheriff Swan calling base, there’s nobody here, are you sure this is the right place.” Regina: (Stepping out from around the corner:) “Oh, I’m sure, Sheriff.” Emma: “Nevermind. (Replaces radio:) We got an anonymous tip there was a ‘street walker’ down this alley. I’m guessing that was you?” Regina: (Smirks:) “You didn’t think there would be an actual street walker in my town, did you, Sheriff?” Emma: “Well, now that you mention it… where’s Maria?” Regina: (Leaning against a chain-link fence:) “I got a call moments after you ran out of the house this morning from Anna of all people. She apologised for messing up our plans and offered to take Maria for a few hours.” Emma: “And you let her?” Regina: “She said I would be doing her a favour. It seems her ice-farming husband needs a little warming up to the idea of having kids of their own.” Emma: “Speaking of warming up. (Stares at Regina:) You look incredible.” Regina: (Smiles:) “Seeing as you were so eager to go to work, I’d thought I’d stop by and make sure you do your job.” Emma: “Do my job? (Regina nods:) Well as far as I know, there’s no law against looking sexy in a public place, Madam Mayor.” Regina: “No? (Running her hands down her sides, slowly draws up the bottom of her dress to reveal her black stocking tops before drawing a familiar pair of red panties down over her thighs and stepping out of them, much to the Sheriff’s delight. Holding them up:) How about now?” Emma: “Is that my underwear?” Regina: “Mmhmm. By my count that’s theft and indecent exposure.” Emma: “Oh I see nothing indecent here and since we’re married, what’s mine is yours anyway.” Regina: “Is that right? Hm, well I guess... (Begins to climb on to the hood of the car:) I’ll just have to get more creative.” Emma: “So you want me to arrest you, is that it?” Regina: (Nods:) “Mmhmm.” (Regina turns her body so that she is now sitting on the hood of the car, allowing Emma to stand between her legs.) Emma: “In that case, you have the right to remain silent. (Regina wraps her legs around her waist:) Although I really wouldn’t object to you screaming just a little bit. (They begin to make out:) Anything you say, (Kiss:) can be held against you.” Regina: “Mm you promise?” (Regina’s hands travel to Emma’s jeans and unbuckles them, lowering them to her knees.) Emma: (Feeling Regina’s hands running over her body:) “Oh God, we can’t do this here. Hold on to me.” Regina: (Now sucking Emma’s neck:) “Not a problem, Sheriff.” (With some difficulty, Emma lifts Regina into her arms and walks, or rather waddles, towards the back of the car. Somehow opening the door, she manages to gently deposit Regina in the back seat and close the door. Pulling up her jeans as she hurries around to the front of the car. Emma gets behind the wheel and turns on the engine.) Emma: “I’ll radio ahead and tell everyone at the station to take an early lunch. (Looking to see Regina perform a few more public indecencies in the back seat:) Good God woman, control yourself! Better let people know to get out of my way. (Flicks on the siren:) We’re coming in hot!”

Storybrooke Free Public Library. (With Ruby having now joined them, Alice & Mulan continue to care for Merida while Belle searches for a cure.) Belle: (Finding something:) “Ah. The petal comes from the Mortaeus flower. It says here that someone poisoned by the Mortaeus can only be saved by a potion made from the leaf of the very same flower. It can only be found in the caves deep beneath the Forest of Balor. The flower grows on the roots of the Mortaeus tree.” Alice: (Pointing to a picture of something:) “That’s not particularly friendly.” Belle: “A Cockatrice. It guards the forest. Its venom is potent. A single drop would mean certain death. Few who have crossed the Mountains of Isgaard in search of the Mortaeus flower have made it back alive.” Mulan: (Intrigued:) “Sounds like fun.” Ruby: “Mulan, it’s too dangerous.” Mulan: (To Belle:) “If I don’t get the antidote, what happens to Merida?” Belle: (Reading:) “The Mortaeus induces a slow and painful death. She may hold out for four, maybe five days, but not for much longer. Eventually she will die.” Mulan: “I won’t fail, I promise you.” Ruby: “Well you’re not going alone no matter what you think. Look what happens when I let you have all the fun.” Mulan: (Smiles, to Belle:) “We’ll find the antidote and bring it back.” Camelot. Past. Forest. (Arthur and the guards reach the woods near the Druid camp and see the smoke from their fires.) Arthur: “Remember the King’s orders! (Hesitantly:) No prisoners!” Druid Camp. Morgana’s Tent. (Guinevere enters.) Morgana: “Guin! What are you doing here?” Guinevere: “I’ve come to take you back to Camelot.” Morgana: “Then I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I’m never going back.” Guinevere: “I’m sorry, but you have to.” Morgana: “Why? You’re the one who said I should seek out the Druids.” Guinevere: “I never realised what the repercussions would be.” Morgana: “What repercussions?” Guinevere: “The King thinks you’ve been kidnapped. He won’t stop until you’re found. He’s arrested dozens of people. He’s gonna execute them all.” Morgana: “If I return, the same fate awaits me.” Guinevere: “Uther doesn’t need to know about this. I won’t tell a soul.” (Arthur and guards approach the camp.) Morgana: “I’m sorry. I’m never going back. These are my people. They’re like me. I don’t feel so alone here. Do you understand?” Aglain: (Enters:) “Morgana, we must go. Who are you?” Morgana: “I–it’s alright, she’s a friend. What’s wrong?” Aglain: “Arthur and his men are coming. Your friend has led him straight to us.”

(The Druids run, trying to escape Arthur and the guards. Arthur sees Mordred and Aglain helping Morgana run away.) Arthur: “This way!” (Guinevere runs with Mordred, Morgana, and Aglain through a rock valley.) Aglain: “We’ve got to keep moving!” Morgana: “My ankle, I think it’s twisted. It’s too painful!” Guinevere: “I’ll try to create a diversion.” Morgana: “No, Guin, you can’t!” Guinevere: “You carry on! It’s my fault they’re here! Go! Go!” Morgana: “I’ll never forget this.” (Guinevere picks up a large tree branch and uses it to dislodge some precariously positioned rocks, causing a blockage in the path. Pulling up her hood, Guinevere runs.) Arthur: “There!” (Arthur pursues the hooded figure. Guinevere jumps and hides under a protruding rock. Arthur and his men jump right over her. Guinevere runs back. Guards spot Morgana’s party anyway.) Guard: “Over there!” (Morgana slumps to the ground.) Morgana: “I can’t go on.” Aglain: “We’re not leaving you behind.” Morgana: “Please.” (Morgana faints.) Mordred: “They’re coming!” (Aglain is shot with a crossbow. Mordred runs.) Guard: “Arthur! We have the Lady Morgana!” (Mordred runs, but is surrounded by guards. Guinevere stops running and watches Mordred use his powers to throw three guards backwards then run off into the distance.) Storybrooke. Present. Sheriff’s Station. (Anna, with baby Maria in her arms, enters the station.) Anna: “We’re back, Emma. You can call Regina now and tell her you’re coming-” Lily: (Entering the room:) “I think she already knows.” (Directing her attention towards the cells, Lily smirks as Anna gasps and covers the baby’s eyes.) Anna: “-Home.” Emma: (Emerging from a jail cell, sheepishly:) “Hey. Did you guys have any luck?” Lily: (Peeking around Emma to get a look at her cell mate:) “Not as much as you it seems.” Emma: (Standing to block her view:) “I meant did you manage to find a singer for Elsa’s party?” Lily: “Yep, and by mutual agreement, which is rare for us.” Anna: “Not that rare. I mean okay we don’t agree on everything, but neither do me and Elsa and she’s been my sister a lot longer than you have.” Emma: “Not officially.” Lily: “Cool it, Emma.” Regina: (Stepping out of the cell with a handcuff dangling from one wrist:) “We’re glad we could help.” Anna: (Staring at Regina’s bare legs, catches herself:) “Ah, yeah. Well this is yours. (Awkwardly hands Maria to Emma:) And we should be going.” Emma: “Oh no, you guys stay, we’ll go. (Over her shoulder to Regina:) You got everything?” Regina: “And then some. (Smiling to Lily and Anna:) Feel free to call us, anytime.” (With a wave of her hand, Regina poofs herself, Emma and Maria out of the station, leaving a blushing Anna and a very amused Lily in their wake.)

[eturni]

Day 13 - Gift wrap

Day 13 of @drawlight​​ ‘s advent calendar challenge. https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/189391982184/drawlight-drawlight-aziraphale-crowley-for Today is technically wrapping paper. Instead it’s gift wrap as there’s an early form of wrapping presents in cloth called furoshiki. Featuring a hot spring in the winter, a female presenting Aziraphale and a writer who is just so tired guys.

I’m travelling all day today so I wanted to get it posted but set straight to writing after getting finished working overnight counting votes. Please either forgive or point out any glaring errors.

“You know I am absolutely not getting out until spring, right angel?” Crowley groused as he lowered himself into a sinfully warm hot spring with a low groan of relief. There were dozens upon dozens of yuzu floating in the water; filling the air with the rich tart scent. That and the mixture of heat and steam were almost enough to make Crowley forgive Aziraphale for deciding that a crowded onsen halfway up a mountain in the middle of winter would be a god place to bring a demon with a serpent aspect for a meeting.

Almost.

As it was he planned to grouse and bitch as well as Aziraphale himself until he felt suitably mollified or at least got an apology. Then he would go find the gift that he had left with his clothes, carefully wrapped in furoshiki cloth and kept cool and dry away from the spring, just to watch the angel light up from within and no doubt immediately give in to his hedonistic tendencies.

He soon found his sunglasses fogged up and absently expended a minor miracle to keep them clear while he was here. Even the new clarity didn’t reveal Aziraphale to him. At least the angel had blessedly chosen a suitably busy spot that they could blend in to a degree. They might stick out like a sore thumb really but most angels and demons likely didn’t have enough clue about humans to notice the difference.

It made it all the more alarming that he hadn’t spotted Aziraphale yet. He could definitely get the sense that the other was here.

“Aziraphale?”

Startled by the very sudden and obvious accent a young man next to Crowley spun around. Then craned his neck a little upwards. “Over there. I think.” He offered, a slightly nervous smile that Crowley brushed off. Even with his eyes covered humans often somehow knew that there was something unsafe about him.

“Come on what the heaven are you pla-”

The demon all but froze in the water, mouth going a little dry as the heat of the water and the air around him suddenly became so much more noticeable. He thought he’d been prepared for this. He was not prepared at all for Aziraphale to have chosen a more feminine presentation. Even in a more masculine corporation Aziraphale was softness and gentle rolling hills. Feminine she’s all curves with barely a hint of a hard edge on her and thankfully, blessedly, terribly covered from the chest down by the water.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/51964078 or:

Crowley could see, if he ventured. He could glance below the rippling water and drink up what he found there. He wouldn’t survive it, like taking in holy water willingly, would be changed forever and unable to go back. He kept his gaze up; where slightly longer hair just grazed the edges of shoulders. Pure white like a halo in the light coming down from the mountain.

“Oh, Crowley!” The voice tipped a little higher than usual and Crowley felt his own throat constrict. The exclamation sounded almost breathy with the new voice and Crowley wondered that he might discorporate or worse if he didn’t get his thoughts under control. “I’m so glad you could make it. Sorry. I was just speaking with this gentleman here about procuring an early copy of the Tale of Genji. You see it’s the most wonderful story-”

Crowley felt himself smile despite the cold outside and despite his insistence that he would be mad as hell about it. There was something about listening to Aziraphale go on about books that made him feel terribly fond and he almost lost track of the conversation just letting the lilt of her voice wash over the core of him.

“Are you even paying attention?” Finally came through. Aziraphale sat there with a single eyebrow raised and a pout to her lips that Crowley desperately wanted to press a thumb against, just to watch the water press its sheen there.

“Yeah just, you were going on a bit and did you have business you wanted to discuss?” He swallowed down the uncertainty and moved up a little closer to Aziraphale regardless, watching the angel narrow her eyes and continue to rest in the water with an air that, while equally haughty as a man, had some edge to it in a more feminine corporation that gave Crowley pause.

Indeed, though Aziraphale had taken to Japan like -whichever animal takes well to water-  there was evidently a certain amount of distance that she commanded from those around her.

Crowley had no way of knowing it at that precise moment but it was partially because the angel’s pale skin and paler hair had very nearly had her mistaken for a yuki-onna recently. While on closer inspection she was clearly just a very odd sort of foreigner there was still a certain degree of anxiety that her presence caused over winter.

“Well yes. I had rather hoped we could take in some of the more traditional activities first but if you are going to be a bother about it.”

Crowley was already scrambling for a ‘no bother at all, just wondering’ or something of the like when Aziraphale stood and the world tipped on its axis threatening to buck the demon off. He had the hysterical thought for just a moment that he should grab something to stop himself falling off but the only thing close to him were bobbing yuzu and soft thick <i>thighs</i> and the thought alone stopped Crowley from being able to think at all.

When reason returned to him Aziraphale was already gently folding a towel over herself; furoshiki gift wrap over a present Crowley didn’t deserve and wouldn’t dare ask for but desperately coveted nonetheless.

“Now, there’s a wonderful tea house nearby that we can certainly sit in to discuss business. It is, perhaps, just as busy but they do offer private rooms for sensitive matters.”

A sound caught in Crowley’s throat that tried to be an assent but just wrapped itself around a few random consonants and hoped for the best. He was following Aziraphale’s pointed tilt of the head before he had time to remember that the air was frigid and he’d been in a bath. Luckily a towel was pressed into his hands by someone thinking a lot more pragmatically than his poor, lust-addled brain could even try to. She even did him the favour of rerouting him to the men’s area when he was about to follow her blindly out of the baths.

All the time in the world to try and press those images, and reactions, down would never be enough so it was unsurprising that Crowley remained mute and pliable when Aziraphale met him outside of the establishment.

Her kimono had been hand made at some point while she was here and somehow having more of her skin covered under more layers only made Crowley think of how slow he could take the unwrapping if he ever dared to reach out and try. If he could ever be allowed.

Instead he allowed himself to be led and shown where to sit and offered tea. Aziraphale was already halfway through explaining why she needed a hand on this particular mission when Crowley finally remembered his gift to her.

He pulled it from his sleeve, a box wrapped in delicate, colourful fabric with a little knot at the top that Aziraphale deftly undid with one hand as she spoke, barely looking.

Crowley knew without a doubt that she could undo him just as easily and it punched the breath from his lungs.

“Oh Crowley how very thoughtful, they’ll go perfectly with the tea.” The bright smile at the array of mochi was indeed everything Crowley hoped it would be but he still shrugged a little as though to deny he’d put much thought into it at all. “You’re really very kind when you want to be.” The smile lost some of it’s brightness but only grew in warmth as Aziraphale slid the gift-wrap cloth out from under the box and methodically folded it with a  precision and slowness that made Crowley quake as her fingers moved along the fabric.

“Alright, don’t go shouting it to-”

“There’s nobody here to shout it to. For now we’re safe enough, even with whatever this is. Do try to relax just for now. There’s a dear.”

Crowley nodded and picked up his tea, not caring that it scalded him as he took a drink and watched, helplessly transfixed, as Aziraphale ever so gently brushed the furoshiki against her cheek before reverently tucking it into her own sleeve. Crowley could see where it grazed wrist and inner arm as it was put away and had to close his eyes against the thought of following the path with hungry lips.

Years later he would find the cloth again among Aziraphale’s treasures hidden away in a room of the bookshop that was scarcely used and that even Crowley had not been allowed in until the Apocalypse had been averted.

He might even hope, though he couldn’t know if he was correct, that Aziraphale might occasionally take it out to brush against his skin and remember a cold Touji day part way up a mountain. He most certainly would never get the courage to ask and so the truth of the matter lies only with a very tight-lipped angel.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Grim Decisions

Summary: In the limbo between life and death, you meet a strange man, who appeared too gentle to hold the title of a Grim Reaper, and yet he was the one who helped you come to decide where you would next go in your existence.

Pairing: Do Kyungsoo x reader

Genre: reaper au / supernatural / fluff

Warnings: death, the afterlife, dark content

A/N: So this is actually based off a story I wrote in university that I wanted to revisit. And who better to do so with than Do Kyungsoo. If there was anyone who I could imagine to take on the role in this storyline, it was him and here we are! This is my last Frightful October story, so I do hope you all enjoy it!

Word count: 6035

You couldn’t feel how cold you were anymore. The water running down your face continued to soak into the crumpled dress that you had spent far too much money on to get this drenched. But it didn’t really matter either. Your dress wouldn’t get to see another night out; it had barely made it out before the accident had happened.

The pain in your chest soon enveloped your thoughts again. You felt otherwise numb, frozen from the pouring rain, unable to focus on anything but the barely shallow breathing that your body could actually muster. Existing was all that you could do and you were so far doing a pathetic job of that too. How did things end up like this? Everything was going well; in fact, you had never been happier.

But that’s about right though for me, isn’t it? Good old Y/N.

Whenever the sun started to shine on your life, something always had to mess it up and make the stormy clouds return. You thought you were out of the eye of the storm though; you really believed this was your time. But who were you to get your hopes up? You had nobody now. Only this godforsaken house and your expensive black dress left around you. No family, no friends, nothing.

That’s what happens when you die. You lose everything. No more sunny days. The storm is overhead. Bring on the thunder; it can drown out your tears.

Your story is the typical kind. You were bought up in a nice respectable house with a good family. Your parents supplied all that you needed and you weren’t restricted with lots of rules, apart from a curfew until aged sixteen. You were a good girl who studied hard, got the grades to make your parents proud and was generally known as the responsible, quiet type.

But you were screaming desperately on the inside. You felt fake, someone who pleased everyone else but yourself. You were miserable and began to hate life. That was until you found your outlet.

You joined a band. It wasn’t mainstream, hell you were all a bunch of misfits in some way. Your parents saw their influence as negative of course, something to interrupt with your studies of getting into the college of their dreams. You constantly heard, “Y/N, don’t forget your dreams!” whenever you started to excitedly speak of what made you passionate these days. You liked the interruption though, singing became everything to you. Your grades slipped to a B average but you couldn’t care less. Soon you were forgoing even applying for college, and school was finished. You had little regard for anything but singing. Writing and performing your own songs was all that made you exist now. It brought the sun through your dark barrier. It made you find love in yourself, in the world, in everything.

It also brought your death. You were heading to an important gig, one where a scout had promised you a contract at their company if you performed well. James, the bassist, was driving and you were sure he’d had a few drinks before getting behind the wheel, but you trusted him, he had always looked out for you. You remembered screeching wheels and bright lights and then nothing. The horrible limbo you were stuck in, sitting out here on the steps of some old house in the constant rain, was all you had now. You assumed you were dead, but you also thought death would be more peaceful than this.

The rain seemed to disappear from your thoughts now. You could still vaguely tell it was there, as heavy and constant as it had been since your arrival. Instead, you seemed to see through the curtain of water into the world around you. It wasn’t as miserable as you believed it to be. It was some sort of estate; there were immaculate gardens all around and once you actually got up from the step you had been residing on for some time, you looked behind yourself. The house was beautiful, even in the rain. With curiosity returning, you climbed up to the wooden porch surrounding the house, walking slowly to the large front door. Twisting the cool handle around, the door creaked open, allowing you to enter the dimly lit hallway. You felt like you had gone back in time somehow, antique furniture and photographs lined the foyer and you soaked in all the belongings as your heels clicked along the wooden floors slowly. As you made your way into the next room you stopped abruptly as you realised you weren’t alone.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t think there was anyone in here,” you mentioned softly and the man sitting on the sofa shrugged.

“You wouldn’t be the first to arrive here and let yourself in. Took you a while to come inside, mind you.”

You stepped into the parlour cautiously, your eyes never leaving his. “Why didn’t you come and let me in yourself? I mean, it’s pouring down out there!”

“You seemed content.”

“Content?!” you cried, shaking your head furiously. Your wet hair showered the rug under your feet with water drops. “I have no idea where I am, what I’m doing here and how I even came to this ridiculous raining place!”

He sighed and gestured to a seat. “They always have so many questions to answer when they get here.”

“They?! Who is they?!”

“Calm yourself Y/N, you’ll get nowhere screaming at me,” he stated coolly and let out a frustrated breath. “Welcome to the waiting house. I’m the Keeper and you’ll be staying here until your fate is decided.”

You gaped at the man for a moment, looking for signs of humour within his face. His umber depths were dull, and his face looked tired. He was rather ordinary, though that could be because the clothes he was dressed in were from a time you had only read of in books. You struggled to understand what he meant and sat quietly, attempting to figure it all out, including how he knew your name. “What am I exactly waiting for?”

“Death, life, your pick really,” he answered with a bored tone, inspecting a finger and then wiping his hand along his pants.

Your eyes widened in shock. “You mean I’m still alive?!”

“Yeah, your parents are keeping you alive.”

“How do you know all this?”

He rolled his eyes. “If I had any other choice I wouldn’t be here either, believe me.”

“You didn’t answer me,” you retorted rudely. “Are you some kind of angel? What is your name? Surely it isn’t Keeper.”

“Do you see any wings?” he asked flatly and shook his head. “I’m not some pansy do-gooder. And my name is not relevant.”

“I’m just trying to get my head around all of this. And I’d prefer to know who I’m staying with, in some way other than by his role.”

“It’s not a resort Y/N, if it were, it wouldn’t be pouring down outside,” he commented dryly and looked around the room.

“So this is hell then?”

“Feels like it half the time.”

You creased up your forehead and tried to make sense of it all. “So are you stuck here too?”

“This is my home.”

“Really?” You smirked. “You don’t seem to be fond of it.”

“Just like you hated your own life. We can’t do much to change things. At least you can have friends that hang around. Here, I just have people come and go.”

“Why don’t you leave then?”

He chuckled. “You know for a clever girl like yourself Y/N; you’re not very smart are you?”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“You know of Heaven and Hell. You know you’re stuck in limbo right now. So who gets the job of deciding your lifespan?” he asked, leaning forward from the sofa and glaring at you. His features took on disturbing appearance briefly before he slumped back against the furniture.

“You’re Death?”

“Bet you were expecting a skeleton and a scythe eh?” He laughed. “It’s best to not frighten people any more than they need to be.”

“You’re... you’re really Death!”

“Yes,” he stated slowly as if he had to be extra delicate with your state of mind right now. “I am the Grim Reaper.”

“But, why you?”

“Oh, so I’m not impressive to you?” The man rolled his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint. It’s not my fault society down below don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“I’m sorry to offend,” you said softly and sighed. “Why are you stuck here though? Can’t you go to places and pick up all the people who are meant to die?”

“It’s a myth. I live here; I oversee all those who don’t choose to leave on their own accord.”

You frowned. “I’m not following you, Grim.”

“Don’t call me that,” he groaned and rubbed at his face in apparent exhaustion. You wondered just how many times in his existence he had to explain himself. At that moment you felt a sense of empathy for the emotionless man. He soon glowered at you. “Don’t pity me either.”

“You’re confusing me,” you admitted and he sighed for the umpteenth time.

“They really teach you badly down there.” He cleared his throat, his eyes penetrating yours a moment later. “There are souls who decide in the scene of disaster that their role on Earth is over. There are those who don’t want to die and fight my influence, so they live. And then there are people like you. Unable to decide whether they belong in one realm or the other. They are the troublesome ones, and it’s my job to make sure you choose the right path.”

“Easy, I want to live,” you answered with a smile and nodded. “Send me back please.”

He laughed loudly and shook his head. “It’s not that easy, Y/N.”

“You just said-”

“Just because you have the drive to be alive, doesn’t mean your body is capable of working properly again. Do you want to be stuck in a vessel where you can’t sing, can’t walk, can’t even talk? Where your parents have to care for you around the clock and worry about you so much that you begin to wreck their marriage?”

You gasped, the brutality of his words shocked you further than you could imagine. You hadn’t expected to be in such a mess. Looking up at him with tears in your eyes, you faltered. “I’m meant to die then?”

“Well, it’s up to you really. Maybe you might have a miracle happen and the doctors are wrong. Stranger things have happened.” He got up to put more wood on a fire you only realised to be going then. You watched his actions and then took a deep breath.

“You’re confusing me again.”

“No, I’m just giving your options to you, like I’m meant to do.”

“If I die, where do I go from here?”

He didn’t turn around from the fireplace, but his body visibly slumped. “I wouldn’t know, I’m stuck here, remember?”

“But you don’t want to be,” you murmured and he glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Would you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You think you’d want this job, being immortal, being able to have power beyond imagination, but in reality, it’s an eternal damnation, stuck here to serve forever.” He glanced down at the ground and then smiled weakly. “Come on, enough morbid stuff, I’ll show you to your room.”

Sleep came peacefully to you within the house. The rain had been soothing to fall asleep to, the rhythmic pounding relaxing you from an otherwise bewildering experience. When you opened your eyes the following morning the weather was no better, in fact, it seemed worse. You stretched your limbs tiredly and looked around the new surroundings. It was outdated like the rest of the house seemed to be, and yet it was prettier than your old room. A large mirror and marble vanity sat across from the four-poster bed you climbed out of, your bare feet padding across the wooden floor towards the small stool in front of it. Taking a seat, you glanced around the rest of the room, noting a dresser in the corner near the large window. You then turned to your appearance in the mirror, cringing at how wild your hair had gone with all the rain. Glancing at the equipment in front of you, you picked up the brush and began attacking the frizz forcefully, wishing for your straighteners to make taming the disaster much easier. You managed to get it under some control before tying it up, and then moved over to open the curtains. The sky was a dull grey colour and through the water bullets hitting the glass pane you were able to take in more of the property. It seemed to stretch as far as you could see, blending into a dense forest boundary. There were more gardens, namely sculpted shrubs and small flowers taking shelter underneath. You wondered who kept the place so tidy, as you were yet to meet anyone else. You didn’t think Death himself would be a gardener extraordinaire either, and this led you to ponder the idea of his magic.

Giving up on guessing if there was some tiny gardener that sprung up in the night, you left the window and walked to the door. Stepping out into the hallway and looking both ways, you tried to remember the vague directions he had shown you the night previous. He had been brief, as you now expected from the man, and the only room he had taken the time to show you other than your own, was the bathroom. You stared at two doors and then opened one, finding a small porcelain toilet and sink in there. As you did your morning routine, you tried to figure the time period the house had been built in, with the conflicting Victorian styled furniture and the more modern indoor bathroom.

An idea suddenly baffled you just as you splashed warm water onto your face, and you glanced up. Staring at your wet face in the small mirror above the sink, you tilted your head in thought. If you weren’t alive, was there any need to continue out your daily activities? All you had ever known was how to be a living, breathing human. Now that you weren’t, so many thoughts suddenly cropped up about your newly discovered existence. You hurried out of the bathroom and somehow found the staircase, running down them to the first floor. In the sound of your haste, the reaper appeared in the hallway with a curious expression upon his face.

“Please don’t tell me you think this is all a dream and I have to explain everything again, Y/N,” he dreaded as you came to a sudden halt in front of him.

You shook your head. “No, why would I think that?”

“Many people do,” he stated with another of his lazy shrugs and then frowned. “What is the problem then?”

“I have to ask you something.”

“Okay, I’m going to eat breakfast whilst you do so.” He then briskly retreated through an archway that led into the dining room, and then through to the kitchen. You followed along closely, almost banging into him as he stopped suddenly. He went over to a boiling kettle and lifted it off the stove, busying himself with pouring the hot water into two mugs. You sat down and waited for him to join you. He soon did with the drinks and some toast on a metal holder that you had once seen your Grandmother use when you were a kid.

“Thank you,” you said as he handed you a mug and sat down.

“So, what is so important that brought you down here without being dressed?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow as your face flushed with colour. Looking down at the long shirt you had found in your bedroom, you then eyed the exit with a sudden urge to depart his company. You wondered if you should rush off and change. He smirked lightly as he picked up a piece of toast and began to spread it with jam. “It’s okay; normally people don’t feel that comfortable here. You’ve caught me off guard.”

“Really?”

He seemed annoyed with himself for speaking his honest thoughts. Imploring you with a cold gaze to mask his own mistake, he tilted his head. “What is troubling you?”

“Well, I don’t know how to say it.”

“I’m not a mind reader, so you’re going to have to tell me so I can understand,” he pointed out as he took a sip of his tea. You mirrored his action, smiling as the honey infused drink made you feel instantly better. You then stopped drinking and frowned at his statement.

“How do you know so much about me then?” you asked curiously and he rolled his eyes. “You surely have some special talents or you wouldn’t be Death.”

“Wanna see some?” You pulled a face at his returned bitterness. “I’m not a good guy Y/N. I don’t have the ability to make the flowers grow or whatever else you think I can do in some romantic vision you have of me.”

“Well that half answers my earlier thoughts,” you murmured to yourself before smiling at the dark-haired man. He sighed and dropped the piece of toast in his hand.

“With my responsibility, I am given the facts I need to know. It depends on how much you need to tell me. I know who you are, your age, what you’re life was like. But I do not know your every thought, especially the ones you have in this house.”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “The question I have is a weird one.”

“Look around you; I don’t think you see this as something normal.” He finally ate a chunk of his toast, and you watched him avidly. Was it necessary for you to eat, or was it out of comfort and habit? You nodded with the need to press on for answers.

“What we’re doing right now, is it really necessary for us to?”

“Eating?” he asked and you nodded. “Well, you could go hungry if you like.”

“No, I mean, do the dead have to do what we used to when we were alive? Is there a need to sleep, eat, drink, and all the other daily tasks we did before dying?”

You hadn’t realised you had leaned over the small kitchen table until he moved towards you too. Shuffling back awkwardly, you waited for his response. “Did I say either of us is dead?”

“No, but we’re not alive.”

“Thank you for pointing that out, Captain Obvious,” he proclaimed and you folded your arms across your chest in a huff.

“You are really rude sometimes, you know that? You’re as cold as the rain. I was just asking a simple question.”

He sighed heavily. “Since we are neither living nor dead, doesn’t it make sense to do what is second nature to us? This world still changes, take a look outside if you don’t believe me. The flowers die and then come back alive. The rain eases and then grows heavier. So why should we stop when everything else hasn’t?”

“Good point,” you said thoughtfully and vaguely heard Grim get up.

“Where are you going?” you asked as you blinked out of your reverie and he stopped moving, looking at you intently for a moment. His dark depths clouded over before he broke his gaze.

“Out.”

He left the kitchen. You listened to hear the front door open and shut. Bounding out after him, you opened the door and was taken back by the freezing air that smacked you hard. Squinting through the weather, you saw his dark figure ahead and watched him disappear into the tree line. You then shut the door, looking around the first level and wondering how long it would take until he came back.

The reaper returned late that evening. You had spent most of the day exploring the rooms and even managed to cook dinner for you both without burning it. You didn’t touch it, however, waiting in the parlour and watched outside. When you spotted him approaching, you leapt up off the couch and raced to the front door, flinging it open and shielded your face from the rain that shot inside uninvited. He eventually made it to the porch and was surprised to see you standing there.

“What are you doing, you’re getting all wet!” he cried unexpectedly and ushered you inside, shutting out the din of the weather with the bang of the door. He hurried you into the parlour where you had attempted to keep the fire going. You blushed, noting it was barely alight. “And you killed my fire.”

“Well you never asked me to look after it,” you pointed out matter-of-factly. He chuckled and bent over the hearth, holding out his hands. You couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but when he stood upright again, the fire was glowing, and he was completely dry. He turned to face you with a smile. You shook your head, trying not to laugh. “Powers that are only bad, huh?”

“Do I smell food?” he asked, ignoring your observation.

“Are you part dog now too, or just have a really good sense of smell?” you wondered, following him into the kitchen where you had laid out the meal. It wasn’t much; you had never been exactly adept at cooking, but you had tried your best to make something somewhat presentable. You were pretty impressed with your efforts admittedly, and with a survey of his expression, you had clearly impressed him too.

“No one has ever cooked for me.”

“Well that’s rude, especially after all your hospitality,” you teased and he turned to you, smiling again. His face looked much brighter when he wasn’t scowling, and you noticed he had a softness to his features after all. His plump lips even looked like an outstretched heart which made you beam back at him, before ushering him to the table. He sat down and you watched his expression ardently to see if you had done alright. You were anxious and at first, he was expressionless. You felt your good deed weaken. Then he scooped more into his mouth. You let out the breath you were unaware you were holding in and started eating as well. You could tell you had broken through the first obstructive layer to the death dealer and hoped he’d show you more of the kind side to him during your stay.

According to rough estimation, you had been living in the manor for four days with the Grim Reaper now, and each day you became more content. His standoffish attitude was bearable the further he conversed with you, and you could tell that secretly he enjoyed your company, although he had quickly taken over the cooking again. For some reason, you weren’t hurt by this, mostly because his food was divine.  A part of you pitied him being stuck here without any permanent occupants though. You had asked him why he was alone and he had merely shrugged, saying emotional attachment to subjects never worked as they always wanted more than the rain.

You didn’t seem to mind the downpour any more and had smiled brightly at him, his dark gaze faltering a little. You could tell he wanted more than what his words implicated. And so it surprised you last night when you were sitting in front of the fire together that he had told you his real name – Kyungsoo. He seemed embarrassed from admitting it to you as soon it fell from his lips and headed off to his own room without another word. You, however, felt incredibly warm, and no longer because of the heat of the fireplace. He was opening up to you, and you felt like his name was something only you had been privy to out of anyone else who had visited the waiting house so far.

You felt foolishly special.

Bounding down the stairs happily and heading into the parlour the next morning, you were still feeling the buzz of the connection from last night. You found your host staring out the large bay window intently. “Good morning, Kyungsoo!”

He blinked in your direction several times, attempting to settle whatever emotion that flashed within his gaze on you. His hardness quickly returned, and you gave him an indignant scowl.

“We have a new friend.” He gestured outside and you walked over to his side, peering out of the window. “He’s been sitting there for half the night.”

“Shouldn’t we invite him in?” you asked brightly and he rolled his eyes.

“Your happiness is going to be the death of me.”

“You’re already the undead,” you commented with a smirk and he chuckled lightly. “I’m going to bring him in.”

“Go on then, do-gooder.”

Opening up the door, you were overwhelmed with the crashing sounds of the rain hitting everything in sight. You had forgotten how loud it was and needed a moment to adjust before darting over to the dark haired man. Your approach was muted due to the rain and when you poked his shoulder, he jumped in fright and spun around.

“COME INSIDE!”

“WHAT?!” he yelled over the noise and you pointed at the open door. Getting to his feet, he followed you inside hastily, the door shutting the rain out. It was eerily silent inside compared to the weather out, and you shook yourself off a little before leading the way to the parlour.

“Hello, Jongin.”

The man recoiled at the sound of his name. “H-how do you-”

“This job never gets any better,” Kyungsoo stated, and you went over to the fireplace, alive with curiosity over the newcomer. “Welcome to the waiting house. I’m the Keeper and you’ll be staying here until your fate is decided.”

“And I’m Y/N,” you added, as the reaper shot you a smirk. Jongin walked into the room slowly and took a seat, clearly deep in thought.

“One minute I was, and then I heard a gunshot,” he murmured, reaching towards his chest for evidence. He found none. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet, you are undecided.”

“Like me,” you mentioned and Jongin glanced at you weakly.

“Y/N, you’re not helping.”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to make the information come across easier than what you did with me.”

Kyungsoo glared. “I apologise for my lack of social skills.”

“Well if you acted like you cared a little more when telling us who you are, then it wouldn’t be so bad,” you exclaimed with annoyance and Jongin interrupted our argument.

“Who are you?” he directed at the other man and the Death-dealer sighed heavily. “Some kind of angel?”

Kyungsoo placed his palm across his face and shook his head. “I can tell this is going to be a long day.”

You thought having Jongin in the house was going to be exciting. He didn’t embrace the large manor in the same way you had, merely using grunting noises when you spoke to him. You couldn’t understand why he didn’t like it here; for you, it was getting better by the day. You figured half of that had to do with how you spent your time, living with Kyungsoo as if you were alive like he had suggested upon your arrival. Jongin just sat in the parlour during the day, staring miserably out into the rain, making you feel as if the weather had stepped inside as well.

On his third day in the manor, you approached the sullen man in the parlour, taking a seat across from him. He smiled weakly in your direction and you returned it. “How are you today, Jongin?”

“How else can I be? I’m waiting to die.”

“Not necessarily,” you interjected and smiled encouragingly. “There is always the chance you’ll keep living.”

Jongin glanced at you, his dark eyes penetrating yours. He was generally a gentle looking person, but the glare made you sit back in your chair in fright. “How can you be so cheerful and full of hope? Your situation is worse than mine.”

“I haven’t really been thinking about it,” you admitted honestly and frowned. It only hit you then that you had forgotten the reason you were here. The memory of the accident seemed so distant now. You looked at Jongin, who was gaping at your statement. “What?”

“You want to die?”

“No one wants to die Jongin, we’re all scared to.”

He shook his head as if your words made no sense to him. “This place is Hell. All it does is rain, and nothing is of comfort. It’s all old and even smells like death.”

“There is beauty, even in the rain,” you defended instantly. “Look at all the flowers, how they withstand the rain and are strong enough to do so! And there is the feeling of intrigue here too. Don’t you find it fascinating that this house has so much history, of the people who have come and gone?”

Jongin got up and then stopped abruptly, causing you to look to see why. Kyungsoo was in the doorway, and you wondered how much he had heard of your conversation. He stepped aside to allow Jongin his escape and then came in to throw a piece of wood on the fire.

“It’s like I’ve told you before Y/N, people don’t like this place. You shouldn’t either; you still have to make your decision too.” He then left as silently as he had arrived and you sat there contemplating why you felt a sense of belonging here.

You were happy when Jongin left two days later. It was an odd experience to find him smiling that morning, his brown eyes twinkling with pure happiness. He had finally come to a decision and was going back to his body. Kyungsoo told you later that day that Jongin’s time wasn’t up anyway and that’s what helped him get back down to himself.

“When am I going to decide?” you asked suddenly, both of you were in the parlour the next day. His eyes met with yours briefly, widening at your question, before they fell back to the ground and his shoulders shrugged.

“You know it’s up to you, Y/N.”

You frowned and placed the book you had been reading down on the sofa beside you. “But how do I know? I’ve been here so long now, and Jongin wasn’t here long at all.”

“I told you no one ever stays here happily for long.” He got to his feet. He then glared at you. “You will leave here when you god damn decide to. Personally, I hope it’s soon. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a walk.”

He stormed across to the foyer and left you reeling from his outburst. Before you understood what you were doing, you hurried after the disappearing man, shuddering as the rain pounded down on your body. You couldn’t spot him anywhere and let out a disgruntled cry, before trying the path to the left. It wound around to the back of the house and you gasped, seeing a large field of wildflowers, confidently coming out from the soaked earth and boldly withstanding the water bullets. Your amazement was short lived as you remembered why you had come outside, and you darted along the path into the flowers, weaving through some that looked as if they had recently been disturbed. You made it to the dense canopy of forest bordering the field and let out a deep breath, the loud rain barely drizzling in here.

Wandering slowly and deeper into the woods, you hoped that your footsteps would remain for a safe return out. You had noticed over your time with Kyungsoo that although he appeared to walk, he never left a sound or mark upon the ground of where his feet had stepped, and so you were praying you had made the right choice coming into the forest to find him. You rounded a large oak tree to find yourself in a small clearing, with more of the wildflowers growing there. The rain didn’t make its way into the unusual spot at all, and you laughed happily, feeling your mood lightening as you danced around the dry area. After your third spin however you found a pair of eyes watching you from under the trees and you stopped, breathing heavily as he stepped towards you.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I followed you,” you replied and smiled lightly. “I don’t hate the rain as you seem to think I do.”

His eyes were suddenly cautious. “Everyone does. It brings their mood down and it’s depressing.”

“To you maybe, but I’ve felt happy being here,” you admitted and Kyungsoo stared at you for a moment.

“You want to leave though.”

“I did,” you stated with a nod. You bent down to pick a purple flower and inhaled its scent before continuing. “I couldn’t understand why I was having so much trouble deciding.”

“But you have,” he mentioned slowly, his dark eyes filling with confusion. “I don’t understand your decision. You choose to die, but you don’t choose for another realm.”

You stepped closer to the man, handing him your flower. Kyungsoo took it and examined your gift. “Guess I don’t really want to know what’s out there either.”

“No, don’t do this.” His eyes darkened. “I can’t bear the idea of-”

“Me getting sick of the rain?” you interjected with a smile. “I figure if you’re here, the rain isn’t so bad. You’ve been honest with me, blunt even, since I arrived. This lifestyle of loneliness isn’t doing well for you and I think you want me here.”

“You know I do,” he said instantly, tucking the flower behind your ear. You smiled lightly and watched as a glimmer of hope got squashed by doubt in his expression. Kyungsoo shook his head sadly. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You have to decide something else.”

“I don’t want anything else. I’m happy here, I love the house and this magical place right here is amazing.”

“A brief escape from reality,” he agreed as he looked around you both, smiling lightly. “Y/N, you know if you choose this place, you have the opportunity to move on to another realm if you start hating it, right?”

“Why would I do that?” You smiled and raised your index finger. “I realised the difference between me and Jongin.”

“Apart from your apparent gender factor?”

You rolled your eyes. “The reason I’m happy here has nothing to do with the house really. It has to do with the company. I really like you, and I want to help you with your job if you’ll let me.”

Kyungsoo was surprised, his gaze stuck on yours for some time. You wondered if he would actually accept your offer.

“Well if you’ve made your mind up,” he said slowly, gazing down at you and then tenderly taking your hand. You were surprised at how warm his touch was compared to his usual cold demeanour. “I guess I can’t change it.”

“It’s a done deal,” you announced and squeezed the death dealer’s hand. His grin was unrestrained, and you found that the air around you both was no longer as thick as it had once felt. As you walked back towards the house silently, you realised that the atmosphere was indeed changing.

“The rain has become lighter,” he observed, as you stepped out of the trees together. You glanced at him and smiled. “You know, this is a really weird day. You decide to stay, I finally feel happy, and the rain slows down.”

“Maybe you control this world more than you think,” you offered and he frowned.

“Maybe.”

“After all,” you said, letting go of his hand and grinning at him. “Stranger things have happened.”

You laughed together and took off towards the house, which was no longer your place of waiting between life and death, but your new home.

_________________

Welcome to Frightful October, a collab between myself and @this-song-thats-only-for-you … this week’s theme is Hallow’s Eve! To follow more of the stories check out the links below:

Other stories in Hallow’s Eve: Wolfed Out | Grim Decisions | Dress Up

Frightful October Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Request Guidelines

[lindoig8]

Friday-Wednesday, 2-7 July

Friday, 2 July

I had to go back into town this morning to do a few things, including putting a little more pressure on TJM concerning our trailer hitch – and Heather did a huge array of cooking. She converted many of yesterday’s purchases into delectable meals and all three freezers are now chock-full of ready to ‘heat and eat’ food. I was the chief taster for all of them and can guarantee that we will enjoy every one of them. We have enough prepared meals to last us for almost 4 weeks if we never turn the cooktop on again.

The rest of the day was spent lazing around the van, just hanging out with no pressure to tick anything off or achieve anything less than pure enjoyment.

But…. After dark, I went outside to deliver our accumulated rubbish to the bin just past the next caravan. We had our outside light on and so did the next van and I reached the bin without incident, walking between their car and the front of their van. But coming back, they switched off their light at the ‘psychological moment’ (as my Mum would say) and with our light in my eyes, I was temporarily blinded and crashed over the next van’s drawbar. I went A over T with my hands on the ground on the far side of the drawbar and my legs waving frantically - and me gasping for air with their brake handle in my belly. I lay there for a minute or more before I could collect my senses and by then, the guy from the other van was out asking what had happened and was I OK? I said I was fine and managed to stand up and stagger the last 6-7 metres to our van and lay gasping inside, trying to explain Heather what had happened. I have a big lump on my thigh and was really not up to much for the rest of the evening – but at least it got me out of doing the dishes. Heather ordered me to sit and after rubbing some emollients on my injuries sent me to bed while she did all the dishes on her own. I was pretty sorry for myself, but to compound matters, soon after we turned the light out, I got an extremely painful cramp in the calf of the same leg and was hobbling around with both upper and lower leg in pain.

Saturday, 3 July

Surprisingly, although I expected to wake up unable to walk at all, I was pretty sore all day, but not seriously incapacitated by it all. I even went birding along the side of the nearby road for a couple of hours in the afternoon. (Nine days later, it is still quite sore to touch, but it is no longer inhibiting my movement.)

I read a bit more of my book and Heather spent most of the day on her photos and blog, but there was not a lot of significance to record for the rest of the day.

Sunday, 4 July

We did a couple of loads of washing in the morning and I went birding in the afternoon. I had read about a local birder who said he often saw the Kalkadoon Grasswren on a rocky hill on the edge of town so I went to explore. Alas, they must all have been on holiday (or perhaps in Covid lockdown) because I didn’t see any. I saw quite a few other birds and spent a couple of hours scrambling around the hill, dodging (not very successfully) the spinifex, and slipping and sliding on the loose rocks chasing little flashes of colour that disappeared by the time I raised my eyes from the precarious ground to try to find them.

I tried at a few other places, one along a dry creek-bed not far from the rubbish tip. (I couldn’t go into the tip because entry is exclusively by pre-booked appointment.) I also spent some time along another creek and saw quite a few birds, but nothing exceptional. It was a fun afternoon for me, albeit a pretty hot one and it was nice to cool off under the shower before dinner.

Monday, 5 July

We did some cleaning and packing up in the morning and ate an early lunch before connecting up the caravan to have the air conditioner fixed. Rather than disconnect the van overnight and reconnect it in the morning, I asked the manager of the caravan park if we could use a drive-through and stay connected overnight when we came back from the air conditioner people. She said that was fine and allocated us site 46 in the bottom part of the park. I wandered down there to see how flat it was and found another caravan just finishing its set-up on that site. I went back to the office and told her and she said she had just given them the site because the guy had complained about the one he was originally allocated – and she had forgotten to record that we were moving there later in the day. She allocated us site 86 lnstead so I went to look at that one – and it was clear that we would struggle to even get onto the site. It was very narrow, with a tree on one side, and had an extremely steep approach that would make access almost impossible. By the time I got back to the van, the woman had phoned Heather to say that site was really only for campervans, not caravans, so she allocated yet another site – and that was fine and we enjoyed it for the night – a little separate from the rest of the caravans with nobody outside our door. I just drove in forward and reversed out next morning. All very easy!

Our appointment to have the air conditioner repaired was at 1pm and we arrived just a few minutes early. It took them almost 4 hours to fix the problem – a cracked refrigerant gas pipe – and then we needed a few things from the supermarket so it was almost six by the time we got back to the caravan park.

Tuesday, 6 July

We were on the road again, heading initially east for Cloncurry, and then north to the Burke and Wills Roadhouse where we camped overnight. We bought pies and pasties for lunch in Cloncurry and then visited the Information Centre where Heather wanted to get some information about amethyst fossicking in the area. We purchased a Queensland Fossicking Permit and got the required information about where to go and how to get there, but it will be a couple of weeks before we actually do any fossicking.

The drive up to the Roadhouse was uneventful and on arrival, they told us to drive around the powered part of the van parking area to see if we could fit in somewhere – or else we would have to go into an unpowered area with no facilities somewhere nearby. We managed to find a narrow spot and the people in the van next to us rolled up their mat and moved some of their gear so we could squeeze in. The whole area was like a giant jigsaw puzzle except that none of the pieces actually fitted. The way some people had wedged themselves in meant that they had to move out next day before other people could even get their vehicles close enough to hook up to their vans. It was a nightmare, but it didn’t bother us. Many people seem to try to get on the road soon after 6am to race everyone else to their next camp so they get the pick of the sites. Our approach is different – we aim to enjoy our trip and leave around 10 am (or so) and take whatever is available, if anything, when we arrive. After all, we are only looking for a place to sleep, hopefully with power and water, although even they aren’t essential because we have our own if necessary. (And the Roadhouse had no water anyway.)

Wednesday, 7 July

I think we were the last ones to leave next morning and only had a bit over 200 kilometres to go to Burketown with two days to get there. But about 65 kilometres along the road, we had a flat tyre! The car started sounding really strange so we stopped and the right rear tyre was half flat and we could hear air leaking from it. It took us two hours to change the wheel. I managed to pull off the edge of the road, but it was on a curve and there was quite a steep bank so I was only a foot or so off the bitumen. We had to unpack most of the back part of the car to get our trolley jack out and finding a place to position the jack was a challenge. In due course, I jacked the car up to the absolute limit of the jack and the wheel was still firmly on the road. Heather suggested we use the caravan jack to raise the back of the car because the tow-ball is locked to the van and raising the front of the van raises the back of the car. That worked fine until the van jack was also at its maximum height – and the trolley jack was simply sinking into the road verge. More unpacking to find our original little bottle jack – and find a place to position it – and we used that to hold the car up while we let the van jack down again and positioned a couple of blocks of wood under it to allow it to raise the car even further. That let us put a block under the trolley jack and eventually, using all three jacks, we got the wheel off and replaced it with one of our spares and we were eventually in business again. Amid all the drama, dozens of cars and vans hurtled past without even slowing so we had to keep a sharp eye out and scramble out of the way as they all raced by. After we were finished and were repacking the car, two cars stopped to see if we needed help – pity they didn’t come an hour or two earlier!

The whole process nearly killed me. It was hot and I kept getting really dizzy and felt awful. I drank at least 2 litres of water during drama and remained thirsty all day. And a weird thing happened once we were driving again. I started getting cramps in my hands – initially just my 3rd and 4th fingers on my left hand, but then the same two fingers on my right hand, then my thumb and index finger on my right hand, then those two on my left hand. As soon as I relieved one cramp another would start and it kept up for at least 2-3 hours – but I have been fine ever since.

We reached the Leichardt River late in the afternoon and decided not to park there – in fact, we didn’t even stop. We have been there before and it is quite a nice area with a spectacular waterfall, but there were people camped everywhere – just scattered willy-nilly all around the places we might have wanted to walk if we had stopped. It looked quite gross and we decided not to augment the grossness of it and drove on another 60-odd clicks and parked off the side of the road and enjoyed some solitude. We had our Happy Hour in the shade of the van and I wandered around some trees and spotted a few more birds, but I was pretty tired after the trauma of the morning so we had a delicious sausage casserole and collapsed into bed and slept the sleep of the dead.

Wednesday, 7 July

It was a short run for the last 21 kilometres in to Burketown, but with at least 3 opportunities to get killed by maniacs on the road. I think the road from the Roadhouse to Burketown is the most frightening road I have ever driven. As we were leaving the Roadhouse, we were on a sharpish curve when a car and van hurtled past us on the wrong side of the double white lines with absolutely no way of knowing what was ahead of him. He immediately slowed down and drove for at least 50 kilometres with me often driving at less than 60 kph to avoid overtaking him. The way cars and vans roared past us while we were struggling with our flat tyre was horrific – but from the Leichardt River to Burketown (about 90 kilometres) was nothing short of suicidal (or is that homicidal?). We were approaching a one-lane bridge at about 60-70 kph and had the right of way when a car and trailer roared down on us from the other direction (at 130-140 kph at a guess) and I had to lock up all car and van wheels into a skidding stop because there was no way he was going to stop. A few minutes later, still on a single lane road, two more cars and trailers and a car and van, all travelling together, passed us at break-neck speed and forced us off the road again. They just had to be in front of us but almost straight away, we all had to stop at a roadworks red-light – and they were less than 100 metres in front of us pulling into the servo as we arrived in Burketown – potential suicide to gain perhaps 15 seconds over 20 kilometres. I reckon this sort of thing happened 8-10 times in that 90 kilometres – it was frankly terrifying.

We arrived at the caravan park just before 10am but there was a sign saying ‘no check-ins before 11am’ so we sat outside and checked our messages and emails until we could enter. We were soon set up and went out to get a new tyre and one of our gas bottles filled. We had to leave the tyre there and come back in a couple of hours so we explored the town a little, found the historic hot-spring bore, and visited the dump point that is well outside town – such an adventure (not!).

In the afternoon, I went for a long walk alongside the wetlands created by the bore and saw quite a few birds, including several to add to our trip list. The bore itself is quite interesting having been erupting more than 800,000 litres of water full of various salts every day for 124 years (so far), creating a solid mound of salts close to 2 metres high and a wetland that runs for almost 5 kilometres and spreads for hundreds of meters across. There were lots of birds around and I identified 24 species in an hour or so. And wallabies – many hundreds of them, right across the wetland and surrounding areas. (You can see about a dozen of them in the video above if you have a strong enough magnifying glass.)

I tried to cross the wetland to walk around the opposite side back to the road, but found myself cut off and had to retrace my steps. By the time I got back, I was very hot and exhausted so returned to the caravan and cooled off for an hour or so until the day’s Happy Hour was officially launched.

[secretgiftsforshaman]

I wrote 2826 entire words before I collapsed last night

I have been seriously struggling this academic quarter. And I seriously struggled last academic quarter. As I did in undergrad, and in high school, junior high, and elementary. But I do not have any learning disabilities. And you have some idea of how smart I am in general, but I’ll share one specific example about just how very academically intelligent I am. On the SAT, I scored 700 in reading, 730 in writing, and 780 in math and I did not study for it. I spent most of the test bored and waiting for the allotted time to run out because I finished nearly every section way early. Early enough that at one point I had enough time to leisurely leave and use the restroom and came back before everyone else had finished. The only reason I did not score a perfect 800 in math because I missed *exactly* one question. I can still remember and visualize exactly which one it was – and only I missed it because it was the second to last one of the last math section and my brain read the word ‘diameter’ and was tired enough that my brain went ‘oh cool, radius’ even though I could have easily solved that problem when I was 11 or 12 (if you haven’t already gone “wow, she’s got some serious perfectionism issues” then now would be a good time for you to do so).

All of this to say: it has never been a question of not being able to understand the content. Very, very rarely in my entire scholastic lifetime have I ever not understood what was being taught to me. It is – and always has been – a matter of not being able to sit down and do the work.

One of the rubs of being so smart (especially when also socially inept – I don’t think I’ve ever had a formal diagnosis, but I would be astonished to learn if I wasn’t somewhere on the autism spectrum) is that your sense of self-worth is all too easily conflated with your intelligence and academic performance, placing massive pressure on yourself to be good at school, ‘cause that’s one of the few things I was reliably good at. 

Most of my school-age bullies, particularly the loudest ones, were just as smart as I was: all enrolled in the same accelerated classes, but they didn’t struggle the way I did, and they definitely saw it, and made sure I knew they did. They could all do their homework and turn things in on time, but I just couldn’t sit down and do even the simplest assignments sometimes – let alone the big projects and reports, not without crippling deadline pressure. My parents and teachers also tended to view the situation as if there was some kind of issue with me, too: that I was lazy/disorganized/not ‘applying myself’/needed discipline and punishment and then I’d be fine – alllll of that unhelpful bullshit.

Nobody thought that I wasn’t smart enough, though. Clearly, I was always great on tests: sit me down and ask me what I know and if there’s a definitive correct answer then odds are good that I knew what it was, so I excelled in math and science, and I took great comfort from knowing what I was doing and working familiar problems over and over. But having to go find sources for research and report on something or answer essay style questions – anything subjective or humanities-ish – was my kryptonite. I couldn’t ever say “this is enough information, this is complete and I’m done now” – once I started searching I’d drown in all of the information available and not be able to pull myself out with just enough to get the job done. I would become paralyzed simply by the thought of needing to sit down and do schoolwork, so I’d avoid it and distract myself with reading or anything else BUT schoolwork. And if I ever fell behind (which ALWAYS happened because that’s what happens when your avoidant coping is your default), then it was like pouring anti-napalm on everything: I’d be even more frozen and unable to function, like cold terrified acid licking through my veins. I have been a student most of my life – 21 and a half years to date – and the entire fucking time I’ve been limping along like this, always hoping at the start of each new term that This Time, somehow, I could Just Do It Already The Way I Should Be Able To, but over and over that optimism has crumbled to ashes in that undying flame of fear, paralysis, self-disgust, and despair.

I am able, now, to identify and name what I have suffered from my entire life, the condition that I was made to carry so much crippling SHAME for, that I learned to hide almost completely from all of my loved ones for over a decade so nobody would see that shame and decide to think less of me.

I have anxiety and complex PTSD. 

Where one ends and the other begins isn’t worth the effort of trying to tease them apart. The DSM-5 is an imperfect tool and no diagnosis is a uniform monolith – anxiety, PTSD, depression, and every other name of every other illness is merely a professional shorthand for “all/most of these symptoms are present.” It makes much more sense to treat my anxiety and PTSD as a single condition. Moreover, I have a strong suspicion that my endocrine disorder, PCOS, was triggered by the chronic stress/elevated cortisol and insulin (because one of the most socially acceptable ways for our nervous systems to regulate and soothe themselves when under stress is with food), and if it isn’t completely just part of the same thing, then it’s LARGELY overlapping with the anxiety/PTSD (I know that my mother and grandmother suffered in a very similar way in school, and I know that the PCOS is tied to inherited/ancestral trauma, so it makes every kind of sense if the anxiety/PTSD that we all have is related as well). 

I have had a generalized anxiety disorder diagnosis on my chart for years, and I’ve known, in my rational brain, that I’ve needed to get it under control to feel better and function in school (and to be honest, with almost all other professional/adulting things too). But thinking about what I need and actually DOING something about it are such utterly different things. It has only been in the past few weeks that I have been able to admit to myself that I need real, professional help to overcome this condition – and to ask for and start receiving that help. There is a big culture in my family, especially us women, about ignoring our own issues and focusing on helping other people first (I know I must have written to you about this before), so this has been a massive step for me. 

For a while I’ve been struggling to stay on top of my classes, and have fallen behind in all four of them, and the feeling of being overwhelmed has only increased exponentially. I’ve wanted, desperately, to go to an emotional ER so many times the past month, so much so that I found myself wanting (and knowing on a deep level that my body needs) some kind of pharmaceutical support to get me through the fucking day and allow me to do some of the massive, teetering pile of backlogged work. Upon hearing about my experiences of paralysis and dysfunction, and scoring very high on the anxiety diagnosis questionnaire she used, my doc, who rarely reaches for her Rx pad off the bat, suggested putting me on Clonidine (non-addictive, originally developed for hypertension) especially after my double-checked at-home blood pressure reading was 154/80 (which is consistent with STAGE 2 HYPERTENSION in an otherwise healthy and young TWENTY-NINE YEAR OLD for fucks sake)(insert emojis denoting ABJECT PANIC here).

I am comforted by the fact that my doctor, who I’ve seen since I was a tweenager, has shifted in the past few years to specialize in treating addiction and substance dependency, so if there’s anybody who I can trust to medicate me without causing a chemical dependence it’s her (thank GODDESS). Dr. M agrees with my perspective that the meds are just a temporary measure to alleviate my symptoms enough to function, and that the true treatment is the therapy work that I’ve been trying to do for myself, but there’s only so much you can do all by your lonesome, no matter how many self-help books you read (and goodness knows I’ve read a TON).

So I also finally started seeing a therapist (!), and just admitting some of this out loud to another person has been so profoundly healing. Our second session was this past Wednesday, and I was able to start opening up and telling her that I think my anxiety traces back to ancestral trauma and how I feel called to use a bottom-up, somatic approach (hence my recent interest in shamanism, ritual, soul retrieval, transpersonal psychology, etc., which she’s totally accepting of; again, THANK GODDESS).

One of the many many many self-help books that I’ve had my nose in is “The Instinct to Heal: Curing Depression, Anxiety, and Stress Without Drugs and Without Talk Therapy” by David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD (which I started reading like a day before I finally admitted that I needed to take drugs and do talk therapy *laughing at myself emoji here*). Servan-Schreiber beautifully articulated the relationship between our neocortex: the newly, highly developed, outer portions of the brain where our logic, reason, cognition, and consciousness arise from, and our limbic system: the older, more primitive inner section of our brains that controls our unconscious, autonomic physiological processes (like breathing, digestion, heart rate, etc.), trauma, instinct, intuition, and emotion, and is therefore far more deeply and intensely connected to the body (and bodily held memories) than the neocortex. 

I’ve been running around in my rational, conscious, neocortex mind *thinking* about all of my issues and traumas and everything for ages, and I understand so much about these things on that rational level – but that is miles away from the irrational, unconscious, limbic bodymind where all of those traumas actually ARE and continue to play out over and over as if they’re still happening. This is something that my therapist helped me understand – our neocortex understands that this is a different time and the thing that happened in the past is over and done and we’re safe now, but the limbic system has no sense of time. In our irrational reptile brains, everything still exists the same as it did all those years ago as if it never stopped happening. THIS is where our inner wounded child lives, where a soul fragment likely fled from for safety in the midst of the unendurable whatever-it-was that precipitated the trauma response, and where the empty spot is where it needs to be called back to still resides, open and waiting and longing. 

THIS is why I’ve felt called towards the irrational, mystical, shamanic modes of healing: I’ve done as much as I can with my rational mind, which cannot be used to solve an irrational problem or heal an irrational wound, which is what all trauma is. A couple of weeks ago, when I asked you for your help as a shaman with conducting a soul retrieval, this is the kind of work that I was starting to realize that I need to do. The crazy Thing That I Did that I told you about (and meant to describe for you more at the time but I was exhausted and desperately needed the rest instead) was a small and beautiful spontaneous retrieval of a part of me when I was seven, a part that was thirteen, and a part of me as a young infant that I brought to my own breast in recognition that I was both deserving of my own love, nourishment, and care, and capable of being a loving, heart-centered parent to myself. I felt all of the past, younger versions of me that I’ve already been gathered in concentric circles within me, and all of the older versions of me that I’ve not yet been spiraling around me, and my ancestors and guides and spirits and all of the love and kindness that anyone has ever directed towards me gathered around all of me like a compassionate embrace, and I think that it was that experience that gave me just enough of my soul back, just enough juice and magic that I could start digging my teeth in and taking the steps I needed to take to seek treatment and get my legs back underneath me.

As amazing and beautiful as that experience was, it wasn’t everything that I need in order to heal. I want to do a soul retrieval/healing ritual to unfreeze the part of me (and the part of my mother, grandmother, and other ancestors) that is stuck in that root trauma – where the anxiety, complex PTSD, PCOS - where all of that junk stems from. I don’t yet have much sense at all what that’s gonna look like, but I know that it’s gonna be the biggest damn spell I’ve ever cast, and that I don’t think I can cast it alone. Watch this space.

I do think, though, that preparing for that is the thing to do for now, by accumulating small things on multiple fronts – growing my strength, calling back small parts of me, telling more and more loved ones about my truth, chipping away at the stack of things to do, continuing with meds and therapy, contacting my professors and possibly the department/program admin (with a letter from Dr. M in hand documenting my diagnosis and treatment) to let them know that I need help I’m figuring out how to make up for assignments that I haven’t turned in and make sure that I can continue next quarter and not get kicked out of the program. I’m still carrying a lot of fear of failure/expulsion around this (and anxiety = paralysis = inaction for me, even though I desperately want to fix it) – especially after handling myself so badly in a similar situation at the end of last quarter. When you’ve got a minute, I’d appreciate a pep talk about broaching the subject with them.

All in all, I’m doing well and things are looking up in a way I’ve NEEDED them to start looking up for literal decades. I’ve even been able to start telling my mother about how badly I’ve been doing (she knows I’ve seen my doctor and started therapy and meds) and allowing her to see that pain and struggle after years of hiding it from her out of shame has been scary but such a relief. But Goddess Knows I’ve got A LOT to do still. Just cause I’ve finally struck a match and can navigate a little better doesn’t mean I’m out of the dungeon yet.

I began the meds just yesterday, and I’ve spent the day decompressing (never been a better time for me to have a few days all to myself kitten-sitting for some friends while they go to a tiny, COVID-regulation compliant thanksgiving visit with their family in Portland). Drowsiness is a listed side effect of Clonidine, and I was really worried that my prescribed dose was too high after being soooooo tired yesterday and today after I took the pills, but my increasing suspicion is that I’ve just been so high-strung and hypervigilant (hello super premature hypertension!) that the anti-anxiety/BP-lowering drug just uncovered the chronic e x h a u s t I o n that was already (always) there, rather than them making me drowsy when I wasn’t. So I’ve spent the day eating my friend’s leftovers (she’s an AMAZING cook) and cat napping with the two sweetest little troublemakers you ever did see (I’ll send pics!). 

I think that FINALLY being able to relax like this was what helped me to begin to be receptive and start opening up (and connecting with you!) again. Anxiety = I clam up, my libido nosedives, and my pelvic tightness/vaginal armoring gets painful and rigid – all bad prospects for wild, sexy, blooming Love-Lust-and-Light fun. I was so glad to reconnect with you – and that you reminded me that I need to get this out and I can process it and heal it by sharing it with you – that our Sacred Space is still there for me to use and pour my pain and magic and consciousness out into.

I think that’s all the most important developments. I’m excited to hear all about all of your new developments, processing, perspectives too. 

And now I’m gonna go to bed. One nap today was NOT enough to recover from  goddess-knows-how-long-I’ve-had-this chronic fatigue. I’ll talk to you soon

I love you, Άδης

Your Εκάτε <3

[micolashsucks]

HEY, so a really cool person submitted this to me, but they didn’t want their url to be shown so I have to post it like this. Holy shit this is really cool and the writing is so good!! Thank you so much for sharing this! @ everybody please read the whole thing if you can, it’s A+

So here is what I came up with at 3am while having to finish an essay that I forgot about (Keep in mind that I am German and my English is self-taught):

The soviets might have done a cloning project with Ocelot as well except they figured out some stuff about direct replication of genes to make exact clones. Which is possible. You can make an exact copy of someone, the only thing you absolutely can’t clone is the mind because experiences aren’t stored in DNA. Logically.

~~~~~~

Ocelot was very capable at a pretty early age, so the soviets decided to clone him once he turned about 19 from DNA samples they had taken earlier on. Since they weren’t exactly sure how he would react though, they never told him, making it a secret underground project beneath the Verkhoyansk Range, far off from anyone who could notice, below the mountains, safe from all attacks.

Their plans were to make the perfect soldier and they got help from former Nazi doctors who were interested in testing certain theories about DNA and superiority of certain genes. Later on, the project kept going under Russian, Chinese and Korean scientists that were eager to see how close they could get to making the perfect human machine.

The first tests were not going as planned, with lots of still-born children and even some creatures that could barely be described as human, ranging from unlivable clots of flesh and bone to abominations closer to invertebrates than mammals.

In the end, laser technology brought a major breakthrough as the scientists began to understand just how well certain frequencies and brightness values could influence DNA.

With the nearby areas of Russia and China being sparsely populated, it was more than easy for the scientists to kidnap women, bring them to the labs for artificial impregnation or even just ovum removal. Those who survived the process were released again, threatened so they would keep quiet.

The first children were all useless to the scientists though, with the young boys developing tumors and unhealthily thin bones, but within a few months, those imperfections were cancelled out of the used DNA strands and the children were disposed of.

After every series of tests, they allowed one specimen to live to see how he would develop, but never letting more than five live at once. After all they had to see long term results. There was no way a toddler could win a war by himself.

~~~~~~

Seven years after the first living specimen came out of the project, they finally got what they wanted; A child, physically healthy and intelligent, ready to be molded into the perfect soldier.

A41-5920

He quickly adapted to the changes in his life once they took him out of the lab and brought him even further downstairs into their research facility. He never once complained about his room being cold and small or his meals being dry and tasteless.

Once the boy had turned 4, they had begun to teach him in what they considered essential: Russian, Chinese, English, Spanish, Math, Biology, Anatomy, Psychology, Technology.

At age 8 he was deemed ready to learn about more complex topics, his usual reading material ranging from Tolstoi’s War and Peace to advanced medical books.

While he did have some physical activity in his schedule, his training was not meant to begin until much later, out of fear that he might get hurt badly early on and would not grow up healthy enough. That left the boy skinny, with wiry arms and legs, knees not touching even if he stood with his feet closed and elbows sharp enough to cut someone.

~~~~~~

As much as they wished for the boy to be obedient, they were fully aware that children grew more and more curious over time, trying to understand things that were none of their concern.

What nobody expected though, was that A41-5920 was clever enough to outsmart them once he reached age 11, avoiding cameras and sneaking to the upper levels of the giant concrete complex, eager to explore the world out there and to finally see the sky and clouds for himself.

Whenever they did catch him, he would cleverly conduct some lies, trying to convince them that he only got lost due to unfortunate circumstances.

Punishment for disobedience was hard and he knew as much, having endured it enough times already, so he did everything he could to not be detected in the first place.

Every now and then, he heard the military guards talk about how cold it was outside, about the snow and rain making them feel depressed, but he didn’t understand how they must have felt. All his life he had been down in the dark concrete bunker, deemed unable to see the outside world just yet.

But then, one day, during an accident in the labs upstairs, people were just distracted enough for the boy to slip out between the heavy steel doors.

The cold wind on his face hit him with immediate regret, his bare feet burning and stinging in the snow. Part of him just wanted to run back inside and never leave again, but now that he had made it this far, he couldn’t just give up.

The next gust of wind made his nose feel so cold, he was sure it would fall off at any second and his fingers were already getting numb while his legs seemed to turn extremely pale, almost a little blue from what he could see.

And so his first impression of the outside world was a bad one, making him question why anyone would ever want to leave in the first place.

He turned as quickly as he could, his feet feeling too heavy to lift properly, kicking the snow around.

It took his entire weight and some of the harsh wind to help him open the doors back up and as soon as the light fell inside, he knew he was in serious trouble. Familiar and unfamiliar faces of scientists and guards stared at him, most of them very clearly twisted in anger and disappointment, some even looked disgusted.

~~~~~~

A month later he still got lectured every now and then, just to remind him of how stupid he had been. He almost lost a toe as well, making the scientists whisper about him being a “failure” as well.

A41-5920 couldn’t help but feel like they were right. He had been stupid, had risked his life being reckless and they put so much time and effort into making sure he was fine, so he definitely had no right of disobeying and ruining everything like this.

So after everything that happened, he was surprised that Professor Zima and Professor Volkov offered him to travel for the very first time in his life, telling him that he had to know what the world was like in order to fight for a better one.

As he began to pack his few clothes into the box they gave him though, he heard the guards outside talk about some president talking about attacking the country during some sports event and how they had to leave until they could be sure they were safe.

In a way he was glad to know that Professor Volkov wanted him safe. Even after he tried to escape. Professor Zima didn’t seem to trust him anymore, though, so maybe he could try to take this as a chance to prove himself worthy of the support and cultivation.

~~~~~~

They escorted him out of his room in the early morning, a soldier carrying his small box of clothes while two others made sure he didn’t run off as they made their way into a part of the complex he hadn’t been in yet.

Giant machines seemed to loom over him once he stepped through the door and one of the soldiers pushed him towards the biggest one. He had seen something like this before, but it took him a while to remember.

“Helicopters…”, he finally mumbled, just to be shushed by one of the scientists, followed by the soldier grabbing him by his bony hips and lifting him into the chopper.

He quickly sat down, making sure that he looked as proper as he could to show himself ready for his first adventure in the real world and to prove to Zima just how perfect he was for the project.

His composure quickly faded away though as the pilot entered and started the whole thing up, making the chopper shake and vibrate. It felt strange and scary, and he dug his nails deep into his skinny legs, trying not to freak himself out even more.

Then he was thrown to the side. Everything had shifted very quickly and his stomach turned and twisted and knotted, making him dizzy and his spit sour.

It dawned on him once things straightened again that they had simply taken off. His books had told him that helicopters would dip their noses down for starting and landing if they had to go straight up or down.

~~~~~~

His excitement quickly returned as they made their way southwest. Volkov allowed him to get up carefully to take a look out of the window, letting him see how close they were to the sky and how soft and vaguely tasty the clouds looked.

Rays of sunlight danced through the chopper every time they turned and the boy was sure that this would be the most beautiful thing he would ever see.

If it was up to him, they could keep on flying forever.

~~~~~~

His excitement had settled down a little by the time they began to sink over what looked like a light brown ocean. Only when they touched the ground and the doors were opened, he realized that they were in fact in some sort of desert, the ripples in the brown water were actually small lines in the sand.

Once the chopper took back off and they could look on without squinting, they began to guide him towards a camp a little up a small hill.

The buildings looked like they had seen much better days and there was still sand everywhere, but the sky was so blue and the sand so lovely and warm that he was happy to be there. Everything felt like a different world. This was nothing like the first time he went outside.

His room was much nicer as well, it looked warm and a little bigger than the room in the research facility, and his bed had this soft, colorful blanket on it.

As soon as they dismissed him, he threw himself onto the bed, curling up in the soft blanket and grinning to himself. This had to be the best day anyone ever had. First he got to be between the clouds all the way up in the sky and now he had this amazing room with this great bed.

And before he knew it, he was deep asleep.

~~~~~~

The next A41-5920 knew was that everything was foggy and that there was a deafening noise somewhere around him. He tried to comprehend the situation, but there were too many unknown elements to it.

Sneaking towards the door, he carefully and quietly opened it just a crack, peaking outside.

The first thing he saw was Zima, face down on the ground in a shimmery, dark puddle. Then, suddenly, a dark figure stood right in front of him as the door was thrown open, knocking him backwards.

Blinking rapidly, he got up and into fighting stance, or what he assumed was a fighting stance from the drawings he had seen.

The man was a lot larger than he was, in every way. His hair was ruffled, there was blood on his face and dark shards sticking out of his head. He looked dangerous and possibly murderous, but he had a strange look on his face, as though he had no idea what to do now.

“Kaz, this is strange…” The man mumbled, followed by muffled sounds coming from what A41-5920 assumed was some sort of headset.

Then, suddenly, the man moved towards him again, a lot more careful this time, like he tried to not scare him off.

Should he fight back? Should he just go with the man and hope that he wouldn’t get hurt that way?

It very quickly turned out that he had no choice as the man picked him up, holding his wrists together with just one hand and still reaching perfectly around both of them. Fighting was no option, he would only hurt himself.

“No, it’s not just you….I see it, too.” The man mumbled again, staring directly at A41-5920 with his one eye, the other being hid behind an eyepatch of sorts.

He was lifted up by his wrists, struggling a little against the other’s grip, before he was simply thrown over the man’s shoulder.

Everything around him moved so quickly and was shaking with every step the man took. It was close to impossible to see where they were going, especially in his current position, but they definitely went on for quite a bit before the man set him down on the warm sand.

“Look. I’m not going to hurt you. Just stay calm.” The man’s voice was soft and he spoke slowly, accentuating his words with gestures.

He wanted to tell the man that he understood him, that they spoke the same language, but his body wouldn’t let him respond. Despite the warm sand he shivered over and over and as he finally remembered how to properly open his mouth, the only thing escaping him was a soft whine.

~~~~~~

After they sat in the sand for a while, A41 not being able to speak properly, like he wasn’t in control over his body, and the man smoking something, he spotted another helicopter at the horizon.

The thought of flying again almost made him excited, but he also didn’t know what to think about some stranger taking him anywhere like this.

Volkov would be angry if he found out that he left just like that.

As soon as the chopper was close enough to the ground, the man lifted him up again and carried him over, almost throwing him into the cold metal machine before climbing in himself.

The pilot threw them a quick glance, then another and another, looking confused, but then he pulled them up again and took off.

Why did everyone look at him like this? Was something wrong with him? Did he know those people and just forgot about them? He was not someone to forget stuff like that, and if he did he would remember after a couple of minutes.

~~~~~~

The flight in itself was mostly silent, almost awkwardly so as the man seemed to stare right into his soul while quietly typing on some strange device.

They seemed to go further south from what he could tell and then almost seemed to plummet into the ocean, except the did land on something he simply didn’t see from his position on the ground.

The man pushed the door open and he was greeted by bright lights and the clicking of guns.

Sitting up carefully, his eyes followed the man leaving the chopper until he saw a group of men, some with black masks on, some without, all clearly soldiers.

Then there were two others, one walked a little weirdly, he didn’t know why, but the man seemed to have a strange way of walking, the other immediately began arguing as soon as he reached the man who brought A41 here.

He carefully sat on the edge of the chopper, then jumped out and landed carefully on the ground.

The chopper took off immediately after that and left them all in a strange silence. The man who had been arguing slowly took a few step towards him. His shoes made strange jingly sounds whenever he took a step. Everyone’s eyes were on him now.

“Who are you, boy?”

~~to be continued~~

[ebburke]

Kate

“Dear Ms. Ellis,

        You don’t know who I am. I go to Brighton Academy. My name is Sidney, or Sid for short. I have wanted to talk to you for a year. I didn’t think it would be a good idea.

        I’ve been reading your blog. I did before you stopped posting. I hope you’re doing okay.

        I know you’re probably sick of hearing this. I’m sorry for your loss. Michael sounds like he was a good guy. I never knew him but I’ve seen him at school and he seemed nice.

        I think you should know that I look up to you. You have been able to go on a whole year after losing your son. That is not something everyone can do. My mum sure couldn’t.

        Anyway, I don’t really know what I wanted to say. Nothing seems like it’s worth saying. I won’t tell you to keep holding on because that seems like a load of bollocks. I guess I’m just saying hello, you are very strong, I hope you are well.

Sincerely,

Sid Hennessy

The paper sat, worn from all the times it’d been folded and unfolded, stained on the edges by coffee and red wine and bourbon, side effects of Ms. Kate Ellis’s attempts to skip the day and stay awake all night. It had come around only a few days ago, and yet it was just scarcely visible under a clutter of other condolences and dying flowers and dishes smeared with the remains of casseroles that’d been pouring into the house since New Year’s. The freezer was now far past full. With the curtains drawn, there was a coolness that surpassed what would be expected in the U.K. in winter, and the whole of the house was blanketed in dust, except for the paths along which Kate drudged every day; those paths were free of anything except the worn carpet and the shade of the curtains. The kitchen surfaces were free of the loneliness suffered by the counters of others, laden with dishes and packaging and spills now long dried and cat hair, a peculiar addition given the absence of any cat living in the house, but attributable to the neighboring cat who often found herself entering any and all open windows in any and all houses within cat distance. The bin in the corner would be full if Kate had been capable of making the trip to it when needed. Given her current state, however, it was tidy and bored and the neighbor to a piece of notebook paper that had slipped off the refrigerator door in the middle of the night, which was nothing of importance now that the date written on it had passed.

The house wasn’t unused to an occasional state of disarray: that’d been happening with increasing frequency for a year and a few days now. Granted, the past four months had passed in relative tidiness, but that tidiness died at the anniversary. Kate’s friends and family had come to call and, of course, had offered help. Her sister, Georgia, went so far as to hire a cleaning service, but she only had so much patience on which to lean her empathy, and letting in the housekeepers would have involved Kate leaving her bed. Why would she bother, when the repeated knocking at the door was so soothing? As if another heartbeat existed in the house again.

The fall had been mild. The rains were light and the sky amicable to negotiation. The general discourse even seemed to let go of some of its usual tensions. The winter had brought wind, and Christmas was a mild affair due to Kate’s unwillingness to travel; her sister had come around on Boxing Day, but the presents she’d brought still lay wrapped at the foot of the loveseat by the fireplace. They’d thought it best not to condemn a tree. And, of course, New Year’s was spent in absolute darkness and isolation, bathed in the lukewarm ambience of out-of-date muscle relaxers and a made-for-TV movie about university students up to no good.

That just about lead up to present, where Kate was lying on her couch, one socked foot sticking out of the blanket, her wrist hanging limply off the edge, eyes closed under askew glasses, bushy brown hair done up in a bun, though mostly falling out. Light made its usual fruitless attempt to strain through the heavy curtains as morning seeped through the seams to no great effect. The title of a David Lean film flashed noncommittally from the television screen across the room, reflecting in Kate’s lenses. A tinny ring of the old aircon unit hummed from the window behind the kitchen, the only thing breaking the silence. The air in the living room settled around piles of magazines, newspapers, and books stacked haphazardly on the thick carpet, sprinkled with used cigarette filters and loose shreds of tobacco. The smell was just as stale, though diluted with incense and scented candles. Essentially everything but fresh air pervaded in the room. Kate had been good. She’d earned this relaxation. A few more days, that’s all. It was easier that way, to lean in to this regression rather than fight back up that hill. Even Sisyphus must take breaks when the gods aren’t watching.

Cards now were coming in the post, a few every day. Evidently, the private messages had circulated on various social media, whispers out the backdoor to remember it had been a year now, a whole year, can you believe it, since Michael had died. Still so tragic, though we never think about it anymore. We should send Kate a card. Have you posted it yet? No, forgot, will tomorrow. Post office is closed, oh well, it can wait until Monday. It’ll get to her soon enough. She’s got a lot on her mind, won’t notice if it shows up late. Then the cakes and sweets, dropped off with a quiet knock that was never meant to be answered. Needless to say they went stale on the stoop. Flowers, not many people sent flowers, they seemed to know no one would see them, let alone water them, before it was much too late for them to be worth watering. Only the flowers carried into the house by Georgia ever saw vases. Voicemails were the one thing Kate couldn’t escape. She’d silenced her phone, but messages get recorded no matter what you do. She didn’t have the stomach to play them nor the heart to delete them, so they were left to be patient. Set a good example.

What was more exhausting, the tsunami of the past year, rocking her tiny boat, threatening to capsize, springing leak after leak that she wasn’t fast enough to plug up, or this post-war battleground, bloody and still, bathed in horrid, ironic sunlight with no one left alive to warm, only the dead to make odoriferous? Was it worse hanging on for dear life or letting go and being suspended, nowhere soft to fall? Kate didn’t have the energy to seek an answer. It was all shit, it would always be shit. No, actually, the worst was that she didn’t even want to die. She sure as hell wasn’t interested in living, but death wouldn’t help anything. She’d had her suicidal phase of grief, the phase nobody talks about, the forgotten sixth phase, but that’d passed.

Two weeks past New Year’s, Kate knew it was time to get back to the routine. She was badly broken, but still disciplined, she knew time would go on, and, however badly she wanted it to do so without her, Kate knew she needed to compromise. She got groceries and take-away. Every other day, she made herself walk all the way to the sea and along the pier. The cold wind felt good on her face, strong. When the weather was exceptionally bad, she took herself to the Lanes for a tea. She taught herself to compliment the young man or woman at the till and to indulge and allow for two sugars. It was a system of give and take, work and reward. Kate wasn’t lonely, though she never engaged anyone else in her goings-on, except Martin.

When they’d begun meeting again in July, Kate hadn’t seen Michael’s father since the funeral, and, before that, for quite a few years, not since the custody had been settled. They’d been civil, always, of course. It was Georgia who didn’t like Martin, who thought he was controlling, manipulative, “emotionally abusive” - everything one can’t ever really concretely persuade a judge of, let alone convince Kate of. After Michael, it didn’t seem as though they had any reason to see one another ever again, even when it simultaneously felt like a reason to collapse back into each other’s arms, a conflict which had reached tenuous resolution in monthly drinks at the pub in Hove, where Martin lived. Drinks had a sentimentality about them that reached back past Michael, much before Michael, to their days at uni. It was strange to remember, it was strange to imagine there’d been time unburdened by what had happened a year ago, a time where they’d been unable even to imagine such a thing, nor to imagine any positive experience they had been so fortunate as to live out together. 

The two of them would drink three pints each, broken up by a cigarette or two on the terrace under the fairy lights, sat at picnic tables with a hundred other people, all there for the same thing but for vastly different reasons. Kate could get lost there, in them, in him, in the warmth of cider. It was the closest to relaxation she could get while still looking into eyes so much like her son’s. She often thought she’d quite like to love Martin again, in the old way, but he either refused to take the hint or was missing it entirely. 

As she crossed Eaton Road, on the third Tuesday of the month, as usual, Kate went back and forth in her mind between two options. Yes, she thought, she could keep her many promises to move on and not let Martin be her window back - she could make her sister and her brothers happy, respect her mom’s memory by not going back to Martin, not letting herself be pulled into him like a boat into a maelstrom. Or - a sheepish grin played across her face, she could let herself seek comfort and not exist like this alone. After all, who else felt the loss in the same way as the only other person to have called Michael son? 

Kate took her seat at their usual table and checked her watch. Martin was always late. The pack of straights in her purse was unexpectedly empty, so she pulled out a pinch of tobacco from the backup bag and rolled, cracking open the window next to her and letting in the crisp, winter air. She could’ve just as easily gone out to the garden with everyone else having a smoke, but the bartenders knew her here and usually bent the rules in solidarity. 

The door opened and, in with the gust of wind, came Martin, his tartan scarf draped unevenly around his neck, his tie loose. As he always did, he approached the bar and ordered their first round of drinks, overpaid, and gave a flirty line or two to the poor girl behind the tap with an hour left in her shift. The girl avoided his eyes and poured their ciders and didn’t play along, the sooner may he leave. Kate observed this interaction with compassion.

“Evening, lovely,” he said, sitting down heavily, ducking out of his scarf and jacket. His rapidly thinning hair was damp. “It’s just started to rain. You’re lucky you’re allowed to smoke inside, eh?”

“There’s the silver lining, is it?”

“Bound to be somewhere, wasn’t it?” 

“Cheers.” 

They drank, they conversed, they did as they did. They never did talk much about Michael if avoidable. These meetings were purely reminiscent of the before, far before, their old life. Before he left the first time, when she got pregnant. He came back a few times over the years from there, but Kate knew she kept too close an eye on him and that he needed his freedom and that is exactly why this new relationship was perfect. Once a month, always plenty to say. Plenty to hear.

A conversation about Kate’s sister and how annoying she always was about their relationship. An inquiry about Martin’s mother’s health. An exchange about the Albion football team’s performance in last weekend’s match. And then - 

“Yeah, yeah, I think Chloe’s well pleased - her brother trains them, you know.”

Kate did not, in fact, know. Kate didn’t recognize the name Chloe, not in the context of Martin, not other than the 26-year-old data-analyst or whatever-the-hell who worked in his PR office, currently running a campaign for the new Green Party candidate running on a platform of bin-beautification. That candidate would win, too - that’s how good Martin was. But Chloe, why did Kate feel as though he’d mentioned her before, why did that name pull at her stomach, he must’ve mentioned her before. Kate must hate this girl for a reason. Was she …

“Your girlfriend?” Kate raised her eyes at Martin. No nonsense, no hard feelings. Give it to her straight.

“Yes, about a month now.” Right.

“Good one, Mart. She’s beautiful.” Kate had met her once. No, seen her, through the office window on one of her detours over the summer before the two of them had gotten back in touch.

“Yes, isn’t she. Listen, Kate.…” Martin drained his glass. He looked in her eyes then thought better of it. He gave her some bullshit about taking a holiday next month that would make him miss their drinks. And a conference the following month that would interfere with that month’s meeting. And she took that in as he ducked back into his scarf and jacket and waved over his shoulder and opened the door and let it close. And she let him go as she took it in and wondered how she felt more nothing than before.

It wasn’t until she was buried deep under the blanket of white rum and ginger soda that the din of her echoing mind would tire to the point where all but one thought could drift out of focus. What remained was, not motivation per se, more of the subtle bounce-back one experiences when a car brakes slowly and finally completes its stop. Nothing left to do, all momentum gone, a residual propulsion nudging her back to life, or the next-best thing. 

Real life started back up officially the following Monday. Kate’s bills were piled up higher than she was comfortable with and she’d been off work for a full month. Julianne had offered Kate that long, Julianne was kinder and more supportive than she had to be, but Kate had never been one to take advantage of someone like that. Kate envied people like that, so she honored them.

Her office was uptown, an old flat converted into a semi-divided workspace, mostly stuffed with bookshelves and file cabinets, Kate’s desk, Julianne’s desk, Rosie’s desk, and Richard’s corner cubicle, an addition he’d insisted upon - the better to maintain his privacy. Kate and Julianne joked between the two of them that he was planning their downfall from behind the chest-high walls, conspiring to usurp them with Rosie at his side. Kate personally thought she and Julianne were benevolent rulers of their four-person kingdom, one they generously referred to as an agency for local writers who needed their work edited and put in the right hands up in London. 

Kate watched her espresso dribble into her chipped mug, delaying her impending confrontation with what would surely be thousands of emails from clients and potentials who had been waiting so long for her to get back to them. She’d never programmed an out-of-office message alerting those trying to reach her to instead try Julianne or Rosie. 

Sitting at her desk, she warmed up a lethargic desktop that was even more reluctant than she was to return to the routine. There were the usual emails from the news sites she subscribed to for daily updates; receipts from Netflix and Amazon; a few query letters with 500-word novel introductions attached - she’d get to those after lunch. One, however, caught her eye. The subject line: Hello Again. Kate clicked. 

Dear Ms. Ellis,

My name is Sid. I wrote you a letter a few weeks ago - I don’t know if you got it. Anyway, I want to know if maybe we could have tea. I don’t know why. Maybe we could help each other. I want to know how you get through things, and why my mum couldn’t. And maybe I can be helpful for you, too. 

Sincerely,

Sid Hennessy

Kate held her last sip of coffee in her mouth, letting it cool under her tongue. She recognized the name, of course - it was the only letter she’d consciously kept, solely because she was so fascinated with the concept of a ten-year-old knowing who she was and caring. She’d been trying to answer for herself if she wanted to know him too, but something about it was wrong…She deleted the letter and closed her laptop, taking her mug to be refilled.