#can you tell i like willow pill?

[alleycatscrimes]

Introducing: drag queen meshi!! The fusion of my hyperfixations

dungeon meshi characters in some of my favourite drag queen's looks

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 4

With a new moodboard since this evolved into a longfic!

Part 4/? | Ao3

As always, thanks to the loves of my life and best beta readers ever @witch-and-her-witcher and @cauldronblssd

Feyre could feel the warm breeze dancing over her skin before she even opened her eyes. The smells of flowers blooming in the air immediately tamped down when the rich scent of him filled her senses. That spicy bergamot reminded her of early mornings with dark tea and too much sugar.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself laying on her back in the soft, long grass near the lake, the ground cushioning her head as she squinted against the bright sky. Despite being under the shade of the willow, it was midday and the sun was gleaming while perfect, fluffy clouds floated lazily across the sky.

She turned to find Rhys there, also laying in the grass but with his feet the other direction, eyes closed and face directed towards the sky. Her cheek was nearly pressed to his, and a light smile danced across his lips when he felt her move.

She’d never seen him so vividly in these dreams, the details of his skin standing out brightly against the grassy backdrop. The light caught on his long, beautiful lashes, every one standing out as they brushed against his regal, high cheekbones. He was outstanding, so unbelievably handsome that she ached to paint him, to touch him. His smile broadened.

“Can you hear my thoughts?”

He didn’t open his eyes, but he did smile widely enough to show his sharp, white teeth. “Perhaps.”

Feyre scoffed, but couldn’t fight the joy she felt at being here with him. The temperature was so nice and the day was so gorgeous. This, even in its simplicity, was more than she’d ever hoped for. She had a nagging feeling that there was something she was supposed to tell him, but it stayed just outside her view, drifting away like smoke in the air.

“I used to dream of you, you know,” he said, his eyes still closed and face peaceful.

“Is that not what's happening now?”

He grinned again and her heart soared. “Smart ass.”

She couldn't help but laugh as she tracked a passing cloud; it was an ideal day for a swim. She wondered if Rhys liked to swim, if she could convince him to take a dip with her in the always-chilly water of the pond. She ached to feel the goosebumps prickle across his skin–

“I’d see you painting, see you with your sisters. I saw the many, many times you pranked the governess–”

“Hateful, cruel woman.” His laughter was like bells in the air.

“I saw the time you fell out of the elm tree and broke your ankle.” She remembered that too well, the pain still sharp in her mind if she thought about it too long. It had been one of the very few times in her life that she remembered seeing fear in Nesta’s eyes as she’d clumsily gathered Feyre, sobbing and panicked despite being nearly an adult, into her arms and ran to the manor.

How could Rhys have seen all this? Why did it seem so normal to her that he had?

“Seems like you have me at an unfair advantage then.” He turned to her, then, beautiful eyes nearly lavender beneath the brilliant sky.

“What do you want to know, Feyre?” She knew she could ask him anything, and he’d answer.

Did you mean what you said? Do you miss me like I miss you? Does your affection for me feel as strange and deep and permanent as mine? Could you love me?

But what came out instead was “Anything you'll tell me.”

He smiled as though he knew– of course he knew. He paused for a few moments, as though he was thinking it through. He let his eyes linger on hers, and she saw more emotions there than she had words for.

“I've been alive for a long time, Feyre. But I don't think I started living until I knew you were real.”

He’d answered the questions she hadn’t voiced, had said the words that her heart needed to hear anyway. Her eyes flicked to his lips.

“Feyre.” She watched them say her name, and she was moving forward before her mind caught up. As her lips touched his, warm and pillow-soft, she woke up, the room still a startling darkness around her.

She had woken with the echo of her own name ringing quietly in her ears, the press of his lips a phantom still on her own. She must have finally drifted off and dreamed of him.

Feyre had barely slept, judging by the time on the clock, though she hadn’t expected otherwise. Her nerves were all over the place, her body unable to stay still under the covers, suddenly rough and over-textured against her skin.

Her life would be something entirely different starting at daybreak–starting already–but she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but excitement at the wide open future ahead. She was ready to take the journey into Prythian and begin to figure out how she might help Rhys, even if the mystery of it all unnerved her. She would miss her sisters, but not enough to keep her here. She loved them so much, but this was not a life meant for her. It was made for them, their tastes, their interests– she had always worn it like a too-tight skin, and she was more relieved than anything to be setting out for something new.

She had debated leaving a note for her sisters, then decided against it, then picked up the pen again.

Would it make it better or worse for them to hear from her in some small way? She worried if she didn’t, there would be search parties sent for her, assuming her kidnapped or worse. But she worried if she did, if she put the words to paper, it might break some of the delicate magic she was holding dear. Would it make it harder for them to know for certain she’d wanted to leave rather than stay here with them?

In the end, her conscience won out. She couldn’t leave her sisters in the dark to worry about her.

She kept the letter brief, making sure to emphasize that she was leaving of her own accord. There were things she wished to do and see that she could not while she remained here. She wished them all the love and joy and luck the world could give them, sealed the letter, and left it on her pillow for them to find.

Since she was meeting Vilja at daybreak, the sky was still the deep, comforting navy of night, the stars sparkling above as Feyre shut the doors to her balcony a final time. There was no reason to sneak down the trellis this early–even the staff wouldn’t be up at this hour, so she could simply walk out through the kitchens, climb the wall, grab her bag, and be off. She pulled her favorite cloak over her shoulders, a dark red velvet one that she'd found in the small village on one of her trips last winter. With a final look at the rooms she’d lived in all her life, Feyre carefully opened the old oak doors, slipped into the hall, and let them quietly click shut behind her.

She backed out into the darkened hallway, turning to make her way across the stone and marble when she ran into something–someone–with a rush of air as she fell on her ass.

She squinted in the dark, making out the flowing sleeves of the nightdresses Elain always wore, haloed in the low light by her mass of curls.

“Elain?” She hissed quietly into the darkness, relief washing over her that it hadn’t been Nesta she’d encountered in the hall.

“It’s so strange, Feyre. I keep having dreams…”

“What are you doing out of bed?” Her room was two doors down from Feyre’s, and Feyre wasn’t entirely sure how she hadn’t noticed her before running smack into her chest.

“The dreams…Do we know any men with hair the color of fire? An eye of burnished gold. Hm.”

Feyre got back to her feet, resting her hand on Elain’s arm. “What in the world are you talking about, Elain?”

Elain smiled almost vacantly and closed her eyes. “He smelled of apples in the sun.” Feyre just sighed and pulled lightly to lead Elain back to her room. Elain had always been a sleepwalker, and there wasn’t much to be done about it past getting her back to bed. Feyre jumped as the door to their right slammed open, nearly knocking her off her feet again.

Nesta stormed into the hall in a half done-up robe, rage in her tired eyes. “What’s all the noise at this ungodly hour?” She squinted her eyes, taking the two of them in. “Why are you both awake?” She demanded harshly. Feyre felt Elain jolt beneath her arm, Nesta’s sharp voice summoning her out of sleep.

Nesta’s keen eyes looked Feyre up and down. “Where are you going fully dressed before the sun is even up?”

There was no use hiding it from them. She might as well just tell them now that they were all here. She took a deep breath.

“I’m leaving.” She felt both sets of eyes settle on her, but she couldn't meet them as she spoke. “I left a letter for you both on my bed, but I am leaving this morning, and I don’t plan to return.” The words were soft in the buffered darkness of the hall. When she dared to look back up at them, she was met with their looks of concern, but not of surprise.

“Where will you go, Feyre?” Elain was the first to speak.

“I met someone, and he needs me. I cannot remain here while I know I could help him.”

“The man from the masquerade ball.” It was not a question, but Nesta did not speak it with malice either. Their eyes met. “I saw the way you looked at him. I’ve never seen you look at anyone that way.”

“How romantic,” Elain sighed while Feyre huffed in embarrassment. She never spoke to her sisters so openly.

“I always knew you weren’t meant for this place.” Nesta said it surely, but not unkindly. It did not have the sting of her taunts, but rather the solid determination once she’d made a decision and didn’t plan to change her mind. Feyre nodded, looking back and forth between them both.

“Be safe, Feyre.” Elain’s moved to embrace her, to Feyre’s shock. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged each other, but she leaned into it. “We love you.” Feyre inhaled sharply when she felt Nesta join on the other side, her arm winding around Feyre’s back and pulling tightly.

“If you find your place out there, don’t come back here. We will be okay. Go find your place in the world, Feyre.” There was a flicker in her Nesta’s eyes as they pulled back then that Feyre might have mistaken for jealousy, but before she could fully note it, it was gone.

It was a better goodbye than she could have imagined, and she blinked her eyes against the tears stinging there. She held their words and the warmth of their embrace close to her chest, took a deep breath, and readied herself to go.

Feyre was not afraid of the woods in the dark–she knew the way.

The stars still glimmered above her, but she could see the beginnings of the pale rays of light starting to rise in the east. She could hear the movement of the creatures around her as she strode down the weathered forest path, but they avoided her. She knew they would be emerging from their dens and beginning their own morning foraging.

The walk invigorated her, her spirits already high after meeting with her sisters. She had not expected their support, and receiving it had lightened a weight she’d not even known was sitting on her heart.

As she came upon the outer edges of the town, she saw the bookshop in the distance and a pang went through her heart.

Vincent.

Even with the strange hour, Feyre was not surprised to find the lights in the small shop on and smoke steadily puffing out of the chimney. She had a few moments yet, so she decided to try the door. It opened easily despite the sign being flipped to “closed”, the familiar bell trilling above her as Vincent’s face popped up from behind the countertop, a broad, toothy grin filling his face as he took her in.

“Feyre, my dear! I wasn’t certain I would see you again. Come in, come in.” He waved her over.

She took a seat at the table closest to him, setting her bag down gently as he started putting a drink together. He always seemed to know what she wanted and needed on any given day, so she let him prepare her a special treat one last time.

“I had so hoped I would see you again.” He smiled at her over the machine, raising his voice a bit to combat the whirring sounds of the frother, the steam fogging his glasses. She inhaled deeply at the sweet tang of nutmeg, cinnamon, and ginger filling her nose. She knew what drink he was making, a rich drink with a spiced milk froth on top, and she loved it most of all.

“I would tell you what happened at Vilja’s, but I have a feeling you already know. That, and a great deal more than I could ever tell you.” She smiled at him, and the knowing smirk that spread across his face in response made her laugh. He poured the whip onto her coffee, twirling the cup to imprint details into the foam as he always did. He brought it over to her and took a seat, leaning back and sighing.

You already have all the resources you need. She did.

“You’ve always been different, Feyre. I had a good feeling. I just put some things in motion.” She looked down at the warm mug in her hands, finding three small stars in the foam, glancing up to find another conspiratorial look on Vincent’s face.

“What can you tell me?”

“A good deal more than Vilja, I would imagine.”

Vincent rose again to close the curtains around the shop as he continued to speak.

“As you know, long ago, there was a conflict between the humans and the fae. It culminated in a years-long uprising, and many lives were lost.” Feyre did know all about the war, ironically enough, almost entirely due to the books Vincent had hand-picked for her.

“The King of Hybern was a terrifying opponent, but no one was quite so terrifying as his general, Amarantha.” He lowered his voice to a whisper as he returned to the table, the chair creaking as he sat. “Jurian, the general of the human armies, knew the humans would not win without an advantage, so he threw all his efforts into seducing Amarantha’s sister, Clythia. And it worked; she fell deeply, irrevocably in love with him.”

“A fae?” Feyre couldn’t help her surprise.

“And a human. He bedded her, pretended to love her, got the information he needed about her and all the fae, and then killed her. Brutally.” The gasp from Feyre was audible. She knew in the war that the fae who fought for Hybern had been in the wrong, but the cruelty of what Jurian had done still stole the breath from her.

“Amarantha had bitten her tongue for her sister’s happiness, had let her choose her own course even if she disagreed because she loved her and wanted nothing more than to see her happy. So when Clythia was killed, not only was she plunged deeply into grief, she was furious.”

“But the war was won, wasn’t it?”

“Ah, Feyre, you’ve been doing your research!” He smiled at her, patting her hand across the table. “Yes, for centuries, the conflict was dormant, but Hybern and his circle were not. Amarantha never forgot, and she never forgave. She waited like the most patient of predators, inserting herself around Prythian and gaining the trust of the High Lords and their courts. She let that hatred and grief and cruelty simmer within her veins, and she became obsessed. Obsessed with revenge, with power, and with a young High Lord of Spring whose father she’d fought with in the war. It corrupted her, that obsession, and then, after garnering everyone’s trust, she decided she was done hiding.”

Vincent’s tone had changed, something sadder ringing hollow in it now. Feyre realized she hadn’t even sipped her coffee. She lifted the cooling mug, but even the rich spices tasted like ash on her tongue.

“Amarantha set up her rule in The Middle–remember the map I showed you?” Feyre nodded. “She modeled it after the Hewn City, the Court of Nightmares–that's in the Night Court. She created her own court of horrors Under the Mountain, and she lured the seven High Lord’s there under false pretenses and forcibly stole their powers, leaving them unable to fight back.”

“I didn’t know anyone was strong enough to take the High Lord’s powers?” She’d read about the High Lords and the different courts, the gifts of each. After she'd come in the previous night from the willow tree, she read up on them in one of her books from Vincent. Each High Lord in each court possessed a certain set of powers, handed down typically through generations in a family line. Feyre thought of the gifts Vilja had given her while she'd read, wondering how they’d manifest within her own body. How strong would they be contained within her human limitations?

There was shape shifting, freezing, fire, and even the terrifying ability to turn an entire army to mist. She shuddered at the thought. How could powers that intense possibly be stolen away?

“She took them through cunning, not through strength. She drugged them, declared herself the High Queen of Prythian, and they had no way to fight back.” Feyre felt mildly ill.

Was this who she was to fight for Rhys’ freedom? Was he one of the many fae whose High Lord had been trapped? Was he under this mountain, even now, as they spoke? What court did he belong to?

She realized how truly little she knew about this man, this male, that she was willing to risk so much for, but she couldn't quite explain it even to herself. Something about him compelled her. She grasped for the necklace.

Stars.

She'd bet he was of the Night Court, under that ruler who could turn people into a fine spray of mist and gore. Perhaps, if she freed them all, his High Lord would have mercy and allow her to live amongst them with Rhys. That is, if she even succeeded.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Vincent continuing on.

“Despite all of this, the High Lord of Spring, Tamlin, still refused her. He hadn’t been interested in her advances before, but once she’d displayed such horrid cruelty, he wanted nothing to do with her. He wasn't like his father, didn't favor owning human slaves, and he certainly didn't encourage her actions in Pryrhian. Naturally, this infuriated her even further, and she decided to entice the court of Spring there under the pretense of a party–a masquerade ball. She cursed them all, destined to wear their masks until Tamlin either gave in to her advances or otherwise completed an impossible task.”

“So that’s why Vilja…”

“Yes, she was a member of the Spring Court. She’d lived there for centuries, watched all of the history unfold in front of her, and then she fled once the curse ran across the land.”

“What exactly is the curse?”

“Since Tamlin refused to love her the way she wanted because of her cruelty against humans, she gave him five decades to find a human woman, one who hated the fae, and make her fall in love with him.”

Horrid. Cruel. Impossible.

Feyre wondered how, even with powers, she would ever be able to combat this sort of power - this sort of rage and vengeance.

“I assume he was not able to do so?” Vincent shook his head.

“Not yet, at least.” And a gripping terror moved through Feyre.

“I’m not…I’m surely not meant to–”

“No, no, Feyre.” Vincent sat up in his chair. “The Lord of Spring is not the one who you seek.” She could have slumped with relief, but then the confusion washed over her again.

“If I’m not the human to set them free, why go to all this trouble to help me get there?”

“I had a feeling when I met you that you might be special. You’ve done nothing but prove it to me since. Things have already been set in motion that cannot be stopped, and you will be instrumental in carrying out any possible future where everyone is free.”

Free. Rhys would be free.

A thought occurred to Feyre then, and she was shocked she hadn't thought it sooner. “How do you know so much about all this?”

“Things aren’t always as they seem, dear Feyre.” And in the briefest of moments, enough that it could have been a shift of the light, Vincent’s ears grew pointed. Feyre blinked hard once, again. And Vincent met her with a mischievous grin.

“This whole time?”

His smile was one of pride. “My Melusine refused to bow to that witch. She ran messages to the High Lords trapped within and the fae on the outside. I worried for her, of course. But she was a force. When the magic was lost, we were outside of our home, and when the wards fell, we could never re-enter. We made our home here, in the human lands, but my Mel made the most of her time. She saved countless lives before she…” He let his words drift off as he looked to the windows. “Before she was caught.”

“Is she trapped beneath the mountain too?” Vincent sighed and closed his eyes, and Feyre knew she was not.

“She was killed, just a few years after the curse fell over Spring. She was sneaking fae children out of Summer to go hide on the continent. The children made it to the boat, but she did not.”

There might as well have been a knife stabbed clear through Feyre’s heart.

“You remind me of her. She would have adored you.” The knife twisted. “You have a chance to save the one you love, your Rhysand.” She supposed she should have been shocked that Vincent knew his name, but she wasn’t.

She took both of Vincent’s weathered hands in her own. “I will not let you down. I will do everything I can to free them.” His eyes, blue as a summer sky after a storm, roved over her face, filled with hope and pride and affection, and it nearly bowled her over.

“We never had children of our own, but I think I would have been so proud if you were my daughter, Feyre. I am proud of you now. You will do great things in this world, and you’ll always have a little bookstore on the edge of the woods to come back to.”

The words broke open something, an almost audible crack racing through Feyre’s chest as he squeezed her hands. He looked out to the rapidly brightening sky, then back to her. “Time to go now, dear.”

The two stood from the table, and she followed his steps to the familiar front of the shop. She’d miss this, this normalcy she’d found for herself, but she was ready. He opened the door, took both her hands again, and turned to face her, the emotion nearly pouring from his eyes.

“Good luck, Feyre. Be strong, even when it seems impossible, and bring them home.” She leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Goodbye, Vincent. And thank you.” When she straightened in the doorway, she could see Vilja on the edge of the woods nearby, looking every bit as though she belonged within the landscape like some strange yet lovely oil painting.

She turned to go and found Vincent lifting a hand in greeting to Vilja, who grinned like a banshee while waving emphatically back. Again, Feyre probably should have been surprised to find they were old friends, but she couldn’t find it within herself to muster the shock.

Instead, she took one step then another towards Vilja, towards the woods, towards her future.

Taglist: @cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[ilovesjamesbb]

Please Don't Leave Me (Pt. 7)

Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Depression, suicide, depressing shit

“No. No no no no no no.” He grabbed my body pulling me out of the tub. He was struggling. What is happening? Our song, James. Our song is on. I feel sleepy. I feel good. All of a sudden there is a clatter and I feel something in my mouth. It's large and it makes its way down my throat. It's a terrible feeling. I feel myself starting to wake up. 

Bucky runs over to the tub pulling y/n out of the red water. The cuts aren't that deep but enough to bleed bad. He looks down and sees the pill bottle. He picks it up and it's empty. Fuck. 

What had she done? I left her alone. This is my fault. She needed me and I left her. I didn’t know what else to do but get those pills out. 

“You're not gonna like this, doll. I promise you will be okay. I’ll fix this.” I shove my fingers down her throat hoping to trigger her gag reflex. She’s barely conscious she's not really fighting back so I push further. 

“Come on. Come on!” Fuck this isn’t working. Right when I lost hope she started to gag and throw up. It's not enough. I keep my fingers down her throat. 

“There you go, doll. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” She vomits until there is nothing left. The bath water is starting to overflow and red water finds its way onto the floor. I grab her head and rock her back and forth. Crying. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I harshly wiped her hair out of her face. 

“Our song is on, James.” She smiles but never opens her eyes. Thank god.

“Yes doll our song is on.” I say sweetly but I can hear the sadness in my voice as it cracks. 

“I wish this was real, James. I wish this is how it could've been.” She hums sadly. She thinks this isn’t real?

“This IS real doll. I’m right here.” I cry. The floor covered in vomit and bloody water is something I'll never forget. I rip the towel off the wall and cover her in it. I need to call someone but I don’t want to leave her. 

“I love you. I never wanted you to hate me for trying to kill myself. I thought I was doing the right thing. All I could see in that moment was your reaction to watching the tape the scientists would send you and I didn’t want you to end up how I am now.” She whispers. Still clearly not with it. 

“I wish you were real right now. I wish we got to have the future I dreamt of.”

“Tell me about it, doll.” I said trying to keep it together.

“We would live in a white house with a red door. There would be a white fence and flowers on the front lawn. A huge willow tree in the back where maybe we could put a swing. The paperboy would drop off the paper every morning and I would make you coffee and bring it to you in bed. We would read the paper together. Our favorite song is playing on one of the many record players we have in the house. You would wake me up with a kiss every day. We would talk about what we wanted to name our future baby. We would get to have kids and they would grow up to love the music we like almost as much as they would love you…” She trailed off. God I wanted that too. 

“What else? Tell me more.” I urged her on. I wanted to make her regain full consciousness. 

“I’m tired James. I can see it, can't you? I see the dog running in the backyard. You always throw his ball too far…he can’t find it. I can’t find you… James, where are you…” I can feel her start to slip again. She was panicking. 

“Y/n. Y/n!” I yell, shaking her.

“JARVIS. Call Steve, call Tony, call someone!” I screamed. The fear in my voice evident. 

“They are coming, Sergeant Barnes. I alerted Dr. Cho as well.” I held her in my arms whispering sweet nothings into her hair. I couldn't lose her for a third time. 

[artemisandhersilverbow]

I'm still not over Taylor's Fortnight MV... to say it's my favorite visual work she's done would be an understatement. As with all things on this album, she did her research. Her incredible DP - Rodrigo Prieto - who has shot The Man, Cardigan, and Willow MVs. As well as, Brokeback Mountain, The Barbie Movie, Killer of the Flower Moon, etc.

There are so many ways to parse the story of the Fortnight video, but I will mostly focus on Taylor's use of mirroring to make some of the video's larger points.

I am a queer former film student so I wanna note that that's the bias I'll be writing from. If that disinterests you, no worries! This just may not be for you.

Love that we start with silent film era titles. One is black, one is white, perhaps a ying yang visual or simply representing the original album + the anthology. Could also be the light + dark of her two sides represented by Taylor and Post Malone.

The vertical alignment shift in the word Fortnight is interesting because the other time i noticed her doing this was in the closing poem for TTP with, "Some stars never align." Would be cute to have it like a nod to screenplay scene heading: INT. FORT - NIGHT

We start with Taylor, virtually still, but singing. She's handcuffed to an askew bed frame - sans mattress - with bars resembling a prison/cage.

The mirroring she's doing here is reminding us of "real life" Taylor's outfit at the 2024 Grammy's, but with the addition of white gauzy gloves + garter belt (like on tour), it reads more bridal, more bed sheet. That similar clock necklace is set to, best as I can tell, 9pm.

And she's got enough hairpins to... idk... make me spin out? Her make up evokes a little Clara Bow, Greta Garbo, legends of the silver screen, etc.

Taylor stops lip-syncing. Breaking the fourth wall, with direct eye contact, she's forced a "Forget Him" pill and unshackled from her bed prison. Unlike the next instance we get this match shot, it feels like she's telling the audience she knows we're watching and her look has a "this is what I'm forced to do" anger charged to it.

Also, the pill itself seems to break Taylor's reality from here on out. She "forgets him," but perhaps also becomes a different him herself.

She walks over, in her wacky funhouse of a prison room - skewed angles, upside down doors (those who enter from the left walk on the "ceiling" - to an actual mirror. But this mirror looks more like a one-way mirror. Meaning that the subject can see themselves, but so can others they can't see on the other side. Usually so the subject can be observed.

Still appropriate to break the fourth wall as though we are watching her in a way she can't return.

She wipes her face to reveal Post Malone's tattoos under the veneer of her prerfect facade. Once done, she utters the first "I want to kill her." She wants to "kill" Taylor TM?

I'll basically be going forward assuming that Post Malone is established in this mirror shot as a representation of Taylor, perhaps her True Taylor underneath the engineered perfection. This door/portal splits her in two on entry. From one white-clad figure to two black-clad ones. Kind of like the splitting of a prism.

Instead of exiting this upside down asylum, she goes deep into a department - perhaps the Tortured Poets kind. We get an awesome match cut/panning transition where Grammy dress referential Taylor morphs into a Victorian mourning dress. One very similar to the dresses on stage during Folklore during Eras (at the bottom of post). Perhaps also a nod to Emily Dickinson herself.

The way they design the set to make it so her asylum and office are connected feels like a not so subtle call out on how she feels about her chosen industry. Not quite a cheery take on the Lover House for ex. Time also becomes a little bendy, irrelevant when she does this portal walk.

When she enters she sits at a mirrored desk, morphing into Post Malone's silhouette. To the side we have faceless writers, also dressed in black older fashions, that seem to go on for infinity like a mirror trick.

Taylor sits down to start writing, Post Malone is already typing. They're both in black with embellished collars. We see that she has a top sheet with typed words, but under they're blank. Post has a pile next to him, along with his fountain pen, which perhaps are fully done b/c placement on the other side of him. Their desks are also arranged ever so slightly different. So Post-Taylor is a typing machine, Taylor needs to catch up...

But then Post Malone looks up to create this awesome mirrored match cut.

Taylor and Post-Taylor get to work, singing the chorus, camera cutting on their lines in mirror shots respectively.

We see a typewriter jam the same lines from the song, but specifically "I LOVE YOU." Granted, we can't be 100% sure whose typewriter it is, but we see Taylor type "Love You." Perhaps they're mirroring each other in even this task.

Eventually their stories starts leaking blue and orange/gold ether which prisms out to reveal "The Story of Us."

Really great shot of the infinity vanishing point effect from the unidentified crowd, how they're positioned makes them look like they're mirroring all of us watching/sharing our opinions.

This is where I'll stop for Part 1 because it's not ok how late this album has been keeping me up.

But a couple of things to start:

Taylor using very strong, very consistent mirroring techniques to create distinctions from narrator, character, and audience. Even the music is mirrored in the chorus with Post Malone's repetition.

By both wearing the face tattoos under a perfect exterior (the face we know her by), and immediately separating into two characters - one with her face/gender expression as we know it and Post-Taylor who now wears the face tattoos we just saw/is also sporting the face and gender expression we are familiar with him. It's Taylor TM the Brand vs Hidden (in plain sight) Identity Taylor.

Her typewriter emits an orange/golden glow from all of her repeated "I LOVE YOU'S," while his emits blue. Together they're creating the next story vignette: "The Story of Us."

One basic read for this is that Taylor could be owning her male POVs that come up in her songs (Folklore we're looking at you). Another read I have is that Taylor TM is writing the love song framework expected from her as an artist while Post-Taylor injects the devastation, anger, emotion, the heavy blues we often unearth from a song we originally thought was upbeat, romantic, unassuming. And considering these mirrored halves, I think that aligns with her own messages about her music, that people will always going looking for paternity tests - the publicized romance pulled from what we think we know about her. But perhaps the assumed truths of a song could be, and often are, driven by your gendered expectations - "Girl loves boy, sings about that." The hidden in plain sight Taylor subverts what the surface level shows.

The True Taylor is an unrecognizable author. And that writer is producing the meat of the work.

Additionally, I love that she's wearing a dress that feels taken off the Era's stage.

Folklore in particular was a really different writing era for her. She presented the characters and stories as fiction and all the sudden an unknown male collaborator — William Bowery — gets credited on it. I'd love if the message, in part, was hey I'm actually my own male writing partner. Regardless, her other half/POV was able to allow her to write truths so long as they remained unrecognizable.

But she's wearing the mourning dress, looking over at her hidden true half, looking over anxiously. And then begins to write. They're half the story that makes up the whole, one needing the other to tell the story they want to tell. Perhaps it's a call out to Folklore in particular as a solution to being limited by expectations of her signature diaristic-like songs' perspectives. Using it as a way to tell a version of the truth from a POV society or the powers that be in her life would accept it from — not Taylor TM as she is/who she's known to be.

More generally, the "male pov" and the male pronouns, just seem to be called irrelevant smoking guns in the game of knowing the unknowable - what her work, a lot of her work, is referencing specifically. These two writers, as presented, are still both Taylor. Them's the rules here. Ok, see you in PT. 2!

[cleoselene]

Eras Tour movie

Taylor why do you hate evermore so much 3.5 songs is not enough imagine if we had a whole folkmore concert this is what could have been

really wish she had just played the piano for "tolerate it" lol that community theater shit was cringe, Just not enough of Taylor + instrument in this show all around, but especially at the piano

could have lived without the entirety of the 1989 set I feel like I'm on crazy pills when I hear music from that album and realize that it's everyone's favorite. world your taste is bad!

this really is just a greatest hits concert which means it was never gonna really do it for me but I think she looked and sounded really good! I will hold a grudge forever that we will never see her perform 3/4 of evermore as an album live (no, I don't count fucking bootleg fancams as a real live performance for everyone) but C'EST LA VIE.

ALL TOO WELL WAS WONDERFUL. So was "willow." I enjoyed the entirety of the Midnights set but AGAIN WHERE IS MAROON? WHY DO YOU IGNORE YOUR BEST SONGS GURL?

would've could've should've Maroon High Infidelity evermore ivy cowboy like me the lakes right where you left me Cornelia Street Paper Rings

her neglect of the 3AM songs vexes me

all of these songs needed to be there and were not and now I really feel we will never ever get live versions and it makes me sad.

the costuming is stunning, just stunning.

Vigilante Shit was hottttt

appreciated how she wore sensible shoes for many sets! she sounded great. like her vocals have really stepped up and I can tell she's worked hard on it, bravo Taylor

[hackett-out]

@missn11​ said: Now I gotta know why XD

so the novel book club chose instead of like actual genre horror or something halloween themed was Layla by Colleen Hoover:

When Leeds meets Layla, he’s convinced he’ll spend the rest of his life with her―until an unexpected attack leaves Layla fighting for her life. After weeks in the hospital, Layla recovers physically, but the emotional and mental scarring has altered the woman Leeds fell in love with. In order to put their relationship back on track, Leeds whisks Layla away to the bed-and-breakfast where they first met. Once they arrive, Layla’s behavior takes a bizarre turn. And that’s just one of many inexplicable occurrences.

Feeling distant from Layla, Leeds soon finds solace in Willow―another guest of the B&B with whom he forms a connection through their shared concerns. As his curiosity for Willow grows, his decision to help her find answers puts him in direct conflict with Layla’s well-being. Leeds soon realizes he has to make a choice because he can’t help both of them. But if he makes the wrong choice, it could be detrimental for all of them.

Now here’s the thing - this novel is told entire from Leeds’ perspective. Keep that in mind as I go through the plot. Serious trigger warning for gaslighting, abuse, manipulation, attempted murder and non-consensual body swapping.

Essentially, Leeds is the bassist of a ‘bland country band’ he hates being in bc I guess he hates the music he plays and feels like he has more to offer musically (even though he’s too chicken shit to publish his own stuff) that falls in love with Layla, a recently unemployed Quirky Girl he meets at a wedding. After sleeping together for the first time, she mentions wanting tacos really bad and he just can’t believe it, her mind is so different from other peoples!! because she swaps from topic to topic at the drop of a hat. babe, she probably just has adhd

Somehow this walking jar of mayonnaise had a fanclub run by a woman who eventually became his girlfriend, though he didn’t know about the club and broke off their casual relationship. She was obsessive, stalkery, and eventually shoots both Layla and Leeds, though they both survive - this ex, Sable, doesn’t because Leeds shoots her right after the attack in a rage. Very dear sister

Layla isn’t the same after the attack (because?? obviously???) and Leeds feels immense guilt over the fact that she’s not the same carefree girl she used to be, so he arranges a vacation to the place they met in order to reconnect, and it seems to be going okay until Leeds discovers that the b&b has a ghost (who doesn’t remember her past life, of course) and is occasionally possessing Layla’s body in order to enjoy the sensation of eating food again. Leeds is not nearly as pissed off about a spirit taking control of his girlfriend as he should be, and is way more fascinated by the ghost. Lbr thank god the ghost was feminine bc otherwise there wouldn’t be a story

ANYWAY Leeds starts encouraging this ghost that’s named herself Willow to possess his girlfriend’s body regularly without her knowledge or consent because he’s fascinated by her. Despite the toll it takes on his girlfriend, he gaslights her regularly into believing her exhaustion, confusion and sickness is because of the head injury she received months before. He doesn’t tell her about Willow, and what starts off as a little interest turns into a full blown obsession. As time passes he only wants to spend time with Willow, at one point considering drugging Layla with her own sleeping pills so that the ghost can possess her body quicker.

Leeds cares so little about his girlfriend that the further you get in the book, the more he contemplating how he can manipulate their vacation to be longer so he can stay with Willow. He’s fully in love with the ghost at this point, even when it’s revealed that the ghost might be his stalkery ex, Sable. Despite the giant red flags about the entire situation, Leeds decides - after already packing up Layla to leave the b&b - that he should stay and help Willow because she’s lonely :((((

So instead of trying to explain anything to Layla, he keeps her tied up and gagged inside the house while Willow occasionally possesses her, the two of them waiting for a ‘detective’ (aka a guy on the internet who knows Paranormal Stuff) to come and figure out what the fuck is going on. It turns out of course that when Sable shot Layla, the latter was dead for a short while and Sable’s soul entered Layla’s body while Layla roamed free as a spirit. You see? It’s all fine now! because the bitchy version of Layla that Leeds was falling out of love with was actually his ex, and the ghost was Layla all along!!

The detective has no answers about body swapping back, however, so Layla decides that if dying got them into this mess, dying would get them out of it! So they arrange for Leeds to drown her just long enough for her to need resuscitation so Layla can shove Sable out of her body and repossess it herself. Layla leaves her own body long enough for Sable to repossess it just as Leeds pushes her under, and we, as the reader, have to read about this man drowning a woman that was barely a character in the first place.

And somehow, this works, and despite all of the abuse Layla literally watched Leeds commit against ‘her’ the two of them have a happy ending together again.

I hated every second of this book. I hated the fact that Layla/Sable was treated as undesirable after being attacked by someone she didn’t know and almost dying, then apparently suffering memory loss and ptsd because of it. I hate that the abusive tactics Leeds used with Layla/Sable was considered justified because it ‘wasn’t REALLY Layla’. I hate that Sable wasn’t even a character, just another doll to move around to make the plot go, and even when she was inhabiting Layla’s body, her only character traits were vain and horny, bc evil I guess. As if being a stalker and obsessive wasn’t enough. I’m mad that this was written from Leeds perspective because the actual horror inherent in your partner becoming cold, distant and abusive - then realizing the twist later - would’ve been FUCKING FASCINATING! But we had to read it from his perspective as he committed atrocities against his own girlfriend because he ‘cared about her’

anyway this book was fucking terrible, -10/5

[cocoelle]

Kane: Why did I agree to do this podcast with Morgan. Shit after last night it's gonna be so damn uncomfortable.

Kane: You're gonna be great! Fuck I look good, who can resist this?

Morgan: Hey handsome thanks so much for doing this podcast.

Kane: Anything for you sexy man.

Kane: Listen I'm really sorry if I was a little pushy last night, it's just being so close to you drives me absolutely crazy.

Morgan: Trust me I do feel the same way, I just need a little more time that's all.

Kane: Ok sexy, just as long as we're good.

Morgan: Of course we are, you're not getting rid of me that easy.

INTRO to PODCAST: Hello and welcome to Real Talk, the podcast that gets the truth everyone wants to know. I'm your host Morgan Kirkland. In today's episode, we will have some Real Talk with the Lead Singer of Sapphire Skies. We'll discuss his time in prison, what's in the works for the band, and offer listeners a special surprise at the end. Be sure to listen all the way through for the details!

Morgan: Our guest today is Kane Lawler. He is the lead singer and lyricist for the group Sapphire Skies. Hi, Kane! Thanks so much for joining us! Big fan of Sapphire Skies.

Kane: Thanks for inviting me Morgan, it's always great to chat with a fan.

Morgan: You only did 18 months of a 5-year sentence, do you think you got out early because of your celebrity status?

Kane: Wow right to the point. Haha. I don't feel I got any special treatment because of my status. I have a good lawyer who worked hard on getting me an early release and I'm very thankful for that.

Morgan: How did you keep yourself occupied while in prison?

Kane: Well as you know when I was arrested I was addicted to cocaine and prescription pills, so while in prison I attended many therapy group sessions and rehab. Because of that, I've been clean for a little over a year now.

Morgan: Now that you're out can we as fans look forward to any Sapphire Skies tour?

Kane: We will be playing at the Music Festival in Willow Creek and have plans to tour, starting in Del Sol Valley, but as of right now we haven't confirmed any dates for our tour.

Morgan: Well I'm sure your fans, myself included are looking forward to seeing Sapphire Skies back where they belong.

Morgan: Before we wrap things up Kane, do you have any final words for your fans who are listening?

Kane: Myself and the boys will be in the studio recording new music between tour dates, so fans should be on the lookout for a new album by the end of the year.

Morgan: On that note that brings us to the end of this episode! Thanks to Kane Lawler for joining us in some real talk. As always, thanks for listening to Real Talk. If you enjoy our show, please rate and review us on Sim Podcasts—and be sure to enter your name on our Simbook page to win a pair of tickets to see Sapphire Skies at the Willow Creek Musical Festival. Until then, this is Morgan Kirkland, and don’t forget: Real Talk - We get the truth everyone wants to know!

Morgan: You were fantastic, I think that's the best podcast I've ever had.

Kane: Aw you're just saying that 'cause you want me. Haha.

Morgan: Maybe, but I'm not telling.

Kane: Would you like to come and watch me sing at the Music Festival? I would really love it if you came, I could get you a VIP backstage pass.

Morgan: Are you kidding? That would be amazing! Of course, I'll go.

Kane: You just made this man very happy.

Morgan: I have plans with some friends tonight, but I’ll call you later and will definitely see you tomorrow.

Kane: Sounds good babe. Now get over here and give your man a kiss.

Morgan: You're my man are you, I like the sound of that.

Previous / Next

[swagging-back-to]

no i always had this aversion to taking any pills. Otc or prescription, I've always tried to go for more natural solutions (turmeric for blood thinning, nettle tea for allergies, white willow for pain) and it's finally making sense why.

it was my subconscious telling me "THIS IS NOT SAFE FOR YOUR HEART."

iv'e always had arrhythmia. i was diagnosed with an irregular heartbeat at birth, likely due to my prenatal drug exposure. I never really noticed it was any different than a regular heart until the past month. Now I can barely stand up without my heartrate spiking to 120 or higher and it stays that way long after I've laid back down. I always thought fainting everytime you stood up or moved too hard was normal. i thought that getting dizzy all the time was normal. i thought your heart hurting with exercise was normal.

it isnt normal. and because i thought it was, I have likely been suffering with an actual heart condition my whole life and never knew it. I've taken so many drugs that could have KILLED ME because I had no idea I had heart problems. I had no idea it was even a possibility.

It wasnt until last week did i learn most common otc drugs can cause cardiac arrest and stroke. Honestly, out of the two, strokes sound less scary. there's a way to test yourself for a stroke. if you have cardiac arrest and you are not near other people YOU WILL DIE AND NO ONE WILL NOTICE.

it's terrifying. it's terrifying to think of how many times doctors could've killed me because they prescribed an unnecessary drug that would interact with my heart. it's enraging to know the vile woman who conceived me caused all of this. This is likely something I will experience the rest of my life, all because she refused to get an abortion (even though planned parenthood was literally a 5 minute walk from her house) or stop taking heavy drugs while she was pregnant. it is very scary. it's terrifying to know nothing I can or will do will ever minimize my risk, I can never take back the pills she popped or the cigarettes she smoked while I was developing.

it's terrifying, because people much healthier than me drop dead all the time from sudden health complications.

[writer-vaira]

TRR: SABERTOOTH CLAN - PART 4

(First Chapter) (Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Gurr

Reina made a really strong tea out of the bark before I was even dressed. She’s on a mission today. Was the wolf something she knew about? She asked endless questions after a breakfast of soup - what wolf? Where? How many? I thanked the ancestors we’d been working on conversation these past few days because there were just as many things she asked that I could not interpret. What was a seye-boreg? Or a Row-bought? She tested her leg and it held for only a little while by itself. It was better with her walking stick, but she insisted on bringing her whole pouch with her. She called it a ‘bach-pach’ but it slowed her down tremendously. Before we left the cave, she took a ‘pill’ from her bach-pach and swallowed it down with water. I had no idea what she was doing, really, but she was determined to come see the metal wolf.

I insisted on carrying the bach-pach, as she would be too slow to be safe if a predator came upon us. She resisted until finally relenting, clipping her leather covered knife to her hip, and her bow to her back with some long sticks on her other hip. Her furs were so strange, they fit against her body almost like they were shaped by the stars. It was so odd. Surely she must be cold? But no, she seemed warmer than I was.

They travelled slowly, stopping several times for Reina to rest. I wasn’t impatient, per se, but I was anxious to show her the body and leave. They could harvest more willow bark while they were there, at least. Once Reina’s ankle healed up, they’d be on their way back to Sabertooth. I missed his Mother and Father most dearly, and the idea of being back in the spacious cave, telling stories and seeing his friends? It pulled at his heart.

While taking a rest, I tried to teach Reina a few more hand signals. ‘Wait’ and ‘Slow’ and ‘Fast’. The ground beneath them was a little less slippery, though water pooled in many places, making his feet freeze when there was no way around. Reina’s feet were encompassed in the finest boots - she didn’t seem to even notice the wet land beneath her. I yearned for Reina to remember her clan name - or anything about the clan. She didn’t seem to understand the word or hand signal for clan and that worried him, for if she wasn’t sure of that then I wasn’t sure how to breach their communication gap - how could you explain the meaning of ‘clan’?

Ahead, the willow tree came into view. Finally, their journey was ending. I showed Reina how to scrape at the tree with a rock, and she did so with her metal knife, following his instruction. She pocketed the bark and asked once more where the wolf was. I was dreading this part. I led her farther upstream, keeping his head on a swivel. If there were more around…

“Oh sheet- oh my gawd-”

I kept watch while she fell to the metal creature’s side, inspecting it. She babbled along, and I couldn’t keep up with her words so I let her ramble, watching the trees for movement.

“Gurr, this is a metal wolf - oh fuck look at its teeth!” I glanced over to see she had pried the mouth open and was staring down the maw. “It’s so heavy, how are we getting this home?”

“Home?” I looked at her incredulously, “Metal wolf no home.”

“But Gurr, this is ah-maze-ing! We need to stuh-dee it!” She looked at its head again, pulling on an ear, before poking inside it “What does this do?”

The blue fire in the eyes stoked, and I pulled Reina back, growling at the metal monster… but the eyes were dark again.

“Gurr, it’s dead - I’m fine!” She grumbled while stepping forward once more, “It’s just the wiring that was misaligned. Maybe I can make a phashlite out of it?”

“Reina, what phashlite?”

“Oh um… It’s a fire on a stick. A fire you can walk with, fire that is not hot.”

She was making no sense. Fire that is not hot? Fire that does not burn? Was that how the metal wolf had fire in its eyes? From this cold fire? I stood watch, glancing down from time to time as Reina worked away. She seemed to know what to do with the metal organs, even if she hadn’t seen a metal wolf before.

“Reina?” I paused, “Reina hunt metal?”

“Uh…” She looked down, “No, never. I mean I’ve seen a few youtube videeohs but who hasn’t?”

I take that as a no then. I watched as she finally sat back, seemingly gaining nothing.

“No use, Gurr, I need tools.” She sighed, “But maybe we can meldt the metal down and use it to make a knife for you?”

“Meldt?”

“Melt - uh… metal soup. Metal soup gets cold and we make it into a knife.”

She clearly possessed knowledge I did not have, because metal soup? Making metal soup into a knife? I’d have to see it to believe it… or understand it. I shook his head before looking back at the treeline, scanning it. Nothing.

“Gurr, can we make a sled?”

“What sled?”

Reina frowned, cute little lines forming between her eyebrows. I reached out to touch them and they disappeared. I grinned as she frowned again - touching the spot once more.

“Are you making fun of me?” She finally chuckled after his third brow touch, “Okay, you’re right. Let’s leave it.”

She threw her hands at the robot, dismissing the idea.

“Maybe when we get to your peepole.”

“Pee-pole?” “It’s…” Reina frowned a moment before leaning away from him and smiling as his hand reached up towards her face, “Reina people, Gurr people…” She pointed at the creek, the trees, the earth, repeating “No people”

“People… Gurr people?” I tilted his head, “Reina come to Gurr people?”

“Yes! Reina come with Gurr.”

      Reina

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about his smile. The way back to the cave was a bit easier if only because I knew what to expect. But of course I had a lot of time to think, if only because of the language barrier they had. I knew a lot more than I thought I would within the… week? Wow. The week I’d been here

He looked… younger when I smiled. I couldn’t help a huff of laughter whenever I recalled him poking my furrowed brow. What a nut. It was kind of cute, like I wanted to chase away what was bothering me. I stumbled over a root, ending up on my ass - and Gurr lent me a hand getting up. The caveman seemed to genuinely care about me - not just as a person in need of assistance, but as a person.

What would I look like if I was cleaned up? I was stronger than anyone I’d met before, practically lifting me up off the ground with his non-dominant hand. I was filthy, of course, but then I wasn’t exactly smelling fresh myself. I’m not washing in the icy creek, that’s for damn sure. He let me set the pace, following just a step behind or beside me, and guiding them with his spear if I veered off course.

He wasn’t tall, were any cavemen tall? But he still stood higher than me by a good few inches. Gurr had chestnut brown hair that was really matted and fell to his shoulders, and his skin was a reddish-brown - at least the skin I could see with all his furs.

Seeing him by firelight wasn’t super helpful either, it made his skin almost glow orange when they were in the cave together. I specifically looked at the cave walls when they got ready for bed now - it was his thing to sleep naked, I was sure it was a body warmth thing but… I was not going to look at him like some kind of lecher. His nakedness seemed to just be a thing that existed - a non-issue for him.

If I grew up out here, I was sure I’d be the same.

Still. I wasn’t going to look.

Not that I want to! I shook my head, it’s Gurr! Not… like… a celebrity or someone I was attracted to. Of course not.

“Reina-” Gurr stopped, whispering my name with a finger to his lips.

I looked to where I indicated with his spear. A ptarmigan was in a low tree branch, preening itself. I pointed to me, then the bird.

I grinned. I was trusting that I could do it! I nodded and carefully took my bow off my back, notching an arrow. I looked away from the ptarmigan as I lifted my bow, drawing it. Out of the corner of my eye the bird was watching me. Breathe in… look at the bird and release!

The bow twanged and Gurr jumped at the sound before spinning in place to watch the bird fall to the earth. I whooped, running to retrieve my kill. The shot was good - I got a bit of the arrow in its neck - and the best part was when Gurr held it up in one hand, and held my hand up in the other.

“Reina hunt!” I bellowed, surely scaring off anything else in the woods with his jubilation, “Reina hunt!!!”

Laughing I joined his chant, wobbling when I finally let my arm go - I seemed just so happy for me, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

“Gurr cut meat,” I nodded, “Gurr make soup, Reina sleep.”

“Thanks, Gurr.” my ankle wasn’t doing great, but it wasn’t as painful as I’d expected… the rest would still be appreciated.

By the time they were back at their cave, I was exhausted and leaned heavily against the side wall as Gurr started the fire up. Pulling off my gloves, I massaged warmth back into them as the light grew. I watched Gurr instead of the bird I was dissecting. Yeah, if he got a good haircut and maybe a beard trim he’d look much nicer. my mind moved on as I looked at a flatter piece of wood.

“Gurr? Can I have that?”

He waved his hand while nodding, going back to his food prep. I looked at it from a few different angles. Maybe I can’t carve bone for shit, but I might be able to make a comb? The more I thought about it the more I settled on the idea. I needed to be able to do something with my hands to keep busy. Anything to not think about the size of the giant robot wolf. Annddd I thought of it again. Yup, time to carve. While I had my own comb it was far too thin toothed to work with Gurr’s mess. Plus it was plastic, if it broke it would be good for nothing at all…

The night came on fast and by the time the sky was dark, I’d made a good approximation of a handle-less comb. The sanding would have to be finiId in the coming days, my hands already cramping. The ptarmigan soup was welcome, but I couldn’t help but yearn for some spices. It was just a meat soup with no real flavour to it. If I’m stuck here forever I’m going to have to find some garlic at the very least.  

Over dinner I tried again to ask Gurr about his people. It was a far walk, apparently. Three sleeps, give or take but for me? Gurr guessed about five. The two sat with this for a little while, a companionable silence between them. I worked the problem out in my head, sipping on the last of the soup. Five nights in the wild with no way to know for sure about food or shelter. They’d been lucky with the amount of meat they’d been able to obtain, Gurr making sure to smoke most of it, but would it last two adults going at a hard pace for that long? They could hunt on the way but if they were to make any good time their heavy footfalls would undoubtedly scare off game before they could spot it.

my mind fell back to the sled idea I had for the wolf cyborg. If I could make a sled with Gurr’s help, they could carry all the furs with them. And if it were sturdy enough, they could sleep directly on the sled too, keeping them off the frozen ground. Idly I started drawing in the dirt floor, wondering what shape would be best.

If we put tall posts on the corners, we could throw a fur on top in case it snows… but that would make it heavier… Gurr came over, taking my discarded bowl to wash it. I murmured my thanks while looking intently at my doodles. A travois would be the easiest to make, only two logs and a fur lashed to it to make a triangle shape, but it wouldn’t be very good for much else other than carrying furs. Getting to any semblance of society totally outweighs a week of stress, I thought, though we do need to arrive alive… maybe the first style? But how will we stick it together? Maybe a toboggan instead? Like a canoe… but flat on the bottom. But that would take forever…

Gurr sat next to me on the opposite side of my drawings, stepping gingerly to avoid smudging them. He looked them over, before looking at me with a raised brow. He looked so… modern with that expression.

“I’m thinking of making a sled.” I tapped my head on ‘thinking’, “but I’m not sure what the best way to do it will be.”

“Sledd?” Gurr looked back at my doodles, tilting his head slightly, “Make sled?”

“Yeah, it’s like…” I looked around the cave before spotting his bowl, and picking it up, “It’s like a bowl for carrying the furs in…”

I paused, turning Gurr’s bowl over in my hands and inspecting it. Inspiration struck like lightning.

“Gurr, you made this bowl?”

“Make bowl, yes.” He pointed to himself with his thumb, a crease starting to appear as he tried to follow my train of thought, “Sled is… bowl?”

I chuckled, reaching over to poke between his brows like he did to me earlier, making him grin. His voice was soft and awestruck as he said my name in reverence. I felt my cheeks heat at the sound, and cleared my throat.

“Right, a sled is a bowl - a big big bowl. Cave sized - can we do that?”

He watched me a moment before giving a small nod of his head, “Gather big stick.”

“Right, a big tree trunk… We can use my axe… flatten the bottom…” I tried drawing what I meant as I said it, and Gurr soon joined in. His lines were simple but very legible - though some of what I tried to draw was beyond my capabilities. I ended up grabbing a large stick and showing Gurr in miniature what I meant. It wasn’t long before Gurr started banking the fire and I realised how late it had gotten.

“We’ll start in the morning? Sunrise?”

“Sun.” Gurr nodded, “Sun we gather the tree.”

I smiled as he puttered around cleaning up the cave while avoiding their doodles. He really is sweet… if he’s cleaning I can make the bed more comfortable at least. A rock had bit into my side a few times and I was determined to find the sucker and get it out of the house. Rolling the furs to one side of the wall I noticed how many more pebbles were on Gurr’s side and my heart broke a little. He took the bad side… Sweeping the rocks out of the way with my least favourite fur (why is it so damn itchy?) I made sure that was the one on the very bottom, fluffy side down. Finally happy with my work once the furs were arranged nicely, I turned to ask Gurr if he had a favourite fur for his pillow.

He was already naked, stretching to the side avoiding the ceiling. He was thinner than I pictured under all those furs, but every inch was just corded muscle. It was the end of winter, so I could imagine how he’d look with proper food. my eyes drifted lower without meaning to, his shaft nestled between his legs like a mountain among plains. I looked away quickly, holy fuck. Watching the back of the cave, I asked him which fur he wanted for his head, and he came over and grabbed one, handing it to me.

“Gurr sleep now, Reina sleep?”

“Yeah, I’m super tired.” I lied.

      Gurr

Reina said she was tired, but as I curled around her last night, she was as stiff as a board. She hadn’t been that tense since the first night we shared furs. I watched her now as she adjusted her bow on her back. She had given me a bright pink pouch that held her clothes inside, and instead put some jerky in yet another metal bowl of hers. It clicked shut with these clips on the sides. It was so simple and yet masterfully done. Reina had her knife and arrow holder at her side - a qwee-verr as she says - and I have to carry the pouch with her far superior cordage and our jerky box inside, the other metal box she collected some of the coals from the fire and wrapped the box in furs before putting it in the flower pink bag.

I also have the honour of carrying her Axe and Saw. I am excited to use her tools - but I am also concerned with her leg. We pushed pretty hard yesterday, and to get to a tree of the girth Reina is requesting… might take awhile. She had some willow bark tea again, but I’m still concerned. If she falls again that might put her recovery at an even slower pace… perhaps even halt it. But my mate will not take no for an answer, and I respect her wishes even if I do not agree.

“Gathering time.” She sang as she followed behind me, making sure the leather flap was firmly in place at the cave’s entrance.

“Gathering, yes. Bowl… cave size?” I hummed, considering the options I thought of last night, “Bowl smaller?”

“We can get away with smaller I think, yes…” Reina scanned the treeline, “It’s mostly to carry things and to sleep in, so we want to at least be able to lay side by side.”

“Sleep in bowl…” I thought for a moment, “I know tree.”

“You know the tree?” Reina smiled, the motion lighting up her face, “Perfect, lead the way.”

She gestured for me to go first, and I led her through the shortest path I could make - though I did forget some bushes along the way that we had to skirt, Reina never once complained. A hiss of pain once in a while, but that was it. She was such a strong person, I doubt I’d be moving as much with a similar injury. Though, I would have the clan to lean back on and we don’t have that luxury. Not yet.

When we reached the tree I thought might suit Reina’s needs, I stood back to let her inspect it. I think I know what we’re doing - making a bowl to carry things to the clan - and sleeping in it instead of having to find shelter every night. The ideas she comes up with… Truly spectacular.

“Gurr, I think this will work!” Her smile was broad, “It’s a little rotten on one side too!”

I grunted, that was the other part of choosing this tree, if part of it were able to be removed without coals, then we’d have less waiting around to do with the controlled burn. Reina came to me and asked for her axe - walking around the tree to determine where she wanted it cut.

“Here goes nothing.” She swung and it barely bit into the wood, again and again. I watched for a moment, the chill wind brushing my face before deciding to step in. She could do it by herself of course but it would be a lot faster if I did.

“Reina, make fire?”

“Oh! Duh!” Reina swapped the axe for the bright pink pouch, and walked away, far enough that should the tree fall her way accidentally she would be out of reach. I watched briefly as she started setting up a fire before turning to my task. If we were to sleep in this, it would be snug, but I would not mind. Curling up next to my mate? Hardly a chore. But this… I adjusted my grip on the axe the way Reina showed me. We felled trees for fuel at times, but usually not this large. It was difficult work, and I was glad that Reina was no longer working on it herself.

I called out as the tree fell, Reina whooped and joined me, scoping out our giant bowl-to-be. I surveyed it with her, though mostly I watched her expression. If we’re making a giant bowl, the hollow in the tree will cut down the work time tremendously. My mate took off her bow and measured two lengths from the center of the hollow. This is going to be… large. Well, she did say ‘cave size’. Reina had a piece of charcoal that she made marks on the trunk with, including a curved line that went from the bottom to the top like a mammoth’s tusk. She nodded, seemingly satisfied before looking up at me.

Her eyes softened a little and she looked away, clearing her throat. The snowy skin on her face turned redder than the cold bite she’d just had. Was she… blushing? Oh no… tears were slowly accumulating in her eyes.

“Reina?” I reached toward her, and she laughed, letting me put my arms around her - the strange clothes she wore were puffy and felt odd where my skin touched them, but she curled into me and could not care any less about her strange furs.

“Sore-e Gurr, I’m just oh-ver-welmed about ev-erry-thing.”

“Reina fine.” I rubbed her back like my mother used to when I was sick, before I claimed a cave of my own. “Reina fine… yes?”

“I… I think so Gurr. I’ve just had ev-erry-thing taeken from me.”

“...Tae-ken?” I hope it’s not what I think it means…

“Taken… like…” She stepped back, rubbing her face, before looking at the axe in my hands, before grabbing it forcefully, “Taken.”

“Gurr, taken from Reina.” I grabbed it back - “Taken?”

“Yeah…” She rubbed her arms before shaking her head, “Let’s fire this tree up.”

I nodded, my mate was very no-nonsense, but we would talk about this later. The language barrier was becoming less of an issue but there is so much I would tell her if I knew the words. Reina’s people seem to have words for everything - and the words can change if it’s now or in the past - what an odd concept. Words with ‘en’ seem to be past words, at least - so far. She’s told me the present of the words too when I ask but it’s a lot to remember. Now was not the time for a language lesson, even if she wasn’t hurting inside… we had a lot of work to do.

The day passed swiftly, and I was grateful for my mate’s treasures - the metal boxes that held the jerky meat were very impressive. Strong and light. I’ve been trying not to think of the metal wolf too much - but if my eyes linger on the treeline longer than normal I don’t think anyone would blame me. The metal wolf’s call went unanswered, but that might have been a fluke, or its clan might have been too far for the call to be heard. It was injured after all, and perhaps the metal family moved on.

How sad.

At least it was no longer dragging itself around and posing a danger nearby. It was… I shook my head, no - not thinking of it. Luckily my mate had many questions about the burning techniques, and had many ideas that kept me busy. When asked how long this would take… I had to do a few calculations. Something of this scale would take several days without the hollow in it… but seeing that the tree fell without splitting the hollow… I held up five fingers, keeping in mind that Reina wanted to carve off the bottom and make it smooth. She frowned, looking it over, mumbling something before stepping into the hollow and trying to lay down. It was tight lengthwise, but width wise was more than ample.

“Gurr,” she motioned me forward, “come lay for sleep.”

I did as instructed, and it was very close quarters, I was only just able to fit - pinching and painful. I grit out her name and she conceded, “What if we…”

She turned on her side a bit more, putting her face at my neck and twineing her legs through mine. The pressure on my back eased a bit and my cheeks heated. This was… it felt intimate. This feeling of being pressed together face to face - more or less - and having her legs wrapped around mine… This wasn’t a survival huddle… this felt like more.

“How many days now?”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat trying to focus on my words instead of the feeling building by my hips, running a hand closer to her face and holding up three fingers. The bulk of the work, if we were to sleep like this - ancestors save me - would be done. It was just the shaping of the bottom and the front mammoth tusk edge - which we could work on at the same time.

“Perfect, 3 days, let’s do that!”

I grunted, waiting for Reina to get up so we could get to work.

…

She wasn’t moving out of the tree. She just rearranged her legs slightly, putting less pressure on my lower back. This was pleasant. I rubbed my hand up and down her arm, and she pressed closer. This was it. I knew Reina was my mate before but… perhaps she knew it too now?

“Gurr this mite be hard to x-plane.”

“X-plane?”

She let out a breath, and I winced inwardly. I wish I knew more of her words so badly. Explain meant to teach with words. Ok, that I could understand.

“What hard to explain?” I wouldn’t let my ignorance stop her from getting whatever it was off her chest.

“I’m here because of… mah-jick, I think?” She sounded frustrated, so I kept up the arm rubs, which she seemed to enjoy.

“Reina here with Gurr, yes - Reina want explain why, yes?”

“Yes.” She sounded relieved, and I preened, happy with my assessment. She continued, voice low, “I am from… hmm… You know when this bowl is done?”

“Tree days.”

“Three, yes. So when the bowl is done, that is the future.”

“Future… future is in sleeps to come?”

“Yes! Sleeps to come, perfect anna-oh-gee.”

I skipped that last word, “So bowl done in future. What future with Reina do?”

“So I, Reina, am from the future.”

“You…” Perhaps something was not translating well. “Reina… from sleeps to come?”

“Yes, many many sleeps. Many winters.”

Many winters?! I choked a little, “Explain?”

She huffed a little, her voice coming out bitter, “I don’t know. I can’t explain. One day I was wor---” she paused, “One day I was gathering, and then I woke up here, in many winters past.”

I frowned, that sounded… insane. But Reina didn’t seem to be joking, and she was of sound mind. What if it was true? It would explain a lot - her odd furs, how she seemed to know a lot but also didn’t know basic things… how her technology was so advanced. It was from… many winters in the future.

“How many winters?” I held up my hands, perhaps this was within the grasp of our people, maybe our children’s lives.

Reina shook her head before finally struggling to sit up. I joined her, and it was actually fairly comfortable to sit facing each other. She sighed, looking around.

“How many winters?”

I nodded, and she gestured to the land around us, face pained. 

“As many winters as there are trees.”

My heart stopped.

(First Chapter) (Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

[darkmarkets]

The Horror of Writer's Doubt

(Or, is that an angry mob in your pocket, or...uh…)

Writers have a lot of afflictions to suffer from. We have the commonly known Writer’s Block, the lesser known Writer’s Apathy (when we need to write but kinda don’t want to at the moment), Writer’s Carpel Tunnel, Writer’s Desksores (like bedsores), Writer’s Syphilis…okay, maybe that last one is just me. But one of the most horrible writer’s afflictions one can suffer from—second only to the dreaded Writer’s Block, which has been known to wipe out whole villages—is the horrible Writer’s Doubt.

Writer’s Doubt often strikes just after that short period of euphoria that comes with getting something published. It’s that moment when the happy glow fades, and a doomful feeling creeps in to settle into the bottom of your stomach. It’s the “Oh, crap, somebody might actually read my stuff now” feeling. And the “Oh, crap, what if they hate it?”

Maria is one of many stricken by this horrible blight, and she had the courage to write in and tell us about it. She says:

April 15th saw the publication of my poem "Spectral Compromise" in the Absent Willow Review. I enjoy this magazine which is why I was eager to submit something worthwhile. I was thrilled when editor Rick De Cost emailed me back in February telling me the poem had been accepted for the April issue. Now…Day and night for the past few days my thoughts have been reeling over what the readers are thinking, what unkind things about the poem people from my former job might be emailing to the editors of the magazine, and basically just how unwelcome I feel in the world. 

A lot of worry to lay on the shoulders of one little poem. Now, of course, I'm dreading to even go to the magazine's website for fear that the poem might be taken down due to unpopular demand. While I've never seen the magazine's editors do this, in a nightmare it seems entirely possible. In a nightmare every one is panning your work, everyone is spreading lies about you, and everyone has nothing better to do except try and ruin your life.

What Maria is experiencing is Horror Writer’s Doubt. For Horror writers, Writer’s Doubt comes with an additional symptom—the nail-biting fear that once people actually read the gory stuff we’ve written, they’ll suddenly think us deranged serial killers and seek to destroy us.

But, take heart! Dr. Baphomet is in the house, and he has a few suggested medical treatments:

Don’t talk about your writing to your co-workers (or any other non-writer, non-Horror people you hang out with.) Oh, sure, tell them that you’re published, but don’t tell them where. This is a tactic I’ve employed to great effect. (I was a public school secretary for five years—one does not share their bowel-eating Lemur story with their kindly Republican principal.) Instead, choose to share your successes with those who will truly be able to appreciate them, like the friends who love how twisted you are or other horror buffs.

Just remember; it’s more likely no one’s reading our stuff, anyway. Yeah, that’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s a realistic one. And there’s nothing like crushing disappointment to fill the twitching, panicky void within us.

But, another thing to keep in mind is, hey—you just got published! Holy crapballs! Somebody liked your stuff enough to put it in their publication, and the people in this industry are freakin’ crazy about their publications. It’s their blood, sweat, and bloody-sweat that goes into making these magazines and publishing houses, so they only want to put the most awesome of Awesomeness into them. So, the fact that you’re suffering from Writer’s Doubt in the first place is an excellent sign. It means you wrote something that cast a glimmer of light from the murky depths of the slush pile to shine on some poor, beleaguered editor’s face. This is where, as a writer, you get to be proud.

You get to be proud you wrote something awesome. Sit back and enjoy it!  And, just remember that pride when a rampaging horde of former coworkers come to your door waving pitchforks and torches, crying "Kill the monster!" They probably wouldn't understand if you explained it to them, anyway.

Maria’s super-cool poem can be found at http://absentwillowreview.com/archives/spectral-compromise, that is, until the angry mob manages to get a hold of her. Read it while you can!

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 18

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 18 - This Venerable One has Begged You Before

Tianwen has a deadly killing move. The name was very simple, just one word: "Wind". Once activated, no piece of armor in the surrounding area could withstand it.

Mo Ran was naturally acquainted with the power of "Wind". He also knew Chu Wanning's strength so there was no need to worry. He glanced at the pale man whose robe was dyed red with blood. He threw away the rest of his talismans to buy Chu Wanning some time, then flew away to the edge of the fight. He grabbed Shi Mei with one hand, Madam Chen with the other, and took two unconscious people, hiding a far distance away.

Chu Wanning endured the severe pain and reluctantly moved his other. Suddenly, Tianwen burst out with a dazzling golden light, and Chu Wanning violently jerked it back.

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost went berserk. It jumped up and rushed towards Chu Wanning with a distorted face.

Chu Wanning's robe waved like a flame in a violent wind, billowing and flying. His eyebrows were furious, half of his shoulders soaked in blood. He quickly raised his hand, Tianwen's golden light became more and more intense then it took off by Chu Wanning's flying spin.

The willow vine stretched for several tens of feet and whirled into a golden spiral. Like a whirlpool, it engulfed the surrounding ghosts, dead bodies, golden children, and the roaring and twisting Master of Ceremonies Ghost into the center of "Wind". The fierce image that was created by Tianwen was then shattered in an instant!!!

"Wind" smashed and destroyed. Not even the surrounding grass and trees, being ripped up from the ground, were spared.

The huge storm centered around Chu Wanning let out a dazzling golden light. The sky grew dark, covered by flying sand and rocks. Whether it was a coffin or the dead, they were like grass fluttering in the wind.

She was sucked in and was cut up by the rapidly spinning Tianwen.

Sliced into tens of thousands pieces of debris. . .

When everything calmed down, there was no grass around Chu Wanning, a desolate and empty wasteland.

Other than him standing alone in his bright, auspicious clothes that resembled a blooming red lotus and a begonia blossom, there was only a ground covered in crushed white bones, and the horrible hissing of Tianwen's golden light.

From this point of view, Chu Wanning did the world a favour pumping out so many disciples.

Based on his performance today, if he wanted to, even if every disciple on Life-Death Peak were defeated, it wasn't impossible for him to keep fighting. . .

The golden light faded away.

Tianwen turned into flickering dots like stars, blending into Chu Wanning's palm.

He breathed a deep breath and frowned. Enduring the sharp pain in his shoulder, he slowly walked towards his disciples in the distance.

"How's Shi Mei?"

Coming to their side, Chu Wanning pushed through and asked.

The ink burned down to look at the unconscious beauty in his arms. He still wasn't awake, his breathing was weak, and his cheeks felt cold to the touch. This scene was too familiar, it was a nightmare that Mo Ran couldn't get rid of.

As Shi Mei was lying in his arms like this, as time went on, he wasn't breathing anymore. . .

Chu Wanning placed his hands on Madam Chen's and Shi Mei's necks. He mumbled out: "Hmm? How could the poisoning be so deep?"

Mo Ran's head snapped up: "Poison? Didn't you say they were okay? Didn't you say that they were just being compelled?"

Chu Wanning frowned: "The Master of Ceremonies Ghost relied on the fragrance powder to compel them. That was a kind of poison. I thought it was only superficial, but I didn't expect the poison to be this severe."

". . ."

"Send them back to Chen's house first." Chu Wanning said, "It's not difficult to expel the poison. It's fine as long as they don't die."

His voice was cold and unwavering. Although Chu Wanning normally spoke like this, at this moment, it really made people feel like he was uncaring and downplaying things.

Mo Ran was brought back to that year of heavy snow. He was knelt in the snow and in his arms was Shi Mei whose life was slipping away. With tears on his face, he hoarsely begged Chu Wanning to turn his head, look at his disciple, and pleaded for him to raise his hand to save his disciple's life.

But what did Chu Wanning say back then?

It was also in such a light and calm tone of voice.

Just like that, rejecting Mo Ran the one time he knelt down and begged.

In the heavy snow, the person in his arms gradually became as cold as the snow falling on his shoulders and eyelashes.

That day, Chu Wanning killed two disciples with his own hands.

One was Shi Mingjing, who he could have saved but didn't.

One was Mo Weiyu, kneeling in the snow mourning the death of his heart.

There was a sudden panic in his heart, a brutality, a snake-like flow of resentment, rage and viciousness.

There was a moment when he suddenly wanted to rise up and strangle Chu Wanning. Wanted to shed his kind and pleasant disguise, revealing the hideousness of a malevolent ghost. Like a fierce ghost from a previous life, it viciously tore into him, questioning him and demanding his life.

He claimed the lives of the two helpless disciples in that snowfield.

But when his eyes flicked up, they suddenly fell on Chu Wanning's blood-covered shoulder.

The beast's anger was suddenly cut off.

He didn't say another word, just stared at Chu Wanning's face with poorly-masked hateful eyes. Chu Wanning didn't notice. After a while, he lowered his head again and stared at Shi Mei's haggard face.

His mind gradually went blank.

If something happened to Shi Mei this time, then. . .

"Cough cough cough!!"

The person in his arms abruptly coughed. Mo Ran was stunned and his heart trembled. . . Shi Mei slowly opened his eyes, and his voice was extremely hoarse and weak.

"A-. . . Ran. . .?"

"Yes! It's me!" In his ecstasy, the haze disappeared. Mo Ran's eyes widened. The palms of his hands were pressed against Shi Mei's cool cheeks, and his shining eyes trembled. "Shi Mei, how do you feel? Does anything hurt? "

Shi Mei smiled lightly, his eyebrows still. He turned his head, and looked around: ". . . How are we here. . . How did I faint. . . Ah! Shizun. . . cough cough, this disciple is incompetent. . . this disciple. . ."

"Don't talk," Chu Wanning said.

He gave Shi Mei a pill: "Since you're awake, take this poison dispersing pill. Don't swallow it right away."

Shi Mei took the medicine then was suddenly taken aback, his colourless face appearing even more transparent: "Shizun, how did you get hurt? You're covered in blood. . ."

Chu Wanning still had that faint, calm, irritating voice: "It's nothing."

He got up and glanced at Mo Ran.

"You, find a way to bring both of them back to the Chen's residence."

When Shi Mei woke up, the gloom that was deep in his heart suddenly vanished. He nodded quickly: "Okay!"

"I'll go first. I have something to ask the Chen family."

Chu Wanning said and turned to leave. Facing the vast darkness of the night, the fields covered in decay, he finally couldn't supress a twitch in his eyebrow, revealing a painful expression.

The entire shoulder was pierced by five fingers, the tendons and veins were torn apart, and the Master of Ceremonies Ghost's claws even pierced the bones deep in his flesh and blood. No matter how he pretended to endure it calmly, no matter how he tried to stave the bleeding, he was still be a human being.

It still hurt. . .

But so what if it hurts.

He walked forward one foot after another, the hem of the wedding dress flying around.

For so many years, people respected and feared him, but no one has dared stand by his side. No one cares about him. He has long been used to it.

Yuheng of the Night Sky, the Beidou Immortal.

No one liked him. No one cared whether he lived or died, whether he was sick or suffering.

He seemed to be born without the need for the support of others, no need to rely on anyone, no need for company.

So there was no need to shout out in pain, and crying was even more unnecessary. Just go and dress the wounds, cut off all the festering flesh around the tear and apply ointment on it.

It didn't matter if no one cared about him.

Anyway, that's how he came to be alone. He's survived all these years. He can take care of himself.

When he came to the door of the Chen residence, before he entered the courtyard, he heard an ear-piercing scream.

Chu Wanning didn't care about aggravating his wound and immediately rushed in - only to see the old lady Chen with a disheveled hair, her eyes closed, but chasing her son and husband all over the house, only ignoring the young daughter of the Chen family. She stood beside her in panic, huddled tightly, shaking.

Seeing Chu Wanning enter, Mr. Chen and his eldest son screamed and rushed towards him: "Dao Master! Dao Master, help!"

Chu Wanning held them back. He glanced at Madam Chen's closed eyes, and said angrily: "Didn't I tell you to watch her and keep her from falling asleep?!"

"I can't help it! My wife is unwell. She usually goes to bed early. After you left, she was still holding out at first, then she fell asleep, and then she started to go crazy! She started screaming. . . yelling. . ."

Mr. Chen shivered and ducked behind Chu Wanning. He didn't notice that he was actually wearing an auspicious outfit, nor did he notice the hideous wound on Chu Wanning's shoulder.

Chu Wanning frowned and said: "What was she yelling?"

Before Mr. Chen spoke, the mad woman rushed over with her teeth bared, screaming mournfully. It was actually the voice of a young woman—

"Spineless liar! Pathetically fickle! I want you to pay with your lives! I want you all to die!"

Chu Wanning: ". . . This evil spirit stoops low." He turned back and sternly shouted at Mr. Chen, "Does this voice sound familiar?"

Mr. Chen’s mouth was trembling. He rolled his eyes and swallowed nervously: “I don’t know, I don't recognize it, I don’t know! Please help! Please help!

Just then, Madam Chen rushed over. Chu Wanning raised his uninjured arm, pointing at the sky above Madam Chen, and a lightning bolt slammed down, trapping Madam Chen within a barrier.

Chu Wanning turned his head with an icy gaze: "You really don't know?"

Mr. Chen repeated: "I really don't know! I really don't know!"

Chu Wanning didn't say anything else. He whipped out Tianwen and bound old lady Chen in the barrier.

He should have tied up the rest of the family outside, it would be more convenient and easier to gauge the situation, but Chu Wanning had his own rules of conduct. It wasn't easy using Tianwen to interrogate abnormal individuals. So he abandoned the soft approach and instead questioned the ghost in Madam Chen's body.

Interrogating ghosts wasn't the same as interrogating people.

When Tianwen interrogated people, they couldn't fight it and would speak.

When Tianwen interrogated ghosts, it would form a boundary where only Chu Wanning and the ghost would exist. Ghosts would regain their original appearance in the boundary and pass on their message to Chu Wanning.

A flame ignited on Tianwen. It snaked along the vine, burning from his end straight to old lady Chen.

The old lady let out a scream, and suddenly began to twitch. The original scarlet flame on the willow vine instantly turned into a blue ghost fire and burned back to Chu Wanning's side.

Chu Wanning closed his eyes. The fire burned up the willow vine onto his palm, but the ghost fire couldn't hurt him. It just burned all the way along his arm, down his chest, and then went out.

". . ."

The Chen family looked at the scene in horror. They didn't know what Chu Wanning was doing.

Chu Wanning's eyelashes trembled lightly, his eyes still closed, but a white light gradually appeared in front of his eyes. Immediately afterwards, he saw a small, white, jade-like foot step out of the light, and a girl about seventeen or eighteen years old appeared in his field of vision.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

Baby you | Tom Felton x Reader

Pairing: Tom Felton x Reader

Words: 1,637

Warning: none. just fluff

Author’s note: Sorry for the long wait, I was on a hiatus. I had to figure out a few things in my life and focus on my mental health. 

Hospitals have always been one of my least favorite places on the planet. When a family member or acquaintance had a kid, I didn't even want to go there. I felt sick to my stomach from the scent of antiseptics and the notion that someone could be dying in one of the rooms, so I tried to stay away from the building as much as possible. But right now, I'm sitting in the waiting room, staring at half-white, half-sage green walls, trying to take in as little air as possible to avoid the stench of antiseptics and my excessively protective boyfriend freaking out next to me. 

"How many times do I have to tell you that you need to be more cautious?" Tom sighs and fidgets with his watch on his wrist, checking the time every second and blaming the ER nurses and physicians for their slow job. "We've been here for more than a half-hour and no one has bothered to inquire as to what we're waiting for.”

"Tom, I have a sprained ankle, but I'm not going to die. Calm down, just because you're impatient doesn't mean they can work faster," I say as I roll my eyes and gaze around the waiting area, attempting to figure out why people are there. He groans and gets up to find a nurse or a doctor who can finally check on my leg. I take a big breath and rub my temples. Deep down, I'm glad he went to see a doctor because my ankle has swollen and become more painful than it was when we arrived. I would never have given him the satisfaction of being correct about me pushing my limits too hard and refusing to accept when my body attempts to tell me to stop or not do anything, putting me in situations like the one I'm in now. When I tried the online yoga session, it was meant to be a simple assignment, and I carefully followed every instruction, but my body was still fatigued and stiff from the hiking the day before. And, of course, my obstinate arse refused to listen to Tom when he advised me to take a break and try the class again a few days later. 

He sits down next to me and takes my hand in his, massaging the back of it with his thumb. "Alright, a nurse will be with us shortly," he says. Without saying anything, I kiss his shoulder and express my gratitude for his kindness and affection. "You don't have to hide it; I can tell how much pain you're in right now just by looking at the size and colour of your ankle, dear." 

I roll my eyes and lie my head on his shoulders, smelling his wonderful aroma and listening to his slow breathing. I attempt to ignore the puzzled looks of onlookers and patients who recognise him and are undoubtedly trying to figure out why he's there and with whom. We never told the gossip-hungry social media users and the deceitful newspapers about our relationship. Only those who were close to us knew about us, and we want it that way. 

"Miss Y/L/N, please come with me," a middle-aged nurse says, smiling gently and directing us to the examination room, where a doctor is already waiting for us. Tom assists me in standing and sitting up in bed, and then graciously moves away to give the nurse and doctor more room.

"What appears to be a problem, Miss Y/L/N?" He gets up from his desk and walks over to me, where he sits on a little stool and gently touches my ankle, causing me to groan in pain.

"She felt it would be a good idea to try an online yoga class with no prior experience in either an online class or yoga," Tom says, looking at me and then at the doctor.

"On my own, I can tell him what's wrong." I give my lover a mischievous scowl before returning my gaze to the doctor, who is attempting to examine my ankle without further injuring it. "But in a nutshell, that's what happened, huh”

"All right, let me see that ankle," he jokes, and a two-hour treatment begins, including a trip to another hospital level to have it x-rayed.

——-

"Careful" Tom assists me out of the car and supports me by placing my arm around his shoulder as we walk to the house. "You know what the nice thing in this?" I asked, holding a gorgeous pink plaster on my ankle up to the middle of my shin and a small bottle of pills in case "You know what the good thing in this?”

"No, but knowing you, you'll tell me in less than a minute," I say softly as I take a seat on the living room couch, my leg propped up next to me to relax.

"I can baby you, and you won't be able to stop me," he grins as he walks to the backyard to allow Willow in and feed her. She dashes inside, but Tom stops her and kneels to cup her cheek. "Willow, listen to me, mommy's ankle is injured, so you must be gentle around her," he says. "Please don't jump on mama or lay on her legs." He kisses Willow on the head and walks away. I chuckle from the living room, knowing well well that no one can stop Willow from sleeping on my leg.

———

"Tom?" you might ask. An hour later, I dial his number. After the painkiller knocked me out, I got a great nap, and when I awoke, Willow was sleeping on top of me, breathing noisily in my neck. I hear loud and rapid footsteps, so I suppose my partner is running down from our room or his study to the living area.

"Are you all right? Is there anything else you require? Do you have any discomfort?" I giggle quietly as he looks at me with a worried expression on his face. 

"I'm alright, but could you just get me a bottle of water?" I give him a friendly grin and gently massage the area behind Willow's ear. I smile at her as she groans a bit in her sleep.

Tom goes in and brings me my water before sitting down next to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his body, and kissing my cheek softly. 

"How are you doing?" he inquires.

"Much better," I say softly as I put my head on his shoulder, my eyes resting a bit. "Now that you're with me, sweetheart," I say softly as I kiss his lips and lean my head on his shoulder, resting my eyes a little.

"I've been thinking about us," she says. "We've been dating for a while, and if I'm being honest, you're the only person in my life who gives meaning to everything," Tom says, taking a deep breath. "Y/N, you're the light in my days, and I'm tired of always having to go over to your place, or waiting for you until you're off work and can come over.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out if the butterflies and peculiar feeling in my stomach are due to the love and happiness this man has given me for almost two years, or to my concern about his intentions about this brief speech. I raise my eyes to him and admire his features.

"Y/N, would you like to move in with me and Willow?" he asks, sighing and looking down at me with genuine love in his ocean blue eyes. I give him a big smile and kiss his jaw. When my buddy put me up on a blind date with him two years ago, I was convinced he'd find someone else shortly. But no, this man has always been at my side, giving me his undivided attention, sharing his dreams and anxieties with me, and becoming not only my lover, but also my best friend. I knew I didn't want to be with anybody else the moment he revealed me his soul.

"I'd love to, babe," I say as I stroke his thigh and advance a little to lightly kiss his lips. He pulls me closer to him and places his palm on my cheek, stroking my skin with his thumb as he smiles against my lips and intensifies our kiss. I make a slight movement, and he instantly pulls away from me, frowning at my leg.

"No, no, no sexy time till your leg is better," he says, shaking his head and kissing the bridge of my nose. "Do you need extra pillow under your leg?" he asks. Or do you want me to take Willow off your lap?" 

"No, I want you to kiss me again," I say as I grip his chin and turn his face back to me.

"Okay, so, I brought additional pillows to our bed, so you may put your leg on them at night," he pecks my lips a few times before pulling away, prompting me to grunt in irritation. “My mom will be here shortly with soup and cookies, as she is concerned about your health. In addition, I composed a song about our hospital visit and-“

"Tom, I love you, but you talk too much sometimes" I chuckle and look at him. "You know, you could use your lips for something other than talking" Tom grins and leans in closer to my lips. "Oh, really?" he asks, softly touching his lips to mine. "I can think of a few things you don't need your leg for" he kisses the corner of my lips and pulls me onto his lap.

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | Chapter Five

Chapter Five

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Summary: (fluff only) weekly Saturday reading only they are joined by an extra 15 lost boys, not just Spencer

Warnings (adding as they happen): fluff, hurt/comfort, depressed spencer, reader has a daughter, falling in love, strangers to lovers, library smut, oral (female receiving) lots and lots of fluff

word count: 3K

from the beginning <3

He woke up Saturday morning to the sound of a bunch of voices coming from beyond the walls of his room. Only it wasn’t his room, it was the room he slept in when he stayed with Y/N and Amoreena, he hasn’t left since he arrived on Thursday and he had no plan to either.

They still hadn’t told her about their relationship, not wanting her to come crawling into bed with her mom in the morning to find Spencer there too. She wasn’t ready to explain to Amoreena what it meant for Spencer to be in her bed, how they were in love and that she might need to learn how to knock before entering.

So he slept in the spare room, completely contently because he knew she was only on the other side of the wall, instead of 30 minutes away like she would be when he slept at his own apartment.

It had been a week since he saw them reading in the park, and now they were his family. It was incredibly fast, anyone who heard the news would say so. But that’s how his life worked, he blew through everything incredibly fast, it only made sense for him to skip every step in the book and become a stepdad overnight.

He woke up then, missing Y/N and Amoreena as he thought about the last week. Finally getting dressed and peaking outside, through the crack in the blinds, to see what was going on on the farm.

There were a bunch of men in the field with the cows dropping new cattle off in a big truck as a bunch of children ran around the yard. Y/N wasn’t kidding when she said her 7 siblings had produced 15 cousins for Amoreena to play with. Children all between the ages of toddler and 7-years-old, screaming while they ran after Rufus and the cats, it was a pure dopamine rush to witness.

He found Y/N in the living room, a book in one hand and a coffee in the other, “good morning cutie, all the ruckus on the farm wake you up?” She did her best fake southern accent as she smiled at him. Beautiful as ever in the early morning sunshine.

He nodded with a yawn, sitting beside her and snuggling into her shoulder. She placed her mug in his hands so she could wrap an arm around him and pull him in closer, letting him take a sip of coffee and become a real person again.

He noticed she was reading a book he had never seen before, reading the pages and not know the words. It was a first for him.

“What’s that one about?”

Y/N closed it to let him look at the cover. It was a hand-bound book, wrapped in green fabric that was at least 30 years old and in well-loved condition. The gold lettering reading Amoreena, along with a pressed gold rose and the author's name. He had never heard of it before.

“My grandma was an aspiring writer and the reason I love books so much, her name was Peggy and she had a dream once about a wonderful little girl named Amoreena and the magical life she created for herself. She wrote it all down and my grandpa had it typed and bound for her, she was so proud of this book,” Y/N gushed, smiling as she held it to her chest softly, thinking of all the memories Spencer didn’t know yet.

“Really?” Spencer couldn’t help but smile at her.

She nodded softly, “she loved Elton John, so much so that when my sister Ashley came out she threw her a party. Almost all those kids out there are Ashley's, by the way, she went down the adoption and foster root after I did IVF.”

She pointed out the front window at all the people gathered on her land, “Ben and Dylan dropped their kids off too while they help dad and Evan with the farm. Those are my brothers in case you didn’t know their names yet, there’s also Carver and Francis but they don’t live as close.”

Her little life was just so perfect, “did they want to come with us to read this afternoon? We need some lost boys.”

“They’d love that, are you sure you can handle 16 kids between the two of us?” she smiled, pure love spreading through her body as she held him.

“They’re not so different from psychopaths right?” He teased, watching her settle against him even more as they enjoyed their Saturday together.

“What else can you tell me about your grandma?” He snuggled into her more as he asked, wanting to know as much about her happiness as possible.

“She was always listening to music, she loved Elton's song Amoreena the most. It was the song she played for the majority of my childhood. It only made sense for me to name my little miracle Amoreena too, cause I wouldn’t have her unless nanny suggested I have a baby.”

“I would have loved to meet her.”

Y/N’s smile changed then, “she would have loved you and your big mind.”

“My mom wants to meet you and Amoreena,” he announces softly, he hasn’t really told her anything about his family yet.

“What’s she like?”

“She has schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s and she lives in a care home in DC right now, I try and see her when I can but she has her own schedule so I have to fit around when she’s having a good day,” it was hard to explain it to most people, but not to her. He didn’t feel any shame or fear in introducing them. Y/N was the most loving human, and Amoreena was just the same.

“When is she free next?” A simple question that made him feel incredibly giddy.

“Tuesday from 3-5,” he snuggled in closer to her as she wraps her arm around him.

“We’ll pick Amoreena up from school after work and take her over,” Y/N agreed, their lives intertwining like they were always meant to.

Like she was the ivy on his old cottage, she took him in and made him her own, wrapping herself all around him and never letting him go again.

He basically finishes her coffee while she holds him on the couch. The sound of the kids outside making them laugh every once in a while, dogs barking and cows mooing, the farm was alive and roaring while they enjoyed each other's company.

“Did you bring your costume for the reading today?”

He sat right up then, looking at her like she lost her mind, “of course I did, I wouldn’t have Penelope spend a week tracking down a Captain Hook costume just to forget it.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, “you didn’t?!”

He simply nodded with a cheeky grin, “come on Tinker Bell, everyone knows she had a thing for Hook.”

“Who didn’t? He was the first and last bad boy I was interested in, I typically go more for Milo’s and Ariel’s; full of adventure and always learning something new,” Y/N teased him.

“Mhm, I always had a thing for Aladdin and Belle in search of far off lands and happy endings,” he mused, making her smile just as much as he was, “but for real it was between Hook and Wendy for my costume,” he made her laugh again, wanting to hear it for the rest of time.

“You still can, I have a blue nightgown you can borrow,” it was so easy for them to flirt, it fit into their conversation so simply it felt like they had been together forever.

He couldn’t help leaning in to kiss her, resting her back against the couch softly as she held onto him. He loved kissing her, she tasted like coffee and happiness every single time. She made the cutest sounds when they would make out like she was surprised by it or she wasn’t used to it at all.

She made him feel like he was young again like he was 21 and in love for the first time. All his trauma disappeared and that Spencer who used to stare back at him in the mirror was gone now. That guy packed his bags and left the farm to never be seen again.

Good fucking riddance is all he had to say.

He was happy, he enjoyed being happy and he was going to stay happy. It was the only goal he had going forward, and as long as he was in her embrace, surround by the laugher of her child and family, he knew it would be possible.

Amoreena came running inside then, finding the two of them making out on the couch before they could part from each other.

“Ewww!” She cried, jumping on top of the two of them and knocking the wind out of Spencer.

“Get off,” Y/N tried to speak as she was crushed by the two of them. “Mom down!”

Spencer picks Amoreena up then, taking her away from the couch and spinning her around like she’s an airplane. She cheers and cheers and doesn’t want him to put her down because it’s so fun. The next thing he knows he’s being dragged outside to twirl all the kids around like they’re Peter Pan, flying through the air on their way to Neverland.

He’s surrounded by giggles and tickles fights, he’s tackled down against the dirt as a herd of tiny children dog pilled him. Laughing until he cried, feeling more joy than humanly possible and then Y/N’s telling them all to get ready to he’d to the park.

Coming down the stairs in a pirate costume to a bunch of screaming kids was an experience and a half. Spencer couldn’t believe how happy it made them all to imagine Captain Hook had broken into the house and Amoreena, or Peter Pan as she corrected him, chased him outside with all the lost boys.

He took a moment to learn all their names, all 15 of them, however, unlike the cats, they had relatively normal people names.

Kate, Cade, Jet, Lauren, Cassie, Sara, Evan, Benny, Olivia, Jessie, Owen, Maddie, Gwen, August, and Parker, were the cutest little family of cousins. some looked like Amoreena, some looked like their own mothers, a handful of them were adopted out of the country, they were the most perfect cast of lost boys.

He's never had any cousins, no pets, no siblings. His life never felt lonely until he realized what he missed out on.

“Dad,” Amoreena whispered as she tugged on his shirt lightly, “look!”

She pointed towards the house where Y/N was standing. When she said she was going as Tinker Bell he really didn’t think she meant looking exactly like Julia Roberts at the end of Hook.

She looked magical in her beautiful white dress, curly hair with the most perfectly placed flowers and flawless wings wrapped around her shoulders. She was a vision standing on the porch, waiting for him to pick his jaw up off the floor and compliment her.

“Tink,” the words are more like air, soft and barely there.

“Is Captain Hook being nice? Or should we take him to the pond and let the Alligators deal with him?” Y/N teased, marching down the stairs and poking Spencer's chest.

“Ouch,” he teased her, holding his hand over his heart to make her feel bad.

But she didn’t, “some Pirate you are,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him before taking Amoreena’s hand and running off down the trail towards the main house, everyone following her lead.

Nanny packed enough snacks for all 16 kids, and a little extra just in case. Spencer slipped the lunch box over his shoulder and they made their way towards the adventure. Y/N pulling a wagon just in case the littlest ones didn’t want to walk anymore. It was spectacular.

Y/N stopped then, pretending to stand like an army man turning around abruptly to look at the troop. “Lost boys, are we ready?”

“Yes, Tinker Bell!” They cheered back.

“On my lead, 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4,” she marched, bringing her knees up high as they all followed her down the path. “We’re following the leader, the leader, the leader,” she began to sing.

Spencer was in awe, his heart felt like it was going to explode as he watched everyone follow her. Singing along as they marched their tiny little butts down to the park.

“We’re following the leader wherever she may go!” Amoreena yelled the lyrics back, leading the pack as Peter Pan should.

“Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee day Tee dum, tee dee, it's part of the game we play Tee dum, tee dee, the words are easy to say Just a teedle ee dum, a teedle ee do tee day

Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee dum We're one for all, and all of us out for fun We march in line and follow the other one With a teedle ee do, a teedle ee do tee dum”

It was like magic, they all knew the words and they sang the whole way down the path. Every verse and then repeating it. Not a single kid strayed from the path, no one complained about sore feet or hot backs, they loved their Aunty Y/N and so did Spencer.

“We’re off on an adventure, adventure, adventure,” Y/N changed the words, making him smile as she brought happiness into the world. “We’re off on an adventure to read out in the sun! Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee day…”

Every single time he thought she had given him the best day of his life, she manages to outdo herself.

—

They barely listened to the story, it was a disaster of epic proportions but they tried. 15 kids is a lot to handle as an ex FBI agent and a librarian, they had lunch and instead ran around the field playing lost boys instead. It was still an amazing afternoon.

He was going to be covered in bruises the next morning. He had been kicked, poked, trampled, jumped on, the whole 9 yards. They were the most energetic bunch in the whole world, and then they came home to ice cream.

“Y/N,” Spencer finally pulled her aside when all the kids were preoccupied with their cold snack after a hot day.

“Yes, cutie?” It was a nickname that was sticking, much like pretty boy, and he didn’t mind it at all.

“We’re going to need more than 2 songs tonight to get her to go to bed,” he teased, stepping into that step-dad role with ease.

She couldn’t stop smiling at him, wrapping him up in her arms gently so he didn’t crush her fairy wings. “We’ll take her swimming, that’ll tire her out instead. Are you lookin’ for some alone time?”

“I love her dearly, but I can’t kiss you as much when she’s around,” he whispered before pecking her quickly and hearing the group of lost boys pretend to be sick.

“Just because he’s my dad doesn’t mean you have to be gross like your mom and dad, mom,” Amoreena’s smart mouth making them both shake their heads and laugh.

“What would you do if I did this?” Y/N teased before dipping Spencer back like a princess and kissing him, he stuck his foot out in shock as she held him there.

“Ewww!!” All the kids yelled as she returned him to his feet.

“Or this?” Y/N pulled him into another kiss, her leg popping like Princess Mia’s in the princess diaries.

Amoreena and her cousins were all screaming then, laughing at how gross their aunt and her new boyfriend were being. Used to it clearly, their grandparents were just as in love and watching from the porch as they held each other on the swing.

“I love you,” Spencer announced, loud enough for all to hear without a care in the world.

“You better,” she smiled. “I love you too, cutie,” she added before kissing him one last time.

His life felt perfectly complete.

Y/N’s brothers were incredibly kind just like her. He learned that Ashley was the oldest with 5 kids and her wife Susie, then Ben who was 46 and his wife Shannon, they had 3 kids. Dylan and Laurie had 4 and Even, her twin brother had 3.

Turns out her mom had 2 sets of twins back to back, 7 children and only 5 pregnancies. It felt crazy for him to think about having that many people in his life for his whole life, he wouldn’t have known what to do with anyone more than just his mother growing up.

Spencer helped Bob with the barbecue, they made burgers and hotdogs for all 16 of the children while they continued to run through the fields. They had enough energy to last them 5 straight days of chaos. It was amazing.

Y/N and Spencer managed to wander off while all the kids ate, sitting under a tree with their dinner so they could finally have some time alone together.

She was beautiful, sitting in the afternoon amber glow as she tried to keep her hair from blowing in her face. Tucking the strands behind her ears so she could eat her dinner in peace before spencer handed her the hair tie on his wrist. Then she got ketchup on her cheek, seemingly on purpose as she smiled at him and laughing as Spencer wiped it off with his thumb. He was so in love he felt stupid, smiling at her like he’s never seen another person before, absolutely enamoured.

“Derek and his wife wanted to come over tomorrow and have his son meet Amoreena if that’s okay?”

Her face lit up, “his son is the one named after you right? Not your godson?”

He nodded with yet another smile, his lips were going to fall off at this point. “Yeah, he’s the sweetest little guy, Hank’s never been to a farm before.”

“You tell them our gates are always own to new minds and pure hearts,” she smiled. “That’s what nanny used to say.”

He leans in and kisses her then, resting his forehead against hers as she held his cheek in her free hand, smiling ever so softly as she stared into his eyes, they didn’t need words, he knew she loved him too. A week of pure bliss had passed within the blink of an eye, and they still had forever to go.

Taglist: @shemarmooresfedora @spookyspence @spencers-dria @manuosorioh @reidsfish @mochionly (send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list, I don't always see every reply! i love you guys thank you so much for reading)

[theartofdreaming1]

Here is my attempt at portraying Peeta’s camouflage skills convincingly 😅😅

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 19-21 are below the cut.

heart

While I love all the banter between Katniss and Peeta, I think my favorite of these three chapters is: “Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this,” I say. “Although for all I know, I am killing you.” “Can you speed it up a little?” he asks. “No. Shut up and eat your pears,” I say. A classic 😄

mind

I always imagined that Cato went after Thresh before coming for Katniss and Peeta because a) Thresh took the backpack for District 2 (which contained the body armor that would make dealing with Katniss’s arrow so much easier) and b) Thresh killed Clove and Cato wanted to avenge her... Although I have no idea how Cato ended up killing Thresh... he was doing pretty well for himself in his grass-y area... Maybe the Gamemakers wanted to punish Thresh for not killing Katniss and generated that thunderstorm and rain to force Thresh out of his refuge, which would give Cato a fair chance to kill him, I guess...

soul

Lol, honestly, since Peeta just generally seems to be motivated by kindness and love/caring, I don’t think it took much for him to keep the star-crossed lovers angle alive (I could easily imagine him actually noticing Katniss in the willow tree early in the Games and offering to take care of the District 8 girl, so the Careers would get the hell out of there, away from Katniss)

Chapter 19:

Peeta, who’s been wounded, is now my ally. [...] I’d loathe any tribute who didn’t immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. - Honestly, this just highlights what a kind person Katniss is, despite her aloof front; her innermost instinct is always to stick together and to protect. Because it doesn’t really make sense for her to team up with Peeta - she knows he’s wounded and won’t be of much help to her, her chances of survival are way better if she stayed on her own, but it’s not something she’d ever consider now that they are allowed to form a team (and only then does she even factor in the whole ‘star-crossed lovers of district 12′ -angle)

Peeta, it turns out, has never been a danger to me. The thought makes me smile. - Aww 😊 (but also, how heart-breaking that the Capitol will do everything in their power to change that, to make Peeta become a danger to Katniss 😢)

He’s very hard to predict, which might be interesting under different circumstances - Okay, but this just makes me think of that exchange in Gilmore Girls when Paris and Rory talk about how you know a guy is right for you:  “Someone who’s compatible but not compatible.” “Yeah, kind of. I mean, you respect each other’s opinions and you can laugh at the same jokes, but I don’t know – there’s just something about not quite knowing what the other person’s gonna do at all times that’s just really exciting.” - fits these two to a T 😏

In fact, I’ve just about decided I’m on the wrong track entirely, that a wounded boy would be unable to navigate getting to and from this water source, when I see the bloody streak - Okay, but how flipping tough is Peeta?! He’s severely injured, with multiple tracker jacker stings and he drags himself to this terrain that is almost impossible to navigate for someone in his condition - a sturdy dandelion, indeed!

“You’re here to finish me off, sweetheart?” - What an entrance after having gone AWOL for quite a couple of chapters 👌🏼👏🏼

“Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.” I jerk my head back but end up laughing. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” [...] “Katniss?” Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words “How about that kiss?” I burst out laughing - He’s lying in a river bed, slowly dying, and he can still make her laugh 😊

“You know, you’re kind of squeamish for such a lethal person” - It’s such a small comment, but I can’t help but think that Peeta is just kind of intrigued to discover all these little idiosyncrasies that make up the ever-elusive Katniss Everdeen ;)

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. -  Aww, she doesn’t even want to consider him dying, so she spontaneously decides to cut him off with a kiss👀👀 Honestly, at this point Peeta has elicited 2 (!) spontaneous kisses  (the kiss after the chariot ride and this one) from Katniss, who generally isn’t that big on touching people

“You’re not going to die. I forbid it. All right?” - Stubborn, protective Katniss... But also reminds me of their rooftop “date” in CF and the “Then you’ll allow it?” “I’ll allow it” - exchange

I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he’d be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He’s great at this stuff. - KaTNisSs, gurl... 🙄🤦🏼‍♀️

Chapter 20:

But I knew he was injured. And still I came after him. I’m just going to have to trust whatever instinct sent me to find him was a good one. - The very best of instincts, Katniss, don’t you worry😉

Peeta’s struggling to get up when I reach the cave. “I woke up and you were gone,” he says, “I was worried about you.” - Gah, why are the both of them so good?! They just care for and worry about each other 24/7

“How do you feel?” “Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud,” he says. “Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag... and you.” Oh right, the whole romance thing. - Oh Katniss...😐 I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. - Where did Peeta pick this up? From a time his family was less dysfunctional? Observing couples in the town square? Or is he a fricking disney prince and these things come natural to him? Questions, questions...

“You didn’t sleep,” Peeta says. “I’m all right,” I say. But the truth is, I’m exhausted. “Sleep now. I’ll keep watch.” [...] I test his cheek. Hot as a coal stove. He claims he’s been drinking, but the containers still feel full to me. I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. - These two are just too stubborn to take proper care of themselves - good thing that each of them is adamant to force the other to sleep/drink/eat when necessary

“Besides I like watching you sleep. You don’t scowl. Improves your looks a lot.” - When presented with the choice of being flirty vs being a cheeky little shit, Peeta will choose being a flirty cheeky little shit every time 😂

“I’m going to make soup,” I say. “Don’t light a fire,” he says. “It’s not worth it.” - Okay, but what he’s actually saying is “I’m not worth it” 😭😭

Katniss telling that story about buying Prim’s goat😊... A young buck, probably a yearling by his size. His antlers were just growing in, still small and coated in velvet. [...] Beautiful. - We are all very much aware of Peeta’s appreciation for beauty, but the same does apply to Katniss, too (she’s just overall more pragmatic)

“Was it [the goat] still wearing the pink ribbon?″ he asks. “I think so,” I say. “Why?” “I’m just trying to get a picture,” he says thoughtfully. -  Peeta is so detail-oriented! I have this theory that this is actually something that enables him to overcome his hijacking; we catch glimpses in MJ of how he inches himself out of his condition by asking/focusing on small details or things most people would dismiss as trivial (Katniss’s favorite color, the color of her dress visiting District 7, her Dad singing the Hanging Tree when Peeta was 6 or 7 years old...) and I feel like it makes a lot of sense - his tormentors in the Capitol either wouldn’t have access to distort these moments or not even consider them to have any significance (since they are all about big, flashy gestures in the Capitol), so these memories would remain untouched. Luckily, Peeta seems to live by Robert Brault’s words: “Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. “

“Really? What did you cost me again?” I ask. “A lot of trouble. Don’t worry. You’ll get it all back,” he says. - Well, he’s going to cost her a lot more trouble in the future - but we know he’s going to make up for it and bring her much happiness, too 😊

“You’re not risking your life for me.” “Who said I was?” I say. [...] “Of course I’m not going.” [...] “You’re such a bad liar, Karniss.” [...] Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!” “I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says. - Soo.. their love language is offering to sacrifice their life like it’s nothing, huh?! 😳😅 

Peeta eats without complaint, even scraping out the pot to show his enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, - lol, sounds like a husband trying to get back on his wife’s good side after they had a row 😂

I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it’s too late, he’s already losing consciousness. - Ah, the most important indicator of true love: having person A force-feed person B a sedative so they can run off to get them life-saving medicine ;)

Chapter 21:

I lie next to Peeta in the bag, trying to absorb every bit of his fever heat. It’s strange to be so physically close to someone who’s so distant. Peeta might as well be back in the Capitol, - Reminds me how in MJ she’s going to be so close to Peeta (mentally/emotionally) while he will be physically so distant (in the Capitol!)

a tiny orange one [backpack] [...] that must be marked with a 12 - Interesting how that backpack is orange, huh? Why is that? Are smaller backpacks generally orange (like the one Katniss already has) to be more visible or is this simply to connect the backpack to Peeta (though we don’t know his favorite color at this point)? Do the Gamemakers care whether Katniss gets a matching backpack? It just seems like an unnecessary detail to throw in🤔

The table has just clicked into place when a figure darts out of the Cornucopia, snags the green backpack, and speeds off. Foxface! - Honestly, this was a truly brilliant move; kudos! 👏🏼

[Clove] carefully selects an almost dainty-looking number [knife] with a cruel, curved blade. “I promised Cato if he let me have you, I’d give the audience a good show.” [...] “I think...” she almost purrs. “I think we’ll start with your mouth.” [...] she teasingly traces the outline of my lips with the tip of the blade. - Okay, but the idea of Clove cutting off Katniss’s lips is just all kinds of terrifying and disturbing 😨

“No! No, I-” Clove sees the stone, about the size of a small loaf of bread in Thresh’s hand [...] Thresh brings the rock down hard against Clove’s temple. [...] and I know she’s a goner. - Interesting how Katniss describes that rock that basically saves her life (or at least kills her assailant) as bread-sized, huh? “Your district... they sent me bread. [...] Conflicting emotions cross Thresh’s face. He lowers the rock and points at me, almost accusingly. “Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl.” - Katniss mentions the bread from District 11 as a proof of her alliance with Rue (and the recognition of D11) and Thresh spares her; bread keeps saving her life (while it keeps representing acts of kindness)

Cato kneels beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. - I appreciate this small, humanizing moment with Cato

The last thing I remember is an exquisitely beautiful green and silver moth landing on the curve of my wrist. - I don’t know much about North American insects (not that I know that much about European insects either - just recently came across a relatively rare moth on my walks that I had never seen or heard of before) - is Katniss describing a special/noteworthy species of moth? Or is this a more literary symbolism kind of moth? (Just looked up some symbolism meaning of moths: change/transformation, seeking light; power of regeneration in some Native American mythology, hmm...)

[roxy206]

How To Properly Wash Your Genitals

Alright whores, I’m finally watching this episode

Trixie doing a Better Help ad: I’m in denial TELL ME ABOUT IT

You actually look great

MAYBE SOMEBODY WILL FUCK ME

Oh okay we are wasting no time 😂😭

NOT TRIXIE GOING OH THE PROGRAM WHEN KATYA SAID THEY AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE ON GRINDR 💀💀💀

No stop Katya talking about how much she enjoyed performing at Trixie’s bar 🥺🥺🥺

NO STOP Trixie having made sure the area they blocked off the night they went to This Is It had the smokers door for Katya 🥺🥺🥺

I’m looking out for you

Katya is so fucking horny oh my god … I really just … all of that energy omfg

Why does it track so much that Trixie would go on a run & pretend to live a different life

[no okay but Katya’s tattoos in this lighting & set up jesus christ]

I am deeply offended that Katya just compared Boston to Philly. Deeply offended

They are so stupid & I love them so much for it

You don’t remember, I don’t listen

IS THAT WILLOW PILL’S SISTER

It’s like working for the wind: Where is she? Who knows

Trixie saying one night she’s going to be Katya & it’ll be the read of the century 🤣

Katya saying she’s moved on stage so she can watch Trixie during New York, New York

I am going to need Katya to give a health update in the next pod please & thank you

Both of them saying it’s fun 🥺🥺

Aaaand we cycled back to will someone please fuck me

Okay I knew they had to be renting out places in the beginning I feel validated

Okay. Okay. Hold on. Can we please talk about the way Katya was like yeah I was hitting on this waiter & asked him a question to try to make conversation then I asked you the same question. I just … sure okay yep

Also I love Trixie being like so do you have a look you give people — mama you have been on the receiving end of it what kind of question is that

I just want it

I want it for you, I want it for you

I deserve it

If you were fucking who you wanted to fuck every day you’d be so happy

… 🤔

KELLY NOT KNOWING SOMEONE PUKED IN THE FRONT ROW OPENING NIGHT

Them wanting their wlw fans to hook up at the meet & greet

Trixie talking about looking up what she can do to help the homeless in San Francisco 💕💕💕

[absurdthirst]

I get migraines and I haven’t had one this bad in a long time, currently crying because I wasn’t able to study for exams since my vision is spotty (usual migraine for me). Which one of the boys do you think would handle it the best if they found you curled up and crying because of a migraine? You might’ve already done something similar I can’t remember for sure— ignore if you aren’t taking asks rn 💛

When You Are Dealing With a Migraine:

Javier: He’s not immune to your pain. He just doesn’t have a lot of time. When he came into the apartment, it ws to take a quick shower and head out to a stake out for the night. But when he sees you curled up and crying, he can’t ignore it. He helps you into the shower with him, the hot water normally helps him with the bitching headaches he gets. After getting you settled in bed, he brings you everything he can think of. Painkillers, water, a shot of tequila, a trash can in case you get sick. He would stay, but he has to go. Shuts off all the lights and draws the curtains tight and kisses you on the forehead. “Get some sleep, hermosa.”

Ezra: Ezra will straight up go rob someone of their field kit if he finds you on the ground of your tent crying in pain from a migraine. Don’t test this man. His thrower will be pointed at someone once its been determined he can’t trade with them to get the meds he needs. If push comes to shove, words and metal will fly.

Mando: Bacta shot. After that stunt where he, you know, almost died and IG-11 used that bacta spray on him, he keeps bacta cream, spray and shots on the Crest. Swears by it and will spend his last credit to make sure there is some on hand. So when you are curled up and crying over the intense pain in your head, he goes for the med kit. Taking out one of the smaller doses, he tells you that you will start feeling better almost immediately. 

Frankie: This man deals with a shit ton of stress headaches and he can’t get rid of them like he used to. Snorting a little coke is off the table so he will show you the method he used when he was overseas to get rid of a migraine when he couldn’t be down. 2 800mg ibprofen tablets, slamming a Monster energy drink and a scalding hot shower. Sure, it’s not the healthiest, but the migraine will be gone in no time. 

Tovar: You deal with it the way everyone deals with it. You drink. No, for real though, he will brew you a cup of willow bark tea to drink. If you are traveling and it is not dire to keep moving for safety reasons, he will insist that you stop for the night. It’s dangerous to ride a horse and barely be able to see. 

Agent Whiskey: Jack is a lot of things, but heartless is not one. When you are curled up and crying, it tugs on his heartstrings something fierce. He has some painkillers that were devolped by Statesman to help agents be able to kick the nasty headaches that can come with their jobs. He slips you the pills with a glass of water. While waiting for it to work, he’s going to draw you a hot bath and only candles lit to keep the lighting soft. 

Max Phillips: Do you want some of his blood? He will very willingly feed you a little. If the thought of that turns your stomach, you know what helps ease migraines? Orgasms. 

Marcus Pike: Ohhhhhhh He feels so horrible. He’s breaking out the Excedrine Migraine and making a fresh pot of coffee for you for a cup after you drink a bottle of water. Offering you a massage to help ease the pressure in your head. He will do whatever you want, massage, bath, hot or cold compresses. Whatever you need. 

Oberyn: The maesters have plenty of concocutions to help alleviate the pain. If that isn’t what you want, he will ply you with some weak wine and drive the pain away with the skill of his finger, tongue and cock. 

Max Lord: Goodies powders and vitamins. You will feel amazing. He will tell you all this while guiding you over to the couch in the corner of his office. Getting you some water and urging you to lay down while he tries to work quietly to save his drowning company.

Marcus Moreno: This man understands. He helps you upstairs and asks you want to take to help ease the pain. Luckily, he has what you want and he goes and grabs it. He helps you into the bed and lays with you while you wait for it to take effect, wishing he could take the pain away, but at least he can hold you and let you know that you aren’t alone. 

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