#grow bones; get good; fix your skill issues. i hate it here.

[druddigoon]

bede and gloria; late night confessions

[it’s been a while since i worked on this, i tried to finish this to something ao3-worthy but the muse is just not comin ;_; didn’t quite get to the meat of your prompt tho it’s still at 1.5k words and full of drunk shenanigans!]

Bede doesn’t know how he got here. 

There’s something digging into his side, uncomfortable and wet (a log, some part of him helpfully supplies, before his thoughts sink into oblivion) as he half-squats, half-slumps onto the peat. Bioluminescent mushrooms pulse like strings of faerie lights at the edges of his periphery; he closes his eyes and feels the pleasant hum of television static against his bones, loose-limbed and sluggish. 

“Bede. Hey.” Someone’s standing him, shaking him. Glor-Gloria? What’s the champion doing here? She’d had more pressing obligations to take care of than visiting him, right? Unless she was…

He sits bolt upright. “Training.” 

“Hey. Bede no, you’re in no state to train.” She’s grabbing his shoulders, so irritably he shrugs her hands off. “Okay, fine. Haterenne, help me please?” 

“Hissssss.” 

“I know, it’s my fault, you can hate me for this later. Could you teleport him to Opal before he pukes on me?”

“I won’t puke on you.” He attempts to stand up, wobbles, and relocates onto the log, looking up at her like he only intended to shift his seat all along. “Just...don’t say a word of this to Opal, she doesn’t know I’m rende...rendezvu...meeting you for training at night.” 

Gloria makes a face like a goldeen, open-mouthed and slack-faced, before reeling herself in, blowing her bangs out of the way in exasperation. “What’re we going to do then?” 

“Train.” The log is awfully comfortable. 

She throws her hands up, stalking a ways away into the undergrowth. “Fine, you win. Hatterene, he’s yours now.” 

“Rene.” 

“This’ll wear off,” he insists after her. “Besides, we still have an entire night. It’s only--”

                                                                                     --Three in the morning. 

He knows this because it’s a routine ingrained into his internal body clock, reinforced by Sylveon sitting at his bedside and repeatedly probing him in the cheek. She dodges the togekiss sleep mask he flings at her, mewling incessantly from her safe space behind his rarely-used study desk as he fumbles the blanket off himself. 

Check surroundings. Judging by the iron klefki wards she hung in front of her door every night, Opal’s asleep across the hall; woman can sure sleep like the dead when she wants to. It’s quiet, empty. The portobellos growing on the kitchen walls ebb with the faint chartreuse of early morning. He pulls on his gear as quickly and quietly as possible, recalling Sylveon into her ball before climbing out his bedroom window. 

Despite most of the Ballonlea population being asleep, the Glimwood Tangle is teeming with activity: impidimps chittering from the trees, the echoing croons of hatterene in the distance, a male indeedee wandering around collecting swathes of amanita--most likely for some courtship ritual. He’s been gym leader for nearing six months now, and they no longer saw him as an intruder on their turf. The oranguru that always meditates underneath a wisteria-choked tree barely gives him the side eye as he passes. 

At the edge of the faerie ring, in their designated meeting location, he finds the Champion resting between the boughs of a tree. 

She’s already noticed him, of course--squirrelly, quick-eyed and observant, Challenger Bede had scribbled in his league-issue notepad, where he kept track of rivals and how to counter them--and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she made her way down, landing like it’s all she’s known, to fall and pick herself up. 

“The usual?” He prompts. 

“Nope.” Something clinks in her tired leather bag as she straightens herself. “I was thinking of having a battle today. Haven’t had one outside a boring league stadium in weeks.”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat reserved for when the region’s champion calls million-dollar, painstakingly designed entertainment buildings “boring”. Then again, Gloria never cared much for the stark geometry of commercial buildings. 

“But first. I brought something.” After rifling through her bag, she produces a jar of clear fluid with more flourish than she ever showed in her league battles, handing it to him. 

He unscrews the lid for a whiff and immediately regrets it. “Don’t tell me you smuggled alcohol all the way from Wyndon.” 

“Aren't you legal?” 

“Yes, I am. You aren’t.” Hatterene take him if Opal caught him in a hangover the next morning. At least Gloria had her own condo. 

“It’s only illegal if they catch you.” She replies, and Bede would agree wholeheartedly on any other day, if not for his desperate need to retain the vestiges of self-control slipping through his fingertips. Before he could protest, she takes the jar, tips it back to take a sip, then returns it to him.

He supposes he’s not a stranger to alcohol. While Rose never greeted him in-person, Bede had attended fancy meet-ups with potential patrons on behalf of the man (Galar loves a good rags-to-riches story, Oleana always told him) and let himself enjoy a flute or two of champagne on corporate dime. 

One sip. Surely nothing would come of one sip. 

“Alright,” he relents, “I suppose it’ll take more than a--

                                                                                    --Couple swallows in and he’s starting to feel lightheaded, the tips of his fingers strangely numb like that one time he accidentally stuck them into Gardevoir’s moonblast. Damn Opal and her “fairy boot camp”, he could bet on his favorite soap opera that no other trainer got their leg tied to their pokemon and forced to three-leg a batt--

“Drink.” Gloria orders, pushing the empty mason jar she refilled with water up to his lips. It tasted slightly viscous when he drank and...how did she get this anyways? Was it from her golisopod? Was he drinking bug spit?

“Bede. About your. Uh.” 

“We’ve disgus...discussed this to death already. I didn’t mean. Anything with the finalist speech. It was the heat of the moment, I was focused, and you were all that was on my mind--” 

“--So you were thinking about me then?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Anyways,” she continues uneasily, “Could you recall Hatterene? She looks like she wants to tear me to shreds with her mind.” 

“Oh.” He glances back and, sure enough, Hatterene is right behind him, every strand of hair bristling with psychic energy. “Hattie, behave. You’re better than this.” 

Hatterene trains the brunt of her attention to him, and there’s the low before a tidal wave, thrumming in his skull like a shotgun blast before she presses her pokeball and enters it with a huff. 

He hears an audible exhale from Gloria in the ensuing silence. “I haven’t heard you call her ‘Hattie’ in a long time.” 

“Old habit.” She’s long outgrown it now, but he still remembers her as a hatenna small enough to fit within the cradle of his arms, the outlier of the batch Macro Cosmos had donated to his orphanage. Most likely a breeding reject--too smart for her own good, too ill-behaved and unruly to be championship material--because nobody liked a pawn that didn’t follow orders. He knew how it went. “My younger self’s nicknaming skills left much to be desired.” 

They’ve come a long way since then.

“That’s sweet,” she says, and normally Bede would bristle at a challenge to his dignity, but today his limbs are sluggish and the bottomless pit of hatred he’d often found himself visiting seemed strangely empty.

"You were friends since you were young," Gloria clarifies, "And she obviously cares for you a lot--I've heard most hatterenes are as misanthropic as psychics come. It's nice that you've managed to keep it strong through your gym challenge."

"Gloria..."

"What's done is done though. I'm Champion, he's a researcher, and you're drunk out of your mind." When Bede sputters in response, she tips the jar of water in his general direction. He's forced to catch it so she doesn't spill the entirety of the contents on his clothes.

Definitely bug spit. But if this is the fix to the pressure building behind his eyes then he may as well take it. Even if that damn taste--

                                                                                    --is not at all what he expected: medicine-grade and overpowering, a hyper beam to his sinuses so powerful it forces him to tears. If this thing is safe to drink, the only reason would be because no bacteria would bear to live in it. He manages to swallow purely by willpower, refusing to spit it out in front of Gloria; whatever face he saves is instantly destroyed when she bursts out laughing at his expression. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. Bede stares intensely at a cluster of mushrooms metres away and prays it’s too dark to catch the blood rushing to his face. “I thought-I thought you’d take it better. Maybe I overestimated you.” 

“And should I be under the assumption you’re a heavyweight drinker?” 

Gloria shrugs in lieu of an answer. “Leon always brought some kind of new wine or liquor when he visited home, and shared some of it with Hop. Hop shared some of it with me.” 

Unbelievable. And to think Leon was lauded as a children’s role model. Bede resists the urge to rub away a phantom headache. 

[dikiyvter]

Headcanon post regarding: Giacomo’s body

i.e: A full run down on every aspect of his body that I currently have a headcanon for, prone to being updated in the future

Because Duke made a post, and I am but a simple sheep who wants to emulate his friends. Giacomo’s full body ref sheet can be found HERE. It’s.. become a little outdated in some regards, admittedly.

A brief rundown:

Giacomo is roughly 5′4″ ( 162.56 cm according to Google ) ( Mostly ) Straight blond hair | Very pale blue eyes Lithe build | Nice arm/back muscles from using his bow In this house we love his weird lil cheek swirls and ability to blush over the simplest things

General

Giacomo’s skin is a very, very pale shade. He blushes very easily, and it’s very apparently when he does. His skin is also rather soft in most places.

Sunburns and tans are not an issue for Gio-- what is an issue, however, would be heat stroke, especially given the thick layers this boy wears day-to-day.

His general feminine looks tend to get him confused for a young woman. This is in no way helped by the equally soft spoken and somewhat higher pitched voice Giacomo has. 

Aforementioned voice does have a slight accept to it. He’s spent a long time slowly working it out of his voice, knowing that, given the strain between Snezhnaya and the other countries, it would only cause problems for a nomad like himself. That, and sticking out when you’re being hunted is generally a bad idea. 

The accent does, however, start to slip in again when he gets a bit agitated or otherwise riled up.  ( As a fun side note, he and Riga almost exclusively speak to each other in their native language, so if you’re ever caught between the two of them in a battle........... have fun trying to figure out what’s going on )

His singing voice is truly beautiful. Unfortunately, past experiences have led Giacomo to retiring his voice, no longer singing for anyone. Rarely will he sing for himself- and if you catch him in such a moment, he will fall into dead silence and request to be alone for a while. 

Giacomo does bleed. His body runs with artificial blood, the primary purpose of which is to identify wounds in his artificial skin that will have to be fixed at a later point. 

Balance is something Gio is ridiculously skilled in. One almost never has to worry about him falling down... almost.

He also happens to have very good reaction time. Damn near freakish, really. 

Given the fact that Giacomo spends a great amount of his Mora on expensive perfumes from Fontaine... is fair to say that he smells very, very nice. The best I could describe it is wintery.

He shivers & shakes a lot. The exact reason why is often unknown, he just sort of.. does.

Weighs very, very little. Have fun throwing him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  

Hair grows very slowly. Doesn’t need to cut his hair often as a result. The longest it has ever gotten has been upper back length. 

Face & Hair

Pale blue eyes. Nothing too special about them, but...

There’s a certain disconnect in them. He can smile, but it doesn’t always really reach his eyes. Every expression is tinted with a sort of chill in his gaze. 

He cries very, very easily. At the drop of a hat, really-- But perhaps that’s because he can do it on command. He should really invest in some sort of waterproof makeup but, well... he hasn’t so far. It’s led to quite a few messes.

Most of his expressions are soft in nature- He smiles gently, his grin is careful. Anger, disappointment, it’s all measured. Rare is the sight of Giacomo truly emoting with his face, as most of it is done in his hands and his body language. 

His default expression is mildly tired and bored. 

His lashes are very, very thick and long. He doesn’t need it, but Gio DOES wear mascara, adding to the effect. His eyes are also lined with eyeliner, though it typically winds up being a degree smudged. 

Blemishes? There are none. Not a single scar, not a single freckle. The only markings on Giacomo’s face are the odd swirls on his cheeks. He looks almost doll-like from certain angles. 

Button nose. Nice lips. Small mouth. 

His hair is a light shade of blond. Giacomo spends much of his money on products to keep his hair nice-- As such it’s very soft and silky. It is kept shoulder length, with a portion of it pulled back into a sort of pony tail held together by a silver clasp inlaid with a bright bluish-green gem.

There is an intense cowlick at the top of his head. He hates it. Nothing he does will get it to lay flat for any longer than 5 seconds. 

His ears are not pierced.

Upper Body

Experienced in using his bow, his shoulder, back, and arm muscles are rather nice. 

Much like his face, his skin here is mostly clean of blemishes.. aside from the very large surgical scars that span his chest and stomach. It’s here where Dottore has taken him apart several times over to repair the circuits fried from Rigatello’s relentless lightening. 

Inside his chest lays a modified sort of chaos core-- The true means of it’s function are unknown, but it is what keeps his body functioning. Were one to remove it, it would be akin to removing a humans beating heart. The core puts off a soft pulsating hum as it sends energy through his circuits and artificial bones.

He has no hair whatsoever on his chest-- actually, aside from the hair on his head, really, he doesn’t seem to have much hair anywhere else. 

There are a few spots that have clearly been repaired hastily-- some areas, upon inspection, look as though they were sewn together recently.

His fingers are long-- they would be good for playing piano, if he ever had the opportunity to stop and learn. They are, however, greatly calloused from years of using his bow. He does use lotion, if only for vain purposes. 

His hands are also very agile- Sleight of hand is something Gio is skilled at as a result. 

Gio does take the time to paint his nails, typically in a light blue or white color. They are cleanly filed, and in general taken very good care of, much like the rest of his body.

Chest... sensitive.

LOWER BODY

He is Average, and that is all I will say on that topic.

Small hips & waist.

So much time spent running across Teyvat has given him rather nice legs. They aren’t particularly muscular, though- he’s built more for speed and agility than anything else. 

He’s got.. a fairly nice ass? Please excuse the fact Cala is deeply asexual and doesn’t really know what constitutes “a nice ass”.

I don’t have much else to say, sorry--

[mrneighbourlove]

Scarlet Contract: Part 2

The Screaming Predator sailed through out the sea for a over a month now. Captain Kerrigan, Pirate Cheiftan of the Gerudo, whistled for her first mate to get to the poop deck. Before they left for the sea, she and her crew took a job in transporting a crate of 'unidentified goods'. Easy good money. They were just instructed to not look inside the box. Or touch the damn thing apparently. Every since they picked up the cargo, a contagion was being spread among the crew, leaving girls incredibly sick. The symptoms were pale skin, rashes, and vomiting blood near the end. It seemed physical contact spread it around, and when the first bodies started to stink up the place, Kerrigan became paranoid that the sickness might spread other ways. Best she deal with that effectively.

"Coco."

"Yes Captain?"

"Give me a list of the sick."

"Yes Captain." The Gerudo pulled out a chart, straining her eyes to read. It would take at least an hour for the sun to come out. "Dorethea. Padme. Rav. Anura. Evelyn."

"Alright. Bring them to the deck." The second mate did so, carefully ushering them to the deck.

Sleeping in the crows’ nest, Scarlet, 15 years of age, yawned loudly. She hated waking up before the sun was up. Peering down, she saw some of the girls being lined up next to the edge of the ship. What was going on? Weren't they put into quarantine? The more experienced crew mates lined up with the captain. "I'm sorry. There are no signs of you getting well, and treatment is unavailable. For the sake of the crew, I have to take actions to ensure the rest of our health."

Scarlet was awakened quickly as the flash and bang of gunfire went off. There were four thick splashes of water, and down below, she heard Coco swear. "Great. Now we have to throw Rav overboard ourselves. Some one pass me a pair of gauntlets and help me throw her overboard." Scarlet stayed in the crow's nest, stunned by the event that unfolded. Her own sisters executed to preserve the rest.

With another splash, Scarlet waited a full ten minutes before crawling down the crow's nest and heading into the cabins. Word was already being spread around by the officers on the fates of the sick. That it was a brutal, heartbreaking, but necessary evil. Crawling over to her best friend, Scarlet scared the crap of her at a touch.

"Fucking hell Redd! Don't sneak up on me."

"Sorry Adda."

Adda shook her head, quikly tying the back of her hair into a ponytail. "You hear what happened?"

"Worse. I saw what happened."

"Oh god. I'm... fuck Scarlet." Adda threw her smaller frame around Scarlet, hugging her close. "This whole situation is messed up. The Captain should have never taken the job. Box smelled like crap from the get go."

Scarlet knew Adda as of late loved to challenge Captain Kerrigan's role as leader. It was close to treason, but she let her vent. "I know."

"Making a quick buck instead of making smart choices. And killing our sisters? This is all so, so fucked."

"I know Adda."

"We have to-" Adda interrupted herself with a cough. Grabbing a handkerchief, she cleaned herself off by dabbing her gums. Blood was staining the blue cloth. "We have to get the piece of junk off the ship. Get the younger girls somewhere safe from Captain Kerrigan."

Scarlet winced at Adda. Dear god. She was sick. Must have been early, but the bleeding was there. Did Adda even notice? "Yeah. You're right when you're right." Scarlet watched Adda smile brightly. Although she was only ten months younger than her, she loved to take charge.

"Hell yeah I am. I'm a little tired, so I'm going to sleep until the sun is nice and out. I hate rude awakenings."

Walking away from her best friend, Scarlet rubbed the back of her neck. How many other girls were sick? When their symptoms worsened, the Captain would have them join Davy Jones locker as well. That thought terrified Scarlet. They deserved better. She would help give them better, like Adda wanted for her them. Running to the cargo hold of the ship were no one was, Scarlet grabbed a stick of dynamite. Cargo hold was reinforced with steel walls. Should contain one little explosion. She hoped.

As Captain Kerrigan was ready to steer the ship further into sea, a massive explosion sore into her ship. The back side of her boat was blown wide open. Spectacularly, no one was killed in the blast. "Everyone man your stations!!! Coco! Report to me the damage!"

Five minutes later everyone was scrambling on the ship. She could float, but if any other pirates saw them, all they'd have to do is give them a mean look and the Screaming Predator could sink. "Captain! The cargo bay was completely annihilated. A freak accident with a single stick of dynamite. We need to head into land and start repairs immediately!"

"Ey!" Captain Kerrigan took out her compass and map, looking for a chatter that'd get them off the sea as fast as a possible. Soon enough, she had her heading. "There's a land known as Omisha not too far away. We'll head there and make repairs immediately. Drop the forward sails and make ourways east!"

~

The Gerudo crew made it to the mainland in about fourteen hours of intense labor on the ship. When it hit the shore line, the Screaming Predator practically came apart. Would take at least a week of everyone working together to fix the damage. For Scarlet, she was relieved. Least this way the sick could live the rest of there lives on land, perhaps even run off further inland. And for final sights, this Omisha wasn't a bad sight. For the next three days, the Gerudo didn't stray far from the boat. They cut down trees and set to work, but everyday, from 1pm-2pm, the Captain was kind enough to give them time off to relax. Most of the women loved to patrol the beachside and swim.

Adda was taking a walk with Scarlet during such a break. Stripped down to light pants and a bra, Adda was just glad to have the sun on her face. "You been feeling alright these past few days?"

"Yeah? Why? You not?"

"The physical labour around the ship is abit straining, but other than that, I'm all good."

Scarlet laughed when Adda laughed, but she knew her sister in arms was growing unwell.

"Adda. You know, we could just leave right? If you aren't feeling good..."

Her eyes glistened with surprise, and she waved her hand off at Scarlet. "I told you. I'm good. Besides Redd, it's not my place to run. If I'm not feeling too good, I'll just chat it over with Captain Kerrigan. We can get real antiquated with each other over my problems."

Running up the beach, a pair of older Gerudo women caught up with Scarlet and Adda. "Adda. You get back to the ship. Scarlet. You're going to join us on a recon mission to search deeper inland."

"But it's not the end of our break."

One of the women immediately slapped Adda across the face. "Captain's orders. Now get back to the ship runt."

Scarlet patted Adda's back as she lowered her head and did as she was told. The reason Scarlet was asked to go into unknown territory was simple. She was one of the few Gerudo on board with magical capabilities, as well as trained in the arts of the Iron Knuckle. Scarlet wasn't skilled enough to summon armour onto her, but she was capable enough to transport her battle axe to her. "Should we go back to the ship to suit up?"

"No time. Captain wants us to go search now. Food or treasure is the objective. Need to make up for the lost cargo." Nodding, Scarlet took off over the hillside and into the jungle with the older Gerudo.

The shaman was certainly enjoying the view of the beautiful ladies naked in the ocean. From his spying, he was able to come to a few conclusions. The ship ran aground due to structural problems, the women were trying to fix it, and a handful were very sick. Some were only little girls, it seemed. He pitied them, having to play adult at such a young age. Yet, there was still the present problem of the women actually being here. Mother did not allow humans in her land, at least, not anymore. Usually, humans were devoured on sight. Though, these women did not seem to be causing any trouble, other than trying to chop down part of their forest. He decided to leave them be unless curiosity got the best of them.

And unfortunately, it did.

As the women progressed further into the jungle, Bonegrinder knew he had to act. Too many Echidnans had lost their lives to humans. If this beach became known as a popular spot to store treasure or take a pit stop, the risk would increase. Humans were naturally curious creatures, and that would result in their demise in this land. Mother said that he could either scare them away or kill them. Two choices, and he decided to try the less messy alternative first. In a rather dramatic way.

The first woman he slipped his tail around her ankle and pulled her into the bushes, earning a terrified scream. She tried firing at him, but he snapped the gun in half and threw her into a muddy pit. Now, she'd be focused on getting away with no weapon in hand. The second lady, he pulled her up from a tree branch with his long body, hanging upside down. Yelling, she thrashed wildly to get free, trying to take a shot. He dropped her, swatting her with his tail into a tree, just enough to hurt. Hissing, he was successful in scaring the two women away... but now, there was the issue of the kid. To her, he was horrifying.

"Child..." Bonegrinder growled as she held up the axe, shaking a finger at her. "Don't play into the hands of stupidity. Leave."

It happened so fast for Scarlet. Out of the cover of the jungle, it came alive and threw them about. Felicia was the first to get thrown about, falling into the mud. Grekal was injured in the attack, scampering away to leave the others to themselves. Scarlet snapped her fingers and a giant battle axe appeared in her hands, ready to chop down on this jungle predator. The appearance of this monster was chilling to bone, and Scarlet was shaking in her boots, yet she stood tall. Her eyes were careful to watch the monster's tail, as well as his face. "Back off you scaly abomination!"

"He really doesn't want to eat you, but Kasdeya, Mother of the Monsters, the Many, she wants you gone from her lands." Bonegrinder slithered closer, not bothered by her trembling threat. "He can't really blame her either. Humans are pests. Now, are you going to run back to your shipmates and inform them to leave?"

Scarlet wasn't expecting it to speak. Taking a stance, when Bonegrinder drew too close, she swung her axe. "Back. Off. We'll take what we need to repair. And I'm not letting a monster hurt anyone else."

This was annoying. Was he really going to have to dispose of a tiny, weakling child? She acted fierce but her heart rate begged to differ. When the girl tried to strike him with her axe, Bonegrinder moved swiftly, wrapping his tail around the handle and yanking the weapon away from the young one.

"He told you to leave. Mother does not want you here, humans are a plague upon this land." The shaman snarled, exposing his fangs and unlocking his jaw. "We will not let them kill anymore of our brethren. He will not repeat himself again. This snake is giving you a chance to escape with your life like the other two."

Scarlet screamed and closed, scrambling about. Instead of running towards the beach, she ran deeper into the jungle as a way to get away from Bonegrinder.

"Ah! Idiot girl, that is the wrong way!" Bonegrinder exclaimed, running a hand down his face. "He swears Mother gives him these tasks just to get a rise out of him. Why can't more children be like that Mortuus child in his catacombs?" He stopped for a moment, realizing how foolish that made him sound. "On second thought, she is considered odd compared to other children." Grumbling, the shaman muttered, "Now, he has to play babysitter before she gets swallowed by a Jawstalk Mantrap. Mother doesn't want any skeletons lying around. No evidence."

Scarlet was falling down hillside, getting branches smacked in her face, and tumbling through bushes. Finally, she thought she made enough distance between herself and the monster and hid underneath a fallen log.

This was akin to children hiding under their beds in Hyrule. Bonegrinder sighed, exasperated. This was going to take some drastic measures. Finally, he yanked her out from underneath the log, his coils wrapped around her so she could not escape, arms and legs pinned. "You are very annoying."

Scarlet screamed so loud it rang Bonegrinder's ear drums and rattled his skull. "Dear god no! Please, no, no, no, no, no!"

Slapping a hand over her mouth, the shaman held the side of his head.

"Good Mother Goddess, girl! Shut up!" Bonegrinder snapped. "Why are children so damn loud? Either that, or have a pair of lungs that could pierce eardrums, by Kaksa." The shaman started slithering back in the direction of the beach. "You are idiotic, girl. He told you to go back to the beach, but no, you run into the jungle. There are some other kin of his who might not be so kind to a human child." He took another sniff of her trapped form. "Hrm. You've got the scent of womanhood, but still not mated. Thus, still a child, like he deuced." Once he was finally at the line of the jungle, he uncoiled his body from around the young girl. Giving her a shove with his tail, Bonegrinder told her, "Stay out of the jungle. Mother does not care for humans, and this snake is not fond of them, but he doesn't like to hurt children." Then, he tossed the axe at her feet. "And quit playing with dangerous weapons unless you really know how to swing that thing. Magic or not, it won't do you any good unless you stop doubting yourself." Muttering to himself, the snake started to slither back into the jungle. If the women trespassed again, then he would have to cause actual harm. Or eat them.

Scarlet whimpered as she sauntered back to the boat. "Captain needs to bomb this place. Need to get Adda on the ship..."

Bonegrinder watched as the three women swore up and down of the existence of the devil, firstly, then shadow creature, secondly, and last but not least, a mutated snake creature. He thought it was amusing, the young kid begging the captain to believe her. Humans had long forgotten the residents of Omisha, yet there were plenty of tales to keep them from entering the vast jungle. Hopefully, this would keep them at bay.

"Captain, please! There be monsters in the jungle!"

"Fine. We can repair the ship, then dump the last of the sick here."

Scarlet's eyes widened. "No captain! No one else is sick!"

"Unlikely. Everyone knows the risk. I won't infect the healthy members Scarlet. Now, you've had a long afternoon. Get your ass back to work on the ship."

Scarlet did so, trying to think of a way to save Adda and the others.

~

It was getting dark with the sun setting. Maybe a night or two left until the crew was finished. When they were alone on the ship, Adda hugged her from behind, careful to only have clothing on clothing contact. "Scarlet. I appreciate all you've done for me. Really. But I'm not gonna risk the rest of the crew. When the time comes, I'll lead the sick into an island expedition. It should be fun."

"But Adda..." Scarlet turned to her, feeling like a failure of a protective sister. They weren't bound by blood, but they were sisters in arms, bound by sea, sweat, and tears. "I can't stand the thought of you out there in that jungle alone."

"Hey. We could always take over the ship the-" Her smile shattered as she suddenly coughed.

As Scarlet stepped away, Adda finished her fit. Turning her head back up, she smiled with blood in her teeth. "You should probably go get some fresh air away from me Scarlet. I'll be fine on my own for a bit."

Crying, Scarlet ran off. She wanted to be anywhere but the one place she felt helpless. Getting off the ship she ran to a tree on the beach where she could cry her thoughts away.

The women were still here. Bonegrinder considered just storming the camp to scare the daylights out of them. Perhaps that would prove a point. Was his warning not enough? Then, he saw the girl from before. Now, she was crying for the sake of her sister. Bored, this caught the shaman's attention. She was too preoccupied to notice him, already up in the palm tree. "Girl." Bonegrinder spoke, flicking the tip of his tail back and forth. "Is he really going to have to eat someone to prove a point? He told you and your like to leave."

"Majora on high!" Scarlet backed away on her hands and legs. "Please don’t hurt us! We need to make repairs to our ship!"

"That he has observed by you taking trees from our jungle." Bonegrinder picked at his teeth with a claw. Dinner was rather chewy. Wild deer was not his favorite, but it would do for now. "Though this captain bitch of yours has talked of leaving some humans here and this is not acceptable. Omisha is a land for monsters, and only monsters. Humans have wrought enough here." The Anagari's redd eyes were glowing in the dark. "Why haven't you used your magic to speed along the process? You have it. He can sense it."

“We don’t have that kind of magic. And speed along what? The construction of the ship, or the deaths of the sick?”

"The construction of the ship," Bonegrinder was definitely explaining things to a child. "By healing the sick."

“We can’t! We don’t have that kind of magic! Why do you even care?” Scarlet didn’t even realize she was yelling.

"Are humans really so fragile?" Bonegrinder mused as he slithered down the tree. "He cares for the safety of his kin. Yet, he supposes that children are innocents." He glanced at the young ones separated from the group because of the coughing. "Little ones who have yet to see the horrors this world offers."

“You care? What can you do that we can’t?”

"For one, he can fight." Bonegrinder chuckled. "And for two, he can use magic."

"I can do both of those things." Scarlet stood up, adrenaline cutting through her fear. "How can that help us?"

"Child, you've yet to learn of what you need to survive, much less ways to help others." Bonegrinder was crass, but truthful. "You are naught but a little girl." He then stated less harshly, "This snake needs you all to go, yet, he does not wish to harm anyone if he can help it. Most of you are children. Merely, scare you away from these sacred lands." He then asked, "If you wish to learn to fight, then you have to be brutal and be willing to take down one before a strike is allowed at those you care for." The snake eyed the heartless captain. "If you wish to learn how to control your magic, you must let go of your doubt. Magic is tied to the soul. You do not have confidence in yourself and must overcome the fear of failure." He extended his tail to Scarlet. "If he aids you, you must leave and tell no one of this place."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. If you think you're so great, then tell me. Can you heal my sisters? I don't have that kind of magic in me. No Gerudo has the magic to heal."

Bonegrinder actually laughed at the girl's statement. This was certainly more fun than having to swallow a human whole. Perhaps there was a deal here he could take advantage of for the future. Ah, yes, he could see it... "Oh, little child, you are quite bold to insult this snake." The shaman then twirled a single finger in the air, allowing a line of magic to flow. "You wish for him to heal your sisters? Then you must know his magic will come with a price."

Scarlet thought to Adda. Thought about how she never had family she could love until she met her. She was the face that she wanted to see smile properly for years to come. As much as this monster terrified her, perhaps he could be a source of salvation. "Anything."

"Anything could lead you to ruin, little one. Yet, Bonegrinder will venture to be merciful." The shaman held up his massive clawed hand, magic shimmering around it. "Years from now, you will be loved. You will have a family. You will not wish to leave them for an upcoming battle against discord." He knew she would not understand the implications until later on in her life. "You will pledge yourself to the queen of dragons and fire, host of the one who will bring back Balance. You will fight for her and become a queen in your own right." The snake's tail flicked in anticipation. "In return, this snake will heal your sisters and... dispose of the captain. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal! We have a deal!" Scarlet was clamoring to shake his hand.

"Then the deal is struck." Bonegrinder took the young girl's hand and a line of text traveled down Scarlet's arm. It wrapped around her upper arm, tattooing itself into her skin, in the shape of a snake. Once again, he had the opportunity to add to the advantage of his side for the future battle. "Now... drug your ill sisters with these after you lure them over here." He held up a bottle of sweet tasting coconut juice laced with poppies. "It will lull them to sleep and he will heal them."

Scarlet frowned, looking at the tattoo. "I'm not into ink."

"Don't worry, they won't see it." Bonegrinder then instructed Scarlet. "You better hurry. With that sickness, there will be permanent damage if you don't act fast."

Scarlet ran back down to the ship. Supper was being prepared for the whole crew. Clam soup. Realizing what Bonegrinder wished for would be impossible, she didn't know what to do. Adda saw Scarlet with the bottle and pulled her to the side. "What do you have there?"

"Huh?!" Scarlet hid it behind her back in a flash. "Nothing."

"That's a crock of shit and you know it."

"Fine. It's to help the crew relax."

Adda raised a brow, and a cheeky smile filled her face. "Scarlet, you minx~ Why didn't you tell me you wanted to have some fun." Grabbing the bottle from her, Adda carefully danced around the crew and poured the contents of the bottle into the soup. "This is going to be fantastic. You steal these drugs from the Captain?"

"Something like that." Scarlet patiently waited for everyone to have supper and go on there way. Within the hour, everyone who had eaten, except her, well deep asleep. The teenage pirate made her way to the deck of the ship and waved Bonegrinder to come over. As she waited, she cradled Adda next to her.

"You, little child, are quite devious." Bonegrinder climbed over the side of the ship, his weight causing the wood to creak loudly. "Goodness, and he thought he snored loudly." He noted a few females with mouths open, louder than hogs. "Lay the sick flat for him on their backs. It's easier to access the lungs that way."

"I didn't know what to do to get them away from the ship. Adda here actually thought of spiking the soup." Scarlet lugged all the crew members who were sick and did as she was asked. Finally, she prepared to lie down herself. Didn’t know if she was sick too.

"This one..." Bonegrinder looked at Adda, and frowned. "Is trouble." He told Scarlet as he started on the first ill lady, his hands pulsing with a white glow. "You should stay away from her."

"She's my best friend." Scarlet frowned back.

"She will cause you nothing but trouble and pain." Bonegrinder would not reveal too much, and halted when he arrived to Adda. He tapped her forehead with his tail. "Something tells me this one is half conscious." He stated dryly. "Loopy. She might mention something along the lines of a demon or a snake when she wakes."

"Whooooos that?"

"A doctor Adda."

"Yeah? Helloooooo nurse~"

Scarlet wasn't surprised. Adda was able to handle her substance abuse.

"Shaman, not doctor." Bonegrinder arched an eyebrow. "You need to quit squirming so he can help you clear your lungs."

"Noooo that tickles. He's going to hurt me."

Scarlet held Adda down, rubbing her back gently. "It's ok Adda."

"I don't want him to hurt me."

"I won't let him. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Stop being such a crybaby, you'll be fine." Bonegrinder snapped at Adda. "He told you to hold still." As Scarlet made sure to hold her friend steady, the shaman worked his healing technique. It was not long before the disease was out of Adda's lungs. "She should be fine, but he will warn you, this one will only cause you trouble."

"And I'm not listening. Thank you. You should go now."

Scarlet carefully set the crew back into non-suspicious positions. It took any hour of heaving people back and forth. Finally, she crawled into bed, exhausted from the haul. The very next morning, Captain Kerrigan called the crew to a meeting. It was a miracle among the heavens as she called it. Every girl reported clean and healthy across the board. Captain Kerrigan didn't pry too much into it. Meant less people needed to be killed. Once the ship was fixed, she stabbed a flag into the beach, a symbol for danger at your own risk.

Sailing out, Adda poured Scarlet a drink of cheap rum. "Too health and getting off monster island."

"Adda, it's a continent."

"And all land is surrounded by water. Hence an island."

Scarlet's face turned into puzzlement at that. "Hmm, I never thought of it. I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right. Now, lets drink."

~

"And so, that was the closest Adda came to death at the time. It was only a year later that I helped her in a mutiny against Captain Kerrigan. The crew loved Adda, so we were more than happy to appoint her Captain."

Greta pulled on Volcania's shirt to pay more attention. "That's cool momma."

"... a giant snake monster, Momma?" Lovisa looked puzzled. "We don't have any snake men here, do we, Mama?"

"Not unless one has been hibernating for a very long time." Borghild shook her head. "The closest thing to a snake here is probably an ice salamander. They freeze during the winter and thaw in the spring."

"Why did they pick Adda and not you? You saved them." Greta asked.

"Because I didn't tell anyone I saved them. And because I'm not a leader Greta." Scarlet rubbed her hands together. "Adda was the one with the charisma, drive, and brains to lead. As for the snake monster, it lives only in Omisha."

Rat, however, was beginning to sweat buckets. Corsaire worked with Orana's brother, the nefarious Ralnor. The blonde prince gave the ex-gladiator the creeps and more than once, Corsaire had mentioned something in passing about Ralnor working with... monsters. At the time, Rat thought Corsaire meant the scum of the earth, mercenaries, or humans with cruel tendencies. Now, he was beginning to think Corsaire meant in a literal sense. Many times, his captain had mentioned meeting a giant... he gulped. A giant snake.

"Did you ever meet this giant snake again?" Scarlet looked at Lovisa and glanced at Rat with a tell she was about to lie. "No sweety. I didn't need to meet that terrifying monster ever again. Any other questions girls?"

"What was the deal about? It sounded like he was talking in riddles." Lovisa questioned her stepmother. "Do all monsters really talk like that? Or was he just like... tricking you?"

"Probably just needed some money from me in the future. Or good food. Monsters are fickle things."

"Did Adda ever meet him? Or remember him?" Lovisa was still full of questions.

"Yeah, after all, she was a little loopy, but could still recall bits and pieces." Greta remarked.

Scarlet shrugged. She knew it would endanger her family to mention the Hive. Rumours still flew around that made her skin crawl. "Not that I know sweety."

"How big was he? Did he have fangs bigger than Mama?" Lovisa pointed to her mother.

"What color were his scales? Why did he talk so funny? Did you see any other mons-"

"Lovisa, me darling, stop asking your Momma so many questions." Rat picked up his daughter and gently sat her on his knee. "Me knows you're curious, love, but not all these questions have answers."

"Sorry." Lovisa seemed a little bashful after that. She loved a good story.

"Momma?" Greta looked at Scarlet. "... if he knew Adda was going to be trouble, why did he save her?"

"Because I asked him to."

"But he didn't have to."

"Greta, lassie, please, don't pester your mother."

"Well, I gave him a mean, stern look that shook him to his bones to do so. Kind of like this." Scarlet gave a mean, silly scowl to Greta to show off.

"... Momma, that won't work on me, I'm your kid." At that statement, Rat and Borghild had to hold back a stifled laugh.

"Well. Fine then. He had to keep his word or our deal would be void. I wanted Adda healed and that was that."

"Magic seems complicated." Lovisa remarked with a yawn. She was definitely a grizzly bear like her mother, cuddling into her father. It was time for a nap after riding around on the ship.

"Well, do you regret saving Adda?" Volcania asked.

Fuck. Scarlet rubbed her hands again, anxiety filling her. "Should anyone regret sparing a life?"

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you regret saving Adda."

Lovisa and Greta were quiet when Volcania asked her mother this question. It seemed... pretty harsh.

"You've been talking with Revy and Liz again haven't you." As Volcania opened her mouth, Scarlet spoke first. "No. I don't. If I didn't save Adda, none of you would have been born."

Lovisa and Greta exchanged glances, the girls knowing that Adda was generally a taboo to speak about in the family. Yet, they also understood some of Volcania's curiosity. After all, her father was Bomba, Captain Corsaire's first mate and demolitions expert. He could make some of the finest gunpowder in the world from what the younger girls were told. But, thanks to Adda and that evil dragon, she never got to meet him.

"Adda was my best friend....” Closing her eyes, she decided to end this conversation. “Rat. Raise the anchor. I want to see you girls put the boat parked back into the harbour."

It took a little longer than expected, but the girls managed to get the ship back into the port. It was quiet on the way back. Borghild kept the girls occupied so Rat could talk to Scarlet. Bomba was always a touchy subject. "Me lovey..." Rat approached Scarlet once the girls and Borghild disembarked the ship. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Do you think I'm a bad seed or stupid in the head because I still care for Adda?"

"No. It's hard to a-forget the good memories even with bad ones still present, lassie." Rat told Scarlet with a sigh. "Me still loves me brother Renegade... well, tis Faris now. We were separated long ago, but reunited. Dere's nothing I would a-do for him. He's got a good life now with Teb and his little wee one, Skyla."

"But Faris doesn't have people calling him a bastard, a bitch, a monster. Or anyone that worked for him a cu-" Scarlet paused, stopping herself. She needed to breathe and calm herself down. "It's not the same."

"Aye, you's right, lassie, tis not the same." Rat put an arm around Scarlet and pulled her in for a close hug. "You's done stuff you's regretted, so has I. You's doing good now with the girls, me, Borgie, we all love you. If you hadn't of done what you did... me doubts you'd be here with us."

"I know. I know." Scarlet sighed, as she hugged him close. Suddenly, a stone in her pocket was shaking. Pulling it out, a voice echoed out to her.

"Hey ma. We still having dinner together?"

That was today? Scarlet spoke back into the whispering stone. "Yes Revy. We'll be over in an hour. You and your bird won't have to wait for long."

"Maybe tis do you good to go see Revy and Seija." Rat kissed Scarlet's forehead. "Go see her. Don't worry, we'll care for the girls."

"What? You don't want to join us?"

Rat did not have the heart to tell Scarlet that his back was hurting. Getting old really sucked. "Borghild was going to go hunting and someone needs to watch Lovisa and Greta." He gave her a smile. "Go on. I don't want you to a-miss the fun."

"And Volcania? Growing worried. She's old enough to be approached by men now. And you know how Direnor heat can be. Maybe she should come with me."

"You think her father didn't teach her how to swing a mace?" Rat chuckled. "She a good fighter like her old man and her mother. But if you want her to go with you, then take her. I'm sure she'd love to see her big sis for a while too."

"Volcania!"

"Yeah?!" She shouted back. "We're visiting your big sister!"

Volcania sparked up. "Awesome!"

Scarlet sighed, glad that was dealt with and started brushing her hair back. She stopped cutting it a long time ago, gone the days of shaved down sides. It felt good to just get her hands in there at times. "Anything you need from Revy Mousa?"

"Just tell her to come visit her old man soon." Rat assured Scarlet. "We'll be fine at home. Just have a good time with our lassie, yes? And tell her we want grandkids."

"You have the whole orphanage."

________________________________________________________________

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse

[chaotic-writes]

Loss of sight Ft. Elliot/Korin

Loss of Sight. Ft. Elliot/Korin Prompt: Loss of sight Character(s): Elliot/Korin Universe/Fandom: Original Characters

Elliot was sitting in the woods a ways outside Hein and his home. He finally had time to go out, and sit without being bothered by the company. The company being Carina and the people she sent to find he and Hein. Elliot was tired of the random feats of suddenly being found by the Company run by her family. Though he was almost certain that her father had no idea what she was doing to those poor children. He and Hein had rescued so many, way too many. It was impossible to say how many children they had saved.

Elliot sat against a tree for some more time. The slow winds ruffling his hair and clothes. It could not possibly get more relaxing. The slightly chilled winds on a slightly warm day had caused him to grow drowsy, though it was not the kind of drowsy that would put someone to sleep. The leaves were green, the time not being of winter but of spring. Some of the leaves from the trees would fall on occasion, sometimes brushing past his legs or landing in his hair.

The boy watched the swaying leaves, a lizard scurrying up the other, slightly thinner tree next to him. Such a bright green on color the creature watched him, and climbed up again. Elliot watched before the creature went out of sight, it seemed that the birds were silent in this moment as well. The only thing you could hear was the slight sway of the winds. It was almost enough to rock him to sleep.

He moved his head to another sound, walking, footsteps. Someone else was here. It was easy to tell from the lack of other sounds that were around just a moment ago. There was a clear difference in step from the normal animals around here. It was clear that whatever it was had two legs, from the apparent sound of stomping, animals around here glided across the ground with each step, almost making no sound.

Something tall and dark caught his eye. It was obviously a person trying to be sneaky. Stomping around would not hide your steps, let alone the scent of strong cologne from miles away. Even if he did not have the adept smelling he would be able to tell the smells of a man coming this way. He noticed who it was before he could even see the person, Korin. The male had bothered him in the past, something about hurting his “people” though Elliot had no idea who his people were.  It could be those people in the forest that he collected. Societies rejects. Other shifters that went into hiding or just shifters that did not want anything to do with the normal humans, or others that wanted to stay in animal form.

Elliot was like that in the past, he wanted to leave his family and stay a wolf, in the forest he was in now. His black pelt and long legs running in the winds that ravished this area. But then he met Hein, the person that he’d come to love and now lived with, in the very forest he wanted to stay in before. And, he even got away from the parents he so dearly wanted to run from.

When the other finally showed his face, Elliot stood up. “Korin what are you doing here?” He said, narrowing his eyes that flashed red.

The other male stared at him with blue eyes, seemingly ready to start some sort of fight because of who knows what. “One of my people’s gone missing. A younger male. Your scent was found on the area, do you know what’s happened there?” Korin had said to him. Though Elliot was not known for visiting the place Korin’s “pack” had been located for the past few years, he knew his smell would drift that way from the wind that was constantly blowing, it was bound to happen, they shared the same forest.

Elliot was confused, however at one of his people going missing. Elliot and Hein had not contacted the others in the area for quite some time, he had to wonder how long the person had actually been missing for. There was no shortage of hunters and other predators in the area, so it was almost common for members to die or go missing in the past. Though Korin might not have come to argue with him if they’d found the body.

His eyes would not be red anymore, turning back to the normal shade of brown. He was only asking a question, there was no need for him to be ready for an attack quite yet, even if the other’s eyes were clearly blue and ready to shift rather than the normal color of hazel.

“One of your people went missing? Which one was it? I’ve not seen one of them in the area in a long time, not near where I’m at, at least.” He said. Elliot just had to hope that it was not one of the younger ones. There were so many cases of young children going missing lately and Elliot was not sure how much more he could take before he took Hein with him to storm the underground lab again.

That place was like a labyrinth. Full of mazes and other rooms that you could never find your way out of. A place that of a hellhole for a young child of the age of five. That was the most common age to go missing as of late. Easy prey to take since they don’t know any better then to follow a stranger because of ‘something cool’ or ‘interesting’. Elliot hated it. He hated how much this town would not do to keep its people safe, how little security was here, even if it was the best kind of place for the shifters to reside.

Last time he was there, there was a room littered from ground to ceiling with cages. All about the size of a dog kennel, not very large. Imagine putting young children in those cages. The whines and cries of the children wanting their mothers, or even their pets. It was a nightmare he often remembered. Children bleeding out, dying, slowly, steadily. Animal bodies with human brains, human bodies with animal brains. That of a lab made for combining the DNA of both things, to make one. New shifters.

The ones they called the “new generation”.

He met Hein in a place like that when he was young for the first time. He could not remember who was the one that put him in a place like that. Though the white hair of the other had always made him wonder what kind of life he had to hold.

Tables full of supplies like needles, syringes, many, many knives.

He could only wonder what it would be like for a child. Being forced to go through that kind of thing.

“One of the younger kids, her name was Opal or something like that. They don’t really have good naming skills. Easy to forget.” Korin mentioned.

Elliot sighed. So it was like he feared. “How old was she? She might have just wandered off, some of them don’t watch their children like they should.” As seen from what kind of parents he usually saw there, Elliot wanted to add on. Though he did not want to mess with the other’s emotions.

Elliot hoped to all the stars above that Opal was not younger then the age of ten. He did not need to see that again. The pains and agony of someone he could not save. Stomach and throat torn open like some kind of animal had gotten to it, eyes full of pain and shrieks of pain, shrieks of the children that had to watch. He almost wondered if the many scientists of the place had gotten her, but they did not know this location, at least for now.

Korin looked almost offended. “I have fixed that issue since then and you know it!” He paused. “She’s six.”

Elliot nodded, it had been a long time since he contacted them, but he could not be so sure about that. Their species was even known for not being able to have children at all. He had to wonder how they even got a younger person in the first place, especially someone as young as Opal. Their pack had to of broken a part of the code to get her there, unless they somehow found a bout in fertility. Elliot knew for certain that the entire species was infertile, and new ones had to be made with horrible ways. By the scientists.

He had to be lying, there was no proof. But why would Korin have come out here to bother him about a missing person if there was not one? Something was missing. That kid had to be human, and they would have to have stolen her from her parents for it to be plausible. Which was against the code the species had for themselves. They were already dying off, like an extinct species never to come back because of humans hunting them, except it was the other way around. The other animals would hunt them down, and the people would hunt them down. Plus the infertility, which meant none of them could have families on their own without going through immoral means.

“I’m not sure I can believe that, Korin.” He said, and then the shifter turned, the person’s body crunching painfully to make a new shape. Korin had to be used to the pain by now, shifting was one of the most painful things to go through, reworking the bone system entirely to make something new. Now, he could not turn human again for a good two hours. It was like that. Some sort of limit kept them from switching back and forth at will, if you shifted from human to animal, you were stuck like that for two hours, regardless of what animal you were. The most painful had to be birds and lizards. Literally nothing of your normal body could be kept, the egg bearing creatures could still lay eggs, but they could never be fertilized.

Elliot’s eyes flashed red again, though he was not ready to shift, to be stuck in the form of a black wolf with red eyes for a full two hours, he could still commune with Hein and the rest of the species like that, but none of the people that he might run into while he were like that, if he went to find the child in question, that he was absolutely sure did not exist.

“Korin hold on man. You know I can’t look for that kid, and you also know you broke the rules to aquire something like that. There was a case of a missing kid of six just recently, her parents found her.” He said backing up. That much was true now that he remembered. Though Opal had to be a fake name they thought for the kid. Hein was one that told him of the missing cases of the area, it was not uncommon.

He ended up backing himself into a tree. He either had to fight back or face the consequences of backing himself into a corner. Granted, the male could not have predicted something like that. Never something of the sort, the place where Korin’s people lived was miles off. There was no way the kid would make it out here.

Elliot had it, he would shift. There was sounds of bones breaking and going back into place, entire bones moving to be placed in differing areas, so many changes to the skull and mouth that it was almost enthralling for someone like a scientist to watch, but he was not shifting to be watched.

His black fur shone in the sunlight, and Korin came after him.

Elliot had regretted it almost instantly. Stuck like this for two hours, after this, he’d be stuck like this for an entire two hours. He’d be stuck not knowing what from what, and who from who, unless he were linked to that person. Unless he were with Hein.

Elliot went for the neck, first, the hardest place to hit, but the place that would do the most damage. The other got at his leg before he could do it and toppled the two of them over, Korin over Elliot. He growled, Elliot would not be having this. Before Korin could make another move, he bit the throat of the other and pushed him off. It was not difficult to do it, the two of them almost being the same weight, equally as skinny.

Blood hit is tongue, such a taste like iron.

He loved it.

Elliot let go when he felt the other struggling. He did not want to kill anyone this day. His leg was on fire, only achieving to up the adrenaline. He would have cackled if he were capable of it.

Korin came after him again, this time gripping the side of his face, the right side. Elliot tore his face away blinding himself. That could be taken care of later. He angrily, and rather quickly grabbed at the other to make a snapping noise, something broke.

The other wolf toppled under him as he let go. “Damnit Elliot. You got me again.” He grumbled, struggling to stand.

Elliot watched him, blood streaming down his face, one eye currently not cooperating. He needed to get that fixed, he knew Hein would help him. Elliot was not looking forward to the worry that would hit his face when he was left to pick up the pieces of this fight. Elliot growled. “Get out of here.” Before turning to leave the other behind, and let him walk on the leg that would not work for some time.

[olivia-crains]

Sharp Objects

Episodes: Vanish, Dirt, Fix, Ripe

Content below may be triggering for some, please read with discretion.

Examining tiny hairs became my daily hobby. I would always attempt to remove the tiny white bulb from each eyebrow or eyelash I pulled.

I had two groups of friends in middle school, one set who did nothing but make fun of me and really appealed to my critic voice, and the other group who were kind and loving and adored me. I am sure you can guess which group I hung out with more often. Christ, you’d think I would have learned by now. These girls would write notes to me in class threatening to kill my cat, they would go into gruesome detail about how they would do it and where they would bury him. My boy was only about a year old and he was my world, this ‘friend’ befriended me because I was the new kid at this school and had a photo of my cat in the front pocket of my binder. She used the very thing I loved so much to hurt me. This would grow to be a frequent occurrence with all the toxic individuals who have entered my life. The picking began that year, while taking our end of grade tests, the note passing session fell around the same time as well. I hate seeming like I was an easy target and like a pitiful little baby, I had no problem sticking up for myself and becoming defensive, but it is as if they and everyone else knew I would take their insults and words to heart and lash out at myself in the process, it is as if no one took me seriously. My vulnerability has always been used against me though it is my favorite attribute that I embody. So, following the threatening cat letter, I told my Mom and she in turn told my teacher, though I told her not to. The girls were obviously scolded and were told to apologize to me and they did and I forgave them and all was dandy! Me teacher took a liking to me after that happened, she stopped me in the hallway and said to me one afternoon “You know that saying, sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me? Well, words are worse.” I have never forgotten that, and thinking back on that now, I would much rather someone shatter my skull than harm my heart with words; the most powerful weapon of all.

My palm is still pulsating from my grip on my favorite pair of scissors. I used to use them to cut out photos of the cast of LOST and carefully pin them on my wall, they are children’s scissors, a rather hideous blue color, I once was detained at the Colorado airport for having them in my backpack. These scissors have traveled with me for well over a decade now, always handy, for whatever need may arise.

Is there anything more vulnerable and heartbreaking than hearing an adult refer to their Mom as ‘Mama’? It is the southern staple, it is what I call my own Mama, a spark of my inner child latching on to this tiny, yet, oh so powerful word.

Everything is a sharp object, a person who self harms spends time scanning rooms. When you vow to not keep the ‘normal’ tools in your home, you sometimes have to get creative when you are desperate. Using the end of a tube of lotion, safety pins, knives, caps from various household items (toothpaste, prescription bottles, etc), the blades of your blender screaming your name, end of a lightbulb, end of an iPhone charger, etc. Anything can work as long as you press hard enough. The thoughts and perceptions are the ammunition; the cutting itself is the therapy.

I chipped my front tooth on a glass bottle a few months ago, it is sharp and jagged, but barely noticeable. As an anxious habit, I tend to rub my thumb nail against the sharp part of the tooth and drag my thumb up and down repeatedly throughout the day, my cuticles are worn and bruised, my nail has white lines, jagged and uneven all over. I wish I picked up skills as quickly as I pick up gross habits. I always must be doing something, whether it is biting my nails, digging my car key into my stomach while socializing, cutting words like ‘fat’ and ‘never’ on the inside of my thighs, purging until my throat is stinging and raw, picking and picking, punishing me for being me.

I am always particularly drawn to destructive characters, not their behaviors or habits, but their strength. It takes a brave person to keep living when everything inside of them is frothing with hate. The damage is outside of ourselves, though we take it out on ourselves, no matter the issue, no matter the severity, we take it out on ourselves. Amy Adams perfectly conveys what it is like to have destructive thoughts and painful memories rumbling inside of your skull at all times, instead of taking it out on other people, which tends to be the more common practice, she takes it out on herself. Why is it that I can care for such characters so deeply but cannot care about myself? I think it is because my issues are weak comparatively, that is what the message on the jumbotron flashing across my insides reads.

I recently turned in my apartment key to my former leasing agent, my first thought when I left the building was about that key; a sense of mourning trailing behind me. It is dull and smells of nickel, but I have always preferred it due to its specific ridges. I trace my finger across the grooves, it is ritualistic in nature, that’s always how it begins, I feel the object, allow guilt over past issues/what people think of me take hold of me, and carve. It is an instant euphoria, it’s hard to describe it, it feels like my guilt or my self-loathing is silenced for the night. My thoughts quiet, bleeding through, I always promise this will be the last time, only issue is my guilt and self-loathing are like rabbits; rapidly procreating.

Camille hides her indulgences like a child, her stunted adolescence is showcased through the candy bars and tiny alcohol bottles she continues to sneak into her Mother’s home. Addicts and individuals who partake in harmful activities tend to minimize everything and/or make excuses for themselves. Camille buys small bottles of vodka instead of a full handle. Camille softens experiences, her rape, cutting, alcoholism, she is never the victim, ever, she thinks she deserves all of this. Placing the sewing needles against the pad of a finger, no blood, no incision, just a press. It isn’t real if the dose of the destruction is untraceable.

Camille is so real, so dark, familiar. Unlovable. The only way to stop ones destructive habit(s) is to graduate to a new one. For Camille, that is alcohol. There is almost a self destructive meter that each person has. For me, alcoholism and sex addiction are the 10s, I made a promise to myself years ago that I will never get there, ever. I tend to teeter on the line at a 5/6. 1-Pulling (trichotillomania) 2- weak cuts, no depth 3-anorexia 4-heavier cutting 5-bulimia 6-bulimia and cutting. I know this makes no sense and seems appalling, but these are examples of my own personal excuses. “Well, ill never make it to a ten, well I never use razors, well ill never be a sex addict because no one will have sex with me, etc.” I am trying my hardest to level down, the only issue is there is so much darkness I have yet to punish myself for, so many memories living at the forefront, things I will never forget. Our ability to remember everything is our everlasting curse, no prince will ever break it, in a way, our worst memories are what keep our destruction alive. A buffet for the critic living inside of us.

Adora’s words slither. Whispers coated with poison, suffocating all those around her, yet her love and approval feel like antidotes. Camille will never fully heal.

Amma wraps her lollipop around Camille’s waves in her hair, the ultimate childish act. Teens are just so freaking scary, that scene is just deeply troubling and it is tough to see a grown woman sucked into a gaslighting reality. Its all about power dynamics in that toxic town. Camille seems fearful, her tone shifts to defensive, but it never works, not even on her sister who is more than a decade younger than her, people can just sense that she is an adult child. The empath. The watcher. The ultimate reactor.

Camille is timid, but she asserts such dominance when her secret is threatened to be exposed.

There is an acid stain on my porcelain tub, it sits two inches from the drain and features a light orange tint, I remember that specific night that stain was born. Its the spot I always aim for when purging; a home, a landing strip for my innards, you’re not alone here; no one is alone here. I shave sitting down in the shower because I am a weak individual who just prefers to sit or lay at all times, I notice the stain, I stick only one finger in my throat to gag, but stop myself from taking it further than that, it isn’t good, but I have to do something. Usually I will stare in the general direction of the stain and blindly shave while staring at it, my eyes shift to the drain and memories shoot out and I wish to turn the small top off of the drain and cut myself again, I ignore that and continue to shave, if only I had shorter legs.

I bet you’re sensitive, writers are sensitive. You can make people understand.

Camille is a person of senses, she is so easily triggered by her environment. She feeds off of energies; clocking everyone.

There is a moment in Vanish where Camille is driving in Wind Gap, she sees one of the town’s many murals and says quietly, but with a shake of comfort, “Hi Betty.” She later greets the mural outside of the tire store and says with a sarcastic (she finds the funny and its one of so many things I so deeply love about her, her wit is incredibly strong) tone, “What do ya know, Joe?” I have this ritual to ease my anxiety that I have been doing since I was a teenager, whenever I am feeling overwhelmed or like I wish to purge or cut, I say hello to every object in the room I am in. Hello sink, hello rug, hello shampoo, hello conditioner. I have never really given much thought to this little coping mechanism of mine, but Camille saying hello to these little pieces of her town, it made me feel less like a freak.

The yellow innards of the lemons printed on my sheets stared back at me. A perfect set of sheets for the summer, lemons have always made me happy, I tend to give fruits and other inanimate objects personalities, and lemons are just so very kind and nurturing. Mother fruit. As a child, I would constantly take the lemons from my parent’s waters at restaurants and suck on them until my tongue was numb. The blood is traceable, not much, a familiar yet distant sight to behold. The warmth of the blood slowly dripping down my inner thigh landing on one of the many lemons printed on my sheets; silencing its kindness.

There is always a sting of pain hidden beneath the shadow of empathy in the eyes of the damaged. Weighted looks, like magnets, that draw you in.

In the words of the masterful Gillian Flynn,

Camille is a ballerina with a steel spine.

[theheavymetalmama]

Katie Reviews “Far Cry 5″

Doctor Stupidlove

Another day, another Far Cry game. Whether or not that’s a good or bad thing depends on person to person with a laundry list of variables, including but not limited to personal taste and sensibilities, franchise fatigue, whether or not you bought into the glue-huffing guff that this game held a leftist bias pushing an anti-white, anti-American agenda because for the first time in the series the bad guys are an American fanatically religious death cult instead of brown people from imaginary foreign countries, and a myriad of other things I’m probably missing. I’ll say up front that after Primal and a bunch of other bullshit from Ubisoft between now and the infamous ‘women are too hard to animate’ thing I was pretty much done with the series and Ubisoft as a whole. Then the launch trailer for Far Cry 5 dropped and, having grown up in a dead gold mining community chock-full of racist loonies not unlike the one depicted in the fictional Hope County, my interest immediately peaked.

See, the Far Cry games have a strange pattern to them. No game is perfect, but the Far Cry games stand out in that they have one glaring flaw that mars an otherwise damn good game. Far Cry 3 is held aloft as when the series peaked, and for good reason, but the main character was irredeemably unlikable and the main charismatic villain just up and vanishes from the halfway point in the game. Far Cry 4, or Far Cry 3 2 as some call it, fixed the villain problem but the main character was just dull. Primal was...not good, with a boring lead, a boring villain, and an overall boring game. Sure, Blood Dragon was a ton of fun, but part of the charm was that it was completely self-aware of its’ own absurdity and the characters from the hero to the villain weren’t characters so much as they were walking punchlines.

So how does Far Cry 5 compare? Well, when it comes to story, setting, and gameplay, it’s a step up from Far Cry 4 in some ways, blows Primal out of the water, but has its’ own issues and hang-ups that don’t quite make it live up to Far Cry 3. That’s the short version, anyway. The long version?

Let’s start with graphics, location, and aesthetics. Far Cry 5 looks fucking beautiful. 

I’m not kidding, everything from the wild lands, the forests, the mountains, the lakes and rivers, the settlements, everything in Far Cry 5 is absolutely gorgeous. It’s not quite up there with Breath of the Wild or Horizon: Zero Dawn in sheer style and detail, but it’s pretty damn close. More often than not I found myself forgetting about the mission and spending a lot of time exploring, hunting, and trying to take in the sights. More on the ‘trying’ part in a bit. The atmosphere sucks you right in, everything from the chirping birds and buzzing bees making the world feel alive. Exploring the woods and hearing cultist singing and chanting far off in the distance, especially at night, is legitimately terrifying. Wildlife always plays a key role in the Far Cry games and this is no exception, from docile deer to the always pleasant wolverine providing plenty of opportunities for hunting. Just don’t get skunked.

The game takes place in Hope County, a fictional region in rural Montana. Now I’ve never actually been to Montana, but I did grow up in Washington state and I can’t help but notice many similarities. The woods, the rivers, the god damned apple farms, exploring Hope County felt like I was going home again. Sometimes not for the better, but that’s neither here nor there. In any case, Hope County is beautifully detailed, from the farms to forest to the interiors of the (ugh...) Spread Eagle bar to the small hunting cabins out in the woods. Hats off to the artists and environmental designers for Far Cry 5, because they manage to tell more story about the world and characters with just a ransacked pumpkin farm and a dog mourning his dead owners than Square Enix and Konami ever could with a 20 minute cutscene and a dictionary’s worth of dialogue for each character.

Speaking of characters, the Far Cry games are loaded with memorable characters and the locals of Hope County are no exception. Returning character Hurk is back and as redneck-y as ever, and it turns out Hope County is his home. We also meet members of his family, like his pyromaniac cousin Sharky, his promiscuous mother Adelaide and her boyfriend Xander who’s roughly 1/3rd her age, and his racist conspiracy theorist gun-hoarding father Hurk Sr. No wonder he’s so messed up.

But Hurk and his folks aren’t the only people you meet, as the game is packed to the brim with memorable characters that you either love or love to hate, from lovable country boy Nick Rye and half-feral huntress Jess Black to the cartoonishly evil Seed family. More on them in a minute. Oh, and you get a pet bear named Cheeseburger.

Combat and gunplay is as tight as ever, and vehicle control is so smooth it gives Grand Theft Auto a run for its’ money. The soundtrack is pretty damn good, featuring a good mix of licensed and original music and songs. To the surprise of nobody my favorite is the one that plays during the stunt missions.

Leveling and character progress has been streamlined a bit. You upgrade your skills not by gaining experience, but by completing in-game challenges and finding ‘perk magazines’ that, you guessed it, give you points to unlock...well, perks. Some may not like that, but in my opinion it makes sense because if you gained experience just by killing stuff you’d reach level 50 before your first boss fight. Things like bigger ammo bags and extra weapon holsters are no longer unlocked by animal skins but through perks, and said said skins are now exclusively a form of making money.

So that about covers it for the good, and now it’s time for the bad. The streamlining I just brought up both helps and hurts the game. On one hand it does make progressing a lot less tedious, but on the other hand it does take away a lot of what makes Far Cry stand out from other typical shooters. It feels less like they were trimming the fat and more like they were cutting corners. For starters, areas that contain loot only contain ammo, crafting components, and sometimes money. There’s no more animations for skinning animals, harvesting plants, looting corpses, or even your character opening doors. That’s not so bad, but I really miss how dynamic and, as much as I’ve grown to detest this word, cinematic meeting new characters in previous games were. Take a look at this scene in Far Cry 4 when you meet Longinus, easily one of the highlights of the game.

And here’s what happens when you meet Sharky in Far Cry 5. (MINOR SPOILERS)

See the difference? Now one can argue that meeting new characters in real time saves some...well, time and is considerably less pretentious, but it just isn’t as interesting. Far Cry 5 still has plenty of scripted cutscenes, but again, they’ve been stripped down to the bone.

Now remember what I said earlier about trying to take in the sights? This game is packed to the fucking gills with enemy NPCs. Now previous Far Cry games had plenty of enemies as well but this went way overboard to the point that you can’t walk or drive 50 feet before running into a convoy or roadblock or whatever. I speak no hyberbole when I say that by the time you’ve liberated your first region, you’ll have killed more cultists than there are people currently living in real-life Montana as well as hunted and skinned more wolves, cougars, and bears than there are wolves, cougars, and bears currently populating the US west coast. Also, in what universe can a fucking turkey pose a legitimate threat to humans!? Does Far Cry occupy the same universe as fucking South Park?

The story of Far Cry 5 is pretty straight forward, but it definitely feels like there’s some pretty big pieces missing from it. This isn’t just me, critics and players across the board agree that it feels like something was cut from the game at the last minute. This is especially true for the endings, but more on that in a bit. I can’t help but feel that the writers and developers had a lot more to say about racism, gender roles and the enforcement thereof, gun violence and gun culture in America, sexism, religious zealotry, far-right extremism, and of course this tire fire of a presidential administration, because the pieces for all of that are still there. A handful of NPCs mention gender roles for a hot second, several of the guns for hire make disparaging remarks about Trump, the symbol of Eden’s Gate strongly resembles the same symbol the Ku Klux Klan and other white supremacist groups use, Hurk’s dad is a caricature of far-right ideals purposefully exaggerated for ridicule and contempt, and there’s even a mission where you meet up with another returning character to find Trump’s pee-tape.

All of the elements are there, but the game says almost nothing about any of it. Why?

When the first trailer for the game dropped it was around the same time Wolfenstein II: the New Colossus was close to release and the same mouth-breathing shitheels who screamed about how killing Nazis in Wolfenstein was pushing an anti-white, anti-conservative agenda did the same thing for Far Cry 5. My guess is that the PR guys at Ubisoft saw the oxygen-thieving wastes of space screaming about how the game was “anti-white SJW propaganda” and then panicked and removed huge chunks of the game so as not to alienate any racist shitheads who may want to buy it. Not only does the game say almost nothing about any of the themes and elements that I mentioned earlier, but the cult of Eden’s Gate is multi-racial and gendered where most of the guys have long hair and hipster beards and all the women barring Faith Seed have short hair and buzz cuts. It’s really jarring and feels like something that was added at the last minute, as the male cultists all sound the same and the female cultists say hardly anything at all.

That brings us to the player character; they’re aren’t a character, they’re an avatar and silent protagonist. Now there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but it feels strange. Especially when you play as a female, which I did. Now the character creation itself is fine, especially with the wide variety of outfits, but the rest is pretty bare bones. More to the point, it’s painfully obvious they designed the game with a male lead in mind and then added a gender-switch as an afterthought. Almost everyone in the game refers to you by male pronouns (which to be fair I call my ladyfriends ‘dude’ all the time) but there are a few scenes where you’re found shirtless in the game. Now call me old-fashioned, but I’d have a bit stronger of a reaction than “Oh, you startled me” if I woke up to some weirdo carving the word ‘wrath’ into my tits! I have a sneaking suspicion that they added a gender switch at the last minute because someone reminded them of the time they looked like lazy idiots for claiming your customizable assassin in Assassin’s Creed: Unity couldn’t be a woman because women were too hard to animated.

And now, let’s finally talk about the Seed Family.

We have the leader Joseph Seed, the trainer and disgraced soldier Jacob, the sadistic second in command John, and the seductress Faith. The Far Cry games are known for their charismatic villains and the seeds are no exception, and especially gripping because the second you meet any single one of them you immediately want them dead. The only problem is that, again, they’re so cartoonishly evil that the more you see them the more you want to shove them crotch-first into the mouth of a hungry grizzly bear. Vaas was always one step ahead of you and constantly in your face and Pagan Min was so suave and charming that you kind of wanted to see where he was going with it all.

Not the case with the seeds. When you see them they immediately piss you off, and the more you see them they just keep pissing you off because they keep hiding behind doors, cronies, hallucinations, or plot devices. And hey, that’s fine. As long as you get to shove the barrel of a shotgun right into their mouth and spatter their brains all over the walls of their church then who cares, right?

....

So, let’s talk about the endings of the game.

Once you’ve liberated all three regions of Hope County by killing John, Jacob, and Faith, you return to the main cult compound to arrest Joseph once again. However, once you get there and cuff him you step outside to find your allies under the brainwashing influence of the drug Bliss and a boss fight ensues. When you knock your allies out and revive them, they snap out of their Bliss-induced stupor and turn on Joseph, and once you’ve freed all of them Joseph drops like a hot rock. When Joseph is down and the day is won...this happens.

....no, really. 

Right the fuck out of nowhere a nuke lands somewhere in the outskirts of Hope County and you scramble to escape, and pretty soon you black out and wake up in a bunker chained to a bed with Joseph hovering over you saying that you’ll be his first new recruit in the cult. All the allies you previously made die as Hope County is wiped off the map and the game ends, not even giving you a continuation like previous games did and rendering every single thing you did up to this point totally and utterly meaningless.

Now some people have defended this, including the developers, saying that there are radio broadcasts in-game talking about how tensions are raising in Russia and North Korea. I spent hours driving around in the game listening to the radio and I heard no such thing, but if they’re indeed there then this only furthers my suspicion that this was a last-minute change because of the backlash from racist shitbirds and wasn’t the ending the writers and developers originally intended. 

For starters, the escalating tensions between Russia, the US, and North Korea aren’t mentioned anywhere else in the game except in the radio broadcasts (which again, I never heard) and despite the Seeds going on and on about “the collapse” we never get any idea of what the collapse is until the end of the game. It’s not even a convincing depiction of a nuke going off! Just some burning trees and a few animals dropping dead as you make your escape with Joseph in tow and neither of you having so much as a sunburn. If this ending was what they planned from the start then they would have went all out, showing in graphic detail the horrors of a nuclear holocaust. How much of a gut-punch would it have been to see Nick Rye hug his wife and newborn daughter just before the skin is blasted off their bones like that scene in Terminator 2 that made me avoid mesh fences for two fucking years? Or Jess run one of her own arrows through her heart to spare herself an agonizing death? Or hell, Hurk, one of the few returning characters in Far Cry, desperately begging the player for help as his face melts off his skull? That would have hit players and hit players hard and people, myself included, wouldn’t be bitching about how out of nowhere and shit the ending is! And that’s to say nothing of the idea of North Korea wasting one of the handful of nukes they have on rural fucking Montana! Jesus H. Tap-dancing Christ, Ubisoft, how fucking stupid do you think we are!?

...okay, fair enough. But still!

Now I know what you’re probably thinking. “Well, damn, that’s grim. Anyway, what’s the good ending like?” 

That IS the good ending.

No, I’m not even kidding. Despite the end scenario being Doctor Strangelove by way of Deliverance (and no, that’s not me being snarky, the game references the movie by playing “We’ll Meet Again” during the final cutscene) that’s the good ending because you, the player, are still alive. The bad ending is that after you arrest Seed and see your friends and allies under the influence of Bliss, you’re given the option to let him go and walk away. You then then your Bliss-induced allies walk with Joseph peacefully into the church and then leave with the same three people, in which they get into a car and leave while chatting about getting the army involved and taking Seed out once and for all. One of them then turns on the radio, the song “Only You” plays, and a red haze takes over the screen just before the credits roll heavily implying that you succumbed to the brainwashing drug (which you’re exposed to several times in the game) and either attacked or killed the people you spent the time in the game trying to save. Either way, each ending renders your actions completely and utterly meaningless.

Why did they do this? Well, partially because the Far Cry writers really love the “There is no objective good or evil, everything and everyone is equally terrible” cliche and they assume everyone else does too, but once again I have no doubt in my mind that the ‘good’ ending wasn’t the original ending and was in fact a last-minute change to appease angry racists in order to not alienate what Ubisoft thinks is their core demographic. What a bucket of cocks.

Final Thoughts

Now despite the endings being complete and utter hot garbage that renders all your actions meaningless, there’s still plenty of fun to be had in Far Cry 5. The combat is satisfying, base jumping and flying around never gets old, the characters are great, and despite chickening out on the themes introduced it’s still a plenty serviceable story. It won’t be winning any awards anytime soon, and if you’re looking for some post-2016 return of the Nazis catharsis then I’d go with Wolfenstein II: the New Colossus instead, but there’s still plenty fun to be had exploring the beautiful wilds of Northwest America while gunning down religious nutjobs, hunting dangerous game, and completing side-quests from uprooting doomsday prepper bunkers to making a bull testicle cook-off to raise morale possible.

B-

A solid B-

[petri808]

Porcelain Doll

Chapter 3 of  It Was Always You

It has been about a month since Natsu and Lucy have officially become a couple when Lucy goes out on a mission with Shadow Gear and comes back a little worse for wear.  How will the over protective dragon handle it?

@cosmicdragonwizard

Sorry ya’ll, tech support is supposed to be working on the glitches if you are reading this on the site. but it should look normal once you click the Keep Reading.  It seems to be fine if using the app.  Thanks for your patience

To say he was angry was like saying his battle against his brother had merely been sibling rivalry gone just a little askew, no Natsu was furious, livid, hell there wasn’t a word yet created to describe how he felt when Lucy walked into the guild hall.  He was already irritated that she had been gone on the week-long mission with Shadow Gear without him but had relented at her and Levy’s persistence that it would be a simple, no danger involved, we’re just gonna translate and catalog for the Magic Library some new materials they had received request.  

And now he stood there, heat waves flaring off his body, mid-transformation, staring at his mate with a swollen lip, black eye, and limping as she desperately tried to calm him down, begging, pleading that it really wasn’t that bad, it was no ones fault that a shelf decided to break under the weight of ancient manuscripts at the same moment she had been adding to it’s volumes.  

She was using every trick she had gained in all her years of knowing the slayer, all her skills to tame and soothe the demon back into submission and it was slowly working, first the reversal of his physical changes, then gradually his temperature began to come down.  Almost ready to take a sigh of relief that’s then it happened, of all the times to add to her dilemma now, when she had finally got Natsu to calm down!  She sneezed.  And not just one of those cute, something tickled her nose sneezes, but a loud, mucus driven, no air left in your lungs expulsions when you’re suffering from a cold.  Twice.  

He roared and surged again towards the cowering guild mates that he blamed for her condition, she pushed desperately against his frame, bracing him from moving forward, and now Gajeel and Gray had joined to hold him back.

“Please Natsu!” her tears are streaming at this point of desperation.  “It’s nothing Wendy or Porlyusica couldn’t fix…” but before she can finish the growl he emits sends chills down her spine.

“They aren’t here!”

“W-What?” she stops pushing.

“They left yesterday and won’t be back for at least a week!” tugging harder at the arms holding him, “damn it let me go you bastards!  Gajeel you know damn well if it were Levy you’d be…”

“Oh, don’t lump me into this, Salamander,” the iron slayer only tightens his hold, “Yes I’d be pissed but I got more brain cells to know this ain’t worth killing over.”

“Come on man,” Gray tries to reason with him, “Lucy will be fine, she’s tough, just some good ‘ole rest and patching up and she’ll be good to go.  Cause we ain’t letting ya go till you calm the fuck down!”

“Fuck you!”

Lucy let’s out a long, drawn out exhale to calm herself down.  The team had known Porlyusica was not home since they stopped there first, knowing this is exactly how Natsu was going to respond.  They had even checked Fairy Hills for Wendy, but she too had not been home, and they’d hoped she’d simply be at the guild; well now they know why.  Just Great.  The spirit mage knew she really wasn’t as bad as he was acting like she was, damn it she wasn’t a porcelain doll, and she understood his possessive side which had only grown worse after consummating their bond, but still…  Another exhale, she needed to get him settled down again, this was her problem, her duty, not the guilds.  

With the two men holding her mate firmly enough, Lucy cups his blazing cheeks and forces him to look at her directly.  She holds his gaze, searching, imploring, his emeralds still fiery as they melted her chocolate hues, moisture teeming again, her lips part, sweeping into a smile and voice is soft, gentle like a delicate flower petal despite the sniffles she was holding at bay.  “Natsu,” kissing his lips ever so tenderly, “My love, my mate, I need you to come back to me.  If Wendy is not here I will need your help until I feel better.  Please?”  

His head lowers and rests against her forehead as his body stills.  Oh, Mavis he was still livid, but she was right, he need to take care of his responsibilities, and Lucy was his priority not these idiots around him; he could beat them up a little later; a twitch of his lip at that last thought.  Finally, it’s his turn to exhale and relax his body.  “Alright…”

She tilts his head back up and kisses him again, “Take me home, dragon.”

~~

First things first, he leaves her next to the tub to strip while he runs a bath for his mate and gathers other necessities.  As the water fills he checks her over more closely and aside from the black eye and lip that is less swollen than it was earlier, noting bruises on her side over her ribs and likely the bones themselves where the shelf had come to land, and the ankle that was inflamed and would need to be wrapped, received as she tried but failed to get out of the way.  Another round of sneezes.  Now that was another issue.  With her energy reserves lowered, catching a cold on their way back was a new problem developing quickly and just in the half hour from when they had met up at the guild, the congestion had gotten worse, and was well on its way towards the next symptom.  

Body sore all over, all she wanted to do was unwind in a nice hot bath with her man, so after scrubbing their bodies and rinsing, he picks her up and lowers them both into the steaming waters, settling the blonde between his legs and keeping his arms around her waist, careful against her bruises.  It felt so good, her wispy sighs convey as she relaxes against his chest, all the aches and pains, the memories of that stupid mission dissolving away into the water molecules that surrounded them.  

It had only been a month since they had gone from friends to lovers and they were still adjusting to the differences.  Granted, the pair had been so close before the change that not a whole lot did, but one thing was the possessiveness, and the crazy territorial dragon he had become.  It drove her nuts, but what could she do?  She had chosen him for better or for worst and no matter what happened they’d figure it out, they always did.  

She really did hate seeing Natsu so upset, it pained her, and if she had thought for a second the job was going to be dangerous, she never would have taken it unless he would be with her.  The worst part, was he’s barely said a word to her the whole time they’d been home, brows still furrowed and frowning, she couldn’t tell if he was upset, frustrated, worried…

“Natsu, are you,” exhale, “angry with me?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“You look angry…  and you haven’t really said much since we left the guild…”

Exhale, “Luce, I’m not mad at you, it’s just,” longer exhale, “I know your injuries aren’t that bad, a-and I know that it was just an accident, but it scared me.”

She shifts just enough to see his face, now tilted downward, and bangs shielding his eyes a little; is that a tear?  “But I’m fine, baby, why would you be scared…”

He looks up; it was tears…  “yeah, this time, but what if it had been different…  People die from accidents too, and I wasn’t there…” she turns all the way around to face him as tears of her own build.  “…I can’t protect you if I’m not there.  I-I can’t lose you Lucy, do you understand that?”

“Natsu…” pressing her lips gently to his and sweeping away the tears along his cheeks, “I’m so sorry, I really wouldn’t have gone if I thought something bad would happen.”  Now they are both crying, “I promise, I’ll never go anywhere without you again, it’s breaking my heart to see you like this.”          

A small smile finally rewards Lucy as he returns her kisses and reminds himself she’s still here, in his arms where she belongs.  She smiles back, tousling her fingers through his hair a little before, sliding them along his face and neck.  He doesn’t know how this woman can be jarring and yet so soothing to his soul, how she manages to pacify the swirling emotions that is him and keep her wits about her.  Mavis, how he’d die for this woman!  His arms enfold her again, turning her to rest against his chest, and kisses the back of her head.  Yes, he still wants to beat up Shadow Gear a little just because, but they are damn lucky that this vengeful dragon slash demon can be tamed by his mate.

They stay there for quite some time, the water never getting any cooler thanks to his natural body heat, and as wrinkled as some of their extremities may get, even Lucy succumbs to the serenity of the water, lids growing heavy and drowsy.  Under different circumstances, the two of them naked in a tub would have led to a much more pleasurable experience but she needed to rest, and he wouldn’t risk adding to her bruises, chuckling in his head, ‘I can contribute new ones later.’

Natsu takes her out of the bath and gets her ready for bed before she could fully pass out and be much more difficult to handle.  He applies salves to her bruises and bandages her ribs, wraps her ankle, happy to see the discoloration over her eye and lip have lightened considerably, and lastly forces her to take some medicine for the cold he knows is going to rear its ugly head tomorrow.  Cuts, broken bones, with plenty of experience, these are things he can deal with, but colds, that’s something he’s dreading.  All his life, he’s never suffered from colds, his body seemingly immune to infections so all he can hope is to do the right things to help her through it, and it will take much more than simply digging up a tree to make her feel better.  With her safely tucked under the covers and bundled in his arms, they drift off into the night.

~~

“Ah choo!  Ugh….  Ah choo!  Ugh, I feel like shit…”

It had been two days since he’d got her home, two days of a steadily worsening cold, two friggin days of running himself blind not knowing how to deal with it, and worst of all it was just the beginning.  

As Lucy stayed dead to the world yesterday morning, Natsu had snuck out, knowing he needed to get medicine for her cold but with no idea from where and he really didn’t want to go to the guild for help.  This might sound crazy, but knowing Fairytail was like a family, his friends would have insisted on coming to the apartment to help and damn it if he did not want anyone near his woman right now.  He knew himself well enough to know, the over protective side they saw the day prior was still lingering and could kick back on at any moment.  It didn’t matter to him if he was being selfish, she wasn’t just Lucy Heartfillia, Celestial Spirit mage of Fairytail anymore, but his mate, his woman, and screw what anyone else thought!  But shit, where the hell does he get meds from??  

So, he did the only other thing he could think of, asked everyone he passed on the street.  Two people pointed him to a part of Magnolia he’d never really ventured before, back alley shops, shady was an understatement, but if they said there was an apothecary then so be it.  Low and behold, the shop existed, and Natsu bought the supplies he was told would help her.  It’ll clear her right up, she’ll feel instantly better, the owner swore on his life, back to new in no time flat.  Well hell, that was the best news a gullible and desperate man could ever hear!  

Yeah, the slayer ran back to the apartment, excited and ready to shove the remedies down her throat expecting the ‘instant’ reaction that never came, in fact, he swore by days end Lucy looked even worse.  Pissed, he flew back to the shop and destroyed it, reducing not just the apothecary but the entire building it was housed in to rubble.

Back to day 2.  Word of a half-man, half creature destroying a building in Magnolia had reached Fairytail by that morning and of course, who else could it have been?  So, in response Makarov had sent Gray and Erza to Lucy’s apartment to find out why on Earthland had Natsu rampaged the day before.  But he had refused to let them in, even with Erza threatening to break the door down along with him, just wouldn’t budge and surprisingly, she didn’t follow through with her threat.  Maybe it was the storm behind his eyes or the menacing aura that had developed around the slayer as his anger grew that made her back off.  

Either way, the one thing she wouldn’t do was leave without helping and if medicine was what he needed, then that was what they would get for them, anything to keep the dragon from racking up more bills for the guild.  It had taken a couple hours for the pair to show back up with not just medicine but food and other necessities along with instructions for Natsu to follow, Mira had even whipped up a batch of chicken soup for their dinner, promising more deliveries each day.  He was grateful for the gesture, its not like he thought his friends had bad intentions, just right now, he had to satiate his demon and said demon wanted nothing more than to hoard their mate.

~~

The medicines were helping her sleep, much to the relief of her dragon.  The care package really had been the catalyst to turn their situation around, having taken a load off his shoulders, he could focus on caring for Lucy and by the evening of day 3, her congestion was better, which meant her couching wasn’t hurting her ribs as much, the cold sweats had subsided, her fever was at a manageable temperature, and she had even held down a full bowl of soup in one sitting.  The bruising on her side was no longer an angry purple but a jaundice yellow and the marks on her eyes and lips were gone, but her ankle would take longer to fully heal, maybe another week to be on the safe side.  

“Thank you,” she whispered as Natsu carried her to the bath.  He had been so doting and loving, it was a side to her boyfriend she infrequently saw but treasured seeing how much he was willing to do for her.  She had heard the argument through the door yesterday between he and Erza, how he had destroyed a building, and while part of her wanted to chastise him for what he had done, she couldn’t help but feel more enamored by the gesture, feel special that he would face the wrath of the Titania just for her.  Besides, sick or not, a little pampering never hurt a girl and so she gave in to the rare opportunity.  

He looked down at his mate as she rested her head against his shoulder, “You don’t have to thank me Luce,” and kissed her forehead, “I like taking care of you…”

~~

“Mmmm…” she stretches her arms and back before settling amongst the sleeping body behind her, Mavis she was feeling so much better!  Natsu groaned a little at her movement and shifted his leg over to pin her from moving again earning him a chuckle.  A week of constant care must have taken a toll on the poor man but thanks to his efforts, her cold was just about gone, and her body was almost fully healed, so now it was his turn to get some much, needed rest.

She turns around in his embrace and snuggles her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the smoky cinnamon, Mavis how she loved his scent, taking her sweet time walking her fingers along the lines of his chest, rising and falling, beneath her tips before resting above his heart.  Her heart, he had once said, his heart belonged to her as hers belonged to him, and it was a strong beat, telling a story of strength and of a love that could weather any storm, ebbing and flowing in rhythm through a life’s journey, and one now shared between them.

The brushing of her fingers along his side brings an exhale from her lover but continue ghosting their way to his hips and his abs, twirling the little curls of pink peeking from his waist.  “Luce, you should be resting…”

“It’s kinda hard in this position,” she plants a little peck to his collar bone.  

“You keep that up and something else is gonna be hard from this position.”

Lucy giggles and plants a few more kisses, “I feel a lot better Natsu, and now I’m wide awake.”

“Go back to sleep,” he tightens his hold over her, squishing her face to his chest, “as much as I’d love to play, I want you to be one hundred percent first.”

“I’m not fragile,” the pout evident in her tone, “you don’t need to keep codling me…”

He lifts her face, “I never said you were fragile, of all people Luce, I know how strong you are,” softening his expression, “but that’s still not gonna stop me from fussing over you right now.”

“Aww, fine.”

“Good, now go to sleep,” chuckling, “cause I’m tired.”  Lucy couldn’t help but laugh too.

~~

Word had been delivered via Happy that Wendy was now back from her trip and so, the next morning finds the couple heading back to Fairytail for the first time since the disastrous and explosive encounter with Shadow Gear.  Refusing to let her walk on her own, Lucy was riding piggy back on her boyfriend, shielding her face to the stares and snickers they passed along the street.  It was embarrassing for the proud mage but no amount of sweet talk nor out right beating on his back to let her down was working.  She was also worried about what will happen when they entered their guild, not so much because their friends would hold a grudge, but more so if something will provoke the slayer’s temper, and as soon as they crossed the threshold, Lucy braced for the worst.

His eyes found the blue-haired girl he was hoping for and walked straight to her table without acknowledging anyone, the priority was his mate, and nothing was getting in that way.  Members steered clear for the most part, simply watching, trying to gauge the fire slayers emotional state which didn’t seem promising at that moment.  After putting Lucy down on the bench beside the healer, he takes a place next to her.  

“Hi Wendy,” the spirit mage hugs her friend before Natsu pulls her back and takes control over the conversation.

“Wendy, could you look her over, make sure Lucy is healing up okay?  Her cold seems to be gone and the bruising over her ribs have almost faded away, but her ankle is still bothering her.”

“Sure guys,” she stands up and kneels in front of Lucy, placing her hands over Lucy’s side first.  Satisfied that the ribs were in fact okay, she then shifts over her friend’s ankle where her hands linger a little longer, Lucy can feel the heat coming off Wendy’s hands, permeating through her muscles.  After a few anxious minutes, the healer sits back down.  “Well you should be good to go.  The tendons were still a little sprained, so I took care of that, and luckily no broken bones anywhere.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Lucy hugs the little girl.  “Natsu took really good care of me too,” she smiles at her boyfriend.  Exhale, “and now I’m back to normal.”

Wendy giggles, “You did a great job Natsu, did you run into any problems?”

He runs his hand through his hair and finally smiles, “just a little…”

“Oi just a little?” Gray steps up beside his friend, “You friggin blew up the apothecary shop!”

“Hey!”  Natsu pops from his seat, “That bastard had it coming, selling me that crap medicine!”

As Gray and Natsu trade words and a few fists, Lucy fills Wendy in as to what they were arguing about.  Levy, Gajeel, and Juvia join the table in the midst of it, peppering the spirit mage with questions of how Natsu had treated her, while Erza stepped in to break up the fight.   When Natsu turned back to Lucy, the frown returned, for Jet and Droy were standing there talking to her.  “Get the hell away from her!”  Shouting and stomping his way back over, they immediately cringed and took off out of his path.

“Natsu!” Lucy screamed back, waving her hands at him, “they were apologizing, but it wasn’t their fault, so you need to stop acting like an idiot and control yourself!”

“I don’t care, they should’a taken better care of you.”  He tries to grab her flailing limbs, but she pulls out of his grasp, stands up and pushes him down onto the bench roughly.  Shock fills his orbs at the sight of his furious woman just glaring daggers at him.  Holy Mavis!  

She leans into her boyfriend, hands planted on either side of his body, and effectively boxing the slayer in.  “I appreciate how much you love me, and I can understand your dragon nature, but this mate is not going to tolerate you taking it out any of our friends!” She sighs, “Natsu,” hanging her head slightly, “this whole territorial thing, it was cute at first but,” exhale, “we need to figure out how to keep your dragon instincts in check, so you don’t end up hurting someone.”

His shoulders slump down, fuck it’s not like he wants to go beating up on anyone, he doesn’t want to lose his temper every time something remotely bad happens to his mate.  “I know…”

“Hey,” she kneels and cups his face in her hands, “I told you, we’re a team right, we’ll figure it out together, but I need you to help me too.”

He places his hands over hers, “I’m sorry Luce,” resting his forehead against hers.

She smiles, “the first step is you need to apologize to Jet and Droy.”

“But…”

“Eh,” eye brow raise, “no buts, it’s not their fault I got hurt, now go and apologize!”

“Okay, okay!” Lucy moves out of the way and watches him saunter off in search of the two men hiding somewhere in the hall.  She exhales and plops down on the bench, that had taken a lot of energy out of her.  

“You know Salamanders damn lucky to have you bunny girl.”

“Thanks, Gajeel.”

“I’m sure Natsu will get past this,” Levy looks over at her husband with a smirk, who quickly turns his head with a huff, “I mean it took Gajeel a few months to stop eyeing out every guy who even glanced in my direction.”

“I know…  It’s still early and he’s still trying to get used to the emotions, we both are.”

“But you handle him flawlessly,” Erza pats Lucy on the shoulder, “Gajeels right, you two couldn’t be any more perfect for each other.”  

Lucy looks up to see Natsu walking back towards their table, with closer to his normal, lackadaisical gait and so much more relaxed than he’d been through this whole mess.  When he sees her staring at him, the goofy grin she loves, plasters to his face.  She can’t help but smile too, “Yeah, I guess we are…”  

[tellywoodtrash]

ishqbaaz 04.09.17 lb

lmao the gloriousssssss swelling music and shivaay’s smile as he looks at the chawl waala ghar. let’s see how long this lasts. 🙄🙄🙄

pfffft, overconfidence AND cheesy. bhaari padne waala hai beta. bohut bhaari padne waala hai. 😌😌😌

this house is neither of your’s; it belongs to my son sahil. 😶😶😶

yupppp aaand he’s failed right as he stepped into the house. told you, you were gonna suck at this billu. 😙😙😙

standard complaint about lack of AC. 🙄🙄🙄

CACKLING AT BILLU TRYING TO GET THE FAN TO GO FASTER BY PHOONKING AND WAVING AT IT. 😂😂😂

his hair is already beginning to lose its height in the humidity. 😆😆😆

“kisko dhoond rahe hai? main idhar khadi hoon!” 

ugh she’s soooo cute! 😍😍😍

this filmy fucker and his titanic waala pose. 🤐🤐🤐

isko toh bas bahaana chahiye chance maarne ke liye. so damn cheesy. 🙈🙈🙈

my favt. bit about this is her ear to ear grin. she’s sooooo happy. and if anika’s happy, i’m happy. 😇😇😇

rudra saying he’s the only one who’s ever experienced poverty in this family. i know he’s going to say incredibly enraging and am already debating whether to fwd. 😒😒😒

yup. he’s talking about how his pocket money of 25k is “chillar”. lord help me, i want to fucking climb into the screen and slap him. 😑😑😑

OMFG THE 25K IS PER WEEK. OK THAT’S IT, IMMA KICK HIS ASS. 😠😠😠

same, bhavya. fucking #same. 

HAHAHAHAHA HE THINKS HER SALARY AS A GOVT EMPLOYEE IS ABOUT 60 to 70 LAKHS. OH MY GOD THE RICH ARE TRULY FUCKING CLUELESS AREN’T THEY????? 😂😂😂

yaaaas bhavya, challenge his privileged ass. 😠😠😠

“25,000 kya, 25 crore bolti” - in one week. sure, son. sure. what are you even qualified for again? oh that’s right, NOTHING. like, at least shivaay and om EARN their money based on skill and knowledge. 😒😒😒

pft, i want to see this little shit work his fingers to the bone to earn that 25k (maybe even fail.) like rudy boy i love you and all, but you a hella spoilt brat and could do with a serving of humble pie. 😡😡😡

meanwhile billu is faced with a challenge of just dal and chawal for the day. no fancy ass asparagus and cheeses and what not. 😊😊😊

LENTIL SOUP. RISOTTO. OMFG THIS PRETENTIOUS ASSHOLE. MY GOD I HATE RICH PEOPLE SO MUCH. 😣😣😣

lollllllllllll he’s asking for the cooking range. and microwave. 🙄🙄🙄

he just called the stove “antique”. lord above. 

“on karke toh dikhaaiye!” *snort* 

god, he’ll probably blow up the damn house. 😬😬😬

back to rikara interrogating shady naukar. 

why do they keep at it with this ridiculous candy trick when the fucking vfx are soooooooooooo badddddd???? 😣😣😣

CHUBBY’S BACK! hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii chubby! i missed you! 😄😄😄

lmaoooo chubby is serving up some realness about rudra’s absolute nithallapan in the way only BFFs can. 🤣🤣🤣

OH GOD HE’S GOING TO BECOME A PLUMBER. OBEROI MANSION KAB PAANI KE NEECHA GAYA, YEH POOCHO. 😟😟😟

meanwhile, what has this mister managed to make with just dal and chawal? 😶😶😶

he’s looking hella proud. hopefully this time it’s edible and not like the pav bhaji. please tell me he actually put haldi mirch etc and didn’t just avoid all that to make this “low sodium”. 😑😑😑

if the house has been bandh for this long, how has this ONE rose survived? is it the cursed rose from the beauty and the beast? 🙄🙄🙄

OH MY GOD HE’S PUTTING THE ROSE BETWEEN HIS TEETH HE’S TOO FUCKING CHEESY I FUCKING CANT 🙈🙈🙈🙈

oh thank god. insaano waala khaana banaya hai. 😌😌😌

he can’t even the handle the mirchi in his own cooking. what a naazuk billu. 🙀🙀🙀

he’s laughinggggg about how she threw pocheee waala paani at himmmmm when he came here the first second time! my god, what a changed man! 😧😧😧

haha, her cackling at how he tore his pants last janmashtami. what a cutieeeeeeeee. 😚😚😚

paanika paani phenkne se paani pilaane tak graduate ho gayi hai. waah, kya growth hai. 😊😊😊

pooooor khanna. naukri bhi toh rakhni hai usse. uske naam pe kya kya jhelna pad raha hai. ek shivaay kam tha, ki yeh idiot bhi sar pe chadhne laga? 😒😒😒

OMFG CHUBBY ACTUALLY HAS AN ELEPHANT (for ganesh chaturti???) SHAVED INTO THE BACK OF HIS HEAD. JUST WHEN I THOUGHT HE COULDN’T GET AWESOMER…. 😯😯😯

yo wtf, is that their murtiiiii that’s just chillin’ back there, as if not stolen? 😶😶😶

ok uncleji here has a lot of past waale issues with oberois. dadaji oberoi toh abhi duniya mein bhi nahi rahe, why are you even holding on to this grudge? 😕😕😕

oufffff i don’t even wanna watch rudra’s nonsense. 😣😣😣

bhavya looks hella cute today. i like her outfit (on her.) 

BHAVYA IS LITERALLY LIKE 

HE DOESN’T HAVE EVEN HAVE TOOLS OR ANYTHING TO FIX THIS ISH. WHAT IS HE GOING TO DO, FIX IT WITH THE POWER OF HIS MIND???????? 😒😒😒

oh boy, apni chiraiyya is all up in arms. girl chill. 🤐🤐🤐

omkara is like dude, dadaji oberoi ne toh apni ticket kab ki kataa li. you can sort out your issues with him when you meet him in the parlok. gimme my murti please, coz my poor horny brother can’t get married without it. 

when bae won’t stop trash-talking and getting in the face of dudes literally 6 times her size 

“lekin TUMSE badhkar nahi.” 

HAAAAAAAAAYE. MERA SWEETKARA. 😘😘😘

why won’t people let my poor sweet pacifist-kara live?? 😭😭😭

RUDRA LITERALLY TAKING ONE PIECE OF CLOTHING AT A TIME AS HE WALKS BACK AND FORTH FROM THE TAP, WHICH BTW, HAS NOW SPILLED ENOUGH WATER TO SOLVE THE MAHARASHTRA DROUGHT CRISIS. 😤😤😤

OMFG I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS STUPIDITY. FWDING. 

omki must defeat sadde hue uncleji ka pottaaaa in kushti. please to make an appearance, balram! 

LMAOOOOOOOOOO OM’S FACE. that’s a face screaming “oh shit oh shit oh shit. my sculptor waale guns are good enough for the chote-mote gunde of bareilly and mumbai. i can’t deal with actual pehelwan omg.” 

this balram looks related to apna khanna, no? 🤔🤔🤔

GOD. NAAM KHOON KHAANDAAN KA VAASTA IDHAR BHI. HONESTLY OM, I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THIS. 😣😣😣

i need to know what eyeliner shrenu uses, and how it stays in place and doesn’t smudge even a little! 😧😧😧

why’s the POTTAAA calling his grandfather “TAUJI”? 😕😕😕

oh goddddddddd omkiiiiiiiiii, whyyyyyyyyyy????? BABY YOU’RE A LOVER, NOT A FIGHTER. (esp. without the backup of your two brothers.) 😣😣😣

lmaooooooooooo dadiiiiii won’t believe that rudra repaired the tap. 😂😂😂

ek nalka kya theek kar diya aise itraa raha hai jaise nobel prize jeeta ho plumbing ke liye. 🙄🙄🙄

lmao “dekho dadi, baat aisi hai ki rishtedaari apni jagaah pe, professional cheez apni jagah. baat ghar ki hai toh chaliye, 10,000 dijiye.” 🤣🤣🤣

“dadi chalo aapas mein niptaa lete hai, bhavya ko beech mein mat lao.” “kyun na laaon? tuney toh loot machchaa rakhi hai, toh police ko beech mein laana hi padega.”

hahahaha loving dadi today 😆😆😆

can’t believe this idiot got more money for putting plumber’s tape on a leaky tap THAN BILLU GOT FOR THE WHOLE DAY. COME ON. AND THERE’S TWO OF THEM THERE. THE FUCK, DADI?!!? 😣😣😣

ok kinda sweet how he gave her his pehli kamaai. 😌😌😌

but omg i haaaaate their theme music and this weird zooming into their eyes nonsense so much. fuck this entire relationship. it gives me too much michmichiiiii. 🤢🤢🤢

lmaooo pooorrrrr tiny bulbul trying to push omkara, but he’s not even budging. it’s fucking adorable how tinyyyyyyy she issss. 😆😆😆

OUFF OMKI. 🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️

oh great, these fuckers get this akad and tadi and sheer bullheadedness genetically from dadaji oberoi. 😒😒😒

shivaay trying to motivate himself to sleep. snort. 😆😆😆

ugh, anika’s tooo damn cute. 😭😭😭😭😭😭 #tooGood #tooPure

“tumhe neeche sota hua dekh main upar kaise so sakta hoon?” 

you were fine with it for the past half hour or so, lol. 🙄🙄🙄

idgi tho, she used to have a nice big four poster bed that sahil and she used to share? where’d that go??? 🤔🤔🤔

“aap bohut badal gaye hai.” 

*happy sigh* 😍😍😍😍😍

lolllllllllll literal cold shower on billu as he gets his armaaan up. 😂😂😂

“raining inside the house!”

LMAO “IT’S CALLED RAIN WATER HARVESTING!!!!” YEAH OK BOO. 😆😆😆

ugh such cute. her smile lights up my damn life. 😍😍😍😍

oh no. andheraaaaaaa. 😣😣😣

ok the hug is awkward af. why does she have to bend to like, half his height and hug him like that?????? just hug normally???? 😟😟😟

he didn’t even do the standard candle adhering process of dripping the wax onto the surface and sticking the candle into it. pft. ameer ppl. used to having candle sticks and all. (vaddde log, vaddi vaddi baatein.) 😕😕😕

how did he suddenly grow taller? 😕😕😕

oooooh finally, backstory to the andhera ka darr. 

oh my heart. she was regularly beaten in the dark when she was in the orphanage. i can’t. my baby. my precious girl. *holds her for all eternity* 😥😥😥😭😭😭😭😭

“shivaay singh oberoi suraj hai. aur jinke paas suraj hota hai, unhe andheron se darrne ki koi zaroorat nahi. main tumhari zindagi mein itni roshni bhar doonga ki andhere ke liye jagah nahi bachegi.” 

i mean that’s nice and all, but you literally threw your relationship in the fire and burnt it all down after you promised her this the last time. so excuse me if i’m not awwwwwing over this heartfelt speech of yours. i have enough trust and abandonment issues for both anika and me to side eye you rn. 😑😑😑

omki’s taking out all his latent rage issues on that chor of a naukar. 

OK I WANT YOU TWO TO BE DOING AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT TYPE OF “WRESTLING” IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. 😏😏😏😏

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, LOOKS LIKE MY MAN READ MY MINDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😄😄😄😄😄

[girlwsoftsound]

Unarmed || George Daniel Oneshot

Word Count: 1,760 Summary: With George’s collarbone hurt, the group decides to head out to a club to get his mind off things. Unbeknownst to him, his mindlessness leads to issues for you.  Author’s Note: Here’s a lil something to round out your Sunday! Be sure to throw in a like or comment if you liked it! I love seeing feedback from you all. Please feel free to read my other work here! Enjoy!

Clubbing with the band was a rare yet fun occurrence.

Ever since they got big, clubbing ventures happened less and less due to lack of time and simply lack of interest. They were growing up, and the clubbing scene no longer excited them in the same way. But, that did not mean they did not like to indulge themselves in it every now and then. This was one of those nights, where everyone needed a time to simply dance and be carefree. The band had been cooped up in their tour bus for days, and trying to get sounds correct for the few brief times they spent recording had driven them to the brink of insanity. They needed a break. Their significant others, who tagged along for this leg of the tour, needed a break from hearing their moans and groans of complaints. All minds fell on the idea of clubbing. Sure enough, that was what the plan ended up being.

You showed up with George, your boyfriend of now five months, holding you close. He, of all the boys, really needed this night. About two weeks before, he had the misfortune of falling and breaking his collarbone, rendering him incapable of being able to do anything but produce. It killed him not to be able to perform. Performing was the best part of touring after all. Otherwise, it was an extended road trip with a few breaks in between. You being there for him when it happened and for the fallout when he realized he would be forced away from performing for weeks saved him. It helped him not hate his situation as much, and he grew closer to you for it. When the band was busy playing on stage, he got to sit to the side with you and watch them fondly. Even your presence, though, could not stop him from being completely down. He needed to dance and get drunk to give him that extra push he needed to be the happy-go-lucky George everyone knew him as. You being by his side during it was merely icing on the cake.

He draped his unharmed arm around your waist, his other one still held up in a sling. Despite the white contraption, George looked great. He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, with his beloved sunglasses with its ‘legend strap’ up resting on his head. You thought he complimented you well. You were in a bright red tank top and white shorts, a perfect pop of color next to his darker ones. The white of your shorts and George’s sling glowed under the blacklight of the club, making you an even more perfect match. You giggled and pointed it out to George, but he didn’t do much more than give you a tiny smile. He needed more than glowing clothes to cheer him up. You brought him to the bar.

George got some Tequila-infused drink, while you took a fruity Vodka drink for your own. Ross joined you both at the bar, as he saw Matty and Adam dancing already with their girls and needed someone to keep him company. You had become good friends with him anyway, so he fit right in alongside the two of you as you all drank. He sat with his beer and lightened everyone’s spirits by pointing out the funnier drunk dancers to you both, making you smile. George even smiled more, leaning to even kiss the top of your head every now and then. He seemed to be doing better with a bit of alcohol and humor. You leaned into him and smiled, appreciating it.

After about fifteen minutes, your trio decided there was no use in waiting at the bar all night. George holding his drink in his hurt arm, he guided you towards where Matty and Adam were dancing away, stopping when you, and Ross who tagged along beside you, had no more room to move. You all fell into dancing rather smoothly. Even George did well given his ailment. His balancing skills kept his drink secure in his hand. You danced beside him, happy and singing along. It was shaping up to be a good night.

Then, some asshole showed up. He didn’t look like an asshole, or at least not at first. He looked like any normal guy, with skin slightly more pale than George’s and a decent build. Though shorter than George and Ross, he was pretty decently tall too, checking in around 6’2. You were for sure shorter than him. But you were used to that.

He came dancing beside the group, looking like just another guy to dance with, another person too drunk off their fruity drink and swinging to the music. He wasn’t special. You hardly acknowledged him at first. With George beside you and Ross on the other, not many other guys caught your eye. But then, you felt a hand on you. More specifically, on your ass. You knew the instant you felt it that it was not George’s, or even Ross’. Looking over your shoulder, you realized it was the guy, a cheesy grin on his face making him look dirty and as much of a scoundrel as he felt. You reached back and swatted his hand away, telling him over the loud, pounding music to fuck off. He laughed and regained his distance from you, and you believed that that would be the end of that.

However, he tried something again. This time, he waited until he saw George talking to Matty to do something. He walked up to you and whispered into your ear, sending a most disgusting chill through you, that he would give anything to quote, “fuck that ass so good”. At this, you shoved him off and got a little closer to George. George didn’t notice because he was so caught up talking to Matty, but Ross did. Ross noticed and felt sick to his stomach. He sent a warning glare the guy’s way, and he backed off. That, you hoped, was enough to shoo him away for good.

And it was, at least for a while. A good thirty minutes of dancing and fun got to take place uninterrupted, with George even moving to dance with you to a salsa number. He only had one arm, but that didn’t stop him from showing you a good time. Laughing and following his feet, you danced and twirled at his hand. George even laughed, fully starting to have a good time, fully starting to forget about his broken bone.

That was when you felt another hand touch you, followed by the words that made you want to scream: “I bet you I can make you cum harder than ol’ crippled boy over here ever could”.

Before you could make a move, the guy was stumbling backwards with blood everywhere. Ross had gotten him right in the nose, punching him hard enough to send him flying. All eyes fell on him, including those of a very confused George. He looked between you, Ross, and the guy trying to piece together what happened. What happened though had to wait, for Ross was quickly storming out of the building pulling you behind him. Everyone in your group had to follow. They weren’t going to separate from you just to stick around to see the guy get back up, that was for sure. The followed for support. When everyone was well outside the bar, Ross stopped and finally allowed you and himself to catch some breath. George hustled forward, looking rather annoyed.

“What the fuck was that?”

“He deserved it, mate.”

“Who the fuck deserves that? We were in a club, Ross! What, did he bump into you or something?”

“No.”

“No? Then what on Earth made you punch some random dude?”

Ross looked at him, panting. “That random dude back there was hitting on {Y/N} and feeling her up without her consent. I had to do something about it.”

George looked on in disbelief. “He...wha...I didn’t even know-”

“He moved any time you weren’t paying attention to her,” Ross replied, now shaking out his hand. “It was systematic. She tried to keep him away but on the last time he did it, he not only made her uncomfortable but belittled you as well. I had to hit the guy.”

George’s eyes turned to you. “Did I seriously miss all of that?”

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” you whispered, your hand going to rub his arm. “You were having fun. I would’ve said something to you, but I wanted you to still have a good time. You needed it.”

“{Y/N}, I don’t care if I’m dining with the Queen, I would stop anything to make sure a creep isn’t hurting you,” he spoke, and you could tell he was completely serious. He never spoke to you in his low, commanding voice. Ever. Yet here he was, doing just that. You bit your lip and looked down. His hand reached out and tipped your head back up, caressing your chin.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t notice. And,” George said, looking over at Ross, “I’m sorry that I snapped at you. I just...I feel so out of sorts like this, and...and I don’t even know if I would have been able to protect you had I even been in my sorts with this stupid cast.”

“Hey, no,” you chided, reaching to cup his cheek instead, “there’s no need to apologize. You didn’t know. No one could’ve known he was going to do that. And your broken bone wouldn’t have made a difference. You just being here right now is enough for me. I’m grateful Ross put him in his place, but even if he hadn’t, I’m sure you would have been able to deter him just fine.”

“Seriously?”

You nodded and smiled. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, no worries mate,” Ross added in, patting George on his non-hurt shoulder. “I’m just glad I could help.”

“Why don’t we all go out and see if we can get ice cream to fix this night up?” Matty suggested to the group to a chorus of nods. George was one of them, his arm around you. Leaning to kiss you, he gave a firm nod.

“Ice cream sounds wonderful.”

Grinning up at George, you nodded. “For sure. An activity we all can enjoy.”

“I’m for it,” Ross added, rubbing his hand. “Anything cold sounds wonderful right now, actually.”

With a round of giggles, the pack headed out, off to ice cream and hopefully better times.

[ink-consequential]

Ink Consequential: Summer 2017

Ten Word Tales

Jana A

1. I want you to redefine love. Love is not pain.

2. Sometimes, you remind me of my father, and it’s scary.

3. I wish I started years ago. But I’m starting today.

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Keep reading for movie reviews, short fiction, poetry, and more!

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Movie Review: Gifted

Lucas Brantley 

Gifted is a film directed by Marc Webb and stars Chris Evans as Frank Adler, a freelance boat repairman in coastal Florida who is raising his 7-year-old niece, Mary, who is played by Mckenna Grace.  They lead a normal, simple life until they discover that Mary has exceptional mathematical skills.  This leads to a custody battle with Frank’s mother, Evelyn (played by Lindsay Duncan), as each of the two has a different opinion on how Mary’s talent should be handled in her upbringing.

I thought this film was terrific.  Personally, I enjoy films with simple stories about people being people.  I appreciate films that don’t feel the need to extend its story to some grand, world-altering scale.  Films like this can be very engaging for ordinary people like you and me—but more on that later.  And, full disclosure, I saw this film with my mother on Mother’s Day.

Marc Webb is best known for his directorial work on The Amazing Spider-Man films starring Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone.  I didn’t like The Amazing Spider-Man 2 primarily because it never gave us a chance to breathe.  It was a sensory overload from the start, and audiences around the world agreed, which is why there won’t be another Garfield Spider-Man movie.  I’m glad Webb got to scale back his focus in this film because his directorial skills shine brilliantly and prove that he has real talent directing these slower, more character-driven stories.

The acting in this film is also superb.  Chris Evans really gets to show off his acting chops in this movie, which I was glad to see; too many times, actors that are best known for a superhero blockbuster franchise can’t escape that bubble.  Evans does an exceptional job, and his chemistry with Mckenna Grace makes that central relationship very touching.  Mckenna Grace did a fantastic job on her own.  She goes toe-to-toe with Chris Evans and Octavia Spencer (who plays their neighbor and landlord Roberta in the film), and she steals the movie in quite a few scenes.  I would honestly put this as the second-best child performance I’ve seen in a while, only trailing Dafne Keen’s performance in Logan.  Octavia Spencer herself is great, although she doesn’t appear often.

The writing in this movie may be my favorite part.  I can’t remember a time when I’ve had so many out-loud reactions to moments or one-liners in a film, and I wasn’t the only one in the theater who did.  The humor in this movie is great and well-timed by all the actors, especially Mckenna Grace; she comes off as an adorable little smart-aleck, which is very relatable for me.  Overall, however, the film is a drama and it handles its subject matter intelligently, and that’s what I want to get into.

Without spoiling anything, the film’s main conflict surrounds the custody battle for Mary since her mother has passed away and left her in the care of her brother, Frank.  Evelyn and Frank have a strained relationship (to say the least), and Evelyn seems to only become interested in Mary after the school discovers she has this talent.  Evelyn wants this talent to be nurtured; she wants to send Mary to a school for gifted children and get her into classes more suited to her intelligence level.  Frank, however, believes that she needs to grow up as a normal girl and not be treated as special in any way, so he refuses to send her to this gifted school.  Thus, the court custody battle begins.  The film handles this conflict well in that they don’t overload you with courtroom scenes in the second act; they’re spaced out between watching the characters evolve with this situation in daily life, which makes for an organically-paced story, which is another major credit to Webb’s direction.

I think many people, especially today’s youth, will find this film to be very relatable and engaging because, from what I’ve been witnessing, the main conflict is pervasive in society.  Too often, I see that kids anywhere from preschool to high school and beyond are being pushed to be great at something.  If it is discovered that a child has a talent for something, be it academic or athletic, parents often make sure that they are engaged 110% in that activity.  They push the child to try harder and harder to improve their skills daily.  In my opinion, this action by parents, while well-meaning, is counter-intuitive.  If you saturate a child’s life with this one thing and push them too hard to be better at it, they will grow to resent you and hate the activity, thus removing any motivation to pursue it.  Kids should be able to explore any number of interests they may have.  It improves their learning with the added benefit that they can grow to know what they enjoy and don’t enjoy.  There is a scene in the film where Mary is staying with Evelyn for a brief period at her home in Massachusetts.  Evelyn tries to get her to work on more math problems after going through old photo albums, but all Mary wants to do is try the piano—something she has always wanted to do but Frank could not provide for her.  Evelyn refuses her this desire.  It’s a small moment, but it resonated with me because I was begging her to let Mary be a normal kid.

I was very much sympathetic to Frank for most of the film, as is the intention, but the film does a good job of also presenting Evelyn as a human being and not just “the bad guy”.  It would have been so easy to make her a cardboard cutout of a snobbish and unfeeling old lady, but she wasn’t.  You do understand her side of the argument as well, though how she goes about pushing her agenda is anger-inducing.  You can tell that she genuinely does care about Mary and Frank, though her way of showing it is not ideal for either.  The history with Mary’s mother plays an important role throughout the film, and I won’t discuss it here because it gets into spoiler territory, but it determines the film’s resolution.

The ending of the film was very satisfying for me because it compromises.  I think this is an important film for any parent of young children to see because it teaches the lesson that you need to let kids be kids.  Don’t push them too hard to do something they may not enjoy; just because they’re good at something doesn’t mean they enjoy it.  Let them have a normal childhood, and, if they show a talent at something, give them the opportunity to try it, but don’t push them to be the best at it because that puts too much pressure on them.  You should obviously encourage them to stick with it, but if they end up not liking it, encourage them to find something else.  The character of Frank is a good role model for parents because he does an excellent job of teaching Mary about how life works and doesn’t lie to her; he trusts that she is intelligent enough to grasp the truth when he tells it, which I found very refreshing.

Overall, Gifted is a terrific film that I will absolutely buy on Blu-ray/DVD when it releases.  If I had to grade it, I’d give it a 9.5/10 or an A.  It’s also an independent film, so I would encourage anyone to support the film because we need more films like this.  Films like this—the ones that analyze everyday life in society from a singular situation—can resonate with many people because, quite often, they are situations with which we can empathize to some degree.  By doing so, the film reaches the largest audience from a singular platform, which is a quality you find in a lot of the so-called “Oscar-bait” movies.  Let’s give this film the attention it deserves.

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First Love

Elise Alarpy

First love, I wish I could forget you; I don’t want you anymore. Years have passed and my traitorous heart Still clings to your memory.

Darling, why is it so hard to let you go? I shouldn’t love you. I shouldn’t love you. I shouldn’t love you. But I do. I do— I do.

Honey, I’m trying to move on, I’m trying all the time. I don’t want you, I don’t need you. Leave me alone.

Dearest, I hate you. I love you, but I hate you. You wrecked us, You did this, And I am left in the aftermath.

Darling, I love you, The words I never said. I hate you. I hate myself for loving you.

Sweetheart, you're my addiction. When I finally think I’m clean, You pull me back in again. And again. And again.

First love, you’re my biggest regret, My biggest could have been. I think of you fondly, I remember you sadly, But I just want this to end.

First love, my heart was yours, Although you never knew it. I shouldn’t love you (I do) Leave me alone I hate you (I love you) (Again and again and again)

But I don’t want to anymore.

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The Trial

Danielle Jeanne

The bed was soft and warm by the time Brougha fell into it at the peak night hours. She could feel the blood from her right arm oozing towards the sheep skins that acted as blankets. She was feeling far too tired to actually get under the covers, let alone deal with her injuries before falling asleep. She could feel the cracked wrist bone and the black eye she had been gifted from the clan chief and knew that they would still be issues in the morning even if she tried to fix them now. She was no healer after all. She was not her mother.

*****

“—ling! Darling! It is time to get up now! The chief is waiting, along with your parents!” Brougha jolted awake at the sound of Carguk’s voice filtering in through her sleep. Her green eyes regarded him thoughtfully, confused as to why he would be the one to come tell her.

“Where is Purdash? Isn’t she still my mother’s lead Curer?” Brougha inquired gruffly, not pleased with being alone in the same room as a full-blooded orc so soon after last night. She knew how talk traveled in small encampments like Burning Blood, especially with it being so late in the morning according to the sun. Chances are that the whole tribe had heard about it by now, even the few human members.

A mincing smile grew on Carguk’s face as he looked at her right arm, confirming Brougha’s suspicions. He just wanted to see if the rumors are true. He probably wouldn’t even offer to help bind up her wrist, just to settle some morbid curiosity on the pain tolerance of half-orcs. He straightens up from where he had been crouching next to her bed, “She’s busy at the moment. Your mother’s people have a bad habit of getting sick over the slightest things. I say, getting a fever over raw meat is just being weak—”

“No one keeps you here for your opinions,” Brougha cut him off, “I’m going, get out of my way.” She pushed herself up using her right hand and made her way out of the clay hut that had her bed and not much else. As she walked through the encampment, her ears picked up hushed whispers from the tanning shack as she passed, but nothing clear. She soon found herself standing outside of the Chief’s Longhouse, hesitating before pushing aside the canvas that served as the door as she made her way inside.

She guided herself though the Longhouse and stopped once she was inside the meeting chamber. She saw her father standing next to the chief, solemn. When she notices the absence of her mother, she stays quiet. Instead of her mother, there is another woman there, one with a very serious disposition. The other woman looks at her closely and begins to hum in disapproval.

“You didn’t take the time to tend to your wounds? That is how one dies after battle, you know!” The other woman growls out. “You don’t think when you’re done fighting! You don’t even think when you are fighting! That is why I broke you last night, and that is why I will break you again!”

Brougha stayed still as she listened to the words her chief spoke. It was clear then: she was here for another fight. Another beating, if what her chief says is true. “Fine, then I will think when I fight,” she responds, “And this time you will not break me.”

“Me breaking you was not the point, Brougha. The point is that even with the berries that your mother gave you, you still lost!” the chief roared.

Brougha’s blood froze. She was being accused of cheating; her mother, of helping her with it. She knew of the berries that the chief was talking about: to rare to even name, and too powerful for an orc to even think of using, let alone a half-orc like herself.

“I did not eat any berries before I fought. Do not accuse me of cheating,” Brougha told her chief. She looked over to her father, “Explain this to me.”

“They found a few berry stains in your mother’s tent. It looked like she was trying to dilute the berries for safer consumption. She knew how important last night was to you. She made the mixture and gave it you. That is the only explanation as to why we couldn’t find the mixture in her tent,” Erigg spoke mater-of-factly.

“I was given nothing. The humans are sick, she probably made it for them!” Brougha pleaded. She had seen a few public trials of the tribe before, and she knew that there was little to no chance of the chief going back on her ideas of what went on in the encampment. “Go check with Carguk! That is what he told me was happening in the healer’s tent!”

The chief looked upon Brougha gravely. “You were found cheating and your mother was found in aiding you. Your weakness has cost you your place in the clan and your mother’s shamefulness will be surrendering her own life.”

Brougha stood frozen in place for the decree. Her mother was to die. Her mother, one of the few humans in the encampment that could heal the others, was to be put to death. That was unacceptable.

“I will go, but if I come back and prove that I am better than you, you will let my mother live.” It wasn’t Brougha’s style to ask permission to do something; she found that people tended to accept what was told to them much as she accepted what was told to her. Her charismatic gamble paid off when she saw the chief nod in her direction.

“I will give you three years to become better than me. You will come back in that time and if you do not your mother will be dead. Now go; you have some training to do.”

It wasn’t the orc’s style to have any amount of fanfare when one was banished from the village, and there was certainly no exception when it came to a half-orc. Brougha made her way out of the Longhouse and out of the wooden gates of the encampment, completely bypassing her clay hut. Her things were earned by the tribe, so they stayed with the tribe. She wasted no time in goodbyes or lingering outside of familiar buildings that she would not see for a while. The faster she left, the sooner that she would return.

Brougha had a lot of fighting to do.

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Haiku Hiccups

Esther C

I the journey is long, winding, wavering as I push myself further

II you will not know love until you awaken next to the one you love

III summer’s heat gives way to quenched passion and remorse in the quiet nights

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Ramadan

Jana A

As the first beams of dawn start to light up the night sky, the imam's deep melody begins: "God is great..." and so on until the end of the call for prayers. For the next 16 hours or so, I would abstain from food and water. If you're not familiar with Islam, Ramadan can seem like a daunting challenge.

"Not even water?!" Nope, not even water.

And I admit that sometimes it can be challenging. Your body gets tired more easily. Your throat feels like a barren desert. Your movement becomes sluggish towards the end of the 16 hours. Yet, millions of Muslim choose to fast each year, and a lot of people don't understand why.

I love food. I adore food. If each person is born with a vice, then I'll sheepishly admit that gluttony must be mine. I don't just eat food—I devour it, taking the time to enjoy every second of flavor.

When I'm hungry, I literally begin to fantasize about food. I close my eyes, almost purring, remembering how it feels to sink my teeth into a warm, fresh roll of bread. I plan, with perfect attention to detail, future meals. I think of more than just the taste, of course: the smell, texture, and sight of food is an essential part of the experience.

So, since I adore food so much, why do I (a mostly non-religious person) follow the tradition of fasting?

First of all, fasting brings me a great peace of mind. When physical desires are quenched, my mind feels more alive. Instead of resorting to comfort food when I'm feeling down, I pick up the phone to call a friend. Instead of eating lunch at 6 pm alone in my room, I break my fast with family and friends. Instead of carelessly satisfying hunger with whatever is in the house, I relish every moment of the dish that I spent the last 16 hours craving.

Secondly, fasting, more than anything else, brings a great empathy for people less fortunate than I. Not every person who feels hungry is lucky enough to think of the delicious meal they're going to have in a matter of hours. For a lot of people, Ramadan isn't just a month. They are hungry all year round. Some people don't have clean water to drink. When I force my body to undergo a small part of what they go through, I challenge the subconscious part of me that turns poor people into a caricature. When I'm hungry, starving people are not just figures in a far-away land. They're suddenly, joltingly, brought to reality.

Ramadan, for me, is more than the beautiful fairy lights covering my neighbours' porch, or the feasts that cover my dining room table. It's a conversation with a God who I otherwise don't talk to. It's almost like He's telling me, "Look how many blessings you have laying at your feet." And I listen the growling of my stomach, and I listen to Him.

Photo by Jana A

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Mountain Climbers

Esther C

I like to think that I’m known for my adventurous spirit. Roller coasters, zip lining, international travel, you name it. Stuff like that is a cakewalk for me. So, since I was blessed enough to score incredibly cheap plane tickets, I did something adventurous: I went out to visit our own Adrianna for a few days.

During my vacation to the desert, we did lots of things that you’d expect two writers to do. We visited coffee shops and bookstores, had group writing sessions, and played with her amazing kitties (though one did enjoy stealing my pillow, but I digress). That being said, I doubt that anybody expected us to literally climb a mountain.

Okay, not literally. It was actually a really big and climbable rock in Papago Park. It’s beautiful, too. Sand, sun, cacti, bees, and other desert friends all welcomed us on our journey. We did literally climb (while posing for some pictures for Instagram—what are friends for, right?), and this is where my problem began.

When it comes to climbing mountains, my biggest obstacle is, in fact, myself and not the mountains.

I was wearing a dress.

Yes, you read that right. I was wearing a dress to go climb a really big rock in the desert. In the effort of fairness, I had made the dress (I dabble in making my own clothes, and this one actually worked out for me). And, when I had gotten dressed that morning, we didn’t know exactly what was on our agenda for the day except for a bookstore and a coffee shop. You see, it’s not totally my fault that I didn’t have the foresight to bring extra clothes or better shoes, and it’s definitely not my fault that I didn’t wear almost anything but that. (Okay, maybe it’s a little my fault.)

If you’ve never worn a dress in the summer, then you may not know about the torture that is thigh chafing. It’s literally the worst, and I subjected myself to it while climbing a freaking mountain. I cannot remember the last time I was that physically uncomfortable. I’m certain that I complained to Adrianna no fewer than twelve times (I’m not totally sure why she kept listening to me, but I suspect that it was probably the puns). I have promised myself that I would never do that again; leggings were invented for a reason, people.

My discomfort aside, the sight was beautiful: Phoenix was off in the distance, there were other large rocks and many cacti dotting the landscape, and it was warm and sunny. It was a dream. Adrianna and I sat there for a few minutes, taking the occasional selfie and chatting idly. I may or may not have accidentally flashed the whole of Phoenix by sitting down improperly.

After a while, we ventured back down the rock in search of air conditioning. I must admit that I sat in a very unladylike fashion to rid myself of the discomfort. This should go without saying, but I changed clothes later in the day when I climbed another mountain, but that’s a story for another day.

All in all, I would love to go back. You know, when I’m not wearing a dress.

Photo by Esther C

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For My Sister

Jana A

To my sister:

You were born in December, just before Christmas, and I remember wanting to hold you like you were hand-wrapped just for me. I held you like I thought you might break, and spent the next decade or so watching you break. Sometimes I would be the one to push you.

I would apologize to you, I'm so sorry, but I was trying to make you indestructible. Here is an apology: I'm sorry I saw in you everything I hated in myself. I'm sorry I always told you that Mama loved you best. I'm sorry that I tried to raise you. You rose by yourself like ashes from a burning home. You have taught me to look in the mirror with clearer eyes.

I love you more than I have ever loved anything in this life. If I could, I would redefine all the words in your dictionary, but it's too late: you have already learned how to speak and read and write.

I don't know if you need me anymore. I hope you always know that I still need you. I hope you always know you are the only part of home that I will cry over.

Who's going to wake you up from your nightmares when I'm away? When you're sad, are you going to hole yourself up in your room like I did? Will you trust me enough to call me and say, “Listen, listen, I did something wicked and awful and bad so please show me how to fix it, but please don't tell Mom and Dad"?

I hope you will because it has been an honor to watch you grow, and I hope I never have to stop.

Love,

Your BIG sister (even if you're my height now)

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Six Word Sagas

Danielle Jeanne

I You never pick up my calls

II I never hated you, only feared

III Fear is power, but also weakness

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Editorial

Esther C

If there were a drinking game inspired by my life, I would probably request that the players take a drink every time I did one of the following:

Talk about grammar (my default conversation topic)

Talk about Jesus (since I’m at church at least once a week, that’s beyond simple to do)

Make a bad pun (my other default conversation topic)

Get upset about how things could be done better (injustice irks me)

Do math for a stranger (hello, day job)

Say something sarcastic (excluding during Lent, of course)

Internally roll my eyes (which can be hard to identify unless you know me pretty well)

In all honesty, if you played this game, you’d probably suffer from alcohol poisoning within the hour. It’s easy to reduce myself down to a list of traits that would fit a character on a TV show—like the girl from the Midwest who’s probably the comedic relief of most episodes—but I also have the occasional heartfelt moment or memorable story arc. I’m in a constant state of acceptance of who I am as a person, of growing and strengthening my identity as a woman. I sometimes have to come to terms with my inherent worth as a person on a weekly basis.

More about that last point—it’s a sticky situation, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it. So, without going into the gritty details: I've struggled with mental illness for the better part of the last 8 years (I'm 21, for context). I had a conversation with someone lately where I mentioned that, and it occurred to me that I don't know who I am without it. I've grown into adulthood without an important piece of healthy living. I'm slowly making amends to fix that, but it's difficult. I’ve often stared at myself in the mirror and wondered to myself what I'd be like without the illness, and it finally struck me: I'd be the same person I am, just healthier.

I would still love fiercely and altogether too quickly. I would still sing in my church choir, still edit and write, still delve into my artistic side on occasion. I would still have a job (hopefully; one never knows the future). I would still be sarcastic and wear lipstick like it's armor while listening to music that many people in my life wouldn't like. I would still be a woman, a person, someone who breathes and has a soul and a spirit. My faith would still be important to me—and I imagine that it always will be.

I look at that list and see that I’m so much more than comedic relief. Sure, humor is an integral part of my identity, but it isn’t the only factor by a long shot. I am a created being, a woman loved by my Creator because of that. I am constantly in awe of the complexity with which He pieced me together, honestly. Everything I listed before and more is true, right down to the illness. Yes, I’m struggling, but I’m far from alone in this, and I’m far from the single qualities that I often peg myself as.

I don’t know who I will be tomorrow, but I know who I am today: I am a person so genuinely unique that it would be impossible to write everything on a piece of paper and have a complete picture of me, and that’s the way it should be. But, in the meantime, feel free to take a shot of something whenever I correct your grammar. Amid all the negativity, it makes life a little more fun.

◈◊◈◊◈◊◈◊◈

[abumblebeeat221b]

Why Mary Should Have Lived.

Okay. First off. Sorry for the mini-hiauts. I know I should have written a bunch of metas by now, and I *was* going to. But then series 4 happened. John emotionally cheating on his wife happened. Mary’s death happened. John beating Sherlock up happened. Euros happened. And I noped out.

Or I would have if this had been the fan fic it felt like.

Basically, I spent the past 3 months searching for the little ‘x’ in the corner.

Did I find it? Is that why I’m back?

Not quite.

For the record, I did try to finish a few things during the past 3 months, but every time I went beyond the safe shores of the first paragraphs, no matter what originally my post was going to be about, it ended up being a collection of reasons why Mary should not have died. Why the general idea behind The Lying Detective is genius, but I’m not sure what Mofftiss were thinking when they sat down to write it. How on earth they wrote The Final Problem and thought it was a good idea. Or generally, why odds are the real Moffat and Mark Gatiss got abducted by aliens after writing The Abominable Bride.

And I realised to break that slightly self-destructing pattern, I need to sit down and explore that monster of a post that is begging for my attention. So, here it is. A short, comprehensive guide to why killing Mary off was the worst creative decision in Moffat and Mark Gatiss lives (and no, this post is NOT contradicting the message behind ‘The Final Problem does not deserve this’. I still believe writers are allowed to write whatever they need to to get *their* story out there. I’m allowed not to like everything about the end result. I’m not allowed to try and ruin their careers or attack them as a person).

All right. Let’s talk Sherlock series 4. Let’s talk Mary.

I came into the Sherlock fandom as someone who used to bingewatch NCIS. And as much as Gibbs and his pre-Bishop teams will always have a place in my heart (no idea what the show is like now) something I have always loathed about it was the lack of women. Everyone and their aunt uncle and their dog had a dead mum. Seriously. How difficult can it be to add a few not obviously sexy female characters to a show?

So, when they aired A Study in Pink, I was over the moon that we had Mrs Hudson. We got Sally who did not have to cater to anyone’s opinions. And that they did not turn Molly into some bone saw swinging eye candy. And no dead mums as far as my eyes could see (apart from the sadly deceased murder victim, of course, but even she got to play her clever part and her death was not used to highlight some man pain). Who’d have thought something like that was even possible. On a crime show.

An episode later John’s new girlfriend did not have to sacrifice herself for the sake of the plot.  

We met Irene Adler who was allowed to trick the genius hero of the show and live.

Even The Reichenbach Fall did not feature any overtly tragic deaths of female characters.

Well. And then they gave us Mary and said they’d like to issue a correction: Doyle did not mention Mary would die in the original. And I think it was that moment that I really, head-over-heels fell in love with this stupid show and pledged everlasting loyalty to it.

Of course, the obvious next step from there was that in the first episode of the next season Mofftiss killed her off.

See my issue? No? Good. You don’t need to.

During the last hiauts Mofftiss kept saying that actions come with consequences. And apparently, they thought they were referring to how they shouldn’t have married John off. They thought they were stuck with the problem of having an overtly skilled ex-super-spy who’d always have John and Sherlock’s back.

*Oh no, how could they ever rise the stakes again and write a good story?*

They tried to reset the show, they let Mary sacrifice herself for her best friend.

You asked for consequences? Here, have some consequences, because where does that leave them? What did they end up with?

A sometimes reckless ex-army doctor with an unhealthy adrenaline craving which demands to be fixed.

A (hopefully) recovering ex-junkie who LOVES solving crimes.

And a baby.

Guess who of these have the necessary skills and patience to deal with a child?

John. Because he is a doctor and loves his daughter. And because there are plenty of single dads doing a good job raising children (although probably not as many as NCIS wants you to believe).

And Sherlock. Because he’d certainly try to make an effort. He likes Rosie, and John, and Mary and he’d do it for them. Being part of John’s social network he would promise to be available for baby sitting duties - he knows if it takes a village to raise a child, then it takes a village, a consulting detective, a former secretary of a drug cartel who also did some dancing, a pathologist, and the British government to raise one who has to grow up without one of her parents.

And even if Greg knocked at 221b with the perfect ten of a case he’d say no.

Once.

Twice.

Three, or maybe ten times. The number doesn’t matter. In the end, he is Sherlock Holmes, who is married to his work, and who has been neglecting his wife.

John would understand. He’d stop writing the blog, not because the last time we looked at it, it was a fake PICTURE of an even faker website, but because he wouldn’t be there to record their adventures. Sherlock’s adventures. And not reporting from first hand experience just wouldn’t be the same.

And he’d be fine between being there for Rosie and juggling his shifts at the clinic, having his own little adventures. Believe it or not, children change people. Especially your own.

He’d be fine till one far too early morning reality would remind him that the reason Sherlock had asked him to come along all those years ago hadn’t only been because the pompous prat had needed a friend.

This time Sherlock would live.

And John would make him promise not to get himself into a situation like that ever again, knowing Sherlock’s words are not worth the air. Because he knows Sherlock. He’s been there. He’s seen it happen.

Sherlock would try to step down a little. For John’s and Rosie’s sake. For Mary’s. For the sacrifice he would have never ever asked for.  He, John and we know in this show there is no plot armour, even the major characters can die.

But it’s just a matter of time and Greg would show up with another perfect ten. One, he hates to cross 221b’s threshold with, but it’s an emergency. And with Mary’s death looming in his mind palace, Sherlock wouldn’t allow John to come along.

They’d get lucky again. And soon Sherlock would get hooked, telling himself, always the addict, he’d know how to calculate the risks.

Till one time he would not.

And Mofftiss sacrificed Mary to get some creative freedom.

What freedom?

Also, please note, it’s not Rosie who’s stripping the story off its possibilities, but Mary’s death. It’s what makes this show far too real for comfort.

[isa-ly]

IT’S OKAY TO BE CLICHÉ

TW: therapy, mental illness, anxiety, depression

Hey, so, I haven’t mentioned my super cool therapist in the last two blog posts, and I thought it was about time I did that again: Shout out to you, Kerstin, you’re the real MVP man, love you. Too much? Okay, yeah. Sorry. Professionalism, right. (I really hope she doesn’t read this blog, I mean she agreed it would be a good idea for me to write it but Christ, I doubt she’d wanna see me again if she actually found it.)

Okay, why this very odd and potentially problematic intro to today’s post, you ask? (Please tell me you asked yourself that, I feel so lonely here) Well, today I’m gonna tell you (or myself, I guess) the story of how I first started my therapy journey. Because, boy oh boy, is it a turbulent and long one. And we’re all about working through those turbulent and long life stories on here, aren’t we. So, let’s begin.

In all my previous posts, I’ve already given a pretty solid overview of all my various psychological issues that are deeply nestled in my mind and brain. However, as I wasn’t born a genius or psychoanalyst, you might be able to guess that I wasn’t always aware of those from the beginning. In fact, I had absolutely no fucking idea what was going on when they started, and kind of just floated in a constant state of anxiety, depression, insomnia and my general quarter-life crisis for a good few months.

Luckily, I have some very good friends (and also a few rational brain cells, big kudos to those fellas), with the help of which I figured out after a while, that whatever it was that was causing all my problems, was probably worth finding out by consulting an actual professional. A connaisseur of the mind. An expert on the depths and divots of the psyche, if you will.

Okay, we get it, Isa. You went to see a therapist. Stop it already with the pretentious big talk.

Excuse me, this is my blog, don’t tell me what to do. (I’m really Dr.-Jekyll-and-Mr-Hyde-ing it up on here, ain’t I?). Anyway. Yes, you are right, that is exactly what I was getting at. Only that between the realization of me needing professional and guided help, and the actual act of getting said help, lie about ten to eleven more months.

A year, basically. It took me an entire year to actually get my shit together and sign up for my first ever therapy session. Whoops.

To some, that might sound pretty unbelievable if one can trust my previous stories of how I was a) not really feeling anything, ever, b) had panic and anxiety attacks every night and c) was basically disconnected from my body and mind like 24/7. To others, though, taking a long time to finally make the step and ask for help, might be something very relatable.

And while I’m not necessarily on here to be related to, I myself am the latter of the two people mentioned above. As in: Asking for help is really not one of the strengths I mention on my CV (hence my last blog post about pointlessly shit-posting on social media instead). And even more importantly: Admitting to myself that I am in need of help and cannot fix my problems on my own, is even harder.

You see, autumn of 2018 hadn’t been the first ever time that I had struggled mentally. As a teenager, there were a couple of incidents where, looking back on it now, I had really been in urgent need of therapy. But I was too young and my parents unfortunately not understanding and knowledgeable enough, to see that that had been the case.

I graduated high school, some more time passed, water under the bridge and all, until I started university and my childhood traumas, as all my other problems, were swiftly brushed under the rug of repression. (That sounds like an edgy indie band, I like it). And for a while, everything was fine. Really, I loved what I was studying, I made some great new friends, acquired new skills, got way too drunk and made out with way too many people, went to study abroad, got even more drunk and made out with even more people. Let’s just say I was living the student life to the fullest.

But we all know that things didn’t just continue to be that peachy. That’s why I’m sitting here writing, after all. 

I’m not going to whine about how unfair life can be because really, there’s enough white, cis-gender, middle-class white women out there who already do that on a daily. Suffice to say, things did get kind of tough though, when that fifth semester of university hit, and I was faced with something I had never yet been faced before: The impending doom of the future. (Insert the dramatic sound effect from Inception).

Growing up, I had always had an exact plan of what I wanted to do in life, who I wanted to be and where I wanted to go. I was good at writing and coming up with stories, and also had a big mouth and way too many opinions, so I figured journalism would be the way to go. I got into the uni of my dreams and was finally doing what I had always wanted to do. Or ... well, okay, I liked some of the subjects. It sure was a huge load of work. And, actually, some of the professors, who were also journalists, seemed to be pretty big dicks. And wait, I don’t really agree on most of the practices and opinions they teach. Also, actually working at a newspaper isn’t that cool and more so a literal living hell. Do I really want to do this still? Is that really who I am?

Did I ... make the wrong choice?

Aaaaand there goes everything I built my personality, hopes and dreams on. Out of the window, just like that. Bye bye, future. Bye bye, all my plans. Bye bye, ground beneath my feet.

I realize that this sounds exactly like what I said I was trying to avoid (me whining), but I want to be honest and suddenly being hit with the fact that the thing I had been so sure of pursuing all my life, was actually nothing but smoke and mirrors, was kind of a punch to the gut. Strong enough to clearly derail me, yet subtle enough to keep me from noticing it at first.

I’m planning on talking about this in a separate post but I wan to pre-empt this much: I have a pretty big issue with not being in control of my own life and for the first time since literal birth, that was the case. I was completely clueless as to what would happen next, how I would figure it out and what the hell I was going to do with my life and academic education. It hit me like a wall of bricks but in a way, I was in too much of a shock state to realize that it was really starting to cause some bigger issues.

This was around the time that my nightly panic attacks started happening. I didn’t sleep well, started missing classes and began to hate every single thing about my course. I felt lost but didn’t want to admit it. All the other people in my class seemed so damn sure of where they wanted to go and here I was, a zombified insomniac, trying to get through yet another exam I didn’t give a single shit about, in order to do my degree in a subject I had lost all my previous passion for.

This confusing and draining state of just continuing to push went on for a few months, and I somehow made it into the sixth semester, with almost all my left-over willpower and what little energy there still was in my tired bones, having faded to the barest of minimums. I mean, I took one of my law exams on the very last try because I just hadn’t managed to get out of bed for all those 8am lectures, therefore loosing one of the three tries I had, not having studied enough to go the second one and then found myself sitting at the third try, secretly wishing to just fail so I could drop out, curl into a ball and sleep for a year.

You know, just your casual university breakdown.

Only that I was still violently denying that that was exactly what had been happening for the last semester. I didn’t want to admit it but ... I was breaking down. Not in a plane-crash-and-burn kind of way but more in a Titanic way, where I underestimated the ice berg that was my impending life crisis and then spend ages ignoring the fact that I was slowly but certainly sinking further into my demise. Okay, that comparison was in poor taste, I apologize. I’ll tune it back on the drama again.

I knew I needed help. Someone to talk to and figure out what the hell was causing my anxiety, panic attacks and insomnia. But I kept telling myself that I just had to push a little more until I wrote my thesis and finished university and then, then I would deal with all my issues. I just needed to keep going and do this first, just a little longer, just until I got my degree. Now was not the time, okay? I was still busy, and if those damn issues could see that and wait for another second, God damn it, why won’t my brain just let me finish this first.

Ding-dong. 

Can you hear that? That’s right. It’s the burn-out, ringing my doorbell.

And it didn’t wait for me to ask for it to come in. Burn-outs usually never do. And neither did any of my other problems. I had kept them at bay long enough, but the tide still came.

Because if we think back to my cupboard metaphor in my post about panic attacks and anxiety: Once that door opens, it all comes crashing down on top of you. In my case, this meant that I found myself amidst mountains of thesis literature, having nothing left to do but that one, single task of writing my final academic paper, before I finally got to be free of this horrid course, that I had apparently wasted the last three years of my life on.

I knew I had more than enough time left to write my thesis. I liked my topic. I had all the books. All the plans. All of it. Right there. Just write it. Just fucking start typing. Just– 

Just sit at the library every day, staring at the cursor on the page, blinking, reminding you of the emptiness of the document before you, and the even bigger emptiness in your chest. It blinks, like it’s trying to mock you and with every second that passes, every other minute of not writing, just sitting and staring, it mocks you more and that emptiness gets bigger. 

I don’t want this to turn into a pretentious short story, but this was what it felt like. I would open my laptop every day, ready to work, and then just proceed to stare at it for hours on end, until all of a sudden, the sun had started to set again and the day would be over. I’d go to bed, rinse and repeat, and do it all over again the next day. Still having my panic attacks. Still not sleeping. Still thinking that it was all going to be fine if I just kept trying and kept pushing.

Needless to say, I didn’t hand in my thesis on the first try. But hey, a lot of people don’t! Hell, even most of my class mates didn’t. So, it’s okay, mum and dad, friends and family, I’m fine! I just need to put more work in and make it better, so I can hand in a well-researched paper. I just need more time.

More time.

Time, that I would spend opening my laptop, every day, ready to work, and then just proceed to stare at it for hours on end until all of a sudden, the sun had started to set again and the day would be over. I’d go to bed, rinse and repeat, and do it all over again the next day. Still having my panic attacks. Still not sleeping. Still thinking that it was all going to be fine if I just kept trying and kept pushing.

I just. Needed. More. Time.

As you can probably guess, I also didn’t hand in my thesis the second time around. And when the deadline for the third and last chance to hand it in and get my degree came around ... well, I just accepted my defeat.

It had come to a point where even my delusional ass had started to realize that something was clearly wrong. Like, completely, utterly wrong. I had kept pushing, no, kicking my problems in front of me like a kid kicks a football while walking to the playground, pretending that if I just dragged them with me long enough, I could maybe outrun them and finish what I wanted to finish before finally dealing with them. But after an entire year of doing that, even I had to admit that that wasn’t going to work.

It never had and it never would. And finally accepting that, was as painful as it was freeing, in a way. There was something about knowing that I had hit my breaking point, that had a strange sense of relief to it. I don’t want to romanticize any of what happened to me just for the sake of story telling. But I remember feeling like by hitting my first ever rock bottom, I was now at the point where, as they like to say, the only way was up.

Right?

Right.

Well, kind of. Not really. But that’s for another post to tell, for now let’s continue with the therapy journey.

Don’t get me wrong, even though my stubborn head and me had finally accepted that it had gotten to a point where I had no excuses left to make, I still felt like an absolute cliché for having become one of the people who have a nervous breakdown in their twenties because their dream of a perfectly planned life hadn’t worked out exactly how they had wanted it to. What a big, privileged crybaby I was. Or at least, that’s what a part of me thought. 

But I kind of knew back then, and most definitely know now, that no matter how cliché or silly you feel for not being able to “fix” your problems by yourself, there lies absolutely no weakness or failure in admitting that you need someone else to help you with it. Quite the contrary is the case: it’s probably one of the bravest things you can do in life. And I know that in comparison to what other people might have gone through, my own issues might have just been a speck of dust in the universe. But to me, they were the ice berg that got my ship to sink. And that is exactly why your own problems are never invalid or “too small” to work on. Because while they might not seem like real problems (whatever the fuck that means) to society, your parents (we’ll talk about that one another time as well, yikes) or anyone else who clearly hasn’t gotten their priorities right, they very much are real problems to you. 

And they were real problems to me, too.

So, after a year of what felt like beating a dead horse, I was finally ready to re-animate that horse, so I could move forward in life (horse metaphors, yes, Isa, that’s exactly what this blog still needed). I signed up for my first ever therapy assessment, got my first ever diagnosis and even joined a session of group therapy. The psychotherapist I had my assessment with, actually diagnosed me with anxiety and depression disorder, which kind of didn’t come as a big surprise to me, since those were the two things I had experienced literally all year. Still, hearing a medical professional say it out loud after having listened to my story, was a strange yet good feeling. For the first time, it felt like something I could grasp. It was no longer just a confusing and irritating thing that kept me awake at night and brain-dead during the day. It had a name, and even more importantly: It had a treatment.

Unfortunately, the place I signed up to had no free spots for one-on-one therapy yet, so, plot twist: This isn’t where my heavily praised and even more heavily featured therapist Kerstin comes in yet. Tricked you, didn’t I? (No, I literally tricked no one because if anyone even reads this blog, it’s my friends who already know exactly what happened so really, who am I kidding.) There’s still a lot of stuff that happened between me having my first ever assessment and receiving my first ever diagnosis, and me actually meeting my first ever personal therapist.

But, this blog post has already been going on for too long and I don’t want to get ahead of my own emotional work schedule. Plus, I’m once again pretty heavily dissociated at this point, so I think it’s best if I give it a rest for today and continue another time.

If there’s any kind of take away and conclusion for myself and anyone who might read this, it’s that no matter what all those doubtful voices in your head are saying: Your problems are valid. Your pain is worth recognizing and you should never compare it to those of others in order to down-play it or make yourself think that you’re not doing “bad enough” yet. There is no such thing as being ill or miserable enough. Whatever it is you’re struggling with, it’s worth taking a break and figuring it out. Because the movie Titanic might have been a cinematographic masterpiece, but in the end the ship still sank. And if there’s something that can help avoid that happening, someone you can talk to and that can help you get better (and there always is) – you should do it, because it’s the least that you deserve.

[t-baba]

6 Unexpected Mistakes That Keep Developers from Getting a Raise

Good performance is never enough.

Imagine working hard. You have an "above average" track record. You've never heard complaints — you even won the coveted "best employee" award last month.

So, your company decides to reward you by...

Demoting you.

Sounds bizarre and untrue, doesn't it? Who'd be thick enough to punish an employee for doing a great job?

Doing a Great Job Isn't Enough

AntarcticGorillas, a StackExchange user, shared the story above. He was genuinely frustrated because he did everything he was supposed to do, but ended up getting demoted instead.

Another StackExchange user dishes out some advice.

"Wow sounds like you failed to play the office politics game effectively. Good performance is never enough. You don't play the game and you lose, 100% of the time if you are in management."

He takes his bad advice even further.

"Ok now you have to salvage what is left. First, and I know you are going to hate this one, you have to make friends with your new boss. You have to get him to mentor you. You have to help him and not show your resentment. Yeah I know you resent him, you wouldn't be human if you didn't. But this is the time to take the high road. This guy clearly has the office politics down pat, you need to learn from him."

His advice is partially true. Good performance isn't enough. It's the baseline.

His advice to lie and manipulate? That stinks. But it isn't the worst part. It's the belief behind it.

I'm a _ Worker, I Deserve a Raise

As employees, we have the tendency to think we "deserve" it.

Developers do a great job. Most of us do everything we're supposed to do. Still, many are disappointed with the money they're making.

We know that many employers do their best to underpay. They walk a fine line, giving just enough to keep us on board, without affecting the profit margins they want.

It seems like your boss takes advantage of you.

You're working your hands to the bone. You're doing everything you're asked to do and more. When your company's in a bind, you deliver. Last minute updates? You get things done. Issues with scope creep? You handle it masterfully.

When you don't get the raise you deserve, it feels like an insult.

More often than not, the issue has less to do with your work performance and more to do with the intangible details. Behaviors and counterproductive decisions that alienate allies, partners and opportunities. These mistakes make it harder to get the raise we're hoping for.

Social conditioning leads many to ignore this stuff. "Ugh! Soft skills," you might say. But these unexpected, common mistakes impact raises every day.

Mistake #1: What I Deserve vs What I Want

There's a growing problem that's slowly eroding good will in the developer community.

Entitlement.

Open source entitlement is a great example. It goes like this:

Developer needs code to solve a problem

Developer finds open source code. It solves the problem

Code creates problems

Developer becomes angry, demands authors fix now. (For free!)

It's an oversimplification but it conveys the point. These open source authors aren't at our beck and call. It's a terrible idea to demand extensive tech support, then write angry letters when we don't get our way.

Mattias Petter Johansson over at FunFunFunction dives deeper into "developer entitlement."

When we feel entitled, we overestimate our abilities and our contributions. We swallow the lie our ego feeds us. "You deserve this. You're a senior developer after all." Developers with this mindset are bargaining on the wrong side of the tracks.

Here's how your boss thinks about raises.

"Holy crap, this is the guy that 10x'd our leads and sales in 18 months. The app he developed turned things around for us. We're going to need to spend more if we want to keep this guy."

See the difference?

They're not operating from an entitled mindset. They're approaching your raise from a transactional mindset, namely...

What am I getting for my money?

We're not entitled to a raise. We're not entitled to a promotion. Yet developers continue to approach salaries and promotions from an entitled mindset. I did a good job this year so, you "owe me."

They usually make their approach like this.

Which is the part where managers give their blunt and unsatisfying answer.

Nope.

Mistake #2: Being Right vs Being Respectful

Justin Keller, entrepreneur, developer and founder of San Francisco startup Commando.io wrote an open letter to the mayor. He was upset about the homeless in his community.

He didn't want to see them on his way to work.

"The wealthy working people have earned their right to live in the city. They went out, got an education, work hard, and earned it. I shouldn't have to worry about being accosted. I shouldn't have to see the pain, struggle, and despair of homeless people to and from my way to work every day. I want my parents when they visit to have a great experience, and enjoy this special place."

Maybe he didn't mean to convey feelings of contempt and condescension. But, his words were still hurtful and disrespectful.

He had a point.

No one wants to live in a neighborhood filled with homeless people. Homeless people don't want to live the way they do. We're human, it's normal to dislike these things.

Those who can avoid it, do so. Those who can't, endure it.

The general thrust of his argument is this: He doesn't want to deal with the problems that homeless people bring. Okay. But that's not really the problem here.

It's the othering of a group or type of people he views as beneath him.

That's the problem.

Developers struggle with the very same issue. As a developer, you're typically sure about your views. You're logical and precise. You're right and you know it, which is part of the problem.

You have a choice to make.

Be right. You can show everyone that you are, in fact, correct. That your way is right. This comes at a steep price if it's handled poorly.

Protect the relationship. You can treat others with respect, avoid humiliating them and allow them to save face when they're wrong.

Developers who focus on being "right" tend to be disrespectful. They burn allies and earn enemies.

Developers who focus on relationships first, discover their influence grows with those around them. They're viewed as trustworthy, and more people listen when they have something to say. Being right is easy when everyone values your feedback.

Getting that raise or promotion is tough if you're viewed as a snobby, know-it-all jerk.

Mistake #3: My Career vs My Loyalty

Google has been at the top of Fortune magazine's list of best companies to work for every year since 2007. The job perks are legendary. For many, a spot at Google is a dream come true.

So why is Google struggling to keep its employees?

A recent report by PayScale states the median employee tenure at Google is a little over one year. Its workforce has grown, but it's struggling to keep its people.

It's not because Googlers are unhappy.

84 percent of their 28,500 employees state they have a high level of job satisfaction which, as you'd expect, is one of the highest among the Fortune 500.

Other tech firms aren't having the same problem. The average tenure at Yahoo! and Microsoft is 2.4 and 4 years respectively.

Yikes.

The problem is loyalty. Loyalty is quickly becoming a thing of the past.

Employees are loyal to a fulfilling career, not a job — 78% would stay if they knew they had a career path. #HR #EmployeeEngagement https://t.co/TgHqkxS69Q

— Mercer (@mercer) December 9, 2016

It's not entirely our fault; We're given bad advice. The strategy is:"Don't ask for a raise, get a new job instead."

It's a destructive strategy that results in less trust. Employers limit the responsibility they give you because they believe you won't be here that long anyway...

Work has become this cutthroat environment where we all pretend to look out for the team, when in reality, we're looking out for ourselves.

If you're a sophisticated developer, you know.

At many companies, project managers and other developers are all too eager to throw each other under the bus for more money. When an opportunity comes along, these employees will eat each other for the chance to win.

Jumping from job to job only works for so long. Disloyalty catches up with you as your market value drops. There's no reason an employer should go out of their way to keep a disloyal developer.

Here's what loyalty looks like to them.

Continue reading %6 Unexpected Mistakes That Keep Developers from Getting a Raise%

by Andrew McDermott via SitePoint http://ift.tt/2oN8I5b