#guess who had this song on loop for many hours

[synthshenanigans]

[Warning for bright colors]

"Thank you, God, you fool"

It do be a small world after all, don't it?

[Alt versions & background below :} ]

[munsonhoneybaby]

i’d love to see a drabble or a blurb with eddie and the fishnets👀

yet again this one got away from me lol so it's a little long for a drabble but i hope you enjoy !!

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering

A/N: takes place in the too much in common realm but isn't a part of the main series !! song is witchy woman by the eagles <3

In a town like Hawkins, there weren’t many occasions that fishnets were suitable for. So, by the time you did eventually wear them again, you had pretty much forgotten about the ‘promise’ you’d made Eddie. He hadn’t, of course.

“Are you sure we have to go, baby?” His fingers clawed at your hips through the thin black dress you wore. “C’mon, let’s just stay in tonight.”

“I didn’t just spend two hours getting ready to ‘stay in’. Plus, I’m excited. I like getting out of town and doing things every now and then, and Steve said this place is supposed to be really cool.” You eyed him in the mirror as you swiped on some lip gloss. The red of his button-up was so deep it was almost black, tucked into his black jeans with the top three buttons undone. Silver chains hung from his belt loops, matching his rings and the barbell in his tongue that had just recently finished healing. Another silver chain sat around his wrist which was soon joined by a hair tie, his boots thudding heavily– even on the carpet– when he grabbed it from your nightstand.

“I don’t know how much of a club person I’m gonna be,” He warned you. “I don’t really dance.”

“Just because you don’t doesn’t mean you can’t,” You pointed out. “And you don’t really have to dance, I’m not expecting you to waltz. You just have to grind on me, and that I know you can do.”

He gave a conceding sigh. “Fine, I guess if it’s an excuse to dry hump you in public we can go.”

“Ever the romantic, Munson.”

The others were already ordering the first round when you got there, the bartender passing out shots until you reached the bar and Steve pushed two more toward you. “Took you guys long enough!” He called over the music.

“Can’t rush perfection, Harrington.” Grabbing the small glass, you passed the other one to Eddie. Knocking it back, you determined it was vodka and not tequila with a grateful nod to Robin. “Are we getting a table?”

“You two grab one, I wanna get another round!” Robin shouted back with enthusiasm.

Flashing her a thumbs up, you grabbed a hold of Eddie’s hand and ushered him toward a big, dimly lit corner booth. “There’s a lot ‘a people here,” He observed as you set your purse on the table.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Drawing him in with your arms around his neck, you hummed, “Just you ‘n me, as far as I’m concerned.”

He palmed at your ass through the silky black satin of your dress as he countered, “The things I’d do to you if it were just you ‘n me would get us arrested if I did them here, babe.”

“Alright, you guys can play grab-ass in a minute, we’re doing more shots!” Steve called as the three of them approached the table, all of them carrying at least one.

“No more for me, I’ve gotta take her home after all this.” Leaning over your shoulder, he prepared to push it back across the table to Steve but was stopped by your hand over his.

“Uh, excuse you. I can drink for two, thank you.” Holding his hands up in surrender, he raised his eyebrows, making a smile crack through your falsely offended expression. He didn’t blink as he watched you swallow down one shot after the other. A clear droplet escaped your mouth, rolling down your neck to disappear between the valley of your breasts and into your dress. He could so vividly imagine how it would taste to follow the intoxicating trail with his tongue.

His gaze was ripped from your chest by the snap of Steve’s fingers, who was giving him a knowing, playfully chastising look. “Could you keep it in your pants a little while longer, Munson?”

You were too engrossed in a conversation with Nancy to pay them any mind as he responded. “Shh, you’re gonna get me in trouble. And I’ll have you know, I have the patience of a saint,” He added unconvincingly.

That finally got your attention, making you let out a little snort. “Oh-kay, babe, if you say so.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just c’mon, I’m ready to dance!”

“You mean you’ve drank enough to now?” He scoffed as you dragged him away from the table.

“Yep!” The music vibrated through the floors as you led him through the half-crowded dance floor. You weaved through the various friends, couples, and parties until you found a comfortable gap. Your boyfriend just chuckled and shook his head.

Turning to face him, you let your arms settle loosely around his neck once again as you moved to the music. His hands squeezed at your waist before moving lower to knead at the small of your back. The two of you eyed each other lovingly, with you brushing a few unruly strands of hair back from his face as he admired the hazy halo the lights cast around you. Before you could think of something to say to excuse your silent drooling, the sound of the next song beginning distracted you. The soft, deep thrum of guitars and bass had the faintest excited gasp escaping your lips. “I love this song!”

raven hair and ruby lips

sparks fly from her fingertips

echoed voices in the night

she’s a restless spirit on an endless flight

His hands held you steady as you bowed back ever so slightly, head tilting as you swayed in his arms. You slowly began to wind your hips in time with the music, silently mumbling the chorus. Eddie smiled softly, humming along as he watched your eyes fall closed.

woo-hoo, witchy woman

see how high she flies

woo-hoo, witchy woman

she got the moon in her eye

He caught you by surprise when he took both of your hands, spinning you and bringing his arms over your head to cross around your waist. You giggled and squealed quietly, tilting your head to look over your shoulder at him as your back pressed to his chest. “See, Munson, you’ve got moves!”

“As long as I still don’t have t’a dust off my waltz, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” He promised.

 

she held me spellbound in the night

dancin’ shadows and firelight

crazy laughter in another room

and she drove herself to madness with a silver spoon

You could already feel him half-hard against you as you wound your hips more intently. Eddie’s fingers dragged up your fishnet-covered thighs, lifting the skirt of your dress dangerously high before moving to grab at your waist again. “Driving me fuckin’ crazy, baby. Know I love you so much, right?”

Head falling back against his chest, you gazed up at him with glossy eyes and a tipsy grin. “I love you too, Eds. Love you so much.” His hands wandered, rubbing over your sides and your stomach as his hips ground into you. Your own hand reached back to wind into his hair, curls growing frizzier in the warmth of the club. Goosebumps began to raise on your skin when he mouthed sloppily at your neck, teeth grazing a sensitive spot before lifting to tug at your earlobe. With the way the blood was rushing in his veins and his head was starting to swim, he may as well have been as drunk as you. The sweet smell of your perfume and the taste of your skin was still enough to make the room spin.

woo-hoo, witchy woman

see how high she flies

woo-hoo, witchy woman

she got the moon in her eye

Far be it from him to complain when you grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him in the direction of the bathroom before the song could even reach its instrumental break. You had never been so grateful for a single-person restroom in your life. Eddie hissed and laughed when you let the door slam shut, fingers clawing at the buttons of his shirt as he reached around you to lock it.

You only managed to get two of the buttons undone before his hand covered yours, pressing it against his chest to stop you as he chuckled softly. “Baby, baby– not here.”

Huffing, you pouted up at him. “Then why’d you let me bring you in here?”

“Well, it wasn’t to strip naked in a public bathroom,” He confirmed. Urging you backward, he didn’t stop until your lower back met the sink counter. “I do seem to remember a promise a certain someone made me a couple months ago, though.”

“Eddie,” You whine. Clutching at his shirt, you tried to draw his body to yours completely as he stood between your legs. “I don’t remember, just touch me. I’ll do whatever you want me to later, but–”

“Oh, I’m gonna need that in writing, babe. Right now, though, you just have to lean back and spread your legs f’me. Okay, sweet girl?”

Nodding, you were already sighing in relief when his hands guided your thighs back toward your chest. He peeled your panties to the side from underneath your fishnets, and it wasn’t until you felt his tongue drag through the wetness he found there that you finally remembered the oh-so-important promise you’d made. 

well, i know you want a lover; let me tell you, brother

she’s been sleepin’ in the devil’s bed

and there’s some rumors going ‘round, someone’s underground

she can rock you in the nighttime ‘til your skin turns red

You were already a mess, your dress bunched around your waist and straps falling off your shoulders. Your disheveled hair wouldn’t be so easy to fix, but it was clear to see you had little concern for what your fellow patrons would think. No, you were too focused on the feeling of Eddie sliding two fingers into you as his tongue ring massaged your clit.

If he were a responsible boyfriend, he would remind you to quiet down, but he just couldn’t help himself. He loved when you got drunk– loved when he could see the tension in your shoulders melt away and you got warm, and giggly, and loud– loved when you’d moan and gasp his name without even realizing you were doing it because the first and only thing you were thinking about was how good he made you feel. 

So, when you cried out that you were gonna come, he didn’t stop. He didn’t hush you, or cover your mouth with his hand. He just crooked his fingers to the spot he knew always made your insides melt and hummed encouragingly against the wet warmth of your cunt, mesmerized by the sight of you writhing on the counter before him.

Hips still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you pulled him to you for a sloppy kiss that had him panting like a dog in heat. The doe-eyed look you gave him when you finally spoke was almost enough to make him drop to his knees for you a second time. “Take me home, Eds.”

woo-hoo, witchy woman

see how high she flies

woo-hoo, witchy woman

she got the moon in her eye

<3

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[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Beg the sea for mercy (Sailor!Joelx Mermaid Reader)

They say the sea has some power over souls. It understands something that lies underneath flesh and bones, and it sings a song that appeals to those who are wounded.

Pairing: Sailor!Joel MillerxMermaid Reader

(The mermaid is described but it is a humanoid creature and for the most the aspects of her described are the more "creature" parts of her than physical description, once she's a human, she is not described except for being curvier and having hair) Joel calls her "girl" and she has her own POV in some parts

Themes and warnings: sea (a little bit of talasophobia I guess), depression, alcohol and drug comsuption, bodily horror, breeding "kink" not to give much away but the mermaid needs Joel for something. Smut but not super detailed, blood and violence.

This came to me a few years ago with Florence+The Machine Mermaids ( final chapter is actually a verse of the song)and watching The Lighthouse. "Future Days" is included here and actually checking the lyrics it fitted perfectly but I know it can be controversial since in the game is a very important between Joel and Ellie.

Also on AO3

They say the sea has some power over souls. It understands something that lies underneath flesh and bones, and it sings a song that appeals to those who are wounded.

Far from the land and the people, its roars and constant changes remind humans that it cannot be controlled. The crashing of the waves and the boat fighting its way over them is like the sound inside his body: the blood running, the heart beating, the bones cracking, soft and constant.

Joel needs those sounds to believe that his heart is still beating, that he is still alive, even if it feels he had died many years ago.

The sea is a welcoming mistress for lost souls. At land, all he did was bury himself in pills and alcohol. He numbed his head so his thoughts would stop being of his daughter last breath, how fast she was breathing, her cries, his shirt wet, warm and sticky over his chest.

I know, baby, I know.

I gotta get you up, babygirl

He remembers getting her corpse up of the ground, and all Joel Miller was, was left in the puddle of her daughter’s blood on the grass. The man that lived after that was dead, a zombie.

Joel found the fact of having to get back to his old life unbearable. How would he be able to do the same things he did when Sarah was alive?

And after trying to kill himself and failing, he ran away. Doing dodgy works here and there, using his rage and muscle for whomever paid the most so he could get enough pills and whisky to pass out every night.

In the dark loop that his life had become, he found Cap. Nobody could tell how old he was or from where that thick accent could come from or even his real name. He called Joel kid which implied an older age, but he couldn’t point out if he was that much older than him.

He told him about his boat and their route to the pacific all the way down and back.

“8 months out, open sea and more money you will make in any other place”.

He got on the Perseus on Sarah’s birthday after swallowing a pill and a bottle of Jack. Cap looked at him up and down:

“Whatever you do after your shift is up to you. But on duty hours you stay sharp, kid”.

He did. Soon enough he didn’t feel his hands shaken and he could sleep almost soundly every night. The sea sang its song, the low hums of the machinery and the gentle waves, and he was rocked like a baby in a crib. He still drank each night. Sergey, part time cook and fisherman, served every meal with a shot of vodka.

“To keep you warm, strong.” He flexed his pale arm under the bright yellow overalls.

The nights at the edge of the world were long, too far away from land, any land, that Joel thought the sun would not rise again. For days he would wake up at 2 A.M and work up until midday, but the nets were coming empty.

“Fucking shit” he muttered after another day of nothing.

“Don’t curse at the sea, son, she will give her share when she’s ready. We just have to keep on begging”. Cap said and patted his back.

They were so far away; the radar never showed any passing ship.

The sky was so bright, Joel saw the Milky way for the first time. That white spur of cosmos full of stars brighter than any artificial light he had never seen before.

The sea was so calm the light drew silver lines over the soft waves, the soft push of them crushed against the boat, when he saw it.

A shadow, barely a head above water. If it weren’t for those silver lines, a glitch on the reflection of the sky above, he wouldn’t have seen it.

And as soon as he stepped closer to the edge, it disappeared.

That night the nets were once again empty. Before they let the machinery rewind them and throw them again, he found it. A perfect seashell, the conch turned on itself in a mix of pink like roses and white as the seafoam.

He grabbed it and put it on his pocket and didn’t get it out until he was on his bunk bed.

Joel touched its coarse exterior, the small waves made of years of the ocean’s erosion. The seashell had an opening on its middle, bright pink and soft to the touch almost like flesh. His calloused fingertips got over the opening tracing from the tip to the end. He could hear the sea coming from it and he fell asleep with it on his hand. Then the dreams started.

He dreamt he was underwater, as deep and black as the universe. His lungs were caving in, the water of the ocean filling him in its cold arms.

That’s when he saw her. His eyes searched for the moonlight that pierced the water on the reflection of her fins. They were silver with a shade of black. In the darkness he could distinguish her shape, long, longer than any animal he had seen. She propelled herself with her tail and pushed the water with her arms. She danced around him ignoring that he was dying, for a moment he thought that maybe that was what she e waited for. She turned and spin almost like she was having fun of his suffering.

In his dream, he reached for her, beg even if words could not come out of his mouth. She came, a cloud of silver and darkness of her hair. She grabbed him from his waist, hard so hard Joel expelled all his oxygen. He screamed but she grabbed his jaw, sharp nails scratching his skin.

She was a vision. Something human and not at the same time. Her eyes were all black, bigger in her head, her skin was cold and soft even if a bit viscous, her lips were pale, and she opened her mouth. Was it a smile? And her teeth where sharp, white as pearls. She sealed her lips to him, and he tasted blood. He fought against her, but she was stronger. Her hand pressed against his nape when he felt her nails scratching his scalp.

He was too tired, too close to hypoxia and then he felt the air, sweet and cold, that she was transferring, under her ears, her gills opened and closed.

She held him, her nails didn’t pierce him anymore but cradle his head, he felt his heart slowing down and then the siren woke him up. It was time for another shift.

The dream came to him every night, and every night he had to get through the agony of dying before he could touch her, each night he fought less and less, until weeks after finding the conch, he submerged himself in the depth of the sea fearlessly, open arms waiting for her to come save him.

“You got your head elsewhere, kid” Joel had read the captain lips, but he signed his cancelling noise headset.

The captain repeated the same sentence until Joel rolled his eyes and he knew he had understood him.

The red light on top of the ceiling and the deep siren alerted them to step out as the boat open its vault to welcome the nets. For weeks they had come empty, but that night the cables were tense teasing that they had a great catch for once.  From the black waters, the bodies of thousands of fish jumped in silver.

Sergey and the captain cheered.

“She blessed us, I told you, kid” “We just need to keep on begging and now we thank her”.

The captain stepped on the nets over the slugs and small conches. He got close to the edge, Joel crossed fast to stop him, but the old man kneeled on the edge, getting a knife from his boot, he slashed his hand and raised to the moon, the blood fell black as if they were tears from the sky above. Joel heard him pray.

Thank you for providing us with such a bounty. We are thankful for your gifts, let us go back safely to shore.

Sergey shook his head and muttered “Crazy”

After all the fish were put on refrigeration, they gathered in the kitchen, the guys from the AM shift too as Captain had granted a day off for everybody. Sergey took the opportunity to cook a special meal and open his best vodka, the one he kept on a locked cabinet. “For special occasions only” he poured the shots and served each man a generous ration of a fish stew.

“Who did you thank back there?” Joel asked, the captain had cured his hand with badges that had an already a faint maroon stain on them.

“The sea, son, who else?” he chuckled.

“You cut your hand for the sea?” Joel raised an eyebrow and pointed to the wounded hand.

“You are new, you will learn. The sea is not made for us to stay and pillage. You have to give something back if you want to be blessed “

“Is some kind of religion or what?

“Don’t be a fool. There are many gods on the land, and none will show their power as the sea does. She will teach you quickly not to bother her or mock her, son”.

“Is a she then, a goddess?”

“Are you mocking me, kid?” the captain through his spoon on his plate and the rest of the men looked at them.

“I’m just curious as to why you will cut your hand”.

The storm arrived two days after. Joel tried to control his fear, his trembling hands when the sea turned grey and the waves covered the ship, again and again they hit higher. They had to get back to shore but the currents were too strong, they kept sending them deeper. There was no signal on the radio or radar. Isolated the days seemed eternal, they were completely covered most of the time, but sometimes, Joel could see the sky opening and the thunderstorm lighted up the stars. At night, for the briefest of time, the air was on fire when the lightnings stroke, he could see the dark waves coming as they hit the ship when it was pitched black.

One of those dark waves swallowed the ship whole eventually. When Joel fell  in the dark waters, the waves made impossible to hear the rest of the men or even to see them in the dark, once he was over one wave, another would drown him. The life jacket made him float up, but he could just take one small breath and the sea would push him down.

He was tired, exhausted in minutes and so He let go. And unlocked his lifejacket.

Let the sea take me. I want to go with my babygirl.

Sarah.

Sarah

He heard her, laughing, saw her killer smile in the stars calling back to him. For once all he remembered was not her dying and he knew it was time.

It wasn’t like in his dreams. The ocean was dark and cold. The currents too strong for him to even know what’s up and down. And soon he let the water in invade him with violence and somehow peace.

He remembered dark eyes glittering in a dark cave. If it wasn’t for the sand he touched and the air he felt, Joel would have sworn he had died and was falling still in the dark pitch of the ocean.

When those eyes approached him, he heard her crawl, creeping her wet and cold body over him. She reached for his chest with long nailed hands, each finger connected to the other by thin skin.

Joel heard his voice break when he tried to scream, but nothing came out but a pathetic whine.

The siren reached his head, those black pools staring at him, her mouth opened with sharp teeth. And then she posed her head on his chest and began singing. It pierced straight to his heart, through skin and bone and then his world in that tiny cave went silent. Only her voice could be heard, not his cries, not his heart or blood still running, not his pain or Sarah’s last breath, just the creature signing.

He woke up when light hit his eyes, bright and white against the clear stone. Sand on his feet and his hands, cold and grounding. He was alive.

“You are awake”.

He turned his head to his feet, scared to find the creature, instead a girl sat next to him. Naked if just for a thin throw she had tighten with a piece of rope. Joel tried to lift his body but his vision blurred and when he tried to speak his throat was dry and hurt.

“Here. Drink”

She kneeled before him and poured water on his lips. Sweet and cold, when the thin dribble stopped, he tried instinctively to raise for more.

“Not so fast”

“Please” he begged, when she raised her hands again, Joel saw she was holding his shell, that one he found on the boat. Its perfect pink spiral holding fresh water to his mouth, it was a dream. Maybe he was indeed drowning still, his braincells dying little by little with the lack of oxygen.

But the sand on his hands, the pain on his limbs felt so real.

“Rest” she pressed her palm on his chest “I bring more water”.

She raised, the white thin cloth hanging around her body, she went inside the cave where he could not see her. Joel tried to raise again this time, slower and surer, his arms finally feeling strong enough to press his palms on the ground. His vision was still blurry, and the light hit him too hard.

He inspected the cave, empty if it wasn’t for the improvised bed he was on, a pile of clothes, fading and harsh for the saltpetre, he found his shirt and pants and his fishing overalls, an another one, an another, an another. All from the Perseus.

“Here” the girl followed his gaze and put his hand on his shoulder “You need to rest”

“Where are the men from my boat?”

“Water” she said, her hand on his chin turning his face to the shell. Joel didn’t know if she wanted him to drink or answering his question. He drank again.

“I need to come home” he said, maybe it was a prayer or a wish, he hadn’t called anything home since his daughter. “I need to call somebody; they must be searching the ship”.

The woman squared her shoulders.

“Nobody is searching”

“Please, you need to help me, I have to come back, they must be looking for me…my family”.

“Sarah?” she kneeled again suddenly less tense.

“What? How?”

“You speak in dreams, call her..cry for her” she spoke softly, tilted her head awaiting a answer.

“My daughter…she…” he couldn’t say, she had been trying for years to tell, my daughter was, Sarah was my daughter, he couldn’t bare speak of her in the pass.

“My brother must be worried, we need to call the coast guards, somebody to bring me back to…”

“Nobody is coming” she pushed him firmly to the bed again, for a moment her eyes grew dark as those he saw in his dreams under water and in this cave after she had saved him.

Joel accepted her care for a day more. She brought her water and fish. The fish still moving and trying to escape its fate until she slapped them against the rock. Hair and body dripping cold water from the sea, the girl gutted the fish for him, tearing away their spine and head and presenting him their still fresh body with bloody nails. She ate one herself but with less pleasantries and bite the half of its body while blood dipped from her chin.

After he could get up by himself the next day when she was gone to get food, Joel made an expedition out of the cave. His hope sank when he saw how small the isle was. A piece of dark rock and steep hills, with thin trees with black roots and dark green leaves. The sea crushed against it violently, its roar was astounding, on the small coast, he found pieces of the ship. He climbed, almost out of breath, to the highest hill he found.

The sky was cloudy, big masses of white dust and wind over that remote corner of the world, and all he could see down was a never-ending sea, no ships, no continent, nothing but water.

He felt the waves crushing his ribs again, his heart. He would never leave this isle, he would never be home, never see his brother and explain so many things. How the world crumbled when Sarah died, how he could not see a future, the person he became, the fear of looking and the mirror and see his soulless eyes. He wanted to come back home, he wanted to be able to call something his home once again.

He felt the rage coming, like bile coming up his gut, and he screamed, he screamed, and he kick the rocks until he was tired.

When he came back to the cave, she was waiting.

She frowned at him, she had already gutted her catch and sat on the clothes of the dead men with dead fish on her hands.

“You need to rest” she repeated.

“This can’t be real” he ignored her

On his way down, Joel had convinced himself he was imagining her, that finally the drugs, the alcohol and the depression combined with a concussion was making her up.

She looked at him and tended her hand “Eat” the fish was blue as dark as the blood that pooled on the siren’s hand.

“Leave me alone” he slapped her hand away. He wanted a whiskey so bad, he wanted to swallow the pills one by one, they probably thought him dead anyway. Tommy must have been informed by now. What was the point.

He hadn’t heard the girl standing and taking the fish back, she cleaned the sand as much as she could and presented it again, this time with a serious look “Eat”

“Leave me the fuck alone!” Joel tried to push her away, but she grabbed him by his throat and smacked him to the pile of the dead men clothes. She was stronger than him, much more. She straddled his lap and pressed her dirty nails on his cheeks.

Her breath was warm and her body cold and wet. He blamed his addictions and completely fucked up brain, that all his thoughts were about her body on top of him. He was aware of her nakedness, of the slump skin of her hips and thighs pressing his hips of how she was barely covered and how he could see her perked nipples under the damped fabric.

“eat” she repeated, and he opened his mouth.

She tore a small part and pushed the meat on his lips, softly, her fingers tasted of salt and blood.

When he had eating enough, she smiled. A beautiful, sweet, almost innocent smile, if not for the blood on her teeth.

“You will get strong soon”

The days fell and came, and he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to face the outside and small world of that minuscule isle.

He cried most of the time, sometimes the tears will just run on his cheeks, sometimes he would loudly sob while the siren was away. She brought him different food: octopus that she shredded with her bare hands, crabs and oysters, she also started bringing shells and showed them to him.

“beautiful” she said presenting another one, and she would look disappointed every time he didn’t react.

And so, she started singing.

She cradled his head on her lap, her sharp nails scratching the greying hairs again and again.

Her voice was soft and deep. Sometimes it was just a hum, other she would vocalise and others she would sing in a language he didn’t understand. Long syllables and soft words. Even if she used unknown words or just sounds, Joel understood. She sang about love and longing, about death and loss. Sometimes he started to cry again in the middle of her song, and she hushed him like a baby. With her voice and her hands, she caressed his wounds and his heart.

In the night, they lay together, and she tangled herself to him. She was soft and warm and smelled like salt and sand. Her heartbeat steady, mouth softly open, features relaxed, if she noticed that sometimes he caressed her leg, from ankle to thigh, the one she tossed over his body, she didn’t say.

Sometimes she turned and grabbed his arm cuddled herself under him, as if he was a blanket over her. She placed his hand between her breasts, her slow and steady breath should have calmed him. But she pushed herself against him, her back against her belly, her hips between his hips.

If she noticed that he was painfully hard, she didn’t say.

Sleep would find him eventually, but that’s when the nightmares started.

“Do not cry, Joel” she kissed the tears running on his cheeks, and she started singing, and he’d cried more. He cried until he was empty and exhausted, until he could fill the sea and drown.

The siren sang every night, and he began to forget why he was crying and that he should think about coming back.

He indeed felt stronger after a while, his body had forgotten the effort of fighting the waves and drowning, his mind nonetheless was tired, lazy, he woke up without any will of getting up, the exterior of the cave was a minuscule and harsh natured place, the cave was warm, the girl fed him, sang and took care of him.

Most times he didn’t want her to move, and he would protest when she said she got to go.

That’s how they kissed the first time.

“Don’t go, I’m not hungry” he begged, hands on her hips, kneeling before her.

“I need the sea” she smiled softly and bent down, her hands on his face like a child, she kissed her frown and then his lips. They were warm, soft, Joel had never felt something so soft as her lips and her skin in years. After so much hardship and pain, then there was her. But she walked out of the cave, leaving him on his knees still marvelling of the kiss. Joel shook all the thoughts that were spiralling on his head and followed her.

The day was covered in white fluffy clouds leaving the waters in a milky blue colour. The girl breathed deeply and took out the cloth that covered her. He watched her as the waters kissed her feet and she giggled. She looked at him just once before running to the depth.

Joel waited and waited; the sun was almost setting. The clouds were the colour of ripe orange, when she came back.

That silver and black tail splashed on the coast, and she let her body be carried with the waves.

For a moment she was limp on the sand, the long tail he remembered, her hands and digits connected with a thin and see-through tissue. He approached her, worried, what if she had died, what if he was left alone in here. The loud noise that invaded his heart and mind years ago when Sarah died, came back, he couldn’t move, not even say a word.

But the siren shrieked, loud and high, her long nails digging in the sand. Her body trembled, her spine curved upwards, like an invisible current went through her, he saw her skin tear from the inside out. Her silver scales breaking, blood covering the sand and the white foam of the waves became a faded pink. From the mess of her skin tearing a human leg came out, her feet stuck on the meaty mess of her former body. She crawled out of the parts of her tail when she cried out again sounding like a wounded animal, Joel had to cover his ears, the skin between her fingers melted, her bones shrinking to a delicate size, her hands pushed upwards, she raised with splatters of her old body still attached to her human skin. Her eyes were still dark and all black pupils. She stepped on wobbly legs towards Joel before collapsing on the ground.

He picked her up from the sand and carried her to the cave.

“Please tell me what to do” Joel whispered, desperate “do not leave me here”.

The siren smiled softly, tired.

“I will stay” she muttered before falling sleep.

Joel waited hours, watching her chest going up and down, checking her pulse. Cleaned her from her fish flesh and blood and cuddled her body when the moon rose white and full in the night.

His eyes were heavy when she started to move in her sleep. Her eyes were now human when she looked at him.

“I thought you were about to die”.

She frowned.

“What happened to you?”

“I need the sea every full moon, I need to be me”.

“Does it hurt?”

She nodded.

“I thought you were to leave me alone” he whispered, eyes closed, and heart opened, the words came out of his lips like a confession. You’re the only thing I got now, I won’t survive without you, why did you kiss me?

She cuddled next to him, he felt her warm body against him and her hand on his cheek, collecting the tears he didn’t know he was crying.

“Joel” he didn’t open his eyes” I’m here”.

When still hid his face, she came closer, search for his face and his eyes until he did. The siren, now girl, was as beautiful as the moon, perfect and warm smile, under him, naked. He felt his cheeks burn in thoughts he should maybe not have. But she closed the distance even more, rose on her elbows to be face to face, lips so close he could feel her breath. “I’m here”

The kiss was innocent as first, as sweet and pure as the one she had given in the morning. But soon he was biting her lips, invading her mouth with his tongue, biting her chin and her neck, her breasts.

He kissed her stomach, reverently caressing her new skin, the human skin she had changed for him, grabbed her hips, the bones she had cracked for him, to walk with him in this forgotten place and he opened her legs and kissed each of her knees before kneeling between them. She let her legs fall on the clothes of the dead men, revelling her sex. Joel kissed and drank from her opening pink lips. The siren sighed, tugged his hair hard and harder the more he kissed and sucked at her, he felt her legs tremble and shake and smiled. He had forgotten the beauty and the taste of the pleasure of a woman, not only a random woman in nameless bar, drunk on pain and whisky. This girl was made for him, was only his, they were alone in the world.

He kissed her blissful face still gasping and heavy breathing. Joel pushed her legs around his hips and penetrate her with a shallow push, held her head in his hands. Mine, mine, he thought the more he felt her cunt pulling him in.

————————————————————————

Mother said they love differently than us, that men take and take until soon they were kings in the land. My sisters that had already passed through this warned me about their fear: “Fear will turn them violent” they said. And so, I tried to make him delicate with me. I sang when he was sad, I hugged his body with mine. I saw how his eyes roam my body and how they shine when I say his name.

How he cried because I hurt, how he awaited on the shore for me. How he touched my new skin and how his hunger started.

But they didn’t tell me about what was going to happen to us, to our bodies. Joel kissed me and at first his beard, coarse on my skin, was all I could think of, but his lips were soft, he bit my lips and it awaken something in me. His hands were not soft either, and this new body is too delicate, this skin too thin and sensitive, I felt my hairs tensing on my arms on my legs and my nape when he kissed my breasts. I felt elated, floating in the air, spiralling so fast when he kissed me between my legs. He pushed me to the feeling when I tried to flee. I tried to get him off me, but my hands wanted to ask for more. Such sweet contradiction.

I felt my legs tremble, my stomach tight, so tight I thought this body was again turning into something new. And then, he let me fall. His eyes were dark when he grabbed my face, pressed his weight over me, I couldn’t move and was so tired and expectant. He pierced my body, and it was harsh and sweet as his kisses. He pushed inside of me, again and again, touched something inside that hurt and made my belly tight again, my legs ache on his hips. His warm breath on my neck, the sand harsh against my back as shark’s skin and I just tried to focus on the white walls of the cave, to centre myself before falling again. I heard him say something over his moans, but I couldn't tell.

He spilled inside me with two finals hard push and fell to the side, one of his hands still on my cheek.

When I rose, I felt tired and my body ached, my thighs were sticky, his sweat and mine, his semen and my blood. I touched my cunt, swollen, sensitive and full of him. My fingers gathered some of my wetness, reddish and warm still from us.

“Oh no” Joel rose immediately when he saw my hand, turned my palm to him. “Oh no, lord, I’m sorry” I didn’t know why he apologise, but he kissed me again, on my shoulders and on my face “I hurt you” he said when I looked at him puzzled. “Does it hurt?” He placed his palm over my sex and I flinched.

“I didn’t think… you have just turned I” his cheeks were red and he brushed his wet hair back “I didn’t mean to hurt you, honey”.

He grabbed my bloody fingers and kissed them. He didn’t care it stained his lips and his face.

I kissed him how he did to me. Open mouth, tasting him with my tongue. He cleaned me softly and threw his shirt over me.

I slept tired, aching, sedated and wanting him more. Joel woke me up with a shell, a purple one, just like I did days ago when he stopped talking.

“It’s for you” he had pierced in the middle and passed a cord of fibre of the black trees of the isle to make a collar. Joel slept beside me that night, covered me with his body, at first, he didn’t move, he didn’t try to do it again. But the moon was clear and round in the sky. I could see the shadows it created on his face, and it was beautiful.

I touched him, his bare chest, golden for the sun, he had scars, the skin whiter and taunt there. He had sparse hair there, thicker on his belly and over his cock. I touched him without knowing how and he sighed, I followed on his legs, strong the muscles under his thighs were evident even if he was asleep. I wished my legs were like that, see what they can do, how fast I could be, how other grounds will feel on my feet. I was mesmerised by him, and I didn’t realise he had woken up.

“Can you walk fast?” I asked.

“Do you mean run?” I nodded. “Well, not like I used to, honey.”

“What is honey?” I wondered

“Honey? It is something sweet, like you” He smiled and let me roam his body, his calves until his feet.

“Why did you save me?” He asked after the silence had filled our cave

I looked at the moon, it was as full as it was the day I saw him. Why him? I don’t know, he found the conch, he was stronger.

“The tides brought me to you” I answered to let it rest, as it was much happenstance as it was fate, his and mine.

“But now, on this isle… why?”

I looked at his dark eyes fixed on mines

“ I wanted to know “

“To know what?”

What would my mother do? My sisters? Did they allow these questions? It was a full moon already, recovering had already taken so much time, and I hadn’t completed the mission

“To know you” it was a almost a lie, a half truth.

“Have you met another man?” I saw the answer he wanted in his eyes.

“No. The other men were dead” I saw his gaze dropping to their clothes

“Did they make it to the isle?”

I shook my head as he did when he refused eating. “They were dead, their bodies floated to the coast I sent them back to the sea”

“Why?”

“They do not serve a purpose here” you and me, we do, I thought. You were barely alive I could save you, you could save me.

He looked at me as if he was trying to dissect me, I know my mother and sister told me that humans need to understand that they ask too many questions and they can hurt anything just trying to understand. I knew Joel could tear me apart. But I wanted to know too.

“How did you learn to speak to me if you haven’t met other people?”

“We learn fast” I said, we need to survive, we do what we can. I’m young and there are so many things I don’t know and my family told me to come here, and I do not know if it’s working.

“You certainly do, honey” his hand touched mine, he intertwined his fingers to mine, his skin was rugged and scarred, mine was too new I could feel the difference texture of his, that spoke of hardship and the life on earth.

He took my hand and kissed my palm. He rubbed it on his cheek, how soft he could be being so harsh and bigger than me. I took his hand and did the same, he kissed me then, much gentler than before, he let me open my mouth to him at my own pace, he let me touch his body and his scars. I found one near his left temple, the only one that he refused my hand “does it hurt still?” I asked and his eyes shone in the dark of our cave

“Yes, it refuses to heal”  

I kissed it softly waiting for him to push me off, but he didn’t. Joel closed his eyes, his skin wrinkled around them, I trailed down to his mouth.

He caressed me with the tip of his fingers, down my back, my thighs and legs as I had done.

“I will teach you how to run if you wish to “

Joel let me discover his body pulling me on top of his, how his muscles flexed, how his skin tasted. I felt him harden under me, and he let me go at my own pace, he just showed me how to touch his sex, how the stickiness I felt was needed for us to joint, how my body tensed and the fever started by rubbing the top of mine, I let him in slowly watching how his eyes closed and his sighed relaxed. Joel put his hands over my hips and softly moved me like the waves. It was slowed this time, I wanted to see every moment, every breath he took, how his eyes grew dark and feverish, his hands were impatient the more I took, I crashed in him and our breaths resonated in our cave, my body tremble but now I knew I was not falling that Joel will catch me and he did. He kissed my temple and my face caressed my back and my hips, I was sweating, shining and it felt like a dream.

“You’re so sweet to me”

Sweet.

“You’re so beautiful, honey”

Beautiful.

I didn’t know what they meant, but I knew he was also sweet and beautiful to me. I didn’t not want this to end.

She slept on top of him for half of the day, her skin was softly covered in sweat and his. He had thrusted his hip to hers for a few more times. She let him grab her hips open her more. He fucked himself deep into her and she watched him, brow furrowed and lips ajar.

“So sweat, such a good girl”

Joel avoid thinking that she wasn’t exactly a girl or she wasn’t at first. All that existed was this cave, the sea and the heaven between her legs.

He was so drunk in her he had pushed her hips to him, a hand to her back to pull her to his chest as he could carved his chest open and let her nest inside. She bit his chest to control her whines as he pushed more and more until he spilled once more, not thinking, not even minding that she had cut his skin. With bloody lips she smiled satisfied.

He had tried to push her to the side or get out of her but she slapped his hands when Joel tried to.

Once the sun was high in the cloudy sky, she woke.

“Hungry?”

“Yes, but let’s find something else than raw fish?”

Joel though about putting back on the warm sweatpants and undershirt he had wore the night of the wreckage but the girl had just got out naked of the cave and he thought it was silly to cover. They walked around the island. Joel found fruits he hadn’t seen before once he explore being so focused on a way out. On the top of the hill he had once climbed he found a tree with long roots that look strong enough to thread.

He created a small bundle with leaves and carried the food he had found.

“We’ll eat and then I teach you how to run”

She made a grimace when she tasted the fruits, Joel would agree they weren’t the best one, he would’ve loved to give her strawberries and grapes, maybe oranges and sweet peaches.

“Fish is better” she said agreeing to eat but still making a disgusted face.

“I agree this is not the best”

Joel wanted to know more about her and also keep living in this fantasy where she was real and he was somehow the happiest he had been in years, Joel has casted the world away but it had kept coming back now the world had finally let him out. But thinking about knowing more about what she was about how she could even exist made all this dream crumble down.

“What’s your name?”

She looked confused.

“Mine is Joel. You must have one”

“I don’t know “

“You don’t know it?”

“I think we don’t have one”

“On how you call…” he left the words roam in his tongue. Were there more of her? Did she have a family?

He looked at the immense sea before him, the shades of blue and white foam kissing his feet. There must have been more.

“You can give me one” she finally said “call me how you like”

“ I will think about it” he agreed “come on up, it’s time to run”

She lighted up, smiling widely.

Joel started walking on the firm sand faster and faster and she followed watching intently his legs when they started lifting the sand as he grew faster. She giggled though she had less control of her legs at this speed.

She tried to keep up to him grinning widely, chest heaving.

“C’mon, are you going to let an old man win?” He joked

She tried to rush but stumbled with the dry algae on the shore. Joel stopped and came back to her worried. But she laughed still, a delicate hand on her chest. 

“Are you okay?”

“I like running” she giggled. Joel thought his heart exploded. It’s been years maybe an eternity, maybe another life or world since he had made somebody else happy. He felt his own smile on his face like dormant muscles waking up, finding new places in him that were dead. 

The air carried the salt from the sea, the scent of it everywhere from the sand to the algae and the trees and her. His girl, all new and made for him, an apparition in the darkness, his savior in so many ways he could not explain. 

Joel thought she had never been more beautiful that in that moment, the sunset shining on the transpiration on her skin, her joyful laugh, from her belly to her lovely teeth. 

What was miles away wasn’t real, this was, his broken life and heart had drowned in the sea.

the mermaid had picked up a corpse of a man, a carcass and she had breathed life into him.

“We will run as much as you want then”

The girl stood and threw herself into him, still smiling and heavy breathing she let him hold her by the waist back to their cave. 

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Joel taught me so many things. Running was the happiest I’ve felt, my body fills with air and it burns my chest, but I feel my legs hitting the ground carrying me farther and farther, and this laugh it comes all the way up and I cannot stop. 

Joel taught me that he likes to eat other things rather than fish. Every thing here taste too much like earth, warm and sticky. The fruits Joel found were sweet, they get stuck on the back of my teeth and its juices stay for hours on my lips, Joel taught me that’s exactly how sweet things are, like honey, like me. It stays with you. 

He is gentler with me now, delicate, he insisted in carrying some of the trees’ leaves, he split them to threads and took the fishes bones to thread them. When is not working on whatever he’s doing, we lay together. 

He talks to me about his life on land, told me he made things, houses.

What are houses?

Like this cave, he answered 

A place to live. 

He told me about Sarah. 

It was an accident, she was just on our yard and then…she was gone. I could not be home anymore. 

I sing when he gets sad or I kiss him. The way he taught me. I open myself to him. 

I’m not afraid of falling anymore, I embrace this body and how sensitive it is, Joel knows every place he needs to touch to make me spiral and he shows me what I can do for him too. 

I kiss his face, his chest, listen to his heart as he falls asleep. And the moon is starting to disappear, I do not have time. 

The most amazing thing he has showed me it’s fire. He collected some black stones that cut the flesh of fish so smoothly and he showed me how smashing them together, heat appeared. He blew air into it and the light emerged. I gasped and he laughed.

No more raw fish, he promised although I don’t know if that’s good.

He took my hand and at first I pushed him away.

Don’t you trust me?

I was brave and I let him guide my hand to it, it was warm, as warm as Joel. I know I understand. 

Joel is fire and I’m water, Joel is the ground where I ran and the sun that hit my skin and I’ve been cold my whole life, the colours here are brown as his eyes and hair, golden as the sun and the embers of the fire he creates, my skin was cold and slippery as a fish until he got me. This body was made for him, in his image and one day I’ll be back to being cold and being water, slippery in his hands.

“Do you like it?” 

We made love in a no longer dark cave. The cold light of the moon mixed with the warm of the fire just as the two of us were joined, I sat on him, hugged his body, him so deep in mine, he grabbed my head and kissed me, blew breath into my lips in words of love I don’t understand but feel.

My sweet sweet girl all mine 

The next morning I felt it.

Joel said that fire was the thing that made humans evolve. It birthed society and power. 

And now I felt it, inside of me, growing fast as we learned to do, to survive. My mission is completed. And mother and sisters warned me, once it is done, I have to get back. 

I let him sleep for a few hours more, wondering how to cut this thread in my new bones and organs that tights me to him. He wakes up, no longer in nightmares but with a smile looking at me. He sees my tears and holds me immediately. His eyes search mine his big hands holding my head searching for the answer to my sorrow. 

What’s wrong my sweet girl?

I cry harder, I wail for my fate, for the ocean and its rules, for my mother and sister and for him. He tries to calm me, rocks me softly as the sea. And then

“If I ever were to lose you

I'd surely lose myself

Everything I have found dear

I've not found by myself

Try and sometimes you'll succeed

To make this man of me

All my stolen missing parts

I've no need for anymore

I believe

And I believe 'cause I can see

Our future days

Days of you and me

Back when I was feeling broken

I focused on a prayer

You came deep as any ocean

Did something out there hear?

All the complexities and games

No one wins, but somehow, they're still played

All the missing crooked hearts

They may die, but in us they live on

His voice is deep as the ocean roars, I feel the air coming out of his lungs and his heart beating.

I stopped crying and he hums in my ear, I feel his smile “better now? You sang to me on the first day, you healed me” 

I said yes, but I lied. I never felt this, just the opposite of being made so full as he has done. I feel empty, a dark and cold pit has opened inside of me as the ones in the sea bottom. 

He tried to let me down and I held to him fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere, just going to finish our bed” 

“Do you know what a bed is?”

I shake my head

“ we are going to sleep somewhere comfortable, soft and not on sand and some dead men clothes. Maybe I can thread enough of this roots and leaves and make clothes, or a blanket. I don’t know if the weather will always be like this here” 

“Do you want to stay here?” I asked

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you want to come back…home?”

He looks puzzled, his eyes wondering around my face.

“I have no home but here, but you “

I hold my breath, push back the tears until my eyes burn. 

Joel doesn’t understand what has come over her. But she holds her body over his while he’s threading and when he lights the fire. He calls her little monkey but she doesn’t know what they are. 

She is kissing him deep as soon as the sun sets, lays on the sand and opens her legs “please Joel” 

He feels his knees cracking, his back is killing him but he lays on top of her, kisses her from her forehead to her breast, bites her soft skin as he did the first day, open her pink lips, drinking his sweet girl until her legs closed around his head trembling. Joel sighed as he was pull inside her.

“So perfect” he praised, his hands roam the body of his savior, of his lifeline. Words of love got stuck on his tongue, not yet forming he kissed her. 

The slumber found him fast as each night since he was stranded in this island, a deep dream of water and peace. 

He woke up when the light of the first rays hit his eyes. He was cold, the weight of her not as usual on top of him, curled under his arm. He touched the bed around him, she was not there. 

He waited, maybe she grew hungry. But she didn’t come back. Joel started pacing around the beach, the footprints of her feet disappeared with the waves and Joel wondered if she had to be back temporarily. But at sunset, she was not there. He screamed and howled at the moon, he then knew she would not be back, Joel knew she cried for that, he was alone again in the dark far away from anybody. He cried for her until the sun came back.

“Please come back” he whispered, he cried and howled. 

Joel waited until the next sunset until he decided that what the bullet couldn’t achieve years ago, the mighty cliff in the island could, he climbed as the lights of day were dimmed, when a white bright light shone in the vast darkness of the sea.

 A ship. 

He ran, his feet bleeding for the climb on naked feet, cuts on his face from the foliage.  He got shore when they were close scanning with lights on the beach.

The survivor of the Perseus 2 was a miracle. Every newspaper, tv news and video on social media talked about it. How Joel Miller, 45 years old, was found almost two months after the wreckage and disappearing of his ship. The coast guards of many countries had already abandoned the search when a similar boat that went through the same route started finding signs of the wreckage like small bread crumbs on the sea till a tiny isle appeared in the middle of nowhere. Despise being labeled inhabitable centuries back, Joel miller survived and was found in great condition. He didn’t speak for days in the ship, he only insisted in getting in the boat after he had returned to the cave where he had been taken refuge, he didn’t let any other man in. He came back with a pink conch and it is the only thing he carry with himself from that experience. He was left in Texas and didn’t give any interview even if every body wanted his testimony.

Tommy miller picked his brother from the port after years of having no news of him. He found out his brother was officially missing once the Perseus didn’t make it to the next port they were expected to. For two months he wondered how he could go on knowing he had never made peace with him. Until the sea opened up and returned his brother. Tommy Miller didn’t say the things he had rehearsed:

Why did you leave me?

Why didn’t you call me?

Tell me where you went

How did you survive?

He just hugged him.

Now he receives a postcard each month and presents for his baby and his wife Maria, his brother goes to Wyoming for holidays and it’s getting use to texting, e-mails and social media.

Tommy hasn’t asked why but his brother decided to live by the sea. On a cliff to an open ocean, build a house with big windows that only look at the deep blue. And what’s weirder, he has boat, and sails, even has gotten back to sea to that remote part of the world from time to time. 

But he’s happy, open and that’s what counts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He is somebody in that little town, he has made a name for himself, he made the bar counter at the pub he goes every night, a bright and big wooden bar that has already some beer stains prove of so many fun nights of the people’s town. He caresses the wood feeling a sense of pride he has not felt in a long time. He gets a pat on the back and warm smiles from his neighbors, Chris and his little brother who needed a new roof, Tess that needed help with her house repairs after her husband left, bill and frank the pub owners that invite him every night even if he was paid generously for the job.

But every night Joel Miller walks by the sea alone, listening to it and sleeps with the windows open to it, wondering if she will be back. Not in flesh as he mostly thinks now she was a vision, a way of coping, he survived by himself, his brain created that perfect creature to save him, to cure his loneliness. But he still wonders if he can conjure her back to life in his dreams. But nothing comes but the sighs and waves of the sea.

Eventually, he almost forgets and gets a little life, a shop where he sells his wood art and guitars, and offers his hands to whoever needs it. Invites Tess from time to time to coffee and takes her to proper dates. Flights to Wyoming and holds his niece, only sometimes he finds himself by the window touching without realizing it that pink shell that it’s almost now just a decorative item.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometime when he dreams he feels itm the dark fingers of the sea creeping in his lungs, being lost inside the dark mouth of the ocean and a silver ray swimming towards him. A smile full of blood and flesh of fish, a supple body under him, the sand on his feet. Can it be true?

It was a dream that fade away with the last sip of coffee every morning, sometimes he wouldn’t even remember that he dreamed of it again passed a few minutes. Sometimes he finds himself lost looking at the sea, the waves crushing furiously close to his house. Why did he want to live here? Why was he so adamant to leave the sea?

He had lost something he thinks but he cannot quite put a word for it and the shell lays in his hands without noticing he has pick it up. 

Sometimes the sea brings a song with breeze, a murmur so soft and sad, and when he doesn’t realize it he walks up to the beach beside his house. Since Tess moved he doesn't roam around the beach like that that much and he doesn’t hear it often.

“Joel?” he feels Tess hands embracing him from the back

“Hmm?” 

“I asked you where do you find it?” She has the pink shell in her hand, inspecting it

“I…”

He tries hard to remember, the boat, the men that died, the girl, was it a girl? He remembers a laugh, shiny and delicate like tiny bells, he remembers the cold and chewy flesh of the fish still on his tongue and her kiss, the first one when he was dying biting his lips, no, it was not a girl then, it was…that couldn’t be true. He must have lost oxygen after the wreckage, he must have been dehydrated and disoriented on a tiny isle. There was no girl, he was alone.

“Are you alright?” she looks concerned at him and puts the shell on its place where it serves as a reminder of his survival, how did he do it? He dares not say 

“It was a gift” he finally say 

His eyes wonder on the horizon searching for something he does not even have a word for. The old Joel died on that isle, tore his flesh and bone to become something new, when he arrived at this town he was empty now he had a full house of life and love. His eyes become glassy looking at the waves crushing and although he doesn’t remember what he looks for he is thankful for it.

Deep in those waters, oceans away where the light of the sun does not reach, a siren sings a song about the man he met and had to abandon about the miles she swam to try to save him even her mission was already completed, a baby was inside of her that would ensure the future of her species, she had, as mother had told her, just to make sure the conception happened the soul of the man was irrelevant. But she saved him in more ways than she knows in the deep sea. 

Author's note:

This is sooo long I'm sorry, if you've arrived here first of all thank you, I know this is a weird fic but I hope you like it, if you do, please reblog it's the only way this site works.

*Mangata : the glimmering, roadlike reflection of the moonlight in the water.

[future-bog-body]

Fog Weaver Chapter Six

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Chapter Summary: Copia has the worst 24 hours of his life. So far.

Chapter Notes: Brief mentions of cannibalism (kind of), murder, and traumatizing events to children. Vague mentions of panic attacks, not described in detail

A/N: Not many notes to be added here, other than that I did introduce an OC in this chapter because the fic needed more characters outside the Emeritus family or other Ghouls so. Have blorbo from my brain, I guess? Also we finally introduce my boy Mountain <3

Chapter Six: The Accuser Sends the Bill

Copia is getting tired of not being alone.

For so long, the issue was that he was always alone. He was alone day after day after day, ever since he’d realized he was a boy and Uncle Psaltarian had insisted he start getting a papal education. Ever since last night, however, there had always been someone within at least three feet of him. Even when he took a shower, someone had stood outside the door. When he went to the restroom, someone had stood outside the door. When he took a nap after Terzo’s visit, when he went to the kitchen, while he studied, while he cleaned the mischief’s cage. Perhaps it spoke to how used to isolation he was that he got tired of the company so quickly. That or it spoke to how awful it was to constantly have random people silently watch you.

Now, the person in front of him was almost entirely unfamiliar, too. They’d introduced themself as Sibling Amadeo, a Sibling of Sin under Secondo’s command who was currently an important part of the investigation. Dark red hair, gray eyes, statuesque features, and more nervous energy than a rabbit. Copia had seen them around the Abbey a couple of times, and they’d alway seemed much more confident then than they did now. It wasn’t unusual, however, for people to be nervous when interacting with members of the papal family. Even if Copia wasn’t technically a family member, his aunt and uncle were, and as their ward, that got him close enough that people always were strange around him.

“His Unholiness Secondo has sent me to ask you a few follow up questions, if that’s okay?” Sibling Amadeo says. Copia finds himself wondering if Secondo chose this Sibling because of their similarity in height to Copia himself, only a couple inches taller than him. It’s true that Copia had felt nervous around Secondo and Primo earlier, both of whom were taller than both himself and Sibling Amadeo, and he’d positively panicked when Alpha had entered the room.

It was a stupid reaction, one that he’d been kicking himself for ever since it happened. He’d known Alpha since around when he had first come to the Abbey to be Aunt Marika’s ward, from the orphanage he’d been at before. The Ghoul was one of the ones that the papal family interacted with quite a bit, and so Copia saw him a lot by extension. He was fairly certain that Alpha was meant to be under either Primo or Secondo’s command, but it was hard to tell, as he seemed to do a lot of various jobs around the Abbey and for the Ministry in general. It was equally unshocking to see Alpha in the kitchens as it was in the administrative offices or the gardens or even just helping clean around the Abbey. As such, Copia saw him often, and was generally used to the towering, intimidating presence of the fire Ghoul.

He wasn’t sure why he’d freaked out when he saw him this time. It had come out of nowhere. He’d felt numb the entire time since the night before, since the walk back from the garden. But as soon as he saw Alpha-- no, as soon as he’d felt Alpha’s shadow land on him, his heart and lungs had seized in his chest. It felt like someone or something had them in a grip, like he couldn’t get enough air or blood flow. His brain had played, over and over and over again, what had happened in the garden, what he had seen in the garden. It was like a scratched record, looping on the same part of the song, over and over and over and over again and then once more just for good measure. It had helped, having Terzo there, the ground had felt more solid under him, the flow of time more real. Terzo hadn’t been in the garden and, thus, he couldn’t be there anymore either, not if it was Terzo’s arms around him.

“Sir?” Sibling Amadeo says, interrupting Copia’s thoughts. There was no precedent for how to refer to a ward of the papal family who wasn’t a family member in some way. ‘Your Unholiness’ was saved for the actual family members, whether by adoption or blood, and so it was technically incorrect for Copia. Most people defaulted just to his name or, for those more nervous about it, sir.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening,” Copia replies honestly, blinking. “Can you repeat yourself?”

“Of course,” the Sibling says, an expression that Copia can’t tell if it’s annoyance or confusion on their face. “I asked, did you hear or see anyone else in the garden last night?”

He’d gone through all of this with Terzo. He’d told Terzo everything he saw, everything he heard. Everything, that is, except…

“I heard footsteps, as I was leaving,” Copia says.

Sibling Amadeo looks surprised as they write it down, “You didn’t mention that in your earlier statement.”

He flushes, “Well, I think I did, at least. I’m not one hundred percent sure, I think I was-- I think I was still in shock. I’m not even sure if they were real.”

“But you didn’t see anyone?”

“No, Sibling.”

“If we showed you someone, or a picture of them, do you think you would be able to identify if they were the attacker you saw?”

Copia blinks, fiddling with his sleeves. “I don’t-- I don’t know, Sibling. It was dark and I never saw their face properly. All I know is they were tall.”

“We’d like to give it a try anyway, if that’s okay?” Sibling Amadeo asks. Copia nods, but he isn’t sure if he likes the idea. It feels unnerving and wrong. What if he says the wrong thing? He really didn’t see the attacker’s face and surely height and body type aren’t nearly enough to go off of. It isn’t like the attacker will still be covered in blood and walking around with strips of flesh in their mouth.

“Can Terzo be there?” Copia asks, regretting it almost immediately. It sounds childish, to ask for Terzo to be there. Even if he wanted to play it off as wanting a family member there, it makes no sense. Secondo would already be there, presumably, and it would’ve been more appropriate to ask for Aunt Marika or Uncle Psaltarian to come with. Copia didn’t have much attachment to Terzo, besides them speaking at family dinners on occasion and Terzo being more willing to help if Copia had a question about his studies than anyone else in the family was. That and this morning, when Terzo had made everything that was scary at the time go away like it was nothing.

“Of course,” Sibling Amadeo responds, smiling slightly and turning away from Copia to whisper some hushed instructions into a walkie talkie, presumably asking for someone to fetch Terzo again. Copia desperately hoped he wasn’t bothering his, technical, uncle. Even if he’d never actually call him that.

“You should get dressed,” Sibling Amadeo says eventually, putting the walkie talkie back into their pocket. There was no technical uniform for the Siblings of Sin, it largely depended where you worked. Sibling Amadeo wore a simple black button up and slacks and a black and white houndstooth blazer, which immediately put them as someone who likely worked with the administration staff. Copia had learned over the years that anyone who wore a suit likely spent a lot of their time working in an office and having to worry over things like dress codes, if printers worked, and who had made the last pot of coffee and how long ago. He desperately hoped never to be that type of person. Copia nods, waiting for the Sibling to leave his room before getting dressed as quickly as he can.

The walk to the Abbey takes a bit longer than usual. The most direct route is the one that goes through the gardens, the one that Copia chased Jazz down just hours ago. Sibling Amadeo seems calmer now that they’re out in the open air, and they’re clearly taking Copia down an alternate path to avoid the gardens. He’s glad for it, almost. Part of him is, another part isn’t. Part of him wants to see the garden, to see if it looks the same right now as it did last night. He knows they’ve probably taken the body away, but he wants to see it for himself. He stops as they pass the garden, reaching out and snagging the back of Sibling Amadeo’s blazer as he does so to prevent them from accidentally walking away.

“Can we see?” he asks, pointing into the garden. The redhead looks nervous about it, looking between Copia and the garden.

“It’s an active crime scene, sir, I’m not really-- We aren’t supposed to let just anyone in,” Sibling Amadeo answers. He understands, of course. In movies and stuff, the police never let just random people near the crime scene. Even if Secondo and Sibling Amadeo aren’t technically police in the same way, it makes sense that they wouldn’t be allowed to let just anyone into the garden. Sibling Amadeo’s pager beeps and they take it out of their pocket, reading it quickly and sighing.

“Well,” they say eventually. “I suppose we can take a quick look, as long as you don’t mention it to his Unholiness.”

Copia nods eagerly, waiting for Sibling Amadeo to make a motion to go ahead before entering the garden. He walks the path eagerly for the first few steps until the possible sight catches up with him and every step feels like he’s dragging fifty pound balls behind each foot. Most of the garden is untouched. It’s silent, nobody tending the plants or taking walks or eating lunch like there’d usually be. He follows the path like he doesn’t need to think, his emotions numbing more and more with every step. He stops when he gets to the bush he hid in, cordoned off with bright yellow tape to say the area isn’t accessible to anyone at the moment. Copia frowns softly. There’s no dried blood on the stone walkway, no body. Not even tape or chalk on the stones in the outline of the Sister’s body.

“I expected there to be… more,” he admits softly.

“We try to clean it up as much as we can immediately,” Sibling Amadeo replies, watching Copia carefully. “Once we have pictures of everything, we call in cleaners almost immediately. We’ll keep it closed off for a few more days and then take the tape down.”

“I thought there’d be, like, tape or chalk where she was.”

“No,” Sibling Amadeo explains, shaking their head. “We only do that if the person is alive when we arrive, so they can be moved and we can still see the position of the body.”

“How do you know all this?” Copia asks, staring down where the Sister was laying just hours before.

“I was a police detective before I came here,” Sibling Amadeo answers. Their voice is soft and almost wistful, like they still miss it.

“In Italy?”

“Mhm. Specifically in Venice,” they reply.

“That’s where they have all the masks, right?”

“That’s Carnival, yes. Do you like the masks, Copia?” Copia shrugs. He does, a bit. He likes the masks but more than that, the fashion. The Victorian costumes he’s seen on TV from there are his favorites, but he likes all of it.

“I still have some from before I came here,” Sibling Amadeo says, smiling a bit when Copia looks at them. “I’ll bring them for you to see someday. But for now, we have to get going to meet up with your family.”

“Is that how you know Secondo, then? Because you’re from Italy?” Copia asks as they walk. He knows that Secondo loves Italy even more than the Abbey. He studied there for college for a while, and often travels to the different Satanic churches in Italy to check on them and do other official business that Copia doesn’t know very much about. Secondo largely prefers speaking Italian over any other language, and Copia knows he does so almost exclusively to nonbelievers.

Sibling Amadeo laughs, “Someday, sir, I will tell you all about how I met his Unholiness. But for now, we need to get going.”

----

The person standing on the other side of the glass isn’t the attacker from last night.

Copia isn’t sure how he knows, how he can just tell, but he can. There’s a few physical traits that give it away. The Ghoul on the other side is tall, yes, maybe as tall as the murderer, but he isn’t built thickly enough. His arms and legs and torso are thin, willowy, lacking the clear muscle that the murderer had. His skin is beige and tawny, patterned and dappled like a fawn, with big, brown eyes to match. It’s true that Copia didn’t see the murderer very well, but he’s sure he would have noticed the ram-like horns on his head if the Ghoul had been the murderer. He’d been assured that the Ghoul couldn’t see him through the other side of the glass, and didn't even know he was there. All Copia had to do was say if he was the man he’d seen last night.

But he wasn’t.

Terzo had tried to say that Copia might not remember it correctly, that he might have been distressed and not properly processed the horns and tail, so he needed to think hard. But Copia could think as hard as he wanted and it wouldn’t make the Ghoul on the other side of the glass any more the perpetrator. Copia didn’t know how he knew, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the Ghoul wasn’t the one behind the death of the Sister, or the deaths of the other people that he’d heard about. Copia shook his head again, more insistently.

“You’re one hundred percent certain, Copes?” Terzo asks. His hand is on Copia’s back, rubbing up and down the boy’s spine in a soothing pattern that makes the world feel more stable under his feet.

“He wasn’t--” a Ghoul is how that sentence finishes itself in Copia’s head, but he doesn’t voice it. He can’t guarantee that the man in the garden wasn’t a Ghoul, he could have just not seen the horns on his head. But he knows without a shadow of a doubt that the Ghoul on the other side of the glass was not the man in the garden.

“He wasn’t the man in the garden,” Copia eventually settles on saying, leaning into Terzo’s side just a bit, like he can hide from Secondo’s disappointment that way. Terzo moves his hand from Copia’s back to his arm, rubbing it up and down in the same pattern. It’s a familiar motion and Copia realizes belatedly that it’s because Terzo is copying the same ways that Aunt Marika comforts people.

“He was the only other person in the garden,” Secondo says. His voice is tense and annoyed.

“I told you, I didn’t leave until I was sure that he had, too!” Copia protests, looking down at Terzo for his support. Terzo is distracted however, not paying enough attention to what’s happening to back up Copia at this moment.

“But you said you heard footsteps when you were leaving,” Sibling Amadeo points out, and then looks a bit like they regret speaking up as Secondo latches onto the statement.

“You didn’t say that earlier,” he says, his tone accusing.

“I didn’t-- I’m not sure, I thought I did but I could’ve been wrong,” Copia explains, glaring at Sibling Amadeo for their betrayal.

“Secondo, he’s tired,” Terzo says suddenly, looking at Secondo sternly. “He’s had a very difficult night and a long day. Can’t this wait?”

“We need this as fresh as possible,” Secondo replies, shaking his head quickly. “The sooner we get it from him, the less likely the memory is to be distorted. It would have been nice to get it as soon as he got back, but I understand there were other circumstances.” The other circumstances of course being that Copia was fourteen, and had spent hours on the floor of his bathtub, scrubbing his skin until he couldn’t tell if it was red from blood or his rough treatment of it.

“I’ve already told you all I can,” Copia replies.

His eyes and cheeks are burning, the way they always do when he’s flushing and about to cry. He doesn’t want to cry, not right now and especially not in front of Secondo and Terzo. There’s a lump in his throat, painfully stretching the delicate airways as he tries desperately not to cry as Secondo responds with words he can’t hear and a tone that just sounds like anger. He doesn’t usually shut down at anger like this, that’s always been the thing that leads to more arguments with his uncle. When someone yells at him, he yells back, screaming his point until he’s hoarse and grounded or he wins the argument. This is new to him, this complete shutdown of his ability to fight back. His voice is lost to him somewhere between Secondo’s words and the thought that Secondo’s hands would fit easily around his head, the same way the murderer’s had fit around the Sister’s.

Terzo and Secondo are talking now, their voices rising and rising until they’re properly arguing, almost shouting. Copia has about fifteen seconds of warning before he bolts out of Terzo’s arm, his stomach rebelling against him.

He makes it to the restroom just in time. A public one this time, the one that all the office workers use. Copia doesn’t think he’s better than any of them, but the idea of someday being just another office worker using this same restroom and the same breakroom and the same desks and chairs and typewriters certainly doesn’t help the pain in his stomach. He’s not even sure Terzo and Secondo noticed his leaving, as wrapped up in their own disagreement as they were.

Nothing comes up, eventually. He sits, crumpled on the floor in one of the stalls for far too long, and nothing ends up happening. He sits for nearly fifteen minutes, neither of his technical-uncles coming to look for him, before the pain in his stomach goes away enough that he feels confident to stand up and make his way to the sinks, washing his hands. He spends time splashing water on his face, too, because then he can pretend that he isn’t still crying. He looks up when he’s done and almost immediately jumps out of his skin, turning around quickly. The Ghoul from the other side of the glass is standing behind him. He’s short for an earth Ghoul, but still taller than Copia, even taller than Primo, who stands at six and a half feet last Copia heard. He’s still not wearing his mask and his eyes are wide, almost as wide as Copia’s own, if he had to guess.

He fights the urge to panic. He’s done that twice now today, not counting last night, and he refuses to once again panic just because someone slightly taller than average existed within the same space as him. He looks younger up close like this, his skin covered in a thin, soft-looking layer of fur. The white spots that Copia spotted in his dark brown hair continue on his forehead and the rest of his face, the size of freckles, and if Copia had to guess they’re there on the rest of his body as well. Nobody told him the Ghoul’s name, nobody found it important. Technically, Ghouls don’t have names. After all, their species name is Nameless Ghoul, but when topside like this, they all have nicknames given to them by each other and the humans they interact with, to make it easier. A few have multiple, and many have even chosen their own names. 

“I’m allowed to be here,” the Ghoul says quickly. His voice is deep, but it cracks on ‘allowed’, like the deepness is new. He’s around Copia’s age, then, if he had to hazard a guess.

“I-- Well, yeah, I figured,” Copia responds, defensiveness in his voice.

“No, I mean, they said I could go. I mean I think they have some people that are going to follow me around, but, still,” the Ghoul explains further. Copia frowns, eyebrow scrunching together. Why does the Ghoul feel the need to explain himself to Copia of all people? It makes no sense.

“How did you--?” He doesn’t finish the question, but he doesn’t have to, as the Ghoul flushes, the redness reflecting off the light fur on his cheeks just enough to be visible.

“I could smell you,” he explains. “In the room with the others, I mean.” It’s Copia’s turn to flush this time, lifting his shirt almost absentmindedly and smelling the collar of it. It smells like his laundry detergent and a bit like Terzo’s cologne, certainly not bad at all.

“Not like that!” the Ghoul says, a nervous laugh in his voice. “In, like, a Ghoul way. You don’t smell bad.” It doesn’t make very much sense to Copia, but it does make enough sense that he drops his shirt and nods stiffly. He turns to leave then, walking towards the door outside with more speed than he should if he wants to seem comfortable. He stops and almost stumbles when a hand closes around his wrist, a spike of fear paralyzing his lungs. The grip is gentle, though, the Ghoul’s hand is soft and his claws are just a whisper of a suggestion against the delicate skin of Copia’s inner wrist. Copia doesn’t know if the Ghoul is just new and thus unaware of the fact that he isn’t supposed to touch humans or if he doesn’t care because they’re alone and there’s no one to see.

It’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not him, he chants in his head, more a prayer than a reassurance. Every part of his head screams that this Ghoul was not the man in the garden, and he knows it logically, like he knows that it wasn’t Alpha either. But he still freezes like a deer in headlights.

“Do you know why I’m here?” the Ghoul asks. He sounds afraid, his voice small and nervous and unsure. Copia turns at the question, looks at the Ghoul properly once again. He’s scared, as scared as Copia is. He knows, then, that he isn’t supposed to touch Copia, but he looks desperately afraid.

“What’s your name?” Copia asks. He will answer the question, but it’s important to him that he learns the Ghoul’s name first.

“Mountain,” the Ghoul answers. He’s hesitant with it, like it’s a new thing that he isn’t sure of. It very well could be, Copia thinks. It’s a nice name, even if a bit ironic, since Mountain seems short for an earth Ghoul. Then again, he’s probably still growing.

“Mountain,” he repeats, trying the name out for himself. “They think you killed someone.”

Mountain blanches, his jaw dropping open and exposing shiny, white fangs that contrast with the deer-like nature of the rest of his appearance.

“I didn’t!” he says, voice cracking again on the last word. Copia nods, but it goes unseen. “I didn’t kill anyone!”

“I know,” Copia says, going unheard.

“I didn’t kill anyone, I promise, I really didn’t!” Mountain takes a step then and it’s the first time Copia has been paying attention when he does and that’s when he hears it. A sharp click, a hard step. He looks down then, because the step that Mountain takes doesn’t sound like a footstep it sounds like-- yes. He sees exactly what he expected to; because Mountain’s legs don’t end in feet, they end in hooves.

“I know you didn’t kill anyone,” Copia says, louder this time, determined not to go unheard again. Mountain stops then, staring at him, his expression is hopeful. He knows without a doubt that it wasn’t Mountain. He’s known it the whole time, but this is definitive proof for him. Because Mountain has hooves, and none of the footsteps he heard last night were the distinctive sound of hooves on rock.

“You believe me?” Mountain asks. He takes another step, his hand falling from Copia’s wrist to his hand and the other reaching for Copia’s other. He cradles his hands then, lifts them to his chest like he’s excited and wants the physical reassurance that he isn’t imagining Copia’s presence. He’d grip Mountain’s hands back if his own were in a position to do that.

“No,” Copia says, because believing Mountain implies that it was ever in doubt, that any logical part of his brain ever genuinely believed that this Ghoul could have killed the Sister in the garden.

“I know you didn’t kill anyone,” Copia says, conviction strong in his voice because it’s true. “And I’m going to help you prove it.”

The first step to proving Mountain’s innocence was getting out of the administration wing. The Abbey was, technically, one big building, with multiple courtyards, long hallways, and all sorts of other, medieval-esque architecture that made the building a nightmare for new people to navigate. Another issue was that if Mountain and Copia were caught together, it wouldn’t exactly help their case. Secondo was bound to come to the wrong conclusions, even if Copia pointed out the difference in footsteps. The man already doubted his recall of the night before, and he hadn’t helped his case so far.

Plenty of Ghouls had hooves, especially earth Ghouls. The issue wasn’t that a person could hear Mountain’s footsteps from a mile away, the issue was more that he was young, which meant he had markings that even the most careless human would notice on him. Copia found himself, not for the first time, wishing that Aether was there. Quintessence Ghouls all had unique abilities with their magic. They had some that were shared, of course, but also ones that were unique entirely to them, that they were better at than anyone else. Aether could make something out of thin air, as solid and real as if it had been made the traditional way. Copia wasn’t sure how, but he was sure that there was a way it could come in handy somehow. Or maybe he just missed his friend.

“Okay, step one,” Copia whispers, peeking out of the restroom.

The hallway isn’t completely empty, which is a bad thing, but it’s also full enough that as long as nobody pays too much attention, Mountain and Copia can go unnoticed, which is a good thing. The bigger issue is that Terzo is standing at the end of it. He’s speaking to someone, a tall, well built Brother of Sin with blond hair in a small bun on the back of his head. The Brother seems invested in the conversation, looking down at Terzo with the sort of vague, dreamy expression that many people do, but there’s a sharpness to his smile, something almost predatory. This, too, is a common expression that people have when speaking to Terzo, Copia has noticed over the years. Terzo however seems much less interested in the conversation, turning his head this way and that to look up and down the hallway. He’s looking for Copia, the boy realizes, clearly having finished his argument with Secondo with victory enough to feel the desire to go look for the fourteen year old instead of nursing his wounds in his room or office.

He turns back to Mountain, frowning. The biggest thing is that Mountain is noticeable, and the biggest cause of that is his hair and the white spots in it. It’s long, long enough that they could tie it back if they wanted to. He even has a hair tie around one wrist.

“Lean down a bit,” Copia says, locking the bathroom door properly before making his way back over to where Mountain stands by the sinks. Mountain does so, a loud purring sound emitting from his chest as soon as Copia puts his hands in the Ghoul’s hair. He’s relieved to find that the white spots are only on the top most layer of Mountain’s hair and he can easily cover them by tying his hair up. Mountain hands over his hair tie with no issue and Copia grins at the final result. Once the mask is on, nobody will even know to look twice at the young Ghoul. Mountain is bent nearly in half at the waist to allow Copia access to his head and groans when he has to straighten, his back almost definitely protesting. He’s still purring and it gets louder as Copia grabs his hand and opens the door again.

“Put your mask on,” Copia hisses, shooting Mountain a light glare. Mountain scrambles for it like he almost forgot about it, slotting over his face quickly. The mask is unsettling, they always have been. Copia desperately hopes that when Primo takes over for Nihil, he changes the Ghoul uniforms, assuming he even keeps them.

They step into the hallway in a way that Copia hopes is subtle, wishing he’d chosen anything other than the red hoodie he was wearing, since it stands out like a sore thumb among the sea of black that everyone else in the Ministry seems to be wearing. Terzo was looking the other way when they stepped out of the bathroom but this hallway is long and straight and as soon as he turns his head this way, he’ll notice them immediately. Copia looks around the hallway, looking for somewhere to duck into for a less obvious way to leave. He freezes, stumbling for two and a half steps when something large and heavy is suddenly placed over him. He looks down, finding the leather coat that’s part of Mountain’s uniform draped over his shoulders. It covers the red of his hoodie completely, and nobody will even notice or care if Mountain isn’t the one wearing it.

Copia isn’t entirely sure why but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Terzo cannot find him right now. Later, maybe, but right now it’s like there’s a neon sign that’s pointing right at the end of the hall where Terzo is, screaming and flashing bright red danger lights. He keeps his eyes focused on the ground, head slightly downturned and lashes lowered as much as he can while still being able to see. Copia makes an effort not to think about his eyes too much. They match Terzo’s and Secondo’s and Primo’s and Nihil’s, and somehow that means absolutely nothing. He isn’t entirely sure he believes that. He used to dream of being their brother, years ago, when he was little and didn’t understand how thoroughly Nihil disliked him, how deep the apathy from the rest of them ran. He’d dreamed that they were really his family, Aunt Marika and her brothers, that it wasn’t that his parents didn’t want him, just that there was some complicated reason he couldn’t be publicly called their real family member.

But his eyes mean nothing. They’re just a distinctive feature, one that means if someone catches a glimpse of them, they’ll know instantly who he is, and who to call.

They’re halfway to the end of the hall, halfway to the most direct route out of the administrative wing and into another one when Copia hears Terzo’s voice. He’s shouting “hey”, trying to get someone’s attention. There’s no guarantee it’s for them, but Copia keeps walking faster anyway, pushing his arms through the sleeves so he doesn't have to hold the collar closed to keep it on. There's footsteps getting faster behind them and Copia speeds up again, that feeling of danger getting closer and closer even as they approach the end of the hallway. They round a corner, Copia's heart pounding as he takes it too close and bumps shoulders with Mountain, who's purring has taken on an urgency to it, a self-soothing element as opposed to what it was before.

Mountain yelps and Copia has half a second to look to the side before the Ghoul’s arms are around his waist, scooping him up and pulling him through a darkened doorway like he weighs the same as a bag of grapes. The door clicks shut when Mountain has set him back on his feet and he has half a mind to panic again, the only thing stopping it being the soft rumble of Mountain's purring, calming him as much as it calms the Ghoul himself. There's a tense few seconds after the door has clicked shut and before the lights turn on when Copia is struggling to breathe, the feeling of danger! danger! danger! getting closer and closer. Finally, Copia blinks as the lights click on, too bright even after the short time spent in the dark.

“Boo!” A voice right next to his ear says and Copia goes to shriek, the sound muffled as two different hands land over his mouth, panicked expressions hidden by the Ghouls’ masks.

“Wait, wait, I'm sorry, I forgot you didn't know I'm here!” the other Ghoul says. He's short, much shorter than Mountain and shorter even than Copia. His voice is deceptively girlish, high pitched in youth and accented. From what Copia can see his hair is long and pink, shining gold when he turns his head and the light hits it. His skin is similarly pink and multicolored, what Copia can see of it at least.

“Dodo! What are you doing?” Mountain demands and Copia blinks, realizing that the little Ghoul is familiar to him. He's been following Terzo around for years since he was summoned, a mischievous little thing that isn't quite good enough at anything but music to have a consistent job. He's unusually small for a Ghoul, even a water Ghoul, closer to the size of a human his analog age than a Ghoul.

“Dewdrop, you scared me,” Copia scolds. He doesn't have to worry about imagining Dewdrop's grin, because the little Ghoul pulls his mask off to show it. Dewdrop is a pretty Ghoul, colored like a tropical fish with unusual bioluminescence and sharp fangs for all of his teeth, like a shark's.

“What are you two doing?” Dewdrop responds, not bothering to acknowledge Copia's statement or answer Mountain's question.

“We were--”

“Nothing,” Copia interrupts Mountain, stepping in front of the larger Ghoul like it'll make Dewdrop respect him any more.

“Oookaaayyyy,” Dewdrop trills, a nasty grin on his face. “So I should open the door and call for his Unholiness, then?”

“No, don't,” Copia corrects, panicked. He isn't sure why Terzo feels like a danger right now, but he feels it in his chest. As far as Copia knows, Dewdrop doesn't like many people. He has a group of Ghouls he enjoys the company of for most of the year, but when Terzo is home, he spends his days following him around like a duckling. It even earned him the name “Duckling” or “Ducky” for a few months before Dodo and eventually Dewdrop became more common.

“How did you know we were here?” Mountain asks, a slight growl to his voice. It isn't a threatening growl, though, just another way of communicating between Ghouls.

“Delta told me,” Dewdrop responds, shrugging a bit. Copia looks around the room they’re in, trying to place it within his mental map of the Abbey. It’s a storeroom, he thinks. There’s nothing in it aside from them but brown filing boxes, though he can’t tell if they’re empty or not.

“How did Delta know we were here?” Mountain says. Copia didn’t notice when he took his mask off, but his brows are now furrowed, his tail flicking back and forth like he’s annoyed or bothered by something. Dewdrop’s tail is swaying back and forth lazily, the scales on it shimmering in the light. The spots of bioluminescence on his face glow even in the artificial light, seemingly getting brighter as he grins excitedly.

“No idea,” is how he eventually responds. “Hey, what were you two doing? I didn’t know you even knew each other.”

“We just met,” Mountain explains. “Copia is going to--”

“Don’t tell him,” Copia snaps. Dewdrop looks offended, jaw dropping open.

“Hey, why not?” he demands.

“Because you’ll just run and tell Terzo,” Copia responds. Dewdrop’s mouth snaps shut with a click of his sharp teeth slotting together. He can’t argue because he knows it’s true, he’s done it in the past. Dewdrop is a friend of Aether’s, and when Copia and Aether had first started hanging out, the younger Ghoul had gotten jealous over it and immediately ran to tell Terzo. Not that it had gotten them into trouble or even changed anything, but it was still a point against telling him anything now.

“Well, I won’t this time,” Dewdrop tries to defend. If Copia had to compare him to a human age, Dewdrop has been about eleven or twelve for as long as Copia has known him. Younger and smaller than most other Ghouls that get summoned, and it’s obvious in his behavior.

“You’re too young to know anyway,” Mountain says, sighing softly at the betrayed look Dewdrop shoots at him.

“Well, so are you, then,” comes the smaller Ghoul’s response.

“No, Copia and I are the same age,” Mountain responds, the annoyance in his body language getting stronger. “You’re still technically a pup, so… Thank you for the rescue, but we have to go now.” Mountain doesn’t wait for another response, opening the door and peering out of it to make sure the coast is clear.

“I’m older than you, you know,” Dewdrop says, glaring at Copia. “I’m twenty-two.” Technically, he is, but Copia knows that Ghouls mature quite a bit slower than humans, for the most part. His aging will speed up in the next couple of years until he’s thirty chronologically and about twenty mentally, and then slow down again to prepare for his centuries long lifespan. Mountain will do the same, although he’s probably closer to maturity than Dewdrop is.

“Wow, and you still act like a baby?” Copia responds, grinning as Dewdrop’s eyes widen in outrage. He manages a cheeky wave goodbye as Mountain pulls him out of the room by the collar of his coat and closes the door. Terzo is at the end of the hallway again, the opposite way they’re going this time, back turned to where the two of them are as he speaks to a tall Ghoul that Copia recognizes as Omega. The tall Brother of Sin from before is next to them, too, looking annoyed.

“You shouldn’t tease Dewdrop like that,” Mountain whispers as they quickly navigate the halls, making their way out of the Abbey as quickly as they can.

“Not my fault he wants to act so childish,” Copia responds, shrugging.

“You were acting childish, too,” Mountain says and Copia can practically see his furrowed brows even with the mask in place. Copia has half a second of entitlement where he almost demands to know who Mountain thinks he is, to speak to him like that when they’ve only just met. But that would prove the Ghoul’s point almost exactly, so he instead stays silent.

It’s a relief when they get out of the Abbey and onto the front yard. They start sprinting as soon as they do, Copia leading the way across the lawn and to a specific gazebo. The front lawn of the Abbey has lots of gazebos, perfect for weddings or picnics or outdoor classes. Most of them are placed perfectly and are often rented out to people in the nearby town who are willing to ignore the Satanic aspects of the Abbey for a nice place to take wedding or engagement photos. One, however, was one of the first built, back when the Abbey had been a castle for some lord or lady or otherwise noble person, and now sits, nearly consumed by the forest that separates the Abbey and the nearest small town, the trees grown unnaturally fast by earth Ghouls. It’s one of Copia’s favorite places in the Abbey, because nobody ever comes there. The structure is made of stone, metal porch furniture he’s pilfered from other gazebos make up its insides.

“I didn’t know this place existed,” Mountain says as they climb the steps. He brushes his hand idly against some of the wisteria vines that have entwined themselves over the structure and jumps back when the plant bursts forth anew, vines rapidly growing and flowering until a whole side of the gazebo is covered in a curtain of them.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-- I’m still learning to control my magic,” the Ghoul says. His mask is off again, probably so he can breathe easier after they ran, and he’s flushed like he expects to get in trouble. Copia, instead, is staring in shock and a little bit of excitement.

“Can you do that again?” he asks. Mountain nods and repeats the action until all of the sides of the gazebo are covered in blue curtains of flowers, the only light now coming in from the parts of the roof that have collapsed. Copia thinks he’ll have to bring a few battery powered lamps here eventually, but for now, the sunlight from the roof is perfect, and the wisteria gives them more privacy. He’ll adjust to the smell, eventually.

“Thank you,” Copia says with a lot more cheer than he actually feels. He sits down now on one of the pillows he has thrown around the floor of the gazebo, ignoring the table and chairs in the center.

Mountain watches him for a few seconds before he begins to speak, “I think we need to go about this in a specific way. It’s impossible to prove a negative, right? So we can’t really prove that I didn’t kill anyone, but we can prove that some else did. For that we need access to…”

Mountain is still speaking, but Copia isn’t paying attention anymore. He’d dug his hands into the pockets of his hoodie when he first sat down, pulling out a piece of paper from the pocket. He frowned. He’d worn this hoodie just yesterday and had put nothing in the pockets, and he hadn’t put anything in them earlier, either, before going to the Abbey with Sibling Amadeo. The only time he’d been without it had been a few minutes when they first entered the administration wing. Any time someone entered the administration wing, they were required to give any coats they had over, to prevent people from sneaking out documents or sneaking in anything like a recorder or something more dangerous. It was something Papa Nihil had put in place that only vaguely made sense to Copia, but he hadn’t been exempt from it. He’d handed over his hoodie like he always did and gotten it back just a few minutes later after it had been checked.

The paper was the exact same paper that was everywhere around the Abbey, from the same cream-colored notepads that were scattered around near the phones and in drawers for people to take notes on, a black grucifix printed on top of it before the lines. There was nothing special about it, it was even neatly torn from the notepad along the perforated lines. He unfolds the paper, Mountain’s words fading out until all he hears is the Ghoul’s voice, a consistent tone in the background, beneath a ringing that’s growing in his ears as Copia looks at the three sentences on the paper.

‘I KNOW YOU SAW ME.’

The handwriting is sharp and standard, the letters perfectly straight and fit within the lines. Each of them touches the top line where it should and the bottom line where it should, too. If there wasn’t a slight waver in the O’s and the periods weren’t floating above the lines, Copia would have assumed it had been typed onto the paper, every repeated letter almost exactly the same. But, no. This was handwritten and delivered personally. He can’t remember the person he handed his hoodie to, he didn’t even look at them. Any one of the people in charge of checking jackets and coats could have put it there.

“Copia?” Mountain’s voice manages to break through the ringing in his ears finally. He looks up, breaking his eyes away from the note. His eyes are burning with new tears, his cheeks hot. He’s cried so much in the past day and night, he almost wants to worry about the possibility of becoming dehydrated.

“What’s this?” Mountain asks, looking down at the note. Copia watches him read it, unable to force words out past the lump in his throat. He wants to explain that he just found it, that he doesn’t know where it came from or who gave it to him, but the words won’t leave his mouth as much as he tries.

‘I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.’

He wants to cry, to throw up again. Everything feels too much and not enough at once. Mountain’s expression is horrified and Copia barely notices when the Ghoul wraps his arms around him, pulls him close to his chest in a hug.

“It’s okay, Copia, we’ll figure out who it is,” Mountain says, his chest once again rumbling with a loud purr, this one intended to soothe the human in his arms. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

‘I SAW YOU.’

[interstyx]

A Commentary on Kenosis

Like all good ideas, Kenosis came to me in a nightmare. The very night the subtitles for Episode 5 dropped, I went to sleep with the words “let’s reset these memories, one more time” haunting me as I gave spin after spin to the implications. I dreamed up the events of Ch1 a few hours later, a very close match to what ended up written. It was an unforgivingly clear nightmare, yet somehow it was hazy in that way that you can only experience while under a high fever. Must’ve been some real-time hours of swapping between N and V’s perspectives while living through a torturous loop of physical sensations.

Next day (a Sunday), the first thing I do after my morning coffee is hunt for fanart, and I find this piece – one of my absolute favorites (whose source I neglected to save).

The message couldn’t be any clearer. The world was hammering into my head that I had, needed to write this nightmare. 

Writing it was torturous. I’ve never done gore before, and I discovered right here that I have an ill tendency to get too much into the role while picturing a character’s perspective; for the first time in my life, my writing physically affected me, and after each session of writing V’s surgery I’d end up hurting in a vaguely similar way. The nocebo effect was insane, really. I’d heard plenty of stories about the insane ways authors connect with their stories (a favorite one of mine is hearing the voices of their characters narrating the events to them, forcing them to stop when the narrator would break down crying), but I didn’t really buy them before. I guess this is my Special Cursed Power Technique unique to me or something.

What’s worse, each passing day the idea would spiral further and further and develop into an actual plot I couldn’t help but feel enthusiastic about. SIGKILL and The Waves appeared in my head either the same day or one day and the very next, and one too many sessions of listening to ətˈæk 0N tάɪtn (that’s an actual song title, and the phonetic spelling of Attack on Titan) gave me the finisher that The Waves demanded, though the events that’d become I Mak Siccar were always much more fuzzy in my head (which I think is easy to tell on reread), then later a Tumblr post by multiversal-pudding (who’s awesome) made me realize I couldn’t end it in such a shit note and handed me the right way to do it on a silver platter. If it weren’t for them, this story wouldn’t be half as good as it is.

I wasn’t sure if the concept had any life in it, so I posted Ch1 with the idea of it being a one-shot. Much to my dismay, it was pretty widely enjoyed, much more than any of my previous work anywhere. Another of the many special signs from the universe I got while writing this was that a friend DM’d me Ch1 on Discord saying “I think you’ll enjoy this one” and only realizing who wrote it when the AO3 embed with my nickname popped up. Really, I was just bound to writing the full thing now.

The way I wrote V from SIGKILL on is heavily modeled off my mom. This is intentional — V’s mood swings and impulses largely come from how she’d treat me earlier in life. Partly by planning, partly by discovery, Kenosis was supposed to be closure for my relationship with her, an attempt to work through the ways she felt when I lived with her, and when I moved with my dad. Their ways of talking are quite similar, too, so that saved me a good bit of dialogue torture — I wrote a good chunk of V’s dialogue just picturing what my mom would say and MDifying it a bit.

But sometime during writing The Waves, I had to draft out an abstracted hallucination of the real events in Ch1. I don’t recall where that bit ended up, it’s something about a hole opening up in V’s torso, and things pulling stuff out of the hole then shoving new, weirder stuff in. It clicked then, a quarter of the way through writing the chapter, that I was drawing imagery from a real event I’d repressed. I recall that the moment it clicked, my stomach wrenched.

This isn’t to imply that the actual events in the fanfic are an allegory or metaphor — fuck no. That’d have some abhorrent implications that I absolutely repudiate. It does mean, however, that I ended up connecting to V a lot more than I'd ever done with my characters (more than I wanted). 

Slowly, Kenosis started growing and growing, occupying more and more of my head. There were stretches where I’d procrastinate through days of uni work because I couldn’t put my mind off it until I’d written enough to tire my fingers (not that much, I have little stamina most days). It even started haunting me in the twilight zone between laying in bed and falling asleep, wrenching my gut at times. It was not long before I finished The Waves that it registered that pouring this much of myself into a fanfic series and suffering that much for it was a wonderfully silly predicament to be caught in. The robot goobers really didn’t need to live through my abstracted deliriums of trauma. 

I’m still not happy about it. There were much easier, healthier ways to process this trauma, but hey; what’s done is done. I’ll have to live with “projected deep personal trauma onto fanfiction” in my sin record. A year from now I’ll come back to this and laugh at how self-serious and melodramatic I got about these characters, how desperately I wanted to write V a happy ending, but right now I’m also very proud of how much I managed to achieve here. 

It was tough, it was personal, it took a lot out of me, and I’ll never forget that month or so where I categorically refused to work on this stupid project until I’d gotten back on track with uni, right after I Mak Siccar, with V at her absolute worst and the end still an entire chapter’s worth of suffering away.

In our journey past trauma, we find ourselves back there over and over, and the things we find strength in can sometimes hurt us too. There’s definitely wrong ways to overcome it, and it leaves us pained and hobbling for a long time — but with time and friends on our side, healing is always at hand. God, that’s such a cheesy way to put it, but this whole thing’s cheesy as shit. I think that’s just the way I am.

I’d like to think I made it through just like V, and this is a recounting of my journey rather than a fantasy of victory. I don’t know yet. I might never. I just really, really want to hug her.

At first I meant for Kenosis to be just a quick test before moving on to larger projects where I could express myself better. Now I doubt I ever will. I’ll miss writing this dearly. I adore Uzi, N and V deeply and I hope I can keep this connection I’ve built to them for a long time. 

Enough sulking. Thanks for reading.

[3gremlins]

it's fascinating to me how there can be huge difference of experience even within a generation. Like I'm a millennial and i was definitely a tech/nerd kid with pretty much unfettered access to the early internet (my dad was really into tech kind of early so maybe that makes me a little bit of an anomaly but my partner's parents definitely weren't tech people and he had a similar experience). So it was interesting to listen to this podcast about enya and have other millennials say things like "oh it was the 90s so we couldn't download music yet". and i'm sitting here like, "maybe for you, but i was sitting tidy on my absolute HOARD of midi files" (most of which were enya or clannad songs tbqh like i remember "lothlorien" and "bard dance" being absolute gets) . Like what else would you have as the background music in your geocities page?!? also sometimes i'd just sit around and listen to them, tinny sound quality be damned, i was a happy little dragon*. we were all so proud of ourselves when we figured out how to embed those midi players so you couldn't see them when you loaded into the page (which could be a little bit of a curse if you chose your bg music poorly so it got annoying on loop and it could not be actively stopped by the end user) . i'm sure part of it is privilege/access (my homelife kinda sucked but my parents did give me pretty free access to tech things so i was able to escape into fantasy worlds) and the ability to connect to the internet for sure- that podcast has an irish host so their experience is probably a little different from mine in the US but still. it's interesting to hear from i guess? more mainstream millennials who apparently weren't trying to get their grubby little hands on every bit of code to improve their dragons of pern/petz fanpage so they could be one of the "cool" kids...

as a further aside, sentimental garbage is generally pretty enjoyable and i rec it (the host has the most infectious laugh i've ever heard, i think i might like it partially just for her cackle) but i really disagree with the guest in the enya episode's that enya is only music to fall asleep to (i definitely spent many hours drawing to it). I also appreciate that enya just used her money to be elusive and buy a castle w/her cats , like wish more successful artists would do this instead of being public shitheads on social media/etc, like ideally they'd not be shitty humans and do good with their fame but the neutral quiet enya option is always open to you.

*tbh i think the early days of the internet were kind of formative to my habits, like i absolutely love assembling a library of cool things and the early internet was very much like that where you'd need to assemble a bunch of resources to piece together your cool geocities page (and later your own website that you'd hand coded in html. and there was a whole aspect to creating a library of knowledge you learned from other users like css/javascript to get a cool looking cursor or a cool fire effect. Which I realize seems cringe-y now but was the hotness at the time lol). the evolution of the geocities fan ring pages was livejournal and it was the same sort of things but with better music quality files, etc (tho there was a less of a drive towards displaying your individuality as a person with how your page looked since it was more like tumblr where a lot of the backend was done alread) . i'm still like this with fonts and brushes. def miss the sense of community those sites gave me tho (you get a bit here on tumblr still but it's def not the same intensity)

[spicy--meatball]

ranking 550+ music genres: PART 2

once again i am deceitful, here is another post today because im having a Fucking Time (good)

(4) Abstract Hip Hop

on the tierlist, the image for abstract hip hop is of MF Doom, so i was pretty excited for this genre. i didnt actually listen to any MF Doom for this though.

many of the songs i listened to lacked vocals, but they were still very intriguing and unique. i heard influences from other genres, such as blues and jazz. this is definitely a genre i would recommend to someone who thinks theyre too high and mighty to listen to hip hop, even though these songs differ a lot from what theyre probably thinking of as hip hop.

this genre hits a lot different than my regular brainslop listening habits (i.e: fast electronic music). each song has a story to tell. this stuff makes great contemplation music, because its hard not to reflect on my life while listening to these songs. theyre groovy enough to keep my attention but also lowkey enough that theyd also make good studying/drawing music. its all just so smooth. ugh, i cant do this genre enough justice. go listen to some abstract hip hop!!!

with all that being said, abstract hip hop gets our first "incredible. i fw this heavy" ranking. which i accidentally spoiled in the last post because i didnt know about the 10 music embeds limit.

Abstract Hip Hop song recs

(5) Acid Croft

im familiar with some acid genres, such as acidcore and acid house, but ive never heard of acid croft. i dont know what i was expecting but my expectations were blown with the first song i clicked on. this shit is WILD! some of these songs remind me of breakbeats.

if youre like me and havent heard of acid croft before, the best way i can describe it is a celtic jig mixed with jazzy bass and acid synths, especially for my first song rec. these are song elements i had no idea could mesh this well, never in my wildest dreams. these songs are intriguing in a different sense than abstract hip hop, theyre just so bizarre. i guess thats to be expected with any genre that has "acid" in the title, but i digress. im very happy someone came up with this mixture of song elements. the second song rec, which was the first song i clicked on, made me furrow my brow in confusion and fascination.

as my own informal rule of thumb, i was going to try and give different artists for each song rec. well, it seems the Peatbog Faeries have spearheaded this genre because like 70% of the songs i could find listed as acid croft are by them. this genre is getting a "in the right time and place, fuck yeah" ranking from me.

Acid Croft song recs

(6) Acid Jazz

im already somewhat familiar with this genre, but i dont listen to it regularly. this stuff goes hard though. i need every small coffee shop business or boba shop to start playing acid jazz please.

this shit sounds like melty caramel. in a good way. just a slow, tranquil stream of caramel floating in the air. and brick walkways at night, hugged tightly by the buildings around it. this also makes good study music, sometimes.

as for my first song rec, i was going to click away to another acid jazz song and then... i dunno. something about the piano and saxophone and bass going up and down and every which way intrigued me to stick around. i was wondering why this unconventional way of arranging music didnt bother me, quite the opposite actually. theres so many shapes and colors in this song and they are chalky. i ended up putting this song on loop, like what in the genuine shit is happening? (in a very good way). i like confusion :)

i guess this is my sign to listen to acid jazz every waking hour of the day. so many varied moods. this shit can soothe or it can get you certified ZEEKIN. Holay Molay.

"incredible. i fw this heavy" tier. absolutely phenomenal. * jeremy clarkson voice* 'ery noice

Acid Jazz song recs

current rankings. more to come

[amethystina]

Oh gosh, sorry to hear you’ve been getting lots of critiques recently. Even when it’s valid and solicited criticism can be rough, and the out of the blue stuff is always worse :/ And I say that as someone who works in the arts for a living.

I wish I had something better to say than that every artist you admire has likely felt the same way at one point or another, as even the best of the best of the best get complaints, but I don’t, so know at least that you’re in good company. (In theatre we actually have a saying that the day you can truly call yourself a professional is the day you get your first really bad review, so I always take comfort in the universality of the experience, even if it super fucking sucks lol)

I know I could also tell you that your writing is phenomenal and for every person who has a complaint there’s a bunch more who are having the BEST time (myself included xD), but I also know that doesn’t fix it when someone’s made you doubt yourself. For the record though, I will say it. Your writing IS phenomenal, and it DOES bring both me and others quite a lot of joy. I get very excited every time I see you’ve updated (either fic that I’m reading xD), and I find it genuinely a bonus that this particular story is so long. Because it means that the experience of reading it for the first time doesn’t have to be over yet.

I’m VERY much rambling now, but try and be kind to yourself is I guess at the heart of what I’m saying. Take care of yourself, take your time, and come back to things when you’re ready. You’re allowed to feel hurt, or doubtful, or whatever, and if time is what you need to take care of yourself, then you should take it <3.

To be honest, I would be genuinely surprised if I was somehow able to avoid getting criticism. It's just a natural part of posting online, it would seem, no matter one's skill level or the fandom.

And, usually, I can handle it pretty well. It just so happens that everything piled up on the same day and that got a little overwhelming. It honestly felt a bit like the universe was ganging up on me for no apparent reason xD

Thank you so much for your kind words, though 💜 It's true that there are no immediate fixes to the kind of doubts that arise from unsolicited criticism, but it certainly helps to know that there are people who enjoy what I do. Because, in the long run, it's not about writing the most perfect, flawless fic, but rather sharing the joy and excitement I feel over the stories that I write. So thank you so much for taking the time to tell me 💜

And yeah, I'm doing my best to rest right now, partly because I did end up getting sick. So I've mostly been drawing highly questionable Strangers From Hell fanart and, earlier today, I hyper-fixated for hours and randomly did a playlist for Who Holds the Devil. Which is VERY unexpected since I don't really connect music to my writing?

I blame @sofapup17 who made a wonderful playlist for my Strangers From Hell fanfic, which I've been looping while drawing the aforementioned fanart xD (and I also stole three songs from it to my own playlist ;D ) And that of course made me wonder if I could do one, too. Turns out that I can! It's hella long but, uh, that's both on-brand and appropriate considering the fanfic, I guess? I honestly didn't expect to find as much music as I did.

So yeah. While I'm not writing on Who Holds the Devil right now, I'm keeping busy with other creative projects. There never seems to be a shortage of those, somehow x'D

Thank you again for your kind words. The fact that so many people are willing to take time out of their day to cheer me up is so incredibly humbling. Thank you 💜

[sentientstump]

yall really want me to spill the beans about the song, eh? 😭🙈

[orchid ⇢ what’s a song you consider to be perfect? ] x5

So many asked, so I'm going to go full details here:

I haven't listened to that many songs in life, mind you, so my answer would be Playing By The Rules by Red Vox (quinn you already listened to it on loop, sorry, no new info for you) I find it very great to my ears on all sound levels, every time I listen to it I try to focus on different instruments because i don't want to get bored of it xD I really enjoy the MV for it too! The theme, the style fits so nicely that sometimes it's difficult to separate it from the song itself (also, i saw that Mason Lindroth inspiration from miles away, so +quadspillion points to this MV!) The ONLY downside (upside in disguise) is that its so short... but! I have this feeling of silent appreciation when it comes up on shuffle play, yknow. Gotta enjoy things while they last! And I guess this song is a good exercise for me. Also if you asked me this question like 8 months ago I would've answered with Reno by Red Vox too .... I think I have a thing for gambling themes in songs- xD oh well

[sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is? ]

Oooh man, I haven't thought about this before! I don't think I have strong preference towards one 'medium' of art? I just really enjoy when someone uses the medium in a very 'their' way, because what is more touching than their love to the craft? I mean, of course there's people who hate their craft but good at it, and maybe that's a little touching to me too in a more.... tiny humans on a pale blue dot in a vast space of cosmos sorta way? If you catch my drift

[edelweiss ⇢ how’d you think of your url/username? what’s it associated with to you? ]

ahaha, I keep wondering why people don't ask me about it more frequently "xD (one person got me though) It's from PesterChum's rules of creating nicknames (Homestuck's chat app). I had to come up with a name based on my attributes at the time, so I wrote something like "artisticArtist" but then in one chat group I somehow got the lore that I am a stump??? So that one originated from there. And then I tried to follow the rules of nicknames by writing "cleverStump" instead, because it's CS which is 1/2 closer to the GCAT rule. But then I said "screw it" and thought that sentientStump is more accurate to ✨the lore✨ , because I am sentient, but not smart (I also have a screenshot of it (thank you 13 y.o. me) but I cannot find it currently, maybe someday)

[chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts? ]

I really like to receive trinkets of any kind! They're usually small, usually cheap (I mean if they are expensive then im double happy and double sad of your wallet :c ), usually infinite happy chemicals in my brain! Magnets, pins, keychains, art supplies, gift paper bags, boxes, crafting materials and so on! I really enjoy things that are small (no joke here lol xD)

[aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life? ]

Everything mundane. like legit, whatever there is in life I want to experience it. Well, there is some no-no's such as physical pain? xD i don't want to experience a broken bone but i like the thought of experiencing wearing a cast. Or something...? 😅 I gotta experience all of the world has to offer but i do understand that i never will. Y'know, small things like walking at 16:45 on a ground road to the place where people apparently are fishing! (before walking there i didnt know!) Or eating a melted popsicle in a plastic wrap on a balcony watching a thunderstorm dissipate, or standing on a bus stop at 20:05 for one hour to understand that the buses on the bus app lied to you and no one will appear and you run to the 24hr store to buy yourself instant noodles for your dinner because you won't be able to join your family and their dinner in the countryside? Stuff like this y'know! Makes me enjoy life fr👍🏼 genuinely

[cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)? ]

Driving! But only theory rn "xD

[bamboo ⇢ do you change into a different outfit when you get home? ]

Of course! Who doesn't? o_o jk jk, it's totally cool! I tried it once because why not (look at [aloe vera] above) and tbh... not my thing! Especially when the outfit has 400 layers because of the 9 month winter, brrr. The apartment gets a lot of heating, so gotta unpeal the layers! At summer it's reverse i guess? I'm usually hanging out at my countryside house (technically two houses but same plot) and i change to the most "outside work" outfit possible after taking a short trip to the grocery store with my "i am from the city, downtown" outfit XD So basically i change into a more comfortable outfit and more worn down👍🏼✨

[chia ⇢ what’s an inside joke you have with someone else? ]

i have this very specific inside joke with my longest irl I've ever had (since 3y.o. 💪🏼💪🏼) We keep asking each other and their doggy Deya questions like: "[you're] Sitting?", "Sleeping?", "Eating?", "Walking?", "Staring?", "Barking?", "Taking a toilet?" etc. in a "what are you doing currently?" tone. It's so dumb!!!! I love it! xD

[adultswim2021]

Metalocalypse #36: “Snakes n’ Barrels II” | August 25, 2008 - 12:00AM | S02E16

Well! This certainly is a momentous episode! I guess. Well, it’s the first thirty minute episode, which isn’t nothing. The next season would be presented in the half hour format, I’m guessing in part due to the direct success of this episode. This is sorta the “Fonzie's Getting Married” of Metalocalypse. 

This one is basically about the perils of sobriety. Pickles old band Snakes n’ Barrels gets back together without him. The effects of the dangerous drug they were dosed with in the first Snakes n’ Barrels episode turned all but Pickles into a blank slate, prime for reprogramming. Ricky Kixx, an obnoxious sober rock star (voiced by Mike Patton), happens to be the first guy to waltz into the band’s orbit. He does indeed reprogram them as a “bragging about sobriety” band. Pickles intends to settle the score with them, but they have a restraining order against him. Pickles will have to violate a legal boundary!  

Meanwhile: Ricky Kixx turns out to be a rageaholic who murders one of his assistants after revealing to him that he hates being sober, and considers it to be a terrible prison. He preaches sobriety just to make those around him as miserable as he is. Murderface feels angst from not having his side project PLANET PISS properly registered, and goes apeshit when he finds out Toki registered every planet piss web domain there is as a mean prank. Murderface goes to confront Toki at the Snakes n’ Barrels concert but Toki has gone absolutely mental beating an especially obnoxious straight-edge fan half-to-death. This is during the show’s climax when lingering effects of the drug in the bands' systems cause mass chaos. 

It is time for me to list stuff now. Here are some other things in the episode: Dr. Rockso is in this, no longer a clown and two months sober (give or take). He is eventually tempted by his old clownsona in a series of hallucinations. There is a funny scene where Nathan explosion slaps the vendors at the sober rock show, he just slaps them silly. Uh, that’s only two things, which isn’t really a list. Okay, a third thing: they cut the theme song short for fun. That’s fun! 

I like this episode fine, but I don’t think I loved it. It ends fairly strong, it feels slightly experimental in that we get some longer scenes, like when Dethklok bash their manager’s lamp collection, and a fun aside where Pickles gives his tour of LA. Both of these things would have probably been cut from an 11 minute version of the episode. They’re fun, but I wouldn’t consider these among my favorite scenes in Metalocalypse history. I will forever be curious what an edited-down version of this episode would be like. It will haunt me for the rest of my days.

MAIL BAG

Hello, I am here and I'm nice. Time to answer some messages that the people (my many very real fans) are sending me:

these "tasty tuesdays" have really been running me for a loop

Oh, I don't know... tuesday is tasty to me, but maybe for you? (??)

i log it and there's nothing, every tuesday, for whatever reason. out partying with your friends? hmm? can you at least have a microblog every tuesday about the tastiest thing you had in the past week. people would actually like it. that's the thing.

Okay: for real: My initial post on this blog I basically said "I'm gonna update mostly every day but please don't mind it when I skip a day" and I'm basically exercising that clause right there. But yeah, I have a thing I do on Tuesday nights and I seemingly, no matter what, wind up working later than usual on Tuesday so I almost never have time. I also tend to burn out on the blog when I consciously build up a backlog. Maybe you noticed or maybe you didn't, but MONDAY evenings have sorta become a crapshoot for me lately, too.

Very fun fact: I was going to attempt a Tuesday post last night, and figured I could knock out this episode/write-up very easily, and then put it on and saw it was a double episode instead of the previously-assumed 11 minutes. So I bailed! What could have been!

Also, the elite group of very real hackers who humiliate me by titling my Tuesday posts as some variation of "Tasty Tuesday" have gotten in touch with me and told me that they need more time to come up with new titles. I hate that they are disgracing my blog with their vandalism, but I respect the creative process enough that I feel I must oblige.

Also the tastiest thing I eat each week is always PUSSY

[phantomrose96]

"Jolene won't stop thinking about cheating on his wife." Anne takes a long swig of her latte, dramatic, as if there were something Irish about the syrup she'd dumped into the cup. "It's all I get. I'm going insane. The new girl at work is all 'bazonga' and 'waoooooga' and... like that. It's disgusting. Jolene has 2 or 5 kids, by the way. Literally. Disgusting."

I nod sympathetically. Jolene is not the name of Anne's soulmate. But those details are always fuzzy. You don't ever get important things, like names and addresses. You just get inklings, and notions, and emotions, and actions, and--absolute worst of all--song lyrics stuck in your soulmate's head.

Anne's soulmate, in a move Anne is positive was a matter of psychological warfare against her, had Dolly Parton's Jolene on an 8-hour loop for the better part of a month. And thus, Jolene.

"That's awful," I add, and I sip, and I pretend for the 47th time to not notice the man watching me from the far table. He's half-obscured by the parasol parked in the table center. It's kinda funny. Like when Lola my cat thinks she's hiding halfway behind the kitchen door. He's been following me since the morning.

"What about you, Cassidy? It's like I never hear about your soulmate. There's no way he's boring."

"He's... fine," I answer, which is an answer potently weird to give.

"Cassidy, come on. Any more threesomes?"

"Alleged threesomes," I correct, for no real reason. "It felt like there was... more than one woman, but I could--"

"'More than one.' So not necessarily two?"

"It could be any amoun--"

"How many, Cassidy?"

"I can't guess."

"Guess."

"Maybe 5."

"5?"

"Or 7. Look. I don't--" I wanna say 'I don't wanna talk about it. It's gross' but as always all my words go through the mental filter I have in place that makes me select my words in a way that won't piss Alejandro off. (Lady Gaga. He was on a Lady Gaga kick and 'Alejandro' off her EP 'The Fame Monster' was his--) anyway. This concern for Alejandro's feelings was all laughable, maybe, for a man who--.

"Cassidy, he's like uber-rich, yeah? Give me something." Anne raises her right hand to her temple and presses her fingers to her forehead, like she is tending to a headache. "Sorry--I'm being informed about the Dallas Cheerleader outfits. 'Skanks', is the assessment, but Jolene would fuck them all in a heartbeat. Anyway, tell me. Your guy. What does he do every day? What do you see? You get to tune in for a limousine ride lately? Penthouse hotel suite? I'm begging you for anything interesting. I'm drowning in Infidelity Accountant Man over here."

This. Me censoring myself. It is all laughable, for sure, for a man who wants me dead.

"I don't know. I try to drown it out." I take another sip of my coffee. I hardly taste it.

Alejandro has a hit out on my life.

I know this. And I don't know what to do about it.

So I'm drinking coffee with Anne.

And the man at the parasol table in the far corner of the parking-lot-turned-dining-area watches me longer.

...

Anne lingers for 10 minutes longer than she can afford to stay, rushing the details of daycare drama while her phone alarm blares at her--snoozed, rumble, snoozed, rumble, snoozed--

"Shit, okay. I really need to pick Lu up. She's texting me." Anne stashes her phone in her pocket, and grabs her purse, and leaves her empty latte cup on the table with the confidence of someone who is certain the cafe staff are meant to bus these tables. I'm never sure. I always bring my coffee cup inside.

Today, for the last time, maybe.

"Tell Lu I say hi," I say, kind of awkwardly, even though I've only met Anne's niece twice. In my defense, I'm not really sure what parting words I should deliver right before I get murdered.

Anne nods, so this is at least not overly weird, and she parks her sunglasses on her face and scoots her way out from the tables. She passes parasol man, who is still there and still watching me. And suddenly, I am alone.

Well, me and parasol guy.

(And everyone else in the outdoor seating area.) But, it's a metaphorical aloneness.

And I... linger. I sip my empty coffee. I watch the little birds who hop around and quirk their heads for croissant crumbs. I hope, maybe, hitmen operate on T-rex logic, and if I don't move, he simply won't do anything.

I wonder if I have any regrets. If there's anything I wish I'd done. But nothing is coming to me in the moment. Sky diving, I think. But that's stupid. I don't want to sky dive. That sounds kinda awful, actually.

Parasol man steals forward a table, and then to the right. He's un-parasoled and un-covered from his funny little cover. He's behind me, and I don't turn to watch him because it feels weird to stare. He's sitting with his back to me and flicks open with impressive power a newspaper he'd had stashed in his pocket.

"Cassidy Whitman. Your life is in danger. Do not look at me. Do not think about me. Stare forward and concentrate on how many different models of car you notice in the parking lot."

Oh. Diversion tactic. It's the sort of thing to try to mask what's getting relayed to your soulmate. Too bad I don't really know kinds of car. I was 21 when I learned the difference between an SUV and a sedan.

"Are you here to kill me?" I ask the hitman. There's a blue big car, like kind of a robin's egg blue. There's a red big truck.

"... No," the hitman says.

"Oh. Are you saying that to make me feel better?" There's a small sedan with a decal of a big boobie anime girl. I think about Jolene. I wonder if he likes big boobie anime decals.

"I'm not here to kill you, Cassidy." His voice drops, and I feel the way his head swings closer to me. "But there is a hit out on your life."

"Yeah, I know," I say. There's a black car. There's another black car which looks like the first but it's kinda boxier. There's a white car. "I think Alejandro put it on me last night. I felt this feeling like... I wanted me dead, and also that I was gonna die soon." And it was different from having that feeling in grad school, which was due to the grad school.

"...Alejandro?" my hitman asks.

"Oops. My soulmate. He likes Lady Gaga."

"He's... Okay." Yellow car with a funny bumper sticker. It says 'Honk if you love your soulmate'. "Do you know why your soulmate has a target on your back?"

"It's probably the 3am Ben and Jerry's," I say, but really, I'm a little bit offended. All things considered, I've been a very reasonable soulmate. I save most of my panic spirals for daylight hours, which is hard to do when it's 4am now and you're confident your entire life has been a waste.

I don't even think about important things during my insomnia episodes. I don't keep music on repeat. I keep my 'use stupid babytalk on Lola' between the hours of 7pm and 9pm, unless she's doing something really baby.

I'm not a cannibal. I don't have weird sex, or any sex. I haven't killed anyone. I'm really the WAY better soulmate than Alejandro, who's got his "blow up at people in big important meetings where he fires guys he hired to tell him he's important" and his "weird sex talk to strippers who are disenjoying it as much as I am" and the "cocaine parties" and--if I'm honest--Alejandro likes the Dallas Cheerleaders outfits just as much as Infidelity Jolene.

I'm the victim, here.

"He wants quiet, yes. And the only way he can achieve this... is to kill you," Mr. Parasol says with dramatic effect. I kinda wish the wind picked up for him in that moment. It sounded like he wanted it to.

Oops, I forgot about the cars. White sedan. It's a little dented.

"And you're a hitman, and you're here to kill me," I tell him. Oh, red moped. Mopeds always seemed so dangerous to me. I'm glad Alejandro doesn't ride one. Or maybe I wish Alejandro did. Maybe he'd have crashed and died by now, so I wouldn't have to.

"My story is... complicated," says Mr. Hitman who's here to kill me. "I have... a sordid past. I've done reprehensible things. Things I cannot ever take back. Cannot ever repent for. God alone can judge my--"

"Are you gonna kill me here? I just think it wouldn't be very nice to this cafe if I got murdered here." I'm not even joking. I like these lattes. I even recognize one of the baristas, when she's here. I really don't want to make them deal with the bad PR of my brains being all over their tables. And parasols.

Oh, green car.

"Cassidy Whitman I am not here to murder you. I'm here to save you," the sire of sordid pasts declares. I should be relieved but there's a 'but' here. There's obviously a 'but.'

"But?"

"But others will come to kill you. This is certain." I look at him, even though I probably shouldn't. He's peering over the newspaper with eyes of pure gray steel. He's handsome, in a tortured way. I should introduce him to Anne.

"That's not good," I say.

Blue Steel lets out an exasperated noise. He throws his newspaper down. Blue truck.

"Your soulmate. Your.... Alejandro. has sent a message to the entire underworld, and it is your head he wants on a plate. His reward is astronomical. Your death is certain. And once upon a time, I would be exactly the sort of ruthless hitman who'd take this up. In my day, I was the most feared, the most renowned, the most--"

Shit. This was gonna be a hassle, whatever it was. I deserve none of this.

"--but the orphanage... it was a final straw. I looked on my past and I realized how far I've strayed... How Susanne would never love the man I'd become, even if this was for her--"

Oh. Yellow convertible. It's got mirror dice.

"--the likes of the man, who I was now, if I could even deign to call myself a man--"

Brown truck.

"--whom you've dubbed Alejandro... you can say, we have a mutual enemy in him--"

Shit. I have an enemy. After I've lived my life trying my absolute hardest to never make anyone mad at me, ever.

"--and there is one way you can save yourself, Cassidy Whitman, but I need your agreement. I need your commitment. I need to know you'll do what it takes to survive. Even if it means--"

Red truck.

"--blood on your own hands. Alejandro has harmed more than just you, Cassidy. He has more blood on his hands than just yours. I need someone stronger than myself, someone who can vow the cycle of violence ends with her--"

Blue... Tacoma...? No, no that's not a Tacoma.

"--committed yet strong and resolute in her gentle nature, who the darkness cannot consume once the first taste of blood bled for her has touched her lips--"

What does a Tacoma even look like?

"--what do you say?"

There is a hand proffered in front of my face. It's in hand-shake form. It's got a little bit of sweaty newsprint on it.

"Huh?" I ask. Purple Beetle.

"Work with me, Cassidy Whitman. And together we will kill Alejandro."

Fuck, that was all the cars.

I'm fresh out of cars.

I don't actually wanna die. I really don't think I deserve that. Lola would be sad if I died. At least for a little while. And I still wanna try charcuterie sometime. And poledancing, maybe, I dunno. I saw it on Tiktok. But it would be fun to try.

I really kinda don't want to die.

And I guess Alejandro needs to die first, if I'm gonna be the one to not die.

I clasp my hand in Mr. Hitman's. I shake on what he has offered.

He proffers a smile for me, which is roughly how I imagine smiles look when authors use the word "smoldering."

"We'll see this through to the end, Cassidy. I offer you my loyalty, and my word. Alejandro's days are numbered."

A new car pulls into the lot. Black sedan.

YA Soulmate Romance novel where everyone, by the time they turn 16, becomes aware of their soulmate. A person tied to them by the soul, whose thoughts and actions are relayed vaguely over the binding and unbreakable connection they share.

Except, as best science can figure it, the connection is completely random and the other person is, with no greater significance, really just Some Guy.

Some people do marry their someguymate out of conviction that the connection must mean something, but those marriages statistically fare much worse than non someguymate marriages. As it turns out, marrying someone with no existing chemistry, who unfortunately is aware of all your emotions and actions, isn't a stable foundation for a marriage.

A highly profitable sector of technology blooming in the "someguymate-blocking" market, both for personal privacy and MORE than that, to silence all the annoying fucking updates you receive constantly from your someguymate. Endless pseudoscience and homeopathic remedies to dampen signals. White noise machines that advertise themselves as "sleep restorative" and "someguymate notification blocking"

Unfortunate person whose someguymate is in an opposite timezone, trying to sleep at 3am while being bombarded with "your someguymate is driving to work" "your someguymate is getting a coffee" "your someguymate is mad at this traffic" "your someguymate goes car horn honk honk honk honk". Statistically, you're actually lucky if your someguymate shares a timezone even close to yours

High profile terrorist with a tight and well-armed protective unit. Authorities don't try to go after him, and instead try to find his someguymate, who's a middle school teacher in Iowa who constantly hears car bombs.

Befuddled mother walking into a police department, unsure who to report this to, but her someguymate just killed someone. maybe. probably. It was unclear. There was gun fire and some driving into the woods. And maybe that was unrelated to the gun fire but the big heavy thing her someguymate pulled out of the truckbed was almost definitely related.

A lucrative, and highly expensive black market of private investigators and hitmen, paid in secret to set their mark to a rich and powerful man's someguymate, because their client just wants some peace and quiet. Just some peace and quiet. For once.

The someguymate of this rich and powerful man, receiving an inkling she doesn't fully understand, but knowing with icy certainty she is suddenly in danger.

[saiyef]

Okay, so an anime cover channel I’ve been subscribed to for many years now, re:TYE and the previous channel that uploaded to TYERecords (@tyerecords), seem to have gotten hacked. All of the hundreds of videos they uploaded for more than 10 years are either been deleted or privated and both channels got renamed to “Tesla US” and are livestreming a looped clip of Elon Musk backing Trump with cryptocurrency QR code screen telling viewers to scan it. I cannot find more about this online or on YouTube so I’m hoping someone can tell me what’s happening.

I’m fairly sure the people behind the channel didn’t do this and they are hacked; here’s their previous channel description before this shit happened: “re:TYE is a music group consisting of music producers, lyricists and vocalists who all have one thing in common; we have a passion for anime, JRPG video-games and other related Japanese musical projects.”

The group has many people in it but its primary members are Jefferz (@jefferzkm), Merobean, SimplySpiral, David Guthrie Music, Rachellular and Sorachu. They weren’t the biggest channel in the world but they did good hard passionate work and it’s sad that their videos are gone. Their songs are still on YouTube Music and other music stores like Spotify but this still sucks.

UPDATE: So, left comments on the latest videos of Jefferz and Merobean. Merobean actually responded, thanking me and said they were working hard to recover the channels.

Within an hour of me doing that, the channels were back, re:TYE having all the videos while TYERecords only had a video of their cover for Charlotte while the rest were I’m assuming were still on private.

But then later that day, both channels are complete gone. YouTube terminated both accounts (I’m guessing someone reported it for the hacker’s livestream of Elon Musk). I don’t know what happened but the hard work and passion of this group of people whose works I really enjoyed for a long time are now gone because someone decided to be selfish take their channels from them. They still have their website and patreon, their songs are still on various music stores but this still sucks and the individual creators do still have their own music channels but this is still really shitty.

[drop--pop--candy]

hiya marin, sylvie here! i saw you reblogged that "which eeveelution is prev" ask game, and i wanted to say you give me super vaporeon vibes (◍ ´꒳` ◍) however i feel like for me, my vibe might be slightly more skewed towards sylveon, hence my name and all.

i hadn't thought about triggering others' paranoia, hmm...i was thinking about a specific emoji like this star 🌟 or a particularly colored heart 💚 or a flower 🌷 ... something innocuous and unsuspecting that is still particular to us, playing the game. or maybe the message could be something like, "hi, i hope you're having a good day 🌼" ^^; i don't know. you can also be more selective with your guesses, too, if you don't want to worry too many people ( •̀ - • ) and i personally think it might be easy, as i haven't tried to conceal my identity at all, lol. oops ?

what sorts of music do you listen to? i love clairo, and yesterday she released a new album called charm. i've had it on repeat the entire day! i don't know if it's your vibe since i have no clue what music you like, but charm is really fun, casual, homey....very sweet sounds. there are lilting breakdowns and sparkling instrumentals that are like shiny candies for your ears! i wonder what it's like to listen to music with synesthesia. listening to good music and other sensory experiences inspire me like nothing else. it moves me to write and give justice to what i experience. if you decide to listen, i'd love to hear what you think! no pressure at all if you don't want to or don't have the time, though. just being able to talk about it with you makes me happy.

i think i'll gush about individual songs a bit, too: - second nature sounds like a conversation to me, like watching your friend talk and the only thing you can focus on is their face; everything goes fuzzy and you're drinking in every soft laugh that comes from them. there are laugh samples in the background and brief moments where the music totally changes up, but that only adds to the conversational feeling to me. a 'stream of consciousness' sort of song, blurred and buoyant at the edges. very cozy listen. it makes me feel like i'm suspended in honey :3 - thank you is my favorite track off the album, i think. i had it on loop for hours today. it expresses such a sweet sentiment... i think clairo excels at inventing new ways to say 'i love you.' my sister and i listened to the album when it dropped together, and when i said that, she told me: "i think clairo said that in an interview once, that she tries to say 'i love you' in her songs without explicitly saying it." i don't know if this is true or not, but she was successful with thank you. it also reminds me of my favorite characters of all time, so of course i love it. of course. - juna is such a lovely, fun song that i actually decided to try out the name juna for myself. if i'd contacted you after this album came out, no doubt my signoff would be just that: juna. this treasure of a song is, to me, like an ode to casual, lived-in intimacy...an ode to knowing someone so well that nothing about them is new, but loving them so much that every moment is as dizzying, light, and new as the first. there are twinkling sorts of sounds in this one, particularly one at the end that my sister told me felt like a coy wink from clairo herself. it's a playful end to the song, and i think it fits perfectly. the instrumental in this one is so yummy, especially the breakdown. a gem, truly !

I THINK THAT'LL BE IT FOR SONG GUSHING LOL I GOT CARRIED AWAY. but there are lots of treats in this album beyond the ones i talked about. my apologies for talking so much all the time LOL. thank you thank you thank you for listening ! i hope life is wonderful and kind to you! ʚ(´꒳`)ɞ .｡✧･ﾟ:* ~♡

♡, sylvie

hihi sylvie!!! despite your name, i kinda get leafeon vibes from u :o

honestly, i have no clue who you are '':D i thought maybe you were one of two blogs but i've since crossed both off the list and am now without any leads again @w@ i didn't think about the extra addition to the message tho!! specifically i was worried that just like. hi with an emoji would scare people. but adding a simple message like the one you suggested would be alright!! maybe i could send something like "hiii, i hope your day is going well!! 💛" if that works? i like the yellow heart emoji bc that's what i use with my friends in discord dms when i don't have any of the normal fancy emojis that we have in servers lol

not knowing what i listen to is actually a clue for me >:3 because i really only have mutuals in two fandoms, those fandoms being project sekai and in stars and time. project sekai is a rhythm game with vocaloid songs in it! so i can pretty safely rule out most of my "exclusively prsk" mutuals' mutuals, since a lot of that pool is within the fandom. (admittedly that doesn't narrow it down much since i don't interact very much with most of my prsk only mutuals,,,, shhh let me have this)

my url is actually a vocaloid song :D the jubyphonic cover of drop pop candy is actually one of the very first songs i ever listened to that wasn't just generic stuff that played on the radio. it was my first vocaloid song and it's sort of a symbol of me finding my own style so it's very special to me :3 "vocaloid" isn't exactly a genre tho, more of a medium,,, so it's hard to put an exact pinpoint on it ^-^;; i kind of have a wide range of styles i like?? it just kind of comes down to how much the artist commits to it. like i love songs with lots of real instruments but i also love songs that really go for a technical kind of feel yk? just kinda depends on how i'm feeling! i'd say in general i tend to like upbeat and energetic songs the most tho :3

i've never heard of clairo! i might go check that album out tomorrow once i can get back into my apple music account (only my dad has the password and. im supposed to be asleep rn. so im stuck with the song i was looping atm LMAOAOAO)

as for the "listening to music with synthesasia" thing, if you actually want to know you might be better off talking to someone who has like. more of it???? my synthesasia is super mild so mostly it's just the same as any average person lol. i just kind of get like Vibes from songs and it's pretty random what vibes and which song?? like the reason i found out i had synthesasia in the first place was because i listened to a song for the very first time and it smelled like. chicken tenders but like from far away and with sugar kind of mixed in, like when you're at a food fair. and that was so specific it shocked me out of denial HSGSHDGHDHD so basically for me it's like. most of the time it's normal but sometimes i'll listen to a song (and it can be ANY song, a song i like or a song i hate, a new song or one i've listened to a million times) and it'll just,,, smell like something. or taste like something. if i close my eyes sometimes i can see like squiggles and shapes n stuff that are like the song to me too but i don't tend to close my eyes when im listening to music because usually i listen while writing or doing some other task that requires my eyes to be open lmao

nws abt the song gushing!! it was lots of fun to read your thoughts on them :D thank u for sending me another ask and listening to me ramble!! remember to drink water and have a nice day (⁠づ⁠｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠づ

[humblereflections]

I spend far too much time thinking about the lives of celebrities. I’m 62 for crying out loud! What is it about their lives on AND off screen that fascinates me??

The last day, of course, it’s Pee Wee - or I guess, truthfully, it’s Paul Reubens, but I really only knew him as Pee Wee. And I feel like I knew Pee Wee. I spent countless hours - maybe formative years! - watching Saturday morning Pee Wee Herman in his crazy- creative, animated and highly kinetic playhouse. Most times, at the end of an episode, I was akinetic, somewhat stunned by the brilliance of whoever thought all that stuff up (Today I learned it was Paul Reubens and Phil Hartman, or Captain Carl as I knew him in those days! By the way, I have all five seasons on cd if you haven’t seen it!)

Many years that have passed since then as well as definitions of proper and right when it comes to the news. I remember, though, that something strangely mysterious happened to Reubens in the ‘90s. I only caught bits and pieces back then but it seemed sexual and I remember hearing that it had occurred in a sexual place. In my innocence, I wondered how many others might have done something sexual in a sexual place - No one? Ever? Just Pee Wee?

Maybe I should be grateful today for the reprieve from my mentally-looped video of Cardie B throwing her microphone at the apparently malcontent fan who had just seconds before, thrown a drink at her. I don’t think that is the first time Cardie B has thrown something either. I’m not saying she is a grade-A player for the microphones team, but sister-friend was no stranger to a passion-filled windup pitch. I’m just saying. Was it warranted?

Was that Will Smith slap warranted? I know someone who thinks so much of the “comedy” performed by “comedians” today is deserving of a slap of some kind. For the record, that line of not allowing the name of his wife, Jada, in offender Chris Rock’s mouth is the whip! Oh how I wish we had such power some days.

And then there is the great prophetess Cher, who recently created her own brand of gelato. Ain’t that grand? We are going to soon be eating the same gelato that Cher eats! I can’t wait to buy it! Because, well, it’s Cher! I so clearly remember some of my earliest memories, sneaking down the stairs and sitting on the last step, straining to hear every joke and line of the televised Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour. To this day, I really don’t understand my fascination with them - I named my pet Gerbils after them, for crying out loud again! (And did my mom really let me listen to those very provocative songs about tramps and thieves? I’m telling you I missed her edginess back then! Was I blind? Note: I also have the Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour on cds.

Btw, the latest headline says Cher leads the tributes for Paul Reubens today. She knew him. She loved him. Her and I share a special grief for someone who undoubtedly made us laugh, maybe at the same characters and maybe at the same lines. Could that even be?

I think it could be, especially back then. It seems indisputable that we were more unified in the days before 62, finding levity and escape in the shared experience of Saturday’s episode of Pee Wee’s Playhouse. Today, everyone watches any number of shows, all at once, at their own pace, sometimes pounding through a whole season in one sitting. There are so many different channels, apps, and websites that we rarely even watch the same shows any more.

Add it to the reasons for our lonely lack of connection these days. Are we even laughing at the same things?

While Pee Wee nearly always made us laugh, I felt a deep sadness when I read about him passing today - I also felt a melancholy for a shared experience I may never know again. How I long for only three choices on my tv (and Channel 50 on a good day!) We use to share universally experienced moments like “Na-nu, na-nu” from a rainbow-suspendered alien or a “pork chops and apple sauce” delivery from a smart-alecky teenager to his very Brady family. The next day every single person was talking about these moments in the halls as we passed from class to class.

This week I am fascinating on Paul Reubens, grateful for the way he made me laugh as his character Pee Wee awkwardly burst out laughing and swung his body wildly during the tequila dance. Did he enjoy it too? His last post on social media makes me think so: “Please accept my apology for not going public with what I have been going through the last six years. I have always felt a huge amount of love and respect from my fans, friends and supporters. I have loved you all so much and enjoyed making art for you.”

I felt that - did you??

[shinx-stardust]

Lol seriously thought I had done this one already bc one of my mutuals did something similar.

Last song: looking at my phone right now. English cover of Lagtrain by Will Stetson has been playing on loop for the last hour.

Favorite color: Dark greyish green and just straight up grey shades.

Last book: Are we counting fanfic? Because this great cotl fic by one of my friends if so and Books 4 and 5 of the Starless Clan arc of Warriors if not

Last movie: I don't. Watch movies. They make my brain irrationally unhappy

Last show: Gravity Falls, the tv has been busted since. I blame Bill Cipher

Flavor: Spicy. Hands down.

Relationship status: None right now but I'm always done for some weird, undefinable queer situationship/j (Aromantic, not interested right now. Although if you do want a queer situationship, hit me up, we can work something out as long as it's weird as fuck/silly)

Last thing I googled: apparently a MLP:FiM D&D comic I used to keep up with and "how to draw box braids", a tutorial which I proceeded to disregard when I realized it was just "draw braids but many"

Current obsession: In Stars and Time. Great game. Play it. If you can't, watch the Jellopocalypse VODs. Do it. Please.

Looking forward to: therapy one day. But also releasing a new fic! Like I do every week or so!

uh guess i'm mentioning @animnightmare bc Leslie's always down for whatever and uh. @random-weird0 in case you like this sort of thing bc you seem like the type of person who would like this

Thank you @abiiii-ineffable for the tag!!

Last song: Casual by Chappel Roan

Favourite colour: Anything on the blue/green spectrum

Last book: First Phone Call from Heaven by Mitc Albom (rated 6/10 but this is just my opinion.)

Last movie: Bones and All dir. Luca Guadagnino

Last tv show: Rivals (wait wHAt! I haven't watched anything else since then!)

Sweet/spicy/savory: all of the above

Relationship status:sad loner loser

Last thing I googled : types of equitable mortgage on legal estate (I'm not buying a house I'm studying property law lol 😆)

Current obsession: My OCs!!!! (like I always say OC brainrot is real you guys! 😭)

Looking forward to: Finishing my painting wip!

Tagging: @a-singing-lunatic @davidtennantgenderenvy @aq2003 @sakuranova07 @glitterypin

@paintedpineleaf @pan-bookish-ent @goodoldfashionedlunatic @princeloww @dreamsfrozenincandyland

@mystic-mae @shadesofecclescakes and anyone else who wants to ;P

[tethered-heartstrings]

Pan’s labyrinth 🤝 Hannibal

Being my favourite media because i want to suffer

My dude, yes!

Pan's Labyrinth is one of my all-time favorite movies. I just got the soundtrack and I am at a loss for coherent words. It is beautiful, heart-wrenching, intense, brings me to the verge of tears, encompassing, and powerful. I feel I am being swallowed by it. Javier Navarrete did such an incredible job. The way the main "lullaby" slips in to so many songs seamlessly and just rips your fucking heart out because (at least for me) your mind jumps to the end where Mercedes is singing to her? Fucking wrecked.

I'm not good enough at dissecting media and comparing things to make intelligent connections between the two (if there are any). But you got it right. So much suffering and ache and longing and hope for something better, and you end up settling for something "good enough" because how pleasant can it be after all the tragedy and loss that occurred?

I still stand that this song could be in "Mizumono" where Will stares off into the camera as he's surrounded by a wave of blood. It just clenches my stupid little heart and suffocates me. Probably an unpopular opinion but I do overlay that scene with that song in my head in high definition pretty much every goddamn day.

I'll stop talking about it because I really could keep talking about it.

Edit: You can find the soundtrack here, but I recommend buying it. The quality is much better. I’m also bias because I try and buy physical copies of everything. To each their own.