#i listened to eternally hard in FULL when i was 17 and still took 6 more years to accept im a lesbo . Okay

[dykestache]

🦷👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩🧦🦟🍚

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1 /  part 2 /  part 3  /  part 4  / part 5  / part 6  / part 7/  part 8   /  part 9 /  part 10 /  part 11  /  part 12  / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 /  part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 belongs to this

content warning: metion of past character death, a grave

(Still not the final chapter)

His stomach twisted into knots and a lump sat heavy and thick in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He didn’t want to do this. He had avoided it for months now, as much as he could. The loud laughter and clapping coming from the tavern almost made him flee as he had done embarrassingly often before.

One look at Roach made him reconsider. Her head hung low and her fur was matted with dust from the road. She deserved some rest in a nice stable.

As much as Geralt didn’t want to admit it, he needed the rest just as much.

The dread turned into an ache as the cheering from inside died down and the bard stroke up a new song. The only consolation he had was that the singing wasn’t accompanied by a lute.

The notes that drifted to him as he put Roach in the stable, whispering in her ear that he would be back in a moment to take her bags off once he had secured her place here, had a strange quality to them.

With a pounding heart and tense shoulders, he pushed the door open, his eyes scanning the crowed room in an attempt to find someone who could tell him the cost for a box in the stables.

Instead, his eyes found the bard as if they were drawn to them.

He froze and his breath got stuck in his throat.

Someone shoved him from behind to close the door, but Geralt didn’t care. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who had been Jaskier’s student not so long ago.

Sera.

As suddenly as his body had stopped moving, he was overcome with the urge to move, to leave.

This was the first familiar face he had caught sight of since he had left the coast.

It was suffocating and filling his mouth with the taste of bile.

He should never have come here. There was a reason why he avoided taverns and bards.

Still… it had been so long since Geralt had been surrounded by music that didn’t stem from his own pathetic attempts at playing, and it wasn’t the painful sound of a lute being strummed.

A powerful yearning took hold of his heart, rooting his feet to the spot and making it impossible to flee.

Maybe…. maybe there would be no harm in staying, only for a bit to ease the bruising grip the music had on his heart. There was no need to speak with Sera. It had been a long time since she had last seen him. The chances of her recognising him -  grimy and unkempt as he was - were slim and even if she did, there was no reason for her to approach him.

He could just stand here, hidden in the shadows in the corner of the pub room and listen for a bit.

Only one song.

One song turned into another.

With each note Sera teased out of the heavy looking instrument Geralt could understand a bit better what Jaskier had meant when he had said she was better than him. The idea was still outrageous, of course, and perhaps it had just been too long since Geralt had heard any music to compare it too, but Sera was good. Great, even. She was charming the audience with easy smiles and winks that rivalled Jaskier’s.

Though the invisible hand choking him had eased its grip on his throat as the songs progressed, it came back in full force as she took a bow in the same sweeping manner as Jaskier had always done.

It was too much. Geralt couldn’t stand to watch any longer. He had to escape the acidic guilt of enjoying another’s performance when it had taken him so long to show any appreciation for Jaskier’s music.

He stormed out of the tavern, uncaring of the patrons he shoved to the side.

Blindly, he stumbled into the stables, where Roach’s ears pricked up at the noise he made.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and opened her box. “We have to go a little bit further. I promise I’ll find a nice stable for you.”

“Isn’t this one nice enough?”

Geralt didn’t flinch at the amused voice behind him, but it came damn close. What a pitiful excuse for a witcher he was, if a simple song sufficed to get him so distracted.

His shoulders slumped and he turned around, facing the bard who was leaning against the wall with crossed arms and a cocked eyebrow.

“Thought you could leave without giving me a review?” She pushed away from the wall and came closer, a teasing smile on her lips that was so unfitting to how Geralt felt that he almost drew back. “Or maybe my singing was so bad that you left because of it? The most scathing review of all.” She left a pause and huffed when Geralt didn’t seize the opportunity to correct her. “Jaskier wasn’t lying when he said you had no appreciation for a good performance.”

Knowing that the words were untrue didn’t sooth the ache in Geralt’s chest. There had been a time when Jaskier truly had believed Geralt to be unimpressed by the music he offered him. He couldn’t allow the thought that maybe he had never given up the belief, to fester.

The thought alone was enough to take away all ability to speak.

“Don’t think you could escape unnoticed,” Sera said, still so lightly, so carefree. She had no way of knowing what had happened. If only Geralt was so lucky. “I have to tell you even if the white hair and the swords weren’t a dead give-away of who you were, the dramatic exit would have been enough to draw anyone’s attention. And you know how much we bards love drama.” Her expression grew a tad annoyed and if Geralt’s mind wasn’t screaming at him to leave and never turn back, he might have been impressed at how patient she was to the unresponsive man who was little less than an old acquaintance. After a brief pause filled with awkwardness that even the most confident person couldn’t ignore, she was openly grasping at straws. “You are still doing with witcher business then?”

Geralt’s fingers twitched. “Not still. Again.”

Sera’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Why did you go back to hunting?” Geralt flinched. There hadn’t even been a moment of confusion as to what might have made him give it up in the first place. He prayed she figured out what him hunting again meant as well. It would hurt to see the realisation flash over her face but anything was bearable, as long as he didn’t have to say it.  “Talkative as ever. Care to come back inside for a talk with an old friend? It’s been forever since I last heard from home. How’s Jaskier?”

This time, Geralt was unable to repress the finch. Even in the dim light of the stable, it couldn’t have escaped Sera’s notice.

Her eyebrows drew together and she made a step forward as if to steady him, when her eyes fell on Roach and the bags she was still carrying.

“Oh.” The sound was soft, almost apologetic. Geralt didn’t have to look to know her eyes were locked onto the lute Geralt had been too weak to leave behind. There was no mistaking as to the reason why he had it with him. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

For some inexplicable reason the voice telling him to go quieted down. Everything did. His pounding heart, his staggered breath, the nervous scrape of Roach’s hooves. The words spoken so plainly, saying so directly what no one else had dared to say the way it was shifted something in Geralt.

His shoulder’s sagged, as if a weight he had been carrying with him had finally been taking off. No, not taken off, but shared.

Geralt nodded brusquely, before repeating the words that should burn his tongue but for some inexplicable reason soothed his heart. “He is dead.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. It was almost ironic, a bard not finding the right words. Or maybe it was her knowing when to be quiet.

After what felt like an eternity, she spoke up again. “I think he would have liked that you carry the lute with you.”

Geralt grunted. “He would have mercilessly mocked me for it.”

“Of course he would have,” Sera said with a half-smile. “And then he would have sighed over how romantic it is that you keep it around.”

“It’s not romantic. It’s-“ Geralt cut himself of. He didn’t know what it was. His tongue wanted to say ‘pathetic’. A word he had used more and more often lately to describe himself, but something about the way Sera looked at the lute, so similar to how Jaskier had done it, made the words taste like ash on his tongue. “I just didn’t want it to rot somewhere. I’m just taking it with me until I find better use for it.”

His heart skipped a beat and his eyes widened unnoticeably for a human. He cleared his throat, but couldn’t get rid of the rapidly forming lump that made his voice raspy when he choked out, “Do you want to have it?” Say no. Please say no. “I think…out of anyone, he would have wanted you to have it.” And in contrast to Geralt, she would actually know how to play more than one song so simple and pitiful that it was a shame to force such an instrument to sing it.

Something strange happened with Sera’s face. “I think it’s right where Jaskier would have wanted it.” Her tone was flat, but something sincere and soft resonated in it. “I was never allowed to even hold his lute, always practicing with my old one. And he was right about the lute not really being the instrument for me anyway.” Her smile became full. “I am far more happy with my hurdy-gurdy.”

A heavy sigh of relief rumbled through Geralt’s chest. He didn’t care that Sera saw. If she judged him for his reaction, she didn’t show it.

Instead she cocked her head to the side. “Speaking of which, I’ll have to get back on stage soon. Come back with me. If only until my break is over.” Her eyes narrowed and roamed about his face. Geralt felt strangely self-conscious under her scrutiny. “Have you eaten yet?”

Geralt shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

The calculating look didn’t leave her eyes, but without waiting for Geralt to take the chance to leave, she stepped past him and started to unload Roach. “Well, I am. And I would really appreciate the company.”

Entering the tavern for the second time, this time without the tension but instead with a smiling bard guiding him to a table in a corner, the room seemed more welcoming somehow. Less suffocating and constricting.

Sera gave the barmaid a disarming smile, when she brought her some stew and complimented her on her singing.

Geralt shifted in his seat. “It all worked out for you then? With Oxenfurt and seeing the world?”

A wistful expression flashed across Sera’s face before it was replaced by a small quirk of her lips. “It did. It’s not quite what I expected, but it’s wonderful.” There was the barest hint of hesitation, before she added, “I couldn’t have done it without Jaskier.”

A smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. “You seem to be doing fine on your own.”

Sera seized him up in contemplation and Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that she chewed longer than necessary on the chunks in the stew to give herself some time to figure out what to say next.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not nice to have support.” With a nod at Geralt she added, “Or to meet a friendly face every once in a while.”

Geralt snorted at that, but he couldn’t hope to mask the sting Sera’s words sent through his heart. As much as he wished it weren’t so, he couldn’t deny that there was truth in her words. Geralt didn’t want company. He didn’t need it. Clearly, he was better off on his own.

But there was no denying that this was the first time since he had been with Jaskier that he sat in a tavern like normal people did, no rush to find the next contract, no anxiety spiking up about hearing music.

Though he did his best to hide his thoughts behind an impassive mask, some of it must have slipped through, for Sera put the spoon down and leaned forward, taking in the details of Geralt’s face.

“What about you? How are you doing on your own?” She didn’t let Geralt’s non-comital grunt deter her. “Looks like you had some rough hunts.”

She didn’t even try to conceal the way her eyes raked over his torn and dirty clothes and lingered on the new scars adorning his face, some of which were still fresh and burning pink.

Geralt felt strangely exposed and vulnerable under her gaze.

“Witchers have a rough life.” It sounded more defensive than he had aimed for. Geralt resented the hint of bitterness and remorse that hopefully slipped Sera’s notice.

She looked at him a little longer, before leaning back with a sigh. Almost dismissively, she pushed the still half-full bowl of stew towards him.

When Geralt raised an eyebrow, she cracked a smile. “I’m already full and it would be a shame to let it go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

Geralt glowered at her. He would be an idiot not to see what she was doing. Still, when fake-innocent eyes looked back at him, he relented and picked up the spoon.

He wished he could say the stew wasn’t doing wonders. He wished it wasn’t filling and warm and delicious with spices that Geralt hadn’t used when roasting his own meals over a fire somewhere in the woods.

A smug smile danced across Sera’s lips, but it softened before Geralt had the chance to feel stupid because of it.

When Sera didn’t comment on Geralt wolfing down the meal, Geralt was overcome with the burning need to fill the silence.

“It’s nice to be with a bard who doesn’t try to steal my food for a change.” As soon as the flat joke left his mouth, he tensed up, the all too familiar guilt digging its ugly claws into his chest.

He shouldn’t joke. Least of all about Jaskier. It was disrespectful and wrong to laugh about him, even if Jaskier had made many a joke on Geralt’s expanse. Even if Jaskier would have gasped in mock outrage only to prove Geralt’s point by stealing more of whatever Geralt was eating.

Still, when Sera let out an undignified snort, the guilt receded the tiniest bit to make place for an unexpected warmth.

Geralt could do nothing to stop it. Talking about Jaskier like this felt good, better than it had any right to. It wasn’t a grand speech about Jaskier’s big accomplishments or a solemn reminiscence of some defining moments of his life. Remembering the way he used to steal Geralt’s food was something small, barely worth mentioning. Yet it was something so fundamentally Jaskier that Geralt yearned for more.

But it was wrong. He had no right to smile and waste time sitting in a tavern.

Geralt hadn’t noticed the way he tensed up, his grip on the spoon turning his knuckles white, until Sera laid her hand on the table next to his, not touching him, but close enough that there was no way for Geralt not to notice her presence.

“It’s alright to miss him, you know,” she said in a tone that was painfully gentle. “You are allowed to feel things.”

A huff escaped Geralt. “Heard that one before.”

Sera lifted an eyebrow and the corner of her lips turned up. “Are you accusing me of unoriginality?”

Her tone was so full of mock indignation that Geralt couldn’t stop his own smirk. “I would never. I’m just saying that you are the not the first person to tell me that.”

“Am I the first person you are going to listen to?”

Geralt’s heart missed a beat, but his smile didn’t drop. The reply that he was good on his own lay on his tongue. He just had to say it. It would be so easy. He had said it before, whispered it to himself time and time again when the road got too long and the nights too quiet.

The words didn’t come; they were supplanted by a voice inside him – quiet at first, then insistent and growing louder with every passing second that he didn’t deny Sera’s words – telling him to listen to her, to Eskel and Kris and anyone else who had told him that there was nothing wrong with what he needed. Above all else, it told him to listen to Jaskier.

Slowly and with what felt like inhuman strength, Geralt nodded.

Immediately, shame rose in him. He knew it was irrational, it must be when so many people had told him it was alright to admit to needing them, but after spending so much time with the freedom of only relying on himself, it felt restricting.

He lowered his eyes to the stew before he could see Sera’s face transform into a relieved and proud smile, no doubt.

She let him be for a while, only speaking up when Geralt got too tense, getting lost in his darkening thoughts, to reminisce of something Jaskier had once said or the way his descriptions of life as a travelling bard had helped her find her footing.

It was soothing. Often Geralt wouldn’t know how to respond, only answering with hums and the occasional nod, but Sera seemed content to let her own voice become calming background noise.

It was nice to have someone talking to him for a reason other than giving him a contract.

After another stretch of silence, Sera spoke up again.

“Have you visited his grave since you left?”

There was no judgement in her tone, no hidden accusation, but Geralt still flinched.

He couldn’t bring himself to say the shameful truth out loud or even shake his head. His silence was answer enough.

Sera didn’t press, didn’t tell him what he already knew himself.

Instead Sera sighed. “I miss the sea sometimes.” Her eyes snapped to Geralt. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret leaving. Life as a bard is wonderful, but sometimes I just think it would be nice to go home again. Only for a little while.”

Geralt cleared his throat and before he could think better of it, he reached into the saddlebags that had been standing beneath the table and dug in deep, searching for what he had buried with no intent of digging it back up any time soon.

His jaw worked as he held the sea shell out to Sera.

“It’s… you hold it to your ear.” The words were clumsy and awkward and nothing like the loving instruction Jaskier had given him when he had presented the shell to Geralt.

It did nothing to dim the smile on Sera’s face as she listened to the sounds of her home with closed eyes. There was something about the way her expression softened. Perhaps she finally understood what she hadn’t when she had written her first song.

She must be thinking the same thing, for when she put the shell down, she exchanged it for her hurdy-gurdy and played a few notes of a vaguely familiar song about home.

“Jaskier would have loved to hear you play that song. On that instrument,” Geralt said, the hints of a smile dusting over his lips.

“Maybe I should go home again. Play my song for him.” Sera looked up as her hands stilled, letting a note that so clearly demanded to be followed by others ring through the air. “If I remember correctly, Jaskier once told me to get myself a witcher? We could travel together to the coast, if you wanted to?”

Geralt’s mouth went dry and something stirred in him. The note begging for the song to be continued echoed in his mind.

When Geralt took too long to answer, Sera stood up and gripped her hurdy-gurdy tighter.

“Listen, Geralt, I’ll have to continue with my set. I promised the barmaid that I would sing a ballad for her after my break. How about you think about it and tell me your decision when I come back.”

Geralt’s eyes followed her as she took up her place at the centre of the tavern again and slipped into the light-hearted persona of a performer.

Her offer repeated in his mind over and over. She had left it up to him. Had asked if Geralt wanted to.

He didn’t.

But his mind drifted to Eskel’s offer of travelling together. He thought of how Kris had told him that he didn’t have to be alone when he had knocked on their door in the middle of a storm and drenched to the bones.

He thought of a different bard seeing him all on his own and deciding that he needed a friend.

--

A hurdy-gurdy was no lute. Its music had none of the light playfulness or solemn clearness of a plucked lute. It was heavier and could not easily be played while walking.

But the soft humming next to him, when Geralt and Sera started their journey back to the coast – back home – brought a smile to Geralt’s face, not big enough for Sera to recognise it as such, but sincere enough for Geralt to know that he had made the right decision.

Travelling with the bard was different than being on his own.

She told him to take breaks far more often than he would have if it were just him. She refused to sleep outdoors more than necessary and always made him order a decent meal when they took a break at a tavern, allegedly because she was uncomfortable being the only one eating.

Geralt might be stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. He saw what was going on.

Unwittingly – or more likely with full intention – Sera got him to take care of himself.

Though Geralt grumbled when the breaks they took or the nice beds made him restless and filled him with guilt, he felt lighter than he had in a long time.

--

Geralt had never heard the song in its entirety. Of course, Geralt knew that it would be good. After all, it had secured Sera a place in the Academy of Oxenfurt.

But as he was listening to Sera sing it now, Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that no one had ever truly heard the song, not the way it was meant to be played.

As the hurdy-gurdy wept and Sera sang of a lonely old lighthouse that would shine brighter when a traveller came by and shared a piece of the world with it, the waves that sounded like home provided the harmony.

As the melody dimmed and spoke of the traveller leaving again to face the storm-tossed sea and stony roads, a witcher stood next to her, roughened up from months on the road.

And as her voice soared as the lighthouse’s shine reached even the darkest path despite the distance, keeping the traveller company until its light would beckon him home once more, a breeze ruffled the flowers on a grave, colourful and wild and straining towards the sun.

There was no doubt, no one had ever heard the song quite like Geralt did in this moment. Though the metaphors and intricacies of the melody were lost on him, Geralt felt something in him shift as he listened, his eyes fixed on the place where Jaskier lay buried and that looked far too bright to be a place for loss.

When the last note of the song faded away, it took Geralt a while to find his voice.

“He would be proud of you.”

“As he would be of you.”

Geralt’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t do anything worth being proud of.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” When Geralt didn’t reply, Sera gave him a long look, before she finally said, “Remember what he told me about never selling myself short? Just because he isn’t here to tell you that he is proud of you doesn’t mean you are any less worthy of his or your own pride.”

Never forget I love you. How often had Jaskier said it? How close Geralt had come to forgetting.

A lump formed in his throat, making it hard to breathe. His chest grew tight and a something sharp stung in the corners of Geralt’s eyes.

He turned his face away from Sera, as the first tear fell. No human should have to see a witcher cry. No witcher should know how to do it in the first place.

Geralt hadn’t known. For months, he hadn’t known how to let go of the emotions that had built up inside of him and that he had tried to hold back, building the dam higher and higher with each contract he took to lessen the hurt.

Now he learned it again.

His shoulders didn’t shake, no audible sob left his mouth and his legs didn’t crumble beneath him.

And yet he cried, as he hadn’t been able to in a long time.

He barely registered how Sera told him that she would head over to her parents’ place and left him to his tears.

He was alone again, but this time it was different. This time, he allowed himself to let the tears fall freely, the feelings he had tried so hard to repress flooding him alongside memories of smiles and gentle touches and wrinkles and youthful ambitions.

He didn’t speak to Jaskier’s grave, not in the way he had heard of other people do. Nothing he could say would be something that Jaskier would have liked to hear.

Geralt hadn’t looked at the sunrises or taken note of the wildflowers’ colours.

Instead of the guilt that he half-expected a determination took hold of him. He would do better, be better. Next time, he would come back with stories that would have lit up Jaskier’s eyes and made him reach for his quill.

For now, there was only one thing he could say to Jaskier that would have made him smile.

A call was all that was needed to get Roach to lift her head in curiosity and trod over to him.

A smile flickered over Geralt’s lips as he reached up to pat her on the neck.

“This is Roach,” he said softly. “She likes music and getting scratched behind the ears.”

There was nothing more to say, but Geralt thought it would have been more than enough to make Jaskier coo over Roach.

The image of Jaskier’s brilliant smiles whenever he managed to win over one of Geralt’s horses made a warm fuzzy feeling grow in his chest. Without thinking much about it, Geralt reached out to brush his fingers over the petals of a bright blue flower.

With a soft snort, Roach leaned past Geralt and bit the flower off.

Geralt shouldn’t have laughed. He should have gotten mad and made sure Roach stayed well away from the grave, but he didn’t try to quench the laugh that welled up in his throat.

Too close were the similarities to the time when Jaskier had offered a different Roach flowers to be braided into her hair only for her to eat them straight out of his hand.

Jaskier had laughed then and Geralt had the feeling that he would do the same now.

Oh, he would definitely have loved this Roach.

Still, when Roach took Geralt’s lack of reprimanding as invitation to eat more of the flowers, Geralt gently pushed her away.

As much as Geralt was sure Jaskier wouldn’t have minded her feasting on the flowers, the garden had been his pride and joy and Geralt couldn’t watch it get ruined before its time once again.

Especially when not only the grave but the whole garden was in bloom. In fact, it looked as if someone had taken good care of it, as some of the plants were cut back as if to help them grow.

The frown that creased Geralt’s forehead smoothed into a tiny smile.

--

He wandered somewhat aimlessly through the village. The strange and vaguely unpleasant feeling he got when he met other people’s eyes without glowering or turning away himself, lingered, but it wasn’t as strong as it had been, when his old neighbours now greeted him with a smile and nod.

Finally, his feet carried him to the market place. It was less busy than oft times before, but the smell of recently cut flowers that whiffed his way was strong as ever. The only thing that contrasted his memory was the lack of enthusiastic calls, praising the flowers or offering them up for free.

When the vendor’s eyes finally found his they widened in surprise before the skin around them crinkled with joy.

“Geralt!” Kris called out, setting aside the flowers they had been rearranging on the table. There was neither discomfort nor pity in their voice. “I did not expect to see you here today.”

The ‘today’ that was added not as an afterthought but as naturally as if it had always been a certainty that Geralt would return one day, made something in Geralt soften.

“And I did not expect you to pick up my old business.” It was true. If Geralt had ever thought about what Kris might be doing now, this was not something that had ever crossed his mind, but seeing them like this felt strangely right.

Kris shrugged a bit sheepishly, but not without a proud smile. “What can I say, I always liked taking care of people. So why not take care of your garden as well and continue what you and Jaskier started here?” They rubbed the back of their neck a bit uncertainly, leaving a smudge of dirt on their cheek as he brushed the skin there. “I am not very good at it yet, but I like doing it and I’m learning.”

“It took us three tries to get the flowers to survive more than a week the first time around.” When Kris’ expression lifted at Geralt’s words, he added, “Jaskier had a book about gardening. It should still be in the cottage somewhere… You could have it if you wanted to.”

“I would love to! It would make this so much easier. It’s been so hard to figure out how to grow the garden. Don’t even get me started on the damage the last storm left.” Their voice drifted off. “But I can see why you two continued doing it.” They picked up a small white flower and twirled it between their fingers. “Handing out a little happiness with each flower, you know?”

They held the flower out for Geralt.

Geralt hesitated, before taking it. “Don’t tell me you too give flowers away for free.”

Kris let out a chuckle. “Only to old friends.”

--

After talking with Kris some more, Geralt kept strolling around town. He had to force himself to slow down and every once in a while he had to follow the urge to go into a shadowy alley to breathe deeply and close his eyes until the restless feeling that made his fingers twitch and told him to go do something, to find a distraction and hunt until exhaustion made his mind fall into emptiness, receded enough to let him continue.

It was hard, but he gritted his teeth and thought of Jaskier and of how Geralt hadn’t had anything nice to tell him about what he had seen.

As he turned around a corner, something barrelled past him in a flurry, followed by cheerful cries of “Don’t go!”

Geralt stepped aside, just in time to let more children run past him. He watched them with furrowed brows as they shouted at each other in voices that almost seemed like an imitation of the over the top players Geralt had seen in the theatres Jaskier had dragged him to.

“I’m having none of it!” The first child screamed as she dashed into the next street.

Something about it felt strangely familiar, but no matter how much Geralt wracked his head he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Geralt watched the horde of children disappear around the corner, when the smallest one of them stumbled.

Without hesitation, Geralt went over and helped the little girl up.

She gave him a toothy grin, before her eyes widened.

“You are the White Wolf!” Geralt was taken aback by the sheer amount of glee in her voice. When Geralt nodded, too perplexed to do anything else, her face split in the biggest grin. “Do you want to play with us? If I tell the others that you’re here, maybe we can play ‘Monsters run and Witchers hunt’ again.”

Geralt’s heart leaped at the words and he let out a startled laugh.

“I don’t think I would be any good at that game.” While the girl assessed him critically, Geralt threw another look at the other children who were still shouting theatrically at each other. “What are you playing now?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Right now, the little siren is swimming to the deepest, darkest part of the ocean.”

Geralt drew back when the pieces finally shifted into place. He only hesitated a moment, before saying, “To find the sea witch?”

The girl nodded. “Yes! The sea witch is evil, but the siren isn’t, even if the adults say all sirens are bad. She falls in love with a pretty prince and saves his life.”

Geralt’s insides twisted into a knot. “Maybe the prince saved her as well.”

For a moment the girl’s eyes grew wide, before she pulled a grimace. “No, I don’t think so.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, when a call cut her off. “Piwonia, come on, we need you to play!”

The girl threw Geralt a toothy grin, before running off to where the little siren was just meeting the prince.

Geralt watched her go and the knot in his chest unfurled as the name Piwonia jogged some distant memory he had almost forgotten, of a baby named after a flower Jaskier had grown and that Geralt of all people had held in his arms years ago – a child too young to have ever heard Jaskier tell the tale of the siren and that still found joy in it.

When Geralt finally tore himself away from the story he had heard so many times, it was the tiniest bit easier not to let his mind fall back into the familiar emptiness.

--

There was one more old friend Geralt had failed to visit here. Something he couldn’t wait to make up for.

He stood to the side and watched in amusement as his old Roach carefully approached his new one.

The difference between the two horses couldn’t have been more obvious, the old girl huffing in much the same way she had often done when Jaskier had skipped ahead on the road, while the younger horse dashed around her and threw her head back in excitement.

Geralt watched them get to know each other and once the novelty of meeting the other horse wore off and new Roach got more interested in the grass and flowers she was allowed to eat, Geralt approached his old companion and stroked her nostrils.

“We’ll come visit you more often, Roach.” His lips quirked up when the new Roach made a snorting noise at the sound of her name. “And you’ll learn to love her too, I promise.”

--

It didn’t take Sera long to answer the knock on her parents’ door, as if she had been expecting it. Geralt suspected, that possibility wasn’t as unlikely as it might have seemed to him some weeks ago.

She looked at him expectantly, her eyes trailing down to what Geralt was holding in his hands.

“I needed to find a book,” he said and shifted his weight to one foot while holding up the notebooks in his hand. “and found these. I don’t know if they would be of any use to you, but… they have some new songs Jaskier had written in the past years and …” he broke off, suddenly unsure of how to explain the need to get them out into the world when just a few months ago, the thought of parting with any of Jaskier’s possessions had seemed like an impossible feat.

“And it would be a shame if they would be unsung?” Sera supplied for him.

She took one of the notebooks from him and thumbed through it.

“I don’t know if you can use them,” Geralt repeated. “They are…Jaskier wasn’t at his best when he wrote them, but those were the notes that were the most legible.”

“I do. I could absolutely use them.” She cocked her head to the side. “What about the other notebooks? The less legible ones?”

“I thought I could bring some of them to Oxenfurt.”

Sera snorted, a grin splitting her face. “And let the scholars wrack their heads trying to decipher it?”

“Something like that.”

He didn’t need to tell her about his plans for the other books. The ones he would take to Kaer Morhen, where Eskel could appreciate the poetry about life on the path like no scholar ever could and Vesemir could chuckle to himself over the horribly inaccurate descriptions of monsters in the verses.

Least of all did anyone have to know about the one notebook Geralt intended to keep for himself. The last one Jaskier had ever written in; the only one that wasn’t filled until its last pages.

Geralt had no delusions about his unskilled hand and his lack of fitting words to describe what he saw, but maybe, by filling the pages himself he could give Jaskier some of the world back that he had gifted to Geralt.

It was a silly thought, but one that wouldn’t leave Geralt alone, until he grabbed the notebook and put it on the top of his bag, right next to the seashell that would no longer be buried in the depths of Roach’s bags.

“So when are you planning on leaving for Oxenfurt?”

Geralt lifted his brows. “Are you asking to be polite or is there a different reason you want to know?”

A sly smile stole onto Sera’s face. “For someone who claims to know nothing of the art of words, you are far too good at reading between the lines.”

“I had a lot of practice listening to bards trying to trick me into agreeing to stupid ideas. So, what is your stupid idea?”

If Sera was offended, she didn’t show it. “We could continue to travel a bit. Only until we reach Oxenfurt.” She pointed a finger at his face. “And just so you know, it’s a brilliant idea.”

The twitch of Geralt’s lips wasn’t strong enough to be noticed by anyone who hadn’t known him for years, certainly not enough for Sera to recognise it as the amused smile that it was, for she continued talking. “Did you know that when I left for Oxenfurt, Jaskier told me to find Valdo Marx’ plaque of honour and defile it?”

Geralt folded his arms in front of his chest. “You didn’t do that.”

“Maybe not. Maybe I did. But if you came with me, I could show you where the plaque is and you could find out for yourself. Or do the job yourself.”

Geralt huffed and made sure to make his smile show this time around. “You really are following in Jaskier’s footsteps, aren’t you?”

“Not really.” Sera’s brows knitted together and she turned the notebook in her hand in contemplation. “I’m not doing this out of some sense of obligation or wish to be exactly like my teacher. I am not looking to steal his muse ether. It’s not my fault that you are such good company.”

Geralt huffed, but strangely enough, he didn’t feel the need to correct her.

As if sensing that she was close to victory, she smiled. “So, when did you say we were going to Oxenfurt?”

--

No matter how carefully Geralt scanned the walls of Oxenfurt Academy, he couldn’t find a single sign that there was or ever has been a plaque of honour for Valdo Marx.

Geralt’s lips twisted into a tight smirk and he was sure the students that heard him curse that damn bard that tricked him hurried past just a little faster, unaware of the humour in his voice, while Sera wore a horribly self-satisfied grin when Geralt finally gave up looking for the plaque she had either made up or managed to make disappear, before she scurried off.

She didn’t say where she was going and Geralt didn’t ask. Maybe they would find each other again in a tavern later. Or maybe Sera would go back to the friends she undoubtedly had here and forget all about Geralt being in Oxenfurt.

Then again, he had thought the very same thing was going to happen multiple times with Jaskier and every single time he had been proven wrong.

Only this time, when Geralt walked the streets of the place that Jaskier used to call his home, no one would call his name in excitement and tell him to wait up for them so they could pack their things before heading off together again, hurrying to gather all of his oh so necessary quills and notebooks.

Sera was to stay here for however long she pleased and Geralt would be off once he had done what he came here for.

A fond but heavy feeling lay like lead in Geralt’s stomach. Here he was, resolute to give away Jaskier’s notebooks that he had worked so long on.

Taking a deep breath, Geralt entered the academy building, the one winding labyrinth that Jaskier has had to guide him through for a change, until he reached the library.

Until the moment he laid eyes on the librarian, he hadn’t been sure whether or not he had hoped that the library would be empty and he wouldn’t be forced to watch another person hold Jaskier’s possessions in their hands.

For a moment, Geralt stood rooted to the spot, until he pulled himself together and marched forward with determination, though his heart beat painfully in his throat.

The librarian eyed him with disdain as he got closer and Geralt could feel his heart sink with every step, his hold on the bag which held the books tightening, until finally he stood in front of the librarian.

He wished Jaskier were here. He wouldn’t just stand there silently and so obviously out of place. Geralt needed to leave, to get out of this room, this building, this city he didn’t belong in. But first he would have to face the impossible task of explaining himself.

He steeled himself to speak, but the words never left his mouth. Instead, he thrust the bag out, holding it out to the librarian. When they didn’t react, he shook the bag a little.

Finally, the librarian reached out, their curiosity or drilled-in manners winning out.

It was almost like handing over part of Jaskier himself. Geralt wanted to hang on, to not let go. Slowly, painfully, his hands loosened their grip on the bag.

“Careful with that.” The words escaped Geralt without meaning to. Without the bag to hold, his hands felt too empty.

The disdain on the librarian’s face turned into incredulity at his words and then when they chanced a glance at the contents of the bags into firey outrage.

“That is no way to carry books!” They took one out of the bag as carefully as if it were a delicate butterfly.

Geralt kept his face impassive, but if Jaskier were here, he would have grinned at the librarian’s boldness, reprimanding a witcher in full armour.

Maybe there was something about Oxenfurt that made its scholars lose all self-preservation. Though more likely it was Jaskier’s influence seeping through his other home.

Geralt watched as the librarian thumbed through the book, the crease on their forehead growing with every passing second.

“What is this?”

Geralt leaned forward to see which book they held in their hands and this time he couldn’t hide the grin.

“Those are Master Jaskier’s.” When the librarian’s eyes widened, he added, “You’ll have to sort through that one. A storm messed up the loose pages and who knows in what order they truly belonged.”

As he left, he almost could imagine Jaskier’s glare at the back of his neck that he had actually dared to make good on his playful threat to publish his works in messed up order. On the other hand, there was no doubt that once Jaskier had an ale or two he would have cracked up about the thought of the professors wracking their heads over trying to get his notes in order only to find out they were children’s stories. If he were here, he probably would have even spread false rumours about the correct order and sit back to watch in delight as the professors debated over his work.

But Jaskier wasn’t here. Geralt had to make do with telling Sera about it.

She grinned and toasted to him, but she wasn’t Jaskier. No one was.

Oxenfurt was a city of arts, of stories and of music. Geralt should have known that sooner or later, under the cheering of the crowd, a bard would make their way to the middle of the tavern and strike up a song on their lute.

Sera didn’t try to stop Geralt when he stormed out of the room to get Roach and escape the tightness in his throat that threatened to choke him, the sound of the lute haunting him like a wraith.

He was grateful that Sera didn’t push him to stay. But as he left Oxenfurt behind, he found himself already dreading the lonesomeness of the path ahead of him.

[sadaveniren]

Annual Writing Evaluation 2020

Ssssssh I know it’s the beginning of January. I’m late. I was tagged by @daggerandrose​ and @lululawrence​ to do this. They were two slightly different ones so I just... Mashed them together. Whoops

1. List of Stories published this year: Did you let him leave a necklace (yup)

Fellowship of Eroda

Can we pretend (honestly reality bores me)

Tastes like strawberries

Just for tonight (I can be yours)

Fun time candles

The animals play

Knife’s edge

You’re outta control (what is your mind)

When you’re good to mama (he surprises you)

One shot two shot (you and me)

Clean up, clean up (everybody have some fun)

So wonderful and warm

Here comes the men in black (my soulmate)

Here to stay (here to play)

The happiest season

2. Word count posted for the year: 161,374 (jfc)

3. Fandoms I wrote for: One Direction

4. Pairings: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

5. Story with the most:

Kudos: Taste Like Strawberries

Bookmarks: Just For Tonight (I can be yours)

Comments: The Happiest Season

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why):  That’s tough. I know in another post I was like EVERY FIC I POSTED WAS A VICTORY and that’s true. I think I’m most proud of Here to Stay (here to play) because for an entire month every night I sat down and wrote start to finish a whole fic. Sure some of those Fics were 400 words but listen... I come from fandom of old where there were the 100 fic challenges and even trying to write 100 word Drabbles is HARD. You’re making a whole story every day and it felt good! I felt accomplished!!

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why): I really really wish Here Comes the Men in Black (my soulmate) had come out different. I had much bigger plans and they got scrapped and I just. Wish things had gone different. But I was writing it as I struggled with the dreaded 4 month sleep regression which lasted TWO WHOLE FUCKING MONTHS AND I DID NOT GET MORE THAN 4 HOURS OF SLEEP AT A TIME FOR TWO WHOLE MONTHS AND GOD IT WAS THE WORST SLEEP DEPRIVATION IS A SERIOUS HEALTH CONDITION. So the biggest thing to fall away during that time was my writing. And that fic sadly suffered because of it 😔

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received: Every reviewer who commented during Kinktober and said that they weren’t usually a fan of the kink of the day but they trusted me enough to give the chapter a shot. A special shoutout to those who tried the rape fantasy chapter because of that trust.

A special SPECIAL shoutout to the asshole who asked me to tag every time I wrote girl direction for kinktober and told me they refused to read any of the chapters on the off chance I surprised them with a vagina or something.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: Literally all fucking year. March-April-May was a particularly fuzzy time for me. I think any writing I got done was on my phone, half asleep, with my fingers cramping

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: Louis in Fellowship to Eroda was a lot of fun to write. That fic overall was really fun to write because I got to include a lot of DND stuff and some of my favorite dialogue was there.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: From You’re Outta Control (what is your mind)

“You wanna ride daddy’s cock?”

The train was barreling along and Harry knew he didn’t have much time to make his decision. He quickly nodded.

Louis made quick work of unzipping his fly and turning Harry around so his back was facing his chest. He pulled him back by his hips and settled him down on his cock.

They both moaned at the sensation, and being so exposed. And then they started to fuck. It was wild, erratic, and desperate.

“Just think,” Louis groaned, “if I had an alpha cock. How we wouldn’t be able to do this if I knotted you.” Harry’s breath caught and he wiggled his hips. “Or maybe we would. You stuck on my knot through fuck knows how many stops. People coming and going. Seeing you there. Squirming like a little slut.”

Harry gasped. His mouth hung open as he tried to suck in air and ride Louis’ cock at the same time.

“Louder,” Louis demanded. His voice was beginning to sound strained. “Want your moans to fill up the whole car.”

It took effort but Harry was helped along when Louis reached around and wrapped his fingers around his cock. Then he moaned and it echoed in the empty train car.

“That’s right. Fucking yourself on daddy’s omega cock. So much better than some alpha’s knot isn’t it?”

“Daddy,” Harry whined. He bounced faster, eyes closed. He knew if he didn’t come before the next stop he wouldn’t be able to stop and anyone who came onto the car would see.

“Think how much come you’d have to hide if I was some alpha. It would leak out. Drip onto the floor.” Harry gasped. He was so close and his cunt squeezed around Louis’ cock as he tried to pull Louis with him. “Instead you’ll be pumped full of my omega seed-“ Louis’ voice cut off as he came, pulling Harry down flush against his hips as he came in him.

Harry watched as his own cock squirted come onto the floor and he cried out in embarrassment and lust.

The train was still running as they both caught their breath and it only started to slow down for the next stop as Louis edged Harry off of his cock. Harry could feel the mix of his slick and Louis’ come starting to slide out of him as Louis pushed him to the ground.

“Clean daddy off,” Louis said. His fingers tangled in Harry’s hair as he pulled Harry’s mouth to his slick covered cock.

The train was slowing down. Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest as he got to his knees. He caught Louis’ eye. The lights from the station were starting to filter in through the window. Louis squeezed his fingers in his hair.

“What are you waiting for? These are expensive trousers and I don’t want your slick ruining them.” Harry could see the stain his slick had already left around the zipper of Louis’ trousers. “Clean me off.”

They jolted to a stop and the doors hissed open. Harry wrapped his mouth around Louis’ cock, licking him clean. He spread his legs as Louis’ come leaked out of him and onto the floor.

The doors dinged, singling they were closing and Louis pulled his mouth off of him. Harry stared up at him from where he was kneeling on the ground and Louis smiled.

“There’s a good omega. Come sit up next to me.”

Harry looked around. The car was still empty. His entire body sagged from adrenaline and he turned to kiss Louis. “We would have been in so much trouble if we’d been caught.”

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: I lost…. a lot of fucks. I used to agonize about the fics I put out, and I still did, but this year I waded through writing a lot of stuff that normally I wouldn’t just because I didn’t feel ~motivated~ that day. But between Kinktober, and my advent fic, and just, forcing myself to finish fics even when I felt uninspired, I produced a lot more than I planned and that’s really important to me! But it also means that I learned to let fics go a lot earlier.

13. How do you hope to grow next year: Continue to just… write. I don’t have any big things I want to work on. Maybe crafting overall non-romantic plots? I’m trying that out for my big bang…. we’ll see how that goes.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): @lululawrence​ and @londonfoginacup are literally my rocks in writing at this point. They were so helpful while I cried about not being able to finish any fics ever, and reminded me constantly to be kind to myself. Jenna and @becomeawendybird were also just so so encouraging and I think without them I would be absolutely lost.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: lol. Yes. Next.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: write smut horny, edit after. (or don’t like… fuck it no one reading your smut is gonna care when they’re getting off to it)

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: I’m focused on my big bang which I hope people will enjoy. And then… Man if I could finish my eternal WIP that would be EXCELLENT. But who knows!! Maybe a plot bunny will hit me.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read. I think everyone has done this cause I’m late. Whoops.

[serahsanguine]

What’s Left Unsaid, Says IT All Ch, 11

What’s Left Unsaid, Says it all part 10/?

Rating; NC-17, NSFW

This Story can be Found at Ao3

pt 1, pt. 2,  pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9  pt. 10

Taggin; @skullsmuldon @baronessblixen  @today-in-fic

*****************************

Notes; Thank you to my wonderful beta for helping with this chapter

p.s. finally, a new chapter is here writing with depression and writer's block is so hard

****************************************

Chapter 11: Moveing Forward?

Scully was sitting on the plane with Missy. The children had fallen asleep on both their laps happily snoozing as the world quite literally flies by. Her things had been packed and the items she really wanted  (ie the baby items) to keep had been sent off by courier. She threw most of her clothes away and the ones she really, really liked she kept and were in the cargo part of the plane.  

She slouched in the chair the overhead fluorescent lights shining down on her. Ellie drooling and mumbling on her lap snuggled into her chest. Her eyes peered out of the cabin window onto the passing clouds full of greys, white, creams, and almond colors. Her mind wandered to Mulder and in a mere few weeks how they would be living together. They had come to the agreement while she was in San Francisco that the house was certainly big enough for both of them and it would be great for him to be a prominent part in their life. He would sell his apartment and also most of his things. There were only three things he really wanted to keep, one being his Syfy collection which she knew meant a lot to him. His bed, so he had somewhere to sleep and the old style brown leather couch which had fond memories for both of them. He had given her the two weeks to get settled and in some sort of routine before he moved in, to which she was grateful. She had to look past how awkward and hard it would be being so close to him everyday all day knowing she loved him and not having that feeling returned which is entirely her fault.

She sighed and Ellie's hand gripped her top and clung to it for dear life, as if knowing her mother's eternal turmoil rip her apart. He was picking her up from the airport and helping with the twins she knew he had missed them in the last two weeks and they had wormed their way into his heart just like the first time she had laid eyes upon them.

A few hours later the twins had woken up and were playing with their toys in their double pushchair, babbling to each other in their own little code.  She passed customs with ease and Melissa was being Melissa and started flirting with the security guard, he wasn't her type but she will never learn. Scully was walking to baggage to collect their things and that was where she spotted him. His chestnut hair shining against the airport lighting, his hazel eyes shimmering green against the brown and blue eyes of swarms of people. He had the broadest of smiles on his face and she could definitely tell that he was indeed happy to see both her and the kids.

“Hey Scully.”

“Hi Mulder.”

“Did you get everything you needed to be done?” he asked so casually, it sounded a little guilty they hadn’t really spoken while she was packing the house. But it was good for her and possibly to him gave them both time to think of where their ‘Relationship’ whether that be platonic or romantic.

“Fox, can we get moving now. I would like to get home at some point tonight.” Melissa spat.

“Hello, Melissa.”

“Humm.”

She was staring at him disgustingly.

“Well, yes, in fact, I borrowed the minivan to take you all home to Scully’s then I’ll leave you to it”

“Good” Melissa walked off towards the walking ramp.

“Sorry about Missy”

“It’s ok, I understand”

“She will forgive you though it's just going to take time.”

Mulder bent down so he could see the twins face to face at their level. “How are my two favourite mini people doing?”

“Dada,” Ellie said with an enthusiastic smile and Will just looked at him and back at his toy.

“Yes, baby girl I’m here.”

Scully smiled down at them both and for a few moments her anxiety about him moving in was gone  “She’s a daddy’s girl.”

“Are you saying that Will is a Mummy’s boy?”

“Well you never know.” she said jokingly as she pushed him lightly “Come on we better get going.”

Mulder drove them to Missy’s house first and then drove Scully and the twins to her soon to be their house.

They stopped in front of the house and the long driveway the stone light up towards the front door was on.  Both kids were in the backseat giggling to themselves.

“Which one do you want me to take in?”

“Might as well please Daddy's girl” he laughed and grabbed the bags first placing them in the porch before grabbing Ellie and taking her upstairs and placing her in the crib. Scully soon followed and was taken back by what Mulder had done to the nursery.

“When? How? Jesus Mulder, you didn’t have too.”

Mulder chuckled “I’m glad you like it, I painted while you were away, I had the keys early.”

Scully placed Will in his crib and took a full slow spin around the room to really take it in. there was a jungle theme with different shades of green and blue with hand painted lions, giraffes and tigers with a crib next to it. When she spun some more the changing table sat in the middle as if separating the two halves of the room but also bringing them together.  She spun some more and saw Ellie's side of the room with pastel yellows and pinks with a huge painted light brown teddy bear.

“Honestly Mulder this is truly amazing I…….” she took a large inhale as thinking her next words  “Truly don’t know what to say”

“Don’t say anything I wanted to do something nice for them”

“Thank you”

He smiled and walked downstairs. He listened as Scully gave them some stuffed toys and put on a CD of sleepy time meditations to help calm them down and settled before falling asleep. He placed his jacket on his shoulder before watching Scully tiptoe down the stairs.

“I should get going,” he said quietly.  

“You can stay if you want and watch a film, it's still early.”

“Are you sure?” he asked in a questioning voice.

“Sit down, I'll get us a drink. Do you want a beer, tea, coffee, wine?”

“Beer would be nice.”

She grabbed the drinks and sat on the floor next to him as the furniture was going to arrive tomorrow all that was on the floor was a small rug.

“Here you go.”

“Cheers,” he took a sip before he looked at her questionably, “Wine?”

“Why not?” she laughed “before you worry I pumped earlier.”

“Oh,”  he blushed slightly embarrassed  “Shame there is no tv or DVD player Caddyshack would have been good right now.”

“Really Mulder,  Caddyshack?”

“It’s a classic.”

She laughed a full belly laugh “if you say so” She took another sip of wine already feeling the effect in her stomach after not drinking for so long it was kind of a rush.

The night went on and so did the drinks they got to talking about everything and finalizing for when he was going to move in. What time he would be popping back tomorrow to help move her furniture in. The atmosphere was light and flirty, neither one of them realizing it, but simply enjoying each other's company.

Scully reached for the last bit of wine in her glass but accidentally knocked it over. Mulder jumped up, "stay there, I will get a towel" as he headed into the kitchen. He was back in an instant, kneeling beside her wiping up the small amount of wine. "Good thing it missed the rug, huh? That's all we needed was the babies getting drunk while crawling around on the floor."

"Mulder that's not even a thing!" She replied but giggled over the image in her head.

At that moment he leaned into her, pushing a bit of hair behind her ear, "it's so nice to hear you laugh, I have missed that, and other things."

"What things, Mulder?" She whispered.

At that moment Mulder raised his hands up to cup her face, his eyes moist with tears, he leaned in and gently kissed her. Scully reached up and put her hands on either side of his neck, reciprocating the kiss. Their passions deepened as their mouths parted and tongues explored, it had been so long, as both direly missed one another. His hand moved into her hair as his passion deepened then he suddenly and unexpectedly pulled away and stood up.

"Mulder, is something wrong?" Scully said breathlessly.

"I've got to go, Scully,"  as he grabbed his coat and headed to the door. "I will see you tomorrow. I just don't want to make things confusing right now, we need to think of the kids."

Scully, still sitting on the floor with tears welling up in her eyes quietly replied, "I understand Mulder, I will see you tomorrow."

At that moment he opened the door and lightly closed it behind him. Scully sat and cried quietly, not only over the fact that he left but also the fact he was back and she still loved him just as much as she did from the first time she saw him. She would fix this, she had to, he was the love of her life.

[onyx-void]

Answer 1 through 50

Okay. You called my bluff. (ok not really a bluff, tbh, thank you I appreciate you) Unfortunately, we're having an internet outage where I live, so this is gonna take a while. Also, I have to do this on the webpage, on my phone, cause otherwise I can't have an 'under the cut.'

1. Do you have a crush on anyone?

I suppose you could call it a crush. That's one layer to how I feel. Like an onion :p

2. What's your favorite candy?

Ferror Roche, or however you spell it, Unless it's a holiday, then I Love those chocolate covered marshmallow treats. 

3. Favorite love song? 

I don't really listen to music much, tbh, love songs included. The first one to come to mind is "Love Story" by Taylor Swift. My favorite when I actually think about it has to be "You Are My Sunshine" by Johnny Cash. 

4. What was your first kiss like?

My first kiss. I had my first kiss last year, actually, at the same age I am now, 22. That was my first date, too, such as it was during a pandemic. I hadn't -still haven't, I guess- had many 'first's.' It was awkward, but nice. Chaste, to start. 

5. What was your last kiss like? 

My last kiss, was a goodbye.

6. Sexual/romantic orientation?

I'm reasonably sure I'm straight, heteroromantic. I've questioned all my orientations several times over the years, but nothing seems to fit as well as that does.

7. Do you prefer poems or love letters?

I would be over the moon to get either. I've written a few poems, though they weren't For anyone. I would prefer love letters, though. Poems can wax and wain to the individuals interpretation, but love letters can declare for all to see. 

8. Favorite fanfic trope?

God, I'm Super self-indulgent with my fanfic. I love Mary Sue's, fix-it, time travel, amnesia, self-insert. I want everything to be okay, and for the main character to be able to have at least some idea of what challenges they'll face. 

9. Have you ever been in love?

Have been, still am.

10. Favorite milkshake flavor?

Strawberry. Also favorite ice cream flavor. Chocolate's fine, but strawberry Hagen Daaz is The Best. (tbh it's also a sorta reference to my fav character/anime, Ryougi Shiki from Kara no Kyoukai. It's also just damn good ice cream tho

11. Dinner dates or Brunch dates?

Dinner dates could be a great end to the day, but brunch date leaves the possibility for a full day together to look forward to, so I'll go with that.

12. Favorite flowers?

Sunflowers. Though lilacs are nice too.

13. Favorite perfume/cologne?

I've used a vanilla sugar scent in the past? Don't use or have others use it enough to have a favorite.

14. Favorite candle scent?

I got a pack of incense a while back, a dozen different scents. I think my favorite is called Celestial. It's smells like... lavender and petrichor and stardust, I suppose.

15. What's your ideal first date? 

Ideal, so everything's perfect. Hiking in the woods, a mountainous area, lots of ups and downs and winding paths and beautiful colors and views. We come to a clearing, and a picnic I've prearranged is already set up next to a glittering lake. We sit, and eat, and talk. 

16. What's your favorite love story?

Just the other day, I was finally able to watch The Princess Bride. I absolutely loved it. 

17. What's the most attractive thing a person could wear? 

Easy. One of my shirts, and that's all that's visible. Could they be wearing something underneath it? Maybe. But you can't be sure, unless they show you one way or another  It's a sort of, are they aren't they thing. That said, it works for just about anything where you can't tell if they're wearing short shorts or something, but it works best if it's something more casual than a dress, like a oversized hoodie or shirt. 

18. Chocolate, vanilla, or red velvet?

Chocolate. Vanillas alright, red velvets gross.

19. Snow, rain, or sun? 

God, we just got snow here that Actually Lasted All Day. That's a miracle tbh. I absolutely love it. 

20. Sweetest romantic memory?

We were swinging at the local park, just talking. And I looked over, and the sun was shining through the trees onto the face of an angel. I could have spent eternity in that moment.

21. Favorite dating sim? (And favorite character?)

The only dating sims I know are yandere dating sim, and hautiful boyfriend. Favorite character in general is Ryougi Shiki

22. Fictional crushes?

...Ryougi Shiki...

23. What's your dream wedding like?

It's a small affair, outside, in our backyard on our plant of land, amongst the orchards and vegetable gardens. There's a living arch made of roses I've been growing in secret in preparation, and the bride's bouquet is made from cuttings we took on the spot. The sun is shining, everyone's full of joy, and our love is sure. 

24. What makes you blush?

Sincere expressions of love, or even just Being Known. If you say you care for me I Will Melt and that is a Threat.

25. Do you believe in love at first sight? 

I have to. I can't disregard my own experiences. That said, it's important to say that love is also something you work towards, together, day in and day out. It's not always hard work, it might not even seem like work, but it's an active thing. 

26. Do you believe in soulmates?

I think there are several people you can meet over the course of your life you can call a soulmate. 

27. Denim jackets, leather jackets, or bomber jackets?

Leather jackets cause I live in Texas. Otherwise, bomber jackets.

28. What's your sign?

Taurus. Lmk if you want my complete chart from that star app.

29. Are you single?

Unfortunately.

30. Do you prefer to charm, or be charmed?

I think I'm quite charming, I'd definitely say I'm in touch with people, though my execution probably leaves something to be desired. That said, I Love to be charmed. Tell me you like me, tell me I'm wanted. Hell yeah.

31. Guitar or piano?

Piano. Love the classics. I was actually looking at how much pan flutes cost just the other day. 

32. Favorite romcom? (Or any romantic movie?)

Once again going with The Princess Bride here.

33. Do you fall in love easily?

Far too easily, I'm afraid. Show your interest in me, and you'll catch mine in you. Doesn't happen very often, though. And if it's just something like a dating profile, I'm far pickier. 

34. Valentine's decorations, yay or nay?

If it's something personal, absolutely. As long as it has meaning, it's worth it. Even if the holiday itself is just to sell cards. 

35. Would you like to propose, or be proposed to? What's your dream proposal?

I would propose, after it's been made mutually clear and discussed we're both up for it. As a kid I dreamed about proposing on one of those boat rides under Niagara Falls. Now, I think it'd be during a hike, on an overlooking cliff, basically like my ideal first date, actually. That, or somewhere personal to the two of us. 

36. Cloud gazing or star gazing?

Star gazing, definitely. Out under the stars, looking up and sneaking glances at each other. Telling stories and making up constellations. What's not to love?

37. Do you like to dance?

Oooh, no. I've never danced, not really the social dancing type. Never really took the opportunity too.

38. What's your OTP?

....Ryougi Shiki and Mikiya Kokuto

39. Kittens or puppies?

You're gonna make me CHOOSE?! ...puppies, because they're more lively and willing to interact with me, generally speaking. 

40. Coffee, hot chocolate, or tea?

Hot chocolate. Never got into coffee, I want to like hot tea, but eh. Iced tea is good tho y'all. 

41. Favorite soda?

God as a kid I Devoured grape Crush soda. Like. 24 cans a week. Mainly drink juice nowadays. Or choccy milk

42. Do you prefer gazing wistfully out the window or lying dramatically on the sofa?

Window, definitely. Light as well have a view if I've gotta be dramatic, right?

43. Favorite ABBA song?

"Take a Chance on Me" followed shortly by "Dancing Queen"

44. Fuck/Marry/Kill?

You didn't name anyone, so... Fuck Lauren German (I've been watching Lucifer) Marry the one I love, and kill, idk, Trump?

45. Favorite pajamas?

For myself? They're fleece, I think. Usually I just sleep in my boxers tho. For my theoretical partner? How about my boxers ;)

46. Favorite liquor?

I've never had any alcohol, and I don't really intend to.

47. Do you think about love alot?

Every day. It's what drives me.

48. A walk in the park or a walk on the beach?

Walk in the park. More cover ;)

49. Hand kisses or nose kisses?

How about a hand kiss going up the arm, slowly, sensually, all the way up the arm, to the shoulder, taking a stop on the side of the neck, and right before it gets to the lips... Nose kisses.

50. What's your dreamhouse?

It's in a mountainous area. On at least 5 acres. Plenty of woods with trails in them, bordering a national park. On my land, there's an orchard of fruit trees, and greenhouses with herbs and vegetables. The house itself is actually japanese inspired. There's an outdoor garden you can access after coming through the entrance. The bedroom door is a sliding one, through a shortened circular opening. The whole thing gives off a cozy feeling. The love of my life has made their presence known in every room of the house.

[bangtanfancamp]

the Devil wears Gucci- Pt 1

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Masterlist

▪︎series masterlist

▪︎Kim Taehyung x reader

featuring kim Namjoon

▪︎1.8k words

▪︎enemies to lovers au, fashion industry au, f*ckboy au

▪︎Fluff, romance, slight angst to come

(pic Credit to vantaeholic)

As the dedicated personal assistant of the genius mind behind House of RM, the empire that rules the fashion industry, your world is turned upside down the day Namjoon personally asks you to train his newest hire- the eternally insufferable Kim Taehyung.

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The early morning energy of the city buzzed around you as the tips of your chunky heels clicked against the pavement. You inhaled the sweet autumn air wistfully as a crisp breeze set to ruffing wispy tendrils of your hair loose. You’d have to fix that before your boss saw you- he hated the slightest trace of disorder-but you’d deal with that later. Traipsing down the sidewalk, you’d be damned before you missed even a second of this precious autumn sunlight.

Still, you shouldn’t linger too long. Places to be and all that. Refocusing, you tottered toward the entrance, carefully balancing a tray of coffees in one hand. As you approached your building, you took one last wistful look at the glorious morning sky before fumbling in your overstuffed purse for the key card to the elevator, the sensible part of your brain forever nervous of displeasing that high maintenance man. You didn’t dare be even a second late to see your boss-Namjoon was excruciatingly strict when it came to punctuality. You’d seen his intensity before when people were even minutes late, and though it was always a majestic sight to see- like witnessing the power of some apex predator- you were determined to NEVER be on the receiving end of it.

Realizing that was becoming more and more of a possiblity the longer you dawdled, you dashed into the office building, bolting through the elevator‘s closing doors. As the doors floated shut, you spared a glanced at your watch- 6:48am.

Phew. You would be okay. Letting your back rest against the cool metal wall of the elevator, your eyelids fluttered shut. If you weren’t 10 minutes early, you were 10 minutes late to Namjoon. “You’re totally okay. You’ve got this” you told yoursef.

Drawing in a slow breath, you used your free hand to snake your calf-hugging, plum pencil skirt back into place, blasted thing was always riding up when your hustled about too fast, and made sure your silky blouse was still neatly tucked at your waist.

Looking down, you eyed the pair of chunky heels you were breaking in today- you hoped you wouldn’t regret that. The crushed black velvet heels had just looked too cute to leave in your closet this morning. This is about the aesthetic™️ you thought, glancing down and wiggling your freshly painted black toes. As the doors began to open, you checked your reflection in the metal one last time, tucking the loose, wind blown strands back into place and steeled yourself to enter the office.

You were in Namjoon’s kingdom now.

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“Good morning sir!” you bubbled out a bit too brightly once you reached his desk. “Hazelnut latte with an extra shot, just for you,” you chirped, plunking the cup down beside him.

Before half the employees had even clocked in, he was already deeply engrossed in the paperwork stacked high on his immaculate marble desk. Who knows how early he’d arrived here or if he’d ever left last night. Eyes never leaving his laptop, he absentmindedly waved an elegantly long hand at you- silently acknowledging your presence without ever looking up. “Yes, yes- agenda for the day.” He sighed, more of a demand than a request.

Without missing a beat, You began to rattle off off his detailed schedule for the day. “Yes sir—today you have an 8am call scheduled with your distributors in Hong Kong, a 9 am session with r&d to review their most recent mockups for the Sable line, your 10:30 workout, an 11:45 lunch with Castille to discuss the potential merger, and a 2:30 flight out to Miami for that charity gala event this evening at 7.”

Phew. Just reciting it made you winded- how on earth he lived it was still beyond you. But that was Namjoon. A visionary who had started his company from the ground up at only 17, he now ran one of the most successful fashion houses in the world. It had become such a massive brand that he barely even handled any design work anymore, focusing instead on his role as CEO overseeing his vast empire.

Namjoon was infamous in the industry for the way his work consumed him. He existed at a constant breakneck speed few humans could match-It was a wonder any man could maintain the pace he had for the past 10 years, but he showed no signs of slowing down. And anyone else who couldn’t keep up, employees and girlfriends alike, was immediately left in the dust.

That was just how he operated. He was like a shark that never stopped swimming.... which unfortunately meant that you couldn’t either. A fact that had been graciously withheld when you’d originally applied for this job.

You’d been hired as his assistant a year and a half ago, fresh out of college, bright eyed and eager to change the world- and afford your own apartment. As someone completely unfamiliar with his world, the job as his assistant had sounded alarmingly simple on paper and ludicrously overpaid. You’d been over the moon to get it.

That is, until you showed up for your first day and quickly realized that working for him meant YOU had to adopt his excessive hours and match said breakneck pace just to stay one step ahead of his constantly shifting scheduling. This career was the furthest thing from a blow off job, but the looming series of zeroes your newly signed lease wouldn’t allow you to back out now. No, you’d just have to figure out how to grin and bear it for the time being. And over the past year, you’d managed to excel if you did say so yourself- especially considering that beyond the prestige of his reputation and the sheer intensity of his workplace demands, just remembering your own name in the presence of his beauty made even the most simple tasks complicated. Shaking out of your thoughts, you carefully tuned in to listen once Namjoon spoke.

“Very well- have Marco deliver my navy Armani suit to the hotel for this evening’s gala. Remind Mina that her deadline on the Rodan account is fast approaching- I need her presentation mock-up in my hands by no later than 1pm tomorrow, and for the love of God, don’t let them put soy in my latte again!” He slammed his drink on the desk as you rushed to grab the cup before it spilled.

“Absolutely sir, I’m so sorry. The soy was for my coffee. They must have misheard my order. I take full responsibility.” You bowed apologetically.

“It’s forgotten.” He pivoted in his chair to look up at you, and your breath caught in your throat. You hated when he looked directly at you like this- it was too much. The man was stunning. It was problematic really. He already made you nervous enough. You really didn’t need the added difficulty of having to maintain direct eye contact with those deep set eyes of his. So you deviated to study his perfectly coiffed blonde hair instead. It had a silver sheen in the early morning light, delicate wisps artfully styled across his brow and arranged in a way that shouldn’t have been achievable at this early hour. “I have a personal task I’d like you to take point on today,” he gritted out, jaw set in concentration.

“Anything, sir,” you nodded, with an eagerness that made you cringe. It was embarrassing how much you wished for his approval. You were good at what you did and you knew it- which should have been enough for you. And it was. Sort of. Most of the time. But on days like this, when you’d already jumbled your first task, something in you clammored for a chance to earn his praise back in a way you didn’t quite understand. You were good at this job- but honestly, how many times had you flubbed the coffee now? You hated when you made small blunders that made you seem incompetent. You knew better by now, and Namjoon knew it.

He cleared his throat before he began, and you flinched. “A former mentor of mine has contacted me with the intention of having his nephew shadow me and learn the business. I am not in a position to tell him no, but I have neither the time, the patience, nor the inclination to teach right now. However, I am indebted to his uncle. So He will start with the company today, and I will leave his starting training to you. Once he has learned the ropes, I will handle the rest.”

Well that’s certainly not what you thought this was going….

“No one here has caught on as quickly as you did as a new hire. Your first month with the company was exemplary. Despite your occasional hiccups,” he eyed his latte with derision,” the majority of your execution in your work is flawless.”

That was the nicest compliment he’d ever paid you- and even though his eyes had long since gone back to his paperwork, you blushed anyway.

“Thank you, sir,” you replied hastily, words tripping over themselves in a jumble.

“When he arrives, you will educate him on how the company operates and train him in all your responsibilities. He will be your assistant for the time being. Following our standard trial period, he will be placed in whatever position best suits his skillset after that.”

“Yes sir, it would be an honor.” You were determined to do well at this. Besides, How hard could it be anyway? “What time will he be arriving today?”

“Unfortunately, he should be here any moment no-“

“GOOD MORNING, PEOPLE!!!” a baritone voice boomed as the door to Namjoons office was practically torn off its hinges.

You gaped back in surprise, not missing the way your boss rolled his eyes at the intrusion, as a young man about your age strolled lazily into the office. He was tall and excruciatingly handsome. His silky chestnut hair swept across his forehead, swinging against his lashes and barely hiding the devilish smile in his eyes. He wore a crisply pressed white shirt- its top buttons brazenly undone- with the sleeves cuffed up to the arcs of his forearms, black patent shoes and the tightest pair of black dress pants you had ever seen. They clung to his legs, and you saw muscles in places you had never imagined muscles could be as he swaggered right up to you.

“Hey unc,” he tossed at Namjoon. “Hey to you too” he winked salaciously at you. It was so greasy it made you want to go home and take a bath.

“______, this is …”Namjoon began...

“Taehyung” he interrupted. “Kim Taehyung. Tae to anyone as pretty as you.” Bowing at the waist, he took your hand and kissed the curve of your knuckles, never once breaking eye contact.

You snatched your hand back, wiping the back of it against your skirt. You wanted to crawl under the desk and die. Who did this guy think he is? You turned your pleading eyes to your boss who surely must have seen this idiot’s conduct.

“All right, that’s enough, Kim. Hands to yourself on company time.”

You huffed through your nose as you shot Taehyung an irritated side eye. Unfortunately, it only seemed to make his smirk grow.

“_____ will be handling your training as my schedule is currently booked solid. Any questions you have for me go directly to her. She will teach you everything she knows and train you to be her assistant. If you can survive that, we’ll discuss any further promotion opportunities then. And only then,” the gravel in his tone there intentionally to intimidate.

“So I’m getting paid to spend time with her? Sir, yes sir,” Taehyung’s voice dropped impossibly low on the last part, more of a rumble than a whisper, as he dragged his eyes along your form. You felt a disgusted shiver run through you. He was gorgeous sure, but this behavior of his was gross. God. It was going to be impossible to get anything done with him.

“Keep it in your pants, Kim.” Namjoon snarled impatiently as he stood from his desk, still somehow towering over the other boy, if not in stature then by pure intimidation alone. “You would do well to learn even a shred of the skill set _____ has. Some respect would do you some good. Don’t for a second think you are here on your own merit. I love your uncle, but he is the only reason you're here, and the only reason I haven’t terminated you all ready.” The leer in his eyes made you tense and it wasn’t even directed at you.

“ The second you fail- like I know you will- you will be out of here so fast, it will make even your empty head spin.” He glowered down at taehyung and dropped his voice. “And if you make ____ the slightest bit uncomfortable in any way, I will not hesitate to throw you out of here myself.”

Your lips parted at this display of protectiveness, and you felt your chest soar. You peeked out of the corner of your eye at Taehyung. His cocky smirk never faltered, but you caught the way he swallowed, the subtle way his jaw clenched at the reprimand.

“Now…. if you’ll both excuse me, I have a call to prepare for. ____ , I expect a detailed progress report by the end of the day and a weekly update as this matter continues.” Namjoon rebuttoned his blazer and began to reorder the presentation on his desk.

“Yes, sir,” you nodded obediently. “I’ve already ordered a replacement drink for this morning’s coffee. It should arrive shortly. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need any assistance.”

You turned on your heel, brushing past Taehyung’s shoulder as you made your way toward the exit. You could feel his hungry eyes on your hips as you walked, and you suddenly wished you had time to head home and change. You clutched your tablet to your chest and prayed this day would end, but it was barely 8 am.

God, this was going to be hell.

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Thank you so much for reading guys!!! Part 2 coming soon. Thank you so much for visiting my little corner of the internet and making it to the end. Please let me know what you think. I’d really love the feedback.

(Also is anybody else swooning over them at the Grammys? I swear those boys were invented to wear suits. Tae trending as the guy with green hair and Namjoon in those glasses? Oof. What looks.)

Part 2 is now up!!

Series masterlist

[dopeitstom]

I haven’t done a year-end music list in a few years and I miss it. I’m not sure why I stopped publishing a list of my favorite albums and songs of the year, but since I still listen to a ton of music and keep pretty close track of what I’m liking the most, I figured I’d put something together this year.

2018 was a difficult year for me. Don’t get me wrong - there were a lot of great things that happened this year - both professionally and in my personal life. I dove into a bunch of side hustles to supplement my income, and in the process found out that I have a knack for flipping vintage clothes and churning out soul-crushing SEO copy. 

I loved hard, took trips, grew closer with friends & coworkers, worked on my mental health harder than ever before, and ended the year with a hole in my life that won’t ever be filled the same way again. I learned a bunch about myself in the process, stuff I hope I can carry over into 2019 and beyond. Stuff that will help me navigate the world, a world that I began the year thinking was a pointless hellscape devoid of anything remotely positive. I hope to start finding the beauty in the details again. I want to focus on the positives and the immense amount of privilege I possess when everything feels bad, and I want to continue to grow. I think 2018 was the start of that.

All along the way, just like every year, I had a constant rotation of new music that I was obsessed with. I tend to gravitate towards songs rather than projects for the most part, and my 2018 soundtrack reflects that. While my Best Of 2018 playlist is nearly 200 songs, I put together a list of the 25 best, with my favorite lyric from each.

P.S. - Here’s a Spotify playlist link for those of you that are into that sort of thing: https://open.spotify.com/user/1220131548/playlist/0gWlj9biKmAHpbFfgWBXz0?si=_AJWbfHoRgi7XtjMeE5VyA

I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed putting it together.

1. Trippie Redd - “I Tried Loving”

You can try, I guarantee the shit won't work

2. 6 Dogs - “Lonely Kobe”

Tried to save them but who's gonna save me Running for a minute I've been late lately

3. Kacey Musgraves - “Butterflies”

Kiss full of color makes me wonder where you've always been I was hiding in doubt 'til you brought me out of my chrysalis And I came out new All because of you

4. Chance the Rapper - “65th & Ingleside”

I could spare a rib to get my baby back I just wanna fall asleep where my baby at So I don't wake up wondering where my baby at I wonder if we'll make it back

5. Lil Baby & Gunna - “Close Friends”

Everything was so cool Lately baby been actin' so rude I don't know what somebody told you But I ain't gon' lie, I miss the old you

6. Lil Tracy - “Heart”

Kissin' on my tattoos, in a Jaguar Love hurts and I know you have a few scars Let my love heal you, I just wanna feel you I wanna know the real you

7. Ariana Grande - “thank u, next”

I've got so much love Got so much patience I've learned from the pain I turned out amazing

8. Wicca Phase Springs Eternal -  “Spider Web” feat. Clams Casino & Fish Narc

I try to find the path that's back to her And take myself to where I can be with her How can I say I'm not attached to her But I love her and I feel so bad for her All the time How can I make life easier?

9. Soccer Mommy - “Your Dog”

Forehead kisses break my knees and Leave me crawling back to you

10. Playboi Carti - “Shoota” feat. Lil Uzi Vert

You know that I'm smoking dope, I'll be high til' next week Know I had to let her go, 'cause she can't arrest me

11. Lil Zubin - “Days Are Numbered”

Our days are numbered So we stay fucked up

12. Aries - “SAYONARA”

Promise that I will stay out of reach Far gone, ‘cause the shit still bothers me

13. Future - “HATE THE REAL ME”

Infatuation turned to love on me A sober mind wasn't good for me 'Cause I love you way more than this music That's when shit was brought up and you know I had to lose it Damn, I almost lost it Said it was cheaper not to keep her and it's killing me 'Cause damn, I hate the real me

14. convolk - “i fucked up”

And all the memories I have The things I've buried in the past Moments I cannot get back, still can't forget you (I can't forget you) And when the tears fell down your face And all the words I can’t erase All the highs I try to chase, still can't forget you

15. Conor Oberst - “No One Changes”

I don’t wanna to feel so jaded   Getting on a plane to work things out   When I’m alone you’re all I think about   But I’m never alone very long

16. Juice WRLD - “Wasted” feat. Lil Uzi Vert

My eyes closed, hopin' this ain't make-believe And she don't know that all her demons live in me, yeah I don't know, I don't know Don't know what she been on, I don't know

17. Fantasy Camp - “Heart Is On The Floor”

But I want you to know That my love was true And I'm doing my best in hopes that I could be happy too

18. Swearin’ - “Anyway”

You are angry at me And I get it you have every right to be I broke a promise But see unconditional love only exists in movies Your love for me was a remedy A bright white light you followed idly

19. Lil Peep - “Runaway”

I run away from my problems I do the drugs when I want 'em I ran away from my momma Don't bother me with no drama

20. Travis Scott - “SICKO MODE” feat. Drake

Different colored chains, think my jeweler really sellin' fruits

21. boygenius - “Me & My Dog”

I wanna be emaciated I wanna hear one song without thinking of you I wish I was on a spaceship Just me and my dog and an impossible view

22. Hanzo - “Frozen”

I’m not alright I’m frozen, I’m gettin’ colder Ice on me, like it’s snowin’

23. The 1975 - “Inside Your Mind”

I've been watching you walk I've been learning the way that you talk The back of your head is at the front of my mind Soon I'll crack it open just to see what's inside your mind

24. Mitski - “Why Didn’t You Stop Me?”

I know that I ended it, but Why won't you chase after me? You know me better than I do So why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you stop me?

25. Snail Mail - “Pristine”

And if you do find someone better I'll still see you in everything Tomorrow and all the time

[whiskynottea]

An interruption in the 1st law of thermodynamics.

Previously Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18

AO3

@katnoenau Thank you so much for your help with this chapter, love!!

Chapter 19. Slower

source

There are some feelings in life that you can never truly describe, no matter how hard you try. Like dancing in the rain, each drop running down your skin and leaving a trail behind as it reaches to your soul. Or lying under the sun, the heat radiating into your core to warm your heart.

Listening to an audience applauding loudly as you rise from the floor is one of these feelings. One more clap and you think your heart will burst with pride and joy.

That was exactly what I felt as I stood up, the song’s last chord still echoing in my ears.

Elation.

A broad smile was glued on my face and I had no intentions of trying to change that. Glancing around, the other girls had the same glint in their eyes, the same grin splitting their faces in two.

We all held hands, beaming, and bowed to the audience, again and again. Lilly was standing in front of us, her back to the crowd, with pride in her teary eyes. Jenny’s hand was almost crushing my fingers, but I couldn’t mind less. The feeling of accomplishment was too strong to let anything else get into my heart at that moment.

Until I saw him.

Jamie was standing up, applauding, the huge smile on his face matching mine.

And just with that, he replaced all feelings with one.

Love.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was so beautiful, wearing black jeans and a cream Henley shirt. His red locks were combed back and his broad smile made his eyes so slanted that the eyelashes hid their sapphire color, protecting a rare gem. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know that they would be the brightest blue, the blue of the sky on a sunny day. That was their color every time Jamie was happy.

The fact that I knew when Jamie Fraser was happy and the exact color of his eyes in those moments was something beyond me.

How did this happen?

As we lined up to leave the stage I glanced back at him once. His smile was dashing, and I couldn’t help thinking that his teeth looked so white that he could have been a model for a toothpaste advertisement. Setting my jaw to stop my laughter, I walked towards the backstage.

He was perfect. And he was looking at me. From the first moment he saw me, he didn’t take his eyes off me.

“All that I am

All that I ever was

Is here in your perfect eyes, they’re all I can see”

--

Lilly came back with us to the dressing room, her kind brown eyes scattering soft glances at all of us. She didn’t say much, only that she was proud and blessed to have us on her team. And that really was all we needed to hear.

After group hugs, normal hugs, and attack hugs we finally changed out of our costumes, our blue and white dresses carefully packed in our rucksacks as we opted for more casual clothes.

At least the rest of the girls.

What I picked for the evening was far from my most casual attire, but I was going out with Jamie and I wanted something more than jeans and a sweater. He saw me in casual clothes more than enough and I wanted that night to be different. After all, it was our first official date.

My black dress wasn’t fancy, but it carressed the lines of my body perfectly and I felt beautiful in it. It was a button up A-line dress with a jewel neck. The soft fabric ended just above my knees, flowing with my every move. But what I liked the most about that dress were the short see-through sleeves, laced with little black flowers. They made it unique, somehow, and I wanted something special for that evening.

“Wow! Someone wants to look good tonight!” Jenny elbowed me and I saw she was wearing a beautiful halter neck olive green dress.

“Well, I could say the same to you!”

“Aye,” she smirked. “Ian and I are going out tonight. And Jamie said ye two have a date, too?”

“Yes.” I felt my lips forming a smile without me telling them to do so. Oh well. “He says I owe him an evening at the cinema. He missed the movie you guys went to when he walked me home last week.”

“Aye, sure.” The raised eyebrow and cheeky smile from Jenny Fraser made my heart flutter in expectation.

Our first date.

--

I left the dressing room heading for the auditorium, my steps purposefully slow as my eyes scanned through the people, trying to find Lamb. He had to attend a dinner with his collaborators after my performance, but he said he wouldn’t miss me dancing for the world.

My sweet Lambiebear.

My eyes stopped abruptly when they met a familiar red mop of hair standing higher than most of the people around. Two blue eyes were staring back at me, and I felt like time had stopped. Jamie was standing as still – and beautiful – as a statue and I wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.

I kept walking, unable to break our connection. The moment I smiled to him he shook his head slightly, as if coming out of a trance, and started walking towards me with big, fast strides. Judging from the grin on his face and way he looked at me as he came closer, I was sure he would sweep me off the floor and swirl me around the moment his hands reached my waist. However, with a glance over his shoulder at Murtagh, Ian, and the other man standing next to them he just hugged me tight and kissed my forehead.

Not what I expected, but the wisest choice, seeing as the auditorium was still full of parents.

“Claire,” he said, his eyes boring deep into mine. The only time he had called me by my name was when we had fought about Laoghaire and I swallowed hard, not knowing what was coming. “Ye’re captivating, Sassenach.”

I could see his chest rising and falling intensely and I placed a hand over his heart. My black dress never fails me.

Jamie’s hand trailed the length of my arm until it reached my face, cupping it. “I’m so proud of ye. Ye were breathtaking, babe.”

“I think you’re a bit biased, Jamie, but thank you.” I laughed, blushing nonetheless. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

“It was amazing, Sassenach.” He gave me a chaste kiss on the lips and took my hand in his. “Come wi’ me? I want ye to meet someone.”

I saw that “someone” as we walked back to where Jamie had been waiting for me before. He was a man around forty-five, one or two inches shorter than Jamie, with Jenny’s dark straight hair. He wore blue pants and a blue-red-white plaid shirt. He was impressive and the moment he turned to look at me, I knew I didn’t need an introduction. He had the Fraser eyes.

“Da,” I heard Jamie confirming my assumption and I swallowed hard preparing myself. “This is Claire Beauchamp.” Four Fraser eyes, father’s and son’s, were looking at me as Jamie continued. “Claire, this is my Da.”

‘This is Claire Beauchamp.’ I repeated in my head.

Not ‘This is Claire Beauchamp, my girlfriend’. Just plain Claire Beauchamp.

I felt my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach and I tried to shake the feeling away, focusing on the man in front of me.

Make a good impression. Make a good impression.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Fraser.” I smiled, extending my hand.

Why was I trying to make a good impression if I wasn’t the girlfriend?

It’s not a bloody title that makes you who you are, Beauchamp.

Great I was now having a whole conversation with myself in my head.

“You too, Claire.” Brian Fraser took my hand in his, making it obvious who was to blame for Jamie’s genes. His hand was huge, exactly like his son’s, and totally engulfed mine. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He said, his almond-shaped eyes slanting just a bit more.

Just what exactly had he heard?

“Only good things, I hope.”

He didn’t have time to reply, as a light tap on my shoulder made me turn and look up at my uncle.

Shit! I had forgotten about uncle Lamb! Way to go, Beauchamp.

Lamb, however, didn’t seem to mind.

“Claire! Congratulations, darling!” His arms came around me and he added, “You were marvelous.”

I hugged him back, almost too tight, a child amidst strangers clinging on a familiar person seeking security. Kissing him on the cheek, I turned towards the rest of the group to see that Jenny had appeared, receiving her family’s hugs and kisses as well.  

“This is my uncle, Lambert Beauchamp.” I introduced Lamb when they looked at us. “Uncle, these are my friends, Jenny, Ian, and Jamie.”

I deliberately said Jamie’s name last to see if he had noticed the omission just as I had. Lamb already knew of my feelings for Jamie, but since I was plain Claire Beauchamp I saw fit for Jamie to be just one of my friends too. Jamie’s chest inflated for a moment when he heard his name, only to immediately deflate when nothing followed.

Well, well, well. That’s interesting. Disappointed, are we, James Fraser?

With my eyes on Jamie’s father I continued the introductions. “Jenny and Jamie’s father, Mr. Brian Fraser and their uncle, Mr. Murtagh…”

What was Murtagh’s last name?!

“FitzGibbons Fraser,” Murtagh finished for me, giving me half a smile that I supposed meant ‘no worries’.

“Nice to meet you all,” Lamb said while shaking hands with the two men.

“So, Mr. Beauchamp how did you end up in Scotland?” Brian asked Lamb and I knew that we would be standing in that exact spot for an eternity if Lamb started talking about Scottish history.

“Oh please, call me Lamb. Well, to make a long story short…”

Lamb’s voice telling our story – instead of the Scottish history, thank God -  came into the background as my thoughts became louder in my head.

What are we doing now?

We were to go on a date and we had just introduced each other to our families as friends.

I knew Jamie cared for me. There were so many little details to show me how much he wanted to make me smile. All the nights watching the “Dark” in his arms. All our walks, our notes. Every time he saw me and his face lightened up. Every time his hand found mine, completing a puzzle made by fingers aching to touch.

Not to forget that he spoke to Gowan for me, so I wouldn’t miss the dancing performance. And we spent all the previous week either together or texting. Plus, the whole school knew about us.  

I felt a nudge on my arm and turned my head to the left where I met two dark blue eyes, holding rain and clouds.

“What is it, Sassenach?” His whisper reached me as a frown settled on his brow.

“Nothing,” I answered, watching the frown deepen.

At that moment I realized that I hadn’t looked into his eyes since he introduced me to his father. He was worried, and I couldn’t see him like this.

Forget it, Claire. Don’t spoil something good because it’s moving slower than you thought it would.

I swallowed hard and looked at him again, resigned.

I had time to give him.

I had time and love enough.

Chapter 20

[dis-easedfairy]

Pizza

Warnings!: Implications of torture | Dark Threats | Mentions of Blood

Genre: Mafia!au, One Shot

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Word Count: 1,647

Mafia!au Mini-Series

A/N: I don’t agree with some of the things Y/n says in this short because I eat pineapple on pizza and I’ve very open-minded when it comes to anything really.

I sighed bitterly as I made my way to the location that Jungkook had sent me. A small house seemingly in the middle of nowhere by the water. It had been constantly raining since I got there and didn’t seem like it would stop. I walked up to the door and punched in the code and stepped in.

Jungkook sat on the couch, just spread out in a complete relaxation as he sipped on his soda while Taehyung cleaned Jungkook’s cut that was a slash across his collarbone. Jimin was in front of them on the floor, laptop in the coffee table as he tinkered with a bundle of wires and a handheld radio.  The laptop displayed security cameras that were set up in obscure places you wouldn’t think to look, but were very efficient in knowing everything that was happening in the area.

“You fucks knew I was coming and didn’t open the door!?” I complained, they saw me and let me freeze in my thin hoodie and cold rain!?

“I’m kinda busy, N/n.” Taehyung sassed back, pressing hard on Jungkook’s wound to emphasize his point.

“OW!! WHY!?” Jungkook swatted Taehyung and tried to pull away but Taehyung pulled him back, muttering, “Why are you moving?”

“I could get electrocuted if I do this wrong or stop. You don’t mean that much to me, N/n.” Jimin admitted honestly.

I moved closer to them, “Fair enough, did J-Hope eat?”

“Nope, he’s been in there for 4 hours straight now. You know him, no one is allowed in until he’s finished. Plus the guy hurt our Kookie,” Jungkook groaned at the name, “so he’s gonna be in there longer.” Jimin informed me, not looking up from his tinkering.

I sighed and walked over to the table where a takeout container with ‘HOPE’ was written on it was sitting.

“Tell the guys you’re okay. They’re on edge.” Jungkook called to me as I made my way down the hall.

I saw two men standing outside a room. I could hear muffled screams and Hoseok’s voice. One of the men raised their eyebrow at my entrance.

“I’m N/n. I’m okay. Let me in.” I stated simply, making it obvious how uninterested I was in their bullcrap fake-tough act.

“J-Hope made it clear no one was allowed in.” One said, making me sigh.

“Listen, I’m not just anyone. I came here because my boyfriend doesn’t know how to chill and eat like a proper human being. You can either step aside or I will force you aside. I’m really tired from the long ass drive here so I would really appreciate it if you cooperated. ” They only folded their arms in protest.

I groaned. I went to open the door but one shoved my shoulder. I really was tired and was not fond of having to hurt two ‘guards’. So I decided Hoseok was the reason I was tired, so I was going to be a brat and make HIM handle it.

“HOPE! IF YOU DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR IN 5 SECONDS I WILL THROW THE BIGGEST TEMPER TANTRUM!” I shouted at the door.

I heard the lock click in 2 seconds and it swing open at 3. Hoseok gave me a small smile.

“Hurry up and come in, stop being a big baby.” He chuckled.

I stuck my tongue out at the guard who shoved me and walked in. There was a man tied to a chair, blindfold on, covered in cuts and blood. The room itself was empty but a tall lamp in the corner and a table to hold everything Hoseok was using.

I casually moved some blood covered weapons over and set the takeout box down.

“On the table.” Hoseok suddenly ordered.

“Listen, I don’t roll like that, you have a guy tied to a chair and I don’t know him. If someone like Jin for example watched, I might be cool with it, but not this.” I joked, earning an eyeroll.

“Table.” He repeated.

I pouted in defiance.

“3...2...” I quickly got on the table, for the first time fearing the number 1.

Hoseok’s hands slid up my shirt to the belt-like holder for a pack of needles that he made me carry for safety reasons. He detached the pack from the belt and pulled them out my shirt to view. He opened the back and looked confused.

“Why are three missing? You had 10?”

“...Well, you see...” Hoseok folded his arms.

“I’m listening.”

“A guy I talk to needed them.” Hoseok pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed in irritation.

-“I swear if you gave them to Jungkook”

-“I gave them to Jungkook.” We said Jungkook’s name at the same time.

“He’s the worst one to give them to!”

“No, no, no, I could’ve given them to Jimin and Jimin could’ve killed someone.”

Those needles were full of a toxin that paralyzes someone for a short amount of time. Hoseok gave them to me as a defense. Just to make someone leave me alone long enough to get away. He regularly asks Taehyung for refills and makes sure they’re still potent enough for me to use. An overdose of this can, of course, lead to a victim being paralyzed and eventually death.

Even though Jimin hangs out a lot with Taehyung he doesn’t pay attention to this toxin because he’s more interested in inflicting pain or death. Jungkook only knows because he uses this toxin to occasionally fuck with everyone.

Last week he got Yoongi while they were trying to interrogate someone and Yoongi still beings it up even if it wasn’t that bad. He once got Jimin in the middle of a mission, it was dangerous but Jungkook made sure Jimin was safe the whole time...Jungkook even got Namjoon who is supposed to be our scary leader but is soft for all of us.

Taehyung makes sure to have a steady stream of this toxin’s antidote in his body just in case he’s next on Jungkook’s hit list. Seokjin threatened Jungkook that he wouldn’t take care of him next time he was injured. Which left Hoseok, who sadly didn’t have anything to hold over the younger’s head.

“Don’t worry it’s not that bad. You panic at first, but just know it will wear off in 6 minutes.” I shrugged.

“...N/n, please don’t tell me...”

“He really wanted to win that round of Mario Kart...The first time I’m doing good on Rainbow Road and he ruined it.”

“Aish! That boy.” Hoseok was on grabbing his phone out his pocket.

I grabbed his phone, slammed it on the table and scooted the container closer to him.

“I’m really tired, I have to be a work in 3 hours and you still have some things” I looked over at the tied man, “to take care of. Just eat please.”

Hoseok sighed and nodded his head. He climbed on the table with me and took the container. I handed him his utensils and he began to eat.

“How much longer until he talks?” I questioned Hoseok.

“AN ETERNITY!” The man shouted.

“I was talking to my boyfriend, rude ass! Stop eavesdropping!” I shot back to Hoseok’s amusement.

“It’s been 9 hours total. I’d give it 6 more hours and that’s because I’m busy today. I can’t be here forever.” Hoseok shrugged.

6 more hours!? Hell no. I got off the table and kicked the guy in the shin.

“Listen fucktruck, just give my boyfriend the information he needs, because if I have to take this long ass drive to come back because my boyfriend doesn’t take care of himself, I will make it my personal mission to take out every male in your family tree until the day I die. And believe me, I am that spiteful to make it a fucking family tradition!” I shoved my thumb in a deep cut in his thigh, making him howl in pain.

“Why males?” Hoseok asked, mouth full of food,

“No one to carry the family name and females can have kids. I don’t want to fuck with adopted kids though, they didn’t ask for that bullshit.” Hoseok only nodded, eyes trained on his food.

I stormed out the room and had Jungkook look up something for me. I came back and made sure to read the name off my hand.

“Devin, age 17, he gets up to go to school in 3 hours. How convenient that I’m on my way to work at the same time. It would be a shame to make him my personal speed bump, wouldn’t it?” The man squirmed, actively trying to get loose but saying nothing.

I really won’t kill a kid, but I did need to make it seem like I would. If talking and torture didn’t work, then I had to hope this would.

“I was also made aware that Devin has a little brother on the way back home from Paris? You lived the high life, didn’t you? Normally we don’t threaten children, but you sir raised yours to track us down. Now tell me, do you wish to speak or do I bring your kids here personally since they don’t know me yet?”

He spouted out an address to me.

“Bitch, that’s the address to Domino’s! I know because I order pizza a lot and I owe Jungkook several- Wait, that Domino’s location is right near the water AND and highway. You fuckers have the perfect cover with your weird pizza!”

“It’s not weird, N/n.” Hoseok laughed as he began to write down the address.

“They put a whole shrimp including the tail on their pizza. The potatoes I sort of get but shrimp? I knew y’all couldn’t be trusted.” I folded my arms, shaking my head.

“It’s good if you try it.”

“Sometimes I don’t trust you either! Pickles and pizza!? I can’t trust you guys to order sometimes because I take a bite of the crust and it has sweet potato. Just stop arguing with me and eat your non-shrimp pizza.”

“The pickles cut the richness! Why did the guys put this in a container and why did you give me chopsticks and a knife for pizza?”

[tpanan]

My Saturday Daily Blessings

May 7, 2022

Be still quiet your heart and mind, the LORD is here, loving you talking to you...........    

Saturday of the Third Week of Easter (Roman Rite Calendar) Lectionary 278, Cycle C

First Reading: Acts 9:31-42

The Church throughout all Judea, Galilee, and Samaria was at peace. She was being built up and walked in the fear of the Lord, and with the consolation of the Holy Spirit she grew in numbers. As Peter was passing through every region, he went down to the holy ones living in Lydda. There he found a man named Aeneas, who had been confined to bed for eight years, for he was paralyzed.

Peter said to him, “Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you. Get up and make your bed.” He got up at once. And all the inhabitants of Lydda and Sharon saw him, and they turned to the Lord.

Now in Joppa there was a disciple named Tabitha (which translated is Dorcas). She was completely occupied with good deeds and almsgiving. Now during those days she fell sick and died, so after washing her, they laid her out in a room upstairs.

Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, hearing that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, “Please come to us without delay.” So Peter got up and went with them. When he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs where all the widows came to him weeping and showing him the tunics and cloaks that Dorcas had made while she was with them.

Peter sent them all out and knelt down and prayed. Then he turned to her body and said, “Tabitha, rise up.” She opened her eyes, saw Peter, and sat up. He gave her his hand and raised her up, and when he had called the holy ones and the widows, he presented her alive. This became known all over Joppa, and many came to believe in the Lord.

Responsorial Psalm:  Psalm 116:12-13, 14-15, 15-17

"How shall I make a return to the Lord for all the good he has done for me?"

Verse before the Gospel: John 6:63c, 68c

R: Alleluia, Alleluia

"Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life; you have the words of everlasting life."

R: Alleluia, Alleluia

**Gospel: John 6:60-69

Many of the disciples of Jesus who were listening said, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?” Since Jesus knew that his disciples were murmuring about this, he said to them,

“Does this shock you? What if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the Spirit that gives life, while the flesh is of no avail. The words I have spoken to you are Spirit and life. But there are some of you who do not believe.”

Jesus knew from the beginning the ones who would not believe and the one who would betray him. And he said, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted him by my Father.”

As a result of this, many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer walked with him. Jesus then said to the Twelve, “Do you also want to leave?” Simon Peter answered him, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

**Meditation:

Why do some find it easier while others find it harder to accept the claims which Jesus made? Many were attracted to Jesus because he offered them something irresistible - a visible sign of God's mercy and favor which Jesus demonstrated in his wonderful works of healing, deliverance, and miraculous signs, including the multiplication of the loaves and fish when he feed the five thousand who had gathered to hear him speak. Many stumbled, however, when Jesus made claims which only God can make. Jesus' discourse on "eating his flesh and drinking his blood" (see John 6:51-59) which pointed to the Last Supper, caused offence to many of his followers. The blessing of full union with God through Christ Jesus claimed to be the bread of heaven, the very life of God given to us as spiritual food to sustain us on our journey to our promised homeland with the Father in heaven. Jesus did not leave any middle ground for his hearers. They must either accept his word as divine or reject it as the claim of an imposter. Even the apostles admitted that this was a "hard saying". This expression meant that it was not just hard to understand, but hard to accept. Jesus pressed the issue with his beloved disciples because he wanted to test their faith and loyalty to him as the Holy One sent from the Father in heaven. Jesus promised his disciples nothing less than the full blessing of eternal life and union with God. Jesus assures his disciples that it is his heavenly Father who gives the invitation and the grace to believe and follow even in the "hard sayings". Jesus knew that some would not only reject him and his word, but would do so with violence fueled by hatred, envy, and even betrayal by one of his own disciples. "My words are spirit and life" Jesus told his disciples that his words were "spirit and life" (John 6:63) - his words came from the heavenly Father who is the Author of life and the One who breathes his Spirit into those who believe in him. Through the gift of faith Peter was able to receive spiritual revelation of who Jesus truly is - the Holy One of God, the eternal Son sent from the Father in heaven to redeem a fallen human race and reconcile them with God. Faith is a gift and a personal response to God's revelation of himself How does God help us grow in faith and trust in his word, even the hard sayings which are difficult to understand? Faith is a gift which God freely gives to those who listen to his word and who put their trust in him. Faith is a personal response to God's revelation of himself. Faith is neither blind nor ignorant. It is based on the truth and reliability of God's word. True faith seeks understanding. Saint Augustine of Hippo (354-430 AD) said, "I believe in order to understand, and I understand the better to believe." The Lord Jesus offers all of his followers his life-giving word and Spirit to help us grow in our knowledge and understanding of God. We can know God personally through his word Paul the Apostle tells us that it is the work of the Holy Spirit who enlightens the eyes of our heart and mind to understand the truth and wisdom which comes from God (Ephesians 1:17-18). Faith is the key to understanding and experiencing God's action and work in our personal lives. Paul the Apostle tells us that "God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us" (Romans 5:5). We can know God personally, and we grow in recognizing his voice as we listen to his word and obey his instruction. Do you believe, as Peter did, that Jesus has the words of everlasting life and the power to change and transform your life? Ask the Lord Jesus to increase your faith that you may grow in knowing, loving, and serving him as your Lord and Redeemer, Teacher and Healer, Master and Savior.

Lord Jesus, you have the words of everlasting life. Help me to cast aside all doubt and fear so that I may freely embrace your word with complete trust and joy. I surrender all to you. Be the Lord of my life and the Ruler of my heart. May there be nothing which hinders me from trusting in your love and following your will.

Sources:  

Lectionary for Mass for use in the Dioceses of the United States, second typical edition, copyright (c) 2001, 1998, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine; Psalm refrain (c) 1968, 1981, 1997, international committee on english in the liturgy, Inc All rights reserved. Neither this work nor any part of it may be reproduced, distributed, performed or displayed in any medium, including electronic or digital, without permission in writing from the copyright owner

**Meditations may be freely reprinted and translated into other languages for non-profit use only. Please cite copyright and original source. Copyright 2021 Daily Scripture Readings and Meditation, dailyscripture.net author Don Schwager

[titikparas]

BTS dan Timeline hidupku

(You) kill me softly, I can’t run away anymore (Blood sweat and tear,2016-9 Oct)

Time’s so cruel I hate us, seeing each other for once is now so hard between us, and how many sleepless nights do I have to spend (Spring Day, 2017- 12 Feb)

Run if you can’t fly, walk if you can’t run, crawl if you can’t walk,, crawl to gear up, today we will survive, never die today. Trust me on your side together we won’t die (Not today, 2017 19 Feb)

Afraid I was, afraid to be loved for who I am (Love Yourself Highlight Reel, 2017-17 Aug)

Just like you, I’m so scared, when you see me (Serendipity, 2017-4 Sep)

Don’t look back (DNA, 2017 - 18 Sep)

I’m so firin’ firin’ boy your time’s up, keep on an runnin’ and runnin’ until I catch up. HOW YOU DARE said that “you were running and I am still crawl” foot foot watch it your mouth mouth you watch it, don’t need see you you anymore. This is the last farewell. Your cornea gets shocked when it sees us (me) (MIC DROP; 2017-4 Nov)

The route I took, I forgot. I even became quite unsure of who I was. For you (life) I could pretend like I was strong when I was hurt. Look at me, even I gave up on myself. You say I’m unfamiliar, changed into to the one you used to like. You say I’m not myself which you knew well. I don’t know why. (Fake love, 2018-18 May)

I just can’t bear the storm inside my heart. The real myself inside the smiling mask I reveal it entirely (Epiphany, 2018-9 Aug)

No more irony for I was always myself. Point your fingers, I couldn’t care less (IDOL, 2018-24 Aug)

I wish it rains all day, cuz then people wouldn’t stare at me. Cuz the umbrella would cover the sad face, cuz in the rain people are busy minding themselves. Gonna breathe a little slower. (Forever Rain, 2018-22 Oct)

If love and hate are the same words, I love you Seoul (Jogja). If love and hate are the same words, I hate you Seoul (Jogja). (seoul, 2018-23 Oct)

Can’t breathe in the sunlight. Got to hide your heart (Moonchild, 2018-24 Oct)

From the moment I met you (BTS) ya, my life was all you ya. You’re the star that turns ordinaries into extraordinaries. Listen my baby (BTS) I’m flying high in the sky. Let’s me fly (Boy With Luv, 2019-10 Apr)

When I close my eyes, in the darkness your light woah, lights the way for me, we can walk forward without fear, you (BTS) and I. you’re my light, you’re my light, always shine into my heart. No matter how far apart we are your light shines on me. Decide for yourself what it means to be happy , Everyday take a step to grow up. It’s okay to be you (Light, 2019-2 Jul)

YOU’VE SHOWN ME I HAVE REASONS, I SHOULD LOVE MYSELF (LOVE MYSELF, 2018-24 AUG) - 2019 ( I Found this song)

I know that I messed up but I promise I can make it right ( Meke it Right, 2019-18 Oct)

I’ve been trying all my life to separate the time, in between the having it all and giving it up (Suga’s Interlude, 2019-6 Dec)

I will take it away before you stumble, I will stay by your side until you survive. Hope it will bloom. They say life is full of paradox, All you gotta do is gettin’ used to this marathon. Is the world just tough on you? ‘everyone is tired’ (Winter Flower, 2020-6 Jan)

Let my own feet carry me, I’ll go in myself in the deepest depths, I saw myself, Slwoly I open my eyes ( Black Swan, 2020-27 Jan)

I let myself go away. I don’t care, choices by my fate, so we’re here. Look ahead, the way is shining. Keep going now. ( Ego, 2020-2 Feb)

Of course I’m not unafraid, of course it’s not all okay. Gotta go insane to stay sane. Where my pain lies, let me take a breath. ( ON, 2020-21 Feb)

We had nothing but dreams. Don’t wanna die, but so much pain too much crying, so worn out is the blade. Keep thinking is this still a dream? (study) (We are Bulletproof: the Eternal, 2020-11 Jun)

In a world where you feel cold, you gotta stay gold. (Say Gold, 2020-26 Jun)

I got the medicine so you should keep ya eyes on the ball. So I’mma light it up like dynamite. (Dynamite, 2020-21 Aug)

Close your eyes for a moment, hold my hand, to that future, let’s run away. (Life Goes On, 2020, 20-Nov)

Don’t have to be right, just wanted you to stay the way you are. And I found you, and you suddenly disappear ( Film out, 2021-1 Apr)

Smooth like butter kuje a criminal undercover. Gon’ pop like trouble breaking into your heart like that.know that I got that heat, let me show you cause talk is cheap (Julid-ASEAN IPR). ( Butter, 2021-21 May)

Just dream about that moment, when you look yourself right in the eye, eye, eye. We don’t need to worry, couse when we fall we know how to land ( when your stress come back, you know how to deal with). Don’t need to talk the talk, just walk the walk. Couse we don’t need permission to dance (write). (Permission to dance, 2021-9 Jul)

You make me wake up everyday. Thank you for coming like a miracle. It resembles a miracle, it’s like a miracle. (Stay Alive, 2022-11 Feb)

[imagineclaireandjamie]

The Last All-Clear (8)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story is a series following the premise: “Imagine if Jamie travelled through the stones, but instead of finding Claire in Boston he found himself having arrived years too early, when the War was still happening and Claire had yet to meet him… What would he do?”

A wee bit o’ mixing of showverse and bookverse details, hope ye dinna mind. 

Previously:

(Part 1) September 17, 1942: A Rusty Nail

(Part 2) December 3, 1942: Comb and Glove

(Part 3) 1943: Blood and Whisky | (Part 4) 1943-1944: Gifts and Ends

(Part 5) June, 1944: The Road | (Part 6) June, 1944: The Ditch  

(Part 7) Samhain, 1946: Inverness |

(8) April 16, 1948: The Hill 

The first time I went through the stones, there had been no sense to it, no words, no meaning. Unprepared as I had been, my mind had stayed four steps behind my body, completely incapable of processing the experience until it was long over, leaving even now only a vague impression, that of hurtling through an insidious, shrieking darkness. That senselessness had been a blessing, I now knew, no matter how terrible the experience itself had been. This time...

This time, it was like one of those horror-story medical cases where the anesthesia doesn’t fully take effect, where—unbeknownst to anyone— the patient is conscious and feels every single agony.... but is unable to move or scream or even blink.  

This time, I could feel everything, see everything as it happened, and yet I was completely powerless to move, to speak as I bled out, was torn apart. This time, there was no distraction, no senseless oblivion, no blessed, rushing current of time to speed the torture. There was only the truth, sharp and vicious, a thousand knife blades tearing through my flesh as I fell: 

Jamie

Jamie is gone

Jamie is dead

Then the world broke apart, and I was falling through real air toward real grass... and into Jamie’s arms. 

“Oh, thank God,” I moaned. My knees buckled, the crippling blow of sudden relief too much for my body to withstand, but Jamie kept me from falling. Jamie. My fingers scrabbled to hold him tighter, to convince myself he was real. Jamie. “Thank — God — !” 

“You’re here,” he was gasping back, hands frantic, his cheek wet against my forehead. “You’re—here—You’re you!” 

It hadn’t worked. Praise be to God and all the saints for all of eternity, the stones hadn’t worked. They’d spat me right back out at Jamie’s feet. 

“Jamie — ” 

This man—This kind, gentle, powerful, caring man....My husband...

“Mo chridhe....” 

Abject relief and even the sensory comfort of him vanished as reality roared back in. “Jamie....Jamie, don’t make me do it!” 

For, I knew it as deeply as I knew my own name that one botched attempt would not be enough to dissuade him from getting me to the safety of the twentieth century. He wouldn’t give in. Well....neither would I. I fisted my hands hard in his coat as I gritted out, “You can’t make me try it again.” 

“’Try’?—What d’ye—?” He stiffened, then squeezed me tighter, his breath fast and shallow against my neck as he said, urgently, “No! Claire, listen! Ye have come—”

“They didn’t work—I can’t get through! You can’t go fight, now—” I was sobbing, completely senseless in my despair. “You CAN’T—You have t—You—Come away with me, Jamie, me and the baby —” 

I pulled myself harder against him, absolutely berserk with determination that he must not die—that I mustn’t leave him. I’d relented once, down below in the cottage; had felt my heart break in two as I agreed to go, because he had begged, and I’d seen no other way.  I’d touched the bloody stones for him, for his child, meaning to go back to my old life for their sake, if not my own; but the stones had had other intentions, thank God, and so now I would do the begging. “Jamie—don’t throw your life away—Come away with me, love—stay with—”

"Claire,” he said, louder this time as he cupped my head, kissed it. His voice was cracked but full, radiant, even, with some powerful emotion I couldn’t name. “Mo chridhe, listen, ye dinna understand! You’re—  ”

“We can run away, ” I whimpered, twining my fingers in his hair, even as I memorized his scent again, greedily clinging to the feel of him for the last time, some part of me knowing the futility of every word. Still, I begged. “I’ll go anywhere—anywhere—Just don’t give yourself up — don’t — DON’T—”

“Sassenach, look at me.” This was said more sharply as he tried to pry me away and tilt my face upward. “Lass, l—” 

“NO—” 

I wouldn’t yield to this again; I WOULD NOT sit back and submit to  — 

He must have pushed me, for I was reeling backward, clawing at empty air, my eyes so blurred and swollen with tears I could barely discern more than the direction of the sunlight. 

I was screaming his name, so frantic in my disorientation that I thought I’d touched the stone again and that he was gone...Gone.... 

But he was shouting my name, too, near at hand, though the sound seemed muffled, as though I were beneath deep water. I reached blindly for it, but the tone of command in his voice cut through, harsh enough to halt me. I stood, still unable to see, heaving, waiting.  

 “Claire.... mo ghraidh....”  

So soft, that voice, now. Gentle. Beaming, with —  

“Open your eyes, Claire. Look at me.” 

The 2,557th day 

God, how it broke my heart to see ye, so, standing in the circle, your face so pale and thin. The hollows of your cheek and collarbone stood out so painfully in the gold of the fading sunlight, and I could hardly bear the shame of it, of bringing that suffering upon ye. For all my own struggles and fears in our time apart, I have had seven years of plenty. Even in the worst of my days in this century, I never went to my bed starving, hardly one night in all those years, thanks to the kindness of many a stranger. You, though.... God, Claire, to see ye thus, your back hunched over as though ye would fall at any moment, scarce minutes removed from those wretched months of war and hunger, and with child, no less. Christ, our own wee bairn... 

Still, though my heart was squeezing fit to burst, though I was aching to hold my wife, to have you and the bairn safe in my arms at last.... I confess, the foremost feeling within me was unspeakable joy. Though my bones still seemed to scream from those agonizing hours of waiting, today, of fearing the worst with every minute ye didna arrive, I was all but laughing as I caught ye, held ye, the happiness so visceral and complete that it imbued my limbs, my breath, my tongue. For, the days of fear were gone, those hundreds and thousands of days, banished. You’re here, Claire. My Claire, the one I married. The one who knows my heart, and I, hers. All that remained was for you to look up, to see me, to see my joy and know your own, once ye understood the miracle at hand.

At last, ye did look, peering up, out from that darkness pressing down upon ye. You blinked once, straightened a bit and looked more closely. Another blink. I watched your mouth open as ye tried to speak, the wind blowing your hair about your face, but no sound came forth.   

My own voice scarcely could make itself heard, though I tried to smile as I gestured toward my garments. This isna precisely how ye left me, moments ago, aye?

Between the tears and hunger, the fatigue and the lingering panic, I couldn’t seem to fix my eyes long enough to put words to what I was seeing, to reconcile the contradictory realities before me. 

Jamie Fraser—my Jamie—standing on the other side of the clearing of Craigh na Dun. That was reasonable. He’d been only at the bottom of the hill, after all, when I’d left him. 

But his hair cropped short? 

His face suddenly clean and shaven?

His clothes— his clothes....?

“Ye did come through the stones, mo chridhe,” he was saying, his face alight. “And so did I.” 

“No...” I shook my head and staggered a step back. 

“.....It’s 1948.” He spoke each word slowly and carefully, repeating it. “Nineteen hundred and forty-eight.” 

I swayed, time and reason seeming to pulse and stretch absurdly, like a rubber band. This was a dream. This was nothing more than a bloody fever dream of grief and emotional turmoil and pregnancy, my subconscious soothing me with a fantasy world in which I got to keep both of them, Jamie and our child, forever, in a place of safety. That world isn’t real, Beauchamp. This isn’t real. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my mouth to keep from screaming. This isn’t real, no matter how much you want it to be.  

“Claire, hear me. Time has passed. It was morning a moment ago, aye?” He was speaking quickly, urgently. “Look about—’Tis sunset, now. This isna the morn of Culloden. It canna be. Ye see how I’m dressed. Ye felt me in your own two hands, just now, did ye not?” He took a step forward. “We’ve come through the stones, both of us. I’m real.” 

I could do nothing but stare and try to stem the flood of yearning before it could break me apart from the inside. I tried to speak, but could only mouth one word: How...? 

“When I saw the redcoat making chase for ye, I followed, running up the hill after him,” he said, moving slowly toward me. 

I had heard footsteps behind me as I ran to the stones.... just minutes ago...

“I crested the hill just as I saw ye vanish,” he said. “I fought him as the sun came up fully, all across the circle floor. At one point, I made a lunge for him but missed, staggered, and threw out my hand to stop my fall, but I fell against the stone by accident.....I passed through.”  

I couldn’t stop staring at those fists, clenching and unclenching at his sides, twitching, then stilling again, just a few feet before me. 

“I’ve been here ever since.” 

Silence. 

“Claire?” 

"You didn’t fight in the battle?” The words seemed to come from somewhere outside my body as I watched those hands, transfixed, my lips scarcely moving. “You...didn’t die?” 

“No, I didna die,” I heard him murmur with a breath of a laugh, gentle and soft and him. Alive. “I woke up here, in this very spot..... and I’ve been waiting for you, for this day, praying you’d be safely delivered to this year......And here ye are, at last. Claire, I—” His voice broke at that, a grating whisper, and I watched as the fingers began stretching out toward me, trembling. “Mo chridhe.... I’ve missed you so....All th—” He had to stop. When he spoke again, the tears were choking him in good earnest. “—all these years, I’ve— ” 

“Who’s the prime minister?” I heard myself blurt. 

The hands twitched. “.....Beg pardon?” 

“The prime minister,” I snapped, the rush of annoyance somehow momentarily bracing to my fracturing sanity. “I know for a fact I never told you, so tell me right this damned minute who the bloody pr—” 

“The prime minister of the United Kingdom....” I watched as one hand reached out and took mine, warm and confident as his voice. “.... is Clement Attlee.” 

A sob and a gasp escaped my throat at the same time, a wretched pain slicing through me as the other hand raised up to my face. “Dinna fash, my Sassenach,” he said, though tears were pouring down his own cheeks, framing that same crooked smile. “Mr. Attlee’s doing a fine job of it.” 

I must have blacked out for a few moments, for the next thing I knew, my arms were already around his neck, my feet barely touching the ground and my ribs ready to crack as he crushed me to him. We were both crying, sobbing, and I couldn’t seem to hold enough of him at once. Him—Jamie—JAMIE—“You—fucking—bastard!!!” I ground out through gritted teeth against his shoulder (his real, 20th-century shoulder!!). “BASTARD!” 

He laughed, sniffing through the weeping. “I love ye too, Sassenach.” 

“You were going to die!” I snarled, truly and mightily furious, coughing and gasping for air even as my limbs went liquid from relief. “You were going to go to that battlefield— and let yourself be slaughtered— you FUCKING —” 

“I know....” he murmured at once, all levity vanished as he sobered and held me, his hand coming up to twine in my hair and cup my head, hard. “I know....You were so brave, mo ghraidh...Thank ye for doing as as I bade, for the bairn’s sake. It meant everything to me. It means everything.” He kissed me, just below the ear, exhaling, shuddering against my skin. “But now, w—we dinna have to grieve—anymore.” He was crying so heavily he could hardly get the words out. “We’re here.... to—gether.”  

“How long?” I choked out. 

“Forever, mo chridhe—We’ll have all the time in the—”

 “No—” I said, feeling the horror pooling in my gut, enough to make me push back to study his face above the collar of his waxed cotton jacket. All these years, he’d just said. “....How long have you been waiting?” 

He replied, but so quietly I had to ask it again. He cleared his throat and couldn’t look me in the eye as he said, too carefully, “Since— 1941.” 

The sound that issued from me—

It wasn’t possible. If it truly was 1948, then the stones kept time in exact parallel. Jesus H Christ, I had left him mere minutes ago, how could he possibly—POSSIBLY—?

Very gently, he took my hand and turned it over. The letter J carved at the base of my thumb was oozing blood, the scabs having torn off sometime in the last few minutes from grappling with him, I supposed. He laid his own hand palm-up to show the mark I myself had made upon him. I stared. For so very long, I couldn’t do a goddamn thing except stare, my eyes and mouth both moving furiously but without sound. In contrast to the raw, screaming red of my own fresh wound, his C was the barest, faintest crescent of white, so long-healed as to all but have disappeared amid the lines and wrinkles. 

 “...Oh, Jamie...”  I reached up for his face with both my hands, my heart absolutely breaking for him. My eyes were wide and streaming, though I still dared to hope that I’d misunderstood. “.....Seven years?” 

I expected him to make a joke, to tease or try to lighten the mood, but he only nodded and kissed my hands, laying his own atop them on his face as he continued to weep. 

“Oh, my love....” I kissed him, kissed his tears, the devastation of his reality ripping through me as though they were my own years that had been lost; my own heart that had been alone for close to a decade. There were no words, but I couldn’t stop murmuring what I could. I love you....I’m so sorry....It’s alright... It’s over.

“I love you,” he repeated back, letting me hold and soothe him, as he had me. “I love you.” 

“But, where did you go?” I whispered at last when the questions became too frenzied to ignore. I tried to search his eyes, my own surely incredulous and horrified. “What....what did you do for all that—” Jesus “—all those years?” 

His eyes flicked open. He took a steadying breath, kissed me, very gently, then released one hand to reach into his pocket. Turning my scarred one over once more, he placed something delicately in my palm. It was still warm from the heat of his body. A smooth pebble of cherrywood, carved with a interlace dragonfly. 

  I thought I’d seen ye shocked, already; thought that you had already been overcome to the most extreme point possible by the day’s revelations. I was wrong, for your reaction in that moment, seeing the token in your hand, the one I made for ye, all those years ago—That reaction was something the like of which I’ve never seen on your face, Claire, so visceral and true, it sent waves coursing through me that took my breath from fear and love, both. I hope never to give ye cause to feel such a thing again.   

You studied my face, wild-like, seeking your friend of old, within....and finding him. Ye covered your mouth with both hands to keep from wailing. 

It’s really him, ye wept through your fingers, —really you.

C’est moi, I said, touching your cheek. It’s me. 

One hand dropped to your heart and clutched hard as ye sank to your knees, tears streaming freely over the other. 

It was the only way I kent to live wi’ myself, I said, or something of the like as I knelt beside ye, put my arms around ye. Being near to ye, in some way. 

All along? 

That what ye kept saying. I could see your eyes above your hands, clear and shining and full of love and awe, even as the most terrible sobs wracked your body. 

Aye...all along. 

It was difficult to speak the words, any words, for I, too was being bowled over by the weight of it all, the immensity of release from this last burden, this last secret that had so long been crushing my heart. I felt myself swaying on my knees, the world spinning around us. 

You came to find me? you said, incredulous, broken-hearted. All those years, you watched over me? Helped me?

As best I could, I said. 

You did, you whispered, nodding fiercely as you wept into my chest and pulled me close, tightly enough to bruise. You did. More than you know.

My heart leapt, for I thought surely ye must mean the night in the ditch. Though, when I asked of it, ye didna seem to comprehend that of which I spoke. You stared up at me, trying to fathom what I might possibly could mean. 

Then all at once you jolted as though struck by an electric shock. I saw you remember. 

You were there? you said, again and again. You were there with me.....Jesus Chris, you were there....

Time seems to have juddered out of place, then, for I canna precisely recall how much of it passed. I canna recall how my body was situated, or yours. I canna remember what words we might have spoken, or, for that matter, if we were able to speak at all. I think not, on the whole. All I ken for certain is that I was holding you, all my heart running down my face as I clung to you and to the bairn; that everything was well, that all was clear, at last. 

When the night had fallen, though, and you were asleep against my breast, I carried you here to the campsite and laid you down upon the blankets, tucking you in against the chill of the night. I couldna sleep, myself. Not yet. I watched you, for a time, wept some more (I’m a most damnably fragile man, mo chridhe; I do hope you’ll forgive me) and then turned on the electric torch, that I might write to ye. One more letter, one final letter, before closing this wee book for good. After all, I dinna mean to be spending many days apart from ye, in the lifetime to come, Sassenach; none at all, if I should have my own say in the matter. 

Lord, but what else remains to be written, apart from rejoicing here on this page that we are safe; we are together; we have our child; that we will live, Claire, long and happily; and that, by divine grace, I was able to keep my promise. 

Do you recall it? The one I made near Carryarrick, just after ye told me about that night in the ditch? About the Americans? I promised you that no matter what might come, you would never be alone again; and you weren’t, not for a single moment as ye fell through the stones; not in that darkest, most fearful night of the war. Whatever luck or chance or providence brought it about, guiding my steps, you were protected. You were never alone. 

Aye, that was it:  what I was repeating over and over as we lay there shaking and weeping on the ground before the stones. 

You weren’t ever alone.

[y e s , t h e r e ’s  m o r e]

[westywrites]

I’m Sorry

This is why I should never make promises... I know I said I would have the next part of Soulmates to go out yesterday, but obviously that didn’t happen. I was invited very last minute to be part of the ensemble for Mamma Mia in the theatre festival and between my play and hurriedly learning the blocking/choreo for that (as the festival opens tonight) I have been in theatre for more than three hours everyday since Monday. Not much time to write. 

As an apology I have decided to post the entire first chapter of my WIP, “Story with Gods”

Next

The floor was cold and hard against her back, made of metal that had been painted dark just like the walls. The room itself was bright, lit by rows of white fluorescents that stung her eyes. She laid still while making these assessments and tried to move only her eyes. There was another person on either side of her, to her left was a girl about her age but a fair bit taller, to her right was a large man who grunted slightly with each breath he took. Her mind had been spinning tirelessly for hours but she still couldn't think of where she could be or why she would be there. She had been on her way to work, a part-time job she hated, before she suddenly woke up in that small cold room full of people. She didn't dare move or speak, filled with fear and thoughts of the B-rated horror movies she loved so much. No one else seemed to be awake. Whenever the man beside her stirred she would pretend to sleep. To her it seemed like an eternity had passed before anything happened.

"It is currently 7 am. Those of you who are awake may come and retrieve your breakfast,” a man's voice said from the small speaker in the corner. "Please be sure to take only your portion and not to share with others." At this announcement a couple of others got up, a university-aged boy and a middle-aged woman in a beige blazer and pencil skirt. They moved quietly to one wall. The girl was hungry and surrendered to the smell of toast. She stood slowly and joined the woman and boy at a small counter with a row of containers on it. Without saying a word, each took a container and retreated to a corner to eat. The breakfast consisted solely of a soggy piece of toast and a small bottle of water. The girl sighed and ate slowly, as she ate she examined the room. With only bare metal walls, one large door, a bathroom and the food slot there wasn’t much to see. The people, however, were much more interesting. There were eight in total, all different in just about every way. However hard the girl searched she couldn't find anything they had in common. Slowly each person got up to eat and sat themselves around the walls of the room. They all moved in silent slow motion, their faces blank with shock or filled with confusion.

"Listen here," said a large black man in a tight shirt, "if we're going to be stuck here together we need to know a bit about each other." He waved his toast around as he spoke and the girl had a feeling that he was just talking to keep himself from having a breakdown. "I'm Isaiah, I'm a volunteer firefighter in Belleville and a father of three young girls." He turned to the lady beside him.

"I'm Jen, I work as an administrator for a company in Toronto." She looked like she was in her mid-twenties and wore very modest clothes. Her eyes were wide and her voice was barely a whisper.

"This is stupid." The university-aged boy complained, his foot tapped rapidly against the ground as his eyes darted around analyzing his surroundings. "I'm Quentin, I'm an engineering student at McMaster." From there each person introduced themselves in much the same fashion. The man who had been next to the girl was Phil, an electrician; the woman in the beige blazer was a paralegal named Karen, and the scrawny man who had sat down all too close to the girl would only say that his name was Anthony. The girl shifted slightly away from him and flashed what she hoped was a warm smile at the others.

"I'm Sophia," she said, "I'm 16 and I'll be a grade 12 student come fall." She winced at the waver in her voice and felt her smile grow awkward.

"Oh good, I thought I was way younger than everyone." The other girl sighed in relief. "I'm Olivia, just turned 17 and also going into grade 12." She pulled her dark hair away from her face and shot a sideways glance at Sophia. Her green eyes stood out against her brown skin and Sophia saw something deeper than just the pain of the current situation within them.  

"Well, that was very helpful." Quentin the engineering student rolled his eyes. "What now?"

"Now we find a way out." Isaiah the firefighter responded, cracking his knuckles and forcing a deep breath. Everyone, with the exception of Quentin, anxiously scoured every inch of the room and the small adjoining bathroom. The only openings were the long, thin slit where the food had come in, a tiny vent in the bathroom, and the large door with no handle. As the largest men, Isaiah and Phil the electrician took turns trying to ram it down. Seeing as the door was made of the same metal as the floor, no one was surprised when nothing came of this. Hours had passed before everyone gave up and began to sit in quiet conversation or pace around the room.

"So what courses are you taking next semester?" The girl, Sophia, asked needing to talk about something and not coming up with a better topic.

"Math, French, drama, and a spare." Olivia shrugged, her voice had a practiced lack of emotion. "I'm excited to have a spare last class though, hopefully I'll get to go home and work in my grandfather’s greenhouse."

"I don't have any spares." Sophia smirked, talking about school in that room just seemed absurd, but at least it was better than dwelling on the present. "I'm kind of an overachiever, but I mean all my courses are fun so it'll be great. I’ve got law and English and world cultures and classical civilizations. I've got all the boring stuff second semester." She could tell by the look on Olivia's face that those courses didn't seem fun to her. "Yea I know I'm a huge geek. I literally want to become a history and law teacher, though I'm also thinking about being a university professor."

"I have no idea what I'm gonna do with my life." Olivia sighed. "My parents want me to marry the rich and successful son of one of their friends back in India and honestly I may just go with it."

"C'mon there's gotta be something you're passionate about, you can make a career out of anything if you care enough. You said your granddad has a greenhouse?" Sophia then spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out Olivia's life for her.

Come lunchtime everyone was getting restless. Leaving eight strangers trapped in a small room isn't a very good idea, and there had already been a number of small arguments. That all was nothing compared to the fight that happened when lunch showed up. At 1:30, according to the announcement, a single plastic container slid through the slot. It had a small note attached saying it was meant for Quentin and only Quentin. He opened it slowly and as far away from himself as possible, fearing that it may be a trap of some kind. Inside was half of a sandwich and a water bottle. At that moment the announcement came on again and explained that since everyone else had tried to escape only Quentin got lunch. If he shared any of it with anyone, no one would get supper. This news, understandably, caused outrage.

"You vile little creature." Isaiah hissed at Quentin. "You knew this would happen."

"You better give us each some of that sandwich," Karen, the paralegal, demanded.

"No way. You heard the announcement." Quentin held the container tightly against his chest. "If I share we all won't get to eat, besides there's not enough for all eight of us."

"Then give some to the girls,” Phil suggested gesturing at Sophia and Olivia. "They're small and young, they need to eat." Both of the girls made a face to disagree with Phil.

"It's my sandwich I earned it." Quentin backed into the corner. Isaiah cursed at him and Phil took a menacing step forward. The three of them yelled back and forth for some time as everyone else watched in silence.

"Maybe if you can't share the sandwich you just shouldn't eat it," Jen, the administrator, interrupted in a small voice.

"That wouldn't make any sense. Then we'd all just be hungry." Quentin whined at her.

Suddenly Anthony swatted the container out of his hand and the sandwich fell out onto the floor. "Only fair," Anthony said as he squished the sandwich with his foot. That effectively ended the argument and everyone sat in agitated silence, except for a few hushed conversations, until the announcer spoke again.

"It is now 6:30, please retrieve the containers from the counter." The announcer held no emotion in his nasal voice. Eight containers slid out and Isaiah looked triumphantly at Quentin. The containers were handed around and opened in anticipation. Inside each container was a water bottle, only half full, and a note with one word on it. Once they figured out the order the words formed a simple sentence. "If you really want everyone not to eat..." The announcer read out the message as soon as they had put it together. "Then don't follow the rules. It's quite simple, listen and you eat but don't listen and you don't eat." Olivia and Sophia looked at each other, Olivia didn’t even try to hide the fear on her face this time.

Karen, Isaiah, and Phil all took their turns cursing out the announcer before everyone fell into a tense silence again. That night everyone slept in groups to try and stay warm against the cold metal floor. The next day was similar to the first but they received some food three times that day. The day after was the same, and the days after that. They all struggled to understand their situation, fighting often, and crying even more. They told stories and sung songs to pass the time. However, as time passed their fear only grew, each day the portions of food seemed smaller and they all were hungry all the time. This went on for nearly two weeks before Isaiah decided he couldn't take it anymore.

"You listen here!" He yelled at the announcer. "You're starving us, we need food and you aren't giving us enough. There are children in here. I have children at home." He gestured around the room. "I know you've got a camera somewhere to watch us and I beg you. There's better entertainment elsewhere, just let us go." Isaiah knew there wasn't really any point in his protests but he just couldn't sit back anymore.

"Hey, it's alright." Sophia placed a hand on his arm. "If he wanted to kill us he would've already. We can get out of here eventually." She led Isaiah to sit in the corner. Sophia had a natural ability to talk people down from high emotions and she had found herself using that a lot during those past two weeks. She wanted to help more but there wasn’t much she could do, or anyone could do. That night at supper a portion didn't show up for Isaiah and he sat trying to hide the tears in his eyes while the others ate.

"I can't stand this," Sophia whispered to Olivia. "Us all eating while he watches. I know it's against the rules but I just can't do this."

"Wait, what are you planning?" Olivia grabbed Sophia's arm, her nails digging in. "Don't you dare screw yourself over, you need the food more than he does." Sophia had already been incredibly thin when they got there and at this point she looked sickly. Sophia debated convincing Olivia to let her, she knew she could, but she knew she had a point and surrendered. She ate her supper in silence, all the while looking forlornly at Isaiah.

Another week passed in much the same fashion and they continued to get increasingly small portions of food. There were arguments regularly but everyone stayed far away from any territory that could get their food taken away. They were all exhausted, filthy, and miserable but Sophia was determined to maintain her optimism. She forcibly kept her hope that they would get out soon and she would try to get others to tell stories or sing songs with her like they had before. Outwardly the others were annoyed by this but Sophia knew they needed it. Her determination grew even stronger when Quentin got sick. It started one morning when he wouldn't wake up for breakfast. He was pale and running a fever. Sophia sat by him and took care of him, forcing him to eat what food he was given and drink water whenever they had it.

"How's he doing, Soph?" Olivia asked her at supper. As the weeks had passed Olivia had softened to her, at this point they had told each other everything. Some unspoken bond seemed to draw them together.

"No improvement, but he's not any worse so that's good." Sophia stroked his hair repetitively. She bit her lip as she looked at how dry his lips were.

"It's really kind of you to do that," Jen said, kneeling beside them. “Wish I could be like that.”

"I just wish I could do more." Sophia shrugged. She sat with Quentin throughout the night, gently singing and talking to him while everyone else slept. In the morning they found her asleep against the wall with his head in her lap. Everyone made sure not to wake her. When the announcement came on for breakfast she opened her eyes groggily and looked down at Quentin. His breaths were shallow but his fever was down from the night before. Olivia brought breakfast for the three of them. Each container had only a small piece of toast, less than a quarter of a slice, and a nearly empty water bottle. Sophia bit at her own lip again and ran a gentle finger along Quentin's bottom lip. His lips were so dry and cracked. She made a decision then and she was the kind of person who, once they made a decision, no one could stop.

[chelsdavisart]

Enderal Character Ask + Expression Practice

Drawing Mom and thinking about what a full-blooded Arazalean person might look like led to me trying to figure out what a half Arazalean person might look like... so I put some more work into Wren’s design. Had lots of fun.  Enderal Character Ask – Fill it out yourself or reblog as is to use as an ask meme.

Have fun! <3

—————————————

1. The basics – name, age, etc… Wren Peakdasher, age 27, she/her. The last name she chose to replace one she hated.

2. Describe their appearance. Half Arazalean, 5’6” tall, athletic build; dark, eternally messy hair. Gray-ish blue-ish eyes. She bears her mother’s sharp features (dulled by her Nehrimese blood) and her father’s coloration. She has ample arms and hips; minimal chest.

(Blank survey here; the rest of my answers are under the cut.)

3. How do they like to dress? Wren dresses for comfort and practicality. She doesn't like to wear garments which restrict her movement. She’d be really into sweaters. She likes pretty things, but wearing them is rare.

4. Do they have any markings (scars, tattoos, birthmarks)? Wren has an old, blurry tattoo on the inside of her left wrist- the crest of her owner.

5. What are they like?: Neutral good. Wren is extremely reserved around most people. She /hates/ crowds. She will often flinch at unexpected touch. When she is angry, she becomes quiet and cold. Please don’t yell at her. Loves the outdoors- absolutely would sleep in the woods every night if the local wildlife in Enderal wasn’t going crazy. She’s stubborn. She can forget that she needs to take care of herself- she’s inclined to get the job done without rest. When someone has stuck around her long enough, or takes the shortcut of showing intentional interest in her thoughts, Comfortable Wren™ is unlocked. She laughs! She jokes! She offers pretty things! She protects, trusts, and forgives!

6. How would they describe themselves? Who’s asking?

7. Education level? She has a street education. She can read and do basic maths. She likes ideas. It’s very important to her that each person be able to hold their own ideas- and that those should not be controlled by another person. One of her strengths is a high level of emotional intelligence. She is good at reading and understanding people. Motivation is very important to her.

8. What are they proud of in themselves? What are they embarrassed about? Wren’s very good at running and she’s pretty proud of that. She’s good at survival, as well. She’s embarrassed of how she pushes herself too far. Mostly because it means admitting to other people that she has limits, but also because it means she has to recover, which takes longer than just resting in the first place.

9. Do they know any languages other than Inal? She learned some sign language as part of one of her odd jobs for the Creator’s Temple, some more for communicating silently with Sirius. She knows mostly very polite and very rude signs.

10. What, if any, aspects of their mother’s culture influenced them growing up? Her lullabies were the ones her mother learned on the Steppes of Arazeal. She still hums them when she’s nervous or comforting others. A very simplified version of her mother’s philosophy sank in. “People should be able to decide for themselves what they believe.”

11. Name a song (or a few) that remind you of them. ...I have an enormous playlist for her. Of note… Big Houses by Squalloscope Open by Regina Spektor Run Boy Run by Woodkid Twenty Seven by MS MR Blindness by Metric Rabbit Heart by Florence + The Machine

12. Speaking of songs, can they sing? What is their voice like? How about instruments? She hums to herself and she doesn’t sing around other people unless they’re very safe. Not sure how it sounds.

13. What was their life like before coming to Enderal? Wren’s family burned when she was quite young. She survived on her own for a couple of months, but was scooped up by slavers. She was given her master’s surname, Guthran. She does not remember her father’s name and doesn’t care to. She was an absolute terror of a child after being enslaved. She still has a foul mouth and a defiant streak. Wren hunted rats in warehouses as a child and, when old enough to go out, graduated to hunting game for her master’s table. The sense of freedom this job gave her was vital. She was able to keep herself happy that way.

14. How did they decide to leave Nehrim? During the revolt, Wren was obliged to protect her master. She thought she was going to die, but she didn't. She decided then that if she got a chance to get out, she’d take it. That chance came two years later.

15. Describe their relationship with Sirius. They became friends when they hunted rats together in the warehouses. They helped each other stay alive in the hard times, celebrate the good times, and cope with the weird times.

16. Who do they blame for what happened to their family? The Lightborn, indirectly. Directly, the men she saw that day.

17. Apart from stowing away, have they ever broken the law? She’s an escaped slave, for one. Other than that… yeah, probably. But only the dumb laws.

18. How honest are they? Under what circumstances would they lie? She is honest when that is needed and dishonest when that is needed. There are a lot of things more important than the correct answer to “which way did they go?”

19. Worst memory(s)? Best memory(s)? Worst memory, aside from her family burning: her entire adolescence. Good lord. Best memory: recently drew this one. Making daisy chains with her mother one afternoon, listening to stories of Arazeal and talking about how they’d go back together.

20. Fight, or flight? FLIGHT

21. Describe their combat style. Sneaky pew pew

22. Have they ever killed before? What is their reaction to combat? Wren has killed before and she hates it. That’s why she prefers ranged- it’s less of a sickeningly tactile engagement with her prey.

23. How do they react to having magical abilities? Do they use them? “Well shit, that’s weird. Oh gods why does it hurt?” She does not like using magic. She avoids the school of restoration entirely- gives her a headache.

24. What do they think of Enderal? It’s gorgeous. She wants to explore /all of it./ She heard a rumor that there might be an actual real dragon somewhere and she is SO EXCITED. She was delighted to learn that there technically is no slavery here. Well. There’s nothing that is /called/ “slavery” here. Let’s be honest with ourselves- there are slaves. Wren is severely disappointed to find that crucifixion is practiced here. Crosses freak her out and she does not like that she keeps running into them.

25. Did they do the Biggest Egg Hunt Ever quest? HECK YES SHE DID. IT WAS AMAZING.

26. How do they feel about joining the Order? What do they think of Arantheal? That was very “no.” She did not like joining The Order. She does not want to represent the damn Lightborn. She thought she didn’t have a choice, but then Jespar got to stay without doing the quest? Rude? Tealor Arantheal is a big, old guy who thinks he knows what’s best for everyone and he’s got a lot of pride in his bones. He was nice enough at first, but he just kept getting worse. He does not have the same values as Wren- not even in the same neighborhood- and she does not like him at all.

27. What is their opinion of the gods (or lack thereof)? “The gods” watched as horror after horror took place in her home. “The gods” watched as the men from the so-called temple burned her family while she hid. They did nothing to stop it- not even for sister. These “gods” allowed her to be enslaved and they laughed at her every hardship. If they were gods, if they were even real- good riddance to them. The world could use a few less “gods” like that. This is an opinion she keeps to herself.

28. Wine, or pipe? Pipe. She started while friends with Sirius; uses it as a kind of escape.

29. Do they spare or arrest Hallys, the farmer-turned-bandit in the quest, Deus Ex Machina? Why? She freed Hallys and returned the money to the food bank. He made a stupid choice. That doesn’t mean his family deserves to starve.

30. What are their feelings and opinions about the Undercity? Wren belongs in the Undercity. If she didn’t have this Prophet shit going on, she’d have been immediately shuffled down there with the rest of the people Ark doesn’t care about. Wren is very angry about the Undercity. If she ever actually gets in a fight with Arantheal, it will be over the Undercity and its people.

31. How do they react to the beggars of Ark? Wren stops to give them a coin if she has some. She might not have much, but that little bit could mean a great deal to them. She doesn’t need a lot, anyway.

32. Where and how do they spend their time when in Ark? Wren wanders a lot when in the city. She likes to find the quiet places.

33. What would they do with three wishes? Not be the prophet. Save the world somehow while not being the prophet. Turn Arantheal’s stupid beard green.

34. How do they feel about death? Do they fear it? She has a working relationship with death. There have been some very uncertain times in her life. She doesn’t fear death as much as she fears pain.

35. What (else) do they fear? Pain for herself and for those she cares about. Loneliness. Her dreams.

36. Do they have any secrets? Several! For example, she hides her tattoo under her gloves. She does not utter that horrid name. She does not admit to anyone that she is anything other than free.

37. How is their behavior around people they like? People they dislike? Warm, and cold. She becomes more physically affectionate toward people she's comfortable with. Hugs and such. She is extremely withdrawn from those she dislikes and she doesn't care to hide it.

38. What is their relationship with the companions? Who, if anyone, did your prophet romance? Calia quickly takes on a “younger sister” role in Wren’s life. Wren loves Calia dearly and would change the stars if she could to make her happy. They have different beliefs, but similar values. Wren respects the heck out of Calia and will fight anyone who tries to get in the girl’s way. Wren’s relationship with Jespar is better described as a “bromance.” Good times, challenging each other to be better, late night conversations about life- that kind of thing. They have different values at times, but are able to talk about those differences. They come to respect each other. Wren is very fond of him, but is unlikely to understand this as attraction without someone else’s help (Wren is on the asexuality spectrum). So- if he brings it up, maybe they will get together. If not, she’ll still be happy. Hopefully, he will be happy, too.

39. Was there any non-companion character that they were close to? That they particularly disliked? Lishari- Wren formed a quick friendship with her. They had a lot in common and Wren felt she could trust her. Firespark- Wren didn’t know she needed a sassy uncle, but she really did, and she treasured every insult. He gave a shit about her when others would have sent her straight to the Undercity and she’s grateful. Archmagister Merrayil- He is very patient with Wren’s frequent questions and, though he is a very busy person, he always takes time to chat. Magistra Yaela- honestly, what a joy of a person. There’s just something special about people who talk about their field with passion. Kurmai- Wren really liked Kurmai. They bonded over eggs. It was good. Why, dude, why?

40. How do they feel about myrads? YES. VERY YES. Wren’s favorite myrad is the angel who nests in South Ark. She goes to talk to this myrad when she is sad or can’t sleep.

41. What dreams or ambitions did they have before coming to Enderal? What about afterwards? Survival, honestly, is pretty near the top for all of this. But also- she just wants to make things a little less shitty for other people if she can. She couldn’t help before. Maybe she can now.

42. Do they like cities? Or do they prefer the country? Is there a region of Enderal that they like or dislike more than the others? NO to cities. Wren absolutely loves the Goldenforst. It’s so beautiful. She’s built a hunting cabin there. It’s so great. She would live there all the time if she could.

43. What do they do to lower their considerable stress? Enjoy a pipe, escape to the outdoors, watch the stars, look at flowers… that kind of thing.

44. Describe their perfect day off. See the previous question. Honestly, she wishes she had more time to explore.

45. List three of their favorite things. Three things they hate? She loves flowers. Her other favorite things fluctuate, but flowers will always make her happy. The things she hates are concepts more than things, but… Arantheal's stupid beard makes the list.

46. What’s in their pockets? A few pennies, a wrapped lump of wax, something to tie her hair back, the crumbs of many flower petals.

47. Pets? Mounts? Treasured possessions? Wren loves that myrad so much. So much. She treasures every gift that's been given to her and has stashed all of them away safely.

48. How are their cooking skills? She's very good with stews. Mostly foods you'd cook while camping.

49. Do you consider any particular quest or side quest to be definitive for your prophet? Which one(s) and why? The artist quest, with the witch and the witch hunter, was troubling for Wren. She would have heard about the witch hunter's murders in Arazeal from her mother a cautionary tale. “Don't trust people too quickly.” She hesitates too much, eventually looking away as the witch hunter dies. She makes sure the witch stops her practice, then walks back to Ark. Not a good day.

50. How forgiving are they? For example, if they were yelled at in a brothel after searching high and low for this little sh*t, how would they react? With that particular little shit, in that particular situation, she's very forgiving. She knew he was in pain. She thought he was gone for good when he left. They were fine as soon as he showed up. She was just grateful for his safety. With those who are not her safe people, she's not as easy to forgive.

51. What do they think of the Veiled Woman? Some fear, some anger- all overwhelmed by gratitude and respect. She has a lot more caution for the Veiled Woman than for the High Ones. The fear is because Wren can't understand what her motivations might be. How could she spend so much time explaining the nature of time and space without wanting something in return?

52. If they had been a victim of one of the black stones, how would it have affected them? What would they have used its power to accomplish? This would have resulted in a lot of dead nobles, if we're being honest with ourselves. She would have tried to solve the problem of the Undercity somehow.

53. What was their reaction to the Black Guardian’s revelations? Do they accept or reject his offer? Wren had been having doubts about her nature since the Living Temple. She believed the Black Guardian. It just made sense. She knew what needed to be done, though… She decided against the idea to let humanity be harvested. But then she tried to help the Guardian and *that* was a mistake.

54. How does their story end? Humanity does not need to change. To choose to remake humans without pride, without sin… Wren feels this would remove something essential from humanity. Humans are awful and good and flawed and beautiful and that's perfect. Wren needs to trust that people can solve this problem. Now that they know the game, she is sure they can win. Humans don't need to change- the high ones need to die. Wren knocks the stones out of place by using her bow like a baseball bat.

55. Do they change over the course of the story? In what ways? She becomes more confident and less afraid.

56. Anything else you’d like to share about them? When Wren is very tired, her Ostian accent gets very strong, even to the point of becoming unintelligible. Home for her is not in places. She feels at home with her safe people.

57. Bonus: For you- what are you most excited for in Forgotten Stories? I'm very excited to learn more about the Veiled Woman. Getting more insight into the Rhalatta will also be really cool…. And new companion? Agh, I'm excited for everything.

[secretradiobrooklyn]

SECRET RADIO | 11.14.20

Secret Radio | 11.14.20 | Hear it here.

Artwork by Paige, liner notes by Evan except * for Paige

1. The Wizard of Oz - “Ding Dong” Suite

We were looking for a proper song to get this party started, and damned if it didn’t involve a bunch of delighted munchkins! As much as our hopes for the coming years are muted, the relief at not having to contend with a headlong dictator enjoying full-on democratic support just cannot be overstated. DING DONG Y’ALL!

2. David Bowie - “Look Back in Anger”

I’ve been practicing drums a ton during the pandemic, and I just realized that I’m going to have to spend some time trying to get at this pattern. It’s some of my favorite drumming ever, from one of my top 20 albums ever. In fact, this comes from a very special edition of Lodger, via Brian McClelland, wherein Tony Visconti took the original tapes and completely remixed the album as he always felt it should have been mixed if they weren’t be rushed. To someone who has listened to that record many many times, it sounds like I’ve been next door the album all this time, and I’m finally allowed into the room where it’s playing. So clear and focused and modern!

3. Frank Alamo - “Ma Biche”

A “biche” is a doe, we believe. “It’s something about ‘pretty eyes,’” Paige says, “which would make sense.” Further research, though, reveals that the song is about how much he likes her pretty dark eyeliner. I know the feeling!

4. (Not) Rom JongVak - “Monkey”

Well, this has been a learning process. There’s this great song that I thought was called “Twist (Dance Twist)” by Rom Jong Vak, that we played like a month ago — and then tonight I thought I was playing “Monkey,” by Rom JongVak. Buuut, as I look further, I’m learning that the first song was “Rom Jong Vak Twist,” by Pan Ron… And the song here is I guess called “Rom Jong Vak Monkey,” and I have no idea who it’s by! All of the text on the page is in just boxes where Cambodian text would go, so it’s bound to remain lost. Whoever it is, I sure do enjoy that first aggressive drum fill and the whole weird texture of this recording.

5. Luiz Visconde - “Chofer de Praça”

Paige: “The first times that I listened to this Angolan collection, I really just listened to Os Kiezos, because they did “Muxima.” But then I eventually spread out and found this song. It’s from Angola, between ’65 and ’75.”

6. The Velvet Underground - “European Son”

P: We would go to the Beechwood a little bar around the corner from us in Wicker Park, down the street off Milwaukee Avenue. They had a real jukebox, not a TuneBlast or whatever. It was just a great little dive. They had this record in the jukebox, and we would always put on this song. I suppose that could have been read as an aggressive thing to do, but we’d put on other songs too! It was a good way to stretch your quarters, and it loosens the bar up. And I figured, if they didn’t like this song they wouldn’t put it in the jukebox.

     Once when we were there on a busy weekend night, something was wrong with the jukebox. It was broken. And the bartender opened it up and put like a hundred bucks on it and said, “Everybody play whatever you want, three songs each. It was awesome. Everybody did take turns too, three songs each, all around the bar. It was a really cool night.

7. Fred Astaire - “No Strings (I’m Fancy Free)”

What a lovely piano intro! This song is from the 1935 film “Top Hat.” It’s one of those movies where the clever protagonist pursues a girl he has a crush on — or terrorizes a stranger until she submits to his will, depending on whose perspective you take. There are a lot of those — “An American in Paris” is another — and they’re fascinating to watch just by flipping that switch back and forth in your own head. Meanwhile, both movies are chock full of beautiful shots, fabulous scenes, gorgeous songs, and glowing stars. 

     Something about the quality of this recording — a new master or something? — makes it sound like it was JUST recorded. It feels so alive and contemporary, with a lovely little vibrophone solo in the middle. I just 

Martial Solal, “Breathless” soundtrack - “L’amour, la mort”

Note: I remember this story in the reverse, where the truckers announced this gleefully to each other as they marched merrily OUT the door and into the late afternoon, headed towards… what? Whatever it is, I hope they found it and everyone had a great time.

8. Johnny Hallyday - “Nous quand on s’embrasse”

Have you seen “The Wild One”? Can’t you see how much trouble could have been avoided if those leathered-up motorcycle dudes were able to rock out to songs like this one instead of trying to jazz their way forward? They should have been twisting the night away! Alas, instead they had to tear up bars and beat people up to get their kicks. Tough break, kid.

9. Lokassa Ya M’bongo - “Bonne année”

I found this while searching for something else, but it was labeled “l’Instant Vinyl” in the same format as our Assa-Cica record, so had to check it out. M’bongo is a Congolese guitarist — a rhythm guitarist specifically, which doesn’t normally get the love that lead guitar gets in this soukous form. Lokassa Ya M’bongo means “Lokassa the money man,” and he became a session man in demand. He was a big part of the “Congolo-Paris sound,” a phrase I just read that I’m going to have to look more into.

    Bonne année indeed! Still feeling that relief about hopefully getting out from under the thumb of that giant dummy.

10. Velly Joonas - “Stopp, Seisku Aeg!”

The image of Velly Joonas is pretty heart-stopping: she’s absolutely beautiful, in giant glasses and a striped shirt. The song is so confident and strange in its instrumentation, with keys, organ, fiddle, and a super-tight bass/drum combo. I feel like this could have been a big US underground hit in the ‘90s.

11. Eko Roosevelt - “Kilimandjaro”

Such a sincere song! Eko Roosevelt is kind of hit and miss with me, but when they hit, they get completely stuck in my head! The horn parts on “Me To a De Try My Own” do that to me, and so does the eternal chorus of this song. I love the notes in the bridge as they drop further and further down the scale like they’re descending from the mountaintop. And when he gets to the declarations of love at the end — “I love you, my home! I really do, I really do!” — that’s it, that’s the best.

12. Tonetta - “Yummy Yummy Pizza”

I warn you: look up this video (after you listen to the “broadcast” of course) at your own peril. Not because it’s terrible, but because it is fascinating, and it is just one of SO many. They tease you with tiny shreds of information about this Tonetta person, but never enough that you can get a sense of what the hell is going on with… him? Them? Maybe ask Matt and Brian from Tok about it — they got obsessed enough to record an EP of Tonetta songs, which is how I heard about this all in the first place.

13. Prewar Yardsale - “AU Base”

Paige: I was loading a five-disc changer at Jeffrey’s and something about the cover, the name sounded interesting. I put it on and it’s pretty freakin rad. It stood up to my blind listen expectations. I think this is produced by our friend Matt Mason. 

14. Eugenius - “Mary Queen of Scots”

Matt Mason and Jeffrey Lewis make me think of Schwervon!, which makes me think of the Vaselines who they toured with several times, and that brings me to Eugenius, headed by Eugene Kelly. This was a mainstay in Sean’s room when we all lived together, singing the harmonies and air-drumming along. It remains as satisfying as ever, I’m happy to say.

15. Wednesday Campanella - “Aladdin”

This song is sung in Japanese, not that you’d know from context clues. Tim Gebauer introduced us to this strange Japanese shapeshifter. It was hard to tell if I liked her music or was just amazed by her videos (which you should totally check out). Now I believe it’s safe to say we dig this song. I like how many elements of ‘70s international disco it has, while still sounding super modern. What is weirder to me is that I cannot tell if I would like this song if it was sung in English.

Breathless soundtrack

16. Letti Mbulu - “Mahlalela”

Originally South African, Mbulu managed to escape to the US in 1965 and had a hell of a career. She worked with Cannonball Adderley, Hugh Masakela, Harry Belafonte and Michael Jackson. Quincy Jones said this amazing thing about her: “Mbulu is the roots lady, projecting a sophistication and warmth which stirs hope for attaining pure love, beauty, and unity in the world.” Um, that’s really impressive.

17. Christophe - “Aline”

*Really dig this song, partially I think because it’s in a decent range for me to sing along. I love his desperate delivery and tone of voice. We just learned tonight that Christophe passed away this year at 74 after complications with COVID-19. 

18. Zap Mama - “Brrlak!”

Credit to my dad, Larry Sult, for bringing Zap Mama to our attention. He’s been heavily into marimba music, and played in a marimba band in Bellingham for many years; in fact, he spent many years making the instruments for the band in his woodshop in the basement of their home. Zap Mama is adjacent to that music, though certainly very different. This band comes from all over the world. The main gal was born in &&&&& but found herself in a Pygmy society for awhile, which seems to be where she developed some of those low-high yodels. We saw some footage of her playing, and she did this awesome thing where she held empty airplane bottles just below her lips as she sang, creating a resonance that you can hear here. I love that this whole composition is a cappella.

19. The Buzzards - “High Society”

Years ago, I was whiling away my time in Seattle and stopped into Orpheum Records, right there at the corner where Broadway turns into 10th Ave E. After a half hour of flipping through records I had to know what all the killer albums were that had been playing overhead. Turns out they were all from “The Sympathetic Sounds of Detroit,” a collection of Detroit bands put out by Sympathy for the Record Industry. It was recorded by Jack White and Jim Diamond and it’s full of topshelf tracks, but after all the years, this is the one that we turn out to actually enjoy, and quote, the most. 

    As far as I could tell, there isn’t a version of this song anywhere online, which I personally find disGRACEful!

20. Sleepy Kitty - “Buzzards & Dreadful Crows”

My favorite part of this recording is that I got to sing a couple of guitar parts that I reflexively sing along to on the original.

*This was from a 20th anniversary of “Bee Thousand” tribute show, and we made this recording with Jason Hutto at this studio off Cherokee Street and we recorded a couple others that we did that night. A small run of screenprinted downloads were made. 

Teddy Afro, “Mar Eske Tuwa” credit music

21. Ata Kak - “Moma Yendodo”

Some corrections to what I said in the broadcast: Ata Kak is indeed Ghanian, but I think he might have recorded this in Germany. His is a fascinating little story of determination. This recording comes from a tape that he made about 50 copies of total. It was found by Brian from Awesome Tapes From Africa at a roadside stand in Ghana. He loved it so much that he spent years trying to track Ata Kak down. When he finally did, they found that the original master tapes were all ruined, and Brian’s copy was the only one that they could make a new version from! So that’s what you’re hearing here. 

22. Spoon - “30 Gallon Tank”

Early Spoon is some of my favorite music ever. This is from “A Series of Sneaks,” an album that changed my life pretty much as soon as I heard it. Harvey Danger stopped at a lot of record stores on tour, and at one of them I managed to stumble upon both “A Series of Sneaks” and (I think) Guv’ner’s “Spectral Worship” — what a day! I put this album on in headphones in the van and just listened over and over and over again. Eventually, when our manager announced that we should spend a few weeks between radio festivals headlining a tour with a couple of support acts and asked if we had any ideas, I had a list with Spoon on top and Creeper Lagoon right below that. The tour that resulted was rough for Spoon — they’d just been dropped by their label and were having an understandably rough time — but a fucking thrill for me, because I got to see one of my favorite bands each night. That still stands as one of the absolute highlights of my time in Harvey Danger. Jim Eno is one of the top drummers in my pantheon because he’s such a great composer for the song, and Britt Daniels plays guitar the way I truly wish I did — which he did at the time all on distorted acoustic guitar! 

23. Patrick Coutin - “Fais-moi jouir”

*I meant to put on a different Patrick Coutin song but put this one on by accident and I was like, this is cool, and then I was like “I think he’s saying. . .I think this is pretty. . . explicit. Like Serge and Jane cranked.” As far as I can tell, it definitely is. They don’t teach you these words on Duolingo though. Ha! 

24. Dur Dur Band - “Yabaal”

I mean no disrespect to Dur Dur Band when I say that we didn’t dig the first several songs we heard by them, but this song is undeniable. The groove just digs in and doesn’t stop for anything.

25. Mel Brooks - “High Anxiety”

We’re stepping out on a mixed emotional note, but: we’re not out of the woods yet. I hope we can get through the next couple of months as a nation peacefully and productively, but Paige and I are both in a state of high anxiety about what still seems to be happening daily. Stay safe!

*yet staying optimistic! ’Cause we gotta. À plus tard!

[dwestfieldblog]

THOSE WHO DO NOT WANT TO HEAR MUST FEEL

This temporary apocalypse could be seen as a globally overdue Long Night of the Soul, an initiation of sorts which might result in a deeper understanding of what actually matters for human evolution (despite the very best efforts of the scum who are trying to reverse any spiritual progress because it weakens their hold.) There are several ways in which the negative side could truly take over, starting with the horror nightmare prospect of DT (aka ‘Just Another Scumbag’ as Bannon once called him) re ‘elected’. The realistic pessimist in me is sure that if he wins, this planet in this dimension is finished. His winning will be a final signal to the world to give us up. In my lifetime, we have never been so close to the mass breakout of totalitarianism and utter lack of empathy than we are now. Actual fascist populists, not some wet Liberal bleating but the real thing, ready to go live. Covid has bankrupted hundreds of thousands of businesses, millions have lost their jobs, migration from the truly poor and dangerous countries continues...into the becoming poor and dangerous countries. Those who live there and are already ruined by the disasters in every home will be easy prey for the populists. Speaking of whom...

Steve Bannon has spent a great deal of time and other people’s money in setting up a network to overthrow the (arf arf arf) ‘deep state’ and replace it with... a new deeper state...still run by the rich, who will use the populists, who in turn will use the mass of the angry and frightened...etc etc...And power, as most people recognise it, will stay in the hands of the unhuman swine with the most gold and the least soul. WER NICHT HOREN WILL, MUSS FUHLEN...

‘...the human nervous system properly programmed, can edit and orchestrate all experience into any gestalt it wishes. We encounter the same dismal and depressing experiences over and over again because they are repeating tape loops in the central programmer of our brains. We can encounter ecstasy over and over by learning the neurosciences that orchestrate all in coming signals into ecstatic tape loops.’ R.A.Wilson. Prometheus Rising, Hilaritas Press.

It takes a lot of effort and Will to do this but what else is worth it other than to attempt to break out of the vicious cycle and evolve? Even I have managed this when I focus on choosing it. Giving up ingrained behavioural habits often hurts; this is, however, a choice. It doesn’t have to unless you are a masochist.

Flew to England for three weeks in August, full flight sold out, all of us wore masks (apart from one 6 foot 6 mad eyed American who kept pacing up and down the cabin.) Right up to the point where we were all given a bottle of water, some crisps and two biscuits...All masks off at the same time, all passengers attempting not to breathe while we drank and ate. Love seeing how many in both countries wear masks under their nose or even only on their chin. As Bill Hicks would say ‘Any questions why we’re f.....d up as a race?’ As Jonathan Pie does say; ‘Put a f...... mask on.’ I have been coughing since February, and drinking heavily, so not especially optimistic about getting C19.

I avoided almost all of the news while in UK, watched five minutes in total on the TV and only read headlines in the paper. It was enough. Since I have been back in Prague I have continued to avoid the news other than that which I am told by friends and students but I can tell from daily receiving over one hundred emails that things are truly breaking. Hexagram 23 and total Weltschmerz is upon us. Mental health is twisting up globally. One by one, all my friends are suffering serious damage, one way or another. Hearts are breaking apart and many damnable souls, who should be burning, are not. People are afraid to breathe or to embrace, looking to the very worst set of leaders in my lifetime for answers and being manipulated en masse to mass crises.  

(Jaz Coleman....On the Day the Earth went Mad...watch the video, listen. Feel. Weep. Rage. Change.) QUI NOLERUNT AUDIRE DEBERE SENTIRE.

Love the interviews I saw with those who voted for Trump and realised they made a mistake...after FOUR YEARS. What clued them in? Which particular excremental atrocity of his foulness gave them the alert? Will the Electoral College let him ‘win’? Before I left, I saw the Trump interview where he said ‘It is what it is’, with regard to the massive number of deaths in the USA. ‘We are below the world’. Blood pressure rising, I even checked his Twitter account where he published two letters, one from the eternally unlovely NRA and the other from the American Police Federation, assuring him he was the best president to ever serve their interest and they would back him to the hilt. His plan to stir the US up into open civil war continues and Putin sits back and smiles. As does Jared it seems, the smug sadist advisor in the same style as (England’s off Broadway Trump) Boris’s Dominic Cummings.  Herd Immunity? Well yes it might work at some point after a few years and millions dead. You evil alien bastards. The  main individuals in the British Government will make millions from a no deal Brexit, perfect timing. The country will die.

The newest PC bullshit has got even the wonderful JK Rowling into trouble just for speaking her mind politely about transgender issues. I love PC... it is how dumb useless Liberals can act out their secret fascist impulses and feel hard of c..k and wet of p...y...feel good to be so righteous... same with overly ill humoured religious folk,  but the PC tribe cannot use God to justify anything so they are a bit weaker...You morons... ‘People who menstruate’, People with a cervix’? PEOPLE? Really? Women is a bad word is it? Too specific? (Well it has the word men in it, so seems almost inclusive.) You bastards are annihilating language; raping semantics...get another hobby you ridiculous cretins. (Be sure the populists well understand how to manipulate such fools.)

Extinction Rebellion is being used (among a multitude of other groups in other countries, hello Black Lives Matter) by the Kremlin to stir up shite, they are mostly well meaning on the road to Hell. Stop being so dumb and stop helping those who are against you at home and abroad. Dogmatic faith leads to mistrust, violence and hatred, says the lone derranger...And as for the absurd Q Anon, it is those who seek a Deeper State who are using you to do it. Well done.

Jacob Blake, shot seven (count them) times in the back by police even though charged with no crime and paralysed was handcuffed to hospital bed. That goofy twat of a 17 yr boy who wanted to be a policeman, shooting at blacks because he believed he had carte blanc (arf) from Trump to defend his country against ‘terrorists’...he will probably escape much punishment because... he was bullied at school...WHO WASNT?? The only people who weren’t were bullied at home. Guns ‘open carry’ in various states as the NRA rejoice in what they encourage. ‘Your first amendment means I can say your second amendment sucks d...s’. JimJeffries. Damn straight. By the time even I was 17, I had grown out of wanting to kill half the world. Wannabe cops are a little slower. 

Everything is the new normal. Too late for a mid life crisis unless I die at 108 but I never forget that statistically there is more chance of being killed by death than anything else. ‘Heres to my love! O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.’ Walking... see three funeral services shops in the road leading to/away from the hospital, clever businessmen...walking...masks off, between two conveniently placed flower shops and smoking outside the fuming crematorium in black suits and highly polished shoes. Waiting. That’s us.

I MISS YOU MARLENE. I MISS YOU MARLENE. I MISS YOU MARLENE. Nice headline seen on US newspaper...‘Can any good from cyberstalking your online crush?’I wondered that after falling in fascination with a woman in Germany who wrote like a poet and wove a spell of stories to charm and beguile. I would have walked from London to Hamburg to see if she was real. Everyone expresses love and the need for it in different ways. Reprogramming a deeply imprinted circuit is usually uncomfortable and so it proved for both of us. We shall see...if there is time. ‘One of us is crazy and the other one’s insane’

I can remember one of the days I Changed (seven years old?) We had a history lesson and were told about English kings and their ‘Divine Right’ to rule. Because God told them. And they told the people. And the people believed them. I remember the light in the classroom, where I was sitting, the smell of the tables, old unused ink wells, pencil shavings... and just thinking whatever a child’s version of F..K OFF...THATS BULLSHIT ISNT IT? would have been. That was the first moment I started questioning the class system, gullibility and bastards. A couple of years later, the absolute freedom of being, sent to collect the class register, walking down the empty corridors and not in the classroom...a beautiful feeling of being OUTSIDE. Free. Two of many experiences which have never left me. (The Angel Choir, the Rituals, the EYE across the Multiverse dream, the Reconnection...) Even if Freedom turns out to be as much of an illusion as everything else, it is still as beautifully sensual to me as music.

One summer night in 1990 after my 3rd breakdown, I had a dream. I think. Bear (or even bare) with me on this, I know how this sounds but it is only reporting what I saw in my mind. Two Aliens, thin and shadow like, came though my open bedroom door in the night (I could see the silhouettes) and one took a long shiny silver needle like a hypodermic for a horse and stood behind me and pushed the needle in through the top and centre of my skull, penetrating my brain. I FELT it slowly being pushed in, it hurt but I was paralysed. There was no voice but I heard (try not to laugh) ‘So now you have Superintelligence’. They moved out, the door closed, I slept. As usual with me, I remember every single dream I have ever remembered as if they were films I have watched over and over...and after a dream, the atmosphere stays with me for 23 whores. Later that day, I picked a big hardback book to find some info on something (A Cyclopaedia) with pages as thin as a bible. I sat almost motionless and without food for eight hours, DEVOURING every subject in it. Economics, geometry, geopolitical events, medicine, beliefs, systems.....the next day I finished ninety percent of it and went on to read books by five philosophers from second hand shops, started watching insects, stopped swearing, worked out, and read and read and read. All the knowledge I hadn’t cared about in school and college I picked up that one summer. It led to making new friends, new possibilities, new work, new love and led me to fly to Prague in this sequence while continuing to practice many ‘New age’ techniques by a writer called Stuart Wilde. They all worked and I continued...with regular fallings and breakthroughs.

‘Religion was invented when the first scoundrel met the first fool’. Faith is believing what you know not be true’. The seeker finds a belief and stops thinking for themselves...‘Every ideology is a mental murder, a reduction of dynamic living processes to static classifications, and every classification is a Damnation, just as every inclusion is an exclusion.’RAW

I had a four hour conversation with a Christian bloke, thirty, intelligent, believes in Satan as an actual being with horns. Etc. He couldn’t quite see any flaw in saying that any prophet who saw angels, white light and heard the voice of God, healed, etc but was not actually Christ, was only being tempted and used by the devil. He told me to watch the beautiful side of evil...

‘Every act of authority is, in fact, an invasion of the psychic and physical territory of another’. Human progress ‘is the concrete manifestation of some person’s refusal to bow to Authority.’  

‘WE GOT ELECTED ON DRAIN THE SWAMP, LOCK HER UP, BUILD THE WALL. THIS WAS PURE ANGER. ANGER AND FEAR IS WHAT GETS PEOPLE TO THE POLLS. THE DEMOCRATS DON'T MATTER, THE REAL OPPOSITION IS THE MEDIA, and the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.’ Said Bannon, who also said. ‘Darkness is good. Dick Cheney. Darth Vader. Satan. Thats power.’ Has he met Putin yet? Is he also on speed dial along with Boris and Trump? People! Create better leaders. NOW.

Happy birthday Aleister Crowley on the 12th October and Happy Halloween to all readers, stay healthy and sane (arf) Remember you are magick...buy the re-release of Musick to Play in the Dark by COIL and become moonlight... And those in America, if you actually do truly believe in a good God...go and vote and remove that evil ego and his cohorts in the White House with absolute overwhelming victory or we are done in this lifetime. Be healthy.

LOVE!!!