#i might go ahead and add on a tattoo version so everyone can use it!

[gortimermoth]

hi- i downloaded your eddie scars cc to my game. i can't find it in my game and i know i installed it correctly, i've downloaded stuff from you before and it has worked. what slot would it be under? i tried all the scar slots, tattoos, even face makeup

Hello, sorry for the trouble! You can find the Eddie scars under the 'body scars' slot in CAS. Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm realizing that you might have to have the werewolves pack for the body scars category to show up.

[writingsfromhome]

Hot Waters

A/N: this one’s a little more dialogue, but you manage a hotel Harry stays at and have to help him with an issue.

Part 2

———————————————————

As a manager of an upscale hotel I saw a lot of celebrities filter through the door. I could probably write a book, my own version of a tell-all exposing some celebs for what they really were. Sometimes the nicest ones were the snappiest and other times, the ones you thought were rude and stuck up took the extra time to thank your staff warmly and treat everyone with respect.

I’m in for the evening—that’s when most of them came under cover of the night, when they didn’t want the papps to know they were in town. Tonight’s guest stays a few feet from the counter as his manager or whoever checks him in. A false name of course, James Smith.

I glance at the man, the soft curls and stylish outfit, strong jawline and lean body. I could tell it was Harry Styles, this was a first for me. I could add him to the imaginary tell-all book in my head: oddly mute but just as cute in person. He looks antsy, fidgeting with his phone.

He catches me staring and nods. I give him my best customer smile and get back to the man finding his ID to show me.

“Thank you sir, here’s the key cards to your suites. Enjoy your stay!”

They barely acknowledge me, he’s already grabbing Harry’s arm and pushing him towards the elevators. Cool.

I don’t think much of it until five minutes before I leave for the night. It had been a long day for me covering since the breakfast shift—the morning manager was out sick. I was ready to fall asleep on my ride home but one of my newer staff comes up to me urgently.

“Hey, Y/N, suite 1203, the man is really annoyed and saying his hot water isn’t working.”

“Did you tell him how to turn the hot water on?” I ask, thinking she didn’t do a thorough job.

“Yes,” she looks upset. “Like three times before he just asked to speak to someone else.”

“Okay...” I wander to the front and take him off from holding. I check our database ahead of time for the name, James Smith. Of course. “Hello Mr. Smith, I heard about your hot water. It should be working-“

“It’s not! I got in thinking it would heat up but I was drenched with ice cold bloody water!” He sounds like a child about to throw a tantrum. I found working for celebs was just like working for glorified children sometimes.

“No other suite has made this complaint, the hot water is definitely working. Would you like a staff member to come check?”

He finally sounds reasonable, “Yes please, that would be great.”

“Let’s go,” I tell the newbie, she was still in training so it would be a good opportunity. But just as I step out from behind the counter an elderly customer walks up and I have to leave her behind. Guess this was my last task before heading home.

I knock on the door 1203 and hear a shout from inside that it’s open. I try the lock but it isn’t so I just use the master key and slip inside.

“Hi, Mr. Smith-“

“We both know it’s Styles,” Harry...Mr. Styles is dressed in nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair is wet and he really looks like a teenage fantasy. And with the way my eyes are glued to his abs, maybe I was reliving some teenage fantasy.

“Mr. Styles,” I clear my throat but from the way his mouth quirks I know the silence between when he spoke and I responded was a little too long. Long enough to notice I was staring. Jesus, I had to stay professional. I recall how he sounded on the phone-he’s just a big man baby, I remind myself. I was just way too single. “I can show you how to turn the hot water on so you don’t run into this again. We apologise for the trouble.”

He sighs, “You don’t need to apologise love, I was just frustrated b’cuz a nice relaxing shower turned into an ice bath.”

I let out the breath I was holding and erase the entry I’d written in my head about him so far. Replace man baby with: don’t judge based off his first impression, might be as kind as everyone says?

“Well we’re sorry about that anyway,” I head to the bathroom. I try to ignore the way he’d made the room personal in such a short amount of time. It wasn’t my job to pry into my customer’s personal lives...but it was so tempting!

I head to the shower and show him where to turn to get the hot water. It was simple but he claims the showers he’s used to, have the hot and cold on opposite sides. I would have pointed out there was an H and C engraved into the handle but the shower is such a small space and he crowds over me as he pays attention, I didn’t want to stay any longer. I’m very aware his towel brushing up beside me is the only thing he has on. I stumble back and compose myself.

“Is there anything else I can get you sir?”

“Please it’s Harry, don’t call me sir. Makes me feel weird.”

“Right, Harry.” I walk out into the bedroom and he follows. “Do you need anything else?”

“Um,” he looks off to the side to think and I can’t help myself—I take the moment he’s distracted to drink him in. He was fine indeed. My eyes catch on his famous butterfly tattoo, actually all of them. It was cool seeing them in person.

“You have any of your own?” Harry asks and my eyes snap up. I feel myself get hot, he caught me staring! But he doesn’t seem angry, he seems to think I was looking at his tattoos. I roll with it.

“Don’t tell my mom but yeah,” I reply. I only had two and managed to keep them secret from my very traditional family. Harry laughs and asks to see them. I show him the wildflower curved behind my ear. His breath tickles my hand that holds my ear down to show him.

“How do you manage to hide that?” He asks. I’m suddenly self conscious he’s studying me so close.

“A little bit of foundation, a lot of wearing my hair down.”

“Surely your mum wouldn’t care that much—you’re an adult.”

“You haven’t met my mom,” I think about her. “She’d say something like, ‘my tattoos are the reason I haven’t settled down’ or something.”

“Bloody hell,” he laughs. I feel a strange high knowing I’m making him laugh, he was being so friendly. Like an old friend. It was rare, but sometimes I forgot a customer was a hot shot musician or actor when I had one-on-ones. That usually scored them a down-to-earth point in my imaginary book. Maybe I just caught him at a bad time earlier, I think as he points to his tattoos, “I don’t want to know what your mum would say to me.”

“Um, Sign my arm so I can ink it probably?” I joke. I warm as he laughs. “She’s actually a huge fan of you, always has plenty of commentary when we watch the award shows. Claims she dated someone who looked just like you in high school.”

Oh god, I was blabbering. But from his expression, he finds it amusing.

“That’s lovely,” he studies my face again and I try not to squirm. I retreat back into professionalism, about to ask if he needed anything before I left—my shift probably ended. But he asks, “You said there were two. What about the second one?”

My body feels prickly, this was a customer and I was about to flash him-well not entirely but showing him where my second was...it was a big no being who I was and who he was!

“Right here,” I casually slap the general area of my underboob when he continues waiting. He raises an eyebrows and I just bite my lip. I was past nervous—at this point I was surprised my legs themselves hadn’t given away.

“May I see?” He asks, his face is intimidating when he asks so seriously. At least he was being polite, and he seemed genuinely interested.

Wait, was I really doing this?

“I...don’t know if that’s the best idea?” I squeak. He flashes me a smile could make a grown woman like me take off my shirt to show him. But I’m frozen in place.

“Is it personal?” He asks. Oh my god he didn’t get why I didn’t want to show it. Maybe I was the one making it a big deal.

Okay, I would show him.

“No, it just requires me to untuck my shirt,” I joke. “But I’m off for the night now anyway so I guess I can...” Every tug of the fabric feels like it’s slow motion, the blood rushing to my ears sounds like the roar of the ocean. He steps closer to me—still only in a towel! And finally I lift up the shit to just under my bra, the tattoo is the words the sun will rise again curving under my boob. It was a gentle reminder I kept close to my heart, and Harry was the first person aside from my best friend I had shown this to. It was strangely intimate.

He reaches out his hand and stops halfway, realising where he would be putting his hand. He retracts it and lets out a nervous laugh. I almost sigh at the missed contact.

“That’s really beautiful. I like the quote,” he says honestly.

“Yeah,” I can barely meet his eye. “It’s a good reminder. I can think of like, 10 worst-case-scenarios at any given moment. So...”

I trail off. The tension in the room seems to have grown in the last ten minutes. I’m inhaling it, and Harry is breathing it. And when I finally make eye contact with him, I can’t tell if he’s judging me or just watching me. He’s chewing on his bottom lip just staring at me, I can’t help but feel initimidated.

“Maybe I’ll get going if you hav-“

“You’re off your shift?” Harry cuts me off.

“Well,” I check my watch. “As of ten minutes ago yes.”

“What would you say to joining me for a drink?” Harry asks. Was this a drink drink? Oh my god, is this what happens when you flash someone your underboob.

“I’m not sure if that would be appropriate,” I feed the automatic line we’re all trained to say. But inside, I’m muffling my heart that wants to say yes I though you’d never ask.

“Well,” Harry says. “You’re just providing superior customer service.”

“But I’m off the clock.”

“So hard working,” Harry jokes. “She stays even after her shift is over.”

“You’re also dressed in just a towel,” I point out. He looks down and even he seems surprised. I laugh, “So that won’t exactly go down very well with my boss.”

“Aren’t you the boss?” Harry asks, his eyes scanning his open suitcase to pull out sweats. He steps into the bathroom—where moments earlier he was demanding a hot shower.

“Sort of, I co-manage. But I don’t own the hotel so...I have to answer to someone. Hey-didn’t you desperately need a hot shower?”

Harry doesn’t even close the door, but a minute later he’s back out in sweats. “I did, it was a long day travelling and I wanted to relax. But you’ve managed to do that for me.”

“Nice to know I’ve got the same charm as a hot shower,” I say cheekily.

“You’ve got more charm than a hot shower,” Harry goes to the minibar. “Now what can I make you?”

“Oh you’re making the drinks? Here? I can just ask the staff to bring up-“

“No, just sit down. I’m taking care of this.”

I boost myself up onto the dresser and watch him mix drinks. This close, I can reach out and trail my hands over his tattoos, see the stubble coming into his face, see the dimension to his hair. I was so totally single, just being this close to someone remotely good looking turned me absolutely gaga.

“So tell me honestly, how this is,” Harry hands me the concoction, watching me closely. I take a sip and nearly snort it out, it was strong.

“I don’t think I could drive home if I drink all of this,” I cough. “That almost went down the wrong pipe.”

Harry takes a big sip of his and laughs, “If you’re driving, don’t take any more of this.”

I settle the flute down and Harry places his down beside mine.

“I don’t have anything else to offer,” he looks at me.

“I can still ring something up for you.”

“I think I already rang up what I wanted,” he leans in, he was flirting. With me! And I can’t help myself. I lean towards him too. I forget where I am and what kind of trouble I could land myself in if I let this go through. I can’t even think straight, I just want to-

His fingers on my face jolt me out of my hypnosis. I lean back and slide off the dresser. I could get fired! What was I thinking!?

“Where are you going?” His brows knit together as I move away from him.

“I should get going home, I’ve been in since 6am.”

“Oh course,” Harry clears his throat. “Yeah-sorry I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No it’s fine,” I say. “I would love to provide some of that superior customer service. But I really am functioning on one bar right now. I’ve got to go home and recharge.”

“Recharge yeah? A hot shower maybe?” Harry teases.

“Hm, yeah if I can get the hot water to work,” I tease back and I swear he blushes.

“I know a place where the hot water works 100%,” he tilts his head to his bathroom. Now it’s my turn to blush and walk towards the door.

“Alright,” he sticks out his hand when I turn to say bye. I stare at it before realising he wanted me to shake it. “Goodnight.”

I laugh and take it, “Goodnight Mr. Styles.”

Oh for god’s sake, I’m caught staring into his eyes again as we shake hands. He doesn’t let go of my hand and I can’t break eye contact. Finally, he cracks a smile and I look away. I really had to go or I could not hold myself back.

“Don’t hesistate to contact front desk for anything,” I say as I open his door. “And maybe don’t drink too many of that whatever mix you made.”

He pouts, “It’s the only thing keeping me company tonight.” Maybe I was right, he was a big baby. But one who’s cheeks I wanted to pinch. I resist the urge and wave before heading to the elevators.

I let out a breath when I get on. If I wasn’t careful, the man in 1203 could land in me some hot waters, no pun intended. If I wanted to keep my job that I loved, I had to make sure I steered clear of him. For good. And maybe find myself a boyfriend. Because...that was a close one.

[teatime-scans]

Wild Police Story - Chapter #11 Text Translations

Hi! Here’s a text translation of Chapter 11. Scanlations of this chapter (and the previous one) are being worked on at the moment! ^^

Be aware that since this hasn’t been proofread yet - this is basically the translation as it came out of our minds - some parts might not be very clear, especially the Nagano Dialect part which is just a partial localization we came up with and will probably be changed in the final version.

Translation: Holmes Translation check: Manaphy

CASE 11. Convening and discussing

[Original Work: Aoyama Gosho Artist: Arai Takahiro]

[His fury, yet unbeknownst to everyone, lies hidden deep inside him.]

[The eagerly-awaited first volume will be on sale from the eighteenth of November on!] [Second chapter of the Morofushi Arc! With their hearts set on their beliefs, this is the story of their youthful days during the half a year spent at the Police Academy!]

[Morofushi's past is going to be related right now...]

Morofushi: Understood! I’ll tell you... Morofushi: About that night from 15 years ago...

Morofushi: Enshrouded in that stench of steel... Morofushi: A night of dismay which made my inner clock’s hands... Morofushi: Freeze in place...

Morofushi: Someone came at around 7 PM when I was having dinner with my father and mother... Morofushi: Together with a loudly rung bell... *ding dong* *ding dong* *ding dong*

Morofushi: The visitor was apparently an acquaintance of my father's. Morofushi: At first, they conversed quietly by the entryway, which I could hear while being in the kitchen...

Morofushi: But before very long, the man started raising his voice... Morofushi: and as soon as my mom went to the entryway to check on them...

*GWAAAAAH* Morofushi: I could hear my father groaning... Morofushi: And so my mother came back with a radically changed facial expression, and told me...

Morofushi: “Stay hidden here for a while!”... Morofushi: “Don't come out at all costs, till I tell you it's okay to!”... That's what she said.

Morofushi: As my mom said that, she put me inside a store cupboard... Morofushi: then, in turn, she went and quarrelled with that man... Morofushi: but soon after I couldn't hear her voice anymore, either...

Morofushi: and, what's more, a stench of steel started hanging over... Morofushi: To the point even I could smell it, despite being inside the cupboard. Hagiwara: What's this “steel” you've been talking about since earlier?

Furuya: He's talking about the smell of blood! Furuya: The haemoglobin contained in the red blood cells is mainly composed of iron. That's why. Hagiwara: I see...

Matsuda: So, what happened later? Hiromitsu: I could hear him humming... Date: What? Humming?!

Hiromitsu: Yeah... It wasn't dad's voice, nor mom's. Hiromitsu: It was a shrill-made coaxing voice... Hiromitsu: He was repeating the same phrase while putting it in rhythm, again and again...

Hiromitsu: T-Therefore... Hiromitsu: I gingerly peeked out of the store cupboard from its opening...

Hiromitsu: And I saw a man holding a bloodstained knife, humming a tune... Hiromitsu: It went like, “it's fine nooow!”... Hiromitsu: “come out, pleeease!”...

Matsuda: What about the face?! Matsuda: Didn't you see that bloke's mug?! Hiromitsu: No, I didn't... Hiromitsu: I was too scared...

Furuya: How come that man was looking for you, though? Hiromitsu: Nah, he wasn't looking for me. Hiromitsu: I know because he called a girl's name after “come out please”.

Hiromitsu: That's right... The girl with whom I used to play when I was a kid's... Hiromitsu: “Yuri”, the name of the little girl looking just like the one who was reported missing last night!

Date: Why was he looking for that kid at your house? Furuya: What was her surname? Hiromitsu: I don't know... I always called her by her name... Hiromitsu: After she died from an illness, I did attend her funeral, but I was just a first-year elementary school pupil...

Hagiwara: You didn't see his face, but you did see the tattoo on his shoulder, didn't you? Hiromitsu: Yeah, I did. That man apparently tripped up because of all the blood, and he banged with his whole body against the armoire I was hidden inside... *BANG*

Hiromitsu: When he moved away, for an instant... Hiromitsu: I saw on his shoulder... Hiromitsu: a tattoo shaped like a goblet!

Matsuda: Did he really have it on his shoulder? Hiromitsu: There’s no doubt! Hiromitsu: After moving away from the cupboard, he clutched his shoulder, as if it hurt...

Hiromitsu: So and at that moment, the tattoo that was visible just before... Hiromitsu: Got hidden by his bloody hand, rendering me unable to catch sight of it...

Date: And? What did he do after that? Hiromitsu: I don't know... Hiromitsu: Before I could notice... I fell asleep.

Hiromitsu: After that, I woke up to the sound of doors and stuff being opened and closed... Hiromitsu: and just when I was squaring off, thinking “shit! I’m gonna get found!”... *clatter rattle clatter*

Hiromitsu: someone opened the cupboard's shutter! *slide*

Hiromitsu: It was my older brother, who had just come home from camp middle school... [Komei: Hiromitsu... Mom and dad are dead... Komei: What happened? Can you tell me?] Hiromitsu: It was noon of the following day already... Meaning I had been sleeping in the cupboard for half a day.

Hagiwara: So you had an older brother...? Hagiwara: I heard that, nowadays, he's a skilful police detective in the Nagano prefectural police, and is called the “Koumei of Nagano”! Matsuda: I like Guan Yu* better, though... Date: Who cares about The Records of the Three Kingdoms right now! [* TN: Both Koumei (Kong Ming in Chinese) and Guan Yu (Japanese name: Kan’u) are Chinese strategists whose feats are narrated in the Records of the Three Kingdoms.]

Date: Go ahead. Did you tell your brother about the murderer's tattoo? Hiromitsu: No, I didn't... I've been slightly amnesiac due to the shock caused by that case... Hiromitsu: and in addition, I've also been suffering from aphasia...

Hiromitsu: Later, we were put in our relatives' care — I was sent to Tokyo kinsmen, and my brother with Nagano's, and I changed scenery... Hiromitsu: Yet, my aphasia didn't heal for a while...

Hiromitsu: until I met Zero in Tokyo! [Furuya: It'd be way greater fun if you talked, y'know?]

Hagiwara: So you attended this place, the police academy because you want to seize the murderer? Hiromitsu: Spot on. Plus, I remembered several things recently... Hiromitsu: And I decided that I want to properly draw conclusions about what that was all about from a policeman's point of view... Hiromitsu: and transmit all that information to my brother in Nagano!

Hagiwara: And in the meantime, you chanced upon three suspicious individuals... Hiromitsu: R-Right...

Hiromitsu: There’s Irie-san, who runs a hardware store... Hiromitsu: and has a goblet tattooed on his shoulder...

Hiromitsu: Then, Tomori-san, who has a laundromat... Hiromitsu: and has on his upper arm a tattoo of Kannon, alias the Guanyin...

Hiromitsu: And the clerk of the motorbike shop who has a scorpion tattooed on the back of his neck... Hiromitsu: If I remember well, he’s called Monobe-san...

Hiromitsu: But it's simply impossible for the murderer to be in Tokyo and not in Nagano... Hiromitsu: and, what's more, for him to coincidentally be in my surroundings... Isn't it? Matsuda: We went and questioned those three people, y'know?

Hiromitsu: Wha...?! Matsuda: Ain't that right? Hagiwara: Bullseye. Date: We all split up... Furuya: Since it's for your revenge, Hiro!

Hiromitsu: Hold on a second, though... How'd you know I'm looking for the murderer who killed my parents, in the first place? Matsuda: Of course we’d know. Matsuda: You were always looking up “Nagano Couple Slaughter Case” on the internet over and over... Hagiwara: Although it is the first time we hear in detail about the tattoo and the murderer's behaviour.

Furuya: Well then, let's start with the squad leader, who was in charge of dealing with Irie-san. Date: He's a silent person, so having him spit something out was a whole pain in the butt...

Date: His name is Irie Sumio. He is forty-six years old and lives along with his wife. Date: He set up a hardware store in this city fourteen years ago. Date: He's a taciturn, unfriendly guy, but he's peerless when it comes to sharpening knives... That's his reputation in the neighbourhood.

Date: His shoulder tattoo is from 10 years ago... He tattooed the championship cup from when he won a ping-pong tournament hosted by the neighbourhood association. Matsuda: Ten years ago...? Date: Yes. I also checked on it with Tomori-san, whom he was paired with back then, so there's no doubt about it.

Date: After that, he told his wife something about horses and flowers, or something... Hiromitsu: You mean... Hiromitsu: He told her to “hose down the flowers”?

Date: Yes! That's it! Hiromitsu: In Nagano dialect, “giving” is often replaced with “hosing”! Hagiwara: Hold up! If that's the case...

Matsuda: But if he got his tattoo done ten years ago, the figures just don't add up, do they? Furuya: Then, Let's move on to Tomori-san, whom Hagi talked to...

Hagiwara: His full name is Tomori Hajime. He is fifty years old and lives alone. Hagiwara: Originally, his laundromat was run by an uncle of his, but he ended up straining himself... Hagiwara: so he planned to help him out till he was dismissed from the hospital, but he ended up continuing even after he passed away... Which brings us here... Apparently.

Hagiwara: He tattooed the Kannon, alias the Guanyin, on his upper arm when, 20 years ago, he lost his wife and mother at the same time in a traffic accident... Hagiwara: He apparently did it in order to mourn the two of them...

Hagiwara: He's also got a reputation in the neighbourhood as a repairman. Hagiwara: Since he came out of some college's engineering department, it seems he used to repair simple electric appliances. Hagiwara: A tad like you, right, Jinpei-chan?

Hagiwara: He paired with Irie-san because he's a friend who comes from his same town... That's what he said. Furuya: If he got his tattoo twenty years ago, he did already have it fifteen years ago... Furuya: but a picture of the Kannon doesn't look like a goblet at all, no matter how you look at it...

Matsuda: Actually, speaking of goblet look-alikes, we have that motorbike shop clerk. Matsuda: His name is Monobe Shuuzou and he is thirty-five years old. Matsuda: He has a scorpion tattooed behind his neck, which is the logo of a group he used to be part of back when he was a rascal...

Matsuda: whose name is, in fact, Scorpion Glass! Hagiwara: So he rather modeled it after a goblet!

Matsuda: He said he got it tattooed when he was twenty, so I guess it kind of could barely fit...? Hagiwara: It's located behind the neck, though... Matsuda: Same as Tomori-san, he also lives alone.

Hagiwara: Huh? What's the matter, you two? Date: I don't know, there was just something... Furuya: Yeah, me too...

Hiromitsu: ... Matsuda: What's with you, Morofushi? Matsuda: You, too?

Hiromitsu: Yeah, well... Recently I phoned my older brother to tell him what I remembered about the case anyway, and... [Komei: Haste makes waste...]

[Komei: Don't be in a hurry to seek success by consulting me without sufficient forethought. Komei: The place you were hidden in was not a store cupboard, but a closet equipped with kannon-biraki, alias double doors opening from the centre. Komei: That house was in Western-style, so it didn't have any Japanese store cupboards or sliding screens in the first place.]

Hiromitsu: That's what he told me. Hiromitsu: I'm sure I was in a cupboard, though... Furuya: Maybe aren't you mixing it up with your relatives' house here in Tokyo you were entrusted to?

Furuya: Since that house was Japanese-styled, and, conversely, only had sliding screens and cupboards... Hiromitsu: T-That could be...

Matsuda: If that were the case... Matsuda: wouldn't it be strange, though?

Matsuda: If you had been hiding in a closet with kannon-biraki double doors... Matsuda: then its door should've got shut when the murderer banged into it after tripping up...

Hagiwara: That's true... And in order to see the killer clutching his shoulder afterwards... Hagiwara: you would've had to open the shutter of the closet by yourself...

Matsuda: You... You opened the door in that situation? Hiromitsu: No way I could! Date: Then couldn't it be that the gap you were peeking out from...

Date: wasn't vertical but horizontal...? Date: The slit in the closet... Date: would allow you to look outside with the shutter closed, wouldn't it?

Onizuka: It's almost four o'clock... Onizuka: Maybe I should go check on those chaps a bit...

*rattle* Onizuka: Huh?

Onizuka: Hey, hey, hey... Onizuka: The dressing room is still dirty as hell?

Onizuka: Hey, you bums! You only have an hour left, y'know? Onizuka: As it is, you'll never make it in... *creak*

Onizuka: Hold on...

Onizuka: They're gone!

[Vertical and horizontal... The five have noticed something. Continued in the next issue.] [Continues in SS #50]

[calumcest]

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter eight

[ao3]

yes...i cant believe it either. i really thought i’d finish britpop before posting another chapter of this but then i also thought britpop would be 8k i am not just a clown i am the entire circus. anyway big thank yous to @kaleidoscopeminds and @clumsyclifford for reading through the original version of this chapter that i wrote 2 months ago and hated and never posted and giving me feedback that i could sit on for ages before gathering the willpower (see: procrastinating writing an essay) to actually edit it 

also i know i have been so absent lately i’m so sorry i have been so insanely busy you would not believe but i’m slowly starting to get into a routine so lets pray that perhaps my online presence will return. yeah you all thought you were rid of me not so fast bitches 

Luke takes Clifford out for a short walk in the morning, during which time Ashton showers and gets dressed, and as Luke’s trying to get Clifford to eat the food that he’s turning his nose up at for absolutely no discernible reason, Ashton says something about going down for breakfast, does Luke want anything? Luke looks up at him, shakes his head and mumbles something that he hopes sounds vaguely like no, I’m not hungry, and Ashton just nods as he closes the door behind him, leaving Luke in their too-small and yet somehow too-big hotel room. Luke should be able to breathe, now that Ashton’s gone, should be able to sit back and relax and exhale freely, but every new inhale is tinged with that slight scent of pine and oak and spice, bittersweet on Luke’s tongue. It’s too much, makes his stomach flip in a way that’s at least eighty percent unpleasant, makes his head hurt and his heart and fists clench because of that last twenty percent, and because he doesn’t have space, now, even when Ashton’s not there. 

They’ve got to be at the research centre at ten, and Ashton doesn’t get back from breakfast until half-nine, so Luke’s in a foul fucking mood by the time they’ve got their things together and hurried out of the hotel. Ashton gets them lost on the way to the tube, too, and they’re really pushed for time by the time they get to Russell Square, where the building they’re supposed to be in by now apparently is. Ashton has the gall to chivvy Luke along when he stops to re-tie his shoelace, and Luke has to grit his teeth to stop himself hissing something vitriolic and spiteful in Ashton’s direction, half-hopping the rest of the way to the building with a sloppily tied shoelace and ducking down to re-tie it again when Ashton strides over to the receptionist and asks where the soulmate study is supposed to be taking place. 

The bloke at reception directs them to a room on the third floor, but the lift is broken so they have to take the stairs, and Luke’s thighs are burning by the time they turn into the room the guy had directed them to. It looks like a classroom, all desks and chairs and a projector screen at the front, and there’s a slightly uncomfortable-looking cluster of people standing in awkward silence towards the back of the room. Ashton glances over at Luke, an is this it? Us and them? sort of glance, and Luke just shrugs jerkily, following in Ashton’s wake to hover about two metres away from the nearest couple to them. It’s a middle-aged woman and man who are standing about three feet apart, like there’s some kind of invisible force field between the two of them, angled as far away from each other as it’s possible to get. It would look almost comical, actually, how viscerally uneasy they look in each other’s presence, if Luke weren’t acutely aware of the way he and Ashton are also stood three feet apart, of the way he’s leaning as far to the right and away from Ashton as he can. 

“Hi,” he hears Ashton say brightly, and has to stifle a groan, letting his eyes flutter shut as he exhales heavily. Trust Ashton to be the only one to fucking strike up a conversation in an uncomfortably silent room. “I’m Ashton.”

“Uh, Sally,” the woman says, a little hesitantly. “And this is Pete.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Ashton says happily, like he’s not aware of the fact that every single person in the room is listening to their conversation. “How long have you known each- uh?” He cuts himself off, seeming to realise that that’s probably not the best question to ask, given the reason for the study, but Sally just nods, like she understands. 

“Uh,” Sally says, glancing at Pete. “Twelve years, or so? Um.” She coughs delicately, and then adds: “Pete’s my sister’s husband.” 

Oh, Jesus Christ, Luke thinks, as someone across the room makes a choked-sounding noise and hastily (and badly) disguises it as a cough. Maybe his situation with Ashton isn’t so bad, after all.

“Oh,” Ashton says, sounding surprised, and like he’s not really sure how he should respond to that. “I, uh.” He pauses, and then turns to gesture at Luke. “This is Luke. He’s my ex.” Luke grimaces, and raises a hand in an awkward wave as he shoots Ashton a glare that he hopes conveys do not fucking drop me in the deep end like that. Jesus fucking Christ.

“We’re exes too,” a couple across the room pipe up - a short, blonde woman and a taller, green-haired woman - and Ashton beams at them.

“We’re, uh,” a member of a couple standing incredibly stiffly opposite Ashton and Luke pipes up. “Olly here was my school bully.” Luke watches the muscles in this Olly’s jaw flex as it clenches, but he doesn’t say anything, just grits his teeth and stares steadfastly ahead of him, eyes boring into the wall a few feet to Luke’s right. 

“Vanessa’s my daughter-in-law,” a man at the back of the room says, nodding at the woman at least twenty years his junior standing to his right, looking incredibly pissed off, and Luke has to try his hardest not to wince. Jesus. 

There’s only one person who hasn’t spoken yet, a short, dark-haired woman who’s standing on her own in the far corner, looking like she wants the ground to swallow her up as everyone turns to look at her. 

“I, uh,” she says, and clears her throat uncomfortably. “My soulmate is, uh.” She hesitates, and then says: “I’m not actually sure I can-” but she’s interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and two people striding in, a smiling man and a slightly harassed-looking woman. 

“Good morning,” the man says cheerily. “I’m Colin, one of the coordinators of the study, and this is my wonderful partner in crime, Jess.” There’s a smattering of murmured hellos as Jess raises her hand to the group. 

“Thank you so much for your time,” Colin says, clapping his hands together. “I know this study is inconvenient for many of you, and some of you have come an incredible distance to participate, but we’re hoping that this study will shed some light into the growth of soulmate tattoos.” He pauses, but nobody says anything, just shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably and looks at everyone but Colin.  

“We also have an issue of a certain, uh.” Colin clears his throat. “It’s a little delicate. One person involved in this study is, uh, a household name, and in order to protect their public image, has requested that non-disclosure agreements be signed. It’s nothing major, but of course, if it affects your decision to partake in the study, we completely understand. Nothing is binding until the contracts have been signed, and even then, you always have the option to pull out at any time.” He pauses, and looks around the room, shrewd blue eyes watching to see how each of them have reacted to the information. Luke wonders whether maybe this is a test, something to see whether their palpable curiosity will win out and make them work together with their soulmate to find out what celebrity is allegedly involved in this study, or something. He doesn’t trust psychologists. 

“Alright,” Colin says, when nobody speaks, and smiles brilliantly at them. “We have the contracts for you to read through and sign, and if that’s all in order, we’d like to start with a questionnaire and today’s blood samples.” There’s an assortment of murmured assent, and then Colin starts placing papers and pens on desks, and, after a hesitant glance around the room, people start moving towards them, muttering things to their soulmates under their breaths. 

“A celebrity?” Ashton says quietly, slipping into a seat at the nearest desk. Luke sits down next to him, because where the fuck else is he going to go - he’s not about to strike up conversation with that bloke and his fucking daughter-in-law, Christ - and shrugs. 

“Might be a test,” he says, and Ashton shakes his head. 

“Nah,” he says, completely confident. “I wonder who it is.” He pauses, leaning back as Colin comes by and puts a pile of paper in front of them, and then leans in and adds in a conspiratorial whisper: “It’s got to be someone huge, otherwise they’d be here.” 

“Huge?” Luke echoes. “Someone huge wouldn’t be partaking in a random university study in London.” Ashton raises his eyebrows.

“We’re here, aren’t we?” he says. Luke knows what he’s trying to say; if we’ll fly all the way from Australia for this, who’s to say a celebrity wouldn’t be involved?

“We’re also not household names,” Luke says, reaching for a pen and one of the contracts Colin’s placed on the table. “If I had the money, I wouldn’t be here.” 

“It’s not about money,” Ashton says, pulling the other contract towards himself and handing Luke one of the NDAs. “This is all new. You’ve got to follow the research.”

“The research’ll come to you if you pay enough,” Luke retorts shortly, and then shields the side of his face with one hand under the pretence of focusing on the contract so that Ashton won’t respond. Ashton sighs, long-suffering and a little exasperated, but takes the hint and starts reading his own contract. Luke does actually start reading through his contract then, but keeps one eye on Ashton, because he’s certain Ashton’s going to find something to complain about, certain that no matter how much Ashton thinks he’s changed he’s still a pedant, and he tries not to think about the fact he remembers that about Ashton as he re-reads every sentence at least twice and very carefully. After all, it’d be embarrassing if Luke signed the contract and handed it back in happily and Ashton found a flaw in it that Luke had missed, wouldn’t it? 

Despite his best efforts, though, he can’t find anything, so he just signs and dates it and sets it aside, reaching for the NDA. Ashton’s still on the contract, frowning at the third page of it, but he hasn’t been scribbling on the paper like he usually does when he’s making notes of ambiguous phrasing or inconsistent or lacking clarity. Maybe he really does do it all differently, now. Maybe he just signs on the dotted line. 

The thought makes Luke’s stomach churn a little, makes him think for the most fleeting of moments - well, if Ashton’s changed, is it still reasonable for me to hate him? Then, though, just as that thought settles like a cold stone in his stomach, Ashton raises his hand, looks around the room for Colin, and says:

“I’m not quite sure about paragraph six, clause three?” Luke almost snorts derisively, spiteful glee and cool relief flooding his veins as he thinks yeah, you’ve not fucking changed a bit.  

“Let’s have a look,” Colin says, and Luke turns back to the NDA in front of him, busying himself with reading through the terms as he lets the not quite clear and questionable phrasing floating over from his right wash over him. Christ, they’re making it sound like he’s going to be in possession of state secrets - you shall do everything reasonably within your power to protect the confidentiality of the Confidential Information, what the fuck is that? Who the fuck is taking part in this study? 

By the time Colin’s moved away from their desk, Luke’s reached the end of the NDA and decided kicking up a fuss about this melodramatic document that he barely understands would be completely pointless, given the fact that he’s pretty much trapped in the UK for four weeks by virtue of his fixed flights and scarce finances, so he signs and dates it as Ashton pushes the contract to one side and reaches for the NDA. Luke watches out of the corner of his eye as Ashton’s gaze flits rapidly from left to right, as his brow furrows slightly and he nods thoughtfully, flips it over, reads some more, and then nods, satisfied, and signs it. It’s that easy; no fighting Colin over ambiguous phrasing, or whatever, just read and signed. 

Almost as though Ashton can sense Luke’s confusion, he catches his eye, and smiles a little sheepishly. 

“Signed a lot of these in my time,” he says, re-capping his pen. “This one’s fairly standard.” Luke frowns. 

“What d’you mean, you’ve signed a lot of these?” he says. Ashton shrugs. 

“Well, I can’t tell you, can I?” he says. “Sort of the point.” Luke’s frown deepens. 

“You’re a drummer,” he says, trying to make sense of it. What the fuck do drummers need to sign NDAs for?

“Exactly,” Ashton says, like it explains everything. What the fuck? 

“Are you a spy?” Ashton looks at him, surprised, and then huffs out a laugh, bright and amused. 

“No,” he says. “But I couldn’t tell you even if I were, could I?” That’s true, but Luke thinks he would know if Ashton were lying. 

“Well, no, but I’d know,” he says, without thinking, and Ashton raises an eyebrow. 

“How would you know?” he says, and Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortably. He’s not really sure why, but he knows that he would know, knows it like he knows how to blink and how to breathe. He can’t explain it, can’t teach anyone else how to do it, can’t break it down or point to where and when the knowledge was acquired, but he does know it. Ashton couldn’t keep something like that from him. 

“Just would,” he says, a little stiff, a little evasive. 

“What, soulmate experience number three is being able to know what my job is?” Ashton says, sounding amused, and Luke can’t help the tiny smile that forms on his lips at that. That would be a pretty shitty soulmate experience, wouldn’t it? 

“I’d rather that than- y’know,” he says, inclining his head a little, and Ashton’s small smile fades. 

“At least that one’s useful,” he says, and Luke huffs out a slightly incredulous laugh. 

“Useful?” he echoes. “Didn’t do you much good last night, did it?” Ashton pulls a face. 

“That’s my own fault,” he admits. “I- I should’ve listened.” 

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Luke says, aiming for venomous, just to make up for the fact that something in Ashton’s eyes had softened a little too much when Luke had smiled, but he misses the mark and lands somewhere around exasperated. It sounds a touch too friendly for his liking, but before Ashton has a chance to respond there’s a loud clap from the front of the room that makes them both jump a little.

“Okay,” Colin says, and Luke whips around to face the front of the room, glad for the distraction, hoping Ashton isn’t looking at the slight blush that’s clawing its way up his throat to his cheeks. “I’ll collect the contracts and NDAs, and Jess will tell you about the next part of the study.” Jess steps forward from the wall she’s been leaning against, smiling tightly at the group, and looks down at a clipboard. 

“We’re going to be taking blood samples from you every day of the study,” she says. “Colin’s focused on the psychological side of things, I’m more interested in the biological and potentially neurological. We’ll be monitoring various markers in your blood as the weeks go on, seeing whether any experiments change certain levels of proteins in the blood, and measuring whether there’s any difference between the group that are living together and the group that are living apart. Once you’ve completed the questionnaires, I’ll take you to the room where you’ll get your blood drawn. We’ll be doing these every day at ten, but you won’t necessarily have any other appointments with us, so you’ll have to find your own way on other days.” She looks around the room expectantly, like she’s checking everyone’s taken the information in, and Luke nods, feeling like he’s being given instructions by a teacher. “Right, well. I’ll hand back over to Colin to tell you about the questionnaires.” 

“Thank you Jess,” Colin says, smiling out at the group from the front of the room. “The questionnaires are fairly self explanatory - just a series of questions, some to be answered on a scale of one to five, one being strongly disagree and five being strongly agree, and some just straight yes or no answers. Not all of the questions may seem relevant, but please bear with us - this is new territory for everyone, and we’re just trying to prepare for every possibility.” Everyone nods at him, and he smiles brightly, claps his hands, and then reaches for another stack of papers and starts distributing them throughout the room. Luke leans back in his chair, trying to steadfastly avoid the way he can feel Ashton looking at him out of the corner of his eye, shaking some of his curls into his face to try and put a barrier between the two of them. What the fuck does he want? 

“Thanks,” he mutters, when Colin hands him a questionnaire, and Ashton echoes the same, picking up his pen and flipping the first page over. 

The first page seems to be all personality based, and Luke finds himself shifting, trying to cover the questions with his arm so Ashton won’t see he’s circled 4 - agree for ‘I often think about what I should have said in a conversation long after it has taken place’ or 1 - strongly disagree for ‘I am not easily upset’. He tries to get through them as quickly as possible, barely stops to think except on ‘I am still bothered by mistakes I made long ago’, where a little voice in his head says well, you’re still bothered by Ashton, aren’t you?, and chances a glance at Ashton when he flips the page to hide his answers. He’s frowning down at his own questionnaire, not trying to hide it at all, and Luke can see that he’s neatly circled 5 - strongly agree for being bothered by mistakes he made long ago. Well, good, Luke thinks, a little bitterly, as he starts circling answers to questions about his approach to romantic relationships. He fucking hopes Ashton’s bothered. 

The room’s strangely silent except for the odd cough, the flipping of pages, the scratching of pens, a scraping sound as someone leans forward or back in their chair, and it’s almost blissful white noise to Luke until Ashton leans in, and whispers: “What did you put for the one about soulmate experiences?” Luke jerks back instinctively, jumping at the sudden intrusion upon his thoughts. 

“Jesus, Ashton,” he hisses, and Ashton raises his eyebrows and holds his hands up in a sorry, sorry sort of way. “I haven’t got there yet.” 

“Well, it asks if we have a soulmate experience.” 

“Well, we do, don’t we? What’s the problem?” 

“Yeah, but we have two.” Luke blinks, and looks down at the page. 

“Where is it?”

“Number twenty-three.” Luke frowns, scanning the page - seventeen, eighteen- “I think it’s on the next page.” Luke rolls his eyes, but flips the page over, eyes running down the list of numbers until he gets to twenty-three. 

Do you and your soulmate share a so-called ‘soulmate experience’? 

“Yes,” Luke whispers to Ashton. The question asks whether they have one, and they do. Why the fuck is Ashton confused?  

“But we have two.”

“It’s a yes or no question.” 

“But-”

“Fuck’s sake, Ashton, ask Colin if you’re that concerned about it,” Luke snaps, and Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then turns away and raises his hand. He looks cool as he does it, looks composed and collected, but Luke had seen the flash of hurt in his eyes at Luke’s harsh tone. It’s nothing new, and ordinarily Luke would probably feel a little spiteful glee, but now he feels a stab of guilt, a wave that breaks easily and washes over his heart, covering it entirely for a moment before its next beat flicks it away. 

“Colin,” Ashton says, blissfully unaware of the churning sensation in Luke’s stomach that’s followed the unexpected guilt, and Colin looks up from where he’s been leaning against the desk at the front of the room, noting something on his clipboard. He smiles at both of them, puts down his clipboard and jogs over, stopping just before he reaches their desk. 

“How can I help?” he asks, and Ashton points to the question. 

“We, uh,” Ashton says, and Luke can feel the sidelong glance Ashton gives him but stares steadfastly at Colin, “we have two.” There’s a pause, and Colin frowns. 

“You- you have two?” Ashton nods. “Are you absolutely certain?” 

“Well,” Ashton says, and glances at Luke again, who still refuses to meet his gaze, not knowing which of the mix of emotions currently squabbling over residency of his stomach have made it to his eyes. “We- I mean, I, uh. I’m fairly certain, yeah.” 

“I’ve never heard of that before,” Colin says, still frowning. Great. Fucking brilliant. Of course him and his ex-boyfriend are possibly the first set of soulmates in the world to be documented as having two soulmate experiences. 

“Well,” Ashton says again, a little uncomfortably. “Should we- should I make a note of that?” 

“Yes,” Colin says. “Yes, if you could.” He smiles at them, still looking a little bewildered, and steps back, frown set on his face. 

“Did you hear that?” Ashton asks lowly, as Colin walks back over to the desk at the front of the room.  

“I’m sat right next to you,” Luke says, but it doesn’t come out as acrid and snappy as he’d hoped. He just sounds a little panicked. Which he is, but he doesn’t want to sound it.

“He’s never heard of it before.” Ashton sounds worried, and it makes Luke’s heart flip and dive into his stomach, because Ashton doesn’t get worried, not about this. Luke’s the one who freaks out, the one who panics over the tattoos and about Ashton and about being soulmates with his ex, and it makes something unpleasant shoot through him to hear the concern in Ashton’s voice. 

“Just because he’s never heard of it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened,” Luke says. He thinks they probably both know that he’s trying to convince himself more than Ashton, knows he’s been caught out for it when Ashton bites his lip, eyes softening a little in something that looks like both comprehension and understanding, then sighs and turns back to his questionnaire, adding a little note in his oddly-neat scrawl. It’s too long to just be we have two and too small for Luke to read without craning his neck and making it obvious that he’s looking, and Ashton flips the page over almost as soon as he’s written it, like he doesn’t want Luke to see. And it probably shouldn’t make Luke feel a little spiritually sick, shouldn’t make him feel that strange queasiness in his throat and that sharp sting in his heart that he can identify so quickly as rejection, but it does. It doesn’t really matter, though, because that’s followed so quickly by a wave of panic and revulsion that he doesn’t even need to think about it, can just focus on letting the cold dread melt itself into familiar hot spikes of anger through the warmth of his veins.

It’s fine, Luke thinks a little bitterly, and turns back to his own questionnaire, circling no for ‘Do you have strong feelings about your soulmate, either positive or negative?’ so hard that he almost tears the paper. Let Ashton write whatever the fuck he wants about Luke. It’s not like Luke cares. 

(Is it?)  

  -------

  After the questionnaires have been handed in, Jess leads the group to a small room to the left of a lab on the second floor. There are two nurses waiting in there with trolleys covered in cotton buds and antiseptic wipes, and Luke feels an odd shiver run down his spine at the sight of a needle glinting as it catches the light. It makes his stomach turn, somehow, makes him feel like someone’s in some kind of danger, which makes him frown, because no one’s in danger of a fucking needle.  

They’re told to sit on a row of seats at the back of the room and called up one by one in alphabetical order, and Luke sits stiff as a plank while he watches Sally Cartwright and Oliver Evans get called up for their blood draws. Ashton’s sat next to him, fidgeting so much that it distracts Luke from the way his stomach is churning, makes him throw Ashton a glare, gives him something to channel his strangely nervous energy into, something to take his focus off someone needs help someone needs help that’s running through his mind. He doesn’t have much time, though, because then Peter Gallon and Luke Hemmings are being called, and he has to get to his feet, legs feeling heavy and leaden as he drags himself over to the nurse who’d called his name.

“How are you doing today?” the nurse says cheerily, and Luke smiles tightly at her as he sits down in the hard plastic chair opposite her and holds out an arm. 

“Great, thanks,” he says through gritted teeth, as she fastens a rubber tourniquet around it. Luke’s never been keen on them - thinks they’re the worst part of having blood taken, actually, that horrible, restricted feeling - but they’ve never made his heartbeat jump like this before, never made his palms slick with cold sweat. 

“You’re a long way from home,” the nurse comments, wiping down his inner elbow with a cold antiseptic wipe. Luke stares down at her hands as she works, trying to slow his racing heart. Jesus, he’s not even afraid of needles - what the fuck is wrong with him? 

“Yeah,” Luke says, a little distractedly. “Uh. Came here for the study.” The nurse raises her eyebrows as she reaches for a needle. 

“Oh?” she says. “Well, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then, won’t we? You’re all down for daily blood draws.” Luke licks his lips, swallows, and nods. His mouth is dry, now, but he stares at the needle as she fits it together, watches as she screws a vial onto the end, trying to pinpoint what’s making him so stressed, but feels nothing from it. And yet, despite the fact that he’d stared directly at the needle without an increase in panic, his heart is pounding so fast he thinks it might shatter a rib, and his mind is racing like it’s trying to catch up. What the fuck is going on? He’s never had an issue with having blood taken before. What the fuck is he suddenly so panicked about, if it’s not the fucking needle? 

“Clench your fist for me, love,” the nurse says, and Luke does, digs his nails into his sweaty palm like it’s going to stop the bile from rising in his throat. “It’ll just be a sharp scratch-” Luke winces as the needle goes in, clenches his other fist too, but watches as the blood fills the vial, as she switches it out for a second vial and as the blood fills that one up too. That doesn’t make his breath come any quicker either, doesn’t make his heart beat any faster, but something’s doing it. Something’s telling him danger, danger, danger while he waits for the nurse to reach for a cotton bud and press it over the puncture wound as she pulls the needle out. 

“Hold this for me,” she says, and he reaches over, presses down on the cotton bud while she reaches for some tape. She smiles, sorting a few vials of blood out, as Luke pulls his sleeve back down and stretches his arm experimentally. 

“Not a fan of needles?” she says kindly, and Luke shakes his head, frowning. 

“No, I- uh, I don’t have a problem with them,” he says, and the nurse just hums like she doesn’t believe him. 

“Well, I’ll see you back here tomorrow,” she says, and Luke sends her a tight smile as he gets to his feet a little unsteadily and heads back to the row of chairs. 

“Ashton Irwin,” the other nurse calls, and as Luke sits down Ashton gets up, walking stiffly over to where she’s sat and plonking himself down in front of her.

“Clench your fist, please,” the nurse says briskly, and Luke watches Ashton swallow, watches the way his chest is rising and falling a little too fast with short, shallow breaths, and realises what the clammy panic that’s been constricting his own chest is.

Ashton’s never been good with needles. Luke remembers going to the hospital with him when he’d had appendicitis, the way Ashton had, even in his delirious and feverish state, groaned and looked away and somehow gone even more pale every time an IV or a cannula needed inserting or when more blood needed to be drawn, the way Luke had had to hold his hand, whisper to him and distract him from the metal as it punctured his skin. 

It hits him like a fucking train as soon as he sees Ashton clench his fists. Protect protect protect, suddenly crisp and clear, cutting through all the sticky fear in his mind, making his vision swim with the intensity with which it tells him get up, get up, pull the needle out, stop it, he hates it, he hates it. 

For fuck’s sake.

Ashton’s fists are clenched so tight that Luke can almost feel the fingernails digging into his own palm, and he takes a deep breath, tries to reach past the sharp insistence of the protect protect protect that’s clouding every single rational thought, but it builds a wall in front of him, blocks him every which way he tries to duck around it. Shit, he thinks, watching as Ashton inhales shakily, watching the way the blood drains from his face as he looks over to his left so he won’t have to look at the needle. Help him, help him, help him.  

“Ashton,” he blurts, and there’s something in his tone that he’s never heard before, something that he feels rising from somewhere in the depths of his heart and lungs and maybe even his soul, if he knew where that was stored. It’s soft, gentle, soothing, calm, kind, but there’s something more to it, something that penetrates the word so deeply that it almost turns it into something non-verbal entirely. “It’s okay.” Ashton stiffens momentarily, so briefly that had Luke not been completely tuned into his every move he would have missed it, then sags in the chair, like someone’s let all the air out of him. It makes Luke shiver as everything that’s been swelling in him seems to dissipate with his next exhale, because it’s over, that’s it, it’s done. He’s done his job; Ashton’s safe, Ashton’s okay, and he can breathe again, which is the most important thing. 

He’s still covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and he wipes his palms on his jeans as Ashton stands up and flexes his arm, wincing at the movement, and heads back over to Luke. He doesn’t look Luke in the eye, which is probably for the best, because Luke knows he wouldn’t be able to meet his gaze and doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of that. 

It doesn’t even make sense, he thinks, as his mind clears a little, carving out a space for the embarrassment to boil over into anger. Ashton wasn’t even in any fucking danger. What was going to happen, the big bad nurse would bleed him dry? It doesn’t make any fucking sense; Ashton was perfectly safe. Why the fuck did Luke get- get that? 

He can’t think of anything else for the remaining ten minutes it takes for everyone down to Vanessa and Roy Williamson to get their blood drawn, trying to make sense of the situation. Ashton was safe. He was fine. Nothing could possibly have hurt him - so why did Luke feel like something could have? 

He’s snapped out of it when Jess comes back into the room and informs them that they should go for lunch, that they’ll move onto the interview stage of the day when they get back at one, and Ashton turns to Luke and sends him a slightly hesitant look that says are we going to get lunch together, then? Luke just blinks at him for a moment and then nods, because what other choice does he have, really? Spend lunch with the school bully and his soulmate? 

The tension between the two of them is palpable when they leave the building, and Luke knows it’s only a matter of time before Ashton turns to him with a sigh and big, sad eyes and says we should talk about this. If Calum or Michael were here, he’d place bets, see whether it’d be ten or twenty or maybe even thirty minutes until Ashton brings it up, laugh derisively when he inevitably does, but instead, he’s stuck walking in silence with Ashton, the air between them colder than even the air of the English January surrounding them on all their other sides. 

Ashton says they shouldn’t go too far for lunch, which Luke thinks is probably a sensible idea but childishly resents simply because Ashton had proffered it before he had, so he fumes silently while he picks out a far-too-expensive tuna melt in the Pret around the corner from the building they’re due back in in an hour. 

“D’you want to get a table?” Ashton says, when they’ve paid. “I’ll bring your food.” Luke nods, turns on his heel and walks towards the free table in the corner that he’s been eyeing up since they walked in. He slides into the booth, sets his coat down on one side, and then takes the opportunity to stretch his legs under the table before Ashton wanders over with a tray in hand. 

“You just got the tuna melt, right?” Ashton says, settling down in the seat opposite Luke, and Luke nods again, pulling his plate off the tray and reaching for one of the napkins Ashton’s brought with him. Ashton sets the tray down in front of himself, arranges the items on it so that they’re in the right order, or whatever, and then sighs. 

“So,” he says heavily, and Luke almost wants to parrot we should talk about earlier and roll his eyes, just so Ashton knows how he feels about it. He doesn’t, though, chooses to just take a bite of his still-too-hot-to-eat tuna melt instead. See? He can be civil. 

“What the fuck was that?” Ashton says plainly, and it takes Luke by surprise as he swallows. 

“What?” he says, before he can help himself, and Ashton throws him a significant look. 

“Back there,” he says, picking at his baguette. A lobster roll, fucking hell. Maybe Luke should look into becoming a session musician. “I wasn’t- I wasn’t in any danger.” Luke raises his eyebrows, and takes another bite of his tuna melt, more for dramatic effect and to buy himself time than anything else. He hasn’t got a clue. 

“You tell me,” he says.

“Did you feel it?” What a stupid fucking question. Of course he felt it. What possible reason would he have had to say Ashton, it’s okay? other than to get the fucking instinct out of his mind? 

“Obviously.” Ashton hums at that, like he’s mulling it over, and takes a bite out of his baguette before speaking again. 

“D’you think it’s growing?” 

“Growing?”

“Like, getting stronger.” Jesus. Luke fucking hopes not. 

“I hope not.” 

“But d’you think it is?” Ashton presses. Luke shrugs. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s only happened- what, three times?” 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, frowning. “But two days in a row?” 

“I don’t know,” Luke says again, a little irritably this time. “Isn’t that why we’re here? To get answers? Because neither of us know?” Ashton scrunches his nose up for a moment. It’s a move Luke knows well, one that Ashton does when he’s weighing something up, standing at a fork in the roads and deliberating which path he wants to start down, and one that Luke always used to tease Ashton for, dodging the swat Ashton would aim in his direction with a laugh. You look adorable, he’d say, grinning, and Ashton would roll his eyes, but he’d be smiling too, eyes bright and happy because Luke thought it was cute. I look stupid, he’d say, and Luke would roll his eyes, still grinning, and shake his head, wrapping his arms around Ashton. You look fucking adorable, he’d say, and he’d mean it. He still does mean it, he thinks, as he gazes at Ashton. Ashton still looks fucking adorable. 

It’s strange to be reminded of those moments now, years later, sat in a coffee shop thousands of miles away from home with their legs carefully angled away from each other, makes Luke feel suddenly disconnected from himself, like his heart had never quite learnt how to be twenty-six and without Ashton and he’s only just realising it. Or maybe not his heart; maybe his mind. 

(Or maybe not his mind. Maybe his soul.) 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, completely unaware of the crisis Luke’s currently embroiled in. “Yeah, you’re right.” Luke blinks, trying to grasp the bits of himself that are currently floating somewhere in whatever dimension existential panic is and force them back down his throat. Yeah. He is right. He’s forgotten about what, but he is right. What are they talking about? Oh, the strange experience earlier. Yeah. Got it.

“I’m sure they’ll ask us about it, anyway,” Luke says, hoping he’s done a convincing job of acting like he hadn’t been staring at Ashton while reminiscing. Ashton’s hums again, a hum of assent this time, and takes another bite out of his baguette, but Luke catches the way his lips have quirked up in a tiny smile. Fuck, Luke thinks, and his eyes flick to Ashton’s, finding them already following Luke’s gaze, something pleased and happy pooling in his irises. He knows, Luke’s sure of it, but he doesn’t say anything, just smiles a little wider, enough for his eyes to crinkle at the corners, and then looks away. 

Whatever, Luke thinks, trying to ignore the way his heart has picked up its pace. It doesn’t mean anything that he was staring, does it? People stare all the time. Luke stares at Michael, for God’s sake. And a stare can mean lots of things, can’t it? It could have been a stare of disbelief. Or a zoned-out stare. There’s no way Ashton can know it was a stare about him specifically, let alone one caused by Luke finding Ashton cute. He can’t know that. 

They eat in silence until they’re both finished, and Luke’s just downing the rest of his water when Ashton suddenly says: “I wonder who the celebrity is.” Luke blinks.

“Well, there are only so many household names,” he says, and Ashton cocks his head thoughtfully. 

“It might be a British household name, not a universal one,” he says. 

“What, like the Queen?”

“How is the Queen not a universal household name?” Ashton says.

“Well, she’s British, isn’t she?”

“What, so a universal household name is someone from the universe?” Ashton says, sounding amused, and Luke stops. Shit. Yeah, okay, that was fucking stupid. “I mean, like, someone that they all know that we’ve never heard of.” Luke purses his lips. He hadn’t even thought of that. 

“Maybe,” he says. “I don’t know. You’re the one who’s signed NDAs before.” Ashton frowns. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, and Luke shrugs. 

“You know more about this than me,” he says, and tries not to let the curiosity leak into the edges of his tone. He doesn’t need Ashton to know that there’s a card he could play. 

“I’ve not signed NDAs for stuff like this before, though,” Ashton says. “It’s all- y’know. Musician stuff.” He says almost conspiratorially, like it’s some kind of euphemism, like Luke’s supposed to hear ‘musician stuff’ and think of something in particular, and a little like he’s challenging Luke to ask what ‘musician stuff’ means so Ashton can have the pleasure of explaining it to him. 

“Well, you’ve still signed more than I have,” Luke says, a little sharper than he’d intended, irked by the fact that he’s not in on the joke but can’t ask without giving something of his dignity up. Ashton frowns. 

“Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?” he asks. 

“No,” Luke says. Ashton’s brow stays creased, like he thinks he knows what Luke’s feeling better than Luke does, and it sends a sharp stab of irritation right to Luke’s lungs. “I’m not upset.” 

“Okay,” Ashton says, but he says it slowly, like he still doesn’t believe Luke. 

“Ashton,” Luke says, and the annoyance is clear in his voice now. “Don’t patronise me.” Ashton blinks, and then he sits back, nodding. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Sorry. That’s not fair of me. I’m sorry.” Luke swallows. 

“That’s okay,” he says, testing out the words and finding they slip off his tongue a lot easier than he’d hoped, satin on silk, no resistance at all. Ashton looks at him for a moment, something unreadable on his face - or maybe Luke just doesn’t want to read it - and then he smiles, a little hesitantly.   

“What about the other soulmates, then?” he says. “Sister’s husband, what’s that all about?” Luke holds his gaze for a moment, his own scrunched-up-nose moment, and then smiles back; not hesitant, but small. 

“I think that’s still better than your daughter-in-law,” he says. Ashton grins, relief mingling with the amusement. 

“Makes you think we got off easy, doesn’t it?” he says, and Luke huffs out a laugh.

“I’d take my soulmate being my ex over my school bully any day,” he says. 

“Wasn’t Michael your school bully?” Luke pulls a face. 

“Exactly.” Ashton grins again, and Luke tries not to think about the way it makes something sizzle in his stomach. It’s probably just the tuna melt. 

"Good to know I've made it past Michael," Ashton says. "Next step is to make it past, I don't know, Charles Manson." Luke frowns.

"Didn't he die?"

"Did he?" 

"I think so."

"Well, hopefully I'm above him, then," Ashton says. Luke raises his eyebrows. 

"Jury's out," he says, and Ashton laughs, and it's warm, real, tinged with something that Luke's heart remembers - or never let go of - that makes it jump in his chest. He can feel the panic threatening to rise in his lungs to meet it and quells it just in time, just lets himself bask in Ashton's rays for once. 

It's probably just be the coffee shop, or maybe the food he's just eaten, but January's never felt so warm.

taglist: @glitterlukey @hey-its-grey @cashtonasfuck @tirednotflirting @haikucal @cthofficial @tigerteeff @clumsyclifford @callmeboatboy @angel-cal @sadistmichael @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfuckimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @makaylaa1113 @clumthood @pilunb @another-lonely-heart @calumscalm 

(if you wanted to be added to my taglist pls fill in this form)

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Sat 30 Nov

Louis played Nashville! There was a rushed meet and greet, but not so rushed as to deprive us and him of the joy of him reacting to a tattoo of him and Harry's faces on a fans thigh ("that's sick!!!") LOL amazing. Legends indeed. Fast forward to his set, he sounded really strong and good and while he didn't choose to wave any flags he definitely had the opportunity and I'm sure he appreciated the display, it was incredible. I'd very much like a gifset of that torrential rain of flags during KMM if anyone's taking requests! Beautiful. The show was a benefit for a suicide prevention organization and they had Louis add to their inspirational wall: he wrote, "you mean everything to someone so do not give up" and "find something that helps you get out of bed in the morning."

Eroda/ Adore You street advertising posters are up with a single release date! Adore You, Dec 6. The lovely art deco posters (merch of this please) have religious and tarot stylings and feature the official Eroda fish. The Erodan tourism board today gave us advice about what do when you see a minister (go home), as well as many tweets about the local perpetual cloud cover ("for as long as anyone can remember"). We see that Harry's character in the trailer has some kind of laser eye issue and wonder if he'll be able to help burn off that cloud cover. The projectionist from the Scottish film lorry tweeted about the Eroda trailer. From the thousands of tweets available to reply to, Eroda choose, among others, to let us know that yes, people do mutually respect one another on Eroda, and to shade @HSD, nice always a good choice ("everyone is welcome in Eroda.") The island has TV ads now (in our world that is), and tourism brochures were handed out in Paris. Some excitement about a fish in a ring on the poster but it turns out that fish really Don't wear rings (well maybe the Jewel Fish do, but we'll have to wait til the migration arrives to know.)

Liam last night posted a number of snaps of himself out to a karaoke night with Maya and family followed by one late night missive saying he was jumped by bouncers and "I'll see you in court assholes." The tabloids reported on it but were very restrained and polite, a post on Liam's Instagram told us he had left Texas and headed home, and it seemed like maybe the mysterious unsourced picture of LP1 on a store shelf ahead of schedule that appeared would be enough to distract but unfortunately, no. TMZ picked up video of the incident (Liam arguing with the bouncers) and it's not good. If that wasn't bad enough, he is engaging with the situation on twitter; he liked a post (from a stan account) saying things went down differently than TMZ reports. They won't share their version publicly though. I'm crossing my fingers an LP1 audio leak is coming, TBH: (warning, UO coming through here) I think it might be a good tactic to build hype ahead of a release that's scheduled for a busy day, while placing minimal demands on Liam himself and frankly anything that gets Liam press that isn't this would be very good right now. LATE BREAKING ADDITION: a leak claiming to be LP1 is out there now I cannot confirm or deny that it's real but guess what, I hope it is and I think we should all listen to it and talk about that a lot rather than... other things.

[popwasabi]

“Westworld III” takes several steps forward...and several steps back (REVIEW)

Created by Jonathan Nolan and Lisa Joy

Starring: Evan Rachel Wood, Jeffrey Wright, Aaron Paul, Ed Harris, Vincent Cassel, Tessa Thompson, Thandie Newton

(SPOILERS AHEAD)

Season three of HBO’s “Westworld” cleans up many of the issues season two had but ultimately falls short of season one’s loftier thematic ideas.

It’s cinematically sharper, it’s about as well paced and fun as the show has ever been and that on it’s own makes it worth watching and certainly worth continuing the series going forward but for fans hoping it might have something new to say in the vein of its hyper meta-textual and thematic commentary of the first season it may leave you disappointed.

Season three may have raised the stakes of the series with its pending (and frankly, all too timely) apocalyptic vibes going on in the story but it lowers the bar on its cerebral nature opting more for fast paced thrills over anything more profound or hadn’t said already.

That said, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it anyways for better…and worse.

“Westworld” season three picks up not too long after the events of season two as Dolores has infiltrated human society and begun working on her master plan to bring it all down. She has spared Bernard, who now spends his life as butcher outside the major cities but he often wonders where she is and when this apocalypse will begin. Meanwhile a veteran named Caleb spends his life doing the same mundane tasks and mercenary work everyday to make ends meet pondering his existence as he deals with his PTSD. He decides to break the cycle however when one day he finds Dolores shot in an alleyway and joins her on her quest to start a revolution.

“Westworld” is one of the few series that hooked me immediately with its first episode.

Where some series take their time to gain momentum before going into overdrive in their season finale, season one’s “The Original” grabbed my attention from the start with a combination of mystery, action, stellar acting, and the kind of cerebral humanist story-telling I expect and want from the cyberpunk genre.

As someone with a father who talked extensively about myth, theme, and got me to listen to old Joseph Campbell essays on CD  growing up, a series that explored story-telling on a meta level with a high octane LARP concept setting was everything someone like me could ask for in a science fiction series.

(Seriously, there was some compelling analytical story-telling dialogue in this series.)

So invested I was in this tale of synthetics gaining agency and humans exploring their own personal myth-making and what it said about themselves made me a huge fan early on, proudly proclaiming it to be the best show on HBO several years ago.

I was so certain this series was creatively the best thing on television at the time that I strongly considered getting a maze tattoo like that in the show to proclaim my brand-new fandom.

But knowing there was still more seasons on the horizon, I held off thinking I should probably see this through before doing anything that brash.

Well, a few years later I feel pretty good about that decision…

(Imagine how fans who named their newborns Daenerys or Khalessi feel right now...)

I remember thinking at the end of season one “Where can they possibly go from here still? Other LARP destinations in this cyberpunk world? A robot vs human war? How can the world expand?”

The problem is these thoughts did not really ask the most important question following that first season; “What more does it actually have to say?”

The first season is, in my opinion, a perfect season of television. It’s a brilliant take on the stories we tell ourselves, the choices we make that define us in our personal myths, and the exploration of our nature and how that relates to choice all while playing out this synthetic mystery plot. The entire first season pulls all these arcs and ideas together through characters like Bernard/Arnold, William/The Man in Black, and of course Dolores. They all, more or less, complete their arcs in that first season and there’s not really much needed to be said beyond that when you really think about it. If the series ended on Dolores murdering Ford and the Delos guests in the season finale that honestly would have been a perfect ambiguous ending to send the story off on.

(Kind of itss own meta commentary on the journey of a fan and an ever-increasingly cynical series...)

But because this is HBO, and “Game of Thrones” is no longer the driving force of premium TV, Westworld MUST continue because it’s the new cash cow for the channel. Whether or not writer/producers Lisa Joy and Jonathan Nolan really knew what they wanted to do following that first season is anybody’s guess but it’s hard not to see that they have struggled a bit since that point.

Season two is a mixed bag, where the characters literally feel like they’re going in circles. Plotlines get muddled, characters become hyper versions of themselves, and while certain ideas and episodes reached similar levels of brilliance that the first season had it still lacked the narrative sharpness of the first season and that has a lot to do with the characters having mostly no other driving force besides survival and simply getting to the next physical plot point.

It just didn’t have much more to say and frankly in a story about stories that’s pretty damn important.

(This episode from season 2 is still one of its best.)

To their credit, Joy and Nolan appear to rectify quite a few issues season two had with season three. Again, it’s faster, better paced, there’s a clearer destination at the end for its characters and not to mention a pretty compelling villain for this season’s plot in Serac played by the brilliant Vincent Cassell.

But it suffers ultimately the same problem; it has nothing truly new to say.

This is not to say the season is without any meaningful messages or metaphors. It’s quite critical of our hyper surveillance and information gathering state, might even be the best depiction to date on the broader implications and consequences of a world where we all have our personal information readily online to mined and plundered by big businesses and government. Caleb, played by the always great Aaron Paul, is a good avatar for the everyman who has grown jaded and disenfranchised by this system. Though he spends most of the season looking overly shocked and gape-jawed at just about everything, it’s hard not to feel empathy and a connection to this character as we are quite literally living in a bit of a cyberpunk hell as it is these days and treated just as much as expendable commodities right now.

(You fucking jackasses are arguing for the wrong things! You’re all being swindled and cheated for nothing! *photo “unrelated”*)

The season is generally best when the focus is on him, as the first episode delivers a strong start in the same way season one did.

Where the season begins to fall apart though is when quite literally the world “Westworld” inhabits begins to do so itself. Serac’s Rehobaum, which reminded me just a little too much of “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’s” Deep Thought, releasing all its data to the world and everyone discovering they’re basically all dangerous assholes is almost hilarious to me. 

Though the idea of hyper data controlling our every move is a good cyberpunk metaphor to jump off of, the way this bit is executed is a little over exaggerated and clumsy.

(Though it does deliver a pretty powerful scene regardless.)

This isn’t actually a tremendous problem with season three, but it doesn’t do much to add to what we already understand about the story; which is how narrative controls us and how important choices and free will is to that. All this is already told and expanded on in the first season through Dolores, all season three does it bring it to a macro level and put that onus on the humans instead of the hosts. The hosts were already a metaphor for humanity anyways so again the story in some ways hasn’t changed much since season one.

It's interesting to have the narrative of the hosts turned on the humans but thematically it feels redundant.

I’ll add that this isn’t the worst idea they could’ve gone with, it works in moving the physical aspect of the story forward for sure, and I wouldn’t even classify it as a bad one, but again the problem is the story has largely run out of new things to tell us.

We like stories because we want to learn some truth about ourselves, whether we want it to or not, and Anthony Hopkins’ Ford makes a great point of this in season one. This has been the purpose of myths and legends since the dawn of time and it’ll be no different even when the 37th Fast & Furious comes out in 40 years. You could argue that the message of Westworld deserves repeating or that it’s not important to the entertainment value it still provides, and you might be right. But for a series like this, that is so invested in what stories mean I don’t think it’s wrong to think there should be more to it than this.

(Maybe, I should’ve...)

Of course, there’s still plenty more to see out of “Westworld” for the foreseeable future as HBO won’t be canceling it anytime soon and certainly it’ll have its chance to still tackle more ideas and themes in the future but, at this point at least, it’s been less meaningful that its first season.

There are other problems too, namely Dolores constantly changing and unclear revolution plans and arcs resolved offscreen, certain side plots with other characters ultimately going nowhere, and a fairly predictable twist with Caleb, but this is the crux of the problem with the series as it stands now and the one worth mentioning the most.

(And Maeve, *sigh* oh Maeve...)

That said, season three really is a lot of fun despite my issues with the narrative. The pacing, as mentioned, is great from start to finish. I was never bored or disinterested during this season, despite its flaws, and the action bits are frankly better than they’ve ever been as the series goes full cyberpunk in parts with great robot on human and robot on robot action.

The cinematography is sharp and striking too as Jonathan Nolan shows he’s definitely Christopher’s brother with some beautiful, haunting shots of the future Los Angeles city Gotham-esque skyline set to Ramin Djawadi’s excellent cyberpunk score that gives the new season a more noire-ish feel that would make Vangelis and Hans Zimmer proud.

(In the future Los Angeles will be Singapore!)

The acting is still stellar of course. Though Jeffrey Wright’s Bernard is largely wasted in this season and his plot goes nowhere, his scene with Gina Torres in the finale is touching. Luke Hemsworth is dry as hell in a good way as Chief of Security turned personal buddy bodyguard to Bernard as Ashley Stubbs. Ed Harris is wicked and dastardly as always as William and of course Evan Rachel Wood is solid as the driving force of the series as Dolores.

(Out of context season 3 spoiler.)

The finale doesn’t leave much to say beyond a pending machine vs human war though which has been building up since the first season anyways. While I can see some possibilities for an interesting direction here, I can’t say I’m as intrigued as even the finale to season two left me.

In some ways, season one left me not too much unlike William going into season’s two and three; looking for additional meaning in something that wasn’t looking to tell me anything deeper, at least right now. Perhaps the maze just isn’t for me anymore but moving forward I’ll be lowering my expectations.

(Oh my God! Meta commentary on meta commentary! It’s meta-ception! I’m beginning to question the nature of my reality!!!)

“Westworld” remains a fun cyberpunk action series that can hold your attention span for an hour, and I think it’ll maintain that energy consistently going forward, but it might’ve been best left where it was when Dolores put a bullet in Ford’s brain.

I do hope it can regain some of its original spark at some point but until then…it doesn’t look like anything (deep) to me.

VERDICT:

3.5 out of 5

You said it, Marshawn...

[tarotmum13]

Tarot Lessons for Beginners - Part 1

A special Welcome to those lovely souls who are just getting their feet wet in the big, sometimes intimidating, ocean of Tarot!

So you want to start reading the cards? Good for you!!! You will find yourself embarking on the most amazing journey of your life – I promise you, you will NOT regret it!

“I know too much about Tarot”, said no-one, ever! – Tarot is so versatile, you will want to learn more all the time, but where to start?

First of all: NO!!! You most definitely do NOT have to wait for some kind soul out there to gift you your first Tarot deck!!!

If that was the case I would be waiting still and the past 2 decades of my life would have been much blander for it.

This myth comes from back when the aspiring tarot reader was apprenticed to a master and received their very own deck from their teacher after being deemed sufficiently educated in the craft – it no longer applies in this day and age, where cards are readily available and self-study is the norm.

Even so, if someone wants to buy you a deck then give them a big hug and say thank you, like your mother told you to 😀

The important thing is to find a deck that you LIKE – if you cringe at the artwork you are never going to connect with your deck. Find a deck that is a joy to look at, full of amazing detail to discover, and you are halfway there, because you are going to WANT to spend time with it, study it, get to know all the cards and find out what they mean.

But which deck would be a good choice for a beginner?

I do suggest you start your journey by looking at a Rider-Waite style deck and here’s why:

The Rider-Waite deck, with images drawn by Pamela Coleman-Smith, is one of the most recognisable, iconic sets of Tarot cards in the world. It has been tried and tested by millions of Readers accross the globe and it has stood the test of time.

If you learn to work with this deck it will be very easy to move on to using other decks, because you will understand the structure of Tarot and you can build on that solid foundation.

You will also find plenty of guidebooks out there that will support your learning and you will easily relate your cards to the images in those books or in online tutorials.

If you start with a deck full of quirks and changes it will be more difficult – if everyone is talking about The Hermit, but in your deck she is named The Turtle, you might struggle to catch on…

Does this mean you have to buy an actual Rider-Waite deck? No! A lot of people will find the artwork on this deck too old-fashioned, bland, or otherwise unappealing (no offense to those of you who love this deck!!! I have a soft spot for it too).

If you DO decide to go with RW, maybe try the Radiant Rider-Waite as the updated colours and cleaner lines are so much more vibrant and will make it a good, classic choice. I love my Tarot-in-a-Tin version and it often travels with me 😎 Here are some decks you could consider:

Note: The Tarot made Easy boxset contains the Llewellyn’s Classic Tarot deck, the Beginner’s guide to Tarot has the Sharman-Casselli deck (if you want to look up the images or buy your deck separate) – underneath those you see images of Dame Darcy’s Mermaid deck, if you like mermaids, ocean-themes or tattoo-style images, or if you just fancy an Indie deck 😉 All these decks are readily available in shops and online today!

I think that the Everyday Witch in particular would be a good choice (check out my review on this blog if you want to know more!), along with the Radiant Rider-Waite (as mentioned earlier) and Ciro Marchetti’s Gilded Tarot. That’s 3 distinctive styles for you to choose from right there! But hey, please follow your gut!

If you have any questions regarding a deck you like the look of, and wether or not this would be suitable as a learner’s deck, just ask and I will advise you as best I can!

Buying a deck is so much easier these days, you can browse the internet and look at which images you find attractive – when I started out on my path I just had to pick a deck in a bookshop, wrapped in cellophane, so you had to go by the box and the content could be disappointing!

So please people: do your research! You do not want to spend your hard-earned cash on a deck you will never use.

Note: REHOME your unwanted decks! Not being loved makes them sad… REMEMBER: Decks are people too!

Now you have your deck, you have looked at all the cards and maybe formed some ideas as to what they might be all about – from all the talk about Intuïtive Reading going around, you might feel like you should be able to just go ahead and start reading, right? WRONG!!!

Tarot requires some study, people! You will need to put in some time and effort but you will be rewarded beyond expectation.

I suggest you get a notebook (as pretty or as simple as you like) or, even better, a ringbinder and noteblock (so you won’t run out of space, can add sheets when needed and throw stuff out if you feel you messed up). Let’s start with the basics:

A Tarot deck has 2 distinct parts;

1) The Major Arcana:

Arcana means Secret and the first 22 cards in the deck make up the Major Arcana – those archetypical events in life that we all are subject to at one time or another. These are cards dealing with outside influences, opportunities, dilemma’s and Fate. Generally, things that happen to us that we have limited control over other than how we choose to deal with them. The Fool is numbered “0”, he will be going on the journey of his life, encountering all the different situations depicted in the rest of the cards!

2) The Minor Arcana:

These cards depict our day-to-day experiences, troubles and triumphs.

The 56 cards of the Minor Arcana are divided in 4 suits, generally these are:

Cups (or cauldrons, vessels,…) – Wands (staves, sticks,…) – Swords (arrows, daggers,…) and Pentacles (coins, stones,…).

Each suit represents one of the Elements: Cups are Water (dealing primarily with emotions and relationships); Wands are Fire (action, ideas, creativity); Swords are Air (thoughts, the Mind, decisions) and Pentacles are Earth (dealing with the material world, possessions, carreer).

The suits are numbered 1 (Aces) to 10 and then have 4 Court cards each – generally Page, Knight, King and Queen (or Queen, then King, but I tend to turn these around – girlpower!).

See? Now you have a basic understanding of the structure of Tarot!

You will expand your knowledge as you progress in your studies.

Now – take your notebook and pen and write the name and number of each card on a separate sheet, starting with number zero, The Fool.

Look at the first card and write down what you see. Now write what you think this card represents. Then look in your guidebook, or online and write down some key-words or phrases that will make you remember the meaning of this card. Do they match up with your own thoughts and ideas? Great! If they don’t, do NOT throw out your notes as you may find later on that the card can have additional, layered or personal interpretations too.

Congratulations! You have just started your very own Tarot Journal!!

Now, repeat this for every card in the deck. I TOLD you you would have to work for it!!!

You do not have to journal about each card in the order they are numbered. That is why it is a good idea to write each of the names on a page first, so you can move back and forth through your journal with ease and work on whichever card you feel like! Also, this is an ongoing process, so please, continue with your lessons, you do not have to wait until this project is completed!

Once you have a basic understanding of the cards, THEN you can start relying on your Intuition and start reading them using your gut feeling. I am NOT suggesting you need to learn long lists of meanings and interpretations, it’s okay if there are some cards you are not sure of, but please my lovely students, if you do not lay any foundations you will struggle later on…

Whilst you are learning, please have FUN with your cards – ask questions and pull cards, look up the meaning and be amazed at your own accuracy! Pull a card every evening and see if you can relate it to the events of the day. All these exercises will help you become more familiar with your deck and that can only be a good thing – aww, you guys are BONDING, how lovely!

Remember: there is NOTHING wrong with looking at your guidebook, that’s what it is for! Someone went to great lengths to write it for you, so USE IT!!!

In later parts I will cover some good books to support your tarot quest, as there are myriads out there and not all deliver what they promise…

All this will keep you busy for a while – so I will leave you to it for now.

Look out for Part 2, where we will continue your education and tackle some myths relating to bonding with your deck, who can touch your cards, and much more!!!

Thank you for your attention, class dismissed!☺️

Love you all!!! Xxx

PS: please feel free to ask questions, I shall do my best to answer them!

[deathgatesideblog]

The DGC Anime, Part 1

So let’s figure out what DGC would be like as an anime.

(Cut because it’s PRETTY LONG)

Basics:

The theme/opener would be a narration (think Avatar: The Last Airbender) explaining how the Sundering happened and the Patryns and Sartan hate each other. As each world is mentioned, you see  images associated with them.

       Arianus: a dragon-ship, the Kicksey-winsey, and maybe the High Realms?

     Pryan: lots of greenery (with a dragon or two blending into the background), the citadels, a tytan

     Abarrach: a corpse that doesn’t look like a corpse (so it’s fresh) but has a creepy phantasm behind it (also you can’t see the Sartan hair, so I guess it’s bald?), the Fire Sea, Kairn Necros

     Chelestra: an iceberg with… something… inside it… and the iceberg gets a little smaller each episode until all you see are red red eyes…. Surunan, maybe just a shot of the ocean?

Nexus: spires and pretty forests and stuff

Labyrinth: the River of Anger, the Final Gate, lots and lots of bones (possibly being gnawed on by horrifying monsters)

Vortex: idk, a big room, I guess?

*****

Someone would have to figure out Sartan and Patryn runes so that the spells make sense. I do not envy this person.

*****

Character designs are important. Each world and race has a slightly different style. I like to think that Patryns in the Labyrinth wear things like furs, leathers, and low-quality cloth in colors that help them blend into the background. Geg fashion is inspired by the 1800s and early 1900s, aka the Age of the Factory. The Kenkari need to look like butterflies. Humans on Chelestra can be kind of Polynesian-inspired.

Haplo: It’s apparently traditional to garb the hero/protagonist in red and blue, so let’s start him out in a very dark navy shirt and the most blend-in-everywhere brown pants imaginable. And bandages, of course. As the series progresses, he gets to wear lighter blues and maybe a bit of red. If he stays in an elemental world a long time, he keeps his basic color scheme but starts dressing like a human of that place to better blend in… until he gives up pretending he’s not a Patryn, that is. (It would be kind of funny to give him a trace of jailbird orange because he ends up in so many prisons, but I somehow can’t really imagine him in something like that.)

Alfred: He canonically has a pretty dumb, fancy outfit, but I can work with that. It’s purple, but the shirt beneath his coat is off-white. White is the color most associated with the Sartan, but Alfred is a bit, well, off for a Sartan (Zifnab might have a different shade of off-white in his design too). As the series progresses, he loses his frills and stuff so that he looks a bit more influenced by Sartan and/or Patryn styles. Also, it is very important to me that his eyes are the exact same shade of blue as rune-magic/Patryn tattoos to symbolize that 1) he has rune-magic, 2) is in fact obscenely powerful, and 3) has an affinity with the Patryns.

Hugh: Does not wear black because that’s the Kir color. He could also potentially wear dark blue at first because he’s the decoy protagonist. After his resurrection, maybe he could wear very dark purple to symbolize how Alfred has negatively affected him.

Bane: He needs to look nothing at all like the king and queen. 

Marit: In flashbacks, she and Haplo wear typical Patryn garb. In the present, she’s kept the colors and general style, but the quality of her clothes is nicer. Less fur, more fabric. Practical hairstyle. I know it’s long on the one canon picture we have of her (though you could argue that cover art isn’t particularly canon), but maybe short or just shoulder-length? Also weapons.

*****

There are only six seasons. We skip over Elven Star almost entirely. On Abarrach, when Alfred asks Haplo if he found any Sartan on Pryan, Haplo gives like a three-sentence summary of important things we need to know, adds that it was awful and Alfred should be glad he didn’t have to suffer through it, and then we move onto the good stuff. There can be a few more flashbacks when Xar visits the citadel to explain anything more.

*****

Footnotes can be those little pause-things where chibi versions of the characters explain stuff. I don’t know what they’re called. However, we shouldn’t need footnotes about timekeeping because let’s just pretend that everyone uses days and years to avoid confusion, okay? Because the canonical timekeeping systems just confused me.

*****

That’s it for now. Next time I’ll ramble on about my thoughts for the musical score (I do not know much music theory).

Oh wow, what an excellent surprise! These are some really cool thoughts, allow me to add some of my own!

Theme/opener: I like the idea of the first opener being a narration/backstory kinda thing, but I have to also hold out for that classic Anime OP packed with symbolism and showcasing the characters fighting and junk. So gotta have some of those types of openings after the first hypothetical season.

Character designs: I really really did the Geg’s fashion/society being based off Industrial Revolution kinda stuff. Another route you could go is more steampunkish (and you’d have precedent, considering how the video game portrays Drevlin– not that you really want to use the video game for anything, but you feel me, lol) but that’s already kinda based on that time period anyway, so *shrug*

Haplo: iirc Haplo’s usually wearing a white shirt with brown pants and a vest, but heck, man, this is an anime, and more complicated costumes are kind of par for the course. Red-and-blue is a fitting color scheme, certainly.

Alfred: Here’s where anime’s proud tradition of ridiculous outfits can truly shine. Make me proud. Canon-wise he literally spends the whole series in that outfit, and I think it would be kinda funny to reflect that by having him wear the exact same coat all the time but in different colors, to suggest that he’s using the exact same pattern every single time. I think no matter what happens with the rest of his outfit, the coat’s probably staying. He just likes it a lot, okay??

Hugh: I like the idea of dressing Hugh up as a decoy protagonist, very appropriate. To me, his outfit is less important than what his hair’s doing, honestly, lol. He’s got a beard with a braid in it!! That’s cool!! And in the fifth book/season, when he’s depressed, he would look really sloppy and not taking care of himself.

Marit: LOOKS NOTHING LIKE THE ONE IMAGE WE HAVE OF HER, FIGHT ME, IN WHAT WORLD IS CHESTNUT HAIR BLONDE ANYWAY???? But yeah, pretty much what you said :P

Skipping Elven Star: Interesting idea. I mean, sucks if you happen to like that book, but I’M not going to argue with that, certainly, and it definitely seems like it’d be possible to do… You’d miss out on a lot of the setup, and you’d have to rearrange some things, especially concerning Zifnab, which could get messy, but I definitely think you could do it effectively. 

(Relevant addition to this conversation: Hand of Chaos feels like the kind of season you get when the animators are waiting for the manga to get ahead so they make a filler arc. Except it’s not quite a pure filler arc. But it’s disjointed enough from the rest of the series to kind of feel that way. You get me?)

Little chibi characters explaining stuff in lieu of footnotes: OH MY GOODNESS CUTE (would also fit great for bonus episodes, or those little end-of-episode previews that are sometimes a thing)

[knight-of-heart-and-art]

yo here's a list of grubs, it's under a cut so I can come back and add more to it at a theoretical later date...feel free to suggest more or just add on to it if you want. Also if you feel like using the names or concepts for any of them go right ahead, just maybe send me a link to the end result. 

Nonomi. They're an extremely small, dark-green grub with tiny rounded horns and entirely too much hair for one so small—most of the time their head looks like a tiny black puffball. Their legs on one side are malformed, not enough to make it impossible for them to get around but definitely enough to get them noticed and marked for culling. Nonomi's still a sweetie, although they're quite shy. They actually got their name when Karkat refused to name any of the grubs, picking Nonomi up as an example and announcing that they were "No-name Vantas." Dave promptly came up with a nice pseudo-Latin variation on that. It stuck.

Ferrus. Medium sized and dark rusty orange, about as far down the hemospectrum as you can get and willing to pick a fight with anything, which might be what landed them in the culling caverns. They're fiercely protective of Nonomi, ready to take a bite out of anything and everything that tries to mess with the greenblood, up to and including Dave and Karkat. Luckily grub jaws aren't quite as strong as they could be, so they don't always draw blood. It's also lucky that Ferrus has short, curved horns instead of longer, more fragile ones or sharply pointed ones, because they also headbutt when they're upset. Even when they don't bite or butt they're very vocal about any displeasure. Dave thinks it's adorable.

Rahnza. One of the few grubs that Dave wasn't sure was going to survive—they're what Kanaya says is average size for a troll grub, a shade of teal that's the same as Terezi's but somewhat deeper, with the tiny half-formed gills and the finned ears of a seadweller, and mismatched horns—one curving to the side in an almost moon-shaped crescent, the other much shorter, sticking straight up. They can definitely breathe water as well or better than air, too; they actually need to sleep submerged rather than spending nights on the bed with the rest. They get enough love and cuddling in the daytime to make up for it, though, which balances out just fine.

Bowie. (Dave named them. There were words between him and Karkat over this choice, since it doesn't have enough letters.) They're very visually striking, a periwinkle-blood with some mutation that tints their hair almost metallic copper and makes it a lot straighter than is normal for trolls, so that it lays almost perfectly in line with their swept-back horns. In addition to the red hair they have patches of the same color on their skin, almost like abstract curling tattoos. They're amazingly friendly with the other grubs and with adults. They also like it when Dave plays music, and very quickly figured out how to work the CD player even though they can't change discs because of their lack of gripping digits. Dave's had to start unplugging it at night after the first few times that Bowie turned it on full blast and woke everyone up.

Delphi. They're somewhere between cerulean and royal blue, a bit bigger than average. They've been very badly scarred, one of their hooked horns cracked almost to the point of snapping off and both eyes damaged, although they can still see at least a little. Probably because of whatever happened to them, they're very timid, tending to try to squirm under the nearest piece of furniture at the sound of anyone shouting or most loud animal noises. They don't have quite as much problems with other loud noises, oddly enough; it's mostly just for ones made by living things. Maybe surprisingly, they're very unlikely to choose the normal troll reaction of attacking what they're afraid of, mostly just trying to hide from it instead. Once they recognize which people aren't going to hurt them, they'll also go to said people and squeak to be protected when they're terrified. Which, for awhile, is almost all the time.

Myrmyr. Smallish goldenrod-blooded grub. It takes awhile for Karkat and Dave to figure out that they're deaf, mostly because they're a receive-only telepath and they can pick up most aural cues from the minds of anyone around them. They also have a weak version of psiionics, although the tiny sparks they throw off while using it are white instead of the red and blue that Karkat half-expects. He won't admit to Dave that in spite of the slight difference in blood color and the fact that Myrmyr's horns are long and take an almost 90-degree turn near the tips instead of being short and doubled, he's still reminded of Sollux by them. Dave catches Karkat showing Myrmyr bees, just in case, but they're more interested in the ants that keep ending up hanging out on the counter.

[c8opotato-blog]

// MIDNIGHT \\ something i wrote a while ago

just a little author’s note:

i wrote this at a hard time in my life a while ago so that explains the lack of fluency and style in this piece of work. and yes it is an ashton irwin fanfic but it wasn’t intentionally an ashton fanfic at first i pictures luke hemmings as ash but now i picture rami malek as “my night in shining armor”. another little note, this story doesnt have a happy ending however i have created many versions of this storyline with many alternate endings and the only one i could find on this device was my least favorite, sappy, predictable and happy ending. also, i don’t aim to write happy endings i only deliver what people with to read and the reason to that is because life has no happy endings. maybe that’s just my perception and outlook on life, but that’s the way i like to portray it. and lastly, if you do wish to repost this or add on to this story or anything like that, please give credit as this is my story. the characters and the aftermath of this ‘story’ is fictional and over exaggerated, the initial plot is non-fictional.

—————————————————

// Midnight \

Many people ask, “What would you do if was your last day?” There’s an infinite number of things you could say, see your loved ones, tell that special someone that you love them. But you would probably won’t ever get to do that one thing you desperately want to do before you die, you’ll never know when it will truly be your last day.

Kayleigh Morgan has suffered with a long term battle of depression and anxiety ever since her world crumbled, right in front of her. It was that day she that she had decided to give up the battle, and stop fighting, when she encountered someone who she’d seen around, but never spoken to, who could change her life for good this time…

“You’re afraid to live, yet you’re afraid to die.”

*Kayleigh’s POV*

Darkness all around me, except from the slight glow of the street lights. Pressed against my back, the bitter chill of the rusted railing. A few modernistic cars whizzing past every now and then, but other than that, I am completely alone in this world of noise. Below my feet, the battered broken down ledge. And below that, an one hundred foot drop into the current peaceful and still water. “Isn’t anyone trying to find me? Won’t somebody just please, take me home?” I think to myself, worriedly. There’s no backing down now, I left the note, they no longer think that I’m alive. Just focus on the water, focus on the water. I focus on the calm, flowing river, contemplating when or if I jump. If I don’t, I could live somewhere, alone, all by myself, where no one would know me. But they would find me, I just can’t risk it!

I take a long slow, deep breath, and cautiously step forward, closer to the drop of death and darkness. This is it. This is need end. Suddenly, I feel something pressed against my back, and something strongly wrapped around my waist. My breathing hitches at the sudden, surprise contact. I start to panic, I cry, I thrash my arms around, trying to step forward, closer to the edge, but the thing wrapped around my waist, pulls me into its giant frame. “Don’t. Don’t do it. I feel the same way about myself, but I can’t let someone as talented and as beautiful as you do this.” The thing whispers into my ear. The thing had a deep and raspy voice, and I could feel their hot, tickling breath caress my neck. “Why don’t we step back, behind the railing where it’s safe? What do you say?” I nod my head vigorously, the tears from my eyes, flying away from my face into the empty darkness. Their hand’s still around my waist, as they guide me over, the railing, back to where it was safe, and away from the terrible fate I could have had. I turn around slowly, and carefully, ready to see who had just saved me from myself. He had dark, voluminous hair, with colourful vibrant highlights. He wore tight, ripped black jeans, which were frayed amongst the seams. He didn’t have a jacket on, so his sun kissed, tattooed, bare arms were on show. He looked familiar, live I had seen him before. But then it hit me. The person who saved me from killing myself, was Ashton Irwin, the biggest, punk asshole of the entire school. Why would he do that? “Thanks…” I mumble, avoiding all eye contact. I shift all of my weight onto my left foot. A few tears still sliding down my icy, raw face.

“You should be at home, not out here, you’ll catch your death… wait! I-I didn’t mean…” “No, no it’s fine… I don’t really have a home to go to anymore… Any way, why are you out here then?” I finally have the confidence to look him in the eyes. I am mesmerised by them. Even in this light, you could see the warm toned gold, in his green eyes, they were just outstandingly beautiful. “I was taking a walk, before I left.” “Left to go where?” “Algoe, New York.” “Isn’t that like nineteen hours away?” “Yeah. I wanted to leave this deadbeat town, and go somewhere, where nobody knew me.” “Are you still going?” “Only if you’re okay…” I had only met this guy five minutes ago, yet I feel like I have known him for years. It feels to me like we have an unmistakable connection, as cheesy as it might sound. But it’s true. “Can I come with you?” I ask him with the most pleading eyes. He looks down at me, into my eyes, to see if I truly want to do this, and I do. “If you’re sure about it.” He tells me with a warm, attractive smile. “Definitely.”

If anybody had just watched this whole thing just happen, they’d be thinking: “This girl is such an idiot. This guy is known as the most biggest asshole of the whole school, and she is running away to a place, very far from home with him.” But that’s the thing. He doesn’t seem like this asshole, everyone makes him out to be.

Everyone said that he doesn’t care about anyone else apart from himself. But he just saved me from killing myself. If what they said wasn’t true, then the rest of it might not be true. I’m willing to see what he’s really like, underneath his stereotype of a punk asshole.

His car wasn’t small, but it wasn’t overly big either. It was just right. It was nice and cosy, with a warm scented aroma. It was sort of like a home, there were blankets and a few pillows scattered amongst the back seats, and various different types of chargers and adapters lying around the car. “It’s not much I guess… but it’ll do.” He shrugs while looking behind him, at the back seats of the car, with a smug look on his face. “W-Were you going to live here?” I ask him, a bit cluelessly. He chuckles at my confusion, and turns back around, looking ahead and buckles his seat belt. “No, no, I have money for motels and stuff. I’ve been saving up for years! I’ve always wanted to leave here ya know?” “Really? So did I, well I guess you already knew that…” I look down at my lap, and then I remember. I too, had saved up all of my money for a long time, I’m not sure why, I just did. Of course I didn’t leave it at home when I tried to jump, I kept it with me so none of my greedy family could take it.

I reach into my bra and pull out hundreds of pounds all rolled up, and held together by an elastic band. “Woah! Kayleigh! Did you know that you were going to meet me and that we were going to run away or something?” He chuckles, looking at me in a loving way. I don’t think he’s ever really looked at anyone like that before. Perhaps I was the first?

No, Kayleigh, No.

Walls. You built walls for a reason. You can’t fall for him. He’s your last chance. “It’s complicated I guess.” I shrug him off, starting to count the money. A couple days prior to tonight, I exchanged all of the money I had, and could find, into $100 bills. 100, 100, 100… £4700. I didn’t even realise that I had that much money. Perhaps it’ll be enough to get a place for a while. Something cheap, but secluded. “I don’t wanna be a burden or anything Ashton-” I start, gesturing for him to take my money, but he cuts me off. ”No, no Kay, we’re going to get through this together! Today was just a horrible, terrible day for you, and I’m going to help you to get better… and I hope you’ll do the same for me…” He whispered the last part, it was barely audible, but I still heard him.

Hours later, we both began to become tired, and delirious. “Hey Ash, we should stop somewhere, we could both do with some rest, and some food.” The mention of food made my stomach ache, realising that I probably haven’t eaten in over ten hours. “Yeah, we’re driving into a city now, I think, hopefully there will be a hotel which isn’t dodgy looking.” He chuckles, as I remember all of the dodgy looking hotels we had passed on our way here.

Five minutes later, we finally find a nice looking hotel, we pull up into the car park, and get out of Ashton’s cosy car. We walk to the main entrance, and up to the front desk. “Hello, good evening. Room for two?” The middle aged woman asks us, looking both of us up and down, and then smiling, looking back at our faces.

Ashton and I exchange looks with each other, not knowing what to say. “It’ll save money…” I mumble to Ashton quietly, hoping he heard. “Yes please, thank you.” He tells the lady with a sweet, attractive smile.

The woman bends down, most likely to find us a key, a few seconds later, coming back up, and handing us two key cards and a few leaflets and brochures. “Your key cards, and a few leaflets about the hotel facilities, and what you can do here in Charleston.” Wait what? “Charleston? As in Charleston in South Carolina?” I ask her not a hundred percent believing what I’m hearing. “The very same.” “Oh… okay, thanks…” We turn to the direction of the elevators, ready to sleep into the early hours of the afternoon, when the lady calls after us. “Wait, so if you’re not around from here, then where are you from?” “Jacksonville, Florida.”

Ashton opens the door slowly, trying to give the dramatic effect, like in the movies. But as soon as he closed the door behind us, we were in pitch black darkness.

We stumble around for a few seconds, trying to find a light switch. “Well that didn’t go as planned.” He says as he flicks the switch.

I look around. The room is a fairly good size, a bit on the smaller side but it’ll be alright. There’s a bed in the centre of the room, it was complete with white, crispy creaseless sheets and a fluffy purple blanket, and cushions to match. There were little lamps fixed to the white walls, which were the only given light source. “Cosy.” I comment, looking around the room one last time, then looking up at Ashton, giving him a little smile. “Yeah. So… the bed situation… I’ll sleep on the floor, I’ll use the spare blanket and pillows-” “No, no, you don’t have to. We could sleep together, I guess… Wait no, not in that way, I meant-” Ashton cut me off, with a giggle. “I know what you meant, and I’d be happy to.” I chuckle as well, walking over to the bed. Then I remembered, I don’t have any clothes with me. “Fuck,” I curse under my breath, “I don’t have any clothes…” “Don’t worry, you could wear one of my shirts.” He offers, bringing the black faux leather bag, which I didn’t know that he had, up onto the bed. He unzips the bag which revealed two weeks worth of clothes, which were mostly of the dark kind, the ones you’d get from Hot Topic, band tees and such.

He hands me black fine knit sweater, and some black joggers. “Thanks.” I tell him sincerely, not just for the clothes, for everything.

* * *

She wakes up in the middle of the night, and tries not to wake up Ashton. She untangles herself from him, and puts back on her clothes from a few hours ago. She closes the door behind her, after turning the light off, trying not to think about anything other than what she’s about to do.

Walking along the bridge, once more stepping over the railing, and looking down at the darkness before her. *** Ashton wakes up, to find nothing but coldness and empty space beside him. Except a folded up piece of the hotel monogram paper. He picks up the paper, and unfolds it. “Ashton, I’m sorry…

I guess I fell for you…

But you just can’t help someone like me…” *** Kayleigh hears footsteps behind her once again, like a few hours before. But they stop a few metres behind her. “Kayleigh please don't… I fell for you too-” But it was too late.

*Kayleigh’s POV*

Someone’s poking my side. I hear whimpering mumbles a few inches away from me. I slowly open my eyes, and turn my head to my right.

I see Ashton, throwing his tattooed arms about in the air, thrashing around. He’s half shouting something, but I can’t really make out what he’s saying. “K-Kay…! N-Nooooo!” I think he’s dreaming about me… does this mean he cares?

I turn on my side, and put my hand on Ashton’s sweaty, sticky, inked torso, and start shake him slightly, trying to wake him up. “Hey… Ash… I’m here, wake up! Please…” All of a sudden, he gasps and sits up straight, almost knocking me back down onto the bed. “Kayleigh!” He exclaims, engulfing me into a huge, sticky hug. His tattooed, toned arms wrapped tightly, around my small frame. It was like he didn’t want to let go. “Thank God…” he mumbles into the crook of my neck. “Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask him, curiosity taking control of my voice. I lift my head up, from his shoulder, looking up at his pale, worried, almost distraught facial expression. “I would… but I-” He starts off but stops mid sentence. He looks up at my concerned face, and brings one of his abnormally large hands up to my cheek. He carefully rests his forehead against mine, and looks into my eyes. “Kay… I can call you that right?” “Yeah.” I whisper, nodding my head slightly. “I had seen you around school and stuff, before tonight… you intrigued me, you could say…” “What are you trying to say?” I quietly giggle, bringing my hands closer to him. “I’m trying to say that… I’ve always wanted to talk to you, get to know you, before tonight, I just never had the guts… I thought you were gorgeous, stunningly beautiful, you were someone way out of my league but not in a stuck up, obnoxious way… I’m sorry… I’m rambling…” He looks down, trying not to show his blushing cheeks. “No, no carry on.” I urge him on, kindly. “I-uh… I could that you were different, a good kind of different, and I loved that about you… in a sense I’m kinda happy that I met you tonight… and I hope you know that’d I’d never let you go…” “Hmmm” I close my eyes, enjoying the sound of Ashton’s raspy voice, it was so soothing, like music to my ears. “I don’t know if it’s too soon or not, I don’t want to overwhelm you… but I like you, you know?” “I guess I like you too, even if it has only been like eight hours since we first started speaking… it feels like we’ve been speaking for years, cliché, I know…” He chuckles as he brings his other giant hand up to my other cheek, and holds my face in his hands. He gives me a huge smile, and looks into my eyes. “I don’t want to start something so soon, it’s not that I don’t, it’s just, it’s just that I don’t want to rush things… you seem like the only person I can trust… I uh-I-uh” “Don’t worry about it… we’ll take things slow okay? Let’s not start straight away… we could ease into things, to make us both more comfortable?” Ashton gives me another big smile. “I’d like that.” * * * Ashton wanted to take things slow with Kayleigh, but not just for her. For himself as well. He was similar to Kayleigh in a way. He had felt the same as she did that night. That’s why he wanted to leave. He wanted to be away from everyone who made him feel like nothing. But then he saw her about to do the thing he thought of doing. He had to stop her. And he did. But why couldn’t he do the same to himself, as he did to her? He saved her from herself. But could she save him from himself?

| Four Months Later |

“Come on Ash, please, for me?” I plead, he looks up at me, his eyes devoid of enthusiasm, they were different from the way they were months ago. He’s been in bed for the past week, only ever leaving to go to the toilet. He looks paler, and skinner then he did four months ago when we left Jacksonville.

He groans, closing his eyes, and shifting a little. “Please, baby… get out of bed, don’t let it be like this…” I beg again, for the fourth time today, it was half three in the afternoon, and he hasn’t even gotten out of bed to go to the toilet. I’m close to tears, I’ve never seen someone just like this before, it was frightening. I’ve tried to help so much, but he just blocks me out.

I settle down on the bed, by his head. I lean back into the pillows we had set up a couple of months ago, when we first moved into our apartment. “Talk to me, please, I hate not hearing your voice… I miss it, I miss you.” I fiddle with the curled ends of his hair while speaking, after finishing, he looks up with sorry eyes. “I-I’m sorry…” He apologises, tears prickling in his sorrowful eyes. “No, no, no. I didn’t mean- it’s not your fault, it’s just that I miss talking, the way we used to…” Salty tears were freely flowing down both of our faces at this point. “So do I… but I don’t mean to be like this-” “No one does baby, no one asks for this… we were born with it…” I mumbled the last part, but it was true.

He looks down at his hands, obviously embarrassed. “Baby, like you said to me four months ago, we all have bad days, some worse than others, but we have to power through it. Together. Ashton, when I agreed with you, I meant it. Not for you to only help me, for me to help you as well. I-I love you…” It wasn’t too soon was it? We’ve been living together for four months, but only having a romantic relationship for two. But it felt right saying those words.

And I hope he reciprocates the feelings I have towards him.

| two and a half (roughly) years later |

“And I knew from that day we first spoke, it was something special. It wasn’t the ideal way to start a relationship, but something was there, and you couldn’t ignore it. We were two very similar people that night, so we knew what each other was feeling. I helped you that night, and weeks after, and you helped me without a second thought. You are and were everything I could ever wish for, and nothing could change that. I love everything about you. Your hair, your eyes, the way you laugh and the way you smile. To me you are perfect, and I hope you know that.

So, I take you to be my best friend, my faithful partner, and my one true love. I promise to encourage you and inspire you and to love you truly through good times and bad. I will forever be there to laugh with you, to you up when you are down and to love you unconditionally through all of our adventures in life together.

And I hope I’ve been doing most of that already, but I will honestly and truly, love and cherish you until the day I die.”

The feelings are requited, and hopefully always will be.

[samanthasroberts]

It’s Time for an RSS Revival

The modern web contains no shortage of horrors, from ubiquitous ad trackers to all-consuming platforms to YouTube comments, generally. Unfortunately, there's no panacea for what ails this internet we've built. But anyone weary of black-box algorithms controlling what you see online at least has a respite, one that's been there all along but has often gone ignored. Tired of Twitter? Facebook fatigued? It's time to head back to RSS.

For many of you, that means finding a replacement for Digg Reader, which went the way of the ghost this month. Or maybe you haven't used RSS since five years ago, when Google Reader, the beloved firehose of news headlines got the axe. For others, it means figuring out what the heck an RSS feed is in the first place—we'll get to that in just a minute. And some of you have already moved on to the next article in your Feedly queue.

No matter what your current disposition, though, in this age of algorithmic overreach there's something deeply satisfying about finding stories beyond what your loudest Twitter follows shared, or that Facebook's News Feed optimized into your life. And lots of tools that can get you there.

Cue RSS

RSS stands for Really Simple Syndication (or Rich Site Summary) and it was first stitched into the tapestry of the open web around the turn of the millennium. Its aim is straightforward: to make it easy to track updates to the content of a given website in a standardized format.

In practice, and for your purposes, that means it can give you a comprehensive, regularly updated look at all of the content your favorite sites publish throughout the day. Think of it as the ultimate aggregator; every morsel from every source you care about, fed directly to you. Or, more commonly, fed to you through an intermediary known as an RSS feed reader, software that helps you wrangle all of those disparate headlines into something remotely manageable.

'We're trying to keep things as they were.'

Ben Wolf, The Old Reader

The difference between getting news from an RSS reader and getting it from Facebook or Twitter or Nuzzel or Apple News is a bit like the difference between a Vegas buffet and an a la carte menu. In either case, you decide what you actually want to consume. But the buffet gives you a whole world of options you otherwise might never have seen.

"There are multiple approaches to connecting to news. Social felt pretty interesting at first, but when you mix social and algorithmic, you can easily get into these noise bubbles, or areas where you don't necessarily feel 100 percent in control of the algorithm," says Edwin Khodabakchian, cofounder and CEO of popular RSS reader Feedly. "A tool like Feedly gives you a more transparent and controllable way to connect to the information you need."

With 14 million users, Feedly is the largest RSS reader on the market. And it's easy to see why; it's as feature-full as one could hope for, and has been around since 2008. (It also inherited a sizeable chunk of Google Reader's jilted audience.) It's far from your only option, though.

All RSS readers function within the same basic outline. You tell them what RSS feeds you'd like to follow—The New York Times, say, or WIRED—and they collect every new headline those sites churn out, offering anything from a snippet of information to the full story, depending on how much the publisher allows. Each puts a slightly different spin on the process from there.

Feedly, for instance, has for the last two years gravitated toward being a tool for research rather than passive entertainment. That's partly in response to platforms eating the open web. "If you go after entertainment, you're not competing against other reader news tools. You're really competing with Instagram and other things people do to kill time," says Khodabakchian. "On the other hand, if you think of this as an intelligence tool, or research assistant, we see a huge and increasing demand for that."

Still, Feedly has plenty to offer casual users. It has a clean user interface, and the free version of its service lets you follow 100 sources, categorized into up to three feeds—think News, Sports, Humor, or wherever your interests lie. It also shows how popular each story is, both on Feedly and across various social networks, to give you a sense of what people are reading without letting that information dictate what you see. Paid accounts—of which Feedly has about 100,000—get you more feeds and integrations, faster updates, and better tools for teams.

For more of a throwback feel, you might try The Old Reader, which strips down the RSS reader experience while still emphasizing a social component.

"In terms of evolution, we're coming from a different perspective," says Ben Wolf, whose Levee Labs acquired The Old Reader in 2013. "We're trying to keep things as they were."

For the million or so Old Reader users, that means not many bells and whistles. Even the mechanism to add new feeds feels just a touch more onerous than you'll find elsewhere. But once you do get properly organized, it's a fast and light experience, and if you can convince some friends to join, its social features will help you cut through the clutter. Most of all, there's not much to get in the way of the headlines, which is what you came for in the first place.

Power users, meanwhile, might try Inoreader, which offers for free many of the features—unlimited feeds and tags, and some key integrations—Feedly reserves for paid accounts. "I would say that at the moment Feedly is ahead of us in terms of mass appeal design look and UX, which is something we will try to tackle with our upcoming redesign," says Victor Stankov, Inoreader's business development manager. "Hardcore nerds love us way more than Feedly."

And those are just three options of many. The point being: In 2018, it's easy to find an RSS reader out there that suits your needs. Which, in hindsight, is no small miracle.

Throwback

Five years ago, when Wolf took over The Old Reader, he offered a prescient insight: "How long will it be before your Facebook stream is so full of promoted content, bizarre algorithmic decisions, and tracking cookie based shopping cart reminders that you won't be getting any valuable information," Wolf wrote. "For as little as $60, a business can promote a page to Facebook users. It won't be long before your news feed is worthless."

Which, well, here we are. Not only that, but two-thirds of Americans get at least some of their news from social media, according to a recent Pew Research Center study, leaving traditional sources behind.

'RSS readers have not only survived in the era of social media, but are driving more and more attention back to themselves.'

Victor Stankov, Inoreader

The platformization of the web has claimed many victims, RSS readers included. Google Reader's 2013 demise was a major blow; the company offed it in favor of "products to address each user's interest with the right information at the right time via the most appropriate means," as it Google executive Richard Gingras put it at the time. In other words, letting Google Now decide what you want. And the popular Digg Reader, which was born in response to that shuttering, closed its doors this week after a nearly four-year run.

Despite those setbacks, though, RSS has persisted. "I can't really explain it, I would have thought given all the abuse it's taken over the years that it would be stumbling a lot worse," says programmer Dave Winer, who helped create RSS.

It owes that resilience in part thanks to social media burnout. Stankov says search traffic to Inoreader has nearly doubled since 2015, all organically. "RSS readers have not only survived in the era of social media, but are driving more and more attention back to themselves, as people are realizing the pitfalls" of relying too much on Facebook and others, Stankov says.

RSS readers obviously have their own shortcomings as well. The firehose approach can easily overwhelm, especially when multiple outlets all publish the same news at the same time. There are various solutions to this; Stankov points to filtering tools that help you skip the things you don't care about, while Wolf says The Old Reader has experimented with tools to help highlight just one story when there are dozens of near-identicals.

Different publishers also offer RSS feeds of varyingly helpful degrees. The New York Times and The Ringer, for instance, offer granular choices to help focus on the topics you care about, while others offer either only one big jumble or oddly sparse updates. Sites that publish infrequently can easily get lost in the mix. And multimedia elements sometimes don't cross the transom; FiveThirtyEight recently ran a fun, interactive trade war game that RSS couldn't parse.

The readers all have settings to help cope with these issues to varying degrees, where possible; it's just a matter of how many hours you want to spend shaping your RSS bonsai.

"Social media has mass appeal because it is simple to understand and use, with little to no challenges involved for the user," says Stankov. "RSS is whole different game, where the main goal is for the end user to research and find valuable information sources, as well as periodically clean up the news feed from irrelevant noise." (Those who want a truly passive experience outside of Facebook and Twitter might look instead to aggregators like Apple News or Flipboard, or even Texture, which for $10 a month gives you full issues of dozens of magazine titles to flip through.)

Even with minimal tweaking, though, returning to RSS this week offered up a few fun surprises I never would have seen otherwise: the Yankees getting in trouble for player beer-foam art; an American contending for the world chess championship; the latest on Ben Affleck's hilariously oversized back tattoo. These aren't the stories everyone is reading. But they're the ones I want to read.

RSS Evolution

While RSS readers offer a sanctuary from the algorithmic approach, they're also not opposed to using algorithms of their own, as they continue to evolve and regain relevance. That's not quite the conflict it might seem.

"Machines can have a big role in helping understand the information, so algorithms can be very useful, but for that they have to be transparent and the user has to feel in control," says Khodabakchian. "What's missing today with the black-box algorithms is where they look over your shoulder, and don't trust you to be able to tell what's right."

With its focus on professional users, Feedly hopes AI can better connect users with niche experts. Wolf, too, touts AI as a way to better flag standout stories. "I think algorithms are great," Wolf says. "I think the problem is when the algorithms are run by advertising companies."

And despite Digg Reader's demise, new RSS tools continue to come online. Even Winer has re-entered the fray, this week introducing feedbase, a database of feeds that makes it easy to see what others subscribe to, ideally prompting discovery and an even more open approach. "I thought it might be a good time to try to add an important feature to RSS that was always part of the vision, dynamic subscription lists," Winer says.

Still, the lasting appeal of RSS remains the parts that haven't changed: the unfiltered view of the open web, and the chance to make your own decisions about what you find there.

"The most amazing thing to me about RSS is that no one really went away from it," says Wolf. "It still exists. Somehow through all of this. It's crazy, in a way, that when you go away from RSS and then come back to it, it's all still there."

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Source: http://allofbeer.com/its-time-for-an-rss-revival/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/10/03/its-time-for-an-rss-revival/

[highlineheartbeats]

Every Song on Taylor Swift’s reputation

As analyzed by Time Magazine

1. “…Ready For It?”: Starting things off with a thumping bass line and rallying cry, “…Ready For It?” also offers one of Swift’s prettiest melodies. “In the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do,” she sings sweetly before switching into her new-era rap-singing. “He can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor,” she insists, name-checking a famous — and drama-filled — pairing, and setting the scene for the rest of the album’s investigation of the perils of stardom.

2. “End Game” (featuring Ed Sheeran and Future): Swift tapped her good friend Sheeran for this slow-jam-style track, a self-reflective — and self-aware — plea to both the listener and a lover. “I wanna be your end game,” Swift sings off the top, allowing in a little vulnerability — before jumping into a rap-sung chorus. “Big reputation, you and me we got big reputations,” she chants, recognizing the baggage that her stardom brings (and name-checking the album’s title, of course). Of-the-moment rapper Future of “Mask Off” success adds in a slick verse, sticking to the love-against-the-odds theme. Swift goes on to sing she doesn’t want to be an “ex-love” and that she isn’t into the drama; it’s just her burden to bear. This is peak Swift: emotionally open, but ready and willing to have some fun with the hype around her own persona. Sheeran’s contribution comes in the form of another rap-sung verse in the same vein, seeming to reference his own relationship and the pitfalls that fame has placed in his path to love. His advice? Ignore the rumors.

3. “I Did Something Bad”: Swift knows that her critics have strong opinions about her; after all, the album is called Reputation. And in the bombastic “I Did Something Bad,” she appears to address some of the narratives that have surrounded her. “I never trust a narcissist, but they love me / So I play them like a violin, and I make it look oh so easy,” she opens this one over a sharp string pluck. “If a man talks s–t then I owe him nothing.” Here is new-era Swift: holding her head high, unapologetic and fiercely protective of her own success. Then, a funky dubstep drop brings shades of her mega-hit “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” into the mix. Heavily electronically manipulated, and punctuated with a strong beat, it’s a banger of a track — and her defiant response to her detractors. “I never trust a playboy, but they love me,” she insists, stating matter of-factly that it’s best to “leave before you get left,” and hinting that maybe her splashy former relationships weren’t all they might have seemed. And then there’s the kicker: “They’re burning all the witches, even if you aren’t one,” she croons on an auto-tuned bridge. “Go ahead and light me up.” Of all the quotable lines in Swift’s oeuvre, this one is right up there at the top for its blazing imagery.

4. “Don’t Blame Me”: If you’re a fan of Avicii or Kygo’s brand of un-rushed atmospheric electro-pop, you might like the rich, vibey notes Swift brings together in “Don’t Blame Me,” a moody, dark song that starts out swinging and pretty, and builds into a gospel-backed EDM anthem. “Don’t blame me, love made me crazy / if it doesn’t you ain’t doin’ it right,” she sings emphatically. “Lord save me, my drug is my baby, I be using for the rest of my life.” Swift has endured criticism for her relationships: the fact that she’s in them, the fact that she sings about them. “Don’t Blame Me” could be a clapback to that criticism, reminding listeners that the heart simply wants what it wants, as her friend Selena Gomez once said.

5. “Delicate”: Swift is, appropriately enough, at her most fragile on “Delicate.” Refreshingly honest, it’s a melodic electro-ballad with a resonant refrain. “My reputation’s never been worse so, you must like me for me,” she muses, her voice a light wisp, in a wry nod to her year in the spotlight before breaking down her insecurities: “Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet?” Like pretty much anyone dealing with a new crush, Swift sings of moments of doubt. Perhaps even superstars have their sore spots. She couches this sweetly uncertain song in snippets of dates — at a dive bar, in her apartment — but keeps it about her circular internal monologue, always questioning just how much her feelings are being reciprocated.

6. “Look What You Made Me Do”: Swift’s lead single — and immediate chart-topper following its release — “LWYMMD” was a shocking reintroduction to the Swift of Reputation: hard, unapologetic, focused on retribution. Step aside, “Bad Blood,” this song is much more cutting. “I’ve got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined,” she reminded her haters over a Right Said Fred sample. The propulsive beat and insistence that the old Taylor was “dead” only sharpened her point.

7. “So It Goes…”: Here, she switches things back to romance, reflecting on just how a new love interest might help her out of her fixations: “you make everyone disappear,” she explains in the moody, murky opening segment, which opens into a trap-lite chorus about getting caught up in the moment (and, of course, leaving some signature lipstick “on your face”). But for life with Swift, that’s just how it goes. “I’m yours to keep, and yours to lose. You know I’m not a bad girl, but I’ll do bad things with you,” she adds with a wink; this version of Swift has made a marked departure from her squeaky-clean roots as America’s Nashville sweetheart.

8. “Gorgeous”: Yes, that’s Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds’s baby daughter James opening up “Gorgeous” with a gurgle. But the rest of the song deals with adult topics. Over a bubbling, chime-like beat, Swift sings about the irresistible power of attraction — even when it’s not the best idea. “You’re so gorgeous, it actually hurts,” she sings with frustration. “There’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.” Despondent, she talks of heading home to hang out with her cats — and then, with a wink, invites her object of attention to join her.

9. “Getaway Car”: Told as a dramatic story of a heist and an ill-fated love adventure over shimmering 80s-style production, “Getaway Car” is one of Swift’s most metaphor-driven tracks on the album. “We never had a shotgun shot in the dark,” she sings with a rebellious twang. “Nothing good starts in a getaway car.” Swift’s has often had its fair share of melodrama; remember “Into the Woods”? In “Getaway Car,” though, she calls herself a “traitor” who turns in her erstwhile partner in crime. Looks like Swift might be willing to flirt with the dark side, but she’s no good at following through with crimes — of the legal kind, or of the heart. Instead, she says, she takes the keys and leaves the guy stranded at a motel. It’s no happy ending, but it’s a reminder that Swift isn’t afraid to assert her independence.

10. “King of My Heart”: Taylor Swift has always been good at love songs. In “King of My Heart” she hits her sweet spot, over a synth-heavy track and strategic auto-tune assist. “I’m perfectly fine, I live on my own, I made up my mind I’m better off bein’ alone,” she starts off. But it doesn’t stay that way for long; after meeting a (evidently non-American) paramour who pursues her, the story (and the song) go straight into the romance. “You’re the one I have been waiting for,” she gushes, dissing some other guys with “their fancy cars” who didn’t quite measure up to this new interest. And yes, the character in the title is indeed the king of her heart — and body, and soul.

11. “Dancing With Our Hands Tied”: Although it starts off as a down-tempo, melancholy kind of tune, “Dancing With Our Hands Tied” adds in Swift’s now-rote trap-lite drop to amp up the drama on this will-we-won’t-we tale of star-crossed lovers separated by an unkind fate. “I had a bad feeling,” she suggests about the romantic interest, but she goes on to dance with him anyway; some chemistry just can’t be denied.

12. “Dress”: “I only bought this dress so you could take it off,” Swift sings slyly on “Dress,” her most overtly sexual work yet. She wants her lover to carve his name into her bedpost; her hands shake in anticipation. A breathy, synth-y track with lots of whispery vocals, Swift is unequivocal about her interest in this person as much more than a friend. “Made your mark on me; a golden tattoo,” she sings cryptically. It’s a departure from her usually PG approach to love songs, emblematic of a Swift who’s claiming her maturity more than ever.

13. “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things”: Kicking things off with a siren sound, Swift strips it back to a stomping call-out of the haters, a giddy sister of sorts to dark lead single “Look What You Made Me Do.” “Why’d you have to rain on my parade?” she asks, her voice petulant, sneering with humor and attitude. “This is why we can’t have nice things, darling: because you break them, I have to take them away.” When she tries to go diplomatic — “forgiveness is a nice thing to do” goes one line, sung in an angelic lilt — she breaks the fourth wall with a burst of sharp laughter. Swift is no longer willing to “Shake It Off,” as she once tried to do.

14. “Call It What You Want”: Maybe the most by-the-book Swift song on Reputation, “Call It What You Want” is a slow-burning meditation on the transformative power of relationships, filled with lyrical puns: “All the liars are calling me one,” she sighs at one point. “All my flowers grew back as thorns.” But this is still a love letter, and a reminder that Swift has moved on from the fray around her so-called “reputation.” “My baby’s fly like a jetstream, high above the whole scene,” she sings proudly, making it clear that the baby in question has taken her along for the ride.

15. “New Year’s Day”: Her one acoustic piano ballad on the album, “New Year’s Day” is a tender and intimate love song. The snapshots are sweet and evocative: glitter on the floor after a party, candle wax and polaroids on the hardwood floor, holding hands in the backseat of a taxi. “Hold on to the memories,” she repeats in the chorus, “and I will hold on to you.” Nostalgic for the moment even as it’s happening, it’s a lovely, effecting closer, letting Swift’s voice and earnest message shine without the complications of over-production. She may get her kicks with big pop anthems, but vulnerable ballads like this one are just as much a part of her musical DNA.

Lifted from Time Magazine