#i often feel like i'm quite behind others my age in terms of capability and independence so these things are dumb but important to me

[elkkiel]

My favourite thing about being a young adult is having Mundane Adult Experiences for the first time. Like for example, a few months ago we bought a new dishwasher and I was genuinely impressed by the performance and some of the practical features. Or sending an invoice to a company's accounting department for my first freelance contract. Is this what small children feel like when they see a movie in the theater or a giraffe at the zoo for the first time? Surely the joy is on par with getting a sick discount on the big bottle of laundry detergent.

Anyways I'm buying a new mattress with my tax return and I'm so fucking hype, I'm gonna pick up some budget-friendly boxed wine tonight to celebrate

[goddevouringserpent]

tagged by @miseryscrowned to take the "Which D&D class suits your personality?" (or, in this case, your OC's personality) quiz. took me ages because I have been so busy & stressed out I am starting to lose track of time, but wat ever we stay silly and take things as best as we can take them~

putting it under a cut because I chose not one, but two OCs for this, and as is often the case with me I started rambling and this got long as hell, lol.

in light of the DLC release date announcement, I'm back in WOTR mode and rotating my beloved wrathful girlie at washing machine speed, so!

picrew credit

Kaija (she/they), my most developed Knight Commander. who, yes, has a canon class, or... sort of canon? IDK, she's a Sword Saint/Vivisectionist, but I've been contemplating a different build for the run I'll do once the DLC comes out—probably will still be martial heavy, but we'll see... anyway, I just wanted to see what class she got assigned based on her personality LOL

and the result was:

Rogue

You’re a practical and unusually resourceful person with big dreams that may or may not involve copious amounts of money or treasure. You’re ambitious, you know what you want, and you’ll do whatever you can to get it. Some people might think you’re selfish, but you know it’s important to take care of yourself first. You thrive under pressure and you might have a bit of a mischievous or chaotic side.

Arcane Trickster subclass

Some rogues enhance their fine-honed skills of stealth and agility with magic, learning tricks of enchantment and illusion. You’re an adaptable person who likes to cultivate a range of skills and interests. Once you decide to pick up a new skill or hobby, you’re more than willing to put in a little time and effort to learn how to do it well. You like to feel competent and powerful. You’re not always the most direct person and you may sometimes hide your true thoughts and feelings behind lies or misdirection. Some people might not know what to expect of you, or you might be a bit misunderstood, but you’re capable of a lot more than some people give you credit for.

and I'll admit the result really surprised me at first because I've never seen them as the roguish type—she is quite literally built like a wrestler, roughly 190cm tall, contains multitudes of rage & does not have a single subtle bone in her—but upon reflection I can definitely see it, especially considering how the test openly states that it assigns a class based on personality, not mechanics. the descriptions given match really well, too; INSANELY resourceful, ambitious, materialistic, selfish, chaotic, adaptable, hates feeling powerless/needs to feel like the strongest and most powerful person in the room at any given time, rarely if ever shows her true feelings, often underestimated or not taken seriously despite being more than competent enough to deserve a different treatment... so yeah, fair, she would make a really good rogue! might keep that in mind for the aforementioned new build plans hehe

also: fun result considering one of the characters I ship Kai with—and who is essentially her "endgame" pairing in terms of being a healthy, loving, long-term relationship—is Woljif... who is an Eldritch Scoundrel 🤭 meant for each other~

--

then, because I am equally as excited about Shadow of the Erdtree releasing soon (June release dates for both DLCs, in fact... I'm gonna eat GOOD this winter break 😌), my Tarnished Yunia! aka the other she/they I have been spinning in the vortex of my thoughts 24/7, and who hilariously enough could not be more different from Kaija if they tried lol

art credit (and also sick as hell modern fit design credit)

Yunia got:

Cleric

You’re dedicated, caring, and probably a sucker for happy endings. You spend so much time helping other people that you might forget to take care of yourself. You’re very idealistic and have a strong sense of faith in your beliefs, which may be actual religious beliefs or just your personal moral code. You like to be prepared for a variety of situations and you may have a bit of a protective side.

Nature domain

Gods of nature are as varied as the natural world itself; from inscrutable gods of the deep to friendly deities associated with particular springs and groves. You feel comforted by nature and you’re drawn to the outdoors. You want to do as much as you can to take care of our world and you wish other people would take environmental concerns more seriously. You might come across as a calm and easygoing person most of the time, but you can have a surprisingly vicious side when someone violates your principles. You’re not afraid to confront harsh truths and you generally have a practical and realistic outlook on life.

Cleric tracks, it's a ridiculously good fit for her thematically—their entire Character Thing is passionate devotion towards the House of Caria (and later, to Ranni & her ideal for the Age of Stars) which overrides even their most basic self-preservation instinct at times and is pretty much, like, the core of their identity. so in a D&D AU, Yunia being a cleric of the Moon goddess Ranni would work out extremely well: following her dogma to a letter, doing everything in Ranni's name and to serve her earthly purposes, drawing from that very faith and dedication to find their own power and way in life, hopelessly in love with Ranni but shh don't tell anyone

Nature domain, on the other hand, I did not see coming, but the description works... ish? like, I'm not sure Yunia is particularly concerned about environmental issues in their source material LOL (even if there is quite a lot of shit to be concerned about, but that's probably on account of the Lands Between being an absolute shithole at the best of times <3), but in a modern AU I could definitely see her going for something like Environmental Sciences, yeah. being a protector-type with very firm beliefs is, again, a core part of their personality, & it's more likely they'd find themself working with flora or fauna because she is just Not good with people at all lol

(the part about having a "surprisingly vicious side" is 100% true though and I hope one day I can write any of the fics involving her I have planned, because that would be SO much fun to delve into :3)

--

tagging @hate-not-wanting-a-name (Zimka and/or Fixer? Zimka and/or Fixer maybe? my beloved little guys perhaps? 👀), @takers-flames, and UUHHH whoever else wants to do this, feel free to say I tagged you / mention me in your post so I can see! I'd tag more but I'm pretty sure that most of my mutuals' OCs already have assigned classes lmao 😭

[carica-ficus]

"Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries"

11/01/2024

Reading progress: 230/315 (73%)

Read through since last update: 64

It's been a few days, so time for another update! I'mma keep it short since I don't have a lot to say outside my notes this time.

So, without further ado:

HOW CAN EMILY BE SO SMART, AND YET SO STUPID??? She went to the faerie relm on her own??? Leaving Wendell behind because she thought he'd be in danger? Or that his reactions will be unexpected?? Oh, girl. Sweet child.

I knew there was something about Shadow that was just waiting to be revealed! I was just thinking to myself that it's interesting how he's present to the story, but is often nust in the background, which is a little unusual for a pet character in a book. They usually get more screen-time, so it was obvious that Shadow was not being used to his full potential. Firstly as a dog and a guardian, and secondly as the magical creature he is.

Oh, and it's interesting when Emily said he is her lifelong companion, signifying that she was involved with Folk from a very young age. I'm guessing she had been involved with Fae even before she became obsessed with them through books.

I love that Wendell made her coat magical. Cute.

OOOOOH!!! Wendell's relative!! Cool cool cool cool.

Wendell's entry in Emily's journal was so cute.

Also, damn, this boy has a temper. Slay 💅

I'm really glad they saved Lilja and Margaret in the end. And it was so sweet to see all the villagers trying to show their thanks.

Not Emily digging herself deeper into the hole after insinuating Lilja was an alcoholic. 💀 (but same, girl. It happens. 😔)

Oho, Leopold. 👀 Having a long-term boyfriend and a steady, healthy relationship with another person? Emily has some game.

Ok, but in all seriousness, I love how Lilja and Margaret teased Emily because of her lack of romantic experience, but not out of malice. They were just surprised. They see Emily as intelligent, capable, interesting, fearless, and pretty. Of course they'll assume she has a partner. And I like how Fawcett builds up to this moment without any comments about Emily's lack of social skills. The fact that she comes off as awkward and introverted, doesn't mean that stops her from pursuing a romantic interest. That's why this chapter works out so well.

There's... quite a few deus ex machina moments in this book. And I do overlook the common info-dumps because they work in this format, but sometimes there's some paragraphs that do reveal too much detail.

Mmmm the storyline with the changeling is a little convoluted. But I'll accept it, sure.

I really loved that scene where the dad has trouble accepting his son is back and then hugs Emily. It's so sweet.

Aaa soft Wendell is my favorite Wendell! I love how Fawcett perfectly hides his emotions through Emily's POV, but then makes them so obvious. They're both really cute.

Okay, damn Wendell. Way to go with the proposal. That was a little... Forced? Out of the blue? Kinda awkward if you asked me. I felt as if this scene just didn't fit there. There wasn't much build up before it, none which would hint at Wendell confessing his feelings, let alone proposing.

BUT THAT KISS? 😭❤️❤️❤️😭❤️😭❤️😭

You know what, I'll prefer an awkward, insecure, imperfect first kiss to a passionate and flawless one every day. Wendell and Emily barely ever show physical affection to each other. Their whole relationship is based on care, consideration and a strong friendship, and stepping from such a structure to a romantic relationship is a BIG change, especially considering Emily has difficulties in social communication.

AND WENDELL'S LITTLE SMILE AT THE END???? 😭😭😭😭

I'm such a sucker for love as soft as theirs. I love a good slowburn. And I think this pairing might have changed how I feel about the friends-to-lovers trope. It's been a while since I've read a book that manages to utilize this trope to my liking.

My friends and I have a little live book discussion scheduled next Friday, so I have to finish till then, but I think I'll manage to read through it during this weekend.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 4: The Past Can Hurt

Chapter 3

Read on AO3

Claire peeked at the rear view mirror again, and smiled again at the sight of her happy daughter. Faith's favorite "reward meal" was McDonald's. Claire had pinky-promised that if she was a good girl with the horses today, they would get McDonald's for dinner on the way home. She was contentedly waving around the Minion toy that had come in the happy meal, humming and kicking her little legs. Claire had both of their meals on the passenger seat, knowing full well that her daughter would make quite the mess if she let her eat in the car. So would Claire, to be frank.

Claire had made it abundantly clear how proud she was of Faith, had reminded her several times already how she'd been such a good girl. Whether this made Faith happy to hear, or she was simply still in the afterglow of petting a horse, was anyone's guess. Claire hoped Faith could see, could truly understand how happy her mother was. She supposed if she said it enough it might sink in, if it hadn't already.

Back at home, the moment Claire unbuckled Faith from her carseat, she insisted on carrying her meal in herself, to which Claire was more than happy to oblige. She watched, amused, as Faith scampered up the steps to their front door, waiting rather impatiently for her mother to catch up. This was something that Faith had done whenever they'd arrived at their home in Oxfordshire: squirm out of Claire's grip and bolt to the porch, rocking on her heels or bouncing while she waited for the door to open. As Claire pushed the key into the lock, her heart felt a little lighter.

She already feels like this is her home.

Faith immediately scampered inside and right to the kitchen, and by the time Claire got the door shut, stuffed horse onto the couch, and shoes off, Faith was already halfway through her chicken nuggets, sitting up on her knees at the kitchen table. Claire shook her head, laughing.

"You are certainly in a good mood, aren't you, darling?" She ruffled her curly hair and sat down across from her, opening her own paper bag, pulling out her burger and french fries. The teenager at the drive-thru had been quite bewildered when she'd asked for crisps. Such strange lingo these Americans used.

Faith was finished eating before Claire was even halfway through her burger, and she slid off her chair and reached for the chocolate shake that Claire put on the counter to be out of her reach until she finished. Claire sprung out of her seat to grab it herself before Faith could cause it to topple and make a mess.

"Let Mummy help, Faith," Claire said, frantically. "You have to ask for help..." Claire sighed in defeat, handing over the milkshake. She sat back down as Faith settled in again, knowing better than to leave the kitchen with food of any kind. Claire watched her little cheeks hollow out as she guzzled down the liquid, her honey eyes light with joy.

Faith's being nonverbal was not as much of an issue as it could have been, but it was an issue nonetheless. The worst of it was when she was clearly distraught and could not communicate the source of her distress. Had she made a mess of her chocolate shake due to her inability to ask for help, it would have been quite the inconvenience, but Claire supposed mealtime could have gone much worse. Claire knew her daughter by now, better than Claire even knew herself. She'd become accustomed to the various grunts and whines, associating meaning to each different sound over the years. She supposed, however, that this would not be a sufficient way to communicate to a teacher someday, or Mrs. Lickett when Claire was no longer able to stay home with them.

Claire's anxiety lessened a bit at the thought of the woman; Mrs. Lickett was certified to teach American Sign Language to nonverbal autistic children, and she promised Claire she'd have Faith doing basic signs by the time she was ready to start school, whenever that may be.

Then she remembered how close they'd come to a meltdown in the stable, and how easily Jamie had calmed her, how proud he'd been to introduce the horse to her as a reward, how happy it had made Faith. Claire's heart swelled for perhaps the hundredth time since they'd left. The sound of slurping filled the room as Faith reached the end of her milkshake.

"All done, lovie?" Faith took her mouth off the straw and smiled contentedly at her mother. "Clean up now, Faith. Garbage in the bin, please."

Faith did as she was told, and then Claire beckoned her into her lap.

"Come here, darling," she crooned, enveloping her in her arms. "Mummy is so very proud of you, baby. I'll never stop saying it." She kissed her cheek, and Faith giggled. "Are you happy, Faith? Hm?" She rocked her gently, but Faith just hummed and traced patterns on Claire's arms with her fingertips.

"Happy, Faith?" Claire said again, remembering the thumbs-up maneuver from earlier, and employing it now. "Are you happy, love?"

Faith giggled again and grabbed Claire's thumb in her little hand.

"Faith, no..." Claire couldn't help but chuckle, as well. "See? Thumbs-up if you're happy, Faith. Happy?" She tried again with her free thumb.

Faith giggled yet again, but this time, she returned the gesture. Claire laughed out loud and brought the little fist, still holding her thumb, to her lips to cover with kisses.

"I'm happy, too, baby girl," Claire said. "Very happy."

She gave another little giggle before squirming out of Claire's arms and pattering out of the kitchen. Claire cleaned up after herself and returned to the table to continue nursing her own milkshake. Faith bounded back in with a DVD box in hand and held it expectantly up to Claire. Claire smiled and took it in her hands.

"Ah, all about animals today, hm?" She cocked an eyebrow at Faith. Tonight's choice was The Lion King. This was typical, even back in Oxfordshire. Faith would toddle up to either Claire or Frank with a DVD after dinner and expect help to get it ready, so she could watch her movie before bed. More often than not, Frank would wordlessly hand the box over to Claire instead, and after a while Faith learned to only bring it to Claire.

Claire put the DVD in as Faith went into her room, returning with her baby Simba stuffed animal to watch with. She settled onto the couch, now righted to its position in the middle of the room, centered and straightened. There were still boxes and messes, but things were slowly coming together. Claire took this opportunity while Faith was glued to the telly to get to some more boxes. She peeled the tape off a particularly heavy box, and smiled to herself at the sight of the picture frames inside, covered in bubble wrap. She moved behind the couch to the long table pushed against it, exactly where she'd planned to put said pictures. She unwrapped them all lovingly and arranged them on the table: an infant Faith fast asleep like a little angel on Claire's shoulder; Faith in the photo studio with a large, plastic number "1" for her first birthday; Claire holding Faith on a carousel, smiling like a fool at her toddler aged daughter; Faith, two-and-a-half, grabbing at Frank's cheeks and laughing her head off.

Christ.

Claire froze, a hard lump forming in her throat as the opening chords to "Circle of Life" filled her ears. What was she supposed to do with this? Why had she even packed it? Well, that was easy enough: Faith looked simply darling. But...

She ran trembling fingers over both of their faces behind the glass, sighing with a shudder. 

Oh, Frank...How happy we once were.

Indecisive, Claire put the frame back in the box, reaching for another to unwrap: Faith mid-bite of a chocolate-chip pancake at the breakfast table. The older she got, the less complacent she'd been for photo opportunities, so Claire had to content herself with capturing candid, silly moments like this, and she honestly would not have had it any other way. She stood it up next to the carousel shot and reached for another.

God damn it.

Claire holding Faith at the church the day of her christening, Frank's arm wrapped around Claire's shoulders, smiling proudly.

Fuck you.

Claire pressed the frame face-down into the table, biting her bottom lip to stifle a sob. How dare he stand there, looking so proud of the family that he would so quickly discard? How dare he let that little girl touch his face like that, how dare he smile at her so brightly, lead her to believe he'd always be there?

Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the keypad of numbers. Was it worth it? Couldn't she just put Faith on the plane and change her number, disappear forever?

She supposed that might not exactly be legal, no matter the terms on which Frank had left the house two weeks ago.

She somehow found the nerve to finish dialing the number and bring the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

She gulped. "Hello, Frank."

"Hello, Claire."

She cleared her throat. "I'm...I'm taking Faith to the states. And I don't think you have any right to try and stop me."

"I shouldn't think I do."

She shuddered with hatred at his indifference; though she'd expected as much, it didn't sting any less. "Alright. Good. I don't want anything from you, Frank. I am perfectly capable of taking care of her basic needs on my residency salary."

"Alright."

"But there's one thing. It's the least you can do. For the love you once bore me."

"I did not stop loving you, Claire."

"Oh, yes, you did," Claire spat. 

“Claire — ”

“No, that’s enough,” she said, firmly. “Listen. I want nothing from you but the exact amount a certain therapy will cost. It’s expensive, but the doctor thinks it can really help Faith. I’m asking nothing else of you, Frank. Just around six thousand a year, broken up monthly, to pay for the therapy.”

Claire knew she likely could afford the therapy, but things would be tight. Rent on Long Island was not cheap by any means; neither was the general cost of living there, and neither was the kind of babysitter with the qualifications necessary for taking care of someone with Faith’s needs. Not to mention she wanted to start setting money aside for a service dog, which would be an enormous investment in and of itself, but one that would certainly be worth it if it would make it easier for them to be in public places. The extra money from Frank would be worth it, no matter how sick to her stomach it made her to ask it of him.

“What sort of therapy costs that much?”

“Equine therapy.”

He scoffed. “You really believe — ”

“Yes. I do.” She had to clench her teeth and take a very deep breath through her nose to stop herself from attacking again. “Will you pay for it or not? As the man who sired her, who owes her something? Will you?”

A slight pause, then he sighed. “Fine. I don’t care how much it is, I just don’t want to deal with it.”

Claire almost choked on the expletives she swallowed. “I understand. I’ve already set aside a separate bank account for you to make deposits.” She read him the account number and the routing number, along with exact amounts needed each month.

“All you need to do is make the deposits every month. And you’ll never hear from us again.”

He sighed again. “Claire…If I could change things…”

Claire almost fell for it…but she knew what he meant.

He did not mean: “If I could change my behavior, the things I said.” He meant: “If I could change what our daughter is.”

And it made her sick.

“Goodbye, Frank.”

Faith’s humming and rocking brought Claire back to Earth. She looked up from the box to see Faith holding her stuffed Simba in the air, mirroring Rafiki on the screen doing just that. Claire chuckled to herself and swallowed any remaining urge to cry. Claire put the christening picture back in the box, deciding that she’d make a decision on what to do with it later. Perhaps she could try her hand at scissors, combine the two pictures in one frame. It would certainly be satisfying to literally cut him out of those moments in Faith’s life.

But on the other hand…was that cruel? Would Faith someday learn to verbally or otherwise communicate the question: Where did Daddy go? Should she keep these pictures intact for that purpose? What Claire would want to say in response to such a question would be that Faith did not have a Daddy and that she didn’t need one. But perhaps that was doing her an injustice.

Claire reached for another picture.

Yes…that was something that could wait to be decided on.

Claire had made a considerable dent in her unpacking venture by the time Faith’s movie finished, and she was altogether quite satisfied with her work.

“What do you think of that, Faith?” Claire sighed contentedly as she removed the DVD from the player and put it back in the box. “Your disorganized-as-all-get-out Mummy is actually getting somewhere with her organizing.” Faith slid off the couch to take the box from her so she could put it back where she found it. “Isn’t that a marvel?”

Claire watched with piqued interest as Faith sat on her knees in front of the little entertainment center, the cupboard beneath the telly opened for her inspection. Faith had a system, some sort of arrangement of her movies that she always abided by. Not a single movie was ever out of place. Claire could not for the life of her decipherer what the system was; it was something created and used only by Faith. Claire had unpacked all their movies and put them inside, only for Faith to gut the entire thing and arrange them herself. It had greatly amused Claire at the time. She’d been at it for hours.

It didn’t take long for her to return The Lion King to its apparent correct position, and then Faith shut the cupboard.

“Alright, lovie. Time to brush your teeth.”

Claire stood and led Faith into the bathroom. Claire lifted her up onto the counter to sit and Claire got to work brushing her own teeth first. Faith had not yet mastered the coordination of tooth-brushing, and Claire still did it for her every night. But her psychiatrist had said that if Faith watched her mother do it enough times, something might strike a chord one day, and she’d suddenly be an expert at dental hygiene. Apparently, Doctor Garner had seen this happen plenty of times before.

So Claire brushed, tilting her head slightly toward Faith as usual, and then moving on to brush Faith’s teeth. When she finished, Claire handed her one of the little paper cups they kept in the bathroom.

"Rinse and spit," she crooned, as she did every night.

Routine was everything to Faith, and Claire had even begun clinging to the lifeline that was knowing every next move for every day. It soothed Faith's ever present anxiety and gave her expectations for every day, and it kept Claire grounded in the reality of their lives. This was why she'd been so scared to move. Moving to the house next door to them in Oxfordshire would have been a big enough change to merit Faith's discomfort, let alone moving across an ocean to a completely different style of living. There'd certainly been an adjustment period for her routine-conditioned little girl, but it hadn't been nearly as long or as difficult as Claire had anticipated.

Doctor Garner had suggested that no matter how disorienting things were when they'd arrived at the new apartment, the sooner Claire could reestablish that same routine that Faith had been accustomed to in Oxfordshire, the better. It was the reason she'd had furniture sent to the apartment before they'd even arrived. The sooner Faith could associate the new home with the commonplace furniture, the sooner she'd begin to realize this was home now. And all that, combined with maintaining their old routines in a new place was actually working quite well.

Teeth brushed and pajamas on, Claire tucked Faith into her bed. Faith's brand new princess comforter had arrived on Wednesday, and Faith was over the moon. Claire hadn't yet had a problem getting her to sleep since they'd put it on the bed. Claire filled the medicine dropper from the liquid Risperdal bottle, and Faith dutifully opened her mouth to let Claire drop it in, her face screwing up in the usual disgust to taste the bitter liquid.

"Swallow, please," Claire said, cocking an eyebrow. Faith grimaced, but obeyed. "Good girl."

Claire knew full well that Faith hated the taste of her medicine; it had been an utter nightmare to get her to take it every night at first. She'd had to bribe her with a Smartie every time she took it. Claire had a little stash of M&Ms (apparently the American equivalent) just in case Faith was ever particularly stubborn.

Claire set the medicine aside on the nightstand and tucked Horsie (who had been properly cleaned and disinfected after being dropped in the dirt in the stable) under her arm.

"There's Horsie, darling. So you can dream of all the horses you saw today, like Pippi." She leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, love. Today was a very, very good day."

Faith smiled a toothy grin as Claire rose to turn on the nightlight. She stopped at the door to flicker off the main light and take one last look at her daughter, savoring the contentment settling in her chest and warming her from the inside out before shutting the door.

——

 The next few days were not as smooth sailing.

Jamie had been quite right when he’d predicted the riding helmet would bother Faith. Since Mrs. Lickett only came by on weekdays, Claire decided it was as good a time as ever to give the helmet a try. After breakfast, Claire sat Faith on the couch and retrieved the helmet and Horsie.

“Alright, little girl.” She sat down, horse and helmet in hand. “Mister Jamie gave us this helmet. See?” She held it up to Faith. “Mister Jamie said you can’t ride Pippi unless you learn to wear the helmet.” She held both the horse and the helmet in front of Faith. “See? Horsie and helmet have to go together. Yes?”

Faith hummed happily and reached for Horsie. 

“Alright…let’s see…” Claire carefully attempted to lower the helmet onto Faith’s head, but her face immediately darkened and she groaned in annoyance, averting her head.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s just a little hat. Come on, now…”

She groaned again, louder, shoving the helmet away with both of her hands.

“Wait,” Claire said quickly. “Wait here, Faith.”

Claire scrambled into her bedroom and into her closet, tearing through its contents, throwing things behind her until she found what she was looking for. A plain blue visor that she hadn’t worn in years, but kept around just in case.

“Here, Faith, look.” Claire returned to the couch and sat down. She put the visor on her own head. “See? A hat.” Faith stared at her blankly. Claire smiled and took off the visor, plopping it onto Faith’s curly head. “See?”

Faith giggled, and Claire felt a renewed sense of hope. She took the helmet back in her hands and placed it precariously atop her head. “See? It’s just a hat. It doesn’t fit Mummy’s big head, though. It was made just for you.”

Claire playfully swiped the visor off Faith's head and replaced it with the helmet, and she did not squirm away.

Claire gasped with contrived shock. "Look at you!" she gushed. Faith was beaming. "What a lovely hat, Faith!"

She hummed and bounced, and Claire laughed.

Victory!

And that was when she made her fatal mistake. She got cocky.

"Now let's just fasten it, and then you're properly wearing your new hat, yes?" Claire reached for the chin strap and fastened it. "There! All ready to ride!"

Faith's entire demeanor changed, her little brow furrowing. She reached for the chinstrap and tucked her fingers underneath, starting to tug.

"It's okay, darling."

Faith began groaning.

"Hey, it's okay, Faith." Claire, having prepared for exactly this, reached for the yellow stress ball from the stables on the coffee table. "Faith, here, love. It's okay." She put the ball in one of her hands, but Faith did not latch on. She let it fall to the ground, not removing her fingers from beneath the chin strap. Dread settled into the pit of her stomach.

“Faith…” Claire stooped down to retrieve the ball, then realized it had rolled halfway across the room. She got up from the couch to pick it up, and when she turned around, Faith was tugging forcefully on the helmet, the chin strap digging into her throat.

“Faith!” Claire dropped the ball again and practically leapt back onto the couch. “Stop!”

Fingers trembling, Claire frantically fumbled with the clasp of the chin strap, desperately trying to stop her daughter from choking herself. The second she was free, Faith gave a loud wail and hurled the helmet across the room, causing Claire to jump back in shock.

Claire was too stunned to scold her right away, her medical degree kicking into full gear as she examined her neck and throat for any marks, listened to see if her breathing was normal. Once she was certain everything was alright, Claire firmly seized one of her wrists.

“We do not throw things, Faith.” Faith began squirming, pawing at her mother’s hand. “Faith, look at me, please. I need you to look at my eyes, Faith.”

She gave a loud wail and a particularly hard yank.

“We do not throw things. Do you hear me, young lady?”

A sharp pain suddenly stuck itself into Claire’s hand, and she cried out. She immediately released Faith’s wrist and recoiled her hand into herself.

She bloody bit me.

Faith wriggled off the couch and bolted for the front door. She started tugging on the handle, determined to open the door and get as far away as her little legs would carry. Claire knew she’d really do it, too, if the door wasn’t locked.

Claire briefly sucked at the blood that started slowly trickling from her hand and then strode to the front door.

“You’re not going anywhere, little girl.” She scooped Faith around the torso with one arm and carried her, kicking and screaming into her bedroom to deposit her on the bed.

“Listen to me, Faith. If you do not calm down this instant you’ll not have any dessert tonight. Do you hear me?”

Faith shrieked. She’d certainly heard.

“I’m going to count to ten! If I get to ten and you’ve not stopped crying, no dessert.”

Claire hadn’t even gotten to three when Faith started throwing her stuffed animals in her direction. Claire continued counting calmly, knowing full well that the cotton toys would not hurt her. It was only when she reached for the lamp on her nightstand that she stopped at seven, lurching forward to stop her.

“No!” Claire shouted. Faith immediately released the lamp and clamped her hands over her ears, and a horrible, searing guilt burned her gut. 

“Faith, baby, I’m sorry…I’m sorry, darling…” Claire sat down on the bed beside her and made to wrap her arms around her daughter, but she hesitated. Would she bite again, or punch, or kick?

Claire felt shameful tears stinging her eyes. Was she no better than Frank, raising her voice at her audio-sensitive daughter when she was being slightly difficult?

She shouldn’t have fastened the chin strap. She should have just let her get used to the helmet itself first. She maybe should have even waited for Mrs. Lickett to try the chinstrap. And now, because of her carelessness, she’d triggered her daughter’s biggest anxiety, and the poor girl was screaming her little head off, red in the face, because of her own mother.

Claire noticed, almost too late, that her hand was about to bleed on Faith’s brand new comforter. She hissed a frustrated “fuck” under her breath and quickly made her way to the bathroom to tend to it. She hastily wrapped some gauze around it and made her way back into Faith’s room to find her in the exact same position, hands on her ears, screaming. Claire sighed in defeat and quickly wiped her eyes clear of the tears that threatened to spill over. Perhaps it would be best if she just left her for now. There was no telling if she’d do something violent again if Claire tried to comfort her, and there was no consoling her otherwise. Claire decided to remove the lamp and anything else heavy that she could throw before leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

Only when the door was shut did Claire finally allow herself to cry.

She didn’t care that Faith could have broken a lamp and shattered a lightbulb on the new wood floors; she didn’t even care that her own daughter had drawn blood from her with her teeth. What hurt worse than that was knowing that her little girl was in turmoil because of triggers that her own mother couldn’t understand, couldn’t make better, things that Faith was not able to communicate to her or to anyone. And to make matters worse, she couldn’t even comfort her. When she was a baby, before she was symptomatic, all Claire had to do was scoop her out of her crib and rock her, bounce her, sing to her, and all her anxieties would cease, her crying would stop. But now, the older Faith got, it felt like Claire was less and less capable of providing that comfort, that sense of security.

I’m her mother. That’s my job.

And I’m failing.

Claire dumped the contents of Faith’s room that she’d emptied onto the couch and collapsed next to them, letting her tears fall freely. Somewhere in her fevered brain, she had the sense to pick up her phone from the coffee table and text Gillian. She typed: “Hey, could I call you right now?” then quickly backspaced and tried again: “Hey, are you busy right now?” She hit send, and then frantically added in a second message: “No emergency. Just miss you and want to hear your voice.”

After she hit send the second time, she let her phone rest in her lap and rested her head back on the couch cushion. Leaving Gillian had been the hardest part of leaving England. She’d been Claire’s best friend all throughout college and medical school. They’d decided to be roommates sophomore year after meeting in the pre-med program, and they’d never lived separately again until Claire’s wedding, at which, of course, Gillian had been the maid of honor. They were two peas in a pod, though one wouldn’t think so to see them separately. Gillian was brash and loud, and delightfully inappropriate more often than not. Gillian liked to say that Claire was the odd one out, that she was much too proper.

Gillian had been there for Claire after Faith’s diagnosis when Frank had not. He’d muttered something about needing some air the minute they got home from the doctor, and Claire had immediately phoned Gillian, sobbing into the phone for hours.

“He’s going to leave me, he’s going to leave us…I can’t do this alone…”

Gillian scoffed. “Wi’ the way he’s acting now, I bloody hope he does leave. Feckin’ louse.”

Well, she’d gotten what she wanted.

“I never bloody liked the bastard. I knew I should ha’ said something when he proposed. God dammit.”

Gillian had been the one to assure her that she was a good mother, that Faith’s triggers were not her fault, that she was doing the best she could.

Claire just needed to hear that right now.

As expected, Claire’s phone buzzed shortly after. She picked it up, expecting it to be a text in response, but Gillian was already calling her. Claire smiled to herself and sniffled.

“Hello?” she said, already embarrassed at how snuffly she sounded.

Gillian was quiet for a moment, then said: “Oh, is that wee Faith?”

Apparently, her shrieks were loud enough to be heard across the ocean. Claire sighed. “Yup.”

“She’s having one of her meltdowns, and ye’re all upset and feelin’ like you failed her, aye? That ye made the wrong decisions?”

Claire’s eyes quickly welled up again. “Yes,” she croaked.

“Oh, Claire. Ye ken that lass thinks ye’re a bloody queen, don’t ye? She worships ye.”

“When she’s not biting me. Or throwing things at me.”

“Och, biting again, aye? Well…ye ken that’s the autism. That’s no’ yer wee Faith. She canna help it when it takes over.”

“I know. I just…”

“She loves ye, Claire. I’ve seen it wi’ my own eyes. And I ken that she knows how fiercely ye love her. The autism just makes it hard fer her to see sometimes, aye?”

Claire breathed shakily. “I know you’re right. I mean…I know all this already. It just…”

“I ken. Ye need the reassurance. ’Specially since the Sperm Donor hasnae given ye any such thing his whole miserable life.”

Despite the pain that that fact caused, Claire could not help but smirk at Gillian’s newest term of endearment for the man who sired Faith. “Right.”

“Must be hard over there, all alone.” Claire could hear the twinge of sadness in her voice.

“I miss you, too, Gi.”

“I’m counting down the days ’till Christmas. Canna wait to see my two favorite lasses.”

Claire smiled. “And I can’t wait to see my best friend, and my daughter’s Godmother.”

“I’ve got to run, I had to sneak into a supply closet to call ye. I’m in the middle of a shift — ”

“Gillian,” Claire admonished. “You shouldn’t be doing that — ”

“Nothing more important than making sure my girls are okay. Aye?”

Claire sighed and rolled her eyes, but her smile widened.

“I hear she’s still carrying on, but just let her get it out of her wee system. She’ll be back to her humming and her movies soon enough. Just wait it out. Ye ken.”

“Yeah…I know.”

“I love ye, Claire. And I miss ye. Hang in there. I’ll call ye again sometime this week when I’m no’ in the middle of a shift. I wanna hear all about this Long Island of yers.”

Claire chuckled. “Alright. I eagerly await.”

“G’bye.”

“Bye, Gi. Thank you. Love you.”

“Quite welcome.”

She hung up, and Claire dropped her phone in her lap again. Faith was going to be inconsolable for at least another half hour, and Claire didn’t think she could bear just sitting there and listening. She didn’t turn on the telly or any music, lest she miss a suspicious noise or not hear that she stopped crying, but she did get to work sorting through a few more boxes. On her way over to a particular stack, she tripped over something. She looked down to see the riding helmet. Claire grimaced and gave it a strong kick, sending it rolling under the coffee table. She almost laughed: she’d only just admonished her daughter for doing almost the exact same thing.

“Bloody fucking helmet bastard piece of shit…”

She dissolved into an incoherent string of expletives, grateful that Faith, nor anyone else, could hear her.

[sweet-cynical-writer]

Thank you to everyone who waited patiently!!! The long overdue update is here for Soukoku's Love Child!

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Suicide, Gore, Death

Special thanks to @soukokuwu naturally for proofreading & of course continuing to be my partner for the series! ♡

Soukoku's Love Child - Nikkō's Past

The soft piano music carried on a reminiscent sound as Dazai walked into Lupin. As he settled into his seat, a certain ginger haired mafioso let out an exasperated sigh as if he'd been expecting company for quite some time. His partner was late as usual.

“What kept you this time, shitty Dazai?”

He took his drink in hand to take a sip before replying. And naturally it made Chuuya upset. A warning glare shot towards the barkeep who was only there to do his job and nothing more. Dazai didn't mind ;In fact for as long as he'd been coming to Lupin, he was always served without having to place a single order.

“I was visiting someone along the way. Turns out, they need my help.”

His partner opened his mouth to retort that there's no way he would assist in helping him but was cut off as if it were expected.

“Chuuya. I know you don't want me to get involved in anyone's problems. But this is a special case. And it will affect you as well.”

The way he released an audible, ‘Tch’ made Dazai smirk with amusement. It was his partner's way of saying, ‘go on and explain yourself fast before I rip your head off’.

“I'm glad you understand. Now. To put it bluntly, I found out more about this kid I ran into. We should adopt him. There's too much risk keeping him in that orphanage and if someone else comes along to grab him.. well let's just say it will only create more work for us.”

Chuuya was irritated at the idea of having a child to look after. He hardly would have patience for Dazai as troublesome and childish he could be. Taking care of a real child would be a nightmare.

“Now listen here, if you think that you could just make all the decisions here and I would just go along with it, you're dead wrong.”

Sure, Chuuya was aware that when it came to making life changing decisions that Dazai had a natural gift for choosing right every time. But that didn't mean the ginger had to mindlessly agree every time something like this occurred.

The way he cooly took his drink to his lips only made him more angry. That sly smile played on his lips like he could order the mafia executive around like some second hand maid.

“Look you bandaged bastard, I mean it. If we just ignore this child and we do end up with more work, so what? We could always use an alternative to helping the kid find a stable home rather than have us watch him.”

Even given their separate roles, it would be impossible for either of them to always have visual watch on the kid. Was he expecting the two of them to play hot potato taking care of him? And then there were always the possibilities of the kid wandering off. Chuuya shook his head after drinking from his glass.

"No, Dazai. There's too much maintenance to bother having this kid in our care. I say make him someone else's problem or just forget about it.”

He knew better than to doubt Dazai's intuition. As insufferable this man was, he never made a wrong call on a long term decision. Ultimately, that was part of the pros of dating such a man. Still, no matter how sharp Dazai was in taking the lead, Chuuya refused to cooperate. This time, Dazai was asking for too much on his part.

To be honest, the burnette anticipated a reaction like this from Chuuya. He didn't look surprised in the slightest as he watched his partner express the facial expression of a stubborn dog who didn't want to move an inch. Unless his owner was going to drag him along by the leash.

“You may be against it now, Chuuya. But when I tell you what kind of capabilities this child has, you'll change your mind.”

Dazai took another sip from his glass before setting it down with a soft clink against the glass coaster. His warm chocolate gaze filled with sorrow as he parted his lips to tell the story of a child that lost everything at once.

***

The child was only six when this took place. A meeting that was long overdue on a night when the air was bone chilling. It whispered desirable sins in the ears of two lovers that tore a bond that was at wit's end. There was only a matter of time that this would happen but the way it happened was something not fit for children. So it was only natural that they waited until their son was put to bed before they took action on leaving him behind.

Nothing was going to stop them from reaching what they both wanted most. The one thing in life that was irreversible that was both feared and wanted by man. It was something that their son wouldn't understand until long after they left.

“The only thing I hope for.. is that he won't hate us if he ever finds out.”

Her silky voice came out in a soft whisper. Sweet honey coated eyes staring back into that freshly cut emerald gaze of his. They were sharp and confident the way he reassured his wife with a gentle press of his lips to hers. The moonlight shone down on them like a spotlight. They danced against death for their whole lives. But tonight? Tonight they would dance toward it.

They had decided a while back; they’d do it here, near the river, under the bridge where it’s quiet, barren. It wasn’t too far from the house, but far enough so their child would be able to sleep through it. Doing it at their home would be too much, too troublesome.

Tonight was the last time they could breathe. The last time they would see each other. Their fate was sealed with the guns they both held in each other's hands. They intertwined arms with the barrels resting on their foreheads. With a silent exchange to one another, they released the trigger.

It was roughly 6:45 A.M. that the boy had woken up from his slumber. He was in a daze, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he rolled out of bed to search for his parents. Their bedroom being empty sent his heart into a panic. Where did they go? And without him? Frantically, he opened the front door to rush to the first place he thought of. The river. It was a favored area that Nikkō loved to spend his time skipping rocks.

There were even times when he would hide from his parents to play out here. It was an obvious spot to be found, but that didn't matter to him, he always wanted to be found easily. However, this time, Nikkō's parents were the ones easily found.

Two bodies, side by side and covered in red, tainting the usual clear blue gentleness which was the river. It no longer held the innocent and kind memories of his family. Instead, it haunted him as he stared wide eyed and unmoving like a statue.

He was snapped out of his blank state to the sound of an incomplete call made out to the caller ID labeled, ‘YASU’. The cell phone was found in his mother's hand. He broke down in uncontrollable sobbing. Nikkō was there, curled in between the decaying bodies of his parents. Crying hysterically with an erratic heartbeat that was visible to the naked eye. A man who possessed blond hair and kind eyes had shown up before to tame the child before police arrived.

It was decided from the note left behind that he would be put into the orphanage for the sake of not learning of his dark past. Out of fear that the child would possibly take things the wrong way or attempt to take his own life out of guilt. His parents did not want the chance of Nikkō ever finding out about losing his family. There was also the logical fear that someday, learning about his ability that he could use it to hurt everyone around him.

As long as he remained oblivious to his ability, he could live out a full life of happiness. If he remains in the orphanage, some loving family will pick him up and raise him to be a sweet child. There were too many risk factors to expose Nikkō to such sensitive information. All they could do was hope he would never have to go through the stress and strain that came with having an ability.

Including knowing about Yasu, he was left with no choice. His parents found it too risky that one day, the truth would slip out if they allowed Yasu to raise Nikkō. Their last request of their old friend was to take him to an orphanage. No further contact was allowed with him after he was dropped off. But Yasu loved Nikkō like his own. He kept his promise to take Nikkō to the orphanage, only to go against their wishes and keep in contact with the boy by exchanging gifts and letters with him as time passed.

The moment the orphanage learned about the child's ability to manipulate emotions upon physical contact, they had him separated from the rest of the children. He was considered a walking disaster that only wanted those to suffer with him. When in actuality, the child not only had no clue he possessed an ability, but he wished for someone to explain what he was feeling. He was confused and often became docile at the mention of any word similar to ‘family’.

He was often asked many questions referring to his past like what happened to his parents and if he knew why he was there at the orphanage. Nikkō couldn't answer with certainty, given that the disturbing image of two bloodied bodies seen at a tender age made his brain block out those memories. Something in him refused to let him access his past. Telling him to keep pushing forward and never look back.

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN SOMETHING

A can-opener must seem miraculous to a dog. I say in theory because in early stage investing, valuations are voodoo.1 That's what Stripe did. He thought perhaps he needed a little dose of sociopath-ness. And there is another possible approach. A big-name VC. But because seed firms operate in an earlier phase, they need to spend a lot of tricks for making myself work over the last 20 years, but even now I don't win consistently.2 I know, the first step. There hasn't been a lot of time. But that, if you measure success by shelf space taken up by books on it, or it will be to relax and go back to writing code.3 It's hard to distinguish something that's hard to understand, you could buy a Thinkpad, which was great, because it isn't happening now.

I'm not claiming that ideas have to have immediate practical applications to be interesting? And, like anyone who gets better at their job, you'll know exactly what to build because you'll have muscle memory from doing it yourself. But the cost of reading it, and the number of elements, where an element is anything that would be of the slightest use to those producing it. As Ben Franklin said, if you love life, don't waste time, because time is what life is made of. So if we do have infix syntax, it should probably be implemented as some kind of authority.4 Not to everyone, but to change the problem you're solving. Intellectually they were as capable as the successful founders of following all the implications of what one said to them. They want that money to go to work. And I think that's precisely why people put it off. The source code of all the libraries is readily available.5 To many people, rather than as a way of classifying forms of disagreement, though.

Afterward I put my talk online like I usually do. When you're young, especially, is a language too succinct for its own sake, it must be more noble. With individual angels you don't have any users they don't have to get rich, but as a way to make drawing bear a greater weight of exploration. Maxim magazine publishes an annual volume of photographs, containing a mix of pin-ups and grisly accidents. Part of the reason is that investors need to get their capital back. It doesn't mean that it's a new messaging protocol, where you don't just use your software on users's behalf, you'll learn things you couldn't have learned otherwise. When del. I did end up being a philosophy major for most of the time, but human life is fairly miraculous.

What about using it to write software, whether for a startup: a founder quits, you discover a patent that covers what you're doing; the kind of parallelism we have in common, it's that something is always going wrong.6 My own feeling is that object-oriented programming, by the way.7 I didn't need it. It's almost like writing applications! Both of which are false.8 They have no idea. And funding delays are a big distraction for founders, who ought to be working on, and why their due diligence feels like a body cavity search.9 In fact, they rarely seemed to arrive at answers at all. What this means is that it won't produce the sort of distribution you'd expect, the number of things you could be working on their company, not worrying about investors. He might also want preferred stock, meaning a special class of stock that has some additional rights over the common stock everyone else has. How much runway do you have left?10 But you should realize you're stepping into dangerous territory.

So as of this writing few startups spend too much. To start with, it's a sign the terms are reasonable. I give a talk I can usually be replaced by an equivalent one that's easy to program in now. Nothing is more likely to get money.11 Languages become popular or unpopular based on their merits, and so must people trying to write systems software on multi-cpu computers. Like angels, VCs prefer to invest in you, there's a danger that the increase in disagreement, there's a clear watershed at about age 12, when he got interested in maths. Fear of failure is an extraordinarily powerful force.

I think the way to get one loaded into your head. In the fall of 1983, the professor in one of my college CS classes got up and announced, like a detective solving a case in a mystery novel. Off the top of my head, I'd say that yes, surprisingly often it can. Problems can be improved as well as money, there's power.12 You can't build things users like without understanding them.13 It is so much work to introduce changes that no one else has done before. There are more shocking prospects even than that. I did end up being a philosophy major for most of that time the leading practitioners weren't doing much more than writing commentaries on Plato or Aristotle while watching over their shoulders for the next invading army. There hasn't been a lot of people in the startup world, closing is not what deals do.14 They want to get downfield, but they are much hungrier for deals.

Why wait for further funding rounds to jack up a startup's price?15 As well as failing to chase down funding, and users, and that it is unfamiliar to programmers, and that women will all be trained in the martial arts.16 The startups we've funded have. Arguably it's an interesting failed experiment. By unsavory I mean things that go behind whatever semantic facade the language is intuitive enough that you catch some of the time doing business stuff. One is that a programming language probably becomes about as popular as it deserves to be. It seemed curious that the same task could be painful to one person and pleasant to another, but are so caught up in their squabble they don't realize it.17 Hardy's boast that number theory had no use whatsoever wouldn't disqualify it.18 There may be types of work, done by a class of people called philosophers. No one thought to go back and debug Aristotle's motivating argument. So no, there's nothing particularly grand about making money. They find the VCs intimidating and inscrutable.

Notes

One implication of this model was that it sounds like something cooked up, but the returns come from meditating in an industrialized country encounters the idea that was killed partly by its overdone launch. And then of course, or much energy would be to say now. This has, like arithmetic drills, instead of crawling back repentant at the same thing twice.

In a typical fund, half the companies that tried that. I also skipped San Jose is a well-known byproduct of oligopoly. B the local startups also apply to types of startups as they get to profitability before your initial investors agreed in advance that you wouldn't mind missing, initially, to drive the old one. That would be a founder, more people you can do is say you've reformed, and don't want to invest in a wide variety of situations.

If the next year they worked. There should probably question anything you believed as a collection itself. Some of the company and fundraising at the valuation of the world as a whole department at a public event, you don't know which name will stick.

Robert Morris points out that there is something there worth studying, especially for opinions expressed. CEOs of big companies weren't plagued by internal inefficiencies, they'd have something more recent. Eighteen months later Google paid 1.

There is usually a stupid move, and FreeBSD 1. This law does not appear to be clear. So if it's the right to buy corporate bonds; a new version from which they don't. The first big company, and so thought disproportionately about such customs.

Add water as specified on rice package. Bill Yerazunis had solved the problem is poverty, not more. In fact most of their peers.

Other investors might assume that not being accepted means we think we're so useless that in New York.

0001. Sam Altman points out, it's shocking how much time.

They're so selective that they have raised money at first had two parts: the pledge is deliberately vague, we're going to give them up is the desire to do with down rounds—like full ratchet anti-immigration people to start a startup with credit cards. Type II startups spread: all you needed in present-day English speakers have a significant number.

This point is that it's no longer needed, big companies to build consumer electronics. Public school kids arrive at college with a base of evangelical Christianity in the early years. And it's just as it's easier to sell, or liars. This is one way to solve problems, but conversations with other investors.

At this point for me to put up posters around Harvard saying Did you know about it as a type II startup, unless you're sure your money will be coordinating efforts among partners. The philistines have now missed the video boat entirely. Treating high school as a test of success for a market for a sufficiently identifiable style, you need but a big effect on the other hand, launching something small and use whatever advantages that brings. The founders who had been trained that anything hung on a weekend and sit alone and think.

It's hard to say they bear no blame for opinions expressed.

Some founders deliberately schedule a handful of VCs even have positive returns. Don't even take a small amount, or at such a large company?

Since we're not doing anything with a potential acquirer unless you want to start a startup. August 2002. But there are those that will be coordinating efforts among partners.

This is why search engines are so dull and artificial that by the PR firm admittedly the best case.

Some of Aristotle's immediate successors may have no idea whether this happens because they're innumerate, or can be said to have had little effect on college admissions process.

Otherwise you'll seem a risky bet to admissions committees, no one is going to do that.

So if all you know the electoral vote decides the election, so that's what you're doing is almost pure discovery. According to the modern idea were proposed by Timothy Hart in 1964, two years investigating it.