#i’m so lucky i was that post i’ve been mostly off tumblr for the past couple weeks while i’ve been kn my trip so

[achilleslyre]

i’m so fucking happy my banana fish collection will keep growing…. i have my 5 tiny plushies (ash, eiji, shorter, sing, and yut lung), all the manga, two of the banana fish x megane flower sunglasses, angel eyes, and now i’m soon gonna have the ash and eiji nendoroids and the G.E.M. ash figurine…….. augh maybe life is beautiful lovely wonderful worthwhile……..

[turning-the-kaleidoscope]

Protective hug with Reigen and one of the kids?

this got so out of hand. so out of hand. thank you so much for the prompt! <3 i really went. frickng. this is 8.6k. but I’m really really happy with how it turned out! <3 ty again for the prompt

- future fic bc I love post canon potential, protective reigen, Teruki’s parents are the worst, heavily implied child abuse/neglect (not pictured), etc. married terumob at the forefront with backburner married serirei. because I’m a sap. everyone is protective of teruki and shigeo.

hope you enjoy! my formatting broke while copy/pasting to tumblr shdjkfsdf so here’s the AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43243897

~*~*~*~*~

Reigen is balanced precariously on his hand-me-down stepladder replacing the blinds when Teruki bursts into the office with a sound like a gunshot and nearly vaults Reigen to his death.

“Teruk—!” Reigen yowls, flailing. He's lucky enough that the blinds had already been secured to the window—he grabs ahold of the rail and steadies himself, then hops down the three steps to the floor. "Holy shit, don't do that to me—”

Teruki's across the room before Reigen's collected himself. His hands chain around Reigen's arm and the fear in his eyes brands straight to Reigen's soul.

“She found us,” Teruki blurts. “She knows where we live, Reigen, she—” 

“Okay, okay. Calm down.” Heat rips through Reigen's chest. Teruki is twenty six years old and all Reigen sees behind those eyes is a scared child. “Who found out where—” 

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Shit,” Reigen says out loud. He grips Teruki by the shoulders to hold him steady. Not even Claw could make Teruki tremble like this. “What happened? Are you and Shigeo okay?”

“We’re okay,” Teruki stammers. His gaze flickers around like he's expecting someone to hurt him. “Shigeo got the door, but she knew who he was and I never even told her I was gay. How did she know who he was? How did she know—” 

This has been the one lingering fear that has followed Teruki every year of his life. Claw has come and gone. Natural disaster has come and gone. But his parents—somehow they’ve managed to cling like the roaches they are, digging their grimy hands into whatever good things Teruki builds for himself.

Not this. Not fucking this. 

“I don’t know how much she knows,” Teruki says. “He told her off but she said she’s going to come back. What are we supposed to do when she comes back?”

Reigen hugs him. It feels like what Teruki needs. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says. The rage within him seethes and bleeds into the ferocity of the hug, but he can’t do anything about it. “She doesn’t get to do this.”

Teruki hugs him. Reigen’s hug is angry; Teruki’s hug is afraid. “What are we supposed to do? She hasn’t done anything for years, if we take it to the police—”

“She’s done enough.”

“We can’t prove anything.”

“We can try.”

“Shigeo answered the door,” Teruki says halfway through his second cup of tea. 

Reigen stops fidgeting with the blinds to join Teruki at the couches, sitting across from him. Teruki has been mostly silent thus far, breathing and sipping tea while recollecting his bearings. The sign on the door has been flipped to Closed. 

“He told me he’d handle it,” Teruki goes on, “but I didn’t like the thought of him being alone with her. I don’t. So I went with him.”

Reigen nods. He’s trying to keep things comfortable for Teruki’s sake, but anticipation gnaws. “What did she want?”

Teruki leans back. He swishes his tea and watches it until it’s still again. “... Apparently she and my father got divorced,” he says. “I figured it’s been coming for years, but she picked a weird time to tell me.”

“Yeah. Sounds like manipulation to me.”

Teruki’s smile is bitter. “That’s what Shigeo said.”

“What about your dad? What’s up with him?”

Teruki shrugs. “I’ve met him maybe… twice? He was always away when I was growing up. I don’t know if he ever wanted to be a father in the first place.” Teruki swirls his tea again. “They had to sell the house after the divorce, so she’s living alone just outside of the city. She gave us her address in case we wanted to… visit. I guess? She said she wanted to ‘reconnect’. Not apologize, just reconnect.” 

“What’s she expecting? A family reunion?”

Teruki huffs. It’s the first smile that’s seemed at all real since he got here. “Shige’s family would tear her apart. Ritsu’s been wanting to for years.” 

Reigen can empathize.

Teruki reaches the bottom of his mug and settles it on the coffee table between them. “Sorry,” Teruki says. His eyes are red, and he sniffs while he tucks loose hair back into place. “I appreciate you letting me stay for a while. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Reigen says. He hates that he can’t do more. “Do you guys have a game plan? What are you gonna do?”

“We’re going to file for a restraining order,” Teruki answers. “I hoped she would leave me alone once I was an adult, and I probably would’ve been okay with never pressing charges as long as she just… stayed away. But now she’s— stalking us. Enough that she knows where we live and who Shigeo is. If she’s willing to go that far, I don’t know what else she’s capable of.”

“Yeah, no, that makes sense.” Especially after a divorce. Knowing what he does about Teruki’s parents, it probably wasn’t a clean break. “And I meant what I said about security cameras. You and Shigeo already have a bunch of them outside, don’t you? Do they record audio?”

“Not yet. Shigeo’s getting those installed today.” Teruki rubs his arms. “I feel bad for leaving him at the house alone, but… I just, needed some time away after she was there.”

The wrath is back. That this person is managing to make Teruki feel unsafe after all these years is despicable, much less in his own home that he’s built for himself with his husband.

“Shigeo understands,” Reigen says. “It probably gave him some time to regain his bearings. You know how he is. Just call the police if she starts snooping around the place again, alright? I mean that. And call me, too.”

“Yeah.” Teruki grabs his shoulderbag. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

Reigen nods. He jots a mental note: make sure Shigeo still has that spare key to the office. Teruki and Shigeo have a litany of places to hide out before the office, but if they need somewhere last second that’s completely detached from friends and family, Spirits and Such isn’t a bad choice. 

Teruki leaves with a short and tired goodbye and Reigen watches the sidewalk from the window. Once he sees Teruki turn the corner on the curb, he drops the blinds and locks up for the night.

Then he calls Shigeo.

He gets a single ring in before Shigeo picks up. “I almost killed someone today.”

“Yeah.” Reigen runs a hand through his hair. “How literal is that?”

Shigeo dodges that question like it’s a landmine. “I recognized her,” he says. “And she—somehow recognized me. I thought I could just tell her off and it would be over, but then she started talking about him and—” Shigeo heaves in a deep breath. “I told him not to follow me. He didn’t listen. How much did he tell you?”

“Just that she was trying to guilt trip him with the whole ‘divorce’ thing,” Reigen says. “And that you were pissed.”

“I still am. She gave me—she gave me her address. I almost—” Another very, very deep breath. “Reigen.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up over it too much.” Reigen doesn’t know what he would do if he ever met Teruki’s parents, but he’d probably end up with a fun story to tell his roommate in jail. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if it were me. It sounds like you held it together pretty well, all things considered.” 

“She knows I’m married to him,” Shigeo says. “How does she know who I am?”

“What about social media? You guys kind of keep up with that, don’t you?”

“We do, but our accounts are private. She shouldn’t be able to see anything, not unless she’s getting updates through somebody else.”

“Gotcha.” Reigen could punch a wall. “Damn it. Teruki talked to me, but have you talked to anyone?”

“I talked to Ritsu. He told our parents. They’re upset.”

Teruki’s parents set off an airhorn in the lion’s den with the Kageyama family alone. Ritsu is fiercely protective of his brother and subsequent brother-in-law, and the Kageyamas are fiercely protective of their sons and subsequent son-in-law.

“I also went to the gym for a few hours after I got the security cameras fixed.”

“Well, good.” The concept of that makes Reigen want to die a little, but weight training has been a good outlet for Shigeo’s overwhelming mental state over the years. “Are you home now?”

“Mm. I got takeout from Teru’s favorite restaurant, but I don’t know how much he’s going to eat.”

“Makes sense. I know you’re already going to, but make sure he eats something.”

“I will. I’m glad he talked to you. I have to call Ritsu back, he’s going to help me get the motion light installed tomorrow.”

“Alright. Oh—however much you paid for dinner, let me know. I’ll reimburse you.”

“What? No, you couldn’t…”

“I haven’t treated you kids to ramen in years, this ain’t gonna break the bank. Just text me. And don’t tell Teruki until you really feel like it.”

“… Okay. Thank you, Shishou.”

It’s no use telling Shigeo not to call him that. He already knows—now, the kid just saves it for nostalgia and the verbal equivalent of a hug or a promise, which is ridiculous but also makes Reigen emotional if he thinks too hard about it. Being fourty does that to a person, maybe. 

“Call the police if you get suspicious.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Call me too. I want dibs.”

“Family first. But you can deal with the leftovers.”

“Well, I suppose that’s only fair. Nothing hurts more than rubbing salt in the wounds.”

Shigeo kind of laughs. It’s as much of a laugh as he’s going to get out of the kid given the situation. “Thanks again.”

“Sure thing.”

Shigeo hangs up. Reigen packs up the office and calls Katsuya on his way home.

Shigeo is seated on the couch with a book, still bristling, when Teruki walks through the door of their home. 

Shigeo tries to shove his anger aside because Teruki has never liked seeing Shigeo upset, but this is one emotion he can’t stuff, and Teruki doesn’t like it when Shigeo stuffs emotions either. Maybe it’s better that Shigeo doesn’t pretend everything is okay.  

“Hey,” Teruki says, letting his shoulderbag slip to the floor.

“Hi,” Shigeo says. “I got takeout for dinner. You should eat something, even if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, uh.” Teruki laughs, a little nervous and a lot ashamed. “I’ll do what I can. Thanks.”

Shigeo nods. He puts his book off to the side and drops his legs, opening up his arms. He makes grabby hands at his husband. “Come here.”

Teruki exhales deeply. He kicks off his shoes on his way over to the couch and collapses into Shigeo’s chest. Shigeo wraps his arms around Teruki’s head and hooks his ankles over the backs of Teru’s knees, wishing he were tall enough to envelop him completely. He draws his aura around them both and pours as much safety and as much love into it as he can. 

Teruki knows that Shigeo loves him and would protect him, but he has to feel it. 

Teruki’s arms slip under Shigeo’s back as he hugs him, too. His coiled-up aura unfurls against Shigeo’s, scared and stressed but trusting. Shigeo reaches for it with a thought. 

“St-Stop,” Teruki gets out weakly, even as he burrows into Shigeo’s hoodie. Shigeo frowns, confused. “Y—You’re gonna make me cry, Shige.”

Shigeo presses deeper. It’s not fair, but he couldn’t possibly pull away. Teruki hiccups and clutches the back of his shirt. 

“This is your home,” Shigeo says. His heart feels fierce, but broken, and he tries to keep his voice steady for Teru. “She doesn’t get to take your home away from you. I won’t let her.”

Teruki’s tears seep through Shigeo’s hoodie, next to his heart. “God.” He laughs wetly and brings a hand up to cover his face. “I thought I could hold it together longer than this.”

“I’m not really going to let you do that, either.”

Teruki huffs. Shigeo lets his aura bleed into Teruki’s and runs his fingers through his blond hair until the jitters in Teru’s aura soften into a thrum. It’s still more sensitive than his bassline, but no longer as frightened.

“… Thank you,” Teruki says. Shigeo nods. “Have—… Did she come back?”

“No. I would have told you if she did.”

“Right. I, um. I’ve been thinking about getting a hotel for tonight. My head’s spinning.”

“Would a hotel really help?”

“I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to try.”

“I think it might,” Shigeo admits quietly. “I—I want you to feel safe, Teru, but I don’t want our home to be a place you run away from. Your mom can’t take this home away from you.”

“I know, but…” Teruki trails, then sighs, curling his knees against Shigeo’s ribs. “Maybe I don’t know.”

“I’m here, too,” Shigeo reminds him. “As long as I’m here you’ll never have to see her.”

“I don’t want you near her, either, Shige.” Teruki’s fingers press over Shigeo’s heart. “I don’t want her anywhere near you.”

“I’ll keep a barrier up. We have plenty of cameras and Ritsu is going to help us with motion lights. If we’re here, then we’re home. She can’t touch us here.”

“Nothing’s ever stopped her before,” Teruki croaks. His aura is starting to crumple again. Shigeo presses him closer. 

“You were alone before,” Shigeo says. 

Shigeo’s phone rings. Teruki flinches and Shigeo smooths his hand over Teruki’s shoulder-length hair as he digs his phone out of his back pocket.

“It’s my mom,” Shigeo says. 

Teruki relaxes and Shigeo answers. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi Mom,” Teruki says loudly. 

“My boys,” Mom says. Her smile is just as audible as her concern. “Are you two home?” 

“We’re home, why?” 

There's a knock at the door and no question as to who’s behind it. Teruki huffs incredulously as he slides off of Shigeo and Shigeo gets to his feet. They head to the door together and Shigeo pulls it open. 

Mom yanks Teruki into her arms the second she gets a visual on him. 

Teruki hardly has the chance to jump before he realizes what’s going on and he’s sinking into her embrace. He’s taller than her, but he finds a way to press his face into her shoulder while she runs her fingers through his hair.

“Oh, Teru,” Mom whispers.

Teruki’s arms squeeze around her shoulders.

This is how it should be. It should be like this when mothers come to visit. 

It was not like this when Teruki’s mother showed up. She spoke in clipped and entitled tones with condescending words—she singled him out as her son in law and he loathed it. She called Teruki her son and herself his mother and he saw red. He told her to leave and she asked what gave him the right. That she has the right to see her son and that he has no right to keep her away.

“It’s going to be okay, love,” Mom murmurs, hugging Teru close. “We’ll figure this out.”

Teruki nods and steps back only to be met with an armful of Ritsu, despite Ritsu’s reluctance initiating physical touch. Teruki returns the hug with a joke about Ritsu’s height. Ritsu scowls but stays right where he is.

This is how family should be. Family should be like this, not like—

Mom locks Shigeo into an iron hug. It’s parental and full, but a different hug than the hug she gave Teruki. This hug digs into Shigeo’s heart like an elbow in the ribs. It grounds him. 

She’s angry, too.

“We’re going to solve this,” Mom whispers into his hair. “I promise. That woman isn’t going to lay a finger on Teruki.”

Shigeo wraps her up with his arms and his aura. He nods. 

Teruki’s mother told him that they have no right to keep her away.

Soon they’ll have the right to keep her away.

“We just need witnesses,” Tome says. “That’s it, right? She’s already a disgusting person, all we need is a way to prove it and get that restraining order.”

“It’s not that simple,” Serizawa says, watching her pace around the office. “She could contest the restraining order. The court doesn’t have to grant it if they can’t find a genuine cause.”

“So we prove it,” Tome reiterates, stopping in front of him and pivoting fully to make her point. “We get whatever evidence we’ve got lying around and drop the gaffle on her ass.”

“You can do all sorts of stuff in court if you know the system,” Reigen says, folding his hands. “Teruki and Shigeo don’t have a chance if she hires some skeezy lawyer who knows their stuff.” 

He thinks twice. Teruki said his mother’s living in an apartment outside of the city… Reigen lived in an apartment outside the city until he and Katsuya were able to afford a larger one together closer to the office. Any apartment that far out is cramped and cheap and doesn’t at all suit the lifestyle Teruki described of his mother.

He wonders how much money Teruki’s father walked away with in the divorce. Maybe she couldn’t hire a lawyer.

Tome throws her hands into the air. “Okay, so whatever. Teruki’s mom can’t win. She can’t win.”

Katsuya interjects. “As much as I understand the urgency,” he says, “going before a judge is not black and white. Especially not in family court.” 

“Besides, Teruki and Shigeo haven’t even decided how they wanna handle it yet,” Reigen butts in when Tome opens her mouth to argue. She’d make a good judge if she ever decides anthropology isn’t her thing. “We should wait to hear from them. There are plenty of ways to go about this.”

“They may even try going through the esper division of law,” Serizawa adds. “Shigeo mentioned looking into that. The only qualm is that this mother isn’t an esper, but they could still have it settled in a hybrid court. Especially since Shigeo is also an esper.”

“Wait, I didn’t know about that part.” Reigen spins the chair around toward Katsuya. “What the hell is a hybrid court?”

“I’m not sure myself. Shigeo said he’s looking into it. I think Shou is helping.”

Tome drops onto the coffee table with a groan. “I guess that checks out. Shou’s mom sort of had to deal with that when his dad went off the rails. But how’s that work when the espers are the ones wanting the protective order?”

“That’s why they want to involve the esper legal system,” Serizawa says. If Tome’s anger is problem solving and Reigen’s anger is cheshire smiles, then Serizawa’s anger is something quiet and very, very dangerous. “It’s the only way to ensure that she doesn’t try and flip this back on Teruki.”

“Right.” Reigen puts his head in his hands. The thought of his mom somehow finding a way to blame Teruki for all of the abuse makes him want to throw up. And punch a wall. “Damn esper descrimination.”

Tome looks disgusted. “That’s a thing?”  

“After the Claw shitshow, yeah.”

“How the shit—she’s gonna spin this like it’s Teruki’s fault?” 

“We don’t know that she would,” Reigen says. “And could you get off the coffee table? The hell do I have couches for.”

Tome kicks her feet up onto the table in defiance. “So what? Do we just sit around and wait for something to happen? I hate that.”

Reigen hates it, too. “Teruki and Shigeo are still figuring out how they want to handle this. If they go for a permanent protective order, they’re gonna need evidence. That’s step one.”

“Alright, evidence.” Tome leaps up and finally leaves Reigen’s coffee table alone. “I’ll talk to Shou and see if we can scrape anything up records-wise. He’s always down to clown on shitty parents.”

“Don’t do anything illegal.”

“You’re the one person who doesn’t get to tell me that. That woman’s got a lot of nerve messing with my boys. She can’t win.”

She shuts the door behind her. Reigen hangs his head. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Katsuya says. Stupid husband telepathy or whatever the hell. “Once Teruki and Shigeo decide how they want to handle this, I’m sure they’ll let us know if there's anything we can do to help.”

Reigen sighs. He can’t argue with that, and frankly doesn’t want to. “Right. Wanna go get ramen?”

Katsuya grabs his coat.

Teruki and Shigeo are set up on the couch with a dusty cardboard box sitting open on the coffee table. Teruki flicks through loose polaroids and album sleeves. Shigeo sorts with him.

“This one’s an option,” Teruki says, carefully drawing a photo from its lamination. He’s so young in these pictures—he can’t even remember when or where most of them were taken. Empty memories. “You can, ah… tell I wasn’t being taken very good care of.”

Shigeo looks at the photo over Teru’s shoulder. It’s objectively not a bad picture, Teruki just looks… sad, and thin, and there's a bruise on his head. He looks maybe five or six, which means he was actually seven or eight, and he’s holding his mother’s hand. It might've been the last time he ever held her hand.

“You’re so small,” Shigeo says with no air. 

Teruki blows all the air out of his own lungs and leans back. “Yeah. It’s good evidence, though, right?”

He hates the smile that claws its way onto his face, all muscle-memory. Shigeo hates that he smiles when he’s trying to hide something. Teruki hasn’t slipped into the bad habit this instinctively in years. 

Shigeo reaches for the photo. He stares intensely at it for long enough that Teruki feels self-conscious. “Did—” Shigeo pauses. “The bruise,” he says. “Did your mom…?”

“What? Oh.” Shigeo’s stress is making more sense. “Maybe once or twice? It didn’t happen a lot.”

“So she did.”

“Not often.” Teruki doesn’t have vivid memories of being hit. He has vivid memories of her voice and her damn words, and maybe being cornered in the middle of it. “I was mainly just left alone a lot growing up, and it was around the time Claw started catching onto me. She was way more into pretending I didn’t exist.”

Shigeo nods, stiff, and when he doesn’t stop staring at the photo Teruki reaches over and takes it out of his hands. He isn’t trying to upset Shigeo anymore than he already has, and in all honesty seeing his own face like that for too long is dragging up drowned memories. He doesn’t want to think about any of this.

He settles the photo onto an empty patch of coffee table. “Evidence pile,” Teruki says. 

He hates every part of this. 

Why’d he even keep the stupid cardboard box? Nostalgic childhood nothings, loose photos, the methodical albums his mother was so particular about keeping as he grew up. She always was particular about her image. He can’t say he grew up much different, but he’s not the person he used to be. When she kicked him out of her home he stole her precious albums to take with him, both to spite and remember her.

He still remembers the way she held his hand in that picture. It wasn’t because she wanted to. 

“What if it’s not enough?” Teruki whispers. 

“We might not even need so much evidence to get the temporary protective order,” Shigeo tells him. “Especially since the esper court is getting involved. They’re familiar with Claw. The fact that your mother abandoned you when she knew you were being hunted isn’t something they’ll let slip.”

Teruki takes an enormous breath. “Yeah.” God, his lungs hurt. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” His head hurts, too. “I, ah, I have a couple bills that accidentally showed up at my old apartment instead of my parents’ house. It should be enough to prove she had me living alone as a pre-teen.”

Shigeo nods. “You have her text messages, too. We have enough. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah.” Teruki breathes and this time it aches instead of burns. “Thanks. I know this is a lot.”

“It’ll be over soon.” 

Teruki feels a little better after that. He finds a couple more pictures of himself as a child and even some he took of his apartment when he first moved in. Shigeo brews a fresh pot of tea while Teruki digs around in his old filing cabinet for those old bills. By the end of the night, well past ten o’clock, they’ve assembled a small arsenal of evidence to be taken to the court house first thing in the morning. 

After changing into comfortable clothes, Teruki scrolls through his phone while Shigeo brushes his teeth. Teruki thinks it takes longer than usual, but he’s on-edge, so it’s more likely that he’s reading into things he shouldn’t. Shigeo turns out the light on his way to bed. Teruki sets his alarm. Shigeo curls up on his side of the bed, taking half the comforter with him as normal. Teruki runs warm, so it’s alright. 

Realistically, he won’t be sleeping much tonight anyway.

Shigeo stretches over to kiss his temple. “Goodnight.”

Teruki kisses the top of his head. “Sleep well.” 

Shigeo rolls onto his side and Teruki watches the ceiling. It’s a still evening, a mute note in the air. Shigeo shifts a little. Teruki takes a couple deep breaths. 

Shigeo shifts again. Then again. His breath hitches.

“Shige?” Teruki reaches for him, with his aura first and then with his hand. “Are you okay?” 

Shigeo fails to stifle a brittle sob. 

Teruki is more alert now than he was seeing his mother’s face at their door.

“Hey.” Teruki gets in close. He searches blindly for Shigeo’s hand and slots their fingers together when he finds it. “What’s going on?”

Shigeo’s shoulders shudder. He presses Teruki’s hand to his lips, taking thin breaths. “You were so small,” Shigeo whispers, the tremors reaching his voice. “Why would anyone—how could anyone hurt you like that? Y-You were— Teru.”

Teruki’s gut wraps itself up in one giant knot. He shouldn’t have let Shigeo see the pictures—or at least he should’ve been more aware of how it would affect him. He wraps his arms around Shigeo’s stomach and tugs him back against his chest, not sure of what else to do. Shigeo doesn’t relax into him, nor does he pull away. His breaths rattle over Teruki’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Shige.”

“I’m mad,” Shigeo snaps. “And—...”

Teruki wishes he could see his husband’s face. He hates the part of him that’s relieved he can’t see his husband’s face. He squeezes Shigeo closer and Shigeo’s turbulent breaths dissolve into hiccupping sobs.

“You were so small,” Shigeo hitches. “Y-You were so small.”  

Teruki wants to take all the things that make Shigeo cry and rip them apart. He never wanted to be one of them.

“It’s okay,” Teruki says.

Shigeo snarls. “No it’s not.” 

“Sorry, that’s—that’s not what I meant. I’m okay. Okay?” He doesn’t feel very okay, but he doesn’t feel like it’s a lie either. Shigeo is rigid against him, heaving like a board refusing to buckle in a hurricane, and Teruki threads his fingers through Shigeo’s hair. “Let me hold you.”

“I should be doing that,” Shigeo bites, his voice wet. “I should be the one holding you.”

“You have been, Shige.” Teruki draws his fingers across Shigeo’s scalp, tracing his hairline. “You always do. Please.” 

Shigeo sobs. 

Teruki curbstomps his panic and buries his face against the top of Shigeo’s head, smoothing his hair repeatedly. Shigeo finally sinks back into him but the stress in his chest won’t let him relax, and Teruki hates that this isn’t a problem he can solve.

But Shigeo is letting him hold him.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into Shigeo’s hair. “Shh. We’re okay.”

He can’t remember the last time Shigeo cried like this. The occasions are few and far between and Teruki never knows what to do with his voice. His hands keep Shigeo close. Both of Shigeo’s hands clutch one of Teruki’s against his face and hot tears run over their knuckles. 

“S’Sorry,” Shigeo whispers through his tears, hoarse. “I’m sorry, Teruki.”

Teruki nuzzles the top of his head and squeezes his eyes shut when the burn turns scorching. “Don’t apologize. I don’t mind.”

Shigeo twists around to bury himself in Teruki’s chest, then he cries until he falls asleep.

The courthouse opens at nine o’clock the following morning. Teruki and Shigeo are downtown by eight fifty. Teruki speaks with the clerk and hands over the forums he filled in advance. 

The esper division of law is going to get involved. 

Shigeo isn’t as upset as he was yesterday, but the tension never left. He was tense even as he slept. If Teruki weren’t so strung-up himself he would be able to comfort him better. 

The esper court takes over as soon as Teruki brings up having been hunted by Claw as a child. 

It makes him sick that his mother’s threatening text messages are somehow more relevant evidence than the pictures of him as a child, given how Shigeo reacted.

That his mother is stalking him to the point of showing up at his home does not look good for her.

The temporary protective order is granted.

Teruki and Shigeo take a taxi home late evening with a yellow folder between them, a court date ahead of them and Teruki’s hand in Shigeo’s. 

“I’m going for a walk,” Shigeo says as soon as they’re through the door. He doesn’t ask if Teruki wants to join him, so this is probably a subtle way of telling Teruki he needs time alone. Teruki nods and hangs up his coat as Shigeo pivots back out the door. Teruki slides all the locks into place.

He gets the tea kettle boiling. The folder sits on their dining table, which has seen less use than their coffee table this week. Teruki stalls by glancing about his and Shigeo’s home. Humbly furnished and full of pictures; a few fingerprints in the paint courtesy of Tome and Shou; the bougie coffee maker as a wedding gift from Reigen and Serizawa; his mother-in-law’s choice of cutlery and his father-in-law’s electric mixer; fridge magnets that Ritsu mailed while he was off at college. 

That’s not all. He could look at anything in this home and tie it back to somebody precious in his life. This home is made of connections and promises and it’s Teruki’s and Shigeo’s and whoever else they welcome into it.

Teruki cuts the heat when the kettle whistles. He grabs his phone from the living room.

Reigen’s stepping into his and Katsuya’s apartment when his phone goes off. Some fumbling and light switching and shoes-kicking later, he gets through the door and answers the phone. Katsuya’s shoes are already here and the light’s on in the living room.

“Heya,” Reigen says, starting down the hall.

“Do you wanna serve my mom the restraining order?” 

“Heya?” 

“We got the temporary restraining order today,” Teruki says. “We have a court date, but she needs to be served before that can happen.” 

“Oh damn.” 

Katsuya looks over from the couch in the living room with a question and concern. Reigen waves a hand and Katsuya nods, understanding. He’ll explain after the call. “When’s the court date?”

“November seventeenth.”

“Gotcha.” Reigen hugs the phone between his cheek and shoulder, tearing a post-it note from the fridge to write on. “So, listen, as satisfying as that sounds, are you sure Shigeo doesn’t want to do it? Or I guess maybe that’s not allowed depending on what’s in the order. What about Ritsu?”  

“We talked about it. Shigeo could, but we think it’s for the best that you do it. If you’re willing, we’d love to give you the honor.” 

“... Well. In that case, gimme a time and place.”

Teruki gives him a time and place.

Friday, because she told Shigeo and Teruki that she would be at her apartment on Fridays if they ever want to ‘stop by’, and she’s located about where Reigen assumed. A tiny studio apartment on the outskirts of Seasoning City. A dank ride through a cheap train and a long walk through cold wind and autumn leaves. 

Reigen double-triple-quadruple checked the proof-of document to be filed once Teruki’s mother has been served, and Katsuya and Tome looked over it for him. So did the Kageyamas sans Teruki.

Hanazawa Eiko is the woman’s name. Reigen only learned that recently.

Instincts say he’s the wrong person to handle this sort of legal jargon, but he’s determined not to be. This is for Teruki and Shigeo. People usually hire lawyers or mediators to do this stuff because it’s easy to get wrong. Reigen refuses to get it wrong. 

He knocks on the door of apartment 417 and stands back and waits. The envelope is worth its weight in tears. The doorknob rattles. Then turns. 

Then he’s staring into the face of Hanazawa Eiko. 

She looks nothing like Teruki from her brown hair to her brown eyes to her confused and unhappy face. She has more frown lines than Reigen has years to his name. 

“Hello?” Hanazawa Eiko says. She stands in the door with her whole body, taking up as much space as possible. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Reigen Arataka,” Reigen says. “I’m a friend of the Kageyama family. Including Teruki.” 

She’s still confused, but the unhappiness tilts into interest. “Teruki.”

“Yep. I’m just here to give you this.” Reigen presents the file to her with both hands. “I’ve been given the honor of serving you.”

“What?” She rips it out of his hands and opens the slip.

“Ah, if you could not read it in front of me—”

“What is the meaning of this?” she says, meeting his eyes. She must’ve read enough to have gotten the gist. “He’s blindsiding us with this, now? Where is this even coming from? His father—” Fury, for half a moment. “His father is going to be devastated when he hears, don’t you understand?”

“Probably not as devastated as Teruki,” Reigen says. He shouldn’t, but. “You got on without him the first twenty six years of his life. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” She laughs, and he hates how it rings in the air. “My son stabs me in the back and you mean to tell me this is fine?”

Reigen stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Listen.” She shuts her mouth, brows drawn tight. “What exactly is your goal here?”

She’s gritting her teeth behind her lips. “I want my son back.”

“Gathered that, but why? Are you so angry he’s living comfortably without you that you have to come in and ruin that? Or do you have a conscience after all and you’re trying to soothe it in the way that best suits you?” He pauses. “Or maybe you’re lonely.”

Her face contorts. It isn’t anger. Not quite. “What do you know about our family?”

“I know Teru’s made his boundaries pretty clear,” Reigen says, “and what he’s asked for isn’t unreasonable. You tracking him down to his home regardless of what he’s asked for tells me everything I need to know about you.”

“What do you know about raising an esper?” Ah, sure. He could’ve expected this. “That boy put me through hell. All I ever wanted was for him to show a little appreciation.”

He thinks of Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama at Shigeo’s wedding, their tears and their laughter and their pride. He thinks of the jokes lovingly ladled at poor Ritsu about how finicky he’d been with the flowers. He thinks of the way they love and how much they’ve had to handle between their sons, and how angry and devastated they’d be if someone dared lay a finger on them.

He thinks about walking Teruki down the aisle. It’s not the same as raising someone, but it’s a culmination of all the things it should mean to be a parent.

“I’m not gonna argue with you,” Reigen says. “But if you’ve got a single self-preserving bone in you, you’d cut this shit out and let Teruki go.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“You’ve gotta understand. It’s not me. Maybe it’s the guy behind the counter at the discount drugstore. Maybe it’s the guy working nights at the restaurant no one really goes to. If it’s not them, it’s the person who owns the floral shop, or the woman who goes to the park every day with her kids. Or it’s a shady psychic business. The personal trainers at the gym. That weird girl with a telescope you wouldn’t give a second thought.”

“You’re espousing nonsense now?”

“What I mean to say is, this city is full of people who love Teruki and are looking out for him,” Reigen says, “and all of those people have people who are looking after them. I don’t know what foot you think you have in the door, but you’re gonna lose your chance to walk away real fast if you keep pushing. It’s not a threat. I just thought if you won’t do it for him, maybe you’d do it for yourself. That’s all I’ve got. Goodnight, Hanazawa-san.”

He turns away.

“Wait!” 

He stops. Eiko’s got a hand reached toward him, but she hasn’t closed the space. The envelope crinkles under the strength of her grip. 

“I—” Eiko begins, but that’s as far as she gets before the distress on her face tilts into something that could be shame, maybe, if not for her denial. She stares at her hand and then at the envelope and then at the ground. “I do want my son,” she says. The confidence is gone. The entitlement isn’t, but it’s changed. “I—... 

“... If you really care about Teruki,” Reigen says, “you’ll leave him alone. The only decent thing left for you to do at this point is to walk away.”

“Walk away?” Her face is incredulous. “The reason why he’s mad at me to begin with is because I walked away, and now that’s what he wants? How am I supposed to know what to do if nothing is ever good enough for him?”

God, Reigen does not want to have this conversation. It’s not the walking away that made Teruki put his foot down—it’s the neglect, the abuse, the abandonment. But this is not a person he can speak logically to. He can explain it to her until he’s blue in the face and she isn’t going to understand.

But her question isn’t disingenuine. 

Goddamnit. 

“He told you to leave him alone,” Reigen says. “I don’t think he can make it any clearer than that. You had a chance. You lost that chance. You don’t get to choose when you’re a part of his life again, if ever.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“... Become a better person,” Reigen says. “Do it for yourself and for the people you’ll meet in the future, and leave him out of it.”

He leaves her behind. She doesn’t call out to him again.

The seventeenth of November comes with a dry and biting cold. The one client Reigen had scheduled for today bailed, which likely isn’t a good omen, so he cranks his apartment space heater to max and leaves the office closed. He has no shortage of emails to catch up on. Not to mention the months-long anticipation building towards today.

He hasn’t heard from Shigeo or Teruki, and probably won’t until this afternoon, maybe early evening. Staying distracted with emails will help.

He gets a call just after noon. Shigeo.

He’s never picked up his phone faster. “Shigeo, hey.”

“She didn’t show up.” 

“How d— what?”

“She didn’t show up,” Shigeo reiterates. “The judge gave us everything we asked for. The whole order, we got everything.” 

“You—wait, what? She didn’t show? She missed the hearing?”

“Yeah.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.” 

“I don’t know, the court is going to get in touch with her, I think. But we don’t have to be involved. We’re… We’re done.” 

“Holy shit.” It was— easy? Reigen doesn’t want to think of it like that because it was hell for Teruki, but just like that? “That’s—How’s Teruki doing?”

“He’s… kind of in shock. But he’s good. We’re going to get food and go home.”

“Right. And how are you doing?”

“I’m also in shock, but good. I wasn’t expecting everything to be granted.” 

“Yeah. That’s good, though, isn’t it?”

“Better than good. If the order was just around Teruki and our home that would have been enough. The esper division was really sympathetic and a lot of people in the courtroom recognized us from what happened with Claw, I think, and when his mother didn’t show up— Oh, Teru’s back. I’ll call you later.”

“Alright. Take care.”

“Bye.” 

Shigeo hangs up. Reigen sits there stunned.

Just like that? Eiko didn’t show. Which also means she didn’t contest. He’s a little bit pissed that she didn’t show up, actually—could’ve at least had the professionalism to handle this properly—but on the other hand, it does mean she didn’t contest. 

It’s not like she would’ve had a choice. Contesting the order would’ve just made her look like shit, especially if what Shigeo said about the esper courts is true. Showing up was a basic courtesy, as was expected of her. Teruki would have been granted the order either way.

But bitterness aside, maybe this was her way of letting him go. 

Maybe this was her way of running trying to save herself. Who knows.

… In any case, trying to psycho-analyze her isn’t worth his time. The years to come will make her intentions pretty clear.

His phone pings. Group chat notification.

 [barbie and ken’s spiritual successor] The judge granted the protective order. We got everything we asked for.

 Tome’s the first to hop on and react with Serizawa right behind her. Ritsu is more generalized in his response, which likely means Shigeo called him personally like he called Reigen. Reigen pops in with a response similar to Ritsu’s with a dash of Tome to make it convincing; if Teruki is keeping details scarce while processing his mother’s no-show, he’ll play it cool.

“Let’s hear it for freedom!” Tome slams her mug into Shigeo with reckless abandon. “I knew you guys had it in the bag! There was no way she was gonna win after everything she did.” 

Spirits and Such’s favorite ramen shop has somehow stayed in business all these years—maybe solely on the patronage of Spirits and Such, but even so it’s a good ramen shop and the owner doesn’t mind their bombastic group dinners. They’ve got the whole crew with them tonight—Tome, Ritsu, Shigeo, Serizawa, Teruki, Reigen. Feels like old times.

“Ah, yeah.” Teruki rakes a hand through his hair, twirling noodles around his bowl. “My mom actually didn’t show up to the hearing, so we won by default.” 

“Oh, seriously?” Tome leans back, taking a large swig of peach-flavored soda. “That’s weird. Would’ve thought she’d be the type to fight.”

“Yeah, well.” Teruki glances sideways at Shigeo, who glances sideways back at him. They both face the group. “Thanks for sticking it out with me,” Teruki says. “Honestly, I don’t think I could’ve gotten through all of that without you guys. This… This has been a long time coming.”

“Overdue, if you ask me,” Reigen says, slurping ramen. “Don’t sweat it.”

Teruki smiles, and it’s real. “Thanks.”

Tome calls for a second round of noodles.

Shigeo shuffles out of the bathroom, dressed in cozy clothes and toweling his hair dry. His footsteps quiet and Teruki feels his gaze. “Teru?”

Teruki hums, lost in thought. His mother’s photo album is across his legs, missing several incriminating photos and leaving behind the rest. Shigeo draws close, settling at Teruki’s side. 

“I should get rid of this,” Teruki says. 

The words hang. He turns the page. 

“Do you want to get rid of it?” Shigeo asks.

It’s a spread of him running through sprinklers over the grass of his parents’ lawn. It was the last good summer he had up until middle school. “I feel like I should,” Teruki says. “... I feel like I should want to.” 

“If you’re sure you want to get rid of it, that’s fine,” Shigeo says. “But if you have any doubts at all, then it’s fine to hang onto it, too. It’s not something you can replace.”

Teruki hums again. 

Shigeo leans into his shoulder. “Are you coming to bed soon?” 

“Yeah.” He turns another page. Shigeo yawns and nudges under Teruki’s arm. “You can go on ahead, I’ll join you in a bit.”

“I’ll stay.”

“You’re just going to fall asleep on me.”

“You like it when I do that.”

Teruki huffs. “You’ll say it with that much confidence?”

“Sure.” 

Teruki leans into the back of the couch, taking Shigeo along for the ride. Shigeo drops his head onto Teruki’s chest. “What did I just say,” Teruki says, but he’s too damn smitten for his own good. An old coworker warned Teruki about the novelty of marriage and how it gets old and tapers off, but he’s been married to Shigeo for four years and if he could do it all over he’d still choose Shigeo.

Shigeo reaches up to poke him between the eyes. Teruki nearly sneezes. “Excuse me.”

Shigeo’s smile is made of sleepy adoration. “You make this face sometimes,” Shigeo says. “It’s cute.”

“I ma— what.”

Shigeo shrugs and turns into Teruki’s chest, settling down.

  “Wait, no you don’t, explain.” Teruki grabs him by the shoulder and tries to extract him. “Explain what that means. What face is it? I’ll make it more often.”

“Maybe now would be a good time to go to bed after all.”

Teruki pushes the album off his knees, wraps both arms around Shigeo’s stomach and essentially suplexes the both of them across the couch. Shigeo yelps. Teruki fails at not laughing.

“You’re hilarious,” says Shigeo. “Do you wanna go to bed now?”

“Alright, alright.” Teruki sits up, releasing Shigeo. “Go on ahead, I’ll get the lights.”

Shigeo slides off of him and to the floor before ambling to his feet. Teruki zips the album shut and clicks out the lights, double-checking the deadbolt and then following his husband into their bedroom. Shigeo has starfished himself on the center of the bed, which is just as well. Teruki drops over him sideways and Shigeo jerks awake with breathy ‘eep’. 

“Sometimes,” Shigeo says, his voice empty, “I think it would not be so bad to have two beds.”

Teruki knows he’s joking, so he laughs. “We could get two beds. Push them together.”

“Oh, and then when we’re fighting we can separate them.”

“I’ll gradually just inch mine closer and closer as the night goes on…”

“Like a serenade.”

Teruki makes a garbled noise. “Like a what?” 

“A serenade, like in that romcom we watched where the wife was upset and the husband cheered her up by singing.” 

“Wow, Kageyama, I didn’t know you were such a hopeless romantic.”

“We have matching socks. And it wouldn’t be romantic if I actually sang to you.”

“Maybe not romantic.” Teruki twists around, propping his elbows up on Shigeo’s chest. “But it’d be cute. I’d forget all about being mad at you. Just try it next time we’re fighting or something, I guarantee it’ll work.”

“Our marriage is doomed.”

Teruki kisses him. Shigeo goes quiet, startled—then he presses forward. Teruki wraps his arms under Shigeo’s shoulders to pull him close. Shigeo’s fingers thread into his hair. It’s quiet and it’s gentle—familiar and tired and soft. It’s just a kiss, but it’s nice. 

They pull away at about the same time. Shigeo’s eyes are so deep. Teruki strokes Shigeo’s cheek with his thumb. 

“I love you,” Teruki says.

Thank you.

“I love you too,” Shigeo says. 

“… I think I’m gonna keep the album,” Teruki decides, smoothing Shigeo’s hair off his face. “Until I know for sure.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah.” Teruki leans in again and Shigeo meets him in a shorter kiss. Teruki pulls away, cups Shigeo’s face in one hand. Shigeo’s eyes are so dark that it’s hard to tell what color they are, but the red shines clearly under the moonlight. Shigeo blinks up at him. His brows pinch.

“Teru?”

“Yeah?”

Shigeo touches his face. “You’re crying.”

“Oh.” A tear splashes onto Shigeo’s cheek. Good timing. “I—I guess I am. Uh.”

Shigeo’s thumb brushes underneath his eye. It’s such a tender gesture that Teruki’s chest caves in. He tries to breathe through it, scrubbing his face. 

“Sorry, sorry, I—” It hurts. “I was just thinking—I love you, you know that, Shige?”

“I do.” Shigeo’s voice is so, so kind. “I love you too.”

Teruki sobs and Shigeo tugs him down, pressing Teruki’s face into the side of his neck. Shigeo runs cold. It feels nice. Teruki wraps his arms underneath Shigeo’s neck.

“I don’t deserve you,” Teruki gasps.

Shigeo’s fingers filter through his hair again. One arm winds around Teruki’s shoulders. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“You’ve put up with so much from me.”

“Not really.”

“You have, Shige.”

“It’s been worth it,” Shigeo says.

Teruki doesn’t know what he’s feeling. It’s hard to tell where the pain ends and relief begins—mainly he’s overwhelmed and he’s in love and overwhelmed with the thought of being loved, and overwhelmed with the thought of that love not coming from his mother, for as many years as he thought he was over it.

More overwhelming still is the possibility that she does love him, but would sooner go his whole life hurting him than show it. 

He means to keep the photo album. It’ll stay in the back of the closet where he has to go out of his way to see it. 

Shigeo’s wedding ring gets caught in Teruki’s damaged hair as he runs his fingers through it.

Teruki wishes he were at a better vantage point to crush Shigeo as close as physically possible. He also can’t fathom drawing back. 

“Thank you,” Teruki weeps. 

He feels Shigeo nod. “I don’t regret anything,” Shigeo says. “But I especially don’t regret you.”

That does it. Teruki goes for the vantage point, yanking Shigeo into his arms and wrapping him up in his aura. Shigeo squeaks, which is cute and hilarious and also makes Teruki cry harder. He’s holding something precious who holds Teruki’s heart like it’s something precious.

Shigeo is so, so gentle with Teru’s heart.

Shigeo acquiesces to the new position. He draws his aura over Teruki like a blanket and lets Teruki hold him. Teruki still feels like he’s the one being held.

“I don’t regret you either,” Teruki whispers.

Shigeo traces tiny shapes against Teruki’s chest. It’s all he can realistically do with his arms pinned. “That’s nice.”

Teruki laughs. And chokes on it. And laughs some more. It doesn’t take long before he realizes Shigeo is crying, too.

It isn’t over. It might never be completely over. But it’s forward. 

He can be okay with just moving forward.

[circulars-reasoning]

I consider myself a baby in the world of syscourse and considering how stressful it is for someone who barely dips their toes in at all, how the hell do you and other big syscoursers not explode 😭 (mostly rhetorical question)

Okay so anon I know you said this is rhetorical but it’s the perfect time for me to mention something.

The big syscoursers DO explode. A lot.

I have said some really bad things, things I very rarely delete so I can be held accountable for them — I just preface everything with the apology for it and the determination to do better.

I’m friends with other syscoursers who have also said and done bad things. Fakeclaiming, hate anons, it’s happened in the past. While all of us have grown past those times together, those times still happened, and could easily happen again if pushed the wrong way.

A very large population of the syscourse community is highly traumatized people. That trauma often comes out in outbursts, vitriol, and toxicity. It’s easy sometimes to see those spirals and trauma responses in posts I’ve made.

The reason a lot of people don’t notice is because we have found healthier ways to handle these feelings. Mostly, Survivor’s Network and my private syscourse server (also, for those who’ve requested access, the public server is so, so close to done, I’ve just been in too much pain lately to do much).

I vent about things in Discord a lot more now, and almost always post there before posting here. I have frequently gone OFF on Discord, and then just… blocked and moved on here. I’ve repeatedly had people remind me to moderate my language, and that while my anger is absolutely acceptable and justifiable, I need to try my best to stay aware of my language and how hurtful it can be.

Its hard, as traumatized people, to regulate ourselves. I’m so eternally grateful for those users (on tumblr and on discord) who understand that and have patience when I make mistakes.

💛 Thank you to everyone who’s been patient with me as I’ve tried to learn more and be more patient myself. Thank you to all those who assumed good faith rather than bad. Thank you to everyone who’s moderated their own trauma responses, because I know how difficult that can be sometimes.

You’re all so lovely, and I’m lucky to have you!

[unorcadox]

2 years of unorcadox.

hey hi welcome all -- hello especially to my trans and nonbinary followers, hope we’re all doing well ^_^  today’s the blog’s birthday!!  as of this post going live, assuming tumblr actually does its job, it will have been 2 years since uo’s first post!  i wanna just talk about the blog a little because i haven’t talked on here much as of late.

however, before that, i want to just say that i’d like to eventually start releasing video edits to accompany certain edits!  i have no idea when this’ll get sorted, but i’m gonna try to get it ready by the turn of the year, so keep an eye out for that!  these will mostly just be a single edit with accompanying audio on them, but who knows.  maybe i’ll do something more?

in case you choose to not read the stuff below the read more, i just want to say thank you to everyone for supporting the blog over the years, and for continuing to do so!  anyways, onto the actual post:

first of all, thank you all SO much for 9000 followers!!  it’s over 9000 wow!!  ok but seriously, when i first started this blog, i didn’t expect anyone to ever see it.  i know it’s a cliche thing to say but i told no one i was making it, i didn’t network to other blogs, i just made a really shitty edit and slapped it up on here, and somehow i got lucky.  i’ve made over 800 edits as of today’s post, and that’s just the ones i’ve posted!  fun fact, if i’d never mass-posted my backlog in august, i would’ve ran out literally days ago.  that’s how much content i try to stay ahead on.

second of all, i kinda wanna take a moment to say that i’m sorry about the lack of requests being fulfilled -- both recently and in the past.  i edit in batches, and prioritize content i need for scheduling purposes, but sometimes requests get kinda forgotten in the shuffle, or i don’t really have much in the way of ideas for it, so i shelve it and hope i can come back to it later... which i very rarely do.  😔  going to try and catch up on a couple of ones i have and feel free to send in more!  i know i don’t really interact as much on here as i probably should, but i love getting asks and requests and i read the notes on my posts frequently so.  thank you for being there!

third of all, the future of the blog.  so, i want to make this clear now -- uo’s not going anywhere!  i don’t intend on changing the blog at all, if anything i’d want to add onto it.  i post 3 times a day now currently, with intermittent unplanned posts at off-times, mostly reblogs of others’ edits.  however, weirdcore is probably not forever and i am kinda thinking about where this blog could go in the future.  i’ve considered opening a redbubble, ko-fi or patreon, as a way to support myself financially (i take virtually every photo used on this blog, and use very little outside content esp. in these newer edits) but i am uncertain about it.  i could also try branching out my image editing into other styles or something, but idk what!  what would you guys like to see?  i’ve considered actually talking on the blog more, transitioning to having text posts be a major part of the blog, but i’m not quite sure about how they’d be received.  let me know if you want to see anything on here!  --  relatedly since we’re mentioning blogs, check out @dreamlink3d as i’m still working on it :)

one last thing actually, for those who choose to read the read more, enjoy the secret -- before i had to go on hiatus in august, i was working on trying to attach songs to specific uo edits, for a compilation album of some kind.  i ended up running them through a site that just attaches audio to an uploaded images in ...ways i don’t understand, BUT the end results were so fun, i edited and compiled them into 2 “albums”!  i don’t consider them my own work as i didn’t make the audio, and they won’t be used in the upcoming stuff, but you can listen to them here [1] and here [2] !  click on a song title to see its associated edit btw!

i know i said the last thing was the last but i just remembered actually, i want to say like.  it’s weird being one of the “first” weirdcore blogs to really hit its stride, and one of the only from that time to still be around and actively posting.  cahwwcabh is deactivated and they were a huge influence on me and wc as a whole, sanfor has deactivated, shwenthe/hazy/dragon/hauntedearth/a lot more tbh have more or less gone inactive, godenteredmybody and pirate-flavor still post intermittently, and most of the active blogs now are a newer set that i didn’t ever meet in my time in weirdcord.  it’s weird but cool in a way!  i really like the newer set of editors tbh, and i hope that me supporting them encourages people to check them out.  in general this whole section is meaningless but idk i felt like vocalizing it.  it’s a weird feeling watching all your peers more or less move on while you stay behind and see a new wave of artists take their place more or less.  anyways, i just hope that my edits still bring happiness and meaning to the people who see them :)

ok NOW i’m done.  sorry for the wall LMAO i just felt like actually saying something for once on here.  btw i’ve been doing a lot better since i got back from hiatus, i hope you (yes you, the reader of this post) are doing well too -- i know this blog tends to lean heavily on negative emotions, and as such it kinda attracts people who are troubled -- so i feel like i gotta check in every once in a while LMAO.  i hope life is being kind to you, thank you so much, and have a lovely day <3.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Mutual Reassurance

Way back in my early days of blogging, J and I were chatting via text in the space between me reading to our son, and being sure our son was asleep to start our own bedtime routine, as we do nearly every night. Sometimes the texts are light and flirty, sometimes they’re silly, sometimes they are matter-of-fact, ‘Here is what our week/tomorrow/plan for some future event looks like,’ type of messages. That night’s was different. 

J: I saw you reblogged this:  "How your partner reacts to your sadness and things that bother you, should tell you all you need to know about how long the relationship should last.“  Do you feel I don’t react well?

I was surprised, not that he was reviewing my tumblr posts (I’ve pretty much always posted mostly only for myself and J, and he knows that…which I suppose is why he questioned that reblog), but that he felt like he was doing poorly as my partner. “How could he even ask that?” I thought to myself. We had an amazing date night that Saturday. One of the most intense we’ve ever had, certainly the most intense we’ve had since we’ve become parents and weren’t out of town alone. I experienced some drop the day between the date and the reblog that worried him, and J didn’t feel well himself, plus our son was home from the sitters’, so neither of us probably got the level of aftercare we’d have both liked to receive after such an intense evening together. He knew I felt anxious on and off all day, and as usual, since I knew he didn’t feel well, I tried to self-soothe as much as I could to keep from burdening him. But he’d apparently felt ‘wrong’ or inadequate or something, not managing my anxiety properly and that reblog (which wasn’t for him) prompted him to ask for reassurance (which is extremely rare for J). 

I think sometimes, as submissives, particularly when our dominants are such strong, steady people usually, we forget that they have insecurities too (I am certainly guilty of this myself). Their insecurities are just different from ours. J worries when I have bad days that he’s failing me; that he’s not taking care of me well. I try very hard every day to make sure J knows I don’t take him for granted, and how grateful and lucky I feel to be his, because it honestly fulfills internal needs of *mine* to show him this appreciation. But it’s very important to remember that our dominants are human, and they are going to need the occasional ‘extra’ just like we do. 

Me (in response to J’s text about my reblog): I’m way less anxious with you than I am with any other people. I reblogged that because it’s true. And young girls looking for good men like you read my blog now. 

When I came downstairs for bed, J cuddled me a little more…a little longer…a little closer…a little tighter than he usually does. It helped my anxiety a lot, but I really hope it also helped ease his. Sometimes, dominants need reassurance too. 

I wrote that ^^^^ a long time ago. But I know the past few weeks/last couple months that have been hard on me have also been hard on J for this reason. He feels responsible for me, for our family, and when things aren’t going well, he owns that, even when it’s totally out of his control. He’s given me a whole lot of reassurance in the past 6 weeks or so. I hope I’m reciprocating that by reassuring him when he needs it, because he does so very rarely ask. I know he hurts when I hurt though. And when our son hurts. And this past few weeks have been filled with a lot of hurting. I’m so grateful to have J and I hope I can be as much a comfort to him during the hard times. I especially hope I’m not creating the hard times.

[maivalkov]

I have seen not long ago a post about "spain's dark side" so...your opinion about that? (I kinda have a feeling of knowing why himaruya came up with that and, if I am right, I am not sure if I like it. It's not that I don't like the dark side thing, but if the reason is what I think, then I don't fancy it)

Great question! Please excuse the length of this response in advance, and if I go off on any tangents. To directly answer your question: I have a horrible feeling that Dark Spain is inspired by the Spanish Black Legend/La leyenda negra, and I don't like that at all. You've really hit on an important topic here, so I'm going to extend this discussion. I call this upcoming piece: Why I don't like Dark Spain and why we, as fans and creators, need to be mindful of how we enjoy our beloved series.

Side note before we begin: I'm going to be talking from a writer's perspective, since this is what I mostly do. My opinion is just that, nothing more. Some will agree with me, others won't, and that's okay. If you're happy with the terms, let's crack on.

Part 1: "Dark" characters I'm not against 2P or "dark" versions of a character if it's required for a particular setting. Let me show you what I mean, using some fic plots I just pulled from my head: Example one: You've got this gritty, fantasy gangster city plot. You use a real city as your location, but the characters are human. Antonio's the leader of a huge criminal organisation and therefore he will do incredibly bad things. It's trigger warnings ahoy. Is this portrayal okay? Sure. (read on before you hit that reply button) Example two: You're writing a horror fic. Antonio's a sexy merman who's more likely to decorate his cave with your entrails, than serenade you on a beach. Is this plot fine? Absolutely. It's dark af, but you're writing sexy merman horror. It kinda’ comes with the territory. Did you see how I wrote "fantasy" and "human" in bold? And did you see that I used Antonio, not Spain? There's a reason. I personally believe in this: When your story uses Hetalia characters in their human form (i.e: Antonio is just Antonio, he does not represent Spain), there's much more freedom and flexibility. I've read many excellent works with darker themes who use real locations alongside human versions of the characters, and do so brilliantly. They're wonderful stories, and they don't cause harm. They're fiction. Fantasy. Fiction. Did I mention fiction? On the flip side: When we are writing the characters as country personifications, who represent the people and the history, we must take proper precaution. The same applies to writing about historical events. (To be continued down below.)

Part 2: Dark Spain

As someone who's been in fandom 10+ years now, my problem with Dark Spain is this: a number of creators back in the old days seemed to agree with my Black Legend theory/concerns, and yet they willingly made content for it. Not everybody did this, but I certainly saw some who thought "wow dark crazy Spain because Inquisition", applied it to certain ships because "ohh angst leads to romance, what a plot" and that is wrong on so many levels. If you know the Spanish Black Legend, then you know how bad this is. It's an incredibly difficult topic because it is, in the simplest sense, massive propaganda designed to seriously damage a country's image. I welcome Spanish input on this, but personally I think using this as some edgy portrayal of Antonio in your fics is insulting. Don't bloody well do it.

(Please note that the fandom is MUCH better now, but it doesn't change the fact it has, and could still happen. I used past tense for a reason, as I do think things are improving.)

Russia is another character which suffers this treatment, and I do think we have a responsibility to be considerate. Many countries have done awful things, mine (the UK) included, and yet our characters have escaped receiving this Dark persona. It's not fair, it really isn't. It's a poor judgment call on Himaruya's behalf if my theory is true. If I'm wrong, then this argument is void. Either way I feel like Himaruya should've specified how and why Dark Spain came about. Part 3: Historical writing

Here's where it gets interesting. I'm not saying "don't write historical hetalia fanfiction", and I never will say it because historical fiction exists. You can go in your local bookshop and boom, people are making real money off it.

I'm not one of those lucky sorts, but I am contributing to that genre myself. Despite lots of magic, fantasy and general artistic license, my story Gatito can be considered historicaI.

It's set in England, 1569. Spain and the Netherlands are two of the main characters, and yes, their conflict is referenced. It coincides with the timeline, and all the while I write them as personifications, I can't pretend that tension between them doesn't exist. If I did, that'd probably be even more insulting to their history, and no doubt confusing for the reader.

The main plot is a daft mash of Arthur misusing his magic, a vile fictional man from Antonio's court who wants his head, and poor Netherlands and Portugal get wrapped up in the drama along the way.

The Dutch conflict is featured, but not the plot. The event is occurring right in the middle of a fictional disaster which Antonio is trying to overcome. It's acknowledged, but it's on the side, to put it simply.

I use human names (Antonio and Abel) and explore that situation from an emotional, human perspective. I do not claim that Abel is a victim, and no one thinks he is either. Personal HC time here: I don't think any of the characters look back at their history and think "wow, poor me". Everyone's made mistakes, and they've all played a role in hurting someone else. My history teacher once told me this: The more you look, the more you see. There's many sides to a story, and even to this day, I doubt historians have truly, faithfully documented events so that it's fair on every nation involved. That's why we need to try and learn history from multiple perspectives, and why when writing hetalia characters during a historical event, we should show the reader as many viewpoints as possible. If you don't, then... well. I frown at you. More on this in part 4.

Part 4: Conclusion/advice

I won't pretend to be a saintly figure in the fandom, and this rant is a bit of a mess, but I hope you get what I'm on about. Thank you if you're still reading.

I'm going to finish with a bit of advice that has helped me have a positive time, and allowed me to create works for a series I really love:

1- If your story is historical, and you purposely want to paint a country in a bad light, think before you do. Don't slander another country for the sake of your comfort character or ship. If your story is set during a battle then yes, they can moan about the opposition, but don’t go hardcore. You know what I mean.

2- Research, research, research.

3- You want to write a particular character. Their human name is unconfirmed, or you don't know a part of their history, but you want to write about it. What should you do? Talk. I had this very dilemma regarding Portugal's surnames, and I just asked Portuguese mutuals on Tumblr for help. I received numerous valid responses in under an hour, and I felt better for it. 10/10 highly recommend.

4- If you've gotta' write Dark Spain: Keep. It. Fictional. If you don't believe my theory behind it, cool, crack on. But if you agree with me, then yeah, I've said it enough. Respect the country.

5- DO explore history. It's fascinating.

6- If you write historical hetalia and you feel that something might be misunderstood: PLEASE USE DISCLAIMERS, END NOTES ETC. I write number 6 from experience. There is a scene in Gatito where a significantly stressed Antonio attempts to summarise the Dutch conflict. He's being blamed for countless fictional issues, and rather than think things through, he blames himself for Abel's pain as well. He does it on a purely emotional basis. Have you ever had that really bad day, and things keep getting worse? Someone comes along and says "you did x y z and I'm mad", and rather than argue your side, you accept it?

That's Antonio in that scene. I know it is, because that's how I intended it to be read. His answer is flawed, to say the least, but in his human heart, he can't help it. I used the end notes as a warning/apology/explanation for this scene. I don't want it to be misinterpreted, and I don't want to disrespect Spanish history.

7- If someone does comment/ask about a sensitive, historical part of your work: don't rant. And don't get offended. I believe we all need to talk more. Have conversations about HCs, how we would write/imagine different scenes, and use it to improve your work.

8- Have fun, and be sensible. Thank you again for reading, I hope this helps to some extent. I know I've thrown my opinion out here, but if you strongly disagree with me, don't @. Move on, embrace what you believe, and everyone's a winner. (This really should've been number 9 on the list haha.)

[chuckbass-love]

Can I request reader and Henry Cavill, reader is decides to hide the fact she’s hurt herself while working out with him and when he comes back from being on set all day he finds her unable to move, she was scared to say what happen from a past experience with an ex🙏🏼 P.S: this happen to me a couple of years ago

 Hi love, first of all, i know you got my messages but just want to say again, i’m sorry this happened to you and i hope this can put a smile on your face as no one deserves to feel shitty or sad. Plus it’s Henry and i love him so i’m glad you picked him for this. Enjoy...

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Warning: slight angst but mostly fluff.

Word Count: 1,767

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @supersweetstache go check them out 🥰

Nothing Like Your Last

You take a seat next to Henry, holding up his phone to film as he continues to work out, sweat glazing his forehead. 

He turns his head to look and smile at you, earning a giggle from you as he does so. One thing you’ve not necessarily noticed yourself but others have, the way he looks at you. Henry’s brothers say it’s that smitten look. The look of love. But you’ve not said those words yet so you always wave them off when they tease you.

You feel it though, love. Whenever you’re around him, it’s like nothing else matters or exists.

“You coming to join now?” he asks, standing up and putting the weights down, you smile and walk over, placing his phone on the side. Kal nudges at your leg, whining until you kneel down to give him fuss “such a good boy” you talk in a baby like voice to him, as if he’s going to talk back. Instead he just barks, his way of agreeing you guess.

You lie down on the floor in a sit up position, Henry puts some weight on your feet so you can properly execute a good 10 without flailing all over the place.

“So i was thinking we could chill tonight. Chinese takeaway, lord of the rings and all that” 

One of the many things you adore about Henry is his geeky side. He loves gaming and lord of the rings and it’s the cutest thing when he get’s excited about them.

“I’d love that”

With the 10 sit ups completed, he then sits down so you can help him do his own, obviously more than 10 but you only workout to keep fit. Whereas he does it because of filming and to bulk up.

Suddenly, you hear the phone ring in the other room “you gonna be okay here for a couple minutes?” he asks, resting his hand on your arm in a protective manor, waiting for you to give the go ahead. Which you do. He rushes out to go answer and you carry on.

You do some Russian twists, some push ups and a plank. All of your usual work out exercises. 

Just as you’re doing the last couple of Russian twists, you feel a huge shooting pain up your side. You wince and feel tears brimming but as soon as you hear Henry’s footsteps, you stand up and shake it off. 

“Shall we warm down and then shower?” you ask and he nods, you try to get through it without him noticing, thankfully he doesn’t.

Once you finish, you both head for the shower. He starts kissing you and being overly affectionate.

He’s away all day tomorrow filming so you won’t see him until really late, so he’s probably just making it up to you now. By the time you wake up tomorrow morning, he’ll be gone.

You shove on one of his rugby shirts, some knee high socks and panties before joining him in the kitchen for dinner. He ordered a Chinese as soon as you got out of the shower.

“Something smells good” the smell brings a huge grin to your face. Well, that and Henry standing there laying the table. 

It’s times like these where you picture a future with him, where every night is like this eventually and that thought fills your heart with the biggest amount of happiness.

You sit down, eating away as he tells you about how filming has been going for The Witcher season 2, hearing him talk about something he’s very passionate about is just another thing that makes you fall more. 

“So what time are you off out tomorrow?” you ask, shoving some chow mein into your mouth, not even caring how un lady like you look. Henry never complains so surely he doesn’t mind.

“I have to get up around 6 and i’ll be back around the 8 in the evening” you just continue to eat, humming in response “It’s just a couple of scenes tomorrow but the makeup and hair is a nightmare to get on and off but don’t worry, as soon as i get home. We have a couple of days to relax. Just me and you” he stands up to collect the plates and put them into the dishwasher, kissing your forehead as he walks past. 

The rest of the night is spent with cuddles, making out and a whole lot of laughs. 

Which is not unusual, you always find yourself laughing a lot with him, he knows exactly what to say and do to keep you feeling good and you’re the same with him.

You’re gonna find it hard to be away from him tomorrow but it’s just one full day right? It won’t be long until he’s back in your arms.

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

As you get out of bed and head to the kitchen for some breakfast, you spy a note on the counter. 

‘Good morning baby,

Obviously i had to leave early 

But i cannot wait to get back to you tonight

Lots of love

H x’

You smile at the note, your tummy full of butterflies as you go about making some breakfast and tea for yourself before settling down in front of the tv.

If there’s one thing to be said about Henry being away it’s that you can watch shows like Love Island and Dance Moms. He tried to get into them but failed. So you watch whenever he’s away. 

You finish with eating and stand up to go clean your mess up but when you reach up to the shelf for dishwasher stuff, a shooting pain rushes through your side. Making you wince like you did yesterday after hurting yourself during the workout. 

You never told Henry about it because you were embarrassed and worried that he’d laugh.

The memories of your last relationship come flooding in despite your best efforts to prevent it.

“Get up for god’s sake”

“I can’t, it hurts, i can’t move it” you protest, trying to defend yourself against his venomous words.

“I’m sure you do this on purpose you know, injure yourself to get out of housework”

You don’t, you’d never do that. 

You hurt yourself on a run with your friend Jules, but he doesn’t care about that right. He just cares that the dusting hasn’t been done, neither has the washing up.

“I’ll just put some ice on it for a couple hours, i should be fine soon”

“No, the dishes have been sitting there all day whilst i’ve been at work and you really think i’m gonna do them. I’ve had a stressful day as it is, don’t need you making it worse” 

“Okay, i’m coming. I’m sorry” you use the arm of the sofa to get up before you begin to limp and hop to the kitchen, ready to finish the housework.

He’s right. The last thing he needs is you making things more hectic for him. 

You soon wipe the tears that you didn’t even realise were falling from your eyes and go about sorting this pain in your side.

You rummage through the draws and cupboards, searching for any form of painkiller. As you pull open the last drawer, there they are. Paracetamol. 

You take 2 immediately and pray that it’ll magically go away soon or better yet, that it’ll go before Henry returns.

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

 “Honey, i’m home” he calls out before appearing in the doorway, a huge cheshire cat like grin plastering his face.

“I’ve missed you” you run up to him, he squeezes you tight, bringing the pain on again. 

“Ahhh” you whimper, clutching at your side like it’ll somehow bring the pain to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” he pulls away from you, lifting your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes. 

“It’s noth-”

“Come on, it’s clearly something” he walks you over to the sofa, sitting the two of you down and you lift your shirt up to point to your side.

“I think i pulled something yesterday during our workout” your voice laced with shame.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you shrug, but before you can even look away from him, his index fingers keeps your head in place, keeping your eyes on his.

“I don’t know. I guess i was just embarrassed”

“But why? I don’t get it”

“It’s just my ex used to pick on me whenever there was a slight sign of weakness. He’d make me feel like i was a dead weight, useless. He’d even go as far as to make it harder for me to heal and i just i don’t kn-”

“Hold on. Baby, you should know by now that i would never do any of that. You mean the world to me, if you’re hurt i want you to be able to tell me. Maybe that was his style but it’s certainly not mine”

“I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to assume the worst of you but i-” he cuts you off again.

“Don’t apologise. It’s my job now to prove to you that i’m nothing like your last, i’m always here to take care of you, make you feel good about yourself and this is one of those times where i need to take care of you. Let me go and get some ice for it. Wait here” he makes his way into the kitchen. 

You hear the freezer door open, along with the draws until a simple “there they are” comes from the kitchen, you giggle and seconds later, he re appears. 

He helps you lie down, placing the ice to your ribs area and handing you some more pain killers.

He brushes the hair out of your eyes, lowering his head to kiss your lips.

“Thank you” you mumble

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job to take care of you. If i plan to love you forever, then i might as well start as i mean to go on” your heart skips a beat as he says it.

That word.

Love.

“You love me?” 

You see his cheeks turn a little red, he looks down, chuckling.

“I do, but don’t worry, i won’t force you to say it-”

“I love you too”

He kisses you once again.

“Please don’t ever be scared to talk to me okay? Like i said, i love you, i want the best for you and i’m not here to hurt or upset you”

“What did i do to deserve you eh?” you both smile, forehead to forehead.

“I was about to say the same thing. But I guess we both got lucky”

“I guess we did”

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

General Tag List: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @princess-evans-addict @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferouss @bradfordmyworld 

Just Chris & His Characters Tag List: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 

Henry Cavill Tag List: @summersong69

If you want to be added to my Henry Tag List, drop a comment, an ask of or a message and i’ll add you. Thank you

[alexzalben]

What do you think of all the backlash the last Riverdale episode received? I’ve never seen the writers speak out like this before on all the hate.

This is a pretty complicated topic that I probably can’t do justice with one Tumblr ask, but I’ll try to address some of the broad strokes ideas here. And hang tight, because this is gonna go long.

First of all, a caveat: I have by no means read through every comment the writers were responding to, nor do I know what they discussed or how they’re feeling about things, nor do I speak for them in any way.

However, I do think one of the joys and downfalls of making TV in the social media era is the accessibility of the creative team to fans. Joys because it opens up new ways of understanding how a show is made, demystifying the process, which is always a good thing. Downfalls because to some fans - not all fans, by any means - it makes them feel like they have a say in what happens in the show.

On the latter, it’s not to say that the writers aren’t listening, on many series they’re well aware of what fans think about their show, the plots, the ships, etc. Sometimes they’ll even shift where they’re going based on fan feedback. Nikki and Paolo on Lost are the example I always go to, where they were introduced to show the outside perspective of what other survivors were doing while Jack and his gang were going on adventures... And everybody HATED THEM. So much so that plans changed and they were literally buried alive on the show by the end of the season, in a very unsubtle metaphor.

That said, there’s a difference between what I perceive to be the tone around Nikki and Paolo, which mind you was pre-Twitter days, and what some shows have to deal with now: one is constructive criticism presented as “hey we don’t like this”; the latter sometimes veers into “you suck and you should kill yourself.”

I want to emphasize again: this is not everyone. Usually there is a small section of any group of people that delves into hyper-negativity, and they always get an outsized focus to the number of people who actually do that. Again, example here, but for a while I was part of a pretty popular online sketch comedy group. We got tons of views, tons of comments, I’d estimate 95-99% of those comments were great. Did I internalize those? Of course not. I internalized the one comment out of 100 that told me what a shitty writer I was. That’s the one that rolled around in my head all night, because it seeped into the fear that most writers have that they do suck and will never be successful, at any level. It’s Imposter Syndrome, plain and simple, and it affects everyone no matter how famous (or not) they are.

Reason I mention that is it’s entirely possible that 99% of the comments to the writers of Riverdale this episode were mostly fine, but if 1% of them were of the “fucking kill yourself” variety, that hurts, a lot. It’s not on everyone, by any means, but that pulls the focus, and it’s horrifying every time no matter how often it happens (and believe me, it happens far too often).

Specifically with Riverdale, there are another few factors that are exacerbating this. One is, and I don’t want to diminish this: the pandemic. We’re a year in and people are crumbling mentally. Nothing has been “normal” for a year, that impacts every single aspect of your life, and some things are easier to lash out at than others, like a TV show. If a deadly virus is causing inconsistency? Not much you can do about that. If your fave TV show is shaking up the broadcast schedule and changing your favorite couples? Complain to the writers, the directors, the actors, etc.

The other is the arc of this season so far, which I do think is driving people fucking nuts. This again gets back to the pandemic, but ending with episode 19, waiting months, and then coming back for a premiere that is actually the third to the last episode of the season? That’s unsettling. It throws you off kilter, because it’s not the right rhythm. I know this sounds a little silly, but it’s actually very important: stories have a rhythm to them, and a lot of TV shows in particular have had that rhythm broken. Riverdale had three episodes that were all essentially climax, then upended the show with a time jump, and has continued to mix things around almost every episode. And then it’ll be going into another three month break.

This is definitely the point where someone says “mix things around? they’re doing the same couples they always did.” Sure, theoretical person. But having sifted through fan comments and tweets over the past couple of weeks, every single week one section of the fanbase has been 100% sure it is their ship’s time to shine, and the next they’re being told it’s done forever, and then the next they’re back on, then the next they’re done... It’s an emotional rollercoaster ride, and that’s how the writers designed it, and it’s frankly not over yet. But add in that pandemic uncertainty above, and you have a recipe for people panicking.

Also, and again, this is a small section of any fanbase, but it’s very clear that because of this hyped up panic, some people are being absolutely terrible assholes to other fans. I know I don’t usually curse this much, but the amount of gloating I’ve seen from people on all sides, back and forth, is super gross. Personally, if someone is sobbing for whatever reason, my reaction has never been to quote tweet them with “you lost, get over it” and a peace sign emoji. It sucks when people are sad, and we have a moral obligation to make sure other people feel okay. Don’t know if you’ve ever heard this one, but “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Sort of an important life rule.

Overall, I think a fanbase is stronger is they support each other rather than engaging in ship wars, and I do think there’s a lot of people who do do that. Or just express their displeasure, without attacking people. But there are some people who do, and that’s overall making the whole tone of the discussion that much worse.

So what’s the solution here? I always emphasize to my writers that it’s okay to have a negative take as long as you provide something constructive about a way out of the situation, and I’ll apply that both to the Riverdale fanbase, as well as this extremely long Tumblr ask.

There are three things I’d suggest, and both of them are on you. By “you” I mean the general you, and the reason I suggest them, versus what the writers and creators of Riverdale can do is that “you” are the thing you can control and change.

The first is changing the tone of the discussion. Realize that there are people deeply, emotionally impacted in different ways by this TV show. Allow that they may be having different emotional reactions than you, and give them the space and the support to work through it. If you’re a Varchie fan, it actually makes you a better fan to check on a Barchie fan and see if they’re okay. If you’re a Barchie fan, it’s okay to be happy for a Varchie fan and sad at the same time. Mainly because none of you had anything to do with it. This isn’t even a case where you wore your lucky socks and your fave team won the game. The writers are writing what they wrote, and you are a passive observer, not involved other than the involvement you bring to it. So if everyone supports each other regardless of the circumstances, that will improve things overall.

The second? Disengage. Take a break. Stop watching the show. You have no obligation to tweet, or go on any other social media outlet for this series, nor do you have to keep watching the show if it hurts you. In fact, taking a show break if you feel too involved is a very good thing. Check out, clear your head and come back much later and look at it with fresh eyes.

Third? Think before you comment. It took me a long time to get here with this one, and I’m still working on it, but before you comment: pause, read it over again, and think “is this something I really want to send?” You do get that rush of taking whatever anger you’re feeling and getting it out of your body and mind, but ultimately it’s usually more damaging than either waiting, posting something a little more thoughtful, or not posting at all. It’s really thinking about what you’re adding to the conversation, and what you’re hoping to get back.

So there you go. Lots of thoughts there, and I’m sure there’s lots more to say. This is only my outside perspective on this, and I hope it’s helpful at least in some small way. And if not, that is cool, too!

[stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland]

Unreleased songs - ɟ

Hi, babies 👋🏼. Long time no see 😂 As I said I would, ta-daah!

So, honeys, today’s topic is about unreleased songs as the title of the post suggests, but that’s not what you think. Let me explain. For years I’ve been investigating the world of celebrities, the world of Hollywood, and the more time passes, the more things I’m able to discover, even if ‘slowly’ because I work. As I mentioned in the ‘Award shows’ post, thanks to the time I still have for a while because I’m on vacation for a few more days, I finally had time to find out some information about ‘who?’, ‘how?’, and ‘why?’ we’re getting blessed with so many unreleased songs. I haven’t found an answer to everything yet, but I’m working on it. For now, I’ll tell you what I know and my theories. If any of you know anything more, please, PLEASE DM me: @fa-by.

Let’s go in order. ‘Who?’:

I think that like me, many of you have always wondered ‘Who’s leaking all these songs? Is it a hacker? Is it the artist’s management? Is it the artist themself?’. The answer to these questions is unfortunately still only what I think. For me, it’s the artist’s label. Labels are usually the ones that own the master recording copyrights. [If you want to know more about the subject, I wrote a post about it: ‘How the music world works’. If you’re interested, Mari did this very cool thing for me. All you have to do is click on the #f anon on her blog to see all my posts (I know I sounded like a grandma, but I said it’s cool because I didn’t know it could be done. I’m pretty good with tech in general, but I’m still pretty new to the Tumblr world, okay? Don’t make fun of me 🤓🤣)]

As I also explained in that post, a recording agreement states that the label becomes the owner of all the master recordings recorded by the artist during the period of the agreement. And yes, this also includes unreleased recordings. And that’s why I’m very convinced that it’s the label. Labels are at the tip of the pyramid, and they are the ones who make every decision about their artists. Managements, agents, publicists, etc., only execute directives. So I think they’re the ones leaking those songs through their own IT departments.

It also depends on the cases and why, but sometimes instead, they even paid someone outside, hackers or ordinary people, to do it. The same methods they used to ‘hack’ and spread even false personal data and information about their artists. The reasons vary of course. They may have leaked a song because their artist hadn’t released something in a while and to keep fans engaged. They may have done it to see the fans’ response to that genre of song and if they’ve vibed with it to be able to choose the kind of direction for their artist to take for the new album and next single. They may have done so with a song they knew they were going to officially release just to get more attention on the song itself (example: ‘Love Incredible’ and ‘First Man’). They may have done it simply for publicity and to get people talking about their artist. Really, they may have done so for all sorts of reasons.

This, however, happened mostly in the past. Now, based on what I’ve discovered, I’ve realized that there’s also another reason why they do it. And this reason, leads us to the next question: ‘How?’

I’ve already anticipated how they did in the past and sometimes still do. By using their IT departments or by paying someone outside to do it for them. But I haven’t yet explained how they do it now, which leads to my discovery.

*Little story for you first*🙃 (#donthateme)

I was simply scrolling to see what new music was released and if there was any interesting news. The typical “I was minding my own business when”, you know? Well, that’s how I came across ‘Party Animal’.

I can literally picture you saying to me: “But, Faby, Party Animal is an old song!”. Yes, it is. Party Animal is a 2017 song sung by Charly Black & Luis Fonsi. But did you know that a remix with Camila on it should have been released and that it got scrapped?? 🤯🤯🤯🤯 That’s what I came across! In the snippet to be more precise. I knew the remix existed [I also talked about it in one of my last posts to reply to an Anon], but I’d never listened to its snippet, so imagine my surprise when I found it in front of me out of nowhere! And they even created a mashup between her snippet and the original song to see how the remix would’ve turned out to be. I’m gonna put a piece of the mashup with Camila’s snippet at the end of the post for you to listen to.

Party Animal brought me to the snippets of ‘It’s Only Natural’ ft. Skrillex, the original demo of ‘Sangria Wine’ which together with Pharrell, was initially also supposed to have J Balvin and Young Thug on it, ‘Pretending’ by Lauren, and many others that I didn’t yet know existed, including those I knew about and that I listened to again, like for example the first version of ‘Havana’, that is the first real original demo with Starrah, or ‘Who Can I Run To’ by 5H, or ‘If It Ain’t Me’ by Dua Lipa ft. Normani (leaked unreleased song, recorded for Dua’s Future Nostalgia album), etc., etc.

What happened then? Thanks to those snippets and to the re-listening of all the ones I already knew, I resumed investigating as I’d already started doing this summer, and I finally discovered this:

*end of the little story*

There are sites. Hackers sites that sell these songs. Yes, you read that correctly. SELL. These sites sell unreleased and exclusive music from any artist. From top A singers to less famous and unknown singers. Anyone can register and anyone can buy the songs. Sounds too good to be true, right? Well, if you’re lucky enough to have A LOT of money to throw around, then those sites are for you. These sites are not cheap. Some of them charge you money even when you just register.

Do you want examples to better understand? Okay, let’s talk about our Camren.

Remember when I submitted the post with Lauren’s ‘Inside’ studio version on December 17th? Remember how many of you felt guilty to listen to it even though you were happy to do it and even though I told you that Lauren herself said it wouldn’t be on the album? Well, do you wanna know the real reason we got this leaked? Because a Camila fan BOUGHT it from one of those websites and released it as a ‘Christmas gift’ for all of us!

Do you know how on July 21 we had ‘Curious’, ‘Cleopatra’, and ‘Unforgettable’? How on August 22 we had ‘Just Like You’ ft. Jack Ü? How on September 3 we had ‘Come When I Call’ ft. Pharrell Williams, ‘Taxi’, and ‘Eyes on You’? And how the next day, the 4th, we had ‘Terrified’? The only reason we’ve been blessed with all of these unreleased songs by Camila, is because people BOUGHT them from those sites exactly as it happened with Inside!

We’re about to be fed with a lot more, guys. You see, this is another thing I discovered. These websites [I only know of four at the moment, and honestly? It was pretty easy to find them, so it won’t be a problem for you either. But please, please, please guys, don’t ask me to tell you the sites here publicly because I won’t. I don’t want any problems.], these hackers, sometimes release snippets for free to spark buyer interest. These snippets then end up on the internet, and that’s how we ‘mere mortals’ also learn about the existence and titles of songs discarded from albums. But most of the time, even the snippets have to be bought because they’re about highly desired songs. This happens because, for example, maybe an artist has mentioned them in an interview and therefore fans want them.

I’ll give you a practical example. Remember when Camila talked about The Boy? We obviously all freaked out because not only was it a song written by Ed Sheeran that she rewrote almost completely, but mostly because we WANTED and WANT to hear it. Same thing that happened with God Is a Woman. So what did the hackers do? They put the snippets up for sale because they were both very requested songs. Once the snippets were sold and spread well, they put the songs up for sale in full. And do you wanna know how much The Boy is on sale? $3,000 on one unreleased selling site, and $3,500 on another one [Prices I read from the comments of some accounts that are registered on those sites]. I wasn’t kidding when I said they aren’t cheap… Although there are songs that cost less, such as ‘Thinkin Bout One’ (song discarded from the album ‘Camila’) which is currently on sale for $300. Still waaay too much and pretty over the top for my ass.

If you happen to see snippets of Camren’s unreleased songs or 5H’s around, it’s only thanks and because these websites are selling them. Unfortunately, there’s no possibility of having them in full unless someone pays for them first.

And all this leads us to the last question: ‘Why?’

Why? Very simple answer: for money. As I said I explained in my ‘How the music world works’ post [and I’m truly sorry to bring this up again, but it really makes sense with what I’m saying and if you don’t understand what I’m talking about now, then I suggest you go read that first and then come back here], labels buy some songs for the album from authors and ghostwriters, and invest on the artist by giving them an advance to make that album. This advance is mainly reserved to pay for the recording of the album, and this means paying for the recording costs, which includes the payment of A LOT of other things that I explained there. What interests us in this case, is that the recording costs also include all those songs that were later discarded from an album.

The labels paid to have the artist do those songs, and since they weren’t released, they didn’t make any money off those songs. Neither the labels nor the artists who recorded them. Or rather, the labels have certainly regained the money invested to make them thanks to the recoupment of the recording costs. Either immediately, or in any case later thanks to cross-collateralization. But the artist? They just lost money, and they both earned no royalties or licenses precisely because those songs were never released.

So what did they come up with to make money on those songs too? They put them up for sale. Theory’s time: In my opinion, labels use hackers because they know how not to be tracked. Think about it.

I’ll give you an example. If you were to create a site, would you know how to protect it? Would you know what data is coming in and out of your website? Would you know which functions are constantly running and which are not? Would you know which programs transmit data externally and which ones don’t? Would you know which programs are suspicious? Would you know to create alternative algorithms, security plugins, and serious firewalls that prevent unauthorized access? I could go on all day, but if your answer is no, then I guess you get my point.

They use external hackers. People outside their IT departments in such a way as not to create any kind of connection between them. They use them as they would use publishers, distributors, and collection agencies with an officially released song all at once. It’s a give-and-take. The hackers take the necessary security measures and create the sites, the labels pass the unreleased songs to them, and the hackers put them up for sale. Once sold, the hackers get their share and the labels get the biggest percentage. It’s actually brilliant if you think about it.

Now let’s move on to the last small part of this post.

Do the artists know that their unreleased songs are for sale? I think they really do. And I’ll tell you more. I think they have deals with their own label to get their share of sales as well. I believe that they’re also themselves (with label approval of course) who choose which one to put up for sale and which one to keep to use in the future, whether it’s for an album or simply to take and use part of the lyrics from that song for a new one.

And then, think about it for a moment. Do you really believe that if someone else had ‘stolen’ them and put them up for sale, the labels wouldn’t have noticed? That they wouldn’t immediately have shut down their sites and take action since it’s not a single song? And I’m also talking about legal measures that they would have taken together with the authors of those songs since they, the labels, are the owners of the master recording copyrights, and the authors are the owners of the composition copyrights. Come on, my friends. Do you have any idea how powerful major labels are? But anyway.

Do I think we have a problem? Do I think all of this could lead to problems for the girls for their future sales? Nope. I honestly think this is just more publicity for them. I think thanks to these songs, people/fans can even more and really see how talented they are, especially in lyrics. Lauren for example, who still hasn’t graced us with her album. These songs are like appetizers while waiting for the main course: LJ1.

And now I’m really done 😄 I remind you that all these unreleased songs for sale are scraps of their albums, scraps of remixes and collaborations, and scraps in general, so they’re not really harming them by selling them. Don’t let yourself get unnecessary heart attacks, please🤣

If you have any questions, as usual, all you have to do is ask. I send you lots of love with virtual hugs 🤗 Stay safe. Stay patient. Be kind to yourself and others. I love you, babies. As usual, always with love, F ❤️

As promised, this is the mashup piece with Camila’s snippet:

Still here, hi 👋🏼😊 aaand super bonus for you just because I love you. I know this is gonna literally make you scream, jump, cry, and I mean, it will literally get you out of your minds exactly as it did to me. I present to you a demo of No Way (my second favorite 5H song) ONLY SUNG BY CAMREN!!!!!! It’s only 42 seconds, and the only difference is actually Camila who sings also Normani’s part before hers, but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, it’s heavenly 😻😍 Thank me later and for now, just enjoy, my children, just enjoy:

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

___

Party Animal

I have the post the audio apart from this so you can hear it too

[annakie]

Patchy

A little under two years ago I made this post, a chronicle of Patchy, the outside feral, turned inside kitty who took ten years to learn to love being petted.

Today we got some bad news.

TW for pet illness under the cut.

Patchy’s always been a bit of a puker, usually oh, say, once a month or so she’d have a good puke for no reason.  I’ve had other cats that are pukers so it’s not that surprising.

In the late winter/early spring I started to notice more frequent pukes.

I’d decided around that time that I needed to find healthier food for my cats, with Leela, the oldest turning 16, Fry turning 11, Pemily turning 7 and Patchy turning, I don’t know, 12 or 13.  No way to really know.  They already got decent food, but I did my research and had started looking at Blue Buffalo, American Journey and Dave’s canned food. 

Patchy had been on a mostly canned food diet since she went to the vet back in early 2020 and had a bunch of teeth pulled.  Also, as a note, Patchy’s brief flirtation with hanging out in the rest of the house ended after like a month.  She and Fry fought too much, and eventually he claimed the rest of the house is his.  He also still thinks the master bedroom should be his, but, Patchy defends that territory well if anyone else encroaches. (The door just stays closed most of the time.)  I really wish they could have all gotten along, I loved having Patchy out, but both Fry and Patchy agreed it wasn’t going to work.

The food she’d been on was pretty junk-food-ish though, which she did love and eat. But I wanted everyone on more or less the same diet and the highest quality food I could readily get them.  So I bought a lot of cans of different kinds of food, and kept a list of which ones seemed to be hits and misses. (I still have a dozen cans of the kind nobody liked -- Blue Buffalo Wilderness Salmon -- I’ve been meaning to take to the city shelter).

Around halfway into this experiment I noticed Patchy puking more, so I decided to try to stick with her favorite kinds, which, I thought was helping.

But once I was fully vaccinated this year, it was time to get all the pets to the vet.  I noticed Patchy had still lost some weight, I thought it was due to switching around her food too much earlier, and tried to stick with the things I felt she really liked.

Then, of course, Leela got sick, spent two and a half days in the pet ER and almost died back in April, and then it was like... yeah we’re done being afraid of COVID, we’re done waiting.  It’s time to get them all their checkups.

My regular vet was doing COVID restrictions so no pet owners inside the clinic back then, so they took Patchy (and the others) in without me.  I thought Patchy had lost some weight, but Dr. B. sounded alarmed when he called me with how much lost she’d lost in the last year, about five pounds.  He wanted to do some bloodwork for Patchy, and I said of course go for it.  

He called back, sounding much calmer and was like “her bloodwork couldn’t be more perfect.  Let’s try switching up her food, get her on some sensitive stomach food and let’s see how she’s doing in a couple weeks.”

So two weeks later it did seem like she was doing better, I called Dr. B back and he said to bring her back in a month.

It was my plan to take her back next week when I had some PTO coming.  I admit, later than planned... my last couple of months have been mucn more focused on Leela... who, thankfully, continues to thrive.  But feeling like my time with her is running out, she’s been my main area of concern.

The last few days though, Patchy has really not been eating well.  Sometimes she does OK, sometimes nothing at all.  And then puking every day.  I swapped her back even to a few cans of the Junk Food (Whiskas) I still had laying around.  She’d eat it... and then puke it up.  And also she... stopped sleeping with me.  I thought... well, it’s summer.  It’s probably too hot to cuddle.  But she stopped laying on the bed.  She stopped coming up for pets when I come to bed and hang out for awhile specifically to spend time with her and pet her.  She runs under the bed again when I come into the room.  It’s like we regressed to three or four years ago... just two weeks after our two year anniversary of getting to pet her.

So this afternoon we went to the vet.  Getting her into the carrier sucked.  I tried nice methods, then I had to scare her into the closet by running the vacuum, and then pretty roughly grab her.  I have scratches and a pretty deep bite on my thumb which either maybe hit a nerve or is infected, may have to go to the doctor for it tomorrow. (Yes, washed it thoroughly with soap as soon as I could.)  I also hated betraying her trust that badly, but it’s for her own good.  But it was rough.

Dr B. wasn’t working so I saw one of the other vets.  I liked him. Also COVID restrictions are gone so I got to go inside. But after talking to him for a few minutes, going over her history and what changes I’ve made, he spent a long time rubbing her intestines (Patchy was perfectly behaved, at least.)   Then he looked concerned.  Then he said let’s do an ultrasound.

A few minutes he came back in and showed me her scans. 

Lymphoma.

I was a bit stunned for a second so I missed a bit of the technical speak he said next, but it came down to the best thing we could do is give her some medicine that may buy her more time.  It doesn’t sound like Chemo or Operating is even really an option.  I’m going to call back tomorrow and see if Dr. B or the vet I talked to can talk me through it a little better now that I’ve had a chance to digest.

If I can get Patchy to take the medicine, and if she responds well to it... she may have 3 - 6 months left.

If she won’t take it, or if she doesn’t respond, it’s at this point, a matter of her comfort and quality of life.  So... weeks.  And I’m worried about getting her to take the medicine, especially since she won’t even come let me pet her and we just had a huge trust betrayal today. I don’t know if I could take her spending her last few weeks hating me, especially if the medicine doesn’t work.

The vet also told me that... I didn’t do anything wrong.  And we did the right thing six or so weeks ago by changing her food and seeing if a few other things worked. Especially with how good her blookwork looked.  He barely felt the cancer today, he said six weeks ago Dr. B wouldn’t have been able to feel it at all.  And for this particular type of lymphoma... there’s not a lot to be done, anyway.  That made me feel better, at least.

(As a really dumb side note, after I got her home, I sat down to eat dinner and watch an episode of Star Trek to take my mind off of all of this since I’d been crying since I found out, paid my bill, and drove home, stopping at a drive through so I didn’t have the mental load of cooking.  And I’m in the middle of my rewatch of Enterprise.  I bet any trekkies reading this can guess what episode was next in my rewatch because yep I’m in season two and A NIGHT IN SICKBAY started playing, of course, so obviously I NOPED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT EPISODE.  For the non-Trekkies.... the Captain has a dog on board, an adorable beagle, Porthos.  The dog gets sick and almost dies and spends his night in Sickbay.  He does pull through.  But the ONE episode centered around a beloved pet getting sick and almost dying... and that’s the episode that fate decreed I was supposed to watch tonight. I did not.  I don’t know if I can watch it anytime soon.)

So now for the next few weeks I will spend my time being grateful that Leela is alive and thriving and pray she keeps doing so -- I will continue to give her extra love and care and attention, and also I will need to do the same for Patchy.  I can’t even do it at the same time because Patchy will not come out here, and will not allow Leela in her room. 

I am low-key freaking out that there’s the possibility of the nightmare scenario happening to me again.  In winter 2016, after months of being sick, I woke up on Christmas morning and my 16-year-old cat Jim had died overnight.  It was terrible, and traumatic, and I had to deal with everything all alone because anyone who could support me was... well, it was Christmas morning and my family was all out of town, too.  Posting about it on Tumblr... actually really helped me, since it’s the only place I felt like I could talk about it.

That Christmas was on a Sunday.

Wednesday morning I woke up to hearing my dog, Cebu, moaning in pain.   I rushed him to the vet, but whatever happened overnight, it was too late, maybe there wasn’t anything we ever could have done even if I’d been awake when the puking started.  The vet said the kindest thing we could do was put him to sleep.  And we did.

Also I just, JUST now realized that the vet who helped put Cebu to sleep was the same vet who I saw today about Patchy.

But I lost two of my pets within 3 days of each other.  I was very lucky that my job let us have the week between Christmas and New Years off that year.  I had a few days to pull myself together, and I needed it.  It took months to recover totally, though.  Every once in awhile I think about that week and I still cry, though.  I miss them both so much and they both had deaths that were less than ideal.

I remember thinking then “I have like, five years of reprive.  Leela will be sixteen in five years, and that’s when I have to start to worry again, when I have to be ready to say goodbye again.”

I thought then that even after that I’d have two or three years until Patchy would leave me, and two or three years past that until Fry.  And then five more years with Pemily.

Right now I’m realizing that I will likely lose Patchy, very best case in six months, but possibly before July is over.

I need Leela to keep thriving.  I don’t know how I would handle losing another two so close together again.

Patchy is... she’s the one who chose me.  I chose my other cats.  Fry and Pemily I plucked from the backyard when they were tiny kittens and brought them inside.  They didn’t have a choice.  Leela I adopted from a rescue, she didn’t have a choice.  Patchy chose to stay.  She chose to stick around when she realized I’d feed her.  It took years but she learned to trust, she chose to come inside when it was cold, when it was hot, when it was storming, and when she was pregnant.  She chose me to help raise the last litter of kittens she’d ever had.  (My entire Rescue Kitties tag is full of adventures in finding, raising and usually adopting out strays. Lots and lots of posts about Patchy and her final litter.  Been awhile since I’ve done it, though.)

I used to joke that Patchy was my roommate, not a pet.  She ate, drank, did her business, and kept to herself for a long time.  Don’t get me wrong, she was a very good, quiet, considerate roommate and I loved her.  But it wasn’t until that wonderful day she let me pet her that I felt like she was my pet. 

I loved having her just hanging out living in the house since 2014, but the last two years especially have brought me such joy.  I’ve tried to never take Patchy’s trust in me for granted.  It was EARNED.  Every small step forward was a milestone to be celebrated. I worked for every bit of trust and love Patchy has given me, and have been rewarded.  And it was worth it.  Every minute.  Every long, patient year.

Even now I’m telling myself... without me, she would have died years ago.  Probably violently, or starved, maybe frozen to death.  Getting to die of cancer brought on by older age is not something that most feral cats ever get to do.  Getting to become an inside kitty where she’s loved, and comfortable for the second half of her life was something remarkable, brought on by her wiles and will to survive for so many years, bolstered by the food I left out for her.  She’s had this much time, this much life, this much comfort and love that she would have never had otherwise, and that’s something to be happy about.

I’ve watched dozens of ferals come and go through my neighborhood throughout the years.  I feed them, I work on seeing if I can get them to trust me enough to let me TNR them, but even those that I have, I don’t keep seeing for much longer.  There’s one right now, I jokingly call him Patchy’s Boyfriend.  He still won’t trust me and never has fallen for the trap when I’ve tried.  But he’s there most nights when I feed him around 11.  He’s getting terribly thin despite the quality food I leave out.  I’ll miss him.

But none of them were Patchy.  None of them became what she is to me. None of them survived long enough to adapt and decide to live another life.

Also?  I wouldn’t have Pemily without her.  Pemily is literally Patchy’s Granddaughter and that is one more thing I love Patchy for.

I feel guilty sometimes, both because I don’t spend nearly enough waking hours with her I feel, but I have three others who need me, as well. One who’s time is growing short, as well.  And they don’t get to sleep with me, she does.  What a joy it was all winter when I would wake up and she’d be sleeping on my chest.  I’d get a bit annoyed when she’d sleep with her backside to my face and her tail would tickle my face and wake me up.  I’m a side-sleeper half the night and she hated that it was harder to get comfortable on me that way.  She still doesn’t want to have my hand just stay on her, she wants pets and skirtches, no long-form touching.  That’s ok.  I sleep better with her weight on me.

I don’t know what the next few weeks or months will hold, but at least pet-wise, it’s going to be rough.  I’m going to wrap this up and give these three out here a good pet, then go hope Patchy comes and asks for love, too.  Tomorrow is one more day with all four of them, and for that, I’ll be grateful, for every remaining day.

[narcissasdaffodil]

Posting a new oneshot for my 20th birthday. I have a set of oneshots from last year that I’m still posting, so this one isn’t too new. I’m yet to post some oneshots I really love. It’ll take a little longer to cross post these on Tumblr though.

Flufftober 2020

Day 14: Cuddles

Alecto was far from overly affectionate. She was careful with who she allowed to touch her, and would shy away from unwanted touch pretty quickly. The fact that she let Marisol past her walls so quickly in that retrospect was strange, but Sophie was also able to get past without much resistance from Alecto herself.

She found herself pacing, struggling to keep still. Marisol was due back from her class 30 minutes ago, it wasn’t the first time Marisol had got sidetracked and forgot to message her back. Both of them kept their phones mostly on silent, and she has accidentally ignored people herself by forgetting to respond to messages, but being left waiting when she was hungry wasn’t too great.

She retrieved her phone from her bag, checking for messages. It had only been 5 minutes since she last checked and she glared at it, the notifications appearing to taunt her. She was conscious about avoiding appearing overly clingy, which prevented her from texting Marisol again. At the same time, appearing overly distant wasn’t the greatest either, but it was more comfortable for her than clinginess. If Marisol left her like so many people before her, she could pretend that it didn’t bother her and fool people, but playing a game of just pretend and imagining the worst possible situation was hardly healthy. What if she has actually left, though? You wouldn’t know but you’d be alone yet again, which you’re no longer as used to. That is strange to think about, isn’t it? Younger you would be so horrified that you’ve let someone in, especially after what happened with Étienne and Andromeda. That should have put you off relationships for life, yet it hasn’t.

It’s strange how the person who used to be able to cut herself off from people without a second glance is still here. She hasn’t ran yet from this relationship, and she hasn’t even considered it. Which considering how people usually scare her off so easily, that was a massive task.

She walked to the fridge, having a check to see what she could possibly make. It appeared to be leftovers night, there was the remains of two pasta dishes in containers, dodgy cheese which she promptly held up to the light to have a look at, holding it enough away from her so the possible smell didn’t cause issues. She prodded it, finding mould and binning it without a second thought. She grabbed a courgette from one of the shelves, feeling something squelchy and nearly dropped it. Ew! Trust you for not checking before you pick stuff up.

She gave it a second glance, noticing how she was holding it by the mouldy end. “Ew. That explains why that was left there then.” She grabbed it by the tips of her fingers, binning it and washing her hands quickly after.

She turned back to the fridge, focused on completing her task, not hearing the soft laughter in the kitchen with her. Marisol had somehow appeared in the flat while she was distracted, she didn’t hear the jangly keys which usually altered her to Marisol’s presence.

Marisol tiptoed in her direction, she had removed her shoes and stood in the kitchen in her socks. She waited for the perfect moment and pulled Alecto into a tight hug once she heard the other girl release an irritated sigh and turn on her heels, turning her back on the fridge like a petulant child.

Alecto’s eyes widened in surprise at the hug, feeling a little close for comfort. Her head had been squashed between Marisol’s own head and her shoulder, it wasn’t that uncomfortable. She thanked her lucky stars that Marisol wasn’t much taller than her, she was only 5’2 compared to Alecto’s own 5’0. Her arms were squished between them as it was far too quick for her to act in response to the hug. Her heart was racing slightly, Marisol had accomplished the impossible, making her jump. She sniffed the air, picking up a distinctive scent other than Marisol’s perfume and the other smells around the kitchen.

“Have you bought pizza? Ham and pineapple, of course, if my nose isn’t failing me. I suppose that explains why you’re late back. Hmph.” She prodded Marisol’s arm, trying and failing to get her to let go. “The fridge is slightly pitiful at the moment, the only edible thing in there is some fruit and veg and some containers of leftovers.” She sounded rather muffled, she kept getting Marisol’s hair in her mouth due to their close proximity. “Umm...hello. I’m very much not a teddy bear, I’m a living person and don’t particularly like having the life squeezed out of me.” Her voice was slightly sharp, she was finding it hard to hide how irritated she was.

Marisol let go, ruffling her hair slightly as she moved back slightly. Alecto hissed accidentally, raising one eyebrow and glaring at her. Marisol flinched slightly, and she watched Alecto tentatively.

“Hold on. Why are you mad at me? Is this because I was late back, because I didn’t let you know I was running late or because I laughed at you picking up the courgette by the mouldy end? Or because I forgot to sort through the fridge for the second week running and you had to sort through it for me again? Or because I left coffee mugs in the sink for the second day running and you’ve finally got fed up enough to clean them up? Or have I done...?” She trailed off, not looking at Alecto.

“More the first and second one. I would probably have laughed at you if you did the courgette thing instead of me, I likely have laughed at you before for talking to dodgy food as you bin it. I do that too,so it makes no sense getting mad. The coffee mugs are frustrating, but I can handle it. You’ve been running late for the past two days which isn’t like you. I like organising stuff and cleaning stuff, so honestly neither do bother me all that much. But you being late back? I’ve been worried about you! I get that sometimes shit happens and you’re as useless as I am in terms of keeping up with texts, but a heads up would definitely be nice. Even if you didn’t want to spoil the surprise or something.” She tried to keep up with her frosty tone, failing as her eyes filled with tears and she removed her glasses, setting them on the counter. Her voice went wobbly towards the end and she reached over to Marisol, linking hands and trying to get her to look at her. Marisol looked up and without a second thought, pulled her into another hug, rubbing her back as she cried into her shoulder.

“I’m...I’m sorry, I don’t usually get like this. But I’ve had people disappear on me before in the past and I was so scared that’s what had happened here. I was also worried about you, you keep being late and you’re usually early to everything. I’ve had too many people just leave me, and I was scared I was going to lose you, too. People have vanished on me for being too nosy so I didn’t want to ask you, even though I could tell something was wrong. I don’t want to go back to being scared of caring about people and making myself disappear before they can leave me. I don’t want to be a ghost again.”Her words were muffled by tears, she felt herself starting to calm slightly as she released her built up emotions.

“Hey, you have a right to have emotions. The fact you were worried proves you care about me and love me, which I’ve never doubted. I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying right here with you. I promise. I need to get better with keeping in touch with you, you’re right there. You’re not the best with keeping in contact yourself, but at least you’ve never left me hanging. You’re much better in that respect and I know how much it scares you. I have been struggling recently, but I didn’t want to bother you with my own stress as I thought I could handle it myself, but I can’t. My sister keeps trying to get me to meet up with her and it’s making me so anxious. I’m not sure if I can do it, which has been weighing on me. If we did it together, that might help, but I didn’t want to bother you and wanted to handle my own shit entirely myself. Which wasn’t the best decision, as now both of us are anxious. I’ve had to run for the bus twice this week, which is already too many! You won’t be a ghost again, as I’m still here and I want to help you.” Marisol stroked her hair, starting to separate it out into braids as she fiddled with it. If Alecto looked up in that moment, she would notice the tears in Marisol’s eyes too. Tears were very much contagious between them, they had such a strong connection that if one of them was emotional, the other would soon follow. Alecto rubbed her back from her position, trying to soothe her slightly.

They eventually separated, Marisol removing her own glasses and setting them next to Alecto’s. Alecto reached up and wiped the tears from Marisol’s eyes, her hand remaining on Marisol’s cheek.

“Of course I’ll see your sister with you also. I don’t mind in the slightest, if you need me for moral support then I’ll happily do that. We’re a team now. Both of us need to get better at trusting one another with our worries, a worry shared is a worry halved. I’m going to start sounding like a cheesy greeting card if I’m not careful. I’m glad you eventually told me, even though it took both of us getting upset to do that. We aren’t alone in the world anymore, being independent is one thing but keeping everything to yourself isn’t good, as eventually you’ll explode. I’m here for you as you’re here for me, and I love you so much. I’ve never loved anyone so much so quickly which is terrifying but in a good way. It’s strange to think we have only been together for such a short time frame, it feels like years already.” She fell silent, removing her hand from Marisol’s cheek, her own cheeks flushing as she realised how long she had kept it there for. She felt her voice settle into a more gentle and calming tone, fiddling gently with a lock of Marisol’s hair, being careful to not pull too tightly.

“Now, food is waiting. So we should probably eat before it gets cold, having some nice food will likely cheer both of us up.” Alecto said, moving in the direction of the pizza boxes and taking them to the kitchen table. She was about to turn back to get drinks and plates, but Marisol had read her mind, setting down glasses, plates and a large bottle of CocaCola on the table. It was a strange choice, but Alecto fought to keep her eyebrow in check.

“I needed a bit of sugar. Alcohol is likely not good for either of us while we’re a little fragile.” Marisol explained, taking a seat.

“Wait. I thought you were my sugar. You know, you’re like my honey.” Alecto teased, delighting in seeing how Marisol turned bright red and fiddled with her hair. Pet names would always make her a slight mess. She took a seat across from Marisol, giving her a wide grin and nudging her.

Marisol poured the drinks and focused on her pizza, sliding a separate pizza box over to Alecto. She kept busy in the hope that she would stop blushing for a bit.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 37: Martin Prime

It was weird hearing his fiancé arguing with someone who sounded like him but wasn’t, Martin mused idly. Like listening to a tape he didn’t remember recording.

It was also weird, and would probably always be weird, that he could tell the difference between Jon’s voice and Past Jon’s voice, at least when he was paying attention and not overly upset. Theoretically they were the same person. Practically, they were very different, just because of what they’d both been through. Jon’s voice had just the faintest rasp to it, the lightest bit of scarring on his vocal chords from both Daisy’s knife and Jane Prentiss’ worms, and Past Jon’s voice was a tad softer, less hardened by time and circumstance. The distinction in their voices was subtle, but it was enough.

“You knew about the bullet. You should have said something to her,” Jon said, for what was at least the fifteenth time in the last week. Martin could imagine him waving his arms as he did so. “If she gets shot because she didn’t know to avoid it—”

“It wasn’t like I had an opportunity in the conversation,” Past Martin protested. “I did tell her to be careful.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jon demanded.

From the stress on you, Martin guessed he’d turned the argument on someone else, and it was Past Jon who answered. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll come back alive but with a ghost’s bullet in your leg that’s going to make you irrationally angry’? I did the best I could. We were recording.”

“I’ve told you before, the recorders aren’t the Eye—”

“Uh, I need to take this back to the library before it closes for the weekend,” Tim said, but it didn’t seem to make an impression on the argument that Sasha was now chiming in to.

“He’s right, you should have told her. Should have warned her against joining the Institute, too.”

“I can do that when she gets back,” Past Martin pointed out.

“I told Basira what was going on,” Sasha said.

“But not in relation to herself,” Past Jon said. Martin could imagine that being accompanied by an accusing jab of the finger,  but he wasn’t going to make assumptions. “Besides, that’s different. Basira is the type to weigh all evidence and theories against her options when making a decision. Melanie’s more the type to give in to emotion, especially anger. It’s impossible to tell which way she’d go if you gave her that kind of information first. It’s very likely to make things worse.”

“Don’t you Know at me, Jonathan Sims.”

Tim made a noise imitative of a supermarket’s tannoy crackling to life. “Manager to Mr. Kettle, manager to Mr. Kettle, there’s a Ms. Pot for you on line two.”

“Would that be the pot calling the kettle back?” Martin asked. He was rewarded with a choked-off laugh from Tim’s direction, but he was pretty sure nobody else in the room heard either one of them. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair. “Want me to come with you to take that book back? This is going to take a while.”

“Sure. We’ll be back, guys.” Tim evidently directed this at the others, but again, no reaction from anyone. He sighed. “Here, give me your arm. Bringing your cane?”

“Better not, just in case we run into someone. Get me to the stairs and I should be okay.”

The sound of the argument faded into the background as they made it to the steps; Martin let go of Tim’s arm and gripped the railing instead. By leaning forward, he could anticipate when they hit a landing. “Thanks. What’s the book on, by the way?”

“Oh, it’s one of the circus books. I—I know I’m obsessing a little about it. I know the circus itself isn’t the important bit, but…I don’t know. Forewarned is forearmed, I guess.” Tim was silent for a moment. “Unless it is something about circuses that are important.”

“No, not really. Just…an excuse, I guess.” Martin tried to put into words what even Jon had never asked his opinion on; there hadn’t been much of a chance before the Unknowing, and after it there hadn’t been much of a point. “I’ve noticed that’s one of the places the Stranger is drawn to, is the entertainment industry. Not just the circus, but the theater. I-I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not the only one drawn to it. You know as well as I do the damn things overlap, like the bleed on the edge of colors.”

“Mm…hang on, I have a question, but we’re hitting the main floor. I’m gonna throw my arm around your shoulders like I’m telling you a bad joke, okay?”

“Thanks. And thanks for the warning.” Martin braced himself against the railing.

Tim’s arm came down heavily over Martin’s shoulders, and he turned his face towards him, hoping anyone passing them would assume he was engrossed in Tim’s extremely skewed sense of humor. True to his word, Tim picked up in the middle of a joke as they left the stairwell. “…the Brother Superior stands up as usual and sings, ‘Good morning, broooo-theeers.’ And all the brothers sing back, ‘Good moooor-niiiiiiing,’ except for the one little brother who’s rebelling. He sings out—”

“’Night, Martin,” a sweet, young-sounding voice called.

“Night,” Martin called back. It sounded like Manal, but he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong name and drawing attention to himself.

“Oh, hey, are you heading upstairs?” The voice got closer, and Martin and Tim drew to a halt. “This came in the mail drop for Mr. Bouchard. I meant to bring it up right away, but we got slammed with students and I forgot. Must be the first paper of the term coming up due. Can you give it to Rosie, please?”

“Sure, no problem.” Martin reached out uncertainly and—fortunately—touched a cardboard packet; he was able to grab it before it became obvious that was luck. He hoped. “Have a good night, Manal.”

“You too.”

Tim got them started walking again, continuing as he did, “Anyway, so the brother who’s rebelling sings, ‘Good eeeeeeve-niiiiiiing.’ A hush falls over the whole refectory. Brother Superior stands up, looks around the room, looks each brother in the eye, and then sings, ‘Someone chanted eveniiiiiiing…’”

Martin let out a long, protracted groan. “God, Tim, how long have you been sitting on that one?”

“Years,” Tim admitted sheepishly. “You’ve got to have the right audience for it, you know? Someone who both appreciate puns and knows enough about music to catch the reference.”

“If I could see you, I would hit you.”

“Must be my lucky day. Mind the steps.”

Martin switched the cardboard packet to his other hand in favor of the railing, and was surprised when someone tugged it away from his fingers. “Hey—”

“Sorry, should’ve warned you I was doing that,” Tim said. “I just figured it’d probably be better if I hand it off to Rosie, since…” He trailed off.

Since Martin couldn’t see her, wouldn’t know where to find her, and the last time he’d been in her office it had been…somewhat different. He tried to push the image of the top of the Panopticon out of his mind. “Yeah, probably for the best. If she’s still there.”

“She will be. Always one of the last ones out the door. Not sure how much of it is Elias keeping her to the last minute and how much of it is she doesn’t want to miss anything.” Tim paused. “Speaking of being unbearably nosy, wonder what Elias is getting from one of the Lukases that can’t be delivered in person?”

“They don’t like doing anything in person if they can help it, Tim. It’s kind of their whole…deal.” That close to Elias’ office, it didn’t feel safe to mention the Lonely out loud, or any of the fears, really. “I very much doubt we’ll find out, though.”

The railing didn’t level out—it just stopped, something Martin discovered when he almost pitched forward from abruptly not having something to lean on. He caught himself against the wall with a rather loud slap and thanked his lucky stars he’d always had a (mostly undeserved, to be honest) reputation as a klutz. Assuming anyone was still around, they’d probably just think oh, Martin tripped over his own two feet again, insofar as they thought about it at all. Rosie was probably watching, though.

That was confirmed—more or less—when Tim said in a bright, jovial voice, “Rosie! Good to see you. Can you give this to Elias? Manal asked us to bring it up.”

“Of course.” Rosie’s voice sounded just like Martin remembered it, and he curled one hand into a fist to stave off the memory of her staring up at them, face perfectly blank except for her eyes, somewhere between dazed and terrified, as she blandly asked if they had an appointment…

Not for the first time, Martin wished there had been any other way of protecting him from the Eye than by destroying his vision. Setting aside the usual, mundane difficulties that came with total blindness—difficulties any person faced with complete loss of sight would have to deal with—there was the simple fact that the last thing Martin had seen, live and in person, had been a post-apocalyptic hellscape. The last time he had seen the Institute, it had been a tower of black glass and twisted steel looming up into the stratosphere; the last time he had seen London, it had been swarming with very interested cameras and monitors and paintings of eyes; the last time he had seen the sky, it had seen him back. He could remember the way things had been before, but those last impressions were awfully powerful, and it hurt.

“Was there anything else, Tim?” Rosie asked. Martin frowned slightly. Under her voice was something eager, something…hungry. She wanted something, and he wondered what it was. He remembered Jon’s unwilling statement, where he’d talked about her constant desire for secrets—she could probably give Sasha a run for her money in terms of snooping, and no wonder Gertrude had always talked to her as if she was in the know. Was that all it was? Was she prying for secrets? Or—Martin bit his lip—was it possible she’d been taken over by the Not-Them, that she was drawn to Tim because of his Stranger mark? She sounded like he remembered, but if she were replaced in this past, would it replace his memories of the future, too?

He bit back a groan. Douglas Adams was wrong about the biggest problem to time-travel being grammatical tenses; clearly, the biggest problem was making sense out of the recursive nature of body-stealing, memory-altering creatures.

“Nope, that ought to do it. Gotta get to the library before they lock it up for the night. Have a good weekend, Rosie.” Tim knocked twice on something wooden, probably her desk, then came over and touched Martin’s arm. “Let’s go, Freckles.”

“Night, Rosie,” Martin called, because he would have before and Past Martin would too and there was no sense in making Rosie—or Elias, if he was still there—suspicious. He could imagine the false, charming smile she flashed in his direction, but there was no audible response and he didn’t expect one. Instead, he simply linked arms with Tim, let him lead him down the corridor, and prayed nobody had left a door open for him to run into.

The sensation of stepping into the library was instantly a familiar one to Martin—the feeling of stepping into a soaring, open space, but an oddly safe one—odd because of the sheer number of truly dangerous and terrifying works contained there. Any book with Jurgen Leitner’s bookplate on it was destroyed long before it got this far, of course, but even before he’d gone to the Archives, Martin had wondered if someone would be able to tell one of Leitner’s books if the bookplate was papered over or removed. Once he’d learned the truth, that Leitner had been a collector rather than the author or even the commissioner, he’d wondered how many books of power were actually in the Institute’s library. On the one hand, it didn’t seem likely that Jonah Magnus would allow any genuinely powerful books to get this far; on the other hand, it would certainly explain the library’s asinine and borderline ludicrous lending procedures.

Martin hung back by the door, sliding his hands into his pockets and hoping he was sufficiently out of the way of everyone bustling to get their assigned tasks completed so they could be out the door on time. Idly, he wondered who was on the desk. He’d usually ended up working it on Friday afternoons; everybody else hated it because, as Rebecca had once complained, there was always one person who came back with an enormous stack to return with ten minutes to go before they were supposed to clock out. Every book had to be checked against three different lists, certain inspections had to be made, and the identity of the person returning the book had to be checked twice. And it all had to be done by hand; every attempt to automate and bring in a computer had been met with catastrophic failure. Martin had actually kind of enjoyed it, especially since it usually meant he was left alone at the end of the week and could take his time, lingering over shelves and experimenting with the acoustics. If he thought he could get away with it, he might creep up here some evening after the Institute was closed and throw a few more songs into the darkness. It was different in the Archives.

“Well, hello there, Martin!”

Martin almost leapt out of his skin and whirled around, his heart pounding. “Jesus!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” The voice was coming from roughly Martin’s height, but that was about all he could tell, that and that it was female. It had no distinctive characteristics, nothing to trigger a name in his mind. And yet, whoever owned it knew his name, which meant it was someone he should know. He’d have to bluff. “Haven’t seen you up here in a while.”

“Yeah, just—been busy,” Martin said lamely. He waved in the direction of the desk. “Kind of figured you’d be glad to see the back of me, to be honest.”

“Oh, now, why would you think that?” The woman, or at least Martin presumed it was the woman, patted him on the cheek with a soft, fleshy hand; he tried not to flinch at the unexpected touch, or the unpleasantly dry feel of her palm. “You’re such a hard worker, and always so cheerful. You’ve been missed, but I’m sure Jon appreciates having you in the Archives.”

If this was a joke, Martin didn’t think it was very funny, but he managed a smile anyway. “Well, we all had a settling-in period, but that’s in the past now. I do miss it up here sometimes, but I like being down there, too.”

“And we’re very glad to have him,” Tim said, suddenly right next to Martin. “C’mon, buddy, we’ve got a weekend to catch before it slips away…have a good one.”

“You, too, Tim. And you, Martin. Don’t be such a stranger—come back and visit us more often. We’d love to see you again.”

“Sure,” Martin said softly. “’Night.”

Tim didn’t say anything the rest of the way back down to the Archives, which Martin appreciated. Going down stairs was a hell of a lot more complicated than going up; he couldn’t lean as safely, and the kick-and-drag method was a bit less effective. It took concentration to keep from pitching forward and tumbling down the entire flight, and if he tried to spare any braincells for conversation, Martin was pretty sure he’d end up missing his footing. Tim’s hand at his elbow helped, especially since the main floor was crowded with people leaving for the day. A few called greetings to Tim, but they all ignored Martin, which was fine by him.

There was a sense, when they re-entered the Archives, of an argument put on hold, something that was confirmed when the first thing Martin heard anyone say was Jon’s voice. “What do you think, Martin?”

“Gender is a social construct, Shakespeare is overrated, and paisley is horrendously tacky no matter what color it is,” Martin replied promptly. Someone hastily turned a snigger into a cough.

“I mean, about whether or not you would have told Melanie more about what to expect in India.”

Martin felt around until he located a chair. “I think my opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Past Jon protested.

“Not in this.” Martin met Jon’s hand coming towards him and squeezed it gently. “What I would have done doesn’t have a lot of relevance here. It’s not our story anymore.”

“What?” Past Martin sounded genuinely confused. “Of course it’s—”

“I mean,” Martin said quickly, “that you’re not us and we’re not you. What I was like at this point in things isn’t anywhere near where you are, and vice versa. Same with Jon and your Jon. To be honest, I don’t even know if I would have made the effort to be friends. But at this point, things are different enough that telling you how we would do it isn’t very…efficient, I guess? It’s your story, your lives. You’re the ones shaping it. Trying to do things the way we wish we’d done it…well, if the circumstances aren’t the same, it won’t have the same outcome necessarily. You’ve got to do what you think is best.”

“That’s…a good point, actually,” Jon admitted. He sighed. “I apologize for lecturing.”

“’S all right,” Past Martin said. “Gave me a chance to stand my ground and all.”

“Which you need to do more often,” Tim said cheerfully. “Anything to boost your self-esteem.”

“Ouch, Tim, really?” The effectiveness of Sasha’s reproof was lessened by the obvious smirk in her voice.

“Yeah, okay, I probably shouldn’t have said it like that, but it’s true. I’m not completely oblivious, you know. I can put the pieces together, and from the little you’ve said about working in the library, I got the impression you thought they hated you up there. Especially Diana.”

“They did,” Past Martin protested. “The only one who ever even spoke to me directly was Diana, and even that was just to give me orders. It’s hard not to know someone hates you when their method of asking you for help is to wait until you’re in earshot and then tell someone else to ‘just leave that for Martin, he’ll fumble his way through it eventually’.”

“Did they really do that?” Jon asked quietly.

“Constantly,” Martin affirmed. “Speaking of, Tim, who the hell was that who was talking to me while you were checking that book back in? I didn’t recognize the voice.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tim said with an audible frown.

Martin sighed. “Look. Down here it’s pretty easy to tell who’s talking. You’ve all got pretty distinct voices from one another. It’s hard to tell my Jon and your Jon apart if I’m not concentrating, but there’s enough of a difference and I know you well enough to be able to figure it out, usually. But out there? If it’s not someone with a distinctive pitch or accent or speech pattern or whatever, it’s hard to tell. And something like ninety percent of the people who work here speak with the exact same voice. About all I could tell was that I was talking to a woman.”

“I guess that makes sense. Just figured you’d recognize Diana’s voice when you heard it.”

“Pretty sure I would. So who was that?”

There was a half-second’s pause before Tim said, “Diana.”

“Diana?” Martin repeated incredulously.

“You’re sure you didn’t recognize her?”

“No, and it’s not just the accent. I didn’t think the ladders got that close to where I was standing.” Martin rubbed his forehead. “God, my mental map of the library is all off now.”

Jon wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Tim sounded bewildered. “What do ladders have to do with anything?”

“It sounded like whoever was talking to me was around my height. I mean, that could’ve been the way sound bounces in the library, but—”

“No, that’s—she is around your height. She always intimidated the hell out of me.”

Martin sighed. “Okay, I think we’re talking about two different Dianas here. Which Diana was this I was talking to?”

“Diana—what the hell is her last name? The head librarian?”

“Caxton,” Past Jon supplied.

Something cold trickled down Martin’s spine. “Describe her.”

“Uh—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair that she usually wears piled up on top of her head, looks like a Quentin Blake illustration come to life—?”

“That’s who the artist is! I can never remember his name,” Sasha said, punctuating the remark by—from the sound of it—slamming her open hand against the desk.

“That’s not Diana Caxton,” Past Martin said decidedly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, or why she would have told you she was, but—”

“It’s the Diana Caxton I know,” Past Jon said. “And you should, too. She was there when I took Melanie up the first time, said they missed seeing your smiling face up there.”

“Look, that’s not Diana,” Past Martin insisted. “I should know. I worked there for ten years, Jon. She’s shorter than five feet tall, her hair’s been completely silver for a while now, and she has a Korean accent. I don’t know who this woman is you’re describing, but it’s not Diana Caxton.”

Jon tensed, his arm tightening around Martin’s shoulders. Softly, he said, “I think it is now.”

There was a moment of horrible silence as that sank in. Martin had to admit that the idea of the Not-Them taking over Diana hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d just…assumed that if it was anyone, either it would be someone in Artifact Storage foolish enough to disregard the warnings or it would be Rosie. And, okay, maybe there’d been a foolish little part of him that had hoped it wouldn’t take over anyone. But somehow, the idea of it being Diana Caxton just felt wrong. It was true that she hadn’t liked him all that much when he’d worked for her, but then, he’d been unqualified and incompetent, bluffing his way along, and she’d likely had to pick up a lot of his messes. And he knew for a fact that the twice-widowed bookworm had a flock of grandchildren who adored her—he still remembered the day her youngest had come to visit, just before he’d been transferred to the Archives, and attached herself to Martin with a thousand innocent questions and bragging stories about “my Nana”. It wasn’t fair for anyone to be taken by that thing, but especially not someone like Diana.

There was a banging noise, like the Archives doors had just blown open, and Martin jumped, clutching at Jon’s arm. His first thought was that it was the Not-Diana, having realized they knew, coming to take them out. His second was that it was Elias, the jig would be up, and they would have to try and implement their plan now, and what if Jon wasn’t strong enough to do what had to be done and—

“Basira?” Sasha said, sounding somewhere between shocked and relieved. “What are you doing here?”

Oh. Martin relaxed, but not much. There was absolutely no hiding his or Jon’s presence. Past Jon sounded nervous as he said, “I can explain about—”

“Save it. I don’t care.” There was a thump and a rattle as Basira—her voice was unmistakable, too—dropped something on the desk in front of them. “Here.”

“Are those the tapes?” Past Jon asked.

“As many of them as I could get,” Basira replied.

“What happened, Basira?” Sasha’s voice was gentle, but—surprisingly—there was no static in it, even though Martin could almost feel it building in the room. It hit him, suddenly, that Sasha’s ability from the Eye didn’t enable her to ask for secrets. Only to take them. He decided to keep that particular unpleasant realization to himself for the moment. “I thought you said you were done with the Institute.”

Basira let out one of those frustrated noises Martin, unfortunately, knew all too well. “They’re covering it up. Altman’s death. Saying he was dirty. That he got stabbed in a drug deal gone wrong.”

“Wait, so the operation you went on—” Past Jon began.

“Doesn’t exist. I mean, I didn’t know Leo well, but…it’s not right. And they seemed happy enough to get me out the door.”

Someone poked at the box, if the rattle was any indication; Martin guessed it was Sasha, since she spoke again. “So why bring us the tapes?”

“Well, they’re sure as hell not going to solve Gertrude’s murder,” Basira said. “And from what you said the last time I was here, they’re probably of more use to you anyway, even if her death’s not in here. Before, I guess I had enough police in me not to steal evidence, but…”

“They’ve rather lost your loyalty,” Jon supplied softly. Martin slipped his arm around his waist and pulled him close.

“You won’t get in trouble for this, will you?” Tim asked, actually sounding concerned.

“Don’t think so. Daisy knows I’m bringing them to you. They won’t know they’re missing until they do inventory, and then only if they check the sectioned stuff.”

“Thanks, Basira,” Sasha said. “I owe you a drink or two. Just say the word.”

“Long as you promise not to talk shop,” Basira replied. “If I never hear another thing about this place…that’ll be enough for me.”

Martin heard footsteps starting to retreat across the Archives floor. Impulsively, he called out, “Basira.”

The footsteps stopped. “What?”

Martin looked in what he hoped was the right direction to look her in the eyes. “Keep her close. You’re her tether, and excuses only carry you so far.”

It was the same thing he’d said to her, once upon a time and simultaneously in a nonexistent future, loitering in the hallway of an abattoir outside an instrument room. She hadn’t wanted to listen then, and if he was honest, he hadn’t really taken his own advice all that well. He could only pray she would listen now, and that she would understand what he was talking about—and what he wasn’t saying. Don’t let your partner turn into a monster because it’s easier than saying stop.

After a moment, Basira said, her voice so soft it almost wasn’t audible, “Right.” With that, evidently, she left the Archives.

Jon pulled Martin around and wrapped him in a tight hug; Martin could feel his face pressing into his shoulder as he hugged him back. He, at least, had understood. They held each other for a moment, both hoping—despite what she’d done to them months ago—that Daisy could still be saved.

There was another rattle as someone poked at the tapes. “Where do we start?” Sasha asked.

“We go home,” Tim said firmly. “It’s Friday, and it’s past quitting time. Let’s just—let’s just go home, take the weekend to regroup, and we can come back and look through these on Monday. Maybe, um, maybe you two can go through and pick a few you think we ought to listen to.”

“Or,” Jon suggested, “we can sort them out. Gertrude labeled some but not others. If I set the blank ones aside, that might be good practice for you to sort out the color muddle. If that’s all right.”

“Either way, Tim’s right,” Past Jon said softly. “It’s late and we’re all tired. Especially…now. Let’s just go home. We’ll see you on Monday.”

Everyone wished one another goodnight, and the team departed, leaving Jon and Martin alone in the Archives. Martin waited a moment, then asked, “Do you want to start looking through them now?”

To Martin’s surprise, Jon hesitated for a minute, then said, “No. I think I want to put these in the Archivist’s office, and then I want to take a walk with my fiancé and maybe go out to dinner. What do you think of that?”

Martin smiled. He could feel himself blushing a little, but he didn’t care. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

[norcalbruja]

Things are not ideal for me right now

What’s up, so I had yet another argument with my mom today. I had to go lie down and vent about it to the spirits. I ended up begging them to find SOME way to get my writing off the ground, so I could move into my own place by the end of the year. Then I can finally be alone and not get constantly reminded by people that I'm bad at housework, and remembering stuff, and all those “regular people” things that my mom and sister are just fine with.

Because LUCKY ME, I live in California where a regular fucking 1-to-2-bedroom house can cost a million dollars or MORE now. And while writing and theater has never been easy, it’s been especially bad with the pandemic.

I wore myself out a couple years ago by trying to get my writing noticed the regular way with social-media, and eventually I quit posting much about my work because I barely got any readers AT ALL, let alone people who give me feedback like I kept begging them to. (GUESS HOW MAD I WAS when I found out that literally all of the “standard” marketing advice is bullshit. I spammed Tumblr and Twitter and Facebook for nothing, isn’t that great???)

So yeah, while I vastly advocate trying mundane options before asking the spirits for help, I don’t know how I can get a writing career or earn a million dollars the “mundane” way, especially not in these times.

Which led me, in my “desperate / enraged” double-whammy of a bad mindset, to go and ask Laho the moon-eater for help.

This is not the first time. I asked him in February because I was just fucking TIRED of being stuck at home and having my writing going nowhere, and how asking the other spirits just doesn’t seem to be working.

---

So for context: Laho the Moon-Eater is a dragon in Filipino / Tagalog mythology. He causes eclipses by coming out of the deep ocean and trying to eat the sun/moon. He actively dislikes when I call him a “god” because he insists that the anito/gods have to CARE ABOUT PEOPLE, regardless of power-level, and he is a DRAGON.

He acknowledges that dragons frequently overlap WITH gods, especially in Asian / Filipino mythology, but he told me that it’s a case-by-case thing and sometimes dragons just identify as Level 10 Nature-Spirits. Which is kind of trippy when Laho constantly takes human form and looks/acts almost like Dark Bakura, what with his long white hair, his deathly pale skin, and his dickish and blunt personality. He also has a glowing “aura” that none of the other anito seem to have, even the actual sun and moon deities. I think it's either “deep-sea bio-luminescence” or “side-effects from constantly trying to eat the sun/moon.”

And uh. That comparison to DARK Bakura is not an idle one, because for me, Laho is almost on Loki levels of "Engage With Heavy Caution.” Loki and I barely get along after several years of not being able to stand each other, and after one piece of advice from Loki that went So Damn Badly, he told me we can have a do-over later on. Laho is just damn unpredictable because sometimes he comes over to tell me about stuff, but sometimes he drags me out of my meditation without even asking “hey are you busy??? I found something cool!” first.

On the other hand, Laho is not a proper “Trickster” like Loki is, so he’s not trying to curse me or anything. That involves caring enough about one random, half-trained spirit-worker to like... intentionally damage her, and Laho Does Not Care About People.

Keep in mind that while I am NOT doing formal “magic / spellwork,” thank the gods, general consensus from the other spirits is “Do Not Try This At Home.” Fuck, now that I've calmed down, *I* don’t even like asking Laho for basic goals, but... I don’t know who else I can ask.

The rest of it is behind the “Read More” heading for heavy desperation, depression, and Not Safe For Work subjects.

---

So today after my latest argument with Mom, I went to my room to lie down and get a grip on my Seething Rage And Desperation, but as mentioned before, I just ended up begging the spirits, “GET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE. I JUST WANT A HOUSE AND AN ART CAREER. GET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU.”

And my attempts to calm down didn’t work so much that Spirit-Me’s heart just... split open from the stress, apparently. The last time that happened was when I was high as hell on a whole weed cookie, and I started thinking the world was going to end. (Long story short, that was Loki’s Extremely Bad Advice. Yes, the spirits remembered that. No, they were not happy that I was sober this time.)

So there’s Spirit-Me, screaming and bleeding all over the damn place while Odin and the other spirits are trying to 1) stitch me back up and 2) assure me that I’m not a TOTAL failure, but I was not in the space to listen, so once I was mostly-not-bleeding, I just ran off to the spirit-ocean and found Laho.

Generally when I’m desperate enough to ask Laho for help, I end up having sex with him as a trade.

Because, at risk of repeating myself, I’m broke. In a lot more ways than “money.” I’m say I’m a half-trained spirit-worker, but if you count FILIPINO spirit-work, it’s even less. I barely even speak Tagalog, so I wouldn’t know any spells or high-end offerings to give the spirits. I don’t know what the fuck else I can trade for help, besides having sex.

I don’t even have an altar to put offerings ON, because my mom’s place has a Catholic altar and I sure as hell won’t leave food meant for pagan spirits there. I share my regular food with the spirits, and then I eat it after a few minutes.

But like... remember how Spirit-Me’s heart just split open from stress, and how I was about to have sex, which is generally Very Strenuous in both worlds? Yeah, not only did my heart split back open, I’m pretty sure me and Laho didn’t do anything resembling “spiritual foreplay” either, because Spirit-Me started bleeding down there, too.

And it’s like, Laho is not a good role model for the MORAL side of “a crying woman is asking me for help and trying to have sex,” but the Filipino spirits are extremely open about sex by itself. Even Laho prides himself on having REALLY good sex if someone comes up to him for it, because humans and involved spirits are the ones who mess shit up with “feelings” and “consent” and “maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

But he knows that humans shouldn’t be leaking gallons of blood, so once that started, he stopped. And then he assured the extremely angry anito that he only knows why I’m bleeding from ONE place, but he didn’t expect that much, and the chest wound is not from him.

Spirit-Me was now slightly WORSE than when I started—my chest hurt and my downstairs half hurt, and while I was flailing in a pool of my own blood, and begging the spirits for a steady income and a basic house, my mouth started bleeding, so now Orifice #3 Is Leaking Too Much Red Stuff.

So, I needed Freyja AND Brighid to come fix it. Brighid says that my issues are manifesting as “spiritual ulcers.” Freyja has gently advised me that given the shit that happened today, I should avoid spirit-intercourse for the next few days and seriously take it easy for other types of sex.

And weirdly enough, once everyone cleared out to give me a break from the events, the Morrigan came up and told me that she loved me, and I could ask her for help if I wasn’t too tired. She also told me that she is the goddess of sovereignty, and I don’t ask her for nearly enough things. So... yeah, I asked her for help with getting an art career and buying my own house, so I could help fix the damn planet by the end of this year, 2021.

See, the Morrigan is my patron goddess and she has been extremely hands-off in the past few years. While she DOES relegate herself to “spiritual bodyguard for the squishy writer,” sometimes she comes up and tells me she loves me, unprompted. Especially when I’m... not in a good space AT ALL, like today.

I wonder if my soul is dying, or in a LOT of trouble. Honestly, I’m not surprised. I told the spirits a while back that my soul will die if I’m stuck in this rut for much longer, where I’m not a successful artist, and so I have to live with my family, who I can’t really get along with.

I'm not good at anything besides art. Either my head just doesn’t fucking work properly for most jobs, or random shit goes wrong with basic tasks, or I end up hating the job and wishing that I could just DO ART FOR A LIVING.

The only way I can see to fix things is get an art career and move into my own place, so I don’t bother anyone and they don’t have to deal with my weirdness. But HOW THE FUCK am I gonna find a million dollars for a basic house, when I can’t even get enough people to read my stuff???

And that, followers, is why I'm up at midnight after exhausting Spirit-World shenanigans.

[asokatanos]

do you have any fic recs for the mentalist?

I told you I’d post some for you tonight and here they are!! Unfortunately I did a lot of reading while I was still obstinately REFUSING to make another ffnet account, so I didn’t save like a good 90% of what I read, some of which was excellent. But here are some of the ones I did +fav or whatever they call it there. No particular genre since your ask was open ended, but, well-

(sorry in advance - these are mostly ffnet links but they’re worth braving that site I swear)

((also this is definitely a non-exhaustive list. there’s some real talent in this fandom))

Consummate Connection Confrontation - these are three separate fics in that order by the absolutely inimitable @hardlyloquatious. Literally everything they’ve written is amazing. I’ve completely exposed myself because my first rec is sort of. uh, lightly 18+. But I had to put this author at the top of my list because I love them so much. The way Jane talks in Consummate has literally kept me awake more than once. It’s honestly more sweet and touching than anything but it’s definitely uh. not something your boss should catch you with I guess.

Long Lost, Long Last - same author. This was written and posted before My Blue Heaven aired, but it has the same vibe as that episode, except deliciously drawn out. It starts off with Jane being his kinda silly self and deciding he wants to try his hand at letter writing, so he writes little notes for the whole team. Lisbon is the only one who gives him a note back, and they take to leaving each other lil notes - until RJ is killed and Jane disappears to do some soul searching. This fic is so... beautiful and I think about it with some frequency. “Consummate” is hot but Long Lost Long Last is why HL is my fave TM author.

Practice - okay one last one from this author. This one isn’t like, groundbreaking, but it’s just the SWEETEST look at how much Jane tries after they get together. I’m a sucker for Jane being sweet. Clearly, since that’s why Consummate is at the top of this list.

Blood Red Moon - the author is 221b Baker Street. Their fics are a LOT more heavy. But they’re so, so good. Their mastery of language is incredible and their fics read like professionally written books - and they do Jane/Lisbon banter incredibly well. Some of the imagery they use has genuinely stuck with me. Also see Sacraments in Scarlet (Jane pretends to be a priest), Arsenic and Red Lace (murder at an assisted care facility and Jane being the cheery and extremely sad bastard that he is), Jonathon Redding (a take on Red John that is deeply clever), a Road lEss traveleD (this is. unsettling. it’s extremely good but save it for the last from this author, wait until you love them first. The payoff for not-as-it-seems comes towards the end but it really is worth waiting for).

Blood Wind - by Gone2Far speaking of unsettling. THIS ONE. God this fic is so good. Spooky as fuck in a way that’s a little X-Filesy and incredibly well written. I want to live very far from this fic while at the same time wrapping myself in its words so I can borrow a crumb of talent.

In Case series - @halfagonyandhope (yay, they’re on tumblr). This rec list isn’t necessarily in any sort of order because after HL, halfagonyandhope is second fave author. This particular series is SO ROMANTIC and LOVELY and I kinda wanna cry kinda wanna read it again and again. My favorite one in the series is Ya’aburnee but you have to read the ones preceding it to make any sort of sense. Also now that I’m looking at all of these again I’m realizing that apparently the second installment stuck with me more than I expected because I wrote more than 10k words of something that has a vaguely similar theme (which I will post later). 

Qumran and Reset - by J. Roddam. This author only ever seems to have written these two but they’re fucking EXQUISITE. I generally avoid AUs in this fandom because the concept of erasing Jane’s past does NOT sit right with me but Reset is one of the only exceptions I’ve made. It has soulmate vibes without being like, a tumblr soulmate story. Both of them are living SUCH different lives than their canon counterparts but somehow it actually works and it’s beautiful. Qumran is similarly without peer.

Pretending, I: Witness - @inkstainedfingers97. I wouldn’t even know where to start but I love every single thing about this fic - and it’s recently been completed! I was lucky enough to get to binge read a majority of it but waiting for updates was also genuinely thrilling too. Fake/Real Married for WITSEC reasons, real love for obvious reasons. Also the Lorelei dynamic is way more intense than on the show in a way that’s at once very uncomfortable and very believable.

27 Minutes - by Idan. Okay. Okay so this author commented on one of my fics and I almost lost it because I really love theirs. I was smiling for like an hour when I saw the notification from them!! 27 Min is my favorite one but In The Cards is widely rec’d by others for very good reason, it’s so good. The Pretender is also excellent, written based on promos of Orange Blossom Ice Cream and so a bit AU from there.

Eighteen Hours - I would definitely be remiss if I didn’t mention @leafenclaw (and actually, I was remiss because I realized while making this post that theirs were some of those early fics I read that I never +fave etc, so ty for the ask so I can do it now, anon). Leafenclaw writes SO well and I have an extra soft spot for them because they pointed me in the direction of a lot of fics and were one of the first ppl I ever spoke with in this fandom since luckily they’re on tumblr too. Also Kindred (note - both of these are still WIP but being updated/worked on!) Chasing Storms is complete, incredible, angsty, beautiful. Also I kind of want to borrow the idea of writing one story around a set of many prompts like this. I don’t actually think I’ve ever seen anyone else do that?

The Long Way Back - by LouiseKurylo I consider them sort of a friend because they’ve been SO supportive while I was writing  Saving Grace but even before that with a new suit, another pair of socks, and a terrible couch. And I’ve seen them supporting everybody else too - they’re just SO NICE. Their fics are also very interesting, and they sort of bring Jane and Lisbon much more into the real world. There’s more real life problems to go hand in hand with mentalist plot type problems, which makes for very interesting reading. Fischer in this particular fic is FASCINATING. Also, a hot tip @leafenclaw shared with me: Louise’s faves list has 500 stories in it and pretty much everything in there is worth reading.

Last but OBVIOUSLY not least I wanna mention some of the very cute and talented and actively posting people here on tumblr in our little mentalist squad of approximately 12 people lmao. You probably already know @gracevanpelt aka LilyThistle’s Big Blue, Red Road, Breathe, and Collusion. I have an especially soft spot for Breathe actually even though it’s the least plotty of the lot. I just think it works so perfectly on its own, as is, like a quiet little interlude. No muss no fuss as Jane would say - and I love it a lot. @asambergs aka cmbing’s how glad i am that you exist is actually the FIRST piece of Mentalist fic I ever read, and then I was pulled down this slippery slope to end up posting this at 11:52 pm on a Thursday night. And I’m not about to forget @pjane aka epaynter whose words are so beautifully atmospheric and who writes the softest Jane (I love Soft Jane and will fight anyone who disagrees about it!!)

Aaaand a nice and shameless self plug in the form of ao3 links: Come Fly With Me (this is the softest thing I’ve ever written), Saving Grace (an actual, complete, fully plotted fic. 14 year old me is SHAKING), a new suit, a terrible couch, another pair of socks (this last was inspired by @asambergs fics actually, and was the first thing I wrote in this fandom!)

[shatterthefragments]

Questions Tag Game

Thank you for tagging me @catholicnicky!

Hmm I'm supposed to tag 20 but I'll tag:

@kiaya, @caffeinatedbraincell, @randofando-spoonie, @cowgaykermit, @boutiquetraveltravelboutique @rhubarbdreams

If you want to play :)

1. Name/Nickname: Shatters <3

2. Gender: *shrugs noncommitedly*/nonbinary fits best

3. Star sign: okay so I took a thing and I'm going to assume that "Sun in Pisces" is this? bc i have no clue any time i look at that :eek:

4. Height: it is to my delight that I can definitely say 5'3" and not actually 5'2"! Bc I'm only a couple inches shorter than a friend and that would mean I'm taller than 5'2"!

5. Time: at the time of this Q: 12:20... ah I should get ready for bed soon... (longer by the time I post this at a little past 1 am)

6. Birthday: Feb. 26

7. Favourite Band: Currently? Maybe Polyphia? Most played currently at least. I've been vibing with Nothing But Thieves, Daughtry (again), 3OH!3 (i know), Florence + The Machine (though I have yet to do a discography playthrough yet), (ok so I'm scrolling through my saved artists for this one), The Neighbourhood, some local bands, and The Pretty Reckless lately.

8. Favourite solo artist: oh dear god. Um. Loving and/or getting back into: Rina Sawayama, Toby Fox, Ichika Nito, Tim Henson, Lil Nas X, King Princess, Hayley Kiyoko? idk it could be a lot more. But for Reasons it currently has to be Lil Nas X <3

9. song stuck in my head: because I caved and got TikTok (derogatory) because of the Chocolate Potato Cake (from 1912!) [and if you didn't just hear that in Dylan's voice you should find it on Youtube it's great] it's Maneskin's Beggin. When that's not recently heard, it varies between many other songs. If I whistle, it's usually a simple march we played in band. Maybe Soda. Maybe the hook from The Worst. Who knows~ not me!

10. last movie: either Waves or Wolf it's been so long since I've watched something. But soon hopefully Hartenstraat!

11. last show: Leverage! When I rewatched it last year or something!

12. when I created this blog: perhaps 2012 or 2013? I deleted most of my blog and started over though at around 15k posts so it may have been before that? But I don't think it was much before 2012 if so.

13. what I post: please tell me fuck if i know aaaaah whatever I see when I pop on when I have the capacity to actually reblog or queue it i guess? mostly related to whatver i'm fixated on <3 (speaking of - draining my queue for the tumblr post+ strike so that'll suck to get filled again afterwards :P)

14. last thing I googled: "Sugar and spice makes everything nice quote"

15. other blogs: theoldguardinshatters is my tog sideblog! I have some other... rather inactive blogs... not really sure I want to share them. Some are straight up empty.

16. do i get asks? not often

17. why I chose my URL: I'm a poet! jk jk (or am I?) but I wrote a poem back in middle school... actually a few versions based off the same premise/line (i was going to see if I could find it but looking back That Far in my blog is like "yeah, there's no way I'm faking my mental illness even when I fear I might be" so I'm just. not. going there. like holy shit maybe i should purge my old posts again...) But if I remember maybe I'll put what I can remember under a cut?

18. following: after swearing I'd never follow more than 100: 304. But many aren't active anymore :( (also literally me 5 yrs ago: 'oh god I follow more than 30 people I'm freaking out, it's too many!')

19. followers: 234, but who knows how many are porn bots I never really kept up back in the day

20. average hours of sleep: ...that is a good question... idk. maybe 5ish when I work and maybe 9ish when I am just me on my own?

21. lucky number: culturally: 8, personally, also: 3,7,13,17,19,23

22. instruments: formerly flute and tenor sax. I haven't exactly kept up oops >.< (so i guess rn I just whistle or hum or sometimes sing)

23. what am I wearing: shorts and a t-shirt

24. dream job: bookbinder, or some other creative pursuit that allows me to work with my hands - cake decorator? other arts? idk. maybe secretary? maybe fancy ass barista/pastry decorator? editor? illustrator? i have no clue please send suggestions <3

25. dream trip: with friends. Not having to drive the entire time. Longer than what I'm currently able to do... maybe a couple months... maybe in europe or asia? maybe just road tripping across canada. idk. It sure would be nice to see them again <3 hopefully camping with one (maybe two?) mid august-ish though! :D

26. favourite food: dim sum (bc I really miss going out with family!), sushi, desserts, pies, quiche, eggs benny, Popcorn, I'm not sure. those are also safe foods texturally usually too though.

27. nationality: canadian, half chinese.

28. favourite song: *shrugs* right now perhaps Soda or The Worst

29. last book I read: ...i don't know... maybe a reread I did of What They Always Tell Us or Martin Wilson's other book We Now Return To Regular Life last year?

30. top 3 fictional universes I would like to live in: ...fuck. I don't know. Most of the fantasy universes I read are fanfic... Maybe.... Waves Cinematic Universe - now that Gabriele has a boat, we could boat! Some universe with wings! A universe with UBI *sideeyes gvmt* Stardew Valley universe! :D

from what I can remember maybe (again - Several Versions of this were written... back in middle school...)

Shatter the fragments to see what's left Release the weight That's on your chest

There's nothing left For you to see Nothing left But apathy

[1989xtaylorsversion]

emma macdonald: is she worth watching or should you keep scrolling? my thoughts, opinions, and review.

i don’t know about a lot of you, but if you’re someone who watches a lot of youtube, you might’ve stumbled upon one of the most fascinating and interesting genres on the platform - lifestyle vlogs. there are countless people - mostly teen / young adult girls who document their lives and journeys of going through life, and sharing their daily or weekly celebrations, struggles, and experiences. most of them live a life that seems glamorous and fun, but it begs the question of who’s really telling the truth and who’s just putting on a show?

i’ve watched a lot of lifestyle gurus, and one person in particular i’ve stumbled upon a little over a year ago was miss emma macdonald (pictured below). in case you don’t know who she is, she’s a 19 year old vlogger from boston, massachusetts. according to her, her channel “is mostly around my daily life, fitness, health, fashion (if hoodies and sweatpants count). Mostly a place to make you happy and feel good about you!!” in this current moment, she has garnered 336k subscribers. something i find kind of unique about her is the fact that her older sister maggie also has a youtube channel with 327k subscribers, and she makes similar content, if her description is anything to go by.

now don’t get me wrong, two sisters making similar content isn’t that special, but it’s just a little interesting. based on their videos, you can tell they’re very close and often hang out together and make cameos in each other’s vlogs, which isn’t surprising since they live close together.

  EMMA’S CHANNEL - her likability

now, diving into emma’s channel, here’s my opinion. i can totally see her appeal. i mean, let’s not forget the society in which we live in. she’s a young, conventionally attractive, white, thin, and blonde woman living an incredibly privileged life in one of the best cities in america. with these factors it’s no surprise she has an audience. i will admit, there are times i’ve watched her channel and i find myself having this surge of sudden motivation, and i suddenly want to go and do something besides watch youtube videos all day. i think sometimes she gives off good vibes in her videos, and i enjoy watching her and her sister interact - they’re very sweet together.

   WHERE EMMA FALLS SHORT

if i’m being honest, my problem with emma lies in the fact that oftentimes she comes across as materialistic. don’t get me wrong, i know she must make a ton of money on youtube, and i’m not going to sit here and tell her how to spend her money. she can do whatever she wants with it, but the amount of times she uploads videos in which she talks about her clothes, sneakers, and sweats can't go unnoticed. i don’t want to come across as nitpicky, but this criticism is one i often read in her comment sections, and on tumblr blogs. it’s also a prevalent thing i find with a lot of young influencers these days. it gives off the vibe of all show, and no substance. i think emma is capable of making good content, but there are moments when she comes across as vapid and shallow. i’m not saying every vlog has to be some shakespearean masterpiece, but if you go through her catalogue from even the past few months, you’d see what i’m talking about.

on a related note, another opinion i’ve developed and read is that emma’s life just isn’t all too interesting. if we narrow down how many of her vlogs are centered around her talking about shopping, hanging out with her sister, working out, or just riding in her car, it’d probably add up to 95% of her content. i understand that’s what her content would revolve around according to her description, but i often wonder, if you took away the glitz and glamor, and she was a regular girl, would you be interested in her life? some content is exciting, but it’s really nothing special. i mean, how long can you show the same thing before people move on and grow out of it? i watched maggie’s videos to get a sense of these two, and sometimes i prefer maggie’s vlogs to emma’s. i think maggie’s older age and maturity givers her a certain appeal that i don’t always see from emma. the macdonald sisters make very similar content, so it’s not a huge contrast, but sometimes i feel like i prefer maggie’s videos to emma’s. it’s subjective, of course, but since i’ve caught myself having these thoughts, i feel like it’s worth noting.

    EMMA’S LIFE - who is she?

when we watch these people, it’s natural to want to know everything about them, including their personal life. sometimes the line between privacy and honesty gets blurred and youtubers overshare and reveal too much, or they share too little and their subscribers feel as if they know nothing about the person they’re watching. i feel like emma falls somewhere in the middle because she does open up about personal struggles, relationships, and journeys, but she also maintains a certain level of privacy that’s probably needed for the internet. however, one thing i always wonder is who are emma’s friends? if you watch her videos, you can see that her best friend is maggie. it’s common for your sibling to be your best friend, but is that all? emma has youtube friends, and her roommate, but she hardly talks about them. one of her public friendships is with paige lorenze, who’s not exactly the paragon of maturity and likability. the common consensus with paige is not a favorable one, and i can make a whole post dedicated to her and her foolishness. it’s not surprising these two paired up since they seem to be in the hockey scene, but that's another topic. something worth noting with these two is that months ago emma uploaded a grwm for a date night video, and she essentially promoted products in which all signs pointed to a pyramid scheme. she had hundreds of people telling her to be more cautious and judicious about what she promotes, but she held her belief that they were good, clean products since paige was a consultant for the company. this rubbed me and everyone else with a modicum of common sense the wrong way, because she clearly didn’t do her due diligence, and she didn’t realize that it’s probably not the smartest idea to promote a pyramid scheme. emma’s audience is likely made up of girls her age and younger who are impressionable. she has to be more aware of what she puts out there. it’s not a huge scandal, but it wasn't one of her brightest moments. if she keeps that up, i can totally see her carelessness getting her into more trouble later on.

additionally, i feel like she’s had fall outs with some of her friends, such as her high school best friend ella. i don’t know too much about her, but it’s obvious emma and ella have been best friends for a long time, and she even made a lot of appearances in emma’s earlier videos. however, clearly something went wrong at some point because i recall months ago ella made a tiktok calling emma out for trying to confess her love for ella’s boyfriend. i also recall emma clapping back in the comments, but then she talked about hanging out with ella in some of her recent vlogs, so who knows what even happened there. i just found this to be shady, and if it’s the truth, it could be indicative of emma’s character. but, since not much came of this, i guess there’s not much to tell.

  overall, what do i think of emma?

i think she’s an average girl who just got lucky with the platform she’s been given. you can find a hundred girls like her on any social media. she’s not reinventing the wheel or anything with her content. i can see the appeal at times, but her vlogs are nothing more than those videos you watch at night when you want to shut your brain off and unwind.

what i would love to see more of is her real personality. something that other people say about emma (when she’s with her sister or friends) is that she’s actually a funny person in real life and it doesn’t always come across that way in videos. i’d love for her to open up more about her true self and make more sit down videos, or more q&a’s. the q&a she did with paige recently was actually a pleasant change of pace, and i liked some of the things she had to say. when she vlogs her daily or weekly life, and all she talks about is working out, shopping, or hanging out with her sister, i don’t feel like i see her real self, and i certainly don’t see the humor everyone else raves about. if she showed her true personality a little bit more, then maybe people would see a different, less materialistic version of herself. she has the potential, but right now i’m not seeing anything incredibly special.

overall rating:

3/5

EDIT: JAN 11, 2O21

as i’m editing this, the macdonald sisters have decided to travel - AGAIN - during the PANDEMIC. i’m not sure if they understand this little concept, but a social media following doesn’t exempt them from catching corona. it’s really disappointing to see them traveling for the third time?? i’ve lost count because they keep doing it. like i stated in my conclusion, their videos aren’t anything spectacular, so i get going on a vacation spices your content up, but girls read the room. if influencers can’t be entertaining without traveling all the time, then why do they even have a youtube channel? the comments on maggie’s tiktok in which people rightfully called them out for their recent trip gives me some hope in humanity. at least some people know better. @ macdonald sisters, be smarter. do better. you guys have an influence. google the definition of the word if you have to, just stay home.