#it's not really the destination for a magnum opus

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

did somebody say “hey I want another cobbled-together powerpoint for one of Rabbits’ WIPs” ?!

No. but just in time for October, here it is!

(all information is subject to change at any time)

prequel comic

playlist

[poeticpascal]

Home (Joel Miller x Barbie!Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: When a deep sense of loneliness overcomes Cowgirl Barbie, she leaves Barbieland to find whatever poor kid it is that's making her feel that way. Of course, she could never have expected just how much light Sarah would bring to her life, and she certainly didn't expect the things her grumpy father would teach her about love.

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: Barbie movie spoilers, angst, angry Joel (he's insecure and protective), descriptions of loneliness, lots of fluff!

A/n: this is literally my Magnum Opus. Reader is Cowgirl Barbie. I truly hope you love this as much as I do 💖

Barbieland has been very different since Stereotypical Barbie left. Good different.

The Kens have jobs now, proper jobs, not just ‘Beach’ or ‘Surf’. They’re not the most competent workers Barbieland has ever seen; they get too distracted trying on new overalls at the building site or throwing paper aeroplanes at each other in the offices. But they’re trying, and you have to admit, it’s pretty adorable seeing them so excited to head off to work each morning.

Barbieland has laughter now, true laughter, not perfect giggles but the kind that brings tears to your eyes and makes your belly hurt. It has crying, proper full-bodied sobs that rack through your chest, aching in a good way. And it has life. Fervent, overwhelming, painfully brilliant life.

It’s magnificent, even the really hard bits. Which there are a lot of.

Like losing someone you really, really love.

Stereotypical Barbie - Barbara, as she’s known now - had been your best friend. Your Dreamhouse was right next to hers, and every morning you’d float down to the streets together, where she’d hop into her little pink car and you’d mount your pony and ride into town. It was perfect, a sweet little life surrounded by pinkness and joy, and if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you miss it.

You bonded over how displaced you both felt. Neither of you really had a thing, a specific job to do. She was Stereotypical Barbie, and you’re Cowgirl Barbie. Destined to wear dusty denim and cowboy hats for all of eternity; not a doctor, not a physicist, not an astronaut and certainly not the president. Just a cowgirl.

And there aren’t even any cows.

That was what brought you and Stereotypical Barbie together; you both felt slightly unsure of the world, however perfect it may be, and you found friendship in that.

So when she left, that hurt. 

Because she found purpose.

Purpose in feeling, and knowing, and living.

Purpose in things you could only dream about. And what you hate the most is that she was right.

It feels good to hurt. It feels good to have that pain in your chest, that ache in your cheeks when you’re not quite done crying yet. That emptiness that fills the space where flowers had once bloomed.

It feels like shit to miss your friend, and it feels incredible to have loved someone so much that you miss them.

And that’s the beauty she brought to your life. To all the Barbies’ lives.

But it still goddamn hurts.

About as much as the strange thoughts of loneliness have hurt the past few weeks.

You’re never alone in Barbieland; there’s always someone there, a friend, a listening ear. A million other Barbies who genuinely care.

But the feeling is so strong, so heavy in your gut, that all the Barbies and Kens and Allens in the world can’t take it away.

Which only calls for one thing.

“Your friend had the same problem, you know,” Weird Barbie says, walking round you in circles like prey. You gulp; she’s significantly less ‘weird’ now, what with her fancy job at the Capital and the whole ‘awakened Barbies’ thing, but she certainly kept some habits that set you a little bit on edge.

“How do you mean?” You stutter, trying to keep up as she continues to stalk around you and make strange gestures.

“First came the depression-” she pulls down a presentation screen from god-knows where, one decorated with the typical Barbie anatomy and annotated with the same notes Weird Barbie is now recounting. She points to the head, ‘depression’ scribbled beside it, and stops in front of you.

“And then-” she moves again, rotating to the other side of the screen and pointing to the drawing’s legs. “-came the cellulite.”

She pauses, seemingly waiting for some big reaction, but you just stare. Sure, cellulite was feared back then, but almost every Barbie has it now, and it’s really no big deal. “...okay?” you posit, slightly more concerned as Weird Barbie’s face falls at your reply.

“Damn, I guess we really are doing things differently now.” Her surprise is dropped quickly, as she continues to explain what it means to be overcome with these awful feelings so quickly.

“In the end, sweetheart, there’s only one way to fix this.” She leans in uncomfortably close, making you gulp. “You gotta go to the real world.”

You had a feeling she’d say that. 

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

When you arrive in the real world, there’s really only one person you can go to. The one person you’ve missed more than anything.

She was your best friend, and yet standing here on the doorstep of an apartment that looks nothing like a Dreamhouse, you can’t help how nervous you feel.

She’d given all the Barbies her new address, in case any of them managed to sneak into the real world, so she mustn’t mind that you’re here. But she’ll be so different now, so human, and you’re still just a Barbie with a jaunty cowgirl outfit and a sunny disposition.

Your worries are immediately washed away when the door flings open, and before you can even see who it is, a pair of arms are tightly wrapped around your neck and you’re pulled in for a big, warm hug. But you know who it is, and you hug her back immediately, tears welling in your eyes as you finally hold your best friend again.

Barbara pulls back, holding your cheeks in her hands, almost like she didn’t think you were really there. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She grins, hugging you again with a giggle. “I missed you so much.”

“Oh, Barbara, I missed you too,” you cry, not wanting to let her go. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, and you finally relax your arms, taking in how much she’s changed. She isn’t wearing anything pink, or sparkly, but a white blouse and nude pants that look very professional. Very human. Very different.

You don’t reply to her question, unsure of what the answer even is, and that alone makes her worried. So she takes you by the hand and leads you into her apartment, one painted white with sweet pictures on the walls of her with Sasha and Gloria, and some other women you don’t recognise. It makes you a little jealous.

She leads you to the kitchen, sitting you on a bar stool and pouring tea for you both. You go to drink it, holding the cup away from your mouth and tipping it, but she quickly jumps up shouting “no!” and pulling the cup down.

She laughs, making you laugh nervously too, and explains you need to hold the cup to your lips and sip. “Are you sure?” you ask, staring down at the liquid and tentatively trying to drink it, the warmth on your tongue foreign but sweet. 

“Yep! That’s how we drink here. I know it’s weird but once you get used to it, it’s so good.”

You smile, putting down the cup and looking back at your friend. “Things are pretty different here, huh?”

Barbara smiles, nodding her head and swinging her legs where they hang from the stool. “Yep! Isn’t it great?”

“Yeah, it is,” you reply, with a fraction of the excitement. You push a loose strand of hair behind your ear, knocking your hat slightly which you quickly correct into place, acutely aware of yourself in the presence of someone who’s changed so much. “Do… do you ever miss us? The Barbies?”

She grimaces, making you regret asking as soon as the words leave your lips. Her eyebrows sink into concern, and she sets her tea down beside yours, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Every single day. Of course I miss you - I even miss the Kens!” You both giggle, and you’re reminded of how things were before. 

You have to admit, you almost asked your Ken to come with you, but he was having so much fun in Barbieland now that you couldn’t bring yourself to take him away from it.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” Her eyes have welled up now, and guilt hits you like a truck.

“No, no, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so happy for you, truly.” You smile, and you know she knows you mean it. “I just… I feel so lonely. It’s like a big hole in my chest, all the time. No matter what I do, no matter how many girl’s nights and big blowout parties and days on the beach, I just feel lonely. And it’s even worse without you here.”

Barbara holds your hand tighter, and something you said seems to have caught her attention. “You mean you felt like this even before I left? Before the Kendom?”

You nod, sheepish, and her eyes squint in thought. Then, as if a lightbulb has gone off in her head, she gives you her trademark big white smile and excitedly shouts, “I know what you need to do!”

She jumps off her chair, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking LA. You stand there for a moment, taking in the view, the overwhelming sights and sounds of rushing traffic below you. It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

“You need to find the little girl who’s playing with you,” Barbara whispers, watching your amazement. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” You ask, finally pulling your eyes away to face your friend. She nods, her smile just as bright and honest as ever, and it makes the idea of facing this big wide world seem a little less scary.

“I’ll come with you, we’ll go find her, and we’ll figure out what’s been making her feel so lonely.” 

“Will you really come with me?” 

You already know the answer; of course she will. She’s the kindest person you know. Of course, all the Barbies are the kindest people you know, but that’s a technicality you don’t feel like getting into right now.

“You know it,” she grins, and you can’t help but grin back as you think about what an adventure this is going to be.

“How will I know where to find her?” You ask, looking back through the window at the huge world on the other side of the glass. How could you possibly find your kid?

Barbie tugs you to face her, straightens your hat and looks directly into your eyes, making you focus. “You gotta be really calm, okay? Just close your eyes, clear your mind, and find her memories. And then try to figure out where she is. That’s how I found Sasha!’

You nod, not quite sure how this is going to work, if this is going to work. But you try anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and doing your best to shush all the noise and confusion in your head, desperately searching for anything that could help you find your kid. You get nothing, ready to give up after a few minutes of emptiness, when suddenly - there it is, the faintest hint of a memory.

“Dad, can we have a movie night tonight?” Sarah asks, watching as Joel paces the room, frantically searching for his other shoe.

“Yeah, sweetheart, course,” he replies. She smiles, heading over to the TV stand and already searching for a film to watch, giggling as her Dad begins to lift up the couch cushions. 

She looks down, seeing the shoe hiding just behind the stand, and rolls her eyes as she picks it up and throws it at him. “How’d you find it?” He mutters, scoffing as she just laughs at him, though a matching grin is etching its way onto his lips.

He slides on the other shoe, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading over to give Sarah a kiss on the head. “When will you be home?” She asks, and he offers a guilty smile that doesn’t make her particularly hopeful.

“Soon as I can, Sarah. Around 8? 9 at the latest.” She nods, forcing a smile and letting him go, and Joel’s out the door in a flash with a final shout of “Love you, honey!” and a slam of the door.

The memory changes, then.

It’s nighttime, and Sarah lies alone on the couch, a movie playing that she doesn’t seem to be really watching. Her eyes flicker up to the mantlepiece, where the clock reads 10:13, and she sighs. 

Then she stands, traipsing into the hallway and towards the front door, where the key hangs in the lock. She turns it, unlocking the door and leaving the key on the sidetable, then picking up a piece of mail that had been left there.

“51 Mulberry Road

Travis County

Austin, Texas

Dear Mr. Miller, we are writing to solicit your contracting services for our new development…”

Sarah groans, throwing the letter back on the table and muttering “more work, great.” She retreats upstairs, slamming the door behind her and climbing into bed…

You’re pulled out of the memory by Barbara’s voice, filled with excitement. “Can you see her? Do you know her name? Do you know where she is?”

“Sarah” you mumble, still dazed. “Sarah, her name’s Sarah.”

Barbara squeals, clapping her hands together before calming herself and urging you to continue. “And? Where is she?”

You concentrate, trying to remember what was written on the letter you saw. “Er… Texas. Yeah, she’s in Texas. Mulberry Road. Is that close?”

She pulls a face, a yeah… no kind of face, then grabs a big book from under her coffee table and flips it open. You watch in amazement as she scans the pages and pages of maps inside, until she shouts, “a-ha!”, pointing to a spot on a page titled ‘The United States of America’. “Here it is. We’ll need to fly there.”

A nervous excitement brews in your tummy, your eyes glued to the little spot on the map labelled Texas. The spot where Sarah lives, with her Dad. The place you’re destined to find.

“Oh, and don’t get freaked out… but men fly planes here.” Your head snaps up, confusion painting your face, and Barbara just nods at your reaction.

“Seriously?” You ask, wondering if she was just playing a prank. “Is… is that safe?”

She giggles, putting the book down and grabbing your hand. “Yep, there’s a lot to get used to here. You’ll see. Now come on, we need to pack our bags!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

And so here you are, on a flight to Texas, on your way to find Sarah and bring an end to her loneliness. 

Barbara tells you all about the real world. How different yet wonderful it is, how much there is to do and see and feel. She’s at university now, getting qualifications to be a psychologist and work with young girls who are struggling. It’s brilliant, but strange, you think - qualifications aren’t needed in Barbieland - anyone can just do anything. Well, the Barbies can. And the Kens really do try.

The journey is filled with new and exciting things, but it’s scattered with memories of Sarah and her dad that pop up in your mind at random. You see everything; their best moments, their worst, the times they’ve laughed and cried and screamed. 

You can see the first time she chose you. She was smaller, much smaller than she is in the more recent memories, and her Dad seemed friendlier, then.

“Alright, honey. Which one d’ya want?” Joel asks, smiling as Sarah’s eyes scan shelf after shelf of Barbies. 

“You should get this one,” he jokes, picking up a doll labelled ‘Builder Barbie’. “She’s just like your daddy!”

Sarah giggles, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “You’re not a builder, daddy! You’re a cont-ac-er.”

Joel’s heart warms, both at how much she loves his job and won’t accept a vague similarity, and her attempted pronunciation of the word ‘contractor’. 

“Well then, which one, babygirl?”

She spends a few more moments looking at each option, before her eyes widen, landing on one a little further away to the left. She stands up on her tippy-toes, grabbing the doll and admiring it, giddy.

“This one, Daddy! I want this one!” She shows him the doll, waving it in his face but not letting him take it, protective already. It’s a Cowgirl Barbie, one clothed in denim and brown leather, with cliche cowboy boots and a hat. 

“She’s just like you, Daddy.”

Joel pulls a face, looking back and forth between Sarah and the doll. “How in the hell is she like me?”

Sarah scowls, pointing to the cowboy hat and explaining, “she’s a cowgirl! And you’re a cowboy!” 

“I ain’t no cowboy” Joel retorts, shaking his head and leading Sarah over to the cashier’s desk. “When have you ever seen me in one of them hats, huh?”

Sarah giggles, itching to take the doll out of the box, and Joel knows she’ll do it the second he’s paid. “Maybe you can borrow hers, daddy, and be a proper cowboy.”

He rolls his eyes, though the smile hasn’t fallen from his face for even a second. He pays, watching with joy as Sarah scrambles to rip open the plastic, finally pulling out the doll and hugging it the whole way home while making up stories of ranches and horses and pistol duels - she was certainly her father’s daughter.

“Barbie? You there?” Barbara pulls you out of your thoughts, staring at you as you finally turn to look at her. 

“Sorry, I’m here. Just…”

“Keep getting memories, huh?” 

You nod, looking out the plane window and into the skies. She still seems concerned, but lets it go, returning to her magazine and letting you be with your thoughts. 

More memories swirl in your mind; you can see Sarah’s first days of middle school and high school, her most vulnerable moments of crying in her room and talking to you like you were the only one who’d listen, her relationship with her dad and how he’s become more and more distant over the years.

Sarah slams her bedroom door behind her, falling on the bed with a sigh. She sits back up, her eyes falling on the Cowgirl sat on the shelf across from her, growing dusty as she plays with it less and less.

She’s 14 now, too old for dolls really. And yet, that Barbie had been there with her through her toughest moments, and even now, it was comforting to have her there.

“Dad’s at work. Again.” She says, half to the doll, half to herself. “It sucks.”

She dives into her backpack, pulling out a small box and opening it up, the newly-polished watch inside glistening in the light from the window. 

She takes it out, delicately, and turns it around to see the engraved lettering on the back. 

‘No matter what, we have each other. I love you, Dad. From Sarah x’

She smiles, quickly placing the watch back in its box, not wanting to damage it before she could even give it to her Dad. “You think he’ll like it?” She asks the doll smiling at her from the shelf.

“I just… I just want him to know I love him. And that I know he doesn’t mean to be gone all the time.” 

She stands, picking the doll up from the shelf and brushing the dust away, carefully readjusting her little hat and smiling at the piece of her childhood. 

“I’ll give it to him tonight. If he ever comes home,” she sighs, lying down beside the Barbie and taking a nap, knowing she had a long wait ahead.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“Alright, here we are!” Barbara chimes, pulling up to the house you’d been looking for. 51 Mulberry Road. 

“Are you nervous?”

“Hell yeah I’m nervous,” you quip, the fear plainly stated in your wide eyes. What if she doesn’t like you? What if you can’t help her feel less lonely? What if this just doesn’t work?

“Look, I’ve been there,” she replies, knowing exactly how you feel. “You’ve gotta remember that you’re her Barbie. You’re her friend, and she’s yours. It’s all gonna work out. My only advice? Don’t expect her to thank you for making everything amazing for women. Trust me, it does not end well.”

You giggle, remembering the story of when she first met Sasha, and hope Sarah won’t be quite as mean. You feel a little better, and thank Barbara for her support, grateful to have your friend back.

“Alright, I’m gonna go and get a coffee. If you need anything, call me, okay?” She hands you the little flip phone she bought, having shown you how to make texts and calls on it to her iPhone. You nod, thanking her again and stepping out of the car, the nerves building up as you hear her drive away and you’re left alone in front of the house.

You take a deep breath, your boots clicking on the path as you make your way up to the door, supported by a big wooden patio and a bench out front. It reminds you of home a little; your western-themed Dreamhouse, clad with old wooden floors and southern-style windows.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you raise a hand and knock, waiting with baited breath before you hear footsteps on the other side and the door swings open.

And there she is. Sarah.

She’s a little older than she was in the most recent memories you saw, around 16 now. She’s tall, with a purple cardigan on and pretty blue jeans that you’re jealous of already. Her smile is bright, precious, and if you didn’t know better you’d think she was a Barbie herself.

“Can I help you?” She asks, looking you up and down with a slightly confused, but still polite expression. 

You stall, the introduction you’d prepared completely forgotten, your mouth just opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sarah’s expression becomes one of concern more than anything, and she reaches out a soft hand to touch your arm, making you jump.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she pauses, looking you over again. “Sorry, do I… do I know you?”

You stumble again, trying to find the right words, and she must see how genuinely nervous you are because she searches behind you into the street, then pulls you inside and shuts the door. “Come on, you need something to drink.”

She leads you to the kitchen, a beautifully decorated but old fashioned room with porcelain tiles and wooden beams across the ceiling. You trace your fingers across the counter top, looking around in awe while Sarah pours you a glass of lemonade. 

Your eyes fall to the corner of the room, where her school bag sits, and a familiar-looking cowboy hat pokes out. You walk towards it without thinking and pull out the doll, admiring the little plastic version of yourself.

“Oh, that’s - that’s not what it looks like. I’m not… I don’t play with dolls anymore, obviously, I just…”

Sarah’s voice trails off, and you assume she’s embarrassed, but when you turn to face her you realise it’s not that at all. She’s staring at you, then the doll, then back at you, with a cocktail of confusion and realisation on her face. 

“You’re dressed… you look exactly like her. What -“ She’s cut off by the front door slamming shut, and a familiar voice shouting down the hall, “Sarah? I’m home.”

Her eyes widen, quickly looking for somewhere she to hide you, the stranger she’s invited in, panicking as her Dad’s footsteps get louder.

But it’s too late. Joel stands in the door frame, staring at you, then shooting Sarah a look that says, ‘the fuck is this?’

“Dad, I can explain-“ he cuts her off, staring you in the eye and taking a step towards you. He looks older than he did in your memories - not in the way that Sarah does, but in a tired way, like he’d worked a hundred years and counting. Grey curls wash over his head, matched by a silvery beard and sunken eyes, and for all the Kens you’ve known in your life, you don’t think you’ve met anyone as handsome as him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks - no, demands, one arm protectively stretched in Sarah’s direction.

“I- I’m- Barbie. I’m Barbie.” You stutter, clutching the doll a little tighter in your hand. Joel’s face scrunches angrily, and he looks at Sarah again, who just shrugs.

“You’re fuckin’ what?” He asks, clearly unimpressed.

You panic, holding up the doll to your face, showing him the obvious similarities between you. The same clothes, same hairstyle, same eyes. 

“You know, Cowgirl Barbie. Sarah’s Barbie,” you explain, a little more confident now, hoping they’d accept your explanation.

Your hopes are quickly dashed as Joel asks Sarah, “do you know this clown?” 

His arms are clenched, and you try not to worry about what’s coming next.

“No, Dad, but-“

He cuts her off. “So you just invited this crazy person into our home?” 

He’s shouting now, and you recoil, remembering Barbara’s first experience meeting Sasha. You wonder if this is worse.

“Dad, don’t talk about her like that,” Sarah shouts back. It makes you feel at least a little better, but it’s too late. Joel’s incensed, shouting about stranger danger and how you’re probably an escapee from some mental asylum, how weird it is that you know what dolls she owns and how to dress like them. 

“- and you” he looks directly at you now, pointing. “You get the hell out of my home and you don’t speak to my daughter ever again, you hear me?”

Tears stream down your face as you nod, throwing the doll onto the counter and running past Sarah and Joel and out of the house. You can barely make it out the front door, stumbling against the columns on the patio, before making it just far enough onto the grass outside to stumble to your knees and let yourself cry properly.

That same, overwhelming loneliness fills you again, tearing deep into your chest and only adding to your pain. Your shoulders shake, and you try to remind yourself of what they teach you at Barbieland; crying is good, hurting is good. It means you’re alive.

But it really doesn’t feel good right now.

You can hear the faint sound of the door opening and closing, but you don’t really register it, not until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

You look behind you, meeting Sarah’s apologetic eyes, and you try to wipe your own of their flood of tears. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I must look horrible,” you laugh, though it’s forced.

Sarah smiles, sitting down in front of you, knees crossed. “I think you look beautiful.”

And that makes you really smile.

You giggle, pulling off your cowboy hat and setting it on the grass beside you. Your denim jacket feels a little hot now, too tight, but you try to ignore the feeling and focus on getting your breathing back to normal.

“Is it true? Are you really… her?” 

Sarah’s question is soft, like she doesn’t know quite which answer she wants. You only nod, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“You’re Barbie?” She asks again, and you can tell she’s expecting a reply this time.

“Cowgirl Barbie,” you answer, still only looking at your hands. 

“God, you know, when Stereotypical Barbie came here, she had such a good time. Mind you, that was in LA, so -“

Sarah cuts you off with a gasp. “Wait, that was real? I heard about that! It was all over Twitter - Barbie and Ken on roller skates in LA, Barbie in a pink cowboy outfit-“

“Yes!” You exclaim, excited - “she told me all about it! She chose the cowboy outfit ‘cos it reminded her of me, you know. We’re best friends.” 

You’re showing off a little now, but you don’t care - it feels good to talk, to be believed.

Sarah watches you in awe. “Wow. So this is, like, real. This is real? You’re Barbie. Where’s Ken?”

“Oh, he had to stay back at home. Well, he didn’t have to, he would’ve come if I asked him to. He’s really sweet. I just… I didn’t wanna be a burden.” You explain, grateful he hadn’t seen you crying like this now you think about it.

“But isn’t he, like, your boyfriend? I’m sure he wouldn't mind.” Sarah replies.

“Oh, he isn’t my boyfriend,” you giggle at the thought. “No, no, we don’t really do that in Barbieland. Everyone’s their own person and makes themselves happy, no need for boyfriends and girlfriends. Even the Kens!”

“Rad,” Sarah grins, liking the sound of Barbieland. “So… why are you here?”

You reply honestly, there’s no use in skirting around it anymore. “Well… I feel what you feel, Sarah. And when you’re sad, and lonely, I feel that too. That’s why I came, to help you feel better.”

“Oh.” It’s all she says.

“Why do you feel like that?” Your tears have stopped by now, your face left red and puffy. You try not to start up again as you watch her face twist at your question.

“Just… stuff. With my dad. He’s never here anymore, always at work. It used to be just me and him against the world, you know? And now it feels like… like it’s just me.”

You pout, rubbing a hand on her knee. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, Sarah. You always have each other, just like the watch says.” 

You smile, trying to be as comforting as possible, but it’s quickly wiped away by the look of shock on her face. 

You’re about to ask her what’s the matter when a southern drawl sounds from behind you, “how do you know that?”

You turn, facing Joel who stands on the steps of the porch, a hand on the railing. Your nerves set in again immediately, and you turn in on yourself, trying not to cry.

“Um, the watch, the one from Sarah. That’s what it says, right?” You can see that very watch strapped to Joel’s wrist, the glass broken, and he brings his other hand to touch it. 

“No one else knows what’s written on that watch,” Sarah says, and you whip around to face her, “holy shit, this is really, really real, isn’t it? You’re her?”

You just nod, and she lets out a laugh, springing forward to hug you. You yelp in surprise but hug her back immediately, revelling in the feeling of wet grass hitting your back. Sarah pulls away, looking up at her Dad with pleading eyes, “come on Dad, you know this is real. She’s real. We have to let her stay.”

You sit up again, grabbing your hat and standing, facing Joel though your eyes stay trained on the floor. He’s silent for a long time, thinking, before he grunts and you can just about make out a whisper of “fine” as Sarah celebrates and leads you back into the house.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

You stay there a few days, mostly keeping out of Joel’s way. They set you up in the spare bedroom, but Sarah comes to get you most nights, and you stay up together having sleepovers and telling stories.

You tell her all about Barbieland, about the beautiful beaches and all-woman Supreme Court, the Dreamhouses and the perfectly blue skies. She tells you about her life, the latest drama at school, about Brad the boy who won’t leave her alone and Jenny, her best friend who definitely fancies Brad. It’s incredibly exciting, and you wonder why you never left for the real world sooner.

Barbara’s ecstatic for you, of course; she’s staying in a nearby hotel for as long as you need her there, you even plan to introduce her to Sarah soon.

You wake up one morning, covered in a duvet somewhere in the corner of Sarah’s room, a host of her other old toys laid out where she’d been explaining each one to you last night. You wondered if there’s a Thomas The Tank Engine Land, too.

There are voices downstairs, and for all the rules of politeness and social expectations you’ve learned, you can’t help but tiptoe to the top of the landing and listen in to the conversation. To make sure Sarah’s okay, more than anything.

“Oh come on, Dad. It’s just one day!” Sarah almost shouts, though it’s obvious she’s trying to keep her voice down. They both are.

“Sarah, I gotta go to work. How the hell am I meant to keep a walking-talking Barbie doll entertained for 7 hours, huh? You want me to talk about makeup and glitter?” Joel’s voice is thick and annoyed, though he’s noticeably gentler when he talks to her.

Sarah scoffs, and you can’t see her, but you know she’s rolling her eyes. “She’s more than that, Dad. She’s smart, and she’s caring. Just - just do this for me, okay? And as soon as I’m back from school, I’ll take her off your hands.”

You can’t see them, but you hear their footsteps walk a little closer to the stairwell. “Fine, fine. Whatever. You better go and wake her up then, cos I gotta leave in 20,” Joel resigns.

You see the top of Sarah’s head from your view between the bannisters, and quickly hurry back to her room and under the sheets. She enters, sitting beside your spot on the floor and whispering, “Barbie? Hey Barbie, wake up!”

You feign tiredness, lifting your head and smiling at the girl. “Oh hey, Sarah, good morning.”

She giggles, and you’re quickly aware of your bedhead, something you never experienced in Barbieland. She talks as you grab a brush and fix yourself up.

“So look, I gotta go to school today. But my Dad agreed to take you with him to work so you’re not on your own… is that okay?” 

She must see the slight panic in your eyes,  as she quickly scrambles to reassure you. 

“I know he was a bit of a hot head when you first met him, but he’s just… protective. But he’s sweet, really. Just give him a chance.”

You think about it for a moment. Barbara is still staying nearby, and you know she’d come and hang out with you while you wait for Sarah to come home if you asked. But then again, maybe it’d be good to spend some time with Joel/ It’s obvious that a lot of what brought you here comes down to their relationship, and if you can help to fix that even just a little bit, then your journey will have been worth it.

“Okay,” you answer, giving Sarah a small smile. She grins, standing up and grabbing her school bag before shouting over her shoulder as she leaves the room, “great! He’s going in 20 minutes… better get ready!” 

You gasp, jumping up from your little nest on the floor and searching through the duffel bag Barbara packed for you of outfits to wear, all western-themed of course.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Car rides with Joel are… awkward, to say the least. 

He drives in silence, no radio, just the slow drone of traffic outside echoing between you, whistling through the open windows.

His car is very different to the ones in Barbieland. It doesn’t have an open top, the seats are worn and rough to the touch. The smell of coffee and cigarettes hangs in the air, and though you’re not used to it, you still find it comforting. Safe.

You reach for the radio, looking for a tune to play and maybe even sing - you’re sure that’ll cheer him up. But he stops you, not hurting you at all but batting your hand away and finally taking his eyes off the road.

“Don’t touch that,” he grunts, and you shrink back in on yourself again. He recoils a little, like he’s trying to appear less aggressive, and refocuses on the road.

“Sorry,” you mutter, shy.

He shakes his head, resting his elbow on the window beside him and readjusting himself, clearly uncomfortable. Whether it’s you or just the way he’s sat, you don’t know.

“‘S fine,” he mutters, barely audible. You nod, unsure of what else to say after that. You’re not looking at him, though you can see his movements in the edge of your peripheral, and you’re certain you can see him glancing at you every couple of minutes.

He finally speaks again after a long span of silence. 

“So…” he starts, tentative. “Is it hard to get here? From- from Barbieland?”

You turn, though he isn’t facing you, eyes trained on the road. You keep looking at him anyway - this is progress at least.

“It’s pretty simple. First you drive, then you cycle, then take a boat, then a rocketship, then you stay in a campervan for a little while, then a snowmobile and voila! You’re rollerskating into LA.” You grin, recounting your adventure into the real world, happy to be able to share it with him. You’re not sure what it is about him, but there’s just something inside of you that’s desperate for him to get you. To care. 

Joel just grunts, rubbing his thumb and forefinger between his brows, and you’re worried for a second that he doesn’t believe you, again. But he doesn’t press, instead he seems to be thinking, and then he asks another question.

“How do you get back?”

“Gotta do all that in reverse,” you answer, giggling. You’re sure you can see the slightest pull of his lips, the hint of a smile, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared.

You decide to try and engage him, let him talk. “Do you like what you do? For work?”

He just grunts again, and your shoulders sink, giving up. He doesn’t want to talk to you. 

You decide not to press him further, but you can see him continue to glance at you a few times out of the corner of your eye, and there must be something in the air because he sighs before talking, a vulnerability in his voice.

“I used to. My Dad did it, contracting. Used to take me and my brother out every weekend and show us the trade. And when I started my business, that was good. Things were good. Now…” he trails off with a sigh.

“Things aren’t good?” You ask, trying to be careful. Trying to encourage him. 

He nods. “Things are different, now. Busy. It’s a hard business.”

You don’t reply, not because you don’t want to, but because you’re not sure how. Joel doesn’t seem to mind. After a few moments, he pulls up at a red light, switching gears and finally looking at you properly. 

“What do you do? In Barbieland?”

“Cowgirl,” you reply, being the one to avoid his gaze now.

“Cowgirl?” He repeats, and you only nod, offering a small smile and waiting for his reaction.

“So is that, like, on a ranch?” 

He’s switching gears again, cruising through the now green light and continuing the drive, muttering something about ‘almost there’ as you arrive in an upscale neighbourhood, lined with huge houses and cars that even the Barbies don’t have.

You shrug, self conscious, but you answer him. You owe him that. He did it for you. 

“No, just… you know. I wear the hat, and the denim and the boots. And I just… cowgirl. That’s what I do.”

He nods, and for the first time since you met him, you’re not nervous about what he’ll say next. You feel comfortable with him, safe even, and you’re not sure what it is about this little drive that’s flipped that switch, but you think he might feel the same way.

“Does it pay well?” He asks, a playfulness in his tone that you haven’t seen in him before. It’s like he’s lit up over the course of your conversation.

You grin, meeting his eyes properly now, where he draws away for a moment at a time to check the road but lets his gaze fall back on you straight after. 

“Better than contracting,” you sass. You’re not sure where the cockiness comes from, whether you’re matching his tone or you just feel that comfortable with him, and for a moment you’re worried you’ve offended him with the joke.

But then he laughs.

It’s not hysterics, but it isn’t an amused ‘huff’ either. It’s like a giggle, a bright, giddy laugh that spreads across his face and makes his eyes light up like stars in the sky. It’s beautiful. It’s sweet.

You tell him as much.

“You have a pretty smile.”

He slows a little, his mouth quickly reigning in its smile and his chest no longer bubbling with that sweetness it had before. But he doesn’t look angry, or offended. He looks as though he’s not quite sure what to do. Like no one’s ever told him that before.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words quickly blowing away with the wind through the open window. You smile in reply, and he watches, neither of you seeming to notice that he’s stopped the car and you’ve reached your destination. Neither of you move.

And then he says the sweetest words you’ve ever heard. 

“So do you.”

It’s gentle, mumbled so lowly you almost think he doesn’t want you to hear it, and yet it hits you in the chest like a lorry. 

You’ve been told that before, of course you have. You’re a Barbie. Whether it’s the other Barbies complementing one another, or the Kens trying to flirt, or Allen just being the nice guy he is, you’ve heard those words before. 

But you’ve never heard them like this, like they’re hard to say, but they need to be said anyway. 

It’s powerful.

You smile again, so does he. You stay in the car a little while longer, in silence again, but it’s a silence laced with comfort and feelings you don’t know how to label. Until he finally breaks the spell, climbing out of the car and helping you out on your side.

He spends the day showing you his work, how to plan builds, how to measure up wood and mark all the right places to cut it. You learn there’s a key named after Allen, and Joel snorts when you tell him how excited you are to let him know that. He even lets you hammer a few nails, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart flutter when he puts his arms around you to guide your movements, his breath in your ear.

And things are good after that day. Really good.

The three of you spend time together, as much as you can, almost like a family. You’ve never experienced family before, true family, but when you’re sat on the sofa with Sarah on a cushion on the floor and Joel to your side, just out of reach, you wonder if this is what it means to be home.

Of course, you quickly understand what Sarah means when she says she’s lonely. You know exactly where that feeling in your chest is coming from, because the times he’s with you are so fleeting, so far and few inbetween, that it feels like gold dust when you have him and like a black hole when you don’t.

And it’s only been a week before you realise just what it means, these feelings, and how they’re not like anything you’ve felt before.

Sarah reads you like a book, cornering you one day as you play dress up in her room. 

“So, you like my Dad?” She asks, a knowing smirk already painted on her lips.

You splutter for a moment, trying to think of a rebuttal, but you give up because you know she has you nailed down. You know she knows.

“Is it that obvious?” You wince, making her grin spread even further. 

“Only, like, all the time,” she laughs, and you flip down on the bed dramatically, making her laugh more. “You know he likes you too, right?”

You sit up again in a flash, eyes wide and searching hers. She raises a brow as you stare, your mind racing - she wouldn’t joke about that, would she? “How do you know?” You ask.

She rolls her eyes, taking a seat beside you on the bed. “Oh come on, man. It’s so obvious. He always talks about you, Barbie said this, Barbie did that’.” She mocks his deep southern drawl, making you giggle. “And he’s always looking at you.”

You blush - you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed. You suppose a part of you just never let yourself believe he could feel the same way.

“What do you think I should do?” You’re nervous now, unsure of yourself. Unsure if this is real.

Sarah smiles, a cheeky sort of grin that doesn’t make you feel particularly at ease, and pats your knee with her hand. “Leave it with me.”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

She calls you down that night, late, not long after Joel came home from work. You switch off the documentary you were watching, something about the animal kingdom, one that amazed you with all the creatures that walk the earth around you. 

You tiptoe down the stairs, calling out Sarah’s name when you can’t find her in the front room, confused. You hear her again, distantly, like she’s outside, and you follow the sound through the kitchen and out the back door, where you’re greeted with the alluring smell of a sizzling barbecue.

“What is this?” You ask, stepping fully outside and taking in the scene. The backyard, usually overgrown and unkept, is littered with fairylights that wrap around the patio columns and line the fence right down to the end. The Miller’s barbecue is fired up, with an array of vegetable skewers and sausages and burgers cooking on top, Sarah proudly stood beside it in her apron while Joel watches, concerned.

Joel. He’s sat at the little table she’s put together, a round glass one with mismatched chairs on either side. He’s dressed up - his hair looks neater than usual, like he’s put extra care into styling it properly. His shirt isn’t plaid, or denim; it’s a light blue colour that matches the brown of his eyes so wonderfully. He looks nervous.

“Hi,” he says, gentle and soft. Your eyes must be wide and confused, because he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Sarah for support. She rolls her eyes - again - and puts down the tongs she’d been using to flip the burgers. 

“You two are so boring pining over each other. So, I’ve set up a date!” She grins, turning back to the food without a care in the world.

You nod, taking another step forward, looking back toward Joel and not bothering to fight the smile that spreads on your face. 

He doesn’t fight his, either. 

You reach out for the chair opposite him, but before you can, he’s standing up and pulling it out for you, his eyes meeting yours.

Not one of the Kens have ever pulled out a seat for you, you think, thanking Joel and sitting on the little chair. He returns to his own seat, clearing his throat and pouring you a drink; red wine, a new favourite of yours since he introduced you to it. 

Sarah plates up the food, setting it down in front of you in a dramatic waiter-style fashion. 

“You’re certainly my daughter, huh?” Joel asks, pride in his eyes as he looks at the food, which you have to admit looks pretty damn good.

“The student has become the master,” she quips, and your heart melts at the sweet moment between the two. 

“Now, you two enjoy. I’ll be in my room. If you need anything… get it yourself. The kitchen is literally right there.”

You and Joel roll your eyes as Sarah bows out, laughing at her own jokes and giving a final wave as she heads into the house, leaving you both alone.

“So,” you begin, unsure of what to say.

“So.” Joel mimics, though you don’t think he plans to say anything after that. He’s not one to initiate conversation.

But then again, people can change. 

“You look really nice,” he says, his eyes so heavy set on you that it makes you feel flush. You look down, at the old baggy top you’re wearing over grey sweats, and you’re suddenly self conscious compared to his nice shirt and carefully-put hair.

“I don’t,” you reply, embarrassed. “I look like a mess.”

He interjects immediately. “No. You don’t. How could you? I mean you’re literally - you’re -“ he can’t find his words.

You finish the sentence for him. “A Barbie.”

“Yeah.”

You’re not sure why it makes you feel the way that it does. Sad. Like you’re not quite real to him, a novelty. He sighs, and for all the time you’ve spent with him by now, you can’t read what’s going on behind the man’s eyes at all.

You sit in silence for a short while, enjoying Sarah’s food, drinking wine. There’s something hanging in the air, heavy and strange, and neither of you know how to address it.

It surprises you when Joel finally breaks the silence again. “Do you miss home?” He asks, pouring you another glass.

You think for a moment. You answer honestly. “I don’t know.” His eyebrow quirks, motioning for you to continue.

“There was a time when I’d have never even dreamed of leaving Barbieland. When I didn’t want anything to change. But things are different now, since Ster- since Barbara left. Everyone thinks differently, feels differently. It’s a very different place. And suddenly everything that made me love Barbieland doesn’t matter to me anymore. The perfect wardrobe, the perfect house, the perfect life. None of that matters. It’s the things here, in this world, that matter.”

“What things?” Joel asks, and it’s only now that you notice his hand has migrated across the table, holding your much smaller one. You wrap your fingers around his, revelling in the small squeeze he gives you, fighting back a smile.

You’re staring at your interlocked hands when you answer. “Family. Purpose.” 

You look at him. “Love.”

He breathes out, like he’s letting something go, something that made him scared but doesn’t anymore. You squeeze his hand.

The rest of the night goes smoothly. It’s sweet, comfortable. It’s nice. 

Until you put your foot in it.

“Do you still feel lonely?” Joel asks, the buzz of red wine making his drawl even heavier.

You smile, glossy eyes doting on him, hands still intertwined. “Well, I felt lonely because Sarah felt lonely. So… no. I feel good.”

Joel frowns, his head tilts. “Do you know why she felt like that?”

You’re not sure how to approach this with him. It’s something you’ve thought about, pondered for days, turned over and over in your mind with no good resolution.

You know exactly why she felt like that. She told you as much.

My Dad’s never here. He’s always away, working. I don’t see him.

But you also know it’s a truth he won’t accept. Not easily, at least.

“Well,” you begin, treading lightly. “I think she just… misses you, Joel. Misses her Dad.”

He’s confused. He pulls away from you, his grip on your hand loosens. “But I’m here.” It’s an assertion, challenging your suggestion.

“I know, I know. But you’re not… you’re not here. You come home from work late, you’re tired, you go to bed. You wake up and before we can even say ‘good morning’ you’re out the door again, going to work.”

His jaw flickers, in that same way it did when you first met. He’s angry. 

“I do what i have to do to support my family,” he grumbles, fully retracting his hand now. You feel the loss of his touch instantly, in your heart. 

That same loneliness sets in again, but it’s not Sarah’s anymore. No, it belongs solely, wholly, to you.

You try to placate him. “I know, Joel, I know. I get it. I just -”

“Just what?” He interrupts you, and you pause, scared to speak. Scared to mess this up.

“She needs you to talk to her. She needs you to listen to her. She needs you to hold her and let her know she’s not alone. She doesn’t see that right now, Joel.”

He doesn’t reply, just stares into space, arms folded. Guarded.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“‘That how it works in Barbieland? Everyone gets what they want, everyone’s happy?” He asks, agitated.

You shake your head. “No, Joel, I-”

“‘Cos that’s not how the real world works, sweetheart. Everythin’ ain’t perfect. The trees ain’t made of cotton fuckin’ candy.” He sneers, mocking you, and the words pierce through you like knives.

“And I ain’t taking parenting advice from no Barbie doll.” 

That really, really hurts.

And it makes you angry, because for all your faults and weaknesses, being a Barbie certainly isn’t one of them.

“Why are you being so defensive?” You ask, your tone rising to match his. “You know I'm right. All that girl wants is her Dad, not a stranger who’s barely there, not a ghost that puts food on the table but won’t even come home on time for her. She wants her Dad, Joel.”

He stands, slamming his palms on the glass with so much force you fear it’ll shatter. He doesn’t shout, but his words are sharp, pointed, and they land exactly where he intended them to.

“You have no idea what it’s like. You’re stuck in your fantasy world, where everything’s pink, but you haven’t got a clue what it’s like to live in the real world. So why don’t you head back to your special Barbieland and leave the actual living, the hard parts, to the rest of us, huh?”

Tears threaten to spill on your cheeks, your eyes burning from the strain of holding them back. “Joel, you don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do. Just… just get out of my house.” 

He walks away from the table, crossing his arms and facing away from you, staring out into the night. You nod, to yourself if no one else, breaking your strength as a sob racks through your body. You clasp a shaking hand to your mouth, not wanting him to hear you, but you see the way his shoulders clench. He heard. 

He doesn’t react further, though. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t make sure you’re okay.

So you do what he said. You leave.

You stalk past Sarah, wiping away the onslaught of tears that have taken hold now, ignoring her as she shouts between you and Joel. “Guys? What’s going on?”

She doesn't follow you upstairs, choosing to give you space and speak to her Dad instead, you think. You text Barbara, asking her to pick you up, and shove your clothes into your bag as quickly as you can in spite of your blurred vision and the messy hair that covers your face. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been, you’d have only thought seconds if you didn’t know Barbara’s hotel was at least 10 minutes away, but you hear her beep the horn from outside and follows its direction.

Sarah’s waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You look down the hall, where Joel sits at the kitchen counter, arms still folded and head down.

“Please,” Sarah begs, “don’t go.” She’s crying, and it makes your heart hurt more.

“I have to.” 

You try to move past her, but she stops you, blocking the way with her body. “Sarah, I have to,” you repeat, choking on your own sobs.

“Why?” She shouts, hot tears staining her face. “My Dad told me what happened. You’re right. He’s wrong, he’s always wrong. He’s never here, but you are, and now you’re leaving me like everyone else. Like my Mom.”

Your nose scrunches. More tears fall. Your chest hurts. “I’m not your Mom, Sarah. And your Dad… he loves you. He loves you so much. Promise me you’ll remember that, okay? He loves you. I love you.”

She doesn’t stop you when you try to leave again. You all but run out the door, the once comfortable night air now painful as it hits your wet cheeks, ice cold. Barbara looks at you with more concern than you’ve seen her with before, more than when she discovered the Mojo Dojo Casa Houses, but you say nothing as you get in the car. You just stare straight ahead, and she drives.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“I’m so sorry, Barbie. I never thought it’d end like this.”

Barbara’s holding your hands, reluctant to let go. You don’t know when you’ll see her again. “It’s not your fault,” you reply, and it’s true. It’s not her fault. It’s yours.

“And it isn’t yours, Barbie,” she retorts, like she can read your mind. You just nod, unconvincing, but she doesn’t push it.

You hug her, for the millionth time since she took you home from Joel and Sarah’s house, since she flew back to LA with you. And now here you are, at Venice Beach with your roller skates on, going back to the place you’ve always called home.

So why does it feel like you’re going anywhere but?

“Thank you for everything, Barbara. I mean it.” You pull back, wiping a tear from her cheek and smiling the best you can, your own tears rolling down your face like the skaters behind you.

She smiles back, and though she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. You know she loves you. You know she’ll miss you.

And with that, you pull away, pushing on each skate until you’re rolling away from the real world and back into your own. Back where you belong, where you’re supposed to be. Where you’re actually wanted.

There are people pointing, laughing at you as you skate past them, but you don’t care. You haven’t cared about anything since last night.

You can see the snowscape ahead, the next part of your journey. Your next step towards Barbieland and a world of pink perfection.

A world that isn’t the same to you now.

You’re nearly there, about to switch skates for the snowmobile, when a familiar, desperate voice comes from behind you.

“Barbie! Barbie, wait!”

You brake, skates screeching on the ground, as you turn to search for him in the crowd.

And there he is, Joel, clinging to a ramp on the left side of the park with the most ridiculous pair of neon green roller skates you’ve ever seen.

“Joel?” You call, immediately rolling over to him when you realise how much he’s struggling. If you weren’t so filled with the joy of seeing him here, you’d laugh at the state he’s in; eyes wide and legs falling beneath him, clearly not used to roller skating. “What are you doing here?”

“I- I wanted to- jesus, if I could just stand up-” You giggle, and he shoots you a look, which just makes you laugh harder. You help him up, laying a gentle hand on his chest as he nearly falls again, your other hand clinging to his waist as he finally finds his balance.

He’s blushing, embarrassed, but there’s something else in his eyes as they finally settle on you and he sighs. “Barbie, I’m so sorry.”

You’re not sure where to look. At him, at your hands, at those ridiculous roller skates he’s wearing. Of course, you can’t pull your eyes from him, anyway.

“It’s - it’s okay. You were right anyway, I’m not-”

“No, no,” he interrupts, placing both hands on your cheeks and quickly stumbling as he loses his balance again without the support of the rail. You hold him, giggling as he almost brings you both down, though you manage to keep him upright and he laughs right there with you.

“Jesus, this is embarrassing,” he finally huffs, and your head falls against his chest. When you raise it again, he’s already looking at you, with those big brown eyes that you never want to forget.

“I wasn’t right. I was an asshole. A huge, insecure asshole.” You try to shake your head, to disagree, but he doesn’t let you. “Just let me say this,” he begs. You let him.

“You were right. I haven’t been there for her. I haven’t been the Dad she needs me to be. I’m just… I’m just scared. Of not being good enough. Of letting her down. So I work, and come home late, and leave early, and I convince myself it’s the right thing to do. But I’m hurting her. And I hurt you.”

There’s pain in his eyes, and it pains you as if they were your own. 

“I haven’t seen Sarah this happy in a long time,” he continues, resting a hand on your cheek again, carefully this time. “Barbie, I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

You don’t know what to say. You take your hand from his waist, tentative, making sure the other one is stable on his chest. You place it over his where it rests on your cheek, folding your fingers around his own, and turning to press a gentle kiss into his palm. He mumbles something, you don’t hear what, but from the look in his eyes you think you know.

“Don’t go,” he begs. “Don’t - don’t go back there. I want you here. You belong here.”

You look into his eyes. You know he means it. 

And so you do the only thing that makes any sense in this moment. 

You kiss him.

You’re careful to keep him upright, but he seems to have stopped caring about that; instead both hands are on you again, frantic, holding you tight like he never wants to lose you again.

When you finally break the kiss, neither of you pull away from one another, your foreheads connected and breaths intertwined. 

“Okay,” you gasp, pulling on his shirt. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Joel closes his eyes again, sighing in relief as you finally release your other hand, touching it to his neck and feeling the rapid pulse that beats against it. You’re holding one another so closely, so tightly, that there’s no way he can fall now.

“You’ll come back to Texas?” He asks, like he still doesn’t quite believe you.

You nod again, giggling at the joy that spreads on his face, though it’s quickly muffled when he kisses you again. And again, and again and again until you’re breathless and sweaty and no longer sure which of you needs help staying upright the most.

You help him turn, wrapping your arms around his waist and supporting him as you try to make your way back across the park, and only then do you see Barbara and Sarah stood to the sidelines, watching, smiling.

You realise Sarah has her phone out, pointed at her Dad, and you’re pretty sure Joel sees it too but before he can say anything, he slips again and falls flat on his bum on the floor, bringing you right down with him.

You gasp, cushioned by his chest and his protective arms around you, laughing hysterically as he groans and sits up. You watch as his face turns from pain into anger, his eyes fixated on something ahead, and you think you know what it is-

“Sarah! Delete that video right now!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Tag list: @vickie5446 @skysmiller @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @letmehavemyfictionalmen

[dpr-stay]

Mandated Reporter Pt.1 | Y.T

All Might | Yagi Toshinori X Reader

Heyyy, guys remember me...? It's not like I haven't posted a fic since *checks history* January or anythign haha lol right? Anyways this was kinda a distraction from my magnum opus but it started getting too long to publish as a one-shot in good faith. So parts LOL. already on ao3, so yeh. sorry if you followed me for F1

WC: ~2700

Warnings: Swears probs, just fluff, soulmate au hehehheheh, idiots in love *sighs dreamily*

Charles Darwin, way back in the year 1859, published his book On the Origin of Species. He was laughed and jeered at when he presented his book, as the theory he had written on the pages differed significantly from the common ideas at the time. No one really wanted to look at the apes that they kept in zoos and find themselves reflected in their eyes. 

He presented many ideas in his writing, natural selection being one you may have heard. However, one you may not be so familiar with if you didn’t take biology in highschool would be the idea of variation (or speciation for you nerds) when faced with an extinction event. 

The two main types of variation that occurred in human beings as we know them in the modern day are the development of quirks and the recognition of soulmates. The extinction events that preceded these variations are still not known, perhaps Mr Darwin was wrong in these specific cases, but the reaches of these variations stretched across the world and revamped the meaning of normal.

In modern Japan, soulmates were almost a taboo topic. Not only did some people not have soulmate’s but the way that people found their soulmates varied, from timers to marks, or even visions. Asking a person how they would meet their soulmate, soon came to be seen as a flirting tactic instead of just genuine curiosity. Because asking if someone has a destined partner can easily be interpreted as wishing that the partner was yourself.

You, personally, had never asked anyone how they were going to meet their soulmate. You found no need to. You would 100% know who they were when you would meet your soulmate. You didn’t mean to sound egotistical or presumptuous, but you would definitely know.Your soulmate ‘marker’ came in the form of words inscribed upon your wrist, written out in mildly scratchy handwriting which was thankfully legible. 

And if you see this criminal or know anything about him, call 1800-XXX-XXX-XXX to give information into the anonymous tipline!

At first, when you read it, you were a bit confused. You knew to some degree it was your soulmate marking, but you didn’t know how it applied to a real life situation. Was it the first thing they heard on the radio? Would it be in the background the first time you’d meet?

Your parents were also confused. They first tried the number, but it hadn’t been registered to any tipline at the time they tried. So they took little 5-year-old you to a so-called ‘Soulmate Specialist.’

At first you had thought it would be like a stereotypical curtained tent, with a lady perched over a crystal ball. But when you arrived, it just looked like a normal hospital clinic. Your mother held your hand as you trailed behind her. 

In a small room down a hallway, you sat on a cushioned bench as a nice-looking lady walked in, exchanged a few words with your mother, and then touched your knee. You watched as she leaned back, her facial expression only able to be described as puzzled, before saying,

“First Words.” You had immediately looked at your wrist. You had read the words again and a slight feeling of disappointment panged in your heart. 

Later, sitting at a table in a small ice-cream store, licking lemon sorbet till you got a brain freeze, your parents tried to come up with scenarios where you would meet your soulmate. Your dad suggested you would meet him during a town meeting (which caused both you and your mum to look at him funny, because who went to town meetings?), whilst your mum suggested that maybe he would be a police officer on the street chasing down a baddie and yelling it out as he went (You giggled at that).

As you grew up, everyone else who you showed it to grew confused as well. It wasn’t exactly something that you’d expect to be the thing bonding two soulmates together. It wasn’t romantic, it didn’t imply any sort of attraction, and you began to get disheartened as you saw the ways your friends met their soulmates.

It seemed each time your friend group got together, another friend would bring in their soulmate, talking about shared marks, oh so lovingly placing the marks against each other right in your eye-line, or finally seeing colour, saying while staring directly at their pair. It started to get at you, the instant connection the pairs would feel, while you were left with a phone number, which only started to work when you turned 18.

(When you first rang the number and it went through, elation took over your body. You stood up and did a little dance as you immediately started speaking into the phone, hoping to find anybody that could help you in your search for your soulmate. You only stopped talking, and dancing, when you noticed that the call was automatic and that you were talking to a robot. The call ended when you realised that they had also recorded it.)

Whenever you felt yourself feeling particularly down, you’d look back to your arm, and see the words engraved. At least you did have a soulmate, you consoled yourself, and at least the words seemed neutral instead of belligerent.

One thing, though, your friends all seemed to agree on was that your mum was right: your soulmate was a police officer. Why else would the number send you to a police tip-line, and why else would he be promoting a tip-line. It made the most sense to you as well. When this solidified properly in your mind, you decided to do everything you possibly could to meet your soulmate. 

It seemed as though they were speaking out as a plea, perhaps outside a police station or on the news to spread awareness of whatever crime this criminal had perpetrated. And so, you began to become a news fanatic.

You’d always tune into the six o’clock news, holding out hope that maybe some sort of crime had been committed that warranted some sort of appeal to the public. It wasn’t that you wanted someone to suffer, you had to reason with yourself, it was just that you wanted to know who your pair was. 

Whenever a crime was committed, you always kept your eyes peeled to the news report, hoping for some sort of plea to the public. Alas, the words were always similar but never quite right. News anchors and police officers always recited from a consistent script about each different offender, never varying no matter how much you wanted to.

Soon, whenever you had a free day, sometimes you’d head to police press conferences. You had a nice camera, that your mum had given you under the pretense of photography and wanting you to expand on hobbies, that you used to justify being a member of the press in order to sneak into the conferences. You’d occasionally take photos while waiting for the police to discuss the details of whatever case they were dealing with, and you always looked right at the speaker whenever they’d come close to saying the lines, before leaving disappointed.

After asserting that your soulmate was most likely a police officer, you also took to walking past the station on your way back home from work every night. Not only was it safer, but it also gave you a chance to listen to the officers standing outside of the station, chatting amongst themselves. You’d often overhear some of their discussions about criminals, but there was never anyone out the front advocating for people to ring their tipline.

Tonight was almost the same as every other night. You’d gotten off work particularly late, rushing from the elevator of your office to the entrance. You pushed through the glass doors, turning to wave to the receptionist. The night air was chilly, but the streets were alive with office workers such as yourself. 

You eyed the takoyaki stall across the street, and reasoned that you were already late to go home, but you then saw the line of half-dead employees stretching from the stall down the corner of the block and quickly shrugged the notion off. You still wanted to try and catch the 9 o’clock news after all.

You weren’t allowed to check any sort of non-work related device or website during the day, so you had no way to see if any criminals were being searched for or if any press conferences were being held. As such you always tried to catch some iteration of the news on the TV at home, if only to remain informed. 

As soon as you turned, you started speed walking home. Living only a couple minutes from your job sometimes had its advantages, as it meant you didn’t have to walk a long way in the dark, only like a kilometer. If you kept up with your fast pace, you’d pass the police station in two minutes and reach your home in five.

You reached the station and slowed down a little, trying to peak inside. The place seemed relatively dead when you glanced at it, only seeing the glowing reflections of the lights within. Only a couple officers were in and you breathed in sympathy as you saw the stacks of paperwork they had before turning and continuing on.

In five minutes (you were right), you arrived at your apartment building. You quickly scampered up the stairs, taking almost three at a time, before jetting to your door and unlocking it. You had the TV on in twenty seconds, just in time for the evening reporter to begin rambling on about the events of the day.

As she spoke, you began to unwind. You changed into pyjamas from your business attire as she told a story about a bank robbery, you were cooking instant ramen as she recounted an announcement the governmental opposition made, and you had just sat down on the couch as she began a report about the newest criminal who was taken down by a team of pro-heros and All Might.

You slurped your noodles as you watched intently. Despite being quirkless yourself, you were not immune to the charms and draws of the luxurious pro-hero life. You weren’t stupid, you knew it wasn’t all glitz and glam, you’d seen plenty of videos surrounding the harsh conditions that heroes had to go through and the mental tax that it took on them. Even now, watching All Might beat the shit out of a guy while yelling “SMASH” and random US state names, you cringed whenever the other guy got a punch in. But still, the galas and large amounts of money coming in sure sweetened the deal a fair lot.

You looked around your meager apartment and snorted. If only you had a quirk as flashy as All Might’s, that way you might’ve been able to live a life that wasn’t just above the Japanese poverty line.

The TV flashed pictures of the guy the heroes had fought and you whistled under your breath. He looked tough, almost like a shark with the way his teeth were pointed but scarier with the way his hands were literal chainsaws. As you listened more, you realised that they hadn’t actually ‘taken him down’, they’d just secured the people he was holding hostage and All Might had beaten him so badly he wasn’t able to walk (yeesh). But apparently they’d put the cuffs on him but then he just faded away, which definitely didn’t seem like something a guy with chainsaws for hands could have attributed to his own quirk.

That was definitely something you’d be thinking about tomorrow as you walked home from work, the fact that chainsaw hands could pop out and saw any of your limbs off and then be teleported away before you could even see him. You shuddered at the thought.

The TV quickly changed to show a live news conference and you perked up in your seat, leaning forward to see who was in the line-up of speakers and see if you could identify any of them. The news channel had joined in towards the end of the conference, one police officer speaking about the dangers of the man and the crimes he had committed. 

He went on for a while, so you sort of zoned out, but your attention was quickly caught again when All Might stepped up to the podium to speak into the microphone, which was strange as you’d never seen him stick around for a conference.

In your attempts to be up-to-date and to make sure that you’d never miss a call-to-action anywhere, you’d encountered plenty of news stories about All Might. He was the symbol of peace, so it was only normal that he often was the one to round up the villains that the numerous press conferences were about.

You’d always admired him, it was hard not to, but you never really thought all too much about him. I mean yeah, he was always there to save the day, but you’d never been in a spot where you’d needed him. You knew he was exceptionally popular amongst, well, everyone, but honestly he was kind of just another hero to you. 

One thing that did make him stand out, and justified to you the cult-following he had, was his attitude. He took the symbol of peace schtick seriously, and was always smiling and ready to help people no matter the personal sacrifice he endured. He earned your respect through that. 

He was also kind of hot. He was definitely conventionally attractive, but you’d always kind of thought he was hot in the way that he was always someone to rely on. You don’t know, you’d always kind of liked the scrawny boys better, blame it on your issues.

When All Might finally spoke into the microphone, he essentially repeated what the police officer before him had. You sort of rolled your eyes in a ‘get on with it’ way. You could tell the news was about to cut back to their broadcasting from the live conference so you waited for him to finish his statement while mentally scrolling through your shopping list.

Leaning back into your sofa, you watched as he paused for a second before shooting his eyes up to the camera and lifting one commanding finger to point at the lens before speaking.

“And if you see this criminal or know anything about him, call 1800-XXX-XXX-XXX to give information into the anonymous tipline!”

You blinked. Then you promptly spilled your boiling ramen over your lap as you dropped the bowl. Pain immediately shot through your senses, causing you to curse and look down to your lap.

All Might released some sort of pained noise, causing you to look up and see him grab his wrist on the TV. Your jaw dropped. A female anchor’s face appeared on the screen and you cursed again, quickly looking back to the inflamed skin on your lap. You rushed to the shower, turning the tap onto cold water and sitting down as it rained onto your pyjama bottoms.

You titled your head back before it banged against the glass of your shower door. Had you just hallucinated that? No fucking way right? There was no literal way your soulmate was All Might? Like the actual All Might. Like always smiling, strong as fuck, number one hero All Might.

What the fuck. You had to have been wrong.

You looked down to your wrist, raising your sleeve up to read the words again. Something had changed. Instead of the words being outlined in a sort of dark purple that complimented your skin tone, they had changed to a light lilac. Your jaw dropped again.

What the hell? One of your fingers traced the writing as you groaned. There was no literal way your soulmate was All Might. It was impossible.

You opened your eyes to look up at the shower head, watching as the water poured down.

There was no literal way that he could be your soulmate because All Might, even since the early days of his career before he was known for being the number one hero, had been known to be one of the few public figures who was incredibly vocal about being soulmate-less. 

so how'd we feel? I do like a bit of crack, if you hadn't picked it up yet.

also she's unedited, but it's me, so it's no surprise.

[b-else-writes]

The Great CLAMP Re-Read Part 7: X/1999

Part 1 (RG Veda) | Part 2 (Man of Many Faces) | Part 3 (Tokyo Babylon) | Part 4 (Duklyon) | Part 5 (Clamp Detectives)| Part 6 (Shirahime)| Part 8 (Chunhyang) |Part 9 (Miyuki-chan)

The magnum opus that never was. Spanning 18.5 volumes, with 3 volumes unpublished, X is the most notorious of CLAMP's unfinished works, stalled for over 20 years at a cliffhanger because they and their publishers allegedly lost their taste for its too-real destructive violence and ending. Both the 1996 film adaptation and 2001 film attempt to give the story an ending, and while I'll touch on them briefly, I'm trying not to allow speculation to influence my reading.

X (subtitled as X/1999 in its original USA run) ran from 1992 to 2003 and in many ways marks the end of CLAMP's 90s era, tying up and saying goodbye to the stories of Subaru, Hokuto, Seishiro, and the CLAMP School, for now. There's a stylistic and even tonal shift after X halted, ending a run of tragic, violent, interpersonal psychology that so characterized their early writing. Reading it was bittersweet in that regard, as going through CLAMP's early years has made these characters, ideas, and dynamics some of my all-time favourites. At turns frustrating and meandering, revelatory and awe-inspiring, a surreal mix of Western and Eastern mythologies, with some of their most beautiful art yet, let's bid farewell to Tokyo and the Earth with CLAMP's most ambitious work yet. Heavy spoilers!

Synopsis: In the year 1999, the esper Shirou returns to Tokyo to fulfill his mother's dying wish of changing the fate of Earth. Kamui is destined to save the world, or destroy it, but he only cares about the protecting his childhood friends, Kotori and Fuuma Monou. In his wake are drawn the Dragons of Heaven, who fight to preserve humanity and the Earth as is, and the Dragons of Earth, who seek to destroy humanity and renew the Earth from our corruption. As the promised day of destruction draws near, what does Kamui wish for? And who is the second Kamui, and how is he connected to Fuuma?

The Story: A Christ figure character having to save Earth? Everything being re-explained at least 3 times? Constant dream scenes? In every way, X seems poised to fail, but CLAMP succeeds in infusing a level of ambition and sweeping grandeur that lifts X up in spite of itself. What sells X is that it takes a story about the end of the world and tells it on an emotional, inner-world scale - dreams become entire volumes as characters puzzle out destiny and what makes life worth living. The entire first arc revolves around building the relationship between the main trio, and Kamui's character psychology, so that Kamui's choice actually resonates and emotionally and narratively destroys us. The entire sequence of Kamui and Subaru inside Kamui, and the end of Seishiro and Subaru's arc will haunt me FOREVER.

At the same time, it contains all the sweeping epicness of RG Veda (and shares many motifs and plot elements!), presenting the tales of god-like characters against the backdrop of emotional, homoerotic fights. We're dealing with fate and god-like power, but all of this is placed against the question of, "who are you? and what do you want? And is that the right choice for others and yourself?" Set against the fight between two homoerotic best friends - honestly this manga is so sexually charged, from the BDSM undertones to Satsuki's computer-sex. This god-scope conflict is reduced to our own base instincts for humanity and sensation and consumption and intimacy. There's highly compelling stuff in here. It's so shojo in the best way.

That's not to say X doesn't have structural issues. It has some severe pacing issues, mostly at the end as the Dragons of Heaven are stuck losing battles while Hinoto goes evil and Kamui can't make a kekkai, ad nauseam. It feels like trying to fit the Tarot card number to number of characters, bloated the story. Additionally, while I really love the Keiichi arc, I think X needs more grounding in characters not tied to the apocalypse. Destruction can often feel weightless, an issue for a story that trades on the idea of human connection vs. apathy. Gaia Theory (killing humans will save Earth) is also just bullshit, which can make the conflict frustrating because nobody questions its logic.

Still, despite all that, I can't argue that X is just compelling. It has SUCH a strong sense of millennium angst mood, such interesting character and thematic ideas, lays just enough narrative bread crumbs, that it's visceral enough to work despite itself.

The Themes: X is sooo crystallized RG Veda with the deeply psychological exploration of human loneliness of Tokyo Babylon, CLAMP once again returning to these core themes of their career at a new, fresh angle! X feels so thematically cohesive in what it's trying to do. It's the journey of The Fool across the tarot deck into Judgment and The World. X takes the notion of fate internally, beyond the will of the stars, to explore shadow selves and personal desire. I LOVE a mirror character and Greek tragedy; I ate up the dualism and fatal flaws. It's all very (attributed to) Carl Jung: Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate. Fuuma reads the deepest, most self-destructive wishes of others, and is himself the shadow self Kamui cannot accept: only by realising his true wish and self, can destiny be overturned!

People focus heavily on the apocalyptic conflict, but X is so meaty because it is fundamentally about our own sense of self-identity. X deconstructs RG Veda's thesis that holding onto your wish (CLAMP defines as love for one person), beyond reason, pity and rectitude, is NOT a moral high ground. It tracks Subaru's character to its logical end-point: The Dragons of Heaven subsume their love for one singular person into their only self-worth that they self-destruct without them. Conversely, the Dragons of Earth lack all connection to anyone. It's nature vs humanity, attachment vs detachment, desire vs freedom. For all its Christian trappings, X is deeply Buddhist: we escape samsara in a middle path of a stable self-identity, beyond apathy and desire. X uses the end of the world to position the singular truth that you have to want to live and be a person.

The Characters: Oh Kamui, Fuuma, Kotori, my bargain bin Subaru, Seishiro and Hokuto, who are bargain bin Yasha, Ashura, and uh, Gigei I guess (who are themselves bargain bin Jotaro, Kakyoin, and Girl. God, it's just endless games of telephone between masculine reserved seme and feminine emotional uke. I see you CLAMP).

Okay being serious, I do actually find Kamui interesting - and I think it's meant to be textually repetitive. It's refreshing to have a shojo man who is a violent unpleasant little asshole. And while narratively I understand Fuuma absorbing these traits when he becomes Kamui's shadow, I don't care for the uke-fication of Kamui. Still, Kamui's inner conflict and inability to figure out who he is beyond "the Kamui" works. Fuuma never quite grew on me, mainly because he is so blandly perfect at the start, but I think he's acceptably charismatic as a villain. And the concept of twin stars is undeniably compelling. Kotori fared the worst for me. The purehearted housewife shojo ingenue is so riddled with sexism and Kotori never becomes anything beyond a satellite character - her dream scenes are narratively compelling, but her character is lifeless (literally) and dull.

The supporting cast fares much better, though it's too large. Aoki and Saiki, for example, could have been merged. Still, I loved Arashi and Sorata, Karen, Yuzuriha, Kusanagi, and of course, the conclusion for Subaru and Seishiro. There's such interesting ideas woven into the cast, and I really enjoyed watching them wrestle with connection and self-identity. The Dragons of Earth aren't as individually interesting, but they're just cool enough that it wasn't too bothersome (except Yuto. I kept forgetting him). The main issue is that having so many perspectives meant character arcs had less room to breathe.

The Art: With one major caveat, this is probably THE most beautiful CLAMP manga, ever. Very few pages have a traditional grid layout, with incredibly beautiful and inventive panelwork that bursts out and follows characters' emotions and dreams into consecutive pages of gorgeous spreads. Panels are layered but never visually messy and only enhance visual storytelling and meaning. The constant use of motifs and visual metaphor is, while unsubtle, just gorgeous that we become swept away in the grandeur of a new myth with swirling dragons consuming Earth. Water, feathers, sakura, ticking clocks and glass Earths lead the eye through dreams and inner worlds and even characterize entire interactions and distract from sometimes painfully repetitive dialogue. And the colour spreads and tarot cards are insane maximalist works of art. The fight scenes are illegible, but I don't think CLAMP knows how to solve this.

The character design is mostly memorable, transforming undeveloped personalities into fully realised characters, like Satsuki's bio-tech room - though Aoki and Fuuma look too similar. My caveat is I don't like the cuter look we get in the later volumes when they were influenced by other series they were drawing, though it still reads (Vol 1-10ish are the peak). Still, the art grants the story a mythos greater frankly, than what it ever achieved in its writing.

Questionable Elements: I've alluded that many CLAMP manga have a baseline sprinkle of sexism - not anymore than a lot of shojo, but something I'm more able to spot now than when I was a teen. X is decidedly more sexist. FIVE separate women are fridged to either help a male character and/or cause a male character pain, with Hokuto's being the worst because X strips her of so much agency to turn her into Kakyou's lost love. Arashi loses her power because she is no longer a virgin. Yuzuriha and Satsuki's arcs revolve around their male love interests. Kotori's writing is terrible (bless the anime for making her a PERSON) and Kanoe can definitely veer into hyper-sexualized fanservice in a way male characters aren't. I don't love how Karen's emotional worth culminates in becoming a mother. And Nataku lacking a soul because they weren't "born from a mother" sits poorly (plus being genderless because they're literally from a lab). X is one of my favourite CLAMP works, but it has a sexism issue and I think dismissing it as "well, it's a tragedy", fails to see the differences in how women are written and treated by the story, vs. the men.

The Ending: So, the elephant in the room is X has no ending. The anime and movie attempt to conclude things, to mixed effect: the anime ignores that Kamui's true wish is NOT to bring Fuuma back, and while the movie ending ties us back to X's inspiration Devilman, it feels mostly for shock. Ultimately, it doesn't matter because, how do you assess a story that is only 6/7 way told? I'm trying not to heavily speculate on whether the ending would have elevated or diminished X. In the end, I think X is still worth the read despite the lack of ending. As Subaru says, nothing will change and nothing will get better if you don't, but you will walk away changed if you do try it.

Overall: I've seen people say X is a series more to be experienced than to be read, and I both agree and don't. X is a visual tour de force, probably one of the most beautiful manga I have ever read and lessens MANY of its flaws. And it's true it doesn't stick all its story beats or character writing and perhaps, in hindsight, they might have written it smaller and more cohesive. But there is something beautifully human and raw and ugly and intimate at the heart of X, of human connection and shadow selves and self-destruction and free will, that really haunted me afterwards.

'X, despite its edginess, stands out from the drecks of misanthropic, apocalyptic, violent tales of dueling best friends for centering its story at the heart of the human soul. It remains deeply resonant and influential more than 30 years after it was started, and 20 years after it halted, and for that I would count it amongst CLAMP's best. It's a fascinating deconstruction of heroic sacrifice and selfless love and in so doing reaffirms human connection, individuality, and hope in the face of the apocalypse. The future, after all, is not yet decided.

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

After the Hurricane 1989 Pop-Rock / New Wave / Pop / Soca / Calypso / Hard Rock / Progressive Rock

Yikes, folks; this one was *pretty* bad. Back in 1989, a devastating hurricane named Hugo had managed to strike the tiny Caribbean island of Montserrat, and one of its foremost ambassadors, UK super producer and legendary 'fifth Beatle' George Martin, decided that he would try to raise funds in order to help rebuild it, in part by having a benefit comp put together that consisted of songs that had been recorded in his own famed recording studio there, AIR Studios. A whole lot of starpower had passed by AIR in the decade prior, and so here we get a comp that's chock-full of immensely popular names.

But these selections end up leaving a whole lot to be desired. So much of this album, despite the undeniable talent that's featured all throughout it, seems to suffer from an excruciating level of listless and generically disposable, radio-friendly 80s malaise 😒. I mean, I personally love a lot of 80s music, but I'll be damned if most of this doesn't just somehow strike me as "songs to close the garage door and turn your engine on to." So many of these tracks just feel so devoid of any soul or meaning. It's brutal.

And while most benefit comps come packed with previously unreleased, hard to find, and exclusive material, nothing on this comp was actually anything close to being rare, with only one of its songs having not appeared on any studio album: The Rolling Stones' "Fancy Man Blues," which was on the B-side of their 1989 single, "Mixed Emotions." So, while most people know in advance that when they're purchasing a benefit comp, they're probably not getting something that's very good—because why would an artist contribute some of their best material to a release that's not even their own?—this comp can't use that defense, because every single song on this thing had already been previously released by its respective artist, and all of these songs were pretty easy to access by the time this comp had come out too.

But what's more is that some of the white acts on here really took the whole island vibe of Montserrat to heart, and then they either tried to incorporate it into their own sound (😕),  or they just straight-up tried to play Caribbean music (😩). And let's just say that white people, for the most part, should've really, at the very least, stopped doing the latter in the early 70s, after Harry Nilsson's "Coconut." The law firm-sounding prog rock outfit of Anderson Bruford Wakeman Howe, who were an offshoot of Yes, deliver "Teakbois (The Life and Times of Dread)" on this album, and I *really* don't think that that song has aged too well. And sure, there was plenty of embarrassing music to go around in the 80s, but one of the cringiest fads of that entire era had to be the deluge of tunes that came courtesy of pop and rock acts who decided to temporarily adopt a Caribbean style. Remember how non-disco acts tried to cash in? Well, people did it with Caribbean stuff too! And almost none of it was good in hindsight! 🥴

Still though, credit where it's due: although AIR Studios served as a destination for a who's who of UK and American 80s pop, George Martin still afforded its space to Montserrat's own biggest native star too, Arrow. And in 1982, Arrow would record the album, Hot Hot Hot, whose eponymous title track would end up serving as his own magnum opus, and quite possibly the most famous soca/calypso song ever made. But don't confuse that actual very good original version with the far more famous cover by former New York Dolls frontman David Johansen's tongue-in-cheek lounge-singing alter-ego, Buster Poindexter, because that version, even though it was all the rage at plenty of weddings, was made with a huge dose of silly irony. And Johansen himself has come to hate it too!

So, overall, I think something that's wholly reinforced by this album here is that while there was a ton of great music in the 80s, there was also a lot of it that's completely regrettable as well; moreso than there was in either the 70s or 90s. Musically, the 80s were a fantastic decade for a lot of reasons—as all decades are—but I also think that, as of right now, in our history of contemporary music, it also tended to churn out some of the most insufferable stuff that we've ever heard. And even a whole lot of the most popular acts of those very years, who we'd all nearly unanimously agree were undoubtedly talented, weren't spared from some of its worst indulgences either 👎.

Highlights:

Cheap Trick - "Just Got Back" The Police - "Invisible Sun" Arrow - "Hot Hot Hot"

[ghostsofruefell]

Hello, followers of this account and the others I will reblog this too. I'm just gonna kinda ramble here, but I also have some important info re: when Ruefell will be completed (and Burwick)

I'm sure people have noticed I have a habit of starting projects and never getting anywhere with them:

Honey and Fire, that was my first try at IF and I was a teenager and had no idea what I was doing and it's just no longer a viable project, so that's cancelled for real.

Burwick Destination, I was still inexperienced and young, so my planning is total garbage and needs to be completely rebuilt from the ground up, perhaps the story will change a good deal when I get around to that. But I'm not ready to do that and I won't be for a while. I'm ashamed of how long it's been on hiatus, so I need to take this time to clear my plate and just not look at it for a while, that way it won't go the way of HoF and take a toll on my mental health.

Magic of Ruefell, my planning is much better and I'm still confident in this one. But it's a big project. Which brings me to my newest project.

The Book of Broken Candles. @bookofbrokencandles This one is my new and primary focus. I feel prepared to see this one to completion.

See... I have problems lol. I'm just gonna level with you guys. I struggle really, really badly with executive dysfunction and some symptoms that lead me to certain labels I can't get diagnosed, but are symptoms that frequently strangle my creative efforts. I was in a much worse place when I started those first three projects (and my not-so-secret other one on my main) so they also got this treatment as I fell into yet another pit that prevented me from working. But I feel like I'm in a better place now. It's not perfect and I'm still slower than hell at writing, but I'm also still writing. Consistently, at that, which is something that hasn't happened for me since my fanfic days in my teens. That's a good sign, to me.

I'm worried about what will happen as we get into December, because I already hate how early the sun sets where I live and I don't do well with seasonal depression. But I won't be too hard on myself, whatever happens, and I hope that will be enough to get me through this season without a great deal of pain to my writing.

But that's neither here nor there right now. I wanted to clear state what's going on in my head right now regarding my projects:

Truth be told, Burwick and Ruefell are too much right now. Burwick moreso, but that's for multiple reasons. I've already said it, but I need to return to it at a much later date and pick up the pieces of my teenage mess.

Ruefell, it's in a way better state, but it is... a big bite to chew right now, in terms of being my first completed IF. So I don't think it can be my first completed IF. Its cast and number of variables are on the large side and I don't want to burn out on it. There's also more promise in the plot that I'd really like to have the experience needed to deliver on.

Candles is... getting a bit on the big side haha. It's seeming larger than I expected when I first conceived of it. But I'm keeping it in a much tighter scope. Its focus is much narrower, I'm more confident in the decisions I'm making to keep the number of variables under control (aka not being too much of a people-pleaser) and I have a set limit on the number of chapters it will have, so I can see the timeline a lot clearer. What this means is basically just that Candles will take a little longer to complete than I initially thought, but it won't be harder to complete.

So here's the timeline: Candles completed -> Ruefell completed -> Circle back around to Burwick and complete that.

Then I'll see what ideas I've shelved in that time. I have some I've been kicking around for a long time, and one that may very well end up being my magnum opus when I get to it. And I think my dream is to one day write a VN. I have an idea, but it is also massive, so maybe I'll manage to make that dream come true with a smaller project before that one.

I think that's all I have to say right now... Thank you, everyone, who's been patient with me all this time. If you still enjoy my work, please follow me over at @bookofbrokencandles and send me asks and stuff, I need engagement to survive or I feel like I'm screaming into a void that won't echo.

Ok, bye.

[fromtheseventhhell]

Hey! I wanted to ask you something about the Winds of Winter. Do you think we’ll ever get it and also if you think we’ll get Dream of Spring? A lot of people say George is never gonna finish the books because he either doesn’t want to finish it or he’s too old and he’ll die before the books are done. That he is getting sidetracked with all these side projects. I know he’s a slow writer. But… I really want to believe that he doesn’t intend to leave his magnum opus incomplete. Like he can’t want the only ending we’ll ever have to be that universally panned and despised one written by a couple of sloppy sexist hacks. He can’t want us to remember his favorite characters the way they were written in that awful season (Tyrion an incompetent idiot, Arya a xenophobic cold hearted killer who wants to be alone, Dany a “mad tyrant” destined to go like that because of her father and because she ended slavery, and Jon a spineless weakling). A lot of people are losing hope. I’ve been keeping hope that we’ll get them. Winds releasing at the end of the year or next year and Dream either late 2020s or early 2030s. Do you still have hope that we’ll get them?. Also what do you think will be Dany and Arya’s endings?

I can understand why people don't have faith in him finishing the books. It's sad to say but it's just been too long since the last book. George is a slow writer and it seems like he really likes keeping busy with other tasks that keep him occupied. I don't think he isn't finishing the books because he doesn't care I just think it's genuinely difficult for him to find a way to wrap up TWOW. There's a lot he has to get through and a lot of pieces he has to put into place for the final book. He's made it clear that the books and the show are two different stories that will have different endings. I like to be optimistic (delusional) so I do believe that we'll get TWOW at some point. Hopefully in the next few years. He's been making a lot of mentions of finishing it this past year and that gives me hope. As for ADOS that's harder to judge. I'm in the camp that thinks that if we get TWOW, there's a good chance we could get ADOS.

As for Dany and Arya's endings, I feel like we just have too much story yet to make a guess. For the broad strokes I think they'll both wrap up their current plots, make it to Westeros, have some introductions ( and for Arya reunions), participate in the long night, etc. I do think that they'll both have some form of leadership position in the end. To what level and where is hard for me to make a guess. They'll both surely survive through ADOS and I doubt either of them will end up dying. I don't think the show ending even closely resembles the ending we're moving towards in the books which is a good thing, but also makes me want the books that much more. I would hate for the show to be the only ending we're going to get.

[abnerkrill]

13, 14, 15, 16 :D

hi wren, thanks! <3

13. Favorite villain of the year

my brand is strong, i do enjoy a villain!!! answered here and here. joe mawle adar is always going to be in my heart but i do have hopes for hazeldine and i don't hold anything against him (really hoping the fandom is nice and reasonable about it shrug emoji!!)

runner-up: it is @brynnmclean's fault for making me care about halbrandsauron. i'm incensed. i have mairon feelings now. if i said that to myself from even a year ago i wouldn't have believed it.

14. Favorite m/f ship of the year

elendil/miriel :') the queen and lionheart vibes... the angst, the yearning, the doomed by the narrative of it all. they are both so very dead from the start and we're just watching them walk to the site of execution for several years. it's delicious. i'm crying.

i always play sol as a girl in teenage exocolonist so i'll also say sol/sym! it's literally in the text that they're star-crossed lovers. they're the two characters who don't experience time in a linear way and therefore understand each other best. he might not remember you on each new playthrough like you remember him, but he believes you without hesitation when you tell him you were lovers in another life. even before that, he follows you around like a lovesick puppy saving your life from all your dumb decisions until you chase him and catch him!!!!!

anyway here's sym falling to his death lol. don't worry he's fine, he's basically a mushroom who grows back!! but sol doesn't know that at first. and he always loses his memory of your first kiss. 😭

15. Favorite f/f ship of the year

love it for us that we all answered miriel/galadriel but it's TRUE it's SO POWERFUL. queen and knight vibes! i am going to write something for them, i swear it. runners-up: nori/poppy are sooo cute and i hope poppy comes back.

and they may have never met in canon, but on a spiritual level i think marta knives out/helen glass onion are destined to be lesbian lovers. it's what they (and i!) deserve.

16. Favorite m/m ship of the year

elrond/adar, elrond/durin, and adar/arondir! *runs away* you can't make me chooooose. elrond/adar is my pet project, the ship i launched all on my own, my magnum opus. elrond/durin is thiiiiiiis close to actual canon. adar/arondir is deliciously, inevitably tragic. they all mean so much to meeeee.

honorable mention to valandil/isildur (salute to @aadmelioraa, captain of the honorable ship.)

end of year fandom asks

[ruminativerabbi]

Sukkot 2022

When the Bard has melancholy Jacques step forward to remind the audience that “all the world’s a stage / and all the men and women, merely players,” the point is not that nothing that happens in the world has any real importance in the same way that nothing that happens on stage in a play really matters.

In the theater, nothing ultimately matters because it’s all make-believe: when the show’s over, the actors head for their dressing rooms, take off their costumes, put on their street clothes, and go home to their real lives. Even the people killed on stage are fully resurrected in this magic manner: when the curtain goes down, they wash the fake blood off their faces, send their tomato-juice soaked outfits to the show’s laundry service, put on their blood-free (or rather, tomato-juice-free) street clothes, and go home to their husbands or wives or cats or whatever. But the Bard’s point is specifically not that nothing that happens in the world matters, but that society functions in many ways as though we were all part of a theatrical troop of players: people endlessly entering our stage and exiting it, behaving foolishly or wisely, interacting maturely or childishly, successfully summoning up the courage to be brave or good or failing to find the inner strength to behave virtuously at all. And this as well, the Bard implies: as we wind our way through the years of our lives, we all have the potential to transcend the role written for us by the all-seeing and all-knowing Playwright whose magnum opus is human life itself and, even while sticking to a script written by Another, investing enough of our own moral selves in the roles we are called to play to make the part, somehow, our own. That, as any theater critic will agree, is specifically what makes some actors great and others not, that specific ability to be true to the script and yet somehow also to be fully personally and wholly idiosyncratically invested in the role.

So that’s what the Bard meant to say. What the Bard surely did not mean to say is that it is ever morally justifiable to treat other people like pawns in a stage drama, like people who have somehow accidentally stumbled onto a stage without even realizing that there is a huge audience watching them and waiting for them to say a word, without understanding that they have been cast as players in a drama of which they haven’t ever heard, regarding the plot of which they have no idea, and the author of which they cannot name.

And that is the set of thoughts I brought to my analysis of the decision of Governor DeSantis’ decision to spend Florida taxpayers’ money unilaterally to round up fifty refugees who landed in a state a thousand miles to the west of his own and then to ship them to a third-state-destination so that the cold, unfeeling reception he must have been sure they would receive could function as grist for his own political mill, as proof positive that even those airy-fairy liberal types in, of all places, Martha’s Vinyard, would become immigration hawks as soon as they were faced with having to deal with actual refugees on their own turf and not merely by watching them on television as other people try to deal with what all sides to the debate agree is an unmanageable situation as it now stands.

But that’s precisely not what happened. The people in Martha’s Vinyard rose to the occasion nobly and kindly, providing the newcomers with lodging and hot meals. AP Spanish students from the local high school were pressed into service as amateur translators. Eventually, the government will have to decide what to do with these people. But the people in the Vinyard, whose problem this could not possibly have been less, responded decently and generously: they saw homeless newcomers in their midst and they did what normal people do when confronted with hungry, homeless people: they fed them and found them lodging. What happens next is hardly their call. But on the small-stage level, they responded just as decent, goodhearted people always should:  compassionately and humanely. Good for them!

The Bard had a point, but Jewish tradition takes a different tack: the whole world may well be a stage, but the lives we live on that stage are better compared to a journey than to the performance of a play. And that notion of life as a journey is at the heart of Sukkot, which begins this Sunday evening.

The other two pilgrimage festivals, Pesach and Shavuot, are tied in our tradition to specific events: Passover to the actual night on which the Israelites finally left Egypt and set forth on their journey to freedom, and Shavuot to the great moment at Sinai when the people, for a long moment transformed into prophets, heard God speak aloud the first ten commandments of the covenant that would forever more bind the people Israel to its God. But Sukkot, the third pilgrimage festival, is not tied to a specific event, but to a long, protracted experience—the one of wandering in the desert for decades until finally arriving at the boundary of the Promised Land.

The rituals connected with Sukkot are reminiscent, each in its way, of this concept of life as a journey. The Israelites who left Egypt died in the wilderness; their children knew no other life until they finally did arrive in Canaan. So for both generations, life was motion, journeying forward, travel through uncharted (and unchartable) territory dependent on God for their lodging (Scripture specifically says that God somehow provided them with the sukkot in which they dwelt as they made their slow progress through the wilderness), their food (the manna fell from heaven specifically to provide them with sustenance), and their water (the pillar of cloud-by-day and fire-by-night led them from oasis to oasis so that they always had enough to drink). And that experience of life as journey became so embedded in the national consciousness that it eventually merited being honored with an annual festival, one that commemorates nothing other than this notion of life as movement forward towards destiny under the protective wings of the Shekhinah, God’s indwelling presence in the people’s midst.

Perhaps that is why Jewish people are so predisposed to honor others whose lives have become an actual journey. I feel that way myself—and not because I am in favor of people not obeying the laws that govern immigration or, more ridiculously, of opening our nation’s borders to whomever wishes to cross over without exercising any control at all regarding who may or may not settle here. My own great-grandparents were immigrants to this land and they certainly (I actually know this for a fact) obeyed all the rules and settled here fully legally. My own wife came to this country from Canada and I can assure you that we followed each of a thousand rules to make her status here fully legal. All of that is true. And also true is that I have no idea who these poor people flown to Massachusetts as fodder for Governor DiSantis’s campaign mill really are, whether they deserve to settle here as legitimate refugees or are just poseurs taking a chance to improve their lot without waiting on line or following the rules that govern immigration to our nation. I have no idea who they are! But I was beyond impressed by the Martha’s Vinyard residents who, also having no idea who these people are, responded to them compassionately and warmly, leaving the federal officials to work out what their eventual status should be and specifically not using that detail to justify turning away from lonely, hungry people in need.

The road, the voyage, this lifelong excursion through the wilderness that is our lives—that experience of life as journey under God’s watchful presence is at the core of Sukkot, an idea that grants majesty to the human condition not by boasting crazily about our permanence and power, but by owning up honestly and humbly to the transient nature of all life…and to the fragility that inheres in living our lives, as we all do, on the road to Jerusalem. I responded to the story of those refugees the governor flew north because they, like my own great-grandparents once were, are on a journey regarding the destination of which they can only hope. But I too am on that journey. So are we all. And Sukkot is our annual opportunity to set aside the natural fear that that image of life-as-journey engenders and instead to embrace the hope that the road we travel through the years can generate…when viewed not as punishment but as opportunity, not as a death march but as a march of the truly living, not as a torturous trek through an unfeeling, uncaring world…but as the road to redemption. Our ancestors eventually found their way to the Promised Land and they celebrated the journey that took them there. So should we all!

[bisluthq]

We accept here on this blog that Taylor wasn’t pining away for Matty Healy for 10 years, that Cardigan and other folkmore songs are not about him though she heavily implies so on multiple songs on TTPD (it’s not Maylors coming up with stuff out of nowhere, she quite literally in CoSoSoM says that she went through lovers and eras ‘ALL to outrun’ her ‘desertion’ of him). She also expresses these sentiments very literally and on multiple songs at that and across multiple albums if we again take what she says truthfully, but we acknowledge that’s probably not reflective of what her actual reality was and that she’s just a songwriter being dramatic. But suddenly she’s not a songwriter being dramatic when it comes to things she said about Joe? Random little lines about her being suspicious other people want him, lines about things said during arguments etc ARE fully accurate representations of how she felt for 6 years? Because if that’s true, then what does it even matter considering that she was carrying a torch for another guy the entire time and only dated Calvin, Tom and even Joe to try and get over him? Or at least, that’s what taking the things she says in song to heart would imply because again she LITERALLY wrote that she did that.

I literally don’t understand what you’re saying here. Obviously she didn’t feel jealous every single minute of every single day for six and a half years but this clearly kept being an issue for her for six and a half years? The other issues she had with him, again starting with Rep and ending with TTPD, were his moodiness/stressy depressiness and him pushing her away when he gets all stressy depressied, lack of clear communication around issues, her worrying about him getting over it and peacing tf out, and her concern around whether or not he could handle being with Taylor Swift™️ - obviously she didn’t focus on those every minute of every day but yes she felt those feelings over a period of six years and a half years? At first the good - which she also wrote about - the physical and emotional and intellectual connection, his patience, his humor, day to day compatibility - outweighed the bad. Then she started to focus more on the bad. Pretty standard stuff. Since the bad she mentions at the end was pretty much what she said at the beginning, seems like their biggest problem was not working on anything idk? I’m not them.

as for Matty, I’ve said many times that I’m sure it felt fated and shit when she said that stuff like yes in that moment it felt like every single decision and moment had led them to each other and it was the most romantic love story of all time for her in that moment. The fact that songs they’d written before they’d even met each other perfectly aligned with their 2.0 love story must’ve legit felt fated. It didn’t work out and she prob doesn’t feel that way anymore but obviously she felt that way in the moment? Justifiably? If my ex from 10 years ago came back into my life and we started reconnecting like I too would be all over finding all the clues we’d been destined for one another from the beginning (I hate even putting that out into the world, may the universe protect me from such horrible things and may no ex of mine ever work with one of my besties and confuse me amen 🙏🏼)???

like I really don’t understand what you’re saying. Are you saying she wasn’t jealous with Joe? Are you saying I’m saying she didn’t genuinely feel shit for Matty? (She did lol she wrote a whole ass Magnum Opus dedicated to the man). I’m so confused???

[rosieuv]

About Roboska

I have not abandoned it. I'm too determined to abandon it. Hell, I'll even sell me soul to Satan if he lets me complete this project before I die.

So what the hell am I talking about? Well...

Roboska is a game series that I'm planning on making over the next few...decades. Yeah...this is going to take a while. I don't mind though as this is my magnum opus, my dream game series, the only reason I exist in this world, the thing I really want to make and will do anything to be able to complete it in my vision. I've been working on it (mainly character designs and writing) since I was 12 and it's evolved from just a little animation series I had planned for 2021, to a whole meta multiverse kind of thing. Is it ambitious? Absolutely. However you'll see why I care so damn much about this thing once it actually starts to come out. This will be the highlight of my game development career and I will only be known as "that girl who made roboska" from that day forward.

The first one is "The Sapphic Princess", which I've already started. I've chucked little bits of lore into some of my game jam games so technically the first one is some 400 word visual novel I made in 2 days...Anyway, I tried making this idea back in 2022 but I lost motivation due to the limitations I gave myself. I still released it under the name "Sci-Fi RaiRoboska!?". It sucks and it takes up way too much memory thanks to me being a stubborn little brat who decided to code the entire thing in Scratch. To be fair, this was made before I knew what Godot was. The art is okay, the music is fine, the story really needs some work, overall it's the disappointment of the family and will not be considered canon. I keep it up though as it's part of history and also it explains what I was doing for 10 months of my life. Originally roboska was just that (and 2 squeals I had planned, which I still do to a degree) but it's evolved since then and has crossed over with some other projects that I've abandoned.

The Sapphic Princess (or LV for short) is the indirect prequel to the big one: Roboska: kanjou! It's a remake of Sci-Fi RaiRoboska but with much more content in, way more horror and 4th wall breaks, voice acting, 3D animations and also the planned squeal shoved in as well to make the ending more satisfying. It's in a completely different world with the main link between the 2 being the roboska experiments. Same experiment, different people testing on different worlds. Same with the 3rd one: Roboska: owari. Although that one takes place in the same world as kanjou, just with a different god with different motives testing it. I don't want to go into too much detail, but I've been tweaking and perfecting the story for 3 years now, and will continue to do so. I upload almost every piece of digital art that I do so here's a bunch of roboska art from both LV and kanjou (some of it is outdated).

In conclusion: I did not abandon roboska as a whole, just Sci-Fi RaiRoboska. It has evolved into something much greater than I envisioned and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I enjoy making it.

Also "roboska" doesn't mean anything, it's just a bunch of gibberish I chucked together back in 2021 that sounded cool and I've gotten too attached to it. I'll think of some kind of lore meaning. The closest I've gotten is that the prefix "robo-" means "automation" and suka in japanese (ska is spelt suka in katakana) means a bunch of random stuff according to google:

It's also a russian swear word apparently.

I guess any of these translations could work is you make it very abstract (or if roboska is short for a longer phrase). Roboska is used to describe a pre-destined event where an alien species called "emeraldeyes" directly communicate with humans to "test their limits of imorality" when given the opportunity to screw up fictional lives and not have to face any real world consequences. The idea of losing the lottery could work in the sense of the fictional characters having bad luck for being born just to suffer. I'm not too sure of the name meaning just yet. I'll think of something...eventually. It's a little annoying how tumblr says the username "roboska" is already taken so I had to name the LV blog "roboska-LV" which means I have to keep changing it every time I start work on the next one and make all the previous links to it not work anymore.

[hazzabeeforlou]

toni??? TONI!!!!!

i can't believe you finally finished the garden series oh my god i've been waiting for this for so long you have no idea.

i am just so in awe of your writing and how you just like?? perfectly capture everything??

like from the religious imagery to the metaphors to the different characters and oh my goddd the way you talk about time and love and destiny it makes me want to curl up in a ball!!!

anyway i have loved the garden since i first read part 1 and i am just constantly enamored with everything you write. love you so much!!!!!

MY DEAR!!! So sorry I was driving all day to summer job destinations! But THIS MADE ME SO HAPPY thank you so much darling!! And yeah I cannot believe I finished it either lol after THREE long years! You’re so sweet I’m glad you enjoy them, they are really my magnum opus on religious trauma in general so I love when people relate ;) KISSES HUGS to you, thank you for such a lovely note 🥹❤️

[corkcitylibraries]

Cork City Libraries Sustainability Blog | Sow…Let’s Grow! Gardening in July

The garden in July and August is really the gardeners’ magnum opus. All the hard work throughout the year is finally (and literally!) coming to fruition. Just yesterday I ate my first home-grown strawberry of the year, and although a slug had technically piped me to the post, the berry was nevertheless still as sweet.

Aside from a variety of fruits and vegetables reaching maturity during these long summer days, there is plenty that can be planted now so that you can have fresh produce all year round. Here in the Hollyhill Seed Library we have several packets of carrot seeds, and if you plant them out now you will have a gorgeous crop of carrots come Autumn. Sow the seeds about 1cm deep in rows 15 – 30 cm long. Sow them as thinly as possible because you want to avoid having to pinch them out later, as this can attract carrot root fly and then all your hard work will be for nothing.

Another vegetable you can plant now for an autumn crop is the pea, which we also have in stock in the Hollyhill Seed Library. There is nothing nicer than the taste of freshly grown peas and if you grow nothing else this year, please invest the time and love into growing a couple of pea plants. Push the seed 3cm down into the soil, keep it well watered, and give it something tall to grow around – that’s all there is too it! If you plant them now you should be able to harvest the lovely little pea pods around September.

Chive seeds can also be harvested now, and I have actually managed to harvest some of my own this year and have very proudly donated them to the Seed Library. I noticed that it was growing new flowers even though the old flower heads were still on the plant so I decided something must be done. I snipped off the flowers taking a good bit of the stem with them, immediately put them upside down in an envelope and left them outside overnight so all the little insects can escape (make sure you check the weather forecast beforehand though – you do not want soggy seeds!). Most of the seeds should come out if you give the chives a good shake at this point and you can simply discard the flowers, but if you want to go the extra mile you can tie the stems together using a slip knot and keep them as dried ornamental flowers. Nothing has to go to waste!

Because everything is growing so rapidly at this time of year, it is important to remember to feed your plants with fertiliser or compost – especially if you are gardening in pots. If the very thought of which fertiliser to use or how to start a compost heap is making your head whirl, you are not alone.

Thankfully we have lots of books in stock that can help you along the way, including No-Waste Composting: Small Space Recycling, Indoors and Out by Michelle Balz, The Ecological Gardener: How to Create Beauty and Biodiversity from the Soil Up by Matt Rees-Warren, and How to Make and Use Compost: The Practical Guide for Homes, Schools and Communities by Nicky Scott. I started my compost heap from scratch just under a year ago and it is coming along nicely now. The first time I used it, it was a disaster – nothing grew! I had used it far too soon and it was still so acidic that it had killed the seeds. Disheartened, I left it for several more weeks and even invested in some worms that had been destined for the end of a fishing line. Around mid-June I decided to try again and used it to plant some salad leaves and basil. Lo and behold, not only did the seeds thrive this time round, so too did some mushrooms, which I see as a huge bonus!

[pilgrimguyanne]

More than a walk

Day 4 Leon to Hospital de Orbigo

The Camino (caminar- to walk, yo camino- I walk) is all about walking. You set off every day for a new town on foot, each step bringing you closer to the final destination: Santiago de Compostela.

But what if Santiago isn't your final destination? What if it's some kind of weak metaphor for something else?

I've been to Santiago 3 times already, completed 3 Caminos. I've always wanted to walk one more, the Frances, the one I am doing now, but its daunting distance has meant it's been more a dream than a reality (sort of like my linguistic magnum opus). So this Camino isn't really about getting to Santiago.

It's about spending time with my friend. The thing I like least about being me is that I always move and leave people behind. Family and friends in Trinidad,and now in Germany. I like to imagine that I've left a trail of love everywhere I've been, but in reality it's that shards of my heart are scattered around the place. You'd think, given modern technology, it would be easy to stay in contact. Zoom coffees and so on. But if we've learned anything from the pandemic, it's that we can do everything online, and also, that we can't do everything online. Online is great for meetings maybe, but not great for actual relationships.

So today was really good. Leon is a lovely little city with a magnificent cathedral and, instead of walking the 36km tk Hospital de Orbigo, we decided to enjoy Leon. The third person in our party preferred to walk the distance, and so it was just two us. We went to mass, visited the cathedral, visited the church of San Isiodore and the attached museum, had breakfast. The we get off and walked may 7.5 km to a town called La Virgen del Camino to see a church, which was closed,had lunch and then took the bus to Hospital de Orbigo,where we met the third member of our party.

Strict pilgrims will say we cheated. Maybe we did. But I got to spend quality time with a dear friend I never see anymore because I moved to England. And that's worth more than any Compostela.

Till next time,

Walk good.

[translationandbetrayals]

Dark souls and the Bushido.

In 2011, Bandai Namco published Hidetaja Miyazaki's opus Magnum, a spiritual sequel to demon's souls: dark souls.

The cover of the game, either the physical or the digital version, was dreading. A giant knight, covered in blue aura looking ominous.....and then, at the bottom, the player. A tiny warrior looking insignificant against such a big threat. 

That already said a lot about the philosophy of the game, though it could always get deeper. Today I'm gonna talk about how this game delivered what was promised in the cover, just by letting you play the first level. And how it makes you encounter the challenge embracing the prospects of the Bushido without you noticing, how it makes you a warrior.

Now, as a disclaimer, i WON'T be talking about the story of the game, merely gameplay aspects, the first time I played this wasn't really paying attention to the narrative aspect, so everything I'm gonna comment can be obtained simply by playing.

Dark souls starts by setting a statement: you are nothing, you are pretty much destined to die in that cell jail or become a hollow and go crazy...but there's a chance you can escape that destiny. So you play! Encountering some easy enemies as the game teaches the mechanics, and then, you open a big black door on the way outside the prison. And a giant monster appears. A demon, the prison guard, giant health life, you dont have any good weapons yet, only a broken sword. What do you do?

Well, at first I didn't understood, I thought the game was being unfair and all, i tried to hit it: almost no damage. It's hits? Damn they hurt. What do you do. Think. And fast! Wait....there's an open door! A tiny little smidge in the background lit by torches!! You run there and escape. First lesson: If you can't fight the fight, either die foolishly over and over or escape and keep looking other options.

Now, you are still in the prison, you gotta keep exploring, don't give up. You get your weapons, real ones, stronger ones. 

You encounter a fallen warrior, his journey is over, he couldn't withstand the challenges so he passes them on to you. Giving you his estus flask, a light of hope In this dark world, he asks you to leave. He's turning hollow and wouldn't wanna hurt you. Estus flask heal you, they are literally bonfire juice. They keep you alive until they run out of course and the- wait did you say bonfire juice? Damn I haven't talked about bonfires. This game is dark, and the first level is a great way of setting the mood for the rest of the game. But, every now and then, in what it feels like an eternity In game, you encounter bonfires. Safe and warm places where you can rest your soul, recharge your healings and recover. The game let's you breath.

But hey, you are still in that prison, and soon you find that the only way out is through that big door, you gotta kill that demon. And you do!! Your weapon does way more damage than before. Not giving up has given good results, you feel strong and energetic. Victory!!!!

You leave the prison and the real game starts, a whole giant world for you to explore and master. But one thing won't change: the lessons learnt in that prison will remain useful throughout the whole game. Be a warrior, you are weak but can get strong. One enemy at a time. Don't give up, be resilient and perseverant. Don't let your soul become dark and hollow.

Nikolas Naranjo, cfg translations and betrayals.