#its this same struggle every single spring

[hermoglobiini]

.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

what a pretty flower.

the single morning glory stands out, fresh spring sunlight accentuating its indigo hue, glimmering like a shooting star just behind the chain-link fence. in the peripheral of your vision, it almost seems to glow; solitary and ephemeral, as if coaxing you into stepping closer.

and you can’t resist its call.

suguru blinks, a little dazed, when he feels your hand slip from his. the warmth of your intertwined fingers follows closely behind, and the loss of contact leaves him feeling slightly vexed, replaced by the gentle chill of the air.

he doesn’t get an explanation, either. attention entirely fixed on that mesmerizing indigo blur, you don’t say a thing — and with an eager kind of giddiness, you skip over to the fence, ready to fish it out.

suguru just sighs, mildly amused.

it’s nothing out of the ordinary, really. if you see something that captures your attention, suguru has come to learn that you’ll drop just about anything to go get a closer look. does it exasperate him, ever so slightly? sure. the involuntary twitch of his fingers reveals as much, almost as if coaxing him into waltzing over and grabbing your hand again.

but suguru is a patient man. especially when it comes to you. and, above all else — any habit of yours is endearing to him, even ones that include you leaving his side for a moment or two.

so he simply watches over you from afar, knowing you’ll return on your own; with your jacket tucked between his arm and his torso, a can of cold, too-sweet coffee in hand. suguru hasn’t put his lips on the aluminium in about five minutes, saving whatever’s left for the inevitable moment you start whining for just one tiny sip, please?

(he’ll roll his eyes, and tell you not to drink yours so quickly next time, but still hand it to you with a smile he’ll make sure you don’t see.)

suguru’s gaze is unspeakably fond, as he idly admires how the sunshine wraps you in its embrace. you almost seem to sparkle, in his vision, like a butterfly dancing in the wind — fluttering just barely out of reach, too fragile to touch. too beautiful to sully with human hands. maybe it's a tad dramatic, but suguru couldn't care less.

the air is warm, full of life. cicadas chirp from afar. within his veins, his blood buzzes with joy and cheap caffeine, and everything smells like spring. like something new, something delightful. something that makes him think of you.

suguru watches as you crouch down, watches how your nimble fingers struggle to fit through the narrow gaps of the chain-link fence. he can’t see the little frown that tugs at your lips, and he can’t hear your little muttered grumbles — but he can somehow feel your frustration, all the same. something about the way you ducked your head just now, the way your fingers tap against your bended knee.

but then, finally, your valiant efforts bear fruit. with a number of failed attempts that you’d rather not mention, you manage to pluck the small flower, bringing it to your side of the fence without too much of a fuss. suguru doesn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes must be bright, lips curled up into a victorious smile. one that always makes him feel a little weak in the knees.

dusting pollen and tiny pieces of grass off your knees, you stand up straight, wasting no time in turning on your heel and making your way back to his side — with the precious morning glory in tow. 

suguru waits, patiently, for you to return to him. 

when you do, he doesn’t even get a chance to speak; you part your lips before he can give you the usual raise of his eyebrow, soft tilt of his head, teasing inquiry of did you see something nice, sweetheart? all he can do is lean a little closer, making sure he hears every word your lovely voice graces him with. seeking the feeling of your breath against his skin, the warmth of your body when it’s tucked into his side.

(but he can’t get too greedy. so suguru keeps his distance, eyes rich with affection, looking at you like you’re the first flower blooming out of spring.)

and you speak, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet, eyes shining with something giddy and honeyed — all too eager to see your idea through, the idea that crossed your mind the moment you laid eyes on the little flower.

”suguru,” you smile, sweet and excited. ”lean down.”

a blink, and a questioning look sent your way. your boyfriend shoots you a lazy smile, paired with a raise of his eyebrow that you’ve come to associate with him and his love.

despite the vague confusion painted on his features, suguru obeys your command without hesitation. always so willing to indulge you. he bends forward, compliantly, until he’s at eye level with you — face just a little too close for comfort, dark hazel eyes staring into yours in a way he knows flusters you terribly.

the butterflies in your stomach erupt at the intimate proximity, wings tickling your ribcage like soft petals sputtering after being rooted up from the ground — but you don’t allow yourself to falter.

(it’s a little tough, though. he looks so pretty, with the spring breeze caressing his cheek, soft streaks of sunlight falling over the contours of his handsome face. so, so pretty.

but there’s something that would make him look even prettier.)

so, with a gentleness that never fails to have suguru’s heartbeat hitching in his throat, your palm goes to smooth along his jaw. his eyes never leave your face, gazing intently at the way you press your lips together in concentration, barely resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss you. patient, as he waits for you to be finished.

it’s a tender motion: the pads of your fingers against his sunkissed skin, tucking the little flower behind his ear, its stem resting between his soft, silky locks. the indigo colour blends together well with his black hair, like a shooting star blooming in the night sky.

you lean back to admire your work.

”hmmm...”

suguru bites back a chuckle, at the intense contemplation etched onto your features. seemingly very deep in thought, you furrow your brows and absentmindedly stroke your chin — studying him with a serious expression, a tilt of your head and narrowed eyes, as if you’re an art dealer examining a painting on display. 

(you’re so silly, he thinks. the thought is positively overflowing with fondness.)

finally, you seem to reach some kind of conclusion; and your eyes soften, crumbling a little at the corners, painted over with something suguru can’t quite place. whatever it is, he suddenly finds it a little harder to breathe — all that love crammed into the confines of his chest, clogging up his throat. your eyes crinkle when you smile, oh so sweetly, burrowing your way deeper into his heart.

(you’re already in so deep he doubts he could ever dig you out.)

”yeah,” you exhale, a little breathless. still admiring how pretty he looks, with the morning glory in his hair. like a princess, your princess. 

your pretty, pretty boy.

a smile rests on your lips, laced with adoration. suguru feels his heartbeat pick up with a jolt, and he somehow doubts it’s just the caffeine; the sensation only deepens when your smile shifts in the light, melting into a soft grin.

”purple suits you best.”

suguru blinks. giving him no time to respond, you turn on your heel and continue walking, expecting him to follow. thoroughly satisfied after seeing your sudden objective through to the end — he looks just as pretty as you knew he would.

but suguru has to take a moment to simply watch, as you skip on ahead. always excited and off in your own world. the sun personified, he often thinks, peeking out after a rainshower, shining as you please. bringing light and warmth wherever you go.

maybe he would feel embarrassed, if he was another person. someone more insecure in their masculinity, less in love with you.

fortunately, that is not the case. suguru lifts a hand to stroke the flower, delicately, careful so it doesn’t loosen and flutter away with the wind. his heart feels warm. cheap caffeine and sweet thoughts rushing through his veins.

”— suguru?”

his gaze flits up to meet yours, where you stand a little further ahead, confused eyes looking into his own. a little tilt of your head is all it takes for him to move; catching up to you in long strides, a smile on his face.

”sorry. got lost in thought.”

you take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with his own, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. as if your hands belong together. his smile widens.

”don’t like it?” you ask, nodding vaguely in the direction of the morning glory. suguru squeezes your hand reassuringly.

”not at all. thank you, baby,” he soothes, a teasing tilt to his smile. eyes hopelessly softened. ”does it look good on me?”

a little chuckle flows from your lips. breathing out a silent response — don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to. but you opt to indulge him, all the same, turning towards him with an affectionate gaze. ”of course,” you coo. ”you’re the prettiest.”

suguru can’t bite back the soft grin that blooms on his lips, and he wonders if you notice the red hue crawling up his neck — faint, but awfully telling. to distract you from it, recognizing a glint of familiar mischief in your eyes, he reaches a hand out to pull your cheek. gently, not enough to hurt you.

the little wince that escapes you tugs at his heartstrings, though, even though he knows you’re just being dramatic to make him feel bad. he can only hope the teasing smile he sends your way will be enough to fluster you, his eyes smoothed over with a deep sincerity.

”you’re one to talk.”

it takes a second or two for his words to sink in. and he can pinpoint the exact instant that they do, from the way you avert your gaze, swiftly, face heating up adorably. suguru stifles a coo.

a little huff leaves your lips, vaguely embarrassed — muttering something unintelligible under your breath. you let go of his hand and take a couple long steps forward, to avoid his teasing gaze. 

suguru follows behind, dutifully, with a fond chuckle. it scatters away in the spring breeze, dancing up into the blue of the sky, caressing the morning glory in his hair.

he takes your hand in his, once more. 

you don’t let go.

[riseofamoonycake]

Then maybe... something for Thor? 👉👈 anything 😚

I SAY YES

Arms of the Thunder

🌩️ Pairing: Thor x Female!reader

🌩️ Warnings: mention of forced and arranged marriage, angst

🌩️ Implied happy ending

🌩️ Thanks @praisethesuuun for the prompt!

🌩️

You didn't ask for it. For any of it.

And still it happened.

No one paid attention to your tears, to your prayers and implorings, to the desperation that danced in your eyes as soon as you heard the news, to the clothes that were crumpled after having squeezed them between your fingers until they were almost torn; adamant, your family, the same one that you thought had your happiness and well-being in mind, turned its back on you and left you alone, without caring about your broken heart and, indeed, looking at you with a compassion full of mockery.

Nothing but a spoiled child.

«But I… I don’t want to get married. I’m fine like this…» 

The proposal of Great Odin cannot be rejected. Do you understand it? He offers you a marriage with his son and you act like a little girl!

«But…»

No buts. Thor is strong, young and handsome, he is more than capable of looking after you and in time you will learn to love him. Trust us.

«I don’t think so, and I don’t want it!»

Grow up, Y/N. Grow up and open your mind, or stay in your misery. However, the decision does not change. You will marry The All Father’s son whether you want it or not. Clear?

Grow up… in these months of waiting, of a long suffered winter and missed spring, the only thing that has grown is your agony, your sadness, the silence and the immobility. The Nordic pantheon… why such a choice? Why the cold of the North, the beaches black like liquid ash, the endless nights? Why the deceptions of Loki Silvertongue, the terrible aura of Odin, and… Thor. Thor Lord of Thunder… Thor who never speaks, never smiles, who inspires fear, but not a single idea of ​​love. Thor… he cannot be your husband. He cannot be! Why? Why?

«It’s not fair… it can’t end like this», you keep repeating to yourself throughout the day, every hour and minute, week after week, locked in your room, unable to feel joy for small and big things, the thought of what will happen approaching unstoppable and cruel, all aimed at poisoning your every moment of freedom. The doors of the building where you reside are always closed, but it doesn’t matter, they could also be open and you wouldn’t escape anyway, because you have lost that impulse too; just as you lost and continue to lose weight, and color, and even your voice. If no one wants to listen, what is the point of using it?

Your family observes everything and doesn’t comment, and in the eyes of your siblings you read the annoyance: they consider all this a whim, the trampling of the toes of a woman who acts like a kid and doesn’t understand that things are done for her good, and therefore they persevere. The marriage arrangement that Odin has proposed is too convenient for the entire house, and that is why they flaunt the choice with pride, struggling to contain their anger at your behavior; they don’t even ask you why you have to act like this, so every day you distance yourself more and more from them, coming to hope that this marriage will at least have the benefit of taking you away from a nest that is no longer it.

Unexpectedly, it is Odin who responds to this silent invocation; Odin, who arrives at your house on a summer day and asks for the presence of the entire family, except you. You remain in the garden without a protest, patiently waiting for the meeting to end; nor are you upset when a flock of maids, led by your sisters, comes to take and drag you into the bathrooms to get ready and settled. Something big has just been decided, and it doesn’t take long to become known: «You have been invited to the palace of the Great Odin! Do you think about it? You will spend the summer with them, together with your fiancé! Are you not happy? My, my, how envious I am… I would like to be in your place!»

You breathe deeply and don’t reply, let yourself be washed, prepared and dressed up without a word, and you smile inside when your sisters frown and notice how every dress is too large and doesn’t suit you like before; you even sneer, seeing the spite in their faces, and allow yourself to hope. If Odin doesn’t find you attractive enough for Thor or simply not up to his standards, there is a chance he might break the contract; and that is what you want with all of yourself, every part of you reveals it.

For his part, the All Father does not comment when he sees you appear before him: he remains impassive observing you with his one eye and from the height of his person, and does not reveal either regret, affection, annoyance or satisfaction; he simply looks at you for a few moments, reading your soul like a book, and then turns away without a word. At this point, you know that you have to follow him wherever he wants to lead you. Despite your hopes, for now he hasn’t broken the agreement, so you barely respond to those who greet you, you don’t look anyone in the face, you wish never to return to this place; and you move on, because it can’t get worse. And you move on, because whatever lies ahead is all you still have left.

⛈️

As you suspected, the first thing that welcomes you is the cold: a chill that puffs on your face and then penetrates you through your nose and mouth, and takes up residence in your body. Odin’s handmaidens offer you cloaks, blankets, everything that can bring warmth; but you are unable to warm up and remain shivering in the middle of a strange building, too tall and too empty, which you already hate. You don’t even give it a glance, not even a chance to enter your heart, and you shut it out of you with resentment. Thus, erected in the center of the room like a statue and surrounded by a group of people whose words and questions you can barely hear, you only realize after some time that someone is observing you discreetly, without wanting to invade the space and take away the last fragment of freedom you have; and when you raise your eyes, you meet those of your betrothed.

Standing on one side of the room, his face half hidden by the white coat he is wearing, his gaze welcomes you without hurting you, it is not full of heat but not as cold as you thought; it is as if he is waiting to see what stirs in yours. His long sunset hair and the marks that pulsate on his skin are the only notes of color together with the golden irises, but they are traces of light that do not dazzle, which he seems to hold back on purpose so as not to scare you; and for some reason, for a few moments, you feel that he understood you, that he really saw you, and that he respects what you feel.

Maybe he also doesn’t want this marriage like I don’t want it?, you ask yourself as you look away, slightly uncomfortable, and close your eyes in sadness; when you reopen them, Thor is gone, and you mentally thank him for it ― as well as asking for his forgiveness. Now you realize: he is not to blame, he didn’t ask to have you as a guest now, nor as a wife later. Probably, if it had been for the god, none of this would have happened, and he had to bow to a higher law; in this, perhaps, he is more like you than anyone else.

However, it doesn’t help you appreciate the environment you find yourself in: the parties that light up the halls of your building, the carefree voices, the moments of joy and pure leisure couldn’t be further away, because here everything seems to be inspired to the severity, rigor and icy calm of winter…  even when it isn’t winter. Fortunately, the god you feared most, Loki, has not yet revealed himself and according to palace rumors he is too busy elsewhere to do so, and Great Odin has never officially requested your presence, although he always notes when you appear; but not even the other gods are great company, as if they don’t trust each other and prefer to keep their distance, without even spreading too many smiles. At another time, or if they were other people, you would consider them boring, pompous and not at all interesting; but the Norse deities are simply different from you, another level, another world. Even the storms that ravage these lands are something unknown to you: not intense and sudden rains scented with grass and rivers, not dry and fast thunder, not shades of green and puddles that fill roads and woods; but blizzards of ice and snow, flashes of white and blue, rumblings near and far that last for days, anguishing darkness that is lost in a sky with a womb so deep that you can’t see its end. That void, that inverted abyss that instead of making you sink swallows you from above, terrifies you and makes you huddle in on yourself while you observe the black clouds from behind the curtains of one of the corridors of the building and wonder when they will go away, if after another day of storm there will finally be the blessing of the sun; and as you blanch for a thunder, this time so close that even the glass and walls shake, you immediately realize the presence of someone next to you and slowly move your gaze to the figure of Thor, who has silently appeared at your side.

The god looks at you for a few moments, then gently takes the curtain from your hands and covers the window, leaving the sky outside the building. «You are very pale. Are you feeling good?»

You remain silent for a moment, intent on listening to the sound of his voice: it is the first time you have heard it. Then, you pass a hand over your face and try with all your being to hold on words that come out anyway. «I don’t want to be here», you murmur, «I don’t want…» I don’t want you.

«You are freezing. You are not used to this cold yet, you need to cover up more.» Not at all hurt or affected by your words, his face impassive, Thor takes off his white coat and in an instant wraps you in it, rolling up your sleeves and arranging the collar so that it can keep your neck and shoulders warm, tightening it a little to make it adhere better to your body.

You let him do it without replying or moving and you watch with curiosity as your person disappears inside the garment, too long and wide for you but actually warm and comfortable, then you stare at the face of your betrothed and frown. «Why are you doing all this? I behave ungratefully, I tell you that I don’t want to stay here and in return you keep me protected from the cold. Why?» This time the tone becomes pleading: you really wonder what pushed him to approach you, what makes him talk, why with you. Does he feel pity? Guilt, or embarrassment?

This time, the God of Thunder doesn’t reply, but only looks at you. You don’t force any other words and remain silent as well, listening to the storm calming down a little and becoming the closest thing to a peaceful night. You hug Thor’s coat tighter and he adjusts it again, then a hand stops on your head and your hair receives a light stroke, a delicate touch that is the kindest you have received in days, which remains despite being so fast that it can seem like an imagination, a dream.

Outside, the rain drips slowly from the roof and slides on the windows, tracing its patterns; and suddenly it smells of grass, of waterfalls, of home. Inside, you find yourself caressing the white coat with your fingertips, closing your eyes and savoring all the warmth and calm that is descending on your body. The cold is no longer there, now, and when Thor looks at you again to check on your condition, you can’t help but smile a bit. «Thank you», you whisper then, letting the words die and no longer disturb you.

Thor nods his head, then his arm remains close to you. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, then lower your eyelids and let the night win over the world and prepare what will follow.

Maybe, tomorrow won’t be so terrible to live through.

[0blobthefish0]

District 13

johanna mason masterlist | main masterlist

Johanna Mason x Female Reader 1,865 Words After being stuck in District 13, without knowing anyone, Johanna is finally rescued.

You were in District 13, you had gotten there by some miraculous chance - a right time, right crowd kind of chance; or maybe you really weren't meant to be there at all.  The first week had felt like a fever dream, the technology, the bleak clothing, the scheduling and the unfamiliarity of it all, District 13 wasn't supposed to exist and you, of all people, definitely shouldn't of known that it did. You, not from the buried district or from District 12 and not a victor or an important person of the rebellion, did not know a single face as you travelled from one area to another.

You had the feeling that you had slipped through their gaps, you felt completely invisible to them, you didn't know anyone and they didn't know you. You weren't being watched or they would have come in to help you by now; you were lost. Again. If the newcomers had some sort of tour, you hadn't been apart of it or you wouldn't be in the mess you found yourself in. You wandered around aimlessly, you knew that you most likely wouldn't find anyone until the next rotation in the schedule. 

Every corridor and hallway looked the same, grey and bleak, just like your clothes, you slid down the wall and sat on the floor, your legs outstretched as you closed your eyes. Maybe you were being watched. They seemed to really love their schedules and you were definitely not complying to them at that moment; they would probably notice a missing person, you did have a schedule. You let out a loud sigh and rested your head against the cold concrete, hopefully you'd get back to your cell soon.

The smell of home wafted through every sense before you noticed the gentle rumble of a... hovercraft? Your eyes snapped open and you quickly got up from the floor, hissing in pain as you rubbed your sore muscles, and wobbled your way over to the sound. To your relief, and dismay, it wasn't long until you came across the source, if you had only walked around the corner you would have been redirected back onto your schedule long ago. 

People were too wrapped up in their own business to notice you getting closer and closer to the craft. You squinted into the distance as its platform lowered, your heart clenching painfully when you saw familiar wetsuits. Johanna. Your eyes were wide as you walked faster and faster, your heart beating so rapidly you were scared it would fall out of your chest. One person cladded in the wetsuit left the craft and then another and another and then it began to close, what? You began to feel ill, your stomach twisting and churning into tight knots. 

"No, no, no," you chanted as you moved into hearing distance. They were all looking at you now, no longer invisible. Hands wrapped around you, securing you from moving forward, and you struggled against them, tears springing to your eyes as your chants turned to shouts; you probably looked crazy. Your eyes searched the two: Beetee, Finnick. You lunged at him, your hands pushing at his chest before you were pulled back.

"Where is she!? You were meant to keep her safe, I thought you were friends," you screamed with an accusing finger as you were dragged back like a savage animal. Your tears blurred your vision, you had let yourself hope and now you were being let down, and you couldn't handle it. You had felt too alone and all you wanted was her.  "Where's Johanna!? Where is she, where is she? Don't tell me she's dead," you shook your head as you pushed back against the pulling hands. "She was supposed to come back! So where is she?" You jumped at him, hands like claws in front of you, hot tears staining your cheeks. Suddenly, the hands locked down around your arms, legs, waist, head. You felt the fabric of your jumpsuit rip at your upper arm, a sharp prick stung you followed by the feeling of cold liquid spreading through your muscles. The hands loosened. You shook your head lightly, "No, no. Johanna, where's Johanna? I want- I want to see her, please," you begged and choked out as you felt the world begin to collapse. "Johanna, Johanna, Joha- Jo..."

Finnick stared at your, now calm, body slumped against the ground, rigidly. He exchanged a look with the people around him, shocked. He didn't know who you were and, by the looks of the others, no one knew either. Who were you, and how did you know Johanna? Did you even know her? Johanna had never mentioned you.

Yeah.. it wasn't the prettiest first impression.

You woke up in one of the infirmary beds, tubes sticking into your bruised skin. You swallowed painfully and when you tried to soothe the pain with a hand, it was stopped before it could get to your neck. You stared at the chains securing you to the bed before slumping in defeat. You felt defeated; Johanna was gone and you were stuck in District 13, bound to a bed, all alone.  All you wanted was Johanna. 

You had been stuck in the bed for the last two days, thankfully you had been relieved of the handcuffs as you hadn't lashed out at any of the healers. However, one long shackle still wrapped around your ankle, not completely trusted yet. You stared up at the tiled ceiling, counting them for, what felt like, the hundredth time, when a figure moved into your room. Your gaze moved from the ceiling to the door and you sent over an apologetic smile, Finnick Odair.

"Sorry, I was just- I don't know what happened to me," you apologised as he stood in the doorway. He sent you back a smile accompanied with a small nod and you watched him as he took a few steps into the room and took a seat. 

"How do you know her?" He quizzed, his eyes intense and you could tell he didn't trust you. It was fair though, you thought, you wouldn't trust yourself either if you were in his shoes. 

"We're.. friends," you shrugged. 

"Friends?" Finnick scoffed as he relaxed into the chair. "Johanna doesn't make friends." You squinted at him and he squinted back.

"You're her friend, well, she said you were," you replied. The room fell silent once again. "Is she alive?" You questioned him softly as you fiddled with the blanket covering you. 

Finnick nodded his head, and you felt relief flood into you. "She's in the Capitol." Those four words hit you like a falling tree. Tears sprung to your eyes and you shook your head at him. She was probably being tortured, especially after her role in the rebellion. You wished that she were dead, she didn't deserve to be over there. 

"They're getting her out, right?" You pleaded, your voice begging. Finnick stayed silent and you felt your heart clench painfully inside your chest. Why wouldn't they get her out? Was she not important enough?

"Tell me something about her," he requested softly. You rolled your head back to face the ceiling, familiar eyes appeared, skin crinkled at the corners in a smile. You chest sunk with a relaxed sigh.

"She throws her head back when she laughs," you began, a smile spreading across your lips, "she likes to draw, she loves the smell of the leaves in the summer; she likes pine the best, it's strong and always green," you hummed as you recounted your shared hours, thoughts taking you far from the enclosed white walls of the room.

Finnick stared at you from his chair as you smiled into the air, seeing things he couldn't, when it clicked. A moment of realisation fell across his face as he listened to you. You loved her. You were in love with her. He knew it, there was no faking it, no, not when it was real, and he could see it on you. He got up from his chair and left the room as quietly as he came, nodding his head at you in goodbye. You let out a sigh, alone again. 

You chewed on your nails, nervously, Finnick had told you that they had sent off a rescue mission for them. That had been hours ago, too many hours ago, and you couldn't sleep. Not when Johanna came back. You were stuck in your room, it was past curfew, you wouldn't be allowed out anyway. Not on your own. You hoped that she was okay, well, as okay as she could be. Your eyes felt heavy, sleep trying to grab at you, but you pushed it away and sat opposite the door, on the floor, waiting for something to happen. 

The door was suddenly pushed open and you sprung to your feet, your heart pounding in your ears as Finnick stood in front of you.

"She's here."

And then you were running.

Finnick ran beside you, guilt eating away at him at seeing your reaction. When Haymitch had announced the same to him and Katniss, all he could think about was Annie, and the thought of Johanna or you had completely escaped his mind.

Your hand pushed against the cold metal of the double doors and the room spun in circles as your eyes searched for any sign of her. You saw Finnick point to curtains and you quickly made your way over, your hand pausing mid-air just about to pull back the fabric. You didn't know what you were going to see. You had waited all this time for this moment and you couldn't waste another second. 

Slowly, the fabric was scrunched in a fist as you pulled the curtain back - just enough for you to slip inside. Tears instantly pricked at your eyes and you felt your chest constrict painfully as you stared at her bruised flesh, her hollowed cheeks, her sharp bones poking out from under her pale skin, her eyes. You watched as they softened.

"Johanna.." you whispered fragilely, hesitating to move closer, and she reached out for you. You moved quickly, hand enveloping her own before moving up to cradle her cheek. You swallowed a lump in your throat as your thumb smoothed across her skin. She looked up into your eyes, hers wide like a rabbit and blinking back tears as they welled. "What have they done to you?" You breathed out gently, eyebrows furrowed, your other hand intertwined with hers and a tear rolled down her cheek, dripping onto the blanket. 

"Y/n." Johanna called out and, carefully, you climbed into the small bed beside her and cradled her in your arms before pressing a kiss to her wet cheek. Your hand rubbed over her, now, bald head, no brown hair to play with anymore, as silent tears soaked your shirt. 

Johanna breathed out heavy, shaky breaths, her fingers dancing with your own as she listened to the sound of your breathing and your steady heartbeat; all with her eyes finally closed. You were alive, alive and well and breathing, she hadn't lost you too:

"I love you."

[achaotichuman]

Cute thought, but imagine whenever Tamlin is feeling a strong emotion, plants or flowers would bloom in his hair. Just imagine Tamlin sleeping soundly on Lucien's chest and all Lucien can see and smell are roses and lilacs.

AWWWWW STOOOP THATS SO CUTE HOW HAVE I NEVER THOUGHT OF THIS?!?!?!

You've switched the fanfiction part of my brain on. Here's how I think that scene would go.

Tamlin's magic tended to act of its own accord. That had been a problem for many a Spring Lord, at its very core it only abided by the laws of nature, and nature headed no one but chaos. Many former Spring Lords had found solace in removing themselves entirely from their emotions, distancing themselves from what made them people just so an angry outburst wouldn't level the homes they lived in.

Lucien had been afraid at first when Tamlin first came into power. He had grown fond of the Spring Prince. They were similar in many odd ways, it first started with them both being the forgotten outcasted youngest siblings, picked on relentlessly for the simple act of living. Tamlin was quite older than Lucien, surpassing his age by decades. But even so, they had come together, and their friendship had quickly become stronger than iron.

Lucien had been afraid they would lose that. That Tamlin would turn to the same path his father had chosen, taking a specially formulated medication that over time removed his ability to feel. Tamlin had once described his father and his predecessors' emotions like stone pounded by fierce waves. Over time it could be turned into something else if hounded incessantly by a strong enough force, but it would always remain rough, cold and immovable by the strength of one fae alone.

If Lucien lost Tamlin to something like that... Lucien didn't know what he would do with himself.

But as it were, Tamlin did not lose himself. He refused to take the concoction, even after he was warned dozens of times over that his magic would go against his orders, that it would do as it pleased.

Tamlin fought it for years. Writhed with his magic like it was trying to control him from the inside out. Lucien had to stay away for a time, everyone did, while Tamlin tried to keep dominance over the power he now possessed.

Centuries had now passed. Years had flashed by. Tamlin still struggled with his magic from time to time. It fought back, snapped back more like it, when it pleased, but for the most part, Tamlin won that war. Lucien couldn't have been prouder of him for it.

His magic still seemed to have its own mind though, it reacted to his emotions, just less violently than it used to. Now Tamlin didn't have to keep every single emotion he felt in check. He was, for the most part, free. Like the magic had chosen to obey him.

And how beautiful his magic was when it was calm.

It was late in the afternoon; Lucien had been peacefully reading on his bed. The sunlight filtered in through his curtains, a soft glow that warmed his skin. He was knee-deep in the climax of the plot, completely enthralled in the story he didn't notice his door open, only when it clicked shut and someone slumped back against the door. Lucien glanced up to see Tamlin leaning against the door.

"Tam, are you-" Lucien's worried question was cut off by Tamlin just lifting a finger and putting his other hand to his head. He took in a deep shaking breath and slowly released it, as he did a thorny bramble climbed across Lucien's window, creating a jagged shadow across the floor.

His magic was acting up. Lucien quickly marked and closed his book, putting down on the covers. He stood up, unsure of whether to stay put or run.

"Luce." Tamlin breathed.

"Yes, Tam?"

Tamlin closed his eyes, both his hands falling to his side. When Lucien looked closer, he noticed the High lord was trembling.

"Tamlin." Lucien murmured, beginning to stand up, "Maybe you should go out into the gardens, you like it there."

He needed something to calm his magic, being in the gardens usually soothed it.

Tamlin opened his eyes to see Lucien. His breathing began to speed up by a beat. Lucien was caught, one side of him begged to move closer. To touch and hold Tamlin. The other, more logical side of him, told him to move away.

When Tamlin let his head fall back against the door, squeezing his hands into fists and screwing his eyes shut like he was in pain, the logical side of him silenced and Lucien quickly appeared before Tamlin. The redhead intertwined their fingers, the feeling of Tamlin's claws peeking on his fingertips should've been enough to make Lucien step away again, but Lucien had chosen to ignore logic the second he started dating the High lord of the Spring Court.

"Lovely, how bad is it?" Lucien asked, eyes flicking rapidly over Tamlin like he could try and see the magic roaring inside him.

Tamlin just shook his head. Keeping his eyes closed the High lord moved his head to press his face into Lucien's neck. Tamlin practically fell forward into Lucien. The fire lord had to move one foot back to stabilize himself as he collected Tamlin in his arms.

It would be alright this time, Tamlin had it under control for the most part. But as Tamlin went practically completely limp in his arms, Lucien knew he was exhausted.

Lucien hummed soft praises in Tamlin's ear as he led the Spring Court Lord to his bed. Lucien set Tamlin down on the soft red covers. Tamlin didn't hesitate to collapse into a heap. Breathing still a touch too erratic. Lucien sat down on the bed, hand going to rub circles on Tamlin's head.

"Bad today, huh?" Lucien whispered. Tamlin didn't respond, but his face did soften at Lucien's gentle ministrations.

Lucien bit his bottom lip. Then he decided to simply lay down next to his boyfriend.

Wriggling down onto the soft covers, he began to pull Tamlin into his arms. The Spring Lord then proceeded to clamper on top of Lucien, practically covering his body with his own. Tamlin pressed his face right into the center of Lucien's chest. His breathing finally beginning to slow and deepen.

Lucien smiled and started to run his fingers through Tamlin's golden curls, "Feeling better?"

Tamlin managed a weak nod, one hand travelling up Lucien's side, following his arm and going down to intertwine their fingers once more.

Lucien rubbed circles into the back of Tamlin's palm. His free hand travelling down to firmly massage his lower back. Tamlin let out a content hum, just a few moments passed and Lucien noted the way Tamlin's breathing slowed, his breaths becoming deeper and less ragged. He had fallen asleep.

Arching his neck down, Lucien pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tamlin's head, he whispered into his hair, "I love you so much."

At that moment, Lucien watched the thorny bramble that had stuck up around his window earlier turn to dust blown away by the wind.

Then the undeniable smell of sweet-roses and dandelions wafted around him. Lucien quickly looked down to see Tamlin's hair, spilling from his head like liquid gold, had small buds slowly unfurling through the strands. Stems grew and wrapped around the spiral curls, petals budding then unfurling, letting out a puff of golden pollen.

Lucien observed in awe as these flowers continued to bloom on his High lords head, until they covered his hair, spilling out onto the bed like they were part of his body. A crown of Spring. Proof that the magic had accepted defeat. An offering to its High lord.

Lucien hadn't realized how hard his was smiling until his face became to hurt, but he couldn't stop. He kissed Tamlin's head again, his lips brushing curls and soft rose petals.

"My Beast," Lucien whispered, "And my Beauty."

Thank you for the ask! I really loved writing this! I might put this in the Tamcien fic I have written. I hope you like this as much as I do!

[theladyofbloodshed]

You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be - Chapter 15

Cassian popping up like whack-a-mole

For days, Azriel stuck to Cassian like a cobweb. He never let his brother get an inch closer to Nesta. They’d fly together to the House of Wind for Cassian to train his wings; Azriel used the guise that he’d be there to winnow or help him fly if his wings struggled. Sometimes Nesta was out of her room in the library, but Azriel had forbidden Cassian from going there. He’d block him off or change his course. His brother saw Nesta as a challenge, a wild animal that needed taming. If Cassian so much as upset her, Azriel knew he’d lose control of that single thread of sanity he was clinging to.

It meant he could never approach her either. Whenever they returned to the town house, Rhys needed them both as they gathered more information from Spring and tried to understand Feyre’s position in the court. Whenever Rhys departed to decompress, Cassian wouldn’t let Azriel leave. On the rare time that Azriel returned to the house carved into the mountain, Nesta was fast asleep. He employed her tactics and strained to listen to her heart through the door. It was good that she was sleeping. Azriel should have been jumping for joy that her life was beginning to settle, but he wished to steal a moment with her.

‘I need you to do something for me.’

Morrigan was sprawled out in the sun with an arm tucked beneath her head. She squinted up at Azriel. On instinct, he let his wings spread to shield her face from the sunshine that had lit up Velaris’ skies.

‘What’s in it for me?’

‘Take Cassian into Velaris for the day. Most expensive restaurant. I don’t care. I’ll pay.’

Mor sat up. She groaned and stretched her neck from side to side until it clicked. ‘What’s going on with you?’

A little lie here and there was necessary. It wasn’t all a lie either. ‘He destroyed his wings for me. I can’t take being near him.’

‘Don’t feel guilty, Az. You’d do the same for him.’

At the moment, he wouldn’t. The mating bond he shared with Nesta only saw Cassian as a threat to her safety. It was becoming incrementally harder to not unleash his power on his brother to blast him to Illyria, far away from Nesta.

‘Fine. Early dinner and I can probably get him to Rita’s. But, Az, you really need to unwind too,’ she said. A smile flitted across her face. ‘For a pretty face like yours, Rita’s is always open to you.’

How could Morrigan be so unbothered by it all? Even when Rhys was trapped for fifty years, Mor hadn’t slowed her attendance at the bar.

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t wince when you get the bill.’

A nervous energy flooded Azriel’s bones the moment he knew that Cassian was elsewhere, occupied by Mor. His shadows picked up on it and buzzed around him like a swarm as he stood in the window, watching the Sidra roll by.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

‘Maybe we’ll go,’ he replied, as one skated across his cheek. ‘It’s not the same as it was before.’

Azriel couldn’t even say what it had been in the mortal manor beyond a few lingering looks in quiet moments. It had been a beginning though, a force pulling him to her. The bond had snapped when they dined for the first time. He’d thought an arrow had struck him through the heart because the force had been so strong. Even then, Cassian had been sizing Nesta up as a challenger. The thought made him burn with rage. Who was Cassian to enter the home as a guest then try to start a fight?

A cold shadow wended its way into his closed fist to force Azriel to let the tension go.

Go, they seemed to say.

Perhaps Nesta would hate him for the rest of her life. Perhaps it was deserved. Or, perhaps, this would be the first step to a future.

He had never been afraid like this. The things that Azriel had seen, the acts he had committed, never affected him deeply. He was capable of closing down his emotions. It wasn’t possible when it came to Nesta Archeron. There was so much at stake, so much to lose, to gain. His father’s rejection had ruined him. Every single relationship in his life had been impacted by his formative years – even when he knew that he was behaving irrationally, Azriel struggled to pull himself out of it.

He thought of his mother. Her unwavering love.

Azriel did know unconditional love. As much as he knew rejection, he knew how it was to be loved unconditionally. That was what he needed to hope for again.

Azriel eased out a breath.

‘You’ll be with me?’ Shadows blustered around him. ‘She likes you more than me.’

***

Repetition created habit.

Each morning, Nesta forced herself to rise, wash, dress then leave the room. A numbing dread trailed her when she entered the library, in case another confrontation with Cassian happened, but the more she repeated the behaviour, the stronger the habit became. He hadn’t been near. Sometimes she heard his booming voice, followed by the deep, quiet murmur of Azriel. Eventually, her muscles stopped tensing in the library. She could ease out the breath she was holding, perhaps even put her feet up.

Bit by bit, there was a slight improvement with Elain too. She slept less but did remain in the bed a lot of the time. Once, Nesta even managed to get her as far as the corridor before she turned around, as if awoken from a dream, and went back to the bedroom. Whenever Nesta returned to her, Elain hadn’t closed the curtains, sometimes she’d not even be in the covers, and she would eat more bites of food than previously. Elain was nowhere near where she ought to be, but there had been an improvement. That was worth being happy about.

A breeze filtered through the open window and sunlight spilled into Nesta’s lap. She was five chapters deep into a new book when a shadow crawled up her body to settle on her shoulder, almost hesitantly. She didn’t react to it, just continued reading. More and more of them came to peer over her shoulder at the book. One daring shadow brushed against her cheek, as if to say it had missed her.

‘I won’t forget you let him in my bedroom,’ she murmured then flicked the page over.

A few of the shadows scattered away bashfully at her comment but the braver ones remained nuzzling against her.

It was not until chapter seven that their singer made an appearance. Azriel swept his head into submission as he entered the library.

‘May I come in? There are a few maps I need.’

‘It is not my library,’ she said stiffly.

‘I want you to be comfortable,’ he replied.

In silence, Azriel leafed through the thick piles of maps that were gathered in the library beneath a cloth so the light would not damage them. Nesta kept her eyes pinned to him – and the open door behind him in case Cassian made an appearance.

Shadows darted at him like birds pecking at his skin.

‘Not now,’ he murmured.

They continued badgering him until he hissed out a, ‘Later.’ Then, he fled from the room with shadows chasing him.

Nesta didn’t know why but it made her laugh. For the first time since this horrible ordeal began, she pressed her knuckles to her lips and laughed on the couch with her eyes squeezed shut. It had just been so terribly funny to see Azriel chased from the room by his own shadows.

The noise drew him back to the doorway. A wedge of sunlight fell across the rug as if blocking him from entering. Azriel stood like a fallen angel, his large umber wings spread out behind him, and black hair fell into his eyes. He was beautiful. The most beautiful faerie that Nesta had seen.

‘May I come in?’ He asked the question again, eyes never wavering from her face. There was such an intensity to his voice, an urgency that had her nodding in response.

It seemed that he was trying to slow himself down as if his feet were hurrying him towards her. Indeed, shadows swirled about his boots.

‘I have something for you.’

Nesta couldn’t help but peer around his waist in case this was a trap, that another would be standing in the doorway ready for an argument. The tension of the last few months had turned her brittle, so Nesta did not know how much more she could take.

‘It will be a nice surprise, I hope,’ he explained, as he backed from the room, colour dotting his cheeks. As Azriel turned, he slammed into the door frame, making her snort with laughter again. The side of his head had clattered against the wood and the bone of his wing was lucky it did not shatter the glass. He had always seen so composed, sophisticated with his movements and being, but this was like a fawn learning how to walk. Shadows spiralled after him – even they looked as if they were mocking his unravelling.

Apart from the red mark above his eyebrow, Azriel was put together again when he returned. In his hands, he carried two large bags made of a grey material. He knelt down and loosened the drawstrings of the first bag which was bulky and heavy.

‘I ventured to the mortal manor. These are Elain’s clothes, shoes, and as many of her belongings as I could gather.’

A knot rose in Nesta’s throat as she peered into the sack and saw a familiar pastel pink gown that Father had bought her to celebrate that he had made his first trade agreement since their wealth was returned.

‘If you ever want to return there, I can-’

‘I never want to see that place again,’ Nesta said shortly.

It had never felt like a home. It was borrowed wealth from a faerie lord who had stolen her sister. No good could come from returning there.

The second bag was noticeably emptier than the first. His scarred fingers prised open the drawstring carefully. ‘There was little in your room.’

Beneath his fingers, Nesta saw gowns of cool blue and soft grey, even a cream nightgown that was her favourite to sleep in.

‘You said you had read all of the books so I didn’t bring them, but I can go back if that’s what you want.’

Nesta blinked back her tears and shook her head. ‘No. You do not need to go there again.’

‘It’s not about need, it’s about wanting, Nesta. I want you to call this home. I know it’s hard and won’t feel that way for a long time, but I want you to be happy in Velaris. I’ll do what I can to bring your happiness.’

‘Why?’

His eyes flared wide. Azriel waged an internal battle. His mouth twisted into a grimace, then he said, ‘Because you deserve to be happy.’

‘No, I’m a terrible sister who couldn’t protect either of them.’

Heat burnt in her cheeks, but Nesta could not look away from the anguish in Azriel’s eyes.

‘Do not say that.’

‘It’s the truth,’ she replied.

When his hand slid over hers, Nesta did not protest. His cool fingers encased her hand, holding it tightly. ‘It was never your responsibility to protect them, Nesta. Even so, you have done admirably.’

Before she could pull away, before she could deny his words, Azriel pulled an item from the bag.

It was the book that had been on her bedside table. She’d stayed up late reading it until her tallow candle had burnt out.

‘I don’t think you finished this one. Maybe it will have to wait with the selection available to you here.’ Azriel gave a cursory glance to the library to drive his point home.

Nesta could not stop herself.

Azriel was on his knees, holding the book out to her with one hand whilst his other held hers.

The dam ruptured.

She lifted her hand free and pressed both to her face so she could sob. Azriel had thought of her, cared enough to find her few possessions from the manor, cared enough to make meals for the last few weeks so there was always something for her to eat. For so long, Nesta had needed somebody to look after her instead. All she had ever wanted was safety, warmth, and a belly that didn’t ache from hunger. She was so tired of surviving.

Azriel slipped onto the couch beside her, arms cradling her body while she cried. Her tears were endless.

It had been so long since anybody had let her cry – since she had let anybody hold her while she cried.

The deep reverberation of Azriel’s voice came. He had opened the book from the mortal land and began to read it as if he wasn’t sure what else to do to slow her tears. Eventually, her crying slowed. Azriel continued to read, his thumb stroking a rhythm against her shoulder. Nesta knew it would be better to pull away, to scurry to her room and pretend none of his had happened – pretend he hadn’t seen her at her weakest – but it was just too nice to be close to another. For once, Nesta wasn’t holding Elain and drying her tears. It was another doing it for her.

While Azriel read, her eyes grew heavier and heavier until Nesta allowed them to close. She promised herself it would only be for a moment or two and that she’d still listen to his reading.

It was dark when she awoke. Nesta was in a bed that was unfamiliar. A sliver of moonlight filtered through the slim gap where the curtains hadn’t been pulled together properly.

For a moment, she panicked, trying to gather her bearings.

Her shoes had been removed, but not her clothing. The pins from her hair had been pulled loose too.  

At the movement, Azriel snapped awake. The male had been asleep on the floor beside the bed without a blanket on his body.

‘I didn’t want to disturb Elain,’ he said suddenly, explaining why he’d brought her to this room.

Was it his room?

There was nothing within. It was barer than the guest rooms they had been put in with only a single walnut dresser in the corner and a bed.

‘I should return to Elain,’ replied Nesta.

She had to tread carefully not to put her foot on his wing. Azriel shifted to sit up, rubbing his eyes.

‘Is this your bed?’

He gave a swift nod.

‘It’s very comfortable.’

‘You can remain in it,’ he said, voice delicate. ‘I can check on Elain. I’ll sleep elsewhere.’

Why was he being so kind to her? Nesta had not earned his kindness. She could not understand why he’d try to make her happy if she had nothing to give him.

Voices carried down the corridor, filling Nesta with cold dread.

Azriel partially flew across the bedroom to bolt the door just before the handle was turned.

‘Are you still awake, brother?’

From the other side of the wood, Nesta heard a shushing sound. ‘You’ll wake the sisters.’

‘Az,’ called Cassian, with a drum of his knuckles on the door.

Azriel screwed his eyes shut then pointed beneath the bed. Fear of Cassian and Mor finding her in Azriel’s bed had her following his direction and shimmying beneath the bed frame. Nesta had been wrong about his room being barren; beneath the bed was a cache of various weapons that she had to wiggle amongst to hide.

She heard the soft trail of the door along the carpet.

‘Did you have to wake me up?’

‘You don’t sleep,’ came Cassian’s reply.

Azriel gave a sigh. ‘Tonight, I do.’

‘If you won’t come to Rita’s, you’ve got to drink with us here,’ he slurred. ‘We are celebrating.’

‘Celebrating that Cassian managed to keep it in his pants for once at Rita’s,’ supplied Mor.

Nesta tried not to roll her eyes from her hiding place. She did not know what Rita’s was, but she could make a good prediction. From the reek, they had been drinking for many hours. To her sensitive hearing, it all felt terribly loud. If they did not leave soon, Nesta would flip the bed upside down and yell at them to keep it down.

‘Not tonight, Cass. I’m exhausted. Another time.’

‘Don’t be boring.’

A long silence followed then Mor chirped up, ‘He’s right, Cass. We can drink together like old time’s sake.’

Even after the door was closed and bolted, Nesta remained on her back, staring up at the wooden slats of the bedframe.

Azriel’s knees clicked as he knelt down and peered at her. ‘You can come out.’

‘They’re drinking in the living room, aren’t they?’

To get to her room, Nesta would need to pass through that. With Cassian drinking, she knew she’d never escape a verbal spat or worse.

‘As soon as it’s clear, I’ll get you back to your room. I can’t winnow within these walls or I would already take you there.’

Nesta was stuck in Azriel’s room for the night. He seemed to realise this fact at the same moment.

‘I’ll sleep on the floor,’ he said. ‘Do you need something to wear?’

An old shirt was found for her and loose-fitting bottoms that were far too large to cover her legs. Azriel pressed his face into the corner of the room but Nesta still dressed in a hurry and continued to check over her shoulder to ensure he hadn’t peeked at her. When it was his turn to change, she leapt into the bed to pull the quilt over her head to hide.

Both of them were wide awake after the conversation with the other two. It was made worse by Azriel’s constant turning on the floor. His wings rustled each time.

‘Are you uncomfortable?’

‘I won’t make a habit of sleeping on the floor.’

Nesta swallowed. ‘There is room in the bed.’

Tension snapped across the room.

‘Pardon?’

In the dark, she screwed her eyes shut out of embarrassment. ‘I won’t say it again.’

Nesta wasn’t sure that she even could say it again. If the mountain caved in on them, she might thank it.

What had possessed her to say it? It wasn’t guilt. She wasn’t a kind person. There was this gnawing need that she could not name that wanted Azriel close to her.

The mattress dipped as Azriel settled on the other side of the bed. Both of them kept close to the edge, leaving an expanse of space in the middle.

‘Goodnight Azriel.’

‘Goodnight Nesta.’

[wrestlingwithlife]

“A Dummies Guide to Dating a Werewolf” by Angel Shaw

I could not get this idea out of my head so here we go

Sam observed the rambunctious room around him in silence, his frame partially hidden by the shadow of the corner. It wasn’t often he attended pack meetings with Darlin, so he took the opportunity to watch the pack’s seemingly everyday dynamic.

He watched with silent amusement as Asher and Milo pestered Darlin relentlessly, working tirelessly to turn their seemingly permanent scowl into a smile. To those nearby, Darlin seemed irritated. Completely unfazed by the attempts to get them to crack a smile.

But to those who knew them well, Sam included, the smallest upturn of their lips was enough to let them know they were struggling.

Sam was broken from his thoughts as a small figure approached, a small spring in their step. Angel skipped over to him, a bright smile on their lips.

Sam hadn’t interacted much with the Alpha’s mate, but he knew they were often dragging Darlin around with them and for that Sam was grateful. Seeing Darlin actually get out and do things with their pack took a weight off of Sam’s chest, and with the way David watched the two when they were together he could gather he felt the same.

Angel stopped in front of him, a book like object clutched tightly in their grasp. Their smile was so bright Sam had to take a moment to blink before he offered one of his own, albeit not nearly as bright.

“Ah, Sam, I’m so glad you’re here!” Though their tone was boisterous not a single person stopped their own conversation to look over at the two. Before Sam could offer a word of his own Angel thrust the book they had in their hands into is arms.

“Here! It’s a welcome gift now that you’re officially apart of the pack! I meant to give it to you sooner but it’s been ages since I’ve been able to see you!”

“That’s mighty kind of you.” Sam drawled, running his thumb over the cover material, taking a moment to read the title.

‘A dummies guide to dating a werewolf’

It took every ounce of strength in Sam’s to not wheeze at the title. In a smaller font near the bottom the words ‘By Angel Shaw’ were scrawled out.

“Some of the other mates figured you may need a bit of a hand adjusting to pack life.” They spoke with a wink.

There a was a shrill noise of protest behind the two and they both turned to see Darlin gripping Asher and Milo by the backs of their shirts, holding them off the ground. A dangerous and mischievous smirk painted Darlin’s face as Asher and Milo pleaded for mercy, their mates all but rolling on the ground in laughter.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Darlin being more open and playful with the pack. Angel, clearly wishing to join in on the fun, was quick to shoot Sam a smile and a hurried goodbye before bouncing over to the group.

Sam let out a chuckle before turning his gaze back to the book, curious of its contents. The book was relatively thick. Was there really that many secrets in the dating world of the wolves?

————————————————————————

Tip #6 - There is a sweet spot behind the ear (they will immediately fall over so be mindful of where you are)

Despite what most would think, Darlin could be quite cuddly and touchy. Because of this there weren’t many places on the two of them that the other had yet to explore (*cough**cough*).

Sam listened as the noise of the shower turned off, letting him know his Darlin would be out soon. Sam placed the last of his folded clothes into their respective drawers, sitting on the edge of his bed and watching the bathroom door expectantly.

The bathroom door swung open, a bit of steam escaping as Darlin stepped out into bedroom. Their hair was a bit damp, but not so much so that there was any risk of it getting anything wet. Their loose sweatpants were riding dangerously low, their shirt lifted up as they scratched at an itchy spot on their chest.

Sam took in a sharp breath, watching the muscles on their stomach move as they walked toward him. (#beefcakedarlinforthewin)

Darlin allowed their shirt to fall back into place as they stood between Sam’s legs, a hand working its way through his hair. Sam let out a satisfied hum, his hands working their way up the wolf’s sides, feeling the tight muscles beneath his fingers.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Sam’s voice was gravely as he pulled Darlin ever closer, resting his chin on his mates hard chest and gazing up at them.

Darlin chuckled and Sam’s heart leaped to his throat. The shifters other hand worked it’s way into the vampire’s hair tugging lightly. “I could say the same thing for you, cowboy.”

Sam let out a sigh, melting into Darlin’s touch as his eyes trailed their body. His sharp gaze raked over their exposed neck, chest aching at the sight of the scarred skin. Abandoning the dreary thoughts, Sam allowed his hand to reach up and cup Darlin’s face. The wolf’s eyes closed as they leaned into his touch, chest rumbling in pleasure.

Sam trailed up their face, fingers scratching behind his lovers ear. When their noises of pleasure increased Sam allowed himself to press down on the spot a bit harder, only for him to take the full weight of his mate as their body fell limp.

The breath was knocked out of Sam’s lungs as Darlin crashed down onto him, forcing his body flat against the bed. The vampires arms came up, wrapping around his mate and holding them tight to his body so they didn’t slide off.

‘I didn’t think it would be that effective’ Sam thought as he took in a deep breath.

Darlin’ was completely out, eyes closed and body relaxed, chest rumbling in what could only be described as a purr.

Sam pulled himself up the bed, tugging Darlin’ along with him, and settled down. Sam’s hand found Darlin’s hair, combing through it. Maybe this book had some secrets after all.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Tip #9 - Silverware does not work like the media portrays it

Sam chuckled at that one, he could only imagine the trial and error that Angel went through to test that out.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Tip #13 - Anything small and prey like that they haven’t bonded with is fair game

Tip #14 - They always aim for the throat

Tip #15 - They WILL eat what they catch

Sam laughed as Darlin’ went barreling through yet another pile of leaves, the dead plants crunching beneath their paws.

The shifter tumbled through the multi-colored piles, the occasional happy whine slipping out. Sam smiled fondly, he could sit here and watch his Darlin enjoy themselves all day.

As the giant white wolf charged at yet another pile, a much smaller blur of brown shot out of it. Sam’s keen eyes followed the rabbit closely, watching it flee for its life, but he wasn’t the only one.

Darlin was quick to turn, skidding on leaves as their giant paws scrambled for a hold. The shifter’s powerful legs pushed off the earth and Darlin was on the rabbit in a moment.

Sam had never seen a shifter hunt an animal before, he figured it just wasn’t something they did or needed to do. He watched in awe as Darlin snapped up the rabbit with ivory teeth, ending it as quickly and painlessly as possible with a swift bite to its neck.

The white wolf turned back to Sam, bounding over with the limp rabbit as their tail curled over their back with pride. Darlin dropped the rabbit at Sam’s feet, looking down at Sam expectingly.

While it wasn’t that uncommon for vampire to drink animal blood for a snack or use it to hold them over, Sam had just fed before they came out. Sam held up his hands to the wolf.

“Thanks Darlin, but I just ate. It’s all yours.”

Sam stepped back and watched in wonder as the wolf pounced on their catch, white jaws quickly turning red. In only a few bites the rabbit was gone, leaving nothing behind.

Sam reached forward, gently taking the wolf’s massive head in his hands, mindful of the blood.

“You just keep on surprising me, don’t you Darlin?” Sam asked, recoiling with a small laugh when he received a bloody kiss on the cheek.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Tip #18 : They will bring you gifts that they think you will like, it’s best to just accept them. No matter how strange.

Darlin wove between trees, keen eyes following the mapped out route in their head as they raced on.

Sam had been helping William close on a few properties, so Darlin had decided to take a run while they waited. They never were one to like to listen to business chatter. They could handle it when it had to do with Shaw Security or the pack, but that was about all they could take.

Darlin could see the beginning of a hill, the ground slopping away and disappearing from the wolf’s sight. Just as Darlin reached the beginning of the descending slope something smooth and round caught the shifters paw, sending them tumbling down the hill with a yelp.

Once the white wolf came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, fur littered with stick and leaves, they stood, looking curiously at the back to the top of the slope. Darlin carefully made their way back up the hill, following the path their body had made in forest floor.

The light of the setting sun caught something peeking from between the leaves. The object was smooth, light oranges and pinks and white decorated the objects body. Darlin nosed away the leaves to reveal a crystal about the size of their paw.

‘Moonstone? Here?’ Darlin questioned to themselves, rolling the rounded crystal with their nose a bit. ‘Sam would like this.’ The thought seemed almost instinctive. A gift for their mate? Why not?

Darlin picked up the heavy crystal in their jaws, cringing a bit at the feeling of their teeth on the hard surface. With the sun setting it wouldn’t be long before Sam and William would be done with their work. The white wolf made a quick stop by the river to wash not only the gift but their own fur before heading to William’s impossibly large home.

When Darlin broke from the trees Sam and William were sitting on the porch, the sun was setting behind the house, leaving the porch bathed in shadows.

Sam and William watched as the colossal wolf leaped the front fence, their pace slowing as they neared the two. The two vampires could hear the clicking of something hard against the shifters teeth.

Darlin gently put the moon stone down on the porch, pushing it towards Sam and looking up at him expectingly. Sam tilted his head, bending to pick up the rock.

“Now where the hell did you get this, Darlin?”

“Moon stone.” William nods after he examines the crystal for a moment, patting the wolf’s shoulder. “Mighty nice find there. You’ve got yourself a real treasure hunter there, don’t you, Sam?”

Sam looks up, meeting the his Darlin’s eyes. He smiled as he realized what the stone was for.

“Sure do.” He hummed, laying a gentle hand on the wolf’s head.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Tip #20 : It isn’t uncommon for them to shift in their sleep

Sam’s eyes blinked open when he felt a weight shift in the bed. Seeing as Darlin was no longer pressed against his back he sat up, making sure the shifter was okay.

He was met with the trembling white wolf, still asleep, but clearly having some sort of nightmare. Darlin whimpered in their sleep, ears tight to their head. Sam’s heart broke at the sound they made.

The vampire reached out a gentle hand, moving it to the spot behind Darlin’s ears. The wolf’s eyes snapped open, wild with panic, but the sight of Sam made their adrenaline slow.

Sam shushed his mate gently, soothing down their ruffled fur. “You’re safe, Darlin. I’ve got you.” He repeated it like a mantra, but it worked.

Darlin was soon back into their normal form, face buried in Sam’s neck.

“I’m sorry.” They croaked pitifully, voice breaking with the effort. Sam shushed them gently.

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

He leaned himself against the head board, pulling Darlin’s weight to lean on him. That’s how they slept for the rest of the night.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Kinda felt a bit cruddy, but this is my first work on tumblr so hopefully it isn’t to terrible.

Author-Chan out ✌️

[heycarrots]

My entire life, I thought I had straight hair.

You might ask, how do you NOT know your hair is wavy? Doesn’t it wave naturally?

It does, but only if allowed the opportunity and the encouragement to take its natural shape.

Growing up, if you were a girl, you got up early before school, showered, and then gave yourself an EXHAUSTING salon-level blowout every single morning. If you didn’t, if you let it *gasp* NOT be flat and shiny, you were considered dirty, unkempt, not feminine enough. The only exceptions being the CURLY folks, the female identifying goddesses who could NEVER ever be mistaken for straight-haired girls because their hair slingshots back into shape the moment any moisture hits it.

Over the years, I laid on more damage that society demanded, or so I believed. I bleached it to match my Marilyn aesthetic at the time. Platinum blonde, ramrod straight and then, ironically, hot rolled into submission to create the look of artificial pin curls.

All that bleach and all that heat, of course, destroyed the strength of my hair. It was brittle and, while it looked beautiful from the outside observer, I was losing a battle with it.

Growing up in South FL, the heat and humidity were my constant source of struggle. No matter what I did, how much I ironed my hair silky straight, it would fluff up like a chia pet within 15 minutes of going outside.

Looking at other girls around me who did not share this same struggle, I felt defeated. Why can’t my hair just lay flat? I mean, it LOOKS straight in the morning, I’ve always been able to shock it straight since childhood . . . What’s happening to my hair?

Well, motherhood happened. I was too tired to continue my battle with the blow dryer and flat iron every day, so I said fuck it, and just started letting it air dry.

At this point, my strands had been beaten down to the point where they were like, yeah . . . we’re not gonna lie flat and be cooperative, but we also don’t have the proteins and care required to spring back to life. So I got what could best be described as slightly bent frizz. I was very close to accepting this as just my lot in life when someone said, look at all that frizz! It looks like your hair is trying to curl.

My initial response was . . . No way! It’s definitely straight! It’s always been straight. I’ve worked really hard to assure it’s straight because, for me, the alternative was unattainable.

This kind soul turned me onto the curly hair method and assured me that If I put in the work to undo the damage I’d done to it over the course of my entire life, I would see significant change.

The day I finally accepted this was when schools shut down in Japan and I lost my job during the pandemic. I no longer had a reason to conform.

So, over the course of the next few months, I implemented the changes she had suggested and my hair improved dramatically! I won’t say it was always pretty . . . It was super awkward at first and I had to endure cold silent judgement when out and about in ULTRA conservative rural Japan, where any texture in your hair is equated with moral decay (not even exaggerating . . . try going to an onsen with a visible tattoo).

But now . . . my hair is thriving. As soon as water hits it in the shower, it clumps up and beings to curl. I haven’t straightened my hair myself in years.

If you’re thinking this sounds a bit like a metaphor, that’s because it is. Yes, this IS also the truth about my hair journey.

But just like my hair, I went through my entire life assuming I was straight. I’m married. I was married previously. I’ve had some very good relationships with men. I’ve had some REALLY bad relationships with men, but my relationships with my female friends have always felt a bit desperate, a showering of affection I tried to mentally attribute to my being on the spectrum.

Events in my life have recently caused some serious reflection . . . on female friendships I’ve had over the years that felt entirely one-sided, a longing for something deeper that just wasn’t reflected back at me. At a certain point, after losing my dearest friend to cancer in my early 20s, I shut down female friendships. They were too painful for me and I never understood why.

I am not straight. Never have been. I’m bisexual. This doesn’t change my relationship with my husband, any more than the fact that I appreciate most men would cause me to dart off after the nearest alternative. However, accepting this about myself has unlocked a sea of understanding about my past, about my role in those failed friendships, the expectations I was unknowingly placing on these girls which, because they were hidden, even from myself, they were destined to fall short of.

Over the course of the last month, I’ve been reeling with this paradigm shifting revelation and one thing I’ve come to understand is that I’m not my own type. I’m not drawn to girls who look like me (or at least look like I DID, with the pinup makeup and exhausting beauty routine). There’s nothing WRONG with that, but I’m not attracted to it because it holds no mystery for me. I know how hard they are working. I know the art and the artifice. Because I never looked at a woman as beautiful as Max and had FEELINGS, I assumed I had to be straight. If one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen makes me think *meh*, then I guess I must not be attracted to women.

But then, there are those women who simply do not give a fuck. Not a single one. And yet, they glow. They know no shame and have always known who they are and fight for the world as it should be, not as it is. And look at that! It appears I do have a type, after all. I guess you could say they are the Madis of this world, the Mirandas of this world.

To those women, thank you. I intend to approach life brackets emptied. Unredacted.

Love is love.

[harmonie-writes]

Endless Sol Teaser

Poly dragon!Ateez x fem! reader

Warnings: typical things that happen in raids (burning, potential death/depictions of death, abductions, forced enslavement), language, violence, blood.

AN: italics are telepathic bonds, thoughts

If you enjoy my work, please consider reblogging as tumblr is based on reblogs and not likes. (The likes are appreciated, though).

Word count: ~1.5k

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»»————-　➴　————-««

There's a place called Eris, where magic runs deep in the lands. A place where creatures of high nobility live, like elves and humans, even warlocks and faeries. Up in the mountain and deep in the caves, some dwarves dwell, that mine and smelt gold. There are even monstrous species, such as dragons and behemoths. Yet some species are slowly going extinct, like the phoenix.

Eris is a world of myth and magic, it was also once a place of peace and prosperity. Unfortunately, the plague of greed waged war for the land, and some species sought out those who could be bent to their will for their gain.

»»————-　➴　————-««

The human king, King Ainar, of Deimos, sought a cure for his ailing wife. His court physicians couldn't figure out what was wrong. No treatment seemed to work. Every remedy they tried failed. So, he sought out warlocks, witches, and the fae folk. The results were the same. No potion, tonic, or balm seemed to ease the illness that befell the Queen of Deimos. Over a year, many had failed to cure the queen, and she remained husk-like in her bed.

And then, there was one last chance the King had, a rumor at most, but it was a small grain of hope for him. There is an island called Thelea, home to the phoenix, which is a land made purely of volcanic rock and ash, except when spring arrives then there is life on the island.

King Ainar took the only lead he had and readied a fleet to storm Thelea. But why search for the phoenix? There was a myth that the bird of flames could cure or heal any ailment with a single drop of their golden blood.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Rowboats scratched against the gravel of the shore of Thelea in the dark of night. The knights that King Ainar had sent out have finally reached the land of fire, and secured as many of the phoenixes as they could.

The sound of iron boots and chain mail could be heard as the knights began the raid.

Homes were set aflame and the air turned rancid with smoke, all in attempts to flush out some of the phoenixes from their homes and out into the open. It wasn't long before startled screams and shouts filled the air, and the sound of iron nets being cast as they clinked against each other.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Small soot-stained hands clawed at the floorboard under them trying desperately to escape the support beam that fell from the rafters of her family home. Every gasp and cough that left her as she struggled left her lungs burnings. Her eyes stung from the smoke and she could only see orange and yellow flames behind her bleary eyes.

It was only a matter of time now. She knew these were probably her final moments. She could hear her parents' screams get farther and farther away.

Feeling the last of the strength leave her body, she feels heat ignite from inside her chest. It's instantaneous, the rapidly growing fire consumes the small feathered girl and leaves a pile of ash in its wake.

»»————-　➴　————-««

A small thunder of dragons flies overhead, getting ready to head back to their home in the Mountains of Altair when they notice the smoking ruins of Thelea.

"Look over there," a silver female wyvern pointed out, craning her neck in the direction of the smoke plumes.

The large black dragon at the head of the group angled his wings to land in the ruins of Thelea, the rest of the group following his lead in the descent.

The black dragon touches down first closely followed by the silver female. It's not too long after that four small hatchlings stumble upon their landings.

Among the hatchlings, there is a crimson scaled dragon, it's dark scales shimmering brightly like the lava pools in Thelea. A dragon with scales as black as the night sky and eyes that compare to the emeralds that the dwarves of Erbor mine. The third hatchling to touch down is a dragon with gold scales like the large wheat fields that cover most of Diemos. The last one to land is the youngest, a snow white wyvern, who stumbles the most out of the hatchlings since he only has two legs.

The unmistakable sounds of bones compacting and joints popping reach the ears of the thunder, and before them stands a motherly woman with silvery hair in a long braid, and a plain pleated dress.

"Amia, what are you doing?" The black dragon's voice vertebrates inside her head. It's almost loud enough that it feels like his words are bouncing off her skull.

"Looking for survivors. This isn't natural," she insists and begins to make her way to the center of town.

More popping can be heard and a mop of straw colored hair is bounding after the woman.

"Yunho!" The dragon calls, but gets ignored by the hatchling and soon the other three are following his lead.

Shaking his head the elder follows suit, quick to hurry after his wife and the four hatchlings who were supposed to be doing flight training.

Amia picks up the dress of skirt as she picks her way through the deserted town. Distress evident on her face as she walks up to one of the charred remains of a home and spots a small doll laying in a puddle, covered in soot.

The male, known as Izar, walks up to his wife, eyes scanning everything. Hoping for a sign of life, or something that'll explain what happened.

"It doesn't look like any of them are here," Izar states, placing what he hopes is a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder.

The four hatchlings have wandered over to the other side of the town square. A weird tug pulling at each of them in the direction of a house with a collapsed roof.

Seonghwa nudges Hongjoong's ribs and they share a look with each other before slowly stepping into the threshold of the house. Calculating eyes searching, but they aren't quite sure what they're looking for.

Yeosang stands on his tippy toes to look over Hongjoong’s shoulder and points at a pile of ash on the floor.

"What's that?" He asks, carefully stepping out from behind his elder.

He receives a shrug and the four of them begin to make their way to the center of the room and together the four lift the center beam.

Yunho bends down, about to touch the pile when they all hear their names being called by Izar and Amia.

"Time to go," Seonghwa mumbles, picking his way back to what would be the front door.

As the four of them begin to turn away from the strange pile of ash, they feel heat warm their backs. The heat isn't harsh, but it's warm and inviting and it makes them freeze in their place and turn around. Stunned they watch as the ashes reignite before their eyes, and in the orange glow of the fire a shape starts to take place before the fire dies out. Eyes wide and mouths agape they stare as a small bird with burgundy and gold feathers with brilliant blue eyes.

"Guys," Hongjoong looks at the other hatchlings.

Swallowing thickly, Seonghwa carefully picks up the phoenix and cradles it between his palms.

"So, what now?" He asks, turning around.

"I guess, we bring it to Amia," Hongjoong answers, leading the way back to the center of town.

The four boys hurry to find their caretakers and call out to them.

It doesn't take long for them to notice the new phoenix in Seonghwa's hands, and Amia is hurrying over to see the young one.

"Oh, Mother," Amia whispers, her hand covering her mouth.

Izar takes another look around the place before letting out a heavy sigh, "I guess we will take this one home with us. Seonghwa, will you be alright holding onto them while we fly home?"

Seonghwa nods his head, his arms holding the bird a little bit more firmly without crushing it.

"Well then," Izar announces right before shifting, "Let's head home."

Five dragons take off from Thelea heading West towards the Mountains of Altair, and perched on the back of the Izar, is Seonghwa holding the small bird made of sol.

»»————-　➴　————-««

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[harmonysanreads]

01: Guest [Songbird Index]

—THE SHOGUNATE CHEERED. Claps, mumbles of wonder faded as mere background sounds just as the song came to an end. Her excellency, too, sat at her throne, nodded in approval, appearing much too pleased by the small curve of her lips.

“Henchforth, I announce you as my honoured guest and welcome you to the land of Eternity. Until your departure, Inazuma shall treat you as its own.”

Her mighty voice silenced the whole of the Shogunate just as you curtsied in respect. Then, a smile so bright outshined all the glittering embellishments of the Tenshukaku, even the Raiden Shogun stopped to bathe in its glow.

Among the crowd, Kamisato Ayato watched, too. Tea, long since abandoned the moment your fingers started to strum a foreign string instrument. Followed afterwards your voice in the shape of a song, one that could rival the ones sang by the prettiest of Geishas and those offered at her excellency's shrine- and would emerge victorious.

Such an angelic tune, unheard until this moment. Whatever frowns some particular Shogunate officials had sent upon your bold exclamation had instantly vanished when your lips parted. No one was left short of mesmerized.

In Spring, some birds not native to Inazuma could be found doing their things while strolling the sakura coated streets. They would make themselves comfortable by the branches, some would sing foreign songs at the break of dawn. The reason for their sudden appearance was unknown as their stay lasted not even a month.

Perhaps, you were one of them, the Yashiro Commissioner mused. Suddenly appearing to add colour to Inazuma's rather bleak days, and maybe you'd be gone in the same way, too.

In that case, you'd be a blessing. For just the one hour of your stay you managed to bring the tense and serious Tenshukaku to life. The Shogun herself smiled and still was. The Yashiro Commissioner spectated with a newfound fondness, too. There was no need to go out his comfort zone, not when your songs soothe every crevice of the Tenshukaku.

Ayato, caught in a daze, rendered immobile to your every action. Truly, it would've been fortunate if his eyes could meet yours, even just for a second. Then, he'd imprint your visage in his mind, for the lost chance when you first stepped before her excellency.

And what a serendipity it was. When you looked over your shoulder and caught his lavender gaze. For what appeared to be a transient eternity, you both remained frozen. Lord Kamisato's gaze appeared more coloured in surprise while yours remained indescribable.

Like the efflorescence of the ever glorious sakura, the remnants of your previous smile stretched wider this time. It might just have been a trickery of the Commissioner's mind, for he would not admit ; his breath hitched for the first time in a long while.

What only remained in his vision were locks of shining hair-tossed in the wind-as you turned your face to the throne once more, then, the Commissioner heard a tune better than even your song.

“How about another song, your excellency?”

And just like that, the once grim and frowning group called The Shogunate errupted into a cheer once more. Funny, the officials even the ever capable Yashiro Commissioner struggled to earn the approval off, were wrapped around your finger with one single song.

Kamisato Ayato did not know whether to be envious of or charmed by you. But the former would be a sin, he realized just as quickly. As the strum of your instrument blended in with your voice —a voice so unparalleled in it's beauty— the Tenshukaku was rendered silent and the Commissioner, too, was mesmerized this time.

You were not just any bird. You were a songbird. You sang songs unheard, songs that were so hypnotizing. You sang not only of emotions but of tales only you could weave. A songbird so precious, who would not want to treasure you?

Kamisato Ayato drowned in the sea that was your voice and he drowned willingly. But he couldn't help but think.

When the seasons changed, some birds from foreign lands would pay the nation of Eternity a sweet visit. The cause of their sudden arrival was unknown although no one questioned why. For the birds' harmonious songs and chit-chat would lighten up the dawns and streets. Some would say, they were the long lost friends of the cherry blossoms.

They would receive a hospitable stay, some held them to high admiration. But a coin has two sides ; for the majority's admiration had some contrast here and there, too. Unable to withstand departure, some people would capture these birds and put them in silver cages. The birds would cry, their songs transitioning towards deep melancholy until they would sing no more.

So, Lord Kamisato thought, what if you became one of them, too?—

Snapped out of his deep thoughts as you turned around and began to step forward, towards him. Your song was yet to end but you strolled past various Shogunate officials and stood before his seat ; caught of guard he could only stare in anticipation. Only then did he realize that your fingers had not stopped from strumming the instrument, the melody shifting towards softer tunes.

Your eyes were cast somewhere else as the last verses left your lips ; the overall result strangely reserved. It was a great parallel to the smile and curtsy you sent afterwards, no less bright than all your previous ones.

The Shogunate clapped and left words of appreciation this time, too. Lord Kamisato held the fragile porcelain containing the long cold tea in his grip, as if it'd break if he pressed any further. He realized there was more to what you let on, what you briefly announced to the entire Shogunate and her excellency.

The Yashiro Commissioner had come across many interesting things since the day he took on this position, and they all taught him that life was not short of wonders, dangers and warnings. So, he reached a conclusion.

—That is, if, he would allow so.

[mementoboni]

PHALARIS booklet track by track commentary

Notes before reading:

Source: Booklet of DIR EN GREY's album "PHALARIS"(2022), comments from members on each song.

I translated the content into Chinese in July 2022, and the English version was translated in May 2023. (*) are my own thoughts or additions.

Kyo added "ね (ne)" at the end of almost every line, which indicates a tone of voice that's difficult to understand and translate through words.

Toshiya commented on each song almost exclusively in terms of its lyrics. So it may be a bit confusing to read.

Repost and share are welcome.🙌 Please feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts.☺️

--------

Disc1

01. Schadenfreude

Kyo: It's long. Kaoru: It was September 2020 when I created the demos for a slow-tempo song and a fast-paced song at the same time. I think we decided to pre-produce the fast-paced song and rejected the slow-tempo song. After that, I tried to keep the galloping feeling of the song, but I couldn't get a good feeling for it and time passed. In 2021, we started talking about having a long song, so I struggled to make the song longer, but it didn't take shape well. In the spring of 2021, when I was struggling with the idea, I remembered the existence of a slow-tempo song I had created around the same time, so I decided to put in the taste of that song and started a major remodeling. Since the song had been rejected, I kept the rhythm, changed the riffs and worked on it as hard as I could. When the band members heard the demo, they decided to go with this style, but again, it didn't turn out well. The longer the song gets, the more I want to add waves of development, but it just didn't feel exciting enough. At that time, one of the members suggested to me that I should try to make the whole piece more intense. And so the great adventure began again. It was really hard to finish at this point in time, but it turned out well. Please enjoy the wave of fury that is revealed from the first song. Die: As the first song in the album, it is a symbol of "PHALARIS". Toshiya: The door to "PHALARIS" opens from this song. The entrance to the dazzling labyrinth, fumbling the way to hell. Shinya: This song is packed with super difficult drum phrases from the first track on the album. I personally like the phrases in 4:30 because they seem mature.

02. 朧 (Oboro)

Kyo: It's dark. Kaoru: I created this song with the expectation that it would be in a good position on the album, but since it was to be a single, I kept it rather simple. I thought about changing it a lot for the album, but decided to leave it as is. Die: The moment "Schadenfreude" passes and the sound of this intro rings, my spine is chilling. Toshiya: Here, beg and pray for forgiveness. Shinya: At first I couldn't remember the complicated drum beat of A-Melo (Verse) at all, but I've played it at Live many times, so I'm pretty used to it. It's medium speed, but the drum is very delicate.

03. The Perfume of Sins

Kyo: It's fast. Kaoru: When I first started working on the demo, I wanted to make a dark and impactful song like before. I thought about trying the fast rhythm of "tsuta tsuta" that haven't seen for a long time, and it turned out to be such a clang song. Die: From the ground-crawling guitar riffs to the super-fast beat, it's thrilling. Toshiya: Let's drown in the scintillation. Shinya: The fastest phrase in the album comes out. Even if it's 0.01 seconds, it's so fast that you can't see it anymore, and it takes a lot of concentration, so it's going to be hard even at live.

04. 13

Kyo: It's the 4th song. Kaoru: This song was created around the same time as "Oboro," and I thought the development after the chorus connecting to Die's solo turned out to be a nice touch. Die: DIR EN GREY-style emotional. Toshiya: At the end of the stairs. Shinya: The song is melodious and easy to listen to, but the drums are strangely complicated. It ends without a normal beat from beginning to end.

05. 現、忘我を喰らう (Utsutsu, Bouga wo Kurau)

Kyo: I'm trying to sing in an interesting way. Kaoru: The song came out quite a while ago, but we started working on it towards the end. It is a song with strong character, and I think everyone will like it. Die: Irregular rhythms and monophonic guitar riffs. Unique ambiance. Toshiya: Dancing the rondo of life. Shinya: It is a song with a special rhythm pattern full of rest marks. This song ends without a normal beat. It seems that it is very difficult to get used to the body.

06. 落ちた事のある空 (Ochita Koto no Aru Sora)

Kyo: Hope it doesn't fall off again. Kaoru: Actually, we produced this song for a commission case. So, we have put our own style in full throttle. By the way, that case seems to have been lost. (*I wonder what kind of commission case it is. 🤔) Die: Melodies intertwined with dizzying guitar riffs. Dense. Toshiya: Eagerly waiting for the tomorrow that will never come. Shinya: The drums were rather complicated, but the songs so far are so intense that it sounds simple now. I've played this song many times in live performances, and the groove is perfect.

07. 盲愛に処す (Mouai ni Shosu)

Kyo: Mouai-san. Kaoru: It's all about imagining what it feels like to move the atmosphere. I think this is the last song in the album that we started working on. It might have been finished early. Die: The hooky rhythm is pleasant. Toshiya: This place is everything. Shinya: The drums are busy with many phrases involving toms. I have to create a syncopated groove, so I divide my head into two parts and play while thinking about each part separately.

08. 響 (Hibiki)

Kyo: It's emo. Kaoru: This song was created from a demo we had in the past, just as the album songs were almost ready to be released. Die-kun made an unique arrangement of the song. Die: The feeling of being saved by the light at the end. Toshiya: Stand in silence in front of the empty shells. Shinya: The drums are played in a strange way from the beginning to the end. If you listen only to the drums, it will probably make no sense.

09. Eddie

Kyo: It's fast. Kaoru: It started out as a light-hearted song, but we thought it could be taken to a more violent level. The tempo was sped up and the riffs were roughed up to make it a raging song. I am looking forward to the live performance. Die: I didn't expect to end up with such a hard core from that prototype. Toshiya: Covered in shit. Shinya: It's just fast. It starts with momentum, moves forward with momentum, and when I notice it, it's already over. The drums are just like before, full of guts.

10. 御伽 (Otogi)

Kyo: It's otogi ↑, not otogi ↓, right? Kaoru: It reminds me a little of the old days, but I think it's a type of song that never existed before. There may be a lot of such songs in this album. This is a song that feels good to play. Die: The guitar riffs and melodies with open strings are beautiful. Toshiya: Show love with the tip of my numb fingers. Shinya: It's a song filled with my own drum phrases. I personally like the part of 1:47, where I use the high-hat and the ride cymbal to create a semiquaver rhythm.

11. カムイ (Kamuy)

Kyo: The sound is beautiful. Kaoru: This song was even more difficult than "Schadenfreude”. I created this song with the idea that it would be the one to take over after the departure of "Oboro" as a single. It’s a song with new parts and a strong DIR EN GREY feel. Die: The moment when the heavy guitar riff instantly erases the sad sound of the acoustic guitar. Toshiya: The door to "PHALARIS" closes with this song. Today I step on worthless bugs again, I am the same human being. Shinya: This song is also full of my own drum phrases. My personal favorites are the toms at 2:47 and the snare drum phrases at 5:43.

. . .

Disc2

01. mazohyst of decadence

Kyo: It's dark. Burning with jealousy. Kaoru: I think we rearranged it when we used to play it at a live show, and newly arranged it to the latest version. I played the sitar again since the recording of this song at that time, but it was only used in a very small part of the song. Die: Heavier and deeper. Toshiya: When the Ubume cries. (*Ubume (產女，うぶめ) is a Japanese Youkai, which is transformed from the obsession of a woman who died in childbirth.) Shinya: The structure of the song has changed rather a lot from the original, so I thought of the drums again with a new feeling based on the previous phrases.

02. ain't afraid to die

Kyo: If I sing it in 2022, it will be like this. Kaoru: I wondered what it would be like if we did it now without messing with it too much, so I just went along with it. The solo part was a little bit calculated because I couldn't show the roughness at that time. I played the solo many times, but that's a secret between us. Die: I still remember when we finished part of the song and slept together during the pre-production. Toshiya: For the last time this year. Shinya: I completely recreated the phrases from those days. Even listening to it now, I quite like the drum phrases.

(END)

— — —

中文翻譯 → here (My Blogger)

[la-pheacienne]

What is the most romantic story you have ever read or watched?

This one will be long, sorry, I can't just pick one. I looked for the definition of "romantic" in various dictionnaries and I singled out these definitions (excluding the Romanticism of the 19th century although the two can coexist obviously) :

"marked by the imaginative or emotional appeal of what is heroic, adventurous, remote, mysterious, or idealized"

"characterized by, or suggestive of an idealized view of reality"

"visionary"

"conducive to or characterized by the expression of love"

"exciting and mysterious and having a strong effect on your emotions"

So the main things to look for here are 1) idealism (as opposed to realism) and 2) strong emotions, which leads to 3) love, that is naturally the perfect form of idealism evoking strong emotions.

Most romantic stories I have ever read, in no particular order:

A Tale of Two Cities. "I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul". A man sacrificing himself for the woman he loves, taking the place of the man she loves in the guillotine, you can't get more romantic than that.

Les Miserables. It is a Romantic story and a romantic story, both, of course. It is in every way THE romantic story by definition, every single possible version of romantic love is present here. Marius and Cosette's love at first sight is the definition of idealistic love as a copying mechanism for misery, loneliness and abandon. "What Is Love? I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul". Eponine's love and sacrifice for Marius and Cosette's happiness is the purest form of selfless devotion, born out of a context of complete vileness and depravity. Grantaire sacrificing himself for the ideals that Enjorlas believes in, out of pure love and devotion for Enjorlas as a person and not because of his personal political ideology, is also purely romantic. I would even include Valjean's love for the Bishop Myriel here because it is just so idealistic and wholesome and heartbreaking and life changing and larger than life.

The Great Gatsby. The romantic element is one sided here. It is personnified in Jay Gatsby, whose fatal love for the unworthy Daisy is the essence of "romantic", it is purely idealistic and thus completely clashes with the harsh reality, but we can't help but be drawn to his utter devotion, emotional drive and integrity. That's why he's The Great. "They're a rotten crowd. You're worth the whole damn bunch put together". "Can’t repeat the past?…Why of course you can!"

After these three I have to mention:

Wuthering Heights, for the dark side of romantic love. Here love is mainly the force of evil, but still, it is presented in its most idealistic form. "He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same". "Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul".

Jane Eyre. "I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you. You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one". I mean. Self explanatory.

Pride and Prejudice. Not exactly my definition of romantic because the realism is strong on that one, but still, it is the OG story where two people change their very personality because of their love for each other and it merits a place here. And also for quotes like this "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you".

Gone with the Wind is also pretty romantic imo, despite the strong realism of both Scarlett and Rhett. Well, it merits a place here because this book really cemented the trope of a fictional character that is morally ambiguous (rotten even) and very realistic in the raw sense of the word but at the same time has an intense, soul-crushing idealism. Both Scarlett and Rhett are big idealists and they have an inner conflict between that idealism and their natural tendency to focus on the here and now. I love that. Very popular trope in American fiction.

As for the most romantic stories I have watched, that should be a post on its own I think because I can think of plenty of movies/shows, if we don't count the adaptations of the books I just mentioned here.

[prettyboykatsuki]

beloved, could you please expand on poly krbk

ohhh man

i have A Lot of thoughts on krbk as a dynamic bc i take issue with how it is portrayed but i think the best way to describe your relationship to them is sooo very hot and cold. like dfjsksd it is so stressful in the sense that you NEVER know what your relationship standing is with them completely. every time you see them its something new.

tenatively you are definitely friends. but like. logistically? who fucking knows! not you and definitely not them. i think a lot of this has to do with how long krbk had been dating. until like other dynamics who i feel really don't date until well into adulthood, krbk has been dating since highschool. and they've known about each others feelings and tenatively explored them together since like... first year at least to me.

so in that way, krbk is the most inseparable of the poly dynamics. they grow as individuals sure - but they're so intertwined with each other it's hard to expect one without expecting the other. they've had the same friend group, same goals, same life for so long that it really is the hardest dynamic to snug yourself inbetween. they befriend you in complete earnest, though. like they both just happen to really vibe with you.

like i said, tentatively you are FRIENDS. they enjoy your company, and you hang out with the two of them. they're "the couple your friends with." and for a long time - there's no need to change that relationship. what makes it so difficult is that they both notice changes in each other, maybe far before you do and that inevitable disruption really fucks w their relationship.

krbk doesn't really know life without each other. for them, it was life before each other and life after with no real breaks in the middle. so something like a third person completely breaks the both of them for different reasons. it's all very messy and everything SEEMS fine and it is fine. in a way.

what happens is probably something along the lines of - you get into an accident or situation of some sort -> they disagree on how to handle it -> huge fight ensues. and sure it's about the situation but it isn't. not really, anyway. it's a very messy situation, lots of breaking down and anger but they realize they both want the same thing which is you and they have 0 clue on how to handle that. luckily for you, they have this big fight RIGHT in front of. so yk. you are right there to help mediate.

it's like a talk where you're going all night long and everyone is really getting to have a heart to heart even bkgs fussy ass. after you resolve, bkg is the one who rlly puts himself out there in terms of being your bf officially bc he really wants to show out and give room for the new dynamic. it's very different but not in a bad way, but you can tell they're not being as careful around you. kirishima is adorably nervous the whole entire time </3

he will at least ask for stuff like hugs and kisses but w bkg u just gotta spring it on him cause he's TOOO embarassed otherwise. they really struggle with how they're supposed to proceed now though like. if you have to inevitably return home and they're back to being w each other they suddenly realize how weird it is WITHOUT you around and are like "damn we're idiots" and they're antsy to see you again. dumb cute. kirishima is very clingy naturally and enjoys showing off how absolutely huge he is to you every single day. bkg is the same but with the size of his triceps lol they compete a lot for attention.

AND THEY'RE ATTENTION HOGS LMAOOO please. like they always leave first bc they are besties but you have like . other friends and that makes them so annoyed ESPECIALLY bkg like what do u mean u care about other ppl. they should die. so cute lol.

the sex is overwhelming to put it lightly. kirishima is unintentionally rough but bkgs commitment to pleasure kinda softens the blow a bit. a very switchy dynamic but bkg is a bit of a bossy bottom. kiri is LETTING him do that but sometimes when he's pissed at bkg he'll fuck the attitude out of him and let you do what you want. kirishima is much more lenient w u than he is w bkg and the inverse is true for bkg LMFAOO it's craziness. you are always worn out.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Sir John Jenkins

Published: Dec 31, 2022

What makes a successful revolution? The answer is harder than it seems. For a revolution to succeed, it needs to make things better for people than before. But most revolutions are disastrous. If revolutionaries fail, they leave a legacy of destruction and mistrust. If they win, they create new destruction and mistrust. In both cases, there is no end to oppression — which is often the war cry of the revolutionary elite. Misery simply returns in a different mask.

There is not a single example to the contrary in the history of the modern Arab state system. From Bakr Sidqi in 1936 through Rashid Ali Al-Gailani in 1941 and Husni Al-Zaim in 1949 to the Free Officers in Egypt, the destruction of the monarchy in Iraq, the bloody return of the Ba’ath in both Iraq and Syria, Libya in 1969 or Sudan a generation later, every military coup led to violent repression, sinister surveillance, economic incompetence and loss of liberty. These were not political but violently coercive systems, where politics was at best a charade.

And many people remember with regret what they lost. My older Iraqi friends look back with nostalgia to the monarchical period before 1958. Older Egyptians remember when the Wafd, Young Egypt or the Sa’adists under the monarchy actually meant something politically, in their shared struggle against British colonial control. For younger people, the Arab Spring promised to make politics meaningful again, but ended in the same way. Disappointed hopes and dashed dreams.

There are only three revolutions in the modern Middle East that succeeded in building and then sustaining a new political dispensation — and none were Arab: Mustafa Kemal Ataturk’s abolition of the Ottoman caliphate in 1924, Reza Shah Pahlavi’s overthrow of the Qajars in 1925 and Ayatollah Khomeini’s expulsion of Reza Shah’s son in 1979. Both Ataturk and the Pahlavis did good things, modernizing education, agriculture and the economy and increasing social freedoms. Ataturk’s Turkey survives: It was built on solid foundations. Pahlavi’s Iran does not. And now it looks as if its successor, the Islamic Republic of Iran, which Khomeini declared to be a light to the nations, the champion of the suffering masses and a beacon of righteousness, has come to the end of its own tether.

The sustained protests inside Iran, about which I have written before, show no signs of dying down. They are not confined to one class, one ethnicity, one gender or one region. They cover the country from the Kurdish northwest to the Baloch southeast. Not everyone has joined in, of course. There have been flickers in the bazaars (as we currently see) and among oil workers, but not so far the sustained strikes we saw in 1978.

People are worried, as they always are, about their families, their livelihoods, their futures. But young people in particular are angry. They are also fearless — or perhaps more accurately they have managed to overcome their fear. And they are fed up with a country that promises them nothing but isolation, the grim grind of survival, no fun and continuous surveillance in the interests of — what exactly? The promise of a savior at the end of time or the privileges of a hypocritical elite, who have enriched themselves and their children (as anyone can see through their vainglorious postings on social media) while preaching a purist virtue in which fewer and fewer Iranians actually believe?

Many of the brightest and best — maybe 3 million since 1979 — have voted with their feet and left. But most people cannot and probably do not want to. Why should they? The country, after all, belongs as much to them as to the old men of the Guidance Council or the grim-faced thugs of the Basij and the Revolutionary Guard, who threaten them with arrest, torture and death for daring to demand the right to choose.

The regime seems rattled. It has not been able to suppress the protests this time as easily as it has in the past. As I write, it has reportedly killed more than 500 of its own citizens, including 70 children and 29 women, and arrested 19,000 others, including one of Iran’s most prominent actresses. It has charged 36 people with capital crimes, already sentenced a handful to death in sham trials, executed several — after savage torture — and promised to execute many more. When Iran’s footballers in Qatar failed during their first match at the World Cup to sing the national anthem (itself a curious thing for an Islamist regime to have), it made sure they sang it during the next match. It has intimidated other sports stars and entertainers who have sought to speak out.

But this time it cannot intimidate everyone. It has tried to claim that the problem is Kurdish separatism, Daesh or the hidden hand of the US and Israel. Schoolchildren have mocked the claims. It has fired missiles into northern Iraq to try to provoke Kurdish opposition movements into a violent response that might justify its actions. It has failed — at least so far.

Leaked recordings of internal discussions, intelligence analysis and public criticism from members of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei’s own family, plus former President Mohammed Khatami and other senior figures, suggest the regime is now not simply puzzled but also uncertain. Recent reports that it might liberalize the law on female head coverings and withdraw the Gasht-e Ershad — the so-called morality police — from the streets seem to be misinformation, deliberate or not. Khamenei cannot afford to back down on this central pillar of the regime’s legitimacy, though he may be willing to use promises that he can later break in order to divide the opposition.

And the protesters are indeed not unified. This has been a feature of popular protests over the last decade in the wider region. Protests are often deliberately decentered to avoid leaders becoming an easy target. That makes it hard to see how the protesters can move to the next level — which is to offer a convincing alternative to the present system, however awful it might be.

This — plus the regime’s record of brutal repression and a widespread and reasonable fear of civil conflict — suggests that the overthrow of that system is still a very long way off. Iranians who want something better — and that is almost certainly a large majority — know they are not alone. Many have lost their fear. When young men in the streets are tipping the turbans off the heads of clerics, you also know that they have lost respect for their clerical rulers. And these rulers have lost what legitimacy they still had in the eyes of many Iranians.

Still, this is not 1978 — even if the 40-day cycle of funeral, mourning, funeral, mourning can seem similar. Khamenei is not leaving, as the shah left. And the regime’s praetorian security forces are larger, more indoctrinated and more vicious than anything at the shah’s disposal. They are a minority. But they are armed and brutal. They also feel that they have succeeded in expanding Iran’s power across the region at the expense of its enemies. They have accelerated their nuclear enrichment activities. They just need to keep the home front quiet. That is becoming more difficult.

The real crux will come when the Islamic Republic is forced to choose a successor to Khamenei. If that successor can promise genuine change for the better, no one will want revolution. If he can only promise more repression, something will have to give. As an Iranian friend recently remarked to me, the ship of state remains afloat but fatigue has set in.

There is little that outsiders can do to shape events. This is something Iranians themselves must do. But we need to ensure that we pay attention. Too often we watch fascinated as protests erupt and then, within weeks, we move on to other things. What happens inside Iran will dictate the future of the region more than anything else.

We need to keep sustained pressure on the regime. The nuclear file is doubtless important. But more important is stopping Iran’s ability to undermine and control its neighbors. We need constantly to highlight the regime’s crimes in international forums: Kicking Iran off the UN's Commission on the Status of Women and commissioning a UN fact-finding investigation into human rights abuses is a good start. But we need more. We should target the regime’s aggressive cyber and surveillance capabilities and respond in kind. Where we can, we should close down its overseas propaganda institutions. We should not host its apologists. We need to say explicitly that we would welcome anything that made Iran a more normal nation.

And we need to ensure we pay attention to what Iranians themselves tell us — both inside and outside the country — and not be seduced by those interest groups that pose as reformers but act as Khamenei’s stooges. This will be a game that goes into extra time. We need to make sure we are match fit.

[artsychaosbean]

I'm so tired of this (Rant)

My mom is sensitive to EVERYTHING unless shes the one doing it. > I Open the windows for air BAD bc its too cold > Mom opens the windows on the same day GOOD even though its colder than before when I tried to > Mom puts on perfume in the bedroom GOOD (2 - 3 squirts of a strong perfume) > I Put on perfume in the bedroom BAD (1 squirt of a medium perfume) > I put perfume on in the bathroom with the bath fan on or window open so the smell doesnt linger STILL BAD because mom will then decide to walk right into the room to put on makeup despite my warning about the perfume. Then rages out about it. > Mom or my siblings puts nailpolish on in the house, upstairs in the living area and uses nail polish remover GOOD > I put on nail polish and use natural oils to remove nail polish downstairs with the door closed to upstairs and the door to outside open to prevent smells from lingering in the house BAD its still too strong i have to go do my nails in the pouring rain or snow instead. > Mom brings flowers into the house into a tightly closed room with poor ventilation, flowers im allergic to, every year despite knowing it effects my asthma GOOD > I bring flowers into the house after double checking she has no allergy to them and keep them in an open room that is well ventilated BAD What the heck does she want from me?! Everytime I do something SHE does its wrong Everytime I do something SHE tells me to do its not enough and I have to go to extreme lengths like do my nails in the snow in winter or put perfume on out in the snow or she goes into a screaming match with me. But she has no breathing problems or headaches when SHE does it, When my brothers do it, when GUESTS do it. (Yes we've had guests put perfume on right in our house) But when I do it and ventilate the house well, suddenly she can't breathe yet can breathe enough to stomp around the house slam doors and scream.

I'm tired of the heat being cranked up in the fall and spring as though its winter and in the summer the AC being turned off and windows opened wide when its 28C out. I get heat stroke at anything above 21C and have lung problems with it my lungs have to work harder because I can't breathe. I always have since I was a toddler. My body runs hotter im supposed to be careful. But im made to suffer the heat every single year my whole life and when I open the window suddenly its "Im freezing im going to get hypothermia" at 20 - 21C When I was a kid she would go out in -15C weather just fine and enjoy walks in cooler weather. I don't know what has happened to her. I've gone to a seperate room before on cooler days (16 -18C) and opened a window, closed the door just so I could cool down and enjoy the air because the other rooms would have heaters on in them and be 26C - 28C and I would be struggling in them. Heres another kicker: > I have asthma attack > Mom gets mad and says "WELL WE ALL HAVE ASTHMA" - despite the fact theirs doesn't need an inhaler according to the doctor it is a "very minor case". I have always needed one but mom never would get me one when I was covered by medical for minors and its too expensive to get as an adult now. I could never ever afford it. Even if I could she still would stop me or throw it out because "I don't want you reliant on medicine because then your lungs wont work on their own. DO YOU WANT TO BE ON A BREATHING MACHINE" To note im in constant pain in my lungs every single day of my life, my whole life. Im in my 20s now. I have found natural ways to manage it so its not as bad such a caffeine and try to avoid as much as I can that irritates it. But im living my life on a thin rope. > I have depression and bring it up > Mom says "We all have depression, You're not special. WHAT ABOUT YOUR SIBLINGS?" >I bring up my anxiety > Mom says "Well what about my anxiety? I have it too! or your siblings. Just learn to live with it, just force yourself through it. You don't Try hard enough. > I bring up my ptsd and ask her not to do something that triggers it from numerous cases of s*xual and physical abuse / assault and 2 cases of almost being r*ped. > Mom says "WELL WE ALL HAVE PTSD get over it"

Shes my ONLY parent. She treats my siblings so much different than me and I will never understand why. Is it because im the youngest? or is it because im the one with physical and neurological disabilities? > Mom also says "I never need to worry about you. Look at your poor siblings they need me more. I gave you enough attention as a child" > The "Attention" mom gave me being fighting a court case to protect me from my abusive almost r*pist father. Thats it, my siblings got all the hugs and care, favourite foods made for them, presents and birthday parties as kids.

[redhillconfetti]

Blog Post 31-12-22

A Year in Review 2022

As i sit here on the final day of 2022 to reflect on the past 12 months, i feel a little trepidation at the thought of starting a new challenge for myself in a year that was hard to get through.

When we came out of the pandemic there was a cautious hopefulness in a lot of small businesses about what 2022 may hold. We entered the marketplace again after two very tough years where many of our contemporaries were no longer there, whether succumbing to illness or the business not able to last multiple lockdowns, restrictions and even Brexit. Those of us still trading were thankful for every single customer and sale, for the support we received from friends, family and even strangers.

As the Winter months moved into Spring we started to see that the trend of wedding supply requests were slower than we’d traditionally seen, so we added more effort into a side enterprise we’d started in 2021; our Redhill Collectables vintage store.

We already had a brilliant network of house clearance businesses and thrift shops that would come to us with materials such as vintage papers which we’d use for wedding decor, but as disposal fees increased for them, we looked into taking more products off their hands, sorting, mending, and offering these items through our Redhill Collectables ebay store. This gave us the financial stability to continue to offer wedding supplies to those customers that were still looking to add a small sprinkle of magic to their special day.

In April i had been due to have an operation that would have changed my life and health for the better but was also major surgery, a procedure that took a lot of emotional and mental preparation. Just 24 hours before i was due to have surgery the operation was cancelled as the anaesthetists did not deem it safe for me to proceed with the operation.

When the warmer summer months encroached, the wedding season finally kicked off, with our home grown petal confetti being incredibly popular, as was our seed paper confetti. But with that I also had to deal with the mental aftermath of having my operation permanently cancelled. I took a step back from social media and it was with the help and support of my family that I worked through the feelings I was left with. One of the first ‘rules’ of business is to never let on if you’re struggling, but to be battling depression at the same time as trying to run a business and keep our heads above water financially was exhausting. When you’re self employed you don’t have the option to go and see HR, its you and just you, though i am forever thankful for the support those closest to me gave.

With the heat and chaos of summer giving way to the cooler Autumn months, the true toll of the Cost of Living Crisis took hold and became a firm realisation that the only way i was going to make it through the rest of the year is to increase my hours and to also make big changes. When i’d been sorting through some old boxes i’d stumbled upon a business projection plan i’d optimistically written in late 2019. The ‘goal’ was to increase turnover, slim down our product lines, and with careful planning and promotion get to the point where we could invest in a small electric vehicle to use for local deliveries and errands. The most shocking part of the projected numbers was as of October 2022 we were at that increased point financially, but every single ‘spare’ penny was now simply going towards household bills and groceries, and supplimenting any increases in courier costs as we started to have to work around the Royal Mail strike action.

By the end of November 2022 I was regularly putting in 70 hour weeks. This was obviously not sustainable whilst trying to be a parent, wife, and run a household too, and was the final deciding factor in the direction i wanted to head in for 2023. Now having had a couple of weeks to rest and recharge, i'm looking forward to how i plan to develop the products and services that Redhill Confetti offers, with more focus on weddings rather than generic crafts. Our vintage side of things will continue with Redhill Collectables, and for us to become fully focused on reducing waste and recycling.

Finally, the 'challenge' that i alluded to at the very start of this is my aim for 2023 to write a blog post weekly. This will hopefully be an insight into running a small business, the highs and lows, and a behind the scenes look.

Happy New Year!

Simone

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