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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Washed in the Tide of Her Breathing 2/4 (Branjie)--athena2

A/N: Thank you to everyone that read and commented on chapter 1! Your support means so much to me! I would love if you could leave some feedback on this chapter. Writ is the best and I can’t thank them enough for beta-ing, brainstorming with me, and answering all my questions. (Also, I’ve taken too many English classes not to cite my source, so the article about the Melville to Hawthorne letter can be found here).

For a second when she wakes up, Brooke forgets.

She forgets there’s a woman just feet away, tucked under a plaid quilt in Brooke’s old bedroom-turned-guest-room that’s been useless until now, her presence breaking through the dust of memories coating the room. The room overlooks the ocean, and Brooke used to read by the window while sea-kissed breezes flowed through. Her parents smiled at her from the precious few photos she had of them, a collection that stopped growing before she did.

Brooke had moved into her grandfather’s room years ago, after carefully packing most of his stuff away (something she discussed at length with Dr. Ganache), and tries not to feel like an imposter in his room. This morning, she reminds herself that she’s capable and deserving of her job, capable and deserving of being in his space, capable and deserving of living, and gets out of bed.

Smoky gray casts a shadow over the window. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, splattering on the roof, and it seems the roads really will clear by Monday. But that still leaves three days of the same gentle water Brooke loves imprisoning her like some princess in a tower.

It’s not being stuck inside that bothers her. Brooke has more than enough food, books, and streaming services to last. It’s the thought of being stuck with someone, mind racing and skin itching with the thought of someone watching her constantly.

She takes slow, measured breaths and ties a few knots, fears rising out on a steady stream of air. She’ll be polite to Vanessa, they’ll watch TV, and Vanessa will be gone Monday. This whole thing will be just a memory for Brooke, a tiny drop of water in the ocean. A few weeks and she won’t remember the sound of Vanessa’s laugh, how it’s rough and velvety in the same breath. A few months and she’ll probably forget her name, how it’s sweet like chocolate in Brooke’s mouth.

Brooke flicks through a book, the weight of it as steadying now as it was in her childhood, the idea of all those worlds beneath her fingers making her feel secure, comforted. It was these worlds she escaped to, to have adventures alongside the characters, to pretend she had parents waiting for her like they did.

“Morning, Brooke!”

Alice in Wonderland slips into Brooke’s lap as she jumps.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Vanessa asks.

“I’m fine.” Brooke takes a good look at Vanessa, stomach stirring as she does. Vanessa looks stronger today, more vibrant. Her cheeks bloom with rosy life, eyes bright and grin broad. Brooke is so relieved she’s okay, showing no pain from whatever (or whoever) hurt her, that she ignores her ridiculous theory about Vanessa being some sea creature. Vanessa’s okay, and that’s enough.

She realizes she forgot her medication in her cloud of worry, and notices Vanessa watching.

“I take medication, I–”

“It makes you feel better?” Vanessa asks.

“Yeah.” Brooke has bad days occasionally, but when the mental illness was at its worst she couldn’t even get out of bed, could do nothing but lay there and pray for sleep to avoid being conscious. She wouldn’t be able to function without the meds, and she’s not ashamed of it.

“That’s all that matters,” Vanessa says firmly. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

Brooke nods appreciatively. Her offer of coffee is met with an enthusiastic nod, and Vanessa is practically vibrating with energy as Brooke passes her the lobster mug. It’s a good thing she made decaf.

Vanessa is at ease in the kitchen, cheerfully eating eggs on toast, and Brooke wonders what it’s like to be so comfortable around others, to say things without turning them over in her mind a hundred times, worrying how they’ll sound. To be the kind of person other people go toward, instead of away from.

“We gonna watch Thrones today?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke nods.

Vanessa crunches her last bite of toast. “Let’s go.”

—

The morning passes quickly, Vanessa letting out whoops and gasps as they move through episodes. It makes Brooke grit her teeth at first, because she always watches things in silence, but when Vanessa screeches about ‘Sharpie Bannister’ (as she’s renamed Cersei Lannister), Brooke has to laugh. There’s something about watching the shock and excitement play out across Vanessa’s face that’s simply infectious, impossible to resist.

Vanessa tags along when Brooke climbs the steps for her afternoon light routine. Brooke’s skin prickles as Vanessa watches her. The only person that’s seen her work is her grandfather, and Brooke sweats with worry that she’ll mess up the one thing she’s good at and look like an idiot in front of Vanessa.

It takes Brooke a few windows to sink back into her rhythm. She can’t really blame Vanessa for staring. Brooke used to observe her grandfather with the same bright-eyed wonder over how his gnarled fingers moved of their own accord, how he didn’t even look where he stepped because his feet knew the way. If Vanessa’s open mouth is any indication, Brooke has perfected his movements, making it all look as natural as breathing, and she bursts with pride.

“So, how do you know this stuff?” Vanessa asks, motioning for Brooke to sit with her at the base of the light. This close, Brooke can smell her own lavender body wash Vanessa’s been using. “You have a degree in lighthousing?”

Brooke hugs her knees to her chest. “I have a degree in English, actually.” It may have taken her a while to finish it, after a leave of absence because the anxiety and depression grew so severe she couldn’t complete her assignments, but she had finished all the same, with a minor in marine studies. “The lighthouse stuff is from my grandfather. He taught me everything I know.”

“He’s a lighthouse keeper too?”

“He was.”

The silence hangs like a midday sun as Vanessa processes the words.

“I’m sorry, Brooke,” she says softly. Vanessa’s hand curves toward Brooke’s knee before darting back, like she wants to comfort Brooke but isn’t sure she should. Brooke suddenly wants her to, wants to see what Vanessa’s hand feels like, wants its steadying weight.

“It’s okay,” Brooke says.

They sit in fog-thick silence and Brooke wonders if she should speak or leave, sink or swim. The air is wide open for her to talk about her grandfather, but she just doesn’t want to. She’s been thinking about him constantly since she found Vanessa, trying to be kind like him, but she selfishly wants to hoard her memories like treasure, not share them. Vanessa doesn’t know how he preferred waffles to pancakes and put cinnamon in the batter, how we let her practice dance recitals in the living room and applauded wildly, how he let bugs go outside rather than kill them, and if Brooke tells her, then the memories aren’t just Brooke’s anymore. It’s like she’s giving part of him away.

“It’s real cool. This lighthouse stuff, I mean.” Vanessa fills the quiet. “You make it look so easy.”

Brooke shrugs. “I’ve had lots of practice.” Learning it was the best thing for her after losing her parents, and she had thrown herself into it to ease the pain. It gave her something to focus on, something to keep her worried mind occupied. A way to help people get home, like her parents couldn’t.

“Well, it’s beautiful. The way you move and everything.”

Brooke swallows nervously, stomach fluttering like butterflies are running wild. No one’s complimented the way she moves since her dance days. But Vanessa notices the grace Brooke’s always carried, even thinks it’s beautiful. The last bit of fear melts away, and Brooke stops thinking of Vanessa as an intruder and starts thinking of her as a fri–acquaintance. It’ll have to do, because there’s no title for ‘nice person that washed up on my lighthouse’.

“Thank you,” Brooke says finally. “Um, do you like quesadillas? I was thinking of making them for lunch.”

Vanessa grins, exposing bright white teeth. “Of course!”

—

Vanessa asks if they can play a board game that night, and Brooke brushes the dust of her childhood and pulls out Monopoly. They play on the floor, lantern illuminating the board, the glow highlighting all the different shades of brown–chocolate and hazelnut and mocha–swirling in Vanessa’s eyes. Brooke keeps getting lost in them, and has to tear her gaze away to focus.

Brooke quickly sees that Vanessa came to win, racking up properties and snatching money from Brooke like a middle-aged banker. But Brooke’s had years of practice, and she takes Vanessa’s money right back, their stacks too high to tell who’s winning.

Vanessa asks questions while they play, wanting to know Brooke’s favorite foods and colors and movies. Brooke hesitates at first, but what’s the harm in giving these pieces of herself to someone she’ll never see again? So Brooke answers questions and echoes them to Vanessa, hours ticking by like minutes as she learns the colors Vanessa likes to wear, the funny movies she watches to cheer herself up. She talks more with Vanessa in an hour than she does in a week.

Brooke coughs and sneezes through the game, using a whole box of tissues. Not changing her clothes after finding Vanessa is catching up with her. When Brooke sneezes so hard it sends paper money fluttering, Vanessa’s eyes flicker to her in concern.

“You gettin’ sick?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke shrugs. “Probably a cold. Happens a lot near the water.” Brooke often got sick as a kid because of how cold and damp it was by the sea. Her grandfather would set up a makeshift bed on the couch, tell her stories, and let her watch anything she wanted, a Star Wars marathon making the coughing and sneezing and bitter cherry medicine almost bearable.

Brooke can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have Vanessa sitting at her side, telling her stories.

—

Brooke is definitely sick when Saturday morning rolls around, her head cloudy like it’s stuffed with cotton, tissue after tissue chafing her raw nose.

The rain is still trickling down, mocking the weather reports that said it would stop by Friday. The new report is predicting Sunday.

Brooke shuffles into the kitchen and sees Vanessa sipping coffee and looking so right at the table. Brooke’s never considered her kitchen empty before, but Vanessa makes it full.

“You’re sick!” Vanessa yelps with worry. Vanessa is worried about her, is upset that she’s sick, and maybe it’s the illness making Brooke’s thoughts fuzzy, but she’s grateful Vanessa is here, grateful to have someone worried for her.

“I’m fine. Just a cold.”

Vanessa’s hand stretches up to her forehead before Brooke can stop it. She figures it’s rude to push Vanessa away, and her touch is soothing, so Brooke leaves it.

“I don’t think you have a fever,” Vanessa says, hand lingering longer than necessary.

“It’s just a cold,” Brooke repeats, wracked with a sudden shiver from the loss of contact.

“Well, why don’t you lie down?” It’s an order more than a suggestion, and Brooke gives in, too tired to argue despite the strangeness of it all. No one has cared for her like this in years. She usually just took medicine and went on with her day, no one even knowing she was sick, and Vanessa seating her on the couch and buzzing with concern spreads affectionate warmth through Brooke’s chest. Some part of Brooke likes it, likes having someone take care of her when she’s done it alone for so long. And some part of her likes that the someone is Vanessa.

Vanessa carefully drapes a blanket over Brooke, watching her with such tenderness and adoration it makes her ache with a sudden longing to hold Vanessa. The cold is really messing with her head. Vanessa brings her cold meds, cough drops, and extra tissues before settling into the armchair and starting the next episode.

Brooke’s eyelids grow heavy after the theme song, and she drifts off into a warm sleep punctuated with dreams of sailing with Vanessa.

A gentle hand nudges her shoulder, and Brooke blinks awake to see Vanessa, bowl of steaming soup in her hands. Brooke’s mind lags as she processes the scene. Vanessa made her soup. Vanessa took the time to go through her pantry and cupboards just to make soup to help her feel better. It’s been seven years since someone cooked for her. Brooke’s eyes dampen at the corners (it’s probably the cold).

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Brooke says, sitting up and eating a spoonful.

“Don’t worry about it. You need sleep when you’re sick.” Vanessa pauses. “Anything else I can do? Call a doctor or somethin’?”

“I don’t need a doctor for a cold,” Brooke says, melting at how concerned Vanessa is. “Soup and meds are enough. You didn’t have to do all this for me,” she adds, looking down at the bowl.

“I want to,” Vanessa says firmly. “You got sick ‘cause of me.”

Brooke shakes her head. “I was only outside a few minutes getting you. I didn’t change my wet clothes after. That’s my fault, not yours.”

“Still,” Vanessa insists. “It’s the least I could do.”

Vanessa tucks a strand of hair behind Brooke’s ear and Brooke has no air in her lungs. Her whole face tingles, and she wishes she could grab Vanessa’s hand and put it on her cheek, let the warmth rest there forever, an eternal flame to keep Brooke warm.

The day is cozy and carefree, but there’s something bugging Brooke, swirling below the water like a predator. It’s not until Vanessa gives her more cold meds that night that it hits her: Vanessa isn’t sick. Vanessa was sailing in a thunderstorm, thrown into the icy sea, left in the rain all night, and doesn’t have so much as a sniffle.

Brooke would say it isn’t humanly possible, but it’s true. Unless…

No. She needs to stop with her theories. It’s probably just the grayness of the world affecting her judgement. Some urge to keep her grandfather alive, to put a wild story in everything she sees.

It’s a quiet night, Vanessa more hushed than usual, a mug of hot chocolate making Brooke full and sleepy, electing to sleep on the couch because she’s too comfortable under her fleece blankets to move.

Vanessa heads to bed with a soft ‘feel better, Brooke’ tumbling from her lips and soothing Brooke’s skin like hot water, but when Brooke wakes the next morning, Vanessa is back in the chair, watching over Brooke like a tower watching over ships. When Brooke asks her about it, Vanessa just says she wanted to make sure Brooke was okay.

—

The weather report was right, and Sunday is the first dry day in what feels like years, the world bathed a delicate gray-blue as the public works crew clears the roads. Vanessa radiates her own sun in the lighthouse, growing more exuberant by the hour.

Vanessa wasn’t exactly quiet before, but she bursts with renewed energy over waffles that morning. She makes Brooke take more medicine and drinks two cups of coffee with a pound of sugar, asks (commands) Brooke if they can make brownies, and eats three of said brownies in one sitting.

“You know any stories?” Vanessa asks that night. “Sailors always tell stories in the movies. And lighthouses are good places for stories, all spooky and shit.”

Brooke has to agree. The night is perfect, orange fire glowing against the pitch-black darkness outside, wind rattling the windows like a monster begging to be let in, she and Vanessa trading smiles over mugs of hot chocolate, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. It’s nights like these that Brooke believes the legends with all her heart, the world so alive with magic they had to be real.

“I know some old legends about sirens and mermaids and stuff,” Brooke suggests.

Vanessa flinches so quickly Brooke might have imagined it, an unreadable expression settling over her features.

“Sure,” Vanessa agrees. “Maybe somethin’ happy, or romantic?”

Most legends were darker than the depths of the ocean, used as terrifying warnings to respect whatever creatures lived in the sea so they didn’t kill you, but Brooke searches for something at least a little happy.

“Sit by the fire with me?” Brooks asks, heart thumping.

Vanessa’s eyes twinkle brighter than ever in the firelight, and Brooke’s not sure if her face is burning from the fire or Vanessa’s knee pressing against hers.

Brooke clears her throat. Her ears are full of her grandfather’s voice, deep and rich as the sea. She can hear him clearly tonight, in her spot on the rug that used to be his, and she knows he speaks with her when she begins.

“Once upon a time–”

“This some kinda fairytale?” Vanessa interrupts.

Brooke shoots her the same look Vanessa gives Joffrey on-screen. It must work, because Vanessa bursts into giggles.

“Okay, okay, keep going.”

“Once upon a time, there lived a lonely young woman named Arabella. Her father was a lighthouse keeper. He told her mermaids lived in the sea, and every day, Arabella went to the water’s edge, hoping to see one. But none ever turned up.

“One day, a mermaid named Cordelia swam to shore. She had been watching Arabella, but was too shy to see her. Cordelia had hair like spun gold and eyes of sapphire. Some said the ocean herself had made her eyes. Arabella fell in love instantly. But she couldn’t breathe underwater, and Cordelia couldn’t walk on land, so Arabella took her boat out while Cordelia swam beside her.

“As the days passed, their love grew like the waves. They were so in love, neither noticed they were going farther and farther into the ocean. Soon, they were at the cove of the murderous sirens, falsely promising people their heart’s desires and drowning them.

Vanessa’s hands fly over her mouth. She leans closer, eager to hear what happens next, and Brooke surges with pride.

“Arabella’s desire was to breathe underwater, and Cordelia’s desire was to walk on land. The siren queen, Marina–”

“It’s Marilla,” Vanessa says. “The siren queen. Marilla, not Marina.”

The crackling fire is the only sound in the room.

“You-you’re right,” Brooke says. “Marina is the mermaid queen, I always mix them up. I just–how did you know?” She’s not judging or doubting Vanessa, just curious. Most legends have died out.

“I…I think I read it in one of your books when you were sick,” Vanessa says.

“Oh. Anyway, Marilla promised them their desires, and they were pulled beneath the waves. But Marina, the mermaid queen, didn’t want the lovers to perish. She convinced Marilla to grant their wishes, but at a cost.

“She allowed Arabella to breathe underwater for one hour each dawn, and allowed Cordelia to walk on land for one hour each dusk. But if they met any other time, or stayed longer than an hour, they would be cursed with eternal solitude.

“They obeyed. Cordelia stayed beneath the sea, longing for the hour she could feel sand between her toes. Arabella stayed on land, longing for the hour when the water flowed around her. The two hours they were together each day were the happiest in both their lives. They met every day, even as old age meant Cordelia had to hold Arabella in the water and help her walk on land. They stayed in love until Arabella died, and Marina released Cordelia’s soul, so their spirits could be together for eternity.”

Vanessa’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she can speak.

“Wow, Brooke,” Vanessa breathes. “You should have people come here on tours and tell them stories. You’re really, really good at it.”

Brooke beams with joy. It’s a small compliment, but it means more than Vanessa knows. Her grandfather could have an entire room biting their nails in suspense, hanging on his every word. Brooke has never told a story to anyone, and not only is she good at it, she loves it. Loves the rush of bringing words to life, of having Vanessa so close that Brooke could just reach out and touch her, maybe even kiss her–

“Thanks. Someone asked me about doing tours before, actually. I said no.”

“Why?”

“Just…didn’t want anyone inside.” Brooke confesses.

“I get that,” Vanessa says. “This place is special to you. If you don’t want to do tours, that’s fine. I’d just hate to see you say no because of fear.”

How could Vanessa understand her fears so effortlessly? Brooke loves the history of the lighthouse, how it’s served ships for centuries. Maybe, if she works hard with Dr. Ganache, she could feel safe enough to let people in and share that history.

“I’m headin’ to bed.” Vanessa yawns. “Thanks for the story.”

“Sure.”

Brooke lingers behind, curiosity driving her to the book of myths on the coffee table. She checks twice, but there’s no mention of Marilla.

—

“Is that the sun?” Vanessa asks Monday morning, jaw dropping open.

“I think so.” Brooke smiles.

Vanessa whistles. “Damn. I thought I ended up on some planet with no sun! Can we see the town today?” She asks, bouncing in her chair.

“Okay.”

Three days ago, Brooke would have been out the door at the crack of dawn to get Vanessa on the earliest train home. But somehow, between the daily meals and board games and stories, Brooke has grown comfortable with Vanessa, smiling whenever Vanessa laughs, passing dishes to the left for Vanessa to dry without thinking, her heart softening every time their soap-slick hands brush against each other. There’s a certain ease between them, one Brooke didn’t think she’d have with anyone but her grandfather.

Even when they watch TV, Brooke finds herself turning to Vanessa during big reveals, to see Vanessa’s eyes widen and her jaw drop, revelling in the knowledge that she’s not alone, that someone is sharing it with her. She smiles when Vanessa does the same, trying to discern spoilers from Brooke’s expression and gloating when her predictions are right.

Brooke’s heart is heavy over Vanessa leaving, and she wants to make an amazing day for her, one she’ll remember even after returning to the bright city lights.

Brooke thinks of what Vanessa might enjoy in town. Brooke has always liked the main street of Cape Charles, how the cheery shops smiled at her even when most of the owners didn’t, turning their noses up at the crazy lighthouse keeper. But she can take Vanessa to the diner, and the bookstore, where Brooke used to need a stool to reach the shelves until her growth spurt hit and her bones screamed as she shot up eight inches in a year.

She wonders what it will be like to have feet beside hers on the cobblestones again, to eat with someone across the booth again, to see another reflection in the shop windows.

“D-do you want to have breakfast? There’s a really good diner on Main Street.”

“You ain’t gotta ask me twice!”

Being cooped up must be hard for Vanessa, Brooke guesses. Vanessa lives in the city, where she could do anything at any time. Brooke has never liked the dizziness or buzz of the city, how easily you could get lost with no one to even care about finding you. Even when she took classes in the college there, she would ride the commuter train, take her usual walk to campus, and return the same way, never straying for fear of getting lost in a sea of concrete, no light to guide her home (it was a relief when she found out two years in that she could finish her degree online). She hasn’t returned to the city since that bad day when her grandfather died.

“Hey, Brooke?” Vanessa snaps Brooke out of her thoughts. “You got anything I could wear that’s not a wool sweater? Don’t get me wrong, they cute on you, but I don’t think they’re working for me.”

“Of course.”

Vanessa in her house is strange enough, but having Vanessa in her room, her big brown eyes roaming across the bed where Brooke sleeps and the photos linking Brooke to the past, makes Brooke feel like her entire being is on display, like Vanessa can see right through her.

“And I thought your wool stuff was out of control!” Vanessa exclaims.

Brooke smothers a laugh at the array of flannel shirts hanging in her closet.

“I do have a lot of wool and flannel, huh?” They’re Brooke’s favorites because of the coziness, protecting her from the cold sea air.

“Well, they look good on you.”

It’s the second time Vanessa’s said she looks nice, Brooke notes. She wonders if it means anything, if Vanessa’s heart squeezes when she looks at Brooke like Brooke’s does when she looks at Vanessa. She also wonders if it means anything that she thinks Vanessa is beautiful in anything.

“Your jeans are longer than my whole body,” Vanessa mutters. “What are you, like, six-five?”

“Five-ten.”

“Shit.”

Brooke laughs. She’d put Vanessa at five-three, if that, and she likes how tiny Vanessa is, how Brooke’s clothes make her even tinier and more adorable.

“This coat is cool.” Vanessa nods at the navy coat in Brooke’s closet.

“I’ll show you if you want,” Brooke offers.

It’s her grandfather’s lighthouse keeper coat, navy with brass buttons, done in the old style. He took excellent care of it and it’s impeccable, heavy and warm like his hugs. Brooke used to put it on as a kid, giggling as it dragged on the floor and thinking she’d never be big enough or good enough to fill it. But she’d inherited his height as well as his eyes, and when she put it on a year after he died, the coat fit her like it was meant to do nothing else. She had taken it as a permission of sorts, some sign from the universe that she was worthy of wearing it, of running the lighthouse. That she would be okay on her own.

“What’s the K for?” Vanessa asks, pointing to the gold loops embroidered on the lapel, neat K’s stitched inside.

“For keeper.”

“You sure are.”

Brooke flushes as red as a warning sky, and busies herself finding clothes for Vanessa, grabbing a red sweatshirt since it’s Vanessa’s favorite color, and leggings so she won’t trip on any pant hems. Brooke takes jeans and a navy fisherman’s sweater for herself and changes in the bathroom.

Vanessa is fully dressed when she gets back, gazing at the pictures on Brooke’s dresser. “This your grandpa?”

“Yeah.”

“You have his eyes. They look like the sea.” Vanessa smiles. “I bet he was kind like you too.”

“He was.” It’s all she can manage, tears hovering on the horizon. Whenever she was upset, all she had to do was look at him and she knew things would be okay. All she’s ever wanted is to be like him, to be good and dedicated, a beacon of hope for people.

Nina says Brooke is like him, but Nina knew her grandfather, saw Brooke’s similarities to him emerge, and Nina is always nice. But Vanessa doesn’t know her grandfather. She barely knows Brooke. She has no reason to say it, no idea how much it means. For her to think Brooke resembles the man who was her guiding light for so long is irrefutable proof that Brooke is like him, is maybe as good as him, and it warms her heart like a fire. She’s never been more grateful for Vanessa.

“Do you miss him?” Vanessa asks, cringing a second later. “Shit, sorry, you don’t have to answer. Don’t mind my nosy ass.”

“I do,” Brooke says. “He–he was a great person. One of the best.” It’s gotten better over the years, the wound receding to a dull pain, one she sometimes can’t even feel. But then she’ll do something that tugs on the scar tissue, like looking at his picture a second too long or making waffles that taste almost exactly like his, but not quite, and the pain comes roaring back anew.

“Hey,” Vanessa says gently, wiping a tear from Brooke’s cheek, one she didn’t know had fallen. Vanessa is so close Brooke just wants to wrap her in a hug. She wants Vanessa’s head against her chest, wants to bury her face in Vanessa’s hair, wants Vanessa to feel her heart beating. “Let’s go eat.”

—

Nina almost drops her pen when she sees Vanessa next to Brooke. Brooke’s mouth dries out as she struggles for an explanation.

“I’m an old friend of Brooke’s,” Vanessa supplies smoothly. “Just visiting for a few days.”

Vanessa and Nina carry on like actual old friends as Nina takes them to a booth, and Brooke isn’t surprised. Nina can make friends with a wall, and Brooke doesn’t know anyone who wouldn’t love her in seconds.

“So,” Vanessa says, peeking over her menu with a grin, “what’s good here?”

“I always get the apple-cinnamon pancakes,” Brooke says.

“Always always?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t ever wanna change it up?” Vanessa asks in confusion.

Brooke lowers her head, heat creeping up her neck. “I don’t like change,” she admits. Change had been a police officer’s scuffed black boots in a cheery kindergarten classroom. Change had been an unknown number calling from the city, saying her grandfather was in critical condition.

“I know change can be scary,” Vanessa says softly. “But what if you did just a little one? Like, what if you still get pancakes, but with”–Vanessa scans the menu–“bananas instead?”

Maybe Vanessa is right. Dr. Ganache had said a routine would be helpful when Brooke began her recovery, but she should never feel trapped by it. Brooke’s been sticking to it so long she’s never considered if it’s guiding her or forcing her, protecting her or caging her.

Brooke knows bananas aren’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. She knows her palms shouldn’t be sweating. But if she doesn’t have apples, does that mean the day won’t go like it should? Will it make something bad happen? What if she did something different on those bad days, like eating raspberry jam on her toast instead of strawberry, and that was why the bad things happened?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Vanessa says quickly.

“I want to.”

Brooke’s fork shakes a bit when the banana walnut pancakes arrive, but they’re just as delicious as the apple ones, and Brooke doesn’t think anything bad can happen with Vanessa smiling at her, eating hash browns.

“So, Miss English Degree, you ever read that book about the big-ass whale?”

“You mean Moby Dick?” Brooke snorts.

“Yeah! With Captain Abfab!”

“Ahab.” Brooke giggles. “And I did. It’s kinda gay, actually. Melville was basically in love with Nathaniel Hawthorne. He wrote him a letter saying their hearts beat in each other’s ribs.”

“That’s romantic as hell.” Vanessa’s eyes are bright with admiration.

Brooke lets herself dream of writing letters to Vanessa, pressing kisses to the envelope.

Next in line is A’keria’s boutique. It takes all of ten seconds for Vanessa and A’keria to cackle in unison and talk about clothes. Maybe Vanessa is magic, just not how Brooke thought. Being so open with people, winning them over with a few words, is certainly its own magic, one Brooke has never been skilled in.

Vanessa squeals in delight when they drive past Monet and Monique’s Clam Shack. “Oohh, can we stop there?” she asks, wriggling in her seat like a toddler. She sticks her head out the window to read the specialties advertised on the sign. “Are you one of those ‘we have food at home’ people? ‘Cause my mom used to–” Vanessa cuts herself off abruptly, shaking her head like she’s trying to clear water out of her ears, or maybe a memory out of her mind. Her smile flies back. “Look, they have fried shrimp, that’s your favorite!”

Brooke takes a second to respond around the lump in her throat, because no one has known her favorite food or wanted her to have it in seven years. It makes Brooke’s face warm, almost impossibly so, given the cold air blasting through Vanessa’s window.

“Fried shrimp it is.”

—

“Brooke?” Vanessa asks, looking up from her fried shrimp.

“Yeah?”

“Can I pay you back somehow? I mean, you saved me, and let me stay with you, and bought my food, and I…aren’t I in your debt?”

Brooke’s heart breaks at Vanessa’s earnestness. Was she not used to people being kind to her? Brooke could never make Vanessa give her anything back, especially when she’s just as much in Vanessa’s debt. How can Brooke explain that the past days have been a gift to her, one she can never repay?

“There’s no debt. There never will be,” Brooke says firmly. “I wanted to help you. I don’t want anything in return.”

Vanessa’s hand slides across the table, fingers curling around Brooke’s. “Thank you, Brooke. Really.”

Brooke grips Vanessa’s hand like she would grip a sailing rope to keep herself steady at sea, her body coming to life at the warm touch. “Of course. You’re my guest, for as long as you want.”

“I was thinkin’ about that, actually,” Vanessa begins. “I don’t have to be back in the city till Monday. And I like y–like it here, and I’m so grateful for you, and if it’s okay, do you think I could stay till Saturday?”

You could stay forever, Brooke thinks. A lifetime of board games and cooking together, of movies and morning coffee, of breathing salt air and watching the tides ebb and flow. Autumns tinted gold and springs tinted green, crunching on leaves and splashing in rain puddles. Winters of snowflakes sticking to windows and melting in your hair, a crackling fire and soft blankets. Summers of fresh blueberries and walks on the sand, the sunset so close you could touch it, fill your hands with its buttery light.

“I’d like that,” Brooke says.

—

Last week, four days had seemed like an eternity. Now, Brooke has five more days with Vanessa, and they aren’t enough for everything she wants to do.

Brooke’s heart has a crack in it, the first crack in a ship that leads to disaster as more and more water flows in. Each day that crack widens, another realization slipping inside and dragging her whole body down. How she won’t see Vanessa’s smile anymore. How the couch will be empty, not even a dent in the cushion where Vanessa sits.

They go bowling, and Brooke laughs till she cries over Vanessa’s hunched stance, rolling the ball with both hands and one time shooting it into another lane. They rack up tickets at the arcade and earn a Cape Charles pencil (‘300 tickets and all we get is a pencil?’ Vanessa rages). Vanessa wins a stuffed dolphin at the claw machine and gives it to Brooke. Brooke has slept with it every night since, holding it to her chest and pretending it’s Vanessa.

Every time Brooke burns from people’s stares, wondering why the ghost was released from her tower, Vanessa shoots them a death glare until they back off, reminding Brooke she doesn’t need to concern herself with them.

They finish Game of Thrones, Vanessa screaming about how they did her girl Dany dirty, and start on the Ghibli collection, wordlessly passing the tissue box to each other when Sophie puts Howl’s heart back into his chest.

Brooke relishes the brushing of their arms as they make dinner, Vanessa tossing croutons into the air and catching them in her mouth. Brooke loves putting the food on the table knowing the meal is something they created with their hands working together, trying to ignore that her future meals will be made with two hands, not four.

Before she knows it, it’s Friday night, and Brooke is trying to keep it together. She cooks Vanessa’s favorite foods, rice and beans with shrimp, plus salad, garlic bread, and chocolate cake.

They talk like they do every night, but Brooke has always been sensitive to change, and the air is different, thick with the knowledge that this is the last time, that there won’t be another dinner.

Brooke cuts the cake, and halfway through the first slice she realizes that she’ll have leftover cake and there won’t be anyone to share it with. This cake that she and Vanessa made will belong to Brooke alone, its frosting hardening and crumb drying with only one fork to eat it.

She looks at Vanessa’s lobster mug, irreparably labeling it Vanessa’s, and knows she won’t be able to look at it again without picturing Vanessa’s slim fingers wrapped around it, tossing her head back with laughter.

The crack in her heart widens into a chasm. All the sorrow over Vanessa leaving, the emptiness that will consume her after Vanessa’s gone, rush into Brooke’s heart until it sinks to the ocean floor, never to see sunlight again.

Stay, Brooke thinks but doesn’t say. Please stay. Her chest aches, and she thinks her ribs are throbbing with the pulse of Vanessa’s heart as well as her own.

But she can’t ask Vanessa to stay, stop her from returning to a life more exciting than this, to fabrics shinier than wool and flannel, to more restaurants and stores than she could count.

She can’t ask no matter how badly she wants to.

Brooke doesn’t do this. She doesn’t get attached. Dr. Ganache says she has a fear of abandonment, that she isolates herself as an unhealthy coping mechanism. She doesn’t form relationships, doesn’t even try, because her mind is trying to keep her safe, denying her any connection to spare her the pain of that connection’s loss.

You can’t lose someone if you don’t know them, let yourself get close to them. And Brooke has learned more about Vanessa, gotten closer with her, than she has let herself do with anyone else since her grandfather died.

She knows that Vanessa always buys the Rainbow Room in Monopoly just because she likes rainbows. She knows that Vanessa stops dead in the street to pet dogs, like Brooke used to. She knows Vanessa dances every chance she gets. She knows Vanessa has brought her places she hasn’t visited in years, has shielded her from people’s stares and kept her safe like a lighthouse tower.

“I have something for you,” Brooke says after cake, handing Vanessa the bracelet she made from ropes on her grandfather’s old boat.

“It’s a sailor knot,” Brooke explains. “Sailors wore them at sea. It’s supposed to bring good luck and protection on your travels.”

Vanessa is silent as she runs her fingers over the bracelet, tracing the fibers like she can feel the ocean clinging to them.

Brooke takes a breath. “Vanessa, um, I really liked having you here, and if you ever want to come back…” Tears stream down Vanessa’s face, and Brooke’s heart shatters. “I’m sorry! Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?”

The panic claws at Brooke, heart racing, each breath frantic as Vanessa’s tears thicken. Brooke wants to cry herself over seeing Vanessa so upset, and she struggles to stay above the tide of fear. Finally, Vanessa shakes her head, like she’s answering her own question.

“I can’t do this anymore, Brooke.” Her voice runs deep with sorrow, but Brooke is so relieved she’s talking that she manages to get air into her lungs, heart slowing. “I can’t keep lying to you.”

“What do you mean?” Brooke has ignored Vanessa’s obvious lies and refusal to talk about her life in the city, but the questions always lurk in her mind. Is she finally going to find out what happened? Is Vanessa running from something? Is–

Vanessa sighs. “I’m a siren.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #hurt/comfort #washed in the tide of her breathing #athena2 #tw mentioned past death #concrit welcome #submission

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hollowphobia-casual · 4 years

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The Amazing World Of Friendship Part MMXIX, The Return Of The Rising Awakened Empire

It’s that time of year again! The time I let down my defences and expose my emotions bare to all my friends so that I may thank and gush all over them, because despite my cynical hate filled shell, deep, deep, deep, deep, deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep down I’m actually someone who just wants to be loved, maybe.

But joking and honest truths disguised as jokes aside, there is something I would like to say, most of the time.., I feel like I have imposter syndrome, not regarding my art and my work, but with my friends! I have SO many wonderful friends and I honestly love them to bits and yet every year due to work, time zones, time schedules or just my inability to start a conversation I don’t get to talk to them or they go neglected for ages and I hate that so much about myself. My friends, all of them, are such wonderful people and they deserve so much better than what I give them, I love you guys, so very much..., I’m sorry for being such a terrible friend.

THAT SAID! It’s time to embarrass these lovely losers by letting them know just how much I care, kukuku.

@articbleu [Twitter]

Hah! Speaking of friends whom I’m constantly feel like I am neglecting, where do I begin without feeling like I’m treading over the same ground? You are one of the many artists whom I consider an inspiration, your dedication, drive and sheer will is aweing inspiring, like, I dunno if I can ever get over how much I think about it, I remember a time where we were both almost at the same level and now you are off doing who knows what, last I checked, you were studying in Korea, which is awesome, I’m so happy for you. But when ever I’m working and I feel like I can’t achieve, I look to you and tell myself, I can do better. I dunno if we’ll ever talk like we used to, so much time has passed since we last spoke, I dunno if we are the same people and there are times when I look back on my past, things I said that I regret and wonder if maybe you shouldn’t be my friend, not because I hate you, but because there are better people than me, who are more deserving of your attention, admiration and so much more, but regardless of what comes and what may happen, you have been or are, my friend and I love you, please, keep shooting like the star you are!

@nightmargin [twitter]

Okay, imagine this, so you met this cool girl who likes to draw weird, amazing and beautiful things on Deviantart, you enter a character tournament two with them, you chat about anime and stuff, then just a few years later THEY RELEASE ONE MOST ACCLAIMED INDIE GAMES KNOWN, like Whaaaaa-, there is not a day that goes by I don’t see One Shot stuff like, wha-, I dunno.., and she’s still making stuff it’s fucking incredible, WHY ARE MY FRIENDS SO TALENTED.., hah, go damit didn’t want to be melancholy.. ..,But like, shit, I just want to support my friends and let them know how much I give a shit, just how impressed I am, how happy for them I am but truth is I hardly get to see them, which is not your fault, you are making games, doing art, and having to be a social media presence, it’s exhausting, I understand, I just hope you know that I care still, that when I see your characters around the web, in fanart, in VRchat and other places, it makes me SO happy, I just want to hug you and let you know that you are doing an amazing job and that I couldn’t be more proud of you, I hope you know that.

@doodlediddy @doodledittydaisy [Twitter]

AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!! Okay so, this is a friend where neither of us are to blame for staying out of touch because, HOLY FUCK YOU HAVE A BABY! AAAAA, you made a little person and they are so cute! On the rare occasion I go onto the hellsite that is Facebook, I get to catch glimpses of you and your lovely child, whom I terribly do not know the name or gender of A+ friendship right there, but yeah, GURL, you have an infant and they are precious, I don’t blame you for a second for not being in touch, it feels so weird, not too many years ago you were talking me off the ledge and then you got married, then you got baby fat AND NOT IT’S ESCAPE! I’m so happy for your family, fuck, that’s so weird, it’s YOUR family, not your family, YOUR FAMILY! AAAAaaaaa!

@mistercrowbar [Twitter]

I MET HER!, I MET HER!, I MET HER! No you guys don’t understand, I MET CROWBAR AND IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME! We looked at beautiful lakes, we watched netflix, We ate burgers, looked at destroyed cranes, went to Ikea, watched more netflix, bought DnD stuff, ate more burgers, tried a beaver tail, more netflix, talked about lobsters and my little pony, looked at fossils, got mad at the ocean, yelled at drivers, more netflix… It was great, I loved it, would sleep on the floor again, 10/10. But Okay so I know that many people would think of Crowbar as intimidating, she’s not an emotionally open person I know, but to be honest it just makes friendship with her special, getting to know her on a level where you can read her is something that is truly treasurable and I’m so lucky to have that, she’s a unique person to love and that’s what's so great about her, she isn’t like everyone else, I wouldn’t change her for anything in the world…, okay maybe I’d allow her let me hug her more so I can tell her how great she is and she can’t flee, haha. I know I get on her nerves sometimes and I’m probably not the best friend on her list, I mean, I’m guessing, but considering how I measure up to some of the other people she knows, I can easily see that, I mean who knows thow, maybe I’m not a tier friend and maybe just a different friend and I just.., haha, I dunno why I obsess over this, how important I am to my friends, maybe because I just want them to be the happiest they can be and when I know I’m depriving them of joy, I question myself. But I am happy for what happiness I do bring to her, the moments I’m useful, when I am needed or just enjoyable company, those are the best moments for me, I’d give anything just to hear Crowbar laugh once every day, that’s how important of a friend she is to me.

@valbey-the-girl [twitter]

THIS ASSHOLE! Has been with me since I can remember, which probably annoys him, because I’m not the easiest person to friends with, specially of late, my mood has been all over the fucking place, I’m happy, sad, depressed, angry, frustated and yet he doesn’t complain…, that I know of.., and in return.., I send him lewd christmas gifts that make his parents question him and his life choices. Haha, friendship. But honestly, I like that about him, he’s one of the true people I know that makes me feel like we have a ‘normal’ friendship, we are not overly affectionate, we can speak openly to one another and we don’t like all of them same things and all I want to do is make him laugh and find a game that I’m good at and that he sucks at, because god damit, he seems like he’s an expert at everything, fuck you! I know times right now are tough for you, I can’t imagine it’s easy, shits going down at home, work and there is some asshole asking if your free once every Saturday so you can pretend to be a dwarf, just know if you need anything, you can always ask me, you’ve been there for me, don’t forget I’m here for you.

@dansome0203 [Twitter]

Don’t say how you are terrible friend because you haven’t been talking to him much, you say it every year, Don’t say how you are terrible friend because you haven’t been talking to him much, you say it every year, Don’t say how you are terrible friend because you haven’t been talking to him much, you say it every year,... -checks Script- “I’m a terrible Friend..” FUCK. -inhale- The man I look to for inspiration on cute girls and large boobs! God, I only really got to know this guy at the tail end of my Deviantart carrier before the big move to Tumblr and even then it was less a ‘WE ARE FRIENDS SWORN TO A BLOOD OATH’ and more me oddly poking him now and again, trying to start a conversation failing miserably, a tradition that would continue for about…, nine years…, nine years.. God I am a terrible friend. But enough about my inability to simply converse with people, what can I say about this Dan, he’s fucking great to start with, on the odd times I do actually get to talk to him I know he is nothing more than a chill dude who creates a lovely and warm atmosphere around him that draws people in, he has a fantastic sense of humour which is only equaled by his creative flair, no I’m not talking about the boobs, but more his designs for his characters, colour choices and so much more, I am honestly not joking when I say that I look at this guys work for inspiration from time to time, because I find his designs just that appealing and insightful. I would love for nothing than to just sit in a call with this guy and talk shop, or talk, or anything…, I wanna love you Dan, let me love you!

Gwyn Graham

And right of the gates… I FORGOT WHAT THERE TUMBLR USERNAME IS GOD DAMMIT! So for once me being a bad friend is entirely my fault!, we’ve always had a rocky time zone/schedule conflict even when we use to play DnD with each other, because life sadly, is not easy, fuck I wish it was. But also sadly I dunno what you’ve been up to, I dunno how you have been. I hope you are well and happy, did you get date? Are you on the lamb for murder? Who knows, but I like to think you are happy, I hope you are, I wish that you are.

@taplaos @tapliciousart [Twitter]

I bought three shirts from you and my father ignored the washing instructions so they are now basically ruined.-sigh- That said they are some amazing fucking shirts, so gonna try and be less of a downer here, but yes, like most of my friends, I am terribly out of touch with this wonderful person, HOWEVER, they have been fucking busy, designing some of the sickest Pokemon related merchandise I’ve ever seen, two things immediately come to mind when ever I see their amazing work up on my twitter, one… Why have Nintendo/Game Freak issued a take down notice and second, WHY HAVEN’T THEY HIRED YOU and I don’t mean that in a fanboy sort of, I love you pay attention to me sort of way, I actually mean that, your designs are so appealing, humorous, creative and at the same time, family friendly, like, there is such a demand for Pokemon related merchandise and you are just popping it out like nobody's business, christ, you are too good at this, it’s why I really need to sit down and talk to you about helping me design T-shirts at some point. Honestly, if you haven’t, go check out their stuff, seriously, do it, DO IT NOW!

@tuz-ohtopia @dm-tuz [Twitter] [Patreon]

When I started out I was ‘aware’ of Tuzzy, but I didn’t really know him, it wasn’t until I started getting involved with DnD that I started to know him and that was because he was the DM of my two other friends, so sadly I can never say that me and Tuzo have had the strongest of friendships. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I dislike Tuzo, I think the guy is great, the times we’ve actually spoken it’s been fantastic and talking shop with him was always a highlight, but it just.., amazes me, how I guy I barely knew went from a simple background presence to almost being everywhere I look. For you who don’t know, Tuzo is now a DM for hire and even has a Patreon where he offers up custom monsters, tiles and such, it’s so amazing to see how far he has come, it’s great, even if he has an unhealthy obsession with a lesser version of DnD, haha. I’m so proud of him and his unbound campaign is so enjoyable, experiencing it though his players is incredible and the assets he creates are outstanding, I just wish I had his time management, because I can not create assets to the same level or detail he does. This man has inspired me as a DM, an artist and a creator, and I don’t know if he is even aware that he has done that, Tuzo, keep doing what you're doing, because it’s amazing.

@nickala [Twitter]

Nicki’s Twitter describes her as a wannabe concept artist and an actual scientist and I’m probably the reverse haha, a wannabe scientist, god I love Nicki’s job, I really should talk to her about it, but then again I dunno how much of it she is allowed to openly discuss, she is after all handling human remains, so… I’ve mentioned it before, but I love Nicki, she makes life, make sense and it’s great, but more importantly than that, she’s just.., fantastic, funny, caring, but human. Like she feels so relatable with how she expresses herself, everything comes with a little frustration, a little guilt and honesty, which might sound like a weird thing to admire, but there are so many people these days who want to be fake, they want to be these, ideal versions that don’t exist, trying so hard and it becomes, exhausting and almost impossible to talk to them, because they wear a mask and you don’t know what their true intentions are. But not with Nicki, they talk and you can feel that raw emotion, it’s so satisfying to read text, to hear a voice and just know the complexity of a person, it’s refreshing and I cherish it.., even if I don’t talk to them that often.., I’m a sham of a friend -cries-

@mortooncian-art [Twitter]

I just met this lovely gal this year and…, I’m as bad with talking to them as I am with Dan…, I hope it doesn’t continue for about nine years…, I don’t want to be awkwardly skirting conversations at 37.

Sadly I can’t say much of them as a person, mostly because I’ve only really gotten to meet them this year, the aforementioned being a terrible person/friend, but I can talk about what drew me to them, because I was always aware of Thren? Mortoon?...uh.. Oh god I dunno what to call them..FU- I had always been aware of them since Deviantart and their art was appealing I just never made the leap to try and talk to them, because COWARD, it wasn’t until sometime last year, I can’t recall who but someone was reblogging their work, I believe it was Dan or Calien, it was from his DnD session and her little tiefling was just.., so..fucking CUTE! I loved her and wanted to know so much about her and looking into her work I found more and more cute loveable characters, and I dunno how to describe it, but her art just has this beautiful, cute and sexy charm to it that makes you just want to.. LIKE AND REBLOG IT… So after that, I just wanted to get know her, it seems so stupid thinking about it, liking someones art you think to yourself, hey I want to know this person on a personal level and maybe talk to them! And then, you get it and you clam up due to your social awkwardness and inability to manage a time schedule, haha.. But yes, I’m so glad I’ve been given a chance to talk to her, maybe if time allows it, I won’t screw it up in getting to be her friend.

@clauseart [Twitter] [Webcomic]

Yes, my fellow british artist whom I constantly compare myself against to measure my self success and my constantly conclude my lack of value… ...That’s not a joke I really do do this. Enough about me, I’ve mentioned it before with a few.., or most.., artist here, met on DA and look at where they are now, this girl, this them, this BEAST, started out with a crazy pinwheel and appearing in almost every OCT (Original Character Tournament) you can think of and now, they have an amazing webcomic about an amazing buff ginger and a kid whom I dislike (I’m sorry, I just wanna punch him,). Also a DnD character who seems from a distance seems like the drunk aunt who hates her family children.., I dunno I know nothing about their character and I really should ask someone, but if I’m right I want a gold star. But regardless, I am so proud of them, their creativity and artistic skill seems to have nothing but skyrocketed since the end of the OCT era of our lives and the dawn of tumblr, not to mention the just general progression of their comics, which I will leave a link to and if you don’t read this super funny and amazingly well drawn comic I will.. I really want to say more about them, I do! Sadly, I consider myself a friend, but I dunno if I even have that right, our friendship was very, distant, not in a negative way, but more like someone you chat to in a tescos (For any curious americans think Walmart), and now, I feel like I’m just a one man cheer squad. And honestly, I am okay with that, I get to see them improve and feel proud for them and they have a wonderful life as it is, what's more to want?

@lou0 @hunnylou0 [Twitter]

Lou has been one of my longest…, acquaintances? Okay I’m not saying that Lou isn’t a friend, I mean, I consider her a friend, but I’ve known her since I rejoined DA under the name Clockworkable, since then she’s been a source Joy, laughter, inspiration and to some extent a free expression, but, I could never feel like I was her equal or at least a friend, we were never close, despite how I tried to be.., she’s a difficult person to talk to, which isn’t her fault! Nothing ever seems to go her way, which.. Pisses me off so much, because she’s just a nice, beautiful and kind person who just deserves nothing but affection and I’d love to give it to her, even if it’s just a hug. But I know it can be hard.. That said, I’ve gotten the chance to really talk to her, getting to know her, the true her and it’s as wonderful as you’d think it would be, she is a true expression of her art, joyful, cheeky, funny, playful and kind, sweet, brutally honest, but that’s never a bad thing in my books. I dunno even now if I’m a good friend to her, I dunno if she’d even think of me as one, but I am happy that I’m a little bit here for her, more than I was before, I just want to make her happy.

@sunshinedrago [twitter]

Don’t be friends with this woman, it starts off small like “Oh, would you like to play Final Fantasy XIV?” and then the next thing you know your talking to scottish fairies and questioning your life decisions. I met this crazy spanish.. “ITALIAN!” Italian woman about three.., maybe four years ago? I can’t even remember how we met, like I know we met because we needed someone for a DnD game, but I can’t recall if it was me she contacted or someone else, haha, I’m getting old. Either way it doesn’t matter, because I’m so happy that I did, she’s encouraging, kind, sympathetic, honest and joyful, but more importantly realistic and down to earth, this woman is not a pity party and has introduced me to some of the most important anime and shows I could imagine, as well as help fueled my addiction to some games, a few years back I’d never played an MMO and now look at me...a broken shell of my former self…, obsessing over loot drops and glamorous for a fictional 3D bunny girl…She’s also one of my more active and talkative friends, which helps with my crippling depression haha, I dunno what else to say, It’s not like there isn’t a lot to say, just that I’ve said it over and over again, she’s a great friend and someone I wish I knew sooner, she feels like a friend I’ve always had, but I only met three years ago. Yeah.

@jabbage [Twitter]

What can I say, Smart, dedicated, driven, focused, talented, learned and amazing… ...Yep…, not just saying that because I am terrible friend…, not another example of not staying in touch with people, made worse by the fact they live in england…, nope…, are you buying it yet? I want to talk about how they inspire me, how they fuel my motivation, but sadly I have to just slap myself and twitter, because GURL never appears on my dash, but just.., THEY’VE WRITTEN SO MANY STORIES! H-how! I just.., I can’t get one webcomic done, I am so proud of her because of this, I should just be able to say that, but I don’t want to, I mean I do, I am proud, but I always want to talk about them as a person, I wanna mention times they’ve made me laugh, made me smile, but there is only a fleeting moment in a minecraft server sometime ago and… I am so sorry, for being a bad friend, but you don’t really need me to enrich your life.., JUST LOOK AT ALL YOU’VE ACCOMPLISHED! You are so amazing, one woman army, just AAAAA, so great! I love it, I love you, keep being amazing!, don’t stop! Burn bright, burn far and burn hard! Go!

@flunafloon [Twitter]

I can’t say how much of a bad friend I am again.., please, she deserves better than me, here is the link to her Etsy store.

@daco-taco [Twitter]

God I have a bleeding heart.., I say because I don’t really know Daco, hell I dunno if I even register as ‘friend’, I’ve followed them since Deviantart and I loved their art, for the most part I was content to be just that and then…, I just saw them upset, and fuck me, haha. I hate that I hate people being in pain so much I dunno why it destroys the core of who I am.., so now I’m in a discord server, or trying to be, feeling constantly judge, because I want to make someone happy and I dunno if I am even doing the job. Haha, what does that say about me?

Charanty

I want to say a lot about charanty, I want to say we were great friends, I wanna say we talked from sunrise to sunset, I want to so badly.., dumb ideas we had, silly jokes we shared, moments of confusion, anger, tears.., bliss, regret.. But sadly I can’t, not that I don’t like them, no no, Charanty is amazing, but like something truly amazing, they are never around all the time, which sucks, because they are truly amazing, creative, beautiful in their mannerisms and perfect in their imperfection. I wish I could enjoy them more often.

ChubbuChu

I have many friends whom I want to be happy, Chubbu probably more than anything and sometimes I blame myself for their sadness, I know I am not the root cause, but I can still blame myself for moments of silence, moments of stupidity and overall not trying harder. Chubbu is.., affectionately irrational and down to earth, the best of times they are infectiously fun to provoke, play with and tease, while at the same time being caring and hopeful, I’ve only had the pleasure of knowing them for this year and even still it feels like I’ve known them longer, but I can’t wait to get to know them more as time goes on, I hope I do, I wish I do.

@hypertronic [Twitter]

Hyper…, Hyper.., “Your a terrible friend again aren’t you?” I mean.., YES, okay so Hyper started off as someone who was a fan of one my characters and since then I’ve had the pleasure of being taken out of the limelight and watching them grow into an amazing artist and COMIC CREATOR, AAAAA, so Park Of Plutonia, Hyper’s comic was a silly little RP group that was on DA, but look at it now! The amazing world she had hidden away in her head, now for you to read and I really recommend you go read it, especially if you want something different and unique, I really want to say more than just ‘go check out her comic’, I really do.

Mon

-breaths- “You were a bad friend again” GOD DAMMIT, YES! You know the saying never meet you idols! Because all you will do is upset them and make them judge you, HAHAHHA, SO! I became aware of Mon thanks to a small show I’m pretty sure NO ONE has heard of called Critical Role, they drew fanart for it quite regularly and I loved it! I even commented on their stuff from time and time, but there wasn’t much to it. Then I had a friend drag me into the world of FFXIV and to my surprise I met Mon…, after like a week or ten before I realised who she was, how would you describe Mon as a person? Like a rabbit doped up on sugar and caffeine, especially when she’s tired, cause then it’s like x2, what I’m saying is Mon is excitable and positive, which sadly doesn’t really gel well with my down to earth, grumpy I hate everything because I can’t act cute attitude that I’ve cultivated. So despite how much you’d think we are friends and how amazing and creative she is, we clash a lot, and honestly I feel like I am just WAITING for the moment, where she declares she has had enough of me and just throws me out of the friendship circle, because…, I know that not all people gel and sadly as much as I want to, I feel like I’m bringing her nothing but pain and I don’t want to do that, she’s creative and amazing, as well as so positive, she doesn’t need someone like me hurting her all the time.

@spookydraws, @spesiria, @totalobelisk, @ssksscrapboard, @horrorjuice, @riyamilea

“More friend’s you have trouble staying in contact with?” Mmm.. “Amazing wonderful people who you’d love to talk to for days on end, but you are always just too busy for them, too involved in yourself to even say hi?” Yeah.. “Are they even your friends anymore? Are you worth anything to them, I think at this point you should do them a favour and unfollow them, because in the schemes of their lives you aren’t exactly making an impact are you? If anything you slow them down, maybe you are just slowing everyone down? How many more of you ‘friends’ are going to be added to a stockpile of names you can just gush over, because you don’t know them as people anymore, they don’t impact your life and they probably haven’t had a second thought about them?” …, I just think they are amazing people who need to be recongised for how talented and beautiful they are, life is hard and the voices in our heads can be fucking disgusting to us, so everyone just needs a moment, a person to just hug them and them, I love you, I dunno if you even know me but you are so important, don’t forget how important you are and just how meaningful you are, I’m probably just a stranger to you, but you have never for one second not been important to me in some way, I hope you are happy and that you live every second of your life knowing that you are loved by atleast one person. Cause in the end, that’s all we really want isn’t it, we just want someone to tell us that they love us, that we mean something to them, that we are important.

@phantomdotexe [Twitter]

The living definition of too kind for her own good, it’s both your best quality and your worst quality. An amazing talented person who’s managed to influence a small cults worth of people under the ideal of one uniform symbol and then gets upset how she hasn’t done anything with it. I love you to bits, your drive, your kind nature, but at the same time I worry for you, you have so many self defeating thoughts and worries, all stemming from your lack of respect for your own skill and your ability to try and please everyone at once, which can especially be seen with the ‘everyones opinion is valid’ If you made short stories based on your vision or merch, you’d make money in no time, but as it might contradict with someone else's, you don’t. Now I know this is meant to be a ‘I love my friends’ thing, but the truth is I do, I love you so much, but at the same time I have to tell you, you need to stop fretting, you always worried about other people, asking when they are going to bed and such, but then you are equally as bad of the same thing, burning the candle at both ends, rather than trying to resolve any of your problems. As someone who cares, let other people worry and focus on yourself, see you strengths for what they really are and go and make bank.

Plasma-Dragon

Only had the pleasure to speak to you twice on live streams, mostly knew you for your art, I dunno what I can really say? Here, you’re a new friend and I can’t wait to get to know you more… Man this was short.., fuck.., I really wanted to say something else…, uh.. .. .... ....shit

Lady Violi

Man, I wish I drew more personal projects like you did, haha, Okay so, a bit of honesty, when I first saw you on DA I have to be frank and say I didn’t think much of your art back then, but I am so happy to see not only was I proben wrong, but your art had grown incredibly sicne there, no just in scale and scope, but in detail, colour, it’s fantastic, is there places it could use improvement, yeah, but no one is perfect, but that’s enough about you creatively, what about you the person!

Well like I said I didn’t think much at first, but as time went on I became a little intimadated by you, probably cause of my own guilt more than anything else, but, doesn’t really matter, I’m just happy we actually talked, because discussing things with you is always a high light of my day, I’m so eager when your online because have such a nice easy and approach manner of conversation that’s infectious to me, and I love it.

And the best part! It’s only been a year since we started talking, I’m so excited how we’ll grow in friendship as time goes on, I know it’ll be worth it!

---

And.., that’s it, If you actually read through all of these and not just your own, I’d be surpruised, but I’m happy I wrote this, even if my arm hurts, things needed to be said, apologises needed to be made and love needed to be shared, thank you all.

#Friends #Friendship #The list #Christmas #New year #Friendship List #Oh no he didn't again

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theartistformerlyknownaspsu · 5 years

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Rules: Answer the questions and tag 21 people you want to get to know better.

Tagged by: @maginpui

Nickname: Psu, Abel, either works though I think I’m starting to prefer the latter

Height: 160-ish cm last I checked.

Last movie I saw: Spider-verse... again.

Favourite Artists: Can’t say I’ve really followed or looked into any, but I do have more Queen songs in my playlist than any other, so... that.

Song stuck in my head: *ahem*

ALL OF THESE VOICES INSIDE OF MY HEAD

BLINDING MY SIGHT IN A CURTAIN OF RED

FRUSTRATION IS GETTING BIGGER

BANG BANG BANG

PULL MY DEVIL TRIGGER

Do I get asks: Very rarely, but it happens sometimes.

Other blogs: None that I used. I did somehow acquire the url @ askemaskye, though actually doing something with that....

Following: 66. Hey, that’s the same number as that thing! No, the other thing.

Amount of sleep: 5-7 hours, though it’s less about going to sleep late, than it is about waking up early for no reason.

Lucky number: 5. It fits on a hand and it’s a factor of 10. What’s not to love?

If not that, then 3.14159265359.

What I’m wearing: Shirt. Long pants. It’s comfortable.

Dream job: Hmmmmmm... I like working in a chem lab, so any career with that in mind would be fine. As for what specifically? I’m still figuring that out.

Favorite food: Seafood, generally. Shrimp and lobster are a common pick of mine.

Dream trip: A place where the air is fresh, where the wind is calm, where the stars shine bright, where the mosquitoes are not.

For real though, anywhere that isn’t on a temperature extreme would be great.

Play any instruments: Nope.

Languages: Just English. I did study sign language a while back, but I’m pretty sure I forgot 99% of what I learned.

Favorite song: I never really picked a favorite. I just listen and arbitrarily say yes or no.

Random fact: The symptoms of imposter syndrome (where someone feels they haven’t earned their position regardless of their achievements) contain a large overlap with the symptoms of survivor guilt.

I read that in a journal article and it’s been on my mind for a week.

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: Define aesthetic things. Do stars count as aesthetic things? Because that would totally be my aesthetic thing.

Tagging: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh you. No not you, you.

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gothika666faerie · 7 years

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Savannah Walker’s Character Bio

Name: Savannah Maria Walker

Age: 22-25, canon that Bertrand is 13-15 years older because May-December romance

Nickname(s): Savvy Van, Little Lady and Commoner

Height: 1.55m

Weight: 49kg

Build: Petite and rather busty with shapely hips, athletic too due to her liking of walks, trekking and hiking.

Hair colour: Chocolate brown with reddish undertones

Eye colour: Dark brown

Skin: Tanned from her love of beaches

Sexuality: Bi and monogamous

Relationship(s): Drake Walker, brother. Prince Liam, friend. Olivia Nevrakis, confidante and friend. Lady Kiara, confidante, friend and language tutor. Maxwell Beaumont, close friend. Bertrand Beaumont, friend graduated to lover and currently, unknown.

Education: Savannah double majored in Gender Studies and Cordonian History. Her dissertation concerned how Queen Annelyse Adair and Valentina Greaves queered Queen Kenna Rys’ narrative journey during her relinquishment of Stormholt in the Great War of the Five Kingdoms. Previous essays are “Dressed to Kill: Annelyse Adair and Femininity on the Battlefield” and “Bad Women: Hex and Azura’s Quest for Pure Nations”. While Drake preferred a simpler occupation and thus dropped out, Savannah has a thirst for knowledge and ended up graduating with Honours. Bottom line: She is not just a party girl, she is an intellectual party girl.

Personality: Feisty, determined, outspoken, enthusiastic, impulsive, romantic at heart, sexually liberated, imprudent, rather sensitive, prone to violence when provoked, hapless, hoydenish, has a taste for luxury and has a heart of gold (if you deserve it)

Favourite food(s): Eclairs, Spanish paella, mushroom risotto and lobster linguine.

Least favourite food(s): Green tea (she prefers floral or fruit teas and macchiatos), Cordonian Rubies (only eats them if they are baked and sweetened) and cronuts (sorry, Maxwell, they are too sickly for her)

Favourite drink(s): Double chocolate macchiato with whipped cream, blackberry tea, jello shots, tequila, white wine, champagne and whiskey. (She holds her liquor better than Drake and is often their designated driver and caretaker.)

Favourite book(s): This is an impossible question for her because she is a voracious reader, but it has to be a toss-up between Marguerite Duras’ The Lover and Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. Savannah gravitates towards magical realism, romance, erotica and the philosophical and feminist.

Favourite poet(s): Christina Rosetti, John Donne, Sappho, John Wilmot the Earl of Rochester and Anne Sexton.

Favourite TV show(s): The Crown and the Flame! She ships Raydan and Kenna and Dom and Sei. Her role model in life is Annelyse Adair and she hopes and prays for a new season. Maxwell is trying to get her into Most Wanted but she thinks the hiatus is heart breaking.

Favourite Disney movie(s): Aristocats, The Fox and Hound, Tangled, Brave, Moana and Fantasia.

Style: Savannah has two moods: girlish, floral and vintage and sexy, man-killer little black/red/white dresses with striking lipstick

Horoscope: Libra

Kink(s): Savannah is a slut for older men (ahem, look who her lover is), BDSM, erotic asphyxiation and being dominated/dominant. She loves men in suits too and enjoys exhibitionism.

Favourite body part(s): Proud of her lips, boobs and legs. Wishes her ass was slightly perkier and shapelier.

Talent(s): She is a confident, devil may care dancer, has a head for dates and timelines, is adept in academic writing and finds it easy to communicate with strangers and network effectively.

Party trick: She can deep throat a champagne bottle and suck the cork out.

Proudest moment(s): Punching Tariq in the face and breaking his nose. Tariq is afraid of her. Moreover, presenting her dissertation at an international conference on Women in Cordonian History. Also, getting Bertrand to weaken enough for him to open to her.

Lowest moment(s): Running out crying after a Beaumont Bash (reasons still undefined), throwing up on Bertrand after drinking too much (this is not said reason) and having Imposter Syndrome while completing her dissertation

Pet peeve(s): Sexists, misogynists, racists, homophobes, prejudiced minded people, elitists, cold tea, ignorance, male chauvinism, misandrists, people who try to explain feminism to her, animal abusers and Tariq.

Favourite animal(s): Kittens, puppies, hamsters, dwarf rabbits, mouse lemurs, sugar gliders and peacocks

Favourite music: Indie, rock, classical and emo.

Celebrity crush(es): Rufus Sewell, Benedict Cumberbatch, Kit Harrington, Colin O’Donoghue, Peter Capaldi, Colin Firth and Jeremy Irons

Favourite movie(s): Bridget Jones trilogy, Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula, Crimson Peak, Alice in Wonderland, Midnight in Paris, Mad Max, anything by Studio Ghibli and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

Personal secret: She is helpless in riding a bicycle.

Intimate secret: If a guy bites her ass during oral, she goes nuts.

Deep dark secret: She is a great believer of the ten second rule when it comes to food.

Deepest fantasy: To be tied up and blindfolded and have the man/woman do whatever he or she wants with her. Also, to be fucked in a confessional booth. And, a foursome with Kenna, Annelyse and Valentina.

Favourite position: Sideways from behind gets her all the time.

Cuddling: Yes. Absolutely, yes. She gets needy afterwards.

Great ambition: To be a professor at her alma mater, to compile an anthology of the missing narratives in Kenna’s pilgrimage and to travel with the man of her dreams by her side (Bertrand, why did you fuck up?)

Greatest fear(s): Loss. Dark silence. Failure. Being stuck in a rut.

What she looks for in a man: Confidence, an element of mystique and power, a soft centre in a hard cocoon, V-lines, treasure trails and strong jawline. She loves hands too. Intellectualism as well and if he is well-read, she is all for him. Had the biggest crush on Raydan for the longest time.

What she looks for in a woman: Delicate yet voluptuous bodies. She loves shy types, but a wild girl is always fun. Girls with tongue piercings get her going. Girls with gorgeous wavy hair and a good butt. Sweet, loving, adventurous and willing to learn girls are the way to go. HC that she has gone all the way with Kaitlyn Liao.

Tattoos or piercings: She wears earrings and has “Carpe Diem” tattooed on her hip in elegant cursive. She has a tiny rose tattoo on the inside of her ankle.

Believes in: Feminism, LGBTQA, religion as being a guider of virtue rather than restrictive conventions, that whiskey is sometimes better than vodka and that age is but a number in relationships. Also, one cannot have too many pets and children should be reserved as an option, not a target in life. Also, true love will come if you are willing to make what you have now, the love you share with the person you know you love, become true and deep and eternal.

(( A bio of what I canon Savannah to be like. Please take note, fellow Bertvannah shippers and Savannah fans. Also anyone who wants to RP with me Bertvannah. @smartlillian @neonschoices @feisty-mary @mochiiiiiiiii @pixelbirb-choices @stormyskydancer @chelseareferenced @dopecatcollins @asherella-is-a-dork-3 @brittney-beaumont @mrskaidanalenko ))

#savannah walker #she is my bb #bertrand beaumont #trr #tcatf #choices: stories you play #pixelberry #i could make her a legit character #bertvannah #hope you like it #and approve

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funkzpiel · 7 years

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i am all about sociopathic jerry in threesomes but on the flip side consider david from the lobster who's the exact opposite. so sweet and soft and sure he couldn't get away with switching world's with percival bc they look quite different but imagine percival and newt just taking care of david

This just immediately made me think of David in Graves’ body.

He looks like Mr. Graves, but everyone knows he’s not Mr. Graves. He goes out of his way to get out of the way in the hallway - flattening himself to the wall, eyes down, and moving as though conscious of a paunch that’s certainly not there. He stammers, sometimes. Voice low and unsure, as though ready and expecting to be dismissed. He’s shy and he’s awkward and he’s not Percival Graves.

But he is precious, Newt finds out when he takes him to their bed one night - curious. He’s not Graves. There’s lust in his eyes, but no heat. A smoldering ember of want that’s too used to rejection to light. He stands oddly at the end of their bed, hands clasped in front of him, looking anywhere but at Newt, and Newt finds he enjoys stalking this Graves just as much as he loves stripping control from his Graves.

He peels this stranger apart with soft, praising kisses. Reveals a body that’s as familiar to Newt as the back of his hand, but evidently unfamiliar to its host who looks at his flat belly with wide eyes, fingers tentative as they trace the exposed skin peeking out from his unbuttoned shirt.

“Who are you?” Newt asks between kisses, crowding the stranger until he’s taken out at the knees by the bed - a shocked, short little cry tumbling from his lips - and sprawls inelegantly into the sheets.

“D-David.”

“David,” Newt purrs. “How did you get here?”

“I d-don’t know. It just happened.”

“Hmm.”

And Newt asks no more questions. If the man’s reactions to magic or Newt’s creatures had been anything to go by, he didn’t end up here of his own volition. Best to enjoy this other, softer, submissive Graves. He’ll enjoy detailing the deflowering to his actual lover later. Explaining how his lip quivered when Newt gently massaged his prostate. The way he whimpered as Newt opened him with his fingers and his tongue. How sensitive his nipples were - and how Newt now knew that Graves had been fiercely guarding that secret somehow and clamps would definitely be in his future. The way he keened with fingers in his hair. The way he shuddered, open mouthed and silent and reverent, when he came.

David is soft. A version of Graves that has seen not the evil of the world, but the evil of ordinary people. Subdued from bullying and cheating and rejection. Gentle when he shivered, forever this close to a sob. Something softens in Newt’s heart at the sight of him - this fragile, lonely shell of his lover. This man that enjoyed baking and eating and reading by the fireplace.

Graves’ body maybe gains a pound or two while they work to reverse whatever caused this - but Newt loves it. Loves to see his hardened lover ever so slightly plush around the tightly tailored hem of his pants. Kisses the skin there when David bashfully, shamefully, looks away - lashes caught by something wet and heavy.

“She left me,” he whispers.

“She’s a fool,” Newt whispers back, worshipful with his lips as he praises him. “You’re perfect. Someone will see that.”

“H-how do you know?” He asks, reaching to adjust glasses that aren’t there; endearing in his timidness.

“Because I can see it,” Newt says. “That’s how.”

Graves is more than a little grumpy when he returns. He had been stuck in some strange hotel of weird, lonely people, Newt. All of which kept hitting on him. STRANGELY. And he was fat and he had to hunt people in the woods or else he’d run out of time and turn into a lobster, which evidently he chose. A LOBSTER, NEWT. And finally he’s back, only he’s pudgy. PUDGY. Nothing extreme, but…

“Damn it, Newt, why did you let him eat so much?!”

“He was a stress eater, Percy! If you saw his face you wouldn’t have been able to say no either!”

“MY FACE, NEWT. AND YOU SAY NO TO ME ALL THE TIME.”

Newt pouted and crossed his arms, utterly lacking remorse.

That night when Percival is making his bed on the couch, he can’t help but grumble, unsure of how he ended up on the couch after his boyfriend slept with his timid imposter and let him get fat. He angrily fluffed his pillow, settled down, and crossed his arms.

“Fucking lobsters.”

#mini fic #david (the lobster)#percival graves #original percival graves #newt scamander #newt x david #gramander

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thebibliomancer · 7 years

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100 Days of Comics! 062/100: Fantastic Four vs X-Men #2 (1987)

Today’s selection from the box of mystery comics just goes to show that Marvel has always been doing Hero Team vs Hero Team things. I suppose the difference is that they used to be considerate enough to restrain themselves to a four issue limited series instead of a big event with tons of tie-ins.

I think Jay and Miles actually covered this miniseries so I’m vaguely familiar with it, kinda.

I don’t usually talk about the covers but geez. There have been some lying covers in the past but this one is up there.

Wolverine doesn’t even once murder Reed to avenge Sue. No, the reason he tries to murder Reed is completely different.

So due to injuries sustained during the Mutant Massacre story, Kitty Pryde is stuck intangible and in danger of completely dissipating.

The X-Men brought in Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four to help her but for some reason he refuses to.

This starts off a big to-do with Wolverine threatening Reed and then the rest of the Fantastic Four (the Thing, Human Torch, and She-Hulk) getting involved because they don’t trust Magneto who was currently sided with the X-Men.

And everything just kind of goes to shit. Human Torch accidentally burns Storm while trying to blast Wolverine, Rogue steals the Thing’s powers but then gets really emotional because she touched his true inner beauty, Psylocke (pre-becoming an Asian woman) butterflies Human Torch unconscious, and for some reason She-Hulk can’t hold back a rampaging Wolverine from delivering a hard kick right across Reed’s face.

Which is bullshit. She’s She-Hulk.

Creepy psychic child Franklin Richards has been watching all this in his sleeping astral projection form and falls out of bed. Invisible Mom, Sue Storm, rushes in to find out why he’s crying and Franklin tries explaining the situation through his childish understanding of it all.

Franklin insists that nothing will ever be fine again. But this is comics. Give it a week.

After Sue soothes (Sueths?) Franklin back to sleep she angrily reflects on a journal of Reed’s that she discovered that may well destroy the Fantastic Four. And then she angrily blows off her FF jumpsuit with force field powers because. Because symbolic?

Back on Muir Island but away from the mandatory misunderstanding superhero fight, Dazzler, Longshot, and Havok. They found a random fisherman adrift on the open ocean and brought him in for medical treatment.

Except it was not a fisherman but a horrible robot imposter of one.

Outside, Moira MacTaggert (possessor of a sometimes ludicrous accent) stops the fight by standing between Wolverine and Reed. Something everyone else failed to think of.

Reed, now sporting a nasty bruise and busted lip, still refuses to help. Saying only that if he could, he would.

Rogue wants to have Psylocke just rummage around Reed’s mind and take what they need but Storm shoots that down.

And then the horrible robot fisherman comes out. And reveals himself as... A DOOOOOOOOMBOT!

He had sent the robot fisherman to spy on the X-Men after hearing about their troubles in Mutant Massacre to find out if it was anything he should care about. But now he has learned about this Kitty Pryde situation, he offers to help. He can duplicate Reed’s research and equipment and there will be no charge. He’s probably just doing this as petty oneupmanship against Reed. And spite is the purest motivator.

Reed begs the X-Men not to deal with Doom, saying its akin to a deal with the devil but the X-Men tell Reed to gtfo. Moira even has them kicked off her island.

Kitty has been watching all of this on the security monitors and decides she doesn’t want to live if it costs the X-Men their souls and thinks its time to take the decision out of their hands. DUN DUN DUNNN!!

Back at the Baxter Building, Reed wonders whats wrong with him. The molecular reintegrator he built should be the exact thing that could help Kitty so why did he have the gut feeling that made him hesitate?

And then Ben Grimm, the Thing, throws Reed into a wall. Sue showed the other two FFers Reed’s journal and they are pissed.

So Reed reads the journal aloud. Apparently Reed was in one of those monster stories that Marvel did before Fantastic Four #1 was published because in the journal he talks about encountering GORMUU and his fears of what will happen when humanity meets a hostile alien state instead of just an individual being.

And there’s a bit of a retcon, instead of building a spaceship to beat those damn commies to space, Reed designed the rocket so that mankind could meet other starfaring races in the neutral territory of space. But the government wanted to postpone the flight for more tests but Reed is like pssh I already tested everything.

So they took off illegally, got exposed to cosmic radiation and became the Fantastic Four.

But the journal continues, “Among the growing number of terrestrial enhanced power beings are certain to be a proportion manifesting anti-social tendencies -- super-criminals. And while it is logical to assume some similar beings will devote their energies to pro-social activities -- that process might well be facilitated by a person or group who would serve as both inspiration and example to the rest.”

With the journal going on to state that the genetic structure of Reed, Sue, Johnny, and Ben were perfect to manifest superpowers if exposed to a precise dose of cosmic rays. And that the hull of the spacecraft was specially design to funnel cosmic radiation into the passengers.

The Thing: “Ya did this to us... on purpose. Makes sense. Explains a lot. Like -- why us, an’ not any of the other astronauts who came after. Always wondered about that. Usedta laugh, sometimes, about how my big brain buddy could overlook something as basic as cosmic rays. Guess the joke’s on me.”

I think later (in this very miniseries even) that part of the journal is revealed to be a forgery. But the best lies ring true and ‘doing it for the greater good’ rings very true to Reed.

Ben leaves. Johnny and She-Hulk follow after, with Johnny saying he’s going to Alicia’s. And doesn’t know if he’ll be back. Leaving just Sue and Reed with Reed asking if she’s going to go or stay.

Interspersed through this journal reading, the X-Men have been debating accepting Doom’s help, with Wolverine taking a break to murder some rocks. In the end, despite the risks, Storm decides that she’ll bargain with the devil himself to save Kitty. She’s going to take the deal.

But not alone. The rest of the X-Men stand with her.

Oh hey, a solicit for Fallen Angels! That series had everything! Devil Dinosaur and superpowered lobsters! The solicit really does make it look like Sunspot killed Cannonball though. Instead of just hurting him and Sunspot fleeing the state dramatically in fear that this proves Professor X right and he was always going to be a villain.

Anyway. A team vs team miniseries that's a little fight and a lot of character beats, both intra- and inter-team? Good job, Chris Claremont!

#100 Days of Comics!#Fantastic Four vs X Men #Fantastic Four #X Men

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 7 years

Note

5 The Predator

Short opinion: Nothing can make you hate Visser One quite like reading this book.

Long opinion:

Although he can be loud, and obnoxious, and can take a joke waaaaay too far, Marco also might be the most adult member of the team as of the beginning of the series. After all, this book opens with its 13-year-old protagonist buying groceries for his family using a budget he balanced himself, with every intention of going home and cooking dinner for both himself and his dad. Not only does Marco take care of his dad, he treats that caretaking as a fact of life. He might whine and joke about it, but he also stops in the middle of that process to save some random stranger getting beaten up in an alleyway. (In the same situation, one could imagine Jake deciding that the risk to the team was too great for it to be worth morphing, Rachel or Tobias planning out some elaborate revenge scheme, and Cassie or Ax waiting for the situation to blow over before offering the victim help.) Marco might be a little ruthless, and kind of a brat at times, but he also understands how the world works in a way that most kids his age—including his teammates—do not.

Edna St. Vincent Millay has a poem, “Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies,” that makes the point better than ever I could: childhood ends with the first major loss in one’s life. Adulthood begins with the understanding of death and grief and mortality that can only come from a world-shattering loss of a loved one. Marco has to assume a lot of very literal and very mundane adult responsibilities at a young age—he is essentially acting as the head of his household in the absence of a competent parent—but he also has a brutally realistic understanding of death in a way that no one else* does. Right from the first moment that Tobias suggests the Animorphs should get involved in the war, up through Marco’s decision to quit midway through this book, he has asserted the same point over and over: that death is very, very real and will find them if they fight this war. He’s correct, of course, since by the end of the war they’ve not only lost Rachel but also James and Collette and Jara Hamee and David and hundreds of foot soldiers and loved ones.

Other people have commented on the skill with which Applegate portrays the horror of the ants, and the ongoing motif of Marco being the weakest morpher (and also the one who stays the closest to human, with the only primate battle morph on the team), but the other moment from this book that I think is really important for the character is when Marco wakes up from a nightmare about The Lobster Incident, and his dad treats it as more or less routine. Rachel and Cassie and Jake all get some combination of concern and shock from their families when they start showing signs of PTSD, but Marco’s dad doesn’t seem surprised at all. That suggests to me that Marco is already dealing with a lot of negative mental health experiences as a result of Eva’s loss, well before he ever gets dragged into the bloody life-destroying hell of war.

Marco can see where they’re all going, well before Jake and Ax lose their idealism or Rachel and Tobias lose their war-hawk tendencies (pun not intended). He has already spotted the bright, clear line from Point A (six idiot teenagers charging off to save the world) to Point B (two teenagers dead in battle, one totally disengaged from her friends, and three rushing off on a suicide mission to combat depression). It’s not cowardice that keeps him out of the fight at first, the way Tobias accuses, and it’s not selfishness, the way Rachel says. It’s the calm, certain awareness that they are definitely in over their heads.

When Marco does tell Jake he’s quitting—and Jake takes the news with his usual airbender calm—he gives a very specific reason. He says, “a year from now I don’t want my dad going to leave flowers at two graves,” which is such a gut-punch of a line because it tells us that Marco has already pictured that exact scene (#5). Marco understands exactly how it would play out if he did, in fact, die in the war. When Marco says that he refuses to throw his life away because his loss would destroy his dad, he’s making a hugely adult decision with a degree of empathy and horrible pragmatism that none of the others have yet learned by force. None of the others really seem to give much thought to their own deaths. Cassie lightly dismisses her parents’ and friends’ concerns when she is (apparently) dead, first in #19 when she and Aftran/Karen disappear into the woods, and again in #44 when she takes an involuntary vacation to Australia. Rachel struggles to wrap her head around her own death even as she goes into the battle that will cost her her life (#54). Jake, Tobias, and Ax never really seem to think about it at all, unless Jake is looking to throw himself heroically between Crayak’s Hessian bullet and his friends. Marco has calculated the possibility of his own death, played out scenarios in his mind, and concluded that that outcome is unacceptable based on a very personal degree of experience with exactly what death means for those left behind.

And then, of course, we get to the final sequence of the book. And Marco gets this enormous heap of revelation dumped on his head: all of his own grief, all of his father’s devastation, all of the myriad ways that Eva’s loss destroyed his life… is all a lie. Marco’s entire existence—suburban house, brilliant engineer dad, gruffly affectionate mom, best friend two doors down, comfortable certainty in his universe, clear role among his friends and classmates—exploded into nothingness the day that the Coast Guard pulled an empty sailboat onto the local pier. And it wasn’t horrible happenstance, it wasn’t a cosmic accident, it wasn’t a disaster at all. It was a deliberate decision on the part of a yeerk who couldn’t be bothered to play the role of an ordinary mom anymore when she could instead move on to better things. Visser One lived in their house, ate at their table, kissed Marco goodnight, and chose to destroy that all. Marco doesn’t even know for sure anymore—not for a long time—how many of his memories are actually of his mother, and how many are of the imposter.

But Eva’s mere existence, there on the Blade ship as a convenient tool in the middle of an arms race between Visser Three and Visser One, means that Marco also has the chance to go back. Once he knows she’s out there, he knows that he has the chance to undo that terrible life-shattering event. There is a chance that he can bring her home. That he can give his dad new life. And so Marco embraces that chance, even though he still knows perfectly well that the war will probably cost him his life.

*I’ll save my rant about how we get such beautifully terrible depictions of Jake’s grief for Tom and Rachel, and Marco’s grief for Eva, but almost nothing on what it felt like for Ax to lose Elfangor, for another time.

#animorphs reviews #animorphs meta #asks #answers #animorphs #wishiwould #5 #the predator #visser one #the one and only #marco

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infolibrary · 5 years

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6 Signs You’re Infected With the “Poverty Virus”

New Post has been published on http://www.infolibrary.net/6-signs-youre-infected-with-the-poverty-virus/

6 Signs You’re Infected With the “Poverty Virus”

Compulsive buying and a constant desire to get things on credit aren’t a person’s fault. A stress hormone known as cortisol is responsible for the decision-making process: it worsens memory and reduces concentration, decreases self-control, and makes a person feel a bit like a zombie. Feeling poor has the same influence on the brain as a long night without sleep would.

Bright Side learned some of the signs of an unhealthy attitude toward money.

You stick to your parents’ behavioral patterns.

If throughout your childhood you heard things like, “We can’t afford that”, “You must stick to any job you have”, or “We don’t print money,” it gets into your head on a subconscious level.

Our beliefs, including ones we take from our parents, influence our approach to how we do our jobs, what things to buy and at what price, and what lifestyle to lead.

Limits and deprivations in childhood make a person more inclined to feel stressed and depressed. Simple tasks look harder for them and even small obstacles can cause a lack of motivation.

You worry about what other people will say.

Do you know people who took a loan out to celebrate their wedding? Or that bought a dress that was worth a 2-3-month salary? Or skimped on everything to be able to invite 200 guests?

The actress Keira Knightley got married in a dress that had been sitting in her wardrobe for 5 years. And it wasn’t the first time she attended an event wearing it. But nothing bad happened! Relatives didn’t have hard feelings and neighbors didn’t stop wishing her good morning.

There’s nothing improper about having a luxurious wedding if you can afford it: maybe you have a high salary, a prosperous business, or a passive income. But if a family spends all their savings in one day or gets into debt, it’s a sign of a poverty mindset.

You set your priorities wrong.

The economists who study poverty believe that when a person is in a bad financial situation, they’re trying to escape their dull and boring life.

Maybe that’s why in India, up to 40% of the family income is spent on holidays and religious rituals. In America, people used to buy steak and lobster, paying for these things with money from welfare, while in Morocco, villagers bought DVD players and had cable TV, but ate only bread with sweet tea.

A person who thinks they’re poor starts to put themselves below others. To prove their income, they buy expensive presents, treat guests with the last of their money, and get a smartphone on credit for 3 years.

You relieve stress by going shopping.

People in a difficult financial situation are under extreme stress. Cortisol production increases after a year of such a life. It influences memory, concentration, and certain ways of thinking.

Feeling poor has the same influence on the brain as a long night without sleep. A person makes bad decisions like buying things with credit, buying useless stuff, and forgetting to pay the bills.

Self-control decreases not because a person doesn’t want to improve their situation, but because of the high cortisol levels and the lack of concentration caused by the financial problems.

You don’t have any goals or dreams.

Many people try to get rid of feeling poor by working more. The problem with this solution is that in this case a person usually doesn’t allow themselves to dream and set goals or relax and enjoy life — they just work hard all the time. Just like the guy in the picture above.

According to research conducted in 2017, people with low income are more inclined to feel like they can’t change anything or influence the situation. That’s why they don’t set goals and don’t try to achieve them.

Our everyday emotions influence how we plan our lives. When we’re sad, we are likely to want less in the present than wish for more in the future. As a result, we lose potential profit in the long run. When we’re happy and interested in life, it’s easier to think about the future, make plans and bring them to life.

You can’t increase your income level.

Sometimes it feels like a person gets stuck at the same level of income. They can change careers or work harder, but it doesn’t influence their paycheck in any way. It may seem like there’s a certain “ceiling” a person can’t break through.

A person usually thinks this way: “To make more money, I have to works 60 hours a week, get a Ph.D. and have connections,” and “More money means more problems and responsibility, but I’m already working for 2.”

A person gets used to their current financial situation, somehow manages to live on a budget and may even feel discomfort if the salary suddenly becomes…higher. That’s why the feeling of inferiority and guilt doesn’t go away.

If a person gets a bonus at work, they’ll spend the money in a week and won’t even notice. If they’re offered to work on a new project out of the scope of their job, they’ll say they’re too busy and will lose their chance. The habit of living with the same income leads to missing out on all opportunities that are above their usual level of income.

Bonus: Do you have the imposter syndrome?

Have you ever met professionals who hardly make ends meet? It seems like they don’t see their true value and often even deny it. This situation is called “the imposter syndrome” or a person that believes that their success is only the result of coincidence and luck. But if we all wait until we become professionals in our own opinion, our whole life can pass us by.

Tom Hardy in an interview for Esquire magazine said that people probably wonder why they should read an interview about him and may say things like, “Who is this guy with crooked teeth and a beard? Who is this ugly person?”

Emma Watson also feels something similar: she’s afraid that she can’t live up to people’s expectations. She thinks that one day everyone will know that she’s a fraud and doesn’t deserve things she managed to achieve.

However, despite this approach, these celebrities continue to work hard and don’t give up, so they get amazing results.

How is your relationship with money going? Perhaps you know how to get rid of a “poverty mindset”? Share your stories in the comments!

Illustrated by Natalia Breeva for BrightSide.me

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#Inspiration. Creativity. Wonder.#Psychology

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findnewjob · 6 years

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How to Handle Imposter Syndrome

Here’s something we haven’t discussed recently: how to handle imposter syndrome. If you’re not familiar with imposter syndrome, it’s that lovely feeling that you’re successful because you’re tricking everyone about your intelligence or insights, that you’re the recipient of incredible luck to have come this far, and that any day now someone will figure you out and have you booted out of the office or classroom. *Cough.* Not to be too specific or anything. Imposter syndrome has been on my mind lately because I read this great anecdote in Forbes about a lobster at a court party:

[Elizabeth] Gilbert writes [in Big Magic*] about an American striving to break into the French art world when he finds himself invited to a costume party at a castle filled with French aristocrats.

Check Out The Article Here […]

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tortuga-aak · 7 years

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19 unwritten restaurant rules you should avoid breaking

The INSIDER Summary: Don't be that couple that aggressively starts making out in the restaurant. If you're kid is throwing a tantrum, chances are you're ruining other guests' dining experience. Whether you're dining among Michelin stars or 5 feet away from a rustic handcrafted backgammon set at a Cracker Barrel, it's a combo of common courtesy and modest respect for unspoken social contracts that keeps our collective dining culture intact. As Cracker Barrel Founder Dan Evins himself once famously quipped, "Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use."

Actually, that might have been Emily Post.

At any rate, after weeks of deliberation, presented are the 19 unwritten rules of dining in restaurants... except, I guess now they are actually written. So, this is kind of embarrassing. Look, maybe you should just go ahead and start reading the list. And remember before you comment: Judge not lest ye be judged even harder, OK?

Shutterstock

1. Know the difference between a server and a busboy

A busser's job is best described as "overall mucky." Which is to say, not good. And while they attempt to drag a bus bucket filled with lobster guts and soiled napkins back to the kitchen, they don't need the added weight of some slack-jawed sweater jackal grabbing them by the elbow and starting to ramble off an order. This is pretty much the most "dad" thing you can do at a restaurant -- aside from replying, "It's OK, so am I," when the server warns that your incoming plate might be too hot to handle.

2. Never snap your fingers at a server. Or busboy. Or anyone.

Unless you're choking, trying to wake someone up, or thoroughly enjoying a new bossa nova-themed Cuban fusion concept, there is absolutely no excuse for snapping your fingers at anyone or anything in a restaurant setting. But normally, it's No. 1 on "shit that pisses servers off," so this is as much an unwritten rule as an outright warning. Simply put: If you do it, you might be asking for a loogie glaze on your creme brulee. Also, if you're choking, just use the international hand symbol or hope there's an imposter British nanny around.

Shutterstock

3. Respect your reservation time

If you are more than 15 minutes late on your reservation, there is absolutely no room to get indignant if a restaurant gives your table away. Ninety-five percent of Americans own mobile phones (so, you can give them a heads up, en route), and 100% of Americans who are cognizant enough to plan ahead and make reservations should be able to follow through on this very-much-so important social contract. Ghosting on your res is even worse, and a cardinal sin in the service industry: It really screws things up for everyone. Just call them! Even made-up excuses will suffice. Tell them either: A) Your sister is giving birth (!) or B) Your date has diarrhea. Either way, they won't ask anymore questions.

4. You can't treat wait times as an exact science

There's a reason why every host/hostess ever will immediately precede their estimated wait time with a hard "umm, about... " There's no way to know exactly how long it will take Great Aunt Linda to polish off her lima beans. Not even Great Aunt Linda really knows. And "about 10-15 minutes" can easily turn into 45. It's simply one of the many inconvenient truths of dining out. Remember: Patience is a virtue, and yelling at restaurant employees is a one-way ticket to never getting a table. And if you are truly too important to even waste a few minutes on a lagging restaurant, there's an app for that, naturally. Luckily, many restaurants have long-implemented a "hold this buzzer-thing till it flashes red" system to give diners-in-waiting a slice of hope to literally hold onto.

Shutterstock

5. Don't be that couple that sits in the same side of an otherwise empty booth

A restaurant is not a venue for your performative cuteness. What's the endgame here? Under-the-table hand-holding? Lady and the Tramp-ing your way through a plate of pasta? You're weirding out the entire establishment, and, as Steve Carell knows, subjecting yourself to cripplingly weird neck angles.

6. Definitely don't be that couple that sits in the same side of a booth and starts aggressively making out

Because it's really not the appropriate venue. Though if you DO witness such a happening, don't make it worse by making a scene, like this lady. It's SO much worse to be that lady. Just snicker about it quietly and talk about them later like a normal person.

7. A communal table is not an invitation to make new friends

While the virtues of "communal seating" (and its slightly less annoying cousin, the super-close table arrangement) are still up in the air, one thing is certain: Group and/or tight seating means you'll be eating uncomfortably close to other people. But there's a big difference between eating next to someone and with someone. Exchanging pleasantries with the stranger you happen to be rubbing elbows with is fine... and maybe even courteous. Acting like you're at the kids table at grandma's can interrupt other diners' experiences. The whole point of going out to restaurants is to be around people without actually having to interact with them, right? Read the room. Be aware of your surroundings. And for God's sake, never broach a private convo with "I couldn't help but overhear you, but... "

Shutterstock

8. If your phone is distracting other tables, it's a problem

It's 2017, and complaining about people Instagramming their food and other conventional mid-meal smartphone uses reached "old man yells at cloud" status a long time ago. That said, if your flash is popping off repeatedly in a darkened restaurant, your 15-person birthday dinner is pausing mid-meal to take 150 different variations of a group photo on 12 different phones, or your conversation with your sister about her thyroid problem is grabbing the attention of wide swaths of the restaurant, well, maybe you're a cloud who deserves to be yelled at.

9. If your kids are distracting other tables, you're a problem

Kids and restaurants are way too varied to make a one-size-fits-all proclamation as to whether or not they ought to be present -- that's up to individual restaurants. But if precious little Braxton throws a category-five tantrum and you haven't whisked him outside in the first 30 seconds, you're making him everyone's problem. And if that's a regular occurrence with Braxton, maybe wait a few years before making Friday night steakhouse dinners a regular thing.

10. The menu is not a blank canvas for your creativity

Substituting a side salad with rice alongside your duck à l'orange is probably fine. Asking to substitute fresh ground beef for the duck and a pack of melted green Skittles for the citrus sauce is going too far. While that's an unrealistic scenario, there's a line here that can't be crossed. If you are augmenting more than half of an order's ingredients, maybe you should opt for something else. Restaurants should be willing to cater to you, of course, but you can't expect them to act like your own personal chef. If you want that, get rich.

Monkey Business Images/Shutterstock

11. Don't make servers split the check 15 ways

Entire articles could be written on this very topic (and actually have) but it boils down to this: You're an adult, you probably have Venmo, and you definitely have access to an ATM. Just use modern technology to your advantage, dude.

12. You can't send food back just because you suck at ordering

There are real, legitimate reasons for sending a plate of food back to the kitchen. The fact that you were too distracted thinking about your sister's thyroid problem to ask what "chitarra" was and it turned out to be pasta and even though you're not "gluten-free" or anything you've been trying to avoid carbs on every other weekday is... definitely not one of them.

13. Never blame a server for a kitchen mistake

If your server accidentally told the kitchen to make your ribeye a teeth-shattering, flames of Hades "super-well-done" instead of the requested "medium-rare," that's one thing. But it's highly unlikely they asked the cooks to make your broccoli soggy, and it's certainly not their fault if the restaurant runs out of salmon. That's like berating the dude who sells popcorn at the movie theater because you thought Suicide Squad sucked.

Forsake Foto/Flickr

14. Fibbing to get free food is not OK

Some well-meaning restaurants give out free food (or discounts) based on birthdays, military service, or just because they're good people. If you try to score some of said free food through some manipulation of the truth, you're either a shitty teenager showing off for his shitty friends (Braxton's future?), or an even worse adult. The servers already have to sacrifice their dignity when they halfheartedly serenade you around your one-candle sundae. Don't sacrifice yours.

15. Don't use the restaurant as your personal supermarket

If you are taking more than three packets of condiments in your to-go box and/or purse, you are the reason we can't have nice things -- or in this case, freely available ketchup -- anymore. And yes, this rule applies even if you are old. Sorry, grandma. Your days of stocking up on jelly at the IHOP are over.

16. No lingering in a busy restaurant

While restaurants shouldn't be trying to hurry you through your meal in the interest of turning tables over, it goes both ways. If it goes a way that involves a 20-minute conversation after the bill is paid when no one has anything but water in front of them as people salivate hungrily in the waiting area for your table, it's gone a bad, bad way.

Chris A / Foursquare

17. Cheap food does not equal a cheap tip

This issue was most pronounced in the heyday of Groupon and other imitators like the one your friend's cousin was trying to get you to invest in (dodged a bullet there). But the fact remains: Whether it's a coupon, a gift card, or 10-cent wing night, if you paid less for the food, the server didn't do any less work. Tip on the full amount. Especially if the establishment in question has low prices to begin with. If you're busting out the old tip calculator to figure out what exactly 15% of a $19 tab is, you're a mathematically precise monster. Put another way: If you received table service you shouldn't ever be tipping less than two bucks.

18. Don't show up and order food five minutes before closing

Picture this: You've worked a long, hard day at the office, but now you are literally five minutes away from heading home. Yay! Then, all of a sudden, your boss dumps a DJ Khaled-high stack of documents on your desk and tells you to parse through them all and create a brief PowerPoint on what you've learned... immediately. This is what it's like when you waltz into a restaurant five minutes before the designated closing time expecting to be served. Just because Google says they are open till 11 doesn't mean it's cool to order the rack of lamb at 10:57. Remember: Restaurant workers are people with lives, families, and breaking points, too.

Vasile Cotovanu/Flickr

19. Coffee and desserts are group decisions. Always.

If an entire table was prepared to forego dessert and move on with their lives and then you chime in to order yourself some tiramisu and an espresso, you deserve to have the whole crew desert you. Get it?! But for real, hopefully they leave you alone with just the one make-out couple and the piercing shrieks of little Braxton. Dessert is a "we" decision, not an "I" decision.

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