#page from auroras notebook

[chiliyue-archived]

Hiraeth

↬ he can't stop returning back to you

Includes; PM!Dazai

Entry; 💭 - thoughts not said outloud + ❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜

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-

Dazai has been doing this far too often. And he knows it. Showing up to your living quarters rather than his storage container at the dead of night. Despite himself, it became a perpetual cycle that he had found to be powerless to break away from - acting as the puppeteer to his earthen desires that wilted with passing graces.

The crickets that usually filled his solitude came to increasingly accommodate you as a change. Unknowingly, you became a resurgence within his mind. And before he could even realize it, his legs had led him aimlessly back to you.

Pushing you away wasn't as easy as he thought - and the question if that was a good or bad thing hung in the silence.

Cotton Fingers peeled open the door, exposing his one eye to your slumbering figure. You were perched on the left side of the bed - it became a habit you acquired ever since Dazai has started to fancy your presence and found himself lying in that vacant spot beside you. However, he was never at the mercy of rest; his milky eye would gaze at the ceiling until rays of orange and gold leaked through the binds. That was always his sign of departure, leaving more weary and in search of an abstruse answer.

On the days he wasn't so hapless, his rest often came at the expense of nightmares; losing you to a power far greater than the demon prodigy. He couldn't really pinpoint when he became so attached to you.

Perhaps it was an accumulation of many things that gave sway to his blocked heart. The first time he let you dress his wounds, watching with catious eyes as you carefully nurtured him back to his second skin of gauze. Maybe it was in the way you didn't seem perturbed by the ugliness that was hidden beneath, punctuated by the soft feathery trailing of your fingertips against the molded scars.

Perhaps it was the kisses you pressed on his cheeks and creased forehead, bathing him in your attention devoid of the pain he was accustomed to. Not many escaped his touch unscathed, and yet yours was a drug he chased after incessantly.

Or maybe it was the first time the name 'Osamu' slipped from your lips in sincerity. Dazai almost hated the way he wanted to hear you say it again - to provoke that gentle tickle that became distinguished in his chest when he was with you.

But as much as he conjectured on the potiental answer, it had always remained to be an inquiry that probed the back of his head. Far too complex for even his great intellect, it was both vexing and equal parts a craving.

Dazai made work of shrugging off his coat, the article feeling unnecessary heavy on his taut shoulders. His shoes were already long abandoned, tossed in the genkan beside yours in a lax manner. He's done it so many times that it felt like second nature.

It was quickly followed by the pulling of his tie, the windsor knot becoming a peice of flimsy material and discarded on the small nearby table.

It was the same piece of furniture the two of you would cramp up together and eat cheap takeout or meals crafted by your hands. Regardless of the quality it was a change that filled up his stomach - unlike the cans of crab that littered his home acting as taunting reminders of his position.

He wordlessly slipped beside you, muscle memory coaxing him to curl around your body. His fingers instinctively took place in your hands. Limbs that were so accustomed to yielding instruments of death became fidgety against your own. His pinky mindlessly flexed around your joints, his thumb drawing out the contours.

For reasons he struggled to fathom, he couldn't quite bring himself to look at you. Not in a detested form of manner, but rather for the vulnerability that came if he risked a glance. To see you curled up beside him, dozing in your dreams and feeling secure even with the mafioso beside you. Selfishly, he pondered if you dreamed of him; perhaps immersed in an abstract reality far more promising than whatever this was.

" I'm back." His voice came out as a mumble despite knowing you couldn't hear him. Outloud, the words felt more like an indulgence to himself than anything.

His head leaned forward, his forehead making contact with your hair. The vacuous plaster of his lips remained; however, his eyes became glazed in a spur of intangible emotions. He chose to ignore the way his body hugged closer to you, legs sweeping over yours in a tangle of limbs. He didn't make an attempt to resist it either.

He allowed the silence to suspend the moment, nose nestling into the back of your head and absorbing your presence in silent fear of it being ephemeral. The weight of you being taken from him was always present, and he wasn't sure what he would do if that came into fruition. Just thinking of it rooted its probability deep within his mind and jutted a frown on his face.

Dazai felt his heart stutter when you habitually snuggled into him, light murmurs slipping from your lips. Even if your subconscious you gave him slices of your affection that made him gnaw in reproof yearning.

" Don't disappear on me, okay?" His voice was muffled against your skin, fingers weaving into your own properly.

Under normal circumstances he would have chastised himself for exhibiting such softness; cautioning himself to be more prudent even in your assuaging amity. But it felt terribly easy now to recite those words, even when doused in raw honest undertones.

" I'm scared of ending up alone." Again. He inwardly added, squeezing his eye shut. His voice was small, uncharacteristic of the teasing tone that laced his tongue. No snarky comment, flirty one-liners or fallacious words. He pressed a peck to the crown of your head as though sealing the daunting declaration with verdity.

He was unsure how much time passed but Dazai cradled close to you, whispering light phrases under breath, not yet prepared to voice them properly to you. Truthfully, he was addicted to you, and he briefly wondered what he did to find himself in this moment. Rummaging his mind did little to alleviate his pondering, but it did swarm his heart with an abnormal amass of warmth. A wistful expression would consume him the more he reflected upon your shared moments.

He wasn't some port mafia executive, he was Osamu Dazai in your embrace. And he selfishly desired for that not to change. For the sun to not rise just so he may soak in your attention with greed and rest his head against your shoulder. He wishes to hear your pulse in his ear, to remind him that you're very much real.

He almost can't stop the guilty grin that stretches on his cheeks when the familiar rhythm resonates in his ear. And contrary to the abode you provide him, it also makes his throat go dry and threaten to squeeze his breath away - unsure how long you will remain in his arms.

When you nuzzled your back into his chest, he couldn't help but squeeze your hands, his lips falling on that pulse point on your shoulder. Even if he wasn't able to sleep, his gaze inched closer to you, committing your small details to memory before flickering back to the ceiling. But more and more he came to immerse himself in your person both willingly and subconsciously.

He never meant to get attached, but maybe if it was you, it wouldn't be so bad.

-

Erm. I wrote this at 2am , idk if this even makes sense 💀

Event Taglist; @eynnwwyjth @himebwrries @seiiblue

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[sorrowsofsilence]

echo of my shadow • ns

pairing: noah sebastian!ghost x fem!reader

words: 1.7k

warnings: implied death, not necessarily 18+ but implied smut (fem!masturbation w/ mention of orgasm), mention of afterlife / paranormal existence

summary: his soul was lost, bound to find yours again in this life…and in every lifetime to come.

authors note: one of my fav movies is Just Like Heaven, and this was kinda inspired by that- and by auroras song Echo of My Shadow. I’d have to say this is probably one of my most emotional pieces other than “desolate love”, and I’m so proud of how it turned out. The “cover” pic is inspired by @veronicaphoenix s layout! (I adore how you present your work!)

“If I stay here any longer, I will stay here forever And the echo of my world will fade Will the edge of my sorrow be gone in the morning?”

Seasons changed and the years moved on, yet he remained the same.

Noah never knew why he stayed. Perhaps it was heartbreak, the loss of his love that restrained him; years dedicated to the mourning of his first and only devotion.

And as he wandered the earth he never knew what he was meant to find, until he saw you, the oak bench you sat upon withered with age.

At that moment his world stilled as his feet stopped carrying him across the gravel, the air around him stagnant as though the clock finally stopped, after all this time.

The sun was warm against your skin as the pencil scribbled across the page of your notebook. The dream was always the same, and reality faded as thoughts floated to the scene that had bothered you for months.

You sat along the river, waiting, and once his eyes met your own, the smile he gifted you made everything disappear- everything except him.

You swore he was a stranger, someone you never met before; but with each subconscious greeting he felt familiar, like a blanket being wrapped around you as you basked by a window, enthralled with the nostalgia of a thunderstorm.

It was as if his memories were being woven into an intricate tapestry, placed in your mind for his narrative to shine, ready to entangle with your own.

His voice was the only whisper evident in your realm of sleep.

As time passed the memories began to consume you, blurring the lines between reality and fiction; the image of him surrounding you even when awake.

These dreams carried on for months, and everything felt like it led up to this moment as you finally sat in the place that beckoned your name.

If he wasn’t here, perhaps you lived in a world of delusion, fated to fall into an abyss of lost vitality.

How would one mourn the loss of a dream?

As your pencil took over you let yourself rewrite his stories, the presence of him stronger with each stroke.

Noah stood further ahead on the path, a slight breeze inviting him closer, causing his long brunette hair to sway as his heart raced, knowing that pieces of himself were amongst the words you wrote.

He tried not to smile as you jot down the remembrance of him from your subconscious, watching as your leg bounced in concentration, fingers rising to tuck your hair behind your ear.

After all these years he thought you were gone. That his eyes would never find yours again.

With each step his soul yearned harder for yours, legs carrying him down the path.

He then stopped, mind rushing: what if you didn’t want him? What if you didn’t love him the way he had always loved you?

And as he stood there, vulnerable and afraid, you closed the notebook.

Shivers ran down your spine despite the sun that graced your skin, and your heart began to pound. His presence engulfed you as you pulled the book to your chest.

There was no one else in this world that could make you this nervous, it had to be him.

So, was he real?

Noah’s ears echoed as he watched you suck in a breath, leg bouncing faster as seconds passed.

Should he say something? Should he just walk away?

But then your head turned and your gaze met him, his October eyes staring into your spirit with longing.

He had been a soul with no home until he found you.

As he smiled with awe you couldn’t help but let one fall upon your lips in mimicry, the anxiety you once had leaving, replaced by the manifestation of him.

“If my life is just a moment and this world is ancient Then the light through my window will fade Young mountains, old rivers, I let them become me Right now”

Your skin grew cold as he stepped closer, and he hesitated to sit beside you for a moment before joining you on the bench.

Your eyes never left his, afraid he would disappear if you looked away.

He smiled again, and you melted, immersed in the world he had to offer.

Noah’s gaze was fixated as his eyes danced across your face, entranced, “You’re here.”

He knew you were in a different body, but you were the same soul that once encaptured his own; his very being devoted to you in every single life, until the day he perishes completely.

And although he was bound to this earth, the mere idea of you existing once again eased his racing mind, memories of the past leaving him something he hadn’t felt in a long time…hope.

“You’re not just a figment of my imagination,” You laughed quietly, almost reassuring yourself as it took everything in him to not reach for your hand, afraid to scare you away.

Noah shook his head and you studied his brunette locks, immersed in how they flowed and caressed the sides of his face. Your eyes trailed across his tattoos which had faded due to time, and somehow in the back of your mind, you remembered the stories of what each one meant.

You relaxed as he lingered next to you, his presence innately familiar and comforting. You recognized the way his hands rested on his thighs and the way his inked fingers brushed his hair away from his cheeks.

Your eyebrows narrowed in contemplation as if you’ve lived this moment before, not just in a dream. The Deja Vu made you feel like you’ve known this man for years- as if you’ve spent countless hours with him.

“Stay right here, stay in the light, my dear Until the love you crave falls in your arms, ooh I know your mind moves like a wave sometimes If you can't rise for us, do it for love”

You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around his torso, head pressed against his chest while he whispered delicate words into your ear.

It was the soul’s recognition of past connection.

“I’ve spent years searching for you,” Noah whispered, leaning toward you for a moment before pulling himself away, hesitating.

His words warmed your heart, the intimacy behind them a testimonial memoir to what once was.

“What makes me so special?” You asked, harboured by doubts at the stranger’s confession. How did he know you this whole time?

How have you not known him?

“You won’t remember,” He said thoughtfully, turning his gaze away from you for just a moment, staring at the water ahead, “Until I show you.”

The two of you watched the river carve through the sediment, years of memories washing along the path it created. Its song mirrored the echo of your love, entranced in the shadows your body created against the soil beneath you.

“I’ve dreamed of you,” the soft words left your lips as you pulled the notebook from your chest, resting its pages on your lap. Your thumb brushed along the suede cover, tempted to expose its secrets to the man next to you; but he already knew what was written.

“I know,” He replied, turning to watch you with admiration, “You called me here.”

Shaking your head you laughed, “But how? You were the one haunting my mind.”

“Your soul was finally ready.”

Noah was radiant, his skin almost glowing from the sun that shone above. He was here, and every other worry and thought left your mind, captivated by him.

You opened the notebook, showing him the pages of your words.

“You’re Noah,” You breathed, and he bit back a smile, beaming as his name fell off your tongue with an elegance no one but you could muster.

“And you’re Y/N,” he whispered, another cool breeze running down your neck as he breathed your name into the air.

⊹˚.

They were inseparable, as Noah got to know who she was in this life. He learned everything about her new being, who she became, and who she will continue to become.

But as the clock continued, the world was ready to let go of him.

He knew it would be time to go.

She stood in the mirror, her lover standing behind her. And when her soul begged for the stories of their past, he grew the courage to finally touch her, arms wrapping around in armoured protection.

Her body cooled, hands reaching up to hold his apparition as his touch passed the memories of them into her heart.

She loved him, then and now; always and forever.

How will she spend the rest of this lifetime without him?

“Promise me you won’t disappear,” She cried, staring at their reflection with the sorrows of silence embellishing her.

He leaned into her, caressing her earthly body as tears for him fell.

“If I stay here any longer, I will stay here forever Till the echo of my shadow is gone”

Noah promised her he would love her again. He would search for her in every world and every spec of existence he is to be in, just as he had finally done now.

As they laid upon her satin sheets she closed her eyes, his lips ghosting against hers in fated promises. His body sunk further into hers, possessing her being with his eulogy of confession.

Tenderness as sweet as honey, passion as strong as his dedication to her. Everything.

Her fingers danced down her skin, guided by his shadow as she pleasured herself. The breath of his touch against her desire made bumps adorn her skin, the chill from his distant lips gravitating their love.

Noah whispered to her that he would find her when this life came to an end.

“There are heroes within us, there are lovers around us They will be here forever, I know I know, I know”

She reached for him as her body clenched from intimacy, climax approaching as her chest heaved from his memory.

And as he began to fade away she smiled at him: a smile of pain and grief; of fortune and faith.

He would be there, waiting for her on the other side when the time came for them to live together once again.

Tags:

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[kxyera]

How the Ghouls spend time alone (SFW) <3

All fluff, first time i've ever wrote something like this :)

Aurora

I know for a FACT this girl can draw. She can sketch, paint, reference, shade and draw in multiple art styles. She's incredibly proud of her art (AS SHE SHOULD?!) and always draws little sketches of the other ghouls when shes bored or alone. She sometimes rips the pages out and gives it to the ghoul she drew, they always fawn over it and thank her multiple times.

Cirrus

She's a doomscroller. Enough said. She has a screen-time of over 10 hours and is not ashamed whatsoever. She also loves online shopping, she spends at least half her time scrolling to buy things she cant and will probably never afford or wear.

Cumulus

THIS. GIRL. CROCHETS. SHE IS A CROCHET QUEEN. She especially loves making stuffed animals and makes the ghouls little stuffed animals for anti-christmas and their birthdays. They're always personalised and is colour-coded to the giftee's element (EG: Fire = Red wool, Water = Blue wool, Air = White/grey wool, Earth = Green/brown wool, Quintessence = Purple). She loves the time and effort spent in making crochet projects, and absolutely adores seeing the other ghouls' face light up when they're gifted one of her projects.

Sunshine

I feel like she'd just enjoy the alone time. She'd go on walks by herself, skipping and listening to music. She just loves everything and is literally a walking ray of sun. literally.

Swiss

He definitely plays loud music and sings along to it. Other ghouls either love it or hate it, depends on what time of day/night it is. He once woke up Sodo at 2am from it. DEEPLY regretted it. Has always stopped playing music at exactly 10pm after that incident.

Sodo

Depending on his mood, he'll either practice his guitar or go on walks. He almost always practices his guitar as he thinks its the only thing that will keep him focused in on something. He plays to get his mind off of whatever happened and he'll only goes on walks when he knows he needs to properly clear his head.

Mountain

He'd be a gardening boy. His room is full of plants and he knows the exact name of every plant in his room. He'd go out to the ministry gardens and sit underneath one of the trees reading. He's a calm boy.

Rain

You bet your ass if its a rainy day he's out there running around in it. Heavy rain? He loves it. Storm? No problem. Thunder? He'll jump at the large crashes of thunder, but find it to be music to his ears. He takes daily showers and the water has to be cold. He loves cold water (especially in the mornings) and he absolutely has a rainfall shower head. His spare time is spent damp.

Phantom

This little gremlin is a walking pile of chaos. He once baked with the ghoulettes when he was bored. Its safe to say he's now officially banned from the kitchen. Everytime he has spare time alone, he instantly goes to find someone to mess about with. He also plans elaborate pranks to pull on the other ghouls in the future. Yes, he has a notebook with all these plans.

Aether

He’s the type of guy that reads a lot of old novels, always has a book on him. He *loves* H.P. Lovecraft, especially ‘Call of Cthulhu’ and could talk about it for hours by a cozy fire if he had someone to listen

[kopivie]

y'know, it's kinda funny that i asked myself why i write. over the years, people have asked me that a lot. i've had graded assignments ask me that question quite a bit. "why do you write? what is your motivation for writing?"

...my answers were always pretty bleak. "i write because i'm scared to talk to others." or: "i write because nobody will listen to me." and outside of those assignments, i've never genuinely asked myself why i write.

well.. warning for a big ol' dump here, i guess. this blog is basically a diary, so you know the drill.

the story always starts in the same place: in the back of the empty sanctuary of my childhood church with sunlight pouring in the stained glass windows, the colors pooling on the pages of my blue composition notebook. i was ten years old.

looking back on it now, i don't know why my story starts there. i think that's just the earliest time i can remember getting immersed in the act of writing. kind of like how people describe their earliest childhood memory as the day their consciousness fully developed. but that day was so colorful to me – more so than most days from my childhood. an old friend was plinking tv show tunes on the piano at the front of the sanctuary, a few older kids were chatting away in the frontmost pews, and i was standing at the back on the left side near the window, scribbling in my notebook about... magical girl anime. at the very least, i know why i was writing back then.

back then, i had a friend who was writing her own story. completely original with characters she was drawing as she went. the stories were written in screenplay format in her notebook with little doodles to give the stories some life and... i wanted to do that. i asked her to teach me how to draw – which she did with enthusiasm – but what intrigued me more was the writing aspect. i already had a habit of conjuring up vivid imagery in my head when reading, but the thought of being able to do that myself was amazing to me.

my ten year old brain lacked the creativity to create characters from scratch. naturally, i had to start with something i already loved – something i could easily reference and build up from there – so i started with sailor moon.

sailor moon, tokyo mew mew, pripara, pretty rhythm: aurora dream, precure... (all of which used to be uploaded to youtube with each episode fragmented into three parts, i might add.) ...that's where my writing journey begins. i used to write fanfiction in the same screenplay format. i filled several notebooks cover to cover with my big, messy handwriting. i wish i still had those notebooks. but the point is that i had no need for the artwork – my mind was enough.

i later developed a love for mythology – greek mythology, specifically. it expanded into astrology, anthology, and gemology... i would always weave these things into my works somehow. my love of linguistics would come into play as i'd learn languages and cultures just to use them for the sake of giving my writing more depth.

now that i'm looking back on all of this, i... don't think i ever had a purpose. when i began, i wanted to be like my friend. i wanted to show her that i could do it, too. later, i just wrote because i wanted to create characters in the animated worlds that i loved to lose myself in; it was a form of escapism, i think. it was definitely escapism from high school onward since my mental health worsened from 2017-2022, but before that.. there's nothing.

which is a little scary, y'know? realizing that i lack a purpose – that my writing lacks a purpose. the very hobby i decided to dedicate my future to feels meaningless now.

i wrote to replicate someone else. i wrote to escape my own thoughts; i wrote to comfort myself when i needed affection the most: i wrote to comfort and connect with others, but i also wrote to shield myself from my own reality.

i think the reason why this feeling of existential dread exists is because i'm finally in a place where i'm perceiving myself. for almost a decade now, i didn't want to be perceived by anybody, much less myself. i didn't think of myself as a person. i didn't exist. i was just some worthless lump of meat on this doomed earth who just so happened to know how to string words together. i was irreversibly flawed and unlovable.

i'm at a point where i now know what kind of person i am. i can look back on how broken i once was and be saddened by the pieces. i can finally pick up those pieces and put them together; i can set them aside and start anew using those pieces as a reference. what i'm saying is: i can see myself. i finally know what i look like. (i still don't understand how i look to others, but that's besides the point.)

but when my whole purpose for writing was to avoid that – to avoid seeing myself – what happens now? why do i write?

that's the reason why i haven't written about anything for a while now. i have nothing to hide from. i wither and rot for a few days at a time and then come out stronger, ready to brush it all away and move forward. i never did that before. before, i would wither and rot for months, and write to fill the void. i wrote recklessly and without abandon just to get my feelings out there in hopes that someone would hear my voice and know that i'm alive.

in essence, i saved my life through writing. literature saved my life. but now that i've taken the reins, i don't know what to do.

i refuse to leave it behind. i still have my creative spirit. i still have these passing ideas, these bursts of inspiration that characterized my teenage years. but the flames of passion die quickly without any kindling, leaving me lost. i feel hollow without writing but lighter without my agony weighing me down all the time.

...i'm lost. i don't know what to do. i'm more insecure in my writing than i have ever been in my entire life, and that scares me. i want to try, but there's this... block. a lack of emotion that i can't quite explain. there's more apprehension than there is inspiration, so my creativity shrivels up and dies, leaving me disgusted and horrified by myself. i don't know what to do.

i'm not going to give up.

i'm not. little by little, i will try to find my new meaning. i don't know what it will take for me to find it, but i will. maybe i'll just sit and do some research on my favorite topics when i get home? do some bullet journaling on my favorite things and dedicate time to making pages of my favorite facts. maybe something will blossom then.

[silver-rings-and-rabbits]

Open Heart - Chapter 14

Hearing Impaired

Matthew dressed and went straight to Edenbrook, without even catching any of his roommates on the way out. He barely paused as he walked through the hospital’s entrance, going straight up to Chief Emery’s office with measured breathing. He only slowed down when he heard the voices inside.

“…can’t allow yourself to be seen as weak or unsure, Aurora. You have a name and so much talent to live up to.”

“But—”

“It’s OK. Just rest and study up and you’ll be better tomorrow.”

There was a brief pause and then the door opened, revealing Aurora looking furious…but the minute she saw Matthew, her face flooded with shame and she ran down the hallway. Matthew hesitated, wondering if he should go after her.

“Is someone there?” Harper called.

It was now or never. Matthew squared his shoulders as he entered the office. Harper raised her eyebrows.

“Dr Valentine…I’m sorry, but if you think a personal appeal is going to change my mind about this investigation—”

“I’m not asking you to change your mind.”

Matthew closed the door and stood in front of Harper’s desk.

“Everyone keeps telling me to keep my head down and keep myself safe, but I need to stand up for what’s right. So yes. I’m the one who administered V-3706 to Mrs Martinez.”

Harper sat back in her chair. She just about managed to keep her face smooth…except for a twitch in her jaw as she fought the urge to drop it open. Matthew stood on the front-line, appearing certain but his heart pounded and he felt a little light-headed.

“You’re…confessing,” Harper murmured. She sighed and looked up at him. “You understand what this means, Dr Valentine?”

“Yes.” Matthew nodded. “But I want the chance to defend my choices and my future at an ethics hearing.”

Harper nodded slowly, pursing her lips. She uncapped a pen and reached for a notebook.

“I admire the courage it must have taken to walk into my office and tell the truth, so I’ll call your hearing. Keep working for now, I’ll be in touch about the next stage.” She paused after writing Matthew’s name at the top of a page. “You know if you lose…and it’s highly possible…you’ll never work in medicine again.”

The possibility broke Matthew’s heart, but continuing to keep this secret from everyone for what seemed an infinite amount of time might have broken him.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You’re crazy.”

It was later that night and Matthew was sat in the living room. His roommates surrounded him, wearing gobsmacked expressions as he told them about that morning. Jackie had broken the silence first.

“Agreed,” Elijah said. “Damn, Matthew…”

“And she’s calling a hearing?” Sienna asked as she cuddled Spooky in her hands. Matthew nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Jackie asked.

“The guilt was killing me. I don’t regret confessing. Whatever happens now, I’ll deserve it.”

“Martyr,” Jackie scowled. “You’re fighting though, right? I’ll help you prepare your arguments if you want.”

“Same.”

“And me.”

“Thanks guys,” Matthew said, smiling slightly. “The thing is, I can’t decide whether or not to tell my mom.”

The other three exchanged glances at that.

“I think you’ll disagree,” Jackie said. “But I wouldn’t, at least not until I had a definite answer.”

“I’d tell my family,” Sienna said.

“What would happen if you didn’t tell her?” Elijah said. “It would still be a secret you’re keeping, and you don’t want her to find out from an outside source. What if the press finds out?”

“At this point I wouldn’t trust the snake to not sell the story if he got the chance,” Jackie said, and Matthew shuddered at the idea of Holly finding out via Landry. “I think I heard that he’s paying another intern to sleep on their couch whilst he’s between apartments.”

“Really? I assumed he was sleeping at the hospital,” Elijah said, as the two of them headed for the kitchen. Elijah went for coffee, Jackie started boiling water for noodles. Matthew sat back to watch Spooky scampering over the floor as he pondered his friends’ advice. He didn’t have to think about it for long; Elijah had been right about the secrets.

He slipped into his room, quietly closing the door, and sat at his desk that was currently cluttered with notes and books. Remy’s ukulele was balanced on a few nails in the wall. Matthew stared at it as he waited for Holly to pick up her phone. A small part of him hoped she wouldn’t pick up, but when she did, the sudden rush of homecoming lifted his spirit a little.

“Matthew!! What a nice surprise!”

She sounded delighted. Matthew felt a tiny bit guilty that he had gone for so long without calling.

“Hey Mom, how are you?”

“Doing good. It’s been busy over here, we got some new riding students with the beginning of the school year, which is great, but now there’s all the admin and juggling their lesson times whilst I’m still working at the café. Still, better than trying to stretch the budget…”

Matthew smiled as he listened. When he’d left for college, Holly and Rob had a handful of kids who were learning to horse ride. By the time he graduated, it had become a full-on riding school.

“How about you, Matthew? How’s Rafael and your friends?”

“Um…Rafael got hurt rescuing people after a subway derailment.” Matthew bit his lip, remembering the surgery. “He’s OK though, he just needs to take some time to recover.” He took a deep breath and cut to the chase. “Mom…there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“What’s wrong?”

Matthew told her everything that had led to him standing in the chief’s office that morning.

“She’s agreed to call an ethics hearing so I can defend myself, but the final decision comes down to the ethics committee.”

“So if they decide…?”

“They can clear me, or decide to revoke my medical licence.”

Matthew moved from his chair and flopped onto his bed. He was scared, he couldn’t deny it, but worse than the ethics hearing was Holly’s reaction. There was a long pause and then Holly gave a very deep sigh, which really hit Matthew’s guilty conscience.

“Mom, I don’t regret what I did, and Mrs Martinez wanted her freedom more than anything—”

“I’m not mad at you Matthew, you’ve always tried to do what’s best for other people. It’s just, sometimes, I wish you’d think with your head rather than your heart.”

“I know,” Matthew murmured.

“Well, it’s in the past. You’ve just got to face the consequences, whatever they may be,” Holly said. “How do you prepare for this? Will you need testimonies or something?”

“I think so, I’ll have to get residents and attendings on my side.”

“What about Dr Ramsey? He’d be great.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Matthew winced. That was a problem he was not about to get into.

“What if…if it doesn’t go how you want? Will you want to stay in Boston?”

“I think so,” Matthew nodded. “My friends are here, I don’t want to just walk out on them.”

He could hear Holly’s smile in her voice. “I’m glad you found such a close-knit group of friends, you seemed to miss out on that at college. But listen, Matthew, you know that whatever happens, you can always come home for a little while. You’ll always have a place to stay at my house.”

“I know.” Matthew grew wistful as he pictured their small house overlooked by a mountain. “Thanks Mom.”

They chatted and caught up for another hour. Holly was outraged when Matthew confirmed it was Landry who ratted him out. She called him a devious little backstabber, which surprised Matthew so much he burst out laughing. It was relaxing for Holly to hear, and she was always happy to hear about the rest of his friends.

“I still can’t believe you haven’t met them.”

“Do you want me to come up for your hearing?”

“No, don’t worry. I know it’s hard for you to get time off on short notice.”

“OK, we’ll keep trying. And you’ll keep me updated with the hearing?”

“Of course.”

Holly wished Matthew luck before saying goodbye. It was nice to hear her voice again, he missed her more than he realised. He might have been approaching twenty-seven, but he could have done with her company.

Over the next few days, Matthew caught up with Rafael, Bryce and Kyra over what was happening. Bryce was as shocked as Jackie had been, Rafael looked at him with admiration, and Kyra called him a bad-ass, making him promise that he would still visit her, no matter what. She’d had an intensive round of chemo, but showed a little progress and was hopeful for a few days discharge over Matthew’s hearing, if they were lucky. And then Matthew got an email that he would have a pre-liminary hearing the next day at 11AM.

He stood in front of the double doors of the conference room – which had suddenly become extremely imposing – with measured breathing, reminding himself of why he was doing this in the first place.

“You sure you don’t want us to go in with you?” Bryce asked.

“I’ll be fine. This part will be over quick.”

“Good luck.” Sienna squeezed him. “We’ll be rooting for you.”

Matthew tried not to think about the room’s precise capacity as he entered and walked to a podium that faced an eight-seated panel. One of the chairs was empty; Dr Banerji’s position had never been refilled. That left Dr Tanaka, Dr Lozoya, Dr Chandra, Dr Wen, Dr Cyrus, Dr Rosario and Chief Emery, who was sat in the middle. Some of them might have once looked at Matthew with respect…but now they looked at him coldly.

A rustle and a cough from a few seats away distracted him, and his eyes darted to the side to see Declan Nash sitting as casually as he might in the cinema, a smug smirk on his face. Matthew gritted his teeth and turned back to the panel.

“Good morning, Dr Valentine, and thank you all for coming to this preliminary hearing,” Chief Emery said. “In three days time, we will hear witness testimony regarding Dr Matthew Valentine’s conduct surrounding the death of Mrs Teresa Martinez, after which the board will vote whether to revoke Dr Valentine’s privileges at Edenbrook. Do you understand, Dr Valentine?”

“I understand, Chief Emery.”

Dr Wen took over. She was the chief lab technician but Matthew had never interacted with her directly. She spoke very sternly.

“Depending on the outcome, the Massachusetts state medical board will then review whether to revoke your licence as well.”

“Do you have an opening statement, Dr Valentine?” Dr Tanaka asked. He had started to recognise Matthew as one of Bryce’s friends and would nod at him when they passed in the hall. There was no amicability on his face now.

“I regret breaking the rules.” Matthew had straightened his arguments the night before. “But I don’t regret helping Mrs Martinez.”

“You’re saying that, given the chance, you’d do this again?”

Matthew had prepared for this question too.

“Yes. She was being let down by greed and cowardice, trapped here when a potential cure for her disease existed.”

Matthew thought he heard a scoff from Nash, but Chief Emery was speaking over it.

“You knew there was a risk the medication would kill a woman of her age.”

“So did she,” Matthew countered. “Mrs Martinez considered her options and chose to live, no matter how briefly, over another decade of loneliness and isolation.”

“So you say, without evidence to support your claim.”

“I care about my patients, Dr Tanaka, and that means their mental well-being as well as their health. I’m fighting for my career and I want that to be a career where the quality of a patient’s life matters.”

“Thank you, Dr Valentine. Your passion is certainly noted,” Chief Emery said. There might have been a note of admiration in her voice, but she banged the gavel and returned to her purely professional manner.

“Dr Valentine, you are hereby suspended from all duties until the conclusion of the hearing. Please hand in your badge and see to your residents about reassigning your cases.”

Matthew remembered how Ines had greeted him on his first day as he removed his badge and handed it to Harper. Still, he tried to think positively as he prepared to leave. Declan Nash caught him on the way out.

“What are you grinning about?” he asked, nastily.

“Trying to stay positive,” Matthew said smoothly, without looking at him.

“Yeah? Well, I’m positive you’re gonna be out on your ass,” Declan snarled, leaning closer to get into Matthew’s face. “In a few days you’ll be going by the way of Ethan Ramsey…unemployed.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes a fraction as Declan pushed past him, letting the door swing shut in Matthew’s face.

As soon as Matthew had received instructions from Zaid and Ines, he was passing off his cases to his fellow interns…but not before sprinting up to Rafael’s room to tell him about the hearing. Rafael wished him luck but looked anxious, and Matthew knew the feeling.

There was only one intern left to track down but no one had seen her. Matthew frowned as he searched the corridors, wondering if she was in Chief Emery’s office, when he heard a sob coming from a nearby supply closet. Fearing Sienna was having another difficult patient, he carefully opened the door, only to find Aurora Emery herself. She was huddled on the floor, bawling her eyes out. Make-up streaked her face.

“Hey, get out!” she shrieked, when she saw him.

That might have been the smart thing to do, but Matthew seemed to be developing a taste for less-smart decisions and shuffled into the closet, closing the door. Aurora glared up at him.

“Go ahead and say it.”

“Say what?”

“That I don’t deserve to be here! That I’m riding the back of my aunt’s success and I don’t deserve top spot. It’s all anyone ever wants to say to me,” she ranted, with another sob.

“Er…are you OK?”

“Do I look OK? I’m crying in a freaking supply closet!” Aurora tipped her head back against the shelves as more tears made their way down her face. Matthew shifted awkwardly on the spot.

“OK….what happened to make you cry in a supply closet?”

“Everything, OK? Everything…I’m just so goddamn tired.”

Matthew bit his lip.

“Why don’t you talk to your aunt about it? Surely she’d help with whatever’s bugging you.”

“My aunt, don’t you get it? She’s the problem!” Aurora cried. Matthew had never seen her like this. “I thought she’d lay off whilst she was busy with your hearing,” Aurora continued. “But she’s pushing me even harder. You all think I have an easy ride just because of her – which is, frankly, insulting – but you have no idea how much she expects of me.”

“Because of the family name?”

“Yeah, that. Also the fact that she hates being an administrator.” Aurora’s eyes narrowed. “Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to live through me because she doesn’t get to practice surgery anymore. She makes Zaid and Ines give me the most complicated cases and then she calls me into her office to talk about them for hours. She just grills and grills until I get to an answer. And then I get a moment to myself and I’m flocked by those…those leeches. It’s like med school all over again.”

Out of breath and miserable, Aurora looked up at Matthew.

“You have no idea what it’s like having all your achievements undermined, and having everyone trying to be your friend just because they want to get in with your family.”

Matthew felt guilty all over again for accusing Aurora of sabotaging him, when he’d had no proof except that she didn’t like him that much. It was bad enough being pressurised everywhere you turn, and then he had gone and snapped at her in the corridor. He might have apologised, but it didn’t excuse it.

He sat down on the floor beside Aurora and she blinked at him, still a tiny bit suspicious.

“I didn’t know you were having such a hard time,” he said, gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Like you care.” Aurora said, wearily. There was no bite to her voice, just that she’d heard it millions of times before. People being rude to her and accusing her of nepotism, then changing tack and sucking up. It would never end.

“Honestly? I had no idea who your aunt was.”

“Seriously? Did you learn medicine in the woods or something?”

“That’s what Jackie said.” Matthew had a half-smile as he remembered.

Aurora wiped her eyes, thinking over her interactions with Matthew. Besides blowing up in the hallway – which she could admit she had provoked a tiny bit – he had been mostly nice. They had come together during the subway crash with no problem…and he had stepped in before Ramsey could chew her out for forgetting to check back on a patient on their first day.

“You…haven’t been the worst,” she said. “It’s just…people in general.”

Matthew hesitantly lay a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m guessing you’ve been let down so much in the past that you’ve kind of given up on giving people a chance?”

Aurora nodded.

“I get that, you don’t want to give your trust to people who will break it. But the thing is, if you never give yourself a chance to be wrong, you’ll never be right either.”

The prospect of Aurora spending her entire career with her current perspective was a lonely one. In Matthew’s quiet company, he wasn’t so bad. And they did seem to make a good team. Maybe she didn’t want him to be fired after all.

Matthew squeezed her shoulder and then handed her his charts.

“I’ve been suspended so you get my best cases.” He paused and looked her in the eye. “You’re their doctor now, not your aunt.”

Suspension officially underway as soon as the last chart left his hand, Matthew stood and left Aurora to it. She watched him, slightly surprised.

Leaving Edenbrook at that time of day felt like falling into the twilight zone. Everything was the same, but something was distinctly out of place. If he left the hospital in the daytime, it was under the weight of exhaustion, but now he walked down the street, looking all around him as people rushed about their lives. So this was how it felt for the office workers, who had freedom to step out the office for an hour’s lunch break. What a novelty.

Matthew had something of a plan in mind: he emailed as many former patients as he could who would be able to testify for him, then stop by the library and find as much as he could on medical law and experimental treatments. He was on edge, but it made for a very productive afternoon. His brain burned with information, to the point where he decided not to set an alarm for the following morning.

He slept right through his roommates preparing for work and finally woke up just before noon, feeling oddly refreshed to wake up naturally. He showered and dressed, pausing at Landry’s room on his way to the kitchen. The bed covers were crisp and smooth having had no one sleeping under them for a few days, and there were odd gaps in the bookshelves where he’d already taken some books with him.

Matthew fried up some sausages for brunch, pondering what to do with the day on his own. It seemed that everyone was in the hospital for one reason or another and it was a little sad to be the only one on the other side of the door.

A loud squeak caught his attention and he glanced down to see Spooky hopping around the kitchen floor. He picked her up and offered his shoulder as a perch.

“Well, Spooky, what do you think we should do with our lives?”

The chinchilla did nothing.

“Good idea. Let’s watch TV.”

Matthew settled onto the couch, Spooky hopped onto his stomach, and he flicked through the daytime channels, wondering if he was going round the bend. He couldn’t just sit and zone out to the TV, it was too unproductive. He’d never really had this much free time since before med school and now he didn’t know what to do with it.

His eyes wandered round the room before settling on the phone he had left on the coffee table. He had emailed Ethan, alongside some other residents, but there had been no answer. Had he been written off as a lost cause, or had something happened with Naveen that was taking all Ethan’s time?

Voices and a key in the lock made him jump, then his roommates, plus Bryce, poured into the living room.

“Surprise!” Sienna sang. “We come bearing brunch!” She was holding carrier bags full of delicious smells.

“Wait, what—”

“We weren’t going to let you sit here and be miserable on your own. That’s a group activity!”

“But how—”

“We called in some favours and switched shifts!”

They were all grinning at him.

“You guys didn’t have to do this!”

“Admit it,” Elijah laughed. “If it were any of us, you’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“No buts!” Bryce said, loudly, settling down beside Matthew. “We’re here and we only slightly regret agreeing to this.”

Spooky sniffed Bryce curiously and he was instantly distracted, having never met her before. He and Sienna fussed over her as Matthew turned to Jackie.

“Are you sure? I mean…the competition. You could still win this thing.”

Jackie, however, shook her head. “They’re keeping up the rankings for now, but with Banerji and Ramsey gone, it’s unlikely there’ll be a team next year anyway.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, enough of that. Mimosa time!”

Matthew watched in awe as they set up a spread of cooked foods, pastries, fruit juice, mimosas, and even a pot of coffee with a fancy brand of coffee beans. They had really gone all out, cementing themselves as Matthew’s favourite people.

Spooky had to be closed in her cage, away from the food, where she squeaked at them indignantly and pointedly ignored her own helping of pellets and water. Meanwhile, the roommates dug in to their feast.

“Where did you find these croissants, Sienna?”

“There’s a pop-up bakery in town. Danny recommended it to me.”

“Ooooh, he did, did he?”

“Shut up!” Sienna was blushing and giggling furiously. Bryce turned to Matthew.

“That reminds me, Sienna and I checked in on Rafael before we left. Figured you wouldn’t want him to be abandoned, and he’s still healing really well.”

“Thanks Bryce. That’s great to hear.”

“He’s a cool guy,” Bryce nodded. “He should hang out with us more often.”

“I’m sure I can convince him to do that,” Matthew said, as the doorbell rang. They glanced around at each other before Jackie answered the door warily to reveal Ines and Zaid.

“What are you doing here?” She greeted them.

Zaid put on a creepy smile. “We’re here for mimosa brunch, obvi!”

“Really?”

“No, not really!”

Nevertheless, they invited the residents inside and offered coffee and food. Ines touched Matthew’s shoulder, lightly.

“We wanted to check on you when we could. Who else have you recruited to testify on your behalf so far?”

Zaid took over the explanation: “Since the board is spending these days finding…oh my god, what the hell is that thing?” He had just seen Spooky, who had pressed her nose to the cage, looking directly at Zaid, whiskers twitching.

“That’s Spooky! She’s our chinchilla,” Sienna giggled. “Want to say hello?”

“Absolutely not.” Zaid glared at the cage before turning back to Matthew. “As I was saying, the board will be recruiting witnesses, but you’ll need plenty of people to defend you.”

Matthew thought aloud.

“I’ve emailed my patients…I guess senior physicians will be useful, they carry a lot of weight…”

“No, you need…oh, senior physicians, yes. Sorry, just so used to correcting you.”

Matthew ignored the jab. Ines gave him an encouraging smile.

“I know you don’t know the senior staff that well, but it’s Sunday…and great golfing weather! If you were to head down to King Charles Country Club, it’s a great opportunity to get to know them.”

Matthew’s jaw dropped and he glanced round at his friends, who were just as surprised.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Why do you think?” Zaid scoffed. “You getting kicked out of the program looks bad for us.” He stalked out the door. Ines sighed and turned back to Matthew.

“He’s been worried about you all week. We both have. You might be our interns now, but one day we want you to be our colleague. Good luck,” she added, following Zaid out.

A contemplative silence filled the room for a minute.

“What the hell are we supposed to do at a country club?” Jackie muttered.

“Do any of us even know how to golf?” Sienna asked.

“I can, a little,” Elijah said. “They have these motorised standing carts for disabled players. I’m not great though.”

“Trust me, as long as you look great, nothing else matters,” Bryce insisted. “These doctors probably all suck at golf too. You’d better get changed Matthew, you look like you’ve just tumbled out of bed.”

“You’re just jealous,” Matthew taunted as he stepped into his room to change and brush his hair. He didn’t know what you were supposed to wear at a country club, just that their members tended to be old, rich snobs. He settled on a pale blue shirt, smart white pants and a pale yellow knit that was better suited for spring time weather. He knotted it round his shoulders and hoped he looked like someone who knew what he was doing.

Everyone piled into Bryce’s car – which was on the verge of falling apart – for the hour long drive to the country club that overlooked the sea. A nearby lighthouse stood surrounded by sharp rocks and bits of old shipwreck. Matthew wondered which had come first: the wreck or the lighthouse.

The car rolled down a long pathway leading to a pristine white-painted building, with intricate floor-to-ceiling front windows, surrounded by immaculate flowerbeds. Jackie shuddered.

“So, if I were a very important doctor, where would I be?” Sienna mused as they looked around.

“Well, the heads of oncology and cardiology are over there.” Elijah pointed gleefully to a trio of doctors walking out to the golf course. Matthew gulped as Bryce, oblivious, clapped him on the back.

“That other guy leads cardiothoracic surgery. Jackpot!”

“Wait,” Matthew said quickly, stopping them from running ahead. “How am I supposed to impress them? I’ve never even played golf before.”

“I’ve heard about Myles, she’s all about trial by fire. Apparently she’s gunning for the interns to compete for something every year since it makes us work harder. Yannick’s all about evidence and data, I’ve chatted to him about research before,” Elijah said, with confidence.

“And Calais talks about nothing but golf,” Bryce grinned.

“But, for the love of god, don’t look at his nose hair,” Elijah warned as the girls walked on ahead, calling out to the attendings who looked over in surprise.

“Good morning, young doctors. I wasn’t expecting to see interns here,” Calais said. Elijah had been right about the nose hair. Matthew focused on Calais’s eyes only.

“We were lucky enough to have a day off work together and thought we’d put it to good use,” Bryce said, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “What do you say we challenge you to a round of golf?” He shot a covert wink towards Matthew. Meanwhile the attendings shared a chuckle.

“Well, interns v attendings could be fun,” Yannick said. “Losers buy a round of drinks?”

“That sounds expensive,” Jackie muttered, as Bryce sealed the deal.

The group set off with the caddies towards the first hole, and Matthew found himself fall into step with Dr Myles.

“How are you finding life at Edenbrook?” she asked him.

“Brutally challenging,” Matthew said. He didn’t need to lie about this one as he talked about his first year, breaking the news that a patient might never walk again, or a mother had to choose between her own life or her unborn child. It was one thing to study a theory in med school and practice on cadavers, but having a life in your hands depending on a split-second decision was another thing altogether. Dr Myles lapped it all up.

“I know your first year is a steep learning curve, but it’s so important for your career development that you get thrown in the deep end right away,” she said, as they prepared to tee off.

The attendings made decent shots, with Dr Calais landing closest to the hole, then Sienna made a good swing, to her surprise. Bryce’s golf ball almost sailed over the green.

“A little less gusto next time?” Calais laughed. Bryce grinned sheepishly.

“Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

Elijah and Jackie didn’t make such good swings, and then it was Matthew’s turn. He grasped his club, glanced out over the green, back to the ball, let out a breath, and swung clean and true. His ball sailed through the air and landed near Calais’s. His friends looked surprised, the attendings applauded.

“Splendid shot!” Calais commented. “We should play together more often, Doctor…?”

“…Dr Valentine.”

There was a shocked silence from the attendings. His friends held still with bated breath.

“You’re the intern under investigation for the death of Teresa Martinez,” Myles stated. Matthew confirmed he was.

“Let me guess,” Calais said. “You didn’t come here just to play golf.”

“No, Dr Calais,” Sienna said, suddenly. “We need your help.” Her earnest voice didn’t tremble once.

The attendings exchanged glances and, although they weren’t leaping to Matthew’s side, they weren’t storming away in disgust either.

“You know it’s difficult for us to stand up to the board without knowing you, Dr Valentine,” Yannick warned, as he stepped forward. He was surprisingly short. “I, along with many long-term patients and colleagues, consider myself a close friend of Teresa’s. So, first, tell me why you did it. Why did you give her that dangerous medication?”

Matthew suddenly felt slightly indignant.

“I had enough evidence that it could work,” he said, explaining the long night of research he and his friends had conducted. The data they had gathered was bundled up and sat on the desk in his bedroom. It might have just swayed the stern attending.

“Interesting…will you send that to me?”

“Of course. I’ll have one of my friends bring it to you tomorrow.”

“Fantastic.” Yannick suddenly smiled, and Matthew let himself feel a tiny bit optimistic.

“Well, from what I’ve heard, you seem like a smart doctor, and it sounds like you have a lot of promise,” Myles said. “So I’m happy to speak on your behalf.”

“As am I,” Calais confirmed. Matthew hardly dared to believe it.

“Thank you so much, doctors.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Calais warned. “We can only convince the board so much…but, for what it’s worth, we’re not alone in wanting to support you.”

“Everyone at the hospital knows you violated the rules,” Myles said. “But when it comes to your punishment, there have been a few…let’s say, ‘friendly disputes’.”

Sienna looked hopeful. “So…other doctors are rooting for Matthew too.”

“Half of them,” Calais nodded. “The other half want to see his privileges revoked.”

“The entire hospital is at war over this.” Yannick said. “Dr Valentine, if I were you, I’d keep preparing a solid argument for your case, the more, the better; every single decision needs to be justified. And we’ll see you on Tuesday.”

The attendings returned to their game after bidding farewell to the interns, as they got back into Bryce’s car.

“That sounds like you’ve still got a fighting chance,” Bryce said, cheerily.

Matthew didn’t disagree, but he wasn’t going to get his hopes up.

“Come on, senior physicians and Ethan Ramsey on your side! That’s a strong army already,” Elijah encouraged as Bryce pulled away, back down the pathway and into the city.

“But I haven’t heard from Ramsey since he quit.”

“What the hell, Matthew? You need to reach out to him!” Jackie protested. “He still has major clout, even if he quit.”

“Seriously. Text him right now.”

Matthew rolled his eyes, but texted Ethan to ask if they could talk about his hearing and whether Ethan could help. A reply came up almost immediately.

“…He says ‘I hate texting’.”

“That checks out,” Jackie snorted, as Matthew read another text saying they’d have to meet in person, followed by an address.

Later that afternoon, Matthew followed Ethan’s directions to a towering apartment block. It took a minute for Ethan to buzz Matthew in. He lived in the top floor penthouse, and Matthew couldn’t help feeling impressed: shiny black leather sofas, a glass topped coffee table, electric fireplace, a book shelf full of thick textbooks. Yet more floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, basking in the golden afternoon. The only thing spoiling the image was the number of empty mugs and liquor bottles scattering the open-plan kitchen, where the man himself stood.

Ethan looked even more dishevelled and sleepless than when Matthew had last seen him. His stubble was almost a beard, and his eyes were red and heavy. He merely greeted Matthew with a nod.

“…Have you heard from Naveen?” Matthew asked cautiously.

“All I know is he isn’t dead.” Ethan’s voice was rough and empty. “I drive by his house sometimes.”

“Does he know you’re there?”

“I doubt it.”

Ethan picked up a half-empty bottle of scotch that was already open on the counter, offering some to Matthew, who shook his head. Ethan filled a glass and, to Matthew’s alarm, downed it.

“I heard your preliminary hearing didn’t go too well,” he stated.

“Wait, you heard about that?”

“Obviously.”

“Right. So…you’ll testify for me?”

“You have friends for that.”

“But they’re not my mentor. The board will be much more likely to listen to you than a bunch of interns.”

“Ah, but I’m not your mentor either.”

“But—”

“I’m not, Valentine. You were one intern of many, that’s all.”

He had called Matthew ‘Valentine’ and not ‘Rookie’.

“Why are you being so…cold?”

Ethan poured another drink, not looking at him. Irritation flared in Matthew’s head. His career was on the line, and Ethan was not only being less-than-helpful, he was actively disinterested in anything Matthew had to say.

“Come on, you know I’m a good doctor,” he said, not shouting but certainly raising his voice. “You want me to be the best doctor I can be, so help me!”

“I can’t.”

“What’s happened to you? I came to Edenbrook to learn from the Ethan Ramsey—”

Ethan had been taking a drink, but now slammed his glass down on the counter, the dark liquid splashing up over the side.

“This is The Ethan Ramsey!” He exploded at Matthew. “The man who can save anyone except the people he gives a damn about.”

“Wait, one case you can’t solve, and you’re giving up completely? Well, that’s the opposite of what you taught me to do—”

“I already told Harper I wanted to testify for you, alright?” Ethan snapped. “She refused on the grounds that I’m too biased and you know what? She’s goddamned right!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking older and tired. “There’s nothing else I can do now. I don’t work there, and soon, neither will you.”

Before coming to Edenbrook, Matthew had pictured Dr Ramsey as someone who worked tirelessly night and day, making breakthroughs on the cases everyone else had given up on, because he had the talents to do the most good in the world and saving lives. Ten years into his career and he was still fighting for the system, because insurance companies didn’t take nuances into account, because there was still hope for his patients, and it was never over until it was over.

And yet that man was now stood in the fancy apartment he didn’t care about, with an unkempt beard and greasy hair, bags under his eyes, surrounded by liquor bottles, and no inclination to change. He had given up the fight already. It was extremely disillusioning to think that Matthew had once wanted to be like this man.

“You’re Ethan Ramsey. You could have done more if you wanted,” Matthew snarled. Ethan winced, but Matthew didn’t care anymore. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your drinking, but I need to figure out a way to keep my job. Because someone told me not to give up.”

Matthew slammed the door on the way out.

He didn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning, waking up to the sound of his three roommates preparing for work. He stayed under the covers until he heard them leave, then quickly dressed to go for a run.

He stopped by the library when he was finished, desperately checking out another medical law book, then decided to grab a take-away coffee and pastry for breakfast. One more day to prepare.

He had just about settled on the apartment couch when Landry walked into the living room and they both yelled in surprise.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I…I sent an email! I was going to pack up the rest of my stuff today whilst everyone was working.”

Matthew didn’t remember the email. Maybe his brain was ignoring Landry’s name.

“Thanks to you, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Landry scoffed, pompously.

“I see you still don’t think any of this was your fault.”

“I know what I did,” Matthew spat. “And I’m owning it to the public.”

Landry looked surprised. He really didn’t know much beyond his own conclusions.

“Right. Well. I’m glad. And I hope you don’t get kicked out.”

“That’s really not worth much.”

Matthew glared down at Landry, radiating cold fury, until Landry looked away.

“I’ll, um, finish up and get out of your hair.”

“Better get started then.”

Matthew sat back down and picked up his book. Landry was grunting and huffing as he packed up boxes and hauled them from his old bedroom to the door. Matthew was already in the zone, blocking him out and reading through the pages. He only stopped when he could sense someone looking at him. Landry had finished packing, and they regarded each other coolly.

“Remember when I said I wasn’t going to enter the competition?” Matthew said. He hadn’t realised his friendship would end with a stab in the back. Maybe that was his own shortcomings.

“I remember,” Landry nodded. “I thought Aurora was the threat. I should have realised it was always going to come down to the two of us.”

“It didn’t have to. We could have helped each other.”

“I wish that were the case, I do. But we have the exact same career goal and there was only ever going to be room for one of us at Edenbrook. Until one of us won, it was always going to turn out like this. Tearing everything apart.”

Matthew couldn’t help feeling slightly saddened as the last embers of their friendship died. His friends had been so important to him, but one of them was doomed from the start. Instead of lifting each other up, they had become a battleground.

A battleground…with two sides fighting for the same goal…and sometimes a diagnosis lead to, not one root cause, but multiple causes, all interacting and interfering…Jake Sandberg…Nigel Platt…

“Holy crap…you’ve just helped me figure out what’s killing Dr Banerji.”

[mothgoddesss]

⸻❀❀❀ Bloom. Sky Slim Notebook.

This was a gift from my older sibling and their roommate, and it unexpectedly arrived yesterday!! Even though the book was a lot smaller than I expected (with blank pages), it is still very precious to me. It even came with a bonus little AURORA thingie, too!!

These photos were made for my Instagram, but I wanted to share them here as well! I had such a delight in using a few of my figure props and figures to make such nice set-ups with it.

[kazimirpetrov]

[cismale and he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [KAZIMIR “KAZ” PETROV]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [NICHOLAS GALITZINE]. You must be the [TWENTY EIGHT] year old [WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHER]. Word is you’re [KIND] but can also be a bit [CYNICAL] and your favorite song is [MY TEARS RICOCHET BY TAYLOR SWIFT]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS]. I’m sure you’ll love it!

@aurorabayaesthetic

trigger warnings: car accident, death, cheating

BASIC INFO.

name: kazimir petrov. nicknames: kaz, kazya. age: twenty eight. pronouns + gender: he/him, cis male. birth date: july 7th, 1995. birthplace: london, england. orientation: pansexual. occupation: wedding photographer. length of time in aurora bay: from ages 14-18 before moving away for college. he moved back six months ago.

QUICK FACTS.

despite living in america for half his life, he still has a noticeable english accent.

moved back to aurora bay six months ago to be closer to his father, who had a health scare.

went to nyu and got his degree in photography, then decided to stay in new york because he fell in love with the city.

the only person who calls him kazimir is his father, he's strictly kaz to everyone else.

recently got a dog named kevin who is now practically his son.

has not been back to london since he moved to america.

plays three instruments - guitar, piano and drums.

has a secret songwriting notebook that he's never shown anyone.

BIOGRAPHY.

kaz had what some would call the perfect childhood. he grew up in a house that, though small, was always full of life and laughter. his parents adored him as much as they adored each other and gave him the best life they possibly could. kaz always considered his parents to be his best friends; he could talk to them about anything. he knew this wasn't exactly normal, especially when he was approaching his teenage years. all of his classmates seemed to hate their parents or were constantly complaining about them, something kaz never understood.

unfortunately, kaz soon learned that perfection couldn't last forever. one day, when he was thirteen years old, he said goodbye to his mother as she left to go to the grocery store. he had no idea that would be the last time he saw her. as she was driving back home, a distracted driver ran a red light and crashed into her car, killing her almost instantly. everything changed after that.

if you were to ask kaz what the days, even weeks, after his mom died were like, he wouldn't be able to tell you. everything from that time is a blur, even all these years later. the next thing he remembers with striking clarity is the day his dad sat him down and told him the two of them would be moving to a town in america called aurora bay. a fresh start, his father called it.

kaz thought he'd be sad leaving the place he'd called home for his entire life up to that point but he was actually a bit relieved. everything reminded him of his mother. her favorite mug in the sink (it was one of those shitty "art projects" he made when he was small but she acted like it was the best thing she'd ever gotten) or her reading glasses on the coffee table, the last book she was reading still open to the page she left off on even after all those weeks. even driving past the grocery store she'd been to that day made his chest ache.

they settled into their new home fairly quickly, the distance from london doing both of them some good. kaz even found himself smiling on occasion, something he was almost afraid he'd forgotten how to do. his father seemed to be doing better as well, though he still got that haunted look on his face when he heard a certain song on the radio.

by age sixteen, kaz had finally started to adjust to this new life of his. he actually found himself looking forward to going to school and even managed to make a few new friends, though he found himself not opening up to them as easily as he once might have. still, it felt like things were finally looking up after such a dark period.

that's when he met her... the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. his crush on her was immediate and all consuming and he found himself thinking about her all the time, his stomach doing that fluttering thing he'd always read about in books. after months of pining after her, his friends convinced him to ask her on a date. so, with shaking hands and sweat beaded on his brow, he did just that. to his utter surprise, she said yes and after just a few dates, they were suddenly boyfriend and girlfriend, a first for kaz.

their relationship burned bright and fast but fizzled out just as quickly. they'd only been together for about three months when he discovered she'd been seeing someone else behind his back nearly the entire time they'd been together. suddenly, their entire time together felt like nothing but a lie.

kaz stayed mostly single for the rest of the year, going on the occasional date only to hook up at the end of the night and go their separate ways. that was fine for kaz in the moment, but he couldn't wait to go to college and meet new and exciting people. maybe even someone he could fall in love with.

kaz's parents showed him that true love exists. his dad would still take out their wedding album and spend hours going through every single picture, tears splashing onto the plastic sheeting as he touched his late wife's smiling face, forever frozen in that moment.

his entire life, kaz wanted to find someone like his parents found each other. someone he loved with his entire being, who felt like his missing puzzle piece. someone he could imagine spending forever with.

in his second year of college, he thought he found that person. only for them to cheat on him. twice (that he knows of). well, they hadn't even been together that long so it was fine, kaz reasoned. he'd get over it and find someone else.

throughout college and the few years after graduating, kaz had several relationships that always started out great but ended in heartbreak. at this point, he was starting to think he was the problem. was there something wrong with him? maybe he was just unlovable.

when he was twenty four, he met the one. (spoiler alert: he wasn't the one.) the love of his life. someone that would never hurt him or break his heart. things got serious quickly. within six months of dating, kaz was moving into his boyfriend's apartment and they were spending nearly all of their time together.

at this point, kaz had started his career as a wedding photographer, his goal in life to capture love like in the photographs his father cherished so much. he was on a work trip one weekend, set to photograph a wedding that got canceled at the last minute. slightly disappointed but eager to get back home, kaz decided to surprise his boyfriend by going back home early. he let himself into their apartment and dropped his luggage by the front door before heading towards their bedroom.

all that nervous excitement left his body the moment he saw what was on the other side of the door. he couldn't believe this was happening to him again, especially coming from the one person he truly believed loved him. after kicking the other guy out while he was still struggling to pull his pants back up, kaz immediately packed up the rest of his things, ignoring his now exs' pleas of forgiveness the entire time. this was his last straw.

kaz decided that love just wasn't for him. he'd foolishly thought he could find something like his parents had, but he guessed that kind of love didn't come around very often. his father and even his friends tried to tell him it could still happen someday; kaz eventually tuned them out. he'd learn to be content being single, it seemed easier than ever opening up his heart to someone again.

it maybe seemed ironic, someone with that viewpoint having a career centered around weddings but kaz still believed in love. he just didn't believe in it for him and he was learning to be okay with that.

when he got the call that his father was in the hospital, he was afraid the worst time of his entire life was repeating itself. thankfully, his father ended up being okay but the scare was enough for kaz to move back to aurora bay to be closer to him.

the first few days back felt odd, everything somehow seemed different but also exactly the same. he was enjoying being with his father again; the years since he left for college had created some inevitable distance between them that kaz wanted to close. he found work fairly easily with the town being such a popular tourist destination.

now, six months after moving back, kaz feels like he's right where he's supposed to be. hopefully it stays that way.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

PLATONIC.

best friend / ride or die / friends from high school / new friends since he moved back / neighbors at ocean crest

ROMANTIC.

high school hookups / friends with benefits / flirtationship / tinder or grindr match / one night stand

ANTAGONISTIC.

his high school ex that cheated on him / frenemies

[lacunasbalustrade]

types of people: sources of light.  bold  what  applies,  italicize what  sort  of  applies! Reblog or repost, up to you. Reposted from an rp blog.

@melting-morning-blues @thehistorynut19 @mu1m1-yum3

sun rays.   effervescent smiles. dandelion puffs.   bare feet.   beach waves.   flowers pressed into books. champagne glasses.  rose-gold eye shadow.  boho skirts.   wire-rimmed glasses. hair in loose waves.   kaleidoscope eyes.  sunshine in your hair.   fire in your soul.

incandescent bulbs.   crop tops.  floral print.  dancing in the rain.   quiet defiance. hand-knit beanies.  rosé.  painted bookmarks.  marble floors.  cirrus clouds against a blue sky.   polaroid pictures. hands held. fingers intertwined. flower crowns. baby bluebirds.

stardust.   lace bralettes.   brisk breezes.   jasmine-scented perfume.   books with yellowed pages.   tracking constellations.   sterling silver.   violin music.   chess games.   iced coffee.  glittery dresses.   high heels.   secret grins.  midnight meetings.  wishing upon a star.

candle flames.   denim jackets.   gladiator sandals.  braided hair.   messenger bags. movies at the cinema.   stolen kisses.  wax-sealed envelopes. haiku poetry.   cherry wood. succulents.   fountain pens.  jigsaw puzzles.   soft tired eyes.   hidden smiles.   cuddling with someone you trust.

moonbeams.   newspapers. over-sized sweaters.  dancing shadows.   fleece throws. cutoff shorts. piano chords.  red wine. messy buns.   embossed journals.   a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks.  freshly fallen snow.   tranquil solitude.   burning incense. light hair & dark skin.

auroras.   combat boots.   burgundy lips.   infectious laughter.  spiral-bound notebooks. pencils used down to the stub. ripped jeans.  painted nails. cloud-watching.  summer thunderstorms. hiking trails.  vinyl records. film cameras.  skating on a frozen lake.   hot chocolate by the fire.

fireworks.   dancing until the break of dawn.   heelys.   being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend. the euphoria of soaring through the air. being excited for what the future holds. group hugs. colorful tattoos.  bronzer-highlighted cheeks.   hugging a stuffed animal. lifting a child onto your shoulders. space buns.   bright streaks in your hair.

[askgunpowdertim]

[... Excerpt from notebook labelled "GUNPOWDER TIM - DO NOT READ", written in blocky English letters in simply black pen:

03/01/2023 TUE

The other Ashes said their favorite Mechs songs were UDAD and Thor. Marius also said his favorite is Thor because of the line “Fuck you and fuck your train!“.

It’s also one of my favorites. Marius plays it really well.

Nastya: “if i don’t commit a violence by the end of the day i think i’m going to burst into tears“

Marius is. Courting me apparently. Yeah.

THE GIANT MECHAS WERE APPARENTLY A COURTING GIFT.

catcrumb.

- Gunpowder Tim

[Excerpt from the next page. Written in pink ink. There’s a lot of drawn hearts.]

04/01/2023 WED

The other Toy Soldier got stuck in a vent, I think. The octokittens were tormenting the poor thing. Got the other Ashes to help it as well.

...And they almost burned the poor things too. (The octokittens, not the Toy Soldier. I think they like it too much even think of hurting it.)

Ivy got lost in the bookstacks. Again. Like a loser.

[We have a cool new group blog now btw! @askthemechanisms]

I think there’s a ghost in the ship. Another one.

No dissing my boyfriend. I love them.

Someone asked how we tell the time on the ship. Aurora controls it.

REMINDER: Ramble about Jonny more.

REMINDER: Also hold Jonny more.

REMINDER: Also also kiss Jonny more.

I’m so gay.

Jonny cuddles. Very comfy.

- Gunpowder Tim

[Excerpt from the next page. Written in crayon. There’s some singed edges and smudges of coal.]

05/01/2023 THU

The other Ashes apparently spent the night pinned under some octokittens (lucky bastard) in the commons (not so lucky, but still a bastard).

I love Jonny so much.

Marius asked me out on a date to go blow some shit up in the City tomorrow. My kind of date. :-)

I STAND BY WHAT I SAID. ASHES O’REILLY IS A FUCKING BASTARD.

They said they had something to show me and set me on fire. :-(

My hair is ruined now. :-((( And I have a date tomorrow too! Goddamn it.

They did give me some of their whiskey though.

I met Scuzz. Did some introductions.

Brian is being a cat again.

Bertie is. A ghost? And he made a blog? What. Is this real?

Well. It’s real.

I’m taking a fucking nap.

Catcrumb. 

Also trans rights.

- Gunpowder Tim]

[chiliyue-archived]

Favorite Taste

↬drunk kisses

Includes; Fyodor

Entry; 🍷- feeling a little tipsy?

Tags; Slightly suggestive - just lots of kisses

[Event Navi | M.list] | [Bsd M.List] ♡

-

" Careful not to make a mess, Myshka."

Fyodor's voice hung in the air, clashing in the silence that had taken hold of the ambiance. His tone held a tincture of mirth, lips twitching against the rim of china pinched between his fingers.

Maroon eyes meandered from the book resting in his lap, a dainty finger mindlessly running along edges and outlining the words. Instead, he favored settling his attention on your form, observing your demaneor with great interest. The shift of his gaze was nearly numbing, a jolt cascading down your spine with a mere glance.

A mild besotted look graced upon his features comprised of loose eyebrows and empathized by the shift in his lips - taking on more of a smirk. And his eyes always held that glint. Unwavering yet vacuous - it was terribly hard to know what he was thinking. His body language was poised, and he shrouded himself in a mist of elegance yet composed of an enigmatic quality. It coupled well with his articulated style of tone, orchestrating into a display of palpable deference.

Moments such as these were never uncommon, however, relishing in his presence amongst the poorly lit setting. It was a favorable change to the display of luminescent monitors that had swayed his attention and casted his silhouette from afar, leaving you to ponder when next you would garner his attention. But Fyodor never kept you waiting, compensating with moments such as these, nourished with the poetry pouring from his lips.

And although you were privy to such moments in repetition, it nonetheless yielded a calculated approach on Fyodor's behalf to keep you entertained; your favorite peice of literature perched on the nearby bookshelf, a grandiose chair inched closer to his or a glass of expensive wine at the ready such as now. It casted a light atmosphere, far from arduous despite its supposing poor characteristics; silent, dim and feeling somewhat stiffening. Yet it didn't yield that level asperity and posed as an anomalous to the encounter.

And while he was never the loquacious individual, the hand that reached to brush aside the hairs that flocked your face was grounding of his presence. Additionally, when quoting his thoughts, he had always done so with a calming tone that assuaged the mounting silence, easily luring you with veridical sincerity.

He watched with great amusement as you took a sip of the expensive wine, a brush of magenta becoming pronounced on your lower lip. The more you indulged yourself with a taste, the more your movements became sluggish, liquid swishing hapazardly in the glass with sloppy motions of your hand - however, you still had an acute awareness just as you can sense his glance with facility. What did prove as difficult was pinpointing the cause of your warming cheeks; the alcohol or his persistent gaze.

" You're making a little mess, darling. Allowing extravagant offerings go to waste, hmm?" You nearly flinched as you felt his frigid thumb reach out to brush against your stained lips. Even after he had wiped away the remnants of the substance, his fingers remained - persisting in its circular motions and mapping out feature.

It hadn't even occurred to you that his own glass was long abandoned on the coated surface of lacquer, limb taking place along the flesh of your thigh. You could faintly out the way his nails grazed into the fabrics, light crescents forming beneath.

Wordlessly, a pallid hand slipped to the base of your neck, calloused fingers brushing along your elevated baby hairs. He didn't need to exercise a lot of movement; his face was already gravitating to you, with yourself feeling compelled to close the distance. And as always, he made a pause, just shy of contact and allowing you to eliminate that unwanted space.

He molded a kiss upon your lips sprouting a response far more intoxicating than the wine. It wasn't often he deluged you in saccharin kisses nor to a level as he did now. Chasing your touch with a form of fervor reflected among your most intimate moments. Perhaps its modicum nature made it so addicting, its fruition leaving your chest bubbling at the shared rapport.

Hot breath caressed your cheek, nose brushing along the bridge with each withdrawal. Even with full rapt attention and brewing emotions, he remained steady. The hand you brushed along his shoulder was all the encouragement he needed to bring you closer, proceeding with a collection of kisses and effectively suspending the moment.

A hand crept to your hip, blunt nails busied on leaving light prints from where his fingers trailed. He meticulously massages your dips and curves, flaring your nerves to become captivated on him and him only.

His other appendage curved beneath your chin, hands dexterous from manipulating the cello. His fingers would strike the cords, and out came a harmony unmatched to the etudes and repertoire to the most adroit. However, he found to be the most melodic ballad being the muffled sounds that escaped you, swallowed by the vehement exchanges. It was incomparable to the C, G, D, and A strings that adorned the instruments bridge, taking on an idiosyncratic property he could only recreate with keen affections.

Even as his kisses left your chest heaving in a plea of fresh air, a form of pull cajoled you to take placement back with his own. You could faintly make out a trace of grape that coated his lips, smearing from the corners as his hand guided you once again. Though your own painted pair could be more attributed to the light nibbling - Fyodor drawing back with bottom lip hooked between his caines and coaxing soft gasps in response to the unexpected intimacy.

" Do you want me to refill your glass?" Your voice came as a hushed whisper, weaken to his ministrations with breath prickling his stained ones. His hands ran along down to your waist, thumb purposefully taunting the spine - you could feel his lips curve and arcuate when you were unable to cease your squriming, thoroughly pliable to his obsessional tendencies.

A hum reverbated from his throat, it's echoing ripples undulating against your skin and effectively accentuating the heat that became pervasive along your body. His lips move against yours as he recited his answer, devoided of dubiety and coated with a lucid tone.

" Now why would I want that, Myshka? I have my favorite taste right here."

-

THANK YOU SM <33 YOURE THE SWEETEST . I hope you don't mind this was a little suggestive, I can definitely make a more fluffy version if you like !!

Event Taglist; @eynnwwyjth @himebwrries @seiiblue

If you wish to be added, comment on this post ! Or on the Navi or dm me

[multiversal-madness]

Can we get some more information about the Shattered Future au, please?

Sure thing!

This au has a somewhat similar set up to How Things Change Au. Azran Legacy happens, everyone dies, Aurora tries to bring them back but she can only send one of them back to a previous point in time with all their memories. She ends up choosing Luke and he gets sent back to Last Spectre times.

From Luke’s pov, he just died (rather painfully) in the Azran Sanctuary and woke up in his bed in Misthallery, two years before the sanctuary had been uncovered.

He realises pretty quickly that he’s in the past, but even then things aren’t quite right. There’s a page from his notebook in Eternal Diva in the book he used to keep track of the spectre, he’s wearing Aurora’s pendant and according to Toppy, North Ely smells strangely salty.

On top of all of that, Luke is getting strange feelings and dreams. He isn’t sure just what he’s meant to do or how he’s meant to prevent the Azran Legacy from coming to pass and he’s not having a good time.

This is pretty much just a self indulgent Au for Luke angst, time travel shenanigans and creature designs. I am writing a fic for it, I’m up to chapter 3 but I haven’t posted it just yet, still not entirely sure if I will.

Also this is inspired by ‘Reset’, a fic written by @ 101flavoursofweird with the same premise of Luke getting sent back in time but under different circumstances.

[greypetrel]

3 and 15 from the writer asks? c:

Hello!

Thank you for asking, let me try not to make this OVERLY long xD

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

Ok, so: I started writing again in prose after years of stop. So for that, not to scare me off, I try to have as little rituals and keep myself as free as I can. Usually, it involves a comfy blanket, some very specific music that's not too distracting nor too bland. The soundtrack of Interstellar always puts me in writing mood, as well as Laura Marling's discography.

I generally associate songs to particular pieces or characters, and when it happens, I usually put that one song on repeat to keep me in the mood. Aisling comes out with "The Water" by Johnny Flynn and Laura Marling, for example. Raina is in "Anti-Hero" by Taylor Swift (trash raccoon doesn't want any sophisticated music). For my original comic Till Queendom Come it's Bloodywood or Bajirao Mastani's soundtrack (Except Darcy who's Helvegen, the duet between Wardruna and AURORA.)

For screenwriting and comics, which I've been more consistent with during the years, I need to be outside. In the house I'll SURELY get distracted, so I'll take my notebook and pens and make a little burrow for myself in a cafè with some snack and go on until waiters will kick me away.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

I've been terrorised by my maternal grandma about writing on books, actually. xD

I do write and underline books... But only handbooks or nonfiction books that are meant to be for universities! I take notes on separate notebooks by hand. Always in pencil, highliters are for "definitely a handbook".

I do doghear pages tho, even in novels, when there's a passage I really really REALLY like.

I read in the bath once when I was working part time and studying for a BIG exam, I needed to have a shower and to finish a novel that I had to study for an exam, which I was finding particularly difficult and hard to read ("The Human Stain" by Philip Roth. Great author, but his style is really VERY far from my personal taste. Can see his value, can't bring myself to like it). So I multitasked. I don't do it because I don't like taking baths much, I'm a quick shower girl. xD

I don't judge people who do, I don't particularly like finding second-hand books full of pen notes so much that the text is overwhelmed... But I usually leave them down and don't buy them, so there's really not a problem.

[melting-morning-blues]

types of people: sources of light.  

[ reposted from @lacunasbalustrade! ]

bold  what  applies,  italicise what  sort  of  applies!

sun rays.   effervescent smiles.   dandelion puffs.   bare feet.   beach waves.   flowers pressed into books.   champagne glasses.   rose-gold eye shadow.   boho skirts.   wire-rimmed glasses.   hair in loose waves.   kaleidoscope eyes.   sunshine in your hair.   fire in your soul.

incandescent bulbs.   crop tops.   floral print.   dancing in the rain.   quiet defiance.   hand-knit beanies.   rosé.   painted bookmarks.   marble floors.   cirrus clouds against a blue sky.   polaroid pictures.   hands held.   fingers intertwined.   flower crowns.   baby bluebirds.

stardust.   lace bralettes.   brisk breezes.   jasmine-scented perfume.   books with yellowed pages.   tracking constellations.   sterling silver.   violin music.   chess games.   iced coffee.   glittery dresses.   high heels.   secret grins. midnight meetings.   wishing upon a star.

candle flames.   denim jackets.   gladiator sandals.   braided hair.   messenger bags.   movies at the cinema.   stolen kisses.   wax-sealed envelopes.   haiku poetry.   cherry wood.   succulents.   fountain pens.   jigsaw puzzles.   soft tired eyes.   hidden smiles.   cuddling with someone you trust.

moonbeams.   newspapers.   over-sized sweaters.   dancing shadows.   fleece throws.   cutoff shorts.   piano chords.   red wine.   messy buns.   embossed journals.   a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks.   freshly fallen snow.   tranquil solitude.   burning incense.   light hair & dark skin.

auroras.   combat boots.   burgundy lips.   infectious laughter.   spiral-bound notebooks.   pencils used down to the stub.   ripped jeans.   painted nails.   cloud-watching.   summer thunderstorms.   hiking trails.   vinyl records.   film cameras.   skating on a frozen lake.   hot chocolate by the fire.

fireworks.   dancing until the break of dawn.   heelys.   being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend.   the euphoria of soaring through the air.   being excited for what the future holds.   group hugs.   colourful tattoos.   bronzer-highlighted cheeks.   hugging a stuffed animal.   lifting a child onto your shoulders.   space buns.   bright streaks in your hair.

[hydralisk98]

Klara Wishlist (2024-03.2)

PREFACE

Braindump1 (text-only)

Klara Kér

Female Sex

NB? gender

August 1st 1998

Leo / Lepio

Autistic & lessened ADD

Canadian citizenship

5'8"

144 lbs

Tan skintone

Hazel eyes

Dark brown mid-short hair

Amber earmuffs

Facemasks

Cloven Hoof Shoes

Soft warm natural dark lookbook / wardrobe?

Local friends tribe

Part of a inclusive witch coven

GLOSS maintainer & integral committee power-user groups

Common Lisp copyleft multimedia toolbox (Trial Engine-based?)

Tuxedo Computers builds (GLOSS hardware, custom multiboot, custom branded style for whole machine, mid-range specs on Linux with plenty of peripherals...)

Tuxedo light notebook as laptop

RAID6 NAS 48 TB with double (12 TB) parity each

LTO Tape Storage for mass data facilities

Apple iMac M3-Max 24GB RAM equivalent-system but fully POSIX & FSF-compliant open source computer?

OpenPOWER libre Microwatt build?

IBM LinuxOne mainframe for business intents?

RISC-V embedded dumbphone kinda like KaiOS?

Pinephone Convergence Beta?

Retro computer hardware & software collection

"Ashur" (2014) as home server for Git, RSS, Quakeworld & personal websites & other non-critical lightweight services

ePaper RSS ticker page display?

Writing creative technical documentation for sidestream & obsoleted systems as article threads?

Personalized books & desktop widget plasmoids?

Sovereign online (Monero) shop & blogs

Sovereign tech infrastructure (including Typex rotor machines & RTTY shortwave radio equipment)

Acquiring my home as full ownership (aka fully paid mortgage)

Decent lot / domain (depends alot on wealth & context)

Decent electric vehicle (probably converting a retro VW Beetle car to electric to fully avoid DRM car spywares)

Financial independence & decent wealth + social status to accomplish constructive historical deeds

Luxuries, POSIX + Linux certification paths & other tech certifications

Studious learn, note & iterate daily workflow (Udemy, Domestika, Zenva, GameDev.tv ...)

Safe & libre cyberware, biomods... aka ethical technologies mostly?

Spiritual community & politically active locally and globally

Ava (social assistance synthetic-tier android ENFP erudite blonde, romance or BFF?)

Shoshona (black angora housecat)

University Doctorate as historian/philosopher, with plenty of extra credits from other classes graduated like VLSI integration & probabilistic linguistics for instance

Historian / Multimedia Artist & Programmer combo / Data Engineer

Small bookstore librarian & Pflaumen Coop "autonomous worker"

Plenty of time & energy (~600 years healthy yet active lifecycle)

Constructed language and its localizations

Historical Figures to emulate (especially those in bold)

Naomi Wu

Nicky Case

Yukari Hafner

Ada Lovelace

Klára Dán von Neumann

Christopher E. Lee

John McCarthy

Nicole-Reine Lepaute

Sherman Fairchild

Ken Olsen

Tom Fulp

Linus Torvalds

Richard Stallman

Hedy Lamarr

Pedro II of Brazil

Terry A. Davis

Ida Rhodes (& the other ones from Hidden Figures overall?)

Joyce Aylard

Coraline Ada Ehmke

Elizabeth Gurley Flynn

Valerie Aurora

Christina of Sweden

Gustavus Adolphus

Cathy Marshall

Marie Curie

Konrad Zuse

Margaret Hamilton

Mabel Addis

Dona Bailey

Frances Spence

Sophie Wilson

Adele Goldberg

Lynn Conway

Karen Catlin

Wendy Hall

Pamela Hardt-English

Borka Jerman Blažič

Hypatia of Alexandria

Enheduanna (Akkadian priestess and first author)

Perictione

Tapputi

Catherine de Parthenay

Anna Åkerhielm

Catherine Jérémie

Wang Zhenyi

Sofya Kovalevskaya

Emmy Noether

Ken Silverman

Chris Sawyer

Irene Stegun

Steve Wozniak

Brian Kernighan

Douglas McIlroy

Braindump2 (multimedia)

?

Appearance

Occupations

Organizations

Skills

Possessions

Context

Politics

Superpowers

Chronokinesis

True Polymorph

Photographic memory

Hypercompetence

Polyglot (Infernal, abyssal, celestial...)

Summary

POSTFACE

[ramenjunkie]

2023 Reading List

The Gods We Can Touch Aurora Aksnes Published: | Pages:104 Description: This full-colour reproduction of Aurora’s personal notebook also features all song lyrics from the album, as a beautifully presented cloth hardback with gold foiling. With original album artwork and stunning photography too, this book is a unique and immersive treasure trove for fans. ‘This is a little book I wrote, trying…

[marblecarved]

your muse's aesthetics as the sources of light.

bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes applies to them. please repost, don't reblog !

sun rays: effervescent smiles, dandelion puffs, bare feet, beach waves, flowers pressed into books, champagne glasses, rose-gold eye shadow, boho skirts, wire-rimmed glasses, hair in loose waves, kaleidoscope eyes, sunshine in your hair, fire in your soul.

incandescent bulbs: crop tops, floral print, dancing in the rain, quiet defiance, hand-knit beanies, rosé, painted bookmarks, marble floors, cirrus clouds against a blue sky, polaroid pictures, hands held, fingers intertwined, flower crowns, baby bluebirds.

stardust: lace bralettes, brisk breezes, jasmine-scented perfume, books with yellowed pages, tracking constellations, sterling silver, violin music, chess games, iced coffee, glittery dresses, high heels, secret grins, midnight meetings, wishing upon a star.

candle flames: denim jackets, gladiator sandals, braided hair, messenger bags, movies at the cinema, stolen kisses, wax-sealed envelopes, haiku poetry, cherry wood, succulents, fountain pens, jigsaw puzzles, soft tired eyes, hidden smiles, cuddling with someone you trust.

moonbeams: newspapers, over-sized sweaters, dancing shadows, fleece throws, cutoff shorts, piano chords, red wine, messy buns, embossed journals, a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks, freshly fallen snow, tranquil solitude, burning incense.

auroras: combat boots, burgundy lips, infectious laughter, spiral-bound notebooks, pencils used down to the stub, ripped jeans, painted nails, cloud-watching, summer thunderstorms, hiking trails, vinyl records, film cameras, skating on a frozen lake, hot chocolate by the fire.

fireworks: dancing until the break of dawn, heelys, being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend, the euphoria of soaring through the air, being excited for what the future holds, group hugs, colorful tattoos, bronzer-highlighted cheeks, hugging a stuffed animal, lifting a child onto your shoulders, space buns, bright streaks in your hair.

tagging: you ! if you see this on your dash and you'd like to do it for your muse, feel free to steal this from me !