#refining this for posting was so healing in a weird way

[mulholland-driver]

Nomad's Lament

I breathe in sun, Now I breathe out ice. And I wish I could be enjoying The familiar aroma of pumpkin spice.

But I can't.

Because I'm numb And I'm torn Didn't ask To be born, And I'm cracking My teeth Between smokes.

But I'm stoked

For the scantily clad life That awaits me Because all this time, I've only been trying To Escape Me. To break free From this life And this town And its staunch crowd That Hates Me.

My teachers The stress My parents The mess I held on And I bent And I broke.

But I meant Every word I've written Since the day you came. Finding myself smitten With each vowel in your name.

A-E-I-O You are all I think about, Even though I'm just Queen of the concrete now.

Homeless, day one Still feels like A freedom run. All alone, I am Second To None.

[richea]

Inomata’s Design Notes & Memories - Destiny Cast

Some notes:

I’ve linked images of each thing she references below.

Unlike the first batch of Eternia characters I previously posted, these were in Japanese. And unlike the Destiny 2 ones I translated, she talks about her experiences with the characters in the game and not just her design processes!

The book in question is this one.

What I think about most when designing characters is their colors and the components to their look. The characters are displayed as such small sprites, so in order to be able to differentiate them from each other, I give each of them a specific color palette and unique accessories to each of their outfits.

Stahn’s thing was his scarf. I also made sure his shoulder pads, gloves, and boots looked huge.

Rutee is supposed to be a thief, so I made her look a bit like a ninja. I didn’t want her to look too girly, so I gave her shorts and exposed her navel. For colors I went with red and black, since that’s a distinctive palette. Whenever I’d do boss battles, she’d always be joyfully picking 2 gald off the ground instead of healing my very low HP characters (laughs). I thought about removing her from my party to prevent this, but then I’d feel bad, and it just made me think “this is all part of her plot” (laughs).

Philia is a priestess through and through. I went for white and green to give her an earthly feel (laughs). Her glasses and braids were a strong request from Namco. I came up with designs for her, but they didn’t have the glasses or braids, so they were repurposed for the priests in Straylize Temple. It was the basis for Philia’s design as well as Elraine’s in the sequel. Philia has her eye on Stahn, but he eats too much and he oversleeps. I feel like they’d work out better if Philia was more the assertive type herself (laughs).

Woodrow is an archetypical handsome man, so I didn’t have much to stress about when designing him. He’s a king, so I wished he had a stronger atmosphere behind him. I almost never used him when playing the game though (laughs). When you break into Dycroft, I thought, “it’d be really cool in a narrative sense to use him here, but he’s just so weak”. But you get special dialogue if you take him along, so I went “tsk” and brought him anyway. “Just stick to the backlines and don’t die” (laughs).

Leon’s really easy to draw, so again I didn’t have much to stress about when drawing him. He has a princely vibe to him, so I gave him white tights, but everyone was taken back by it! I thought, “is it that weird?” and ended up making them less tight fitting (laughs). He acts a bit snobbish, gets seasick easily and refuses to eat vegetables, so he really crosses off a lot on the “young master” list. He’s also really fun to use in battle (laughs). He has a really low defense stat but he hits fast, so it’s crucial that you string your combos together. When paired with Stahn, if you can isolate your bosses in the far side of the screen, they go down quite fast. Then I see the popup that Rutee’s picking gald off the floor again and I just use healing items on him (laughs).

I wanted to make Chelsea cute and small, so I based her image off of little birds. I gave her a palette of pink, green and blue, and made her hair look like a cockatoo or parrot. Her bloomers look like a paper lantern and I find them quite cute (laughs). Her life story makes me want to cry though. She’s fine and all in the first game, but in the sequel, she’s still wearing those bloomers from when she was a kid, living all alone on a snowy mountain. And if you go through her drawers, you can take something that Woodrow gave to her. I felt so bad, I thought “even though it’s so out of the way, I’ll go buy all the items you need!” (laughs). Then she makes all of these bows for you, but by then, I’d already enhanced my weapons a lot… But I felt so bad that I never Refined them and thought, “I’ll keep these on me forever” (laughs).

Johnny’s original idea was “troubadour,” but as the story progressed and I gave him his hat and all sorts of plumes, he came out a bit comical (laughs). He’s a really fun character to have in your party though, and I fell in love with him right away. I love that his tone-deafness does physical damage to the enemies (laughs).

With the Swordians, they have the will of humans and I wanted to incorporate that into their designs, but it didn’t seem to fit so I went for something more inorganic. Berselius alone has a creepy aura to him, and when Destiny 2 came around I thought “But his owner is such a nice person! Is it really okay for him to have such a creepy design?” but then I thought well, maybe Harold just likes things that way (laughs).

[kaylapocalypse]

Hi Kayla! It's been a million years since we've spoken, so hello I hope yours years have been good since we last talked. I saw your post the other day about the beef fat and the lanolin you've been using for your skin and maybe this is a stupid question, but how exactly do you use it?

Hi! Im so happy to have found you again, thank you for reaching out. I’ve been trying to re-connect with everyone I was close to on here and I’m really glad we can start anew!

Okay lanolin and beef tallow:

TLDR: half a dime sized amount of both, mostly at night, mix in your hands and smear over the whole face.

Breakdown:

1. Both products are very emollient, but surprisingly not very heavy. Neither of them are comedogenic, and after 3 months of usage I’m willing to back that claim. I tried slugging before with a couple of different products but my skin was always like “hm. too much of this.” and started developing weird oily patches and acne around my mouth. With lanolin and tallow, not only has my skin not done that, but the texture has changed significantly for the better and I don’t wake up greasy anymore.  I also find that i have to exfoliate my skin LESS now, which was a crazy realization.

That said, you only need a little of each to cover your whole face and neck. Maybe about the size of an aspirin for the beef tallow and half that for the lanolin. Lanolin has the texture of bees wax and beef tallow is about as thick as Vaseline. 

2. While the products are “thick” they feel more like an expensive “dry oil” after you’ve rubbed it in. It doesn’t create a gross “layer” the way Vaseline does, but if you touch your face it will feel oily in a way that makes you want to rub it into your hands.  THAT SAID, this is not a combo that you can wear well under makeup.  The oils will break down the waxes in most lipsticks, concealers and foundations and they will all slide around your face after a while. Which is why I mostly use tallow and lanolin at night. 

During the daytime if i am not planning on leaving my house, I will mix a bit of tallow into my palm with a few drops of sunscreen and use that. But if I am, I just stick to sunscreen and makeup then tallow/lanolin at night.

3.Unlike a lot of skincare products, this isn’t a spot treatment sort of situation and the amount you use doesn’t matter so much as you use enough to cover the whole area of interest. 

I have also mixed other things into the tallow/lanolin mix in the palm of my hand, depending on what I want. 

I’ve done: vitamin C powder, Scar healing ointment and Niacimide. I find it works better when you’re using a serum to apply the serum first then seal with lanolin/tallow, but if its an oil or a powder, to just mix it together with the tallow and slather it on. 

I’ve found that most other products seem to work better with the moisture seal of tallow/lanolin than by themselves.  But I do have to say, I only use other products every once in a while because I have a specific hyperpigmentation scar issue I’m working on fading. I’m just giving this info because I want you to know that it doesn’t poorly interact with skincare products the way it breaks down makeup. 

If you’re interested:

There is a really cool homesteader that documents her refining of tallow that I like to follow:

If you have any more questions, let me know!

Also, just for convenience here is the link to where I bought stuff from: https://www.etsy.com/shop/TraditionalNutrients?ref=yr_purchases 

Specifically I ordered the skin cream first in a small size, then I decided to just go with their basic Tallow Spread, which is more bang for your buck and is also not whipped. The only difference I could tell between them is the skin cream is whipped like whipped butter and the other one is an unwhipped jar of tallow with Vaseline like texture. 

[peeterparkr]

red; tom's version|one.

chapter one: sad, beautiful tragic. “Long handwritten note deep in your pocket”

pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (tom's not famous here) story summary: you’re reminiscing through your relationship months after the heartbreak and breakup. Wondering if it went wrong from the very start when Tom arrived at New York, and him being a cautionary tale or if the problems came along the way. Perhaps the key to find back your way to him is going back through the nice things before the heartbreak came. Or is it too painful to go all over again?

chapter summary: you haven't seen him since he ditched you, after months of wearing plaid you go out and realize he's back in new york warnings: angsty, I mean it's a breakup, swearing. word count: 7.3k playlist (updated after each chapter, including Red songs+ other for the chapter): Spotify | Apple Music

fic masterlist next chapter

a/n: Hi, I couldn't wait to share it so I said, screw it, I'm posting this. You don't know how excited I am to write this and share it with you. As you know, this is inspired by Red by Taylor Swift and will hurt. So I expect us all to be crumpled up pieces of paper wearing scarves by the end of this. (perennial is still coming, I'm just waiting on a few people who're reading it). SPECIAL THANKS TO @erodasghosts for reading it and hyping me up and helping me figure this all out. I hope you guys all like it as much as I did. The story is set in New York. Please give feedback!

One month after the breakup.

Strong whiskey, on the rocks. That was his drink of choice that night. The night before had been a beer. You knew you could imagine the taste of his lips by only looking at him. You wondered if he’d gone there for a second night for the same reason you had.

When you had seen him across the place the night before, you had tried to decide how to feel. We always think we will react one way or another when we see our official heartbreak walking through. Victorious as he is perfectly dressed, with his hair flowing.

He hadn’t brought her. Which you didn’t know how to feel about.

The day before you had not been alone, Jules, Matty, and Lula were there.

“Shit, the axolotl at 10 o'clock, you’ve got to be shitting me,” Lourdes, Lula, had whispered before sipping her drink, a Long Island Tea. “We are celebrating she’s doing better, can’t fucking believe this,” she hissed at Jules who only lifted her chin slightly to see who she was referring to. “What the fuck is he doing here? Ay, es que, con qué huevos se atreve a venir aquí? Que no mame.” [with what balls did he dare to come here? He shouldn’t fuck with us. ]

You loved hanging out with Lula and listening to her very refined Spanish cursing.

“It’s not him,” Julia said.

You tried looking back to see who they were referring to. “Who is—?”

“Y/N, wait I just noticed the haircut!” Matt pointed out, reaching over, getting your attention back to them and not at whatever they were referring to. “It looks great. It’s like a new you!”

This new you. The one that had been screwed over twice. Men really have the nerve when it comes to breaking hearts. They recklessly go in and let you believe love comes in all shades of colors, passionate red like the roses they send, and tender pinks like your sweet innocence that they end up stealing. But they never tell you it’ll be you all alone in a dark room with shades of grey under a flickering light that barely warms you.

The new you, which was still a bit lost. Your old self was a stranger to you now. You had no idea who this new you was, she was quiet now. Didn’t have a heart because someone had stolen it and broken it and left it behind a dumpster. Still trying to find it. The new you wasn't.. you.

Your friends were glad, however, they finally got you to go out again. After weeks of wearing plaid and watching Fleabag, and even considering watching Greys Anatomy, a low point, you had finally decided to come back to see if there was any sunshine left for you.

It’s important to point out that you had been broken-hearted and almost crazy when the breakup had happened. Very… delusional. You were not proud of the way you’d reacted. Although you wouldn’t have reacted any other way.

The city had been quiet, the red lights seemed to last longer, and the crowds would often swallow you. The city you once loved was now an open book of a relationship that seemed real, should’ve known it was all fiction.

In your dreams they’d be bright, colorful. The village is aglow. Cold days with warm hearts. Like his.

You’d been cold ever since.

“Ah, yeah, the haircut. Got it today. Lula’s idea” The haircut had come as the solution to a problem that would never be solved. As if cutting your hair meant there was something you had the power on. You didn’t.

How stupid was it? You couldn’t control your life.

“It suits her well, doesn’t it?” Lula admitted proudly.

You still had his picture engraved in your heart. You still dreamed he would come back and say it was all a nightmare.

“It’s nice, I’m glad to have you back,” Jules commented. Julia had probably been the most surprised with the news of the breakup, she had almost gone and killed Tom when he had….unimportant. She hadn’t, though, and she had yet to tell you the reason why. Julia had been mysterious since.

“I’m glad to be back,” you confirmed. You’d ordered a beer, and maybe you shouldn’t have. Stella Artois, his one favorite. You pocketed the beer cap. “Though I was not gone.”

Matt watched you, him and Julia had recently started dating. Best friends since kids who just recently confessed their feelings for each other, took them long enough. “How back are you, though?”

“Meaning?” You asked, taking a sip.

Matt shrugged, “I could introduce you to some friends from work, there’s this hot guy—“

“No,” you interrupted him, leaving the bottle down as you had almost choked. “No, no. Not in the dating area yet. Won’t be in a long time. Still healing.”

Lula still had her eyes glued elsewhere. “Healing from a bullet hole, y/n, whatever you’re doing isn’t working, and band aids won’t fix it—Jules it is, I swear to god it’s him.”

“It’s not him,” Julia rolled her eyes.

“Ay, que sí!” [he is]

“Who?” You asked.

Julia took your hands, “you know Lula,” she rolled her eyes. “I love that you ordered a beer.”

“Yeah,” you gulped. “Beer is universal language for men as in: ‘don’t get close to me.’” A lesson someone dear had taught you once.

Matt tilted his head in agreement, “Yeah.”

“Really?” Lula frowned, “should’ve ordered one. Next time I’ll ask for my drink but instead of a glass I’ll ask them to put it in a beer bottle.”

“Wouldn't it be easier to order a beer?” Matt suggested.

“But then I’d break our tradition.”

Matt watched her, “you really are something.”

You chuckled.

“Why is beer seen as not—feminine?” Matt questioned.

Julia shrugged. “It’s beyond me, really. It’s a drink.”

“Like does my drink make me less of a man?” Matt watched his glass, another Long Island Tea. A stupid inside joke you all had.

“No,” you admitted. “But you know how society is. Since it’s sweet, it’s got to be—“

“Oh, no, no, I love you, y/n, but tonight I don’t want you lecturing us on it, no, tonight we are having fun, ok?” Lula reminded you. “We will not talk about femininity or lack of a beer—or whatever your agenda is up to these days, which, hey! Why does y/n get to break the rule?” Lula questioned. “No Long Island Tea?

Julia glared at her, “Because she can do whatever she wants tonight,” she hissed and then turned to you. “But how are you feeling? It’s your first time going out in months, is it as fun?” Julia was the one to try to cheer you up the most.

No, it wasn’t fun.

“I—feel good!” You lied. Although you were not. But you guessed that’s the response they wanted after seeing you laying down on the ground and crying yourself to sleep. Staring at windows and walking down in the rain. They wanted you to feel better.

Your body was covered in scars.Though, they were from adventures.

“Bullshit,” Lula intruded. “You seem sad. Maybe I’ll get some shots,” she announced before going to get some.

“Well,” you chuckled. “My first time going out and you bring me back to the place where it all started?” You answered cynically but then shrugged. “I’m—I…no. I just—It’s weird. I still see him everywhere, and as I’m here it’s like watching a movie of our greatest moments,” you admitted. “Like hey, look over there, it’s Tom and Y/N’s greatest moments,” you stated, Lula got back. “Let’s start memory lane…”and you sighed and continued with the best presenter voice you had. “Here you’ll wonder how the hell did it go so wrong since they were so perfect, what the hell went wrong, when did it turn into some sad stupid love affair. You’ll be asking yourself hey, they seemed in love, over there, they danced! Over there… they sang a song together! See over there? There was a fucking jukebox in which they have memories! Oh they have memories there too! And you’ll ask yourself, he made it seem real, what the hell happened?” You sighed exhaustedly. “What happened? What the fuck happened? How was I so stupid?” You ran your hands through your face.

Your friends only watched you, with pity, sadness. Even Lula had turned her gaze guilty.

You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Lula sighed, “it’s our fault for bringing you here. We’re fucking idiots. Besides he is—Julia I swear to god, he is there.” Lula raised her hand and Julia quickly pulled it down.

Julia bit her lip, “I—hadn’t realized how much Tom there is here.”

“Yeah.”

“He called me—“Matt had started.

“No, no, we can’t talk about him, baby,” Julia reminded him. Matt widened his eyes and nodded.

You blinked, “no, it’s—He called you? Tom?” Why had Tom called Matty? What for?

“Yeah, had a missed call,” Matt explained, ignoring his girlfriend. “I—it was this morning.”

You felt your chest twist. “Yeah, I get a lot of those too.”

Perhaps he wanted to talk to you and thought Matty was dumb enough to give you the phone.

Julia glared at Matt. “We promised not to—“

“No, hey,” you stopped her. “I—sorry, I brought him up.”

“But we shouldn’t talk about him,” Julia insisted. “Tonight is all about having fun,” she stated as she handed everyone their shots.

“No, it’s alright,” you said. “I’m fine talking about it.”

Lula turned her gaze to you. “Shouldn’t you hate him?”

Were you supposed to hate someone who gave you something so beautiful? Just because it’s over doesn’t mean you have to look back and hate it.

“No,” you answered simply.

Matt watched you. “Wait, really?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m—I decided I’m thankful for everything. He really… I… I mean I knew from the start he was trouble. But he got me to get rid of Will. So I’m thankful for Tom. He showed me some beautiful things about him, about myself and… I’m thankful. Even the part when he broke my heart.”

It was a lie. Partly. You had been so full of doubts that you only tried wondering why it had gone so wrong. Or course, the lie was there. His lies. But how could any of it be a lie?

Julia smiled gently, “You’re really a grown up.”

“Or very stupid.” Lula commented.

“Thanks, Lula, I appreciate it,” you rolled your eyes. “I… well, I’ve gotta admit I was pretty stupid.”

Lula shrugged, “Hey, I don’t blame you, boy came in with an accent, he had a cute smile, he was hot, I must admit, and he wasn’t one of those Brooklyn fuckboys that take you to the rooftop and offer you a whiteclaw to watch the sunrise together,” Lula gave in.

“Oh, and they take candid pictures, and they say that their phone camera isn’t as good as their polaroid,” Julia laughed, “But hey, you’re lucky they took you to the rooftop, they never take anyone there, they took you there just because you’re…”

“Different,” Julia, Lula and you chanted.

Matt laughed, “You guys are the worst.”

“Anyway,” Lula said. “We should drink these,” she pointed at the shot glasses as she raised her own. “I came here to get drunk. So, to Y/N being thankful Tom was a piece of shit even when the boy had a dreamy accent?”

You closed your eyes, and let out a defeated dry chuckle. “Yes, to that.”

“To the piece of shit, then!” Lula grinned as the shots clinked and were downed. You instantly regretted drinking it.

Lula scowled as she had her eyes glued back at the bar, “It’s him, Julia, it’s him! What is he doing here? Pendejo, I swear to god I’ll go kill him.” She was furious, and you tried once again following her gaze.

The bar was crowded, red lights crossed around the place, with girls walking with tall heels, trying to smile and nod at guys who were talking to them but clearly were not of interest to them. Friends laughing, people flirting. You didn’t know who your friends were watching.

But the bar seemed to be enough of a reminder of him. How he had made you feel like crowds were never there, and how whenever you had been with him everything disappeared just to be with him.

“Who are we killing?” You questioned.

“Is new y/n a murderer?” Asked Matt. Matt and Julia were your oldest friends. The three of you grew up in Staten Island, and now moved to the crowded places.

Lula coughed. “Hope she is.” Lula, on the other hand, you’ve met in college, she was a very defined addition to the friend group. With more personality. A strong one. Lula, Julia and you shared a small apartment.

Julia cleared her throat.

“The fucking scarf,” Lula scowled.

“What scarf?” Matt asked. And you had the same question.

Julia whispered to her boyfriend’s ear who had turned cold. He lifted his head.

“But it’s not.”

“It is him,” Matt confirmed to Lula. “Jules, it is.”

And now your three friends were acting strange. Usually they did but this was strang-er. They all shared looks, Julia struggled with her hands.

They were watching you with pity but you’d gotten used to that. After the breakup they had been extra careful around you, kinder, you guessed.

Fools they were to believe that by not mentioning him you wouldn’t think of him. He was a memory that would haunt you for the rest of the days.

“So, y/n,” Julia was clearly hiding whatever Lula was seeing.

“Wasn’t he in London? What in this fucking world is he doing here?” Lula continued.

“Shut up!” Julia ordered.

“London?” You asked and you lifted your head, and any noise that was bustling before had stopped.

Tom.

Tom was there.

Thomas.

Tom who had broken your heart. In every possible way that he could’ve. Like he had planned it. Like he was aware.

He was there, on a stool with a beer in his hand and wearing a red scarf. The red scarf. As if he was mocking you.

Tom.

Did he pride on hurting you?

He had always said you were invincible. That you were unrivaled in matters of the heart. Was he proud he had beaten the unbeaten?

You’d always thought he would.

When we love deeply, getting hurt comes as a given. But when we love deeply, we are never expecting it to come. And when it does come the skies cannot turn grayer. Funny thing, you were a fan of the rain but when the rain doesn’t cease, the hope doesn’t perdure.

But he was back in your life. Or at least he had been in the same room as you after months.

What was he doing back in New York with your scarf?

You turned back to your own table, breathing in quickly, bringing your hand to your chest in an attempt to calm yourself down.

You saw your friends speaking but you couldn’t make a word of what they’re saying. Your heart was rushing. Thomas was there. Tom. Your Tom. And there was a part of you that had completely forgotten over the heartbreak and wanted to run to him.

Kiss him, try to fix it. Try to bring back the beautiful thing you both had. Because it was. And it hurt looking back.

You were having trouble breathing now, the heartbreak had come.

That’s the worst thing about heartbreak. You never saw it coming, though you should’ve. Though it was beautiful you’d known from the start you’d end up hurt. But when a lie is crafted so beautifully, how could you?

“It’s him.” The words had come in whispers.

You barely remembered what had happened next. You had only stood up, decisive to leave, you’d seen him try to walk his way to you. You’d heard him call your name, but you hadn’t turned back, you had seen Matty stop him from running to you.

It was blurry. You didn’t know how you got home. Desperately trying to understand why he was there and how the night had turned too badly.

Lula and Matt had come back later to find Julia trying to comfort you, hugging a pillow that you were sure he had slept on. Breathless.

But it was in the past now, you were there again. Same bar, both in stools far away.

You were almost sure he’d gone to that bar in hopes of finding you again.

Just like you’d gone again.

His eyes the night before were guilty. You only took a deep breath, you remembered trying to avoid his glance at any chance as you had walked out.

Why were you there again?

That feeling in your chest growing, like there was something heavy expanding. Yet your stomach falling smaller. The pain was but a shield, as if it was creating a special protection around your heart, and though it hurt it was enough for it to make your heart strong to leave the place.

You didn’t want to see Tom. You hadn’t talked to him since. Even when he’d tried to call. Even when you’d tried calling.

Not when you had replayed the breakup over and over and over again since he was gone.

Everyone deals with breakups in different ways. Yours, specifically, was avoiding it. Everything and everyone. Especially Tom.

It was hard when he was everywhere. In that tattoo he’d convinced you to get, in that ring he’d left, in that cereal box that you still hadn’t finished. Whenever you listened to a song he’d recommended. Whenever you’d open Netflix and that series you had started watching together was still recommended to you even when you’d deleted it.

Everywhere.

You couldn’t use your favorite colors because you could hear it, in the back of your head “I love how it looks on you.” “You should wear more blue, it suits you.”

Even your stupid laugh remind you of him. “Your laugh is the most wonderful thing I’ve heard, even if it’s so ugly.”

You missed the person you were when he was with you. How everything was happy. Who was that y/n? Who didn’t mind if she was slightly late to a place because he’d come with you? Who didn’t feel alone at parties when she knew nobody because you knew him?

A y/n that existed only for a short period of time when he’d been around and that he’d shattered like glass when he had the chance.

You missed that y/n.

The y/n that would sometimes lose her breath and catch it back when he walked into the room. A y/n that sang along to her favorite songs all day. The one that would give her heart in a rush to him. The one that watched movies no matter if they were good or not.

Life had colors back then.

Now you were full of regrets and of doubts. Wondering what you had done wrong? Where did it lead you?

You looked up at him then. He was staring down at his glass.

There was a slight trace of him still there, the Tom you once loved. The one with the silly smile and the gentle chuckle, the one with the jokes about everything.

You wondered how much of that y/n he saw too.

You were the same two people, in essence. But how different you were now.

The Tom you knew before finding out it was a lie.

There was still a hint. You knew. But there was so much of him in you that it was hard to see if you still were there. Or the Tom you thought you knew. Not the one with the lie. Or maybe this was the truest Tom he could ever be.

He had to move on, rather quickly, you recalled. If he ever did.

There was a stupid reminder of you in his hand, that red scarf from the very first day.

You still remembered how it all started, a stupid red scarf. He kept it, then, and he wore it.

You had ordered a beer, too. You pocketed the cap again.

But there was an image in your mind, maybe he had gone back and probably had his arm around her and he laughed at a joke she made. Maybe she was funnier than you. Definitely prettier, with her hair falling down all the way to her waist, her clothing accentuating everything you didn’t have.

You recalled having to leave the room when you found out. You had been a mess.

Leaning against a wall as you caught your breath before the tears came down, as if he had pierced right through it. A pain chest that had expanded all the way on your body, not sure how you were able to keep walking back to your place. Falling down to your knees when you did.

Pain. Words failed to describe such a deep sentiment.

But it was gone now. Not entirely but at least you could hold your breath fine when he was just across the room.

What went wrong?

You could ask him. He was right there.

Maybe even tell him how you had lost sight. He hadn’t walked up to you. He was nervous, but he seemed calm enough to see you were there. You were still unsure why you had gone there.

Maybe all the good things were enough to bring you there, maybe the fact that you still didn’t believe it was a lie brought you there. Maybe the fact that one of those pictures from that photobooth was still in a locket. So stupid.

He fiddled with the glass.

You waited and waited but he didn’t approach you. He took out a paper out of his pocket as he stared at it.

You wouldn’t approach him. No matter how happy he had made you once, you wouldn’t walk to him. No matter how beautiful it was. No matter if you were lonely and that when you dared to sleep he’d be haunting your dreams.

It was a tragedy now. What you both were, and not even worth enough to try and save it. You knew you were haunting him too. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

He was shakin, as he stared at you, nervous. He downed his drink, you guessed it was for some liquid courage and stood up, with the note in one hand and your red scarf in the other.

Your own courage for coming here was gone, as you saw his intentions, the urge to run you had the night before was becoming you. But he couldn’t walk. He had to sit down again, rubbing his face.

The courage that had come when choosing what Lula called the ‘revenge black dress’ was nowhere in sight. You were cold and regretting putting it on.

“I can’t do this,” you said to yourself and quickly let out some dollars to pay for your drink before picking up your stuff to leave.

You saw he panicked when he saw you leaving, he quickly called the bartender to pay for his drink.

You closed your coat as you were shaking yourself, punishing yourself for going there. Why had you gone there? The man had broken your heart? Were you really there to see him?

Was your heart foolish enough to ignore the warnings in your mind once again?

You walked your way to get to the subway station, how irrelevant you were through the crowds. You hadn’t felt this way for a while, caring for the crowds. But you had to get through them. There was a part of you that wished Tom was following you after. But the crowds didn’t let you see if he was.

Besides, you shouldn’t want that.

You finally managed to get to the station, you clung to your purse as you stared at the tracks, waiting for the next train to come. Peaceful it seemed, the station. As peaceful as New York could be. You guessed if you cried nobody would care.

“y/n!” You heard your name in the distance and you couldn’t handle it.

You took a deep breath and shook your head, angrily. Why had you gone? You could’ve easily kept ignoring his calls. You could’ve stayed in your apartment, crying as you watched SNL videos on youtube, or rewatching a cartoon for the hundredth time, letting your own sadness and self pity swallow you.

But you had gone to him. This was your fault. You should’ve taken a cab, instead, he would know you’d get at this station and he for sure would know what train you’d take.

“y/n, y/n!” He kept calling as he finally arrived next to you. “Sorry I would’ve gotten here faster but the damn MetroCard-”

“I’m not doing this, Tom,” you stated before he could go on rambling like the idiot he was. You couldn’t do it. “Not here, not anywhere. I don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“I…” His face was kind, and he seemed to be nervous. You could tell he hadn’t been sleeping, probably the jet lag.

You took a moment to look at him, he didn’t look as victorious as you had thought he was. His hair was messy, and his cheeks flushed, the buttons on his shirt were not buttoned right.

Seeing him again, with that signature look he had made you want to go down to your knees.

“Aren’t you supposed to be back in London?” You snapped. “With that pretty girl-”

“No, no, I’m-I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” Tom stuttered. “I was an idiot.”

You stared into his eyes, you were not ready for this. You were not ready to look into his stupid eyes. You looked away. “That’s all you have to say?” You tried walking away from him..

He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, I… No, I actually… I had this… I wrote down my apology,” Tom confessed. He showed you a sad, handwritten paper, now slightly teared up with the ink running. “I… I had….”

You looked down at it, his messy handwriting, crinkled with words scratched down. “You wrote it down?”

You didn’t know why you felt your heart warm. This kind of stuff was why you couldn’t understand what had happened. Someone like him, who writes his apologies down. Someone who stutters when he’s speaking.

“Yeah, I… but I spilled my drink on it after seeing you fled,” He explained, swallowing hard. “I… I… I had written it down so I wouldn’t forget it but now I realize how stupid that is… I’m… I’m really sorry, y/n.” .

You could hear the train coming. You were seeing him again. It hit you right there. And this was not the reaction you thought. You had said you would be delusional, crying and fighting and questioning him why the fuck he had done that.

Yet you weren’t. You were only watching him, eyes full of tears wanting to slide down but unable to. But there was that pain still in your chest.

How could he ever dare to hurt you that way? “I don’t want to talk to you,” you said. And meant it. “Please leave me alone.” You said before walking into the train.

“Y/N, please, no, please, please, listen to me,” He followed you in, the scarf still in his hand.

You tried sitting as far away as you could. Arms and legs crossed as you tried breathing in.

He sat beside you and you changed seats. He sighed but followed you again. “Please, I need to talk to you. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well you did,” you snapped. “You did, and now you come here a month later with a handwritten note apology thinking I will be fine with it?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had to solve-Please, would you listen?” Tom asked, knowing damn well he had to ask, and not just straight up blurt it out.

“Why would I, Tom?” You turned to him, with a tear traveling down your cheek. You were incredulous. “You’re kidding me, right? I… You… You think that just because you show up with that stupid face of yours and my scarf I’ll want to listen to you? You’re an idiot.”

He sighed and reached to give you the scarf. You ignored it.You were furious now.

The other people on the train were certainly getting a show. A guy with a backpack was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening but his reactions were giving it away. Another woman pretended to keep reading her book but she hadn’t turned any pages.

Tom took the scarf back staring at it. “I need to explain everything to you.”

“What if I don’t want an explanation?” You snapped. Though you did. You had been waiting for one, you wanted one. You would beg for it. But your pride was taking the wheel of the conversation. “Don’t you think it’s fucking late for it?”

“Is it?” Tom turned back to you.

“Yes!” You couldn’t believe him. But this seemed a bit too familiar of a conversation. “And beside no explanation would make me forgive you!” You stated, whispering, not wanting any of the attention you were receiving.

“I’m not… I… If you just listen to me,” Tom said.

You glared, “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Then why did you come to the bar?” He asked.

He fucking asked.

Your eyes widened. He had gone there. He knew. He fucking knew you’d gone back because you wanted an explanation. Or so he thought. No, you’d gone back because… Yes, because you wanted an explanation. Because everything he’d done had been beautiful. Until the heartbreak. He had crafted and vexed his way into your cold stupid heart and then he had gone and pierced right through it, crushed it.

You wanted to ask why. Why did he do it so vehemently?

You didn’t answer, instead you moved one seat away. He kept his eyes on you.

“You wouldn’t have gone if you didn’t want an explanation,” he said. “Or to see me, at least. I know I did, I needed to see you.”

You saw the guy with the backpack purse his lips, knowing that Tom had got you. There was little context for them. The girl with the book directed a glance to you, trying to read your emotions.

If they knew, they’d be on your side and yelling at him as well.

He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face.

“I didn’t, it was a coincidence,” you answered coldly.

“No, it bloody wasn’t,” Tom scoffed and then sat up. “No, I’m… No, but you know, you went to the bar for a reason.”

“And I left for a million more,” you frowned.

Tom pursed his lips and took out the paper again, trying to make out whatever he’d written before. “I’m really sorry.” His eyes traced through the note.

“Are you genuinely trying to read it? Don’t you know what you’re supposed to apologize for?”

Tom looked up, “So you do want me to apologize?”

The guy with the backpack squeezed his eyes shut, knowing Tom had fucked up.

“You’re kidding, right? Yes, you have to apologize, what you did is really, really shitty!” You pointed out.

“But you won’t forgive me, then?” Tom watched you.

“I don’t know,” you said and he looked up, a beaming gaze. “No, I won’t.”

He wrinkled his eyes, “I… I know I’m supposed to apologize, not to expect you to forgive. I'm just…”

He gulped, and then sat back, staring at the dirty walls and lights. He had dressed up. Badly, but he had tried looking good, you could tell. You could smell his lotion, too.

He was fiddling with the paper, crumpling up and then it fell to the floor. You looked at it and somehow related to it, not sure how.

You took a deep breath so you wouldn’t kill him and turned to him. “I have questions for you, if you answer them I might consider listening to you.”

Tom’s eyes brightened up. “Yes, yes, anything.”

You eyed him up and down as he watched you with begging eyes. You avoided his gaze. Tom followed your gaze as you tried to figure out what was the first thing you could ask him. Why had he hurt you?

Why did he not stop and think before making you fall in love with him?

Why did he not stop and tell you the truth?

“Where are you staying?” You asked,

Tom blinked. “Is that… is that the question?”

“No, but I know you don’t know how to fucking get anywhere,” you said.

Tom gulped, “I… uh, again with Harrison,” he explained.

You sighed. You remembered Harrison alright. And though there was a petty part inside you, you would help him out. Knowing he’d always get lost in the city. Though you could let him get lost, so you’d have to go after him and spend a bit more time. With an excuse, because you didn’t seem to have any excuse to be with him.

It hurt. What hurt the most was trying not to look back at the incredible moments you had because none of them were true.

You sighed. “Okay, when we get down you’ll take the F train—“

Tom stopped you, taking your hand. “No, wait, I don’t care if I get lost, okay, I… I just.”

You snatched your hand away from his cold hands he had. You darkened your gaze at him.

“Please, Y/n, I just need a chance. If you don’t want to listen… maybe I’ll just…” He handed you the note.

You crossed your arms, and tapped your foot, trying to decide whether or not to give it to him. “Fine,” you took the note.

You've gotten to your stop. So you stood up.

The girl with the book and the guy with the backpack watched you both as you walked out, pitying they couldn’t follow the drama.

Tom followed after you, he licked his lips. “You… you had questions, right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, taking yet another heavy breath. You turned on your feet to look at him “One, did you lie to me?”

Tom was taken back by this, his eyes, consternated, only watched you. He gulped. “What?”

“Did you lie to me?

“I… well.”

You were getting desperate. “Did you ?”

“I didn’t lie about how I felt,” he said. You knew he wasn’t lying about it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t have ever lied about how he felt because you knew he had felt it too, a bit, at least,

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“I mean it, I…” Tom gulped. “I really liked you.”

“Yeah, I know, you liked me yadda, yadda,” you started. Liked not loved. “Cut the bullshit for once, did you or did you not lie to me?”

Tom took a deep breath. “Yes. But I had feelings for you.”

You bit your inner cheeks. “Uh-huh, yes, okay, good, yes, you acknowledge it. So, we have two statements here, Tom. You say you had feelings yet you lied to me,” you squinted. “Sounds-”

Tom gulped and avoided your gaze. “I know yes,” he looked down. “But, if you give me-”

“Ah, buh-buh, nope, I’m just gathering my thoughts here,” you coughed. “I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me what you felt.”

Tom shook his head in confusion. “I—I’m”

“Go on,” you motioned your hand.

“Y/N,” he said. And the way he dared to say your name was like having a knife right through you. “I had—I have feelings for you,” he said looking right into your eyes.

He didn’t say what feelings.

You were not sure where you wanted to go with this. “Fine, my next question…” you really didn’t know where this was going. “So, alright, you…” You couldn’t even phrase it. “You… made me fall in love with you knowing….Well, we both know what you did. What you hid from me. You’re a liar who made me—“

Tom took a deep breath. “Yes, but I didn’t… plan that.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, so it’s my fault?” You stepped back. “Sorry for developing feelings for you. Sorry for ruining your life—“

Tom closed his eyes, “No, no, look, I… wasn’t. I didn’t come here expecting to meet you, I didn’t want… It just happened, okay, I never thought—You're making it sound like it’s some big master plan. I—I never planned—I never would’ve ever planned on hurting you.”

You watched him, incredulous. “Thomas you do realize what you did to me?”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t! You’re trying to make me seem like I’m crazy for not even wanting to talk to you!” You called him out.

“I’m not, I’m just saying that if you’re here—you must miss it too, you know it was too real, and you want it back, possibly—M-maybe not, but if you came to the bar tonight it was in hopes of finding me again because you knew I’d be there, and you want to feel how you felt before, and i just… you know I miss it and that you knew I didn’t lie—“

You glared at him. “You did lie!”

“Okay—yes, yes I did—But not entirely, I just happened to omit one truth—“

“One very important truth,” you snarked.

“Fine but—please listen,” he tried to convince you. “and I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t want to hurt you. But I never planned this. It just happened. I didn’t come here expecting to fall in love with anyone, I didn’t come here trying to date, and I never expected it to be someone as complex—“

“Complex?”

“Yes, I never came to New York trying to find the most mental relationship I’ve ever had—“

“Mental?” You snapped.

“Yes! I love you but you’re fucking crazy! And I am too! I’m fucking crazy and mental but I—I—I loved being crazy and mental with you! We are fucking mental! Driving to nowhere? Breaking into places? Getting a jukebox on the subway? That’s mental! But—but I love that about you, alright? Don’t you get it? I could’ve stayed in London, I could've been the asshole who just ditched you and lied to you—“

You scoffed. “Well that’s comforting!”

“But I’m—I’m here, ain’t I? And I know I fucked up, I know, I accept that, I’m the asshole here, and I know you’ll never—I hid it from you because I didn’t know what was going on, I didn’t even get it myself. I’m here to give you my version of it. I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you…I am…,I am in love with you, and I never planned that, I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with someone else, it just happened. I may have thought it was just—Some fling, initially.”

You laughed cynically. “A fling.”

He gulped. “And the moment I realized what was really going on—”

“You left, that’s what you fucking did, when you realized it was way too real for you, you destroyed the one real thing you’ve ever known,” you barked, he stepped back. “I fell in love with you, I—I—and then you ditched me, and I thought that was the worst thing you could ever do to me but then I realized that it wasn’t real! I—you were never mine, Tom! I simply was—a break you needed or—a fling.”

“It wasn’t that—“

You watched him. Looking so innocent, kind eyes and tender lips. You would’ve believed him had he come before.

“You used me!” You snapped, the words that had wanted to come for a while just blurted out. “I just can’t believe you,” you said. “You don’t feel sorry.” You shook your head, your voice was cracking. “You're not sorry because you don’t understand. You don’t know what I went through, and if you had come earlier, if you hadn’t left me, I probably would have believed you. But—No! No!” You stepped back. “No!”

“I did call! You never picked up the phone! I tried—“Tom started.

“Was I really expected to pick it up? Let’s get back to it. Shall we? The facts. Did you or did you not date me? And made me fall in love with you?”

Tom sighed. “I—yes.”

“Did you lie?”

“…yes.”

You nodded. “Was I the other one?”

Tom squinted his eyes. “No… yes, no.”

You took a deep breath. “Did you leave me without an explanation?”

Tom looked down. “I did.”

“Did you ditch me?”

Tom looked everywhere and nowhere. “Yes,” he answered, defeated.

“Now, do you think I can ever forgive you?”

Tom didn’t answer.

You reached for your purse, for the locket that dug deep inside. “I don’t know you,” you stated giving him the locket, the stupid locket you’d bought as a joke when making fun of other couples and now laughed in your face. “Whatever happened means nothing. Because that’s the thing Tom. Everything we lived was a lie, those two people in the locket are not us, because you weren’t who you said you were, no matter how much I loved it, it’s not true and though it was too many emotions all at once I’m—It’s not real, not for you. I spent this whole time thinking I wanted you to apologize but I don’t want it. That charming guy wasn’t truly you because you omitted one very important thing. You—What were you thinking? Were you planning to never say it? Or did you plan it like that? Just ditching me, hoping I wouldn’t find out—“

Tom took a deep breath. “No—No, I didn’t. I just—-I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you and I should’ve fixed it before—-“

“No, no you didn’t because it wasn’t enough for you.”

Tom gulped, “It was, it was—-the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“And you ruined it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How little words mean when you’re a little too late, huh?” And that was the cue you needed to walk away. He silently watched you as you tried not to cry.

“I’m really sorry.” He said.

Was he?

“What if I try to prove it to you?” He asked as you were steps away from him.

You didn’t stop.

“If we go over this, you’ll see I never lied about it.” He continued.

“I already went over it, I remember everything, Tom, and maybe that’s why I don't want to talk to you.”

Tom walked behind, slowly. “I just happened to be very unlucky when it came to my own circumstances,” he reached over. “And I wish the timing had been better. But you’re right, it’s the one real thing I’ve ever had and I lost it because I hid something in fear of losing you. I lied because it was too good to be true. And I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me but I think you deserve to know why. But you went to the bar for a reason, and you had the locket for another.”

You stopped this time. Looking down at the floor and then at his hand, holding your stupid scarf. You shook your head, you really didn’t want to go through it all over again.

“I know you won’t forgive me,” he stated. “But I can’t let you go. You’re everywhere. And I miss the person I was when you were around, and I won’t stop fighting because you’re everywhere. Dreams, nightmares.”

Funny. You were his demons too.

“Am I haunting your nightmares?” You asked. Tom only watched you.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, I just need—I really need you to listen to my version.”

“Fine then, let’s go down this sad, beautiful tragic love affair.”

-

next chapter

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[scathecraw]

BBRae Week 2021 - Day 1: Unconventional Kiss

Raven had been dancing around the issue for weeks now, and both she and Gar knew it. There had been a few near misses after a date gone well, a few breathless close calls during training, and one precipitous moment in the kitchen that fell apart when the smoke detector signaled their distraction.

They had been good dates. Very good dates, to be quite honest. Raven had expected that they would go nearly that well, and that had been why she had held off for so long. With all the emotional vulnerability and insightful talks and fantastic company and so many other things that came with dating someone you had been attracted to for years, she knew that the other shoe would drop, and she would have to just plunge in headfirst. And Gar had been patient – he wasn’t one to rush, especially with her. But he wanted it. And, god help her, she wanted it, too.

A perfect first kiss. The First Kiss, for both of them, hung up on each other for so long that they had never made any real attempts to find anyone else. Kori’s magazines had promised that the first kiss was always awkward and had to be refined by, hrm,repeated practice, but that was only a small part of the fear that gripped Raven when she thought of actually, really putting lips to lips.

It wasn’t Gar. She fully expected him to be just as bad as she was for a while (and likely longer given how quick she could pick things up). It wasn’t even what might… come after. Not as such. It was just… just… it was Important. Capital “I” Important – that things go well. Despite the promise of a bad first kiss by seemingly everyone who had ever kissed, it had to go right. Too wet or too dry, wrong head tilt, wrong duration, whatever – but she wanted to kiss him and do it over and over again and what if he didn’t want to or what if there was no chemistry or what if she sneezed or got so nervous she vomited or any number of things that would, according to all her latest nightmares, put him off wanting her the way she wanted him.

And he seemed so damn blithe about it. Like he couldn’t be less worried, even though she had felt his pulse race and could practically hear his internal monologue turning into a full blown soliloquy. He had that placid smile and those sparkling eyes and smelled like warmth and pine and it was so stupid how he wouldn’t just admit how nervous he was so they could be nervous together.

No, she had to be the mature one and feel all the butterflies for them both. She could practically hear his corny joke about never getting butterflies because he was vegetarian. Stupid Gar and stupid kissing.

It would happen. She would make it happen. And it wouldn’t be perfect, or probably even a very good kiss, but it would be right. Eventually.

____

There was an awful lot of noise and fleeing civilians for an evening out, even at the pier.

Nightwing sighed from atop his favorite ride at the boardwalk, the Ferris Wheel, as he retrieved his communicator and alerted the team. “Titans, we’ve got work to do. Something big is causing trouble at the east entrance. Star and I are on our way and will meet you there.” With that, he stood up in the precariously rocking carriage and Starfire lifted him by the arms, taking off in the direction of the disturbance. Cyborg, heretofore incognito on a date, immediately excused himself and waded through the crowds, shedding his holo-disguise. He was alerted to his passing teammates by a green blur, and called out to Raven as she passed, asking for a ride on one of her ink-black levitating discs. She obliged and they took off after Changeling’s racing avian form.

Gar was the fastest one to respond in these situations. Superhuman reactions and mobility got him to the trouble faster than any of his teammates, and he was proud of it. It meant that he was the first one to  engage the enemy, which was a dangerous gambit when he didn’t know what the enemy was, but someone had to be first on the line when every second was a danger to innocent people. In this case, it was more an annoyance than any real threat. Kitten was throwing a very public and destructive temper tantrum, as she tended to do within a few weeks of release/escape.

Her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Fang, was nearby and suffering the brunt of the auditory assault while a swarm of mutated grubs ate their way through stalls and prizes alike. Kitten was waving the control device as she gesticulated wildly, and the chance to end the whole debacle in one fell swoop was too tempting.

Without waiting for backup or giving away his presence, Changeling darted forward as a seagull, beak agape as he neared the remote. He had timed it perfectly, if not for Fang’s suddenly outstretched spiderleg. The blow sent him tumbling into a pile of cheap stuffed animals and he transformed back into himself. The arguing couple immediately turned their ire on him without ever stopping their argument.

“And now look what you’ve done! Your stupidity got this idiot involved! Why couldn’t you just win me a stupid teddy bear like a normal boyfriend?” Kitten raged as she hammered at the controller, causing the grubs to turn their attention towards the dazed and prone Changeling. Fang launched webbing at him, working at cross purposes as the grubs and giving Changeling just enough time to roll out of the way.

“This is not my fault. You know these games are rigged! Why would I give the money I stole to these scam artists?”

“Because you are supposed to! It’s what boyfriends do! They do stupid stuff because I want you TO!” Kitten screamed and threw her remote onto the ground where it cracked and fizzled. Instead of the expected de-metamorphosis from vicious gnawing grubs to harmless caterpillars, there was a rumbling from deep inside the snack stall and a mass exodus of larvae from the vicinity. Gar had just gotten to his feet when a much larger, toothier, and more armored wriggler burst from the shoddy wooden confines, writhing and shrieking even more shrilly than Kitten, and headed directly towards her and Fang in a headlong charge.

Apparently Kitten’s shouting was enough to distract both of them from their imminent death by squirming tank, and Changeling had to make a tough split-second decision – let them suffer the consequences of their own stupidity, or put himself in harm’s way to save them.

It wasn’t much of a choice. Leaping forward, he transformed into a rhino, a fast moving locomotive of heavy armor and muscle and slammed headfirst into the tank sized larva, diverting it and being whipped aside by the unexpected followthrough of the tail end of the grub.

Raven’s disk touched down just in time to see his head collide with a thick support post that held up the boardwalk, and the sounds of argument fell silent as Kitten and Fang wordlessly assessed the situation and fled. Cyborg called out “Get B. I’ll get the worm,” and launched after the creature.

Raven raced to Garfield’s side, seeing the heavy gash and road rash from sliding across the wood. She assessed him as quickly as possible, noting the broken ribs, bleeding, and, most concerning, the lack of breathing. She channeled her power, reaching her soulself into the unmoving shapeshifter on the ground, and urgently repaired his most vital injuries.

The head wound would wait, they always bled more and looked worse than they were. First the broken ribs, eased out and stabilized enough to hold for a little while. Then the badly punctured lung. As the trapped air was removed and the hole patched, she expected him to cough, sit up, and make a dumb joke. Instead he just lay there, silent. His pulse was fine, and there was no reason for him to be so still.

She did all the steps that the Titans’ first aid training laid out for her, making sure his airway was clear, no pressure preventing his breathing or hidden wounds that would cause more damage, then started mouth to mouth.

It only took a few breaths, as if his body had simply not realized for some seconds that he was able to breathe normally again, before the first unassisted rasps began. Raven let out a sob of relief, feeling like his breath resuming was directly connected to her own oxygen. She continued healing him, clearing his head of blood and strengthening the broken ribs before his eyes opened with a groan.

“Did ya get the license of that truck that hit me?” he said, weakly.

Raven nearly hit him. “That was by far the stupidest thing I have ever seen you do. What were you thinking, charging in like that?”

“Aww c’mon, Rae. I had ta’. And I’m sure you’ve seen me do stupider things.”

“None of them had you puncture a lung and stop breathing, you fool. You didn’t need emergency resuscitation when you tried to do a standing backflip.” A jolt of power zapped him with an icicle of cold to the chest, and he coughed.

“At least I stuck the landing this time, heh. I think I can sit up. Thanks for fixing me up, Doctor Rae.”

She glared, and kept glaring as Nightwing checked in. Fang and Kitten had been apprehended almost peacefully by him and Starfire, and Cyborg had incapacitated the grub easily. She reported the situation, not once taking her eyes off her idiot of a boyfriend.

He rolled to his feet, only a little gingerly, and retrieved the broken pieces of the remote control for Cyborg to repair and reverse the changes to the swarm.

As he stooped down to pick up the last pieces, he stopped, and a look of realization dawned on him.

“Wait, you gave me CPR? Like, mouth-to-mouth?”

“Of course. You weren’t breathing and you needed oxygen before any working brain cells died.”

“Y’know,” he said, sitting back down beside her, “I think that counts as our first kiss.”

Raven went still. It couldn’t. It wasn’t even a kiss, it was legitimate medical treatment. But then again, it wasn’t very good, it was at a weird angle, and there was even the terrible fear that she’d vomit out of worry. It checked all the boxes for the perfect terrible first kiss.

He interrupted her musing, “Too bad I don’t remember it. Maybe we could see if trying again might jog some memories.” He reached his arm across her shoulders, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh shut up,” she said, and pulled him in for a completely butterfly-free second first kiss.

AO3 FF.net

[capricioussun]

Could I ask about Ice? I’m really interested in these guys-

I just realized I never posted my notes about IF oml

Ice (IF Papyrus)

Age and Height - early/mid 20s, 7’4

Magic Color and Abilities - The Invertedfell gang’s magic is all invert of Underfell, so instead of Red, Blue, and Purple, Ice has bright teal, slightly blue leaning magic, orange instead of blue, and bright lime green instead of purple. He possesses all of the same magic abilities as Edge, “[…] has near Complete Magic Control, which means he can control attacks’ directions even after sending them, stop them completely, and even control how much damage they inflict. He can summon attacks from any surface, and can drastically change their size and shape as well. His blue magic is also highly refined, as he can “collect” multiple souls at once and still maintain individual control over each. He can also summon Gaster Blasters, but incredibly rarely does. His [green] magic is actually [REDACTED].”, and excellent healing abilities.

Fighting Style - Similarly to the way he wields his magic, everything about Ice’s fighting style revolves around control. Every movement precise, calculated, his main goal is to end every fight with as minimal magic expenditure as possible. He does not like to waste time. He will use anything at his disposal; magic, his surroundings, his own claws, but it never seems desperate or animalistic. He has a calm collect about him whenever going into a fight, and is usually dead silent, unless he needs to shout orders to his men.

Favorite Relationship Dynamics - I actually really love the dynamic he has with Pin (his brother). They have a very bizarre relationship, and to an outside perspective, most wouldn’t even know Ice cares about his brother, or even views him apart from any other guard dogs, but despite not really having an emotionally healthier relationship, they’re actually almost closer in some ways than other Fell brothers. They’re more protective of each other, but they actually talk even less, somehow 🙄 I also really like his dynamic with Asgore, it’s very, very tentative, both knows the other hates them, yet somehow Ice is the Captain of the King’s Guard. I also love his dynamic with Gerson, actually! Gerson retired many years ago and is a hermit, but he has a lot of important knowledge on…certain subjects, so Ice has to seek him out for “advice” sometimes. They get along surprisingly well, like an estranged grunkle with his weird grand-nephew.

What They Do Post Surfacing - He is the monster Ambassador, alongside Frisk, but he also take an interest in botany and needlepoint! He likes repetitive, tiny details, so things like that are right up his alley. He prefers to live on his own, but checks in on his brood often.

A Random Headcanon - He is a very good singer, his voice is surprisingly smooth, and I love to imagine him singing songs like…Run, by Hozier, for example. He’d be really good at that haunting sort softness…

Prompt

[beeshavethrees]

HEY LOOK it’s an AU I’ve sat on for a couple years and never talked about! This is also probably the *weirdest* AU I’ve ever made. This AU focuses mainly on Alexander and Thomas reincarnating over the years, though other characters sometimes pop up as well. Details below the cut!

Making the photoset small so that it isn’t immediately obvious how rough these little sketches are. I did this in like an hour which is why it’s so sloppy.

Don’t expect anything else from this AU, I just wanted to get it out once.

As stated this is a really weird AU, so I’m going to summarize it in the cleanest way I possibly can.

World setup:

This world relies on three main concepts. The first is that souls have power, and the second is that this power is represented by colors, and the third is that soul magic leads the world.

Souls have power, and this power grows over time. As someone is reincarnated over the years, their soul will continue to grow more and more powerful and refined. Souls can change their power type (explained in the next concept) each time they’re reincarnated, but often trend towards keeping the same or similar power types as those they’ve had in previous lives, or a mix of them.

This power is represented by colors, particularly light or the lack thereof. Magic is defined as two types: white/light (and its components), or black/dark. Someone can not have both types of magic. Dark magic is organic magic, allowing the user to manipulate the natural world. Only a small subset of the population has this magic, and most go into careers related to naturalism or farming. Light magic is inorganic magic (making it essentially limitless), and is held by the vast, vast majority of the population. It is broken down in the color spectrum -- most light magicians aren’t considered as having light magic, but instead have red magic, or blue magic, or so on.

Soul magic leads the world in the form of the High God. As the power of souls grow over time, so does the power of the gods. The High God is little more than a web of scraps of magic, and builds up the basis of the universe and everything within it. Two Lesser Gods are also much later brought into being by this same force of magic, but where the High God is concerned with the cosmos, the Lesser Gods care for the beings within it. The Lesser Gods also pluck individual souls out of the cycle to act as servants and ambassadors who can actively visit humanity to guide it down the path of the Lesser God’s vision. The Lesser Gods can correspond with the High God, but there’s little to be heard by a being in such a grand scale above even the other gods.

Plot basics:

The storyline takes place over thousands of years, and several reincarnations of the cast, but the main focus is on three lives.

One of three: This life takes place while humanity is still only beginning to gain its footing. Magic is in its infancy, and is capable of very little -- and while some regions embrace the natural variation in magic, others detest it. The main cast lives in an area of the latter sort -- a small tribe identifying themselves with their “red” magic is clashing with the “blue” tribe over a small area of land that grows a particular herb that is highly nutritious and thought to have healing properties. The one thing the two tribes agree over is in a legend of people with every magic type, “light” magicians, who are incredibly powerful and are sent by fate to lead tribes to prosperity. Both tribes also identify their affiliations by painting stripes under their eyes with their color.

(There are other tribes in the area -- many of the other cast members live in the green tribe, and Lafayette is of the dark tribe to the south, but they don’t have much standing on the plot.)

Thomas is the son of a the blue tribe’s leader and is particularly gifted with magic to the point where some people claim his family must descend from a light magician. He hates the pressure put on him to step up and lead, or to use his powers to defeat the red tribe.

Alexander is from the red tribe, raised by his mother -- his father is unknown to him, though his mother claims she found his father one day while out foraging, brought him back to the village to tend to his wounds, and fell in love until the day he ran away again. Alexander is a typical red magician, but often will go out alone into the woods to attempt to push his powers to the limits, with the excuse that he forages while away. One day, Alexander leaves to forage, but becomes caught in a heavy thunderstorm. Disoriented, he stumbles through the underbrush until he comes to a messy trail and follows it.

Thomas is the one to find him collapsed on the trail, bunches of the herb Alexander collected in his small bag. The rain washed away Alexander’s paint -- not knowing who this stranger could be, Thomas hauls him back and takes the herb from Alexander’s back to give to the healers.

When Alexander wakes up -- indoors, clothes dry -- he’s approached by Thomas, who introduces himself. Alexander is at first terrified, knowing that a member of Thomas’ tribe wouldn’t hesitate to kill a member of the red tribe. But Thomas has been working on a plan: he doesn’t want all this pressure on him to do this and do that as the heir to the only family descending from a light magician; instead, he slyly mentions that he heard legend of light magicians appearing to aid those in need. Alexander jumps on the opportunity, claiming that of course he’s a light magician, and of course he’ll help Thomas’ community. Anything to stop them from stabbing him then and there, he supposes. Thomas thanks him, hands him a bowl of broth made from the healing herbs, and their relationship develops from there.

Alexander never does find out his father was a light magician.

But other folks find out he’s a red magician -- and before he can escape back to his own tribe, he’s killed.

Two of three: Thousands of years later, magic is no longer a faint power only a few can properly utilize. Instead, it’s well-known and spread through the population, which isn’t tribal any longer, but is instead a relatively highly-developed interlocked society spanning the globe.

No longer are people defined by a single color -- many people descend from a mixture of many colors, and instead are simply inclined towards one over the other, though some stronger than others. Light magic has also become far more common, though it’s rare to see someone who can naturally use it; instead, people with great magical affinity will be invited to schools of higher education where they are trained.

Thomas is in his second year studying with one such school. His parents both attended it, and are ecstatic for Thomas to join it as well, though he’s less interested. He’s initially invited to the school to study light magic, but during the first week of orientation he finds out: hey! He hates light magic and isn’t inclined towards it at all! And instead he runs off to study blue magic. It just...feels better.

Alexander comes into the school a year after Thomas on a full scholarship. He comes from a far more unfortunate background, but shows incredible magic potential. So, a light magician it is! Where the other magics at the school dress however they want, work on projects all over the common spaces, wander the halls...to be a light magician is to be perfect, and that’s exactly what he wants. He dresses in the perfect white uniform, he sticks his nose up at other magics, and his class -- only one, all day, every day -- is set with the other 99 students in his class in an auditorium.

Only...light magic isn’t all it’s cracked out to be. Light magic is no longer the raw force of power it was; instead, students are encouraged to refine and control it if they want to use it. Light magic is pulled from the soul and spun into a string, then woven on a loom into the desired shape. First-years are still learning how to weave, so they work on projects as a community -- each student of the 100 is brought up to a stage during class, spins a single string, then sets it on the loom and sits down. The lecturer then weaves them all together. Though first-years are forbidden from meeting with the upper years, rumor says upper years get to weave their own magic, and go on to work at the greatest government-run magi-tech facilities in the world.

But Alexander feels off. He doesn’t like the clothes, and he doesn’t like the culture. Within the first month, the lecture becomes dull: there’s no notes to take, every demonstration is slow, and he’s terrified that every time it’s his turn to come to the stage, he’ll mess up his weave. Not only that, but weaving doesn’t feel...right.

One day he runs into a group of blue students while going to the restroom during lecture. They’re encouraged not to leave during lecture, but he’s falling asleep and has to get out of that uncomfortable chair. And he realizes...the blue students are using their magic freely, and already doing amazing things with their powers, not spending all their days in that awful lecture hall.

And just like that, Thomas convinces him to leave the light magic program. Alexander becomes a red magician, but something never does sit right with him about what was happening in those lectures.

Until it comes out that weaving light magic requires depositing a bit of one’s soul along with it. Light-weaving magicians will all burn out eventually, and while the soul will regenerate come their next reincarnation, their magic is stolen from them in their current incarnation.

Chaos breaks out among the magicians of the school. A microcosm of revolution between those who are learned and powerful and those who are plentiful and ready to throw all they have at it.

Alexander is killed in the chaos.

Three of three: Another several thousand years pass. It’s by this time that the Lesser Gods have fully formed, and light-weaving technology has surpassed all else to the point where humanity is post-scarcity -- cities are rebuilt for beauty, natural spaces carved out, portals and magic commonly integrated. Everyone has everything they could want, they only need to find their place and personal happiness.

Thomas is plucked out of the reincarnation cycle by the Lesser Gods; he’s brought into being as an adult with a strictly light-blue uniform and a purpose. He mainly takes correspondence and delivers messages, seeks out additional souls that would be good to be made into a being such as himself (a ”unit”), as well as various other duties assigned at random, such as setting things up if another unit will be doing things down in the world.

He doesn’t personally recommend Alexander’s soul be pulled, but he doesn’t mind when he’s assigned to wake Alexander up. Alexander is another unit, but this time an enforcer with a pink uniform: or, white-red, to be specific. An enforcer is more than a passive messenger -- they’re powerful, strong, and are meant to cleanly eliminate those who would destroy the perfect society humanity has built.

He and Alexander work next to each other for a time while Alexander is awaiting orders. One day, Alexander is sent off on a mission: some random crazy person has been trying to build an artificial god. Of course, that won’t fly, so he’s off to eliminate them and destroy anything remaining of their project.

But in his absence, Thomas starts to realize that he’s...lonely. He’s excited when he’s given his next assignment to go to Earth for some silly routine work, and realizes that he doesn’t...really want to go back. James is the final nail in the coffin for him: finally, someone else who likes him! They just have to disappear and pop off elsewhere, ideally avoiding enforcers, and they’ll be off scott free!

Shame that Alexander finds him.

(The funny thing about Thomas being a servant is that he does have some powers -- ones that happen to counteract all of Alexander’s offensive abilities as an enforcer. Making it a very awkward sort of manhunt. Units were never made to hunt each other, or even defect at all!)

And with each escape, every thwarted plan, Alexander cracks a little more. And eventually, when Thomas extends a hand -- maybe out of pity, maybe out of love, maybe just because it’s what he’s always done in all their lives -- Alexander takes it.

And they run free.

And that’s it for this AU! I’m never writing for it ever again. Goodnight.

[nightmareinthelibrary]

Hi 💜 I remember you blogging my post, thank you for the kind words. I’m also curious about your OC as well, would you tell me more about this lovely person? Just basic things if you will uwu hehe have a nice day ✨

Goddess this is such a sweet ask! I really do need to work on writing stuff up for her yet I have all these applications I keep putting off like an idiot.

My character is half Siren and half Human. She’s a marine animal technically so she can’t swim in freshwater without getting sick. And her tail only shows in the ocean. She has to swim nude if she wants her tail to show because it would be weird to have it grow around her swimsuit bottoms. Just thinking about the possible wedgie is giving me the heebie jeebies.

She can speak, read, and write all the languages (that’s a normal thing for all sirens). She’s in an fwb relationship with Santa and his wife Gretchen (aka Odin and Frigga). Her niece (technically her cousin’s daughter) is 1/4 Fae and her preferred shape is a cat. Her niece’s English name is Sarah.

They have names in every language, they like being named by native speakers if possible. Their own names aren’t spoken out loud except in 2 super formal situations and their language sounds like water. I haven’t figured out their writing system yet but it’s a cross between Vulcan calligraphy and Gallifreyan (which I’m not sure I spelled right but it’s the language from Doctor Who).

Ezekiel tried to pronounce her name and what he said translated as Nutter Butter Finger Squitch. Jason Voorhees somehow got closer with Butter Fly Salad Man. Neither of these are anything near correct. The writing on the cards the Librarians and Guardians attach to Jason’s gifts when she signs her name looks like a squiggle so Jason refers to her as Cousin Squiggle. Jenkins can say it correctly he just doesn’t because names are rude for her people. It’s kind of an odd concept but because magical creatures are telepathic with each other they don’t need to use names except in written records.

She can also talk to animals that aren’t magical but not telepathically. They can understand what she’s saying though even if she’s not speaking octopus or crocodile. She’s the person who asks the dog if she can pet them and not the owner if she can pet the dog. To her the dog’s opinion is more important.

Her people are also really good at healing. I really need to refine the explanation for this because I’m a Bio major and to me all the technical stuff makes sense. But basically they control water on a molecular level and can use the hydrogen boding between water and open DNA (when it’s being copied in the S phase of cell growth) to read the DNA sequence. This is a very small part of it but it’s also the easiest to explain for me at the moment. They can also tell who people are even if they’ve shifted shape by the way their body uses water (water pattern).

[dustedmagazine]

Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

[sirenfromthelostcity]

The Most Pt. 1

A/N: Okay so this is my first ever John Wick fic! In a nutshell, it’s basically like a mentor X student AU. I don’t know why but i couldn’t get that idea out of my head and i really wanted to write it, so here! It’s called The Most bc it reminds me of the song with the same title from Miley Cryrus’s new EP. I wouldn’t say the fic is inspired by the song, not entirely at least, but idk to me it just vibes with it (if that makes any sense? i feel like once the second part is out it might make more sense?). This fic is intended to have a second part so that shall also be posted shortly as i have another mini John Wick fic i wanna start and i also want to write the second part to my short Spider-Man fic. I’m so excited about this story y’all! I hope you all enjoy it! As always, feedback is always appreciated. Without further ado, enjoy! :))))

Words: 2.7k+

Today marks the fourth and a half year that you’ve been under John Wick’s tutelage. Only six more months left and John will have had completed his marker. Initially, John was rather reluctant to be your instructor but the marker held by your father gave him no other choice but to abide by your father’s request to turn you into a formidable assassin. Who better to teach you than the infamous John Wick himself?

In the beginning of your training journey, John didn’t bother to hide his reluctance in your father’s request. This made things rather difficult until one day you decided to confront him about his behavior. He was in his study, probably searching for a way to get out of having to train you, when you knocked to let your presence be known then proceeded to enter.

“Evening, Mr. Wick, call me crazy, but I’m getting an inkling that you don’t want to train me.”

He scoffed.

“Believe me, I get it. I bet you’d really rather not have me intercepting with your lonesome peace and quiet but the bottom line is that I have to do this too and I have to learn it all to be as good as you. Maybe not exactly as good as you, but good enough to have me not die immediately as that would be, despite your current opinion of me, quite upsetting.”

He silently glared at you for a long minute, still not very much pleased with his current situation, “Why do you want to do this?”

“Want, who said anything about want? You may be bound by a marker, Mr. Wick, but I’m bound by my family to learn and master everything that there is to know about how to thrive in this lifestyle to survive in it.”

The room remained uncomfortably silent for sometime but you still didn’t falter in your stance.

“Before me who did you train with?” he asked.

“Well I was being trained in Krav Maga by Gabriel Avdeyev for some time but he and my family had a falling out and-–”

“I heard,” he sighed. “.... Based on the results of your initial assessment you have a lot to improve on. For starters, the way you initiate your attacks are okay but they will need to be refined or you will be killed. Get some rest. Tomorrow at dawn we will continue your training.”

Despite knowing John couldn’t actually purposely hurt or kill you, he was still very intimidating and the confrontation was rather hard to execute. But, it paid off.

Training with the notorious John Wick also meant living with him and sometimes that involved taking care of each other. Along with being a good fighter and shooter, John also stressed that one needs to know how to properly patch themselves up. He’s given you medical lessons before but to really teach you, one night he decided to not go to his usually doctor for a patch up but to go directly to you instead and see what you’ve retained from your lessons. When that great idea struck him it was in the middle of the night and he gave you quite a fright when he went into your room all bloody. You almost shot him with the gun you had hidden under your pillow if it weren’t for his quick reflexes which actually made you feel really impressed considering he was critically injured.

“Are you serious, John?” you asked, rather irked at being abruptly awoken at three in the morning.

“No, I’m bleeding. Now get up, this is part of your training. Time to see how much you’ve retained from those medical lessons,” he grunted as another pang of pain struck his lower abdomen.

You promptly threw your covers over your body and got out of bed before leading him to the bathroom where the first aid kit was kept. After finding the source of his bleeding you unbuttoned his shirt and got to work. Under the circumstances, seeing John shirtless wasn’t at all awkward. However, ogling his exposed chest was the last thing on you mind considering how he was bleeding an awful lot from his lower abdomen.

“Jesus what did they nick you with? This looks really bad,” you comment as you inspect the wound.

“Broken bottle of champagne. Try to avoid those in the future, they can be pretty tricky to fix.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you proceeded to clean the wound and remove any stray traces of glass, subconsciously taking quick glances at him whenever he winced. “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“Do you happen to have bourbon in any of these cabinets?”

“No, but I wouldn’t really recommend that considering how alcohol consumption can actually thin your blood out and make you bleed more.”

“But it does help with the pain.”

“Mmmmm, I’d still wager more on the pills designed specifically for that.”

John huffed. At this point you’re finally starting to stitch up his wound but his pained grunts make it a little difficult to focus.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“That’s so sad, John,” you paused to briefly glance at him. “Also super broody. We get it, you’re a badass.”

“A bad ass? That seems rude,” he sarcastically replied.

“Oh, my god, you’re actually joking with me for the second time this night. Don’t think I missed that dad joke earlier with the ‘No, I’m bleeding,’” you imitated his gruff voice and lightly laughed. “Good one, John.”

The small smile subconsciously remained on your face for a few seconds longer and John couldn’t help but admire how nicely it adorned your face. You caught him vaguely looking at you but simply assumed blood loss had something to do with the way he was looking at you. He turned away before you could even question your hypothesis.

“Well, we’re all done now. With the abdomen wound at least,” you noticed he’s also bleeding from his head and move to inspect it but his hands reached out and gently grabbed your wrists.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), I can take care of the rest, you’ve done good with the ugliest of them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John, I’m here now and I’ve got this for you.”

Never one to waste words, John remained silent which you took as a go ahead.

Thankfully the injuries on his head were nothing more than a few small cuts. At least on that night they were. Some nights John would come back with much rougher cuts, clearly showing that whoever he had fought had certainly put up a good fight but not quite good enough to best John Wick. Still, not only did cleaning his injuries provide you with insights to his battles, it helped you both establish a sense of trust between you two.  

After that night, rather than go to his usual doctor John began going straight to you for his patch ups. Could he have chosen to start going to you simply because it’s quicker than stopping by The Continental first and then home? Possibly. The reason for him basically appointing you as his patch up doc never really came up but you didn’t really care. By then your affection and attachment to John was beginning to grow so you didn’t mind being the one to help him feel better after a difficult job. Not to mention that tending to his wounds meant having a good excuse to touch him. Not while overstepping your boundaries, of course, but sometimes it was just nice to be able to be able to grab his hands without it being weird. Tending to the cuts on his face was something you always saved for last. It was your chance to really admire his facial features up close while simultaneously healing it. Sometimes you were so gentle with him that he actually managed to doze off and you were able to tell when it happened because he’d look so relaxed and serene. When you had to wake him up, although you didn’t want to but you knew he’d sleep much more comfortably in his bed than in a stiff chair, he’d always apologize for falling asleep which in effect often lead you both to joke about it. However, you swear that you caught him blushing the first few times it happened and when it did it just felt so, human…

You and John have really come a long way in terms of tolerating each other and actually bonding together. You both truly did. Because John is your instructor and you are over a decade younger than him, your relationship with him was purely professional. However, after about two years of training with him, your feelings for him continued to evolve into a much more stronger and different kind of admiration.

Are you in love with The Baba Yaga?

The answer to that would be a very strong perhaps. When you and John were briefed on the deal of the marker, you were supposed to learn about weapons training, fighting forms, assassination techniques, melee weapons training, etc. You were to learn how to become a proficient and deadly assassin, such as John, not about love or anything else that might be considered a weakness.

You hardly ever give yourself the chance to ponder on your feelings for John, much less at the possibility that he could possess the same feelings of affection towards you. It���s not as if you believe that the less you think or talk about it the less real it is, you aren’t that naive. You’ve simply decided long ago that you’re not going to act on your feelings for John. Love or anything remotely close to that is just not in the cards for people like you and John. At least that’s what you keep repeating to yourself.

Still, with your training nearing to an end you’ve been feeling really glum about it. Training with the notorious John Wick hasn’t been easy but living with and falling in love with the real man behind the legend was so foolishly easy. John is an extremely proficient killer, that much is true, but he is also a man. John is a man with dry humor, a latent love for the simpler things in life, a fun penchant for stunt driving and cars, kind and gentle eyes, and, surprisingly but also not really, a man of a very chivalrous nature. Despite the initial turbulence in your mentor-student relationship, you and John inevitably became good friends which really allowed you to see him under a different light. He often took you out to nice dinners claiming that he wanted a change of scenery from an uneventful day or simply because you did very well while training. Either way you enjoyed your outings with him and also simply appreciated being in an entirely different place, not being reminded of the person you’re supposed to become. However whenever you got injured while training to become that person, John would actually help patch you up. Although he’s taught you how to do so yourself, John would claim the medical lessons were mainly for when you are by yourself and have no one to help you and he’d remind you that he’s there with you now. Which is pretty similar to what you’ve told him the first time you helped patch him up now that you think of it. For an assassin who’s extremely well known for his brutal techniques and merciless takedowns, it astounded you to learn that the same man can also be so gentle. You’re not even officially leaving yet but you already know just how badly you’re going to miss John Wick.

In spite of yourself choosing to not focus on a particular set of feelings held for a particular person, today your brain can’t help but do the exact opposite. Today, John decided to focus more on Brazilian Jui-Jitsu. Little to your knowledge, John actually enjoys training you in this fighting form because these techniques allow a weaker or smaller attacker to successfully overpower a stronger opponent by manipulating the human body and redirecting it’s force. Therefore, if you do it right, you could use the opponent's strength against them and take them down. Usually you do very well in this form of martial arts but today John is able to tell you’re not fully there with him. Although John is very good at Brazilian Jui-Jitsu you’re level of skill is practically on par with his as well and you’re current struggle to beat him is alerting him.

Currently, John has you in locked in a rear choke hold on the ground, with one arm wrapped around your neck, his other arm around your free arm, and one leg wrapped around your other arm preventing you from breaking free. You struggle for a few seconds, realizing there’s no use, he’s already one this match, and grunt in frustration. John loosens his grip around you but doesn’t fully release you yet, he brings his lips close to your ear, “What’s wrong?”

The feel of his breath on your skin sends shivers down your spine, yet you quickly and physically swat those thoughts to the side and shake your head, “Right now you have me in a choke hold and I can’t get out of it, John. I don’t know about you but this seems like a pretty big issue for me.”

John instantly releases his grip on you and rises up, he’s about to lend you a hand to get up as well but you’ve already beaten him to that.

“That’s not what I meant, (Y/N). Tell me, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you insist. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“For starters, I’ve been kicking your ass in this all day when I know I’ve taught you better than that. And for another, you just seem very distracted today.”  

John is as perceptive as he is deadly, which is why you don’t bother lying to him again and instead insist on continuing to train.

You look down for a second before looking up, making sure to avoid his concerned gaze, “Look, John, do you mind if we just call it in for the day?”

“Something is wrong,” he states.

“John,” you impatiently groan.   

“Why won’t you just tell me what the issue is?”

“Because there’s nothing you can do about it!” you snap and instantly regret it, rubbing at your temples. “Okay, I did not mean to say it like that. I’m sorry. I just need to cool off right now, John…”

This time you don’t wait for permission and simply walk away, however, John doesn’t try to stop you either. Not because he doesn’t care, quite the contrary in fact. Concerned and confused, John intently watches you head towards your room. He begins to trail after you but halts in his steps deciding that right now the  best option would be to give you your space. Still, John can’t help but wonder about what could possibly be troubling your mind so much and why you refuse to speak of it.

He glances one last time in the direction you previously walked in before heading towards the kitchen and serving himself a shot of bourbon.

“You can’t do anything about it!” your words replay in his mind.

“She’ll tell me when she’s ready,” he mentally tells himself. “We’ll figure it out then.”

John downs two more shots, currently finding it difficult to dwindle his concern and thoughts of you, before taking off in the direction of his room. He encounters the door to your bedroom on his way and halts at the entrance. He balls his hand into a fist and raises it to knock on your door but slowly brings it down and proceeds to head to his room. After finally entering his room, he gives your door one last glance before closing his door and retreating to his room for the remainder of the day.

[snek-snuggles]

Aquarius and Virgo?

(On a personal note I'm a virgo and I was head over heels in love with this one aquarius for literally 7 years 😄 it's all good now but this stopped me cold for a half a second).

Virgo- I'm a weird mix. Im very critical of my writing, but not in a self deprecating way. Im always editing and refining and changing things to see how it reads differently. Im the same with art too- I love to refine, but at the same time I'm also very good about being proud of my stuff. I tend to be so anxious to post I end up editing lightly and then posting a lot too if it's a casual one shot or something but for stuff I'm really taking seriously I will edit as I go and a few times after it's done.

Aqua- Have y'all ever heard of twin flames? It's this whole thing. It's similar to soul mates. Anyway, the fic I'm working on has them as twin flames.

(Brief context- a twin flame is someone who's believed to share the same original soul as you. The two "twins" were once one and experience many lifetimes together in different capacities because they vibrate at the same frequency and naturally find one another. Its commonly believed that the two will be whole again once they are reunited, but anyone who has been on a twin flame journey for any length of time will tell you it's about self love and healing and the end goal is not a relationship but rather inner peace. A twin flame will spark recognition between the two partners, as though they recall one another from past lives on a soul level. The love is powerful, because the two are seeing themselves in one another, and being awakened to unconditional love for self, although they mistake it for love for one another. The relationship is often tumultuous, as it brings up deep inner wounds that stand in the way of this love for self. The journey teaches you to shake off all this old bullshit that keeps you from loving yourself as well as others in a healthy way. Often the end goal.of the experience is learning that to love someone (and yourself) truly, they (and you) must be entirely free. You don't fear living without them, not because you don't love them, but because you.love yourself and your life enough to not depend on them to be happy, and also you value their happiness far more than you fear not having them in your life. It's a difficult thing to really explain. Btw I went through this myself- hence the note above about the aquarius 😄 it was a mess and awful and incredible and now it's going to be a fic, because art makes pain worth it.)

[grimmjowkurosakidrake]

Inquisitive minds

Sumary: No Uchiha massacre! and no Orochimaru deflection! AU. Orochimaru takes a special interest in Sakura and decides to make her his student.

Characters: Orochimaru, Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura.

Pairing: Hints of Sasusaku because I can't help myself.

This fic was supossed to be fluffy but it got really dark in the end. Also this fic is inspired by This Post.

It’s only when Kabuto sees Tsunade’s little disciple cutting her own skin just to practice her healing abilities on herself when Sasuke’s team-mate spikes his interest in her. But it’s after a particularly slow training session with his priced student that he decides to take action on his interest.

“What’s the matter, Sasuke-kun?” he asks, as he stops the training altogether.

In just over 30 minutes the prodigy has tripped over nothing four times and he’s actually bleeding because of one of Orochimaru’s attacks.

“Sakura is being annoying again” he mutters as the spoiled child that he is.

“How so?” coerces the sannin, always amused because of his student relationship with his pretty team-mate.

“She’s drinking poison” answers Sasuke with a frown marring his handsome features. “She swears is not as dangerous as I say it is, but I know it isn’t good for her body.”

“So she’s interested in poisons?” muses Orochimaru thoughtfully. “Kabuto and I also like to practice on poison from time to time.” Insinuates the snake to his charge, who looks at him with distrust “Maybe we could bring her here to play, and then you could take care of her on our own grounds.”

Sasuke doubts him for only a minute after that. The young Uchiha has always been protective and possessive of his team, and so, he jumps at the chance of keeping her precious Sakura close where he can keep an eye on her.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

“The girl could learn a lot under Kabuto and I” explains Orochimaru to his childhood friend.

The woman, even if still young-looking and beautiful,has the temper of a protective mother, and it shows on the ugly, distrustful frown plastered on her face.

“Sakura is my student” clarifies the Hokage, “ Naruto is Jiraiya’s and the little Uchiha brat is yours... So what brought this on?”

When team seven officially disbanded, a few years after their second and -at least successful- try in the Chuunin exams. Every sannin decided to take one their members as students.

Jiraiya took on Naruto as he was already his godfather and has been taking care of him since the boy’s parents death.

Sasuke went to Orochimaru, both of them prodigies of their respective generations, both of them owners of disconcerting dark chakra.

And Sakura, the always forgotten girl of their team, fell under the slug prince’s care. But now Orochimaru wanted the healer for himself.

“You know there are things that only I can teach her” he answers “we both know she’s close to unlock the Byakugou and I promise I won’t tamper with her progress, but she needs a teacher to encourage her inquisitive mind and you know it.”

“Don’t teach her anything weird and make sure that both of your students keep their slimy hands to themselves.” She yields after five full minutes of her glaring at his face with clear murderous intent.

“Don’t worry,” he purrs “she’s going to be safe with me.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────

“So why do you drink poison, Sakura-chan?” inquires Orochimaru even if he already knows the answer.

“To practice on producing antidotes under pressure, and to strength my immune system against external malign organisms.” She intones as the ideal, darling student that she is.

“But your body is already immune to most poisons and you’re not really under any pressure when it’s only your life that’s in danger.” He corrects her.

“So what can I do?”

“You practice on making antidotes for the people you love.” Sakura has a heart of gold, she’s the kind of girl who couldn’t care the last bit about herself, but would give up anything for her loved ones.

“But... How?” she asks clueless.

Orochimaru smirks on her direction “Sasuke-kun” he clarifies.

“But Sasuke-kun is not poisoned.”

“But he could be... If you asked nicely.” He insinuates, “it’s about time you started training your more... Refined, abilities as Kunoichi.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

The end of the day finished with Sakura asking Sasuke to drink one of the poisons Kabuto produced a few weeks later.

“If I drink this.” Starts Sasuke inspecting the little vial filled with a tick, purple liquid. “then you won’t have to... Right?”

“Yes, Sasuke-kun so, please. Will you?” She begs resting her hands on his naked chest. Her big, green eyes shining in that way that never failed to make him flush in their genin years. “Orochimaru-Sama says it’s completely safe and that if I can’t produce an antidote he has one in the ready for us.”

After the last statement Sasuke drinks the contents of the vial without hesitation. Under the cheerful watch of Sakura and Orochimaru.

The next four hours are spent on Sakura having Orochimaru’s men at her beck and call as she works on keeping her friend alive while producing an antidote.

At first Sasuke didn’t want her to leave his side. His fever awfully high and his need for her to hold his hand a priority on his blurred mind.

“Sakura, please. Don’t leave.” Groans the shinobi holding his medic’s hand.

“No, Sasuke-kun” admonishes the pink haired girl, slapping his hand away and leaving him on his bed. “I have to go.”

She leaves him, then. Occasionally stopping by his room to check on him as she ignores his pleas for comfort to continue her research.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

She finds the antidote the next morning as the sun starts to rise again. Then as Sasuke sleeps away the pain and the fever, Orochimaru prices his new student.

“You did well, Sakura-chan.” Smiles the sannin caressing the top of the girl’s head with a pale hand.

Sakura smiles at the compliment and the physical demonstration of appreciation. “I’m just glad Sasuke-kun is out of danger. But you always had that antidote didn’t you?”

“Of course I did, Sakura-chan.” Swears the man, practiced liar that he is. “Of course I did. Now...” He smiles Orochimaru sweetly opening his arms to walk the girl around his lab by her little shoulders “Why don’t we talk about limb reattachment? I’m sure Naruto-kun would be happy to help you with it.”

“Yes!” She exclaims, trotting around his lab in her excitement.

[mrslittletall]

Title: A Storm is coming (Chapter 20) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Chosen Undead/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Rhea of Thorolund, Petrus of Thorolund, Unbreakable Patches Word Count: 5.603 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603610/chapters/52754764 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/189592573874/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-19-fandom-dark

Summary: Ornstein and Tempest share a moment before they head out again. Ornstein, trying to avoid going to Blighttown, gets Tempest to do other stuff first.

(Author's note: I wanted to have this out far sooner, but with christmas in the way and after christmas me getting sick, I couldn't. Sorry for the wait. )

“Hey, Ornstein, how about some chicken broth for tonight's dinner? I let you even add something weird.”

That was the note that Tempest had written and put into the wooden box that was standing around in the cathedral. And right at this moment, Tempest squinted his eyes trying to decipher what Ornstein had written on it as reply.

“I am sure there isn't the word chicken in it...”, Tempest said, turning the slip of paper, thinking that maybe he tried to read it from the wrong direction, but still to no avail. There probably wasn't the word chicken in it, but Ornstein's handwriting could only be considered chicken scratch.

After ten minutes had passed and Tempest had simply maid out the word “No” in it, he gave up and went to find Ornstein.

He found the dragon slayer in a rather sun-drenched room that smelled marvellous. A quick look around unveiled the source of the smell and Tempest put both hands at his cheeks as he squeaked with delight: “A herbal garden!”

Ornstein, who had been in the midst of watering some thyme, turned around in surprise. “Oh, it's you, little Storm.”, he said and continued to water the plants if nothing ever happened.

“Why haven't you told me of this place? This is every cook's dream!”, Tempest shouted out and went to look at every single plant in the room. There was thyme, rosemary, dill, basil, oregano, garden cress and many more.

“Because all the herbs are already in the kitchen to use.”, Ornstein said, picking up some scissors to cut one of the plants into shape. “This garden...”, his voice suddenly grew somber, “...it has been his garden.”

Tempest could feel the pang of guilt in his stomach. He didn't need a name to know who Ornstein was referring to. That was something that he never would be able to undo. Besides...

… an idea formed in Tempest but he wanted the dragon slayer to be in the right mood for this. For now, he was more than eager to spend more time in this garden.

“May I help you taking care of it?”, he asked and made his best puppy eyes at Ornstein, who gave him a glance and simply murmured “Fine.”

After a good while of them working mostly in silence next to each other, only broken by Ornstein to tell Tempest how to handle the plants once in a while, the dragon slayer spoke again: “Little Storm, but you didn't come here to help me with the herbal garden, right? After all, this was your first time seeing it.”

“Oh, right!”, Tempest remembered why he had come finding Ornstein in the first place. He found the slip of paper in his pocket and showed it to Ornstein. “I couldn't read your handwriting.”, he confessed.

Ornstein gave the slip a paper a quick glance and then sighed deeply, muttering something under his breath. Then, he raised his voice and said: “I wrote: No thanks, but you could make me some meatballs with a sweet cream sauce.”

“Huh, that isn't something that I would put together, but at least it sounds edible...”, Tempest said. “Have you gotten tired of weird foods already?”

Ornstein blushed and snapped at Tempest: “That's n.. none of your business!”

“It's alright.”, Tempest grinned. “Can I take some fresh parsley for the meal? It will make it far better.”

Ornstein gave his permission and once Tempest had cut off enough parsley he went to cook the requested meal.

Their little break continued for two more days until Ornstein said that his leg was fully healed and they should move out again the next day. He even told Tempest that he now was allowed to cook the chicken broth, but only when he added every single herb of the herbal garden into it, simply because he wanted to know how it tasted like.

Even though Tempest's couldn't taste anymore and his sense of smell wasn't as refined as it once used to be, the overload of the herbs in the broth made his eyes water while cooking. He was halfway expecting Ornstein to spit out the soup before he remembered what the dragon slayer had eaten completely unironically the last few days.

As Ornstein spooned the soup he looked rather thoughtful and once he was finished he simply said: “Thought this would taste better.” and left, not asking for a second serving.

Tempest stayed, looking at the rest of the soup. He got curious himself. How it tasted like. But he knew when he tried to eat it, it would taste the same as paper for him. He was Undead and didn't need to eat anymore and therefore also couldn't taste anymore and he knew it. The only thing he could taste was the Estus Flask and drinking from it when not hurt felt wrong.

He stirred the soup with a spoon for a little while as he was lost in thoughts, hoping that Ornstein would eat the rest for breakfast. The only other people he could give the soup were the giant blacksmith and Dark Sun Gwyndolin and Tempest didn't want to unleash the All-Herb-Soup on them unprepared.

This evening and night Tempest stared at the notes he had taken once when Ornstein had told him about the lord souls and realized how useless they were. Sighing, he laid himself into bed and tried to get to sleep, a need that he didn't had anymore but could still act on if he tried.

The next day Tempest woke up and realized that he had overslept! He had really fallen asleep and apparently his body or mind or both had cherished the break and so Anor Londo had already got tinted into its eternal twilight, indicating that the next day had started.

Tempest hurried into the kitchen to see that Ornstein had eaten the rest of the soup. With a glance to the stove he noticed that it was cold and questioned how Ornstein had heated it up or if he had eaten it cold, but nonetheless, Ornstein probably was already waiting for him at the bonfire.

That was exactly where Tempest found the dragon slayer, who tapped his foot and scolded him: “You are late.”

“I am sorry!”, Tempest said. “I overslept.”

“Apparently.”, Ornstein said.

“So, for the next lord soul, we have to go back to Blighttown because that is where the way to Lost Izalith is... I think.”, Tempest said, unfolding some notes. What he couldn't see was how Ornstein screwed up his face on the mere mention of Blighttown.

“Weren't you talking about taking care of the black knights when we were in the tomb?”, he said.

Tempest looked from his notes to Ornstein, then to his notes again and then blurted out: “Really?! You mean we can do this?!”

“They once have been part of Lord Gwyn's army... as their captain, I owe their souls to bring them peace.”, Ornstein said. Of course Ornstein simply didn't want to get to Blighttown and any delay to visit this place was a good delay in his opinion. “So, where have you seen the black knights wandering around?”

“The first one was in the Undead burg.”, Tempest said. “And the second one was in the Undead Parish... I guess... the easiest way is from the sunlight altar bonfire... Oh!” Tempest's face lit up. “We should totally go to the sunlight altar!”

Before Ornstein could ask why or what had Tempest so excited, he felt how the little Undead took his hand and the familiar feeling of getting dragged through the fabric of space and time as well as the familiar nausea hit Ornstein.

As he opened his eyes again, nausea in his stomach settling down, it almost returned when he saw what Tempest had meant with sunlight altar when his eyes fell on the broken statue of... him.

Tempest hadn't noticed that Ornstein hadn't followed him and turned around, dodging a row of bolts that got shot at him from the hollows outside, stepping at the dragon slayer's side. “Ornstein, what's wrong?”, he asked.

“You see this?”, Ornstein pointed at the broken statue and Tempest nodded. “Notice anything about it?”

“Hm... let's see...”, Tempest approached the statue and observed it closely. At first he couldn't find anything conspicuous but then he noticed: “It's wearing your weapon! Ornstein, is that a statue of yourself? But... why is it here and broken...?”

“It isn't my statue.”, Ornstein said. “You have seen mine fully intact in Anor Londo. This one... is the statue of Lord Gwyn's firstborn.”

Tempest gasped as he stared at Ornstein and then let his gaze wander at the statue. “The legends...”, he said. “It isn't written anywhere but my mom once told me that he was banished for his crimes, but... nobody knew what it was anymore. Or his name...”

“Little Storm, this is a tale that has been forbidden to tell in Anor Londo and the entirety of Lordran for centuries, but... I think you deserve to learn the truth.”

Ornstein took a deep breath before he started to speak again: “The firstborn of Lord Gwyn, also known as the firstborn of the sun, was not only my master and I wasn't only his first knight, but we also had been in a relationship.”

Tempest needed a second but once he realized what Ornstein had said, he jumped up in surprise and screamed: “Wait, what, really?!”

“Yes, it is the truth.”, Ornstein continued. “We were not only slaying countless dragons together, we also spent countless nights together, but our relationship was secret from almost everybody, because Lord Gwyn wanted his son to marry an influential goddess.”

“Let me guess, this marriage never happened?”, Tempest said. He was sure if the Sunfirstborn would have married, his romance loving mother would have told him everything about this story.

“Yes. Because my master went traitor and sided himself with the dragons, our very mortal enemy. Back then... back then I barely could believe that it happened. He was banished and he broke my heart. Lord Gwyn smashed his statue and it was tossed into the human settlements... the first few days after his departure I spend a lot of time near it, doings things I am not proud about, like screaming at it, crying over it, kicking it, defiling it...”

“Defiling it?!”, Tempest chimed in.

“I said I was not proud of it.”, Ornstein growled. “Besides, I had been pretty drunk back then...”

He sighed and collected his thoughts: “Where where we? Ah yes. But now, after all these years, I have the feeling I understand him a little better. I... want to search for him once this is all over. And Gwyndolin gave me their permission.”

In Tempest's chest there was a sting. He knew it. He knew that Ornstein would never fall for him. With his latest partner out of his life, he was seeking comfort in an earlier partner he wished to make up with. He wasn't seeking comfort in the Undead that had been pushed on him.

Even though Tempest knew their feelings weren't mutual, it still hurt and so he didn't answer anything but simply stared at the ground, trying to hide tears that wanted to form at this realization.

After Ornstein had finished his story, the little Storm had grown uncharacteristically quiet and when Ornstein turned his head to look at him he felt a churn at his chest. He looked so... lost. Sad even. As if Ornstein had said something bad. And Ornstein couldn't help but feel pity for him. He...he didn't want for the cheerful little Storm to look like this.

Damn, he really had get attached.

“But... don't worry, I will stay at your side until your mission is over.”, Ornstein quickly said as if trying to take the heaviness of his words out of them. “Didn't you want to show me something here?”

Tempest looked up as Ornstein spoke. While he knew that Ornstein was out of his reach, he still was happy that the dragon slayer would spend time with him. Tempest made the decision that this would be enough. He raised his hands to wipe away some tears that had started to glisten in his eyes and then gave Ornstein his usual jolly grin, only that it wasn't reaching his eyes this time, something that Ornstein noticed.

“I brought you here, because...”, Tempest said and took Ornstein's hand, failing to drag him and Ornstein finally followed him with a sigh as he nearly fell over, “I wanted to see you in action.”, he concluded as Ornstein had to grab the little Storm and jumped away from the flaming breath of death that got unleashed by the drake, toasting everything on the bridge before landing on top of the roof of the sunlight altar.

“By the lords, little Storm, a little warning would have been nice!”, Ornstein said, glancing outside, wrinkling his nose as the stench of burned corpses hit his nose.

Which took him right back to the dragon war and Ornstein fell on his knees as he saw the pictures in his head, all the comrades that had died, hadn't been able to escape the dragon fire and then there had be him, he had survived, he didn't thought he would survive, he thought he would die, every single time but he had always survived... only him, why only him...

“Ornstein, what is wrong?”, Tempest said as he tried to get the dragon slayer on his feet and failed spectacularly. Then he remembered what Ornstein once had said to him. Why he was a bad cook. It was... because fire bothered him. It made him have bad reactions.

“...Ornstein, I am so sorry...”, Tempest said. “I shouldn't have you brought here... let's go back...” Tempest took Ornstein's hand again and tried to drag him to the bonfire but Ornstein raised his hand and gave Tempest a gesture to not interfere.

“It is about time that the dragon slayer is taking care of his duties again.”, he said, getting up, straightening himself and picking up his spear. “You stay back, little Storm.”

As Ornstein strode towards the door, the uneasy feeling in his chest hadn't left. But... he didn't exactly knew why, but he didn't want to see the little Storm like this. Pitying him.

He had killed the little Storm a few dozen times and he still had come back, over and over and over again and what was Ornstein doing? Cowering on the ground because of a mere drake? He had taken down foes that had been larger than hat.

No, the person who strode through the gate wasn't Ornstein, but the dragon slayer. He turned around, raised his spear with both hands and hissed: “Come at me, beast.”

The drake apparently wasn't interested in leaving its save place and breathed in. Ornstein, knowing what came, jumped straight into the air, landing right next to the resting place of the drake and wasted no time piercing its eye with his spear.

When the fire had died down and Tempest heard the drake shriek, he dared to leave the cover of the sunlight altar and gasped when he saw the drake flying off, or trying to, because Ornstein was riding on its back and prepared his spear.

Once it had fully been engulfed with lightning, Ornstein bore the spear deep into the drake's neck which shrieked again, in pain and fear before it tumbled down and landed on the bridge with a heavy thud, Ornstein elegantly jumping down from his back.

“That was.... AWESOME!”, Tempest cheered, jumping up and down. “You looked so elegant, Ornstein.”

“People didn't call me the dragon slayer for no reason.”, Ornstein said, holding his spear so that the shaft hit the ground and the blade showed upwards. “But I sure hope you don't have any drake surprises for me anymore.”

“At least not where I have been.”, Tempest said. “Ornstein, I want to apologize again. I didn't think this through...”

“Actually, I should have expected this.”, Ornstein said. “It just had been a good while since you told Gwyndolin your journey, so it slipped my mind that you left a drake alive. Anyway, it can't bother you or anyone else anymore.” He glanced at the hollows on the bridge. “Of course they will come back once the bonfire revived them.”

Tempest didn't listen anymore but instead was examining the drake corpse. After he had circled it a few times, he used his sword to cut through it, hot blood seeping out of the corpse.

“What are you doing?”, Ornstein said, taken aback. “It doesn't get any deader.”

“Oh no, I wanted to get some meat from it.”, Tempest grinned. “I never cooked drake. Most of them were extinct when I was born.” He looked over to Ornstein. “You probably played a part in it.”

“I did...”, Ornstein said, thinking back to their conversation earlier at the broken statue of his master. Back then he had called himself dragon slayer, but now, he had gotten aware that what they had done was pretty much genocide.

Ornstein shuddered at the thought. He asked himself if his master would ever forgive him as he watched the little Storm and was surprised when he felt a certain warmth in him at this action.

Once Tempest had cut out enough meat that he brought to his bottomless box at the bonfire, he walked to Ornstein who had leaned against the wall lost in his own thoughts.

“Actually, the first black knight I wanted to take care off is watching over this bridge from a tower that can be reached through the sunlight altar.”, he said, snapping Ornstein out of his thoughts. Right, they wanted to take care of the black knights. All to avoid going to Blighttown as long as possible. At least it was the reason for Ornstein.

“Right, then lead the way...”, Ornstein said, adjusting his helmet.

Tempest led him back through the sunlight altar and up a few stairs. Once they had climbed them, Tempest pressed himself against the wall, pointing at a black knight with a two handed sword (which they wielded with one hand) who had their back to them.

“Mostly offense, minimal defense.”, Ornstein whispered. “But this one gives you a good opportunity for a first strike. Try it. I come after you.”

Tempest nodded and snuck up behind the black knight, preparing his sword and stumbling right before he could stab it into their back, alarming the black knight who turned around and used their massive sword to make Tempest flying.

“Damn.”, Ornstein cursed as he heard the little Storm land with a thud and a yowl, indicating how much that must have hurt and countered the next sword strike with his own spear, feeling how he got pushed back by sheer force. “How about picking a fight with someone your size?”, he said mockingly, even though he was aware that the black knight's mind long had been gone.

While Ornstein fought against the sheer pressure of the black knight's great sword, Tempest had managed to bring his Estus to his lips and healed himself up, getting up and pierced his sword in length through the black knight's back, finding the joints in their armour. Like usual, the black knight didn't bleed but instead a black mass emerged from the wound before it fell over and disappeared with an unholy scream.

“They have been long gone.”, Ornstein said, as Tempest stood there, panting. “Whatever happened to them when they followed Lord Gwyn, it made them go hollow...”

“Can gods even go hollow?”, Tempest asked as he leaned down to pick up what the black knight had left.

“Not like you humans.”, Ornstein said. “So not because of the dark sign. But it is possible. Through trauma for example. It... didn't happen often. To see so many black knights like this is worrying...”

Of course Ornstein knew the cause of their trauma. It was because they had burned in the kiln. The fate that Tempest awaited too... he just didn't want to tell the little Storm the truth. If he knew, he might bail. But.. thinking about it, thinking that the little Storm would burn, made Ornstein's throat go dry and he himself had a hollow feeling in his chest.

“One.”, Tempest said. “There are two more. The next is in the Undead Burg, not far from here.”

“Lead the way, little Storm.”, Ornstein said, having been ripped out of his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about this. This only was another mission to fulfil. After the little Storm had linked the flame, he was free to go. He should concentrate on this.

The way to the Undead Burg was uneventful, just a few hollows were in their way which Tempest managed to take down on his own without trouble. Once they had gone down a few stairs, Tempest pointed at the black knight at the far end of a narrow way, one with a sword and a shield.

“Remember your parry training?”, Ornstein said and Tempest nodded. “It works on them as well as on the silver knights.”

In fact, most of the black knights had once been silver knights until they had decided to take up the battle against the demons and picked up bigger weapons and an armour that was more resilient against heat.

Tempest tiptoed to the black knight but they seemed to hear extremely good, even for beings that weren't physical anymore and this one turned around and lifted their sword. Tempest reacted wonderful and parried the blow with his shield carrying on with a riposte.

“Good.”, Ornstein whispered, but as Tempest turned his head to give him a smile Ornstein noticed that the black knight had pulled themselves together and shouted: “Watch out!”

Tempest only had enough time to turn his head, raise his shield in a desperate attempt to catch the incoming blow, got staggered by the poor force and sliced open with the continued attack of the black knight.

“Shit.”, Ornstein growled, jumping in and piercing the black knight with his spear while Tempest was searching for his Estus and took a large sip to heal the inflicted wound.

“Thank you, Ornstein, that was close.”, Tempest said, scratching the ground with his foot in embarrassment.

“Black knights are more sturdy than silver knights. You should already know that.”, Ornstein scolded Tempest which only made his face blush even more.

Sighing, Ornstein ran a hand through his ponytail and asked: “So, where is the last one?”

“Oh, I saw them at the Dark Root Basin. Where the Hydra is.”, Tempest said. “Hm, maybe we can take care of the Hydra too when we are already there...”

“Good idea. It has gotten quite fat.”, Ornstein said, deliberately leaving out the fact that he was partially responsible for its large body by feeding it his leftovers more than once.

Tempest seemed to take into consideration that Ornstein was uncomfortable with teleportation and led him back to the Undead Parish. He had been diligent and opened up quite a few shortcuts so that they only had to fight a few hollows. And a leftover boar which Tempest helped taking down with his pyromancy.

As they had arrived at the church and Ornstein already took the turn that would lead them to the garden, Tempest gasped and ran forwards, shouting: “Rhea!”

In fact, the small cleric woman was sitting there, praying in front of the statue of whichever goddess had been worshipped here. Ornstein came closer to listen into the conversation of the two Undead.

“So you have made it out of the Tomb?”, Tempest asked.

The cleric gasped at the sudden visitor and started to speak: “Hello… I will never forget what you did. I am deeply indebted, for it was not within my power to save Vince or Nico. I cannot thank you enough.”

She sighed and stared back at the statue of the goddess before continuing: “I only wish there were some way I could help you, but I am inexperienced, and I only know the art of Miracles. If that could be of any help, speak to me again.“

All the while the woman spoke Tempest nodded along to her words and then took up the word himself: “It is good to see that you made it out of the tomb. I will certainly remember your offer.” He went quiet for a little while before asking: “So, why are you hanging around here and not at Fire Link Shrine?”

“The bonfire down there is so crowded...”, Rhea answered. “I prefer the solitude of this place. Here I can pray in peace. Vereor Nox.”

“Vereor Nox.”, Tempest reciprocated the prayer before turning around and walking straight to the elevators that would lead back to Firelink Shrine.

“The garden is there.”, Ornstein said, a tiny bit annoyed, pointing to the right, to the door outside.

“I just wanted to make a quick stop at Fire Link Shrine, please?”, Tempest worded it more as a question but ignored anything that Ornstein had to say by stepping on the elevator, making the dragon slayer hurry to follow him. “I want to strengthen my pyromancy flame and take a quick look around before we move on.”

“Fine.”, Ornstein said as the elevator rode down. At least that meant that he cold avoid Blighttown a little while longer.

Once they had arrived, Tempest spotted the cleric with the bowl cut, Petrus was his name, Ornstein thought and shouted: “Hey Petrus, did you know that Rhea is safe?”

After hearing this, Petrus turned his attention to Tempest and mumbled: “…Oh, it's you… …You rescued M'lady? Well, a pity that is, for it will amount to nothing. For the little madam is not worth her salt without her family name. Keh heh heh heh…“

As Tempest still frowned at his words, Ornstein casually walked next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him forwards. When they were out of earshot, he said: “See him showing his true colours now?”

“I... I guess...”, Tempest said, clearly unhappy with Petrus response and Ornstein's reaction.

“That girl isn't safe. He will take the first opportunity to kill her, rob her of everything she have and then let her to hollow out.”, Ornstein said. “But... the fate of the Undead aren't my business. It's your choice what to do, little Storm.”

Tempest grew quiet and glanced at Petrus and then back to Ornstein. “I... could give Rhea a warning.”

“She hardly looks like the type of person who can defend herself.”, Ornstein said, shrugging. Tempest had a far too good nature and was far too gullible for his own good.

In a sense, he even had made Ornstein break out of his shell even though the dragon slayer would never admit it.

Tempest's next stop was Laurentius the Pyromancer who he asked to strengthen his pyromancy flame. It must have been rather strong in the meantime, Ornstein could not only see how quite a few souls changed their owner but also how much more it glowed.

Once Tempest was done and said his goodbye to Laurentius, he stepped through the broken arch and stopped, staring at the spot where the sorcerer apprentice once had stood.

“Griggs is gone.”, he said.

“Didn't he want to catch up with his Master?”, Ornstein said. “He probably went to Anor Londo.”

“I guess...”, Tempest said and took a turn to reach the bonfire. Nobody was around it.

“Neither Siegmeyer nor Sieglinde are here...”, he said.

“I don't know Siegmeyer but I wouldn't worry that much about Sieglinde. Whoevers comes here and manages to survive while not being Undead would be fit to be a silver knight. Or more.”

“It's more Siegmeyer I worry about.”, Tempest said. “Whenever I found him he was in trouble, I already told you that.”

Tempest grew silent after this and ascended the few steps that led to Kingseeker Frampt. The primordial serpent was fast asleep and snored, in fact he snored so loud that it was heard through the whole shrine.

“Hm, I guess I let him sleep.”, Tempest said. “You can probably tell me more about the lord souls anyway.”

“...”, Ornstein somehow managed to make his speechlessness audible. He knew that Frampt was telling a lie. He knew that the Chosen Undead was told that he would replace Lord Gwyn and stop the curse of the Undead once and for all.

The only thing that was true about this was that he would replace Lord Gwyn. As sacrifice, not as king.

Ornstein felt the familiar hollow feeling in his chest. Was he hollowing out? He didn't thought it was his time already...

“Wait a minute...”, Tempest squinted a squatting person on the other end of the pool and then gasped, running over to them.

“Patches! Are you here to kick me down a ledge again?!”, he yelled.

“Oh, we meet again. How many of you are there?“, Patches asked casually.

„Just me and Ornstein.“, Tempest said.

„And you better don't pull anything with the little Storm because I won't refrain kicking you down the ledge of Fire Link Shrine.“, Ornstein commented.

„Oh relax, no more funny business out of me, my friends!“, Patches said in a placating manner. I'm done with looting. I'm a humble merchant now! And wondrous treasures, have I! At a special price for you.“

He put a few items in front of him. „There you are, have a nice look at them.“

„I will keep an eye on him just in case...“, Ornstein said to Tempest as the small Undead browsed the wares.

A short while later a few souls changed their owner and Tempest had a shiny new humanity in his hands. Ornstein heard him chat with Patches a little longer. Apparently the bald men had quite a few opinions about the other Undead around. Ornstein wasn't too interested in them, his goal was to get Tempest to the flame. But he listened attentively once Patches talked about Petrus and pretty much confirmed his doubts about the man.

As Tempest said his goodbyes and wanted to turn back into the direction of the bonfire, Ornstein stopped him.

“What is it?”, Tempest asked. “The garden was our next step, remember?”

“Remember the Asylum?”, Ornstein said.

Tempest eyes grew wide at this and he nodded excitedly.

“Then follow me.”, Ornstein stepped near one of the pillars and judged its height. Then, he put Tempest up (who complained about being manhandled for a second before he grew silent) and jumped up the pillar. He continued to jump from the pillar to the walls until he was at a broken tower where stairs led up, where he put Tempest down.

“Do you see the crow there?”, Ornstein pointed at the rather hard to overlook crow on the wall next to Frampt's pool.

“How could I overlook it? It is the very same that carried me here.”, Tempest said.

“You can trick it to carry you back to the Asylum by laying in its nest.”, Ornstein said.

“...How did anyone ever found that out?”, Tempest wondered and ascended the stairs. As he was halfway up, he stopped and stared at something on a roof.

“I think I see something shiny there.”, he pointed to it but before he could act and storm off, Ornstein had pulled him back.

“I get it.”, he said and jumped over to the roof without effort. After a little bit of searching he found a key that the sun had reflected light off, this must have been how the little Storm had spotted it in the first place.

He jumped back to Tempest and handed him the key. “Here you go, little Storm.”

“Thank you, Ornstein.”, Tempest said, eyeing the key. “I wonder where it fits?”

“To be honest, looks like a key from the Asylum.”, Ornstein pointed on the hard to make out letters which read A F2. “I am surprised we can still see them, with how rusted it is...”

“Well, let's just try the key once we are there.”, Tempest smiled, pocketing it.

Once they were at the nest Tempest stared at Ornstein with big eyes.

“The crow actually only carries one person at a time, so I show you what to do and you come after me.”, Ornstein sad and then curled into a ball in the nest, hearing Tempest chuckle. “Don't laugh.”, he hissed.

“Oh, it's just... I didn't think... that I would see you... do.. something that... ridiculous.”, Tempest brought out between snorts which quickly turned into a surprised “Woah!” when Ornstein felt how the crow picked him up and he got carried over.

Ten minutes later the little Storm got dropped off next to him, picking himself up.

“Huh.”, he said. “The last time I have been here there were less torch hollows.”

“Seems like we have to fight our way through to find your friend.”, Ornstein said, readying his spear. Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/190441575024/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-21-fandom-dark

[supernoondles]

2019

The last day of 2019 was also the day I fainted for the first time--a fitting metaphor for the year.

2019 was overall very emotionally taxing. This year was emotionally defined by falling intensely, deeply in love with someone (who is a very private person so I will try to be vague to respect that) and being in a lot of pain because of situations mostly outside of our control. There were a lot of intensely joyous moments, and a lot of intensely sad ones. Throughout it all I wish I had communicated better. I also made some bad decisions with another person I really loved and cared about that resulted in us growing apart. Do I think I grew from the experiences? For sure. Do I wish I could have come upon these realizations through a different course of action? Also yes. Am I fully healed from the experiences? Not really, but I've been getting better.

2019 was also very bad in terms of research. It was the 2nd year of my PhD. After I submitted my rotation project I basically felt stuck in the swamp of my advisors rejecting new project ideas for like literally half a year. This, combined with my high emotional volatility (partially due to starting birth control), made me really sad, unmotivated, and susceptible to self-blame. I definitely had high expectations for myself and became frustrated at my lack of progress and felt a lot of pressure from myself to get my shit together. I also felt incredibly bad after most advisor meetings and not supported by one of them to the point where I had to have a conversation with him about the lack of support (which was very scary)! Things started picking up, though, near the end of the year. I published a paper in collaboration with a former post-doc/now professor elsewhere whom I learned a lot from, and started finally building out another system. I also started mentoring an undergrad who at some point told me I helped him feel like he had something important to say and belong at Stanford for the first time and those words meant a lot to me. I think I'm continuing to refine what I value as research contributions and increasingly think about what it means to build systems that aren't used outside of the lab to satisfy the annual conference publishing cycle. I'm also starting to feel the pressure of doing work that follows a narrative rather than random projects that interest me.

Oh, I guess in terms of "program requirements," I did finish taking required classes, passed qualifying exams, and got a master's degree. But honestly those weren't hard at all nor do I think are externally valued in the larger research community, so I don't really celebrate them as accomplishments beyond surface level.

In 2019 I saw two different therapists. The first one was awful, I think directly influenced some of my bad decisions, and also didn't respect my gender identity??? The second one is a lot better and I'm grateful to see her, even if 90% of our sessions are just talking about my relationship (romantic/advisor) issues, which is something I want to move away from in the future. But I also feel incredibly privileged when relationship issues are the primary stressors in my life--I am grateful I feel equipped to handle other crap, like deadlines, and don't have to worry about my own health.

Those were the main things that have colored this year. We'll now move into the section of this post where I go through my photos to jog my memory of other events.

New years started a tradition of getting dim sum with Jasper, Matthew, and Michelle dear to my heart. My high school friend was also visiting and we all attended a really awesome new year's eve party. I was also going on a lot of dates and having a lot of good sex, which made me really happy, and at the same time crying all the time at work. In February I received probably the best gift anyone has ever given me and saw Panic! at the Disco, which I said in an end of the year group meeting was a good memory of my year (it was, to relive my scene days!). In March I roadtripped both to Marin (which I had never to been before, despite all my years in the bay) and LA for Wondercon; it was nice to both see high school friends and go on a trip with the boo. In April I went on a hike with my office which was probably the start of us all becoming closer (we are the social office in the wing now, which I take pride in! Also we draw a lot of Pokemon which warms my heart). In May I went to CHI in Glasgow and then to Paris afterward, and the entire experience was very weird and bad and also too many flights were canceled and/or missed and I vowed to not return to Europe for a while, but man do I love the noodles at Trois Fois plus de Piment. In June we hosted a double apartment party with my downstairs neighbors (side note: I am really appreciative of the place I live in, for the community, convenience, and large-ass space and will be really sad to be kicked out fall 2020) and I started a friendship important to me. I cat-sat for my advisor (the one who doesn't make me feel bad) twice. I went to Redwood State Park with my family and hosted a summer solstice celebration. Over the summer a friend I met in Paris back in 2017 moved in with me. I had a much needed escape from the bay to Seattle where I was reminded how abundant the world can be. I also went to Tahoe to celebrate my parents' anniversary, and really liked stumbling upon a smaller lake with a cheap boat rental. Then I became FOMO about the highly competitive Bay Area camping and did a last minute walk-in at Redwood Basin in Santa Cruz, which made me realize that I don't actually love camping (but was nice nonetheless). I ate an expensive meal at Commonwealth before they closed. For my birthday we made a friendship quilt and I served my favorite dish of cumin lamb but it was also 90 degrees in my apartment (I felt really bad and bought two fans afterwards). I started buying many cartoon frog plush after being gifted a $3.99 on sale Safeway frog (called Baby!). I went on Tinder dates (one of which was at a quaker yard sale marketed as Harvest Festival where I got a 1970s Kermit puppet for like $2) that largely went nowhere. My high school friend visited and we were both sad about break ups. I did Inktober before I went to New Orleans for a conference on Bourbon St where everything felt like it was coated in a sticky film of alcohol. I almost missed my flight home because I fell asleep in a sculpture garden but I had the most amazing Uber driver who snaked his way through traffic (oh and the flight was delayed by like 3 hours). I went to kind of embarrassing haunted houses and pumpkin patches over Halloween, but also had the most incredible bowl of ramen at Mensho. My whole office dressed up as Zootopia characters which warmed my furry heart. I spent like $120 on a Pokemon shirt. I started playing Arkham Horror and rekindled another friendship important to me. In November went on a road trip to Big Sur because again, I had to escape it all. For Christmas Eve dinner I roasted a duck for the first time (which was delicious). Shortly after I waited in line for 2 hours for a rollercoaster at Great America, which taught me the value of buying a fast pass because at this point in my life that money is worth it, and then waited 2 hours in line at the DMV to get a RealID (I had made an appointment, which was the fast pass).

Okay, now we move to the hobby section!

I got really into sewing in 2019, having received a sewing machine last Christmas. I made a Judy Hopps (which I wore to CrunchyRoll Expo) and Korok cosplay (Fanime), several unsuccessful garments, a crab bean bag, a dice bag, a fanny pack, and put hearts nipples on a jumpsuit.

Shows! I think I went to way fewer shows this year. The ones I can remember are Elephant Gym, Thom Yorke the night before I had an 8am flight, Carly Rae Jepsen over pride weekend (also, she is my #1 artist of the year, which makes a lot of sense given my emotional space), Mitski at Stern Grove, Capitol Hill Bloc Party (which was super lame, except for Lizzo, where I cried), and the National (which was a fucking surreal experience as they played on Stanford's campus, I was the only one within earshot of myself who knew the words to Crybaby Geeks, and then the white catalog moms came up to me after to thank me for singing the song).

I also started playing my own music! I started playing viola again for the first time in 7 years (lol) in both pop-up concerts with the Awesome Orchestra (one in Golden Gate Park, one at the Exploratorium) and a string quartet through my school. Sometimes I am filled with joy and delight. Other times interpersonal tensions run high and also I am very bad at being in tune. It's life.

Media! I really liked Mob Psycho 100 Season 2 and Beastars. I feel like those were the only notable anime I watched this year? I saw the Farewell three times--first in Seattle where I sobbed for like 1 hour after the movie, the second time with my parents, and the third where Awkwafina was present for a Q&A. I thought Parasite was incredible and Promare was OK. I have spent an unfortunately large amount of my time playing Pokemon Masters. I finally beat BOTW and completed my Pokedex in Shield like 2 weeks after getting the game.

Resolutions! In my draft of my 2018 end of year post (which I never polished and posted, sorry), I said my resolutions were 1. come out to my parents 2. draw enough to table at an anime con 3. be disciplined about paper reading and have a doc. I did none of these things!!! However, for 1, I feel like I am well equipped to have this conversation but am waiting for my sibling to do it first out of respect. 2 was just bad. I barely drew this year except for gifts. 3 was okay--I did have a large doc in the beginning of the year when I was looking for ideas, but as time went on I abandoned it (I also stopped reading papers, which I don't think you're supposed to do as a grad student...)

My resolutions this year are phrased as intentions (-(c) Matthew). They span several categories. Relationships: I want to open myself to and actively seek experiences of love, because I miss that. That being said, I will only date someone if 1. they have their life together 2. they love themselves and 3. they challenge me to grow. (I do think you can experience love without dating; the thing I'm after is love in an expansive sense.) Work: I want to do enough work so I don't feel guilty about not doing enough work, and also not berate myself for taking a long time to do things. Hobbies: I want to sew at least one thing a month. Chinese: I want to improve my Chinese, especially pronunciation.

Having written this 20 days into 2020, it's not been so bad so far. But I was also really happy in the beginning of 2019. Here's to no global maxima, a monotonically increasing year!

[baphelon]

My top 20 albums of the Decade

This decade has been really important in shaping my taste of music from generic and boring power and viking/folk metal stuff into something more refined and nuanced. So I decided to make a list with some of my favorite albums from the 2010s for you guys to check out!

First some general notes before we’re ready to get goin under the cut:

This list is purely based on my opinion and my opinion alone

There will be a big chunk of honorable mentions in alphabetical order at the end because there are simply too many albums important to me in this decade so check these mentions out aswell since they also include a more diverse cast of genres than the main list!

I decided to exclude Mgła completely from this list allthough Exercises in Futility (2015) might’ve earned a spot. I simply cannot support this band anymore in light of recent controversies regarding their close connections with far right musicians and neo nazis.

I’ll provide explanations aswell as links to a song for each of the listed albums to give a taste of what each entry is about. If you still have question about any of the entries just shoot me a message or comment!

🤡 Also a huge applause for Batushka for being the absolute clowns of the metal scene this decade! What a shitshow they’ve given us! 🤡

20. King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard - Paper Mâché Dream Balloon (2015)

Paper Mâché Dream Balloon is a very fun, very relaxing and all around enjoyable album by the psychedelic rock masterminds of King Gizzard. Give it a listen at a nice afternoon with a cup of hot cocoa or tea, you’ll not regret it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RobhSr2bozU

19. Portal - Vexovoid (2013)

Vexovoid is a chaotic mess of an experimental Death Metal record. Its dark, brooding and bizarre aswell as interesting, genuinly scary and amazing. Portal mix breathtakingly weird sounds with harsh vocals and complicated rhythmic structures. Certainly not for everyone but definetly for me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rj92VOWM5Y

18. Borknagar - Urd (2012)

Melodic, cathartic, progressive and melancholic.Urd is a well rounded progressive Black Metal masterpiece with some very unique riffs and melodies. I always come back to this record and always feel the same excitement when the first song Epochalypse starts. Broknagar tell their apocalyptic tale in dazzling beauty with crystal clear sound.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXVlBYW8Ero

17. Violet Cold - Anomie (2017)

Simply one of the best post black metal albums recorded so far in my opinion. Emotional and intense aswell as intricate and crafted with love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNNPUBJVWp8

16. Enslaved - RIITIIR (2012)

A bit on the underrated side when it comes to Enslaved records but an absolute banger. RIITIIRs homogenous compositions string together into a masterfully crafted endproduct that takes the listener onto a journey of mind and soul. Quite possibly their most nuanced work to date.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WavEDnmBpgk

15. Sólstafir - Ótta (2014)

Anyone who has listened to Sólstafir ever should know about how amazing they are. How captavating and touching their songs are and how many tears one can shed over the sheer beauty of their melancholic music. Ótta is one of their most refined and clear cut record so far and it does wonders on the longer tracks.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8n8Uy5KmvU

14. Alcest - Shelter (2014)

Again one of these Albums to listen to when you can relax in a safe environment or when you need to turn any place you are at into a shelter. Healing for you soul and mind without being hard to get into for even non-metal fans. Enjoy this beautiful piece of soothing music whenever you feel lost or alone. It will help.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZ57uBx68N8

13. Der Weg Einer Freiheit - Finisterre (2017)

Dark, harsh and unapologetically black this album rises over its sometimes weak lyrics. Der Weg Einer Freiheit are a one of a kind band that can proudly hold the banner of German Black Metal high for a new generation. And this most current record of theirs shows what they can do with the tools provided by their label. Especially the re-recorded version of Neubeginn on the special edition is a highlight. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ic-dXBtP10

12. Saor - Forgotten Paths (2019)

39 minutes that feel like 5. A breathtaking journey through the wilderness on the stomping steps of blastbeats and incredible folk influences. Saors best record by far.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9bMRTvmvQQ

11. Fen - Dustwalker (2013)

A very soft album dripping with athmosphere at every corner. Its a bit hard to get into but once it catches you it will just not let go.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtBqlBr0cCQ

10. Messa - Bellfry (2016)

Groovy is the best word to describe this records vibes. A weird attribute to attach to a band that leans heavily into Doom but it fits. A fantastic album by a fantastic band.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HADlImQrG4w

09. Ulver - War of the Roses (2011)

Ulvers strinkingly unique sound easily make them one of my top 5 favorite bands of all time but I cannot explain why this album resonates with me so much. Its just very good!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DPXMM6u94Q

08. Ghost - Opus Eponymous (2010)

The first record by swedish doom, heavy metal and occult rock group Ghost is to this day quite possibly their most atmospheric album. Gloom and doom mix with catchy tunes to form one hell of an enjoyable listening experience.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PakoE1eBps

07. Downfall of Gaia - Suffocating in the Swarm of Cranes (2012)

Damn. What an album. What a band! Together with Der Weg Einer Freiheit one of the biggest new progenies of German Black Metal. Bold, black, harsh and full of melancholy. Simply superb!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KaAEJXU7JHY

06. Sólstafir - Svartir Sandar (2011)

A second time Sólstafir weasel their way onto this list and its rightfully deserved. This album is stunning in its complexity and passion. Each song brings something new and exciting to the table. Just listen to it, please, I beg you. Do yourself a favour!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1qh9XSqnTo

05. Alcest - Kodama (2016)

Alcest is selfcare. Kodama is selfcare. Perfection.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQsXnldCDeU

04. Ulver - Messe I.X-VI.X (2013)

A bit out there and hard to get into as its one of Ulvers most experiemental pieces of work so far. It was my first real taste of what would become on of my favorite bands real quick (at least my first taste of their newer stuff after I had only listened to some of their old black metal records).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtHEFDVSfvs

03. Der Weg einer Freiheit - Stellar (2015)

In my opinion just their most well rounded album. Its hard to pick real favorites since all of their records bring something amazing to the table. So I decided to choose the overall most coherent album as the highest on this list. It also contains some of my favourite songs like Repulsion and Einkehr.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_PYJYTicbE

02. Dornenreich - Freiheit (2014)

Freedom. Thats what this title means and this is what this album provides. This album cleansed my skin, healed my soul and replanted my crops. I shall live forever thanks to the power of this masterpiece of neofolk.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wbz7zlVtwcc

01. Ulver - The Assassination of Julius Caesar (2017)

This is it. The best album of the decade in my opinion. Quite possibly one of the best albums of all time. A synth heavy piece of art that evokes ideas and the style of New Wave music and mixes it with the melancholic moodiness of post metal lyrics. Every song a hit, every song unique and every song simply great. Well rounded, coherent and still experimental when nescessary. Ulver dropped a bomb with this one!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHE28JiuSQk

HONORABLE MENTIONS! (in alphabetical order)

Alcest- Spiritual Instinct (2019) An Autumn for Crippled Children - The Long Goodbye (2015) Batushka - Litourgiya (2015) Behemoth - The Satanist (2014) BIG BRAVE - Ardor (2017) Blind Guardian - At the Edge of Time (2010) Bròn - Decay (2019) Busdriver - Electricity is on Our Side (2018) Darkthrone - The Underground Resistance (2013) Deafheaven - Sunbather (2013) Deafheaven - Ordinary Corrupt Human Love (2018) Downfall of Gaia - Atrophy (2016) Downfall of Gaia - The Ethic of Radical Finitude (2019) Fen - The Dead Light (2019) Fen - Winter (2017) Ghost - Meliora (2015) Hail Spirit Noir - Pneuma (2012) Harakiri for the Sky - III: Trauma (2016) Ihsahn - Das Seelenbrechen (2013) Ihsahn - Arktis (2016) Kamelot - Poetry for the Poisoned (2010) Katatonia - Dead End Kings (2012) King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard - I'm in Your Mind (2014) King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard - Murder of The Universe (2017) Kylver - The Mountain Ghost (2015) Mahr - Antelux (2018) Messa - Feast for Water (2018) Mono - Requiem for Hell (2016) Oceans of Slumber - Winter (2016) Satyricon - Satyricon (2013) scallops hotel - too much of life is mood (2016) Sylvaine - Atoms Alligned, Coming Undone (2018) The Devils Blood - The Thousandfold Epicentre (2011) Violet Cold - Sommermorgen I-III (2018)

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. Tell me about your favs! If you have questions please feel free to reach out to me!

[cyanpeacock]

Realtalk(tm): Living With Ada Doom

ALRIGHT. so. those of you who have read Cold Comfort Farm know exactly where this is going.

so, when I was a kid, my mum would get drunk, and sad, and tell me about how awful her mum was, all the depressing shit, and she’d cry on me, you know, the works, the kind that should go down with a counsellor, or therapist.

I don’t remember it clearly. I had to like, switch off, you know? Mummy’s sad. I’m sad too. It’s going to be okay. Stroking her hair. That’s about all I remember, apart from the pain I had to hide to make everything better.

Except, it totally wasn’t okay, because I was giving my drunken mother comfort, and the next day she was giving me smacks, and isolation as punishment, and denying me food when I was rowdy, as children are. 

Later, she’d give me a book to read, called Cold Comfort Farm.

It’s a good book. It’s a parody of things along the lines of Wuthering Heights, you know, mopey miserable out-in-the-countryside romance novels where everyone is abusive, but That’s The Way It’s Always Been, Out Here. 

Flora comes along and fixes everything right up.

Some part of her wanted me to be Flora. 

A good, proper, refined young woman. Stately. Observant. Academic. Very sporting. 

I am not Flora.

I was very nearly Ada Doom, the woman who saw something nasty in the woodshed. Well - for a while, I thought I was her, but I didn’t have control over a farm/family. I wasn’t holding all the books. 

This phrase got used against me a lot - “something nasty in the woodshed.” It translated to, “you’re overreacting, be quiet,” in the circles I moved in. Often delivered as a joke, but actually, a warning.

Flora was not, actually, a very nice woman, and she was not, actually, very nice to Ada Doom. 

“Did it see you?”

The point I’m continually making, is.

I didn’t see something nasty in the woodshed, once, when I was a child.

I saw a whole fucking lot of nasty things, all around me, in my own home, that chased me into my bedroom, that physically, verbally, and emotionally abused me, for over a decade. I heard other nasty things going on, in rooms I wasn’t in, but sound carries. I saw and heard even nastier things happening between the only Adult Role Models I had.

This all seemed very normal, until I had an assembly on abuse in primary school, and recognized myself in it.

I told myself, “mummy loves me. It’s not really abuse. Is it?” 

I told myself this for years.

Skip to the future. It’s easier for me.

Later I ran away somewhere a bit cleaner, to live with a racist opioid addict. It was fucking awesome, for a while, but yeah, that’s another post. He’d also use “something nasty in the woodshed” against me, or just say “Ada Doom.”

My mother would chatter things about “he’s brainwashing you! Mind control!” when I did see her at the same time as him, separately. It’s like she didn’t realize he was only using things he’d seen her use on me. She probably didn’t, because they’d probably been used on her, and she hadn’t spotted the conditioning.

So, in this story, what did “Flora” turn out to be?

An angry, inhibited, explosive, snappy, hungry young man, who just wanted to get high, forget about the past, and go to lesson, so he could learn something that would get him out of this shithole, and into a decent home, with a car that runs and a job that pays in the wallet, mind, and heart. 

I hid so much of the pain I was in, because when it was actually expressed, I’d get dismissed, belittled, or outright yelled at, even after the physical hitting had stopped. 

She always said, “you know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you?”

So I’d try, like a kid, who desperately wanted to believe that his mother did “love him” - that is, knew how to give emotionally healthy and nourishing expressions of love. 

And time and time again, I’d get, “I think you’re overreacting.” “Isn’t that a bit extreme?” “It doesn’t mean anything.” “They’re just jealous.” “You’re imagining things.” Or, you know, “I think you’re being selfish.” “Selfish little cow!”

So there I was, my self harm getting worse and worse, the pressure my piece of shit school placed on me getting worse and worse, hearing Mark fucking cussing me out again, becoming increasingly abusive towards myself and people I really, deeply cared about, because I had literally no understanding, no framework for internally and mutually rewarding loving interaction. 

I don’t even remember what happened. Shit went down, mother had got a “boyfriend,” they were going to get married, they split up, I was caught in the middle because I was a kid who never really had a dad and desperately wanted one, I got used as a pawn in a game of chess between two emotionally unwell adults who couldn’t agree to break up without causing an enormous fight and dragging their entire circle of Facebook friends into it. It was really ugly. Like, one of the friends died, and shit like “good riddance” was getting thrown about. It was really ugly. I wanted so badly to get involved and break it all up, but yeah, fuck Facebook, I didn’t use it, still don’t.

So, I ran away to live with the one who’d caused me less hurt, the racist opioid addict, because at least he could see me as a son, while the drunk was still transphobic as hell. That’s the other post, for the future. 

But yes, Ada Doom followed me there, and according to them, I was still living in the woodshed.

But I was supposed to be Flora. I was supposed to be good, nice, and orderly, and I was accepted while I was these things. If I wasn’t, I’d get a verbal slap in the right direction, through this insidious fucking phrasology tied in with a long, long history of emotional manipulation.

This all started with my mother, and her mother, and probably her mother before her, and a whole line of absent fathers. 

I’m the one who noticed this, and decided, “no more of this shit. No more of this shit. I am never bringing a child into this world so full of pain, and I have no idea how to fix any of this on my own, and the people who are supposed to help me don’t, and I don’t fucking trust anybody enough to let them in.”

I’m the one who noticed this was abuse. I’m the one who started reading, trying to understand the inside of my head, getting it wrong, getting it right-ish, doubting myself, always coming back and really thinking “fuck, that is so much like me” to conditions that arise as a result of complex, long-term trauma. 

I’m the one who made the jump into homelessness when the racist opioid addict became unbearable. I’m the one who went into a hostel while I was doing my A-Levels. I’m the one who passed them. I’m the one who saw a counsellor every week and just fucking sobbed because there was nowhere else I could cry like that without killing myself. 

I’m the one who read about psychodynamic theory, and fundamental interpretations of the structures of psyche, and thought about it all myself, how it might apply to my brain in particular. I’m the one who read intently about complex trauma, and healing from it. I’m the one who learned about EMDR, and figured out I could do that with good stereo music, and tapping my hands and feet on the bus. I’m the one who studied very specific parts of the DSM V, over and over, circling and circling until I zeroed in on the places that fit well enough to help me understand, find resources, and recover. 

I’m the one who read very, very, very closely about marijuana, the endocannabinoid system, and its relation to trauma. I understood this was drug abuse, and dependency, and that dependency and addiction are almost interchangeable. I’m the one who knew I didn’t really want to smoke until my mind burned away, unless I couldn’t Make It at university. I’m the one who smashed my pipe in July, and hasn’t wanted to smoke again since, and doesn’t really want to go back, but will if he falls/fails. 

I’m the one who learned to meditate, just drop out into a trance, for minutes or hours, with and without drugs in my system, with silence or with music, and now increasingly with background noise, although that one is REALLY difficult for me. I’m the one who learned all those weird skills like “noting” and “radical acceptance” and other things I’ve forgotten the name of but notice as different states of consciousness. 

I’m the one who knew all this psych work was supposed to be very dangerous, you shouldn’t do this if you aren’t A Professional(tm), but I’m also the one who knew I didn’t trust a single fucking “Professional” to do the right thing, make the right referrals, administer the treatment properly, after being betrayed and forced and dismissed by so many so-called Professionals.

I’m the one who decided, in not so many words: well, fuck, it’s less dangerous for me to do all these things, and make mistakes trying, than it is for me to let somebody in, and receive another injury, at my most vulnerable. 

The thing about Ada Doom is, she’s a character in a fucking parody novel. 

You’re not Ada Doom. You’re not Catherine Earnshaw. 

You can’t live your whole life making sad allegories through books that dig up your old pain without actually resolving any of it, because you’re reading ahead and projecting the romantic, ugly, fantasy conclusion onto what really happened, to your body.

It’s really useful! It’s really useful, for a long time, to connect with your pain through fiction. Forever, actually.

But I’ve got to get angry about being expected to be a character from a fucking parody novel.

“You’ll understand later.”

I understand. I understand why you did what you did. I understand you couldn’t control it. I understand why you showed me this book.

It cannot negate, diminish, or remove any of my anger. 

I had to go to a counsellor, for years, research, for years, think and feel, for years, to find the right language and tone to communicate my experiences. I’m still learning. I’m especially still talking, because I haven’t been able to talk about any of this, because my mother wouldn’t let me. All she did was give me strange, roundabout books, that were good, and annoyingly on the nose, and say “You’ll understand later.”

If you’re saying that, if they’re asking the question isn’t it about time you explained?

Isn’t it about time you realized you need help explaining? 

I can’t keep going back to a sad fucking house full of hurting fucking children. It drags me down again every time, although I really do cherish the moments where I could just pretend it was all normal and painless and easy to be a family. I really do. 

And yes, I know, it’s circular, it’s not that fucking easy, because I couldn’t let anybody in, because I was “normal,” as far as my mother was concerned. I know I’m lucky I’m very quick, I learn well, and I’m completely fucking invested in research and execution. 

I had to become these things for a sick, sick woman, who wanted a kid who would save/change her life. 

It’s not a fairytale. I know it feels like one. I know it feels like Prince Charming is just around the corner, it must be soon, just one more page! The Big Bad Wolf is still lurking!

You gotta make Prince Charming. You have to make the person you want to marry inside your head. I’m getting there. There’s no ring on it. That might be the total illusion of self. It might not be. I don’t know what’s happening to my system, yet. 

That voice in your head who yells at you, but isn’t you, but won’t tell you their name? Give them a fucking name. Think them up a face and a body. Go and learn some emotional regulation skills, slowly, because it’s really difficult. Revise them. Pass them along. Talk to them. They’ll stop yelling at you. You’ll be able to turn to them for comfort, and they’ll get all your jokes, because you’re sharing a brain, and the connections do keep coming your entire life/lives. They can be your partner, if you like, and they do too. 

I don’t know what happens after that, and that is just this body/me/us/the irrelevancy of pronouns astounds me. 

So, I’m very stupid.

I really did take the hood off my car at the side of the road with smoke pouring out. I didn’t know anything about what colour meant “get the hell away” or “it’s fine, just call the recovery van.” I just knew there was a problem, it needed fixing, and I didn’t have insurance.

I did it the stupid way. I touched it while it was hot. I tried using stuff I had in the back of the car. I walked to the garage, and they rang my mum? I walked back to the car and slept in it for a while, resolute in my decision not to go back to the garage again. I walked to the tool shop, and bought something to take that bit on the top off. I walked to the library and borrowed a book on cars. I bought more tools. I borrowed more books, this time on engines, because the car book was only about cars, and I had a problem with the engine. 

I kept getting the wrong fucking tools, and the wrong fucking books, because all engines are different, and different tools fit different engines. I just compared what I had to what was in there, then threw the wrong crap into the boot in a huff, or whacked the engine with whatever size spanner I had at hand.

I went back to the garage. They didn’t know what to do, they couldn’t see the car, just somebody who read too many manuals, and was on drugs. I still knew I didn’t have insurance. 

More tools, more books, still showing up at the garage, still getting dismissed, hating them more every time, them getting more and more bored of me. I was getting closer to fixing the car, but still making mistakes.

I found a mechanic, one who didn’t work with the garage. He let me tell him about the car, slowly, the way I’d figured it out. 

He knew a few things about engines. We spoke about the garage. He was very sympathetic. We spoke a lot about the car. He knew more than a few things about engines, actually.

I got better at fixing the car on my own.

Unfortunately, all this walking was fucking my legs. I’d really like to get back in the car again, and go places quicker. All this work is really slowing me down from what I’d like to be doing. It’s also getting me to a point where I can do what I’d like to.

The car still isn’t fixed. I’m not sure what goes where next, or if this is actually the same engine I started with at all, but I have an idea what might work, and a mechanic who knows he doesn’t know the problem, but actually lets me tell him, unlike the garage. 

So yes. Ada Doom is and is not dead to me. 

The fairytale thing is great, but at some point, you gotta stop reading other people’s, and start reading/writing your own. But only if you’re that way inclined, and I said the bit before in a rude tone because I’m frustrated. 

Long post. That’s enough.

I’m not Flora Poste.