#rotating the patch content in my head as it usually goes

[impossible-rat-babies]

thinking. rotating even. eyrie’s way of showing love and how it so quietly bloomed during their time in thavnair w estinien. how it slowly found its way there and so much of how it was both felt. they love each other—as friends and romantically. it’s all there, utterly unspoken, but it’s there.

[zarvasace]

Next time you feel the vibe for writing in the disability AU, might I request some Time-centric content? <3

vibin tonight with it :D something short!

Time is Not a Pirate

...despite the eye patch. ~700 words, gen everything, everyone present, Time and Wind have the biggest roles. AO3 link here!

---

It's no secret that Legend likes to sew. He'll grumble about it, but he's the one everybody goes to when anything tears. Wind has a new appreciation for Legend's skills, with the even stitching he touches every night when he takes his leg off. When Legend isn't walking or sparring or saying cryptic things about his thousand adventures, he's probably sewing something. On occasion, he'll bring out some knitting needles, and Wind will never admit how the comforting sound reminds him of his grandma. 

Tonight, Wind sits near the fire to ward off the chill, halfway watching Time writing in a journal and halfway paying attention to the signing lesson that Wars and Sky are giving to Hyrule. Wild has a banana on a stick over the fire, doing his best to convince Twilight to pick a fruit and roast it. Four sits quietly near Legend, both of them tending to supplies maintenance. It's as calm an evening as they get, which naturally makes Wind a little jumpy. It's calm evenings that get interrupted by monster attacks. 

"Hey, old man," Legend calls suddenly, and something goes flying over Wind's head. 

Whatever it is strikes Time in the forehead, though not because he hadn't tried to catch it. His mouth slants in a way that tells Wind that he's a little annoyed, but mostly trying not to laugh. 

"Legend."

"What? I fixed it." Legend gestures, and Time picks up the thing to look at it. Wind climbs to his feet, curious, and goes to lean over Time's shoulder. Time shuts his journal, paranoid rat, but does hold up the thing for Wind to see. 

It's Time's usual eye patch, a nice one made of soft leather on the inside—he's been wearing his spare, which doesn't fit him quite as well. The strap had started to fall off a few days ago, so apparently Legend had picked it apart to repair it. With the pretty blue thread on the outside, Wind thinks it looks better than new. 

"You did a good job," Time says, running his fingers over the repairs. He takes off the patch he's wearing to put the other on. "Thank you."

"'Course. Don't know what else you were expecting." Legend picks up his next project, one of Sky's tunics. 

Sky's voice makes Wind look over to see Warriors signing. "You'll fit right in with Wind, now, won't you?"

Wind makes a curious noise. "What do you mean?" 

"You're not serious?" Twilight asks from across the fire. He's given in to Wild, and is trying to figure out how to best spear half an apple on a sharpened stick. "Pirates wear eye patches. Even I know that."

"He's right," Sky agrees. 

"What do you know about pirates, Hero of Skyloft?" Wind laughs. 

After a glance at Warriors's interpreting, Sky blushes. "That's… a story for another time."

"Do your pirates not wear eye patches?" Time asks as he tightens the strap around his head. 

"No, we do. But you're missing an eye, that's not the same thing."

'Is it a fashion statement, then?' Warriors asks. 

Wind snorts and moves to sit on top of the log that Time leans against. "It can be, I know of some crews that paint them colors to show loyalty. Nah, it's for seeing in the dark." He demonstrates by cupping one hand over his right eye. "Keep a patch on, and if you need to go from the sunny deck to the dark below, you don't have to wait for your eyes to adjust, you just flip it up. See?" He rotates his hand to mime an eye patch flipping up. 

"That's really smart," Wild says with a tilt of his head and a rotate of his banana. "I might start doing that."

"Why would you suddenly need to see in a dark place?" Twilight asks incredulously. 

"You never know!" 

"Have you worn one like that before, Wind?" Time asks. 

"Sure, it works. I don't like doing it for long, though, my balance is already pretty bad with my leg. I don't need to make it worse." 

Hyrule lifts his hands as if to physically stop them talking. "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. You have to wait for your eyes to adjust to darkness? And wearing an eye patch can… help?" 

"Hyrule," Wind laughs, "you'd make an excellent pirate."

Time shakes his head. "Don't corrupt him, Wind."

"And you would make an awful one."

[halfmaul]

oc masterpost ig. I never make content but theyre in my heart and mind always. It’s long!

i am rotating these idiots in my mind, they are in situations in my head etc

The Crew

These four!! These four. They had a real DnD style meet-cute (all arrived to catch the same low-level bounty at once, shenanigans ensue they must make it out through the power of teamwork) and have been inseparable (stuck together via Circumstances (TM) ) since. They’ve been debating on what to call the group approx. a year now. No agreement in sight.

They essentially started off with a little gun of a ship and big bounty-hunting/freelance-whatever dreams and uh. Have ended up trapped on coruscant for repairs. Half of the income they make doing odd jobs goes to the docking fees for the ship while they wait for (and to afford) the parts needed. Despite the incredibly rocky and stressful start they’ve managed to grow quite close, and work well to balance each other out. They can be seen getting up to shenanigans, getting paid (usually via at least dubiously legal means) and general silly business.

One night they met a lightly stabbed Hound in the lower levels and took em to their ship to try and patch them up. After failing to steal adopt Grizzer they went for Hound, to which Hound said “you’re all fucking gremlins, i have enough insane siblings”. They might admit to a small soft spot for the idiots upon pain of death. No familial bonds here at all. Definitely not.

After this the crew do a lot of information (or rumour) gathering for the guard, and will try and source supplies where they can.

They also has matching nicknames/fake ids because  they’re just Like That.

Gunne (AKA Thor or Boom)

Gunne (She/Her) is a Devaronian with a flair for the dramatic. Big ‘grumpy medic(/nurse)’ energy. She’ll look after the misfits well but also be really vocally unhappy about it the whole time. She loves fashion and WILL refuse to wear gear if it isn’t made into A Look. Her fave sesh glasses are some of those red-tinted flame shaped things. Yes she has a collection. One of her horns is broken, and she often wears a gold prosthetic tip on it. She’s slow to trust, but once you have it she is ride or die to a fault. She has spent a lot of time as the only medical professional in remote areas, and when it comes down to it she’s tough as guts and will make do with what she can (and do a bang-up job of it).

They haven’t met BUT I think her and Wolffe would be the best of worsties. Bitches add a double letter and an e to words and be like yes this is the perfect name.

Pandora (AKA Dora, Score, Zoom)

Dora (She/Her) is a Pantoran who is sweet and adorable in the way a feral kitten is. She will deny any force-sensitivity, but will also have Moments which result in (usually disconcerting) comments on the future. Or probable futures. Either way it can be a little startling to hear a grim prophecy delivered, but doesn’t her smile and positive demeanor make up for it! She’s also a demolitions expert! Great at sourcing weapons and explosives, and even improvising them in a pinch. Loves to pull the old ‘oh I’m just naive and innocent you should help me I’m not at all a hired hunter’ ruse. She’s one of the main reasons the crew even came together in the start instead of trying to cut each other down, and isn’t above reminding the rest of them of this when feeling a little smug.

She also card counts for fun and profit. Mostly fun. She has absolutely no poker face.

Selene (aka Luna, Sweetie, Gloom)

Selene (She/Her) is a Mirialan who is a bit of a jack of all trades, and keeps the group together and alive a lot because of this. She’s the best pilot, moonlights as a sniper when needed, and can be relied upon as a level-headed voice of treason reason in a pinch. Those who don’t know her well think her stance on her companions was “long-suffering (affectionate)”. In reality she has a cutting wit and will take any opportunity to stir the pot. She’s also the best (and arguably only) person in the crew at acknowledging when help is needed, and then going ahead and asking for it. 

While she was born on Mirial, she only spent her early childhood on the planet. Her father specialised in heavy-ship repairs, and they spent most of their time living on the massive docks and stations/hamlet-towns that grow from them. After her father was injured in a workplace incident when she was in her early teens, her adolescence was spent being supported and taught by the eclectic mix that was the station community. As much as she loved her extended family, she felt like if she didn’t try and experience something new soon she’d be stuck in the same place doing the same thing her whole life, so made the (slightly impulsive) decision to hitch a ride on a cargo ship and find something new. She keeps her dad updated on the ship repairs (and costs), and he is growing increasingly despaired at their choice of transport.

Remy (Aka Gremlin, Lucky, Doom, rat bastard)

Remy (They/Them) is a member of a species from the outer rim that is little known and I definitely didn’t just make up. They’re purple. They have big ol ears. They’re maybe for sure a space eshay. They’re 130cm tall with a head like a brick. They are actually so unlikeable.

Remy loves to act like they’re nothing but the hired muscle of the group. They do a great job of putting up a front, and really embody the short, dirty-fighting, rat dog mindset. Behind the scenes Remy is also the one who is best at balancing the budget, is too smart for their own good, and has a knack for the cut-throat politics of coruscant that is mild-to-moderately disturbing. While the youngest of the group, they definitely have the most experience at hunting, though this is sometimes to their detriment. They could have easily gone down a path of more sinister organised crime. They had started to, in fact, before a particularly harrowing experience that knocked some sense into them and their worldview askew. They’re learning to lean on the others slowly, and maybe become a little bit of a better person.

Hound is of the opinion that introducing Remy and Fox will either save the galaxy or doom it. They haven’t been game enough to try. Or introduce any of the crew really. That way madness lies.

Wow! Bonus pics in The Highest Android Quality.

[obscure-sentimentalist]

flommy, “Holding hands has been perfected. Now to the next step.”

[...I’m not entirely sure what this is. Still trying to feel out my Flommy writing, and while this was always the idea I had for this prompt, I may rework it a bit in the future, we’ll see.]

From the Comforting Cuddles starters list

Part of the Blanket ‘verse

“Okay,” Felicity starts, blowing out a breath that’s equal parts exhausted and amused. “Holding hands has been perfected. Now to the next step.”

“Mmm,” Tommy hums faintly, too preoccupied by the object of his gentle, almost dopey grin to look up. “I don’t disagree with that assessment. That’s a really strong grip from someone so tiny and cute.” His eyes finally flick up to catch Felicity’s with a glimmer of mirth. “Wonder who else that sounds like.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good guess,” Felicity teases back, before giving him a hard stare. “Which means you have fair warning that I can strong-arm you if you keep hedging like this.” 

Tommy’s head dips a bit lower at that, gaze turned back down to Felicity’s arms and bottom lip curling under in uncertainty. “Everything’s perfect as it is right now,” he says, gently rotating his left thumb. “I don’t want to disturb that.”

Felicity’s face goes soft at that. “You’re not going disturb anything—if she’s at all surprised by the change, she’ll settle back in before you know it.”

“Should we really be moving her around so much, though? I feel like she should be wearing a sticker that says fra-gee-lay…”

“Tommy, you’re not going to break her,” Felicity finally sighs, the bundle in her arms sagging on the exhale. Her gaze catches on Tommy’s hand, and she raises her eyebrows. “If you keep letting her grab onto you like that, though, she might break you. Or at least your thumb. So, in an effort to circumvent any injuries, you should really hold your daughter.”

She doesn’t miss the hitch of his breath on that last word, the wondrous disbelief of hearing it in relation to him—to them. It’s admittedly not something she’s gotten used to thinking either, though it’s sure to sink in soon enough. 

Perhaps even as soon as her entire bone-tired body relaxes after transferring the seven-plus pounds of newborn out of her arms.

That realization must click for Tommy, as he quickly—but not jarringly so—slips his thumb free from the itty-bitty fist in which it was grasped and carefully readies his hands to accept the bundle. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this—not since Thea was born,” he admits as Felicity eases blanket and baby into his arms. “Still surprised that Moira even let me hold her, seeing as ten-year-olds aren’t the gentlest, and then, you know…” He trails off, shaking his head to swerve away from those thoughts and back into the here and now, to instead focus his energy on their little girl.

Sinking back against the pillows with a light smile, Felicity takes a moment to just watch father and daughter as Tommy gently sways on his feet, locked in a friendly wide-eyed staring contest with the precious cargo in his arms.

“Are you okay to reach behind you?” he asks after a moment, the question clearly directed at Felicity even though his eyes don’t leave their daughter. “There’s something tucked under the pillows, right side.”

Frowning slightly, Felicity complies, stretching a hand back and fumbling blindly over the hospital bed linens. Her fingers finally graze what feels like tissue paper, and latch onto something thick but soft folded within it. 

Even wrapped, the gift is easily identified by the time she pulls it out from underneath the pillows and swings it around to set in her lap.

“You did it!” she laughs joyfully, turning to grin at Tommy and finding him reflecting one right back at her. “You didn’t tell me you finished.” She pauses, considering. “Actually, you never even showed me what it looked like after those few rows from when you first started. I wasn’t sure if you were still working on it, and didn’t want to ask in case you weren’t.”

Tommy’s shoulders hunch slightly at that, but not so much that the motion jostles the baby. “I didn’t know how it was going to turn out, so I didn’t want to get your hopes up. But then I really started getting down to it a month or so back, and by that point I felt like it’d work better as a surprise.” He leans his head in acknowledgement towards Felicity. “And yes, I know how you usually feel about surprises and mysteries…”

“I’ll give you a pass for this one,” she shoots back playfully, before sliding a finger under the tape and peeling the two ends of paper apart to unveil the contents underneath.

The last time Felicity had seen the blanket-to-be, it had consisted of a single knitted block of vibrant pink yarn. Unfolding the final product—the perfect size for tucking into a baby carrier—reveals that Tommy hadn’t limited himself to a monochromatic design.

Stripes run up and down the full length of the blanket, swapping colors a number of times throughout. There’s a familiar shade of green, as well as a deep crimson; canary yellow, and a few lines of bold black. Most of all, though are the paired patches of a lovely dark blue and the same pink Felicity had first seen.

The particular mixture of colors could very easily be garish under other circumstances, but stitched seamlessly together like this, it’s clear that they truly fit as parts of one whole—not too dissimilar from the people for whom they stand in. 

“Think it’s too much?” Tommy asks, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. He steps closer to Felicity’s side, carefully lowering himself and their daughter (who now looks like she’s drifted off to sleep in his arms) onto the edge of the hospital bed. “I was going to go with pastels, but then I thought, ‘hey, let’s make it meaningful, put the rest of the family on there.’ Although, now I’m concerned that it’s a little too meaningful, like I’m going to blow the team’s cover through baby blanket color choices.” He grimaces at the thought. 

“We managed to get through Oliver’s greasepaint phase with minimal cover-blowing,” Felicity reminds him, reaching up to drape the blanket over his arms and the sleeping bundle of baby. “If no one picked up on something as un-subtle as that, I think we’ll be safe with this.”

Without shifting his grip too much, Tommy tugs the blanket to sit a little bit more comfortably, before turning back to Felicity with a grin. “True. And if anyone does ask, we could probably throw them off the trail of color meanings by spinning a pretty good yarn.”

Tommy is incredibly lucky that Felicity is exhausted enough to only be able to groan at that comment.

[woodwind-sensei]

The 2019-20 ISU Grand Prix: Men’s Singles

   I’ve been stewing over the Grand Prix assignments for these few weeks, and after cementing my thoughts, I’d like to share some of my ponderings about the men’s singles lists. Ice Dance and Pairs will follow suit, and if you want to read what I said about the Ladies assignments, click here!

Nathan Chen (USA) will be looking for his third Grand Prix Final title in a row this season. After a rocky start in last season’s Japan Open, he bounced back to dominate the Grand Prix and successfully defend his world title. Nathan’s a very explosive jumper, so expect some great technical content from him at Skate America and Internationaux de France in the fall. His programs don’t really do it for me, as there are usually a few dead patches in the choreography, but I’d be interested to see how he’s packaged this season. France is a particularly stacked roster, as it will be a three-way race between Nathan, Shoma Uno (JPN), and Tomoki Hiwatashi (USA).

Two-time Olympic Champion Yuzuru Hanyu (JPN) will be at Skate Canada and NHK this year. After withdrawing from the Final last season due to injury, he’s probably hungry to return to the top of the podium. He’s revealed that he’s put the quad Lutz back into his jump rotation during Fantasy on Ice this summer, which shows me he really is trying to challenge Nathan, who is almost undisputedly the top jumper in the men’s field right now. He’s unfortunately chosen Phantom of the Opera (at least that’s what I’ve heard) for his free skate this year. He’s such a great skater, but some of his programs have really strayed from God’s light, especially this past year. I really want him to skate to something more...interesting, like Brahms, or even something like Stravinsky. As much as war horse music choices are unappreciated in the current era, I think that choosing music you know will work is a good move.

The surprise World bronze medalist Vincent Zhou (USA) is competing at back-to-back events this year, appearing at Cup of China and Rostelecom Cup. He’s ditched Tom Zakrajsek as a co-coach (his main coach being Tammy Gambill), but has recently added Mie Hamada (coach to Rika Kihira and Satoko Miyahara) to his coaching staff. He is Hamada’s first non-Japanese skater, and it shows a lot of guts from Vincent to pursue a coach as rigorous as she is known to be. He’s prone to under-rotating his jumps and doesn’t have the best skating skills. Hamada’s students are known for their supreme skating skills, so that beauty hopefully transfers into him. He has one glaring problem: he’s set to start university this fall at Brown University in Rhode Island. It’s quite far from both Tammy and Mie, so I’m not sure exactly what his coaching arrangements will be. 

Shoma Uno (JPN) made figure skating headlines recently for leaving his long time coach Machiko Yamada. He’s currently participating in a summer camp with Eteri Tutberidze, and it’s highly rumored that if this goes well, he will become her full-time student. If this happens, it will be Eteri’s highest-profile addition to her coaching stable in a while, especially considering he’s not from a former Soviet Republic. Shoma will go head-to-head with Nathan Chen at Internationaux de France. He’s a powerful skater with beautiful jumps, but he’s extremely inconsistent, so he’s looking to rectify competition/mental problems with this possible move. If anyone knows how to instill a competitive fire in a skater, it’s Eteri.

Unlike the ladies event, not one country really dominates men’s figure skating. There’s a relatively diverse group of competitors from across the world. Russia has the most skaters with two assignments, with 6 men, Dmitri Aliev, Mikhail Kolyada, Alexander Samarin, Andrei Lazukin, Sergei Voronov, and Roman Savosin, on the circuit this year. Kolyada had the highest finish at the most recent World Championships (6th), but is not the most consistent of competitors. In fact, that’s the story for all the Russian men. Dmitri Aliev is known for his breathtaking skating skills and musicality, but dealt with injury and inconsistency last season. He didn’t make the Worlds squad last year, so this Grand Prix will serve as a little bit of a proving ground for the 2018 Olympian and European Medalist. Samarin had ups and downs last year, medaling at Europeans then crashing and burning at Worlds. The only Russian qualifier to last year’s Final was Voronov, who finished 6th. He then had to drop out from the rest of the season due to a knee injury. Only time will tell how the Russian men will compete.

The U.S. is also well-represented on the Grand Prix, as Jason Brown, Tomoki Hiwatashi, and Camden Pulkinen all have two assignments, besides Nathan and Vincent. Alexei Kraznoshon is currently set to compete at one event (Rostelecom), but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was given the host pick at Skate America, thus granting him two assignments. All eyes will be on World Junior Champion Tomoki. He will most likely challenge Jason for his spot on the Worlds team next year. Tomoki has some great skating qualities and a quad toe to boot. Jason, as beautiful of a skater as he is, doesn’t have the quad. His move to Toronto Cricket Club hasn’t paid full dividends in the jumping department, but I really hope Jason can really make the push for a consistent quad this year. 

Japan’s other hopefuls include Keiji Tanaka and Kazuki Tomono. Keiji hasn’t really stepped up to the plate since his junior days, so I’m not expecting much. Kazuki had an inconsistent season last year, medaling at one of his Grand Prix assignments, but missed out on a World Championships on home soil. The empty slot at NHK could go one of two ways. Koshiro Shimada, a first-year senior and 2018 Junior GPF medalist, is currently slated to be at Skate America as his only assignment. The JSF could potentially grant him the host pick, thus giving him two. Then there’s Daisuke Takahashi, who’s recently come out of retirement and was in pretty good competitive form at his one competition, Japanese Nationals. The JSF could give him the spot so he could go for the minimum scores needed to be Worlds-eligible. It’s a tough decision to make, but it will make the final GP of the season more interesting.

Canada has four men with two assignments, Keegan Messing, Nam Nguyen, Roman Sadovsky, and Nicolas Nadeau. Keegan had a fantastic season last year, qualifying to the Grand Prix Final as an alternate and called to compete after Hanyu withdrew. Keegan is a skater that entertains a crowd, so expect some showmanship from him. Former child prodigy Nam Nguyen reclaimed his National Title for the first time in 4 years, and though his season wasn’t filled with medals, expect for him to be on the upswing. Both Nadeau and Sadovsky have had relative success as juniors in previous years, but have yet to break the senior ranks. I don’t know their skating as well as Keegan or Nam, so I’ll look forward to discovering their style on the ice.

Cha Jun-Hwan (KOR), Jin Boyang (CHN), Matteo Rizzo (ITA), Denis Vasiljevs (LAT), Romain Posnart (FRA), Kevin Aymoz (FRA), and Morisi Kvitelashvili (GEO) round out the list of skaters with two assignments this year. Jun-Hwan won the bronze at the last Grand Prix Final, so expect him to challenge for another GPF spot this year. After a disastrous Grand Prix, Jin Boyang came back in the latter half of the season to win a medal at 4CC and finished 5th at Worlds. One of the most powerful jumpers in the world, expect him to really challenge both Jun and Nathan at Skate America. Matteo Rizzo has been slowly climbing the ranks, winning the Universiade and medaling at Europeans. He’s a beautiful skater, so I hope he does well. He’s got a good shot to medal at Skate Canada (Hanyu will be untouchable, but the silver looks pretty open).

   Being more open than the ladies field, I can’t wait to see how the Grand Prix unfolds for the men! The momentum towards the next Olympics is starting to build, and this year will sort of show us who might be showing up in Beijing!

*edit: I’ve been informed that Hanyu hasn’t chosen his music yet. That Phantom thing was for Fantasy on Ice only. Thank the LORDT!!!

[maxmakkaroni-blog]

Me and fandom

In almost all of my 23 years, I can’t remember not being a fan of something. As the youngest one in my family I grew up with 2 cousins and my sister, all at least 4 years older than me. Growing up in rural Bavaria, my cousins introduced me to fandom before I could even talk properly, as they plastered everything in their rooms and themselves with merchandise of soccer clubs they loved. So, it is funny enough that I never even started to care about a single soccer club, other than my 5-year-old me assuring them that I was in love with Bavaria Munich in order not to get a wedgie. However, when I was old enough, I was allowed to tend for their neglected video game consoles for a limited time whenever I was over, which is the first time I really understood what fandom actually meant. Both cousins had games for the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater franchise, games that focus on displaying semi-realistic skateboarding action with real-life brands, skaters and locations. The first time I was exposed to this type of media I became obsessed with it. I would call my mother over to read me the names of the skaters and levels, I started to recognize the brands in the game in real life, I wanted my cousins to tell me about this Tony Hawk guy. I even wished for an actual skateboard, a hobby that I still casually but passionately perform to this day even going to contests to see some of my heroes of the sport. This must have been in late 2000 however, so researching on the internet was not a real possibility, plus I was barely literate enough to write my own name. Luckily enough, some of my friends also started to get into video games via their older brothers etc., so there soon was a small community around video games, small in every sense of the word. It was mostly me and my friend Peter, who came from an even lower income family than myself and unlike me he was allowed to basically play video games all day, every day, so we used to sit in front of a television for hours, playing all sorts of video games and eating chunk food. For a long while skateboarding and video games of all sorts were my obsession. Franchises like the Tony Hawk’s games, Metal Gear Solid, Fallout, Need for Speed and many more were part of my daily life. As soon as the internet became more accessible and I was smart enough to wrap my head around it, I would watch videos about these games via pages like YouTube and spend a lot of time finding out more about my favorite skateboarders. While watching a compilation of the video game Skate 2, I found my new obsession, which was going to be music.

Though at this point the band that was playing in the video is merely a nostalgic guilty pleasure, Korn turned me into a full-blown music fan. No one in my family was ever even interested in music despite liking something that may have been on the radio, but this band had really touched me in a completely new way. I would get every album, watch every interview, learn about their instruments, analyze all their lyrics, buy their merch with my pocket money and generally annoy everyone out of their mind with this band. Oddly enough no one around me seemed to like the band all that much, but a lot of the community that came with it for me was on the internet anyway. As much as I don’t care for the band now, I’m still more than grateful to this band as they were the reason why I picked up the bass guitar and started making music, which is to this day still the biggest joy in my life. The pattern of passionately plunging into fan communities also established here. Even today, whenever I find bands, fictional universes, authors or anything else that tickles me in a certain way, I tend to immerse myself completely. For fictional universes I usually lose myself in endless reads on wiki pages about the happenings and characters of whatever I am into, trying to know absolutely everything about this universe, whether it is Harry Potter, Fallout or Elite. Being part of the fan communities is also a big part of enjoying the experience. For me, Reddit and YouTube are the places where I have the most interaction with other community members. Whether it is a discussion over lore on r/falloutlore or comments on a video about the latest patch of Elite Dangerous, I always seem to find time to stay in contact with people I will probably never meet, but have the same passion about fiction that I have. As far as fan fiction goes, by far the most contact I had, is with a more unusual approach to fan fiction, which is modding. Modding means modifying existing video games and adding new user generated content for others to enjoy. This can mean everything from improving graphics and mechanics of games, to using the game engine as a foundation for expanding the story, which is what I was always interested in. I consider this fan fiction in video games. Fans of a franchise take the existing narrative and either fill the holes or add more to it, all the while creating their own virtual places with new characters to interact with. For me, the games that I adored the most for this were the Fallout games, as they actively encouraged modding with every part of it. They are open world role playing games in a futuristic post-apocalyptic setting that still has a foot in 1950s America, that allow the players to go about the story at their own pace, making it easy for modders to easily add more and more without interrupting the pacing of the story. The mod community of these games are still as active as when they were brand new.

As far as my fandom in music is concerned, everything is a lot more personal and therefore much harder to describe. For me, the music that I listen to and the musicians I obsess over seem to always seems to reflect where I am in life. Not to say that I inevitably tend to lose interest in all the music I listen to at some point, there are certainly constants. Artists and bands like Mark Kozelek, Neil Young, Sufjan Stevens, Mr. Bungle and many more are always in my rotation of music that I love. Listening to music is also not the only way I enjoy it. Like already mentioned, I like to get to know the people behind the music, analyze the lyrics, learn the songs on my instruments, find out more about their gear, their creative process and pretty much everything around the music itself. Though it may not seem like it, I am a very different fan of music than I am a fan of all kinds of fiction. For one, the community aspect is way less pronounced, as music is a way more personal hobby unless it comes to my own music. Most of my friends don’t share my musical taste and it has pretty much always been like that, so I like to think of my music fandom as something that only exists between me and the music that I can relate too, which is more than fine by me.

It is safe to say that fandom is an enormous part of my life and I don’t think this will change much. Being a fan of something does not only mean enjoying something to a great extent, it also means being part of a community that shares your interests. Fan interaction takes mere entertainment and turns it into something far more personal, yet communal.  All the things I have been a fan of  left a major impression on me as a person, whether it is a video game series, a band or some fictional universe, and I certainly look forward to getting into new and interesting fandoms that further accompany me through my everyday life.

[babblingblondegenius]

Future Ficlet: All You Need is Love...and Coffee

Wow, tonight’s episode was brutal.  Between the painful Olicity separation in present time and the lack of Olicity in the dark future of the flash-forwards, we aren’t seeing any of the happy right now.  There seems to be no hope. Our heroes’ sacrifices were all in vain.  Basically, everything sucks.

As kismet would have it, a couple of weeks ago, I shared a fun little head canon with @allimariexf and @hope-for-olicity and they both encouraged me to ‘write the thing.’  I’ve had a terrible case of writer’s block for quite some time (meaning I have a gazillion story ideas and a ton of WIPs that are unfinished).  I expected this one to end up dormant in my drafts as well.  But after tonight’s episode, I felt the need to finish it because we (and Olicity, of course) deserve a little hope and happy.  Set two years in the future, the premise of this little fluffy ficlet is that Felicity needs an assistant but she has particular criteria ;)  

This should have been the easy part.  

After months of enticing investors, obtaining the proper licenses and permits, all the legal mumbo jumbo, and locating the perfect office space, hiring an executive assistant is going to be the breaking point where she finally loses her sanity.  

Which completely defeats the purpose of trying to find someone to help her in the first place.

She has been doing fine on her own, thriving actually, since she decided it was time to recommence building a tech company from the ground up, sans Curtis this time.   This venture, for better or worse, will be all hers.  Her vision.  Her name. Her legacy.

Despite her initial apprehension at that thought, she has a clarity and confidence in her mission and goals that has propelled her forward at a pace she couldn’t have imagined.  So far, choosing which of her many prototypes she wanted to launch first has been her biggest challenge.

Until now.  

She had narrowed down the stack of over 100 applications to the eight most qualified for the position, and began the interview process at 7:00 this morning.  

The first one had been punctual, neat, and lacking any sort of personality whatsoever.  

The second one arrived twenty minutes late and then interrupted Felicity mid-interview to take a non-emergency personal call on her cell phone.

The third one tapped her super long artificial nails on the edge of Felicity’s desk the entire time and included ‘loud typer’ when asked how her current co-workers would describe her.

The fourth one was a chaotic whirlwind who overshared details of his personal life on every single question.

Maybe he just had too much caffeine in his system. Or maybe she doesn’t have enough.

Coffee.  She needs coffee.  Her next interviewee isn’t scheduled to come in for another hour, so she takes the reprieve to just lay her head down on her desk for a moment in order to gather up the energy she needs to make the trek down the block for her caffeine fix.

“One vanilla soy latte, extra sugar, extra cinnamon, extra whip cream.”  

Oh yes.  That’s exactly what she wants.  Why she is thinking it in Oliver’s voice, she doesn’t know.  Her coffee daydream is so vivid, she can even smell the soothing notes of vanilla with hints of sweet cinnamon spice wafting through the air. Mmmmmmmm.

“Felicity….honey, are you okay?”  Oliver’s voice again.  She slowly lifts her head and sees her husband standing on the other side of her desk, holding a large cup emblazoned with the logo of her favorite java joint and her name scrawled across it in black marker.

“I am now,” she practically purrs as he hands over her treasured treat.  After taking a deep inhale and a long swallow, she blissfully smiles at him.  “It’s perfect.  You’re perfect.”  Suddenly jumping up out of her chair, she shares the revelation brought on by the jolt of caffeine in her system. “Oh!  I have a great idea!  You should apply to be my EA.”  

Oliver chuffs out a laugh.  “Because I brought you coffee?  Your standards must be pretty low.”  

“Worried you couldn’t cut it, Mr. Queen?” she asks, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

“I think my time served as Mayor proves otherwise,” he retorts with an air of gravitas but mimics her gesture, silently letting her know that he enjoys her teasing him and is willing to play along.  

She shakes her head.  “Nope, not helpful.  You couldn’t even get me a break on my taxes when you were the mayor.  What are your current qualifications?”

He ponders the inquiry for a moment before responding proudly, “I’m the head chef at Chez Queen.”

She rolls her eyes at Oliver’s corny moniker for their kitchen but gives him an encouraging smile.  “Oh yeah, I’ve eaten there a few times.  The food is magnificent.  But do you have any business experience?”

His expression goes from proud to smug.  “As a matter of fact, I do.  I was formerly the CEO of Queen Consolidated.”

She takes another swig of coffee and checks an incoming text on her cell phone before reminding him, “I happen to have first-hand knowledge you wouldn’t have made it a week without your super smart and highly efficient EA.”   

“That’s true,” he concedes with a grin, “though on the downside, she only brought me coffee one time.  One”, he repeats, taking her coffee and phone and setting them off to the side. Placing his palms flat on the edge of her desk, he leans in closer, a visible twinkle in his vivid blue eyes.   “I think she actually broke our coffeemaker.  Violently,” he teases in a conspiratorial whisper.

Mirroring her husband, she leans in over the desk until their noses are almost touching.  “A little violence doesn’t scare you, does it, Mr. Queen?”  She allows her gaze to run down the length of his torso, visibly appreciating the definition of his biceps that his jacket cannot conceal. “You look like you could handle yourself just fine.”

“I like to stay in shape.”  He feigns modesty but she knows her husband and can recognize that look in his eyes. “Some cardio, free weights, martial arts, salmon ladder…”

“That’s so hot” she blurts out, temporarily slipping out of character as her brain produces an amazing visual of sweaty and shirtless Oliver making his way up the salmon ladder.  Will there ever be a day when that doesn’t turn her on?  Probably not, and judging from the self-satisfied smirk on his face, he mentioned it on purpose just to get that very reaction out of her.   Determined to get back on track, she rephrases, “I mean, that sounds interesting.”  She decides a change of topic would be helpful to give her an advantage in their little game.  “Computer skills?”

She immediately regrets that question when Oliver gives her a feral smile that makes her weak in the knees.  Lowering his voice to the same octave he uses when he is dressed in green leather, he divulges, “I’ve hacked a federal prison network.”

Guh, game over.  In all her years with Oliver, that is the sexiest thing he has ever said. She quickly makes her way around the desk and invades his personal space. “Seems like you’re a man of many talents,” she coos appreciatively, latching onto his arm and nuzzling her face into the sleeve of his jacket to breathe in the scent that is uniquely Oliver.

“My wife taught me a thing or two,” he boasts, turning so they are face-to-face and he can wrap his arms around her.  

Her hands instinctively move from his arm to his chest, resting over his heart.  “She must be an amazing woman.”

Oliver nods in agreement, his nose nuzzling hers. “She is.  She’s the best.”

“I know you’re just saying that to get husband points and its working,” she acknowledges affectionately, her hand caressing the stubble on his jaw.   He tilts his head into her palm like a contented cat and she takes the opportunity to kiss him like she wanted to since she saw him in front of her desk, whether it was five minutes ago with coffee or nine years ago with a bullet-ridden laptop.  

Oliver moans and deepens the kiss, the fervent strokes of his tongue making her long for more.  “Okay, you’re hired,” she pants, breaking the kiss when her need for air temporarily overcomes her need for Oliver.  “Smoak Tech is a start-up so your health care package consists of me patching you up if you are injured and I’m sure we can work out some type of compensation for your time and skills,” provocatively shifting her body against his and feeling his obvious interest through his jeans and her skirt.  Two soft kisses and one firm rotation of his hips later, she is internally debating the sturdiness of her desk and whether they have time for her to show him exactly what she means by ‘compensation’ before her next appointment shows up.

“That’s a very tempting offer, Ms. Smoak” he murmurs into her hair as his hand travels down her back and immediately finds its usual place on the curve of her shapely ass, pulling her impossibly closer, “but I’m afraid my current employer really needs me right now and I just can’t bear to leave her,” his free hand gesturing to the stroller where their daughter slumbers peacefully.

Felicity sighs, pure happiness filling her heart and clearing her mind as she rests her head on her husband’s chest to gaze lovingly at the chubby-cheeked, perfect amalgamation of her and Oliver they brought into the world just four short months ago.   “Sounds like she has you wrapped around her little finger.”  

Oliver rests his chin on the top of her head and she can hear the love and contentment in his voice when he whispers in her hair, “From the very first moment I met her.  She takes after her mother that way.”

A/N:  Thank you for reading!  I hope this helped to soothe the sting of all the angst.  Queen family feels FTW.  William was not in this fic because at that time of day, he should be in school and also I didn’t want to traumatize him any further with Olicity’s blatant flirty flirt.  The poor kid has seen enough already lol.  

Huge thanks and virtual hugs to @allimariexf and @hope-for-olicity for all the fun conversations and being all around wonderful :)

Oliver’s ‘current employer’ ;)

[mohini-musing]

The Hells Within You

This one is post Winter Soldier and not remotely compliant beyond it. Buck comes to the tower in search of home.

All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells are within you

~Joseph Campbell

“Who let the murderbot in?” Tony asks in a tone that would be more appropriate for commenting on a random homeless person in the lobby than a near mythical assassin standing a few feet inside the entry to the unofficial group space in the tower.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, staring.

“I know you,” the man says, eyes fixed upon Natasha.

“You shot me,” she replies with almost no inflection. Steve is forcibly reminded of what she actually is. Natasha is beautiful and at home in nearly any situation. Sometimes he manages to forget that those situations were largely as an assassin until the very recent past.

“Through you,” is the biting reply. No one knows if they should laugh or reach for weapons at this juncture.

“You patched me up before you left,” Natasha tells him,

Eyes still smudged with blacking soften and there is a hint of a smile as he answers. “You were not the target.”

“Also, I’m your favorite,” Natasha says with a smirk.

“Also, you’re my favorite,” he repeats before stepping forward and wrapping her up in arms that could crush her but instead lift her from the floor in an embrace that seems wrong to witness.  When they separate, there is a deluge of whispered Russian before Natasha turns to Steve.

“You. We need to talk.”

Beside her, the suddenly very tired looking Winter Soldier stares at Steve with a look that is simultaneously hopeful and anxious.

Steve nods. When Natasha leaves the space with Bucky’s hand in hers, Steve follows at what he distantly notes is a near perfect patrol spacing, bypassing the elevators in favor of the stairway until they enter Steve’s private quarters.

He had expected to be led to Natasha’s rooms, but once the tactical portion of his brain fires up it won’t stop spinning. His space is neutral and easy to clear of hazards. The same part of him that recognized their spacing sees that the room, though tasteful, lacks anything of personal effects. It’s the first time he considers that this might be unusual.  Natasha points him to the couch, where she sits in the middle with Bucky at her other side. He is beginning to look as though he’s on the edge of unconsciousness, eyes blinking slowly and a fine tremor at his jaw.

Natasha says something Steve doesn’t catch, and Bucky nods.

“Sputnik,” she snarls. Just one single word, clear, firm, and it would be comical if it didn’t mean that Bucky goes utterly limp within seconds.

Steve’s ready to deck her, but he clenches his fist and hisses out a breath instead. Natasha turns to face him.

“It’s a drop command. He’s exhausted, but no one’s given him a sleep order. So he can’t rest. That will keep him down an hour or so. Go ahead. I know you want to ask.”

“How does he know you?”

“He trained me,” she replies.

“Nat? How old are you?”

“Younger than you.”

“How much younger than me?”

“Only a little,” she says with a sad sort of smile. “Only just a little.”

“Nat, please?” Steve presses. He doesn’t know why, but he needs to know.

“I was born in 1928.”

“1928.” Steve repeats. “That makes you…”

Nat cuts him off with a single raised finger.

“Don’t you dare, Steve Rogers. Don’t you dare. Look, we don’t have a lot of time, and he’s really rough. When he comes around, he’s going to come up swinging. I can take him, but you’re going to have to be prepared to let me do it. No chivalry, got it? He needs you and I can’t have you fighting him right now.”

Steve nods. He knows better than to try to step in for her. The lesson has been pounded home a few times. Usually by an angry Natasha.

“Let you take him,” Steve repeats. “What are we doing, Nat?”

“We’re letting him come home,” she replies. “He doesn’t know why he knows you. But he knows you’re home.”

Steve mulls that over as Natasha moves around the apartment She shoves  the rest of the furniture to the edges of the room,  calls up some kind of classical music on the sound system, and commands JARVIS to black out all surveillance on the floor. A call to Tony brings a black bag filled with things Steve resolutely decides not to ask about. Someone from medical leaves a bunch of stuff in the guest room closet, and when Steve raises his eyebrows in question Natasha reminds him that his own bruises are still fading from the helicarrier debacle and he’s had actual medical attention.

Some habits never fade, and the tactical master that Steve tries to pretend he isn’t knows exactly when an hour is nearing the end of its time. True to Nat’s assertion, Bucky’s still body and smooth breaths are beginning to edge into restlessness. He’s making a long, low sound that reminds Steve uncomfortably of a wounded animal. When his hands begin to clench and open, Nat motions for Steve to back out of reach and just inside the limits of peripheral vision.

She stands a few feet from Bucky, her voice a steady, almost hypnotic stream of words. He thinks she’s speaking Russian, but it could be any of the Slavic languages. The low sounds coming from Bucky abruptly end, and he’s on his feet before his eyes open.

Natasha snaps something at him, and he swings hard. She blocks the hand and launches herself onto his shoulders. She wraps her torso over his head, a maneuver that causes Bucky to growl something Steve can’t quite catch.  

“Nyet,” Tasha snaps when Bucky tries to throw her off. She somehow swings around to the front of him, clapping him hard on the side of the head. “Nyet, Yasha. Nyet.”

Bucky goes rigid. Then he sinks to his knees on the middle of the floor, face crumpling and going from trying to wrench Nat away from him to crushing her to his chest. Steve doesn’t fully see how the transfer happens, but Natasha is soon the one holding Bucky, and she motions for him to come.

“I have him for you my friend,” she tells Bucky, who looks around with eyes still half aware and half not at all home.  When neither of them follow whatever unspoken command she had for them, she pulls Steve close and then he’s the one holding Bucky.

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” Buck  repeats over and over, hands gripping Steve’s biceps hard enough to bruise deep.

“Yeah Buck,” Steve tells him. “You’re home now.”

“Home,” Buck parrots before releasing his grip on Steve and rocking back onto his heels in a crouch.

“Yasha,” Nat calls to him, and he looks at her with an expression caught between sadness and sheer terror.

“He’s fine, Yasha,” she tells him, and it’s then that Steve realizes that Bucky isn’t examining him for threat but rather for any potential injuries.

He holds out one hand, beckoning Buck to come back. He’s careful to telescope his movements, pulling his shirt over his head to allow for easier examination. Hands that long ago lost the calluses from the docks to be replaced with the disparate sensations of cool metal and warm flesh travel over him in meticulous care.  Steve complies as Buck tests the rotation of his shoulders, the movement of his elbows and hands. He traces two fingers down Steve’s spine, looking for what Steve cannot begin to guess. Nat’s expression leads him to believe that this is not unexpected to her.

When Buck leans back again, it’s with a more relaxed expression, though his eyes still dart around the room as if unable to stop searching for threats.

“Are you hungry?” Steve asks him, certain that if he has been unable to rest in the absence of direct orders, food has probably been low on the list of priorities as well.

Bucky nods, and Steve takes him by the hand and leads him to the kitchen table. He grabs a nutrition drink from the fridge. Making sure that Buck can see him doing it, he opens the seal and hands it over. He’s reminded uncomfortably of starving men in the camps during the war when Buck takes it and drains the contents in moments.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Steve tells him. “I’ve got plenty, okay? You can have as much as you want but I don’t want you getting sick on me.”

Another nod. Bucky’s swallowing hard, a hand suddenly hovering near his lips to stifle a small belch. Steve reaches over to pull him to his feet and guide him to the couch. Nat disappears down the hall and returns with the bathroom waste bin. Steve knows it would make more sense to just take Bucky to the toilet, but there’s a part of him vividly aware that a room full of fixed objects with hard edges has too much potential to be very bad, very fast.

Still silent as the grave, Buck rests his head against Steve’s shoulder when he offers an arm around him, shaking slightly and breathing impossibly slowly. They stay there for nearly half an hour, no words, no movement, just breathing together as Steve’s mind spins with worries about how in the world he’s going to take care of Buck when he still doesn’t know how to exist in this world himself.

“I think it’s settling okay, Stevie,” Buck tells him eventually. He’s still leaning heavily against Steve, and he doesn’t lift his head when he speaks.

“D’ya want to go get some sleep?” Steve asks him.

“Yeah, tired,” Buck replies.

“Can you sleep?” Steve asks, when Natasha’s words about a sleep command float back across his memory.

“Natka knows the words,” Bucky replies simply. Steve opts not to press for further information. He will later, when he’s ready, perhaps.

Steve half leads, half drags him to the bedroom. Natasha follows them, pulling the covers back and telling the pair of them to call her if they need a hand when they wake up. She leans down and whispers something in what Steve’s going to assume is Russian.

He expects that the words will drop Bucky like a rag doll, but this time he just nods at Tasha and pats the space beside him, looking pointedly at Steve.

Steve settles onto the too soft mattress, the one he hasn’t slept a proper night on since he came out of the ice. His head sinks into a pillow that is perpetually too deep.  

“C’mere Stevie,” Buck grumbles, tugging him towards the other side of the bed.

Steve goes where he’s told, head pillowed now against Bucky’s shoulder. It’s been 70 years since he’s slept in this space. Buck maneuvers the pair of them until Steve is the little spoon, just as he was before the serum and the end of everything making sense. He’s asleep within moments, resting soundly for the first time since the plane sank into the water with Bucky’s name on his lips.

[braindamageforbeginners]

Day... Something

First off; this isn’t the final descent into Charlie Gordon territory; it’s just that my radiation treatments, chemotherapy, and experimental treatments have been desynchronized thanks to those slackasses in the radiation lab selfishly taking days off for Christmas and New Year’s (as I griped to the receptionist, “It’s just cancer, it can wait”). Although this is annoying, the current worst-case outcome of this situation is spending time arguing with pharmacies and insurance companies to coordinate things and get me more chemotherapy doses (or, as I call it nowadays, “Thursday”). I think it’s radiation day #13 (of 30) and chemo day #20 (of 42)(maybe; I might be looking at an extra week of chemo)(dreams do come true). But I’ll discuss that more later.

Big news; I think I have a solution - sort of - to the hair-loss problem. First of all, even though I always thought I wouldn’t be vain enough to be bothered by hair loss; but this one is definitely different - it’s not a sort-of natural bald look; it’s like a not-insignificant patch of scalp has been completely denuded by some deranged barber (which, come to think of it, isn’t totally inaccurate). And only on the right side of my head. In other words, if you saw me, you would undoubtedly know that there was something seriously wrong with me. I like to at least have a conversation with people before alerting them to that fact, so, like everything else, I figured it out. I took a multi-hat approach, which I’d recommend everyone else take. First off; you’re going to want a general-use, emergency-back-up hat that you can do most major activities in, because there’s a chance that becomes one of your primary hats (as, indeed, happened with me). You want a hat for the gym/errands/informal day-wear; in my case, this is the emergency back-up hat, because no one warned me the exact date when my hair would start falling out, and that was what I had. Fortunately, the emergency cap had the qualities I would recommend for the informal hat; it’s a baseball cap, so I don’t have a big brim that can snag when I’m doing shoulder presses; it’s leather and cloth, so I can sweat in it without fear; and if I completely destroy it, I’ll be out $10. And, even though it’s nothing I’d wear to a formal event, I don’t look too bad in it. However, for more formal activities (and “formal” here means “anything more important than going to the gym or corner store”), you’ll probably want something else. Feel free to do whatever you want; maybe your durable, sweaty cap will do double-duty for you (and, if so, kudos to you); I consulted with those sacred texts that always give me strength during the darkest hours - Wodehouse’s “Jeeves” stories, of course; and Wodehouse delivered the goods: ‘If I might suggest, sir – it is, of course, merely a palliative – but it has often been found in times of despondency that the assumption of formal evening dress has a stimulating effect on the morale.’ ‘You think I ought to put on a white tie? Spode told me black.’‘ “I consider that the emergency justifies the departure, sir.’” So, something with a little more pizzazz than the average cap. Not one of those awful trilbies every moron wears with their crocs - which, as an intriguing side-note, led me to a delightful primer on hat choices for the well-dressed gentleman (https://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/brand-thats-not-a-fedora-and-stop-wearing-it/). Something with enough brim to protect me from the ravages of the sun. You can probably see where I’m going with this; by the time I walked into Ye Olde Hattery, I had a pretty good idea what I wanted. As far as I can tell, the only downside to Stetson ownership is that you have to fight the urge to kill Gene Hackman with a Peacemaker. And it goes really well with long-sleeve button-up shirts, which I’m wearing more of, these days, thanks to those kidney-destroying antibiotics that make me sunshine-averse.

Good news, the radiation folks think my hair will grow back (which may or may not mean anything, since they also thought my hair loss would be minimal). They also reassured me that my weird, lop-sided look was somewhat trendy. The exact phrasing was, “You’re probably not into the tattoo or body-modification scene, but a lot of our patients in those circles have hair like that.” I think I get a gold star for not freaking out about how old that implication seems (not to mention I’ve had my skull pierced many times, and had to rebuild my neural pathways, which seems like a pretty dramatic modification). She (the radiation tech) wasn’t too happy when I pointed out that people who voluntarily choose to get haircuts like mine tend to terrorize college towns whilst besmirching the reputation of tiki torches.

I’m feeling probably worse than I ever have in my life. The good thing is, whenever I wake up, I know that’s probably about as horrible as I’ll feel all day, so at least that’s out of the way. The bad news is that the hangovers might kill me well before the cancer can. We’ve all had days where we woke up and quickly realized that was a mistake (waking up, I mean); we rarely get to wake up and felt - in every cell of our being - that it was a mistake. Thankfully, for those moments, there’s zofran, which gets my vote for greatest discovery of the 20th century. And not only does it take care of the nastiest chemo/radiation side effects, it so effectively destroys any tummy trouble that I can drink lots of coffee in a relatively short time - which is what it takes to get me moving, since, even with zofran and Tylenol, everything hurts, and I feel like I need a nap.

Good news; this week will mark the end of week 3, by the radiation calendar, and that’s when the worstest side effects are supposed to develop. Which doesn’t mean new symptoms or side effects can’t develop, or that current side effects can’t get worse (OH GOD, THE HAIR LOSS)(ALSO, OH GOD, THE SKULL-SPLITTING SUTURE-ACHES!); but, hopefully, if I can avoid the lethal tumor/inflammation headaches, seizures, and nausea this week, it’ll mean it’s less-likely to show up again in the coming year. I also used the word “hopefully,” which is usually an indication I’ve said something completely moronic and God is preparing to send an asteroid down on me. I might already have gotten a preview of that with the radiation calendar vs the chemo calendar discrepancy. For those of you at home; standard of care for GBM patients is thirty days of radiation treatment, spread over six weeks, and at-home chemo drugs every night for all six weeks. Followed by a rotation of 3-4 weeks without any treatment, and a week of chemo. Because I’m signed up for a miracle cure, my physicians want me in pretty much every single week for the next year for an infusion, or a blood sample, or a check-in, or more chemo, or maybe just to poke at me with a cattle prod (of course; that’s a best-case scenario; if everything goes horribly awry, they cut me loose after six weeks because the treatment’s not working). Unfortunately, because the radiation techs took off about a week for the holidays, I’ll burn through my temodar a week before my last radiation appointment. Right now, one of the nurses (and/or Research Coordinator) is working to reconcile these things. So, I can look forward to bureaucratic snags in the near future.

Anyway... WEIGHT: 217 lb. CONCENTRATION: Bad, but when you’re only getting a few hours of sleep a night and relying on assorted chemicals to prop you up. At this point, I’m really impressed by those people who can maintain a serious cocaine/heroin/alcohol addictions for years, because I’m completely burnt out after three weeks. Except for the zofran; I’m going to be completely reliant on that for years (that’s a somewhat tasteless joke, but I honestly have no idea how long all of this on-again, off-again treatment could go). MEMORY: Good. I think. I’m not sure; I haven’t really had a day requiring much recall. APPETITE: Good. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Excellent, considering that I start each day praying for death. I went to the gym today for several hours.  SLEEP QUALITY: What sleep? COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Pretty good. I haven’t had any accidents or major missteps in the last few days, which is excellent, for me.  PHYSICAL: I am slowly becoming Bilious, the oh God of Hangovers (look it up). BUT, I haven’t puked (knock on wood), I haven’t missed any treatments. And I’m still going to the gym, so, ironically, from the neck down, I look better than I did ten years ago. SIDE EFFECTS: Far too many to count, but I’m still here and sort-of functioning. So, uh, hooray for that.