#sometimes one of them is customized and i ended up getting another in original condition

[basslinegrave]

my 2020 furby chart vs one i made now

teal - dreamies, light green - would like to have, grey check - have, red check - had at some point

[punchdrunkdoc]

Chapter 10

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

——————

I concentrated a lot on character in this chapter, so there's not a lot of plot in this one. Except for the last two lines...those last two lines propel the story forward in a BIG way!

——————

CHAPTER 10

“Miss? Miss!”

Calina jerked out of her daze and turned to the customer across the counter. “I’m sorry. What can I get you?”

Calina rang up the drinks order then passed it along to her colleague to be prepared. 

It was her fourth day working at The Hideout. 

There were only so many hours of the day that could be filled with clothes shopping and library trips, so she’d decided to try her hand at a regular job. She’d seen the vacancy notice at her favourite coffee place, and thought it a sign from the fates.

It had seemed perfect. 

But in reality…it kind of sucked.

The acrid bitterness of the coffee grinds seemed to permeate her skin, until she could smell it on all her clothes and bedding at home. The structure of her shifts - the time she had to start, how long she could take a break, when she could leave at the end of the day - felt too reminiscent of the rigid training schedule of the Red Room. 

But most of all, the boring monotony was excruciating. It gave her far too much time to think.

And her thoughts weren’t great these days. 

Because Matthew was ignoring her. 

Well, not overtly. He was polite when they ran into each other on the street, or in the hallway between their apartments. He would smile and say hello. Sometimes ask her how she was…but it was all in the indifferent manner of a distant acquaintance. 

When she’d thought they were becoming friends.

Had she imagined the warmth of their past conversations? In her desire to form a connection with someone outside of the Red Room, had she concocted something from nothing? Had her attraction to him blinded her to his disinterest?

Or had she done something wrong? Something to make him step back from her?

Depressing questions. 

Which led to depressing thoughts.

Which her new job gave her far too much time to dwell on. 

She was going to have to quit. Just like she’d quit the Widows. 

Was that who she was beneath all her conditioning? Nothing but a quitter?

Another depressing question…

Calina sighed as she wiped down the counter. She glanced at the clock over the fireplace and nearly groaned. 

Still four more hours to go. 

 ———

 A cool evening breeze greeted Calina as she exited The Hideout after her last ever shift. Her supervisor had been mildly annoyed, but ultimately uncaring, at the news she was quitting.  Calina had spent the whole of the afternoon preparing a speech with a bulletpoint list of justifications for why she wasn’t the right fit for the job, but Hal - the manager - hadn’t let her get past the first few sentences. 

“Whatever,” he’d said, barely looking up from his laptop screen. “Leave your badge on the counter. We’ll deposit your paycheque in the bank by the end of the week.”

Calina had expected more of a fight. Maybe a rebuke for giving up so soon after starting. Or anger at leaving them short-staffed. She was used to being punished when she failed at something - it felt wrong to be let off the hook so easily. 

She wrapped her jacket more tightly around her as she stepped onto the pavement and joined the throngs of people scurrying home. Her footsteps echoed theirs as she walked the path back to her apartment. To an outsider, she probably looked like one of them, but she felt so removed. 

Separate.

Not a part of this world. 

She had no family waiting for her at home. No friends to meet for drinks. She couldn’t hack it working a simple waitressing job, and the only person she’d made a connection with now wanted nothing to do with her.  

What was the point of this new life she was struggling to live?

Maybe she should just give up and go back to the Widows. She was a quitter, after all. Why not quit New York too? At least then she’d be with people who understood her. Who knew her, and everything she’d been through. 

At least then she wouldn’t be so lonely. When she woke up in fear or couldn’t sleep, at least there would be someone there to help her. 

That’s what she wanted most of all. Someone to be there for her. She wasn’t looking for a thrilling life full of adventure and wonder. She didn’t have grand ambitions or aspirations. She just wanted to do some good in this world, to make up for all the bad she had done. And she wanted someone to come home to. 

On a night like tonight - dark and damp and cold - she didn’t want to return to an empty, lifeless apartment. She wanted to return to a home filled with warmth…and love. She wanted someone to share a life with. The good and the bad. The ups and the downs. She wanted to know what it was like to have someone to rely on. To take care of, and who would take care of her. She wanted companionship and laughter and touch and passion. 

She wanted love. 

But that was an impossible dream. A fairy tale. The kind of fantasy story that she was never told as a child, but which nonetheless lived in the very depths of her tattered soul. Buried deep, deep, deep, and existing as nothing more than a tiny, faint spark of hope when there was no other hope to find. 

She’d nurtured that spark on being freed from the Red Room. Had let it guide her away from the safety of the Widows and their sanctuary on the South Carolina coast. Indulged it until she’d deluded herself into thinking it could turn into more than just a wish. 

She was a killer, after all. 

A liar. 

A thief and manipulator. 

The things she had done had stained her soul. And ruined any chance of finding true love. 

She’d either have to settle for a facsimile of love with someone who would never know the real her. Or she’d let someone into her past, let them see the truth of her…and they would run a mile. 

Because who could possibly accept the things she had done? 

She couldn’t. 

She had lived through it, had experienced the conditioning and the mind control, and she still blamed herself sometimes - she should have fought the training harder. She should have questioned the life she was living. Tried to escape long before it became impossible. Long before her mind was imprisoned. 

Even on those days when she accepted the rational explanations for her actions - she was a child, she was brainwashed and controlled - the emotional fallout was harder to come to terms with. Her hands were the ones covered in blood, regardless of the circumstances. 

She sometimes struggled to deal with that fact. 

So it would only be natural that others would too. 

 ———

 She seemed sad. 

Her usual long-legged, confident stride was replaced by a graceless shuffle. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her jacket, and her shoulders were hunched. She didn’t seem to noticed the bustling crowd around her as she slowly made her way home.

Matt stepped back into the shadows of the rooftop as Calina passed by beneath him. The lamps lining the streets had only just started to hum and the air still held the faint warmth of the setting sun, telling him it was barely dark. He wasn’t usually suited up and patrolling at this time, but he’d been kicked out of the office early. 

Apparently, he’d been in a foul mood this week, and his co-workers were sick of him. The words ‘curmudgeon’ and ‘sullen asshole’ had been bandied around.

By Foggy, of course. 

Karen was a touch more sympathetic, offering to talk about what was bothering him over drinks. But he'd turned her down, knowing there was a better way to deal with his irritability - letting the Devil out for a while. 

Although he’d been doing that every night this week and it hadn’t exactly helped. His failure at finding the source of the drug that Margaret was dosed with was only adding to his bad temper. He’d come across another victim a couple of nights ago - a truck driver had jumped the median strip on 9th avenue and accelerated into oncoming traffic. The sound of the collision as he’d crashed into several vehicles was like a bomb going off to Matt’s ears. He’d raced to the scene to try to help and had managed to pull the driver from his mangled truck before the fire in the engine spread to the cab. The scent of the drug had hit him the moment he’d grabbed hold of the man. Unfortunately, the driver had died a few hours later in hospital, before Matt could figure out a way to question him. 

His gut was telling him that these isolated incidents were the start of something bigger. A dangerous plot that he was only catching a glimpse of, and he was getting frustrated by the lack of leads.

Between that, and the stress of the upcoming trial, it was no wonder he was in a bad mood. 

At least, that’s what he’d convinced himself of before he’d spotted Calina tonight. 

But watching her from his rooftop vantage point had crystallised the feeling that had been plaguing him all week:

Resentment. 

He liked her. And a couple of years ago he would have flirted with her. Asked her out. Indulged the connection and chemistry between them. Maybe even built something real and lasting with her…

But now he was too…fucked up...for something like that. Too damaged by all the lies and the betrayal and all the fucking loss and abandonment that he’d experienced over the past few years. 

Over most of his life. 

Decades of cumulative trauma that had left him in this state. Bitter. Jaded. And with half his heart and the last of his hope buried under a collapsed building across town. 

He hadn’t been blessed with an easy life. And he’d only made it harder with the choice he’d made to become Daredevil. Although calling it a choice wasn’t right. It was more of a calling. A duty. A fundamental part of his soul. And he’d known it would involve struggle and sacrifices. 

But he’d never expected it to be quite this tough.

He’d never imagined it would take so much from him - the life of his priest and that of his mentor. The trust of his best friend. His first and only love.

And the chance of exploring something with an interesting, beautiful woman.  

Matt turned away from the edge and started jogging across the rooftop.  Away from Calina. Away from the possibilities that she represented.

He built his speed until he was flying over the concrete and across the gaps between buildings. He pumped his arms and stretched his legs, concentrating on the pull of muscles and his deep, steady breaths. He extended his senses, until the city came alive in a maelstrom of noise and smells and vibrations. 

The bombardment of sensation helped him block out the thoughts of Calina and dampened some of the bitter, corroding resentment that he felt. He knew when he returned to his apartment in the small hours of the morning, exhausted and worn out, that feeling would flare up. It would block the sleep he so desperately needed and leave him in an even worse mood tomorrow. 

But for the next few hours at least he could forget that he was Matt Murdock, with all his wants and fears and frustrated desires. 

He could put aside his human nature and just be the Devil for a while.

 ———

 Calina checked her mailbox, finding nothing but a water bill and a flyer for a dog walking service. She tucked them under her arm and headed for the elevators, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for the long night ahead. 

Maybe she would take a bath. Or read a book. 

More likely, she would lie on her couch and watch trashy TV until her eyes burned with fatigue. 

Already feeling exhausted at the prospect, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud clatter rang through the lobby of the apartment block. Her right hand grasped at her thigh for her non-existent gun, but she soon realised there was no threat. 

Unless a few soup cans could be classed as public enemy number 1. 

They rolled along the tiled lobby floor, having escaped from the bottom of Mrs Schneider’s broken grocery bag. Seeing a chance to redeem herself after the incident with the dropped purse, Calina quickly set about collecting the errant tins. 

“Danke schön, Danke schön,” the old woman said as Calina got to her feet with an armful of canned goods. “Sie sind ein Engel.”

Calina held back her bitter laugh at the irony. 

She was no angel. 

Instead she plastered on a smile for her neighbour. “Bitte schön,” she responded, before continuing in German: “Would you like me to carry these to your apartment?”

Mrs Schneider’s wrinkled face lit up at the sound of her native language, and the pure delight lifted Calina’s mood a notch. “You speak German?”

“Ja,” Calina said, her smile more genuine now. She followed the other woman to apartment 2C and waited while she fished in her oversized handbag for the key. When the door finally opened, the sweet, nutty scent of almonds escaped the apartment.  

“It smells amazing in here,” Calina commented as she deposited the cans by the stove.

“I baked butterkuchen today.” Mrs Schneider lifted the glass dome from the cake stand on the kitchen counter and Calina breathed in the delicious aroma. 

She recognised the name of the cake from one of her missions in northern Germany. “I thought those were only served at weddings or funerals.” They were also called Freud und Leidkuchen - Joy and Sympathy Cakes - for that reason.  

Mrs Schneider shrugged as she lifted a couple of slices out and placed them on some decorative plates. “I hate those traditions. ‘You can’t eat this, its not a wedding’, ‘You shouldn’t make that, its not Christmas’. Bah, I’m old. I might not live to see another wedding or Christmas. So I bake what I want, and eat it when I want.” She handed Calina a slice of cake and the two of them took a seat at the dining table. 

“Besides,” the older woman continued a few moments later. “There are small moments of joy and sadness that we go through every day. They deserve cake just as much as the big occasions.”

Calina felt the unexpected burn of tears behind her eyes at that offhand comment. She’d experienced one of those small moments of sadness today. Walking home from The Hideout she’d lamented the lack of companionship in her life, and she’d dreaded returning to her cold, dark, barren apartment…but now she was sitting in this cozy home with a charming old woman. She didn’t even know how it had happened - one moment she was doing a good deed, the next she was eating cake. 

Mrs Schneider seemed to sense her unshed tears. “It looks like you were in need of some sympathy cake today, hmmm?”

Calina nodded. She blinked a few times to clear her eyes and swallowed the last bite of cake. “I quit my job today.”

“Did you not like it?”

“No.”

“Then quitting is a good thing. Life is too short to do things you don’t like.”

Calina pushed the crumbs on her plate around with her fork. “I know. It’s just…”

“What?”

“I guess I feel…lost…right now. I don’t know what I’m doing here. It’s not what I thought it would be.”

“How long have you been in the city?”

“Six weeks or so.”

The sudden laugh startled Calina. She glanced up to see a wide smile on the other woman’s face. “Six weeks? Is that all? Did you expect to be happy and settled after only six weeks?”

Calina could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks. She squirmed in her seat at the gentle admonishment. “Maybe. No, not really. I just…I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

The older woman reached across and patted Calina’s hand. “I’m sorry for laughing. I know it can be hard. I moved here to be with my daughter seven years ago. My husband was…not a nice man. My Hanna moved halfway across the world to get away from him, and she used to beg me to join her. But I stayed. Stupidly, I stayed.” She sat back in her chair and her eyes went distant, as if she was reliving her past in Germany. “But eventually he died, and I said yes. I packed up my life in Munich and moved here. Hanna and I had four wonderful years together. And then she died too.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs Schneider,” Calina whispered. 

“Thank you, dear. And you can call me Alma. You’re Calina, right?”

Calina laughed at the strangeness of the situation - the two of them had shared their feelings and personal stories without even properly introducing themselves. “Yes, I’m Calina.”

“I’ve seen you around with that handsome boy who lives next door to you. You make a nice couple.”

Calina’s smile dropped. “It’s not like that. We’re just neighbours. I’ve kind of found it hard to make friends with anyone, let alone something more.”

“It can be hard. I don’t have many friends either.”

“So why do you stay in New York? Why don’t you go back to the place you know, where life would be easier?”

Alma shrugged. “Where’s the fun in easy?”

“But you don’t even speak English.”

“Do I need to speak English to enjoy my baking? Do I need to speak English to take a walk in the park? The flowers don’t care. The birds in the trees don’t either. Yes, it would be easier to be back in Munich, but this is my home now. Everything in this house and this city reminds me of my Hanna. If I went back to Germany I would lose that.” 

“I don’t have anything like that keeping me here.”

“You’ll find things. Your job didn’t work out, but you’ll find a new one. Or something else that makes you happy. Just take it day by day. Appreciate the little things, find simple pleasures and before you know it, New York will feel like home. Remember, things don’t just fall into place without a little time and effort. As my mother used to say, ‘If you like to sled, you have to like to drag the sled’.”

Calina smiled at the familiar phrase. “I’ve heard that before. I like proverbs - even though my sisters tease me for using them. They say only…” she tailed off, realising she was about to insult her new friend.  

“Only old people use them?”

Calina’s blush deepened. 

Mrs Schneider laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not offended. Proverbs are distilled wisdom. People who use them are wise, not old.”

 ———

 Calina spent the next day taking Alma’s advice, and wandered the city looking for small sparks of joy. She treated herself to brunch at a Greek restaurant in the upper east side, fed the ducks in central park, then lost hours admiring the art in the Met. 

Just as promised, she fell a little more in love with New York. And the desire to quit the city and return to the Widows lessened.

That hint of confidence in her chosen new life helped her out later that evening when she ran into Matthew in front of the elevators in their apartment building. Instead of feeling awkward and upset in his presence, she was able to greet him with a small smile, which she hoped he could hear in her voice. “Are you just getting back from work?” she asked.

“Sort of,” he replied. “Foggy and I grabbed a couple of beers afterwards. In that bar I told you about.”

There was no invite this time. No offer to join them the next time they went for drinks.

The pang of rejection stung a little, but it wasn’t as sharp as before. She didn’t need Matthew. Her happiness didn’t depend on him or the amount of attention he paid her. Her happiness also didn’t depend on being a waitress in a coffee shop.

She would find her joy elsewhere. 

And she would make this city her home. 

 ———

 “One-and-two-and-three-and-four. Lets go!”

The thumping bass filled the air, and the floor beneath her feet vibrated as the twenty-strong class started pounding out the choreography. 

“That’s it!" cried the instructor over the deafening beat of the music. “Now body rock.”

Calina followed along, trying to match the sinuous moves of the more experienced dancers around her. She hopped to the side and kicked out her elbow. Leaned back on the next step, then criss-crossed. 

She’d picked up the order of the moves quickly. 

But not the execution.

“Calina, loosen up! Let those hips move!”

She tried, but it went against a lifetime of ballet training. Her back wanted to be straight. Her feet pointed. Her hips turned out, not free and loose. 

Still…she was having fun. 

She’d found a little bit of joy.

And concentrating on getting the steps right distracted her brain. There was no time to dwell on anything else during dance class. Signing up for this had been a much better decision than her short-lived job at the coffee house. 

As the session came to an end, Calina wiped the sweat from her face with a towel and shoved on a sweatshirt to ward off the chill of the walk home. She grabbed her bag, and flew down the steps of the studio and out onto the street. 

The endorphin rush of the workout always left her pumped and fully of energy. 

“You’re dancing?” 

The shocked, almost disgusted, questions stopped her in her tracks. The endorphins fled in an instant.

It was Yelena. She leant against the lamp post outside the building, her arms crossed, her stare disbelieving. “I can’t believe you’re dancing.”

Calina glanced behind her. The large poster in the window advertised the range of classes offered in the studios upstairs. Street, tap, modern…and ballet. Calina shook her head. “No, Yelena. Not ballet. Street dance.”

“Oh,” Yelena responded, looking down. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have judged. If you wanted to do ballet-”

“I don’t,” Calina replied. Emphatically. “Never again. I just…like dancing.”

“You were always good at it. Better than the rest of us. You always ended class less bruised than we did.”

“Well, if its any consolation, I suck at street dance.”

Yelena chuckled, and the two of them starting walking in step towards Calina’s apartment. 

“Its good to see you,” Calina said after they passed the deli on the corner. “But why are you here? Is there another mission?”

“No, I was following up a lead on Katya’s handler but it went nowhere. I’m headed back to base tonight. But I wanted to give you this before I left.” She fished around in her backpack and handed over a plain brown envelope. 

“What is it?” Calina started to peel back the flap, but Yelena stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

“Wait until you get home. Its a little…sensitive.”

“Okay, now I’m really intrigued. You can’t give me a hint or something?”

Yelena smiled. “I’ll just say this - you should never have given Anya a mystery to solve. You know how single-minded she can be.”

Half an hour later, her hair still wet from the shower, Calina sat cross-legged on her bed and spread out the contents of the envelope in front of her. 

There were grainy black and white stills from surveillance cameras. Screenshots of YouTube footage. Facial recognition matches. Blog posts. Print outs from some 3D modelling software. Gait analysis results…

And a two-line summary, scrawled on a bright pink post-it note in Anya’s handwriting: 

Your lawyer = Daredevil.

Not so boring after all.

--------

CHAPTER 11 

Taglist: @hollandorks, @yanna-banana, @stilldreaming666, @tearosearts-blog

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

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[melias-cimitiere]

Careful with Interpretations

All of us walk about with our own mental operating system; this OS is not the same for all, surprisingly enough. You may already be aware of this when you’re trying to speak to someone, and they come across with a totally different interpretation of events. And I’m not talking about conspiracy theories here. Much more mundane things, explained away differently due to different educational, sociocultural backgrounds. Take for example someone trained as a sociologist, or psychologist. They see the world through “borrowed lenses” of those institutions that trained them, and over time, they make them their own.

So far, there’s no problem with that. It’s bound to happen, naturally. As long as we remember that there are multiple interpretations of these same events, it’s all good. Remember how in the past, medical doctors and psychiatrists used their own science in a most arrogant way to determine what is a human being, almost excluding the person in the process? To them, nerves were like cables, and the body was simply a machine. Modern medicine acknowledges a more holistic approach, having enough evidence of the effect of psychology and spirituality on certain conditions. Also, advances in science have shown the nerve cells to actually move and interface with others, making extremely complex processes in the way; so much more than “cables”. With these examples in mind, we should consider other disciplines, like history or archaeology. Like physicists, these types of scientists have also fallen prey to modern tactics of trying to appeal to common sentiment and using trivial expressions to reach out to the general public. In past decades, the effort was to educate the general public, instead of trying to reach out in this way; it only creates trivializing and shallowness, making it look like bad science. I still remember a documentary saying, “black holes are simply gravity gone mad”… what?!

Anyway, back to my point. I’ve seen plenty of examples of historians and archaeologists falling for these tactics. There is a problem here; whereas most people are unaware or uninterested in black holes, superstrings etc, when it comes to history and archaeology, there is a different mindset, because they supposedly show the historical Truth, based on empirical evidence. So far so good. But we have to remember that this empirical evidence is constantly updated and reevaluated, so some of what was originally thought as canon is later proved to be wrong. Remember that even in the 80s and the 90s (not to mention earlier years), the Mayans were considered to be ignorant of the Wheel? Until they discovered a child’s toy in a tomb, which was a horse with four wheels as legs…  They then said that there were no large roads or avenues in the Mayan civilization, and they tried to explain this on the fast-growing ecosystem that suffocate any such work. However, in recent years, the major discovery by modern scientific methods of the giant Mayan metropolis, along with two large roads, and a park, enrich our understanding. Similar things happen to Yonaguni monument in Japan, or the Sphinx in Egypt… I find it preposterous to say, even in the obvious evidence of examiners, that these monuments were sculpted by natural processes (two separate documentaries from “reputable sources” are out there in youtube; one showing the Yonaguni sculpted by sea and geological mineral processes… and the other showing the Sphinx sculpted by the…wind in the desert, and later customized by the Egyptians).

Why is it so difficult to embrace the fact that some ancient civilizations were extremely advanced? Sometimes we may not have an answer; I get that. But usually, when we have no answer, we end up lessening the impact, as if we are fearful to imply something mysterious or outside ordinary definitions. Why do we have to explain away the mystery in this manner? Honest scientists have confessed not knowing something; at least, at the time. There’s nothing wrong with not knowing something; it is part of the learning process, and it’s applied to everything. There are plenty of mysteries around; let me mention just a few. 

1.       Everyone knows that ziggurats were built by Mesopotamians, right? So what is that ziggurat doing inside a lake in China? Obviously, somebody with the know-how built it, or the Mesopotamians stretched much further (or migrated) than commonly thought possible.

2.       Who built the unusual ancient city in Siberia? It bears some semblance to some temples in Indonesia… but it’s thousands of miles away.

3.       The stone avenues found near Cuban waters, and in some parts of the Eastern Coast in America… someone was building roads with stone, at a time that everyone else in surrounding places were using wood only.

4.       The mysterious city in Asia Minor, currently excavated by German archaeologists, featuring strange pillars chiseled with animals facing downwards, towards the earth (each pillar has an animal). It is rather unique and it bears no connection to the well-established civilizations in the vicinity (Greeks, Egyptians, Phoenicians, and Hittites etc). It is rather inverted, almost as if it’s built to hold something…down.

5.       A plethora of Indian temples, one of which being Kailasa temple, hewn out of rock with such precision and detail that confound even modern engineers.

6.       Two alphabets, bearing a striking similarity, almost identical – but there’s a problem. One is in the Indus Valley, and the other in the Easter Island; they are literally half a planet away.

7.       The Maltese Hypogeum (underground temple) Hal Saflieni acoustics, something that has got many world specialists interested due to its particular configuration.

8.       Let’s not forget our old-time favorite, the pyramid of Cheops (and others as well). As most engineers can testify, there’s no problem building temples up to a certain height, but after certain limits have been exceeded, the entire procedure becomes untenable. Many preposterous ideas have been proposed for the construction of these giant monuments, but all of them have flaws; a ramp that would require an entire forest to be chopped down, rising higher and higher (and while doing so, extending its base more and more). Or another structure using hydraulics, to move up heavy loads that would require thick base walls like a hydroelectricity dam, equally untenable. And so on.

There are plenty of other examples, if someone actually looks out for them, and keeps an open mind. Science, like spirituality, is done best keeping an open mind.

[fuck-customers]

i’ve been working at [NAME REDACTED] for about a month now. it’s my first “real” retail job and i knew before how bad retail is and how bad the customers are but you really can’t know until you’re in it. the store’s target demographic is karens (and they all look the same — if i get put on greeter i often struggle trying to tell if someone has been in here twice or not). a store full of average customers is bad enough but when they’re almost all karens? just awful. without further ado i will now complain about everything bad about working there.

-i consider myself lucky if a customer walks in wearing a mask properly

-the rest of them? under their noses, on their chins, or just none at all. it’s gotten to the point where the sight of an entire human face or even a nose gives me a physical reaction of disgust. i don’t know how i haven’t gotten covid yet

-customers coming to my register immediately when they see the customer before them leave, like motherfucker did you not hear all the cashiers calling the customers up when you were in line? i have to wipe down the counter for your nasty ass, give me time to do it

-the people who get pissy at me for advertising the rewards card. like sorry bruh if i don’t advertise it to you my manager will just get pissy at me instead. lose-lose. fuck the reward cards in general, i’m tired of trying to sell them just for management’s approval. also it’s very obviously a shit deal for the customer i don’t blame them for not wanting to sign up

-i am not allowed to go on break or clock out if there’s a line. sometimes there can be a line continuously for a looooong time. the other day i had to stay 30 minutes past when i was supposed to get off because the line didn’t die down. fuck customers get out of my store

-customers who come in with kids. i love kids and i think they’re adorable but i guess karen spawn are built different. they cry incessantly (not their fault, but goddamn if you as a parent don’t know how to get your baby to stop crying then you probably shouldn’t be a parent), they leave messes and spill shit everywhere, they don’t wear masks (even some of the older kids, like 10 year olds), they fuck up my display at the register, and also the baby clothes are a pain in the ass to bag because they’re always attached to the hangers and hangers don’t do well being bagged.

-customers who leave their carts in my line. the registers are all in one row along the back wall, if they leave a cart i have to walk all the way around the end to get it. and they always have to leave them when there’s a huge rush and i don’t have *time* to run and put it away.

-i’m actually not allowed to tell a customer to put on a mask, even though store policy says all customers have to wear one at all times (with the exception of people with medical conditions that necessitate not wearing a mask). the only thing i’m allowed to do is offer a mask, if they refuse i can’t tell them to put one on or else i’d get fired.

-starting pay is $10/hr and i probably will never get a raise

-seriously it is so disheartening to work an hour and only make ten dollars. actually less than that because of taxes

-there are no full-time entry level positions. the only people who get full time are management. i wanted a full time job originally but at my interview they told me that and i said “that’s fine as long as i can get around 30 hours a week” and they said “yeah you’ll probably get 25-30”. my average has been 20.

-i’m like 99% sure there are no full-time cashiers just so they don’t have to pay us benefits

-one of my supervisors is so overbearing and talks down to me and all the cashiers my age. she gets on my ass for taking too long to tidy up my register between customers, likes to just stand right behind me, is more strict about not letting me go on break when there’s a line, and is the one who gives me the most shit for not selling enough reward cards. when i do get a reward card she jumps in halfway through to “help” even though i don’t need it and then takes half the credit for my card that i sold. i mentioned it to another supervisor and she said “yeah i’ve been noticing that” but i know nothing is gonna change.

-customers who say “bless your heart”

-customers who need everything wrapped. it is so unnecessary, i can just bag the breakable stuff individually and you’ll be fine.

-relatedly, customers who need large bags for things. they’re on the bottom shelf of the counter and it takes more time to bend down, get however many bags, and open them all. the bags are harder to open than customers will ever know. you don’t need your lamp in a bag just carry it 50 feet to your car you lazy fuck

-markdown bitches (they always only get 10% off too, like did they really think they were gonna accomplish anything)

-i’m tired of walking by the security camera with a screen showing the feed and seeing how my entire body looks when i walk. not anybody’s fault but i just hate it

-being on greeter and having to wipe down everyone’s carts. i don’t hate the act itself of wiping the carts down but i do hate when customers touch and put back a cart that i just cleaned

-not something bad but i find it funny that since i’ve started working here, now whenever i’m the customer somewhere i do my customer service voice at whoever’s working

as much as everything sucks it could be much worse, i’ll probably work here for another several months. most of my coworkers are cool and make it bearable. working here has also made me feel bad whenever i enter a store and i always try to be a breath of fresh air for the people working there (in my experience it is so relieving to get a good customer and it’s usually people who also work in retail, i love being able to drop my customer service voice and talk to them like a normal person) but uhh yeah if anyone has any advice on how to be better when i’m the customer lmk

Submitted by @officialcooldyke edited because store name was too close to real name.

-Rodney

[ottspot]

Patches Don’t Fix Bullet Holes - There’s a Problem Over at Nintendo

Nintendo’s a company that pretty much everyone loves at this point. They put out quality games for their systems (most of the time), produce hit after hit, and in the end they make boatloads of cash while doing so! It doesn’t seem like anything can stop Nintendo.

Which is a good thing... but can also be a bad thing.

Recently there’s been a trend with modern games, Nintendo ones especially, to have “free bonus content” launch via updates after a popular game releases. Ranging from “new characters”, “extra modes”, “new weapons”, etc. Is this truly new content made after the game’s launch? Or a cheap way at rushing a game out before it’s ready just to get some early sales in?

Now, video game updates are definitely not a new thing in the industry. In fact, they’re probably almost as old as video games themselves! Sometimes a cartridge game would get a sneaky re-release pushed out into stores to have some bugs fixed or typos corrected. Other times it was a bit more obvious, with label or disc changes noting the re-release as a “Greatest Hits” version of a game.

As the Internet became a more prevalent thing in the world though, and as more game consoles became Internet-compatible, these updates and fixes would not be released through expensive re-releases, but as patches that you can download onto your existing copy of a game. This was obviously the way to go as it was much cheaper than reprinting a disc or issuing a recall. 

In the early days, bug and typo fixes were the most common of these, but there would also be larger patches that would add extra content. One notable example was Minecraft. I remember playing on my Xbox 360 and waiting for every new title update to see what would be added, and would sit there watching the progress bar go from left to right.

This would become more commonplace as the years went on, with paid DLC and everything. That wouldn’t stop companies from being generous and launching the content for free, however. But at some point it becomes a little obvious that these updates... aren’t exactly made because the developers are being nice.

Crunch culture has become a huge problem in the games industry recently, with bosses of big-named companies pushing their employees to work late hours and under severe conditions just to get a game out on time. You can read more about it and its negative effects here at “The Pitt News”.

In some cases, after hours and hours of crushing work, the game gets released on time. Other times, the game has to be delayed a few months. But there’s a few where the game gets out and it’s clearly lacking features and modes that the developers are still painstakingly working to get out as soon as possible. And that hasn’t been more obvious lately than with Nintendo.

While Nintendo’s been putting out great games recently on their Switch system, a lot of them have promised “free updates” after launch. One example of this is Nintendo Switch Sports. This is a successor to the widely popular Wii Sports line of games that released throughout the Wii and Wii U’s life. The game includes sports like Soccer, Bowling, Swordplay, and a few more.

During its reveal presentation, several of these modes were shown off... while the game’s Golf mode was announced to be coming at a later time. As of writing this, on July 19th, the Golf mode has not been released. It’s been almost three months since the game originally released as well. As some of you may know, the Golf mode was included in the original Wii Sports game day-one, with no patch needed.

This shouldn’t be viewed as “why is it taking so long to add a simple Golf mode?”, instead “why rush a game out the door so early before everything in it is done?”. Not only is it having developers work more on a game that should have already been done, but it ends up disappointing customers as well, as the game launches in this incomplete state.

Another example is something that was revealed today, actually. Mario Strikers: Battle League is another summer Switch title that happened to launch incomplete. Characters like Daisy and Shy Guy were pushed to be released post-launch (when they’ve been staples in the first two games), and on top of that Nintendo promised more updates to release this year.

Hiding an incomplete game under “promises” of “new, free content made just for the game” is a disguise that not a lot of people are falling for these days. As more and more people speak out within the games industry, things like this become way more apparent, and it’s not a fun party costume.

Hell, online services for these systems aren’t going to last forever. What if someone comes across a Switch in say, 20 years, when the online services are down, and happens to get one of these games with one? They won’t even be able to experience the full version of the game unless the system already has its updates. Nintendo themselves are already making this happen with the closure of the 3DS and Wii U eShops in March of 2023. Why do they keep doing this??

This kind of thing should not be normalized within the gaming industry, but it’s becoming clearer every day that some companies just want to rush their games out the door to make quick cash, and not take time and effort into actually completing it. It’s unfortunate and not fair, but hopefully enough people can voice their opinions on this for some change to happen.

Next up: EXCLUSIVE: Lillybug and Abyuse Interview - The Brains Behind Echo's Music

[rayveewrites]

Ray Hijacks the Team ZIT Ghostbuster AU Again

So @shadeswift99 made a few posts a while ago about a Team ZIT(S) ghostbuster AU, And then I may or may not have hijacked the post to add in ideas for most of the other hermits because why not.

Now, back then I was spitballing ideas and making them up on the spot, which is admittedly my usual writing process, but hey.

That said, I've had more time to think about it, and then last night I blacked out for a few hours and came to with a Google Doc filled with short bios for all of the hermits and a handful of hermit-adjacents. Now, this rapidly turned into an urban fantasy AU in my hands, but hey. It's fun.

This is in alphabetical order, with alternate personas (EX, Helsknight, Beetlejhost) beneath their original counterparts when applicable:

Bdubs

Lives in an old mansion in the woods alongside Doc for reasons known only to them. Bdubs works as an interior designer, with a side gig as a freelance hairdresser. His eyes are unnaturally large, similar to Keralis’, and he is at least partially a plant. Completely feral and frequently gets in trouble for having knives on him at all times. He and Cleo have a thing called Knife Club which makes everyone else nervous. Nobody messes with Knife Club. It’s not worth it. Sunbathes frequently.

Beef

Is a perfectly normal human being. He works as a butcher with a side gig as a graphic designer specializing in album covers and spends his free time playing pokemon and dragging Etho along to social events. He was the first person to spot the cryptid, and the first person who Etho approached of his own accord.

Biffa

Is a ghost possessing a robotic shell. Biffa is from the future. While initially his main goal was to get back home to his own time, Biffa has since made friends and settled down into a new life running a cafe specializing in a wide range of teas. He’s quite content with this, and has actually found himself far happier than he was in his own time. While his nature means he can see, hear and touch ghosts, his body was built specifically for a disembodied soul to be in the driver’s seat, and he doesn’t want to risk another taking control. Also, he has more important things to do than have fistfights with ghosts.

Cleo

Is a ghost possessing her own dead corpse. Her nature allows her to see, hear and touch ghosts. Can and will fistfight spirits. She works as a teacher, so she’s usually busy, but occasionally in really nasty situations the Beetlejhost will drag her in to break a ghost’s legs. Does sculpture in her free time, and is actually really good. The only one who can wrangle Beetle to any real capacity, and she’s learned to keep him on a fairly short leash. Housemates with Joe, and Keralis also pops in pretty frequently. Has Knife Club with Bdubs. Has an enchanted flower crown that prevents her from decaying further; a gift from Beetle. Recently started learning magic in the form of necromancy and illusions. Has an ongoing ‘feud’ with Zloy, in which she temporarily traps his soul in random inanimate objects every now and then.

Cub

A bit of a ‘mad scientist’ archetype, Cub’s experiments are not exactly the most ethical, though they’re at least more professional than Doc’s. Responsible for the creation of Jevin. Cub gets possessed stupidly easily- sometimes willingly- and can usually handle it himself but sometimes has to call for help. Has a magical method of communication with Scar for exactly this reason. Has a day job as co-owner of a business called ConCorp, which he started with Scar. Has probably broken the Geneva Convention.

Doc

Was presumably human at one point. Now an abomination. Repeated experiments on himself have resulted in a massively changed facial and foot structure, a body covered in mottled green scales, claws, and goat horns. He lost half his face in one of his experiments, and constructed a new cybernetic one. He lost his right arm fighting God. Killed said god and would do it again. Lives in a mansion in the woods with Bdubs, though nobody’s really sure why. Owns a casino because of course he does. Also a living crime against fashion, because the man refuses to wear anything other than his tattered lab coat, torn jeans, and crocs.

Ely

Runs the local radio station. Nobody’s ever seen him in person, and nobody knows where he gets people’s voice clips for his remixes. Probably a cryptid. Maybe a ghost. Seems pretty chill, despite the blatant invasions of privacy.

Etho

Is a cryptid. Lives out in the woods in an abomination that can barely be called a house. Has never been seen in anything other than full Kakashi cosplay. Tends to keep to himself, but occasionally lets Beef drag him along to social events, often with Doc and Bdubs. Nobody really knows what his deal is. Probably not human. Probably.

False

Used to be part of an illegal underground cage fighting ring, until she earned enough to buy her way out. Having grown up in said ring, she struggles to adjust to normal life, but living in a town where the barista is a robot and the local tailor has wings makes it easier. She now has a job as security at Doc’s casino, alongside Iskall.

Grian

Is either an angel or a demigod, but nobody knows which. Has wings. Is both a tailor and an architect. A complete gremlin who has elaborate masks of various birds and will wear them to commit crimes. Eats seeds. Messes with everyone else’s plants. Lives in Jungle Wood Flats. Volunteers at the local theatre.

Hypno

Has three eyes, but hides the third one under a bandanna at all times. Can see ghosts with it. Had problems with sections of plumbing randomly getting clogged and also making very weird noises, and eventually called Team ZIT when the plumbers couldn’t find the source. Was prepared for ghosts, but wound up with a slime creature instead. Works in a $2 store for some reason.

Impulse

Is fully human. The most sensible member of Team ZIT (which admittedly isn’t saying much), Impulse has a day job as a freelancer building custom PCs and fixing broken tech. Agreed to the whole ghostbusting deal because he was bored, mostly. Was the first one to meet Skizz face-to-face, and is the one to own that particular place outright. Gets possessed every now and then, usually by larger spirits. Used to run solely on caffeine and chronic anxiety until Zedaph started getting on his case about his sleep schedule. Now he runs on less caffeine, more sleep, and the same amount of chronic anxiety.

Iskall

Was part of a cloning experiment to create the ultimate hitman, and was the only known one to both survive and escape before the whole thing was shut down by the authorities. Their eye and arm were replaced with cybernetics in order to increase their already enhanced abilities, and they were chased by said authorities, eventually winding up on Mumbo’s doorstep and becoming Mumbo’s problem. Now works as security at Doc’s casino, alongside False. Lives at Jungle Wood flats. Occasionally volunteers at the local theatre. Does bonsai as a hobby.

Jevin

Is the slime creature in the pipes. Hypno lets him live with him under the condition he stops blocking the plumbing and making weird noises at 3 AM (Jevin still blocks the plumbing and makes weird noises at 3 AM, just not as much as he was). Has taught himself to take a humanoid shape, and likes having fingers. Sleeps in the bathtub because he can. Was created from a vat of chemicals in a secret lab underneath the house, which used to be owned by Cub. Doesn’t really talk to the man in question that much, but will occasionally refer to Cub as his father for the sole reason of watching him go through eight existential crises in three minutes. Has a glock.

Joe

Head librarian at the local public library, and has read a lot of books on Supernatural Things. Is a veritable fountain of exposition if you can figure out what he’s saying or have Cleo along with you to threaten the integrity of his shins. Has never been seen in the same place as the Beetlejhost. Are they the same person? Are they entirely separate beings? Is there a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde-type situation going on? Who knows!

Beetlejhost

Literally nobody really knows what his deal is. Nobody. Team ZIT ran into him on a call that they expected to be a false alarm and then he decided to follow them home. Spends most of his time being a minor nuisance in the most bizarre ways possible. Is implied to be responsible for the Ever Given getting lodged in the Suez Canal, but never confirmed. When he’s not bothering Team ZIT or getting them out of tight spots, he’s usually pestering Cleo, the only one who can keep him in line. It’s not really known if he and Cleo have a history or if they’re just Like That.

Keralis

Is a ghost haunting an architecture firm, and is mostly bound to the building, though he can travel to other buildings the firm has built, which is, uh, most of them. Initially only able to do small things- mostly writing notes or drawing diagrams- he eventually meets the Beetlejhost when the latter follows Mumbo to work one day for shits and giggles (he wanted to see how long he could mess with Mumbo before the man noticed. As it turned out, about a week, and by the end it was Iskall who noticed). After a couple of days in which Beetle teaches Keralis Ghost Things™, he scares half the office when he finally manifests for the first time. Has unnaturally large eyes and nicknames for most of the workers. Has no idea how he died or what his unfinished business might be. Very knowledgeable about architecture, and his input is usually very much appreciated.

Mumbo

Is a perfectly normal human being who does IT at Keralis’ architecture firm. Lives at Jungle Wood flats and spends most of his free time tinkering with tech and trying to keep Grian and Iskall out of trouble, which is a losing battle. Has a large, beating golden heart in his flat. He’s not really sure what its deal is, but if he feeds it apples it produces enough power for the entire building. Oh, and if he forgets to feed it for an extended period of time it starts draining his bank account. It’s really weird.

Pixlriffs

Was a perfectly normal human being until he died protecting a certain Russian zombie and became a perfectly normal ghost. Was a reporter in life and is a reporter in death. Runs a blog alongside Zloy about the local goings-on, supernatural or not. The blog’s the type where unless you live in/near the town you most likely won’t stumble across it, but they do have a small following of outsiders who assume the blog’s just a work of fiction. His unfinished business is to prevent Zloy from doing anything particularly stupid, a constant battle. Is able to go more places than Zloy due to being incorporeal, but respects people’s privacy. He’s bound to Zloy to a certain degree, not being able to go beyond a certain range of his friend. The range is pretty big, though, and he has plenty freedom of movement.

Python

Had a run-in with the fae as a kid, in which he accidentally pissed one off. In retribution, the faerie challenged him to answer a riddle or he’d be turned into a snake. Python’s answer was partially correct, so the faerie only transformed him partially. Python is fairly chill, though he strongly dislikes the cold and starts hissing if anyone disturbs him during Sun Time™. Sometimes Bdubs, being partially flora, joins Python for Sun Time™. He’s not venomous, because, you know...python. Also, he has a mildly disturbing habit of strangling rats and mice and then eating them whole, but he can’t help it and just tries not to do so when he has company.

Ren

Is a werewolf. He’s pretty chill regardless of form, though it’s only been recently he’s been comfortable enough leaving his ears and tail visible. He works as a lumberjack. One time Pixl introduced him to Monty Python’s Lumberjack Song and it quickly became his favourite thing. He spends most of his free time volunteering at the local theatre because Ren is absolutely a theatre kid and nobody can convince me otherwise. Gets possessed every now and then. Lives in Jungle Wood flats.

Scar

Works as a landscape developer. Gets possessed absurdly easily, though not quite as frequently as Cub. Has a magical method of communication with him. Technically co-owns ConCorp, but isn’t as involved. His cat, Jellie, is very obviously an eldritch abomination in feline form and he is comedically unaware of this. Lives in Jungle Wood Flats with Grian, Iskall, Mumbo, Stress, and Ren.

Skizz

Is the ghost haunting Team ZIT’s office. He was murdered by someone he’d thought was a friend who was trying to use his place to hide from the cops, and he’s stuck around, haunting the building. His unfinished business is to make sure nobody else uses the building for anyone shady, but the ghost rumours tended to chase most people off. Eventually he gets used to having Team ZIT around, and when Tango admits he doesn’t really have anywhere to go one day, Skizz eventually makes the decision to finally unlock the still-furnished upper floor for him. He’s bound to the building, but Impulse learns that carrying Skizz’s old vest with them allows him to leave. After that, Skizz sometimes accompanies them on missions and occasionally just hanging out. He’s usually more helpful than the Beetlejhost is.

Stress

Is a witch. Stress lives in Jungle Wood Flats and works as a doctor who specializes in supernaturally caused injuries- Team ZIT are some of her best customers. She also sells magic potions of various kinds, and has a side gig as a florist. She’s 90% of the Jungle inhabitants’ impulse control. Also has cryokinesis.

Tango

The Team ZIT member with a car. He gets possessed with frankly ridiculous frequency, but claims not to believe in ghosts for a long time (and keeps up the bit for even longer). Has developed various signals to indicate when he’s being possessed again. The strongest one, a rather nasty demon Cleo and the Beetlejhost had to team up on, left him with his glowing red eyes. He didn’t really have anywhere to go before Impulse bought the office, and tended to sleep on the couch or in his car until Skizz decided to let him into the upper floor, where he now lives alongside Zedaph and Impulse.

TFC

A now-retired ghostbuster, TFC calls in Team ZIT one night when he finds himself in over his head against a ghost with a grudge. He winds up becoming a bit of a mentor figure to the trio, usually coaching them over the phone if they’re not sure how to deal with one of the stranger spirits. Lost his leg years ago in a fight with a poltergeist that could have gone better, and now has a robotic prosthetic made by Doc.

Wels

While Team ZIT was out investigating some rumour or another in the woods, they came across a large stone box. Following video game logic, I guess, they then decided opening this large stone box sounded like a fun idea. Well, Tango and Zedaph did. Impulse was a bit more hesitant. The box actually held a medieval knight who’d been put in an enchanted sleep for centuries by his demonic doppelgänger, and was very much not prepared for modern life. Team ZIT took him to Xisuma, who happened to live closest, and Wels is currently helping out on the farm and trying to adjust to life in the 21st century. He can understand and speak modern English just fine because magic. Volunteers at the local theatre quite a lot.

Hels

Is Wels’ doppelgänger. Technically a minor demon. Won a fight with Wels and sealed him away for centuries as a result. A recurring problem. His real motivation is that he really desperately doesn’t want to go back to Hell, but he’s too proud to admit it. Lives in the woods with EX, who’s basically his only friend, though the weirdo with the brown cardigan keeps pestering him about his backstory and feelings for some reason. Has minor pyrokinesis.

XB

Like Biffa, XB is also a ghost from the future, though it seems to be a different timeline than Biffa’s. His unfinished business is preventing the apocalypse, but he has no idea how to do that, no idea if he’s in the right timeline, and is pretty sure he’s gone back a lot farther than he probably should’ve. Also, there’s the whole paradox issue, where if he prevents the apocalypse he never has a reason to go back and prevent the apocalypse, so he doesn’t prevent the apocalypse, so he has to go back and- he tries not to think about it too much. He mostly just hangs out in an abandoned house on the edge of town and vibes.

Xisuma

Is a beekeeper. Nobody’s ever seen his face; when he’s not in his beekeeping outfit, he’s either wearing a helmet, or (more recently) an extremely lifelike and detailed animal mask (is it a mask?). Actually a shapeshifting alien, he crashed down to Earth after a scuffle with his evil clone and was stranded because Earth doesn’t have the right tools or resources to repair a spaceship. These days he’s actually found he’s happier tending to his bees, selling honey, and helping his friends out, and probably wouldn’t leave Earth even if he could. It’s a simpler life, but a pleasant one. He bonds with Biffa over a shared love of tea and being stranded in a technologically inferior world and finding a home.

Evil Xisuma

Is Xisuma’s clone. Feels that if everyone’s going to call him ‘Evil’ he may as well own it. Shot his original’s spaceship down in a scuffle but wound up being brought down with him. Currently hides in the woods. Generally more of a minor nuisance than an actual danger. Used to spend his free time bothering X but has gotten put off by Wels, who has a problem when it comes to evil clones. His friends consist of Hels, who is a terrible role model, and Zedaph, who’s trying to help him work through his problems behind everyone’s backs. Can summon lightning because he deserves it.

Zedaph

Is the reason Team ZIT is ghostbusting in the first place. He’s a sheep shearer by trade, but that’s a fairly seasonal thing and ghostbusting is more fun anyway. Has somehow never been possessed, and claims it’s because he’s always standing next to Tango. He makes sure the other two gets enough sleep Because we all know they can’t be trusted to do it. Probably has some sort of really bizarre and situational magical powers he is thoroughly unaware of. Qualified to be a licensed therapist. Made friends with Evil X at one point, somehow.

Zloy

Like Cleo, he’s a ghost possessing a corpse. Unlike Cleo, there’s a good chance it’s not his corpse. Eh, it’s not like anyone else was using it. Runs a blog with Pixl, because why not. Was already a zombie when he met Pixl, who was still alive at the time. His body is a bit more decayed than Cleo’s, but it’s fine. His goggles are enchanted with the same preservation spell; it’s not really ever explained where he got them from. Has no regard for privacy but is fortunately unable to turn invisible or phase through walls due to inhabiting a physical body. Both can theoretically physically fight ghosts and has enough time to physically fight ghosts, meaning he would be a valuable ally if he could be bothered. Lives in a graveyard. Has an ongoing ‘feud’ with Cleo, in which he puts jabs at her on the blog. Once spent a week as a (very sarcastic) floating potato.

Hermiton

Is the name of the place they all live in/near. Located in an ambiguous location in an ambiguous country, Hermiton is technically large enough to be considered a city but has Town VibesTM. Supernatural going-ons are a fairly normal part of life, and a good number of inhabitants aren’t humans. Despite this, the wider world seems mostly ignorant of the existence of ghosts, magic, etc. I’m not too sure about geography, but it’s surrounded by forest in most directions and in a warm enough climate to not have snow in the winter (so Python doesn’t, you know, freeze to death). Most people don’t tend to bat an eyelid at strange-looking people walking down the street or serving them at the store; they’re used to it by now. There are several theories as to why Hermiton specifically has so much going on when it comes to the supernatural- ley lines, secretly the resting place of some long-forgotten god, et cetera- but it’s actually more of a case of ‘people who have supernatural traits hear rumours of a place where a lot of people have supernatural traits and go there in search of answers/a place to belong’. This doesn’t exactly explain where all the ghosts came from, but hey. Nothing’s perfect.

[techmomma]

I made big progress with my trauma recovery the other day! I’m really proud of doing a very hard thing, and honestly doing so made me feel so much better.

Said growth involves realizing some unfun things, so y’know, look out for that under the read more, even if I consider this a hopeful, uplifting realization by the end. Christ this is long, have fun reading this word wall.

So I essentially lived in a bitter divorce household. Y’know, when the two parents have an awful, agonizing divorce that pits the kids’ loyalties against each parent and each other and themselves.

I grew up in that. Except they never actually divorced. Or separated. Not till after I’d moved out, anyway. So 20+ years of living in a household where my parents flip-flopped between “trying to make it work” and “screaming at each other and bitterly trying to corral their kids in this us-vs-them, me vs your other parent toxic tug of war.”

Why didn’t they divorce? Codependency and religious pressure because both were previous divorcees, one was an excommunicated catholic because of this, and the other was a narcissist who couldn’t admit defeat and made a promise to god to make it work for fear of the shame that would come from failing again! What a winning pair! Who definitely did not mutually cheat on one another and then act scandalized and eternally vindictive about this.

Anyway, what this meant for Steph’s psyche was every day was an eternal battleground of loyalty tests. Any disagreement was disloyalty. Saying the wrong thing could be taken as disloyalty. Yet, y’know. You don’t want to be disloyal to the other parent that you love. You don’t wanna throw them under the bus. You just wanna say what you saw happened.

Which meant every answer became this tightrope of not only validating and appeasing one parent’s ego, but also finding the diplomatic thing to say so as not to implicate the other parent, or get that parent in trouble, or appear disloyal because that too could come around to bite you in the ass. Sometimes we agreed with what one parent was saying, but taking issue with a small part or one aspect? This was seen as fully disagreeing and being disloyal.

You can imagine the pressure this put on an already socially-awkward kid, ages 4-20, to find the exact correct thing to say. It rarely worked out.

But I figured out a clever loophole early on: if I shut down, if I didn’t make a peep, if I said not one word—sure. That parent would be mad at me for not responding. They’d be made I wasn’t saying anything. They might yell louder, or guilt me, or threaten me with some form of humiliation.

But not saying anything was so, so much better than any alternative. Never once did speaking up end well.

If you know about pavlovian training, you can probably quickly see the conditioning that was set in. Parent would state an opinion, about anything. Give validation. Parent looks for validation about shitty feelings about other people? Don’t say a peep, let parent be mad, and eventually they’ll either get so frustrated they give up, or they say their piece and get whatever was on their chest off of it. Either way, they leave me alone. Maybe after three hours of screaming at me, but three hours could turn into six if I made them more mad by disagreeing or seeming disloyal.

And for the record, when I talk about loyalty, I’m not saying they were asking about actual loyalty. They wanted me to agree with their opinions. They wanted me to be on their side, their ally, no matter what the other parent said. It was all or nothing. “You’re with me or against me.”

Made all the more complicated that sometimes, if you seemed disloyal to the other parent, the supposed “enemy” in the situation, the first parent might berate you for that too. “How could you talk about your mother/father that way? How could you say those things?” Despite having been saying worse things minutes before.

They were volatile. The smallest, stupidest things could become full-blown arguments that could last for hours, at the top of their lungs. After which they might turn that to us, the kids, to get out whatever was left in their system I guess. Small questions, statements, became tests. Answer wrong, and there would be hell to pay. The most innocuous things could become loyalty tests. But most of all, the most discerning tests came when they were complaining about the other. When Dad complained about Mom, and when Mom complained about Dad. “Agree with me,” they said between lines, “Are you on my side? Aren’t they terrible?”

I just wanted to love both of my parents. I never wanted to choose.

My epiphany came when I realized that when others seek comfort from me, when looking for validation during shitty events or people being mean to them—y’know, normal things people do with friends—I was having emotional flashbacks. I was being triggered into a state of trauma, my brain receding to that familiar shutdown state. Terrified that whatever I say to comfort them, whatever I say to help them feel better, would be taken as a loyalty test. To voice even slight disagreement could be disloyalty.

My friends had never tested me. But my brain was reacting so firmly and my body so wholly that I had no idea. I try to be aware of my emotional states and how my body reacts but this shutdown response has just been so normal for so long, and such a large bodily feeling, that I never noticed what it was. And it wasn’t until watching a video about this type of situation, feeling like you have to validate someone not necessarily from a place of concern but of fear, that I realized what was happened.

I realized how deep the rabbit hole went. This has been happening for decades. At work, when coworkers would complain or even just chat normally about other coworkers, my brain was shutting down out of fear that my loyalty was being tested, I was being scrutinized for disagreement. When customers talked about my coworkers, my brain was shutting down, terrified to say the wrong thing and either disagree with said customer or throw my coworker under the bus. I shut down when friends talk about other friends, when people talk about other people and maybe I agree, but there’s an aspect or idea in the situation that I don’t agree with, or maybe I’m just seeing things differently from an outside perspective.

But every time, I was terrified. I was so scared that my brain returned to trauma, returned to that shutdown state from childhood (and some adulthood), because shutting down, previously, had always yielded the better result. Staying quiet, keeping my head empty and my thoughts blank, kept me safe for twenty years.

And now I can’t hear other people talking in a room without returning to that same shutdown state, for fear that they are arguing and I will be forced to choose between people. To love one friend more than another. Forced to pick a side, forced to soothe their emotions because if I don’t, things will be so many times worse. Heaven forbid they have disagreeing opinions, even if they’re calmly sorting them out, communicating in a healthy way. God help me if they’re actually arguing. I can’t think, I can’t even speak sometimes, voice pulled tight like I’m being strangled; I can’t even squeak out a sound. It hurts too much. It hurts so much.

Sometimes I can hear people through my earbuds or headphones and all I can do is lay on my bed and plug my ears with my fingers as tight as possible and try to hum a song, try to force a mantra to drown out the sound as I desperately try to soothe myself with some kind of stim, even if it’s just rocking side to side on the bed.

I knew I had problems with listening to people disagreeing. But I realized the other day how deep the rabbit hole goes. How often, daily sometimes, I’ve been having emotional flashbacks. How thoroughly this has been effecting my life, my relationships, my sanity.

It’s been so exhausting. Realizing how many things connect back to this central issue of toxic loyalty that I grew up with, how thoroughly engrained this trauma is in my life. Realizing I’ve been having emotional flashbacks almost every day, for decades.

I’m so tired.

But I’m really glad I did. It’s putting a name to the beast. I am finally getting to the heart of an issue that was so much larger than I originally thought but in turn, there is so much potential to truly grow and heal. If I know the beast, then I can know how to face it. I can know how to use CBT therapy for this, how to weaken it to progress. And I’m really glad for it.

I also did something very hard: directly forcing myself to face it, and told my roommates about this deep-set fear. I realized that I don’t often just talk about how I’m feeling, I usually do so in the context of like having an issue or a problem that we need to talk out or talk through. I don’t usually just say, “I’m really really scared of this thing.”

I told my roommates this realization and like the wonderful, amazing friends they are, they understood. It’s an internal problem for me, something just for me to work on. It’s my issue. But now... they know that if I go quiet when discussing other people, or leave the room when disagreements are happening, I’m not just trying to blow them off or or be wishy-washy. I imagine there have been many times in the past when a friend has come in need of support and my answer came across weird or like I was trying to change the subject and it was awkward and not what they were hoping for.

Now they know that my response might be weird because I’m having a flashback. I’m scared, my brain is shutting down and I can’t think.

And that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared in front of my friends. It’s okay to experience that trauma in front of them. I don’t have to try to pretend I’m okay or try to push through the fear when I really, really can’t. It’s okay to need a subject change or even to just listen quietly if I don’t necessarily want my friend to stop venting, I just may not be able to answer in a beneficial way. I may be shutting down and sometimes all I can do is wait it out. And that’s okay.

I don’t have to validate other people because I’m scared. Because I think I’m being tested.

I felt better not just because talking about these things helps but also because a weight was lifted. One of my main triggers is feeling like I have to respond and have to respond correctly Or Else. But now that they know, that weight is off of my shoulders. I can be afraid and not able to respond and they understand why now. I don’t have to try to keep up that lie or try to put on a face or try to push through it.

I can be scared. And letting yourself be scared is the first step to healing from it. I don’t have to pretend to not be scared anymore.

I always know I’ve hit the hammer on the head when it comes to my emotional issues because I start crying and even just typing this out made me weepy, haha. It’s a good weepy though. I made a big step, and I’m really proud of myself. My instinct was to take this and agonize quietly over it myself, find my own solution on my own and deal with it on my own. But I didn’t. I reached out, and it was scary and hard and it hurt and now I’m so, so much better off for it, and now I can really start healing. I can change this.

God I’m so tired tho. Holy shit.

[thiscrimsonsoul]

Meta – Wanda & Vision Having Children Naturally: Pregnancy, Medical Complications, & Caring for the Twins

[ Trigger Warnings: Heavy medical and hospital themes having to do with pregnancy and babies ahead! ]

This meta contains all my headcanons for Wanda getting pregnant naturally by Vision, what that means for her pregnancy and health, and what raising real, half-human, half-synthezoid children is like. I’d like to have some threads with Wanda and Vision regarding the twins if possible, so I’m getting everything written down here for reference purposes. If you have any questions or comments about anything in here, let me know!

POTENTIAL AUS IN WHICH THIS COULD HAPPEN

Without Vision – Wanda has Vision’s twins, but he remains dead. Either he’s harvested and repurposed into a weapon by SWORD as he was in WandaVision, or Wanda is able to reclaim his body for burial, but he remains dead and Wanda, at least for now, is a single mother. I would be willing to write this AU either as Wanda or as another character relating to Wanda if someone else wants to write her.

With Dad!Vision – Vision’s body is taken by SWORD, but either in the early stages of her pregnancy or after the twins are born, she confronts Hayward as she did in WandaVision. Except this time, instead of leaving after she determines that she can no longer feel him, Wanda has an emotional burst of magic (like she did when she created the Hex) that, instead of creating a temporary new Vision, infuses Vision’s original body with the energy from the mind stone that she’s been storing inside her. This essentially restores Vision’s soul, memories, and personality. All that remains is to reassemble him. In an AU where Tony Stark survives Endgame, he could help Dr. Cho not only reassemble him but also restore his organic content as well, which would otherwise have rotted away during the five years he was dead. Or… a huge fudge could be done and we could just say that Wanda reassembles him and restores his organic content herself as part of her emotional magical outburst. Vision would then be restored to Infinity War status, as himself, with all his memories and emotional capacity intact. He can then help Wanda raise their twins and would likely ask her to marry him, which he was planning on doing before everything went to hell in a handbasket in Infinity War anyway. I would be willing to write this AU as either Wanda or Vision.

PREGNANCY AND BIRTH: SPECIES INCOMPATIBILITY AND LIFE-THREATNING MEDICAL COMPLICATIONS

I tend to get very detailed and realistic when I flesh out topics like this, so I didn’t just want to gloss over things and say that Wanda has a normal pregnancy. She really shouldn’t. Even if Vision is capable of reproduction (which my version of him is) and conception can occur, there are a lot of issues with Wanda carrying partially-synthezoidal children. Their genetics would be combined, and as such, their physiologies would be a blend of human and synthezoid. What does that mean for them as far as their health, appearance, and capabilities? I’ll get to that later. But first… what effect does this have on Wanda’s health as the pregnancy progresses?

Early on, the pregnancy is fairly normal, or at least there isn’t enough wrong to set off any warning bells with regard to her health. But as it progresses, Wanda will start to experience metal toxicity and vitamin deficiency symptoms. She’ll have balance problems, she might slur her words at times, she feels weak, shaky, and has fainting spells. Her skin will also become very pale, almost translucent. This occurs because most of the vibranium atoms that were contained in Vision’s… donation to Wanda, eh-hem… have already been incorporated into the twins’ bodies, and now they need more. In the absence of more vibranium, they start to compromise by drawing away other vitamins and minerals from Wanda’s body. Whatever vibranium atoms were not incorporated into the twins ended up in Wanda’s blood and organs, causing her various potentially life-threatening side effects.

The result is that neither mother nor babies are doing very well, but by this point (probably at around three months in), Wanda’s health would be noticeably bad enough for her to get help or for anyone who sees her to reach out to get her medical assistance. Eventually she will be placed under Dr. Cho’s care. Why? Well it was her technology that created Vision’s physical body, and aside from Tony, she’s the one who would know the most about what might be required by offspring of someone with such a body. Tests will need to be done on Wanda and on each of her babies to determine what is going on in their blood, which would then give a clearer picture of what was wrong, missing, etc.

Basically, it is determined that the twins need an influx of free vibranium atoms to incorporate into their bodies as they grow. They also need a specialized panel of vitamins and minerals to grow properly. Wanda, on the other hand, needs the normal human amounts of certain vitamins and minerals for herself, but then also needs to be protected from vibranium toxicity and unwanted substances ending up in her blood. Wanda lives where Dr. Cho’s laboratory is located, and is mostly told to rest as much as possible. The less she stresses her system, the better. Twice a week, her blood needs to be cleaned of any toxic substances via a filtration process not unlike dialysis. She’s placed on a strict diet as well. Ports are carefully placed for each twin that allow for vibranium atoms and essential nutrients to be directly injected into the babies.

Because this is an extremely delicate and precarious procedure to place the ports without disrupting Wanda’s pregnancy or harming the babies, she’s basically bedridden to limit the potential for tears and other injuries. Very quickly, Wanda is forced to confront and overcome her fears of doctors, labs, and needles, which is a daunting task for her. The only thing that gets her through it is the very real knowledge that the pregnancy might fail without this intervention. At this point, Vision would likely still be dead in either AU, and so Wanda views her babies as the last living parts of Vision. She’s willing to do anything, no matter how painful or frightening, to carry her twins to term.

At around 7 ½ months, however… things begin to look grim. Despite the blood filtration processes and other attempts to keep Wanda as healthy as possible, her health begins to decline again. The stress and strain of carrying two unique babies whose genetics and biochemistry are partially incompatible with her own begins to take its toll. Dr. Cho and likely Clint or anyone else who’s been frequently caring for or staying with Wanda eventually need to have a very difficult conversation with her. If she continues with the pregnancy, there’s still a chance it might fail early, but the longer she can hold out, the better chance her babies will have of surviving after they’re born. However, the longer she holds out, the greater chance that life-threatening complications will occur, such as more seizures, strokes, and toxicity conditions. In short, she’s told that she could deliver the twins early and survive, but because the twins are unique beings, there is no guarantee that they will have developed enough to survive at this point… or… she continues to carry them, and she may lose her life. Wanda chooses to continue, because she’s willing to die to give her twins the best chance they can possibly have.

Wanda is able to make it to 8 ½ months before something changes and her health declines rapidly. When she loses consciousness, the decision is made to deliver the twins by C-section. Once that’s done, Wanda is stabilized, and a potential tragedy is averted.

CARING FOR INFANT TWINS

The twins are kept on much the same supplements of vibranium, nutrients, and other minerals as they were in the womb. A powder is basically custom-designed for Wanda that she can mix into their milk. In addition to breastfeeding them, once a day she bottle feeds them milk containing the dissolved vitamin supplement. This ensures the twins have what their bodies need to grow properly. Otherwise, they’re normal, happy, healthy babies that mostly appear human to those who don’t know their unique genetics.

At only a couple months old, however, Wanda begins to notice a few interesting things about her sons, and the reasons why they required vibranium atoms begins to become apparent. Occasionally while dressing or changing them, Wanda notices patches on their bodies that look just like Vision’s “skin.” They’re red, they’re textured, sometimes they’re hard, and at other times they’re soft. The patches don’t remain, but rather they come and go, seemingly at random. At times, Wanda even catches it happening in real time, seeing their skin ripple and change, just like Vision’s did when he was employing his human disguise. The curious thing though, is that the twins are not synthezoids, but neither are they human. Their genetic code, their blood lab results, and various other statistics come back inconclusive, anomalous, or otherwise different than normal humans. They are their own unique beings, a hybrid species.

As the twins grow and become more mobile, crawling around and such, Wanda notices that sometimes the synthezoid skin would appear as a result of impact trauma. In other words, if Tommy hit Billy while careless flailing his pudgy little infant arms, that area of Billy’s skin would ripple and form hard synthezoid skin which is stiff to the touch, like armor. Or if Tommy crawls around and bumps his head on something, the same would happen where he was hit. It’s almost as if it’s part of some kind of defense response in their bodies to armor-up if they’re being injured.

CARING FOR OLDER TWINS

Once they’re older and eating solid foods, their supplements are still mixed in once a day with whatever they’re eating. The older they get, the more the twins are able to control the transformation of their skin at will instead of it just being a passive physiological response. Billy takes after Wanda with regard to his powers, and Tommy resembles Pietro’s with his, but there are indications of Vision’s abilities in them as well. Billy is able to control his density to some extent, and Tommy’s eyes have extra lenses and extended irises that allow him to adjust his vision to better see in the dark, and while moving at high speeds. He can also see a much wider spectrum of light than humans can. Billy tends to take after Vision more in personality, being more introspective, gentler, and being a sponge for information. Tommy takes more after Wanda or even Pietro (which, Wanda would inherit a lot of genetics similar to Pietro’s with them being twins, so that makes sense), being more impulsive, a prankster, and quicker to anger.

In an AU without Vision present, as they grow and develop these abilities, they begin to ask Wanda a lot of questions about the things they can do and parts of them that aren’t like her. Wanda waits until they’re at an age to understand well enough before she tells them about their father. She’s able to find video footage of Vision to show them, and she explains as much as possible about who and what he was. Above all, she makes it very clear that he would have loved them both so much. Billy is very curious about Vision and will sit with a tablet and look up information about him all on his own. Tommy… is a bit more defensive and doesn’t like to think about Vision, because it makes him sad and angry that he had to grow up without a father. The twins are very close, however, and sometimes he watches things with Billy when they’re alone.

In an AU with Vision present, he can teach them about the synthezoidal aspects of their bodies and abilities himself. He is the proudest, happiest, most hands-on and involved dad ever. He explains what he can, shows what he can’t explain, and otherwise tries to guide his sons as best he can… in amongst loving on Wanda, of course. He becomes very much like Westview!Vision as far as personality, just happy and living the dream.

That’s all I’ve detailed for now, but if I think of more, I’ll add it here. Let me know your thoughts if you like! =)

[cheri-translates]

Thorny’s Diary (a translated one-shot)

This endearing piece of writing, 小刺的成长日记, was originally written by 只取自家甜 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌱

As a homegrown cactus, I’m mentally prepared to be left out.

Looking mellow and with prickly needles all over me, I’ve never been the first choice for customers. I’m not as cute as succulents, nor as vibrant as asparagus ferns. My only merit is that I'm easy to take care of.

I’ve grown used to squatting on the display rack watching my friends around me get adopted one by one. Saying that I’m not envious would be a lie.

As usual, I’m doing my best to look high-spirited in front of the customers. Maybe they’ll finally notice me?

Every moment of anticipation gets replaced with disappointment. The more dejected I am, the more no one could ever like me!

26 February 2019

Today, I heard a voice... 

“Gavin, look at how cute it is. Let’s buy it.”

It was a female voice. I lifted my head, and a ridiculously cool face entered my vision. It was a pity that this handsome man’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed, sizing me up in an unfriendly manner.

As expected - handsome people don’t have a good temper. It looked like getting adopted would once again be a hopeless affair.

“All right,” is all he said.

What! Even before I could react, they had already paid the money and brought me home. This happiness came too suddenly, and I felt like I was dreaming.

On that day, my owner (that’s the very cool man - he appears cold but his heart is warm) even took a picture of me, and posted it on his Weibo: “New friend Thorny”

I now had a name. It’s “Thorny”. And I was his new friend.

But, what was going on in the comments section?

“Please don’t destroy it.”

“Thorny: Please let me off.”

“Greenie is in heaven wishing Thorny all the best.”

What, how, and why? Who’s “Greenie”? Why couldn���t they see how great my owner is? Hmph, I’ll prove to all of them. And I’ll remember everyone who photoshopped my picture!

But, I also saw a warm comment:

“Thorny, all the best!”

Mm, I’ll do my best.

--

7 March 2019

My owner tried to cook today.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t know how to cook, and even teared up from spring onions.

Heh, I was even wondering what could make my owner - the epitome of manliness - cry.

I never would have thought that he’d cry because of spring onions.

The woman from that time is my owner’s girlfriend. My owner likes her a lot, and they’re really sweet together.

Mm, I enjoy watching them engage in PDA.

Even after busying themselves for an entire evening, dinner still ended up looking appalling. 

But they really enjoyed themselves in the process.

As expected, I can’t comprehend the human world.

“I’ll... be better at cooking the next time.”

Just treat it as a wish!

--

12 March 2019

My owner brought his girlfriend out to have fun.

I think they went to Italy.

But why is there a need to water me so much?

Doesn’t he know that ball cacti are drought-resistant?

We’re the kings of the desert, and will do just fine without water for even half a month.

Is he trying to drown me?

So much water - I’m going to take a long time to absorb all of it.

I’m so full...

--

6 April 2019

My owner has once again brought his girlfriend out.

They even took the cable car!

Thorny is lemon essence...

[Note] Lemon essence is translated from 柠檬精 (“ning meng jing”), which is an internet buzzword to describe someone who’s jealous.

But Thorny is much smarter than its owner.

Until now, my owner still doesn’t know what “lemon essence” means. He even thought it meant that my lady owner wanted to eat lemons.

I’m about to die from laughter!

My owner is just too cute.

I know that my owner is very cool, and a lot of people like him.

But he already has a girlfriend.

He belongs to my female owner.

So please stop sending your feelings to him through the Weibo comments. My owner doesn’t like it. 

Be careful that I don’t add you to my blacklist! (╯_╰)

--

11 April 2019

My owner has finally thought of putting me under the sun.

Does he have any idea how much water he gives me?

He seems especially dedicated when it comes to this matter of watering.

His memory is pretty bad.

Every time he sees me, he’d ask:

“Thorny, have I watered you today?”

You’ve already watered me five times! I would mutter silently in my heart.

It’s useless - my owner will always water me on schedule.

Then again, I’ve already gotten used to it.

Also, Lady Owner, please stop giving him suits.

When he isn’t in a good mood, he’d look for me.

And then water me even more...

Thorny’s small little pot can’t hold that much...

My owner has made yet another post on Weibo.

And everyone has expressed their shock that I’m still alive.

Mm, Thorny is still alive!

And is living pretty well.

--

30 April 2019

Owner and Lady Owner have gone camping.

Camping is a very interesting thing -

A mountainous location. A desolate wilderness.

A quiet environment. A breezy, moonless night.

A man and a woman. Dry wood near a raging fire.

If one is not careful, a minor incident could spark a war.

When conditions are ripe, success will follow.

Eh? Why does the pot suddenly feel so warm?

Thorny, get your mind out of the gutter!

I should have a Little Owner soon!

Hehehe.

[Note] “Dry wood near a raging fire” (干柴烈火) is a metaphor for people burning with passion for each other :>

--

17 May 2019

“Thorny has been a bit melancholic recently”

Thank the heavens and the earth!

Owner has finally realised that I’ve been feeling melancholic.

Firstly, my owner is a policeman.

Sometimes, he’d be so busy that I don’t get to see him for a long time.

This is something that bothers him.

Every time he leaves for missions, he doesn’t know how to let Lady Owner know.

So he will tell me first.

It’s fine if he has something to say, but why does he have to hold the sprinkling can?

When he gets jealous, he waters me.

When he leaves for a date with Lady Owner, he waters me.

And now when he leaves for a mission, he waters me.

How can I not be melancholic?!

And no, this isn’t the thing I’m most melancholic about.

The even more unreasonable thing is that after seeing that I’m feeling dejected, he actually said, “Maybe it’s because Thorny lacks water”.

Owner, please put down the sprinkling can...

If you do so, we can still be friends...

Thank you to everyone who has been worried for Thorny!

Thorny will work very hard.

And I hope we can still meet next time.

--

Gavin’s Weibo posts on his succulents: here

--

[ Permission to translate ]

只取自家甜: Sure ❤️

[callmeelle22]

Snow

Gifted to @dameintoyland for the Flash Holiday Gift Exchange @theflashholidaysgiftexchange

Pairing: Barry Allen x Iris West

Word Count: 5912

Rating: M

Summary: Softly falling snow, spiked hot chocolate, and some light smut for the holiday season.

I want a snowfall kind of love, the kind of love that quiets the world.

When the snow starts, Barry recognizes how ridiculous it was to decide to walk to the store in the middle of the night. But, in the end, he’s sure it had been worth it.

It’d been because of a mere case of insomnia, that and the gnawing need for sustenance. A look into his refrigerator had revealed only a carton of expired eggs, an empty jug of orange juice, and a ridiculous amount of condiment bottles, so he’d stuffed his socked feet into a pair of sneakers, zipped himself into a coat, and jammed a beanie on top of his head before he’d ventured out into the cold.

When the snow starts, he’s only a few minutes into the fifteen minute walk to the grocery store. His collar is pulled up and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his sweatpants as he takes cursory glances at the world around him. The snow is just flurries, tiny drops that appear more like rain before it hits the ground, but Barry knows how picturesque this place will look when the snow gets going in earnest. The little neighborhood he lives in, one they’re calling the arts district, is filled with tiny shops owned by rich women and their Etsy jewelry, restaurants where the food speaks, murals painted on every single building that depicts a sort of effortless diversity that isn’t actually true for the area. That’s even more notable when he looks at all of the Christmas decorations in the windows of the shops, sparkling garland wrapped around every available column, bright green wreaths chock-full of shiny gold ornaments, brilliant red bows on door handles and lamp posts. It’s all been up, much to Barry’s chagrin, since the season apparently started on November 1st, and it’s why he’s survived on work, take-out, and The West Wing since.

He curses his own absurdity as he enters the small grocery store and picks up an arm cart with a half frozen hand.  The store is one of those small ones, the ones that sell mostly single serving portions at regular prices, the store’s bright lights and gleaming floors convincing customers it’s worth paying five dollars for a half a carton of eggs. They’ve been bit by the Christmas bug too, a song he doesn’t know, I want a snowfall kind of love, that lights up the sky from below; I want a snowfall kind of love, that brings people to their window, playing in the background. They’ve managed to plop a tree smack dab in the middle of the store and the aisles are full of what he’s sure the manager thinks are only subtle odes to this godforsaken holiday.

He tries to be quick, to hurry home before he has to start sliding through the snow. He throws a loaf of bread into his cart, some cheese and eggs, packages of bacon and deli ham. He remembers that they’ve got a pretty decent frozen pizza section too, so he grabs a couple of those, trying not to focus on the fact that he’s 27 and lonely and still eating like he did when he was in undergrad—and let’s be honest, in grad school too. He rounds another corner to decide on a six-pack, or two, of beer. And that’s when he sees her.

She’s a petite thing, shorter than she normally looks when Barry sees her hightailing it from the apartment across from his, in pencil skirts and shoes with heels like spikes. Her hair usually falls straight against her shoulder blades, soft looking and shiny, and he’s only ever seen her mouth painted in shades of purple and red. Tonight, this morning, she’s as dressed down as he’s ever seen her. She's only in a pair of gray leggings, a tight white t-shirt that cups her firm chest, a faux fur-lined coat thrown over it. Her hair is in a curly wavy style that falls right at her shoulders, and he likes it, how soft and sweet it makes her look.

When he sees her in the mornings, as she’s leaving their building, it makes him a little tongue-tied, especially when she’s in those tucked in blouses that show off the deep curve of her waist. The look of her like this, though, makes Barry wonder what it feels like to have heart palpitations and if he’s having them.

He’s watching her, probably a little creepily, and so when she turns, she catches her eyes. Now, Barry really can’t breathe. Her face is improbably pretty: deep ochre skin, dark chocolate eyes, a full pouty mouth that calls for his attention as she bites at the bottom one. He thinks, for a moment, of what it might be like to be beside her, naked, her lovely brown skin next to his paler body, her small, soft hands laced in his. He wonders, in the same moment, what it might be like to kiss her—her mouth, the soft heat between her legs—her long-lashed eyes closed in ecstasy. It paints a pretty vivid picture and Barry is sure he loses a bit of time.

“Oh, I know you,” she says, a hint of passion in her voice.

Barry blinks, looks behind him at the freezer full of overpriced beer, and then back to where there’s more than a hint of a smirk on her face.

“You mean me?”

“Yeah. You’re the one with the lab coat.”

Barry would like to note that as long as she’s been living across from him, a few months now, he’s been hoping for glimpses of her each time he’s left his own apartment. It’s a bit astonishing to know that she’s noticed him too.

“I, uh, yeah,” he mumbles, reaching up the rub at the back of his head. “I, I wear a lab coat.”

“Nice,” she says, and there’s some honey in the way she says the word, the way it drips down off her tongue.

Barry tilts his head, a bit incredulous. “Lab coats get you off?”

It isn’t what he meant to say, but her grin gets wider and there’s no doubt that Barry’s face goes bright red.

“I didn’t mean…” he starts, but the words get stuck.

She doesn’t seem offended. If anything, her grin gets wider, turns dirtier, and she winks at him as she starts to push her cart away. “See ya, lab coat.

“Wait,” he calls, and she turns, neatly shaped eyebrows raised.

“It's, uh, it's Barry, Barry Allen," he manages to get out.

 “I'm Iris West," she tells him. And then she—and Barry admits he could be hallucinating, admits that he might be high off the scent of her, of shea and coconut—gives him a slow, long look over, taking in the length of his legs and his slim torso, his broad shoulders. She lingers, in a few places he’s sure, at his crotch and somewhere around his throat, and then she's looking at his face again. She licks her lips. "I'll see you around, Barry Allen."

That should be it, Barry thinks, as she leaves the aisle and he presses as much of himself against the cold freezer glass as he can. Good lord. But then Barry pays for his food with the scowling person they’ve convinced to work the night shift at a 24 hour grocery store, and then he’s walking out of the store, clutching his purchases, prepared to make his way back home. And then Iris West is calling out for him, her car idling at the corner beside him. 

“Just taking a late night stroll?” she wonders.

He licks at his lips where they've suddenly gone dry. "Yeah. I got hungry and there wasn't any food in my apartment."

“So you thought a quick walk in the snow would do it?"

Were it anyone else, he thinks he might have been annoyed at her for goading him. But she's pretty and he likes the way her dark eyes sparkle with mirth, and something a bit deeper, darker, when she looks at him.

“I feel like you're judging me," he says, his own mouth quirking up.

“Of course I am." She pauses as she turns back into the car. She seems to be moving things around. “Get in, Barry Allen."

They don’t make much conversation on the short ride to their apartment building. The night is quiet on the empty streets, made quieter by the radio turned off and only the hum of the heater as noise. He wants to talk, but he doesn’t know what to say, or if she even wants to speak, so he let’s the ride soothe him. It reminds him of time spent with his parents, years ago. He’d always had trouble sleeping, a condition that has no true origins. But, sometimes, when he couldn’t get to sleep and he’d started to get grumpy because of it, his parents would bundle him up, sit him in the back of the car, and drive around until easy listening jazz and soft falling snow had lulled him to sleep. It’s one of many memories of his family, of the parents he’d lost when he’d been old enough to register their absence. He tries to keep them at bay, those memories that could turn overwhelming and crippling were he to let it.

Christmas doesn’t help. They’d been big Christmas people, spending the Friday after Thanksgiving picking out a tree and dusting off ornaments that had been sitting in the attic for the year, baking cookies as they let him throw tinsel everywhere. The last year he'd had with them, when he was seven years old and had just begun wearing those hideous coke-bottle top glasses, had been the biggest one yet. He'd been allowed to do more: actually pick the Christmas tree, carefully put the cookies in the oven, write out the full thank you for Santa Claus. It'd all been so exhilarating, until the day after Christmas, when date night had turned into a crushed car and stoic police officers and a bull faced woman who'd made him throw clothes in a duffle bag he hadn't owned; when he’d been stuck with the reality that the last time he would ever see his parents was through the window of his old house, Christmas lights blinking back at him.

“Hey, we’re here."

It’s only when she speaks that Barry notices they’ve stopped and she’s parked in one of the spots designated for their building. He looks at her, blinking back into the present. He answers the question written all over her face.

“Oh, yes. I'm," he shakes his head, trying to clear it. He swallows. "Yeah, I'm good."

This time, the smile she gives him is kind.      

“Sure?"

“Yeah." He rubs at his eyes. "Let's get inside before the snow starts falling more."

Later, Barry will give half a thought to what makes Iris West invite him into her apartment. They both schlep up the stairs to their third floor apartments, bags in hand, Barry trying not to wish her coat would rise a little higher as he follows behind her. He grabs his key from the pocket of his sweatpants, poised with a hand at the door, and when he turns to tell her good night, she’s staring back at him, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. If he didn’t know any better, he might think she was nervous.

“Chances you’d want to come in?” she blurts, “for some hot chocolate?”

Barry has two choices here. He can say thank you and go into his apartment, where the snow will still be falling and he’ll drink at least two of the beers he bought, and he’ll think about what he and his parents might’ve been doing for this Christmas holiday. Or he can go into the apartment of the woman he’s been drooling after for months and share some hot chocolate. 

So really, there’s no choice at all.

 ************

The clock on Iris’s microwave reads 1:15 when he finds himself standing beside her stove.

When they’d first come into the apartment, she’d left him awkwardly at the door while she’d gone to change. He’d kicked off his shoes at the door, placed his coat on one of the hooks near her door, and then he’d taken a casual glance around the room. Her apartment has the same layout as his, an open floor plan with a large living room and nice sized kitchen, a large island separating the two rooms in lieu of a dining area. A hallway off the living room leads to two bedrooms and a separate bathroom. That is where the similarities end, though. Her place is cozy, the living room featuring an overstuffed couch in a robin's blue fabric and a cream colored loveseat. A large rug under a distressed cream coffee table in a swirling pattern of blues and golds and greens ties it all together. It's a far cry from the hand me down-albeit comfortable-sectional that takes up most of his living area and the hardwood floors he hadn't bothered to cover when he realized that any decent rug cost his grocery bill for a couple weeks.

Even more is the fact that it's decorated for Christmas. There's a neat tree in the corner, teeming with shiny ornaments and blue garland and strings of white lights. There's some gold and silver tinsel thrown artfully in a way that Barry would never be able to manage, and even his cold, anti-Christmas heart can admit that with the giant blue, gold, and cream bow at the top, the tree is beautiful. Other knick knacks find their places around the room: two stockings on her mantle, a few blue bows tied on various pieces of furniture, an intricate figurine of a black Santa Claus. He’d thought that he should have figured her for a Christmas person.

When she'd come back, it’d been confirmed. She'd thrown on a pajama short set, the top with buttons and a collar, the bottoms showing the expanse of legs that look too long for her short stature, all of it in candy cane stripes. Barry doesn't always love the symbols of Christmas, especially those that remind him too much of the last one he had with his parents, but nothing in Barry's body objected to seeing her walking out like that, not even the reindeer socks covering her feet and ankles. He's glad that he'd showered and thrown on clean clothes after his Netflix binge.

Now, he stands beside her as she whisks cocoa powder into a large saucepan full of milk and sugar. Her kitchen is neat and clean, with bright yellow accessories and framed quotes that claim her love of coffee.

“Did you ever make cocoa with your parents?”

He glances down at his socked feet, and then over at her. She's still whisking, her small hands and nude nails gently gripping the base of the whisk. His heart clenches at the question, but when she starts speaking without his answer, he thinks maybe it expands, just a little bit.

“My grandma swore by homemade hot chocolate. Homemade everything, really. She'd only ever make it in December and only on Sunday nights. It was a thing to look forward to, I guess, a sort of tradition.”

“Does she still make it every Sunday in December?”

She shakes her head, her answering smile only a touch sad. "No. She died when I was 15."

Barry wonders how she does it, says the words without the pain of death overtaking her, without the memory of drinking hot cocoa with her grandmother sending her running away from milk and chocolate and sugar.

“I,” he says, and decides that this must be the way people feel when he used to tell them about his own parents, full of pity and sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Iris.”

“Thanks. She was ready to go, so I think I made peace with it early on."

Barry stays leaned against the counter as he watches her, the stirring methodical, an easy, constant clockwise motion. “Did your grandmother teach you how to make anything else?”

“She tried,” Iris tells him, laughing up at him. “But it never took. I am woefully inadequate in the kitchen.”

There’s something about a woman like Iris, beautiful and seemingly kind, that intimidates him. She seems so self assured, so well-adjusted, that he seems too good for him, like he’d only manage to bring her down into the depths of his own grief if he wasn’t careful.

“Can you cook?” She wants to know.

He shakes his head. “I literally just bought frozen pizza and eggs.”

“Good.” She gives him a sharp nod. “If you could cook on top of being this cute, I’m not sure I’d let you leave this apartment.”

Barry leans down and catches her eyes. “I could learn, if you wanted me to.”

Iris hums, holding his eyes, and hers flash, white teeth biting into her bottom lip. It feels like heat, swirling around them, taking over, settling in the middle of the kitchen. It feels tight, his entire body, the result of a strange mix of swirling thoughts and deep-rooted emotions. There’s the underlying feel of heartache, a steady companion since his childhood. The loneliness that usually accompanies has taken a backseat to the growing lust flooding his system, the tightening of his chest and the tingling in his hands he gets when he looks at her. He isn’t normally a flirt, is normally a fumbling mess when he gets around beautiful women. But it’s her, this woman, that makes him feel a touch bolder, a touch daring, a bit more like he would be if he didn’t live so much in his head.

“It’s time for chocolate chips,” she announces, and it’s the only warning Barry gets before she’s suddenly pressed against him. In reality, it’s quick, he knows it is. She merely reaches over him to grab a package of chocolate chips from the cupboard above his head. But god, if the world doesn’t stop moving as he feels the full length of her, supple thighs flush against the hardness of his, her flat belly and firm breasts almost molded to him. The smell of her is overpowering, the coconut and shea butter, the cocoa powder she’d stirred into the milk.

Barry swallows as she steps back into her own space. He would think that the moment would be gone, that her dropping those chocolate chips into the pan and stirring them to melt them faster would calm him down. It doesn’t.

It’s there, festering, as she finishes the hot chocolate, pouring the sweet drinks into giant mugs and topping them with a bit of Bailey’s. That earns him a wink, the gesture even more potent than the boozy cream he’s drinking on a mostly empty stomach. He follows her to her living room, where she sits down on the couch and motions for him to do the same. She grabs a blanket from the top of the couch and spreads it out with one hand, placing it over her lap and his, closing the distance between them just a little. He sits with his back fully against the sofa, but she’s cross-legged facing him, her attention on him intense. The room adds to it all, the Christmas tree providing the only light in the room, the small white lights casting shadows across her face. It doesn’t help, or it doesn’t hurt rather, this smooth setting. It brings it all to the forefront, the lust flowing as easily through his veins as the blood tends to do.

The following order of events he’ll give more than half a thought. He’ll question, but certainly not complain about, how they go from talking to falling against her bed, naked and twisted in her sheets.

The questions start innocently enough: how old are you? What’s your career? What are your hobbies? He finds that she’s 28 to his 27, a journalist to his research scientist, loves hiking to his personal science experiments. It’s almost like a date, the way they laugh with each other over their mugs, the spiked chocolate the invitation they need to go deeper than he imagines either of them would on a first date, to bare secrets he’d probably never speak aloud. 

He learns that she’s been watching him, waiting for a chance to speak to him, except the combination of her rushing and his own grumpy morning face kept her from reaching out. He tells her that the feeling was mutual, that he’d had improper thoughts of her after seeing her in those skirts, that he’d figured she’d never go for a guy like him so he’d just kept his distance. This takes them into deeper, dirtier waters. She wants to know his type, and he tells her, between warming sips of chocolate, that “I didn’t know, until recently, my love for women with deep brown skin and wide set eyes, and a mouth I want to sink into.”  It’s the Bailey’s, he knows, but it’s her too, and him when he’s with her, and he likes the way the words tumble from his mouth, the way she pulls the words from him.

If she were lighter, he figures there might be a touch of red at her cheeks, but she only looks down for a brief moment, a long pink tongue swiping over that bottom lip, and he watches as much as hears her say, “I always wonder if those moles are just on your face, at your throat, or if they’re everywhere else,” and Barry swallows at how her eyes drop down, as if she can see beneath his t-shirt where more moles are peppered, as if she can tell that they’re dotted on his thighs too, right around where he’s slowly growing thick and hard.

It’s after this revelation, that the tides turn.

He watches her, for signs that this isn’t just the talking of strangers drunk of chocolate and each other. There is the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips, her eyes that keep caressing the length of him. There is her leaning towards him, her body titled enough that he can look down the front of her top, where the mounds of her breasts are free, calling for his teeth and tongue. He swallows the rest of his drink and sits the mug down on her coffee table. Iris’s moves are similar, yet more deliberate. Barry finds himself enamored by the column of her throat as she drinks, by her nude brown nails as she wipes the excess from her mouth. She stands, her shorts riding high up on her hips, and time slows again as she plops her mug down and then comes to stand in front of him. He sits back, so that he can see all of her, until she’s sliding into his lap, and then he can really see all of her, just in the curve of her smile. And then she kisses him.

The taste of her is unbelievable, like the cream she’s been drinking and like something else warmer, something else sweeter. It’s been months since he’s kissed anyone, and the times had been few and far between before, but Barry knows that nothing has ever, could ever, compare to the feeling of kissing Iris West. She’s so soft on top of him, so much warmer than he would have thought, and he’s so overwhelmed with the feel of her, that he doesn’t know what to do outside of kissing her.

Iris takes the lead. She grips both of his hands in hers, placing one at her waist and the other at her hip, and then she sinks her fingers into his hair. The kiss turns deeper, the slide of her mouth against his, the slip of her tongue between his lips, the soft clash of teeth as they figure each other out. He tries to learn her, to adjust. She likes when he nips at her bottom lip, when he brings into his mouth to suck, so he takes advantage of that, swallowing the sounds of her moans. He likes the way her fingers tip down his throat, her nails lightly digging into his skin. 

It is the sort of kiss that is written about, odes to the shape of her lips, sonnets that praise the taste of her tongue. There are songs, made for nights like this, for faint lights. and warm hands and hearts pounding.  If he had the ability, he would pen poems about her, about her thick thighs spread over his lap and the heat  of her body he swears he can feel through the fabric of their clothes.

She pulls back, her lids lowered, those chocolate eyes more black than brown now. She licks her lips again, as she watches him, as if chasing the taste of him, and Barry groans low in his throat. Her response is to smile at him, easy and seductive.

“Want to go into my bedroom?”

Barry’s hands tighten on her hips. “I want to go anywhere with you.”

It becomes, Barry decides, the best night of his life. She climbs off of him, and takes his hand, pulling him down the hall. He only takes enough of a glance around to know that the blues and the yellows and golds extend to this room too, accents to the soft white comforter over her queen sized bed. He sees the matching dresser and bookshelf, and it’s all pieces of her that Barry hopes he gets to explore.

She instructs him to take his clothes off, and he does, peeling off his shirt, his sweatpants, his boxers and socks too. Her clothes come off in quick and elegant movements, and Barry laments not being able to stare at her for longer, at the even, deep brown skin and the full breasts hanging heavy, her nipples like the perfect pieces of chocolate chips she’d melted earlier. Her belly is flat, hips round, calves shapely, and the look of her warms him from the inside.

He has very little control, and he happily gives it up, falling onto his back when she pushes him down and crawls atop him again. She uses the sharp tips of her nails and the wide flat of her tongue to trace constellations into his skin, to connect the dots across his chest, the dots at the slight v of his hips; to stamp her name on the imperfections marring the skin of his thighs. It’s a heady feeling, only multiplied when Iris takes the length of him into her hand and then into her mouth. His head drops back onto the pillow, her mouth warm and wet. She takes as much of him as she can and then she pulls back to the tip. She gathers the spit in her mouth, letting it drip down his dick, and then she’s sucking him with purpose, her hands sliding up and down where her mouth can’t reach, the suction of her lips glorious. She swallows him down, the slight gag when he hits the back of her throat releasing something primal in him.

“Fuck, Iris,” he says and it’s something more like a growl, the feel of her indescribable. She hums around him, and then pulls away with a pop, giving her attention to his swollen, aching testicles. He lets her suck him until his breathing grows labored, and then he’s pulling gently at her curly hair, stuttering, “want, want to come in you.”

She stays on her knees in front of him, for moments longer, and then she smiles, the sultry one she’d thrown at him in the grocery store, the one she’d thrown him in the kitchen, the smile that’s got him in her bedroom.

“It’s insane how beautiful you are,” he tells her, and he likes the way it makes her body flush, a red tinge to her skin. He motions for her now, and she crawls back up, settling her crotch over him. He notes the warmth of her pussy on his belly, and it makes his own grin a touch sordid.

“Is this because of me?” He finds himself asking. “Did sucking me off get you wet?”

Her eyes flutter closed briefly. 

“I like it,” she says, “when you say these dirty things I’m not expecting.”

“It’s only because of you,” he says, and then he curls his finger around her neck and brings her down to kiss him.

This kiss is wet, open-mouthed, filthy. Barry wonders how he got here, how a short walk in the snow led to this gorgeous person writhing atop him, mumbling increasingly coarse things in his ear. He touches her where he can: fingers tipping down her spine and over her hips; hands kneading her breasts, pinching gently at the hardened peaks of her nipples; thumbing her swollen clit until the wet of her is dripping down her thighs.

Then Barry flips her over, under the insatiable need to have her spread out beneath him, and he watches her tiny hands cover the length of him with a condom. 

When he’s finally inside of her, Barry swears that, when she kicks him out of her bed, he’ll do everything in his power to be worthy of her. As her thighs clamp at his hips and he swivels them until he’s buried all the way inside her, he vows to work to be enough for her, and for him too.

She’s so wet, as he rocks into her, and he tells her so, murmuring into her ear, “god, you’re so wet, baby; you feel so good around me.” She talks back, as she digs her nails into his skin enough to leave scars. “I, I never,” she whispers, her voice is soft like white falling snow and sweet like warm, melting chocolate. “I never guessed you’d feel like this.”

She milks him, gripping him in her heat, clenching around him as pulls out, letting her wetness flood him when he pushes back in. Their rhythm is steady, rocking and sliding, rocking and sliding. He holds onto her thigh, hiking it over his hip, and he tangles his hands in her hair enough to hold her steady, enough to take her mouth again. His mouth is gentler on her, mimicking the slide of his body. This feels deeper somehow, their bodies so close he’s touching every single part of her. She pulls away only enough to gasp against his mouth, “damn, Barry Allen,” falling off against his lips, followed by a laugh that turns into a low, slow “ffffuuuucccckkkk.”

When he comes, it’s at the same time that she’s clenching around his dick, their bodies slick with sweat. He falls on top of her, and their breathing mellows out. Eventually, he tries to move away from her, but she holds him there, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his neck.

“You okay?” he whispers.

He feels her nod against him. “Perfect.”

************

She doesn’t kick him out after.

Instead, they clean up and then she asks Alexa to play a song, I want a snowfall kind of love, the kind that keeps you in bed all day; oh I want to walk through with you, and watch it all melt away, and she curls into him, her naked breasts pressing against his side, her leg thrown over his thigh. He’s in the space between exhaustion and awareness, his eyes heavy lidded as he comes back down from the high that was being inside Iris West.

There’s a sort of ambiance to the room now, one that makes this all seem more romantic and intimate than he knows what to do with. The blinds are open to the wall length windows that make these apartments worth it, and the night is dark, any stars in the navy blue blanket overshadowed by the softly falling snow. The flakes are thicker now, sticking to where they drop. It has the makings of a storm, especially in how much faster it’s coming down than when he’d been walking in it.

He can imagine them, in only a few hours, when the sun has barely crested the horizon and the cold is settling into the room, being wrapped up in Iris again. He can imagine even more, when the snow melts and the sun is on its way back down again, holding Iris’s hand in his as she walks beside him, in red high heels that match his shirt, in an easy smile that looks like his own, as they head to where they’ll talk and laugh and flirt over red wine and candlelight.

And because he can imagine it, because he wants to imagine it, to make it a reality, he finds himself telling her all of it: about The West Wing marathon he’d been watching since the start of the month because he remembers it had been his parents’ favorite show and he’d seen that it was on Netflix; about his attempts to befriend one of his colleagues, Cisco, because he’s never really had a friend and he thinks that he can be one, if he tries hard enough; about the crashed car that changed his life and the pain of Christmas lights and shiny tinsel that he’s begun talking to someone to alleviate.

For a moment, he thinks he’s said too much. Sure, she’s pretty and she’s sweet and she makes him feel like no one ever has before. But he’s only met her hours ago and it’s this, this kind of baggage, that’s kept him from reaching out, from trying to get close to anyone.

She still doesn’t kick him out. Instead, she tells him about her own childhood, about how distant parents had turned into divorced ones and how the strained tension hadn’t left just because they were no longer in the house yelling at one another. She tells him the struggles she’s had at work, at having to write whatever the paper deems as “black issues,” and the double edged sword that comes with wanting to write universal stories, and also wanting to take those black stories for fear no one else will write them with as much care and nuance. She explains how unlucky in love she’s been, how her thoughts are dismissed because men think she’s too pretty or how her well-earned independence is far too independent for them to see her seriously. It makes her more real to him, and Barry ponders how quickly one could fall in love.

They talk, until the sun does rise over Iris's window sill. And Barry rolls onto his back to pull her atop him, fingering into her until she’s dripping down his wrist. He sheathes himself and pushes himself into her, wet hands holding onto her hips as she takes over, grinding down onto him until they’re both a simpering, moaning mess, soaked and sated. After, Iris cuddles on top of him again, her mouth against his throat as she tells him, “of course, we’ll go out later,” when he whispers the question into hair.

They fall asleep to the still quietly falling snow.

Won't you bury me in your quiet love, oh bury me in your quiet love, bury me in your quiet love, and we will blow away.

[my-darling-boy]

Heyo! So I am thinking about starting to bind, and was wondering if you had heard of the brand Flavent? If so what do you think of their binders? And are there any tips about binding that would be helpful? I don’t really know how to go about any of it. Also I wanted to say that I really love your blog’s aesthetic!!

Oh I have! Flavnt is a great brand actually, I’ve ordered from them before and follow them on ig. Their binders are so good in fact every time they get them in stock, they go out of stock just as quick!

And if you’re a first time binder, I’ve actually got helpful info for you!

Firstly:

NEVER wear the binder while sleeping. Do not go for a full night’s sleep with the binder on. You should always be conscious and aware of how your body is responding to the binder AT ALL TIMES.

NEVER use first aid bandages, muscle tape, or ACE Bandage if you lack a proper binder. Bandages like those are meant to be wrapped around things you do not want to move, and your ribcage needs to expand for you to breathe!! Wrapping your chest with these tight, constricting products not only heavily restricts breathing but you also run the risk of cutting off blood circulation to the rest of your body, rapidly damaging nerves in your breasts, back, and torso, increased chance of tearing your lungs from the lungs inflating with no space for expansion, bruising your back and ribcage, ruining skin elasticity quicker in your breasts which will limit top surgery incision types, and PASSING OUT due to prolonged lack of oxygen and/or blood flow to your brain. I know you see stereotypical drawings or stories of trans people binding with ACE but DO NOT DO IT. I speak from experience as I still have nerve damage in my back and damage to my breast tissue from doing it when I first started binding at 14. (Same risks apply for wearing a binder that is way too tight!)

NEVER use a binder from a non-reputable seller. If the product is simply this strange looking cheaply priced band which goes across the chest or tries to market itself as a “lesbian, tomboy, woman binder” IT IS NOT SAFE. These “binders” can have the same consequences as listed above. If you’re unsure if a site is safe, a simple web search will usually provide some insight in a few short minutes.

With this in mind, here is some info on reputed sellers:

FLAVNT, with their famous Bareskin Binder in a variety of skin tones and sizes, is starting to be a go-to for binders. The company is run by a trans guy and a lesbian if I remember right, and usually proceeds from their products will go directly towards funding select people’s top surgeries. They also have awesome trans/gender non-conforming themed merch to buy too!

Underworks is the brand I have always used. Originally started for men with gynecomastia, they have expanded their products to trans/gender non-conforming people. Unlike the other companies in this list, they use a medical grade mesh layered material for their binders which some find to be more durable/better binding but others find to be uncomfortable/not suited for their body type. It all depends!

Gc2b has been the go-to for binders for a long time and people are usually really happy with their order! I can’t say too much about them cos I have admittedly never ordered from because cloth binders never seem to fit me correctly? But the reviews are great!

Shapeshifters is one I have encountered recently from this article from a plus-sized trans person about binding as a plus-sized trans person! They offer custom sized binders with a variety of designs and sites like these are often the best option for people who have trouble with finding the right fit among the limited industry sizes!

On sizing/fit:

-BINDERS FROM EACH COMPANY HAVE DIFFERENT SIZE CHARTS. Things like the brand’s fit, material used, and your body shape can all affect how a binder fits. A small from one company will not always be a small from another one. A lot of the time, only chest measurements are used to determine your binder size and some find that alone not to be enough to find the right fit. Thence, some people opt for custom sized binders like Shapeshifters as mentioned above.

-The most important thing is that you are able to breathe in it! If you have any numbness or tingling in your limbs or under the binder, or feel light headed/short of breath (that is not caused by anxiety) TAKE OFF THE BINDER. You may need to order the next size up and continuing to wear a too-tight binder is dangerous.

-During your first times wearing a binder, you may feel it to be almost too snug, and this is because you need to break it in, so some pinching, discomfort, tightness is to be expected at first. However, if it persists beyond your first few wears, your binder may be too small. But do know there are some people who end up always having a bit of pinching/cutting due to their body shape/weight, even if their binder is compressing nicely. If you’ve never used a binder before: take it in small time frames. Wear it for an hour or two at first, remove it, then up the time from there to see how your body fairs with each time you wear it. Don’t start out wearing it the full eight hours.

-If you are in between sizes, DO NOT ORDER A SIZE DOWN. Often, the size is not going to be a little smaller but dramatically smaller.

-Binders come in two lengths: cropped and full torso. It doesn’t always matter which one you buy, but some people find if they have a larger waist, they like the full torso binders whereas I can’t wear them because my waist is way too small and my chest slips down, so I only order cropped binders to focus the compression on just my chest

-If you have a problem with your chest slipping down in the binder, some people like to wear sleeveless undershirts beneath the binder itself to prevent this

-You’ll generally know the binder is too tight. But if you’re still on the fence: if you cannot fully take a deep breath in, the binder is too small!

On safety concerns, effects from binding, and other little tips:

-Avoid wearing it for longer than 8 hours. Some people are able to wear it a little longer than this time due to much less compression from their binder. Regardless, DO NOT bind for more than 8+ hours ON A FREQUENT BASIS even if the binder still feels comfortable. We all get stuck in situations or unexpectedly long work days in our binders sometimes but PLEASE try to avoid wearing the binder for any longer than you need to. Take it off when there’s no need for it. Take entire rest days from the binder if you find yourself in it for long periods of time. YOUR BODY NEEDS REST FROM YOUR BINDER NO MATTER YOUR CHEST SIZE. Trust me.

-Avoid doing any prolonged, strenuous activity such as intense exercise. While I have worn it to the gym for basic workouts and barre classes plenty of times with zero chest/back soreness or issues, I obviously didn’t do this every day and I wasn’t doing this for collectively more than 40 minutes and didn’t wear the binder for the rest of the day because I was home. But again, it is SAFER if you DO NOT wear it during gym time. Opt instead for sports compression bras and shirts that make the chest area ambiguous when you exercise.

-Avoid wearing it on airplanes. This one is often disputed, but it is generally believed that wearing a binder on an airplane will cause restricted breathing due to high altitude even in a pressurised cabin. Yet, I have worn my binder on four 11 hour flights (removing halfway through for sleeping) and had ZERO issues with breathing/comfort. It’s possible that people being unable to breathe comes instead from claustrophobia in the cabin, anxiety with flying, sitting position, or preexisting medical conditions and they attribute it to the binder. Personally, I think it’s safe to wear binders on airplanes because every time I’ve flown, I’ve had no issues, and trans guys I know personally have also had no issues, but this doesn’t mean it’s right for EVERYone. Wear it at your own risk.

-Additionally, avoid wearing it on turbulent/fast rides as the high velocity can increase compression on your chest. Again, I’m a Bad Boyᵀᴹ and I’ve worn it on plenty of upside down rides, including wearing it on that fair ride that spins you around so fast, gravity pins you to the wall. In all these situations, I again felt nothing and even forgot I had the binder on.

-I mention the “less safe” ways I have bound before for a reason. Please don’t think Binder Horror Stories happen to everyone. I used to spend so much time worrying about how Dangerous my binder could be, afraid to wear it even, but guess what? When I felt the binder needed to come off? I took it off. When I thought it might be actually unsafe to do something in my binder? I didn’t do it. I LISTENED to myself and my body, and that is overall the SAFEST thing you can do. This is how I’ve avoided binder complications for 7 YEARS. Even the general rules have a bit of relativity to them. I’ve met people who think they can bind for 8 hours safely when they were in horrible pain at just 4 hours, but continued to wear it because “It’s safe to wear for 8 hours because a trans guy told me so!” ONLY YOUR BODY sets how long and in what situations you can bind in. Bind in a way that is safe and comfortable for YOUR BODY. Additionally, most negative affects from a binder happen over prolonged periods of time after CONSTANT situational misuse, so if you wear it on the rare occasion when you think you shouldn’t have, it’s not the end of the world. Check back with your doctor if you are concerned with how your binder may be affecting you. Even binding using—or not using—the general accepted avoidance rules can prove risky if you do not listen to your body first and foremost. Everyone’s experience and limits vary considerably!

-Binding for roughly over 3-4 years, your chest may begin to droop because of the constant compression slowly wearing down the skin elasticity of the breasts. This could potentially negatively affect chances of minimal incision top surgery. For example, I have been binding for 7 years and now have a tiny chest from T which would’ve made me perfect for keyhole, but alas, binding for 7 years gets me double incision

-Keeping your binder clean is important, as you can get very hot in it regardless of the weather. Be sure to keep it washed in cold water and hang dry to keep its form or use low dryer heat to restore some of the “stiffness” if you find it getting a little loose fitting. A dirty binder will cause body acne as well

-In hot weather, avoid wearing it as much as you can to avoid overheating, or wear light and airy fabrics to reduce the chances of profusely sweating in the sun with it on

-Preexisting medical conditions that affect the lungs, nervous system, or muscles/bones in your arms, chest, neck, or back may cause you a series of unique difficulties other binding people do not have so please be aware of this

-Sometimes panic attack + binder = increased panic attack because you think you can’t breathe. If the space permits it, pull the binder down from your chest area to allow you the fullest breaths possible

Lastly, getting the binder on:

Everyone has different ways to get it on, but the most widely used is this method. Start by making it so the binder is wrong-side-out and upside down. Step into the opening (straps towards the ground) and slide it up your body. Once you get to about your waist, you’ll want to get the binder right-side-out by slipping your wrists in through the straps and “flipping” the garment up your torso as the you slide the straps up and onto your shoulders. You also want to make sure your chest is basically shoved Upwards and Outwards under the binder towards your underarms. To do this, I lay flat on the floor/bed and lift the right and left sides of the binder briefly to allow my chest to naturally fall back towards my underarms. DO NOT flatten your chest downwards by smashing all of the tissue and your nipples down towards your sternum for it will cause your chest to droop faster on top of being painful. I made a handy little doodle to show you what I mean!

Anyway, I hope this helps! x

Anyone who has some other tips that may be helpful for binding, feel free to add on!

[howtodisassembleyourdeviant]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request something (your pick with what you want to do) with Connor having a Gamer S/O? Like cuddling while gaming, odd sleep schedules, all that fun stuff. Maybe him even trying to play? (Btw I LOVE your writing!!) please and thank you!

You have been waiting a while, and I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy this, though!

Connor loves you, but he often finds himself questioning your pastime. Usually, after work, you cozy up in front of him on the floor, grabbing a controller and loading up one of your hundreds of video games you've collected over the years. You have several consoles, a couple were older than even the first android, all in working condition.

For hours, you play while he watches. You often ask if he'd like to play, but he politely declines, content holding you. Sometimes, he likes to distract you, kissing your neck while you're in the middle of a battle. You can't even be mad, enjoying the sensation.

Even if he likes watching you do something you love, that doesn't stop him from wondering why you like to play so much.

"Why are you gardening virtually when you could start a garden in the back yard?"

"You're supposed to be collecting relics from the temples, why are you fishing?"

"This game is literally a life simula- did you design a character to look like detective Reed? The kitchen is on fire... Why are you deleting all the doors?" That one was oddly satisfying, even if he no longer harbored any ill thoughts about the hot-headed detective, he was still an asshole.

One time he came home from work to you crying. He rushed over, demanding to know what upset you so much.

"I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!" You sobbed.

"Whatever it is, it's alright, " he tried to console.

"No, it's not! I got him killed!" You couldn't possibly have caused someone's demise.

"Who?" He asked and you gestured to the tv, the character on it bloody and very much dead.

"My finger slipped! I hit the wrong button and now he's dead! He was trying so hard to survive!"

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. You were sobbing... over a video game character. You could play from the last save point, but you informed him that was "cheating". He didn't know how to handle this, so he patted your head, saying, 'Sorry for your loss' and left to take a shower. You'll be fine by the time he steps out; and you were, for the most part. Mentioning the character was not a good idea, however.

Now, you were playing a violent, open-world game.

........

"You just killed that woman. Why?" He asked.

"I wanted to test my new gun and she was standing there, " you seen the look of disapproval on Connor's face, "menacingly!" A star appeared on the corner of your screen, indicating that the police were now after you.

"The police are... You're shooting at them. We are officers of the law, and you are shooting at them, " he sighed. Naturally, you went up another star.

"They don't work in my precinct." You laugh, "If you have a problem with it, why don't you grab a controller and stop me?" You paused the game right before you were about to die and he couldn't help but wonder if that was on purpose.

"I've never played before, " he states. Most of the time, he chooses to just watch you. He likes seeing the story unfold, almost like a movie, only you're cursing and yelling most of the time, making him laugh.

"That's okay, we will make you your own character and set you up!" You exclaimed. You were super excited to have Connor join you for once. Going back to the menu, you started a new character and handed the controller to him.

"Alright, so this is how you customize your own character, " you pointed out how to switch skin color, hair, and all the essentials. While it seemed like a simple thing, Connor looked confused.

"How should my character look?"

"Any way you want! You can make them look like yourself, or how you want to be, or just run around looking like a complete jackass. There are no rules."

He thought about it, and after an hour, he had his character. It wasn't very original, he just designed it after himself, but you still seemed pleased.

"Alrighty, now for the fun part!" You picked back up your controller and signed in, appearing next to him, "here, " you held up your controller, "this pulls up your weapons, this fires, this fights and this jumps. If you want to interact, hit this..." You gave him the run down, which he listened to, despite knowing all this from watching you so much. You seemed so excited to show him something you love.

"Okay, no.... We fight to the death!" You shout, turning to his character and punching him.

"You sucker-punching vixen!" He yelled, aghast. He pulled out a knife, slashing at you. One drive to your stomach and you were down. That was almost too easy.

"Shit! You killed me! With a knife! How could you do that!"

"You kept punching me! It was self-defense!" He could see your character coming up, getting back into a stance.

"Self-defense this!" You pulled out a gun and started shooting at him, and in six shots he was out for the count.

"That wasn't fair! I don't have a gun yet!"

You thought for a moment, "You're right, let's get you some money," the tone in your voice held a touch of mischief, and in a moment, he found out why. After finding a populated beach, You took out a heavy machine gun and started firing into the crowd.

"What are you doing?" he ran up to you and knocked you off the gun, "this is between you and me!" No need to bring innocent bystanders- did that guy just call him a jerk? Maybe they aren't so innocent.

"Get off! You need money and a heist would take too long. Go collect the money they drop." He jumped on the gun and aimed it at you.

"Don't make me take you down, " he spoke far too seriously. Before you could even move, Connor fell over, dead. Looking around, he spotted the police officer that had shot him in the head. "I didn't even do anything!"

"Guilty by association!" You laugh, until you, too, were shot, "aww."

You both looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

"Alright, hotshot, I ain't done with you, " you announced.

"I'll take you on all night if need be, " He bantered back, "I'm not going to lose to someone who wears a paper bag on their head."

"You're just jealous! Don't worry, by the end of the day, I'll have your head in a paper bag."

......

In the end, you both played late into the night, causing chaos. Neither thought about work or daily life stresses. Just the two of you, screwing around in the virtual world. Connor didn't even realize how much time has passed, finally checking it at 2:13 am.

"You need to get some sleep, eventually, " he cooed. You were in a stand-off, both having strapped C-4 on each other.

"You underestimate me, " you yawned back, "dammit."

"We could always come back to it tomorrow, " he suggested. You thought for a moment, went to your menu and chose the 'easy way out', then tossed the controller onto the coffee table.

"Okay, " you kissed his cheek, then headed to the bedroom. He stared at the screen.

"You just can't let me win, can you?" He shouts, chuckling to himself, turning off the console and the tv before following after you.

"Nope! You have the advantage in damn near everything. I gotta take what I can get, " you smile, throwing on an oversized shirt and crawling into bed. Connor switched to jogging pants and joined you.

"Well, do know that I intend to take you down tomorrow, " he whispered against you.

"Path to hell is paved with good intentions, " you murmured, "I'll have to show you my other games. Kick your ass in different formats."

"You're on."

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. You couldn't wait to show him all the video game world had to offer.

[buirbaby]

The Wardens: Death Is A Cruel Mistress

Summary:  Tabitha's time had run out on Earth, consumed by flames. When she wakes up in her new hell, she discovers that not only is it cold, but it's a hell of an entirely different meaning. She is in Westeros, with the knowledge to change the tides of future, but without the ability to speak it aloud. Tabitha must carve her path without fame, fortune, or noble titles in order to save characters from their deaths. All she has is a sword in her hand and the ability to warg.

Rating: M+ Mature themes, language, and violence

Masterlist | Next

The end of the work day was like any other. Tabitha was misting a few plants in the lowlight of the fading afternoon as evening encroached on her small storefront. Jingling jovially, the door tinkled open with just five minutes to spare on the clock before she'd lock it. Lifting her head, her fingers listed up toward her glasses to see who had entered. Originally, she had believed it to be a customer in search of a last minute plant or clippings she sometimes arranged into floral bouquets. However, rather than a customer, her stomach dropped to the floor at the cursed visage of a man in a finely pressed suit.

He wasn't there for a plant, she knew this. Just as she knew many others that had been harassing her and a few other remaining shops on Main Street. A new development wanted to take control of this block and turn it into an impressive condo complex on the rustic street that garnered attention from tourists and locals alike. Wiping her hands off on her apron, which was dusted with dirt and pearlite, Tabitha cleared her throat and approached. If he thought there'd be a mousy garden shop owner, he was sorely mistaken. Tabitha's family had own this storefront for generations and she wasn't about to hand it over, not when she'd fixed it up with her own blood, sweat, and tears. She was a successful business woman, the shop was in stellar condition and thriving despite the pause in society due to COVID.

"Can I help you?" she asked sharply, coming around the polished wooden counter to assert her place.

"Yes, is the owner or manager in?"

The fated question, one that made her blood boil each time the casual, yet scathing glance was set over her, as if a woman in her late twenties couldn't be said person. It happened yet again and Tabitha forced herself not to snort in indignation. "I am her," she replied evenly.

"Wonderful," the man drawled, withdrawing a manila folder from underneath his arm. "As you're likely aware, my company is purchasing property in the vicinity. There are a few stores, this one included, that are refusing to sell. I've come with an offer-" he opened the folder, images of the supposed development and work ushered beneath a contract and a hefty sum with quite a few zeroes.

"Then you would be aware that I, like the other few businesses, are still refusing to sell. Listen, this street prides itself on historical shops and architecture. I know that we're prime water view property, but I'm not selling, and I know for certain that my fellow business owners are just as adamant in our position. I don't need the money," Tabitha didn't touch the paper. He could have added more zeroes and she wouldn't have cared. This was principle, her family's lineage, and she wouldn't be a sell out.

"Please, these prices are negotiable. My company is really eager to develop here and keep to the charming architecture on the street. Won't you consider it? You could always reopen in a much larger shop down the road," the man suggested.

"It wouldn't be on Main Street," Tabitha pointed out. "Look, sir, I've got nothing against you, but I don't appreciate being badgered to sell. I will never sell. Your company should either take what they've got or look elsewhere. Now please, I'm just about to close."

"Nothing is going to change your mind, miss?"

"Nothing," Tabitha assured him, closing the folder and sliding it back over toward him.

Escorting the man to the door, he paused to glance at the fire alarm posted near the entrance. It was a bit old, but the pipes had been updated within the last decade. "Old system here," he commented.

"The shop is as humid as a rainforest, I'm not too worried," Tabitha shrugged, opening the door. Perhaps she should have thought about the oddness of the comment more, but she didn't. A lot of things in the shop were old, considering how long the building had been standing. She had put a lot of money into reinforcing the structure and replacing the old with new so that the beautiful piece of history could be continuously preserved. Shutting the door behind him, she locked the glass door and flipped the sign over to ‘closed’.

There were a few chores to finish up around the shop, to include changing out bug sticky tape and sweeping up dirt. After balancing the register, she locked up the cash, and shut the lights off. Through the back of the store, there was a locked door that led to a staircase, revealing a set of stairs that ascended into her apartment that was situated above the shop.

Her head ached, them pestering at least twice a week to sell her home and livelihood just to relocate. That wasn't it. Aside from the principle of it all, she would also have to find a house and a new store. Who knew if she'd be able to buy it outright or what she'd be getting. Then the stress of moving alongside of wondering if her typical clients would follow her elsewhere. No, it was too much and she wouldn't do it, even if she was the last one on the frontier against this condo company. Maybe if she had some family to help her she would've grudgingly considered it, but already she was spread thin between all her work.

A loud meow greeted her as she pushed open the door to her flat and she smiled, the tension of the day slipping away as a fluffy black cat stood on the arm of her couch and beckoned with his tail to be given attention. Letting out another shouting protest, Tabitha chuckled and brushed her palm over the feline's head, the long hair cat pressing into her hand as she raked down his spine. "I know, I know, I kept you up here all day. I'm sorry Balerion. Bad cat mommy," she hung her smock up and bent down to pick the fluffy monster up, the baby curling into her arms like a babe as he mewed in content. "But you know I'm going to make it up to you. Tomorrow we're going on another trip, aren't we? Hollis is gonna take care of the shop while we're gone."

The plan was to head up to Iceland for the hike and climbing trip that Tabitha had been saving for for years. Balerion was her partner on all escapades, a willing participant in hikes and her little buddy even in rockclimbing as he'd be situated in a special backpack where he'd be fully strapped in. Already the feline had been with her to the Amazon, Alaska and Denali, Scotland, the Azores, and Hawaii. He seemed to love the adventure, which was uncommon for cats, especially given the strenuous conditions they were sometimes subjected to. However, even if Tabitha was miserable, Balerion was always kept warm, dry, and safe. She had friends, but Balerion was her soul mate.

"Let's go through our packing list one more time, we don't want to forget anything," she said, reminding herself more than him as she brought him into the bedroom and plopped him down onto the bed. Balerion flopped down, hanging his meaty paws over the edge as she opened her suitcase and hiking pack to double check the supplies. "Now it'll be summer there, so lots of hours of sunlight, but still quite mild. Want to make certain we're warm enough at night. Shouldn't be as bad as Denali though."

After checking the list thrice more and comparing it to what she had laid out, Tabitha decided that the two of them were ready for the journey tomorrow. Dinner was simple to prevent much to clean before the two of them settled in for the evening, a book on her lap as she re-read through one of her favorite series: A Song of Ice and Fire . The place where she'd gotten Balerion's name from. She barely managed more than a chapter, too excited to board the plane at the crack of dawn to Iceland with her furry companion.

Tugging the blanket up, Balerion curled up by her side, Tabitha set her alarm on her phone and tried to get some shut eye. It was difficult at first, the anticipation clawing at her, but eventually she slipped away from reality. Cascading into a dreamless sleep, she was awoken by the worried yowl of her cat, which roused her. Eyes burning, Tabitha turned over in an attempt to grab her phone to check the time. It wasn't often that Balerion made such an awful noise. Usually when he wasn't feeling well and was going to vomit. However, as she turned on the night lamp, she noticed a thick haze permeating the room. Balerion was no longer beside her, but she could hear his crying, loud and insistent.

Smoke. It was smoke.

"Balerion?" The moment she opened her mouth, she drew in a copious amount of smoke and choked on it. Sputtering, she rolled off the bed and crawled, looking for her pet. "Bale, come here baby. Come here!"

She didn't hear the fire alarms going off. If there was any sort of fire, the alarms should have been ringing. Ducking underneath the bed, she found him cowering in the corner, reaching beneath to drag him out toward her. Fire escape. There wasn't time to think about what had caused the fire, nor where it had originated. Her mind was fully in survival mode. This was the second floor and the ceilings were quite high, her best hope would be utilizing the escape to get as close to the ground as she could before dropping down.

Tabitha made it to the window where the escape was, standing up enough to try and glimpse outside, but was horrified by what she found. There was a glass pane to look through, but a curtain of fire as the flames had consumed the exterior of the structure first. She had replaced a good portion of the interior, but the outside was still the same old shingles. Wherever the fire might have started, it had lanced up around the outside, beginning to eat in through the roof before billeting up through the flooring of her apartment. It was possible that the wet atmosphere of her shop cocooned the apartment temporarily, but in the meanwhile the rest of the older parts of the structure went alight.

Panic consumed her as Tabitha dropped back down to the ground and hoped that maybe the nearby fire department would get inside before either of them perished. Keep low to the ground, try not to breathe in the smoke.

Crawling away from the window and doorway, Tabitha slid next to her bookcase, glancing over at the picture frames and the years of her early twenties depicted in photos of her when she'd left the confines of her small town home to embark on a journey in the military. Those years, while she'd complained a lot about them, had helped put a backbone in her and set up a foundation for schooling and regiment. She still enjoyed rucking-or backpacking as the civilians called it, never quite trading in her boots in.

Her eyes fluttered, a soft hoarse cough parting her lips again as Balerion's yowling quieted and she felt exhausted. Perhaps she could hear the fire trucks in the distance, perhaps she couldn't. Tabitha's eyes shut to the sound of a formation marching and a cadence being called.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #299

“you look so beautiful tonight  /  reminds me how you laid us down and gently smiled before you destroyed my life.”

Ever done any drugs? Besides alcohol, no. How many people have you kissed? Three or four. What’s your favorite show to binge? I could only ever willingly *binge* Meerkat Manor and not get bored after like, two episodes. Do you watch porn? No, it's never appealed to me. What’s one of your fantasies? Being financially stable. :^) Do you have/would you get your nipples pierced? I've lightly considered getting one, but I really doubt I ever will. What’s the most overrated movie? /shrug. Let people like what they like. Tag someone you want to talk to but have been too shy to message. I'd love to get to know my Facebook acquaintance Courtlynn better; I've wanted to for a long time. I think we could be fantastic friends. We'll like each other's stuff regularly and occasionally leave comments, but we don't really talk. Do you like paper books or ebooks better? Paper ones, by a long shot. I just really like the feeling of a book and being able to clearly see how far in you are. I enjoy the smell and sound of turning pages. If you could live in a fictional world, what world would you pick? Probably Wonderland, realistically. I would say Azeroth, but too much world-threatening shit goes on every day lol. If money was no object, what would your wardrobe be like? G O T H Do you still have feelings for any of your exes? Yep. Do you drink? Very, very rarely. Almost exclusively during celebrations or on the once in a blue moon occasion we go to a sit-down restaurant. Do you read erotica? No. It would make me super uncomfortable. What color was the last candle you lit? I don't remember at all. Do you own a treadmill? No, but I want one. Have you ever signed up for a gym membership? Well, not exactly me. Mom and Nicole both had memberships to Planet Fitness, and I was able to come as a guest. It was just cheaper that way. What color was the last fish you had? That I owned or ate? Either way, idr. Is there a garbage can in your room? What color is it? No. If you play The Sims, do you download custom clothes, hair, etc? I don't play it. Does your animal sleep with you? Roman does, yes. He legitimately spoons with me lmao. Sometimes he'll move to the bottom of the bed, other times he'll sleep through most of the night there. Have you ever had to wear a hairnet? Yes. What is your favorite song to play on Guitar Hero or Rock Band? "Hotel California" by The Eagles on expert is so much fun and just feels good. The ending solo is just great. When you drink chocolate milk do you just buy the jug of it or the syrup that you can put into the milk? Almost always just the chocolate syrup. Do you own a robe? What color is it? No. What’s the worst abuse you have done to your phone? I know I've thrown it across the room once. Well, not my current phone, but a really old one. How did you meet your first love? High school. Well, you could maybe say Facebook. He sent me a friend request and I literally only accepted it because I thought it was another Jason. We talked via messenger some and then we ran into each other at school, and tbh I kinda knew I was fucked from there lmao. Have you ever worn the opposite sex’s underwear? I don't believe so, no. Have you ever kissed in a pool? Yeah. Are there any hobbies you have that you don’t perform in front of others? I absolutely cannot write in front of others, and I HATE drawing when people are watching. What do you do when you simply don’t know what to do? Odds are I'll probably be scraping the bottom of the barrel to find something in WoW that sounds even remotely fun, or I'll browse Facebook. How did you find out about your current favorite band? He's one of my mom's favorite singers/bands, so I grew up with some of his music, and when I was getting into rock and metal, I decided to go through her music case and listen to some of it. Ozzy's Black Rain album set the adoration into motion. Where are you most likely to go when you need clothing? The Internet or Wal-Mart, depending on what kind of clothes I need. When was the last time you tried to do something yet failed? I should have an answer for this very quickly... yet I'm unsure. I don't think anything *major* has happened in a while. Oh, this is a tiny thing, but I did look really hard for the pencil sharpener so my niece could finish coloring her drawing, but I couldn't find the damn thing for anything. Do you think your life is comprised more of success or failure? Lots and lots of failure. What’s one personality trait that’s not strong in you? Uhhh outgoing, ig. Are you a difficult individual to get to know? Considering I hide a lot about myself to try and be accepted, yes. When was the last time you opened up to someone and about what? Literally yesterday to my mom about this unreasonably massive fear I've had lately that she doesn't have much longer in her. I'm terrified she's going to get COVID or her cancer just comes back faster than we hope. To whom do you feel the most important? My mom. Is there something you want but might not ever have? Many things. What’s something you’re working to obtain? Mental stability. Do you tend to enjoy your dreams? No, considering they're usually violent and rarely just psychotic nightmares. Are there any projects or goals you’ve recently abandoned? Hm. What in life serves to keep you going? The hope it'll get better, and I'll reach a point of actually being happy and content with my life. What was the last good news you received? Nicole's trip to Maryland to bring back a baby was successful (if that sounds weird, she's a child social worker). He has a heart condition where if his heartbeat or something like that was irregular, she'd have driven all the way up there for nothing; the baby wouldn't have been able to take the ride. Are you more inclined to appreciate sweet or savory foods? Sweet. Are romantic relationships important to you at this point in your life? I mean I'd like to be in one, but I highly doubt it'd be successful, just given where I am in life. I'd be signing up for heartbreak. Who was the last person to apologize to you for something they did? I don't know. Probably Mom for something minor, like just bumping into me or something. Are you wearing a necklace, and if so, who got it for you? No. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done lately? Lately? Uh. I don't know, but I can guarantee to you it wasn't long ago at all, considering breathing embarrasses me, pretty much. Do you ‘think out loud’? Sometimes. Do you take gummy vitamins? No. How do you know the majority of the people you know? Former schools. Hell, or maybe various online locations. I just might have more online friends and acquaintances than in-person. Is there a random object you own that has a huge personal significance? I've talked about my pebble from my partial hospitalization program enough. Can you play electric guitar? I used to be able to play a little bit; I took guitar lessons for a short while in high school. Best I could do was the intro to "Crazy Train," but I'd still occasionally mess up. Are you one of those people who chew two pieces of gum, not one? Usually. Do you believe in ghosts/supernatural occurrences? Yes. Without the aid of mascara, do you have long eyelashes? Yeah. Is there a kind of music you listen to that helps you release your anger? Yes, usually songs that are also angry. How does it make you feel looking at pics with your ex and someone else? The only case this has ever happened was with Jason and his gf after me. There are no words to describe the fucking hatred I felt. I haven't seen pictures of him with an s/o in a long time, and I absolutely never plan on seeking them out ever again. What song are you listening to right now? "Rest In Pieces" by Saliva. If you’re not in college, why? I couldn't handle the stress anymore. Just couldn't. Do you own a studded belt from Hot Topic? I have a good number of old ones from high school, actually. I wore them all the time. I could never fit into them now. Favorite fictional character? Um, Darkiplier, duh. Most recent thing you are looking forward to? I think it's finally set in stone that I'm getting my tattoo redone soon. Thanks to my laptop saying "ha fuck you," it's not as soon as I originally planned since I had to pay to fix it, but Mom seems fine with helping me pay for my birthday. Not a guarantee that it'll happen on that date of course, given scheduling, but yeah. It should fucking finally be happening. How many stairs can you climb before you wanna pass out? This is too embarrassing to even answer lmao. Have you ever kissed someone with braces? No. Would you ever consider adoption? I don't want kids, and even if I did, I probably wouldn't. I feel like I'd personally need the "wow this is a part of me (and/or my s/o)" connection. Do you ever go hunting/fishing? I would never go hunting, and the only occasion in which I'd fish again is if Dad asked me. I don't like the idea of fishing for fun anymore, but that's like... always been our bonding experience, and I wouldn't tell him no. Do you know anyone who plays guitar? Knew. What are you currently sitting/laying on? My bed. Who are your godparents? I don't think I have any. Do you have any friends who are famous? I have two friends who are parts of bands, but idk how successful they are. I don't think either are like, huge. Nova Mortis if you're into heavy metal and I think Toukan does rap? When was the last time you stayed at a hotel? Hm. I have no idea. What side of a heart do you draw first? Uhhhh I think the left? What is your mom saved as in your phone? "Mama Bear." Do you want your tongue pierced? I had snake eyes for a while, but I took them out because I kept chipping my teeth. I miss that piercing, it was so cute, but it wasn't worth ruining my teeth. Ever made out in a pool? It's possible very briefly, idr. Do you like to have long hair or short hair? SHORT. SHORT. SHORT. Do you change your phone background a lot? Not really. Would you get back with your last ex if you could? Yeah. Have you ever been strip searched? No. Has the person you like ever seen you in your pajamas? Yes. What is your least favorite type of chocolate? White chocolate is way too sweet. Did anyone see your last kiss? It was at an airport, so probably. Do you want a boyfriend or girlfriend? I mean, I do, but I don't really know how smart it would be right now. Is there anyone you wish you could fix things with? A few. Who IMed you on Facebook last? My friend Girt. Were you kinda scared of the goths in high school? Hell naw man, I looked up to them lmao. What size is your mattress? (single,twin,double,queen,king) Queen. Do you like spaghetti? Hell yeah. It was my favorite food as a kid. What about lasagna? No; I don't like the cheese at all. Have you ever been stung by anything? What was it? Mosquitoes of course, as well as a bee once. Maybe other things, idk. Have you ever worn contacts? (even just to try them out) Yes, but I changed to glasses because I had too much trouble putting them in and taking them out. Have you ever had any suspicious moles removed? No. Have you ever been screened for STDs? No. Did you have your tonsils taken out? No. Did you have your appendix taken out? No. Do you have any collector’s glasses or cups or mugs? What is a "collector's" glass or mug? Were you your parents’ first born? No; I'm the middle child. Do you have a child? Is the father still with you? No. Were you born perfectly healthy or with some (or a lot) of health issues? I was born healthy. Good 'ole days. Did you ever catch any bugs or insects with your friends as a kid? Ohhhh yes, my neighbor and I loved doing that. My favorite was catching fireflies with my sisters, though. Would you prefer to travel around the world by yourself or with a friend? With a friend. I'd get lonely. Do you know anybody who has been diagnosed with cancer? A whole lot, sadly... I'm despising that disease more and more every day that goes by. I know far too many people who have it or have died at its hands. Have you ever had to take care of an intoxicated person? No. Do you and your boyfriend/girlfriend fight a lot? N/A. Do not stay in a relationship where fighting is common. Would you ever share a site password with a family member or partner? I mean sure, depending on the site and person, and the reason they (may) need it. Has anyone ever told you they couldn't trust you? Hm... I actually don't think so? Who in your family has the prettiest eyes? Idk, I don't see enough of my extended family to know. What is an odd food item you would like to try, or have tried? I'm sure there's something I'd like to try, but nothing I think about with consistency, really... Most "odd" food I find unappealing anyway. When/if you drive, do you go the speedlimit? When I did, I certainly always tried to, but I was bad at maintaining a stable speed. I went up and down too much. Are you an aggressive driver? Or more passive-aggressive? I was dangerously passive at driving. Describe a hairstyle you had as a little kid? Well, I had long hair with bangs. What routine of yours would you most hate to break? Probably stopping getting a soda first thing in the morning... That is like so deeply ingrained into my day and is a motivator to get up in the first place. I want to change this to where I'm not allowed to grab one until I've had a full cup of water, but yeah, that hasn't happened yet. Has jealousy ever ruined one of your friendships/relationships? Honestly? I think it's possible that Jason totally split on me because of it. We were in this very unstable "friends" position after the breakup and hung out very briefly and awkwardly twice (which I'm pretty sure he didn't want), and I think one of our last attempts at conversation was who a girl he was talking to via Messenger was. No, before any assumptions are made, I didn't snoop. He showed me something on his phone and I just inevitably saw the little Facebook chat icon of a girl I didn't recognize. I don't even remember his answer. I just know it wasn't too long later I was blocked and everything. What is one restaurant you would NOT recommend? I personally am not a Chili's fan. What was your last conversation about? Mom and I were just talking about what a mush the cat is, haha. Who is your favorite person to debate or discuss with? Yo fuck debates, I got mad anxiety over that kind of stuff. Are you more likely to praise or insult yourself? Why? Insult. I don't even believe myself when I try praising, so it's not worth the effort. I have a billion and two reasons. Do you enjoy cloudy days? Why or why not? Honestly, not very much anymore. I've found that it actually does affect my mood. I like some cloud coverage, though. Would it bother you to be forgotten after death? Yes, even though when you think about it, most of us will be. I want to do stomething so badly; not even particularly something major, but just contribute to things and causes that matter and slowly change the world for the better. It's especially likely I will be forgotten though at some point because I don't want kids, so my blood isn't carrying on. Do you tend to prefer healthy or unhealthy snacks? Ugh, unhealthy. Has anyone ever asked you for diet advice? I think so, back when I started recovery and lost like 60 lbs fast as fuck. I wasn't even dieting though, just... came off awful meds. What age is your youngest aunt? Ummmm I have no clue. Do you like bowling? Yeah, it's fun, but I'm not good at it. Do you like roasting marshmallows on a bonfire? Totally. Do you prefer sweet or sour fruits? Sweet. How're your dancing skills? Rusted to the point of just not functional anymore lmao. What brand of batteries do you usually get? I don't pay attention to the kind Mom gets. Are any of your friends pregnant or have kids? A lot of my FB friends have kids. At least two are pregnant, but I only consider myself remotely close to one. I'm beyond worried about how she's going to be as a mom. Where's the strangest place a fast food restaurant was located? I've certainly seen some questionable placement in busy areas, but none that are super odd. Do you stay up all night on New Years Eve/Day or go to bed after 12am? I don't care nowadays; I just stay up until I'm tired like every other night.

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You'll need a boutonniere. Actress Kathryn Harrold is 66.

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