#the camel is the only plane i know about...

[yurious-george]

Is that an F-14 on my IFF? Because I'd like to pet that kitty.

(Shitty pilot pickup line, This is incomprehensible to all but me-)

*several minutes of googling later*

hey girl are you a. sopwith camel?/ because you wont have. teeth. when i'm done with you

[markrosewater]

Hey Mark, I just wanted to say you've always seemed like a really cool guy. I've played magic for over 4/5ths of my life, since the early 2000s when I was only five years old, I even met most of my long time friends through it. But I think I finally feel alienated enough by it to drop it entirely.

I always enjoyed every aspect of this game, from the deckbuilding, to the flavor, to the color pie and the possibilities it presented. I loved the fantasy of it, of planeswalkers and wizards, dragons and castles.

Universes Beyond really was the end of it, all the way back then. When i heard the announcements I was terrified, I knew where it would lead even then. I loved the world of Magic, and it feels silly to say about a card game but I truly felt immersed in the world when I played, even with the different planes, everything cohered to an internal set of rules that seemed unbreakable.

For a while I continued, our local scene created a variant format that banned Universes Beyond cards so I was able to ignore them, but then came Neon Dynasty. It felt strange to me, like it was breaking what I had come to expect out of the game. Most people disagreed, said it was still Magic enough, but I wondered just how far it would be pushed before Magic lost any identity of its own, anything that separated it from Fortnite or any other crossover soup known entirely for the things it borrows rather than the things it is.

When I saw the first spoilers for Duskmourn, I think that was the straw that broke the camel's back. When I play at the table with my friends, I enjoy the fact that all the cards feel like part of one larger universe. And when I see cards with televisions and smartphones in them, with modern clothing and internet references, I just can't fit them together in my mind. It seems like a cool world, much like a lot of the crossovers are cool worlds, but I play Magic for well... Magic. If I wanted to play Fallout or Warhammer 40k, or watch Insidious or Walking Dead, then I would. But when I play Magic, I want to see magic.

And it's canon, just as canon as Innistrad or Alara. We can't excise it like we can Universes Beyond, and if we can't, then what's even the point of trying to "protect the tone" with those bans? What tone are we protecting, that's already been shattered from within?

More and more it feels like the game just isn't for me, doesn't want the kind of player that feels strongly about cohesion and immersion. And that's fine, it doesn't have to cater to me, and the current approach seems to bring in more people than it drives away. But it still just makes me sad, on a deep personal level, to give up on what has been such a major part of my life.

In all likelihood, I'm an outlier, and you could easily say that Magic getting even broader in what it covers is only a positive thing. Take my critiques only as the lamentations of a single person. But when you can put anything in a piece of media, when there's no unifying idea of what is and isn't possible, then it just starts to feel meaningless.

I'm sorry, I know you'll probably never read this, I mostly just needed to get it off my chest- and you're the closest thing to a human face Magic the Gathering has. Thank you for all the work you've put into it over the years, and I'm sorry that I can't enjoy it anymore.

Thanks for writing. From a big picture, Magic excels at creating variety and does poorly at consistency. The core idea of a trading card game is we make lots and lots of pieces you can play with and then you, the player, customize your game as you see fit. History has shown us, the wider we spread the potential of what Magic can be, the more people find something they enjoy and are attracted to the game.

Think of it this way. Each player has a different sense of what Magic is to them. There's no cutoff point where we make the majority of players happy. In fact, for many players, it's the ever-expanding quality to the game that they enjoy most.

This does mean though that we might make choices that don't connect with what you personally enjoy, and I respect that. If Magic isn't providing what you want out of it, that's okay. My only recommendation is don't get rid of your cards. Many Magic players rotate in and out of the game, and the number one complaint I hear from players who rotate back in is them having gotten rid of everything when they rotated out.

Magic might not be what you need right now, but maybe a few years from now you've changed in ways which makes it something you will enjoy. Or maybe Magic will evolve in a way that speaks to you. The only constant I know is you and Magic will both change. Just leave yourself the possibility of reconnecting.

Thanks for playing all these years, and I hope to see you again.

[ask-amora-beaumont]

Ooc post, Yellowjackets oc for the teen timeline

Full name: Zamora Mary Beaumont

Age: 18

Nickname: Amora, mother Mary, and aura.

Birthday: 06/14/1987

Height: 5’7

Weight: 137

Gender: female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: undercover lesbian

Relationship status: it’s complicated

The person on the team she’s closest to is van, and would be classified as close friends.

————————————————————————

Currently Amora is 18, and a senior in hs, before the crash and ever since she was a toddler she lived with her grandparents because her junkie mother couldn’t handle having a baby running around and quote “ruining her life” unquote.

Amoras grandmother, Maryann who she named after was a chronic cigarette smoker and before the crash was diagnosed with lung cancer.

Maryann was a hardcore catholic and would take Amora to church whenever she could no matter how much Amora fought her on it, this lead to her least favorite nickname given by her friends “mother Mary”

Zamora was given the hard hand and had the addiction gene and unfortunately started following in her grandmothers footsteps when she was 15.

She brought her rosary as well as a pack of camels with her to nationals and had a rough meltdown when she couldn’t find them after the plane crashed. Eventually she got lucky and dug them up near Jackie’s broken suitcase.

Amora was never really close to anyone on the soccer team and she only still played because it got her out of her grandmothers house. She’d rather do something cooler, more interesting; but nothing came to mind so she stuck to soccer.

Amoras friend, aria, who she knew since elementary wasn’t a soccer player but instead in the marching band. Aria and Amora would practically be connected at the hip every day in middle school but slowly started to not only resent each other in high school but also became each others hook up partners.

She also hasn’t told anybody on her team that she’s a lesbian, mostly because she doesn’t want to come to terms with it herself and also hates the thought of people prying into her relationships. But van is aware of Amora having sex with girls.

Text posts to get to know her <3

She was found a couple times praying on her rosary that started to keep around her neck even though you aren’t supposed wear it like a necklace. Each time she got a little more embarrassed and aggravated.

The only time she talks about her religion is in a negative light and wants to keep it that way.

Her doomcoming dress, it was her mothers, and she found it in a box in her grandmothers closet. In s3 she ripped the bottom half off to use to tie her hair up. She can still wear it a short dress though.

Zamoras relationship with the girls in the teen timeline (plus Javi and Travis)

Mellisa - mora never really had an opinion on Mellisa, no bad feelings, no good ones. They had the same apush class before Amora dropped out of it. When Mellisa started fawning over Shauna Amora got fed up.

Javi - Amora loved Javi, and was devastated when she, who instead of participating in the hunt hid in the attic came out to find Javi dead. He reminded her off a little brother or cousin. She refused to eat him.

Travis - she used to have a “crush” on Travis when she first started soccer, and would use any excuse to be around him but realized she was kinda forcing it and started avoiding him, it was more of a “I don’t want to be with him, I want to be him” moment.

Crystal - Amora recognized that Crystal was a nice girl but she drove Amora crazy.

Mari - she liked Mari and would gossip with her before games, but that was the extent of their relationship.

Akilah - akilah only showed up to replace Allie, and Amora didn’t really ever bond with her but she enjoyed being around akilah and would like to be better friends in the future.

Jackie - before the wilderness, Jackie and her didn’t ever butt heads, but they weren’t super close either. But after the plan crashed they would bicker constantly.

Laura lee - amora couldn’t bear hang out around Laura Lee for more than five minutes because all the Jesus talk made her feel sick, she hates talking about religion and because Laura knew she was raised “catholic” it felt like that’s what all their conversations were about. But now that she’s gone mora finds herself wishing Laura was around, even if she hates praying it would be nice to do it with someone who gets it.

Tai - Amora is friends with tai, they aren’t super close or anything but they clicked. They didn’t have a whole lot in common at first but they found out they both enjoyed the same movies and slowly became better friends, and Amora plans on becoming closer with her in the future, because it would be nice to have more friends out there.

Van - Amora is closest with van, they went to the same elementary and middle school. Van is the only one on the team (if she hasn’t yet told tai) that knows Amora likes women, mora hates talking about it but at a party with van she got shitfaced and accidentally told van about her shitty hookups.

Misty - she feels sympathy for Misty; a fuck ton of it. She suspects Misty had a hard home life and that’s part of the reason she’s so fucking weird. But none of that stops her from getting extremely annoyed with her and not being afraid to show it.

Shauna - she liked to hang out with Shauna pre-crash and s1-2 but when Shauna slowly became more and more deranged due to her postpartum psychosis Zamora started resenting her more and more till she couldn’t even look at her anymore. But some part of her wants to get in good with Shauna, so she feels more protected out in the wilderness. But she knows it would cost the minimal friendships she has out there.

Lottie - Amora was friends with Lottie pre-crash, when she was taking her meds. They had homeroom together and would chat everyday. But when Lottie ran out of her meds Mora had a hard time being around her.

Natalie - Zamora experiences the same feelings she had with Travis, with Natalie. But also more. She likes Natalie as a person, she’s cool. But she also reminds Amora to much of herself, she saw Natalie smoking after a rough away game and it felt like she was just staring into a mirror and it scared the hell out of her, coincidentally, they grew up in neighboring trailer parks. She feels those same “do I want to be with her or be her” feelings towards Natalie.

[duhragonball]

Stardust Crusaders Liveblog: JJBA ch.166-173

Let's take stock, shall we?

I feel like I haven't been doing this very well, so I thought I should use this installment to reflect a little. It just seems like I've been mindlessly recapping the manga, just to try to stay ahead of some self-imposed deadline. This is one of my favorite JoJo Parts, but it's like I don't have that much to actually say about it.

Fortunately, it won't take long to explain what's going on in these two arcs, so let's get the formalities out of the way. The gang has crossed the Persian Gulf from Pakistan to the United Arab Emirates, where Joseph plans to travel by camel to some place where he can buy a Cessna plane to fly across Saudi Arabia. But things get weird when they realize the sun won't set at night, and it's getting hotter and hotter.

They quickly determine that this is an Enemy Stand attack, but they can't get near the Stand, which is literally a giant fireball in the sky that shoots deadly heat beams at them if they try. Their only hope is to attack the Stand User, except there's no sign of anyone else nearby.

The situation becomes grim until they notice a pair of identical rocks, and one has a shadow pointing the wrong way. The User was hiding behind a mirror, and Jotaro throws a rock at him with Star Platinum to defeat him. Turns out he's got a whole mobile rig for this thing, and he's been following the Joestar Group for a while this way, using the mirror to conceal his presence.

It's a really short arc, even for Part 3, which has about twenty Stand battles across the third-shortest JoJo Part. The battle with The Sun is more of a joke than a story. There's no gloating from the villain, no matching of wits and testing of powers. The Sun has the good guys completely stymied, and then they finally notice the mirror and turn the tables instantly. It's one of my favorite bits in Part 3.

This leads into the Death Thirteen arc, where Joseph tries to collect his plane, but there's a sick baby who needs an emergency flight to a doctor. Joseph reluctantly agrees to fly the baby himself so they can continue their journey without delay, but the baby has a shocking secret. You see...this baby... is actually an Enemy Stand User. Bet you didn't see that coming.

The baby is extremely intelligent for his age, and I guess he somehow got a job working for Dio, and he manipulated villagers into getting him on Joseph's plane so he could attack them. His Stand, Death Thirteen, attacks victims in their dreams. Kakyoin experiences this twice, but he has no memory of the attack when he wakes up. Since damage in the dream attack transfers to real life, Kakyoin carves a message to himself on his arm: "BABY STAND". This is enough to help him figure out what's going on, but he can't convince anyone else.

Finally, Kak tries to attack the baby with Heirophant Green, but Polnareff knocks him out and the others think he's cracked under the strain of their journey. Then they go to sleep and Death Thirteen attacks them all. Ah, but Kakyoin can fight back this time, because his Stand was active when Pol knocked him out. This is Death Thirteen's only weakness. If you summon your Stand and have it out when you go to sleep, you can use it in the Dream World, and Death Thirteen isn't all that strong in a fair fight.

Kak subdues Death Thirteen, and forces the baby to heal the cuts on his arm. That way, when everyone wakes up, there's no evidence of Kakyoin's apparent madness. Only Kak remembers what happened in the dream, and he makes the baby eat his own poop.

When I saw this in the anime, I found it questionable that they let the baby live. I mean, he's a baby and all, but he has vampire fangs for no apparent reason, and he's reaaalllly evil, and Kakyoin is the only one who knows what he's capable of. The kid seems like a monster that just happens to look like a baby, so letting him go on to the next town seems like a really shitty thing to do to the people there.

Then again, the baby's only attacking the Joestar Group because they're Dio's enemies. He probably has no need to sic Death Thirteen on anyone else, except to subtly influence people's dreams so they'll do what he wants. And he needs people's help to survive, since he can't feed himself or even change his own diaper. So maybe he learned a Valuable Lesson from all of this, and that poop breakfast was enough to set him straight.

So with that out of the way, what am I doing here, exactly? Let me start with the basics. I watched the anime from Part 1-4, then read the manga from Part 5-8. I always thought I should go back and read the manga versions of 1-4, and I've slowly been working my way through that.

It's taking longer than I planned. My sentiment was that I didn't have time to liveblog my JoJo experience properly in 2017. I deliberately half-assed it, then started trying harder around Part 6 or 7, mainly to help myself keep track of the increasingly complex plots.

This put me on a campaign to do it right.

2018: Liveblogged Part 5, because the scanlations were finally finished that year.

2021: Liveblogged Part 2, mostly because it's my favorite, it's short, and I wanted to get underway.

2024: Liveblogged Part 8, since I never finished it back in the day, and it was finally available in full color. I also knocked out Part 1, since it was so short.

This year, I figured I could knock out Parts 3, 4, and 6, but that seems a little too much now. I might still pull it off, but doing Parts 3 and 4 in the same month was completely unrealistic. I figured that since I did Part 8 in one month, I could fit 3 and 4 into a month, but they're not actually that much shorter than Part 8. According to some Reddit thread:

Part 1: 857 pages

Part 2: 1257 pages

Part 3: 3045 pages

Part 4: 3476 pages

Part 5: 3121 pages

Part 6: 3260 pages

Part 7: 4290 pages

Part 8: 4741 pages

Part 9: 1071 pages (as of JoJoLands chapter 20)

Parts 3, 4, 5, and 6 are what I call "mid-size" JoJo parts, and it's true they're all about the same length, but it's not like Part 7 and 8 are twice as long or anything.

So I'm going to slow things down, and get Part 3 done in May, save Part 4 for July or so, then worry about Part 6 later. Maybe save that for 2026.

And that's fine and all, but what am I doing this for, exactly? I wanted to read all of the manga, but I could just sit down and read the manga whenever. Instead, I've turned it into this whole project, where I have to put together all the images I want to use, then recap the chapters I'm covering, and try to stay ahead of the queue. It's always a little bit of a chore, even when I'm looking forward to it.

Like, Parts 5 and 8 were genuinely difficult for me to keep up with on the first read, because 5 had the crappy scanlations, and JoJolion was still in progress when I read it. I think going over those again and documenting the story on this blog was a rewarding experience, because it helped me understand all the moving pieces of the story.

Maybe that's why I find myself so bewildered now that I'm on Part 3. Stardust Crusaders kicks ass, and it's a lot of things to a lot of people. But I don't think anyone's ever accused it of being complicated. This story isn't some epic tale of intrigue and mystery. The only subplot was Polnareff's search for his sister's murderer, and he killed that guy less than a third of the way into the Part. It's a pretty straightforward plot: These rowdy boys are gonna keep going west until they find Dio and kill that son of a bitch. Dio keeps sending henchmen to stop them, but they just plow right through them, fueled by justice and testosterone. It's great, but it doesn't exactly lend itself to analysis, you know?

I mean, what can I say about this page? Their enemy has a Stand that looks like the Sun, and it's going to cook them to death. They can't fight it because it shoots deadly lasers if they get too close to it. There's not much more to it than that.

There is, of course, the larger theme that runs throughout Part 3, and this battle with The Sun is emblematic of that theme. The Joestar Group has to win this battle. They have to keep going until they find Dio. It's the only way to save Holly, and there's no one else who can save the world from Dio if they fail. As dire as this situation looks, they have to prevail, because their story can't end here, before they reach Egypt.

One of my favorite lines from Part 3 is when Dio expresses surprise that Jotaro would approach him instead of fleeing, and Jotaro replies "I can't beat the shit out of you until I get closer." That's what the whole story is. Jotaro has to kill Dio to save his mother, and he can't do that from Japan, so he has to go all the way to Egypt and fight him up close. Each battle and hardship along the way is another step closer.

But I can't just make that point over and over again for a month. Uh, I like Jotaro's hat? Very stylish. Heirophant Green is a very pleasant shade of green in this colorized comic.

When I got into the anime, I found Jotaro very relatable. At first I hated him, but around Pakistan I started to appreciate what he was about. Enya feared him the most, not for his power, but for his powers of observation, and his ability to ask the right questions. Mostly, I liked that Jotaro could be the hero of this story without being a smiling, extroverted gladhander.

But these days, I find myself relating more to Old Joseph, who's struggling to hold on to what little relevance he still has left. He wants to be the hero, the guy who can teach everyone how to ride a camel, the guy who figures out how to beat The Sun. It's not ego, he just wants to save his daughter, and he's not used to putting the fate of the mission in someone else's hands. He trusts the others, especially Jotaro, but he still wants to do as much as he can, since he's saved the world before.

But no matter how hard he tries, and no matter how well he does, stuff just keeps happening despite his efforts. It's all just sort of moving on without him. I go on BlueSky and Tumblr and sometimes I feel like I have no idea what anyone on my feed is talking about anymore. I mean, the political stuff makes sense, and people are fans of fictional characters and all of that, but I feel disconnected from the rest. I don't know why that happened, or what I'm supposed to do about it. Maybe I'm not supposed to do anything about it.

I always liked this part where Polnareff wakes Kakyoin up and talks about how they're gonna cover 500 kilometers in one day. This happens right after the panels of Kakyoin screaming, which became that meme. It's funny, sure, but I like the follow-up where his pal snaps him out of it and opens the window to reveal the promise of a beautiful morning.

There's those damn fangs. Why does the baby have fangs? I thought he was a vampire when I first saw him, but that makes no sense. It's just one of those things Araki does that doesn't have anything to do with Hamon or Stands or Fate or whatever. There isn't going to be a story that delves into the baby's fangs, or the aliens behind the Stand Arrow, or Diavolo's origin story, etc.

My life feels a lot like those fangs sometimes. All I can do is just sort of see it and accept that there's no real explanation for it. All I can do is keep heading west. I can't beat the shit out of Dio unless I come closer.

Maybe that's what makes this story such a classic. The simplicity is appealing. Araki used Parts 1 and 2 to set up Dio as this utterly despicable villain, and Jonathan's descendants as this noble family who deserves better. They suffered so much, and Joseph saved everyone from the Pillar Men and that seemed to be the end of it all, and now Dio's back and Holly has to suffer for it. It's comforting to see these guys rise up and go "Fuck Dio, we're gonna head over to his house and kick his ass." It's kind of nice to have a scenario that simple, where all you have to do is keep heading in one direction towards an enemy who absolutely deserves to die. And anyone who gets in the way will get crushed, because the quest is too important to tolerate interference.

In real life, you don't usually get that. The goal isn't always clear and the path isn't always simple, and it's never a straight line in one direction. And even if you achieve it, you have to figure out what to do next. I guess that's like Joseph and Polnareff. Joseph beat the Pillar Men, but he ended up living at least another 60 years. Polnareff avenged his sister, but he's still got a while left to go on this planet. It's not so neat and tidy.

What do you think Boys II Men turned out like when he grew up? By Stone Ocean, he'd be a few years older than Jolyne, I guess. Assuming he lived that long. I mean, this arc is his entire life, for all intents and purposes, but beyond the pages of this work, he's got his entire life ahead of him. He fails to kill the Joestar Group, and Dio gets killed soon after. What does he do after that? By the time he's five, he probably thinks this whole episode was a waste of time, and he regrets getting involved in the Dio/Joestar conflict.

Every so often, I'll see some post about how tumblr uses will have 3000 followers and only get seven likes on their posts. I assume this is in reference to how people don't reblog or interact as much as they used to. It's kind of a cultural shift, I think. I can't complain. I don't think I blog for the acclaim anyway. It's nice to see notifications for my posts, but it's not the same high I used to get back in 2014 or so.

Mostly, I just like being able to put up this cool drawing of a scorpion, and knowing that other people can look at it with me. Even if no one actually does, even if no one cares, it's nice just putting this up anyway. I guess that's why I liveblog this stuff. Reading it is one thing, but I like that there's a record of the experience.

I don't think she ever really understood that about me. I suppose I don't understand it myself, so maybe that's fair. I'm free, you're free, we're all free, maybe we're better off. And I'll just sit here and continue carving the words into my arm. A message to myself whenever I think to roll up my sleeve.

I think that's what I've been wrestling with for a while now. There is no big payoff to any of this. I don't "get noticed" by some publisher and they make me a big rock star author or whatever. I'm not going to get "internet famous" because of my insightful commentary on Joseph Joestar's robot hand. (It's getting larger because Death Thirteen is playing on his fears. The prosthetic hand represents Joseph's lost innocence and youth, and things that he still has yet to lose in the future.) There is no sexy lady who falls in love with me over the quality of my Dragon Ball Z novel.

"'Make way for Dragon Ball Z,' said Luffa as she punched everyone at the Coffe Bean. End chapter one."

(See, Jotaro's afraid of losing control of his Stand. He's used to being cool and collected, and Star Platinum's power and precision reflects that sense of assurance. But in the Dream World he calls it out and it turns on him, then hits itself with a frying pan. Jotaro's not panicking or anything, but he knows there's nothing he can do.)

I find myself growing increasingly frustrated at the lack of any point to any of it. That I can do things that I enjoy, but there seems to be no progress or accomplishment to any of it. When you're a kid you can look forward to graduating school, or getting old enough to drink or whatever. I'm pushing fifty, and I'm starting to wonder what I have to look forward to. Am I just marking time until I die? Is that all I've been doing all along?

Sorry, I don't mean to sound so fatalistic. It's just that my reasons for blogging about this comic are several years old now, and I'm not sure if my priorities have changed in that time.

You know what? This dreamscape of Death Thirteen is a suitably creepy setting. It's an amusement park, but it's deserted. I never really appreciated that before, since this is just a nonsense world that can look like whatever the bad guy wants. But when you imagine being in an eerily quiet park like this, it starts to come together. Araki didn't just pick this setting because he wanted to draw Disney rides or whatever. There's a point to it.

Is that what I'm so flustered about? Does life feel like a deserted amusement park? Yeah, I think it kind of does sometimes.

Art helps me cope. I like this panel of Kakyoin waking the others up to breakfast. It ties back to that panel of Polnareff waking Kakyoin up for breakfast. It reminds me of Jesus meeting the apostles on Easter Sunday, and he's cooking fish for them while they're still trying to figure out how he survived crucifixion. That fish has to be the best breakfast ever eaten. Not like in a Holy Grail kind of way where the fish makes you immortal or anything. I just mean the relief of finding the son of Man alive and well, and he's rustlin' up some grub for you.

Wait, Jotaro sleeps in his coat and hat? What a dork.

This helped, I think. At least I had to put the words in order instead of letting them churn in my head forever. The process of jotting all this down, well, for me at least, I think that may be the point of it all. I'm not sure there's any other option available. So maybe that is the course I'm locked in on, towards the Dio I have to beat up.

Anyway, that's where I'm at. Next time, we'll talk about Judgment and High Priestess.

Lali Ho.

[nosebleedsturn]

nineteen ; stir-knee-oh-low

Words: 1,210

(uhm so i haven't spoken an ounce of spanish in over 2 years so if i'm not making any sense, pls help me)

friday, noon, november 21st

the girls had been alone to their own devices for three days. chris, nick, and matt had gone to boston on the 17th, and wouldn't be coming back home until after christmas. to say that mal and camille were bored for those three days was an understatement. there was no nick for malerie to bitch an complain with, cami was awfully sad, missing chris' constant attention. of course, whenever neither of them were busy or sleeping, they were face timing. vega didn't mind their disappearance much. as much as she liked nick and chris to a degree, she was just glad matt was gone. his behavior in her room the other night was totally uncalled for. how dare he treat her like that! like he was better than her. sorta, she remembered what he looked like, what he smelled like, and even the accent in which he talker to her with, but none of the actual words that had fallen from between his perfect lips registered in vega's mind.

it was a peaceful week, school, a random test, lots of studying. a couple breakdowns and she had visited dr. tran on wednesday, since she wasn't meeting with her on friday. dr. tran wanted to make sure that vega was leaving in a good head space.

if vega had broken up with daniel when she was supposed to, stopped talking to him, she never would've visited. but vega let dr. tran know that her biggest fear was daniel going after her family in new york, or traveling all the way to la just to find her. and she didn't know when he would come, he might never come, but vega didn't want to live in fear. she put on a brave face knowing that the outcome wasn't going to be pretty. but the trial was an open trial, and vega, or anyone, could just walk right in.

it was scheduled to be tomorrow at noon, exactly 24 hours from now and vega could hardly sit still. "let me see your ticket again." vega requested, signaling to camille again. cami rolled her eyes, huffing and puffing, but gave the ticket over. vega didn't really like how everything was online nowadays. she liked collecting tickets, liked being able to read them, have them in her hand. what was she going to do if her phone died, it'd be printed out anyway in case of that happening. "it's the same as it was online." camille let vega stare at the pure white paper for a moment before snatching it back for the third time in ten minutes. "i thought they spelled your name wrong."

camille's arms crossed over her chest, slumping back in the uncomfortable chairs. "even if they spelled my name wrong, i don't care about being camel for the day, or caramel!" cami snapped. "okay firefly, calm down." malerie interrupted. out of them all, she was the most calm and collected.

there were many thing's happening that the girls were nervous and excited about. nervous about the trial and what's going to happen between vega and daniel, excited about seeing their family again, nervous about meeting the sturniolo triplets family, excited about being in new york again, nervous to be leaving the created comfort of la.

vega was even more on edge. camille had just hung up the phone with chris, and in the background matt was talking to someone. malerie asked who it was, and matt replied, "it's justina." like it was a casual thing. vega knew she pushed him too, but actually talk to her? talk to her while he was with his family? he was just gonna hurt her feelings. vega already found herself feeling bad for justina.

vega hated planes. she didn't like that she couldn't control what happened once she sat down. once the pilot had the large metal crate in the air, vega could do nothing but sit and wait and let i happen. vega had learned long ago about sitting and waiting and letting thing's happen. only hurt can come from letting something happen. she felt a little better knowing she was going to be with mal and cami though, if they were to go down, they would be going down together. they wouldn't be alone, left wondering what happened to the other friend, what they could have done to stop or prevent them from leaving and getting on the plane. they were all down for the ride and it was almost poetic that way.

the plane ride was uneventful in the best way, takeoff was completely normal, minimal turbulence, and the landing was stunning in vega's mind. watching the trees through the tiny airplane window change color. they stopped in texas for a two hours before switching planes and taking another one all the way to new york.

vega's mother greeted the girls outside, helping them put their luggage away. "hi mama." vega wrapped her arms around her mother. "what kinds of trouble have you gotten yourself into mi amor?" vega's mother half joked. whether her mom was talking about her troubles with daniel, or la, she wasn't sure. but vega sighed and shrugged. "la has been refreshing." vega decided and her mother nodded. "well you tia and your tio are coming by on the 24th, they want to see you." vega nodded in agreement, she'd deal with that. "and you're having thanksgiving with the sturknee triplets?" vega's mother asked quizzically. "sturniolo, mama." i corrected.

we all got into the car, cami and malerie giggling at my mother's mispronunciation. i would have laughed too, but i gotta go home with her tonight. "si, the sturnilio boys." mrs. veloz repeated, or tried to repeat. "sturniolo, mama." vega also repeated, a small smile on her lips. "no puedo. como?"

mrs. veloz asked, referencing to how she couldn't say it, and asking how to pronounce it. "stir." vega started, whipping her arms around in a circle to represent a spoon stirring in a pot. "knee." vega poked her mother's knee. "oh. like oh, the letter. and then low, get low. sturniolo."

"lo se," vega's mom smiled. "stromilio!" vega sighed and shook her head. "no, mama." cami and mal giggled in the back, laughing at their (basically other mother) mispronouncing their friends name. "what are you two laughing at?" mrs. veloz looking up into the mirror, glaring jokingly at the girls in the back. malerie and camille straightened up, becoming serious again, mrs. veloz smiled. she really missed all the girls, her daughter the most of course. daniel had done a number on vega and it was horrific watching her daughter go through something like that. no matter how much mrs. veloz tried, there had been no way to get daniel away from vega. she had even gone to the police once, but since there was no physical proof vega was being abused, they didn't take mrs. veloz's claims seriously.

N O S E B L E E D S

------------------------------ 

to be honest, i'm think we should go through with a triple update because i'm bored and 2,000 words within the past two chapters is just not good enough for me.

[spanishskulduggery]

Profe 🍓:

I'm stuck in explaining myself clearly.

What's the best way to state these phrases en Español:

I'm looking forward to it

It sounds good to me

To "get on/in x" (I got on the train)

The literal translations sound "wrong".

#1 "looking forward"

This one is a bit of an idiomatic thing, but a few options. The first is simply estar deseando + infinitive which is "to be wanting to", like estoy deseando verte "I'm looking forward to seeing you" which is more literally "I am wanting to see you"

Aside from that, it's variations of esperar - I think a really common one is esperar con ansias which is probably the closest to expressing eagerness

el ansia isn't specifically "anxiety" but here it's like "anxiously awaiting" - usually el ansia refers to a kind of "yearning"; but the root word is both "anxious" and "eager", so it's that feeling regardless

[note: el ansia is technically feminine, it just keeps the masculine article because it's one of the words that start with A- or HA- that need that rule]

-

#2 "sounds good to me"

This is assuming you're not actually talking about "sound" which is usually sonar

But in general the verbal expression here involves using parecer with an indirect object; parecer is often "to seem" as in appearances

Usually the expression is: me parece bien "it seems good to me" or "it sounds good to me"

You also see me parece buena idea "it sounds like a good idea to me" when giving an opinion on someone's ideas

Another potential option is para mí perfecto which I've seen as "fine by me" or "works for me"

-

#3 "to get on/in"

The verb you're looking for is subir which is "to get into" most vehicles - trains, planes, cars, taxis, even roller coasters or amusement park rides etc. and it's usually followed by a or sometimes en

Literally subir is "to rise" or "to get up" or "to ascend", but it's kind of like "get on"

The only other variation is that bicycles and motorcycles, and horses, often take montar "to get on / to mount" - originally it came from mounting animals like horses and camels, but the same motion lends itself to bikes and motorcycles

As an example, you typically say subir al tren "to get on the train" or subir al avión "to get on the plane" - sometimes "to hop on"

If you were saying subir en la bici(cleta) then it sounds like you're going up a hill on a bike

Note: Sometimes subir is translated as "to board", like subir al avión can be "to board the plane"; it also works with ships that way - just know that the technical word for "getting onto a ship" is embarcar which is "embark" or literally "into ship" made into a verb. You may see embarcar in some settings, especially formal settings, but in general subir is more commonplace

[the-forgemaster]

Those Evil Eyes (Yandere Ahmanet X Male reader) PT.1

(BROSKIS! i kid you not, on my" top 10 most evil woman i wish would dom me" list, she is on my number one spot, i just rewatched the movie cause i remember watching the original series as a kid and wanted another go at nostalgia, Imotep's gf had nothing on this woman.) -Finally, after years of archaeologist dig-sites with nothing but dust, you've hit the mother lode of digsites -on the edge of Iraq, you found (Well two army jar heads found) the mother of all dig sites, an Egyptian tomb that wasn't in Egypt -after some heated arguments, you finally were given permission to raise the tomb, as you raised the tomb from a pool of mercury, you felt a sense of dread and foreboding crawl up your spine, a swarm of camel spiders(Creepy little fuckers) bit into a solider, thankfully camel spiders aren't venomous, what sucks was that the camel spider was carrying something a whole lot worse -on the plane, the Solider that was bit wasn't looking too hot, he looked even worse, as if in a trance, when he shot the pilot and caused the plane to crash, only for you to die.....HAHAHA NOT -you wake from a dream about Egypt's sands and a beautiful princess, what was strange was here eyes. her eye's gave the message of something more sinister, that was until her pupils split into 4 that you woke up in a body bag with a toe tag -After scaring some morgue workers and getting your stuff back, you head to the closet bar for a drink, after finding out your in london, you call your family and let them know your safe. -You stand outside the bar thinking about what your gonna do next, The tomb! you had to get to the tomb, you asked for directions to the crash site and took a taxi there -You snuck in and hoped no one would see you, as you snuck around, you heard a couple of police radios go off, you took off running toward a church nearby, as you entered, you were struck behind the head with a candle stick and you blacked out - as you woke up, you felt hands holding your extremities, you look up and see, HOLY SHIT THOSE ARE FUCKING ZOMBIES!!!! you tug and tug and tug but to no avail, as you continued to pull, you felt a weight crawl on your chest and saw.....her -in a strange way she was alluring, her grey skin and her black marks were....gorgeous, she felt up and down your chest as you tried talking to her, only for her to open your mouth and examine your teeth, her smile as she finished.....oh that smile -"We will be together soon my love." she said, but she said it in Egyptian which confused you on how you understood her, she knocked off an angel statue to find a dagger, "What are you doing with that?" you said -She leaned down and kissed you on the face and the neck, her lips were cold and wet, as if death was caressing your face, she raised the dagger, panicking you struggle harder, she arubtly stops when she finds out that a certain jewel wasn't in the hilt of the dagger, as she was about to knock you out again, a set off men came in with harpoons and fire at her, penetrating her sides -You immediatly get up and bolt for then door, only for a tranq dart to hit you square in the neck, you fall to the floor, the last thing you see before you black out is here Alluring but evil eyes of the woman as she stopped her screaming and gave the most wicked smile a person could give, Oh but those Eyes...

(BRO PLEASE, I would let her stab me and i be here sweet little house husband......do i have issues?)

[lionheartslowstart]

Meltdown on an Airplane

As the title suggests, I had a meltdown on an airplane a few days ago. I was returning home from vacation, and the plane was still sitting at the gate. Which, despite everything, I'm actually pretty thankful for, as I can only imagine how much worse it would have been if we were in the air or taxiing.

It started when we realized there was a problem with our seats. I had been sure to pre-book the seats, as I always do because I need an aisle seat. However, for some reason, "Thomas'" seat had been switched at the last minute to be way at the back of the plane. I have no idea why. So of course, I started to panic. As I've gotten older, I have become more anxious while flying, especially with all the Boeing drama (and yes, unfortunately we were on a Boeing both ways of the trip). Take offs and landings make me very nervous. I CAN fly by myself, but I always prefer not to do so. On top of that, I suffered a foot injury earlier that week (I had tripped over some uneven pavement because I'm a clumsy b*tch), and I felt much more comfortable being near Thomas, just in case, since I needed crutches, walked with a limp, and had a boot on my foot.

I asked Thomas if he would ask whomever was supposed to sit there to switch with him, because I became too upset and anxious to ask them myself. I figured maybe it wouldn't be a problem, since they were both middle seats. Nevertheless, my anxiety increased and I began to cry silently and attempt to regulate by rocking back and forth, one of my biggest self-soothing stims. On top of the emotional overwhelm, the plane was playing music pretty loudly through the speakers, God knows why, adding physical distress to my emotional distress.

Then, a baby started screaming, which of course made everything worse. I started crying harder, though still silently, and started muttering to myself that it wasn't the baby's fault and to "please stop crying please stop crying."

THEN, the guy who was supposed to be seated in Thomas' seat came over and Thomas began explaining to him that there had been a mix-up and that I'm disabled and would he please consider swapping seats. The guy, audibly disgruntled, (I was still hunched over trying not to be too disruptive so I couldn't see him,) said he was going to get a flight attendant to see if we could figure something out.

It was at this point that someone's f*cking luggage fell out of the overhead been and hit me on the shoulder. Sure, it hurt, but not terribly because I have a high pain tolerance. But the extreme shock of suddenly being struct bluntly was the straw that broke the camel's back, and the meltdown erupted out of me before I could make any more attempts to wrest control.

Whatever you picture in your head when you imagine an autistic meltdown, that's what happened. I was screaming, sobbing, rocking furiously, yanking my hair by the roots, trying not to hit myself...I mean it was bad. And the thing is, I've had meltdowns in public before, but never one so absolutely untamed. As a high-masking autistic, I have (unfortunately) developed some skills to hide a meltdown when it happens, at least until I can get somewhere where I'm alone, or with one of the very few people I consider safe to have a meltdown in front of. (My parents, my brother, and my partner.)

But this? I can't remember the last time I had a public meltdown like this as an adult. Maybe never.

And of course, despite the all-consuming nature of a meltdown, there's also the dread looming way in the back of my mind, that I KNOW people are staring, and, most likely, judging.

As I sobbed and rocked, I heard the murmurs, and I felt so many eyes on me. Based on the few words I could pick out, I knew they assumed my outburst was because I had been hurt badly. I tried to ignore the shame and humiliation I felt creeping in. It was only adding to the distress, and there was nothing I could do about it. People will always stare, always assume, and always judge.

A flight attendant quickly came over to assess the situation. When this all went down, I felt like she maybe had good intentions, but upon retelling this story to my family, I have since realized that no, she really only had the airline's best interest at heart, and probably didn't give two sh*ts about me. But what are you gonna do? So she asks me to explain what happened, but I'm in the middle of a verbal shutdown, so I can't really answer. I look at Thomas helplessly, and bless him, he does not do well under pressure, so he immediately started raising his voice at her to "back off and give me space." So of course, I'm thinking, well f*ck I guess I better force myself to speak because I'm really not trying to get kicked off this flight and/or cause myself more embarrassment, so I started attempting to explain. I say "attempting" because, as I was mid-verbal shutdown, I was struggling immensely to even find my words, and once I did find a few, my words came out very stilted, and I was stammering. I somehow managed to squeeze out the important bullet points: that I'm autistic, I'm having a meltdown, and I just need space to calm down.

So then of course she starts peppering me with questions, despite the fact that I just said I needed space. She's trying to figure out what happened, was I hurt, do I know what fell on me, etc. This caused me to start clapping, something I do when I'm mid-verbal shutdown but still being forced to communicate, especially if I'm also being forced to talk over someone, and/or I'm already dealing with a meltdown and more stimuli is thrown my way. Through the clapping, I again tried to explain - I'm physically fine, I'm having an autistic meltdown. She asked me if I needed anything. (Insert epic eyeroll.) I couldn't answer, but shook my head as she listed off things she might be able to bring me. I just wanted her to leave. When she asked if I needed water, it occurred to me both that it would get her to leave, and also that yes, I probably did need some water. After she walked away, I leaned into Thomas and buried my face in his shoulder. I could still feel the stares.

The flight attendant came back later with the water, and then mentioned the issue with the seats. She asked if I'd be willing to switch with the person who was seated next to Thomas' assigned seat and we could sit where Thomas was originally supposed to be seated instead of the other guy switching. I explained that I wouldn't have a problem with that but I still needed an aisle seat because the tight squeeze of a window seat can exacerbate my sensory issues. She said she understood and went off to see if we could find a situation. When she came back, she said that it all worked out because the two gentlemen who were meant to be sat with each other in Thomas' seat and the window seat were able to find other seats so we would actually have an empty seat next to us. (I assume they were bumped to first class for their troubles, but I have no proof of that.) She asked if I was feeling better and then started talking to THOMAS, not me, about whether or not she should file a report.

I've found that, when someone finds out I'm autistic, they either don't believe me, or they start talking to whomever I happen to be with instead, as if I can't speak for myself. It's ableist, obviously, and extremely frustrating. She also came back while I was in the bathroom to talk to Thomas, who, of course, told her that she should wait until I came back from the bathroom and then ask me, since I'm the person to whom it happened. Later, she did come back and ask me again. I smiled, understanding she's doing her due diligence so I don't sue the airline, and promised her that, no, she didn't have to report it and I was really fine. It was clear to me that she was fixated on the possibility of injury, and that she didn't really understand the autistic aspect. As I said, my reflection of this incident over the last few days has brought me to the conclusion that this woman, despite her shallow warmth, probably didn't give a hog's a** about me.

But the worst part of all of this is that two days ago, Thomas revealed to me that he had witnessed an older woman in front of us texting someone about the event. She had written something along the lines of, "Some crazy b*tch just threw an absolute tantrum on the plane like some whackadoodle. I hope they escort her off the plane in handcuffs and give her a cookie."

Now, I grew very upset at this and explained to Thomas that this wasn't something he should have told me. I understand why he did though, as we have very open and honest communication in our relationship. I'm sure he thought I'd want to know. I explained that it would be different if he had stood up for me, if he had said something to her, called her out for being ableist, then I would have been fine hearing about it. But because he did nothing, it's just not something I wanted to, or really, needed to hear. I know people are ableist. I know people make comments. I know people judge me when the mask falls off. I don't need to hear specific examples of something of which I'm already so painfully aware, especially when there is no resolution, and most likely never will be. Thomas apologized profusely, saying he would never make that mistake again, and that he never wants to say something that upsets me.

For the record, as hurt as I am that Thomas didn't stand up for me, I can't be angry at him for it. We were on an airplane, and he was afraid we'd be kicked off, or worse. The woman in question didn't say anything out loud, so there were no witnesses to her comments. She could have easily deleted the text and claimed Thomas had started a conflict with her for no reason. While I know I would have handled that situation differently if the roles were reversed, I also know that Thomas probably did the right thing in not starting an argument. I will be the first to admit that my tinderbox temper does not always result in the most productive outcomes.

Like I said, I know people are ableist, judgmental, and cruel. I know that. And I know I shouldn't care. But I do. And I hate that I do. I don't understand why anyone thinks people just claim to be or pretend to be autistic for attention. It's not attention I want. Being autistic in an allistic world is HARD. There are so many harmful stereotypes and misconceptions out there, and people can be truly awful, both intentionally and unintentionally. I walk around with this monkey on my back, constantly aware of what people might think, or in some cases, what I know they do think. My childhood trauma made damn sure of that. I so wish I could just be myself without fear, comment, or disdain. Yes, when I experience sensory overload, but also in the way I communicate, the way I perceive the world, when I rant about my special interests at length, my difficulties in social settings, all of it. I just want to be myself and not feel like I'm being punished simply for having a brain that works differently. And unfortunately, I'm probably going to remember what that horrible woman texted about me for a long time.

I posted a video describing this event, and someone left a comment that has stayed with me. Not because it bothers me, or because it hurts my feelings, no. It's stayed with me because I'm certain that this specific sentiment is shared by so many other people, and I find it quite interesting.

"Those people were just trying to travel."

My very first response to that was, well, I was just trying to travel. They didn't need to hear me screaming and sobbing? Okay, well I didn't need the airline to switch my boyfriend's seat. I didn't need the plane to be playing bad music for 30 minutes. I didn't need a baby to start shrieking just a few aisles down from me. And I definitely didn't need a heavy object to fall on top of me.

So...why does that statement not apply to me? Why don't people care about my flight experience being ruined? Why am I not extended the same empathy?

The answer is simple. Autistics are not seen as human beings. Or, at the very least, we are seen as lesser human beings. Our comfort, our safety, both physical and emotional, and our well-being, are just not held to the same standard, to the same importance, as those of allistics. They don't care about us. Worse, they actively dislike us.

I love traveling. Well, I love BEING in a different place. The getting there part has always been stressful for me. But I have never had anything like this happen before last Sunday. Never. And I'm flying back in three days...alone. Of course, I'm going to do everything in my power to prevent something like this from happening again. I really don't want to go through something like that again, especially alone. I'll have my headphones with me in addition to my ear plugs (and yes, I did have my earplugs in at the time of the meltdown so sit tf down), and I'll probably purchase the in-plane high speed wifi so I can keep myself distracted. But there is, of course, the looming fear that, sometimes, these things just happen.

I wish I could teleport.

[grandhotelabyss]

What novels/writers have made you laugh the most? I agree that Ulysses can be very funny. My personal list is a rather eclectic one: Sam Lipsyte, Joseph Heller, Thomas Bernhard, Amis père et fils and Evelyn Waugh. And there's an absurdist humor in Kafka's The Trial and The Castle that sometimes makes me chuckle.

I like arch dialogue, verbal wit, more than slapstick hijinks. Austen and Wilde among the classics, along with Joyce. I agree with you about Kafka's humor, too, in which strangeness, pathos, and hilarity are somehow all present, even sometimes in the very situations (e.g., the ape addressing the academy).

I maintain that White Noise is the funniest novel I've ever read, in a way only half captured by the movie. Some samples. First, a bit of classic DeLillo non-dialogic dialogue:

"What do you know about Dylar?"

"Is that the black girl who's staying with the Stovers?"

"That's Dakar," Steffie said.

"Dakar isn't her name, it's where she's from," Denise said. "It's a country on the ivory coast of Africa."

"The capital is Lagos," Babette said. "I know that because of a surfer movie I saw once where they travel all over the world."

"The Perfect Wave" Heinrich said. "I saw it on TV."

"But what's the girl's name?" Steffie said.

"I don't know," Babette said, "but the movie wasn't called The Perfect Wave. The perfect wave is what they were looking for."

"They go to Hawaii," Denise told Steffie, "and wait for these tidal waves to come from Japan. They're called origamis."

"And the movie was called The Long Hot Summer," her mother said.

"The Long Hot Summer," Heinrich said, "happens to be a play by Tennessee Ernie Williams."

"It doesn't matter," Babette said, "because you can't copyright titles anyway."

"If she's an African," Steffie said, "I wonder if she ever rode a camel."

"Try an Audi Turbo."

"Try a Toyota Supra."

"What is it camels store in their humps?" Babette said. "Food or water? I could never get that straight."

"There are one-hump camels and two-hump camels," Heinrich told her. "So it depends which kind you're talking about."

"Are you telling me a two-hump camel stores food in one hump and water in the other?"

"The important thing about camels," he said, "is that camel meat is considered a delicacy."

"I thought that was alligator meat," Denise said.

"Who introduced the camel to America?" Babette said. "They had them out west for a while to carry supplies to coolies who were building the great railroads that met at Ogden, Utah. I remember my history exams."

"Are you sure you're not talking about llamas?" Heinrich said.

"The llama stayed in Peru," Denise said. "Peru has the llama, the vicuña and one other animal. Bolivia has tin. Chile has copper and iron."

"I'll give anyone in this car five dollars," Heinrich said, "if they can name the population of Bolivia."

"Bolivians," my daughter said.

The family is the cradle of the world's misinformation.

Next, Jack hears of a near air disaster involving his oldest daughter:

The plane had lost power in all three engines, dropped from thirty-four thousand feet to twelve thousand feet. Something like four miles. When the steep glide began, people rose, fell, collided, swam in their seats. Then the serious screaming and moaning began. Almost immediately a voice from the flight deck was heard on the intercom: "We're falling out of the sky! We're going down! We're a silver gleaming death machine!" This outburst struck the passengers as an all but total breakdown of authority, competence and command presence and it brought on a round of fresh and desperate wailing.

Finally, Jack's cowboyish father-in-law makes a speech about his failing health and insalubrious lifestyle:

"Don't worry about me," he said. "The little limp means nothing. People my age limp. A limp is a natural thing at a certain age. Forget the cough. It's healthy to cough. You move the stuff around. The stuff can't harm you as long as it doesn't settle in one spot and stay there for years. So the cough's all right. So is the insomnia. The insomnia's all right. What do I gain by sleeping? You reach an age when every minute of sleep is one less minute to do useful things. To cough or limp. Never mind the women. The women are all right. We rent a cassette and have some sex. It pumps blood to the heart. Forget the cigarettes. I like to tell myself I'm getting away with something. Let the Mormons quit smoking. They'll die of something just as bad. The money's no problem. I'm all set incomewise. Zero pensions, zero savings, zero stocks and bonds. So you don't have to worry about that. That's all taken care of. Never mind the teeth. The teeth are all right. The looser they are, the more you can wobble them with your tongue. It gives the tongue something to do. Don't worry about the shakes. Everybody gets the shakes now and then. It's only the left hand anyway. The way to enjoy the shakes is pretend it's somebody else's hand. Never mind the sudden and unexplained weight loss. There's no point eating what you can't see. Don't worry about the eyes. The eyes can't get any worse than they are now. Forget the mind completely. The mind goes before the body. That's the way it's supposed to be. So don't worry about the mind. The mind is all right. Worry about the car. The steering's all awry. The brakes were recalled three times. The hood shoots up on pothole terrain."

[acefms]

MUSE PLAYLIST / FELIX CASTILLO

01. mount everest / labrinth

I burn down my house and build it up again. I burn it down twice just for the fun of it. so much money, I don't know what to do with it. mount everest ain’t got shit on me, ‘cause I’m on top of the world.

002. don’t threaten me with a good time / panic! at the disco

champagne, cocaine, gasoline and most things in between. I roam the city in a shopping cart, a pack of camels and a smoke alert. this night is heating up, rise hell and turn it up, saying "If you go on, you might pass out in a drain pipe". oh, yeah? don't threaten me with a good time.

003. I don’t care / fallout boy

I don't care what you think as long as it's about me, the best of us can find happiness in misery.

004. super rich kids / frank ocean

too many joyrides in daddy's jaguar, too many white lies and white lines. super rich kids with nothing but loose ends, super rich kids with nothing but fake friends.

005. the hills / the weeknd

I only call you when it's half-past five, the only time that I'll be by your side. I only love it when you touch me, not feel me, when I'm fucked up, that's the real me.

006. paradise / bazzi

this is our life and we livin' it well, late nights in the city, causin' hell. burn this bitch into the ground, oh well. If all we got tonight, let's do this right. let’s go to paradise.

007. wake up in the sky / gucci mane, bruno mars, kodak black

I drink 'til I'm drunk (yeah), smoke til I'm high (yeah) castle on the hill (well damn), wake up in the sky. you can't tell me I ain't fly (you can't tell me I ain't fly) I know I'm super fly (I know), I know I'm super fly (I know) the ladies love the luxury (yeah), that’s why they all fuck with me (woo) out here with the moves (yeesh) like I invented smooth. you can't tell me I ain't fly.

008. into it / chase atlantic

i’ve been catching planes for the fun of it, then I'll be watching fame turn to punishment. the weather's only sunny when I'm under it, and I haven't really changed, yeah I'm just confident. I’m just fucking lucky I was born with it.

009. oblivion / labrinth

see I'm being honest right now, i've been in this dark hotel. so why do I keep myself locked in? I wanna be! I wanna be.. be in oblivion. don’t wanna live like this. need something to knock me out. don’t wanna feel. nothing can make me numb. nothing left to do but run.

[thevalleyofpeace]

its been sooo difficult to gather all my thought and write about my trip to UAE with mum. it was special. this was a mix of just drafts i wrote along the way, lil notes i made in my book (thanks tab for the pen gah i actually have interesting story about too). ill probs private this at some point anyway lets be honest lol

________________________

The first time Mum had been back to the Middle East since landing in Australia sometime in the hazy half-remembered spring of 1980—was precisely forty-five years ago. Not Iraq this time though. The United Arab Emirates. Abu Dhabi first, Dubai second. We arrived jet-lagged and sugar-dehydrated from the plane’s little square desserts that are never quite cake and never quite mousse, and which you eat anyway because time is suspended and your mouth needs to do something.

I loved when people would ask us where we were from. And it was funny—and by funny I don’t mean ha-ha but rather funny in the sense of a small tragicomic loop playing on repeat in the back of the throat—how when people asked where she was from, she stalled - Australia or Iraq?. Like a buffering YouTube ad. She’d say “Near Kurdistan,” and I’d watch her eyes get cloudy, then proud. “North of Iraq, Chaldean” she’d say, which technically was true, but not the whole truth. The whole truth required footnotes, asterisks, endnotes with citations in Aramaic. We are Dakhokhe’s after all, meaning we come from Kirkuk, which no one outside the village or its diaspora has heard of, and even inside the diaspora it requires some sort of performative pride to assert yourself, like saying your surname at a Starbucks and expecting them to spell it right.

She said it with a little tilt in her voice that made her sound ten years younger.

The wedding was for Melea’s youngest—Melea being Mum’s first real friend in Australia, back when she worked factory shifts for fourteen hours and still came home and prayed like God was her supervisor. Her daughter, the bride, works at Ashurst and was transferred five years ago to the firm’s UAE office. Law. She looked the same. You know how sometimes people you’ve known since you were in nappies (Mum’s word) show up in the most stunning wedding stress Ooft and you still see them as seven years old, belly forward, lost teeth? It was like that.

There was elation. Not “happy to see you” elation but something more… ancestral. Like: we made it. There’s a particular pride Middle Easterners of a certain age have when they see the next gen show up clean-shaven and globalized and still saying ahlan. A pride steeped in trauma but dusted with powdered sugar.

Brunch, Day 2. Mark’s mum complimented my necklace. “Nisreen,” she read aloud, softly. And I told her it was my mother’s name. I keep her close to my heart.

She said it was beautiful. And it was. And I remembered all the whispers and sideways looks and subtle homophobias growing up, the smirks when people asked “Why would a man wear his mother’s name around his neck?” Like it was a shame thing. Like it wasn't the only real protection I ever had.

There was this moment in the desert—somewhere between a camel farm and a fake oasis —where everything felt quiet. The dunes didn’t look real. The sun was offensive but in a way that demanded awe. I had this weird realization that this dry, wide-open, cracked land felt more like home than anywhere else I’d been. Something about the space. Something about the silence that wasn’t empty. Like a landscape version of Mum’s childhood.

Najee. That beautiful queer boy I absolutely didn’t mean to flirt with but likely did anyway. I always do that—project some ache into people like them who remind me of lightness, of what life could be if Arab men weren’t trained to kill softness in themselves. He made me laugh in a way I hadn’t in months, maybe years if I’m being honest but I’m rarely honest with myself in ways that stick. And not the small, polite laughter either, the laugh you perform in social situations to grease the gears of human interaction, to signal that yes, you are in fact receptive to the comedy of others, that you understand tone and timing and absurdity and are therefore emotionally calibrated. No. It was the real kind of laughter, the kind that spills out like something breaking, the kind that hijacks your diaphragm and makes you feel twelve again, innocent and free.

One night Mum and I were on the hotel balcony in Dubai—she with a tea she made from bags she’d packed from home, me staring at the skyline like it was judging me—and I started talking. Really talking. About being what its like to be a queer Arab. About friends who are Muslim and queer and alive and thriving and scared and radiant. And she listened. Not nodded. Listened. I told her how I had never made a straight male friend in a long time. I felt like the daughter she wanted, or the teacher she needed, to teach her that Arabs are toxic and the hope in my generation but only because some, like me, have been blessed with the right teachers. Said she didn’t care what people were if they were kind. Said she believed the heart never lies.

I swear sometimes I think God only sent her to Earth to make up for the rest of us. Like she's some overtime angel.

I ran out of antidepressants half way through the trip. Classic me. The descent was slow and thick. Like molasses leaking into the back of your skull. Mum laughed one night at dinner—really laughed—and I had to go to my room and cry into my pillow, stifling the sobs with the room’s extra bathrobe because I didn’t want her to hear. It wasn’t sadness. It was something like release. A sound I had not heard to so very long.

Final day. I’d planned every and i was hangry (a term i tought mum). When I asked Mum what she wanted to do—really wanted—she hesitated, then said, “Dubai Mall. Souvenirs.” With this tiny tear on her cheek that she wiped away like it was nothing.

She said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten to choose what we do on a trip. Usually I’m chasing your dad to find a bottle shop.”

Later, after some aimless walking, I stopped for KFC. Mum didn’t want any. She asked, gently, if she could go back to the hotel. Said she felt like sitting on the balcony. Alone.

She said: “I’ve never gotten a say.” I melt again….

My dreams were thick with symbols I don’t have a key to decode. Dad and I fighting in endless rooms. Trying to die and being rescued by A$AP Rocky. Tabitha showed up with Nour while my house melted and Pingu screamed. What was that? No idea. But it felt right.

Now I’m home. The weight of this place, of being back, is the kind that leaves bruises in places you can’t point to.

But I’m excited for Mum to return. Actually physically—like she’s in the kitchen boiling something that smells like Bharaht and love—but her. The real her. The one that existed before fear. Before Dad. Before a narcissistic cunt abused and trapped her in a prison.  

I miss her. I miss her freedom. I miss us. And I think she is back. I really hope so.

oki damn there so much more gahhhh altho some are v bitter sweet. also like averaging 1.5 shawarma a day lol.

mum and i just lounging watching the cutest youtuber called Ilham Kurdi </3 damnn now this was something i want to eleborate and write on this again ill come back to it. i wanted to articulate it right.

[earthbelowus]

thinking about esteria more.

i think the structure of the revolution is different from what ive been doing. i've been assuming it started definitively in 2124 and ended definitively in 2133. while the ceasefire still would happen in 2133, leading to a defacto esterian state, the 2124 "start" date feels a bit disengenuous.

after all, the unrest started in 2109. the 2108 elections went to the democrats, which signalled a political right-shift akin to what we see now with trump and whatnot. 2105-2109 president had been a particularly stale party for change presidency; where despite legislative action happening and such, things were kind of heating up sociopolitically. the gyrotasse population within american mars continued to increase at a rate slightly greater than the human population, leading a wave of conspiracy theories and xenophobia in the earth states (particularly in conservative former "red states"). especially as the US has gotten into the habit of having white-hot beef with nearly every powerful gyrotasse polity in Sol.

and the entire time theres also increased tension with the USSR and China. so the russophobia and sinophobia Also contributes to their win. so yeah theres a pretty strong dem trifecta formed. and as the opening months of 2109 went by, the entirely blue government would jump on the opportunity to enact all sorts of stupid shit. cold war red scare shit as well as culture war shit on earth, taking rights and having police brutality and censoring and all that. but it was on mars where they *really* pushed their shit.

they loosened government regulations on corporations, letting them burn martian fossil fuels despite. you know. earth still on overdrive trying to fix its own issues. that also drove the martian economy wild as corporations did the shitty fake inflation thing where they just made things expensive cuz they could.

they loosened regulations on the religious charters, leading to an uptick of social conservatism in these areas. long-held federal rights like gay marriage were now on the chopping block, with the most fundie charters hinting at turning the clock back even further.

but what sealed the deal was the landslide decision to create the "gyrotasse territory", carved from the westernmost counties of the urania territory (aka the area that used to be called "ztchdkast" in 2023 canon). the dems solution to the "gyrotasse issue" was to round up every single one on american mars and deport them to this gyrotasse territory. the climate there is cold and harsh, located in the inland urania campuses. the only gyrotasse that would have been spared were ones living in company towns, working for little to no wage. [wage slavery]

so as 2109 went on many cities across american mars would see cops barge into their communities and drag any gyrotasse out, shoving them into trucks or planes and sending them thousands of miles away to the GT. in many communities, especially in low income neighborhoods where the cities forced them to live, they were an integral part of the community, so when these deportations started happening, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. by the end of the year multiple protest organisations would have already sprung up fighting this.

and *thats* where most would put the start of the revolution. because as the 2110s went on, these groups would only grow and multiply, gradually taking control of cities and counties from the american government. the american news cycle would have called it a civil war even in the early 2110s.

now, 2124 is still important. up before then the groups would have been loosely allied, fighting for a common goal but generally disorganised on a pan-colonial level. but on april 8 2124, leaders of the prominent groups and some smaller ones got together in orangetree and took it to the next step, officially forming the first esterian government by unifying their groups under one banner. its when theyd start writing the esterian constitution, drafting the government, and all that stuff. in the following eight earthyears theyd capture more territory now that they were united. theyd immediately begin setting up the government in 2124, getting less rickety as time went on.

as the 2130s began, it was kinda looking like shit for the americans. theyd been pushed out of many strategic locations and entire states had been absorbed into esteria. in 2132, a party for change president ran on the promise to end the war, and after getting inaugurated in 2133, immediately started peace talks with the esterian government, who by then was already doing strong government things like elections and such.

the united states would give up all its possessions west of the continental divide, as well as the territory east of it north of the obama territory, as well as multiple port cities esterian government controlled in other areas of american mars across the globe. this creates the classic "esteria shape", but bigger.

this absolutely kills the president's chance of re-election, but. the president thought it was the best option for the US in the long run

thats when esteria does all the indpendence referendums and such and we get most of olympus insula + ida insula going independent. but the unity of the revolution kept a lot of the new state intact, including most of the port cities abroad. the fighting was long from over, though, as throughout the 2130s and 2140s esteria would have to deal with militant groups from the fundie charters.

so yeah. esteria would be borne from the union of revolutions under one flag. and i know my brain is healing because i only barely thought of tavadia while writing that previous sentence. i am becoming healthy once again

[ms-scarletwings]

Nothing messes me up like knowing that magic absolutely exists in invader Zim and the only beings to capitalize on its potential are like a tiny handful of sapient primates on Earth. Demonic entities exist and sometimes pay visit to this plane… but only on Earth, as far as we know.?

But then, again, maybe I’m wrong and aliens absolutely do take use of magical forces, and just don’t make the categorical differentiation between the two concepts like we do. Kind of like how Star Wars is literally a high fantasy setting but it has the outward aesthetics of a futuristic sci-fi. Kind of also like how humans are comparatively primitive and ignorant compared to sum of their society’s knowledge. Maybe part of the difference was that they cracked powerful “natural” forces we aren’t even aware of yet. Vortian tech is not only hyper advanced, but actually does things technology should not ever be capable of under the limits of basic physics and universal laws, unless the “infinite power generating thingy” is not a literal concept and is more like a very efficient fusion reactor. The meekrob are still beings of pure unspecified energy, and the standard voot cruiser’s capabilities are far beyond what even Professor Membrane calculates should be possible for interstellar travel.

Spelldrives are fascinating to me in particular

In effect, there’s no practical difference between them and a dnd wizard’s scroll. They’re digitized magical tomes. I never thought about how cool of a concept that was until these babies came along. It’s good proof of concept regarding integrating advanced technology with what is absolutely and without question straight up sorcery. It also applies heavily that warlocks or mages or whatever they would call spell casters in IZ have persisted into the modern world, and have adapted to the current standards of media storage. But that also makes Dib’s collection and use of them extremely reckless because the show clearly conveys he has no idea how they actually work, he understands their powers about as well as I understand Minecraft enchantment tables, and he’s never gotten a moment to speak with one of their intended users. (Plot hook where a very pissed off technomancer finds the twerp who’s been playing with his dangerous af tools like they’re toys when?????)

Your last paragraph I believe encapsulates exactly what I think has been happening to Dib’s perception of magic, this sort of expectation and outcome conflict. The “spiritual” kind of paranormal is an especially difficult beast for him to try to tackle and tame, because by definition, magic does not follow conventional scientific understanding of the world. Aliens and Bigfoot and lake monsters are some things that mostly do. They’re material and grounded, just really damn good at hiding from average humans. Irken technology is something that operates in ways predictable and usable to anyone who can get a firm grasp on its machinations and counter its protections.

And I think Dib runs into a wall when he tries to deal with magic the same exact way. A wall that especially loves to burn him for his naivety and shows how sometimes he can be a lot like his father when it behaves as though it doesn’t want to be conveniently figured out. His disappointment with magic being a very unreliable and high-risk tool, and how it reflects his broader frustration with his whole hobby was the straw that broke the camel’s back in “Mopiness of Doom”, after all.

He also read a freaking pamphlet about Mortos and showed up entitled to a boon without much real respect for the entity, just “Now that I think I know the rules I can command this creature as a weapon that makes me look very badass, like it’s a freaking genie”. Turns out mystical stuff not only takes great offense at his abuse of it, but it’s way more capable of retaliating against an unworthy user than the Takship is. So, he’s probably going to still passively study it where-ever he can, but as far as what to bring to the field and gamble his life on, I wouldn’t blame him for sticking with more reliable methods and gizmos in the meanwhile.

New headcanon, in fact: A lot of Dib’s general misfortune and random events of the universe screwing over victory every time he’s in arm’s reach of it is all actually a karmic result of how thoroughly he’s attracted the spiteful attention of very annoyed higher beings.

Something I wish they did more was having Dib try to combat Zim using magic instead of science. He did try summoning a demon to steal his soul in Mortos and in Mopiness of Doom he attempts to use a talisman from a wizard store in the mall, (which led to him giving up on trying to defeat Zim altogether). But we never really got to see Zim actually try to grapple with magic being used against him.

Normally Zim's knowledge and resources dwarf's Dib's when it's a battle of science vs science, perhaps no better illustrated than in The Wettening. But Zim doesn't know dick about magic or the supernatural, so he'd be way out of his depth trying to combat Dib if he ever found something actually effective he could use against him. You could have Dib use a protection spell that prevents Zim from harming him, or a curse that makes Zim unable to lie, recruit a ghost to harass him in his own home, take control of him with a voodoo doll, or magically summon fire and shoot it out of his hands. Lots of possibilities to keep him on even footing with Zim as their conflicts escalate.

I kinda like the idea of Dib becoming a super powerful warlock who still somehow can't get anything done because of how overwhelmingly corrupt and ineffectual the world around him is and who's also still desperate for approval that he never receives despite how outrageously accomplished and OP he gets. In a way, becoming even more like Zim, who absolutely has the resources to destroy the world, but has no idea how to use them effectively and constantly wastes them on petty skoolyard bullshit.

Either that or everything Dib finds that he thinks he can weaponize against Zim always comes with a serious design flaw or drawback that makes it functionally as useless as the Megadoomer's cloaking device. He studies mystic lore, learns spells, and collects ancient relics, building up this huge knowledge base and arsenal that's almost entirely useless bullshit. Over time he becomes super jaded about magic not living up to the hype. Like, not so jaded he loses the curiosity and enchantment that keeps him pursuing paranormal investigation, but he definitely stops getting excited about the latest source of "untold power" he hears about and approaches the legends with a lot more skepticism about what it can actually do.

[crazy56u]

Computer's finally up and running again, so now I get to spend half an hour translating my notes into what might wind up being two text posts due to Tumblr's character limit that I only just now learned was a thing!

In case you forgot, last week, Ziggy got outed as the antagonist, and Ben got knifed.

And already, we're on the Plane Ride from Hell.

Bold move talking about Evil Ziggy while inside the fucking Project.

The leap is going to rely on Google. Ben is fucked.

Not liking that ominous shot of Ian...

Fuck this Grenadine Fucker.

Ben, slap this child already.

Calling it now: Grandma Zelda dies on this flight.

I've never been in an upper floor plane before, but this First Class cabin checks out.

Hey, Ben, maybe don't remind Addison how you almost died last week?

If the handlink is on a "separate system", then Ziggy ain't offline...

Plot Twist: DB Cooper caused the plane crash somehow...

The fucking elevator music...

"Ben, stop being fucking snippy with my, we got a plane crash to stop."

"I hope you choke." If Addison just jinxed the pilot...

Yeah, fuck you, pilot, Ben has Future Google!

Plot twist: Ben has to land the plane.

"What do I do?" "Get back to work! (leaves)"

Oh God, not him again.

I hope Cory dies.

Yeah, I get the Surgeon General exists in the 1970s, but unfortunately, Joe Camel still has his stranglehold on America.

"Why didn't you ask [Leslie] for help?" "Well, I got knifed."

Who the fuck names their kid "Jim Gently"?

Reddit as a plot point, dear God.

AND HE'S CHOKING, GOOD ONE ADDISON

Double murder? Definitely DB Cooper.

Like I always say: Coffee is poison.

I love how Addison is getting pissed over Ben refusing to make friends.

I will laugh if it turns out Holly is innocent.

Calling it: Cory is the hijacker.

Pills and burbon, he knows how to party.

Ian is going to go rogue at this rate.

"It's not just about Ziggy-" Correct, it's about averting a plane crash, chop chop.

Ben, punch Cory already.

Ah, Cory has no friends, and he finally has a purpose!

...okay, that made me laugh. Get fucked, everyone, Ben was in the right for not trusting Leslie!

Well, things has turned slightly...

So, Cory technically caused this.

Maybe they crashed the plane to kill Cory?

Ben has to "Air Force One" this shit.

Holly, now's not the time to be mad at Ben.

How is this working?

"I hope for the best for your granddaughter, ma'am. (stands) SHE HAS HEALTH ISSUES!"

SPLASH!

"Here, have a gun."

"It's all because of me, isn't it?" Yes.

Oh, fuck, Cory was meant to be the Ben analogue this week.

And Bootleg Abe Vigoda to the rescue!

RIOT!

How did Abe Vigoda's clone not die from that?

Ben is becoming Walter White.

"Ben, fucking make friends already!"

You can tell Addison will never live down her misjuding Leslie as being a friend...

Ben's phoning this in, I see. (ba dum tish)

Night night!

"Cory, you can land this, right?" They are fucked.

"We got five minutes until this plane crashes!" Bet.

Cory, tick tock, choke down that fear of fucking up for once in your fucking life!

BTW, two minutes passed by my estimate.

And Ian finally gets to talk to Ben in the Imaging Chamber!

Ah, Ian patched the Imaging Chamber software, quick and easy handwave.

"Look, I know we have to land this plane, but let's rant about lore!"

DO YOU GET THE MORAL YET?!

My guess is that we aren't being shown Cory fix shit because he's violently crying all the while.

About as clean of a land as when the Foo Fighters did. 5/5

And right on cue, Sleepy Joe wakes up.

And Ben dips once more into the blue.

Lois gets to meet Nixon, oh dear God...

Way to kill the mood, Addison.

Oh, goody, we once again are flying blind.

And Ben is in... the future?

...wait, why is-

"Snowing in LA." ""Nuclear winter..."

...

...did Ziggy fucking nuke the Project?!

[Alrighty then, Addison got shot, that was my theory about why Ben had to save her, so, well, check that box off...]

Okay, next week is going to go hog-fucking-wild it seems. NBC, I know you already renewed the show, but announce Season 3 already.

[herbgroom]

alright! big moment of truth!

the least chosen option.... is the false one! mike never threw a chair at tony, he only expressed that he really wanted to. one time. and who could blame him

robert fripp did in fact join a cult, a mere *week* after breaking up king crimson in 1974 (yes you can argue he founded a cult himself <- this video is so eerie)

camel were indeed sponsored by Camel, more precisely during their Mirage tour, and that spawned a bunch of funny song names by peter bardens (which if you know him, it's a bit ironic if not sad) like 12 sticks of cancer, and so on

steve howe booked plane seats for his guitar, he said it himself in an interview, I forgot which one tho

greg lake had someone who would make sushi and blunts for him, source is in mauro pagani's book, where he talks about pfm meeting elp for the first time in england

then... I'm surprised at the large number of people who chose this one, during their 1969 tour pink floyd performed the live concept album "the man" and during the song "work" they would build a table and drink tea on it!

ian anderson moved away from music in the 80s and had a salmon farm in scotland! it was quite profitable as well, there's even one documentary talking about it, look how proud he is!

do you want me to make a part 2? I have so much trivia in me

[calumxkisses]

Sweet Creature | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: i think implied smut?

summary: request - Heeyyy, can you do one, where they have a big fight and they are in quarentine, and they stop talking to each other, and the sleep in different rooms, with cal... kiss from brazil 🇧🇷

a/n: this is one of my favorite song! let me know what you think about it! i hope you enjoyed it ;)

you should read this imagine while listening to: sweet creature

➳

“What the hell is wrong with you?” a scream comes out of your lungs. Your face has turned red, your head hurts and you feel your heart pounding. Your throat is now dry and you feel your nails sticking into the palm of your hand.

What Calum notices, however, are the tears running down your face and the pain behind your eyes. What hurts him the most, though, is knowing he is the cause of your pain. He would like to hug you, tell you that he is sorry, that he loves you and that he doesn't even remember why you are fighting, but his pride prevents him from being the person he would like to be. The person you are in love with.

“All you do is whine.” he screams out, rolling his eyes and letting out a snort.

This discussion was the straw that broke the camel's back, filled by being forced to stay at home, by a canceled tour and canceled parties but, above all, by the concern of a world that is in chaos, with a fatal virus that spreads like wildfire.

He is worried, he feels the burden of not having to disappoint anyone, of being a good person who says the right things, of being a child who cares about their parents who live on the other side of the world and cannot go to visit, reassure, and that he can only see through a mobile phone screen.

“I have a right to be angry, you know that, right?” Your voice calms down a bit, but anger still runs through your veins. You walk up and down the room, with one hand on your forehead and being careful not to step on the broken glass of the fallen vase.

Calum has spent the last few weeks in the studio, out in the garden practicing, or locked in a room, anywhere but with you. He preferred to wake up early and go to sleep late, feel cold instead of holding you and skipping meals to avoid being with you.

For the first time in days, you get a good look at him: his hair has grown, as has the beard surrounding his face, he has terrible dark circles and the vein on his neck comes out prosperous, underlining how much he is screaming.

You felt abandoned, alone, left on the sidelines, and your feelings were amplified by the impossibility of going to someone, just to escape from that situation, to be held by someone else or just to talk over a coffee with a friend.

The only thing you could have done, was to ask him why, what you had done to deserve such treatment, and to spend some time together. And that’s where the scream started.

Tears roll down your face and you run your hand under your eyes to wipe them away. If you didn't notice them before, now the pinch caused by their wake has become hard to ignore.

“Are you going to cry now? God, you’re making me regret being with you. I really wish you weren’t born.”

Calum feels the pain it caused you before even reading the expression on your face. He puts his hand in front of his mouth in hopes of being able to block the words, but they have already left his lips and have come straight into your ears, getting stuck under your skin and breaking even the last pieces of the broken heart you have left.

His words hit you like a bolt from the blue. Arguing often leads to saying unthinkable words and among all the things you've been yelling at each other in the last hour, some bad words have certainly escaped, but nothing so terrible.

You feel a pain in your chest never felt before, deep and intense, and even the tears stop flowing. You inhale deeply, seeking relief in a breath of air and waiting for your body to react in any way, all is better than feeling full of pain. The room starts spinning, your head feels full and empty at the same time, and your legs struggle to bear the weight of your body.

Calum carefully scans your face, looking for any reaction from you to understand how much your mind has absorbed his words. His stress, his worries have led him to be a different person and the fear that you may leave him has terrified him, but his insecurities have done the opposite of what one expects, making he walk away from you and treating you coldly, and now he fears that he is really on the verge of being alone, with his broken heart in his hands, ready to mend every wound himself.

You didn’t deserve this.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not with you.” You whisper, lifting your face and looking him straight in the eye. The words he used, the coldness of his tones and the loneliness in which he left you have piled on top of each other on your chest, making it difficult for you to even breathe. You need time, space, whatever helps you figure out what to do.

“What do you mean?” He asks in a shaky voice. His eyes are glossy, his hands are shaking and his face has lost color. His heart carries so much goodness and you know it wasn't his intention to hurt you, but his words were like stab wounds and you need to take care of them now.

You don't want to leave, and not because you can't take a plane, but because Calum means too much to you and leaving is not an option to consider. If it ever ends up between you, after all you've been through, it should be in a more dignified way and not because of a stupid fight and insincere words.

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room for a while and then we’ll see what to do.” Is all you can say and all you can do.

“So you’re not leaving?”

“I don’t think so, at least not now.”

Silence.

And that silence means everything and nothing.

You pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and, after casting one last look at the boy in front of you, you take refuge in a room that doesn't belong to you. The air in the guest room is different, you can't breathe the love that characterizes every corner of yours and Calum's and even the sheets seem different, cold, painful. You put a hand through your hair and lean on the door, slowly sliding towards the floor and letting go of your frustration.

Calum closes his eyes and puts his hands to his face as his body slumps onto the sofa behind him. The house reigns in silence, the only audible sound is your sobs in another room and, before he knows it, he starts crying too. He doesn't care about wiping his face or stopping the moans that come out of his mouth, he deserves to feel awful and humiliate himself like that, the guilt is devouring him and he just thinks about how he wishes he could disappear, to make your life easier.

When you first met, he knew you were the right person from the first look you gave him. Behind your eyes, deep in the irises, there was a whole world, made of kindness, love and joy. You had your demons, but the strength you emanated made it clear that you were able to overcome them, even without knowing it. A world that he wanted to discover, with delicacy and patience, and in which he wanted to live.

But what he feared most was bringing darkness into the light you emanated, turning your smiles into tears and your heart into a mass of sharp pieces.

He had told you, while you were eating some heated pizza on a rainy morning, your legs were on his and your face on his shoulder. And you had caressed his face, wiping away the dirt on his lip with your thumb, assuring him that you would have love him anyway and that you would have happily shared some of your light, and then you had kissed him, and that kiss tasted like tomato sauce and love, a combination you still love with all your heart.

And now, the only thing he can do, besides pitying himself, is wondering if you're regretting sharing your joy with him, if you'd rather stay full of light instead of welcoming his demons. And he fears your answer is yes.

Duke rubs his face on his leg, asking for scratches but also showing his affection. He doesn't know what happened and Calum wonders if the dog, who loves you more than any other person has crossed the threshold of your home, would look at him differently knowing that he broke the heart of the person he loves most.

If so, as his mind is trying to convince him, he couldn't handle it. He would not be able to live knowing that he has let down another being he cares about. Because he cares about you, but it is difficult for him to show it, the fear of rejection is stronger than he would like.

So, he lowers himself a little and gently strokes the dog, hoping to be able to receive that affection he is so afraid of losing.

As Calum's world shatters before his eyes, you take care to gently reassemble what's left of yours. You're still on the floor, getting up takes too much energy and a motivation that you can't find.

How you feel about the guy down the hall cannot be described in words, there is no way to describe what his gaze makes you feel, the way his words reassure you or how his love warms your heart up. It just works like this. Your love does not need big gestures or difficult words and never like now, it is better to absorb the silence and be lulled by the air.

Perhaps it would have been better to remain silent, let the cold of his words slip on you and learn to live in the loneliness in which he left you, but you couldn't go on like this. Not fighting would have meant not caring about him or your relationship and that's exactly the opposite of how things are. He had to know how you felt and what you were missing.

The sweet sound of his voice or the warmth of his skin are essential for you, not only on a love level, but in the daily routine of your life. A routine that had changed, which was no longer full of joy and smiles, light and perfume, but of demons that wandered undeterred around the walls of your home, ready to bring the cold into your souls.

And that routine, once full of love, was now non-existent. No more words had been said between you, no meal had been eaten together and your bed had forgotten what love meant. The stars, ever present witnesses of the passion that surrounded your bodies, were now always absent, covered by gray clouds and black skies. Even the moon, which guards all lovers, shone with a paler and more blurred light.

The moon gave way to the sun, the grass grew and the days alternated on the calendar. And yet, it seemed to you that you were still still that afternoon. Sure, breathing had become less difficult and the tears had stopped flowing on your face, but even in the middle of spring the coldness brought chills on your body.

You have no idea what he is doing, occasionally you see the shadow of his shoes behind the door of the guest room or you hear broken melodies coming from the studio, but his face becomes more and more unknown.

You spend your days studying, working, playing with Duke or reading your favorite books. You wake up late and go to sleep early, hoping to feel less lonely.

The truth, however, is that you miss him immensely, like water in the desert or milk after eating spicy food. You need to be able to get lost in his eyes or just hold his hand. The headache meds don't work like his kisses on your forehead, and no number of blankets could bring you the same warmth that a hug from him gives off.

You feel so pathetic to need him by your side, but after so many years of loneliness, he was able to convince you that you were worthy of being loved just like everyone else and, specifically, that he would love you more than anyone else. And he had done it, always and anyway, for the sake of the joyful news and the bad of your depression, he had always been there, ready to show you that you were worth it.

He wants to do it, he wants to continue to hold you and to tell you how beautiful you are, how honored he feels to be the keeper of your heart and the champion of your love, but he believes that no apology would bring serenity to your sky.

What is he supposed to do? No words would express the humiliation he feels whenever he thinks back to your fight and his behavior, no hug or kiss would bring love into your broken heart.

He spent his nights awake, the insomnia caused by his thoughts was making it impossible for him to live. The table seemed too big and the bed too uncomfortable, the bass was always out of tune even as he spent hours adjusting its strings and no melody seemed catchy enough to lift your mood in the other room. He knew that when you were sick, listening to him play brought some peace to your troubled world, but now no sound would chase the bad weather away.

None of his gestures would be enough to show how bad he feels. Nothing can express the pain he feels and the regret of his words.

However, 3 years of relationship is enough for him to know what makes you smile. There is one song in particular, in the immense repertoire that is your music library, that you love to hum and listen to when the silence is too loud.

So, wearing his best shirt and trying to fix the clump of his hair, he sits down at the piano in the living room and, after taking a deep breath, he tries to voice his thoughts.

Sweet creature

Had another talk about where it's going wrong

But we're still young

We don't know where we're going

But we know where we belong

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

As you put down your favorite book after reading it again, Calum's sweet, broken voice spreads throughout the house, bringing a sense of comfort to your heart. You can hear the pain behind his voice, and even though you know your wounds will take some time to heal, the words he screamed at you lose their value. One part of you is still angry but the other, curious and in love, wastes no time getting you out of bed and walking towards the room.

The piano overlooks the garden, the sun shines above and illuminates all the plants. Duke is chasing a butterfly, its tail wags quickly and some leaves are stuck in its fur. Calum has his back to you, his back leaning slightly forward as he looks outward, but his mind wanders somewhere else.

You lean on the door jamb that separates the two rooms and close your eyes, letting yourself be carried away by the music and breathing regularly, giving your body respite from all the accumulated stress.

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

Sweet creature

We're running through the garden

Oh, where nothing bothered us

But we're still young

I always think about you and how we don't speak enough

Calum watches the garden as the lyrics of the song automatically come out of his mouth. He was never good at playing the piano but, during the nights spent away from you over the years, he promised himself to learn all your favorite songs so he could sing them to you whenever you needed them.

And while Duke rolls around in the grass, he can't help but think about the thousand picnics you had on that same lawn, the laughter you shared and all those moments when he always fell in love a little more looking at you.

And even if the song doesn't belong to him, he can still feel every single word and a small tear falls down his face.

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

I know, it's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You take a few steps forward and, after taking a deep sigh, sit next to him. Calum winces at the contact but his face turns into a big smile after seeing you. He doesn't know if you're still mad at him or if his singing worked, but being able to see you again after so many days spent in agony brings a sense of peace to his messed up world. He knows that this song is not enough, that he will have to prove a lot more to you - even if you will probably forbid it - but knowing that he has you there, frees him from a weight that he carried inside.

And as usual, there is no need for words, he just needs to feel your head resting on his shoulder to know that you have come back to him. And when your hands touch his, he feels at home again.

Almost automatically, your hands begin to move to the rhythm of the music and your fingers touch the keys of the piano, accompanying Calum in the melody, just as he taught you.

Duke is rolling in the grass, the butterfly now forgotten, and his happy face is illuminated by the sun. It seems that the sky has returned to shine too, not just your eyes, and the pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly again.

I know when we started

Just two hearts in one home

It gets harder when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You'll bring me home

There was no need to talk to him, or to explain, risking losing you was necessary for him to understand that something was wrong, that he had to find the right path, that you can risk skidding, the important thing is getting back on track.

“I am grateful to your mother for bringing you into the world, but even more grateful to you for being a part of my life. I'm sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. I love you and I always will.” He whispers, placing his hands on his thighs, as soon as he finishes singing the last words. His words are sincere, you can perceive the displeasure behind his tone and you know he believes what he says.

He kisses you on the forehead and, taking your hand in his and squeezing it, he rests his face on your head, closing his eyes and absorbing the silence, a cautious silence, full of peace and fresh air.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, closing your eyes in turn and letting yourself be lulled by the peace and serenity found. You know that everything will be fine, that even if you’ll have other fights, you will always find a way to get back to each other.

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