#things have calmed down a lot but it's still so disheartening to see folks take the wrong lesson from all the bullshit

[angels-heap]

Every now and then, I stumble across conversations about how fucked up the HL(VRAI) fandom was in 2020, and it's so wild to me that the relevant "examples" are almost always individual off-putting fanworks or individual trolls and not, like, the rampant harassment. Guys, the worst part was the harassment!! The handful of people who posted fucked up shit for shock value were annoying, but the overblown response to those trolls and the ensuing harassment campaigns against anyone who could possibly be construed to have anything in common with them were infinitely worse.

... then again, I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of these folks claiming one gross-out fic ruined their fandom experience were also the same people who spread all the discourse and organized the harassment campaigns, so 🤷

[ask-the-royal-absol]

Snow@all Snow popped in between the group, grinning, “DESTINO HAS A CRUSH ON FELIX!!!” She yelled as loud as her speakers allowed her

*A crush? Felix didn’t know what this Vulpix was playing at but the ghost had known Destino for a long while. He knew Destino didn’t do crushes. That just wasn’t their style. The Absol was very open when it came to how they felt about things. Destino only had one mon they once may have had a slither of feelings for but they were no longer around. And a crush on him? Impossible. Though he’d never asked Destino if they liked him in that way, Felix knew deep down that Destino wouldn’t. And, as much as Felix may have wanted to take thing further, he knew it wasn’t likely. He carried on laughing at Snow’s comment.*

*Ah Snow. She could be so funny! A crush! And on Felix of all Pokémon? Whatever next would the little Vulpix come up with? Crushes were stupid. Ridiculous. Why would you ever try to be secret with something like that when you could be open and make it happen? Destino didn’t do feelings. They were pointless.

Although…

Destino looked over at Felix, a mixture of thoughtfulness and confusion on their face. Perhaps…

No, stupid to even consider. Destino turned back towards Snow.*

Destino: Well, it was impressive that you made me laugh, Snowball. But I’m gonna have to put you on pause there. I imagine we’ll soon be making our way to the hell hole that’s also known as the surface. I honestly don’t know what’s worse, the shit hole I live in down there or the potential savages up there I’ll have to face.

*Hope took one look at the strange object in Gwen’s hand and saw an image of Destino. An absolutely hilarious image of Destino. A smile appeared on her face and she couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle. Was this the experience that Destino had mentioned? No wonder they’d found it to be awful, considering what she knew about Destino’s self care habits. It was still funny to see the absol like that Hope was curious about the object Gwen had to create this. She calmed herself before answering the question.*

Hope: Yes, I do have a mentor. Master Farris is his name and he’s amazing. I would have never gotten this strong without him. He’s tough and incredibly determined. He sees the best in everyone and uses that to push them further. You see, fighting types can see a Pokémon’s combat potential and he knows what’s best for every Pokémon. He determined that I needed to work on my physical attack and speed and set up a work out specifically for that.

*She smiled, thinking about the hard work her master puts her through on a daily basis. It was a lot of hard work and many of the Pokémon that come to his training ground tend to get a little disheartened by the experience. But those who stuck it through definitely felt a lot stronger. She had to be strong for her subjects and he knew how to make that happen.*

With training up my speed, he sets me up with a Power Anklet and focuses on doing races with other Pokémon. Master Farris has a leg muscle workout he also does with us as well, squats and the like. Building muscles are incredibly important when it comes to increasing your speed.. Though it can be quite tough.

For my attack, that tends to be all out sparring with a Power Bracer equipped. I enjoy it though I think the Growlithes and Machops probably don’t enjoy the numerous times I’ve kicked their asses. Still, all good training.

Anyways, I’ve got to know, what’s that thing you have? It looks nothing like I’ve seen before. The folks in Mechania have stuff that glows and lights up the streets at night but not anything like this.

@ask-a-learning-ai @askbohemiancompany

[saltysmoothie]

(falls headfirst into your ask box but it’s like a mail slot so my arm just comically sticks out holding a note that reads) 5 and 7 for veron. 19 for chantrell and 18 for serendipity

*takes the note from your hand and attempts an awkward high five with your hand until you’re able to get your arm unstuck*

Veron

5. What is your favorite thing to do in your free time? 

Read, mostly! If I’ve got a good book on hand, what better time than when I’m just hanging around to just read something, whether it’s non-fiction or fiction. Well, I am a little picky on what kind of book it is, I tend to enjoy a book about magic or something related to nature and wildlife, sealife especially is interesting. I’ve also been fiddling with the cartographer’s kit lately as well! Uh... but I’m actually not that great with it, feathers aren’t the greatest at writing stuff and I’m sort of not that great with that sort of thing, but I’m a little more confident about using it now that I’m back with my captain as of now! She’s actually pretty good with directions, she’s been at it for a long time.

7. Who do you look up to? 

Well... A lot of people, actually, not just one person. And I don’t just mean that literally, heh h eh heh... But seriously yeah uh, my captain of course, she’s really well-accomplished and smart, and the fact that she has enough confidence in me to be a better user of magic means a lot more than I can really even convey with words... And then there’s the folks I met while we were out getting artifacts, I honestly can’t be any more thankful for the fact that they cared and stood for me despite everything. There was just so many moments where Dedan, Quill, or Setac supported me through and through and that also meant much more to me than I, again, can convey with words. It was truly incredible.

Chantrell

19. What makes you sad?

Hmmmm... That’s a toughie. I guess, the first thing that comes to mind has to do with my work. See, I like working with material from the dead, I’ve found both fascination and inspiration from making bone jewelry, leathermaking, working with skulls, the like... To see folks heckle and throw hate at those things just because they think it’s “grotesque” like that is incredibly disheartening. Sure, I shrug it off most time, but it can get to me and agitate my creative focus. I’ve learned to just ignore it most of the time though, unwanted criticism is unwanted criticism as usual. I’ll take any appreciation of my craft if it manages to come my way. ....Are you interested in one, by the way?

Serendipity

18. What’s the best way to cheer you up?

Ah god, I’ve got a lot of ways to feel better especially after having kind of a sucky day, they might sound boring but eh. But yeah, normally I just tend to try and take care of myself, make sure I’m eating okay and not worsening or fucking myself up and all. Taking! Walks! Is! Good! For! My! Health! I don’t know why I said it like that actually, but it’s still important, goddamnit! Honestly too, I’ll pick up one of my favorite games or bake something to get my mind off something if I need cheering up. The Legend of Zelda: Spirit Tracks fucking SLAPS, and it makes me feel good so I’ll just go play it for a few hours and calm down. That’s my shit. Or I’ll make some cookies and take them to my friend, she likes everything I make and making stuff for both of us to enjoy honestly makes my day alone. ........(*whispering* though uh. Just between you and me. I’m Good Karma, and I can just kinda jump to the top of a building and watch the city for a bit. That’s a rare instance for me but sometimes it’s nice to get away from my own life and watch the sky or the people go by. Yknow what? It’s just fun in general to jump from rooftop to rooftop. Makes me feel free.)

[spiritmaiden23]

“Z.elda... you’re doing it again.”

Immediately does she cease in her actions, her feet that swung to and fro now staying still as can be in the cool, refreshing waters. The ripples fading out to the far ends of the lake. Once more, did Link scold her and once more it was because she was disturbing the fish with her movements. However, scold was used lightly here as he had done it in such a gentle manner it made her wonder if it even was one. Not once has she seen Link angry or even annoyed. He was a mild-mannered soul, who possessed a sensitivity to the world around him not unlike her friend from her youthful days. Regardless, she did not intend to offend with her actions that can be perceived as boredom or impatience (though perhaps waiting around made her a tad bit bored). She was lost in thought, the serene quiet causing for a lot of things to pop into her mind. 

“Heh, sorry Link. I was a bit caught up in my thoughts there, I didn’t even realize that I was––– anyway, sorry.”

A nod of the head and an understanding smile would be his answer, as though he was reassuring her to not worry about it in his own silent way. Don’t worry, you’re ok. He wasn’t much for words she finds, instead, allowing for his actions to speak for him. And that was ok because she was able to understand what he means to say, what he means to convey through his actions. So with that in thought, her eyes wander over to the calm waters as though she were trying to spot the fish from where the two sat. However, with the distance of the rod, it was impossible to discern whether or not fish were around the proximity of it. 

“What were you thinking about?” Gaze not leaving the fishing rod anytime soon, he looked quite intense, determined to catch fish even though they didn’t even cast a glance at the bait. It’s been like this all day, came her wary thoughts. “I mean, you don’t have to share if it’s something personal or anything,” he said while scratching the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning pink. Perhaps from being a bit too straight-forward with his inquiry, that much she can surmise. 

Zelda would wave off his worries. “No, it’s ok! It’s nothing important. I was just thinking about how amazing Hyrule is, this little village is. It’s different from Skyloft you see. Everything seems so... homely here! Everyone’s so nice and the kids are just adorable!” 

“I guess you like Ordon then?”

“Like?” came her incredulous tone, dramatic in its delivery. “I love it here! It’d be nice if I could visit every day.”

Reeling the rod after he was certain he had felt a tug, disappointment floods his being once he sees that it was but another piece of garbage. A shoe this time, to her fascination. She couldn’t help but giggle at the obvious dishearten expression he wore as he added the boot to the small collection of garbage that was piling up. It had been nothing but bottles or cans and this would come as a surprise to Zelda for this lake seemed pristine and well kept. She supposes there were a few rotten eggs who did not adhere to the silent law in trying to preserve the beauty of nature by not littering. So he’d cast the fishing rod once more before he continues on.

“Well, you can if you want. The others like you, you’re more than free to stay a spell whenever. I’m sure everyone else would be happy to see you.”

The portal that connects their world has yet to close and the two would take advantage of the fact by visiting each other’s worlds and offering the other sights that which they had never seen before. It was always fun to hang around with Link and she could only hope that it was vice versa for him as well. Yet moments like these, moments where they sat in silence and talked little talks, were rare yet still appreciated by Zelda. They didn’t always have to go on some grand adventure no matter how much excitement that may bring, the two can just... chat. Shoot the breeze and stay a spell as Link had offered (a funny choice of words but perhaps a saying common around Ordon). 

Adding on he’d say: “The folks around here are welcoming. We’re like family down here. Sure, the village is small and not as grand as Castle Town... but I’d choose living here over anywhere else any day.”

She understood what he meant by that, it was the same way she felt about the small colony as well as the Surface (or Hyrule) in general.

“Yeah, I see where you’re coming from. Skyloft used to be like that too. A place where everyone knows each other... I don’t know, it feels like home to me. I don’t really know too much about what it’s like to be in a city like Castle Town... but like you said I’d choose to live in a small village any day too! And alright, I’ll take you up on that offer then! But, you have to promise you’ll visit the colony too someday.”

He nods, perhaps in agreement or perhaps awaiting for further elaboration. So she chooses to do the latter and add on to her words. 

“You know how I came from the skies, right? While Skyloft is still sorta around, only a few islands remain that is. And there aren’t too many settlements on those islands aside from maybe two or one people living there. It’s been tough, but for the most part, we have most of the Skyloftians on the Surface. Some refuse to leave the skies though.”     

He couldn’t understand that logic, why they refuse to leave the skies that is and this much she could tell by the subtle quirk of the eyebrows knitting together. She smiles as her eyes turn skyward. 

“I guess it’s because they’re too scared to leave,” came her answer to his silent question. “The skies is all that they’ve known. Rumors that the Surface was a barren wasteland still remains around the islands. And well, of course, you’ll have your stubborn folks too. But that’s ok. I think that someday they’ll come around, for now, I don’t want to rush them or demand that they should come down.”

She had the power to do that too. Once rumor came out that she was connected to the goddess Hylia, in fact being the goddess made mortal herself, treatment towards Zelda had drastically changed and now she has this strange power that she did not like having too much. 

“Well, like you said they’ll come aro–––” 

He felt a tug, however, this one wasn’t subtle like the last couple of ones had been. No, this tug roughly pulled the fishing rod downwards causing for Link to tighten his hold around it. Startled by the sudden movement, she’d look over to him with excitement. “I think you caught the big one!! Hurry, hurry! Reel it in before it gets away!” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He was quick to reel it in, pulling on the fishing rod as well, for the fish he had managed to caught seemed to be quite the fighter. They didn’t back down yet neither did Link. Zelda watches on, holding her breath as she clenches her fists together, moving them upward to her chest. You can do it, came her thoughts, you can do it I know you can!

As though her prayers had been answered by the Old Gods, he managed to bring the fish to the shore and he holds it up, triumph and relief clear in his expression. Zelda lets out a cheer, clapping her hands for the stellar and tense performance. 

What he had caught was an Ordon Catfish, he’d later explain to her, however, this one was abnormally big than from a regular Ordon Catfish.

“They kinda look cute.”

He flashes her a weird look and she could only shrug and say: “What? I think they are at least. When you look closely”

“If you say so...” it’s just fish, his expression seems to say and she would retort with “oh hush they are cute” and stick out her tongue at him. Of course, this was all in good fun on her part. 

“Anyway, I think you should release them. The poor fella must be so confused.” 

He complies, taking the fish off of the hook and releases it back into the lake. She watches as it disappears into the water. Standing up, she’d stretch her limbs. Fun as it was to hang around Link, sitting around and talking, it was the waiting that was the only boring part about fishing but she wouldn’t mind doing it again! Just as she was about to retrieve her boots, Link would call out to her.

“It’s your turn now, isn’t it?” 

[zirawrites]

Hi! I love seeing new react blogs! This one could either go sympathetic or dramatic: *Spoilers!* Sole destroyed the Institute, but didn't take their love interest with them for the attack. Companions find out weeks later through gossip that Sole left a child synth, created in their son's likeness, behind to die in the explosion.

Oooooh, this one is HEAVY on the **SPOILERS** so if you haven’t finished the game… don’t be a big baby and just read this anyways. The game has been out since 2015 xoxo

Also, I forgot to make Codsworth romanced. If you’d like a romanced!Codsworth, just send me another ask! I like his platonic Mister Handy reaction too much to delete.

Cait: On one hand, Cait didn’t want to care that Sole left a synth behind. She had been against Danse joining their party when he admitted to being one of those monstrosities. Cait barely trusted humans. So a machine that looked and acted like one with having God-knows-what kind of special abilities or enhancements? No way was she coming near them. Hell, they were probably the things the Institute sent out to replace you with.

She overheard some settlers at Sanctuary discuss how Sole had left her synth-son behind and… for some reason this one was different. Cait marched over to Sole - fists balled up by her sides - and it took all of her might not to pummel them right there.

“So ya think it’s okay to leave little, defenseless youngns behind, do ya?” Cait became even more angry when Sole reminded her that she was against synths in the first place. “Not defenseless children, Sole! I know what it’s like to be vulnerable like that. Hell, it took me months to open up to you! I don’t give a damn about adults. They can fend for themselves. But that synth? That was just a kid. And you left him to die. Yer own flesh and blood.” She was disgusted.

Codsworth: For 210 years, Codsworth had dreamed of his master’s family reuniting. Though their house was nearly ash and he wasn’t exactly the Mister Handy from 2077, they could start where they left off. Sole would go off to work somewhere respectable, maybe with Piper in Diamond City. They would earn an honest living while their partner raised Shaun to be the best survivor anyone could be in the Commonwealth. Codsworth would help, of course. He would tutor the young master in school. Make his sack lunch. Tuck him in to a big-boy beg like he always wanted to…

But that would never happen. Sole left synth-Shaun behind, and Codsworth’s dreams of repairing the family were futile. Crushed like broken glass under a heavy boot. Blown to smithereens like an atom bomb over a quiet suburban city one unsuspecting morning.

“You monster!” Codsworth had never yelled at Sole that way. He honestly didn’t know his programming allowed such behavior. Sole tried to reach out to him as his metal began to shake, but Codsworth backed away. “I waited 200 years, mum/sir! 200 years for you to come home to me. For us to be a family. And you never cared. This was never about young Shaun, was it? You just wanted to prove something.” He turned away to go home, knowing Sole wouldn’t follow. “That means you never cared about me either. I rather be deactivated than serve another day under your care.”

Curie: As Curie sat with her face in her palms sobbing quietly, she realized she felt an entirely new emotion. Sole had left her synth-son, and was so unmoved by the gesture they hadn’t even bothered to tell her. Her shoulders shuddered as the only sounds around were the gentle lapping of the lake, and Curie’s own sniveling.

Sole touched the back of her shoulder, but Curie was too upset to react. They began giving her some excuse that a synth-child and synth-girlfriend were different. They always knew Curie as a robot. No one could ever replace their own son. But Curie still couldn’t shake this new feeling.

“I think…” Her voice quivered, and it took Sole stroking her hair for a few moments for Curie to regain composure. “I think I feel betrayed. The boy did not have to replace your son. But he was still just as alive as me. I do not think you understand life.” Sole winced, and Curie finally looked up at her partner. “I do not think you understand me.”

Danse: Sole knew her Paladin better than he probably knew himself. That was what made his silence so disheartening. When Danse was upset, he was usually in an uproar. Smashed belongings scattered wherever he could reach them. Holes in the walls. Chest puffing. He didn’t have a temper, but when his facade cracked, Sole had seen a man full of emotion and anguish.

But instead, Danse was quiet. They finally had to ask why he reacted to their decision in complete silence. Danse looked over at Sole; eyes full of thick tears. “I thought when you said you loved me, you loved all of me. Even the synth part.” His voice cracked. Sole had never seen him this upset, even when he left the Brotherhood. “Now I don’t know why you stay. To you, I’m just a machine. I was right all along.”

Deacon: “What the FUCK, Sole?!” Deacon slammed the door to HQ so hard the frame cracked. He had followed them back from picking up a lost synth when the man innocently asked why Sole had left young Shaun behind. Sole didn’t even have the audacity to deny it. 

Sole pleaded with Deacon to lower his voice, but it only fueled him on more. He said something about never truly knowing them. That they couldn’t be trusted. They were the only thing just as scummy as him in the entire Commonwealth.

“We’re through,” he said. Deacon’s voice was low. Seething. “I don’t want to be your partner. I don’t want to be your boyfriend. Because apparently I’m traveling with a murderer. I want you to look Des in the eyes and explain why you left a boy to die, because I sure as hell never want to see your face again.”

Hancock: “Wow,” Hancock said as Sole entered their shared apartment in Goodneighbor. “That’s low. Even for the likes of you.” When Sole asked what Hancock was talking about, his eye twitched. Today was not the day to mess with him. “A little birdy told me you left your son to die in the Institute. And here I was thinkn’ we were out to make the world a better place. To stick up for the little guy.” 

After that, Hancock and Sole drifted apart. It was a quiet, gradual break-up. He couldn’t be with someone who didn’t value all life. If Sole felt so apathetic about smoothskin synths, he didn’t want to know how they really felt about ghouls.

MacCready: “I can’t believe I was gonna let you meet my son!” MacCready stood between the bed and dresser. He wasn’t sure if he should sit down, or start packing his bags. Soul explained that the synth wasn’t really her son, and that it would be too hard to see young Shaun every morning knowing he wasn’t really him. MacCready calmed down enough to try and see it from their side. He ended up staying, but still hasn’t let Sole meet Duncan.

Preston: Preston’s first reaction was to get mad at the Minuteman who started spreading the rumor. His lovely, caring Sole would never leave an innocent person behind; especially not a child. He approached the topic carefully while the two were headed to a settlement that needed their help. To his horror, Sole admitted to leaving synth-Shaun behind.

“Y’know, a lot of the folks we help out here are synths, too. They deserve a chance at life. What you did was… cold.” Preston wanted to ask Sole if she would still help a settlement of synths, but he didn’t want to know the answer.

Piper: Piper felt conflicted. She didn’t trust synths, but she wasn’t a complete racist. Spending so much time in Diamond City had filled her head with doubts about the legitimacy of synths. Could they really be trusted? She knew Nick Valentine was alright, but he didn’t actually look like a person.

Sole asked her to imagine if she found out Nat was a synth that had replaced her a long time ago. That only made Piper angry, and she threw Sole out of the newsroom. As much as Piper would be hurt to have Nat replaced by a synth, it wouldn’t have been the synth’s fault. She supposed Sole wasn’t as trustworthy as she hoped they were.

Nick: “Well isn’t that just great,” Nick seethed. “I wonder when you were planning on ditching me, too.” Sole tried to explain that leaving Shaun had nothing to do with how she left about Nick, but he wouldn’t hear it. They had never seen him so angry, and his eyes pierced in to their own with fury. “You couldn’t even tell me. I had to find out around the streets of Diamond City! Do you really care that little about me, Sole?” Even though Sole continued to apologize, Nick didn’t even want to have a conversation about it. He couldn’t. It broke his heart.

X6-88: For the most part, X6 understood Sole’s decision. He hadn’t wanted them to leave the Institute in the first place, but he was programmed to obey and watch over the relatives of Father, and that was what he was going to do. However, he allowed himself to feel hurt. X6 wouldn’t say it out loud, but hearing the gossip from others made it much worse. When Sole found out X6 knew they left Shaun, they tried to explain themselves.

“You don’t need to tell me anything, sir/ma’am,” he said. X6 had that deadpan look he had given Sole the first time they met. “I’m sure your decision was an educated one. I just hope you aren’t planning on leaving me any time soon.”

[bornoffside]

Holland - Marco Reus (6)

20th May 2016.

Mario’s new Princess?

Move over Ann-Kathrin, Cara Tate is in town. That’s right people! London’s little sweetheart has been spotted walking the streets of Berlin, with none other than Germany’s own golden boy -Mario Götze!

There’s no news yet on how the model is taking it, but the status of the new relationship is still pending. However, it’s expected that Cara’s agent will be making an official statement this afternoon, following his client’s latest tweet.

"@TateMate: Whoever said girls and boys can’t be friends…d*ck move.”

From what we do know, the couple have been friends for years, and have never pursued any form of romantic relationship. But with Cara’s case of homesickness, and home being where the heart is, we’ve begun to wonder just what is really keeping the singer tied to Germany. It’s no secret that the singer was spotted at the Allianz Arena earlier this month, going so far as to don the footballer’s name on her back -something she has never done before- leaving us with more questions than answers.  

Is it a long-term love affair with an old friend, or simply revisiting her roots? You be the judge, and don’t forget to let us know in the 'comments' section! That’s all for now, folks! Stay tuned for more gossipy goodness in our next edition.

“This is completely ridiculous! Are they just going to ignore the fact that Marco was with us the entire time, and assume we’re dating?” Cara’s face was a picture of outrage, she shoved her phone in Mario’s face before continuing.

“They can’t just crop him out of this photo and sell it as a date! I can see his whole arm!”

Mario chuckled quietly, staring at the photo, while Marco brought a hand up to cover his small smile. Cara was a relatively kindhearted person, and seeing her angry was always funny. It just didn’t look right on her, and for some reason, it was something that both of the footballers would never get used to.

They had spent the night walking around Berlin, showing Cara the city. It wasn’t her first time there, but when she was on tour she was only there for two nights and she was too exhausted to leave her hotel. True to his word, Mario had bought them pizza, but Cara’s mood was shot down as soon as they were spotted by fans. Fans bring attention, and attention brings the paparazzi.

And of course, that led to the article she was now reading in her (hotel’s) kitchen, about her blossoming love with Mario Götze. Cara had no idea how Marco was so calm about this. Maybe it was the fact that he knew there was nothing going on there, but Cara didn’t like the thought of everyone thinking she was with someone when she really wasn’t.

Noticing the amused expression on both of their face, Cara’s brows shot up.

“Doesn’t this bother you at all?” The incredulous tone made them both laugh.

“Cara, I think you might be overreacting. We both know the truth, so it doesn’t matter.” Cara started at him unblinkingly, before her lips pursed as if she had eaten a lemon.

“Fine. Fine!” She walked over to the kitchen angrily. “But when they start speculating marriage, you’re cleaning it up!” She pointed an accusing finger at him, before she lost herself inside the pantry, looking for anything sweet to calm her.

Mario rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but didn’t have time to reply because his phone started vibrating as soon as he opened his mouth. He quickly excused himself, and Marco waited to make sure he was gone, before quickly heading over to the huge pantry.

Cara’s head lolled back to rest on his chest, as soon as she felt the familiar arms wrap around her from behind. He knew she was miffed and tense at the fact that the world thought she was dating Mario. It was something she had wanted to avoid -the reason she hid their friendship from the public in the first place.

“It’s ok, liebling.” he whispered in her ear, making sure to keep an ear out for Mario’s return.

Cara sighed defeatedly, turning around in his arms with an upset frown on her face.

“It’s not ok.” Her forehead dropped down to his chest, and his arms tightened around her. “That should be us in that photo. I wish we could tell them…”

Her whispered words were muffled by his chest, but he perked up as soon as they reached his ears. Marco had wanted to go public for far too long already, but he had refrained from doing so because of her wishes. Hopefully he could persuade her that it was the right time to do so.

“We can…if you want. They’ll finally know and we won’t have to hide it anymore.”

Cara lifted her head to look at his hopeful face. He could see how conflicted she was, just by looking at the expression she wore. He knew she’d probably deny him, so he took a different approach.

“How about this?” Marco rubbed up and down her arms, eager to see her smile again. “We’ve put it off for too long already. Right now, I want to make a deal.”

She cocked a brow at the suggestion, wondering just what the blonde had in mind.

“The Euros start in the middle of June. Mario will know by then that we are together.”

Cara mulled it over for a moment, fear flashing through her mind when she imagined Mario’s response. But she didn’t dwell on it for long. She loved Marco, that was for certain…and if this was what he really wanted, then she wouldn’t deny him. There was less than a month until then, and he wouldn’t mind waiting that little bit longer for her.

“Deal.”

After the boys had gone to training -they both had to go because the final was tomorrow- Cara had actually called Ann-Kathrin. She didn’t know the older woman very well, but they had gotten along quite well, and she wanted to get to know Mario’s girlfriend better.

Usually she tried not to socialise as much, never knowing if she could truly trust those who wanted her friendship. It was difficult trying to determine who liked her for her, and who liked her for her money and fame. But that wouldn’t be a problem with Ann. She was famous too, and Cara definitely trusted Mario’s judgement.

Ann had sounded surprised to hear from Mario’s best female friend, but that quickly made was for excitement when she realised that she now had someone to spend time with. Mario’s friends were great, but it was nice to have another girl around, it meant that they could do things that Mario would never be caught dead doing -like spa dates!

Ann-Kathrin had plenty of model friends of her own, but it was rare for her to spend time with them outside of the business. Everyone was so busy doing their own thing, so it was a pleasant change to have a new friend who wasn’t an ambitious up and coming model that was ruled by her agent.

More often than not, agents made all of the decisions for their clients, but when you got to the level of fame that Cara Tate had as a singer, nobody could tell you what to do. Just like nobody messed with Cristiano Ronaldo when it came to football, nobody messed with Cara Tate when it came to the music industry.

So the women had quickly agreed to head over to one of the more private day spas in the city, and had even used their fame to bump them up the waiting list. Cara didn’t use it to her advantage very often, but having someone famous visit your business did wonders, and knew that all it would take was a quick tweet to gain their appreciation.

Which is exactly what the women had done.

@TateMate: Thanks Maud’s Day Spa! With the new bestie, sorry Mario!

Attached was a picture of Cara and Ann, both donning fluffy white robes with the company’s logo on them. They both had wide smiles and were standing together with an arm wrapped around each other’s waists, a colourful drink held up in their free hands as a toast. Hopefully the photo would also settle their ‘relationship status’ as ‘just friends’.

“I like that one!” Ann laughed with a grin, reflexively tugging her foot away from the masseur when she felt ticklish. “Sorry.” She offered the quiet woman an apologetic smile, but she just waved it off and reached for the foot again -carefully this time.

“It’s pretty good, though my hair is ridiculous. I can never get buns right! There’s always that one bit -right there-” Cara pointed to the back section of hair in the picture. “It’s always sticking out! I don’t even know how it does that!”

Ann nodded in understanding. “Ah, yes. You need thicker hair ties, your hair is too heavy, it’s weighing it down.”

Cara and Ann-Kathrin kept chatting away, as if they had known each other for years. It was really great to be able to talk to the elder German. Considering not many people knew of her friendship with Mario, it was cool to finally be able to speak freely with another person. Unfortunately, that’s how they got onto their next topic.

“So, what about you?” Ann looked at Cara curiously, but the singer’s brows just furrowed in confusion.

“Huh?” Ann just rolled her eyes in good humour.

“Any men in your life?”

Cara swallowed dryly at the question, not wanting to lie to her new friend but knowing that she had to.

“Oh, nah. No one special just yet.”

“Really?” Ann-Kathrin sounded surprised to hear it, but she couldn’t suppress the tinge of worry that sprouted. She already knew about Mario’s old crush for the young woman beside her, and even though she knew there was never going to be anything but friendship between them, she felt somewhat intimidated.

What if Mario’s old feelings resurfaced, and Cara ended up feeling the same? She’d lose the love of her life. So it was a little disheartening to hear that the singer didn’t have a man in her life.

“You know, Mario tells me that Manuel took a liking to you…” the model brought it up casually, but hoped that it would interest Cara. “He’s a really good guy, if you’re interested.”

Cara forced an uncomfortable chuckle, mentally cursing the goalkeeper’s interest in her. Manuel was a good looking guy, and there wasn’t a doubt in Cara’s mind that she would have appreciated him a lot more if she wasn’t in her current situation.

But Marco had ruined all other men for her.

She had met countless celebrities, models, sports stars…but they were never good enough. She loved Marco. She loved him more than anything, and there was no man in the world that would outshine him in her eyes. But nobody knew that yet, and she’d have to constantly find excuses to not go on dates.

Her relationship with Marco had survived some difficult times, namely his many injuries over the years, and they had kept the world out of their business. They had survived long distance -a rare feat on its own- and there was no doubt in Cara’s mind that there was nothing they couldn’t endure together.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. I’m sure he’s amazing, but I just want to take some time to myself. I’ve been so busy these past few years, I need to take a step back and just enjoy the peace and quiet for a little while, you know?”

Ann nodded slowly in understanding, nibbling her bottom lip for a moment in thought. It was a fair explanation, but she knew that Mario was pushing for the same thing. Manuel was the only friend that the young footballer trusted to not hurt Cara, and there was high possibility that he would probably try to play match-maker very soon.

Mario smiled when he saw the Twitter notification on his phone. He liked the photo, and was glad that Cara had taken the time to get to know Ann. It was important to him that they both got along. Cara knew more about him than most people, and she always looked out for him as a true friend would. She wanted what was best for him, and even though it was ultimately his choice, he was glad that she approved of his girlfriend.

Much like his best friend, Marco had just finished training and had liked his girlfriend’s most recent tweet. He knew Cara didn’t socialise as much as most celebrities at her level, opting instead for a more private life. He grinned giddily at the photo, knowing that his girl liked taking care of her body, and knowing just how much he like taking care of her body after it.

But instead of the pleasureful night he was hoping for, Cara had refused to visit him, and had forbidden him from visiting her too. She was a crazy football fan, and the thought of throwing him off of his game was enough to have her denying him. She had argued vehemently while he pouted like a small child, telling him that he needed his rest for the game against Bayern. He had eventually begrudgingly agreed.

So now he sat in his room, with Auba, watching crappy TV and chatting about nothing. The Gabonese striker eyed his grumpy friend knowingly.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Marco rolled his eyes at his friend’s teasing grin, too moody to take it in good humour.

“Aww…did widdle Marco get rejected by the pwetty singer?” Marco couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the baby voice Auba had adopted, and hurled a pillow at the striker, who caught it with the reflexes of a keeper.

“Shut up, it’s not rejection.”

Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang was the only person who knew about Marco’s relationship with Cara, seeing as he was the one who covered for him when they were in London for the game against Arsenal.

Without Auba to talk to about his relationship, Marco would have probably gone mad. Keeping it from the world was hard enough, but the one person he would usually tell everything to, was the one person he had to keep it from more than anyone else -Mario.  

“Whatever, I’m just glad at least one of you puts your career before sex.” Auba gave him a pointed look, but chuckled with a toothy grin soon after.

“Yeah, yeah…I’m going to bed.” Auba laughed as he watched the grumpy German sulk and walk over to the bathroom.

If someone had told him when he first met Marco, that the blonde would be wrapped so tightly around a single woman’s finger that he couldn’t breathe, he would have laughed. But seeing is believing, I suppose.

[fleetbound]

three times things were discussed (and one time things were not)

2225 words

DIMASQA, LOXIAS/RMEROS

“You’re going to die if you do this,” you tell him, and Rmeros sits up.

“Have the odds changed?”

He needs to shave his hair down again. His curls sit in limp strands around his face, the weight of the length already pulling them into disheartened esses. It doesn’t suit the roundness of his cheeks: on other trolls, it’d make them look young, but when he looks at you, eyes still half-clouded with sleep, it just makes him look tired.

“No,” you admit. It’s a fifty five percent chance of success. Sometimes you bleed, and you see Rmeros drowning, with water filling his lungs, or blood clouding his mouth. Sometimes you bleed, and he’s curled against you, younger, brighter, safe for another few sweeps. The face changes. The troll doesn’t.

“Then I’ll die if I don’t,” he says now, reaching out to place a hand on your knee. He’s got big hands, with knuckles that protrude. Right now, they’re dark. In two sweeps, they’ll be pale, and small, with knobby knuckles laid bare by the tides of the sea. You can see it now, when your eyes unfocus.

Looking into the future is like staring into the sun. No matter how hard you blink, the after-images stay with you.

Your matesprit clears his throat. When you look up, his eyes are sunken in and empty, dark as the hair framing his face. But then you blink, and they’re just white, and soft with an affection he rarely shows.

“Death comes to us all.” He thinks he’s so practical. He sounds so practical, like he’s the one that sees lives overlaid like the cells of a picture splayed. Like he’s the one that’s seen all the ways that he could die, and has been working for the  “Unless we stop it. Isn’t that our duty, Loxias, to fight against it?” He reaches up, dragging a thumb across your cheek. “As trolls?”

“Isn’t it your duty,” you ask him, waspish, “to stay alive for me?”

“I’m trying.” He pulls you over, folding you against him. You let him. “Fifty five percent chance,” he murmurs. “All I can do is fucking try.”

TEMASEK, RAPHAE/RICCIN

“Raphae,” you say, staring at the portrait, “why you so weird, lah?”

“Standard, Riccin! Before Chiloa hears, and washes your mouth out with soap.”

It’s not often you hang out in Raphae’s hive. Ico’s your auspistice, sure, and Sipara’s your kismesis, and they all live together - but he’s just weird, that’s the thing. So’s Ico! You and Sipa figure that’s why they got together, ages and ages back, or at least, that’s what you figure. Sipa doesn’t like to speculate on anything interesting, even though you’re his auspistices, and it’s your job.

Sipa’s just the worst, that’s all. That’s why you hate her.

But Raphae’s a different kind of weird than Ico. Ico’s got meowbeast ears sometimes, like he’s still seven, and he wears so much red, he looks like somebody trying to cosplay. It’s, like, his aesthetic! It’s weird, but it makes sense, sort of, when all the other dancers are covered in glitter and paint. They’re all brawling to stand out, make themselves too garish for the Messiah’s to ever pay them much mind, so somebody else can burn under their gaze. Everyone’s gonna go to the miracle planet eventually, but ain’t no reason it’s gotta be right now.

Raphae.. there’s no reason for his shit, you think. He’s got hair just as long as yours, almost, that he keeps in a sort of bun that’s always got fly-aways, like he’s too cheap for butter, but he ain’t. He wears jackets with patches on the elbows, like he can’t afford nothing better, but you’ve been out shopping with him: he puts the patches on when there’s not even a hole to cover up, just like he wants to pretend.

And his shoes have scuffs, the sort that always get Chiloa tugging your ears over keeping your shit nice.

It’s not an aesthetic, you think, ‘cause those have reasons. It’s just strange, like the cholerbear in the bathroom. You’d tapped its head once to get soap, but you hadn’t thought..

“Raphaeee,” you whine, in proper talk this time: “- why are you so weird? Your bear’s puking on me!”

There’s a perfunctory knock on the door. Then he pokes his head into the bathroom. “Well, yeah,” he says, amused. “You tapped its head. It’s got to have soap come out somewhere.”

“Sipara’s bathroom’s gotta spout.”

“Sipara’s bathroom has a Tweetie Pie tweetbeast from the depot with a spout in its head, kid.” He sighs heavily, letting his shoulders roll in. Then he places a hand over his eyes. “We,” he says, with great pain, like even the thought of it’s a chain around his neck, “do not talk about Sipara’s bathroom.”

When he peeks at you through his fingers, after, you laugh. Then he grins at you, bright as the moonlight, pleased as punch. Raphae’s always easy to please, when you ain’t breakin’ his shit, or wearing his clothes. You don’t know why Ico’s always having such fucking problems.

“Besides!” Raphae just wants folks to like him, and listen, even when he’s being queer. “You should like it. Cholerbears are sacred to clowns, in some areas. They teach them to balance balls on their nose as a prayer to the Messiahs. And they feed them glitter milk, so they can read fortunes in the way that the glitter falls afterwards. You could even say this little thing -” He steps in, plucking up the soap dispensor: “- this little thing is practically sacred.”

You squint at him. But Raphae’s got a poker face to beat even Sunyah’s, and he doesn’t so much as crack. “You’re lying,” you accuse him, but it’s hesitant. He doesn’t like religion, but he does know an awful lot.

And he doesn’t give in. He just grins at you, all teeth. “What is Chiloa teaching you?” he asks with a click of his tongue. “Don’t worry, kid. Lying is a sin.”

II-J, KUANFU/OGNAIS

“Don’t you ever get tired of hearing thoughts?” you ask Ognais, climbing out of the water. The sea’s colder than it usually is tonight, even with the sun cresting on the horizon, and the material of your wetsuit is to keep the moisture out, not the chill. It permeates the fabric, leaving goosebumps pricked across your skin. If you stand here long enough, it’ll sink through your hide and into your bones. You don’t have blubber, the way that a seadweller does. You’re only navy.

Even Ognais is true indigo, built broader and taller than you’ve ever a hope of reaching, and she doesn’t have blubber. It comes with the gene package that includes gills, if you remember your schoolfeeds right. The same proteins that deactivate the Johnston organ are the ones that simulate the growth of proper blubber to insulate the bones, deep and buoyant enough to make the weight on you look like tissue paper. Even skinny seadwellers have it. You slept with a violet, once, that was so thin you could count her bones, and even then, her skin hadn’t folded the way land-dwellers did. There were no wrinkles. It just dimpled, and it shifted, but it was too thick to really bend -

“Just dents. Calm, brother,” Ognais says, laying her heavy palm on your face. A callus catches on your cheek. As soon as the thought hits, she’s already shifting, smoothing her thumb across it as an apology. "Nah. Come natural. Why care?"

“Lots of reasons -” The air’s too much. Your lungs seize when you breathe in, hard enough that you’re coughing before you realise it. Ognais is already wrapping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. She’s colder than you, usually, technically. Right now, she’s warm as an ox, and the heat of her feels like it’s cutting right through. “Lots of reasons,” you say again, but your throat’s too dry to keep going. You shouldn’t have --

“Nah,” she agrees, steering you up the path, away from the docks. “Should’ve gone come morning. But swam tonight.” The kraken’s get you’d hauled in is still on the metal jut, but it’s fine: with Ognais here, no one’ll bother with you, and already behind you, there’s the cut of knives being unsheathed. “And ainokea. Why kea about breathin’? Same think as thinkin’. Don't botha -”

“- me, yeah, but I don't have to think about it,” you point out. It's hard to focus on just her! It always is, when you're home. You know you can trust Wintae to do her job, as lead of the scavenger’s dawn shift. But the sound of the knives working through rubber sounds all wrong. She might be using a butchers knife, instead of a granton. It's a minor mistake, but she is young. “I'm not listening to -”

“- errybody around, ‘cept you are, brother. Listenin’ to entire Rickshaw. Head goin’ ‘n’ goin’, always.” She's steering you steadily up towards your hive, not slowing enough to so much as let you falter. You should be grateful! Part of you is, even as you're still wavering on going back. “Same as --”

“- you,” you admit. She unlocks your door, sidling you inside, and before you can decide otherwise, she's clicking the lock shut. The hive is sickly warm, after the chill of the sea. You're not sure who's moving your feet, exactly, when you collapse onto a chair. You're not sure you care.

Ognais laughs. “Okay,” you correct yourself, wry, “I don't. And.. alright! I hear you, I hear you. I just worry, that's all.”

“Worry so much. Less about me,” she advises you, turning towards the fridge, “and more ‘bout chill, yeah? And fish blubber dent, brother. Not fold. Dent.”

GHOULISAR, ID/VADAYA

The best thing about Vadaya is that he doesn't ask questions; when you drift up behind him, sling your arms around his shoulders, and tell him to take off his shirt, he actually acquises.

The fact you nuzzle your face into his neck is leading to the wrong idea, undoubtedly, but that's your problem for later. He did what you said! That warrants a reward. But your problem right now, however, is --

You don't like ports. You don't like them at all. No level of dislike, though, can hide the fact your kismesis is covered in them.

His shirt pulls up like a curtain. Black on black on black, as far as the eye can see: his skin’s paled some under the seasons dimmed lights, but it's still a match for the biotechnology arching between his shoulderblades, curving up his nape. It's shiny, with skin so smooth that it catches every refraction. It slopes down easily on the edges, flowing into his skin so easily that you can't see the seam.

If you touched it, you could feel it.

Under it, his back is carefully, meticulously straight, in the way he always gets when he's uncomfortable. It's a better view! One that makes the bile in your throat almost tolerable enough to swallow.

Vadaya doesn't have rejection scars. Vadaya has the sort of technology built for him, made from his own flesh and knitted into it. It's not that different, you think, and when you place a palm to his spine, close enough that you can feel the chill of his augmentative device above you. You hadn’t been bothered by ports, back before you’d gotten them.

But this isn’t mechanics and gear, carved into his body. It’s something grown into him, as much a part of him as his spine, or his fins, or the half-colour of his eyes. The Scimitar gear is a part of him, unlike any helm, because he’s not one. It’s just another abnormality, one that doesn’t have to be different.

If you touched it, the skin would be smooth. It’d fold under your fronds, and it’d beat with the same pulse you can see bobbing in his throat, the longer that your fingers trace lines into his spine. It’s just a part of him, like anything else. You could prove it to yourself, you think, if you just reached up and touched it.

It's only when he inhales that you realise your fingers have curled in instead. You don't have claws! Just nails, blunted and dull. So there's no scratches, no marks, for all that you yank your hand back reflexively. It’s just Vadaya, being Vadaya.

When you look at the biotech, the red lights off the ports wink, and you just --

You don’t like ports. You don’t like ports at all, no matter how different, but at least you make yourself look at them, winking, before you tear your gaze away.

Vadaya’s still stiff in front of you, poor thing, confused as an acolyte on their way to Carnival. He doesn’t know what to do with you, when you go and get strange. He never does, does he? So you swat him on the ass, just to give him something to think about.

It doesn't do anything for his nerves, you think, but the way he jolts certainly makes you feel better.

“Relax,” you drawl, like your mouth isn’t as dry as Jejunus’s depths. “I was checking for scars! My goodness gracious, you've sure cleaned up after your molt, hmm? What a shame. You ought to go out, get some new ones. They used to make you look awfully rugged, y’know..”

[tanmath3-blog]

Craig Wallwork lives in West Yorkshire, England. His short stories have appeared in many journals, magazines and anthologies in the UK and US. He is the author of the novels, The Sound of Loneliness, and the story collections, Quintessence of Dust, and Gory Hole.

    1. How old were you when you first wrote your first story?

Too old. Probably about 30. The story was about my grandfather who died of dementia. It was picked up by Laura Hird, a Scottish writer moving in the same circle as Irvine Welsh. She gave me my first publishing break. No payment, and it was online only, but damn was I happy. I felt like I’d arrived and was soon to be a bestselling author. I’m 45 years old now. Fifteen years of having more rejections than acceptances. And I’m still waiting to write that bestseller. I don’t get disheartened much now if a story isn’t accepted. I just remind myself that William Saroyan received 7,000 rejection slips before landing his first short story. So I did better than him.

  2. How many books have you written?

Eight and counting. Half have been published by indie presses. The other half are like children staring out of the window of some orphanage every time headlamps flash by. I’m sure they’ll land a home soon, but until then I’ll keep each fed and watered. But never after midnight. Oh, man. I never feed any after midnight.

  3. Anything you won’t write about?

If you would have asked me that five years ago I would have said no. But time, and perhaps being a parent, has mellowed me. I’ve written some really terrible stories, not bad writing, just the subject matter was terrible. I’m sure they’ll come back to haunt me one day. Their my skeletons in the closet. My dirty family secret. The affair and misdemeanours. But I was a different writer back then. I’ve changed. Honestly, judge.

  4. Tell me about you. Age (if you don’t mind answering), married, kids, do you have another job etc…

  In five years I’ll be fifty. When I was at school, my grandparents were fifty. They had grey hair, no teeth, and had lived through a world war. I have all my own teeth. Don’t even have any fillings. Any grey I may have is limited to my face when the stubble grows. As for war; Syrian, Iraq, Afghanistan – maybe not as close to home to what happened in Europe, but nonetheless. I will say I’ve aged more since having kids. My oldest is ten this year. My youngest is five. Being a parent accelerates the ageing process. It’s like that scene in Interstellar when Mathew McConaughey and Anne Hathaway go to that planet for about twenty minutes but when they return back to the spaceship, twenty-three years has gone by. Being a parent is like that, and you’re the one on the spaceship where time moves slower compared to everyone else around you. I’ve had friends drop off presents when my first child was born, returned a month later, and tell me I looked like I’ve aged five years. It’s scary. But hey, I love them now they’re sleeping in.

  5. What’s your favorite book you have written?

  That’s like asking, which of your ex-partners did you like the most? I liked them all at one point, but you always love the one you’re with right now. So I would say it’s the novel I’m currently editing. I won’t mention the title, only because I’ve said it before in interviews that go back about three years. Yeah, that’s how long it’s taken me to polish that baby. Once it’s done, I’ll start something new, which I’m sure I’ll love more than any of my others. Basically, I have commitment issues.

  6. Who or what inspired you to write?

I wanted to be a cartoonist but failed. Then I wanted to be a filmmaker and failed. I then attempted to be in a band, and I failed. Failure inspired me to write. And continues to do so.

  7. What do you like to do for fun?

  I enjoy grave robbing. Something about leaving the house late at night, sneaking into a cemetery with shovel in hand looking for a fresh grave. It keeps me fit too. Excavating six-feet of earth is a great workout. I’m thinking of releasing a fitness video: Tone and Bones, maybe. The bind is selling the bodies on the black market. People are so fussy. Does the body still have all its limbs? Is the skin attached? How many teeth does it have? Sheesh. And returns is just a nightmare. So I do that for fun. And I enjoy lying too.

  8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book?

Berate myself for not writing a better book.

  9. Where do you write? Quiet or music?

  I write at home. Mostly in the bedroom, sometimes in the living room, but it depends if the kids have had sugar. Writing is a bit like going to the toilet; you really need your privacy, but sometimes that’s impossible when you’ve got kids. But I do prefer quiet when I can get it. I used to buy those ear protectors, you know, those little orange foam things that look like thimbles. I’d push them into my ears so all I could hear was my heartbeat and blood in my skull. Now I have attained the ability to write anywhere in the house, even downstairs while the kids are watching Colin’s Key make slime or eat ultra sour candy. I can write to Victorious, Sam and Cat, Mr Bean, Hotel Transylvania 2, Sister Vs Bro and Funnel Vision. But I still struggle when they watch Ed Sheeran videos.I walk out then.

10. Anything you would change about your writing?

I’m trying to make it more accessible. By that I mean, a lot of my old stuff had a literary edge. There was plot, but the language and structure was more important to me because that’s what I love reading. To this day, I get very giddy when an author performs alchemy and creates these perfectly formed similes or descriptions out of very little. That was my goal back then, to seduce the reader with words. Now I’m trying to find a balance by retaining some of that magic, while at the same time offsetting it with decent good old fashion storytelling. Yes, it’s taken me fifteen years to reach this epiphany, and I’m hoping the time I’m putting in will be appreciated. If not, I’m going to begin writing trashy erotica.

11. What is your dream? Famous writer?

  If I’m being honest, I’d like to earn some money (any money) from writing so I can drop my hours at work. If I could go part-time and write for maybe, two days during the week, I’d be more than happy. That’s the dream. If that doesn’t come off, and please, no one hold your breath, I’d settle to see just one of my books in hardback, cloth bound, and in a library.

  12. Where do you live?

A small village in West Yorkshire called, Ripponden. It has three pubs, a couple of restaurants, a tea room and convenience shop. It’s semi rural, lots of agriculture and livestock grazing the fields that back onto moorland. I used to live in a large town growing up. People shot each other, whereas here they shoot grouse and pheasant. Before moving here the only deer I saw was in Stand By Me, but the other day I was picking my daughter up from school, and as I was backing into the parking spot, I saw something brown flash past my rear window. I then heard a large clattering noise and saw a fawn hurtle itself at the school fence. It must have got lost and the car spooked it. The car park backs onto a few residential bungalows for retired folk. There were steps leading down to a house close to the fence the fawn had struck. When I looked toward the bungalow the fawn sprang out of a hedge, kicking and flailing around on its back. I wanted to try to stop it, to tell it I wouldn’t hurt it and to calm down, but it was manic, frenzied. Then it just stopped and went quiet. I ran to the school to speak with one of the staff to get the number of a local vet or rescue service. A few of us went back to make sure it was still there. It was. But it wasn’t breathing, and flies were resting in its open eye. The speed and power of hitting that fence could have broken its neck, but I honestly think its heart gave out. It was such a beautiful creature. It’s fur was the colour of autumn leaves and its legs were long and graceful. My daughter cried all the way home when she heard. She’s got heart that girl. I guess this place is quite wonderful, but even in paradise you can’t help but have your heart-broken once in a while.

  13. Pets?

  A goldfish only. We used to have a rabbit but it went suicidal on us. It began chewing wires and trying to crawl up the flue over the open fireplace. I just don’t think it liked us. We treated good. Fed it, gave it a nice hutch, but It would stare at us all with this one black eye like we’d murdered its family. My daughter began to think she’d awake in the night and see it there at the end of the bed, staring at her with that one black eye. It was called Fluffy, but after about three months it also went by, Psycho Rabbit, Weirdo Rabbit, Stupid Rabbit, What the Hell, Rabbit?! We eventually took it to a sanctuary to be re-homed. We felt a little like that family at the end of Poltergeist once it was all over, but instead of wheeling out a TV, we wheeled out a hutch.

  14. What’s your favorite thing about writing?

  I enjoy the process. I mean, I actually love creating worlds, people and all the problem solving and outlining, adding depth and shade and listening to how the characters talk and where they take the story. To me, writing is a kind of medicine, it’s the cure to something broken inside me. Without it I’d be sick.

  15. What is coming next for you?

I’ve got a few stories coming out in anthologies this year and next. Right now I can only announce one called, Farewell Valencia, that’ll be in, Takes From the Lake vol 5, edited by Kenneth Cain and published by Crystal Lake Publishing in early November. The story was partly inspired by a real place in Sweden where euthanasia is legal. Around the same time I found out Terry Pratchett had been diagnosed with dementia there were a lot of documentaries the U.K. about people who wanted to end their life because they had no quality of life. These were people who were paraplegic, terminal, or were awaiting a slow and agonising death. One documentary featured this place in Sweden. I never saw the documentary but a friend told me about it the next day. In my mind I’m seeing this place as a plush hotel with Egyptian cotton sheets, Tempur pillows, turndown service, free porn, concierge, fine dining, the lot. I was never so wrong. It was described more as an industrial unit on a Business Park. Okay, low overheads, I get it. But surely it’s nice inside and the end is peaceful, right? Wrong again. You get a bed and a cup of poison. It sounded horrific. There was no dignity. No afternoon massage and favourite meal. No quick game of tennis followed by a gin and tonic on the veranda. You got poisoned and you died in agony. This felt wrong to me. It’s bad enough these people had reached a point in their lives where dying was the preferred option. So I set about writing a story where a hotel similar to the one I envisaged existed. Someplace nice. At least on the surface. Farewell Valencia is essentially about an euthanasia clinic, and because the subject is so heavy, I wanted to make it quirky, like the Shining seen through the eyes of Wes Anderson. But there’s a twist, which I won’t go into. You’ll have to read it to find out. I think people will like it. It’s dark, sad, with a little Gallows humour thrown in. It should fit well in the anthology. It’s already got some great voices in there; Tim Waggoner, Gemma Files, Lucy A. Snyder, Gene O’Neill, Stephanie M. Wytovich, Allison Pang, Paul Michael Anderson, Bruce Boston, Andi Rawson, Samuel Marzioli, Joanna Parypinski, Lane Waldman, Peter Mark May, Meghan Arcuri, Jason Sizemore, Robert Stahl, Marge Simon, Laura Blackwell, Lucy Taylor, Jonah Buck, Cory Cone, and Michelle Ann King.

  16. Where do you get your ideas?

Keep with me on this. There’s a magic trick where a street magician fans out a deck of cards and asks someone to choose one. They do, and they show it the camera. Queen of hearts, say. Then the magician asks the card be put back in the deck, and then in a display of madness they throw all the cards at the side of a building. One card sticks to the window. Just one. And yep, when he peels it off, it’s the queen of hearts. I don’t know how it’s done and I don’t ever want to know. It’s a great trick and to understand the trick would dilute the magic. That’s the same with ideas; I don’t know how they work, or where they come from, and I don’t ever want to know, because I fear once I discover the secret it won’t be as magical. Magic is great writing.

      You can connect with Craig Wallwork here: 

  My Amazon pages for the UK and US:

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Craig-Wallwork/e/B003VDNVCC

US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/s/ref=is_s?n=133140011&k=craig+wallwork+

A free ebook copy of Quintessence of Dust, a short story collection by me:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/147029

And finally, Crystal Lake Publishing:

http://www.crystallakepub.com

  Some of Craig Wallwork’s books: 

      Getting personal with Craig Wallwork Craig Wallwork lives in West Yorkshire, England. His short stories have appeared in many journals, magazines and anthologies in the UK and US.

[conditionaljewel]

I started a long blog post that I got sidetracked on halfway through so I deleted it and am starting over.

This is a rant, and not like anyone’s gonna read it anyway but what the fuck ever it just means I can say what I need to and not have to worry about who sees it.

I am a person with a mental health problem. Probably a few, but definitely one. As such, I have needs that I make myself stay focused on that helps me deal with everything that causes me distress, anxiety, etc. This is one of the reasons why I smoke weed.

When I don’t have any weed, when I haven’t smoked, I don’t like the person I am. While my mind is a little more clear and I’m more focused on some things (not all things, though), I am way more irritable, easily agitated, very moody, amongst other things. When I smoke, I’m calm, I’m mellow, less aggressive and loud, and I just feel more balanced out. It helps me so much, so needless to say, whenever I’m out, I’m a monster. I have been much of the past few days.

It so happens that the past few days have also been days that I’ve had to work. Without going into detail, I hate my job anymore, I constantly am on the brink of tearing people a new one there with my thoughts and opinions on how the store is run and operated, and I’ve made it abundantly clear on several occasions that I am very easily overwhelmed and agitated when I’m not getting the help from my coworkers that is expected, all the while there’s no hesitation for others seeking help to receive it. And that’s without me saying anything about the appreciation — or lack thereof — that goes on within the store.

To that end, customers are no better, between expecting the world in exchange for nothing, and treating retail employees like garbage. Demanding, snarky, uptight, know-it-alls, they’re just as awful to deal with as the customers who are downright fucking stupid and just dont pay attention, don’t listen, don’t perceive. They’re just greedy, stuck-up fucks who have no regard for anyone else.

I can’t work with people anymore. Like any people. All people. I’m sick and tired of the attitude and mindset that working in retail has created and generated, especially around the holiday season. I’m fed up with the lack of respect and decency amongst society in general, and especially tired as fuck with the incompetence of others that directly impacts my livelihood and well-being.

I have to get a new job. But what’s a girl to do when all she’s worked is retail (with the exception of 17 months in a hospital setting as a medical “professional.”) I can’t, won’t, and don’t want to do retail anymore, ever again. But what other jobs are there that you can get without a degree that isn’t retail or food service that doesn’t involve heavy customer interaction? Like yeah i can go answer phones somewhere but that’s still people.

I don’t. Like. People.

So what’s left? Riddle me that.

But that isn’t where it ends, no no. For someone who is so hard up to make friends and meet new folks, I really do have a problem with people. I’ve spent many nights wondering what the fuck is my problem that people don’t want to have anything to do with me? What pushes people away? What the fuck is it? (Besides me bitching about people, obviously).

I try so hard to make an impact on people, make a positive vibe that radiates outward and attracts others, but no one’s ever fucking interested in anything more than hello. Do you know how disheartening that is? In the past three years, honestly, I think I’ve made two honest to god actual friends, and neither of them live near me. Hell, I have ONE friend who lives within 25 miles of me, and I hardly ever get to see her.

Even as a child, trying to make friends and meet new people was never easy for me. Somehow everyone else always had an easier time than I did, and no one ever stuck by my side. So naturally, it’s difficult for me to now, but when you’re 28 years old, it’s just deflating. You shouldn’t be MAKING FRIENDS at fuckin 28 years old, you should be going out for drinks and happy hour after work with your friends that you’ve had for years once a month or some shit. I’m lucky if I go to a restaurant by myself sometimes.

Not making friends has obviously left me fucked up. Lacking friends, I’ve not had chances to learn and take hints from social cues, I’ve not been in many situations that a lot of other folks have been in by my age. Whereas many people my age are settling down, getting married, have great jobs ... i’m living with my parents working a dead end part time job because my depression, anxiety, and other mental health problems keep me from trying to better anything for myself because they’re actively making things WORSE for me.

I know I’m not the greatest looking girl — or guy, if you even wanna play that card — and sure that’s probably a factor because why the fuck wouldn’t it be, but even people I’ve met online that I’ve tried to befriend in the past are like “lol moving on” and just ghost and disappear. Like honestly, what the fuck is it about me that pushes people away? I’d LOVE to know.

Sigh.

I don’t ever directly say this or suggest it, but sometimes I wonder what the fuck my whole purpose in this life is, because honestly I’m so sick of life — my life — that I’d really rather just die. Cease to exist. Honestly. I. Hate. My. Life. What am I doing with it? Ive fucked everything up for the past 28 and a half years, done everything backwards and wrong and stupidly, and I don’t have much hope for myself because everything seems so daunting and overwhelming.

I don’t want to work, I don’t want to have to look for a new job, I hate the ideals and statuses that society has created that’s led to the position the world is in right now on so many facets of life. Cuz then I look around and see all these people doing shit that just makes no sense, seems counterproductive, and ... they’re thriving???? Why? How?

I’m not trying to sound like “I never asked to be born” or “I want others to take care of everything for me,” but where is the option for people who don’t want to work and would rather do something else with their life? What can I do that’ll get me this bullshit currency thats so important to survive and thrive that doesn’t involve other people?

Sigh. I’m done. I can’t type anymore. I’m just so defeated.