#which I'm taking as a sign that this is something I'm unsatisfied with

[vt-scribbles]

Something seriously lacking in my art is the ability to tell a story in a single illustration.

I've gotten so used to drawing my characters standing around doing random things that I've never practiced telling a full tale/putting implications into my pieces that require more thinking/looking.

It also comes from a lower amount of details in my works by default [since I like to get pieces done fast], but I'm tired of using that as an excuse.

[soaringwide]

PAC: What's next in your love life?

Here is my love ahead spread, where we're going to look into what is coming for you in your love life, having singles or people in non-committed or early stages of the relationship in mind.

The reading doesn't contain any info on gender or orientation.

As always, this is a general reading meant for multiple people, there are only 3 piles, so it might not apply 100% to you. Take what resonates and leave out the rest.

I'm available for private readings and have a ko-fi. Free readings are currently closed at the time of writing this.

PILE 1

Cards: 7 of Pentacles, 7 of Cups, Judgement, the Tower, Knight of Wands, 8 of Swords, the Sun, 4 of Wands, Ace of Cups

We'll start by looking at your current situation regarding your love life.

It seems something has been growing in your love life for a while now. I'm thinking the early stages of a relationship or a crush situation. Zooming out, the growth seems steady, but it's possible that it wasn't so smooth when you look at it on the day to day. Some days might have felt like take 2 steps backward, and the next day you would move forward again. As a result you might be loosing your patience a little, ignoring the fact that things are indeed moving forward, even though not as fast as you want them to, or not exactly the way you want them to. You're eagerly waiting for things to take up speed and finally reach some type of harvest that you've been craving for. I also see you as somewhat passive, waiting for something to happen on its own. You're not necessarily taking any decisive action, but rather going with the flow of things and observing your relationship build slowly. Overall you feel quite impatient.

With the 7 of Cups in the position of things going for you, I think you have a tendency to get lost in your daydreams and illusions, regarding love and love interests. However, you're fully aware of that and actively de-fogging the whole thing. I see you trying to remain realistic and not too much in your head. I think that's a process that you had to learn the hard way. You're learning to pick up on the truth and discard the lies, which is quite painful and not a growth that happens in a straight line. Inside all this mess, there are nuggets of wisdom you're determined to find. It's like, either it helps you clear the way for this specific relationship, or it just makes you a healthier human, which is a win win situation.

However for what's going against you, I think you still have a tendency to put the blame on others instead of understanding that the current situation is your doing. If you're unsatisfied with the pace of things, you have choices. You can either wait and find peace in that, or move on to pursue something else. Whatever it is, don't wallow in misery because you feel frustrated and let resentment boil within you against your person, yourself, or the situation. What I'm trying to say is that you're refusing to make the call and pick a path to follow with determination, and instead you keep going back and forth in your head and creating a terrible emotional state for yourself. If you keep waiting for a sign in a passive and hopeless way, things will not change.

For what to take in in this situation, I see the need for a big wake up call with the Tower. I know this card has a bad rep but I think here it's mostly an indication of the intensity of the shift you need to do. It is paired with the Knight of Wands which is a clear indication that you need to take the reign and pursue what you want, taking a risk that things might collapse as a result. Welcome illusions being stripped away, let go of lies and take the risk to reveal your true self.

I asked for a clarification and got the 8 of Swords, which shines light on this state you need to wake up from: the fact that you keep yourself in a state of powerlessness when you have the means to cut your bonds. Really, this state of stagnancy is your doing and you need to own up to the fact and get out of that hole. Whatever you decide to do, you need to shake things up drastically and take a more active part in your love life.

What you need to release with the Sun, I get the idea that you're a bit too childish and immature when it comes to love matters, or at least in this situation. The card shows a child on a horse, but unlike the knight of wands who is in full control of his mount, the sun-child is merely waving his arms around and not doing much. It looks quite comical and does not embody a serious partner one might want to pursue. So I'm getting again the idea of the need to be more serious and committed, and releasing this naive mindset that things are going to fall on your lap without you doing anything at all.

For the most probably outcome in this situation, with the Four of Wands I was drawn to look up the astrological correspondence of the card and I got Venus in Aries, which is quite funny since Venus is currently in Aries until April 29th 2024 (writing this on the 23rd). I don't necessarily think this means everyone will find an outcome within the next few days, however, it does point out at changes happening presently, or as a direct result of this Venus in Aries season. Which again puts the idea of acting and stop wasting time.

It's also fun because it points at a very fiery approach to love, much like what the Knight of Wands was suggesting. Instead of worrying whether they love you or not, whether you should move on or not, you're being advised to go and find out. With the 4 of Wands as this placement in the tarot, there is an idea of celebration and coming together. The characters on the card are inviting, as if to welcome you in their circle, or hinting at a festive event or a gathering. A positive outcome is definitely possible, and if not, it's the opportunity to move on from heartache and find a better future with your heart unburdened.

The underlying energy is presented by the Ace of Cups, which definitely speaks of an exciting time for romantic feelings, where feelings are being birthed and coming to light. There is opportunity for a renewal in this connection.

PILE 2

Cards: The Devil, the Lovers, the Queen of Swords, Ace of Swords, 8 of Wands, 9 of Cups, the Fool 10 of Cups, 2 of Wands, 6 of Swords, 3 of Cups, 3 of Wands

We'll start by looking at your current situation regarding your love life.

With the Devil as you current situation, it is possible that you're crushing on someone or are in a non-committed relationship with someone that is loaded with sexual energy. However, it also points at an obsessive dynamic in the relationship which fosters an unhealthy atmosphere. It is clarified by the Lovers and the Queen of Swords, so I think there might be someone in this relationship hoping for love, and someone with their walls up, appearing cold and distant, even if there is physical intimacy at play here. It's also possible that the one interested in committed love doesn't respect their own boundaries and let themselves being stringed along.

As to what's going for you, I see you embracing clarity and the desire to cut through bullshit at this point. A part of you wants to reach the truth of this situation and is willing to think about it deeply. Get your sense of agency back by either communicating your needs and fears or by taking the time by yourself to work on that. It's clarified by the 8 of Wands so I see quick communication, heated arguments perhaps but it's for the best because you need to get to the core of the issue.

For what's going against you, I see you clinging onto the good aspects of this relationship, as in, it's not perfect but there's enough pleasurable aspects to it that you don't want to let go of that. You're protective of what you have and I also see you being a bit too carefree by pretending the negative aspects of this situation don't affect you that much, that everything is find and good, even though it isn't. You might be a bit of a hopeless romantic and you just don't want to see that this situation is not bringing you the true happiness that you seek but rather putting you in a unstable and potentially threatening situation. I don't know how to put it but with this + the Devil as significator for this relationship I get toxic vibes from this, but that you're too addicted to it to really snap out of it.

What you need to take in is shown by the 10 of Cups, and I think here it means that you need to find hope again that you're deserving of true and untainted happiness in matters of love. This card is about commitment and romantic, even familial fulfillment, and I think it's important to remember that if that's what you want then you can't settle for less because then you'll never get what your heart truly desires. This card is here to remind you of your dream, stop settling for less and suffocating your true wish.

You need to release your hope that the situation will solve itself without making a choice. I get the idea that you keep imagining how things could be, or would be if X or Y happened, but you're not taking the necessary step towards your wish.

All of this is highlighted by the general energy of the reading, which is all about going back to decision making after a time of hesitation. It's going to be your role to know which decision you need to make and how though, but you need to leave the harbor at some point.

For the outcome of this situation, I see you moving on to better days, letting go of this situation that doesn't fulfill you and going through a very social phase where you're going to either form new connections, or get back in touch with friends and celebrate your newfound freedom. It seems this decision of moving on will bring you a lot more happiness than sorrow. Yes it is painful to let go, but you have much to gain, and seeking different social interactions will help you feel better and get back on track. Perhaps it would help to find the humor in the situation and have fun gossiping about this relationship with your friends in order to vent and get another perspective.

PILE 3

Cards: Wheel of Fortune, the Fool, 3 of Cups, 9 of Cups, Ace of Swords rx, 9 of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles, Temperance, 10 of Swords, the High Priestess, 9 of Swords

First off, let's look at your current love life.

For this pile, I don't think there is anyone specific in the picture for you. I see two possible situations depending on the people. Some of you might have experienced a breakup and are now in your new chapter, having left behind that situation and being past that; for others, I see you waiting for a relationship to show up eventually like some big turn of events. In both cases, you have a very open and carefree attitude right now, enjoying the moment and I get the idea that you might be enjoying casual sex as well, for some of you at least. In any case, you are currently not bound to anyone.

For what's going for you, I see you being social, meeting new people or enjoying time with friends. You're just enjoying yourself and your freedom and it's what you feel called to do right now. It seems you really needed to go through that phase in order to feel happier with yourself and find your balance again.

For what's going against you, I see the idea of casual, or at least, superficial connections showing up once more. You might also not be super ready to get into a committed relationship at the moment because you still feel the need to enjoy your freedom and have either multiple partners, or you just want to enjoy your social life without having to compromise or divide the limited time you have in your hands for one person only. I also see that you lack clarity on what you want. Is a committed relationship really what you want, or do you want to keep what you have right now? And if a relationship is what you want, what would it look like? I think you need to take some time reflecting on what romantic happiness looks like to you to see if it aligns with what you're doing.

For what you need to welcome in, there is a message here of reminding yourself that love is not just about sex and intensity, but also about sweetness and complicity. Looking up to your partner because you find them incredible, because they make you feel like a giggly child you can be your true self with. I also see the need to value true and deep emotional connection. There is a need to be the guardian of your fulfillment, not in a warroir-like way, but rather, in a nurturing way. Be the gardener that takes care of their blooming plants with love and care, and by that I mean that you need to put in the energy of what you want to harvest in the future, not just what's easily available in the moment. You also need to be more independent and advocate for your needs.

It's is very important to make way before you can receive anything new. Which means that you need to get clear on what it is that you truly want and release what doesn't align with that. Perhaps you're also quite detached and would benefit from getting in touch with your deeper emotions again. I think you've somewhat been hiding your heavier emotions inside and ignoring them for a while now and that might be what needs to be released.

For outcome, I think there is a deep need for realizing the options you have to choose from regarding your love life, and really take a look at what you truly want. I think this very social phase will come to an end for now, that you will be more focused on yourself and your inner world. This may trigger intense negative feelings that you were ignoring up until now because you were distracting yourself from them. You may need to hit the bottom before you can rise again, but fear not because from there, the only way to go is up. Learn to look for answers within, I think this time has the opportunity to teach you a lot about yourself and help your grow as a person and to gain clarity on your life.

I also wanted to note that there is a striking lack of Wands in this reading, which to me indicates that the main point of work in your situation is not so much taking actions, but processing thoughts and emotions to get clear on what you want and how to get there. A time for self reflection and growth is coming up.

[paused-waterfall]

Little Details of Feather Preening

I love reading fics in which a character with feathers gets help preening them from another character. I think part of it is because it explores the alienness of the winged/feathered character in a grounded, tactile way, while also exploring the dynamic between two characters. It's worldbuilding and character development all rolled into one! But another huge reason why I like it is just cause my parakeet sometimes lets me help with her feathers, and it's the best experience ever omfg.

I figured, for the sake of fic writers who don't have access to the cutest most patient bird in the world (and for me, who feels like rambling) I'd vomit out a ton of little details of what it's like to help a bird preen, and how it might translate to characters with both human and bird features:

(Note, this isn't exactly researched. My sample size is literally one bird and some casual reading about other species (sounds like crow feathers work similarly to parakeets, for instance: https://urbannature.blog/2022/09/23/the-unbearable-itchiness-of-moulting/). Please take this as an account of what preening a bird is like, and not as advice for things to do to a real bird.)

The exact term for preening something other than oneself is "allopreening". It's a social behavior and not all species do it. But if you're writing about a bird-human hybrid, ehhh humans have grooming instincts to add to the mix, so IMO the species of bird shouldn't hold you back!

Allopreening is most needed on areas the bird can't access themself. Wings and tails are mostly accessible-- the long feathers can be gently bent into reach. The back of the head/neck is the most prime location for allopreening. A humanoid trying to preen on their own would probably try to use a mirror to see what they're doing, and seriously tire out their arms reaching back there to do such finicky work.

Birds are pretty good at spinning their heads to see and work on anything below their necks, but an avian-ish character without that range of motion might need more help on the base of their wings, shoulders, and back.

My bird gets pissed when I so much as touch any feathers that are critical to flight (the longest wing and tail feathers). Care for those feathers is super important, and trusting someone else with that task would be a huge deal!

To request a preening, my bird angles her head at me, shakes it, and gently poofs up her feathers. If it's going well, she'll stay poofed up and maybe close her eyes.

A completed preening session always ends with feathers being shaken out.

Molting!

Often, the first sign of an impending molt is a fluffy down feather floating in the air. These feathers will cling to anything they touch.

The start of molting involves a lot of old feathers falling out, and some chill allopreening can be involved in this. Just lightly ruffling their feathers can help dislodge ones that are ready to go.

After getting rid of the old feathers, pin feathers start to grow in. They start out covered in a waxy sheath and with a blood supply running through them. While the blood supply is there, these are also called blood feathers, and damaging them can cause a lot of bleeding.

Pin/blood feathers are very sensitive. A wrong move can cause them to poke into the skin. Add this to the general vulnerability of not being at peak flight ability and the body's exhaustion at having to produce the feathers, and you've got an irritable and skittish bird. This is all a whole lot like a feathery version of a period.

Allopreening pin feathers is a lot more delicate than helping dislodge old ones. There's a careful art involved in telling which ones are ready to have their sheaths removed. Learning this art as a non-feather-haver involved, for me, a lot of sudden nipping from an unsatisfied customer. These days, I can tell I'm working on the wrong feather if my bird tenses up or glares at me.

Removing the sheath from a feather is SO SATISFYING. You take a dull-colored, irritating pin, and gently unwrap it to reveal a soft, beautiful new feather. Any time I see my bird all disheveled by pin feathers, it takes serious willpower to resist pestering her to let me fix them.

Non-molt preening!

Fully grown feathers also need daily upkeep

Birds secrete oils that they spread over their feathers with their beaks. A bird-person or their allopreening partner might choose to work other oils into the feathers, similar to how we use skincare products.

Feathers lost outside of the molting cycle can start regrowing immediately. However, a partially damaged feather will not regrow until it is removed or falls out during a molt.

Clipped wings are essentially damaged feathers-- an intelligent bird-person might be inclined to rip these out so that new, full feathers will be faster to grow... but, that would mean going without the partial feathers, and the gliding/slight lift they allow. That's a pretty big risk!

Hope someone gets some use out of this :) Happy bird-fic'ing!

[nanamikentoseyebags]

i'm nightcrawling to you

how come that every night he finds himself at your doorstep? why do all the ways lead him to you? how is it that in the pounding heart of this bustling metropolis, you are the only person he can come to?

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

content: extremely satoru-centric, hurt/comfort, just satoru turning up at your door every night in an attempt to feel something again

a/n: i love him so much i need to get inside his head and sweep all the bad thoughts out :(

At night Tokyo is mired in the noise of cars, loud voices of people who fill its streets at this late hour and argue about their trivial, insignificant problems, irrelevant to what is now happening in the heart of this metropolis. The city is suffocating in smog and soot, writhing, riddled with road lines, silently crying out for help, flashing muffled blueberry-colored store signs that are scattered across the map like sores on the body of a sick man. People rush home, causing it to itch and make it squirm. The city waits. It waits for all the commotion to die down, for the streets to sink into darkness and emptiness, for only then can it breathe. One more hour and...

A frantic inhale.

The multicolored night lights, the countless illuminations, a myriad of car headlights fade, melt into a kind of haze, like under a misty veil, and again as if from the depths of a deep blue ocean, emerges a mass of thousands of people, who believe that this place is the root of all their misfortunes. They move swiftly toward their dwellings, cursing their jobs that leave them unsatisfied and exhausted, but which allow them to live a relatively normal life. Need to last another hour…

A frustrated exhale.

The eerie shadows cast by the houses and the feet of the passersby slowly turn into a lingering inky darkness of the night that swallows up the entire city. The last person stranded on the road crosses the threshold of their house, closing the door behind them with a rattling thud. The motley signs, once pulsating in the center of the city, darken, revealing the faint glow of stars floating in the sky. The golden iridescence of random car headlights no longer makes it squint. The tired city takes that much-needed greedy breath of air...

A sharp inhale.

The harsh chilly air burns Satoru Gojo's lungs, as he slowly strides through the now empty streets of the weary city. His hands, stuffed into the pockets of his black jacket, involuntarily clench into fists in an attempt to warm his freezing fingertips. He shivers, pressing his head into his shoulders, trying to hide from the piercing wind that so mercilessly ruffles and tangles his snow-white hair and uneasy thoughts. Left all alone, he muses with a slight melancholy about his fate, written by someone's ruthless hand in the book of life…

An exhausted exhale.

"So strange," he thinks to himself, looking with unfathomable sadness at the soft inviting light coming from the windows of the little apartments in these big anthills of the concrete jungle, "in all my life I've never had a place I could call home. Where am I going? Where are my feet leading me? Is someone waiting for me?" A sad smile appears on his face as memories, like the pages of an album, begin to turn over in his head. Moments when he lost his home in the form of his best friend. Moments when he found it again in the form of his students. The moments when you helped him rebuild it from the scratch, replacing the burned out pieces with the solid foundation of your care. Moments when, for fear of destroying everything, he left again, leaving you there, safe, because with him coming, the chances of losing everything in an instant seemed to be infinite...

A sorrowful inhale.

Light slanting rain begins to fall from the dense clouds floating in the sky, beating on the curtained windows and blanketing the shivering city like a thin cloth of invisible threads with pearls dangling on them. Satoru let the occasional drop land first on his disheveled hair, and then drip in small trickles from his glasses, covering his already frozen face with chilling moisture. He does not turn on his infinity, allowing himself that rare weakness of feeling human. Heavy droplets come down from the roofs, drumming on the iron awnings, water grumbling angrily in the rusted gutters. Wet, gloomy houses stare at the lonely and lost man with their weeping windows.

…

A new gust of wind whips another batch of memories into his face, the irrepressible longing reverberating in his heart when he thinks about them for too long. The scraps of conversation brought by the raging weather play a faint melody in his ears. Satoru chuckles bitterly, as if right now he can hear the students calling him a bizarre, annoying, lanky sensei, who used to insert his ridiculous comments here and there. He never takes offense; on the contrary, he does everything he can to be one, the odd teacher who would do anything to make his students' youth look like the spring of their lives. Even though it makes him seem like the biggest fool on the planet. Somewhere within himself, he hopes they'll never have to find out how utterly tattered his soul is. And now, convinced that all of his students were sleeping soundly, he goes outside in an effort to find the way to his own sanctuary.

…

The weeping sky brushes away the leaden clouds from its blanket as if they keep preventing it from observing the unfolding of a story that has long been written. With a sinking heart, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, Satoru Gojo reaches for your door, stopping for a moment, unsure whether you should be bothered at this late hour. At the last moment, allowing himself to be a little selfish, he makes a few quiet knocks on the door and awkwardly hides his hands behind his back. For a few seconds, nothing happens. He heeds, not knowing for sure what he's hoping for: that you've been asleep for a long time and won't catch him in this miserable state, or that you were waiting for him after all, feeling this strange connection between the two of you. Suddenly the door swings open, revealing your small figure. The bright light emanating from your apartment on this dark night does not dazzle him, but rather cradles him with its invisible hands, trying to give him its warmth. The smell of homemade food fills his nose, beckoning him to peak in. Satoru stands motionless, looking at you with a fluttering heart. So familiar, so homely, with a smile stepping away from the door, inviting him to go inside. And he thinks, "It's so strange, in all my life I haven't had a place I could call home, it seems... it's always been here."

A relieved exhale.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

tags: @shamelessperfectionhideout @margumis @vagabond-umlaut @4sat0ruu @a-nuisance-called-sam @strawberrystepmom @rossithepixie @suckonlimes @jazminetoad @nikokopuffs 💛

art and dividers aren't mine <3

[johndead]

Alan, I need some help with my Jon. His behaviour changed very suddenly one day and I keep finding him hiding and watching me. I want to support him, but I'm worried he's not very well, is there anything I can do to help?

Thank you for asking!

This sort of thing does occasionally happen, and it's usually a sign of distress or worry, though sometimes it can be brought about randomly

In such cases it usually stops after a few days, usually just triggered by something small, like change to his environment or unsatisfying enrichment time

If its been persisting longer or seems intense, try checking around your home for possible stressors! These include things like spiders, worms, or if you let him outside in an area that's commonly traversed by his natural predators (always check your area if you have a high concentration of Daisys before getting an outside Jon!)

If that isn't it, it's possible he might be about to go through Jontosis (a Jon's asexual reproduction method) in which case check him for extra eyes and take him to a vet!

I wish you luck, and I'm very sorry your Jon isn't feeling well :( do keep me updated ❤️

[misplacedgamer]

Guys, don't worry, there's absolutely no way Bakugo is permadead right now.

FIrst of all, there is so much set up for Bakugo's character still revolving around Deku that there is no way Hori will not pay off. Deku saving Bakugo with his own two hands, the hand hold itself, them finally working through their issues, Deku not putting Bakugo on a pedestal anymore, the fact that they are both considered All Might's successors and therefore will have to work together in order to do what All Might couldn't and take out AFO. We all thought Hori gave up on the traitor plot line only for him to hit it at the perfect time and also unveil all the set up that he had actually put into it that we never noticed, so there's no way he would drop the ball on something this important. Hell, his original ending was reincorporated into the second movie, and that used the same ideas that I'm discussing now. Hori is actually thinking about this.

Second, you really think Hori is gonna make Bakugo go out in the most unsatisfying way possible? He didn't land a single hit on AFO that mattered, despite being half of the new Symbol of Peace (and not to mention Deku's Symbol of Victory). He died away from all his friends, without a tearful goodbye to anyone. Deku wasn't even there to see it or see him "off". There are manga that can get away with stuff like this for permadead characters, but MHA is not one of them. Important characters get send offs in shonen manga. These comics are for children, and I'm pretty sure JUMP would not sign off on killing the most popular character in the manga without a bit of fanfare (the most popular six years in a row, lets not forget). If Sir Nighteye got a heartfelt goodbye, then Bakugo motherfucking Katsuki is gonna get the saddest, tear jerking goodbye ever, and that's only after he does something that severely handicaps AFO or helps save Shiggy in some way (cause he needed to learn to save people).

Third, Hori said at the beginning of this year that Bakugo fans and haters would be happy with what happened to his character this year. Bakugo haters? Yes, absolutely fed. Bakugo's ultimate attacks have been meaningless and foiled at every turn, he didn't get his Quirk Awakening (just his Cluster ability, which also did nothing), and AFO has been beating the shit out of him for four chapters. He just went out like a chump without making a scratch on our main villain, and his last thoughts were some Avengers shit about getting a trading card signed??? This is rock bottom, no question.

But as for Bakugo fans...what have we actually gotten so far this year? He and Deku has barely spoken, he's not been all that relevant to the arcs that have been happening (except the Miruko fight), and he's seemingly dead without Deku even being there to see it. Literally anything a Bakugo fan would want has not happened, and I don't see why Hori would change his mind about something like that.

So one of two things is happening here: Either Hori is so fed up with MHA that he is just in complete "raze this shit to the ground" mode like the GoT showrunners, or he's actually smart and is doing this because he knows it will create interest for what's going to happen going forward. I'm willing to make a sizeable bet that its the latter.

[nujins]

must be destiny [ ji changmin/q ] teaser

synopsis: you're sunwoo's younger cousin that just moved in with him and his family in seoul after an event that forced you out of your own home. after he lets you tag along with him on one of his hangouts with his friends, you find yourself becoming intrigued with a certain bright-eyed boy named changmin. little do you know, you've been in his radar for a while, and that this fateful chance was a sign for him that you were his long-lost "the one".

pairing: non!idol ji changmin (q) x non!idol fem!reader

warnings: cursing, suicidal jokes (it's very vague though)

taglist: open!... @inthesunnn @kyusqult @rksbae @deobiforever (if bold and italicized, the user cannot be tagged)

"Sunwoo, I'm going to die of boredom."

Your cousin rolled his eyes at your whining, pretty convinced that they might as well come out of his sockets at how much he's done it in the past hour. Truth be told, thanks to your constant comments and mindless rambling, he doesn't even remember a time when he didn't go through an entire day without rolling his eyes because of something you might've said or done.

"Then perish."

You huff, sitting up from your position slumped over the edge of your cousin's bed, having made a home within the comforts of his room, no matter how much he hated the idea that someone else was inside it, much less pestering him to no end. "Tried that, look where I am now."

Sunwoo turns his swivel chair towards your direction, "Annoying the shit out of me?"

"I don't know about you but I think that's my calling," You grin cheekily. He doesn't seem very amused when he rolled his eyes at your antics.

You were keeping count of his eye-rolling habits; that recent one he just did was the 87th... since half an hour ago.

He suddenly stands up, reaching for his phone which had just vibrated on his studying desk. The screen lit up and you noted how the corner of your cousin's lips lifted in the slightest.

You craned your neck, "Is that Chanhee?"

"Yeah, sure..." He typed something on his phone, probably replying to the text, before clicking the power button and reaching over to knock your head with it. "And call him 'oppa', alright? He's older than you, and it's disrespectful not to."

Still hissing at the thump you'd just received, you glared at the boy, now already preoccupied with his phone again, "He told me not to, dickhead. Besides, it's weird, I never call anyone that."

"That's because you're a brat."

"I never even call you that! And you're like, I don't know, 60-something?"

Sunwoo fake-gasps, lifting his gaze from the device in his hands and towards his cousin, expression filled with exaggerated offense, "I'm literally a year older than you!"

Dropping back onto his bed, you sigh dramatically, "It seems like only yesterday you were developing scoliosis, old man. Time does fly. Now you're having delusions."

Rolling his eyes (for the 88th time! Wow, he's setting records), he sends you a middle finger before ruffling his hair and putting on a cap he took from beside his mirror. It's not until he started heading towards the door did you start piecing two and two together.

Driven by curiosity (because it's not like you care whether he was gonna leave you alone or anything like that), you prop yourself up on your arms, "Where're you going?"

"Out."

His answer was clipped. Short, you decided, too short. So he wasn't just going out, he was going to be with someone else, or maybe other people, if he had any friends besides Chanhee.

You hum, but remain unsatisfied, "Alright. Out where?"

"None of your business, nosy," He retorts, before opening the door and shutting it behind him in a hurry.

Really, he shouldn't have been too sure that you were just going to leave it at that. Especially because aside from your stubborn inquisitiveness, you also had a knack for taking people by surprise.

"Oh so you're going to be with your hypothetical friends, then."

He's never jumped so high out of fright before when your voice interrupts his silent journey down the stairs. He was certain he would've fallen down all the remaining eight flights if you hadn't grabbed a hold of his hoodie.

Swiveling to seethe at you, Sunwoo was only met with genuine interest present on your features. Even so, he was annoyed. Annoyed and just recently recovering from a near heart attack. "What the fuck, Y/N!?"

You grinned, "Hm, you're not denying it."

"Jesus Christ, don't creep up on people for stupid shit!" He nearly yells, but remembers that it was a weekend so his mom was at home, busying herself in the kitchen. "Yes, I'm going out, and I have friends, they're not "hypothetical" or some shit."

"You say shit a lot," You note, teasingly, but cut him off once he started to fume and open his mouth to tell you off again. "I wanna come with."

There was a short silence before he turns, decides, and start walking away, "No."

"But—"

"No "but's", nosy, you're not coming with me to watch sweaty ass men play basketball," The two of your reach the kitchen where your aunt, Sunwoo's mother, was already waiting as she busied herself with the dishes she was preparing for dinner.

You let out a triumphant 'Aha!' as your cousin opened the refrigerator to get a bottle of water, "You're going out to play basketball! That's great, I love basketball!"

Sunwoo sends you a flat look, taking a big gulp from his bottle before replying, "Be for real, Y/N. You've always said you hated it since we were kids."

"Maybe I had a change of heart!"

"You're literally a magnet for loose balls, dude, didn't you get hit with a ball five times in just one quarter?"

"I want to spend some quality time with my beloved cousin...?" You try again.

He rolls his eyes, "If you don't stop—"

"Kim Sunwoo," You could hear the warning in your aunt's voice as she cuts him off with his name. Turning to the woman, her firm grip on the spatula and the sharp look she was giving her son was probably enough to convince the boy. "Take your cousin out with you to have fun. Didn't you hear she wants to spend time with you?"

"But she doesn't, Mom," He tries to appeal, vexed by the fact that his mother couldn't even see how conniving your smile has become and how mischief was practically written on your face. "She's just going to annoy me and my friends!"

Your aunt tutted, "No more excuses, young man, you two head out now. There's visitors coming."

"Oh, I see. That's why you want us out now, huh?" It was getting increasingly hard not to laugh at Sunwoo's disbelieving and betrayed tone.

She rolled her eyes and just shooed you both, "Enough blabbing, go! Stay out until 10 to 10:30ish, okay?"

At least now you knew where Sunwoo got his attitude from.

"You know, mothers usually take the responsible road and act a bit more parent-like with their children and nieces."

The woman only smiled sickeningly saccharine, "How fortunate that you landed on someone like me, ain't it?"

It's only then that you realize how she had already pushed you both out of the kitchen. As your aunt returns back to cooking, you and your cousin turn to each other, expressions highly contrasting.

As exasperated as someone could get, Sunwoo sighs reluctantly, "Have you got your stuff?"

You raise your phone with a wide grin, more enthusiastic about going out to meet new people than the boy before you, "This is all I need."

"... Fine." Too bemused of the situation to say anything else, he starts to lead the way out of the house and toward the start of something (or someone) you yourself didn't even know how you got into.

author's note: hi guys! sorry it took so long to update, i'm swarmed with school works and club activities as it is nearing the end of the school year. i hope this teaser suffices 🙏🏼 yes, changmin hasn't made an appearance, yes you can boo me for that, but i wanted to show y/n's dynamic with her cousin first and foremost because i'm a sucker for familial relationships between characters. prologue will hopefully be posted soon if i have time to rewrite the whole thing so until then, you can go and make requests for any tbz, zb1, en-, lesserafim, & aespa members you want! my asks are open :) hope you enjoyed reading this, and stay tuned!

[slothydaydreamer]

(but what the actual fuck was the end of season 1? What the fuck?

Kay, kay, it maaaaay be my fault for getting attached to the evil brother duo, but uh. WHAT? That's how they conclude their arc? With murder-suicide? It's like the writers tried reeeeal hard to find a way to get rid of them permanently without having to deal with an elaborate wrap up for them dealing with the repercussions of their actions, after both of their scams got exposed and wanted to erase any possibility of them coming back in any form or shape later.

I'm going to try to rationalize for myself now, but my initial reaction, to have this on record, is "unhappy" and "in disbelief".

I mean, sure, T-boy got no drive left in his life after his bending got taken away and all his ambitions crumbled to dust, plus realising that he basically became his father, who he hates. And maybe he saw that staying with his evil unhinged bro-bro who can still fucking blood bend miiiiiight be not the best idea. Especially since he can't fight back. He (unenthusiastically) said "it'll be just like it used to" but ..... the good old days of his childhood were actually the horrible fucked up days of his childhood. He would sign up for being under Noatak's thumb forever if he did that. Incredibly unbalanced power dynamic, even worse than before. Even worse than being under his father's thumb. And Noatak showed him his guts, by blood bending him AGAIN in adulthood and taking his bending away. Something that Tarrlok refused to do to his older brother after experiencing how horrible it was. There is no way he can ever trust his brother. That trust was once broken in his childhood, and completely stomped on and crushed in adulthood.

So maybe that's why he decided to do it. There was no going back to the days of innocence, not in this life.

Also... Maybe a part of him wanted to be the hero of the city he proclaimed to be. Now he really is the guy who took down Amon. He did good on his promise, prevented further harm that Noatak most likely would have caused and repented for his own misdoings he committed while he was chairman with his death...

So, objectively, in terms of the narrative, it is a sort of satisfying conclusion to his arc?

(but I reeeeeally hate the "redemption by sacrificial death" trope. It's really unsatisfying to me, personally)

So there's my rationalisation of the events. That I will probably ignore in favour of different solutions

Aside from that... I really would love to look into Amon's head and inspect his thoughts. My man pulled a whole Indra Ootsutsuki arc. Being initially kind and caring towards their little brother? ✅ Turning cold and violent after trauma and outside threat? ✅ Using the power they gained through trauma against their little brother? ✅

And I still can't believe THEY'RE DEAD. I'll never get to see a canon deep dive into that whole family drama. Oof. Which means I'll be stuck imagining what happened myself. Greeeeeeeat. *picks up invisible pen*)

[deartouya]

on the state of my blog now + in the future !!

well.. kinda. i'm not going anywhere (can't get rid of me that easily >:3) and i'm sorry if this sounds ominous, i'm just gonna change up how i do things from now on! i've been feeling very overwhelmed and... unsatisfied with myself and i've been thinking how i want to go about fixing them and this is what i've settled on.

i've been feeling. rough. recently. i love writing and i love bnha, hq, and jjk. i adore this blog and all the work i've put into it. but i'm worried that i'll burn out if i don't make the necessary changes. i've been too in my head and felt a little like i was drowning and terrified of the day i stop enjoying writing. i don't want that day to come, but i feel like it will if i don't do something. so, i'm fixing it.

posting schedule

baseline, i don't have one anymore.

having the expectation of posting stressed me out and forced me to neglect a lot of my wips. so, i promise the bare minimum of 1 post a month. (which, there will be more but i don't want to put that expectation on myself.)

it's been weighing on me recently and i just. don't think it's possible for me anymore.

i will be taking a writing hiatus for the next two weeks to focus on date night event pieces + current wips.

content

i started this blog on small drabbles + hcs, but i don't want to write only that.

recently i've been leaning towards longer (3k+) fics and so i want to be able to take the time needed to write them, without worrying about what my followers expect.

also, i plan on branching out to hq + jjk more. i've been so ..scared of messing up the characters but if i never write it. i'll never get better.

nsfw

this has been.. a touchy topic for myself since pretty much the beginning, but i would like to be able to write it occasionally.

my plan is to make a 18+ blog just for me to, test the waters. (which i will make + tell you so moots can privately ask for it)

i don't plan on writing nsfw frequently honestly, so you shouldn't worry about this blog being neglected. i'll basically treat this as my main + most writing the other blog for nsfw writing + nsfw thoughts.

also, i think i'll post nsfw alts of long fics that don't feature more than 1 scene on a03 only and possibly on the 18+ blog. my tester for this is my exes to lovers bkg fic, which i think i'll attempt my hand at smut. the tumblr version will be sfw, though.

i don't know if i'll enjoy writing it, but i don't want to restrict myself when i think its needed. don't expect a lot of it, bc there won't be.

so, basically, i'm taking a bit of time to make this blog better for myself. if you need to unfollow, i don't blame you or hold any animosity for you, i understand that this might not be what you signed up for.

[plungelo]

i wrote this for tumblr and then i wrote it for class and now i'm putting it on tumblr too

(the references to beat generation poets is because of it being an assignment but for the most part they do genuinely relate.)

(none of these words are mine but the ones that especially don’t belong to me are in italics.)

i try to hold a grip on my inner monologue to keep myself from self-talk. to vocalize my thoughts would be a sure sign that i’ve lost it. that i am a person who talks to their self. in the during-times, i could carry full dialogues between my selves since i had a mask on––inside and outside. no one could see my grocery list on my lips, or the proper response to that thing that person said to me eight months ago, or two years ago, or back in elementary school spoken in such delicate and conscientious detail under the breath within my mask.

when i inhibit all intention to speak, when my thoughts slow from words to moment, to senses, my mind falls to a blissful quiet. when my head is free from words, i am at peace. this brings me into flow. i may extend and contract time at the will of my activity. too much talk hurts because my state of mind without it is peaceful.

this state is outside the verbal processes of my mind. it washes the gum from my eyes. it’s something distinct from bliss that is not positive or negative. but why? why do purely nonverbal moments in my day feel so freeing? maybe i should explore what words do to me and what i can do with them. then maybe i’ll come out the other side with an understanding of why their lack has such a sobering effect on me.

–

speaking is the origin point of word-thoughts. i used to think it was the other way around. there’s this understanding of speaking as expression; Ginsberg confessing out his soul and Kerouac’s rhetorical exhalations assume that words are drawn from within us.

i reject this. it’s the words which came first, not the thoughts. my mind had no thoughts before it had words. thoughts are just invisible words. words are not inside of me. only soul, energy, emotion can be found there. words are on air, paper, and computers. they are the bridge Whitman crosses in order to bear his soul. the tool for Bukowski’s matter-of-fact expression. the drug that Kaufman smokes and drinks. they do not come from me but i make use of them like any technology.

like any technology, language is outside of me but feels connected to my body. so connected that some people think they started from language—i.e. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God (i say whatever happened to the heaven and the earth?). my soul pushes my heart to pulse my blood to my lungs which entrap the air through my throat who, on the exhale, conspires with my mouth and nose to form the strangest of sounds—the multi-millennia-old vestiges of barbaric yawps and bird cry copies––that i call words.

but they are not my blood or heart or lungs or throat or mouth or nose. they pass through me like a worm in the dirt. earthworms beneath me earworms inside me. the breath mists of introspection in my throat throughout my body and across the air spread these strange sounds within and without me. if i’m close enough, i physically strike the ear of another, and it casts a spell on them. this spell is the real concern. this spell is meaning.

–

i don’t care about “the meaning of life”. life is everything, it can’t mean one thing. my question: what is meaning? i could continue with my somatic understanding of language by calling meaning ‘electrical neuron signals’ but that’s so unsatisfying. (by the way, i want to make it clear that i am not taking this purely physical approach to language in the interest of science. fuck science. focusing on the material is my way of validating the immaterial.) that approach is unsatisfying because it doesn’t account for the telepathic shock of creating/receiving meanings. maybe i should explore what meaning isn’t to find out what it is.

those who spit anti-poetry for poetic reasons find meaning through nonsense. before and after frinking, Abomunists sing Derrat slegelations and Geed bop nava glid. i should take a page from their book. such dedicated use of nonsense is impressive in a world governed by reason. but it is not just noises. Kaufman’s maybe highlighting the nonsense of the invisible manifestos i’ve been subscribed to since birth. rulesets that i adhere to out of fear. meaning comes from reception and connection. when the only emotional connection between those unwritten constitutions and me is fear, my receptive ability is inhibited.

a different kind of nonsense is what some call flub. literary filler content which is relatively meaningless compared to the (usually weak) argument it surrounds. does Kerouac’s infantile pileup of scatological buildup words drain meaning from their sentences? or is there meaning in the scat? Burroughs may agree with the latter. reading Naked Lunch can feel like consuming a whole lot of junk. but meaning-excitements zap me at every word-image, bringing my mind from high to low and back up again. this takes place over the course of a chapter, a paragraph, a sentence. so many meanings strike me that i’m enveloped in the moment rather than a grander picture. regardless of what scale it’s on, my own human mind imagines meanings from Burroughs’s many words.

if sense can be made out of nonsense then it can be made out of anything. in everything there is meaning waiting to be sensed. such an overwhelming amount that, in order to relate all of the meaning, we need a logical system of communication. but if my conditioning differs from yours, so will my communication.

–

the voice of a writer. simultaneously their least important and most important quality. after reading thousands of words written by Kaufman i still have no idea what he sounds like. i don’t know the depth of his timbre or the speed of lips. but somehow i know his voice.

this is an extremely fascinating element of writing. i can have a voice without speaking at all. my conditioning led me to this specific voice and Bukowski’s conditioning led to his. he comes over with his violin and sad music while Kaufman spits culture seeds and eats poetic loaves of bread. i know their voices are distinct without having heard either of them. we can distinguish one writer’s voice from another because everyone’s relationship to language is their own. and when voices clash, magic happens.

language is shared, it is constantly collectively reproduced and readapted every time one person talks to another. with each word spoken, language is once again contextualized anew. old middle early late and modern english are all re-contextualizations of a similar structure. but so is the hello how are you of my barista and the how you doin’ of my pizza guy. no matter what level you look at it on, language is changing thanks to its communal existence. voices from unique conditions can converge into a synthesis in one second or over a thousand years.

the zeitgeist that the Beat writers lived through conditioned each of their voices. their attitudes on the world converged to create the Beat movement. they are all the writers, but the space between their writing is the movement. it’s this invisible cultural vibration that inspires new work—work which goes on to make its own vibrations that infinitely ripple through culture in the same way its inspirations did. new and old, new and new, old and old, all merge in their own specific ways on top of one another at a speed and size that human logic can’t keep up with. everything builds on top of everything, producing a new thing that will be layered on top of sometime in the future.

talking, word-thoughts, these produce. my words create a separation (i.e. my body) which then creates something new. creating my self. with each word i write i build upon my self. my voice is constructed by my words and their organization. so is my voice me? is On the Road Jack Kerouac? i know it’s by him, but is it him? is Walt Whitman Leaves of Grass? he would certainly say so. the work of a writer is made from their voice and their voice is made from them. they are made from their conditions and their conditions are made from chaos. so where does the person start and end? how far does their voice carry them?

for me, it’s either all or nothing—there is not a certain point where you can say that a thing someone creates ceases to be a part of them—and between the two, i would choose all. people extend infinitely in all directions. my voice my art my mark is me. it will be me after i die. i am comfortable with this conclusion because i know that i am actively creating myself in every moment, through both conversation and craft. this active creation will ripple for some time, and those ripples will be me. at a certain point my ‘individual’ voice will be washed away and unrecognizable, but it will still be me whether i know it or not. Kaufman certainly doesn’t know that the bits of him in the air have been inhaled by millions of people since his death. yet he lives on through the effect those bits have had.

–

you speak to me. i speak to you. i speak to me. you speak to you. we participate in the collective experience of language. even on our own. what does this make me? i know that i am i, but grammar makes me me. obviously by nature of communication we must separate each other between you’s and me’s. but do we have to separate our selfs between me’s and i’s?

i feel like i but apparently i’m me. the grammar of my existence schisms me into object/subject. big rule: reject binaries. any sign of division today is an unresolved representation of tomorrow’s singularity. what is the tomorrow of today’s object/subject division?

Find tomorrow a cincophrenicpoet pleas. a million tomorrows. “Plea” is a critique of the logical conclusion of the object/subject thingamabob. when we speak to train our brains to signal ourselves as separate from each other, we are able to commit the atrocities which haunt so much of Kaufman’s poetry, especially “Plea”. language governs the modern mind, and so division is inherent to our reception of stimuli––the world––and thus our perception of others.

di Prima would agree that these linguistic practices are connected to our political understandings of each other. but, in the interest of the revolution, she takes it more domestically. in her thirty-sixth letter of the revolution, she asks who is the we, who is the they in this thing? we must declare our independence, we must not accept a share of the guilt they want to lay on us. our linguistic relation to institutions is an unbalanced power dynamic. by making them them and us us, our brain makes division palatable. another revolutionary letter begins with a quote from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, may it come that all radiances will be known as our own radiances. this idea opposes the inherent division in language. if everything belongs to us then it negates the need for a possessive view of property, people, bodies. di Prima’s revolutionary drive is to initiate us into this possessionless state. poetry and spirituality––both concepts which utilize words but whose affect can’t be put into words––allow her to pass through the object/subject wall that divides us all.

words can unite, but not if we aren’t conscious of their tendency to fracture.

–

we tend to fracture one another using categories. introverts and extroverts are important categories to social life. but i see introversion/extroversion as verbal concepts, not social. to be social is to enjoy the company of people. but if you are silent and social, you may still be considered an introvert. your words determine people’s perception of your social inclination.

i believe people just participate in the collective experience of language in dynamic, situational ways. natural participation. compulsive participation. careful participation. these uses for language all happen simultaneously in the flow of conversation, pleasantries, or in the practiced dedication to it through art.

artists reveal a problem with the introvert/extrovert binary. for months a writer may work in seclusion on their masterpiece. for example they might spend a couple of weeks straight writing their work on a single scroll of paper. it is a lonely act to create something. it’s like inspecting a mirror and making meaning out of what you see in yourself. but when that art is consumed by its audience, suddenly the artist is an extrovert. their deepest desires and secrets are made totally public. their readers form relationships with them––often parasocial. they are influenced––economically and perhaps aesthetically––by the reaction to their art. their work may become a conversation between artist and audience. the process of creating and releasing art requires both a strong relation to one’s self and one’s audience. if you are an artist, you cannot be categorized as an introvert or extrovert.

the interviews the life the reality of an artist are of utmost importance now. Youtube is bursting with videos like “Jack Kerouac’s top 5 writing tips!” or “Write a novel in THREE days using William S. Burroughs’ secret strategy: benzedrine.” there is a need to know artists personally. it is no longer absurd to touch their books and dream of Californian supermarket odysseys. at a certain point, the words they’ve provided are not enough. i must know them––how they ugh’d how they umm’d how they err’d; how they blinked how they coughed how they slept.

everything between their words is of interest now.

–

words cast meaning-spells and make us become apart of each other. the act of writing this dug up meaning that already existed. i’ve learned a lot about words thanks to my use of two-thousand four-hundred of them so far. but that’s made it clear to me that the not-words are what we use words to describe.

so silence. the lack of words. the in-between. that is where i find peace. in between words is invisible meaning. so when i am in between my use of words, when i try to hold a grip on my inner and outer monologue, when i inhibit all intention to speak, i am in meaning. and that’s a nice place to be in my opinion.

[memento-morri-writes]

hey morri!! happy wbw :D for call of shadows, because i'm Invested now, what's the monarchy like? do the citizens respect/like the monarchy? what type of rules are enforced in the kingdom? how do the people respond to these rules [are they frustrated, unsatisfied, or happy, and don't have a problem]?

also, for all the king's horses, what are the consequences for committing a crime/breaking a law? :D

have fun answering these!! and feel free to share any cool facts you have about the CoS world <3 [@fiercely-raging-writer]

[ps. i'm still clearing out older asks and tag games 😅, but i've seen your responses to my previous asks, i will get to responding to them!! i'm sorry for how long it's taking 😭] [but i swear i'm not ignoring your answers, or anything, axjkcdskjfs]

LEO!!! It's been so long since I've seen you on my blog!! Don't worry about it, I know you're not ignoring my answers. <3

So, the monarchy is a pretty standard fantasy monarchy. The heir can be on any gender, all that matters is that they're of royal blood (or have been officially adopted by the current ruler, but that's rare). The current monarch has the actual power to sign things into laws, command the army, etc. However, there is a council of nobles who are meant to advocate for the people of their provinces and towns (a little bit like the U.S.’s congress, but they aren’t elected). These nobles can propose laws, but it’s up to the monarch to sign them into law. The nobles are also in charge of keeping the monarch (and each other) honest. They’re meant to double-check treasury records and such to ensure that no one is profiting where they shouldn’t. However, obviously, if the whole council was in cahoots, that wouldn’t work. The monarch has the power to strip a noble of their title, and as such their seat on the council. The seat and title would go to their named heir. If there isn’t an heir, the monarch can select a new person/family to take up that title.

As for what people think of the monarchy, that very much depends on who the current monarch it!! Just like with any government, there are bad rulers and good rulers. And not everyone agrees on which is which, although sometimes it's a lot more unanimous than others.

Dorian's parents were very well-liked rulers, because they cared a lot about the common people, and they were making a big push for making education more available to everyone, along with medical care, etc. They made a point of listening to the people, not just the nobles. Also, it was less of a one-person command, since Dorian's mother (who was officially the one with the power) listened to her husband's advice, and he to hers, and they worked together to think through and solve a lot of problems.

Lenora, on the other hand, is a more greedy ruler. She's raised taxes, and stopped listening to the common people so much. She thinks that the council (who is not elected, mind you) knows more than enough about the people of their provinces, which isn't always (or often) the case. She hasn't really done anything outright evil yet, (remember, no one knows she killed Dorian), but she gives people kind of bad vibes, and they definitely know she's a lot more selfish and less caring than her sister and brother-in-law.

The rules that are enforced in the kingdom are generally pretty common ones (no crimes, etc.), and Lenora hasn't made a big move to change many of them yet, beyond raising taxes. She has, however, made moves towards a more accurate census of the magic-users of the kingdom. Since right now, when censuses are taken, it's basically just self-report on your magic abilities. Which allows mind mages and others who would rather remain hidden to keep quiet about it or just not say anything.

When citizens do have a problem with the laws, they can bring something before the noble in charge of their province, or the leader of the city, if it's a local law. It's up to the noble to take it to the Council. However, Dorian's parents had allowed citizens to write petitions to them directly. Lenora put a stop to that, though. Too much work to go through the "junk mail".

ATQH info under the cut!

In Anvia, if you break a law, if it's minor, typically you can choose between a fine or jail time. For example, if you're caught stealing, you can either pay for the stolen item (or return it), or spend a few nights in jail. However, if your crime physically harms someone else (assault, abuse, murder, etc.), the jail sentence is mandatory, and actually a prison sentence. The criminal would stay in a town/city jail leading up to their trial, and after the trial would be taken by prison wagon to a prison away from civilization. The death penalty can only be enacted on direct order from the monarch, and the only time it's written into law is for an action resulting in the death of a member of the royal family. However, Fallon would prefer to let someone languish in jail than be responsible for their death. (besides, Anvia actually has a decent prison system, with room for all the inmates, clean cells with a cot for sleeping, etc.. A lot of prisons actually have their own farms where the inmates are responsible for growing their own food or raising animals, etc. Upon release, they're given money and clothes, and a ride to a town of their choice, within reasonable distance.)

In Oraine and Oryn, punishments are more drastic. In Oraine, it's common to throw a criminal into a jail cell and just kind of forget about them for a while. Yeah, they'll get a trial eventually, if it's a big crime, but justice moves slowly there. And really, as long as you're not harming anyone wealthy, no one really cares what you do. Execution is a punishment in Oraine, though not very common.

In Oryn, long prison sentences tend to be the default, either that or forced, unpaid labor in the mines. Prisoners get the most dangerous jobs in the mines, and receive no compensation for it. Death rates among forced laborers are high. (Another thing Pierre has to answer for...)

[autistic-rizz-king]

a piece of flash fiction I wrote for my eng class :)

The middle school called me after no one had come to pick up Sage after school. It was Ron’s turn to get him and he’s always quite punctual. Though right now he’s not even answering his phone. I found Mrs. Brownstein by the front door waiting with Sage who was quite upset with me.

“I’ve been waiting for 45 minutes!!! Where’s Dad?? Isn’t it his turn to get me??? Did something happen???”

“I’m sorry sweetheart! Something came up at work and Dad just got the chance to called me 10 minutes ago.”

I could tell he was unsatisfied with my answer. We both know that Ron always prioritizes us knowing where he is over “something that came up at work,” but my answer seemed plausible enough for Mrs. Brownstein. In the car, Sage asked me,

“What’s really happening, Mom?” I replied, 

“That's what I'm trying to figure out.”

We’ve been so careful up to this point. We cut all ties to our past lives, spent a lot of cash to have all records of us erased, faked our deaths, changed our names 4 times, changed citizenship even more, and made a point to look nothing like we used to. We’ve been so careful. All to give Sage a normal life. But now something has happened to Ron and I need to figure out what before it happens to me too.

When we got to our street, I told Sage to wait at his friend Chase’s house until I came and got him. We had a very secure panic room in the backyard where he could wait, but I had to assume that the whole house was compromised.

“Mom, you’re starting to scare me…” I took a breath to try to compose myself.

“I’m sorry sweetie. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” I tried to smile for him, but he could see through me by now.

“Just promise you’ll be safe too, ok?”

“Ok, I promise.”

I checked the whole house for any signs of forced entry or tampering. If our cover’s been blown, I can’t rule out any possibilities. We made a lot of enemies in our old life, and even more after we left. It could be a contractor hired by someone whose life we ruined, or an agent from a rival corptation who wants to get intel on our old company, or even worse, our old company coming to make sure we won't be able to give out any intel. Theres no signs that anyone was in our house, so I now pivot my focus to Ron. I put on my bulletproof vest and started grabbing every weapon I could carry. I’ll call his work and find out when he left, if he left with anyone, and which direction he went in. However, I’ll need to use a well-placed bribe or well placed bullet to get any real leads. I should contact The Nanny to take care of Sage incase this takes longer than expected. I just need to remember where I put my flash-

“Donna? What’s happening?? Is everything ok??”

“Ron?? Where where you?! I thought you were taken!!”

“What are you talking about?? Some punk stole my phone and wallet during lunch. I told Shelly to call you!”

‘Oh… Shelly never called me…”

“Clearly,” my husband snickered.

“Shut up! You know I get jumpy.”

“I know!” he chuckled, “I’m sorry I scared you. Where’s SSage?”

“At the Winstons house. We should probaby get him. I’m sure he’s worried sick.”

“Poor guy. So… What’s for dinner?”

[starrymused]

Peony felt like a deflated balloon. Useless. Unsatisfied.

The strange-looking, scary-looking intruder in her yard hadn't meant her any harm. He didn't even appear to consider ravishing her.

If not for the fact that he appeared as though he could be intimidating, she wouldn't have invited him into her cabin at all. Really, though, she couldn't understand it.

They were alone. In a remote area in the forest where few ever came by. She was clearly an adult, but also had no semblance of muscle or means of defending herself. Was he concerned about her Quirk, perhaps...?

In any case, he had departed with little fanfare outside of a full stomach and some dry canned goods he called supplies. No threats outside of an insistence that she had never seen him. She had been so discouraged in the moment, that she hadn't even thought to quip back and what if I did see you?

This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. Had pornography lied to her...?

Surely not.

Still, she couldn't shake the disappointment for days. It was very unlike her to hold onto any emotion for long, outside of scorn. But this wasn't scorn. It was...despair. Like a missed, life-changing opportunity.

Which was why when she saw him in her yard once more -- awake this time, not sleeping on her begonias -- she practically threw her front door open to stare at him.

She... didn't know what to say. Except, maybe:

"You're here again."

Maybe he had come back to finish the job? At this point, she wouldn't even mind if he did try to kill her. At least she could get a little satisfaction before the end.

"You're too comfortable opening the door to strangers." Even if he'd been here before, he still considered her a stranger and she should think the same about him. But there was something off about this woman. She didn't respond to possibly dangerous situations like many would. Maybe she possessed a strong Quirk that protected her from strange people skulking about her part of the forest, but there wasn't any sign of fear in her expression. Actually, she didn't express much of anything on her face.

Like a weird little fucked up doll.

"I'm laying low here for a bit." And he shoved on by her, casual as if he belonged in her cabin now. The Pros were on high alert and had put out a broadcast for everyone to be on the lookout. They'd doubled their forces, even bringing in some of those brats from UA to try and locate them. Why grown adults felt the need to enlist the help of literal kids was beyond him. Then again, the newly appointed "Number One" was none other than the very man who'd destroyed his own son's life, so nothing surprised him anymore.

"It's not like you've got a family here that'll care if I crash here," That was safe to assume because here she was... alone again. Dabi understood the appeal of wanting to live alone, far from others. Once he did what he'd set out to do — and if he somehow survived — maybe he'd do the same. Or maybe he was destined to dive straight into hell with Endeavor's throat caught in his grip... yeah, that sounded far more appealing, actually.

"What are you, anyway? Some kind of hermit?" He strolled around the living room, taking somewhat of an interest in the décor now that he wasn't as tired and hungry as his last visit.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 31 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

I take the bus into town and walk the last four blocks to El Perro Gordo Bar and Grill.

The grill part stops serving food at nine but the bar stays open til midnight.

Unlike a lot of places in Spring Lakes, it caters to locals rather than to tourist tastes.

The fare is simple and affordable and there are no shot glasses, fridge magnets, keychains, t-shirts, tumblers or postcards to be had.

The atmosphere is laid back, the lighting warm and relaxed,and the clientele diverse.

It was a multipurpose establishment. a tired man could pop in for a drink at the end of the day and not be bothered, a horny one could get lucky and pick up a date.

That's what drew me here in the first place,and how I met Alejo at the bar.

He'd taken an obvious liking to me right away and because I'd been feeling especially lonely and dejected that night, I'd encouraged him.

I hadn't meant for it to be more than casual flirtation but pretty soon he was pouring me drinks on the house and my inhibitions were down the drain.

We ended up in the bathroom.

I sucked him off.

After that, things got fuzzy.

He'd brought me back to his place and I had a vague memory of painful, unsatisfying sex.

I woke up with a hangover.

Then I was basically thrown out with the trash, in which I was relieved to see a used condom.

I couldn't remember if I'd insisted on it or if Alejo just wasn't stupid enough to go bareback with a stranger but it had alleviated one fear, at least.

I hadn't expected to hear from Alejo again.

That kind of guy sees guys like me as a nock on his bedpost and nothing more, so I'd been surprised when he texted.

I didn't remember giving him my number.

Maybe it had been better for him than for me, maybe I'd been so out of it, I'd seemed into it, maybe he was telling the truth and it was me that had come onto him.

Then again, maybe I'd been too drunk to give proper consent.

If any of these same thoughts have troubled Alejo, he gives no sign of it as he waves to me from behind the bar, a grin stretching his face.

I slide onto a stool at the end and he winks at me as he serves a couple of college girls, flirting shamelessly with both.

They giggle and blush, clearly enjoying the attention.

Alejo is a popular guy behind the bar and I wonder which part is the lie, is it an act or did he play both teams after all?

He saunters over, towel flung over his shoulder and leans across the bar to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear.

"Hello, gorgeous. Knew you'd be back for more."

'Ugh. Cringe.'

I plaster on a smile and nod down the bar at the college girls, who are watching us curiously.

"Looks like you got your hands full already."

He laughs and winks.

"Nah. I'm just in it for the tips. What can I get you?"

I'd rather not drink at all but I don't want to rouse his suspicions, either.

"How 'bout something light."

"You got it."

He pours me a lager from a tap and sets the pint glass in front of me.

"So, where you been, cabrón? What happened to the cop? He get tired of you that fast?"

I lift my glass,but only let a little past my lips.

"Something like that. I heard you got picked up for questioning."

He barks a laugh.

"Fuck, you know how it is. They round up the usual suspects. Guys like me are always top of that list."

Shrugging, I say...

"Well, you did know Kyle."

His expression turns ugly.

"Fucking Kyle. You know his girlfriend tried to set the cops on me? Stupid whore."

He tilts his head to the side and cracks his neck, showing off the tattoos that stretch from collar bone to jaw.

None of them mean anything to me and they appear to have been chosen at random.

I take another sip of beer, trying to think of a way to bring up his alibi for the night of Sparks' death without being obvious.

"Did you know Kyle needed money?" I ask.

He snorts.

"Who doesn't?"

"I dunno. You seem to be doing alright."

My eyes go to the shiny gold watch on his wrist and I recall the flashy car he drove to Kyle's funeral.

"I made some good investments lately, is all," he says distractedly.

"Hang on."

The college girls are waving for his attention and a group of men have settled at the other end of the bar.

One of them looks really familiar but I can't tell where I've seen him before.

Another bar, maybe, given that Alejo switches back into flirt mode and serves up their drinks with admirable efficiency.

My cell-phone buzzes just as he turns back to me and I just have time to glimpse a text from John.

John: Hey. Where are you?

My heart skips a beat and warmth flares in my chest.

Not wanting to draw Alejo's attention to it in case he gets nosy, I pocket the device without making a reply.

"Now where were we?" he asks, reaching across the bar to rub his thumb across the back of my knuckles.

"You got pretty hands for such a hard-working guy, you know? Pretty mouth, too."

He brushes a fleck of beer foam from my upper lip.

Behind him, the college girls lean their heads together and giggle, apparently delighted to catch a glimpse of homo action in the wild.

"We were talking about Kyle's ex," I say, downing a large gulp of beer just to get him to stop touching me.

"Oh, yeah. That bitch. Guess Kyle told her some shit about me setting him up to take a fall."

He snorts.

"All I did was ask him to keep me out of it. He got caught, I didn't, he was fifteen, I was nineteen. He got a spate in juvie, I'd have been charged as an adult, ten years, minimum."

"You didn't promise him his share when he got out?"

Alejo laughs.

"Share? Share of what? We got caught. Well, Kyle got caught. I got away empty handed."

"So, he didn't come to you asking for help?"

"Sure he did. An' I helped him out, too. Or I offered to. Little punk turned me down. Hey, why you so interested anyway?"

I give my attention to my beer again.

To my surprise, the glass is almost empty.

Shrugging, I sprinkle some truth in the mix of lies, hoping it will lend me some much-needed believability.

"It's just, uh..." I laugh awkwardly and swirl the last bit of beer at the bottom of my glass. "I lent Kyle some money, myself. Good timing, huh? And now, well... I'm in the shit and I need a way out."

Smirking, Alejo leans across the bar, bringing his face uncomfortably close to mine.

"I got a better idea. Lemme finish up here and I'll show you what I have in mind. You in?"

"Yeah, I'm in."

"Good boy."

I barely manage not to gag as he licks my mouth and kisses me.

"I'll get you another drink. On the house."

[night-garden-fic]

Chapter Seven: Botanical Solutions

(Read on AO3)

"I guess it really was that easy."

Chapter Seven: Botanical Solutions

     Russell woke the next morning from a shallow, restless, all-too-short sleep; feeling listless, headachy, and still faintly unsatisfied.

     With what?

     (The very fact that I'm not sure?)

     His bed felt cold, bleak, and lonely after the previous evening of companionship and blood-hot wine.  But still, he rolled out of it somewhat reluctantly; feeling profoundly disinterested in whatever might lie beyond.

     Breakfast.  Paperwork.  That endless book, still open on my desk.

     Russell sighed heavily.  Somewhat dramatically, in fact, though nobody was around to hear and potentially commiserate.  The gust of it rattled the hollow of his chest and got him started coughing; which in turn sprung a small leak somewhere in his nose, releasing a thin rivulet of blood that trickled down his throat and filled his mouth with salt and rust.

     ...This is going to be a long day, isn't it?

     (You're being pessimistic again.  Stop that.)

      He decided to just assume, as was reasonable, that he'd feel better after some breakfast.

     But, after breakfast had come and gone, Russell only found himself slouched at his desk with two slices of toast sitting uselessly inside him, their sharp corners scraping at the sensitive lining of his stomach.

     He couldn't help but remember that, more often than not, the universe was quite unreasonable indeed.

     Feeling at once lethargic and agitated, Russell returned to the book in front of him, and began re-reading a particularly dense paragraph for what must have been the fifth time.

     This is just getting embarrassing.

     (Some librarian you are.)

     As that poison thought crossed Russell's mind, it brought with it a strange urge to study a certain, ancient image for any sign as to what the hell went wrong.

     (You still have to ask?)

     Mercifully, he managed to stop himself before he backtracked and lost yet another half hour.  Instead, he laid his head down on the open pages and let out something between a deep sigh and a pained groan.

     Gods, what's with all these awful noises today?

     Tori—who had been busily reshelving the magic books—took notice of her employer's plight.

     "...Sir?  W-why don't you take a break?"

     Russell propped his head in his hands, burying his face and rubbing at his tired eyes.

     "Because I just want to hurry up and finish this."

     His assistant regarded him skeptically.

     "It...  It doesn't look like you're h-hurrying much."

     She had a point, but Russell was feeling stubborn.  He returned his gaze to the book, then felt it penetrate straight through the pages and into the nothingness beyond.

     You just need to power through.

     What the hell do you think I'm doing?

     The problem was that the task, like the dry toast in his belly, felt made of nothing but sharp catching edges.  He could power through all he wanted, but it inevitably caught his mind in a thicket of thorns; stalling and trapping it, scraping it painfully raw.

     Of course, a solution had occurred to him, but it was the last thing he wanted to be considering.

     If sharp edges are the problem...

     No.  Not yet.  It's not that bad.

     (Says who?)

     Russell tried, as he had tried a thousand times before, to concentrate on the page before him; finding the argument in his head much too loud.

     You've used it during the day before.

     Seven years ago, when that was the least of my problems.

     It was Ed's idea, remember?

     (You trusted him.  You trust him now.)

     He was at a loss.  He never knew what to do with me.

     Well, do you know what to do with you?

     I obviously don't.

     (...Now look what you did.  You're not allowed to admit that.  Ever.)

     Feeling weary and detached from himself, Russell replaced the scraps of worn scratch paper and closed the heavy book.

     "...Tori?"

     At some point, while he was grappling with the book and himself, she'd moved all the way down to the children's section.

     "...Y-yes sir?"

     You can stop this here, you know.

     (I think it's a little late to stop anything.)

     "I think I'm going to have that break after all.  Watch the front desk for me, will you?"

     The young woman nodded smartly, sliding a thin picture book onto the shelf.  Russell tried not to look too deeply into the faithful, watery blue of her eyes.

     "Of course."

~*~

     Russell sat on the edge of his bed, suddenly apprehensive.

     Do we really want to go there?

     "Want" has nothing to do with it.

     In the calm sanctuary of his room, he had already begun to feel better.  The whole thing was starting to seem like a bad idea.  Or, at very least, a bit hasty.

     You can't stay up here forever, you know.  What happens when you have to go back to work?

     Well, what happens when I start down this path?

     Nothing you haven't dealt with before.

     (Why are we tempting fate?)

     Finding his hands suddenly shaky, Russell leaned forward and felt around under the mattress until he found the small wooden box hidden beneath.

     It'll just be this once.  At most, until you can finish the book.

     You also said it would just be a few good nights' sleep.  And what has it been now?  Almost a fortnight?

     (And you don't trust yourself to sleep without it, so why even count?.)

     The red blossoms had wilted inside the box; not yet brittle, but limp and somewhat tacky, their brilliant scarlet color slightly faded.

     The powder within their yellowing stems, however, was still glowing brilliantly.  It was with wonder that Russell imagined how these blooms sat up here all through the day; buried in their closed box, quietly shining to themselves in the daytime dark.

     If you're really going to do this, quarter the dose.

     Before he got started, Russell took out his handkerchief and blew his nose, clearing away last night's clotted blood.  A strange, eye-watering sensation; not exactly painful, but something close.  He noted with some morbid interest that the resulting stain was shot through with fading granules of shine, like specks of mica drifting along a dark riverbed.

     Sniffing back the few reflexive tears that blurred his vision, he finally selected a flower from the box, tapping a bit of powder onto the back of his hand.  All of a sudden, he didn't think it quite looked like enough.

     But, for daytime, it would have to do.

     This might hurt.

     ...It always hurts.

     (I'm getting used to it.)

     He hesitated for a moment, then inhaled briskly, feeling his eyes welling again with the incandescent burn.  The sun that flared inside him was dimmer than usual, but it still managed to light up his skull; a blaze of arterial red that soon gave way to the cool grey light of the room.

     As his eyes adjusted and the burning eased, Russell wondered if he'd taken enough to do anything at all.

     Maybe I should just...

     No.  That's all.

     (Just yet.)

     Russell remained perched on the edge of the bed for some minutes, smelling dirty copper mixed with nectar and salt, thinking of nothing in particular.

     He couldn't say when he began to feel different, or even exactly what was different.  It wasn't the heavy drowsiness that he'd grown accustomed to with his nighttime dose, but something more like sitting slightly to the left of himself, with a layer of thick, tempered glass forming around his brain.

     In this state, the boy in the picture wouldn't call to him.

     We no longer belong to each other.

     Not even Russell's own hands, folded neatly in his lap, seemed quite like they belonged to him.  His head floated somewhere above his body, finding it an awfully silly thing to have to carry around.  The sensation was slightly disturbing, and he began to think that he'd just made a grave mistake.

     It's okay.  This is just how you need to be right now.

     ("Right now" can be a very long time.)

    He shook his head, then patted his cheeks briskly, gently shocking himself into a modest alertness.

     Back to work.

     Before heading downstairs, Russell stopped by the bathroom mirror, just to make sure everything was in order.

     Shit...  I'm still bleeding.

     Lucky for him, it was a weak trickle, and easy enough to discreetly staunch with a bit of balled-up toilet roll.

     You're okay.

     (Liar.)

     With the leak stemmed, Russell turned on the tap and splashed his face with water, then regarded himself again.  His eyes looked a little glassy, but no more than they did during his long periods of sleeplessness and melancholy.

     The only one who ever noticed that was Sabrina.

     (And Edward.)

     ...Maybe.  He's so vague and clinical about everything.

     Well, either way, I don't think either of them are coming in.  You look fine.

     (Liar.)

     Russell figured he might look a little better if he managed to smile, so he practiced a few times in the mirror, making sure to get it right.  And, when he was finally satisfied, he headed downstairs.

     Back to the Library.

     Back to the world that he had, so painstakingly, built to hold himself.

     When he returned, Tori was seated at his desk; sweet shy face buried in a romance novel, fingers absent-mindedly playing with the end of one braid.  She seemed contentedly transfixed.

     She's so gentle.  So thoughtful.

     (She works so hard.)

     Russell's blank face broke into a fond, unpracticed smile.

     "Okay, kiddo...  I can take it from here."

~*~

     I guess it really was that easy.

     Though he was still reading through a thick haze, Russell supposed that this one—medicinal, self-induced—was a degree less noxious, at least for the time being.  He did notice he wasn't retaining as much as he'd normally like, but the pages kept turning.

     And that, he figured, was good enough.

     Where have I heard that before?

     Russell knew he had a tendency to sacrifice all kinds of things on the altar of "Good-Enough."  Good-enough sleep, good-enough eating, good-enough parenting, good-enough days.

     And now—somewhat blasphemously—good-enough reading.

     On one hand, when he was stuck in the past, or not sleeping, or drifting in a medicated haze, or simply in a protracted low mood, accepting good-enough was one of the few mercies he could offer himself.

     On the other, he'd all but forgotten how to ask if things could be better.

     All he knew was that they could, of course, be worse.  So he sat complacently at his desk, making good-enough progress through the dense book, and wanting for nothing else.  Until, eventually, the small dose wore off; the sharp, snarled, distracted feeling returning with a vengeance.

     Ignoring a chorus of troubling impulses, Russell sat the thick volume aside and took up his paperwork.

     Now you know it works.  There's always tomorrow.

     And the next day?

     (And the next, and the next, and the next...)

     ...I'll handle it when the time comes.

     He shuffled through the papers on his desk, placing them in the familiar, baroque order of priority that made sense only to him.  Most of it was correspondence relating to the acquisition of new and rare books, which still filled him with a giddy excitement.  Russell took out his pen and letterhead, and set to work.

     Russell worked steadily for an hour and a half.  Midway through, Tori left to head back to the farm, whispering her shy goodbyes and leaving him alone with the still silence of the Library, broken only by the hush of paper on paper.

     Until, just as he was about to wrap up for the day, an unseen visitor's sudden voice sent him leaping out of his chair, every nerve buzzing and crackling as his body readied itself to fight for his life.

     "...Hey, Russell!"

     Russell whipped around so fast that it felt as though his brain didn't quite rotate along with his skull, and was met with a rather confused-looking Raguna.

     "Oh...  Hello, Raguna."

     All at once, his shoulders sagged.  He stood there panting for a moment, then swallowed hard, as though trying to gulp down his own pounding heart.  Raguna shuffled his feet awkwardly.

     "Um...  Hi."

     Poor kid's probably just as startled as I am.

     Though the way he'd just reacted certainly didn't show it, Russell genuinely liked Raguna.  The young farmer was a likable man to begin with, and the fact that he was Tori's beloved husband, Cecilia's dashing hero, and something of a regular in the Library's magic section didn't hurt.

     But he was a strange combination of stealthy and boisterous, and didn't have much of a sense of his own volume.  So, needless to say, this wasn't the first time he had sent Russell flying.  He'd gotten a bit better about it since learning the broad strokes of Russell's past, but one can only do so much about one's natural mannerisms.

     Russell exhaled slowly, then pasted on a well-practiced smile.

     "Yeah...  Hi.  So! What brings you in?"

     Raguna lowered his voice considerably, and Russell was a bit touched at the effort.

     "Sorry I spooked you there...  Anyway! Ceci and Nicky are hanging out at the farm, and I don't know how exactly we got on the subject...  But now they're wanting to stay over so they can help me out with the Monsters in the morning.  I just came from Sabrina's, and she's okay with it, so..."

     (...No.  I want her here.)

     "I don't have any problem with it.  Just bring her back in one piece, okay!"

     Russell smiled, stuffing down his strange initial objection.  He didn't know where it had come from, only that it was accompanied by a vague, yet oddly sickening dread.

     Raguna grinned in return.

     "I always do!"

     A private, morbid joke.

     "And I really appreciate that...  Thanks for telling me."

     Try, "she owes you her life, you know."

     "No problem.  See you around, Russell."

     Try, "which means, I might actually owe you mine."

     "Yeah...  See you...  We should be getting some new magic books in next week."

     Raguna beamed at the good news.

     "I'll be there!"

     With that, he was out the door and down the street, spreading his noise and cheer elsewhere.

     Then the empty Library was silent once more; so silent that it made Russell's ears ring.

     He sat down and listened to the ringing for a few minutes, felt as his heart shook off the last of the racing terror.  His body was calming down, but his mind still felt dull and stunned.  He hated it, how a particularly acute startle could sometimes take him out of commission for hours.

     Years ago, Edward had told Russell that this would improve with time, but he was still waiting.

     You could...

     ...We're not doing that.

     If you just get right in bed, it won't mean anything.

     It's barely evening.  That would mean something in and of itself.

     You didn't even want to get out of bed in the first place, remember?

     Russell rubbed his aching temples, then took his pen and signed the last letter of the day, hoping the recipient would forgive the great black gash of ink sprawling over the paper, marking the moment when Raguna made him jump.  With a sigh, he picked up the pen one more time

     P.S. Noisy client, sorry.

     A quick arrow pointing up at the mess, and he figured he'd done what he could.  The letter went in an envelope, and Russell dragged himself from behind his desk.  Finally, he could lock the door for the night.  The heavy metallic chunk of the bolt sounded like closure, and a job well done.

     I'm not going to bed, but I guess we could compromise.

     Still feeling somewhat dazed, Russell left the silent, dust-scented world of the Library and retired to his small kitchen.  He paused for a moment, wondering if he might be playing with fire.

     It's all out of your system.  You'll be fine.

     Indeed, he could feel for himself that the calm sedation of the Lamp Grass was gone without a trace.

     It was time for something else.

     Russell reached into one of the higher cabinets and took down a bottle of cheap red wine, then rummaged through a messy drawer until he found the corkscrew.  He almost reached for a water glass to drink from, but thought better of it.  Even though he wasn't quite sure if he'd kill the bottle, he wasn't sharing with anyone, so it felt pointless to dirty a cup.

     The cork was almost deafening in the thick evening quiet of the house, but Russell was prepared for the sound, and remained impassive.  With the bottle open, he considered his options for a few moments, then slid down to sit on the floor.  Sitting at the table, too, seemed a little pointless when he would be the only one drinking.

     Kind of sad, when you think of it that way.

     Well, I don't.  I'm just being pragmatic.

     He took a long drink from the bottle, then sat it down on the floor beside him.  The wine was plain and flat, devoid of any fortifying heat or spice.  But its dark red taste still made him think of the previous night.

     Of Edward, and the moon, and what he might not even know he didn't know.

     As he took another sip, Russell felt an echo of that odd dissatisfied feeling.

     Don't bother thinking about it.  You don't even know where this all comes from.

     (That's why I can't stop thinking about it.)

     Even so, the small reminder of his night with Edward certainly wasn't a bad thing.

     I wish he was here now.

     (No, you don't.  He'd have some choice words for you today.)

     Drinking alone, he realized, was much like drinking with Edward.

     Because, at the end of the night, it always brought the same nagging feeling that he'd squandered some opportunity.  For adventure, for closure, for the formation of a memory so beautiful that it drowned out the painful ones forever.  Invariably, something that would sound ridiculous out loud.

     And, of course, he was never sure exactly what was supposed to have happened.

     So yes, drinking alone was much like drinking with Edward.

     But, it was also different.

      Specifically, it was usually worse.

     Because, of course, he was alone.

     And, alone, Russell sometimes didn't know when to stop.

~*~

     He wasn't really sure how he ended up on the edge of town.

     Originally, he had left the house thinking he might go see Edward.

     The way the taste of wine made Russell long for their night together had become almost unbearable, and he felt like he would have done anything for some company.  He was actually standing on the Clinic's doorstep when he finally realized that Edward probably wouldn't appreciate him showing up unannounced; likely just after dinner, and with a full bottle of wine under his belt besides.

     But, once he was out, he couldn't bear the thought of going back in; back to the world of dust and paper and silence.  He briefly thought of going to the Pub, but he wasn't sure he wanted to dig himself in any deeper, so he thought better of it.  Eventually, Russell decided to just go for a clumsy, meandering walk through the snow and see where it took him.

     He hadn't intended to go this far.

     Or, perhaps he had.

     Didn't want to admit to yourself where you were actually going?

     No, he truly didn't.  Didn't want to admit that, to some terrible end unknown even to himself, he was basically going out of his way to further damage his own mind.

     You know how this might make you feel.

     I don't even know where I'm going.

     (Yes, you do.)

     I'll just stumble across it.

     It's not the kind of thing you can "just stumble across."

     (Do you not realize this whole argument is a paradox?)

     Paradoxical, accidental, intentional, sickly self-damaging...  Whatever it was, he'd done it.

     Russell found himself walking the road that led out of Kardia.

     Where the dead tanks still sat, too heavy and overgrown to move.

     He'd known, of course, that they'd been here for some time.  Their very presence was one of the things that hovered over him on those long, sleepless nights.  Many times, he'd dared himself to come out here, just to see, just to...

     (Finish what I started?)

     ...He wasn't really sure, now that he'd finally taken himself up on it.

     Like drinking with Edward, or drinking alone, there was a sense of deferred closure.  The tanks were slightly smaller than he'd been remembering, and were so inert that they might as well have been any overgrown boulder on this shady, wooded path.

     Why are you surprised?  It's always smaller than you remember.

     (Can people help how they remember things?)

     Tentatively, Russell extended a shaky hand.  Then, brushing a few dead vines aside, he placed it on the frigid metal body of the tank.

     He waited for a while, but he didn't feel anything but cold.

     And half-drunk.  And stupid.  And a little pathetic.

     After a while, his knuckles began to ache, and the skin of his palm began to tingle, so he pulled his hand away and stuck it in his pocket, which didn't seem all that much warmer.

     Still feeling muzzy and off-balance from the wine, and slightly exhausted from the long walk, Russell sat down in the snow, resting his weary back against the tank's heavy treads.

     Tonight, he would watch the sunset alone.

[secret-stash-of-literary-quotes]

Good Morning, Midnight

I have decided on a place to eat in at midday, a place to eat in at night, a place to have my drink in after dinner. I have arranged my little life.

I'm not talking about the struggle when you are strong and a good swimmer and there are willing and eager friends on the bank waiting to pull you out at the first sign of distress. I mean the real thing. You jump in with no willing and eager friends around, and when you sink you sink to the accompaniment of loud laughter.

A fish, lording it in his own particular tank, staring at the world outside with a glassy and unbelieving eye.

This is one of my good days. This is one of the days when I say everything right.

You, who represent Society, have the right to pay me four hundred francs a month. That's my market value, for I am an inefficient member of Society, slow in the uptake, uncertain, slightly damaged in the fray, there's no denying it. So you have the right to pay me four hundred francs a month, to lodge me in a small, dark room, to clothe me shabbily, to harass me with worry and monotony and unsatisfied longings till you get me to the point when I blush at a look, cry at a word. We can't all be happy, we can't all be rich, we can't all be lucky—and it would be so much less fun if we were. There must be the dark background to show up the bright colors. Some must cry so that the others may be able to laugh more heartily.

Let's say you have the mystical right to cut my legs off. But the right to ridicule me afterwards because I am cripple—no, that I think you haven't got.

Walking in the night with the dark houses over you, like monsters. If you have money and friends, houses are just houses with steps and a front door—friendly houses where the door opens and somebody meets you, smiling. If you are quite secure and your roots are well struck in, they know. They stand back respectfully, waiting for the poor devil without any friends and without any money. Then they step forward, the waiting houses, to frown and crush. No hospitable doors, no lit windows, just frowning darkness. Frowning and leering and sneering, the houses, one after another. Tall cubes of darkness, with two lighted eyes at the top to sneer. And they know who to frown at. They know as well as the policeman on the corner, and don't you worry…

A room is a place where you hide from the wolves outside and that's all any room is.

Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful. I want one thing and one thing only—to be left alone.

My life, which seems so simple and monotonous, is really a complicated affair of cafes where they like me and cafes where they don't, streets that are friendly, streets that aren't, rooms where I might be happy, rooms where I never shall be, looking glasses I look nice in, looking glasses I don't, dresses that will be lucky, dresses that won't, and so on.

Individualists, completely wrapped up in themselves, thank God. It's the extrovert, prancing around, dying for a bit of fun—that's the person you've got to be wary of.

One day, quite suddenly, when you're not expecting it, I'll take a hammer from the folds of my dark cloak and crack your little skull like an eggshell. Crack it will go, the eggshell; out they will stream, the blood, the brains. One day, one day... One day the fierce wolf that walks by my side will spring on you and rip your abominable guts out.

Can I help it if my heart beats, if my hands go cold?

I don't want any food now. I want more of this feeling.

At this moment a taxi draws up. Without a word he gets into it, bangs the door and drives of, leaving me standing there on the pavement. And did I mind? Not at all, not at all. If you think I minded, then you've never lived like that, plunged in a dream, when all the faces are masks and only the trees are alive and you can almost see the strings that are pulling the puppets. Close-up of human nature—isn't it worth something?

Perhaps one day I'll live again round the corner in a room as empty as this. Nothing in it but a bed and a looking glass. Getting the stove lit at about two in the afternoon—the cold and the stove fighting each other. Lying near the stove in complete peace, having some bread with pate spread on it, and then having a drink and lying all the afternoon in that empty room—nothing in it but the bed, the stove and the looking glass and outside Paris. And the dreams that you have, alone in an empty room.

I know I don't succeed, but look how hard I try. Three hours to choose a hat; every morning an hour and a half trying to make myself look like everybody else. Every word I say has chains round its ankles; every thought I think is weighted with heavy weights. Since I was born, hasn't every word I've said, every thought I've thought, everything I've done, been tied up, weighted, chained? And, mind you, I know that with all this I don't succeed. Or I succeed in flashes only too damned well… But think how hard I try and how seldom I dare. Think—and have a bit of pity. That is, if you ever think, you apes, which I doubt.

How they give themselves! 'Perhaps it's because they know they have nothing to give.

I am tuned up to top pitch. Everything is smooth, soft and tender. Making love. The colours of the pictures. The sunsets. Tender, north colours when the sun sets—pink, mauve, green and blue. And the wind very fresh and cold and the lights in the canals like gold caterpillars and the seagulls swooping over the water. Tuned up to top pitch. Everything tender and melancholy—as life is sometimes, just for one moment…

It's not that these things happen or even that one survives them, but what makes life strange is that they are forgotten. Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is for gotten and dies. This is what makes life so droll—the way you forget, and every day is a new day, and there's hope for everybody, hooray...

But they never last, the golden days. And it can be sad, the sun in the afternoon, can't it? Yes, it can be sad, the afternoon sun, sad and frightening.

"Unhappy as a dog in Turkey or a woman in England."

How on earth can you say why you love people? You might as well say you know where the lightning is going to strike.

I'll go by myself.' I want to go by myself, to get into a taxi and drive along the streets, to stand by myself and look down at the fountains in the cold light.

I believe in survival after death. I've had personal proof of it.

Want to know what I'm afraid of? All right, I'll tell you... I'm afraid of men. And I'm even more afraid of women. And I'm very much afraid of the whole bloody human race… 'Afraid of them?' I say. 'Of course I'm afraid of them. Who wouldn't be afraid of a pack of damned hyenas?'.

You are walking along a road peacefully. You trip. You fall into blackness. That's the past—or perhaps the future.

I heave myself out of the darkness slowly, painfully.