#//keeps crabwalking away from all of them

[aeternallis]

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[clown-friend-gt]

Up, Up, and Away Chapter 7

This chapter is a bit long because I combined two chapters into one. That also means I only have one completed chapter after this one, which I'll probably post later this week. There may or may not be a short hiatus after that while I work on writing more chapters. Thanks for understanding.

Link to Masterpost

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Left Alone

2.8k words

(CW: More police stuff, body horror)

The next few hours were a blur. More people from the institute arrived to take Trevor away. Around that same time, EMT’s arrived, wheeling Robbie away on a stretcher. Trevor had just enough time to watch them load him into an ambulance before the institute agents shoved him into the back of a gray van with the logo of the institute’s enforcement department on the side.

The ride over was not a smooth one. He was too big to fit in any of the seats that lined the sides of the walls, so he had to lay on the floor, crammed in like a sardine. Whenever the van took a particularly sharp turn, he’d be slammed into the wall, and the whole van would tilt dangerously to the side.

“Settle down back there!” The driver yelled back at him after the van crashed back onto four wheels.

If you don’t want the van to flip over, maybe stop driving like a maniac, Trevor thought, but said nothing. He didn’t need to make more trouble for himself.

Trevor thought he knew the city pretty well. But with no view of the outside and all of the twists and turns, he had no idea where they were headed. All he knew was that based on how long they’d been driving, it was pretty far outside of San Solaris.

He wondered what his mom was thinking right now. Would she be worried after he didn’t come home? Had anyone told her what had happened? She’d done so much for him since this all started, trying to keep him from going insane. And he’d just thrown it all away.

Then his thoughts drifted to Robbie. Would he be okay? He looked to be in pretty bad shape when they took him to the hospital. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him, not really. He just wanted to scare him off. But he’d underestimated his own strength, and now both of them were paying for it.

God, he was disgusted with himself. Maybe Robbie was right. Maybe he was a freak. After all, what kind of person would do such a thing? The way Robbie had crumpled when he hit that wall, it made Trevor shudder to think of now.

As he stewed in silence, he didn’t notice the van come to a stop. Then someone pounded on the side of the van, jolting him from his thoughts. The doors opened, but from his crumpled-up position, he could hardly see outside.

“We’re here. Get out,” came an authoritative voice from the outside.

“Just a minute.” Trevor started wriggling around, trying to free himself.

He managed to straighten his legs and plant them on the ground outside. From there, he did a kind of half-crabwalk to pull his torso from the van. Once it was no longer underneath him though, he collapsed onto his back, his legs folding awkwardly beneath him.

“Ow,” he muttered to himself.

An institute official stood over him, arms crossed. He wore slacks, a light blue button up shirt, a tie, and suspenders. His name badge read “Ray Morgan.”

“Get up,” he ordered.

“I’m trying,” Trevor complained, struggling to try and sit up. But with his legs trapped and his hands bound, it was almost impossible. He sighed, defeated.

“I can’t. I’m stuck,” he told the official.

“Seriously?”

“Maybe if I could use my hands…” he snarked.

Morgan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine, hold on,” he said, retrieving a small remote from his pocket. He pointed it at Trevor and clicked a button, causing his cuffs to buzz again. He felt the magnetic pull they on each other turn off. Slowly, he rolled over and pushed himself up. Once he was standing, he shook himself out, trying to regain feeling in his limbs.

He looked at the cuffs on his wrist. There was a light on the side of one that glowed yellow. Before he could try and guess what that meant, Morgan spoke up again.

“Don’t get any ideas on me now,” he said, pressing another button on the remote.

The light flashed red, and with a buzz, the cuffs snapped together once more. So much for that.

Now that his hands were connected in front of him, he grabbed Trevor by the elbow and tried to pull him forward. He didn’t budge. Morgan slowly seemed to realize that he’d need a lot more force to move Trevor than he could muster on his own.

“Work with me here, kid,” he said, sounding exasperated.

Trevor rolled his eyes, but started walking in the direction he was leading him.

Between the lingering effects of the growth spurt he’d had the night before and being stuck in the back of a van for nearly an hour, Trevor had expected to be in more pain. But the cuffs he wore had some kind of numbing effect on him, so he felt fine. If it wasn’t for the situation he was in, he might have been glad to have them.

They headed towards an imposing-looking brick building. A sign above the door read “The Lively Institute: Juvenile Corrections Center.” Now there was no mistaking how much trouble he was in.

Trevor was led inside. He had enough room to stand in the entrance hall, which had higher ceilings. But the official directing him quickly ushered him past the front desk and into the hallway, which was significantly shorter, so he had to crouch most of the time.

Morgan led him to a room with an institute staff member who dressed more like a police officer, kind of like Mr. Roberts had. Morgan directed the officer to pat Trevor down.

“I can do this myself, you know,” Trevor told Morgan as the officer removed his keys, his wallet, and his phone from his pockets.

Morgan shook his head. “Can’t let you do that. Safety risk, and all.”

Then he led Trevor to another room to have his picture taken for his mugshot. As they entered the room, Trevor spotted a potential issue.

“This only goes up to seven feet,” he said, pointing to the height chart on the wall.

Morgan rubbed his forehead, clearly starting to get a little fed up with this whole situation.

“Just kind of…crouch down into frame,” he said, motioning with one hand as he spoke. “You let us worry about the rest.”

Trevor shrugged and did as he was told, carefully maintaining his balance as the camera’s light flashed. Then he turned to the side so they could repeat the process.

After that, Morgan led him to one final room. Once they were there, he led Trevor over to a screen mounted on the wall.

“Put your thumb here,” he instructed Trevor.

“Why?”

“So we can record your fingerprints.”

“Oh,” he said, pressing his thumb to the screen. “Don’t they normally dip your fingers in ink for that?”

Morgan shook his head. “Nah, we stopped doing that years ago.”

After a moment, a light on the screen flashed green.

“Okay, now for your pointer finger…”

After he pressed each of his fingers to the screen in turn, Morgan led him back into the hall.

“You’re all checked in, sir,” he said with an ironic flourish. “Right this way, I’ll lead you to your room.”

Trevor knit his brows in confusion. “My room?”

Morgan sighed. “It was a joke. You go into the same holding cell as everyone else.”

He motioned for Trevor to follow him. Just before they got to the cell, Morgan stopped him and pointed to the phone mounted on the wall in the hallway.

“You get one call,” he told him.

He nodded. He’d call his mom, of course. She had to be worried sick by now. He plucked the handset off its hook in a few fingers. Then he went to press the first digit of her number with his pinky.

He stopped, his finger hovering over the button. He felt his stomach drop. What would he even say to her? How could he face her, after what he’d done?

“…Does my mom know I’m here?” he asked Morgan.

“Yeah, she got the word whenever you were arrested,” he confirmed.

Trevor pressed his lips into a fine line, before eventually placing the phone back on its hook and stepping away.

“You only get this one chance to call someone,” Morgan warned him.

Trevor shut his eyes and shook his head.

“I don’t need it,” he told him.

Morgan put his thumbs in his pockets and shrugged. He opened the door to the holding cell and gestured for Trevor to enter.

“After you, Monsieur.” He stepped aside and allowed Trevor to squeeze himself into the room. Then, after one last look after him, he shut the door behind him, leaving Trevor alone in the room.

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

The holding cell wasn’t what he thought it’d be. He’d been expecting a door with iron bars, one of those prison beds that was hooked to the wall, stuff like that. What he got instead was a plain-looking room with a few benches. The only indication he was under surveillance now was a camera in the corner and a window that looked to the hall outside.

He sat up against the wall for a few hours, replaying the events of the day in his head. If only he’d kept his cool. If only he hadn’t hit Robbie so hard.

If only.

Then a voice came down the hall. It was one he knew well.

“Where is he?” his mom was shouting. “I want to see my son.”

“Please calm down, Ms.…?” someone responded.

“Castillo,” she shot back.

“Ms. Castillo. No one is allowed to visit detainees until we review their case.”

“Can’t I post bail or something?”

“This isn’t a police station. We do things a bit differently here.”

“That’s insane, he’s just a kid,” she yelled. “He has rights!”

“Ma’am, please stay calm,” the other voice tried to assure her.

“This is stupid. I’m going back there.”

“Ma’am, no—” there was a sound of a scuffle.

“Hey!” his mom cried out in alarm. Trevor shot to his feet.

“Mom?” he called out. He got no response. Instead, all he heard was more sounds of a struggle.

“Let go of me!” He heard her shout. He ran to the door and tried the handle. It jiggled uselessly in his cuffed hands.

Ugh, these stupid cuffs. If only I could—

Trevor strained against his cuffs with all his might. After a moment, they came apart for just a second. Then they clapped back together like nothing had happened. That wouldn’t help him anytime soon.

So instead, he lowered himself down so his shoulder was level with the door. He took a step back, then crashed into the door with all his weight. The door splintered into pieces, sending him stumbling out into the hallway. He shook himself off and stood up to his full height. At least, as much as he could in these hallways.

At the other end of the hall, his mom was struggling against two officers. One held her by either arm. They all turned to look at the sound of the disturbance.

“Let go of her,” he bellowed, charging down the hall towards them.

His mother’s eyes widened in terror as he came barreling down the hall. That caused him to hesitate. Her fear didn’t seem to be directed towards the men who held her.

No. She was afraid of him.

He slowed down, stopping short a few feet from her. After a moment of silence, he spoke up.

“Mom, I—” he raised his hands, reaching for her.

She flinched.

He stared at the three people cowering in front of him. They stared back, varying levels of fear written on their faces. He took a step back, then another. Then he turned and hurried back to the holding cell.

Just before he reached the door, he heard his mom start to speak.

“Mijo, espera—!”

Trevor paused but didn’t look her way. He couldn’t bear to see that look in her eyes again.

He bent down and squeezed himself through the empty doorframe without another word. He took a few more steps before slumping against the wall and sliding to the floor. He sat there with his knees bent, his arms resting on top. Then he buried his face in his arms.

He didn’t even have it in him to cry.

“This way, ma’am,” he heard one of the officers tell his mom, presumably leading her back to the front. This time, she put up no fight.

Now they all knew he belonged in here.

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

Nothing else really happened that night. Because he’d removed the door keeping him there, they kept an officer stationed at the doorway at all times. Every few hours, they’d shift one officer out for another. Where before everyone had treated him with aloofness, their attitudes towards him now seemed to vary from thinly veiled paranoia to downright contempt.

The officer watching him now fell into the first category. Any time Trevor looked over at him, his hand seemed to instinctually hover down to his belt. Never quite coming to rest on the holster of his weapon, but never straying far from it either. Trevor didn’t bother telling him that he had no plans to try and escape again. Even if the man believed him, it still made sense for him to treat him like a monster.

He certainly felt like one now.

Eventually, the lights shut off. There was no clock in the room, but if he had to guess, it was probably getting pretty late. He supposed he should try and get some sleep.

The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could either stay sitting against the wall like he was or try laying out on the floor. Neither sounded all that appealing. But his neck was starting to cramp up in this position, so he decided to try laying down.

As he stood up, a wave of exhaustion hit him. He stumbled forward a step before regaining his balance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the officer watching him nearly jump out of his skin, his hand flying down to his holster.

“Don’t—don’t try anything,” the officer warned him, his voice trembling.

Trevor gave him a tired look but didn’t say anything. He was too drained, physically and emotionally, to think of anything to say to him. Instead he slowly walked to the middle of the room and lay down on his side.

The floor was cold and hard. He shifted around, trying to get comfortable. He tried curling up to stay warm, but it didn’t help much. With a heavy sigh, he shut his eyes and tried to get some rest.

Sleep did not come easy. In fact, Trevor didn’t feel like he’d slept at all. The only indication that time had passed were the shifting shadows, and the fact that the figure watching him from the door seemed to have changed.

It was the pain that had woken him up. It came in waves, like it was struggling to break through the cloud of numbness that had settled over him. But soon enough, that feeling of his muscles tearing and his bones shifting that visited him every time he had one of those terrible growth spurts slowly powered through the effects of the cuffs he wore.

A cry escaped his throat. He began to tremble as the pain spread throughout his body. Hot tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

Why now? He wondered weakly.

He curled in tighter on himself, silently praying for something, anything that would take the pain away. He wished his mom was here. For the past week, any time he’d had a particularly bad flare-up like this, she’d been there to comfort him. It didn’t do much for the pain, but having her with him eased his mind somewhat. Now he was completely alone.

In the low light, he made eye contact with the person who stood in the doorway. He couldn’t read any sort of expression on their face. But he could see their eyes, just barely. He knew they saw him suffering.

“Help me,” he croaked. “Please.”

The person did not move. They did not speak. Instead, they stood there, arms crossed. They shook their head no, just once. The only indication that they’d heard him at all.

He squeezed his eyes shut. More tears poured forth. His shaking escalated to intermittent spasms, paired with the sound of his joints popping as they displaced and replaced themselves, over and over again.

Even though he’d been through this before, there was a part of his mind that always broke into a panic whenever it started happening again. What if this time his body couldn’t handle the stress? What if it left him injured afterwards? Or worse?

His mind eventually went white with pain. He faded into unconsciousness, unsure of what he’d come back to when he awoke. Or even if he’d wake up at all.

First/Last/Next

[alyjojo]

The Person On Your Mind in December 😏 2022 - Capricorn

Whole of their energy towards Capricorn: The Tower

Definitely an ex, and they want you bad. You want them too, but in other, more superficial ways. I’m not sure they’re quite on to that. The two of you are clearly broken up, not sure how long it’s been, but they think about you constantly, making it work with you is their main goal. They could have left, moved, literally traveled away from you, they thought it was what they wanted but it turned out to not be that way. They can’t get you off their mind, very nostalgic, very romantic and daydreamy too. This person thinks you’re the one, going by their messages. You’re just in it for a good time. That’s awkward.

Feelings: 2 Cups rev

Clearly broken up or separated, they feel your lack of affection, you pulling away from them, and they don’t want to fight but they do want to talk and know what your truth is, how you’re really feeling. Because they want to heal the connection and fix things with you.

Intentions: 6 Wands

They intend to win you over, and feel both of you could be successful together, overcoming any challenge that’s been thrown your way. Because they see you as THE one. Not sure how you feel about that. They don’t know how they’re going to go about doing this though, they’re really stressed out and in their head about what to say, what to do, how to approach you, what you’ll say back. Especially if they’re the ones that left in the first place.

Actions: Knight of Cups & The Moon

No real action just yet, or if they do something it may just confuse you. They want to take loving action towards you, want to heal the connection and have a new start, that’s all here. The Moon messes with the energy though, because there’s a lot of fear and confusion in this person. If they do come towards you it may not be blatant, more of a softer or shy approach. They could also just be delusional about their feelings for you, or keeping them hidden, but still doing something sweet for you. A lot of Pisces energy here. They want to start over, I’m just not sure which backwards crabwalking kinda way they’re going about doing this 😆 Could be Cancer too, with that energy. You’ll have to be pretty self-aware on your own feelings and motives when dealing with this person.

Messages:

Their side:

- Other half

- It’s destiny baby!

Your side:

- I just want ATTENTION.

- XXX

Possible signs:

Pisces, Cancer, Scorpio & Libra

If you’re dealing with:

The Fool shows really exciting and new beginnings kind of energy, though I’m not really seeing that reflected in these other people, more in you. You may not be listening to reason, or feel others aren’t, if it’s exciting and impulsive, you/they are just rushing right into it with no afterthoughts. Could be great, could be tricky, depends on where it applies. Overall it’s a brand new energy, focused on new, which is good. Watch your step.

Aries - healing messages about something that was sad and disappointing, they’re making you feel better about it

Taurus - feels disconnected from you and is holding back from doing anything about it

Gemini - healing from a very painful and difficult situation & is very happy that it’s over with ☀️

Cancer - staying to themselves because of a nasty fight between you, could think you’re kind of an asshole or that’s switched

Leo - missed their opportunity and feels they have no other option than to stay away

Virgo - could be pissed off or acting out because they’re hurt, could have cheated or are hurt by cheating, some outside energy messed this up

Libra - has money but won’t share it with you

Scorpio - independent and happy, stable finances and treating themselves materially, feeling very successful right now 💰

Sagittarius - wants the truth and is done waiting around on you, could be cutting this off

Capricorn - rushing in with communication that heavily burdens you, or talking about their problems

Aquarius - focused on the daily grind, slugging along every day, probably losing their focus and motivation, it’s becoming too much - risk of burn out 🔥

Pisces - acting impulsively regarding an argument, competition, some sort of drama is going down with this one

[endangered-liaison]

ffxivwrite 2021 Prompt 25: Silver Lining

Fire rains from the sky, and beasts rise from the nothing darkness that tears apart an entire country. An entire empire.

I'xataka oen Cinna hopes they rise from nothing, at least. The alternative is too horrible for her to consider.

There's a screeching sound in the distance - like a hypersonic assault craft in freefall, or Sawyer getting her hand caught in a door, or what she imagines dragons sound like. Fuck, she hopes she never has to see dragons.

"Incoming!" comes the call from next to her, screamed at the top of an imperial's lungs, and she lifts her eyes to the sky.

A colossal creature swoops from the sky on inky-dark bat wings. It has too many eyes, visible even from this distance, and its screech is starting to make her teeth ache.

She doesn't know what it's called. She doesn't know what any of them are called.

Some of the other squad members had started calling them Terminus. The end.

She snarls as the screaming starts. As the civilians start running for cover. As there's a frenzied rush for weapons, to defend their broken convoy. The Legioins are shattered. All there is left is survivors; soldiers, and the civilians they're trying to protect. And the enemy. So many of the enemy. More and more and more every single day.

Her left hand comes to rest on the pommel of her dagger, but this beast has wings and it's still too far away for that. If she's some sort of artist, she might be able to sever a wing when it lands...but that's assuming it even bothers landing, instead of plucking the tasty morsels of Garlean citizens from the ground like so many fallen, bruised apples.

She reaches, instead, for the scattergun strapped to her back. Draws it. And aims. The beast is still too far away. She's not clay paissa shooting here, it needs to be close. She needs to wait.

I'xataka stands still, a reed in the wind, as all around her is chaos. Small arms fire sputters out in bursts. The Predator pilot is trying to position themselves to strike it when it lands. If it lands. The crack of a rifle next to her wings the beast, blinding one of its thousand eyes. It's not enough.

Her free hand raises a penny whistle to her lips. And she blows - shrill and loud and piercing, across this new battlefield.

The beast's eyes - all of them - come to rest on her, and it swoops into a dive with another dragon screech of claws on tomestone.

She raises the scattergun. It's big, and bulky. It's far from the elegance of normal imperial weaponry; pieced together by her own hands when she's supposed to be sleeping. Every shot she fires, she expects to blow her arm off, or at least shatter the weapon.

But even if that happens, it doesn't matter. Not if she takes down what she's aiming at.

She pulls back the hammer.

The beast's talons rake across the snow, scuffing up powder in a blinding display, and a razor-sharp wing curves towards her through the snowscreen.

She ducks underneath the swing.

She steps forward, into the blind.

And she feels.

Cold. Wet. A scatter of flakes that melt across her skin as they land. The frigid air of Ilsabard.

Then heat, and an acrid stench like bleach.

She pulls the trigger, and her weapon roars. It kicks hard enough to feel like her arm is breaking. Ceruleum fills her nose, washing away the scent of the beast, and she drops to the floor. Curls defensively in on herself.

One, one thousand.

Two, one thousand.

Three, one thousand.

She's not dead yet. She opens her eyes.

Snow falls around her.

And there's no more screaming.

She breathes out a sigh, and turns her head, to be greeted by the sight of a headless beast, the eyes on its body staring vacantly, less than a fulm from her.

"Motherfucker!"

She scurries away from it, fingers clawing at the snow to try and get a grip as she crabwalks just to get away from the accursed fucking thing. Breaks the action of her rifle, ejecting a shell the size of her fist and enough ceruleum fumes to make her lightheaded. Slams another round into the barrel, and raises it.

She doesn't breathe again until she's sure it's not moving any more.

She lowers her weapon; finally notices the way her arm is screaming at her; makes a note to visit the medicus when they next make camp.

The other soldiers are starting to gather the convoy together again. Trying to keep moving, before there's another attack.

She holsters her weapon, and looks south.

Just a little further.

[toast-the-unknowing]

Hi there, toast. Cutting to the chase: you're one of my favorite writers — not just one of my favorite fanfic writers. your short stories for the raven cycle are some of the funniest, tightest, emotionally devastating, well-crafted works of fiction i've encountered in awhile — better than a lot """"real-world, published"""" stuff. I kind of want to know more about how you got to this point. I think you've mentioned a background in screenwriting? But I don't think that's your day job? 1/?

2/? Really, I'm asking because you seem to have found a way to write regularly — to develop your chops and publish your art in a way that seems emotionally satisfying for you. to an outsider like myself, you seem to have struck a balance between living a life that pays the bills, and artmaking in a way that feeds your soul. you might not feel that way, i don't know. i'm someone who studied writing in college and am now wondering if and how i can still water that seed....

3/? when the reality is i also need to make money to live. i guess i'm curious about your life model right now, and if you're happy with the way you're currently fulfilling yourself creatively. do you want to be a """""published writer""""" someday? is your job one that is also creatively fulfilling, or is it more to pay the bills so that you can do your own creative projects in your free time?

4/4 I know my question isn't very clear, and I'm not sure it's even one question. the point is, i admire you, and you seem to be in a habit of writing creatively, even though i think you have an unrelated day job, and that balance seems mysterious and desirable to me.

Thank you for your kind words, Anon! I have attempted to write something helpful, but it got very long, so I am putting it behind a cut:

Keeping your art alive when you have to work an unrelated job is not easy. Struggling with it does not mean that you're failing, or that it can't be done, or that you won't get better at it down the road. It's also not the sort of thing where you hit equilibrium and it's all smooth sailing from there. I have gotten better at fitting my writing into my life, and I've figured out strategies and coping mechanisms and how to be better at just making myself do it even if I feel "blocked," but there are still stretches of time where it's harder to manage. Those periods don't last forever, and if it sometimes gets worse, it also sometimes gets better.

I suspect you know all of this, Anon, because you sound like a reasonable person and because you balanced writing and schoolwork, which can itself be tricky. I say it anyway because this is exactly the kind of subject where mean little thoughts like to sneak into your head and make you doubt yourself, and I think we could all use a reminder.

There are many writers who will say that you have to write every single day. Often they will say that you have to write at the same time every single day, or that you need to wake up early to write before work. These writers depress and demotivate me, because I don't actually have a writing "habit" in that there's no schedule or daily goal or set of standards involved. Some days I write a lot and some days I don't write at all. Shaming myself about that fact has never been helpful.

What has been helpful: an increased understanding of my writing process. Realizing I don't have to outline? Helpful! Realizing that generating ideas and fleshing out scenes and shaping the arc of a story and making it pretty are all different skills and some days one comes easier than the others? Helpful! Realizing that I tend to have an "a-hah" moment that tells me what the story is about, after which it's easier to write the story? Helpful! Realizing that if I can't think of an adjective or a line of dialogue or a joke, I can just put an asterisk and come back to it later, instead of halting the entire writing process until I come up with it? Helpful!

I don't know if any of these particular things would be helpful to you, because your writing process probably works differently than mine. Somebody out there absolutely does need to outline before they can write, or so I assume from the fact that it is mandated in virtually every book on writing I have ever read. You studied writing in school, so it's possible that you already have a great understanding of your process; it's also possible you have internalized a lot of other people's ideas of what you're writing should look like. Most of what I know about how I write was learned in the last few years, not in school.

It is also possible that you have a good understanding of what your process looks like when that gets to be the thing that takes up the majority of your time. In which case, you probably need to consider your life and your schedule as it is now. I know, for example, that I don't get much writing done of weekend days where I stay in bed late, even though I still end up with more free time than I'd have on a weekday, so if I want to write on a weekend I need to get up. Are there any times of day, or the days of the week, or the places where it is easier to write? What factors make it harder to write? Can you minimize those factors? When you can't, because you livelihood depends on them, can you acknowledge them as a fact of life and forgive yourself for being affected by them?

It's unpleasant but undeniable that working impacts writing. We aren't able to spend the time we'd like to on writing. We don't have the energy and focus that we had in school, when our writing was our main responsibility. Now our primary responsibility is making enough money to survive, and if that makes us sad to think about, well, it's only going to make us sadder if on top of that we try to hold ourselves to the amount of writing we'd do if that weren't true.

It isn’t strictly a numbers game where more time = more writing, which I think can be reassuring for those of us who don’t get as much time as we’d like for writing. I was unemployed or working part-time for the entirety of 2016 and I did not do more writing in 2016 than I am now. I had more time, but I was much more of a mess, as a person, and I wasn't as dedicated to writing. In a counter-intuitive way, I think it can help to have creative outlets besides writing. It does take time away from something that you already don’t get as much time as you want to do, but it means that you have a place to be creative even when the words aren't coming, a place with less pressure and lower stakes. I've done improv pretty casually for the last couple of years, and aside from the fact that I think improv in particular can be extremely helpful for writers, it means that when I've been unhappy with my writing, I could show up to improv and do a silly voice or shuffle around in a crabwalk and know that I had created something.

These are some things that have helped me write while also working: Improv. Mindfulness about writing. Mindfulness about life in general. Prioritizing my writing (guys, I watch so much less television than I used to). Therapy and medication, to be honest. Remembering why I am excited about the projects that I’m working on. Giving myself freedom to start new stories while also encouraging myself to finish old ones. Having an audience to share things with, because it is hard to write without knowing that anyone will ever read what you are pouring so much of yourself into.

It has taken me a few days to answer this, Anon, because I wanted to give a considered response, and also just because adult life! so busy! I keep coming back to the questions of whether I am emotionally satisfied with the writing I am doing, and whether I have a good balance between my writing and my work. Because I really think that I am creatively satisfied right now, and if I am mostly aware of that most of the time, I don't know that I'd really phrased it like that to myself before. If I had then I had forgotten it. And it's a powerful and wonderful thing to be able to say that to myself.

I have a degree in screenwriting, but I have never made a career of it and am not pursuing one now. The dream used to be writing for television. Before that the dream was to be a traditionally published author. Now...I don't know what the dream is. I would like to do original work again some day. I have a novel in my head that is very important to me, whose characters helped me get through some hard times, and I want to give that novel the life that it deserves. I would like to do something with my screenwriting degree at some point, although it will likely never make me money. Sometimes it feels like failure that I don't have a new dream, and that I gave up on the old ones. But for the most part, for now, I'm very happy writing fanfiction. I've written a lot of stories, particularly in the last few years, that I am very proud of.

But I don't actually have a good balance between art and work, inasmuch as my art makes me happy and my work...doesn't. I have a low-level office job in a field that I'm not passionate about or well-suited for. I don't get out of my job a lot of the things that I do get out of writing -- challenge, investment, a chance to be creative, self-direction, fulfillment, purpose. I have never worked a job where I got any of those things, and it is starting to wear me down.

To be fair: "my job pays me a decent wage and gives me great health insurance but it isn't satisfying" is a privileged thing to complain about, and I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that some people handle these situations just fine, that some people don’t mind a job that demands a minimum of energy and time since that leaves them more to put into their art. You may be one of these people! I am discovering that I am not. Getting no sense of accomplishment from my job contributes negatively to my overall mental and emotional health, which is sucky all on its own, but has the additional effect of impacting my writing.

It's a tricky problem, though. I don't, at present, want to make a living off of writing (and such a career would be precarious), but my current resume and skill set doesn't qualify me for much of anything besides the work I'm already doing (thanks, screenwriting degree). Any attempt to find a job that's more fulfilling would likely involve a big investment of time, money, and/or effort in some kind of school and training, and then...I'd be in a job that demanded more from me, and even if it made me happier than my current job does, how much would that leave me to put into my writing?

I don't know if any of this has been helpful to you. It is perhaps not a clear answer to a question that felt clear when I read it but that my mind muddled up along the way. You may find that once you hit a balance between writing and working, you don't mind the day job grind in the same way I do. You may decide that you do want to pursue writing as a career. You may still be figuring out the employment situation at all and my woes may be worse than irrelevant.

But the timing of this ask is funny; I am soon going to apply to an educational program that would prepare me for a new career in a totally different field, and the thought of how this will impact my writing has very much been on my mind. In the past when I've thought about doing anything like this, that question has kept me from going forward: won't that be less of your time, less of your energy, less of you for your writing? I think this is a real concern with a basis in truth: if I get into this program I am going to have a lot less time and energy for anything outside of it, and I will need to again adjust my expectations of what my writing can look like in my circumstances. But I think that this question is also fear and perfectionism talking, using my writing as a weapon against me, and I'm tired of it.

Balance is a funny thing. I'm actually terrible at basically anything that requires balance: biking, rollerskating, gymnastics, ice skating, you name it. I don't see how anyone pulls it off. You can lean too far one way only to fall over the other way when you try to even out. You can take a turn and suddenly the road is uphill or downhill or bumpy, and whatever you were doing before to stay upright isn't cutting it. You can be going along just fine and then, for absolutely no reason, you're wobbling all over the place. But you can also do a hell of a lot of wobbling without ever falling down.

I think it's just about...paying attention to what's happening around you. Paying attention to what you're feeling and what you want. Not getting fooled by something you're supposed to want if you don't actually want it. Figuring out the things that you need, and the things that would make your life better, and the things that you'd like, and prioritize those accordingly.

I sure hope that's how it works, at least, because that's all I've got. I might royally fuck up my life in the next couple of months, but if I do, I'll adjust and keep going. It can't be any worse than fucking ice skating.

Best of luck, Anon.

[theoriginalladya]

another person touching your skin with cold hands (Character of your choice)

from this prompt list

Okay, so there is a little background to this one.  Both Sean and Serafina are squires at Highever at the time of the Blight.  Actually, technically speaking, Sean has recently been knighted (but I forgot that part when I started this).  Anyway, they’re twins and have rarely ever been separated for long periods of time.  The only time it ever really mattered (aside from training) was when Serafina goes to Orlais and Antiva - approximately 2-3 years before this.  However, whenever they say goodbye to one another for an extended time, they bump foreheads and hold each other’s cheek.  Serafina is always cold, so she was a perfect fit for this prompt! lol  (and just to make the end easier to understand:  Sean = warrior trained, Serafina = rogue trained)

~~

The cove is empty when Sean arrives which surprises him. His twin is usually the first of them to be anywhere.  To be early is to be on time. ��The words of their grandmother took deeper root with Serafina than with him.  Still, he knows she will be here; he can wait.

He wanders over to the edge of the water, crouching down to take up a piece of driftwood that has floated to shore.  He eyes it carefully, noting the deepness of the grooves, the way the water has worn it away.  He is reminded of his grandfather back in Cliff’s Edge who has a talent for turning such things into beautiful pieces or instruments.  I wonder how granda is –?  “AHHH!”  He jumps with a start as something cold and unexpected connects with the bare skin around his neck and in the process, falls over onto the sand.

Soft giggle fill the air around him; he doesn’t need to see the face in front of him to know it’s her.  “What are you doing?” he shouts, scrambling backwards in a mad crabwalk to get away from her, the driftwood forgotten.

Serafina cannot stop laughing.  She bends at the waist and points at him.  “You – you should have seen your face!” she gasps.

Sean frowns at her, rising to his feet now that there are a few feet between them.  “Why must you always –.”

“Not always,” she corrects.  

She takes a step toward him.  Sean retreats another.  For a long minute, the two stare at one another.  In the next, they relax and draw closer.  Wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her into a hug.  “You are such an idiot,” he mutters as he ruffles her hair.

“And you are deaf,” she replies.

They separate again a moment later, on much easier terms now.  Though Sean stares out at the sea once more, he can feel her eyes wandering over him, seeking, searching.  “What is it?”

He sighs.  Turning to face her, he says, “I will be leaving tomorrow for Ostagar.” Her breath catches the tiniest bit, but he hears it.  

“It’s really happening then?” she asks softly.

“You doubted it?”

She shakes her head.  “No,” she insists.  After all, they had both been in Denerim at the Landsmeet that decided this course of action.  “I guess I just hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.”

Reaching out, Sean takes one of her hands in his. Cold as ice … like always. He squeezes it gently.  “From what little I’ve heard, it is.  The Arl’s men are supposed to arrive tomorrow.  We’ll leave the morning after.”  

Silence surrounds them for several long minutes. Maker only knows what she is thinking; for Sean, it’s simple.  I will return.

“Have you written Mum yet?” she asks.

He reaches his hand up to rub at the back of his neck.  “Sort of,” he replies.  When she frowns, he adds, “I didn’t want to worry her.”

Serafina’s eyes narrow.  “I will not write it for you,” she tells him.

Sean sighs again.  There goes that idea.  “Sera –.”

“No.  I have my own things to worry about here.”  She folds her arms across her chest stubbornly.  

Sean knows the look well.  His shoulders drop in resignation as he reaches out, his hand catching behind her head.  Leaning in toward her, he rests his forehead to hers.  “I will finish it tonight.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”  

Her eyes dart up to meet his, a soft if worried smile at her lips.  Her hand rises as his lowers, each cradling the other’s cheek.  Their eyes shut, and for just a moment, they are one in the way that twins always are.  

When they step apart, the mood shifts.  “Bet I can beat you back to the keep,” Sean says, winking at her.

Serafina snorts softly.  “I’ll even give you a head start,” she replies, “but we both know I’ll win.”

As Sean starts off, he utilizes every single shortcut he’s found over his years here in Highever.  This time, he swears, he is going to beat her back…

[mysecretfanmoments]

au where viktor is himself but falls in love with regular guy/waiter yuuri over his socks

((HAPPY BIRTHDAY @picklestpickle!!!! I demand that you have the very best year ever!))

“You don’t understand,” Viktor told Yakov, filled with righteous passion. “I must have him.”

Yakov’s voice darkened with familiar resignation. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

Viktor didn’t answer. Instead he watched the cute waiter walk to a different table, and he caught flashes of what had so entranced him: plain brown socks with a poodle face on the front, just above the waiter’s ordinary shoes and just below the hem of the waiter’s cropped trousers. It wasn’t overstating things to say Viktor was in love. Unfortunately, the waiter seemed to be the shyest service industry person Viktor had ever stumbled across, and Viktor’s bright smile earlier---pre sock-noticing, and therefore generic---had reduced the poor guy to choking on air. Viktor might kill the man he loved, now, simply by calling him over.

But then: he might save the man he loved after nearly killing him. It would make a good story to tell their grandchildren.

“Excuse me!” Viktor said in English, hoping he struck the right note of sorry for bothering and we’re destined soulmates so in the end you’ll thank me. The waiter’s shoulders shot up, but he didn’t ignore Viktor like Viktor had secretly feared. Instead he turned and scuttled over, movements strange and unnatural with apparent nervousness. Was he crabwalking?

“Yes?” said the softest voice in the history of mankind, gently accented.

Suddenly, Viktor was struck---not just by the waiter’s socks, but by the nice face behind those square glasses looking down at him. It was flushed with colour, which had the effect of brightening his panic-stricken eyes. Viktor’s future husband was a looker, in that subdued diamond-in-the-rough way that made Viktor want to polish him.

Wow, Viktor thought, grateful for his instincts and cute socks. Amazing.

He was hit by unfamiliar nervousness himself, and smiled through it. “I love your socks,” he said.

The waiter blinked and looked down, holding out a leg like he could have forgotten the masterpieces he wore. “Ah---I---thanks.”

“And you,” Viktor added, hoping his eyes conveyed his sincerity. He started to get out of his chair to kneel. “Will you marry---”

A lot of things happened at once. First, the look on the cute waiter’s face changed from panic to horror to steely distance, and second, Yakov reached across the table to grab Viktor’s hair in his fist and keep him from kneeling. “Too much!” Yakov yelled, dragging him back up.

Viktor fell back into his seat, reeling. The cute waiter’s mouth had hardened into a line. 

“Your food will be out shortly,” the waiter said, all trace of personality gone, and walked away---smoothly.

Viktor stared after him. “Yakov, what---what just happened?” 

“I believe you proposed marriage to a guy whose name you don’t know.”

“Is that bad?”

Yakov covered his face. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“We’re meant to be,” Viktor insisted. “Why not just---”

“What’s gotten into you?” Yakov asked. “Are you really taking the retirement comments seriously? What happened to I don’t have time for relationships?”

Viktor supposed that maybe he’d jumped the gun a little. Just a little. But there were the socks, and the waiter’s overall cuteness, and maybe---just maybe---Viktor was looking for a way out. And it would be all the better if that way out came in the shape of a gorgeous guy who wore socks with poodle faces.

“The socks looked just like Makkachin,” Viktor said, still clinging to his earlier assurance that he’d done nothing wrong---but his heart split right down the middle when the waiter came back out with their food and maintained that distant air, not even looking at Viktor now. Viktor thanked him meekly, horrified that he’d ruined everything so quickly.

“He hates me now,” Viktor said, lip trembling.

“He thinks you were mocking him,” Yakov said, picking up his chopsticks. “Obviously.”

Viktor stared. “Me? Mock him?”

“You’re a giant Russian guy who looks like a model, you walked into Hasetsu Donburi Palace fifteen minutes ago---which does not look like Tokyo’s most popular eating establishment---spoke exclusively Russian to your coach while ogling him so he has no idea what you might be saying, and then---”

“Stop!” Viktor interrupted, mortified. The picture Yakov painted was terrible. He would not tell his grandchildren this, even if the waiter forgave him. 

Oh, shit. The waiter wasn’t going to forgive him, was he? 

No---he had to. Their future happiness depended on it.

Viktor ate his food with singleminded diligence, and when the waiter came back to take their plates Viktor was careful to use his most pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said to the side of the waiter’s face as he cleared up dishes. “Can we talk? I made the wrong impression. You have to let me make---”

Yakov cleared his throat.

“Please let me make it up to you,” Viktor corrected himself. At last the waiter glanced at him, suspicious, and somehow suspicion looked good on him. It made him seem dark and powerful and mysterious, which in turn made Viktor feel all soft and vulnerable on the inside. 

Perhaps some of Viktor’s vulnerability showed through, because the dark look shifted just a little. The waiter’s mouth pressed together.

“I can take a break in twenty minutes,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Yes. Yes! Viktor grinned up at him. “I’ll wait!”

The waiter looked puzzled, then embarrassed---and at last he nodded before scuttling away again. Yakov and Viktor paid their bill after a short argument about what kind of message the obscene tip Viktor wanted to leave would send. They compromised: a big tip, but not I’m trying to buy your love-big.

Yakov only waved as he abandoned Viktor outside the restaurant, leaving Viktor to shift from foot to foot, hands deep in his pockets, face ducked into his scarf. It was cold enough for his breath to fog up the night air.

Eventually the waiter came out, glancing around. He seemed surprised when he spotted Viktor, and joined him slowly.

“Hello!” Viktor said, trying not to bounce too much on his feet. “May I ask---what is your name? And your---”

“You’re Viktor Nikiforov,” the waiter interrupted. It wasn’t a question.

Viktor’s eyes widened. “You know me?”

“Of course I know you.” A cautious gloved hand came out for Viktor to shake, and Viktor gripped it in both of his. He didn’t shake it---just held it---and the guy glanced away. “I’m Yuuri.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeated, enjoying the way the name felt in his mouth. 

Yuuri’s free hand came up, not to push Viktor away but to cover his own face. “I’m dreaming. Definitely. And you’re---why are you still holding my hand?”

Viktor beat back the urge to propose marriage again. Yuuri was cute. So cute. And he knew Viktor already---that was half the work done. Viktor thought of those socks keeping Yuuri’s ankles warm. Didn’t Viktor already know what he needed to know about Yuuri, too?

Yuuri peered at Viktor’s hands holding his. “You’re not going to let go?”

“I’m not,” Viktor said, in a state of bliss.

Yuuri looked up. “You’re a serial killer, aren’t you?” His face looked sad. “I idolised a serial killer.”

Idolised? Did he mean that? Wait, no, that wasn’t the important part to respond to. Yuuri thought Viktor’s forwardness was either mocking or an intent to murder him. How could he convince him otherwise?

“Give me your phone number,” Viktor said, “and let me take you out tomorrow, when it’s day.”

Yuuri stared. “Seriously?”

Viktor thought about it. “I don’t know the area well, so it would be more you taking me around, but I’ll pay for everything, and at the end of the date I’ll---”

“Okay,” Yuuri said, surprising Viktor enough that he let go. His hands felt empty without Yuuri’s hand in them. He’d try to remember that detail, to tell their grandchildren in several decades---

“Why not,” Yuuri added, as if to himself, and pulled out his phone---which had a poodle background. Yakov would mock Viktor, Mila would mock Viktor---but Viktor fell even harder in love, and he knew it would all work out. Of course it would. He’d lost his heart to a beautiful stranger who wore doggy socks.

It was obvious they were meant to be, and now he just had to make it happen.

[thisgarbagepicker]

“Real, Not True” - Reylo Weekly Challenge

My contribution to the sixth @two-halves-of-reylo Tumblr weekly challenge, “Fear” theme. 

“Real, Not True” (AO3)

Words: 2,325

Rating: T

Summary:  At night, Kylo's mind returns to a day in his youth when Luke attempted to lead him in a meditation technique focusing on the nature of fear. When mere memory turns into nightmare, he finds rescue where he isn't expecting it. Afterward, Rey tries to make sense of the realities and cruelties of the unguarded sleeping mind.

“Ben. Are you listening?”

“Wha—yeaaa . . .” Ben tears his eyes away from the water, where he’s been watching a pod of porpoises clip through the waves. “Uh. No.”

Luke is unamused. Contrite, Ben amends, “Sorry. What?”

“I asked if you’re ready to begin.”

Despite his pointed stare a moment ago, he doesn’t sound terribly annoyed, and his eyes have softened a little. It’s hard to believe, but Luke was fifteen once, too. His mind must have drifted when it wasn't supposed to back then, the way Ben’s does. Given the distant expression he sometimes catches on his uncle’s face, it likely still does.

This place is mostly all water, and the slim, green, crescent-shaped island they’ve camped on is the only one in view over the vast expanse of ocean—though there are supposedly others, with actual people living on them. It’s been years since he’s seen Chandrila, with its fragrant forests and staggering mountain ranges. It had oceans, too, but nothing like this. Ben still thinks Lew’el must be a weird place to live by comparison. Its flatness is . . . soothing, he supposes, but not very interesting. The porpoises were the first break in the monotony of the horizon he’s seen all morning.

“I am. Ready to begin.” Ben is careful to echo the words precisely, to indicate that he’s really, definitely listening now.

He sits, figuring that anticipation of Luke’s instructions will further redeem him for his inattention. He knows they’re doing some sort of meditation here, probably linked with the local belief system. The native population adheres to something called the Tide, which Luke has explained is essentially the Force by another name. He has been here before. There are stories; Ben’s heard them. But when he asked Luke about them, it was only to be told that stories exaggerate the truth. That Ben shouldn’t be so quick to believe everything he hears.

And Ben isn’t. It’s just that by now, he also isn’t sure he’s ever going to reach a point where he is fully able to separate the legend that is his uncle from the man. It’s hard to know what is exaggeration when he barely knows what the truth is to begin with. Maybe it doesn’t matter. He scans the shoreline before him, a stretch of smooth pinkish pebbles that look nice but aren’t very comfortable for sitting.

“Good.” Luke joins Ben on the ground and makes a face that suggests he, too, is reconsidering their choice of location. They observe the water in silence, and Luke tosses one of the stones out onto the still surface, watching it skip along and finally sink before he says, “You can feel them out there, can’t you?”

It takes a moment, but Ben realizes he means the porpoises.

“In a way, yeah, I guess,” he says simply. He resists the urge to get too chatty about it. He likes his uncle, most of the time, and under different circumstances he would tell him more. How he can feel them, in the Force, if he reaches. The porpoises are happy in a very pure, uncomplicated way. United in their pod, having fun after a hunt. (Must be nice. Ben is still half-asleep and wants breakfast.) But he senses that Luke is in Master Skywalker mode right now, so that means it’s down to business.

“We’re going to try something different today.”

Ben stifles a yawn. “Okay.”

“Hey, focus,” Luke reminds him with a nudge. “We’re turning our reach inward rather than out. This practice will bring us closer to what we fear. Fear has its place, but we can’t let ourselves be ruled by it, either. So, we identify it, sit with it, and then let the Tide—the Force—take it into its ebb and flow. Restore its proper order.”

Ben feels a squirm in his stomach. Closer to what we fear. His eyes are closed and he forces himself not to open them and look at Luke. Does he know that Ben couldn’t sleep the last few nights? Does he know why? The timing of this seems awfully convenient. Ben takes a chance. “What do you fear?”

“That’s not how this works,” Luke says, mildly chastising. If Ben hopes to get any kind of answer he actually wants, he’ll have to wait until later. “Are you ready?”

He hesitates, but it won’t change anything. “Yes.”

He feels like he’s being watched. Not by the man sitting beside him. From afar. He ignores that, as he long ago learned to do. He turns inward, as Luke instructed.

What does Ben fear? Never being a pilot—sometimes. Sleep—often. Never seeing home again—more often. That his parents think there is something wrong with him—nearly all the time. That what they think is true—always.

It is true.

There it is. The fear. His first instinct is to resist it, fight it off, bury it back down. He knows it’s the right one because it bites back the hardest. Ben feels simmering anger at the mere thought, and he’d rather fight. He forgets what he was told to do: identify it, sit with it, let it be taken. Fuck that. His pulse is quickening and he begins to feel hot.

“No,” he seethes.

“Focus, Ben . . .” Luke’s voice sounds far away, and there’s something new now that Ben picks up on despite his agitation. Another fear. But it isn’t his. It’s Luke’s. Curious, he probes at that, and is dismayed by what he finds. Luke’s fear—it’s of him. Around them, the pebbles begin to quiver.

“You’re unbalanced.” That isn’t Luke at all. Another voice. Scornful, not warning.

He opens his eyes. The ocean is churning. The pebbles on the beach are shaking and leaping and have turned red. Further down the shoreline, large grayish lumps writhe in the shallows—the porpoises have beached themselves. Above, wind-trusters and smaller birds are already circling, sensing an imminent meal. He doesn’t want to look, but his eyes scan left until his head has no choice but to follow suit. Luke is gone. A gaunt, pale, disfigured man hunches beside him now, swathed in a thin gold robe. He’s revolting, but despite this, Ben can only stare.

“You’re unbalanced,” the man repeats. He speaks slowly, and his sunken cheek trembles with each syllable. “And you’re afraid. And you’re alone. A monster, a monster, a monster . . .”

The words echo over and over again, the man’s voice distorting until it’s not only one voice but many. Voices from Ben’s past and, he senses, from his future. Some he recognizes, others he doesn’t. Horrified, he crabwalks backward over skittering crimson pebbles as everything roars around him. It’s all just noise now. He can’t distinguish the words, but he knows what they’re saying. The vibration of it is shattering him from the inside out. The beach warps and becomes impossibly long.

“Ben!”

One clear word in all the din. The only voice he wants to hear. He bumps roughly against something behind him and cranes his neck to look. It’s her. The girl. She’s standing there above him. He’s seen her in dreams, but he never knows who she is except . . . he does now. He knows her name. He knows her. He loves her.

“Rey?”

“Ben, listen. Wake up.” She crouches in front of him and grabs his arm, staring urgently into his face. “You’re dreaming.”

Bewildered, Ben tries to argue. “How do you kn—”

He jolts and his eyes fly open. Her face is there, still so close, hovering above his. This place is warm and quiet, and their bodies are pressed together, and there isn’t much space. A bunk. Her bunk. It’s dark. Her fingers are digging so hard into his arm that it’s probably going to leave a mark.

“—know?” His mouth finishes what he was saying in the dream before he can put a thought together to stop it.

“No?” Rey says. The concern in her face eases, and she looks almost mystified.

“No. I mean . . . not ‘no’ . . .” He winces and turns his face from hers, then exhales sharply like he’s dispelling whatever might be left of the dream. “Can you let go of my arm please? That sort of hurts.”

“Oh. Oh, kriff. Yeah.”

She relinquishes her grip and settles down beside him, fidgeting with the blanket. He realizes, or remembers, that both of them are naked. He’s still half in a fog, but details are coming back. He’d been unable to sleep. He walked down to Rey’s room, because she’s one of the few people here who has her own. They talked a while. They did what they’ve been doing in her bunk at night for the last week or so when he can get there without being noticed. They talked more afterward, until they fell asleep. And then . . . that.

“I shouldn’t still be here,” he murmurs. He doesn’t move to go.

Rey shrugs. “We went over this hours ago. Keep quiet and no one will know. Not if you wait ‘til people’ve started going on with their morning stuff. Just wait for the hall to be empty and fall in with it.”

He does remember that discussion now. He also remembers not being entirely convinced of the soundness of the plan—physically speaking, he isn’t exactly inconspicuous. But his lack of desire to leave won out, and after more pillow talk he’d been as good as unconscious. Besides, they’re both deluding themselves if they think people haven’t noticed, or won't soon.

“I didn’t yell or anything, did I?”

“No. I don’t think so. I was sleeping.” She lays an arm over him and circles her fingertips along his shoulder. “It was really weird, though. Something got crossed again. I ended up in your head. I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. And it wasn’t your fault last time. But it’s not like either of us invites the other to . . . dream with them. We really ought to figure out a way to handle this when it happens, because it doesn’t seem like it’s about to stop.” He wonders if she wants it to stop, and if he does. He’s not sure. Meanwhile, Rey seems to have accepted that they won’t get it settled tonight, so she changes tacks. “You all right?”

“Yeah. That was relatively tame,” he says after brief deliberation. It still sounds on the verge of self-pity, which he didn’t want, but it’s the truth. There was history there, but it was definitely a nightmare and he’s had much worse, to say nothing of waking life.

Rey nods as her hand wanders from his shoulder to stroke his cheek, and he shifts to his side to face her. He doesn’t know if he needs it, the way her touch is so instantly, deeply soothing, but he craves it badly enough that it must be the same thing in the end.

“Was all of it only a dream? Some of it felt realer. Like a memory. You were so young.” They both know how a dream can be more than a dream. She wants to parse this, even if he can sense her apprehension at prying further into something that wasn’t strictly hers.

“Parts were. ‘Realer.’ The beginning was more memory.” Some of that was no doubt changed by time and experience, he knows, but there had been no distinction in the dream. As for the end, it was utter nonsense. Awful, but nonsense just the same. Rey waits expectantly for him to continue. He thought he wouldn’t want to talk about it, but he finds he doesn’t mind explaining further. “The stuff with . . . Luke, and that island. On Lew’el. The Tide, and the meditation, too. The rest was just my brain throwing things together where they didn’t belong.”

Rey is reflecting on this, and her expression is one of understanding rather than pity. Not that he’d expect it of her. She’s getting to know the inside of his head too well. That would have terrified him once, but it doesn’t anymore. He wants to be known by her. It goes both ways. He kisses the flurry of freckles on her shoulder, and the two-pronged scar a little lower down her arm. He doesn’t stop when she finally speaks, but he’s listening.

“‘Didn’t belong’ is an understatement. Some of that may have been real, but . . . none of it was true. The mind can be cruel enough when we’re awake. It’s worse when we sleep, sometimes.” She stops and pokes him in the ribs. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Yes.” He pauses what he’s doing and pillows his head on her chest instead. “You’ve been reading too many of those old texts. Continue, Master Rey.”

“Very funny. Believe it or not, I’ve had a lot of time to think about these things.” She runs her hands through his hair and tugs a little out of pique, but then smooths it back more gently and lets her fingers curl at the base of his skull. “I’m trying to make you feel better.”

“I do,” he says. “I woke up, you were there, I felt better. You don’t have to try.”

There’s a hint of a smile in her voice. “Then you understand why I want you to stay right here. You’re not the only one of us who feels better waking up to the other.”

“Good.”

The sound of Rey’s heartbeat is sending him off faster than he expected, and when she winds her arms around him he knows he isn’t going anywhere until morning. It doesn’t come naturally to him to not be fighting something. This is it, though. One of the rare moments when he doesn’t feel compelled to do so. He isn’t sure he believes in a time when the nights will be easier for them both. If such a time does exist, he hopes it comes soon. If it proves too much to hope for, at least there will still be this.

[liza-lilly]

A Little Fencing Lesson! Ft. Chiaki.

Before we begin, this is based heavily off a roleplay between me and @serotoninjuulpod that we had a lot of fun doing. Ro played Chiaki of course and I gave Obake a go!  Obake picked up a training sabre, feeling a little confused but willing to do whatever he could for Chiaki and she laughs a little as she watches Obake pick up the sabre. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you're not ready for blade stuff right this second. I've gotta at least teach you a little bit of footwork first before we get to smackin' each other." Obake: He set the sabre back in it's place. "What, I don't get to start learning how to knock people on their asses on my first day?" He smirks back jokingly. Chiaki: "Can't knock people on their asses if they hit ya first. Just running at em from a normal standing position's gonna leave you wide open." She shrugs. "Anyway, what hand do you write with? And yes, this is an important question." Obake: "Ah I see.. My right hand." He replied. Amusement struck heavy in his voice. Chiaki: "Alright, cool. So what you're gonna do is take your right foot and put it in front of your left, like this." She says as demonstrates what she means for him, putting her right foot in front of her left and turning her back foot outward a bit. Obake: Obake attempted this, stepping wrong as he did so, keeping himself stiff as usual. "...Like this?" He asked, feeling very out of place already. Chiaki: "No, no. Here, let me-" She moves so she's next to him and gets into the stance again. "It might be easier to copy if we're facing the same direction." Obake: Obake gives her a side glance, studying her stance carefully and attempting again to mimic it. It wasn't bad, but he was still pretty stiff. "Better?" He asked. He sounded really genuine even with the sliver of impatience in his voice. He never figured something could be so hard to him. He was so used to doing what he knew that learning something else seemed a completely foreign concept to him. Chiaki:  "Way better!" She says, smiling excitedly at him. "And now you're gonna step forward a little, like this." She steps forward with just her front foot, leaving her back foot firmly planted where it was. Obake: Obake froze for a moment, blinking a few times and then slowly doing the same. "I guess I really did get ahead of myself a moment ago." Chiaki:  "Yeah, ya kinda did." She giggles. "Okay, now bend your knees." She does that right after. "And remember, you're not squatting, you're just bending them a little bit." Obake:  "Alright." He does as told, bending them just a more than needed. "This is hard." He admitted. "You make it look so easy." Chiaki:  She giggles at that. "Alright, you don't have to worry about your arms for right now, we'll get to that once we actually get to the swordplay part. This is your en garde. It's where everything starts and ends in fencing." Obake:  Obake put his fingers to his brow, still standing in place and working to keep his balance. "Even this correct stance is hard to keep. Who in the world started this anyway and thought, oh this is a good idea, I'll just start stabbing people with a long blade as I crabwalk around?" He was obviously joking as he looked up and smiled back at her, but there was a hint of exasperation in his tone as well. Chiaki:  "It actually started as military training in Italy and Germany, believe it or not. Anyway, you're not in this position all the time. You move around a lot. For example-" She takes a step forward, her front foot going first and her back foot moving to meet it- she ends up right back in her en garde once she's done moving. "That was an advance. It's the standard forward movement in fencing." Obake:  Obake stands up straight now, tired already from staying in that stance. "It's a little painful to hold. Honestly, that makes sense, I suppose." He watched as she did her example. "What got you into fencing anyway?" Chiaki: Her usually happy expression falters a bit. "It's... kind of personal." Obake: "Oh well.. I don't mean to pry." He says quickly, not wanting to upset her in any way. Chiaki:  "It's fine. I might tell you later, just... not now, okay?" Obake:  "Of course. When you're ready." He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. "What next?" Chiaki:  "Right." She drops back into her en garde. She was unaware that she'd stood up straight when Obake asked her the question. "Next is the retreat. It's exactly what it sounds like." She steps backward, her back foot going first, then her front foot. Again, she ends up back in her en garde. Obake:  Obake makes an attempt but stumbles as he does so and falls flat on his rear. "Ow! Ugh.. Well that hurt." He smiled up at her, feeling honestly embarrassed. Chiaki:  She laughs a little when he falls. "Hey, it happens to the best of us. Like I say, if anything works in my classroom, it's gravity." She says, before offering her hand to help him up. Obake:  "That it does." He takes her hand and stands up. "The only thing I understand in this class." He mused. "I'll give it another try." He attempted again, stumbling again but this time catching himself. (I’m going to do a bit of a timeskip here simply because it gets a little long them doing the back and fourth, let’s get to the GOOD part shall we?) Obake:  He did as he was told again. "Why is this so difficult?" Chiaki:  "Because you're learning. It takes a while, but it's worth it, trust me." She says, before stepping back a little and doing a once-over of Obake, trying to see if she can find any other issues. Obake:  "I'm not used to.. things being very difficult. The fun about science is there's endless exploration and discoveries. There can be a wrong and a right way to do things but when discovering things, there's really not a wrong way. As long as your math is correct and you understand all the fundamentals, that is." Chiaki:  "I see." She nods. "That's what I love about people. Some people are great at things like science and math, and others.... aren't. And that's what makes us all special." Aaaand she's getting sappy. Obake:  "Honestly that's what I enjoy about you. You make this all look so effortless. You glide across the room effortlessly and with thrill and passion." He stands up and looks her very seriously in the eyes, standing in close. "It's incredible and I love seeing you free and happy. “ Chiaki:  "Oh! T-thanks." She says, smiling and looking away shyly as she fidgets with her jacket strings. That compliment gave her hella butterflies, bro. Obake:  "I... I'll admit. This whole fencing thing really isn't my cup of tea. But I could watch you do it all day. You're flawless in my eyes." He stepped just a little closer and pulled her into a loose hug. Chiaki:  The hug was,, a bit of a surprise, admittedly. She froze for just a moment, before returning the hug. Her grip is loose, but still strong at the same time. Obake:  He leaned in to give her a kiss. Chiaki:  She reciprocates the kiss, doing her best to ignore just how fast her heart is beating. Obake:  Obake holds the kiss for a long moment. He'd felt so nervous going in at first but now he didn't want to leave the moment. But moments passed and he finally had to break the kiss to take a breath. "I love you very much, Chiaki." Chiaki:  "I... I love you too." She responds, her face just the tiniest bit flushed. Obake:  Obake is suddenly a little pink in the face, and no it wasn't just his face plate. He realized he was still holding her at the waist, holding her in that loose hug, and shyly he pulled back.He wanted to stay in that moment forever but knew he could not. "I'm.. I'm glad to hear that." He said in a near-whisper.

[tehlaen]

Survival (Pt. 3 of 5)

[tl;dr: Teh’laen and her sister Rai’laen, ages 12 and 17, struggle to keep each other safe and sane through the coup attempt that leaves them orphaned. Five parts: Part one, part two, part four, part five here.]

Parts of the town were still burning. Flames and smoldering rubble lightened the wrong side of the horizon as Rai and Teh emerged from the hidden exit just before dawn.

Teh didn’t know where they were going, but she trusted Rai to have a plan. The plan, as far as she could tell, was to head for the central plaza. In truth, that was as far ahead as the teenager had considered, but it was something.

The residential neighborhood they found themselves in appeared mostly untouched by the devastation, or so it seemed at first blush. Then they came upon a pool of congealed blood; a couple of blocks later, a house knocked flat by the hand of some invisible titan. Not even all the bodies had been removed; Rai paused at each corner, glancing each way. When she saw a crumpled form in the street, she laid her hand over Teh’s eyes and hurried them both past.

The streets were practically deserted—unusual for a normal day and unheard of during the two-week, non-stop revelry of the Chasli’voth.

They weren’t wholly devoid of life, though, and the residents who spotted the two girls as they scurried through the streets stopped and stared, wide-eyed.

They look like they saw ghosts.

Teh recognized a few familiar faces—servants who worked at the villa or business partners of her parents’. None returned her shy wave; most turned and fled from the greeting of a twelve-year-old girl.

It came as a surprise, then, when two elderly—to the eyes of a preteen—employees of their parents, whose names she couldn’t remember, not only met her gaze, but hurried toward them. Surprise turned to shock as their faces twisted in anger and fear, and they each grabbed one of the sisters.

Teh’laen struggled, breaking the old woman’s grip and tearing away easily. Her companion’s hold on Rai was firmer, and Rai’s blue eyes blazed as her hand dove beneath her shirt.

“What are you doing?!” the woman hissed, glancing up and down the block frantically. “We have to get you off the street!”

Teh didn’t understand what she meant, but Rai apparently did. The older girl relaxed, and when the old main released her, she reached up and hesitantly took his hand. Teh shrugged and followed suit, and the woman gave her a small, strained smile.

The elderly couple ducked down an alleyway, avoiding the main streets as they led the children… somewhere, Teh wasn’t sure. She wracked her brain, then smiled when she pulled names for the faces out of her memory. The old man with the skin a similar shade of green to Rai’s—although it was duskier, duller and wrinklier—was Som’osho; the owner of the pinkish-orange hand enfolding her own was Velor’evolo. They were husband and wife and had worked for Mama and Papa for as long as she could remember, he as a handyman and she in the laundry.

Som’osho and Velor’evolo ushered the girls in the back entrance of a multi-story house a couple of blocks from the main plaza. Teh didn’t get why they were doing the same thing in the stairwell that Rai had done in the streets: peeking out around every corner, tensing at the sound of approaching footsteps. Their guides didn’t relax until the door was closed and locked behind them, and the two grown-ups and Rai heaved identical sighs of relief in unison.

Teh was just happy to be offer her feet. She tuned out as Rai, Som and Velor got to talking in hushed voices. Teh’laen climbed onto the couch, her mighty yawn drowning out her Mama’s voice in her head: It was rude to sit without being invited and the very height of vulgarity to lay down on a host’s sofa with her feet up on the furniture, and her shoes—!

Her eyelids didn’t so much drift shut as slam, and she was asleep within seconds.

Teh’laen woke up disoriented. She didn’t recognize the room or the decorations and the bed and linens—while comfy and infinitely better than rickety old cots—smelled musty and dusty. Even the light and sounds coming through the open window were wrong.

The lekku wrapped around her helped ground her, and they tightened and loosened with Rai’s deep, slow breathing. Teh smiled softly and traced the squiggly, dun-colored markings that naturally adorned her sister’s verdant skin.

It took her a moment, but the familiarity jogged her memory. They were in Som’osho and Velor’evolo’s small apartment. She vaguely recalled being woken up and ushered to a cramped bedroom that had belonged to Som and Velor’s own kids years before.

She lay her head back down, no longer tired, but with no desire to get up, either. She listened to the steady rhythm of her sister’s pulse and felt the warm wash of breath on the back of her head. Her eyes drifted gently shut. It wasn’t as if she was sleepy… After all, she’d slept the e n  t   i   r    e       d     a    

Rai disentangled herself from her little sister and the change jolted Teh awake.

“What now, Rai?” she mumbled, irritated and drowsy.

Rai’s sharply hissed shhh! slashed through the gauzy curtain of sleep and Teh’s eyes snapped open. Rai’laen crouched at the open window, barely peeking over the casement. Teh wasn’t sure why, but then, she hadn’t understood almost everything Rai had done. So she mimicked her sister as she rolled off the bed and crabwalked to Rai’laen’s side.

From the fifth floor, they had an unobstructed view of the town’s central plaza. And something was happening.

Something was happening and it was all wrong. Faces peered from every window in every building that lined the plaza. There was a crowd of… Teh tried counting, but they were too many and too distant. There was a crowd of a lot. The townspeople were watching men carrying guns and wearing armor like what the clan militia wore. But the colors weren’t right, and if it was the militia, where was Ket’rol?  There was a pair of speeders, too, painted the same colors as the soldiers’ armor and with guns—big ones—sticking out the front.

The soldiers stood in the semi-circle around three lumps laid out on the ground, covered by white tarps. Two of the lumps were roughly the same size and shape; the third was less than half as big as the other two.

The tarps were pulled back about a third of the way. Teh stood up straight, craning her neck and leaning this way and that, trying to see, but the angle and the way the wind billowed the tarps blocked her line of sight to whatever was underneath.

Rai grabbed her wrist and jerked, pulling her down with enough force to rip a pained yelp from her.

“Get down!”

Teh rubbed at her strained shoulder, glowering at the side of Rai’s head, but her sister’s attention was focused solely on whatever was occurring below. Her indignation gave way to curiosity and she cocked her head to listen as she peeked over the window sill.

The voice echoed off the facades of the buildings ringing the square, projected from speakers on one of the speeders.

“…as you can see. We know, thanks to a generously compensated informant, that the last two Va’shuvrks are here in town. Whoever delivers them to us will be rewarded handsomely. Anyone who hides them or helps them, on the other hand…”

Ice flooded Teh’laen’s veins and she groped blindly for Rai’laen’s hand. The two squeezed each other’s fingers with desperate grips that bordered on painfully tight.

“Those people,” the disembodied voice continued, “will be punished. Severely.

“We are giving you the opportunity to make the wise choice. Step forward, tell us what we want to know, and be rewarded.”

There was shifting and mumbling; the people in the crowd turned to one another and conferred in furtive whispers.

But no one stepped forward.

The heavy sigh spat from the amplifier bounced off the buildings and filled the square with an ugly, breathy hiss. “Fine. If we can’t convince you to be smart, maybe ‘scared’ will work.” The voice turned hard, and the chill was enough to make Teh—five stories up and fifty meters over—shiver violently.

“Tell us where the girls are, or somebody dies.”

The delay for the bribe had been about three minutes; the delay after the threat was less than half of that. And there was no warning when time ran out.

The two speeders spun in place on their repulsors. They faced one of the buildings—a storefront on the ground level, with the five floors above each converted to a family apartment. Faces disappeared from some windows—but not all—as residents came to the same horrifying realization.

Teh’laen was too young to know what was coming. Rai’laen grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her away from the casement. But she wasn’t quick enough to stop Teh from watching as blaster cannons poured hellfire through windows, walls and bodies.

Rai’laen covered Teh with her body, clapping her hands over her kid sister’s earcones. But Teh still heard the horrified screams from the crowd. She didn’t need her ears to hear the collapse of the building as six floors accordioned straight down; the floor trembled and the windows shook violently in their frames.

It wasn’t until Teh’s lungs burned and she sucked in a ragged breath that a break came in the screaming. It was her voice ringing in the stuffy air of the cramped room. The realization hit her a second and a half before her vision went black and she fainted.

[fanarchoslashivist]

In Hot Water

So Jack is BARELY past his eighties when he starts his heat, and he's been through five of them, and no one goes through heat until their first century, when they are technically "legal". He's also one of very few Winter Spirits capable of going into estrus, like Boreas and Pamola. But both of those gods are long faded, so no one knows how to effectively treat a Winter spirit's heat. Spring Spirits have a reputation for being promiscuous mostly because of rumors that they "kidnap" spirits in heat and take them to "secret locations for orgies" when in actuality Spring Spirits are INCREDIBLY protective of spirits with these "fertility complications" and bring them to safe houses away from those who would take advantage of their impairment. To spring spirits mating with someone in their heat without prior magical contract consent is major taboo, these spirits are considered under the influence of their estrus and incapable of consent. Though prior consent can be withdrawn at any time. They even have "physical therapists" spirits who you can contract to help you through your heat prior to starting it. The Groundhog is one, and he and Bunny often disagree with each other over this. Aster believes any mating during heat is wrong, due to inability to withdraw consent, prior contract or no. Although Aster is Jack's primary care provider, being the oldest and most capable healer who can figure out how to treat a Winter Spirit, the Groundhog is Jack's nurse/therapist because he can shapeshift into a tiny groundhog and Jack is at first uncomfortable around large spirits that could overpower him. Aster is worried Jack will contract Groundhog when he reaches age of consent, being a guardian of childhood he considers Jack MAJOR jailbait and is extra protective of a CHILD in premature estrus. But Jack and Groundhog (tempting to call him Pete ) are more brotherly. Aster even asks Tooth to look through her old tooth boxes to see if Jack was once human, since Jack has gone into heat almost twenty years too early. Jack admits he doesn't remember anything before waking up at the lake, so either he is older than he remembers and lost the first years, or he really is premature. Possibly a Winter thing? There are no records of the other two winter spirits, Boreas had some but they were kept with the Library of Alexandria (which had a section just for gods) Jack refuses contract consent every year for the next 200 years, Groundhog knows, being his counselor, that it's because Jack has fallen in love with Bunny, who still thinks of Jack as a child. It's also extra weird because Bunny is Jack's doctor, something Aster and Groundhog both bring up. It's not a hard taboo, but it is considered unethical for a healer or counselor who works closely with a patient to be that patient's contract. Because they can influence the patient's decision outside of heat. Bunny talks about it when warning Jack against contracting Pete, which grosses Jack out, and Pete warns Jack when he figures out Jacks feelings. But until Bunny knows how to help Jack he can't request a different healer. So 200 years of Jack deleriously confessing to Bunny in his heat and Bunny going "yes yes, here, have a tranquilizer" because you don't have sex with a drunk person, even drunk off phermones and hormones. Bunny is 100% against this. Well 90% He may have had… some..dreamms… And a *ahem* guilty hand in the shower. And other places But he is a solid high 70% against sleeping with Jack He eventually finds a recipe for a heat suppressent, its basically birth control. It pumps Jack with hormones that makes his body think he's pregnant. Which is fantastic for Jack because Bunny makes it into this really awesome chocolate. Basically Jack takes them when he begins Estrus, and it halts the estrus. So Jack doesn't have to go to the clinic anymore except to get refills. He and Bunny don't see eachother again for 40 years, and when they do its because of Pitch A hell of a reunion Aster stil has no Idea Jack is in love with him, and is very tense about still being VERY attracted to him. And Jack's entire thought process is : I will use this opportunity to seduce you Step one: help the guardians fight Pitch. (Oops, collecting teeth sidetrack, okay well maybe flirt. Oops accidentally started a contest. Oops forgot the fucking coins! Oops woke the dog. Oh hey, i can show Bunny I'm protective. Oops EVERYONE IS NOW ASLEEP?!) Then Sandy is seriously injured and everything turns serious. Not exactly romantic vibes right now. Then the Warren Oh My God Bunny you have the best house ever marry me. Wow eggs, look at your millions of tiny babies. And Sophie, wow Jack gets a glimpse of Paternal Bunny. He's gone. Head over heels. Jack is going to climb this idiot like a tree. No going back, Jack must have this bun for his own. Aster has no idea what's coming. And Aster is trying not to notice how wonderful Jack is with herding eggs or how he studies their paint and talks to them like they're kittens Then he and Bunny take Sophie home together and they stick all these cute eggs around her room And then Jack hears a voice and they follow it, so Bunny is there with him when they confront Pitch and yadda yadda Pitch taunts them with Jack's teeth which would answer ALL their questions but also Pitch now has magical ingredients to control Jack and Bunny is NOT LETTING HIM KEEP THOSE so they chase Pitch through the lair but they get separated and Bunny is back in his Warren without Jack. And he races to the warren to find the others but Easter is ruined and now there's no way to save Jack Except the eggs they left in Sophies room. They rush to protect Sophie, but find Jamie barely clinging to belief. They gather the two up to take to the pole when Pitch attacks. Bunny demands to know where Jack is, and Pitch laughs and say's he's a little broken at the moment. Pitch taunts Bunny that Jack is trapped in a nightmare living his with worst and oldest fear, and guess whose got the starring role! If you were HOPING to have any sort of RELATIONSHIP with the boy, I'm afraid it's fairly well CRUSHED. But Jack knows its a nightmare, because he knows Bunny, and Bunny would never hurt him. So he fights back, reaching for his magic, even though his staff is gone even though the nightmare is so very real and Bunny's spring powers are melting his ice and Bunny is so much STRONGER than him and it hurtshurtshurts its hard to concentrate but he does and he pelts nightmareBunny with a snowball and Bunny looks so dumbfounded that Jack laughs and Bunny is angry and chasing him but now its just like all the times before, now its a GAME and suddenly the nightmare Bunny looks more like the real Bunny and this time when he is caught its because Jack allows it and they tumble down a snowhill. And when they land Bunny is on top but its different, its okay, and Jack smiles and says he's not giving up, he's going to confess and tell him how he really feels. And dream Bunny asks how he really feels and Jack kisses him on the nose and says "thats for the real Bunny to know." Then he wakes up, and the nightmare sand that was smothering him in that terrible dream is gold and the cage is coated in ice. The poor fairies in the cages next to him are shivering but he smiles at them and tells them he'll get them out. He breaks out of his cage and using his new golden nightmare horses flies over to the other cages, unlocking them and helping the fairies down. They all rush to the tooth boxes, desperate to renew memories of the guardians. Jack tells the dreamsand to go to the kids, save as many from Pitch as they can, and it does, bringing dreams to as many children as it can. Soon the streets of Burgess are lined with children, woken from their nightmares by thoughts of the guardians. They see the fight from their windows, from their yards and rooftops. They rush to the city park to help. Jamie's friends rush to save him and his sister from the nightmares, and as they reach him, covering him and Sophie, as soon as the horses hooves touch them they burst into gold. North, feeling renewed tosses his snowglobes and with the yeti and elves streaming out comes Sandy! They fight and they win, the kids, delirious on their victory, start a snowball fight which reminds Aster that Jack is still missing. They chase Pitch into the forest, who runs into Jack at the lake, taking him hostage. Pitch reminds them that there will always be fear, that fear is what keeps niave, trusting, STUPID boys like Jack safe from monsters. Tell me Jack, when you see your once precious Easter Bunny do you feel safe? And Jack backward headbutts him in the face and says "absolutely" And Pitch is furious, he thought for sure the boy would be broken. His nose and mouth are streaming blood, and he crabwalks backwards He sees movement in the shadows and smiles. He can't reach Jack but he can sow doubt in the rabbit. Tell me Jack, if you don't fear him, what are THEY doing here? And the guardians turn to the horses in the shadows. They step forward into the Moon light, and Pitch is agast to see his glorious nightmares are now blue eyed dreamsand unicorns. They rear up and charge after the fleeing Pitch. Jack jokes that they'll "have to deal with THAT eventually." Sandy floats up to him with a squinty eye, then smirks and shakes his head like "what am I going to do with you" Then Bunny is jumphugging Jack, excited and worried and so very happy. He then shoves Jack at arms length and gives him a lookover, "are you hurt? Tell me where you're hurt" And Jack laughs, his heart is so full its acheing and he feels like crying because theyre all safe and says he's not hurt, he's fine, are any of you hurt? North laughs, saying THEY ARE GUARDIANS, this was childsplay. There was not even any real bloodshed. Which Tooth informs is because she forgot her swords at home Now Bunny suddenly gets super awkwards, keeping Jack at a personal bubble distance, which is fine, Jack can wait for the before credits kiss. Bunny suggests they get the anklebiters home before they pass out and noone can find where they live. Jack is wowed, half the town of kids is there. A few are waving from windows and rooftops. After they tuck everyone in, with Bunny and Jack meeting up back in Sophies room Jack finds the last googie neither sibling noticed on Jamies desk next to his drawings of the sleding incident. On it is painted a winter scene with Jamie on his sled, only Jack is flying beside him. Bunny rubs his kneck and admits that he felt that since Jack helped Bunny with Sophie he'd help Jack. It wasn't right, Jack not having believers. Jack starts crying, and Aster is freaking out SHITSHITSHITIFUCKEDUP Then Jack sets the googie back down and grabs Bunny to kiss him HARD And thats how Bunny helped Jamie believe in Jack Frost (Because lowkey roleswitch au If you didn't notice) And North BuRSTS into the room just like he did during the toothhunt, and Abby wakes up AGAIN and comes bolting up the stairs and Bunny taps open a hole Grabs jack and nopes the fuck out of there Bye mate! Jack howls with laughter. North is left with a barking dog and panicking yeti. They open a portal but Abby follows them through and now she's at the pole And chasing the elves, who made her a sweater and adore her and refuse to give her back. She has a doggy door portal.Sophie once went through it. Oops. like narnia but with a dogdoor, the elves sneak the kids through without anyone knowing. the kids basically have free run of the workshop. (The yeti see them but adore them and so don't tell the Guardians) Meanwhile, backing up, Jack and Bunny are safely in the warren. Broken eggs everywhere, Jack is shocked, and turns to Bunny says he's so sorry, its all his fault for being lured by Pitch. Bunny reassures him that they BOTH fell for the trap, and its not like they could let Pitch keep his teeth, speaking of which he pulls them out of his bandolier. He tells Jack Tooth can help him get his memories back. Jack says that would be nice, but it can wait, everything he needs is right here, and everything he wants is in the future. Bunny looks at their joined hands and coughs, pulling back. Apologizing. When Jack asks why, he explains that he knows what type of nightmare Pitch gave him, and he understands if Jack needs space. Jack puts his hands on Asters forearms and says "look at me. Do you know how I was able to break free? Because I knew, I KNEW, you would NEVER hurt me. Then he kisses Bunny's nose, just like in the dream, and says "I love you." And Aster clutches Jack to him and cries.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Vol. 3, Number 3

A little past Valentine’s Day, midway through the winter, we interrupt our regular schedule to present a series of short reviews of albums that have caught our interest in these short, dark anxious days. There’s a posthumous EP from the Thin White Duke, a jangly solo effort from Ought’s Tim Darcy, a study in American primitivism from Joseph Allred, a bit of costume party revelry from Gorilla Mask and a slice of latter day jangle pop from the Courtneys, among others. Contributors this time include Ian Mathers, Bill Meyers, Justin Cober-Lake, Derek Taylor and Jennifer Kelly.  Make a cup of tea, turn the heat up and dig in.   

David Bowie — No Plan EP (Columbia/Sony)

The headline, of course, is that this the last(!) new(!) material from David Bowie before his death, and that’s true as far as it goes. It’s also true that one of these four songs was already released on ★, and the other three were included both in Bowie’s musical Lazarus and twice on the cast recording of the show (once by the case, once on the bonus disc in the versions found here). But whether you take the stance that this release is essential or deeply redundant, it confirms two things: Bowie still had plenty left in the tank when he passed (whether or not these three songs would have found their way to the album he wanted to make next), and his curatorial instincts were still firmly intact. Whatever work the songs here do in the musical, they would have made for an odd fit with the compressed, keening, weird melancholy tracks that make up ★ and would have been the weakest material there (the majestic, keenly felt “Lazarus” excepted, of course).  

That doesn’t make them scraps or afterthoughts, it’s just that they’re more on par with more prosaic material from The Next Day instead. The title track is another in a series of wavering elegies later-period Bowie has been mostly nailing since, let’s say, “Thursday’s Child” in 1999. It’s immediately contrasted with the insistent, grinding guitar of “Killing a Little Time,” a song that is the most conventionally “rock” thing Bowie did in 2016, although the closing “When I Met You” comes close. That last track is mostly notable for being an unusually direct song of love and devotion from Bowie; it’s hard to hear it and not assume it’s about Iman in some part. It’s a lovely note to go out on, and probably more true to Bowie’s existence at the end than the more self-consciously iconic (and tremendously powerful) “I Can’t Give Everything Away;” after all, he was fighting to keep living and working until the end.  

Ian Mathers 

The Few —Fragments of a Luxury Vessel LP (Two Cities Records)

Fragments of a Luxury Vessel by The Few

Some music falls into the cracks, but that’s where The Few finds space to navigate. The Chicago-based trio of guitarist Steve Marquette, bassist Charlie Kirchen and violinist/vocalist Macie Stewart has ties to both inside and outside jazz traditions as well as song-based rock and their acoustic instrumentation invites folk comparisons as well. Marquette’s Bailey-esque crabwalks on “Do You Still?” and stark harmonics on “Variations on ‘The Truth Is Marching In’” confirm his familiarity with no-net improvisation, but even though the music is freely played it doesn’t conform to any idiomatic proscriptions against tonal melody. And while Kirchen cuts some bold, Mingus-like shapes in the foreground of “Foot Fall,” the flamenco-like guitar flourishes and Stewart’s parallel streams of vocalized and long bowed tones put it in a context where dreamlike flow counts more than swing.

Bill Meyer 

Tim Darcy—Saturday Night (Jagjaguwar)

Tim Darcy, the front man from Ought, wields a sharp guitar and a wobbly voice to great effect, channeling the oddball earnestness of Gordon Gano, the woozy pop surrealism of Jeff Magnum. Saturday Night is his first solo album, recorded at around the same time as Ought’s denser Sun Coming Down, but stripped of aura and overtone and guitar effects to reveal a jaunty pop core. (The Ought song that this album most resembles, as others have noted, is “Beautiful Blue Sky.”)  Thus “Tall Glass of Water” rips and struts and slashes with pop-punk bravado, while intimating vulnerability in the tremble of the words. “You Felt Comfort” blares more dissonantly (and it’s this one that reminds you of Neutral Milk Hotel), but around a sweet, heartening tune; it’s a rampage with a fetching smile. The song stretch out and grow weirder after the midway point. The title track slips some abrasive bowing into its disconsolate mix, with Darcy muttering “I wish I’d run away sooner…to save time,” but it sounds to me like he got out at exactly the right moment.

Jennifer Kelly

Gorilla Mask – Iron Lung (Clean Feed)

Gorilla Mask strikes a precarious balance of costume party extroversion and dialed-in intensity on Iron Lung. Theirs is pile-driving, peel-out-on-a-dime music that wastes nothing in the way of quarter given to skeptical neophyte listener or avaricious industry suit. Altoist Peter Van Huffel punches, jabs, ducks and weaves from his reed like a jacked-up cousin to John Zorn, riding the tight, pounding metrics of drummer Rudi Fischerlehner and liquid mercury electric bass lines of Roland Fidezius that often also rely on fuzz pedal and delay. “Before I Die” has the sweaty basement door gig flavor Boston-era Vandermark, a head-bobbing backbeat bolstered by detours into Echoplex dub. “THUMP!” divines memories of the sort of circumscript, drain-circling jams that were the purview of SoCal punk jazz pioneers Bazooka while “Crooked” projects Brötzmann-worthy peals of pathos above a pulsing mallets-driven processional. The German power trio proves better suited to the former context as the fire-stoking title track also beautifully and implacably bears witness, but who’s to fault them for trying to beat their chests outside the box.

Derek Taylor

Joseph Allred—Fire & Earth LP (Scissor Tail Records) 

Fire and Earth by Joseph Allred

There’s more than one mountain to climb in American Primitive guitar territory, and Joseph Allred favors the holy one. Like Robbie Basho, he totes a 12-string guitar, augments his playing with other instruments and some line-in-the-sand singing, and uses his music to convey mystical and nature-dazzled themes. But he’s no copycat. Instead of feverish exaltation and slack-jawed awe, he expresses humility and a more measurable appreciation for his subjects. And some of his recurrent instrumental effects do not come from Basho’s playbook at all; the blurry tremolo effect he employs on “Holy Blue Window” and “A Waltz for Winter” recalls the early work of James Blackshaw. On two of the album’s nine tracks, Allred sets his guitar aside to play harmonium. “Musica Humana” is so closely recorded that you can hear him hum subliminally along with the melody while his feet work the pedals. It feels as intimate as the thoughts of a true nature lover communing with the divine during a long afternoon walk through the woods. Allred lifts his voice just once, on the hymn-like “Useless Air.” His high quaver is not as easy to embrace as his strumming, but the song’s prayerful quality is of a piece with the rest of the album.

Bill Meyer             

The Courtneys – The Courtneys II (Flying Nun)

The Courtneys' aptly named second album has found the proper label, matching the history that the Canadian trio mines for their pop-rock. Flying Nun pillars like the Clean stand as sonic predecessors — there's still a bit of jangle here and a bit of pop and a particular sort of rock that touches on but isn't limited to its late 1980s and early 1990s roots. The group hints at a fuzziness it never quite dips into. At times, particularly in the second half of the album, the Courtneys reach more toward Sonic Youth, but this group never loses a brightness of tone that keeps a pop sound to even its more driving numbers. “Virgo” shows the anxious undercurrent of the band's music and while it hurtles along, it never dips into darker sounds.

That sort of edge keeps the album from leaning too far toward bubblegum. The group writes fantastic melody after melody, a sort of bright punkiness carried by a stream of hooks. “Silver Velvet” is a new teen love anthem, a little goofy and a little resistant, but completely given to its own ends. Like that opener, much of the album is fit to go over well when sung either in a safely grungy club or in a similarly half-cleaned bedroom.

Justin Cober-Lake

Tim Daisy—Red Nation “1”  (Relay Recordings)

Tim Daisy [] Red Nation "1" (relay 018) by red nation

It has been a long time since you could just call Tim Daisy a jazz drummer.

Consider the classically steeped themes he has written and the marimba melodies he has played in the ensemble Vox Arcana, or the radio captures that he releases into the electrified environment of Ken Vandermark’s Made To Break; he’s a fully ledged agent of sonic and aesthetic diversity. Consider also that he helps program Option, an improviser’s salon at Chicago’s Experimental Sound Studio and runs Relay Recordings; Daisy is an unstinting contributor to Chicago creative music scene, which has thrived despite the soul-corrosion and economic stress of 21st century American disaster capitalism.  

Maybe it’s not a total bust to live in these times. In the mid-20th century, it took considerable institutional support for the pioneers of musique concrete to make music that sounds like Red Nation “1.” Daisy was able to make the album in just two days without a single overdub by drumming along with stuck and triggered records and was able to get it from the recording studio to a finished silver CD in just 30 more. Being his own label boss means that his business practices can be as instantaneous as his playing, which synthesizes composition and improvisation into music that is spontaneous, witty and complete. “The Drunken Captain” is anchored by a hard-to-source electronic lurch that vividly evokes the gait of the titular skipper, who miraculously never quite trips over the streams of distorted piano and restlessly searching snare action that crisscrosses his path. And on “Shadows Play” and “Beats for an Owl,” Daisy plays spare and evolving beat patterns around layers of remorselessly rotating sound.

Why red? Daisy isn’t making any sort of political statement, he just likes the color, and sometimes when you’re your own boss you get to do what you like.

Bill Meyer

[fatouseckcreates]

Lettin’ it All Hang Out

  It goes without mention, I’ve neglected the hell out of my little ole blog. And it hasn’t been for lack of things to write about. There’s always things to write about when your brain is a whirlwind of detoured trains of thought. Some I come back to, some i won’t. What brought me back today, was the need to air it all out. A come to Jesus, if you will. This personal year, since my 26th birthday has given me so much to think about, so much to meditate on and a lot of time to strategize and goal set. However, after all the mediation and strategizing, I still find myself wanting to double back to a safe, predictable space. 

Recently, my family and I returned from Carriacou where we held my grandmother’s Stone Feast, a native tradition where two years after the body of the deceased has been laid to rest, the family hosts a fete, for the celebration of life and the headstone is finally erected.  Although I was not responsible for the bulk of the work it was an energetically taxing week with much to do for everyone involved. I’m 100% sure Grandma was proud of us for the way we celebrated her life, but I am TIRED. With just a week left before I leave for Senegal, just thinking about the preparations I have to make for that has me even more worn out. But as important as last week was this isn’t about that. This is about me coming forth and opening up. 

If you’ve read my earlier posts, you know that college was not easy for me (has not, I’m still working on my degree skatey-eight years later). Much of my confusion came from not knowing what I wanted to do in my life, and not feeling like college could help me become the person I wanted to be. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in my life because I was afraid to say so, afraid to be honest with myself, and I didn’t really believe that the life I wanted was a life I could have. I thought, based on all the people around me that I should set more realistic goals, settle for something more down to earth. But after having taught myself a great deal by finally jumping out the window to make my production of The Wedding a reality, I saw just how much of a disservice I’d done myself by thinking small and keeping quiet trying to wait until I had everything figured out. 

So I’ve been making more of an effort to speak up about things, especially concerning my career as an artist, think big, set outlandish goals, and stick to them. But like any of us, old habits die hard. So damn hard. Even after I put saved up my money and dedicated my time towards taking a few classes to continue building the skills I needed to tackle my outlandish goals, I was still finding it hard to stay motivated and keep my momentum in the midst of 3, 4, 5 jobs, and just, life. I put my brain on autopilot. I closed myself off to many things just so I could make my way through the motions holding on, until my big getaway.

Not dancing as much as I wanted to, irregular rehearsals and classes, not having any big projects to look forward to or prepare for I felt like I wanted to get OUT and go far far away from smelly, polluted, overwhelming New York City. I started working on a plan. And though this plan was ever-present in the forefront of my mind for several months I stayed quiet, not wanting to jinx my big breakaway, or have anyone bring it up in small talk, only to have to sadly reveal that my plans, for whatever unforeseen reason, had ultimately been foiled. I know myself. And I know that when there is something I want to do I will do it. I will even forget I said I wanted to do it, but I always come back around! I tend to approach my goals sideways like a cautious crab, rather than head on like some. I would love to be that fearless, but I’m not, so we’re back here. And as i talk about my crabwalk to success I cant help but laugh at how long its taking me to get to the point of this post lol. My bad y’all. 

I’m leaving for Senegal, and I wont be back for a little while. I will be working my butt off on a few things that I’d prefer not to share on a large scale just yet, (y’all know I live for an melodramatic yet understated reveal) but know they are exciting things! While weighing my pros and cons and deciding whether I was being irresponsible and trying to avoid the boredom of adult life or trying out a bit of the fearlessness I usually crabwalk around, there were many times when I did not want to say anything, just because of the inconvenience my absence would pose for a lot of people. I especially felt bad about leaving my dance students, many of whom this would have been my third year teaching. This year was our best yet and after our recital  was so proud of them for working so hard. I felt bad about abandoning my fellow company members who have depended on me to be available for various performances and events. Part of me felt like I was letting people down, something I truly hate to do. Quickly I realised this was the same part of me that likes to make excuses and justifications for why its better if I just forget about all the hard work it takes to move forward in pursuit of any big goal. 

Once i was certain that they would all forgive me for leaving, I quickly became uncertain that they would all forgive me for my abrupt notice. Still, I found it hard as hell to spit it out to the people who will have most to say, my family. One could argue, what is there to be fearful of, since I’ve already lived in Senegal I know what to expect. Yes and no. Last time I went, I was focused solely on dancing, and living a calm, observation-based life. This time I will be working, and gods wiling I will be traveling the country much more, with different goals in mind. But it all ties into my masterplan for global domination, so for that I am very excited. Mark my words I will dance for Aida Samb, you heard it here first! 

And while this particular blog is not about my family trip to Carriacou, I cant help but feel nudged by the return to my grandparents home. When I hear stories of who they were, how they gave back, what they sacrificed and triumphed over to build a life for their families I know that this risk I am about to take is a necessary if i am to continue realizing my truest self. Knowing that I am building on a legacy of fortitude and courage once might have scared me; today it makes me feel safe. I am doing exactly as I am supposed to. When I start to get nervous or anxious I quickly remind myself I have everything I need, and anything I may need in the future will never be a problem to get, if its meant for me to have or to achieve. 

On this day I am feeling, grateful, elated, anticipating all that is to come. New york, until next time. Dakar, whatitdobaybeeeeeee! 

[russellthornton]

How to be Good on Top and Ride Him Like the Sex Goddess You Are

If there’s one thing all girls should learn, it’s how to be good on top. Impressing a man and catching his attention in the bedroom can do a lot.

Obviously, sex isn’t everything. You want to make sure you have a connection outside of the bedroom, too. But what will really make him have eyes for you and only you is how you can please him outside of and in the bedroom. That’s why learning how to be good on top is so important.

It’s not so much about ONLY using your body to make him want to stay with you, but guys are very sexual beings. If you can get on top and rock his world, he’ll want that time and time again.

Sex is really important for fostering a deeper connection in a relationship

You probably know how important sex is in a relationship. Yes, having an emotional connection is just as important but without both, your relationship is basically doomed.

But unlike an emotional connection, sex isn’t something that just clicks without effort. You have to work for it. And that means putting forth effort in the bedroom to impress each other every single time to get you together. [Read: The truth about how important sex is in a relationship revealed]

How to be good on top and blow his mind

If you really want to make your man see you in a bright light, learn how to master the woman-on-top position. It’ll take some work but with the right amount of effort, you’ll be able to blow him away with your skills.

#1 Prepare for the workout. It’s not easy. One of the biggest complaints and a huge reason women don’t typically like going on top is because it’s a workout. You have to work really hard and your legs will definitely get tired.

So prepare for it. Get fit and work on your legs and building up some endurance. Men work hard all the time during sex, why can’t you? Hit the gym and get yourself in shape. Not only will you feel better, but sex on top will also be better. [Read: The fitness guru’s guide to sex]

#2 Take control. One of the sexiest things you can do in this position is be demanding. Have some control. Take your man and turn him over so you can get on top. Hold down his hands so he can’t do anything but sit back and enjoy the ride.

This is an extremely sexy move that’ll also make you being on top seem a hell of a lot better. Even if you’re not that skilled, your attitude and the way you control him will make it feel incredible no matter what.

#3 Choose which way you want to ride. There are so many different positions you can get into while on top. With the guy just lying there, you can basically do anything you want.

What’ll make you better at being on top is when you actually enjoy it. That means you might like facing away from him in reverse cowgirl more than you like riding the standard way.

You can also face away from him while leaning back on your hands so you’re in a sort of crabwalk position. Really, it’s up to you. Figure out what feels best for you and also what he likes the most. But make sure to switch it up every now and then too. [Read: 19 ways to own the cowgirl position and make it hotter]

#4 Change up your speeds. Just like you should change your position every once in a while, you should also work on your speeds. Not all guys like it really fast and others don’t really like it super slow.

The key is variety. If you think he might be getting close – or if he says he is – slow it down. Switch to grinding your hips instead of just going up and down so there isn’t as much friction. When you vary things, it stays exciting.

#5 Lean forward and back. You can get creative, here. Learning how to be good on top also means learning how to adjust yourself in a way that keeps things easy for you and exciting for him.

So lean forward toward him. You can ride him while your bodies are pressed together. You can kiss his neck and nibble his ear while he’s in you and you’re moving up and down. This creates far more sensation and new angles. [Read: How to spice up your sex life in 30 naughty ways]

#6 Don’t forget to use your hands. They’re there for a reason, you know. Unless you’re using them to support yourself, put them to work elsewhere. Your man has balls that could be caressed if you lean back far enough.

You can also just use them on yourself. Give him a show. Since he has such a great visual with you on top, a lot of his stimulation and arousal can come from watching you touch yourself. It’s a win-win, really.

#7 Kegels are your friend. The best thing about being on top is that you have complete control. You can adjust the speed, depth, and even the angle. You can also change up how much pressure he feels by doing Kegels while he’s in you.

I know it sounds a little odd, but it works and he’ll be able to tell. So long as you’re practicing these outside of the bedroom – and you should be – this should be easy. Just bear down on him as you sit down and he’ll feel the sensation. [Read: Real pussy power and how to strengthen your vaginal muscles]

#8 Rotate your hips. You don’t just have to go up and down. As long as you’re not going too far with the rotation of your hips, it’ll be fun for him. It’ll also help stimulate your G-spot too and we all know that when you have a lot of fun, he does too. [Read: 14 sex moves that feel oh so amazing]

#9 Ask what feels best. You want a clear answer here. The best way to get good on top is to just ask him what he likes the most. It’s a simple question, but it’ll have a big impact.

You might think he likes a certain position on top best when really, he likes the opposite. Just ask. You can do this in a sexy way by slipping it in with some dirty talk. He won’t even really know what you’re doing.

#10 Keep going even when you’re tired. If you think about it, guys do an awful lot of work in the bedroom on a regular basis. You getting on top for a few minutes is nothing in comparison to him going to town on you for a half hour.

So even if you get a bit tired, keep going. Switching positions can also help alleviate some tension and help you continue for longer.

[Read: 18 girl on top tips to make sex a lot hotter]

Learning how to be good on top is mostly about getting in shape for it and figuring out which position suits you and your man best. So long as you’re making an effort, he’ll appreciate it.

The post How to be Good on Top and Ride Him Like the Sex Goddess You Are is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

[roamingcandleinthewild]

Slow boat, waterfalls, and bowling. (February 1st-3rd)

Since I have another chance to write while waiting for a train from Ninh Binh to Dong Hoi, I’ll start back up where I left off. The day after I went zip-lining, I got picked up in a minivan outside the hostel. They opened the door to the minivan and there looked to be no seats left. The driver insisted on me getting in, so I squeezed onto a seat in between everybody’s bags piled up and an Iranian man who originally thought he had more room than he actually did. I sat in between him and the bags with absolutely no wiggle room for about 5 hours, until 2 girls got off and there was an empty seat in the front of a bus. The guy sitting next to me moved to the front, and I had enough room to move again. On the bus ride between Chiang Mai and Chiang Kong, we stopped at a White Temple. The temple is completely white on the outside, with little increments of glass and silver bits reflecting in the sun making it look like it was sparkling. When we got to Chiang Kong, in the lobby of the hotel I thought we were staying at, I met Kathi, a girl from Germany, who's such a genuinely nice person, and we hopped on another bus on the way to the hotel we were actually staying at. Once we got settled in, Kathi, Amanda (a girl we met from the States), and I went to meet up with Kathi’s friends who were staying at a hostel a 10 minute walk away. Their hostel was looking over the river which separated Thailand and Laos. Then I met Geordie, from Australia, and Alex from Wales. Geordie is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met, and currently, over a month after meeting him for the first time, he's sitting right next to me as I write this. Alex is also very hilarious, and one of the reasons I had such a good time in Laos. The 3 of them ended up getting separated from their friends, Luke and Brad (from New Zealand), and weren’t sure if they were going to meet up with them again or not. In the morning, we got across the Laos border after about an hour of bussing and waiting in lines, and Alex and Geordie were there, along with Luke and Brad. After meeting them, I ended up staying with Luke and Brad for almost a third of my trip as well, I said bye to Brad yesterday, but hopefully Luke will end up catching up to me when we’re more South in Vietnam. Here's a huge ego boost for them, but those two are some of the absolute coolest people I’ve ever met, and if it weren’t for them I wouldn’t be where I am right now, and I wouldn’t have had some of the best weeks of my life, but that will be in another post. Fortunately, they all ended up being on the same slow boat as us as well even though we all booked it through separate companies. Almost instantly I was getting along with all of them. The first day of the two-day slow boat, we all sat on the ground of the back of the boat and played cards. We attempted to play music, but because the motor was also in the back of the boat, and we all had to yell at each other to speak, only the people sitting with the speaker directly beside them were able to hear it. My back hurt, I couldn’t hear, and this boat ride was about 6 hours long. This would have sucked for most people, but we had so much fun that day that none of that even mattered. I ended up pre-booking a hotel room in the small town we stayed in over night to split up the boat ride. Don’t do that. I paid almost double what the Laos people were offering at the dock, and what everyone else ended up paying. One thing I’ve learned in Southeast Asia is to never plan ahead, because plans will change, and you’ll most likely lose money. But, I did have my own hotel room with my own shower, and it was a queen size bed with a comfortable duvet, so I can’t complain too much. The rest of the people from the boat stayed at a hostel not on the main road of the town. I say main road, but it was pretty much the only road. The whole town was just full of restaurants, hotels/hostels, and convenience stores full of snacks and Laos whiskey. A complete tourist trap. I met back up with everyone a little bit down the street, and they had been picked up by a Lao man who called himself “Little”. Little was the resident weed and opium dealer. When he asked them if they wanted weed and they said no, he then offered them opium. When they said no to the opium, he then just gave them a free bottle of whiskey and led them to his mother’s restaurant. At first, the bottle of whiskey seemed like a generous offer, but after about an hour in this town, we realized a bottle of whiskey is less expensive than a bottle of Sprite. Kathi had also somehow learned enough Lao in one day to have conversations with the local people, and she taught us basic phrases. Because she had a German accent, I believe we were all speaking Lao with a German accent as well. In the morning, the boat was scheduled to leave at 9:30 AM, but we planned to meet at the pier at 8:00 so we could grab some good seats which weren’t directly beside the motor or just sitting the ground. After about 10 minutes of looking around for everyone, I saw Luke come up from up from one of the boats. I went down to the boat and Alex and Brad were saving 2 benches at the front of the boat which faced each other. Geordie, Kathi and Amanda weren’t anywhere to be found, and the boat was quickly filling up. We were worried we wouldn’t be all on the same boat together, so we let the captain know that we were waiting on our friends to join us. At about 8:30, they got down to the boat, but dropped their bags off and ran back to the town to pick up sandwiches they had previously ordered. We ended up leaving at around 9:00. I don't think the captain liked us too much. The second day of the boat ride was just as fun as the first, and because I wasn’t sitting on the floor this time I could enjoy the scenery more. We played more cards, played music we could actually hear, and I caught up on some reading. Our bags were stashed in the bottom of the boat, and they had to take the paneling out to grab our bags when we docked. People were getting off the boat, avoiding the holes, but this poor man, probably around 60 years old, didn’t realize that the floor was open. He fell right in the floor up to his chest, and without missing a beat, Alex says “Watch out, there’s a hole in the floor,” in one of the driest sarcastic voices I have ever heard. Brad, Kathi and I tried so hard to not laugh, but as soon as we made eye contact we burst. I felt absolutely horrible for the guy, don’t get me wrong, but the timing and situation was so comedic it was impossible to keep a straight face. (The guy was ok). For the rest of the time in Luang Prebang when anything obvious would happen, we’d say “Watch out, there’s a hole in the floor.” Once again, in Luang Prebang, I planned ahead too much and ended up staying in a hostel that was full so the rest of the group couldn’t stay there. Amanda ended up booking another hostel and when we tried to meet up with her again,it didn’t work out, so I didn’t see her again until I was in Vang Vieng and Brad ended up seeing her in Hanoi also. That night, the 6 of us, Alex, Geordie, Brad, Luke, Kathi and I, head to the market for dinner. Within two minutes I embraced my lack of self-control and had bought a bracelet and dress. The next day we went to the famous waterfalls, which like any other waterfall, they were absolutely amazing. The walk up to the waterfall included a walk through a bear sanctuary, where they had rescued black bears from bile-extracting farms. The enclosures are quite small, but they’re working on making them larger, and they don’t feel comfortable releasing them into the wild because they would not be able to survive. Right after the sanctuary was the first pool we saw, and once again the water was a beautiful turquoise colour created from the limestone. The main waterfall was the largest waterfall I’ve seen. I have pictures of it and when I show people the pictures I know it doesn’t do them justice, because I always have to point out the people in the picture just to prove to them how big it actually is. We hiked to the top of the waterfall, and I was wearing my hot pink “birkencrocs” (the foam Birkenstocks), so I didn’t have the best grip. At some points on the trail there were some points where I had to hold onto vines to pull myself up and I was holding my 1.5 L water bottle so I couldn’t fully grasp them all. On the way down from the top, I decided it would be a good idea for me to try and crabwalk down the slippery part. That only ended in me slipping more and scratching up my butt. When we got back to the hostel everyone else was staying at, we went to the rooftop and played drinking games from 8:00 until 11:00. In Luang Prebang everything closes at 11:00, hostels, bars, restaurants, etc. Everything except the bowling alley. We were sitting outside the hostel almost ready to go when the guys ran into someone they had met earlier in their trip, because we were standing outside for too long and not being very quiet, the owner of the hostel started to get mad that we weren’t leaving. Alex, who honestly is one of the nicest people I’ve met (just not when he’s had a couple drinks), turns to him and bluntly says “We’re leaving. Khob chai”. (Khob chai means thank you in Lao). Once again, we burst out laughing, but then we left and tried to find the bowling alley. We used our phones to look up where the bowling alley was, and it said it was only 400 meters away, so we decided to walk. When we got to the location the maps took us to, we found out that that bowling alley doesn’t actually exist. The next bowling alley showing up on maps was over a kilometer walk away, but we started to walk in that direction anyways. After about 15 minutes of walking, we decided that we’d take a tuk tuk. We told him “bowling”, and he nodded, so we got in the tuk tuk. There were 6 of us in the tuk tuk, and then Luke stepped on the back. The entire front wheel of the bike in the front lifted off the ground. Once we got our weight evenly distributed, the tuk tuk got going, but because of the weight of all of us it was driving at the speed that we could lightly jog. In fact, Alex got out of it and jogged behind for a bit and jumped back on. Eventually, we got dropped off in front of a large white building with colourful lights flashing on the walls, and we paid the tuk tuk driver and went inside. It was a hotel. I asked the front desk where the bowling was and they all started to laugh at me, as if they drive people here thining its bowling all the time. We tried to find our original driver and get him to drive us to the actual bowling alley, but all of a sudden he couldn’t understand what we were talking about. So, we ended up getting another tuk tuk to agree on a 14,000 kip ride to bowling. Once we were finally at the bowling alley, he charged us 40,000 kip. He insisted that this was the price we actually agreed upon, and since we had finally made it, we just settled and paid him. On the outside of the bowling alley it looked pretty sketchy, but on the inside it was a fully-lit, 20 lane, 10-pin bowling alley packed with almost every traveler I’d seen in Luang Prabang so far. I went up to the bar to see what they had to drink, but once I was up there I saw that they had instant noodles, so that’s what I got. We eventually got a lane for the 6 of us, Luke had left and we had picked up a guy from Ireland on the rooftop. I’ve been bowling many times before, but this was another level of fun. Everyone was either getting gutter balls or strikes. Every time Geordie would mess up, he’d throw his head and arms down and yell “fak” in some sort of screaming noise, and eventually all of us would do it whenever we bowled something we didn’t want to, which was almost every time. Gareth, the Irish guy, ended up kicking all of our asses and said “You know what, I’m pretty f**king pissed right now, but I think that’s the best game of bowling I’ve ever f**king played”. Kathi, Brad and I basically spent the whole night laughing at everyone else, while not bowling very well ourselves. Alex’s bowling skills were something else. He’d basically just throw the ball as high as he could and see what happened. Surprisingly, it somehow worked out for him. On one of his turns he got it in the gutter... in the lane beside us. Because that shot didn’t count on our screen, he still had 2 shots left. He got a gutter ball again. On his 3rd shot, he got all 10 pins down, resulting in a spare. On another one of his shots, he managed to bounce the ball from the right gutter into the left gutter. The whole night was full of us laughing so hard we’d fall to the ground. We left the bowling alley around 2 am, and it was one of the most fun nights I’ve had traveling, still to this day. Once again, this post is super long, and I’m sorry. Currently I am in Ninh Binh, Vietnam waiting for a sleeper train. I’ve almost caught up to where I am in my journal, but not quite. The past month has been one of the best of my life, and I can’t wait to write about it.