#I can post at my leisure

[vvatchword]

Who We Were

Although bruised and dazed, Eleanor didn’t wait for anyone. Their eyes burned on her. Sinclair’s mouth opened—he was going to ask her what had happened—

She squeezed her eyes shut and popped into being at Delta’s side—but he was still running. He flew past her in a flash. She chased him with her mind. He was running the perimeter of the fence, flying across a deer path he walked every day.

She flung out her arm, she reached into his brain, and she clamped down. She didn’t have an intent; nor had she scouted out the lay of his thoughts before she dug her tendrils in. She should have; she knew she should have; she knew better. Some regulatory barrier of his had broken loose, and when she squeezed down, she could feel it snap free entirely. She could feel him hit the ground skidding, even from 300 meters away.

She was at his side in a second. He lay spasming under a tree, kicking in mad circles, hands digging into his scalp as though attempting to bore into his own brain. Calming him was like trying to put a lid on a volcano. The fury inside was directionless, horrified, alien. The minute Delta felt her influence, he screamed, and to her shock, it was in someone else’s voice entirely.

Who the fuck are you? he asked. Where am I? What’s going on?

Eleanor’s mouth fell open, for he mouthed what he was saying at her as though he still had a tongue. He was spitting all over the ground.

Calm down! she said. It’s me, Eleanor!

Get me out of here! he said. Oh my god, they’re coming! Shit! Shit!

A far-off crunching, crackling sound, and someone calling out: the Sisters and their families were entering the woods.

He curled into a ball, dug his toes into the loam. He had writhed so violently that his shirt and swimming shorts had twisted half-off. He no longer made any sound, but there was ungodly screaming inside of him—a mind-boggling despair, an all-consuming self-loathing.

“Daddy!” Eleanor said. “Calm down! You’re safe! I’m here!”

I hate you! he said. I hate you! I hate you!

His jaw was moving, his lips were shaping sounds, but all that came out of his mouth were whining, moaning noises pitching up and down. Eleanor stared down in utter horror. His face wasn’t only expressive—it was someone else’s. Delta had never looked like this. Eleanor released him.

To her relief, he stayed there, rocking back and forth. He was still making sounds as though he could speak, and beat his head into the earth over and over. The other Big Sisters appeared beside her.

“What’s going on?” Masha asked.

Delta froze in place, trembling violently. Fuck! Fuck! Shit!

Daddy, please! Eleanor said. Don’t talk like that!

Fuck you! Delta spun in a circle, burying his head in his armpit. Tell them I’m sleeping!

Eleanor started crying.

“What did you do?” Cecilia whispered.

“Nothing!” Eleanor said. “Daddy had a memory and I… I didn’t mean to but he… I… he remembered his past and then he…”

Stop talking! Delta said. Stop talking! Give me the fucking Heal-All already! Jesus-fucking-Christ! Jesus-fucking-fuck!

“Daddy, please!” Eleanor said. “We’re not in Rapture anymore!”

Then tell Sinclair I want it! he said. Tell him I need it! He’ll say I can have it!

“Oh!” Cecilia said, eyes brightening. She popped away.

One of the littlest kids found them first. When he saw the girls gathered around Delta, he ran off, shouting: “Mr. B is hurt! Mr. B fell down!”

The next second, Cecilia was running up the path with Sinclair thrown under her arm. He started kicking the minute he realized there was an audience.

“That’s all right! That’s all right!” he said. “Thank you, I can still walk. I can still… good lord, Sissy, it’s a limp, not a missing limb. John! John, what are you doing?”

Delta hissed. Stuttering bestial nonsense poured out of his mouth.

Tell him I want the Heal-All and he can fuck off!

Eleanor and the Sisters looked up at Sinclair miserably. Cecilia took his arm and relayed the message. For a moment, Sinclair stood utterly still. Horror flickered across his face. Then the look was gone, replaced by a slow, spreading smile.

“That’s John, all right,” he said, and limped up the path. “John, it’s me, August.”

Delta snarled and spat. The earth was dark with blood and tears and spit and sweat. He’d kicked up fallen leaves and foliage into a circle. His shorts were twisted into a coil over his thighs.

Get me the fucking Heal-All already! he said. I’m dying!

Cecilia kept her hand pinched on Sinclair’s, her eyes flickering with light.

“I can’t get you any Heal-All, John,” Sinclair said, kneeling down with a grunt. “You can get better without it now. Did you know that?”

Don’t talk to me like I don’t fucking know! Delta bared his teeth like a wild animal in a trap. You did this to me! Not me, you! You!

Sinclair took a deep breath. “Yes. I did. But I’m going to try and make it easier on you from now on. You don’t have to fight anymore. I got you back from Fontaine.”

The shuddering stopped. When it returned, it was less violent. Delta blinked up at Sinclair.

You’re serious?

“I’m serious. Not only did I get you back from Fontaine, I got you right back up to the surface, just like you wanted. See?” He dug his fingers into the loose earth, raised it, let it trickle through his fingers.

Oh. Delta watched the dirt crumble. I’m still not fucking you.

All of the Big Sisters flinched. Eleanor’s jaw dropped.

“That’s just fine, John. That’s just fine.” Sinclair slapped him on the shoulder and slumped against the tree beside him. “You know what, you taught me something important.”

I want Heal-All, Delta said.

“There’s no Heal-All on the surface, John.” Sinclair breathed out and dug his cane into the soil, relaxing the heel of his hand against it. A third Delta’s size, and he was completely relaxed. It was like watching a person take a siesta by a grizzly bear.

Delta watched him suspiciously, eye flicking from his cane to his hand to his face.

Something’s wrong in my mouth.

“Oh, never mind that. Think on this: you’re free,” Sinclair said. “You can do anything you want. You know, there’s a pond over there, and a barbecue, and lots of good folks who love you. You like kielbasa? Coleslaw?”

I have a headache. Why is it so hard to talk?

“Oh, you just took a bad spill, is all,” Sinclair said, pulling out a carton of cigarettes. “How's about a cigarette?”

Gus, there’s something wrong with my tongue.

Sinclair flipped a cigarette out and jammed it against Delta’s lips until he opened up.

Jesus! Don’t do that! You’re gonna break it!

“Then open up faster.” Sinclair cleared his throat. “Say, ladies—if some of you will assure the others that all is well and we’re just getting Mr. Barton here through a bad headache… ah, do stress the need for a little silence hereabouts.”

Delta’s wild eye followed the five girls who raced off into the trees. It flicked back to Sinclair as he brought out a lighter. The Big Sisters were pale with horror all around them. Delta didn’t seem to see them. Eleanor squelched the urge to reach in and see what he saw. She could feel him radiating an intense confusion.

“Real tobacco all the time, John,” Sinclair said, lighting him up. “Every day, whenever you want it.”

Thank Christ. I hate that seaweed shit.

Eleanor had seen Delta smoke a hundred times. She’d never seen him hold his wrist like that, balancing the cigarette on the end of his finger. He always had the cigarette clamped down like he was afraid it would blow away.

“What happened to your clothes?” Sinclair asked. “Do you need help?”

Delta glanced down.

Fuck, he said.

With stiff hands, he yanked his shorts up and his shirt down.

“I missed your constant swearing,” Sinclair said. “But the girls might not like it. You have a lot of girls, by the way. Hell of a father.”

What? Delta’s voice grew horrified. What are you talking about?

“Nothing you don’t already know.” Sinclair lit his own cigarette. “You know, the new you is a lot more polite and helpful. You should start your own handyman business.”

Gus, what the fuck is going on?

Delta’s hand came up as though he were thinking about signing something. Then he caught himself and dropped it again.

Something’s wrong, Delta said.

“No, it only feels wrong,” Sinclair said. “You’re just having a nightmare right now, that’s all. You’re going to wake up feeling fine.”

You mean I had another attack?

“Right! Just an attack.”

Well, fuck.

“But you know, you haven’t had one of those in a long ol’ time, so that means you’re getting better and better and better.”

Oh, thank Christ. I don’t remember what just happened, though. I mean, I thought I saw Tate. It was like I was there.

“Oh, Tate’s old news, honey. Long dead.”

No shit! Couldn’t happen to a nicer gal.

Sinclair started laughing uproariously. He slapped his knee and groped in a pocket for his handkerchief.

It wasn’t that funny.

“Oh, I just didn’t expect it, that’s all. Besides, I just like hearing you talk.” Sinclair wiped at his eyes.

Yeah, I’m still not fucking you. Wait, we were looking for medicine, right? Or was it the shrink?

He was starting to sign every other word, although it was half-baked, and mostly into the ground.

“We just saw the shrink. She wasn’t the right fit for you, honey.”

I don’t know. I kinda liked her.

“Don’t worry about it. We had a whole conversation about that just last night. It was nothing personal, as I recall… but don’t let me bore you with the details. You’ll remember it in a second.”

Right. Right.

Delta’s full-body shudder had sunk off to a low-key shiver that ran down to his hands. He had stopped trying to say words out loud.

“You need my hankie right now something awful, son.” Sinclair held it out, shook it.

Delta felt under his nose, drew his shivering fingers away. They glistened with blood.

What the hell did I do?

“You ran into a wall.”

Jesus Christ.

Delta took the hankie and pressed it under his nose. It took him several tries. His grip was unsteady, his wrist stiff, and he didn’t seem to have an idea of where his body was in space. He pressed it against his cheek and his ear a couple of times.

Sinclair smiled. “Well, don’t worry about it. Just clean up. You’re doing just fine.”

I’m covered with blood, but sure.

Sinclair’s eyes popped and he laughed once. “Hell, it’s good hearing you like this.” He looked up at Cecilia. “Does he often talk like this when I can’t hear him?”

Cecilia shook her head no.

Who’s that? Delta asked.

“That’s Cecilia. She helps me take care of you. She thinks you’re swell.”

Delta squinted at her. Flushing red, Cecilia squirmed behind Sinclair.

She’s young for a nurse, he said. They hiring out of grade school now?

Without warning, Sinclair laughed again. He looked absolutely smitten.

“The squint!” Sinclair said. “Look, girls, that’s the old John. Oh, I thought for sure he was gone.”

Eleanor could feel their dismay. Nobody liked old John. Utterly ignorant of his own failure, Delta swung 'round to look at the gaping faces around him like he was seeing them for the first time. He lingered on Eleanor’s face. His mouth fell open a little. He had forgotten the handkerchief; it hung limply over his fingers.

I know you.

“You do!” said Sinclair. “You know her! What’s her name?”

I… Delta pressed the handkerchief back against his mouth. I can’t remember.

The shudder was starting again in his shoulders. His eyes unfocused, staring off into space.

“Oh, it’s all right. You’ll remember in a second. Look, the long and the short of it is that you don’t have to worry about a damn thing right now. You’re actually in a great place. Would you believe it?” Sinclair asked.

Would I believe it? Delta repeated. He sounded robotic.

“You’re on the surface, right where you always wanted to be. There’s a big group of people here, and all of them adore you. The sun’s setting right now and you can watch it go down. There’s a big rack of ribs with your name on it. I got iced tea in the fridge. Tomorrow morning, I am personally gonna make sure you get a big stack of biscuits and gravy.”

Delta’s body had begun to relax, one taut muscle at a time. The shoulders slowly lowered. The hips sank to the earth. The knees stretched out. One of Delta’s enormous arms flopped to the earth, as broad across as Sinclair’s shoulders; with his other hand, he took out his cigarette and blew a lazy smoke ring.

“Iced tea,” Delta signed. He turned his glazed eyes to Sinclair’s. Where’s the iced tea? My head hurts. I need Heal-All.

He had begun to sign in earnest—up in the air, toward Sinclair, complete with proper facial expressions. Eleanor could feel the horrible stranger sinking back into the darkness.

Sinclair laughed. “I can get you some aspirin. How’s about some aspirin, John?”

Eleanor’s lips pinched together. Don’t call him that.

She didn’t dare say it.

“Aspirin sounds good,” Delta signed. He set the cigarette back in his mouth and slowly lifted to his feet. “I feel bad. My head hurts. My throat hurts, too.”

“Nothin’ a good night’s rest won’t fix.”

Delta took the cigarette out of his mouth. He clenched it like it was going to blow away. His whole body was shaking.

“Sleep sounds good,” he signed. “I’m tired.”

“You’ll want to eat something first.”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot.” Delta wobbled in a circle. “Eleanor! There you are! Where are the floats?”

“I… I left them in the garage,” Eleanor said.

“Well, you’d better go get them, then, shouldn’t you?” Sinclair said, stabbing his cane into the ground. “John, honey, help me up. I’m a mess in my old age.”

“You’re not old,” Delta said, throwing his arm under Sinclair’s. “What happened? I don’t remember walking out here.”

“You got a bad headache and had to sit down. Don’t worry, we were with you the whole time.”

“Good.” Delta blew out a stream of smoke and shook his head. “I feel bad. I want aspirin.”

“We’re headed straight there,” Sinclair said. “Aspirin, ribs, and a big glass of ice-cold tea: just what the doctor ordered.”

~*~*~*~

Something was definitely wrong with Delta. He staggered like he was drunk. He couldn’t feed himself; he slopped most of his food on his chest. Eleanor quickly shuffled him into the kitchen to finish his meal out of the sight of the husbands and boyfriends, who had begun eying him in ways she didn’t like. He took a handful of aspirin—she measured it out carefully—and then shuffled off to his bathroom to take a shower. He could not undress without toppling over. When she trembled under his weight, she took a deep breath and cast out a thought.

Sinclair, she thought. Help me, please. We’re in the shower.

Sinclair appeared, right on cue, acting as though he’d simply walked by and happened to notice them. He bowed to Eleanor as she shut the door.

“Why, I just noticed you two seemed to be having some trouble!” he said.

Together, they took turns propping him up and making sure he was clean from head to toe. Soon enough, Delta hobbled out, wrapped in his bathrobe, one hand on Sinclair’s shoulder and the other on Eleanor’s. Both Eleanor and Sinclair were soaked through.

“Do you want to put him to bed, or shall I help?” Sinclair asked.

“I can do it,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Just call if you need anything,” he said, winking, and strolled off.

While Delta didn’t seem angry anymore, he also didn’t seem terribly concerned about anything. He didn’t ask about the other Sisters, he didn’t seem concerned about the floats anymore, and he started signing only single words. When Eleanor dropped into his brain to see how it was faring, her heart sank. It was like he had reverted to the Delta of two months prior, the Delta who couldn’t shave himself. What she had seen as a brightening of his intellect had been the return of some sense of self, and now that self had retreated into the dark.

Once he was safely tucked in, Eleanor came out again. Fireflies sparked in the woods outside, and peepers and crickets had begun cheeping in the trees. The sky was sprinkled with stars. The bonfire had been lit. Everyone was bunched around it, laughing and roasting marshmallows.

Everyone except for Sinclair, who sat on the swing, rocking back and forth with little kicks.

“How’s chief doin’?” he asked.

“He’s… he’s not good,” Eleanor said in a tiny voice.

Sinclair sighed and threw his head back.

“I didn’t do anything,” Eleanor snapped.

“I’m not tryin’ to imply a damn thing here, darlin’,” he said. “I just care about that boy, that’s all.”

“Was that really what he’s like?” Eleanor asked.

“That was him from a bad place.” Sinclair stopped swinging. “From Fontaine’s labs. Early on.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Then how’d it start?”

“The light outside… it’s like the light grew dim, and a little green… and he saw a lady in the darkness. She had Hypnotize, I think.”

“That’d be Ava Tate.” Sinclair took a deep drag of his cigarette.

“You were there,” Eleanor said. She folded her hands into fists.

“Yes, I was. I got him out of there safe and sound, in fact.” Sinclair smiled grimly. “Believe it or not, I have never wanted to hurt the man.”

“He was so different,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t realize he was so… so…”

“Filthy?” Sinclair laughed. “He was a sailor, honey. He swore all the damn time. He had a cute girl on his arm every ten seconds. The man was a sexpot.”

Eleanor shuddered.

“He was a fully-fledged man long before you were born, honey,” Sinclair said gently. “To make him this way, they had to clip his wings. Hell. They had to take them straight off. He was only ever meant to play second fiddle to you.”

“I didn’t like him,” she said in a small voice.

“Mmm. Yeah.” Sinclair leaned down, set his chin on his hands. “That was him as a splicer, hun. Full madness. Cancer probably set in around the same time. Of course you didn’t like him. Nobody likes splicers.”

There was something in the way he said it that made her feel guilty. He was frowning. His expression was unreadable in the unsteady dark.

“If we fix him,” Eleanor said, “if we revert him, will he just be… just like that? He’ll start screaming and swearing and fighting and…”

“I don’t know. We know for sure what will happen if we don’t try, and it’ll be all of that and more.” Sinclair smiled grimly into the fire.

Eleanor sank to the porch floor, folding her dress beneath her. Sinclair shifted. When she looked up, he was sliding to the other side of the swing and slapping the seat next to him.

Grudgingly, she lifted to her feet and settled on the far end, her knees pressed together.

“It’s hard, loving someone when they’re this way,” Sinclair said. “And I’ve got to bear the responsibility of it. I let my pride speak for me. When John rejected me there at the end, well. I just let my pride take me all the way to the bank.”

“And people like me didn’t matter at all,” Eleanor said.

“It wasn’t a question of mattering. It was a question of accepting what kind of world we lived in,” Sinclair said.

“I was a child,” Eleanor said.

“I’m not saying it was right. I’m saying I believed in a world where human beings pay the piper, and sometimes that human being was a child. I didn’t much believe in luck, and I didn’t much care about the power of an environment or society. Figured people could make something of themselves if they’d only try, even kids. See, people like me…” Sinclair paused, licked his lips. “‘Nature, red of tooth and claw.’ You know the line? Well. I figured we were living it. Human beings are part of nature, too, you know. Let the child learn to survive, I thought. Then we’ve made something of him.”

“That’s not how nature works,” Eleanor said. “That’s never been how nature works. It’s complementary. It’s full of teamwork. Individuals would be nothing without other individuals. They even evolve in ways that mean that they don’t have to compete with each other. You can see it all around you.”

Sinclair nodded, smiling at her. Her jaw snapped shut. She felt frightened, frozen, blank: she had been about to repeat her mother verbatim.

“No, no, don’t stop. You’re right,” he said. “Nature is so much more than that. But I made a mistake. It’s the mistake that a layman makes, eyeballing some complex subject and assuming he can get the idea of it through summaries. Except the summaries I was reading weren’t by biologists or sociologists. They were by political scientists and lawyers seeing what they wanted to see. There I was, thinkin’ I was so smart, being taken as a fool, going for what made me felt better instead of what was true.” He smiled up at her. It seemed honest enough. “You are the right person to take this to, you know. I’m sure you got to read some of my own philosophy before taking it apart.”

“Yes.” She looked down at her hands, lacing her fingers together. “I read some of your essays when I was 12.”

“Oh, you poor thing.”

“I hated you so much,” she said softly. “I blamed you for why I was… this way.”

“You were right to.”

“Why don’t you care that I hate you?” she asked. “Even when the other girls hated you, you didn’t seem to care. You don’t seem to care about anything.”

She stopped herself before she went on: I want you to care about something because caring is human, and you don’t feel like one.

“Darlin’, I’ve been hated my whole life. What’s new?” he asked. “You can spend your time beating yourself up, or you can go make things better every way you know how. Was I a monster? Oh, darling, I was. I made monsters of other people, too, all the way down to the man I loved the most. I get to go to bed tonight with an image of him reliving some of the worst pain of his life. That’s a great deal worse than hate, I think. Imagine seeing Jacob Marley every night of your life, not just at Christmas—and his misery is all your fault. You know there’s no great hereafter—you’re stuck with what you’ve done—you’re stuck with who you were.”

The fire was leaping up, its outermost flickerings green like witchfire. Eleanor couldn’t say anything at first. Sinclair let the silence sit. She twined her fingers together.

“I think I made it worse,” she said softly. “I was asking him why he liked you and I was angry he wouldn’t change his mind. I wonder if it… I wonder…”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Sinclair said. “You’re trying to do the right thing. No reason to think the leopard’ll change his spots.”

“Why did you, then?” she asked. “What changed?”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Rapture fell apart. And eventually the only places money mattered were the vending machines. And when the vending machines stopped working, well!

“Point being, without a society, without people, Rapture didn’t matter anymore. And I think it’s when you start connecting dots: that I can only have what I have because of other people, one way or another. I could only have a Rapture with clean, sweet air because of a woman halfway across the city who grows trees underwater—that’s what she knows how to do best, and nobody else can do it, and when she dies, everything dies with her. I could only have a clean office because someone came in with a dustpan, and they could only afford to clean it if there was a life worth returning to somewhere else. A human being who didn’t feel like their life was worth living went and shot themselves full of ADAM and then I had a brand new splicer ranting and raving in the hallway and a waste-bin spilling over. If the people who keep your world from falling apart don’t feel like it’s worth it anymore, that’s it. It’s the end.

“And humans are so much more than what they do. They inhabit more than a home—they inhabit their bodies, you understand? And what’s so funny about that is that I already believed a man was limited to his body. Hell, most of the reason I came to Rapture was because I was being forced by society to ignore what my own body preferred in general.”

Eleanor glanced up sharply. He was looking her straight in the face. He kept talking, unblinking.

“Then I started taking other people’s bodies away from them.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette and flicked it down into the ashtray beside him. “That right there, honey? That’s not philosophy. I could talk myself into thinking I was a good man all day long, but human beings need their bodies, they deserve the time they have in them, and they need the freedom to take those bodies where and when they desire. I had no right to warp them into tools of my own, even if they had signed a dotted line somewhere.”

“You mean you thought people signed up to be lab experiments?” she asked. “Why the hell would you ever think something like that?”

“Figured they knew the philosophy, same as me, and what it meant to fail. That’s all.” Sinclair stretched back, popped his arms. “Thanks for letting me talk this out, by the by. It’s not conversation you can have with just anybody.”

“If we can bring… John back,” Eleanor said, her voice growing smaller and smaller, “he’s going to hate us, isn’t he?”

“Well, he’ll hate me,” Sinclair said. “He won’t hate you. If he’s able to remember that you two met in the city, he might even stick around.” He took a deep breath. “I’m worried about only one thing. See, he didn’t try to solve problems—he tried to leave them. He ran from every romance he ever started. I’m concerned he’ll get enough brain cells to mash together to realize what’s happening to him and then he’ll try to sprint off somewhere before he’s well enough.”

“He’d leave us,” she said softly.

“Don’t make my mistake, honey,” Sinclair said softly. “You have to be ready to let him go. He’s not yours and he’s not mine. He’s his. If I’d done what was right, I’d have sent him topside the first minute he started getting jumpy. Then, at least, he would have been spared this—this half-life. I couldn’t solve his problems. Neither can you. There’s a point where he has to deal with himself. That said…” Sinclair drew out another cigarette. “I think he’d think the world of you. You’re a hell of a woman, Eleanor Lamb. You came through a hell of your own. You overcame someone who swore she loved you, and probably thought she loved you, and you were able to see what love really was. Hell, for that matter, I’m proud of John. You’re probably the first problem he ever solved—ah, if you’ll pardon the phrasing.”

“He had to help me,” she said. “He was going to die.”

“He didn’t have to at the end,” Sinclair said. “As he didn’t have to save me. I wonder what he was thinking. I don’t think that I’ll ever know. I think when a man is made to kill, the way he had been made, there’s something meaningful about refusing to. And maybe that’s enough, and I’m fine if that’s all it is.” He shrugged. “At least I had him for a while. Of course, that’s easy to say, after a certain space of time.”

He glanced over at her, and it seemed as though something meaningful was glittering behind those eyes. She thought she might know what it meant, and she hated it.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[blamemma]

daniel ricciardo prepares to get into his car ahead of the barcelona gp featuring a cheeky flirt with one of his engineers | 📹

[kindahoping4forever]

Calum @ The 5SOS Show Tour LA - 14 September 2023

[monkesupreme]

I will always be petty and annoying about this- to the person who tagged my bat/cat art as a marvel character i am completely unfamiliar with, and said ‘this is [insert character]. To me.’ I think u are wrong. It is not that character; its Two characters in fact, and they are in the image if u look close enough. Its not ur blorbo, its my blorbos. Hold my hand as i walk u to the post i linked in that same exact post so u can take That one and blorbo post there. Thats what i did- thats why i drew the comic .

[svtskneecaps]

so what i'm putting together from osmosis and the wonderful livebloggers and the incredible arkanis english updates account is something like this

Prefeito Jota: Hello, I'd like to hire you to investigate what happened in my city/island(?)!

Bagi, who was previously "invited" to a mysterious island/city by its elected official, subsequently trapped on the mysterious island/city, investigated the deep mysterious history of the island/city, came to no conclusions, found her brother after years of searching, was separated once again from her brother, gained and lost an adopted daughter (possibly to being kidnapped by the island government, which was evil), gained and lost a demon fiancée (possibly to being dragged back to hell, so there's no way to find her), gained and lost a close demon friend to dubious circumstance (did he die for his children? is he with skeppy in the gas station?), and has had an unknown amount of time to process and/or suppress all of this: Sure! :D

[screwpinecaprice]

Hey, do you remember that one AU you made where Steven was a Diamond and he used Connie's remains to make another diamond and he grew attached to- I think her name was Bluebell? but he didn't want to show it but was really bad at it?

Yeah what happened to that?

Oh the Distant Future AU! To be completely honest, it's a case of procrastinating so much nothing is actually made. 😅😅😅 (Which is wild to say considering it's been more than 3 years now. 😬)

It's constantly at the back of my mind though, there are bits of scenarios that I daydream of about the story, and I still like it enough to not give up on it completely. I just never actually go through making it leave my head and put in something for some reason. 😬

Oh gosh, I bet I'll draw Pink/Steven a little differently now if I do it digitally. Looking at my old drawings of him makes me cringe a little. 😵

[symbologic]

Recently saw a discussion on Twitter about why Skypiea gets more hate in the West than in the East

The easy answer is: Blame dudebros and powerscalers who care more about fights than about story (to which they will argue arcs like Impel Down and Marineford were FULL of story), or privileged people feeling uncomfy about the anti-colonialist themes (even though, let's be real, those themes are probably lost on the average Western reader :/)

But Skypiea hate in the West wasn't always a thing. At the time it was being released, most English-speaking fans who were keeping up with OP scanlations and K-F fansubs genuinely enjoyed it.

I honestly think part of the Skypiea hate has to do with a trend we've seen over the past decade, where Western audiences are so, so quick to label certain story elements as "filler" without considering their thematic importance and how it ties into the story the author wants to tell.

Basically, Western audiences have become obsessed with hyper-optimized, fast-paced storytelling that leaves little room to breathe

If the people and politics of an arc are beyond the scope or interest of the story's main antagonists, it's suddenly dismissed as filler that detracts from "more important" things

This attitude is not limited to One Piece alone.

[binders-and-beanies]

I hate rich people and no I’m not just talking about billionaires

[ishouldsleepbut]

IMPORTANT: HERE is a linktree to all the websites you can you use to oppose KOSA and all the other bad internet bills. and here is a KOSA masterpost with more information on the bill itself. please fill out the surveys, sign the petitions and resist KOSA as much as you can. we cannot let this bill pass and take away vital resources from those who need them. thank you.

(edit: it's back again. make sure to call your reps in the house of representatives. we cannot have this passing.)

hi, how are you? welcome to my blog! i'm veero (or teo. see below the cut!).

i mostly reblog fandom stuff and anything that i think is cool

once in a millennia I post art and talk

important stuff:

- names: either veero or teo (i'm trying something out)

- i use they/he pronouns (pronouns page here)

- i'm a minor, mexican/filipino american, pansexual, and nonbinary

- i'm an intp (do with that what you will)

my fandoms are…

★spiderverse ★marvel ★pjo ★the osemanverse ★greek mythology ★the hunger games ★epic the musical ★tangled the series ★art in general

DNI (i will block you immediately)

special note: if you are transphobic or aphobic in any way, shape or form, get the fuck off my blog. unfollow and block me or i will do it for you.

another note: if you are a zionist in any way, shape, or form, also get the fuck off my blog. i don't like you, i don't want you here.

∅ racists, xenophobes, etc

∅ homophobes, transphobes, aphobes, etc

∅ terfs

∅ zionists

∅ anti-xenopronouns, anti-neopronouns, etc

∅ nswf/18+ blogs

my tags:

#veero rambles → my thoughts and occasional rants

#moots patoots → posts involving my wonderful mutuals (love y'all <3)

#veero's art -> barely tag under this but surprise! sometimes, i post art

#veero vents -> for the not fun days (trigger warnings for self harm and suicidal ideation)

i am indeed human so if i mess up in any way, please to correct me

feel free to interact or send asks but just know that i might not respond (sorry about that)

header taken by me

icon found here

[jensownzoo]

Picked up five spent mums frim the dumpsters on the walk back from the library yesterday.

They're getting a drink of water in the pic. I got them trimmed up to remove the spent blooms this morning and planted them in my raised beds to overwinter (I'll dump some straw on them when it gets cold).

From past experience, about half of them will survive the winter and once they've greened up, I can dig them up and move them into a more permanent bed. Like this one from last year:

Which is leggy as hell because I forgot to prune it back to shape it at the beginning of summer. I can usually get a few years out of a mum. And doing it this way is absolutely free! You just don't get to pick the color. Which, I mean, that's probably close to $100 of mums I brought back so.

I do want to get my hands on some of those purple asters though, and I think I'm going to have to actually buy them. In the meantime I'm encouraging the wild white asters to take hold in the side yard--the bees cover them this time of year. I got two little sprigs going now, but I'm stalking this alley plant to gather more seeds when it's spent:

There were at least 20 bees on it and that was a low number from usual.

[starlit-eudemonia]

me wanting to sort so many things in my life

[bonemeal12]

recently I've been taking a bunch of speed reading tests (competition w/ my friends) and I never realized the whole thing ab speed reading not sticking was like. real. I thought it was just like. a learning differences analogy in Impulse (1995).

[blujayonthewing]

[discussing flipping my kayak and falling in a river]

brother: at least with the paint palettes, like, it's water soluble, it'll rinse out but you can just refill it, but with a sketchbook the whole thing's ruined

me, currently has easily fifty dollars' worth of professional grade paint in my palettes:

[dlnqnt]

like i'm just saying if an employer uses discord instead of slack or just plain ol' email get tf out of there.......that's a theft of joy

[titsthedamnseason]

fuck it i want to reread the gillow books so fucking bad

[anhonestdaysworkcomic]

just finished fully reading one of my reference books. Just bought three more