#There are often solitary days which continue to months

[fictionalcharactersownmyheart]

Light of the Flame

Touya x f!reader

‘We can’t know each other anymore, Touya. I’m a pro-hero now.’

Those words hit him like a punch to the gut. A pro-hero. Of course you were. Because you were perfect and good and everything he’d never be.

After waking up for the first time since that night at Sekoto Peak, Touya thought he would spend the rest of his years in solitude. He had no idea how wrong his prediction would be.

contains: strangers to friends to enemies to lovers, yes wild I know, slow burn, canon-typical violence, will follow the canon for the most part, hawks shows up in later chapters, fluff and angst

note: This fic begins with Touya and the reader at 16, though it'll soon get to them when they're older. I’ve always wondered how Touya lived during those years when he was on his own, before joining the League, which inspired this. I’ve written more chapters on AO3 already, but I’ve decided to put the first chapter here. Not sure if I’ll continue posting this one to tumblr, so if you’re interested pls do keep reading there! Link is at the bottom.

Chapter 1 - A Convenient Arrangement

When Touya was thirteen, he thought he’d died.

He woke up three years later to blinding lights and the sickeningly colorful walls of a nursery in a body he couldn’t recognize. Older, taller, and scarred.

The strange people he woke up to told him to stay, but Touya doesn’t do what people want. The only person whose words carry any weight is his father. He’d go back home, his father will welcome him back, and he’d be trained by him as before. And… Touya would make things right. He’d go to his family, apologize, and everything would be good again.

That fantasy shatters when he discovers the same cold, oppressive house. Unchanged. Through a crack in a doorway, Touya sees his replacement: a boy in familiar poses, fists clenched, face set in a look of raw determination. He sees his father, eyes angry and proud, training his new project without hesitation. There was no pause for the son he had lost. Did his death mean so little to them? That’s how fast they forget?

Replaced and forgotten, Touya clenches his fists and leaves the house with a rage simmering like embers reigniting into flame. With nothing to his name, he’d nicked a few items from a convenience store and made an abandoned building not far from the city his home. It would have to do.

He steals a laptop to entertain the mind. He finds a mattress in the abandoned building, dirty and decaying, but it was no worse than returning to the house he grew up in.

He spends hours - days, weeks - watching videos of Endeavor, learning his techniques. In that way, he was still being trained by him. Videos of people praising Endeavor fills his heart with endless rage, and it’s enough to drive him to wake up the next morning.

Touya quickly accepts that this would be his life for the years to come. It'd be a life of solitude, but his chance at a normal life died three years ago at Sekoto. He would be better alone. He’d train, and swore to eventually expose his father. Touya would often envision the confrontation - his father’s face twisting in disbelief as he laid bare the truth. He envisions a face of regret, of pain, and sometimes he envisions his father in awe of how far his quirk had come. Though he never envisions the latter without pure, unbridled hurt accompanying his father’s expression.

As he sits in the corner of the room lost in these thoughts, a month into his solitary routine, a sound breaks through the silence.

Footsteps echo through the building.

Touya tenses. The sound ignites panic in his chest, but he quickly shakes it off. Whatever. He’d burn his way through, as usual. He stays silent, listening attentively. There's only one person, it seems. The footsteps become louder. He prepares to see some criminal - who else would enter an abandoned building? But that's nothing he can't handle-

A girl his age walks in, adorning sportswear. You.

He observes you quietly, his body relaxing all at once but his mind still on guard. You don’t notice him and put your bag down, sighing. The stress of school has been catching up to you, so you regrettably haven't been able to return to this building in a while.

As you turn you see a white haired boy - wearing a black jacket, loose jeans and slouched in the corner of the room - and let out a startled yelp, jumping slightly.

"Oh my god! Holy shit- sorry, I’ve never seen somebody else here before-"

"Who the fuck are you?" Touya snaps, his defenses rising again. He was curious at first, but now all he registers you as is a nuisance.

Touya doesn’t know how to deal with you. This building doesn’t belong to him. Also, the most he’s ever done was burn down that nursery and steal. Can he really threaten some girl away? Or worse?

You freeze for a moment, taken aback by his tone. You give him your name. "I’m… I’m usually here to train. I haven’t seen you before." You take note of the light pink burn marks on his face.

"Well, I haven’t seen you, and I’ve been here for a month." He shoots back.

You huff. "That’s because it was exam season. Couldn’t come for a bit. Didn’t you have that too?"

He pauses. There’s no need to reveal information about himself. But also, he hasn’t had a real human conversation in three years. He decides he can let himself entertain this. "I don’t go to school."

"Oh, shit" That’s when you notice the mattress, the resources at the back - right. You really screwed that one up, well done. "Oh, well, I’m sorry." You pause. Clearly he needs this space more than you. You consider leaving, finding another building, but this is the closest one to your house. "...D’you mind if I continue training here?"

"Yes”

"Okay great-"

"I said yes. I do mind."

"Oh."

He sees you stuck in place, clearly hesitant to leave. He feels the need to tell you to fuck off, to leave him alone, but a month alone with nothing but Endeavor's face on a screen had become a little unbearable. "…you said you were training?"

You grin, an eager spark igniting in your eyes. "I wanna be a pro-hero-" Touya immediately groans, "-I know it sounds like some stupid dream everyone has when they’re, like, twelve. My quirk isn’t much right now, but in theory, it could be super useful."

He eyes you up and down. For an aspiring pro-hero, your frame is a little weak. You don’t hold yourself with confidence- and, shit. Now memories of training with his dad come rushing back to him. He quickly pushes them aside. "What’s your quirk?"

Oh, so now you look excited, he notices. You eagerly extend a hand out slightly, pointing a finger. The light from the setting sun pouring into the window becomes a little dimmer, and you create a projection of a small, glowing bird flying through the air. Light manipulation? It lands on Touya’s shoulder. He can feel a slight weight. No. That, and light materialization.

He looks at you unimpressed. "That’s it?"

You panic. "Wait- don’t you see? If I manage to create bigger things- I could make any weapon I’d like. I could also materialize light under my feet as I step, and then I’d be able to travel through air- look, I’ve been trying-"

He observes as you lift a foot. Sure enough, he sees a slight glowing platform form underneath.

"But it’s not strong enough yet to carry my weight" you continue, "It’s a work in progress."

Your determination feels oddly nostalgic, Touya thinks.

"What about you?" you chirp up, "What’s your quirk?"

He hesitates. He creates a blue flame in his hand, and you gasp in awe.

"Pretty flame… and powerful. God, you’d make a great pro. You’d easily get into UA."

He ignores the pro-hero comment. That’s a dream he can’t entertain again. "UA? You trynna go there?"

You nod. "Mhm. Their entrance exam is in a few months. Otherwise… My parents really want me to go to a normal highschool. But they’re willing to hear out my stupid dream for a little, I guess",

"Stupid dream, alright" Touya mutters, mulling over something. He figures he can turn this situation in his favor. After all, what good is training if he can’t practice against someone? You seem pliant. He’s sure asking some villain to fight with him would be more trouble than he needs at this stage. And if he does tell you to get out, he’ll have to find somewhere else to stay incase you tell somebody, which he sure as hell doesn’t want to do after spending ages finding a suitable building. He could also… get rid of you, or threaten you, but given that he’s currently working with nothing, maybe you can be of use. After a pause, he looks at you directly and decides to speak. "You can keep training here. As long as you train with me."

You look at him dumbfounded, eyes widening. What? "You would? You’re not messing with me?”

"Yes." He doesn’t know if he should find your reaction irritating or amusing. You seem naive and harmless enough that you wouldn’t go talking. Plus, you’ve been training in this dump. Doesn’t take him long to figure out you’ve been keeping your little training sessions private. "I need a sparring partner."

You have no idea who this dude is - hasn’t even given you his name - but you mull over his suggestion anyways. He seems confident in his abilities. Anyone else you’ve asked to train with you has brushed you off. So…

"Okay. Yes."

He stands. "Alright, we start today." He walks to stand directly in front of you, but retains a good distance. "Can you defend yourself?"

You sheepishly respond. "If you throw a ball at me, I can materialize a light shield and deflect. Figured that one out during dodgeball…"

He hums. "What about a flame?"

Your eyes widen a little, "I think that’s too much of a jump-"

"Gotta try."

With that, he ignites a small flame, its blue glow brightening the room. You brace yourself, anticipating his next move. He launches fire toward you, and you instinctively create a barrier of light, absorbing the impact whilst flinching away. The heat washes over you, and you can feel the strain of maintaining the projection.

"You need to be faster."

"That-" you look at him incredulously "you almost killed me!"

He rolls his eyes, scoffing. "That would’ve given your arm a burn at most. Do you want training, or not? You’ll face worse at UA.”

You huff, crossing your arms. "Give me a moment to prepare next time. And make your fire weaker-"

He laughs, slightly taunting but genuinely amused. His attitude irks you. Fine. You send a materialized boomerang at his face. He dodges easily.

"Easy there. Predictable, try harder." Touya’s smirk widens. Holy shit, he muses. He forgot what having fun was like.

He sends flames at you again - weaker this time, you note - and with much effort and frustration you create barriers. He continues until he notices that they’re becoming weaker.

"You need to counter-attack."

"I’m trying-"

"Then try harder.”

He continues his attack. You try your best, using one hand to shield, the other to send materialized darts at Touya. It’s the best you can do, for now.

"These darts are weak-"

"I can’t make anything stronger whilst I shield-", you shoot back in frustration.

After an hour of training, you suddenly let up, exhausted. You didn’t land a single hit. Touya stops his fire, barely tired, running on an adrenaline high. You try to catch your breath.

"Maybe-" you try to calm your breathing, panting, "Maybe they’re right- maybe I’m not suited for this- my quirk just isn’t made for it-"

Something about your resignation hits Touya harder than it should. A surge of heat rises through him, though he’s not angry - at least not at you. Another memory flashes in his mind.

"That’s not true." The words slip out before he can stop himself, coming out harsher than he expected like you’d just insulted him. He then stays silent, closing his mouth, unsure of how to follow that up.

"No, but it is-"

"You’ll train." He speaks against his own will again, with more conviction than intended. "You’ll train, and you’ll get better. You’re spouting bullshit."

"But you see, I suck-"

"Yeah you do. But that’s temporary." He wants to deck himself. Since when was he the type to comfort? But maybe, he knows exactly what you need to hear right now. And he can’t stop himself.

You look at him a little shocked, his encouraging words contrasting his harsh attitude from earlier. Your surprised reaction annoys him, and he’s about to throw an insult to make up for his words until you respond. "Okay…. Yeah, you’re right. I think I’m done for today, though…"

He watches you carefully as you pick up your bag, seemingly lost in thought.

"Are you always here?"

His immediate reflex is to say no. Because a normal person wouldn’t stay in an abandoned building all day. Because a normal person would have a family, or friends, or a hobby - but he doesn’t have any of that, not anymore. He only goes out to steal, and to use the public showers at a sports center.

"…yes" He hesitantly responds. "Yes, I am."

"Okay. I’ll be back then, weekly around this time. Or- well, I didn’t consider when you’d want me here."

"Anytime. Don’t care."

You stand there, pausing for a moment. He still hasn’t told you his name, you point out to him. He considers his options, then concludes you’re harmless enough. You won’t know any better.

"Touya."

You smile. "Okay. Well, nice to meet you, Touya. I hope I can be a good training partner… eventually."

He hums. He watches you wave at him and walk out of the building and the sun goes down. He sits back down on the rusty mattress, and for the first time he becomes acutely aware of how quiet the building is. There’s no hum from the air conditioning, no sound of Fuyumi and Natsuo playing in the courtyard, no sound of his mother running a bath for Shoto - no sound of the world moving on without him. He doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

His mind wanders back to you. He wonders whether he’d made a mistake agreeing to let you stay. I’m just using her, he thinks. It’s a convenient arrangement. I can actually spar with someone. Don’t have time for silly shit. She’s just using me, too.

But as he sinks into the worn mattress, a nagging thought lingers. A small, stupidly hopeful thought that creeps into the back of his mind - that maybe, for the first time in his life, he would worth something to someone. Touya hates to admit it, but he craves more of the admiration you expressed when he showed you his quirk.

He pushes down that thought as quickly as it comes, replaced by the satisfying image of his father looking up at him in anguish again. Right.

[yuigadokson]

I have watched too many people dying lonely and someone coming to clean their house days later videos and now i cant help but see the same future for me and oh boy its making me unnecessarily sad

[milksockets]

why scan?

scanning is something i've done for probably about 12 years now (i'm ancient, for this site), with varying degrees of regularity, intensity, etc. it has ratcheted up since the dawn of 2023, though, which begs the question: why? why put so much time into what could not-wrongly be considered a passive activity, hunched over a piece of clunky machinery with the express purpose of preserving others' creations? the answers are several, and fascinating (not really).

i am a [sober] drug addict. anything i pursue, consume, create--more often than not--ends up taking on addictive qualities. i'll eat the same specific food item for a month, then never want to see, let alone taste it, again. i'll listen to one song on repeat for days until i'd rather hear nails on a chalkboard than have it shuffle on and assault my ears. one of the reasons that my scanning has increased in volume recently is that i acquired library cards to the 3 nyc library systems: nypl, brooklyn, and queens. as soon as i was able to, i pillaged + plundered those fine centers of learning, leaving any given library with as many hefty scan-worthy books as i could [barely] carry. here, finally, was a *free* way of obtaining more + more + more visual media to consume.

2023 saw me get my first legal, full-time job. as such, my adjusting to that hellish reality resulted in a steep decline in my own personal creative output. collaging, writing, and rapping all fell to the wayside as i slowly acclimated to a life of work that almost everyone else my age has known for over a decade is generally unbearable + detrimental to the maintenance of outside pursuits. in times of famine within my own artistic harvest, scanning, archiving, and sharing others' work is a means of feeling as though i am still contributing to the global oeuvre.

there’s an element of losing my mental self in a series of physical motions that becomes almost automatic after some time. “zoning out” is not something endemic to my daily life; if anything, i’m almost always too zoned in. relief is necessary.  especially considering the shitshow this past year has been in terms of my personal life.

i am a product of capitalism’s cultivating a craving for constant consumption. 

it seems that visual content is only going to continue to get more + more uninspired. has everything been done? did social media ruin it all? in any case, i feel a need to document the past. to a degree, it’s my version of doomsday prepping. (god forbid books go extinct altogether.) 

i have always gravitated towards solitary activities. this topic could be a thesis in its own right.

i thrive on external validation. this reliance is something i’ve improved upon over the past several years, but it hasn’t been altogether extinguished. even though the materials i scan are not of my own creation, i nevertheless feel a vague pride in showcasing them. occasional appreciation thereof satisfies this fixation on others’ attention, albeit in a diluted form. 

i am fortunate to live in a city bursting to the gills with cultural institutions. i am also lucky enough to have some disposable income that can be directed toward fulfilling my ravenous desire for visual media. 

((i keep getting messages about the specifics of my scanner + "process":

i have a cheap ass hp envy 6055e and i just use the software it comes with.

there's nothing special or fancy happening here, and i could definitely invest in a better and/or a large format scanner, etc. but i really just don't care enough and it's not like i'm getting paid for this lmao))

[decayedgloria]

losing myself in your forever

ft. Childe

There is a secret that you keep from your lover, but there may be more than just your identity that lies hidden between you and him

Tags: Childe x afab!reader, adeptus!reader, morning sex, smut only in the beginning, fluff, somewhat canon compliant, cursing, nsfw, platonic!zhongli, fwb (ish?), use of russian/chinese nicknames, pwp, praising, may make a part 2, this is much more plot than I am used to, mdni, nsfw under cut.

Word Count: ~2.6k, not proofread

The early morning rays shined softly into the bedroom you laid in, snugly tucked into the arms of your lover. You lazily traced his freckled forearm as you hummed, contentedly listening to his shallow heartbeat as he slept. 

This scene was not unfamiliar to you. After a night of lustful entanglement, you always wake up in Childe’s arms, your limbs tangled with his as you recount your liaison with a hazy grin. More often than not you always awoke before him, which gave you ample time to take in the sight before you.

Waiting for your lover to rise was one of the few things you came to enjoy after the first few times you were in bed together, watching his battle-worn chest rise and fall with each breath as his peaceful face rested. His face was not usually so, it was filled with mirth and bloodlust during the day, but in these rare moments of tranquility, they were a world away.

As you kept humming, you felt him stir under you, finally waking up. You gave Childe a small smile when his eyes opened, revealing the prettiest blue hues- something you’ve always attributed to uncut noctilucous jade.

“Good morning my love.” You place a chaste kiss on his lips, which he returned in slow earnest. Grinning, he brings a hand to cup your face as he does, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Morning, kotichek.” His voice was still low and raspy from the night before, sending delightful shivers through your veins. Hearing him speak in his mother tongue certainly didn’t help, either. Your eyes bore into his as you kiss him once more moving to sit up on his lap, earning a chuckle from him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you sound so alluring when you say that?” You cheekily press your chest against his, teasing him just a little. Your hips were angled in a way that hovered your cunt just above his already-hard member, and you bore your eyes into his own half-lidded ones.

“Only you.” And your chest swelled with pride, just a little, at his words. Whether or not it was true, you didn’t care. As your lips touched Childe’s once again, all you knew was that in this moment he was yours. 

Never in your thousand years of living have you had someone like this. Someone to hold you so tenderly as he slipped into you, soft groans emanating from his chest. His hands were firmly on your hips, rocking you gently as you continued to kiss him, albeit sloppily. Your hands tangled themselves in his ginger hair, pulling him closer to you as he devoured you.

Being an adeptus was usually a lonely experience. Living in solitary in Jueyun Karst had given you no experience with humans and human emotions whatsoever. While you weren’t completely alone, sometimes you craved interaction with someone who wasn’t an adeptus as well. Which brought you to Liyue Harbor months ago, against the will of Cloud Retainer and your brother, you still went to the city to search for anyone, really, who was willing to be your friend.

Who knew such a cute Snezhnayan boy eating at the same food kiosk as you could be so much more than that?

Your pace became faster and more erratic as you both felt your orgasms come closer. Now you were practically bouncing on his cock, moaning his name as his hands traveled across your body, pinching and squeezing every crevice.

“You make me feel so good, kotichek…” He groaned, pressing his head into your shoulders. “Pussy’s so good only for me, right?” Unconsciously pulling him closer to you, you grind your hips deeper into his as you continued your pace, a light sheen of sweat beginning to form over your body as you do so.

“Yes, yes- only for you! Ah- your cock feels so good inside me…!” You whined deliciously. Childe grinned hazily at the sight of you, taking in how you writhed against him in pleasure. His hands made their way to your breasts as he gently kneaded them, rolling with your nipples in between his thumb and index finger.

It only took a few more thrusts for you to reach your high. You threw your head back, almost screaming, while your cunt squeezed his cock- causing him to cum inside you. Panting, you keep your position on top of him, slumping in his arms as he catches your breathless form easily.

Childe plants a kiss on your shoulder blade, holding you in his arms tenderly as your body recovers. “Did you enjoy it?” He always asked you that question, even if he already knew the answer. From your shaky legs to your puffy lips, he could already tell; but Childe preferred when you told him directly.

“I always enjoy my time with you, tián xīn.” The name, which used to be unfamiliar to you, came easily across your tongue now that you’re in front of him. You suddenly sighed, rolling over to the other side of the bed to let him get up and ready for the day.

“You aren’t gonna get ready?” He asked as he swiped his scattered clothes off the floor, getting ready to take a shower. “Not busy today?” 

“Mm… it’s not like I can walk anyways, so no. Not busy.” You shook your head, a light chuckle escaping your lips. Childe laughed in response, something that never failed to make your stomach do flips.

“You did ask for it, kotichek. I’m just simply here to deliver.” Your thighs were starting to sore and burn, though it was nothing compared to the wounds you’d been dealt during battle. Not that Childe would ever know about those, or about the fact that you weren’t human at all. 

It’s for the better, you reasoned with yourself. Had he known, you doubted that he’d stay with an adeptus like you. Immortal, forever living while he would most likely die in battle or due to age. It saddened you, just a little, that it was the reality you had to face sooner or later, but just for a little bit, you can keep this charade going.

You were lost in your thoughts when Childe waved his hand in front of your face, causing you to blink. You hadn’t realized you were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you completely missed him finishing his shower, and now bidding you goodbye.

“Thought I lost you for a sec.” He cheekily grinned, giving you a kiss on your forehead. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing… it’s nothing.” If he noticed how quiet your voice was, he didn’t show it. Instead, he kissed you again, this time on the lips. “I’m going to see my brother today, I think. I might visit him at work.” You gave him a reassuring smile, “Be safe, tián xīn.”

His expression dipped a little as you said that. Unbeknownst to him, you knew he was a Fatui harbinger. However, they can’t all be bad, right? Certainly not him, who showers you with warm kisses and the sweetest affections when you’re together. Childe said so himself that he would die before ever thinking about hurting you, so what’s there to be afraid of?

“I’ll try, kotichek.” He gave you one last kiss before exiting the room, closing the door behind him gently. You sighed once more, sitting on the edge of the bed to dangle your feet while your thoughts rant rampant and your chest tightened with every breath.

Perhaps consulting your brother would give you a solution.

-

When you stepped into the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to ask for your brother, Hu Tao all but gawked at you from behind the counter.

“Mr. Zhongli? You’re his sister?” You had never met the young girl before, so it wasn’t surprising for her to look at you with such… curious eyes. Her gaze made you feel like you were laid out on an examination table, being investigated for some sort of anomaly. You shook off the feeling as you returned her smile politely.

“Yes. I was wondering if he’s in right now?” The girl shook her head, pointing a solemn finger to the double doors.

“Aiya, he’s out on personal business right now. I think he said he was in Liuli Pavillion?” Hu Tao brought her hand to her chin, thinking. “That’s probably where you can find him. But, aside from that, would you be interested in pre-ordering a coffin for your funeral?” You look at her quizzically, seeing as her expression was bright and mischievous despite talking about your death.

“Ah, no thank you. That won’t come for a long time.” You smile nervously, getting ready to leave the parlor.

“Never say never! After all, our archon just died, so really it could be any of us next!” You shook your head.  Was this really how they advertised? It was a bit crass; you wondered if they had any customers at all at this rate. 

Making your way into the restaurant, you find that your brother’s meeting hasn’t started yet, giving you some time to chat with him. As you walked in, your brother was sipping his tea, opening his eyes to look at you.

“Gēge, how are you?” You greeted the man politely, “I hope you aren’t too busy yet.”

“What a wonderful surprise, mèi mei. Please have a seat, my meeting won’t begin for a few minutes.” His reassuring smile calmed you a little as you pulled out a chair, sitting on it before letting out a relaxed breath.

“What’s been troubling you now, little rascal?” You perked up at the nickname, the tips of your ears turning pink. Was your expression really that obvious? Zhongli only chuckled at your reaction, looking at you expectantly.

“I- Well, uh…” You weren’t sure how to begin your question, or even if you should ask it at all. Nervousness coursed through your body under his watchful gaze, eyes flitting around the room as you try to steady yourself.

“In all my years of knowing you, you have never been this shy. Tell me, what’s gotten to you this time mèi mei?” Now he was concerned, shifting towards you eagerly as you take a deep breath.

“Well… I’ve taken a mortal lover…” Your voice became quiet, red suddenly blossoming on your face as you look down in shyness and partial shame. It was a bit embarrassing to admit to Zhongli that fact but considering the rest of the adepti and their feelings towards humans, you hoped that he was at least understanding of your situation.

“And I don’t know if I should continue it or not. Y’know, since I’m not exactly mortal and all… Basically, how do I tell them?” 

“Hmm…” Zhongli thought for a moment. You couldn’t make anything of the expression on his face, but you hoped he wasn’t disappointed or angry. It wasn’t likely, but when it came to you, he was awfully protective; you were his precious sister, blood or not.

“What’s their temperament? You cannot know how they will react if you do not know their personality well enough,” He concluded, “Do they at least treat you well enough?” That sentence was laced with a dangerously low tone, his golden eyes suddenly darkening at the thought of someone hurting you.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, gēge- he’s wonderful.” A small smile graced your features as you thought about Childe. “He’s thoughtful, considerate, he’s a lot of fun. He’s also quite handsome, I’d say.” Zhongli relaxed a little, yet again sipping his tea as he listened to you ramble on about your lover. 

He would be lying if he said you weren’t cute at this moment, who would have thought that his rambunctious, troublemaker sister would have found someone who she cherished in that way? The thought warmed his heart. Perhaps a meeting with this individual was in order.

“...and he always gets me the foods I love from Xinyue Kiosk.” You hadn’t noticed you were rambling until Zhongli cleared his throat, snapping you out of your small tirade. Sheepishly, you silence yourself rather quickly, listening to what your brother had to say.

“If he is such a good man, with a good temperament, and loves you so, then you have nothing to fear mèi mei. Humans are simple creatures, after all.” He gave you a small smile, which comforted you just a little. His response managed to convince you of telling Childe, and you decided that the next time you would see him would be the time to do so.

“I am curious about this mortal. Do you wish to introduce me to him someday?” 

“Yes, of course. I’m also curious if he’d meet your expectations, gēge.” You let out a giggle, thinking about the meeting already. Childe wouldn’t know that Zhongli was an adeptus, much less Rex Lapis, so you were confident that he wouldn’t be intimidated away. Though, you had to be sure that your brother wouldn’t pull any fast ones on him…

Suddenly, the door to the restaurant opened, and you could hear footsteps of multiple people walking in. Probably your brother’s guests. You stood up from your chair, as did Zhongli, as you both got ready to bid each other goodbye.

Your brother pulled you into a warm embrace, which you returned. “Make sure to inform me of your decision, mèi mei. Until next time-”

“Hey.”

You break away from the embrace hastily, not wanting to embarrass your brother in front of his guests. As you whirl around, you prepare yourself to bow apologetically to them, until you caught a glimpse of who they were.

There he stood. Childe, looking just as surprised as you were as his eyes darted between you and your brother suspiciously. Behind him were two others, a blonde outlander wearing foreign clothes, and a floating child. It felt like an eternity that you both stood there in shock, only being able to look at each other until Zhongli cleared his throat once again.

“Welcome. Pleasure to see you again, Childe.” He greets them, casting a side glance at your agape expression. “Please, let’s have a seat. My sister was just about to leave so we can start discussing our pressing matters.” 

When you said you wanted Zhongli and Childe to meet, you didn’t mean as soon as possible. No, not like this. Not during a business meeting- wait. Him being here… that meant Zhongli already knew Childe. Ah, you weren’t sure if that made the situation easier to handle or not.

“Yes. I was leaving, sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll take my leave now.” The words practically fly out of your mouth as you rush past Childe and his party, missing his hurt gaze following you as you did so. He wanted so badly to follow you and ask you what you were doing here, were you really Rex Lapis’s sister? Who were you, exactly?

Zhongli noticed everything. From the way you tensed up when Childe entered the room, and how you seemed to avoid him when leaving. You were never one to do that, you always took the time to chat even a little. And Childe… the look on his face when he saw you indicated something to Zhongli that there was something going on between the both of you. How his gloved hand twitched to the direction you left in, almost instinctively, and how his eyes followed you across the room.

The adeptus closed his eyes for a brief moment, the twitch in his eyebrows so subtle that it almost seemed like it didn’t happen. Under the guise of pleasantries, his golden eyes stared right into the harbinger’s soul, almost wanting to claw through him as he talked apprehensively.

Of all the people in Liyue, why must it be the fucking eleventh harbinger?

i am exhausted. this fic was born out of three restless nights. i need sleep.

Anyways sorry that this isn't like a simple one shot :/// i had a jam going and i needed to write it out. i think there will be a part 2 tho, like very likely, but it'll be much more angsty bc i need to practice writing angst lol

expect a sundress szn for some other characters in the future, working on one rn

[freesia-writes]

Ch 33: The Waterfall

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 3.4k Fanart by @acryliccassetteart and @the-little-moment!

I can't stop giggling at this mood board but it just captures the vibes of the chapter so well. ;)

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“Come on, Hunter. Let’s just see what happens,” Omega begged, directing her most winning smile at him as he stared flatly from across the table. They were enjoying a late breakfast on a lazy day, and her curiosity about the mysterious blossom he’d discovered a while ago had taken front and center stage. He didn’t want anything to do with it, despite the baffling way it had come to him; it was too tightly wound around painful memories that he’d done his best to stuff away.

“You take it, if you want,” he offered, but she shook her head immediately. 

“It had to be the ‘recipient’ or whatever word it was,” she corrected. “It might turn me into a frog if I try.”

“That could be interesting,” said Hunter, eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. It warmed Omega’s heart, not having seen his brighter side for nearly a month now. He’d been fairly upbeat during his wild adventures with Luciana, but after his overindulgence on Plata, and more so after the recent wedding, he’d seemed weighed down with an internal conflict that he refused to share. 

“I’ll try it if you come along,” she smiled, lifting her chin slightly as she became fairly certain she had him convinced.

“Alright,” he said, softening considerably as she beamed in enthusiasm. Her internship year had come to a close, and upon the completion of all of her evaluations and reflections, she had decided to take two part-time jobs to further narrow down her interests as she prepared for the Advancement Ceremony, after which she would officially be free to craft her life however she saw fit. One of the current pursuits was with a group of engineers on one of the neighboring islands, and the other was in one of the shops in The Cobbles, where she was learning about natural remedies and holistic healing methods. She was equally drawn to things requiring mental acuity as well as the tender-hearted care of others, and Hunter realized he didn’t often take time to fully appreciate how incredibly well-rounded she was. He was, however, continually amazed at her impervious optimism, and it had encouraged him many times over. 

He brought up the coordinates that Tech had sent for this “magical waterfall” and put the flower in his backpack, handling it carefully even though it had been secured in some kind of stasis orb that kept it perfectly suspended within the round shell. Omega threw in a few snacks as well as a couple of packable towels that would expand when the seal was broken, and the two of them set off.

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Artwork by @acryliccassetteart <3

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The walk was thoroughly enjoyable – a leisurely stroll punctuated with happy conversation and periods of quiet. It reminded him of Lyra, so he started thinking about all of his recent dates with Luci instead. It seemed that they’d spent every free moment they had in each other’s company over the last few weeks. If she wasn’t at work, she was visiting his shop, and if she had a day off, they had plans for workouts or adventures. He’d been out hunting increasingly longer, blaming the bountiful season of herd migration, but it was also the only place he was able to enjoy solitary time in a peaceful setting anymore.

The waterfall came into view, tucked deep within The Forest between two craggy mountains that were covered in trees. A single flat area was etched into the otherwise steep terrain, and the water poured into a pool from the flowing creek above. Omega was bouncing with excitement as they drew near, dropping their bags and inspecting the sight before them. 

“Well, go on!” she encouraged, opening his backpack to remove the orb. “Take it out and let’s have a go.”

“Calm down,” he smiled, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his swim shorts on. The sun was filtering through the trees, providing some spotty places of warmth, but the rest of the space was mostly shady, which wouldn’t feel great if the water were as cold as he sensed. 

“There’s that beautiful sight again,” Omega teased, pointing at the half-skull butterfly tattoo on his ribcage. He sighed, shaking his head, and she patted him on the back. “You could probably go somewhere to have it removed easily enough.”

“I know. Travel just hasn’t been at the top of my list.”

He flipped a tiny switch on the protective orb, and it split open with a hiss, allowing the blossom to drop into Omega’s outstretched hand. It was no longer glowing, but still maintained an ethereal creamy white color, the runes still barely visible along the edges of each graceful petal. 

“You go in here, I think,” she said. “I’ll climb up to see what’s at the top.”

“Be careful, the rocks look crumbly and–”

“Hunter.”

“Alright.”

She made her way nimbly up the mountainside, aided by tree trunks that were conveniently placed to allow for solid steps, and she planted herself on a strong foothold as she peered over the ledge that held most of the flow before it crashed down the waterfall.

“There’s a little pool up here. The water seems to move slowly through all these rocks,” she called down to him. “So I’ll throw it in when you’re ready!”

Hunter sighed, wading into the chilly water down below. His body tensed more with each passing step that sank him in deeper until the bottom evened out as he neared the waterfall. Shielding his face from the spray, he glanced up to Omega, squinting as he saw her thumbs-up, then watched her lob the flower over her head into the pool above. He waited for a moment, staring at the water coursing down, but nothing seemed to change. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and sensing everything he could. There was nothing extraordinary about the scents or sounds, and the vibrations emanating from everything both living and dead felt the same as always. So he stepped all the way beneath the waterfall, shivering as it splattered over his head and shoulders. 

He was grateful that it wasn’t a very big flow, otherwise it would have been significantly more difficult. But as it were, he turned to face away from the rock wall, tilting his head back and running his hands over his hair as it washed away from his face. He didn’t feel anything other than the crisp refreshment that came from the cold water, and he rubbed his eyes in his hands.

Then he gasped in surprise.

Behind his closed eyes, a colorful vision was coming to life. He furrowed his brow, squeezing his eyelids together as it developed before him. He was able to make out a graceful curve of the edge of something fibrous, and at its edge were hundreds of things that looked like tadpoles. The whole image glowed blue and green, some of the tadpoles radiant with activity. 

Then suddenly, he was walking in a large meadow; some sheep were grazing nearby, and the scents and sounds were so realistic that he felt an anxiety rising in his gut. Distracted by the appearance of a fox that bounded toward from the forest, he stopped, watching the creature as it wove through his legs, brushing against his calf before cavorting playfully through the grass and flowers. It rolled onto its back, revealing its soft belly, and he bent to pet it. The fox closed its eyes, as content as could be, and Hunter found a smile on his face.

Without warning, the fox snapped at his hand, sinking its teeth into the side of his palm with a sinister gleam in its predatory eyes. He yelped, clutching his hand to his chest, feeling the pangs of pain there as well. He rose to his feet, taking a step back to kick the animal as hard as he could. Suddenly, everything froze except for a gentle gust of wind that reached from the sea with glowing tendrils of bluish green that danced gracefully through the air. They settled on the fox, also unmoving, and swirled around it a few times in loving caresses, then disappeared inside of it. 

Then he was free to move again, as was the creature, who got up, shook itself off, and, without a single look back, trotted back into the forest the way it had come, tail swishing pleasantly as it vanished with a carefree frolick. Hunter stared after it, perplexed and hurt. One of the sheep at the edge of the herd, with an older-looking lamb beside it, was watching them, ears flicked forward in alert vigilance and body tensed in apprehension.

The vision darkened, returning to the original image of blue and green tadpoles lined up around a curve. But now the same blue-colored breeze from the meadow swept through, its graceful wisps flowing freely through the fibers of the starkly-contrasted colors of the shape. Somehow, though, it was all changed; the tiny wiggling things were receding from its edge, and they were no longer glowing. 

“You alright?” Omega called, slowly making her way down the side to watch him curiously, a touch of concern in her voice as she saw his head in his hands.

“Fine!” he yelled, unable to open his eyes as he studied the mesmerizing pattern before him, committing it to memory as best he could. It slowly faded into darkness, and he couldn’t feel a single hint of peril, rather an overwhelming sense of peace and warmth as the entire thing dimmed to nothing. Now it was a simple idea that surfaced in his mind, something that one of the Xyloans had said at the tiki bar a while ago: the island was sentient in a way. It protected itself and those who lived upon it. There would be struggles and dangers, but only those that served an ultimate good. It was an odd sort of reassurance that settled in his core, as though he were being beckoned to trust the planet itself, and then it was gone. A wave of tingly energy ran over him as he stepped out from beneath the water, sucking in a deep breath as he reeled from what had happened. 

“So?” Omega pressed, face tightening in concern as he drew near. His eyes were large and he seemed to be unable to suppress a small shiver that would tease his shoulders every few seconds. She tore open one of the towel packets, shaking it out as it expanded once freed from its vacuum-sealed pouch, and tossed it to him. He climbed out of the pool, picking it up from the rock where it lay, and vigorously rubbed all of his limbs before moving to stand in the brightest beam of sunlight.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, turning to her with a shrug. “It was something about glowing tadpoles, then some animals in a field… a fox bit me while a sheep watched… then the tadpoles were fading… ” He cringed at the words coming out of his own mouth, suddenly self–conscious about all of it. “But then again, maybe I was just rubbing my eyes too hard,” he chuckled. 

“Well… do you feel different?” she asked, tilting her head at him intently.

“Other than cold, no.” 

“Hm. Well let’s see what Tech has to say about it.”

“We don’t need to–”

But she was already trotting down the mountain. 

Hunter didn’t even have time to change before he was plopped on the couch at Tech and Phee’s. Having air-dried on the hike back, he reclined into the plush cushions as his brother sat in a chair across from him, leaning forward with his hands together and his knees on his elbows. 

“I’m not a med bay patient here, Tech,” he warned, apprehensive at the intensity with which his brother was studying his every move. 

“No, you are not. However, I am highly curious. May I proceed with some questions and take a few samples if necessary?” Tech sat back, lips pressed together tightly as he waited for Hunter’s consent. He knew that, once given, it would prevent the stubborn clone from protesting every next move he would make. 

Hunter sighed. “Fine.”

“Excellent. Please recount the vision as accurately as you are able.”

Hunter repeated it, watching Tech typing into his datapad with flying fingers. Flickers of insight and satisfaction danced across his distinctive features as Hunter finished, sitting back and scratching his forearm. 

“It seems rather obvious, but I would like to ask some additional questions before venturing a hypothesis.”

“Obvious?” Hunter sighed. “Naturally. Anyway, what?”

“Are you able to recall the specifics of our second mission to Pantora?”

“I mean… We disabled the weapons research facility…?”

“Correct. Let’s continue.” Tech proceeded to interrogate him on a seemingly random array of events throughout their past, everything from the previous day to his first memories of existence, and Hunter felt his brain slowly turning to mush as he did his best to answer as much as he could. Eventually, he was at the end of his rope, and he flopped back on the couch in exasperation. 

“Can you just tell me what you’re getting at?” 

“Yes. Your description of the ‘tadpoles’, which is a creative amphibious equivalent… for a child… reminded me of a recording taken of the brain while an individual accessed specific memories. The fact that the vision showed some sort of withdrawal suggests memory loss, however, it does not appear to be yours. As for the part about the animals in the field, I would advise you to take some time to meditate on the potential metaphorical applications of the scene you observed.”

“Cryptic as always,” Hunter muttered.

“I am being as straightforward as possible,” Tech protested.

“No, I meant this island stuff. Should have happened to Phee.”

“According to whom? The entire saga has not yet been completed. Perhaps the resolution will be highly favorable to you.” It was Tech’s version of empathetic encouragement, and Hunter decided to take it to heart. 

“Well I won’t refuse that.”

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Fanart by @the-little-moment -- go give the post some love!!

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When Hunter finally got up to make the short trek to his home, he had only made it to the edge of town when he noticed a familiar figure on the road ahead. It was dusk, a time when the fading light played tricks, making everything blend together or seem to be all on the same plane. Fortunately, he was more adept than most at discerning the visual cues of this particular hour, and yet he felt the energy from the person ahead even before he fully recognized who it was. 

“Where were you?” Luci exclaimed as he approached, the urgency in her voice laced with anger rather than concern. Hunter felt a barricade rising in his chest even as she rushed to him and grabbed his hands tightly.

“Went on a hike,” he deflected. “With Omega,” he added in response to the quick flash in her eyes. “Then I went to Tech’s. Why? What’s the issue?”

“I was just worried! I told you I had this afternoon off so I figured we’d hang out,” she admitted, voice softening while the tension remained. 

“Sorry,” he said placidly. “We didn’t have any plans.”

“I know. I tried to comm you!”

“Ah. I must have forgotten it at home.” Nonchalance met affront as his eyes met her own, and he felt a nagging sense of conviction at his casual lie. She took a deep breath and shifted, eyes growing large and round. He’d seen this look before; she employed it when trying to manipulate someone into whatever she desired them to be in that moment.

“Alright. Sorry,” she said, deflating to her usual, much more tolerable self. “I just… I kinda missed you,” she admitted sheepishly, leaning into him and tracing a finger along his collarbone.

“Since this morning?” He wasn’t trying to be snarky, he just genuinely couldn’t comprehend it.

“What can I say?” Luci teased, nuzzling in to plant a kiss on his neck. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.” Her words sent a shiver down his spine as she spoke against his neck. “Anyway…” She pulled back, regarding him fondly. “I’ve got the best date plans ever for tonight.”

“Ah, I need to change… and it’s getting a little late…”

“Nope! Not a care in the world, babe,” she interrupted, raising a triumphant finger in the air. “I’ve got you. It’s a treat for both of us. Nothing crazy, just some special time to relax because I care about you.”

Hunter was getting tired of being dragged around by everyone who wanted something from him, and he realized with a flash of self-hate that he was doing precisely what he’d accused Lyra of: placating others with no regard for his own needs or preferences. But rather than be riled up at the insight, his shoulders slumped a bit, and he closed his eyes as Luci leaned in for a kiss. 

“Trust me,” she whispered against his lips.

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Lyra banged the pot against the stove, cursing her own clumsiness as she straightened it and returned to her chopping. She felt particularly cozy that night, lighting a few candles around the kitchen to add to the warm glow from the fireplace, and she was throwing together a last-minute dinner after having dozed off on the couch and lost track of time. As she sliced through the vegetables, she thought she heard a creak on the front porch. She slowly lowered her elbows, holding the knife still against the cutting board. 

Nothing. 

She continued her work more quietly, ears perked for any further sound.

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Hunter took a deep breath where he lay, flat on a massage table with a heavy blanket draped across his legs and nestled around his waist. Warm oil was spread across his back and arms, and the massage therapist’s skilled hands glossed across muscle and bone, kneading and stroking. He felt like a puddle, having finally given in to simply relax and enjoy it after an internal struggle of how odd it all seemed. Luci was in a room next to him, receiving the same treatment, and then they would have some time to soak in the nearby hot springs. It was a clever setup at this particular spa, where patrons could opt to be alone or with those they came with, and Luci had been notably understanding in offering him all the space and solitude he might want. 

She had been much more clingy of late, and he kept sensing a frenetic energy when it came to his whereabouts. He was surprised at the petty jealousy she’d succumbed to – she’d seemed all too willing to share him in the past and had appeared to be completely secure in his affections. Perhaps she’d been shaken by his withdrawal after Plata, but it had been fanned into a larger flame when Lyra returned. He didn’t feel as though he’d given her any reason to doubt, and she had even encouraged him to be friends with Lyra despite his assurance that he had no interest in doing so. 

The calming music slowed as the track came to an end, and in the silence before the next one began, Hunter was lulled by his own heartbeat, echoed by the masseuse’s, and he paused his thoughts, centering himself in his senses and taking it all in. The building felt empty, he was surprised to note, and he suddenly became aware of a rhythmic vibration from his pack where it lay on a chair in the corner of the room. 

“Sorry, I have to get that,” he said quietly to the massage therapist, who nodded with a smile and slipped out of the room. He sat up, pulling the blanket around his waist as he shuffled to his bag, and his pulse was racing now as he emerged from the blissful fog of relaxation and realized the source of the sound. 

The emergency beacon.

Where was Omega–

No.

Lyra.

The emptiness of the rooms around him sent a jolt of electricity through him as he pulled his clothing on as quickly as possible. Leaving a handful of credits on the table by the bottle of massage oil, he left immediately, murmuring a quick apology to the masseuse as he fled.

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Song: It's My Life - Bon Jovi (Lyrics) 🎵.

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[morbidology]

Over a span of just 10 days in August 2013, Nikko Jenkins unleashed a wave of violence that left four people dead in Omaha, Nebraska. His crimes, which he claimed were carried out under the influence of an Egyptian serpent god, have sparked intense debate about the criminal justice system, mental health, and the death penalty.

Nikko Allen Jenkins was born on September 16, 1986, into a family with a long history of criminal activity. Raised in a chaotic and often violent environment in Omaha, Jenkins was exposed to crime and dysfunction from a young age. By the time he was a teenager, Jenkins had already begun his journey into the criminal justice system, with numerous arrests and convictions for robbery, assault, and weapons charges.

Jenkins' time in prison only seemed to deepen his violent tendencies. During his incarceration, he became known for his erratic behavior, frequent outbursts, and disturbing beliefs, including his purported devotion to the Egyptian serpent god Apophis. He spent significant time in solitary confinement, where his mental health reportedly deteriorated further.

After serving more than a decade in prison, Jenkins was released on July 30, 2013. Less than a month later, he would begin his brutal killing spree.

On August 11, 2013, Jenkins committed his first murders. The victims, Juan Uribe-Pena and Jorge C. Cajiga-Ruiz, were lured to a park in Omaha under the pretense of meeting women. Once there, Jenkins shot and killed them both, leaving their bodies in a white pickup truck. The crime shocked the community, but it was only the beginning of Jenkins' rampage.

On August 19, Jenkins struck again, murdering Curtis Bradford, a man he had met in prison and briefly reunited with after his release. Jenkins lured Bradford to a location where he shot him in the back of the head. The next day, on August 21, Jenkins committed his final and most high-profile murder, killing Andrea Kruger, a 33-year-old mother of three. Kruger was abducted at a traffic intersection, and Jenkins later shot her multiple times before leaving her body on a rural road. He then stole her car, which was found abandoned a short time later.

Jenkins was arrested on August 30, 2013, during an investigation into a separate assault. Once in custody, Jenkins quickly confessed to all four murders. His confessions were chilling, as he claimed that he had been commanded to kill by the serpent god Apophis, whom he believed required human sacrifices. He described the murders in graphic detail, showing no remorse for his actions.

During his interrogation, Jenkins also made disturbing statements about his intentions to continue killing if he were released. These confessions, coupled with the brutality of his crimes, led to widespread calls for the harshest possible punishment.

Jenkins' case quickly became a lightning rod for controversy, particularly regarding his mental state and the handling of his incarceration. His defense team argued that Jenkins suffered from severe mental illness, including schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, and that he was not competent to stand trial. They contended that his prolonged time in solitary confinement exacerbated his mental health issues, leading to the violent delusions that fueled his crimes.

Despite these arguments, Jenkins was found competent to stand trial. In 2014, he was convicted of four counts of first-degree murder, along with several other charges related to his killing spree. The trial was marked by bizarre and unsettling behavior from Jenkins, who repeatedly insisted that he was acting on the orders of Apophis. He even attempted to mutilate himself in court. Jenkins carved 666 into his forehead, and sliced his penis and tongue up the middle, believing it would make him appear more serpent-like.

In May 2017, Jenkins was sentenced to death by a three-judge panel.

[leon-stupid-kennedy]

Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles ➳ Archives ➳ Game of Oblivion ➳ Characters

Claire Redfield

After parting ways with Leon, Claire continued her search for her brother Chris. When she heard that he had penetrated into the center of Umbrella's organization, she headed immediately to Europe. Claire went undercover into Umbrella's Paris research laboratory. But she was soon discovered and captured by Umbrella security and sent to the Rockfort Island prison facility. However, shortly after her imprisonment, there was an attack on the island. During the attack and subsequent confusion, Claire was released from her cell, after which time she met up with Steve Burnside. Together they plotted their escape from the island.

Steve Burnside

This young man was imprisoned at the detention facility on Rockfort Island. Steve began to distrust not only other people, but even himself. He spent his days in confinement on the solitary island in deep sadness. What finally returned hope to Steve's life was an assault on the prison by an unknown assailant. In the midst of the chaos and confusion which resulted from the attack, Steve escaped from the prison, and in the process, had a fateful meeting with Claire Redfield. Together, they sought to escape from the island. Though cocky on the outside and often reckless, Steve is a good-hearted kid who is starved for love and affection.

Alfred Ashford

Commander of the base on Rockfort Island and son of Alexander Ashford, the 6th generation head of the Ashford family and chief executive officer of Umbrella Corporation. He graduated from a well-regarded British university in 1993 and was given control over the Antarctic and Rockfort Island bases. Although he was given control of such important Umbrella facilities, he squandered his responsibilities by using the island for his own private torture facility. He also had a strange obsession with adorning the base with military collectibles. To Umbrella, Alfred was an encumbrance; nothing more than a petty dictator attempting to emulate greatness that was far beyond his reach. With no one to counsel him, his mental breakdown accelerated as he spent his days obsessing over the restoration of his family's power.

Chris Redfield

Several months prior to the destruction of Raccoon City, during the Mansion Incident, Chris found the Arklay Research Lab and uncovered Umbrella’s plot. But due to a systematic cover-up, the entire matter was cloaked in darkness and none of his information saw the light of day. At that point, Chris decided to travel to Europe to look into matters on his own. When Chris departed, he broke off contact with his younger sister, Claire in order to avoid exposing her to danger. Anxious about his safety, Claire set off by her self to find him, and subsequently got caught up in the Raccoon City Disaster. She then followed her bother to Europe, was captured by Umbrella, and imprisoned on Rockfort Island. After learning of Claire’s imprisonment from Leon, Chris took off immediately for Rockfort Island. There he met Albert Wesker, picked up on Claire’s trail, and travelled to Antarctica.

Files with no gifs to go with them:

Alexia Ashford

The brilliant scientist and artificially created daughter of Alexander Ashford, the sixth-generation head of the Ashford family. Though Alfred and she were twin brother and sister, their relationship was quite unequal. He treated her with the utmost love, while she lorded over him as a master might a slave. When Alexia was 10, she was hired as a research scientist at the Antarctic laboratory. She surprised the other scientists by conducting research on the T-Virus and simultaneously working on a new strain referred to as the T-Veronica virus. But when the research reached a critical point, Alexia did the incomprehensible. This girl, who was born with a heart of pure evil, forcibly used her father Alexander in an experiment and injected him with the virus. The experiment was a failure, ending with Alexander being transformed into a hideous monster, but for Alexia, it was important stage and opened new avenues of research for her. When her research approached its final stage, Alexia decided to use herself as a test subject, this time, injecting herself with T-Veronica. After doing so, she placed herself into a cryogenic sleep. The outside world was told that she had died during an experiment.

[strangeracrossthestreet]

Israeli forces continue to escalate oppression in the West Bank. Yesterday, they arrested 70 Palestinians during night incursions. Among the detained is 22-year-old activist Ahed Tamimi.

id:

A Guide to Administrative Detention:

Why am I here? - As of September 2021, Israel was holding 520 Palestinians under administrative detention. Detainees are incarcerated without charge or trial.

What did I do? - Most detainees are held on the basis of 'secret evidence', meaning that they have no way to know what they're accused of.

Can I get a lawyer? - Israel has the power to bar access to a lawyer for up to 90 days. Even with access, the lawyer will still not be allowed to see secret evidence.

How long am I here for? - Administrative Detention orders last for a maximum of 6 months, but can be renewed indefinitely.

Can I see my family? - Israel often holds Palestinian detainees from the occupied territories in prisons inside Israel, which is illegal under international law. Family must obtain a special permit to visit, which Israeli authorities may deny without reason.

Can the Red Cross help me? - The Red Cross can visit, but will generally not publicly release information about your condition.

I'm in solitary. My health is suffering. - The duration of a Palestinian detainee's solitary confinement is approved by Israeli doctors. Physicians for Human Rights-Israel condemns this as complicity in human rights abuses.

What if I'm pregnant? - Some women have been forced to give birth in Israeli prisons, where medical negligence is a systematic issue.

I'm a member of parliament, what about diplomatic immunity? - Israel routinely holds Palestinian political leaders under administrative detention.

I was due for a release this week... But they renewed my detention for another 6 months. What can I do? Hunger strike - Palestinian detainees have held mass hunger strikes to protest administrative detention, poor conditions, and ill treatment in Israeli prisons.

bold and color added by me

[jerardeusebio]

Running Into Remembering

There was a time in my life when I was running eight miles a day, six days a week, at home, in the college town of Los Baños. And I couldn’t have been running all the time there without seeing the same set of characters. These were the ones who ran on campus with me, on the same pavements, at the same hour, from dusk to night. And so, during these runs, I regularly encountered certain faces, all of them I had—whether knowingly or not—committed to memory.

One of them was this girl, a classmate from literature class, who impressed me with her dramatic weight loss. I saw her most often in the upper field, circling her way to less and less of her old self. Before the year was over, her once plump profile had become defined, reshaped by her own resolve. The last time I saw her was at the beginning of summer. She, running in the opposite direction, at one point glanced at me. There was no hint of recognition in her expression and so continued on her way, her figure fading into the browns of the field. She must have graduated after that because I never saw her again.

There was also see this guy, distinct from the rest of the runners because of his thick, modern spectacles and knee-high socks. He was fair-skinned and I almost would bet he spent his days in front of a computer screen. I also knew him to be the son of a prominent parish official. I only discovered this bit because I’ve actually been to his house once as a caroler, not to serenade his family into contributing to our fundraising activity. It intrigued me how I’ve never seen him join any of our other religious activities outside Sunday Mass. On campus, though, he’d be everywhere. Dusk seemed to be his preferred running time. He would run farther distances than most people, run where only a few would—like me.

I was an adventurous runner. Being off the beaten path was my way of exacting my own world. Mapping random, unusual routes was how I facilitated resistance to everything else out of my control. Mostly though, it was to avoid the crowd. By myself, there was no need to nod at anyone I knew, no need to feel threatened by someone else’s faster pace, and no need to feel like the world was slowing me down. So, I would take quiet, narrow streets. Whenever I felt extra solitary, I’d run uphill and stop right where the trail for Mount Makiling’s peak started.

It would only make sense, then, that when I first saw the elderly man, I was running alone. I had been passing a row of charming post-war wooden houses on Viado street, a quaint and shade road completely hidden from the campus crowd’s view below. It stretched perpendicular to the slope of what was already the foot of the mountain. Trees and wild vegetation grew from both sides where they were interrupted only by these houses. I had been soaking in the quiet of that late afternoon when I saw him standing on his porch. Easily in his late 50s, the man had dignified, silver hair landing on his shoulders. His most striking feature was his lived-in face. As I came closer, I realized he was stretching and in his running attire. Pre- or post- run, I couldn’t tell. It was then that he looked at me. Apart from a friendly white dog and free ranging chickens, this street had been, up until this point, almost always deserted. One of the reasons I loved passing this way was because it gave me the creeps, which upped my pace considerably. So right then, locking eyes with a stranger who vaguely reminded me of the sick man from The Skeleton Key, and with the onset of the ominous buzz of the cicadas, I stopped myself from further engaging with him. I just stared back a split second and turned my gaze back on the road before me.

In the weeks and months that followed, I would instantly recognize him even from afar. His hair spoke to me from a distance. His lanky physique was unmistakable. His gait gave him away. After some time, he stopped creeping me out. He became a familiar face, as familiar as the paths I took and the giant trees I gawked at and greeted on my way. We would run into each other in all sorts of spots, in all permutations of weather. At one point, I even remember telling myself he was the future me—running solo, daily, rain or shine, with no care in the world about age. Sort of like Murakami.

In the next five years, I found myself running less and less in my hometown, having to relocate to the city for graduate studies. I did try to keep my devotion to the one sport I actually liked. I pushed running in the city more times than I could bear, slicing through the smog, joining in the noise, and moving along with the traffic. But they must have been too few, because faces didn’t become familiar. And the quiet, narrow streets of the city—I realized—weren’t as narrow, weren’t as quiet. Running finally took a back seat when I looked for and landed a full-time job to help fund my graduate studies and city living. Every now and then, though, I would remember and wonder about those years of running.

Just a few days ago, I came back home to spend a full week there, a break from the life I had so far led. I planned my week and vowed to pick up running again. I shook the dust off my running shoes, put them on, and was back on the familiar pavements. I was out of shape, needless to say, but it gave me the good kind of exhaustion. And at the end of my run, cooling down in front of the building where my parents first met, I spotted a face I recognized. The elderly man from the quiet, narrow street emerged before my sight. Still in his running attire, he seemed to have rejected the concept of aging. I stared at him until we were close enough to see the terrain of each other’s faces, the closest we have ever gotten. And then, right before passing me, he gave me a nod. I nodded back and got a smile in return.

They say running is all about muscle memory. These days, I’ve been given to remembering. The years between who we—that man and I—were and who we are have been many and long. And perhaps—in the years we had not seen each other, in the absence of presence, in the intransigence of remembering—we have nevertheless become familiar. And when an aged and nameless runner is able to give such things to me, how could the image not imprint? How could it not stay? And how else, how else could I have repossessed this story, if I hadn’t already once let it slip into the gorges of memory?

[atlasscrumpit]

Patient Reader x Doctor Miguel Part 2

(Part 1 here)

Unfortunately your time in solitary was lasting longer than usual, after all you had broken a doctors ribs.

It had been one week already, they had doubled your medication and weren't giving you as much food.

You hasn't seen Miguel in six days, but finally he entered and you looked up and smiled tiredly.

"Is Miggy..." You muttered as he looked at you with worry.

He knelt down to where you were sitting on the floor.

"Hey, focus on me, Y/N." He said as he lifted your chin a little and looked into your eyes.

He noticed your eyes weren't focusing, you had gotten thin and your skin was pale.

"I think we need to get you to the medical ward." He muttered as he managed to pick you up in his arms and carried you out.

He knew something was seriously wrong, usually if he didn't see you for a few days you would've run up and acting like a puppy seeing its human for the first time.

"I'm hungry." You whispered as Miguel looked down at your pale face.

"I know, I'll get you some food soon." He whispered as he walked to the infirmary and laid you down.

He hooked you up to an IV and started to check you over and messure your vitals.

"How often did they bring you food, Y/N?" He asked while doing other things.

"They gave me a bit of food once a day with some water." You muttered as Miguel looked at you in horror.

"Fuck... I know you did something wrong but they legally can't fucking starve you." He growled in anger as he brushed your hair out of you face.

"You should start feeling a bit better soon, I'm just going to go talk to someone and get you food, okay?" He said as you looked up weakly and nodded.

--

After a few minutes Miguel returned with some basic food.

He sat beside you and sighed.

"Something wrong?" You muttered as he looked at you sadly.

"They want to transfer you to a more secure hospital." He muttered as you looked at him.

"No... No, please. Please don't let them take me." You whispered as you started to cry softly...

"I'm not going to." He replied making you stare at him in shock.

"The place they're sending you is even less humane than this one." He muttered as he looked at you and sighed.

"I can't believe I'm doing this..." He whispered, you continued to look at him.

"What's going to happen to me?" You whispered as Miguel rubbed his face.

"I'm going to regret this, but I'm going to take you home with me. After some time they'll stop looking because you don't have family and you were a patient." He said as you slowly sat up.

"Why...why would you do that?" You muttered as Miguel looked down and slowly took your hand.

"None of this is your fault, you grew up in a terrible environment and never had anyone on your side. Mental illness doesn't mean you need to be locked away and punished... I'll be able to keep you medication stable myself and I can keep you safe there." He said as you felt tears in your eyes.

"We can be a family." You said making him chuckle softly.

"Yes, we can. But, firstly you need to get better. I'll keep you here for the next two days while I plan how to get you out of here, okay?" He asked as you nodded excitedly.

--

It had been two months since Miguel had taken you, after a week they stopped looking, which was quite sad but good for Miguel and you.

He had expected the worst when he had done this, but it was like you were an entirely different person.

You had less breakdowns and you were controlling your emotions so much better. Maybe you felt safe here and with a bit of freedom you no longer felt like just a number in a psych ward.

Miguel had quit his job last week and decided to take a bit of time off before finding another one.

He came home after getting groceries and found you cleaning the kitchen, he chuckled softly.

"Hey, you don't have to clean up if you don't want." Miguel said as you saw him, you gasped and ran up to hug him tightly.

"I missed you!" You shouted making him laugh, he hugged you back.

"I missed you too, Y/N. I got some snacks so we can watch a movie together." He said as you grabbed the bags and began unpacking them.

Once you were done you grabbed the snacks and sat on the couch like an excited puppy.

Miguel sat beside you and turned a movie on as he sighed and took off his shoes.

You cuddled into his side as the movie began, Miguel wrapped his arm around you and you sighed softly.

"When are we going to have sex again?" You asked as Miguel groaned.

"Y/N, you can't just ask that out of the blue." He grumbled before you pulled away, you straddled his legs and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Come onnnn. We're a little family now, you're the big daddy that takes care of everything and I'm the mommy that stays home." You said as Miguel looked at you.

"Y/N, I think it'll complicate things." He muttered as you pouted.

"Why don't we just kiss then?" You asked leaning in as you moved your hips a little.

"It'll feel so good... Remember the first time? I was so tight and you were so big inside of me, it felt so good." You whispered as you began kissing his neck.

He sighed softly and rested his hands on your hips.

"I don't want to do anything to trigger you, love." He said as you looked at him.

"I feel safe with you, Miguel." You whispered as his hand went into your hair and gently pulled you firward to kiss you.

You pulled away and giggled softly.

"Is that a yes?" You asked, wiggling your hips a little.

"Yes, baby. Come here."

[doomedandstoned]

VIGIL Offer Roaring Catharsis on EP ‘...And The Void Stared Back’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Nothing is worse than the emotional burden of hurt, loss, betrayal, and grief. It is often overwhelming, consuming thoughts and giving rise to depression and physical distress that can last for months, years, even a lifetime. Music comes as a welcome respite, as it not only identifies with our pain but offers an outlet for mourning, insight, perhaps even healing.

Thus, death-doom was born, a melding of death metal with doom metal that began with groundbreaking acts such as Paradise Lost, My Dying Bride, Katatonia, and Draconian in the 1990s and continues strong well into the second decade of the new century. A hallmark of this style is slowed down tempos, gruff vocals, double kick drumming, and plaintive guitars, with the genre expanding into melodic realms as well. To onlookers it may seem harsh, morose, even distasteful. However, to those in the throes of misery it can come as a welcome salve to the soul.

Today, we introduce you to the grim New Hampshire blackened death-doom crew VIGIL, which rose from the ashes of another Kingston area band: Onera.

Justin Christian (bass, guitar) and Craig Simas (guitar, synth) have aimed not only for a heavier direction than their previous project, but also something "beautiful and emotional." Dave Petillo (vox), Joe Davis (bass), and Brandon Phinney (drums) round out the formidable ensemble on the band's debut EP, '...And The Void Stared Back' (2024), which Doomed & Stoned is premiering.

"One of the original building blocks of Vigil was to be as heavy as we could," the band says, "This led to the decision to have two bass players. As the songs started to take shape and each member was putting their own touches to the arrangements, we realized quickly that we succeeded in our goal. Combining that with our love for post-rock, thrash, and progressive metal, Vigil is a showpiece for all our influences filtered through our ears, hands, and emotions. We take the listener down a dark road of sorrow and anger."

The four-track affair begins strong with one of my favorites of the record, "Descend To Extinction" -- a song that puts our mortality into perspective.

You must all face The truth of life We end in spite Of our strife All must pay A toll sometime Let our being Be a moment in time

A sanguine guitar lead greets, interlaced with dire growls personifying our great common enemy: Death. Juxtaposed to this is a melodic chorus with appealing vocal harmonies that address the cold, hard reality of human suffering. At 4:22 there is some arresting riffwork that harkens back to the metal glory days of the '80s. It feels as if the rushing winds of Fate are sweeping us away. The song closes with a return to the dissonant rhythms and the bittersweet riff of the start.

Next comes the "Words of a Dying Man". Rainy repeated chords set the stage and are soon contrasted with contemplative picking, spacey synthesizer, and dark octaves on the piano. This is accompanied by gnarling vocals and that both snarl and whisper. Emphatic bass and drums shake us awake from this dream state, and downtuned guitars embrace a return to reality.

After this, we're visited by "Erosion of the Soul". Gut-wrenching black metal vocals are reminscent of Enslaved and the tension increases with strumming chord progressions, tremeloes, and aggressive drumming. You can really feel the rumble of the dual basses here.

The pain you gave me rots inside I cannot tell you I can't believe The hatred still living blind I can't let it breed inside Spirits live fighting Right inside my head

"Convulse Ways From A World Beyond" finishes us off with a wild hailstorm of drumming, chugging groove rhythms, and flashes of dissonance, interrupted by some doomy moments on guitar that are genuinely moving. Twin guitars offer sorrowful strains that intersect and contrast. Solitary bass lines usher us to the EP's closing moments.

Vigil's ...And The Void Stared Back is available on compact disc, with singles available for download (get 'em here). Stick it on a playlist with Serpentine Path, Heavy Death, and Hooded Menace, and Marche Funèbre.

Give ear...

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[buyandlove-studiopottery]

Barbara Cass, Forgotten 20th Century Woman Potters.

Barbara and her work had more less been forgotten among female potters of her time but have changed somewhat in todays ceramics pottery world, and her wares are becoming more desirable and collectable today.

About Barbara Cass

Barbara Cass (1921–1992) was born in Berlin, Germany. She studied sculpture in Berlin and came to Britain in 1950. Her friend and pupil, Juliane Montgomery, says ‘’Barbara offered me a twelve-month apprenticeship. She was normally quite a solitary person – often showing a bit of a rough exterior to the world – so it was surprising that she took me under her wing. Did she see her young self in me, having also been born and grown up in Berlin, taking the leap across the Channel in her twenties? She was following a different passion though; she was fascinated by what was happening in Britain in the world of ceramics and wanted to become part of it.’’ 

Barbara married a British Officer named Cass whom she had met whilst giving art classes to military personnel in northern Germany, and together they moved to Leeds. Shortly after arriving, they separated, though Barbara continued to use the name Cass. She moved to York in 1952 and set up a workshop in the Shambles, working there till 1961. As her friend Juliane explains, 

‘’She had very little means and worked incredibly hard turning out well-crafted tourist souvenirs to make ends meet. Alongside this she developed her skills as a studio potter creating beautiful tableware – stoneware fired in an electric kiln- and gradually more sculptural work.’’ 

In 1956, Barbara began working in stoneware, which became her chosen medium. She exhibited examples at The Great Yorkshire Show in Harrogate, 1956. During the 1950s she also frequently exhibited the work she created at her studio on the Shambles at Primavera, an influential London gallery owned by Henry Rothschild. Julianne reminds us, ’Often, at the end of a working day, Barbara would sit holding a finished pot in her hands, feeling it’s weight and shape, studying the glaze and describing to me what made the pot ‘whole’. She connected with her pots on a deep emotional and spiritual level and sitting with her in the fading light, connecting to the pots, she felt like Mother Earth to me.’’ 

Barbara left York in 1966, but continued making pottery, first in Henley-in-Arden and later in Stratford-upon-Avon. Her work continues to be an important feature in York. In 2001, York Museums Trust received a large collection of studio ceramics from the collector W.A. Ismay, whose personal collection began with the purchase of pieces by Barbara. Ismay’s collection enabled York Art Gallery to launch its Centre of Ceramic Arts in 2015. Covering the whole British studio ceramics movement, it includes 61 ceramics by Barbara Cass, plus archival records of her time in York. As the Curator for Ceramics has said, ‘’2021 is the centenary of her birth and like many important female potters, she has been forgotten.’’ Barbara will be celebrated in an exhibition and book about the W.A. Ismay Collection, titled “The Yorkshire Tea Ceremony”. 

[yvesdot]

Behind the Scenes: March 2023 Newsletter

(newsletter in question)

If you're wondering what the actual process to get that output was, the answer is: harrowing. I likely spent a lot more time working with the prompt than I would have if I had just written the thing myself-- but it was fun!

(I recommend opening this post in two tabs so you can compare output to my comments on it. This is also your invitation to ask yourself how much of the newsletter was my input and how much of it was interpretation. Which of those phrases do you think I naturally write? Which of them do you think I wrote?)

If you've never used ChatGPT before, I do recommend you test it out. The tl;dr on process is that you enter a prompt and it generates a convincing output using the patterns it has learned from its training data.

The ultimate prompt that worked for me (with numerous re-generations):

Hi ChatGPT! I need you to write a Patreon post for me based on my last few posts. It is a monthly newsletter telling people what I'm doing. Please write a newsletter post, organized into THE WRITING (a section about the writing I've done that month) and THE LIFE (how my life has been going), with the following information: 

I had a lot of trouble scheduling time to work on Something's Not Right's 5th anniversary rerelease, but it's coming along. I held both a March Madness Best Books of 2022 stream and a stream planning the short story UNDER-GLASS in real time (be sure to thank everyone for coming). Both streams are now available on YouTube. I'll be streaming in April with OHHOW for Camp NaNo during the 11:00 PM to 1:00 AM slot on Saturday, April 8th. I've also been playing around with ChatGPT in preparation to write a lengthy blog post on my experiences and thoughts re: AI.

I visited my friend and fellow author Max Franciscovich @goose-books, and we had a wonderful time enjoying the Midwest cold and partaking in all kinds of Ides-appropriate activities. 

At the end of the post, reveal that the entire post has been written by ChatGPT. Do not mention it at any other point, especially the beginning. Also thank everyone for continuing to support me. 

Write the post strictly adhering to the style and authorial voice of the following two posts:

FEBRUARY NEWSLETTER

Happy happy February, everyone! Boy, does it feel strange to have a new year.

THE WRITING

We are on SNR2 LOCKDOWN! I am still editing up new stories to enter the 5th anniversary re-release of Something’s Not Right.

At the same time, I’ve been running occasional streams, mostly thanks to OHHOW’s theming; a giant thank you to them for having the Monthly Themes for everyone to use. February’s theme was, naturally, Romance, hence our Romance Studies stream, where we learned from excerpts of many great titles how to write a good kissing, intimate, and/or sex scene. You can now find the stream on YouTube, where I hope to post more recordings! (Plus: the snippet I shared from KAY is up here.)

Be sure to turn up to March’s themed stream, Planning to Pantsing—where we’ll be planning an entire short story live on air—and our bonus funtimes March Madness stream, where I’ll be pitting all my favorite reads of 2022 against each other. (The Reading Roundup is still coming, whenever day jobs and SNR2 and so on allow).

On the smaller side, we held a little poll for Tumblr’s favorite genre of books, with expected results. And, on top of all of the above, Hourly Comic Day!

...so the lockdown isn’t quite as secure as we thought. Thanks for keeping me company while I do the quiet, often solitary work of editing and shining-up.

THE LIFE

I have been working on my work/writing/life balance. This is one sentence, but it is all the nooks and crannies of my life right now. It’s been going well so far! As always, direct all thoughts to me here or on Tumblr.

DECEMBER NEWSLETTER:

Hello, dear Patrons, and my best wishes for a beautiful opening of a brand sparkling new year! Thank you so much for your patience as I have wrapped up a wonderfully busy month. <- After writing these words, I was hit by a wayward ship at the dock, and as a result this is a full month late. Apologies! It was a VERY busy month.

THE WRITING

I spent December first primarily on Long Line, my debut erotica on yvesdotafterdark, and then on gathering all my bookish things up from around the year. I have not finished them, mostly because January has been focused on getting SNR...2! into the works (ICYMI: I’m trying to put out a 5th anniversary edition of Something’s Not Right; it takes a lot of work). The Scar and Tragic Accident have also been unlocked for free reading!

Otherwise, I really didn’t write very much this month. I decided to take a kind of pseudo-break from the literal act of writing and editing and so on to focus on my end-of-year things, and I did enjoy it—though I think breaks are perhaps more relaxful when they’re actual breaks and not just Break From One Thing To Do Another.

THE LIFE

I never did clean my room. I am now cleaning my room, in fits and starts, around everything else. This is part of a larger desperation for more time, not only for writing but also for my friends and my chores and my errands, and it signals to me that I am burning out a little bit. Look out for Patreon changes!

I also sincerely appreciate everyone being here and cheering me on specifically during this month. December 2022 was undoubtedly one of my busiest months ever—and I created and sold a limited edition print run of Exhaustively earlier this year!—and I’m so grateful for all the people who boosted my posts and chatted to me in the yvescord and hyped me up when I thought I would never finish a review. You made everything so much easier, and you continue to make it worth it.

Wrapping up with some maintenance notes: the giveaway is over, and (Oscar Isaac voice) somehow, Max @goose-books won. He will almost certainly not be taking duplicates of everything, and I’m sure everyone I gift a copy of a zine or book will be very grateful for his donation. The good news is that I was going to be visiting him anyway, so I believe I have saved on some shipping, I say, holding several-hundred-dollar plane tickets.

JANUARY NEWSLETTER

Happy end-of-January! Don’t tell me that it is, because I need to pretend it’s still two days after 2022 in order to finish all my 2022 wrap ups guilt-free. To that end, I have been writing “/22” on every form with a date. They’ll never take me alive!

THE WRITING

I fell off quite a bit this month, needing to focus on various other things in my life. The good news is that, apparently, for me falling off means releasing a new short story, so hopefully you didn’t notice. I’ve also been working very hard on putting together February’s Romance Writing Stream (on writing kissing & intimate scenes), so I hope you’ll come! And, of course, SNR2 work continues. Thanks for coming to the announcement stream!

(And I finally posted an Avner/Eliza deleted scenes roundup from recent Forest Castles editing work. Scraplets continue to be posted as I discover them in my drafts!)

THE LIFE

What a storm that was! Fortunately, I am completely fine, quickly changing some travel plans and conveniently having family everywhere in the state to host me when necessary. Wishing much love to Californians worse affected, and to anyone else dealing with rough winters this side of the climate terror. I do say it every month, but thank you again to Patrons helping me sail these seas... and THANK YOU FOR 3 YEARS ON PATREON!! To many many many more!

Arguably I could have done better if I hadn't greeted it, but I still can't ask ChatGPT for things without providing a greeting first.

Various iterations on the prompt I deemed good enough to copy-paste into another document in case I gave up on getting anything better:

Hello everyone,

It's March and time for my monthly update!

THE WRITING:

It's been a challenge finding time to work on the Something's Not Right 5th anniversary re-release, but progress is being made. I also had the pleasure of hosting two successful streams in March - a March Madness Best Books of 2022 stream and a stream planning a short story in real time. A big thank you to everyone who attended! In April, I'll be streaming with OHHOW for Camp NaNo during the 11:00 PM to 1:00 AM slot on Saturday, April 8th. Additionally, I've been exploring my experiences and thoughts about AI in preparation to write a blog post.

THE LIFE:

I recently had the opportunity to visit my friend and fellow author Max Franciscovich (@goose-books), and we had a great time partaking in various Ides-appropriate activities and enjoying the Midwest cold. Balancing my work, writing, and life has been a priority, and I'm happy to say that my Patreon remodel is going well.

And there you have it - my monthly update. Oh, and by the way, this entire post was written by ChatGPT. Thank you all for continuing to support me!

(It doesn't really sound like me-- an issue that continued despite the addition of two more Patreon posts as samples to the prompt text-- but the main dealbreaker was calling the streams 'successful.' I wouldn't say they weren't, but it felt a little stuck-up. That reveal also strikes me as too... catty, almost. Am I catty?!)

Happy March, everyone! Can you believe it's already the third month of the year? Time seems to fly by so fast.

THE WRITING

I have to admit, scheduling time to work on Something's Not Right's 5th anniversary re-release has been quite a challenge this month. However, I'm happy to report that it's coming along nicely. I've been in touch with tRaum Books, working on promotional materials, and editing up new stories to include in the re-release.

In addition to my editing work, I've also been busy with a couple of streams this month. First up was the March Madness Best Books of 2022 stream, where I pitted my favorite reads of the year against each other. I'd like to thank everyone who tuned in for that. I also held a stream planning a short story in real-time, which was a lot of fun. If you missed either of these streams, you can catch them on my YouTube channel.

Looking ahead, I'll be streaming in April with OHHOW for Camp NaNo. You can catch me from 11:00 PM to 1:00 AM on Saturday, April 8th. I'm excited to participate in this event and can't wait to see what we'll come up with.

Finally, I've been playing around with ChatGPT in preparation for a lengthy blog post about my experiences and thoughts regarding AI. Stay tuned for more details on that.

THE LIFE

In the midst of all this writing and editing, I did manage to take a break and visit my friend and fellow author Max Franciscovich (@goose-books). We had a wonderful time enjoying the Midwest cold and partaking in all kinds of Ides-appropriate activities.

In general, I've been working hard to balance my work, writing, and personal life this month. It's been a bit of a challenge, but I think I'm making progress. As always, I appreciate all the support and encouragement from my readers and fans. Thank you for being there for me.

And now, the big reveal: this entire post was written by ChatGPT! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time.

(Not 100% happy with this reveal, either, but in this case the dealbreaker was the word-for-word copy/pasting of text from previous newsletters-- the line including "editing up" is clearly identical.)

Greetings and salutations, lovely Patrons! Another month, another update.

THE WRITING

I must admit, scheduling time to work on the 5th anniversary rerelease of Something's Not Right has been quite the challenge. However, progress is being made, and I'm excited to share it with you all soon. In March, I held two streams that were an absolute blast. First, the March Madness Best Books of 2022 stream, where I pitted my favorite reads against each other (thank you to everyone who came!). Then, we planned a short story in real-time, which was so much fun. If you missed either of these streams, don't worry - I plan on posting recordings on YouTube soon.

Mark your calendars, because on Saturday, April 8th, I'll be joining OHHOW for Camp NaNo during the 11:00 PM to 1:00 AM slot. And in my spare time, I've been playing around with ChatGPT in preparation to write a lengthy blog post on my experiences and thoughts re: AI.

THE LIFE

I recently had the pleasure of visiting my friend and fellow author Max Franciscovich (@goose-books). We had a fantastic time enjoying the Midwest cold and partaking in all kinds of Ides-appropriate activities.

In addition to writing, I've been focusing on my work/writing/life balance, and I'm happy to report that it's going well so far. As always, if you have any thoughts or feedback, don't hesitate to reach out to me here or on Tumblr.

And that's a wrap on this month's newsletter. Surprise! This entire post has been written by ChatGPT. Thank you all for continuing to support our lovely author, and we'll see you again next month.

(Hooray for the unique and yet utterly dottian phrasing of the opener! The parenthetical in the March Madness stream comment is a dream! But the recordings were planned to already be up once the Patreon post went out, and the "mark your calendars" transition is nonexistent. Good transition on the next line, though! Unfortunate that it stole the work/writing/life bit from an example and then seems to ask people for their feedback on that [since the post it snatched from asks for feedback on the reorganization of Patreon in order to form a better work/writing/life balance]. Also, who is this lovely author...)

Dear Patrons,

Welcome to another edition of my monthly newsletter! As always, thank you for your continued support. This month, I've been up to a lot of things, so let's get right into it.

THE WRITING:

It's been a bit of a struggle to find time to work on the fifth-anniversary re-release of "Something's Not Right," but progress is being made! In addition to that, I held two streams: a March Madness Best Books of 2022 stream and a stream planning the short story "UNDER-GLASS" in real-time. Both streams are available on YouTube, so a big thank you to everyone who came and made them so much fun to do!

In April, I'll be streaming again with OHHOW for Camp NaNo during the 11:00 PM to 1:00 AM slot on Saturday, April 8th. I've also been playing around with ChatGPT in preparation to write a lengthy blog post on my experiences and thoughts regarding AI.

THE LIFE:

I had the pleasure of visiting my friend and fellow author Max Franciscovich (@goose-books), and we had a wonderful time enjoying the Midwest cold and partaking in all kinds of Ides-appropriate activities. It was so good to get away and spend some time with someone I care about.

And that's it for this month! Thank you again for your support, and remember, this entire post has been written by ChatGPT. If you have any thoughts or comments, feel free to reach out to me on here or Tumblr. I'll see you all next month!

(That... is not how a reveal works. Poor ChatGPT.)

And, of course, the final functioning prompt, which included no reveal. I found myself preferring to say it myself, because at that point I was having enough trouble getting ChatGPT not to open in the third person (e.g. "ChatGPT here with another update from your favorite author") to not warrant any further nonsense.

I absolutely did not go about this wisely. I used ChatGPT as a playground, not as a Serious Buziness Investmump, and as a result I 100% forewent research into prompts that would have done objectively better. I'm also, in case anyone was worried, not planning on using ChatGPT to write more Patreon posts-- as you can see, it's really only functional as a gimmick.

The idea I had here was that I often spend too much time writing Patreon newsletters than I need to; nobody is going to freak out if I use one turn of phrase versus another, and it doesn't have to be a two-hours-combined affair. The vast majority of these outputs were usable with only light editing for voice; the only reason things took so long with this method was that I refused to edit them for the sake of the gag. (And, admittedly, my awful prompt.)

What I like about the ChatGPT Patreon idea is that it gets me out of my head. It says, "look, when this draft isn't written by you, suddenly it seems a lot more functional, doesn't it?"

If you're interested in more of my thoughts on AI and how it ought to be used, please subscribe to my Patreon! I'll be dropping a pretty lengthy blog post on AI there for the Little Ones before it hits Tumblr-- not to mention the actual behind the scenes posts you get on, well, pretty much everything I do. And, in the meanwhile, any curious questions can be sent to my inbox or Discord.

Support the author: all writing | book | ko-fi | Patreon

[teanicolae]

Pandemic Stories: Daylight

As time slowly unfolded, daylight shimmered through the loss, the ache, the anguish. Softness had been there, inside of me, all along: underneath the grief, underneath the relentless self-loathing and merciless depression, a sweet softness shimmered through.

🦋 Medium launched an invitation to writers on their platform to share their pandemic stories & experiences, in retrospect of hitting our 3-year mark following the outbreak. here is my own story, entitled 'Daylight'. ☀️

In 2020, I spent nine months in isolation in England, out of which five were spent mostly by myself, save for the company of my pet-rabbit. Flight bans and regional restrictions resulted in solitary celebrations of Easter and Christmas, away from my family, who lived miles away from me, in Romania. I marked the completion of my undergraduate degree with a glass of wine in front of my computer’s screen, and my graduation ceremony consisted in taking a selfie wearing an academic cap I had ordered online. I held my 22nd birthday party on ZOOM and began my postgraduate degree in my bedroom.

The first months of the pandemic saw me grappling with grief, unease, and anxiety. My struggle was not with solitude, which I cherished deeply. Truthfully, I have always treasured the time spent with myself, which I often had to defend from family, friends, lovers. I love connecting with people and opening to them, but I crave quietude, I crave me, I crave meeting myself in stillness. Indeed, the first lesson isolation taught me was that I had internalised my need to be alone as something that I needed to fix. Furthermore, the need to justify my alone time to others had left me feeling inadequate. There was joy in letting that contraction go, gratitude in having endless time to spend with myself, and relief in not having to eternally explain my seclusion. In my tiny room, I explored boundless universes through my imagination, through books and poetry, I felt held by friends through the internet, and, in the depth of my aloneness, I realised how tightly connected our world is.

Nonetheless, my struggle dealt with the uncertainty of the future. I had tightly held onto the illusion of control for most of my life, and the pandemic roughly forced me to face that nothing had been in my hands all along. This realisation filled me with unspeakable dread. My mind spun restlessly, and there were many tears.

However, as time slowly unfolded, daylight shimmered through the loss, the ache, the anguish. Isolation offered me silence, tranquillity, and time: time to read, to study, to feel into myself, to observe my mind and my patterns. I learned to cradle myself, I taught myself gentleness and the importance of rest, I found the courage to ask for help when needed.

And, in the silence, the second lesson I was offered was that of trust. Isolation guided me to cultivate a heartfelt trust to the flow of life. I learned that I never had the power to obstruct, control or manipulate it. I began my days with the beautiful prayer written by Reinhold Niebuhr: ‘Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.’ And there was kindness.

This process led me to continuously unearth myself. At first, by way of tears, clumsily. And, as my fears began to soften, daringly. In the silence, my heart, jammed tight for such a long time, cracked open; it was heavy and silken, wrenching, and tender. I cried and I prayed, I wrote, and I danced. I laughed and I lit candles. I made amends and I drank. I howled and asked for forgiveness. I digested life and rested in the pause. As old wounds unravelled and mended, I felt soft and mushy, in awe with how much beauty and loss my heart could feel; all at once.

On a particularly tender night, I felt as if I finally returned to myself: as if I finally met myself for the first time. A quiver, a gentle ‘hey, that’s me’. And love, acceptance, marvel rushed through. Softness had been there, inside of me, all along: underneath the grief, underneath the relentless self-loathing, underneath the merciless depression, a sweet softness shimmered through. Life has unfolded sweetly since then; not smoothly or painlessly, but sweetly. There is an intrinsic sweetness that shines through: through the beautiful and the not so beautiful, through the silly, the mundane, the harrowing. Grace. On the very same tender night, I wrote in my journal:

‘Fears blossom into devotion in the palms of my hands. I bathe in what is. And there is only daylight.’

And I trust that there will be. As Mr. Leonard Cohen would sing, ‘There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.’

There will be kindness.

photo: mid-isolation in 2020, when my hair was wild & my mind heavy. wearing my mother's dress.

*sing-songs*:  my love was as cruel as the cities i lived in / and i've been sleeping for so long in a 20-year dark night / but now i see daylight, daylight, daylight

[nsthoughts]

Bahi

I got back from my work, tired as I would always be and headed straight to my kitchen to make myself a warm cup of coffee. It hasn't been long since I moved to a new city and restarted my caffeine addiction. After I made my coffee, I went to my room, where an empty chair and a desk would await me. There on the desk would be a notebook with my name engraved on it, empty, waiting to be filled. I sat on the chair and put my coffee on the desk as I would stare at my notebook. The notebook would lay on the desk for months now and even if I wanted to write something, I couldn't. With no words in my head and my hand refusing to move, there was nothing I could do but to give in to the daily shenanigans of adulting and work. To divert my attention I started staring at the ceiling. It was completely dark in the room, silence in the air,  a solitariness which I enjoyed , or more like grew accustomed to. The lights were turned off and as I kept staring at the ceiling, I slowly began to shut my eyes. The windows were open, being the gateway for a cold winter breeze would embrace me and suddenly send me down the nostalgia lane.

"Few years back, as winter would slowly arrive, I would get in my hoodie and go out with excitement in my heart. Why would that be? Of course because I would be meeting her. It wasn't a routine nor was it a compulsion, but I would try and meet her every time it was possible. As the cold breeze would embrace those shedding leaves, I would keep my hands inside my pocket keeping it warm. I would walk, when my phone would be buzzing with her text messages. "Where are you?" And my reply like always would be "Just round the corner." You know how your heart would beat faster and faster and your entire body starts feeling happy, what is it called? Oh yes, butterfly in the stomach, that would happen to me whenever I would see her. As we meet up, we would usually go for a walk together before ending up at a random or the same usual cafe we would visit often. After entering the cafe, it would be our usual order of cappuccino and latte and her gossips. It always would be a warm feeling for me, to see her smile, laugh, talk all while I would hold her hand and stare at her like a creep. For me she would be an enchanting sight, which would often make me forget about what was going around me. And her, she would simply remind me to have my coffee before it gets cold. Then, as we continue to talk, or rather just listen to her, I would walk her home, embrace her and text her "I reached home" before calling it an end to those exciting days in my boring life. Just as I finished reminiscing about those sweet moments, it struck me that the coffee I made for me had gone cold. I smiled looking at my cold cup of coffee and went back to the kitchen to reheat it. After reheating it, I went back to my room slowly sipping and enjoying the warm coffee before I sat on my chair again. I looked at my notebook again, but this time I smiled. I took another sip of the coffee and as I picked up a pen to write in my notebook I told myself "I reached my room, and yet again I forgot to have my coffee."

[baladalayanganputus]

Running: A Haunting Discontent

Two weeks had passed since the grueling half-marathon race. And yet, as I stood before the digital scales, the news it displayed was nothing short of disheartening. The numbers revealed a sad truth: I had added another dreaded kilogram to my weight. Instead of the familiar 69-70 kg that had been my fixed weight for the past 3 months, I now weighed a disheartening 71 kg.

I once experienced the joy of a lighter weight after a fasting month, my body hovering at a much-desired 66-67 kg. Alas, those days felt like a distant memory, a far cry from my present predicament. Perhaps the burdens of life had taken their toll, my stress levels rising to unprecedented heights. It was during this time of self-doubt that I found myself clinging to a quote, attributed to a philosopher that never truly existed: "mando, ergo sum, I eat so I exist." As if seeking solace in the act of eating, I grappled with the notion that sustenance was my sole reassurance of existence in this world.

In a world where worries find solace in the depths of one's mind, I convince myself that a long, unwavering run shall suffice to diminish the weight that burdens me. But, as you well know, those who immerse themselves in athletic pursuits often fall victim to the sly trickery of their overrated workout regimes. They believe they have bestowed upon their bodies the utmost care, and that their relentless efforts are enough to satiate the needs of their physical beings. Alas, they remain far too certain that their workout routines alone shall shed the pounds and stabilize their weight, neglecting the most crucial factor: their dietary habits.

Should I care more? The only certainty that I can muster in this relentless battle against the haunting problem is by extending the distance of my weekly running regimen. Yet, lurking before me stands the most formidable of all challenges: shall I dare to venture further in curbing my eating habits? Which aspect of nourishment must I forsake: the hearty breakfast, the fulfilling lunch, or the comforting dinner that graces my evenings? And what of those unexpected brunches that I so cherish, scattered throughout the day like precious morsels of delight?

In the realm of my thoughts, I had once vowed solemnly that my fervent running would remain untainted by the allure of any frivolous goal, such as shedding unwanted weight. The truth is, the only motive I could deem acceptable for my tireless pursuit is to preserve my sanity - no other reason could be deemed worthy. To remain sane, in this convoluted reality, is to persist in living, resisting the temptation to hang myself in the midst of this wretched world, where the essence of existence is overrated.

Like a solitary pilgrim, I lace up my running shoes and embark on my daily pilgrimage, where the rhythmic pounding of my feet serves as a soothing mantra for my troubled mind. Each step offers a momentary escape from the shackles of this mundane existence, where chaos and uncertainty intertwine with our very souls.

In the enigma of life, the act of running becomes my sanctuary, a refuge where I can find fleeting solace. It is the fine line that separates the realms of sanity and despair, and I traverse it with unwavering determination, seeking that elusive state of equilibrium amidst the cacophony of existence.

So, I continue to run, not for the sake of vanishing pounds, but to preserve the fragile balance that keeps me afloat in this swirling sea of overrated reality. With every stride, I hold onto my sanity like a lifeline, navigating the currents of this disorienting world, striving to find my place within its intricacies and enigmas. For as long as I run, I remain tethered to the realm of the living, a glimmer of hope in the midst of this shitty, overrated world.