#These Raindrops around the main building are for me. mostly. And will stay that way. Eventually I'll push the veil around them and

[blackvahana]

Well. Time to head to bed tonight

It's been nice though, creating this place has been a real good exercise in... being myself. because. lmfao. I know how to do things and have been acting like I couldn't possibly know but.... You know

Last thing I did was Something Complex, inverting the hierarchy of creation from the sky down into successively more... fleshy matter down into the place. Lev felt it lmfao

It's fun. It's been.... not just on the tip of my tongue but spoken. It's been a dance of forming mental blueprints and then invoking all that good stuff into them, all Reality and ways of existing, condensing information from Consciousness to Matter, sustaining and coagulating ways of being and reactions to the world. Hard to explain in words, but the dance is of externalising and changing states of that which is conceived inside-outside me, like water becomes ice, the world goes from fluid ideas and blueprints into things that are sustained by their own order and make-up. Lines of logic become the lines the molecules take when freezing.

It's so... Intuitive. I really have done this a thousand times before. It isn't just a matter of knowing the theory, like a potter knows the smoothness and coldness of clay in his sleep I know the various rainbow arrays of substance and... I mean. There's a reason I walked into applied maths class and saw the diagrams of all the forces acting on each other and felt like I'd found something that understood me

I'm still beginning! I'm Just A Baby. It's getting back into creation after so long, the first time this life! I'm sure that there's plenty to critique, in fact I can see in local time that there's still a lot to do with Ananyavarda but... To divert the order of the sky in one movement and feel the world suddenly condense with gravity as if now it wasn't just of a floating realm but of a planet... Uh. While I was recovering from being sliced open and bled to feed the field of daisies and stabbed with swords to feed the place and also create a mountain lmfao I'm still chilling here in bed in the astral. we vibin.

Anyway. I'm like. I can tell the way Lev's looking at me has changed completely. He knew I was going to be a thing he just didn't know what I'd feel like lmfao. That's how I'll put it.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 3 is finally here. Sorcerers need their shopping done, too. Beyonce/Wong platonic ship (joking)! And finally some action, more witchy stuff. Bucky whump because I have a saviour complex. Stucky cuteness moment. Some blood/gore in this chapter.

My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.

For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.

Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.

Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?

But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?

On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.

Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."

I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.

"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."

I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."

She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.

As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.

"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."

I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.

Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.

The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.

I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.

The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.

"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.

I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.

I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.

My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.

As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.

Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.

As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.

"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"

"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.

I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.

She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.

The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.

Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.

Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.

He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.

"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.

I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.

He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.

There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.

I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.

Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.

I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.

"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.

The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.

Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.

"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.

"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.

"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.

"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.

"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."

Damn, did I look that bad?

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[genesisrose74]

I'm crying your so amazing at writing like honestly 😭. If you're still accepting fics can you please do more timeskip Hinata in Brazil please?

Rainy In Rio

A/n: Rio Hinata lives in my head rent free so thank you for giving me an excuse to write more for best boy 🥰 I researched the summers in Rio and nicknames they commonly use for significant others for absolute ages to get this accurate, but if anything needs correcting anyone please lemme know! Thank you so much for the request and I hope you enjoy!

Despite the fact that rain starts falling significantly during January in Rio, Shoyo Hinata didn’t think it necessary to check the weather for the second week of the New Year. Nor did he think twice about inviting you to the sandy shores of the city during a morning of that second week to teach you more about sand volleyball.

The thought only occurred to him, in fact, when a handful of large water droplets fell from the sky and smacked him right on the forehead. Right in the middle of him showing you how to set on the beach.

You shoot him a questioning look as the first hints of precipitation plop down on your extended arms, which Hinata was currently in the process of positioning. His sheepish face already gives you an answer, but you decide to confirm your inference anyways.

���Shoyo, did you check the weather at all today?”

The guilty expression turns into a full fledged grimace when the rain only picks up, coming down in droves as every second passes. His tangerine hair quickly becomes a flattened mess as he opens his mouth to respond, body unmoving from his initial position. “Uhm, no?”

A sigh leaves your mouth as you shake your head. “Good thing I left my phone at your place.”

When he does finally move, it’s only because you’re pulling at his athletic shirt to find a drier spot. He snags his backpack from the dampened sand, slinging it over his shoulder, and hurries to catch up with your speed walking.

Although you hold displeasure with your now very wet clothes, it's difficult to stay pouty at the boy when his puppy dog face is ever so visible in your peripheral vision. When you finally reach an overhang to wait out the unexpectedly harsh rainfall, he turns to you with desperate pleas for forgiveness on his tongue, but stops when he sees your slanted grin at his worry.

“You’re not upset?” he inquires with a tilt of his head.

“Why would I be that upset, silly?” you snort, “It’s just rain, and it’s not like I don’t forget to check the weather sometimes myself.”

Hinata’s signature smile erupts on his face, shooing away any previous anxiety from his expression. “Oh, thank goodness!”

Hinata rummages through his back to check on his valuables, most notably his phone, while you observe the current downpour. The weather doesn’t nip frostily against your skin, thankfully, since Rio’s summer temperatures remain quite warm even in the midst of the rainy season, but the heavy barrage from the sky is still quite the surprise for your now botched plans.

“It’s really coming down today,” you muse aloud, reaching out to feel the pitter-patter of water against your hand. Hinata comes up beside you with curious eyes, pulling a lightweight jacket he had spare in his bag over your shoulders.

“It really is,” he agrees. “Do you want to wait it out?”

“I’m not sure. It looks like it’s going to be pretty long until things let up.”

He glances your way with a playful smile. “I suppose I do owe you a drink after I’ve gotten you all soaked.”

“I suppose that’s true,” you hum. “Can we get some pineapple juice at the spot by your place?”

“Of course we can, bela querida.”

You can’t help the flustered giggle that passes your lips at the nickname, Shoyo’s rise in confidence since he arrived in Rio shining through - although his cheeks still blossom a very noticeable pink.

He offers a hand out to you in invitation, calloused fingers warm against your own when you accept, and the ginger-haired male hurriedly leads you through the less crowded streets of the city as raindrops continue barraging the area. The speed walking, half jogging pace you both keep up consists of kiddish laughter throughout, the knowledge of how ridiculous you likely seemed to bystanders prompting a heavy amount of giggling. Your haphazard grasp on the jacket just barely surrounding your figure doesn’t do much to reject the rainfall, but it becomes difficult to take notice nor care about its effectiveness.

Only a half-step in front, Hinata is also a cheerfully soaked mess. Hair once again flattens against his face as water cascades from the sky, backpack slung aimlessly over his shoulder and head tucked slightly downwards, with just enough vision to maneuver the city. The entertained smile that hasn’t yet left his face seems enough to dry the entire country within a minute, and a playful squeeze to the hand he holds effortlessly sends warmth through your body.

It doesn’t take very long to reach your desired destination in the mostly emptied walkways of Rio, populations already dissipated in favor of finding shelter. The woman at the cafe’s counter gives a knowing chuckle at your drenched presences in the doorway, and kindly takes Hinata’s order when he approaches with an apologetic grin - knowing very well that the main floor of the shop was now splashed with puddles left in his wake.

The lady doesn’t come to mind it in the slightest, though, conversing easily with the ginger about the major downpour outside. He wouldn’t know it himself, but Hinata held a certain charm that made it easy for people to warm up to him in a matter of minutes, and you noted that such a quality contributed to the employee’s momentary understanding with your situation.

Said Karasuno alumni returns to your side, who still stands on the cafe’s entrance mat beneath the building’s overhang.

“It’ll take a minute, but your ever-desired juice fill is on its way,” he informs you, and your delighted smile has Hinata’s own eyes glimmering with happiness. “Thank you very much.”

“You are very welcome.”

You glance at the sky for a moment, and your expression is much more cheeky than before as your gaze returns to his own. The male next to you offers a confused but curious look at the change. “What’s that face for?”

“I had an idea is all,” is what you respond with, which only intrigues him further.

“Care to explain what that idea might be?”

“Hm...how about I show you instead?”

Hinata nods his head, albeit a smidge hesitant. When you tug ever so gently on his arm, leading him towards the uncovered part of the walkway, the dots connect to discover what your plan was. At least slightly.

“You want to stand out in the rain now?” he inquires with a slanted grin.

“Not just stand,” you correct, feeling the first batch of droplets against your skin. “Dance.”

The look on his face shifts to one of playfulness, easily taking your hand in his just like before. Pulling you towards him in the empty street - with the exception of a few stragglers around looking for cover - his other hand quickly finds your waist.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he laughs warmly, examining your own joyful expression with endearment etched across his features.

“That makes two of us,” you agree.

His arm lifts to twirl you in a partially clumsy manner before bringing your arms around his shoulders again, leaning towards your ear and murmuring, “Do you think the cafe lady minds if we go back inside for the drinks in these soggy clothes?”

“Just stay on the mat outside so we don’t get the floor more wet than it already is, and I think it’ll be fine,” you reason.

“Fair enough.”

Hinata pulls back far enough to examine your face and brushes a wet strand of hair out of your eyes, encouraging your grin to widen with the gesture. He presses his lips to your forehead for a moment, his proximity radiating the same warmth it always seemed to maintain.

“I hope that it rains for at least a day, whenever you visit, from now on,” he thinks aloud.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“So we can dance like this again.”

Your heart grows impossibly softer in your chest, and you nestle your head into his nearly see-through shirt to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “You smooth talker.”

He lets out an easy laugh, unraveling your arms from his neck and taking both your hands in his to see your face more clearly.

“I think the drinks are ready by now,” he comments, eyes suggesting a more teasing mood, but the rest of his expression immeasurably sweet. “We should go check.”

“You’re probably right,” you concede with the slightest hint of disappointment.

He swings your still intertwined fingers back and forth as you both walk towards the cafe entrance once more. “Let's do that again sometime soon.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at your thoughts. “Call me next time it rains and I’ll book a flight.”

“I will absolutely be doing that,” Hinata snorts good-naturedly, but in his mind he truly considers it for a moment.

If it meant getting to do that more often, he would fly you out every rainy day without question.

[afreesworn]

Character Survey: Nabi Kharlu

RULES.  Repost, Don’t reblog! Tag  10! Good  luck!

TAGGED BY. @vysaldhe Thank you!

TAGGING. I’ve seen this go around so who hasn’t done it? @anchor-management! @shaelstormchild!! @jaliqai-and-company!!! @sentryandco?? @mirkemenagerie @trc-xiv @finishing-touch @ember-arrow @fatewalker @andarion @jancisstuff @gegenji @shadottie @zhauric @herd-of-halla (I’m sorry if you have already done this!) and anyone else who wants to!

BASICS.

FULL  NAME :  Nabi Kharlu

NICKNAME :  None that seems to stick since her mother died.

AGE :  In her 20s.

BIRTHDAY :  Summer

ETHNIC  GROUP :  Au Ra, Xaela

NATIONALITY :  Of the Kharlu Tribe

LANGUAGE / S :  Common, Xaela, Hingan

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :  Heterosexual

ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :  Heteromantic

RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :  In a relationship with Anchor Saltborn

HOME  TOWN / AREA :  Born in the Steppe

CURRENT  HOME :  Shares an apartment in Shirogane

PROFESSION :  Herbalist, Alchemist, Healer

PHYSICAL.

HAIR :  Raven black hair that she keeps short and cropped near her chin

EYES : Warm gold

FACE : Sun-kissed complexion, soft features, usually with a look of welcome or curiosity.

LIPS : Smiles easily.

BLEMISHES :  None on the face.

SCARS :  Sometimes a few scrapes and bumps, but she is without any significant scars that would have resulted from any serious wound or trauma.

TATTOOS :  An ornate mark on her right back shoulder area.

HEIGHT :   On the short side for a Xaela.

WEIGHT :  On the thin side.

BUILD : Soft, although not unfit since she likes the outdoors, but she is by no means athletic.

FEATURES :  She has youthful features, with bright eyes that are most notable. Her usual cheerful outlook softens her countenance almost always.

ALLERGIES :  None that she’s aware of yet.

USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :  Trimmed around her jawline so it is easily tucked away, but left free and loose otherwise. 

USUAL  FACE  LOOK :  She can be intently studying an herb, pouring through books about alchemy, focusing on mending wounds, or happily chatting up with whatever customer that happens to find their way to her stall or clinic. Her general mood is usually buoyant and welcoming, although there is a certain softness that can be spotted around those she is close to.

USUAL  CLOTHING :  Varies between traditional Hingan fare to woven robes favored in the Steppe. Has a few traveling clothes that are neither, usually a loose comfortable cotton robe and leather boots. She is almost always found with a bag hung over her shoulder. 

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S :  Losing her loved ones. Failing them. Drowning. 

ASPIRATION / S :  She won’t speak of it, but she has only one real goal in mind. To cure someone she loves of what is killing him. Other than that, she has no specific ambitions, only looks forward to discovering what brings joy. She has however kept certain promises close to her heart that she wants to see fulfilled. Something about new sunsets and beaches. 

POSITIVE  TRAITS :  Trusting. Kind. Optimistic.

NEGATIVE  TRAITS :  Hopelessly optimistic. Wants to see the good in all things. 

MBTI : ENFJ

ZODIAC : Virgo

TEMPERAMENT :  Phlegmatic

SOUL  TYPE / S :   Priest

ANIMALS :   Butterfly

VICE HABIT / S :   Rambling, Daydreaming, Throwing herself into work.

FAITH :  Vaguely remembers her mother talking about Nhaama, also believes there are spirits (kami)

GHOSTS ? :  Yes

AFTERLIFE ? :  In the aether stream

REINCARNATION ? :  Perhaps?

ALIENS ? :   From...?

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT :  Anyone that promotes peace she favors

EDUCATION  LEVEL :  ”Home schooled” by her mother

FAMILY.

FATHER :  Deceased

MOTHER :  Deceased

SIBLINGS : None.

EXTENDED  FAMILY :  Uncle and cousin(s?).

NAME MEANING / S :  Her father named her while she was in her mother’s womb, to signify her delicate beauty but also a new start

FAVORITES.

BOOK :  Anything that has to do with herbs. But she also likes romantic tales from foreign lands.

DEITY :  She respects both kami and Nhaaama.

HOLIDAY :  She is starting to try and observe some of the foreign holidays, like Nameday. But she always has celebrated Heavensturn.

MONTH :  The month when cherry blossoms are in full bloom

SEASON :  Spring

PLACE :  Home.

WEATHER :  She loves all sorts. Just when the cold is starting to give way to warmth of spring and the birds start to sing. The first sunny day after a snowfall. Cloudy windy afternoons that sends the colorful autumn leaves spinning through the air. That quiet and stillness just before rain is about to fall. She loves them all.

SOUND / S:  Mating call of birds in the spring. The sound of raindrops drumming against the rooftop. The soft babble of a running spring. Distant chirping of crickets in the quiet of night.

SCENT / S :  She enjoys the rich scent of nature in full bloom, from flowers to trees to various herbs. But there is a soft spot in her heart now for rosemary, and the briny scent of the sea.

TASTE / S :  Delicate tastes of Hingan cuisines and teas but also bold savory mixture of flavors from the Steppe.

FEEL / S :  Tingling warmth that rolls up to greet her touch.

ANIMAL / S :  Fireflies. And anything small and adorable.

NUMBER : “Do people have favorite numbers?”

COLORS :  Soft colors like pink and cream, but also rich earth tones.

EXTRA.

TALENTS :  Analyzing and mending wounds. Recognizing natural elements.

BAD  AT :  Knowing when not to empathize. Reading non-verbal cues of people when she is curious about them. Staying mad, she finds it exhausting. Hiding her emotions, it shows plainly on her face. 

TURN  ONS :  She isn’t the type to be easily turned on. But she does take note of those who are honest, even bluntly so, and those who let their actions speak for themselves.

TURN  OFFS :  Violence. Cruelty. 

HOBBIES :  Reading. Drawing. Gardening. Cooking. 

TROPES :  Ho boy. Lots. Some may be spoilerific.

QUOTES : “It’ll be alright.“

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called,  what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  I’ve always wanted to see Cigarettes and Fireflies as an animated series rather than a movie, first season starting with the Underground Arc.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 :  Epic scores (I really love Hans Zimmer) for battle scenes, but also quiet soundtracks from Sleeping At Last for some private moments. But really, there are SO MANY TRACKS I have on the playlist.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 :  My first main character, Roen, had just completed this huge three year arc of a story, and I wanted to write for someone new, someone who was extroverted, open, and personable. Roen was none of these things. I also wanted to delve into some mystical side of magic, and  the Xaela was introduced.

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 :   Xaelas were one of my favorite parts from Stormblood. Shamanism and all that. But I wanted her to be also displaced from it, with a loss of identity in a way.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : Sometimes, her reactions are not what come naturally to me. The things she would say and think could seem baffling to someone else, but I want it to make sense in her own head. There are times where I struggle to make certain her reactions feel natural, since I would have definitely lashed out more, been furious and or distrusting, but she decides consciously not to choose those paths. She is a patient and kind person above all, but sometimes I wonder if it comes off believable rather than tropey.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :  She derives a lot of satisfaction in helping people. She also likes to daydream. And seeing her loved ones be happy, makes her happy.

Q7 :  How does your muse feel about  you?          

A7 :  Nabi would probably adore my puppy and would approve of my doting husband. Probably also would like my career choice.

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?        

A8 :  I love, LOVE the people I am writing with. They are all so fantastic. Nabi’s story wouldn’t be what it is today without Anchor. And we wouldn’t have ongoing arcs without Sentry, Ghoa, and Shael. Pjel recently jumped in, so I am quite excited to see how she gets to know everyone.

Q9 : What gives  you inspiration  to write  your muse ?        

A9 :  Music, sad and not sad head canons (thanks Anchor), lately some AU ideas (again Anchor’s fault), but mostly the RPers/friends I write with. They are AMAZING.

Q10 :  How long did this take you to complete ?          

A10 :  Too long for me. I have work next morning. Which is why I skipped the tropes.

The original art can be viewed here! 

[coaxionunlimited]

RvB Fic Recs - AO3 Edition

This is going to be a highly eclectic and very personal list of fics that I liked during my recent RvB fic binge. Most of them are going to be a little obscure, but there’s no hard and fast theme.

AI: The logistics of sharing your head with an untested computer program that feels things have always fascinated me. These are fics about getting comfy-cozy with the stranger in your head. Spartan-B240 by eggstasy: Tuckington Halo 5 AU where Tucker is the voice in Wash’s head. I really love the build of Tucker and Wash’s relationship here, how they’re both trying hard to help each other, how Tucker makes Wash feel like a real person, how Wash is really and obviously gone on him. And also this approach to the logistical difficulties of falling in love with an AI program. The sequel is incomplete, but worth a read, especially for the Church+Caboose friendship in the first and last chapters.

Proper expression of emotion in bra-ket notation by thought: York and Delta are picking a lock, and hey, did anyone do research on how to stay within the safe limits of your AI’s capabilities? No? Oh well.

2-1 by QueSeraAwesome: In which Delta definitely does not have feelings OR insecurities about his relationships with York, and someone should probably be keeping an eye on Sigma.

Prepared by Blueberryshortcake: Delta invades York’s dreams. Short - but worth it for protective (and subtextually anxious) Delta.

South & Theta by madelinescribbles: Did someone say South redemption arc? Well, even if that someone wasn’t you, you have to admit you’re curious about what would happen if South and Theta talked to each other. Or dealt with their grief over North’s death together. Same difference. Incomplete, but that’s never stopped me.

Tuckington Borderlands AUs where Tucker is a Siren (don’t worry you don’t really have to know anything about Borderlands to enjoy these): … okay look, I realize that this is a very specific category name but in my defense [AIRPLANE TAKES OFF, OBSCURING THE REST OF THE SENTENCE]. Nothing Good by BoxOnTheNile: In which Tucker also has issues! There’s not enough fics about Tucker being just as banged up as Wash on the inside, and you know you’ve been looking for it. I really love Tucker’s other friendships in this fic, the sense that he’s really built a life for himself, and the slow give and take of trust between him and Wash really butters my biscuits. There’s another oneshot in this series, and the last chapter of BoxOnTheNile’s RVB Trans Week compilation (Be Someone (That Makes You Happy)) is also in this 'verse.

No Hero to Call Home by bismuthBallistics: In which Tucker is a mechanic and his favorite person in the world is the guy who comes in every three months to get a tune up on his prosthetic leg. Too bad Wash didn’t get that memo. Read this for some Really Excellent Tucker pining, and also for Tucker really caring about Wash and trying to take care of him, and also for Wash cooking for Tucker, and also the way they resolve Tucker getting frustrated with Wash’s general inability to friend really rings true, and also - look, I could keep going for a while here. Read this fic. 

Locus Angst and Rehabilitation: Think Wash angst, except clearly superior because there’s more Red Team.  I’ll Tell You My Sins and You Can Sharpen Your Knife by illumynare: Incomplete, but all three of four chapters are full of that Good Shit. Did you want Locus being unable to cope with basic kindness? Did you want pining for friendship? Did you want to be really, cripplingly sad about Locus? This is the fic for you.

Vanished Marvels by BoxOnTheNile: Oneshot, Simmons and Grif take care of an assassin. Some comfort for all the hurt you got from reading that last fic :D. Comes as part of a series, with an incomplete Locus/Grif/Simmons sequel and a Tuckington prequel, in case you needed some more ex-supersoldier h/c.

Green is Definitely a Shade of Red by Prim_The_Amazing: Does anyone else think it’s really unfair that Blue team gets all the ex-supersoldiers? If you do, this is your fic. In which Locus is totally, absolutely, and definitely not enjoying getting adopted by the Reds. Honestly. Contains 200% more shenanigans than your average Locus fic.

Series Recs: Because not every fic is standalone.  Blood Gulch Freelancers by eggstasty: What if the Blood Gulch Crew were a part of Project Freelancer? Read it for good mom Carolina, Caboose’s tragic backstory, and Allison being alive, which makes everything much less fucked up. … As long as you don’t look too hard, that is.

Five Reds and a Baby by a_taller_tale: Sarge ordered a baby from a catalogue, and it turns out to be a clone of Grif, and - look, it makes sense in context. 100% pure Grimmons, Red Team, and baby fluff. 

flying and burning by tumbleoutyourhair: Mostly tuckington oneshots, with a couple of grimmons ones. Contains a lot of That Good Wash Angst, especially thirteen and fourteen.

Zombie Immunity AU by HappyFunBallXD: Grif has an immunity to zombies and a plan - too bad life is getting in between him and Alaska. The main fic in the series is unfinished, but there’s plenty of Blood Gulch Crew zombie shenanigans and grimmons to go around.

Coffee Shop AU by mumblybee: Look, I got into the fandom in 2014, I have a horrible, horrible weakness for sad yorkalina. This is a modern au, featuring coffee and being a sad millennial.

Did someone say dorkalina? An OTP? In this economy? It’s more likely than you’d think. Satellite Mind by eponymous_rose: The Director didn’t consider the impact of AI on his Agent’s sex lives. At least, we hope he didn’t. York and Delta negotiate boundaries, Carolina helps. NSFW.

We Were Up All Night Talking Trash And Wasting Time by thought: Project Freelancer is falling apart, Carolina and York have sex about it. Delta helps. Sad and poetic, my favorite kind of fanfiction.

Opacity by bismuthBallistics, red_as_ever: Urban fantasy, plotty. York goes blind, Carolina helps. Delta is alternately a solution and an obstacle, and no one escapes a clash between the fae courts unscathed.

Carolina Genfics: Because Agent Carolina, man. Wash and Locus aren’t the only supersoldier assholes who need a redemption arc. Banana Bread Bonding by Aryashi: Agent Carolina tries to get Grif to teach her how to relax. Hilarity ensues. If that doesn’t make you want to read it, consider that it’s tagged “Co-Authored By Carolina's Ability to stalk people until she gets what she wants”.

Kiss My Bright Red Ass, Sir by Hinn_Raven: In which Carolina was Sarge’s daughter the entire time. Much more serious than it sounds and a fair bit sad - but if you’ve ever thought to yourself “man, I wish Carolina had a better family situation” this is the fic for you.

A Field Guide to Haircare in Wartime by saltsanford: In which the Reds get Carolina some self-care and forgiveness. If you liked Vanished Marvels from the Locus section, you’ll like this.

Regret the Poor Children (Raindrop Remix) by PlayerProphet: In which Carolina gets a jumpstart on her redemption arc, and Wash gets help a little earlier. If you wanted Freelancer to end a little better, read this fic. It’s not a happy fic, but you get the sense that things are going uphill from here.

This Man Looked Exactly Like Natalie Portman When He Was 13 by eggstasy: THE Carolina & Caboose fic. This one’s got it all, folks! Carolina trying to change for the better, Carolina & Epsilon bromance, backwardses and forwardses and all the complications that come with finding yourself in the middle of a redeption arc, and finally, a happy ending. 

Time Travel and De-Aging: I’ll admit, I haven’t read extensively in this genre in RvB, but here are some of my favorites. put your curse in reverse by Sroloc_Elbisivni: PFL-era Carolina gets de-aged. Hilarity(?) ensues. Read for Freelancer team as family, really awkward dramatic irony (toddler Carolina calls Tex momma, for a start), and all your Maine and Wash being good with children needs.

Asphodel Meadows by Hinn_Raven: Tex lives! She also travels forward in time to the Chorus era, and fixes things, because she’s a badass like that. Read this for massive Tex bromance feels, and because you wanted Tex to live.

Hit and Run by creatrixanimi, RiaTheDreamer: Not technically time travel or de-aging, but teenaged Grif siblings in Project Freelancer really feels like it fits here. Contains parental unit 479er, Freelancer babysitting shenanigans, and North stealing children. Because you know he would. Incomplete.

(Change the Past, Choose the Future by Zoomda and The Red and Blue Home for Lost Fat Kids by ShadyJane both fit in this category, the former being Wash and Carolina time-travel fix it and the latter being de-aged Captain Grif, but since I haven’t finished either (and neither are finished), I can’t exactly write up a rec. Still, here they are, for the adventurous or desperate among you.)

Misc: Fics that don’t fit into the other categories. Outpost #1 Apartments by nan00k: Not your momma’s superhero au! Church escapes his dad/the Director’s highly unethical superhero program, and moves into Blood Gulch apartment complex. Mostly gen, focuses on Church recovering from all the crap he endured. Read this one for the plot, for the gentle build of some serious tension, and for some good Church friendships. Part of an incomplete series, the Carolina entry is next and is both complete and definitely worth a look.

Simmons Slipped Up So Hard He Needs Life-Alert by Lieutenant_Kader: Grimmons fluff! Grif sets up a movie date for Simmons, and it’s real cute. Contains twice your recommended daily dose of Star Wars and Tucker being a good bro.

Don’t Cross the (Time) Streams by Hinn_Raven: The Freelancers crash land in Blood Gulch. Chaos and confusion ensues. Watching the professional supersoldiers be out of their depth around the worst soldiers in the galaxy is completely hilarious.

[writingonesdreams]

Novel Prep tag Game 3 - New wip: Flickers in the dust

So a new wip, another Novel prep tag game. These questions are just perfect for testing and developing ideas so here we go.

Rules: Answer the questions and then tag as many writers as there are questions answered (or as many as you can) to spread the positivity! Even if these questions are not explicitly brought up in the novel, they are still good to keep in mind when writing.

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

The question: How can a bunch of people with "useless" skills survive an post-apocalyptic world?

Impassive procastrinator Alysa travels with her self-destructive childhood friend Kyle, and the energetic 8 yeal old neighbour Iris, with the delinquent but vigorous boxer Roman and his werewolf friend Wes through the desolated world left after the apocalypse, trying to reach a better life in a bigger city.

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

A novel for now.

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

Dusty wastelands. Long field road. Vacant ghost towns and abandoned cars. Dust storms. Constant dark cloudy sky.

4. What other stories inspire your novel?  

Megalo Box, Wolf’s rain, The promised Neverland, Ergo Proxy

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

6. Who is your protagonist?

Alysa is a talented, thoughtful girl and former child prodigy, but she had trouble deciding what she wanted from life and started to fail her university exams. Her lack of self-discipline, motivation or healthy socilaization led her to believe she is quite unfit for the adult life or the world in general. After the apocalypse happenes she is forced to drastically change her priorities and negative thinking for the sake of survival.

7. Who is their closest ally?

Kyle is emotionally abused, burned-out genius with a self-destructive streak and fondness for dark humor. His will to live and emotional stability has steadily decreased over the years. Staying alive has been enough of a challange, so activelly fighting to survive seems like a pretty impossible feat to him.

8. Who is their enemy?

The desolated world after the apocalypse and it’s survival challanges, including insane mutated humans, ruthless gangs, isolated research centers, way too intelligent wolf packs and their struggle not to give up on their will to live.

9. What do they want more than anything?

The main characters want to be capable enough to survive and in addition to that live in a somehow meaningful way. To find out what's really important and what's the main difference between survival and living.

10. Why can’t they have it?

Alysa was pretty much a failing existence when it came to finding her place in the adult society and now she is supposed to survive in a world that's 100 times worse after the apocalypse. How can she do that when she had trouble surviving in the normal one?

Kyle struggled to find reasons to stay alive after his emotional abuse and depression. He has been saved by his friends and family from this, but now it's not just his survival at stake. Will a boy that had to be constantly saved from himself, be able to save someone else?

Roman was a boxer and convict before the apocalypse happened. His violent past marked him as unfit to decent people, but ironically made him exceptionally suitable for this destroyed world- he pretty much has better chances for a good life now then before. Does this make him a bad person? Does he deserve to win against the world or will he change to match it's cruel conditions?

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

Alysa believes she is worthless and incapable as a person.

Kyle feels like he is living on borrowed time anyway and doesn't see any perspectives for himself.

Roman isn’t sure if his abilities to survive that are based on his violent past don’t make him a bad person.

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

Alysa is tall and slender girl, has middle long wavy blond hair, light blue eyes and ivory skin. She has very delicate features and is rather pale.

Roman is muscular and tall with tanned olive skin, black curly hair and amber eyes. He is covered in scars, most notably on his chest, arms and neck.

Kyle is tall, lanky and not visibly muscular even though he is trained in martial arts. He has a bit longer black hair, with bangs falling in his eyes, very pale skin and grey eyes.

Wes in his human form has dirty blond curly hair and eyes that change from green-blue to black according to his mood. He has dusty grey fur in his wolf form.

Iris has short red hair and vibrant green eyes.

Plot Points

13. What is the internal conflict?

The characters struggle with their will to live in a destroyed world and with their feelings of worthlessness and inaptitude to fend for themselves or build happy lives.

14. What is the external conflict?

Surviving in the destroyed world, maturing and growing stronger, adapting to change and fighting for themsleves in a world that is aiming to make it as hard as possible for them.

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?

To die because they gave up on life instead of the world actually killing them. Losing to the harsh conditions of the world would be better then losing to themselves (albeit not much).

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?  

How do you not give up when everything seems hopeless? Who is the worse enemy in this destroyed world - the mutated monsters or the humans left? Where does the will to carry on come from? Is it possible to hold on to humanity in a world of ruin? And what is it that makes us human?

17. Do you know how it ends?  

Nope. I’m happy I don’t, since it makes it seem like a very exciting story to work on!

18. What is the theme?  

Self-worth, aptitude for life, will to live, not giving up, true companions, bonds, drive, meaning

19. What is a reoccurring symbol?  

Dust, wind, dark sky, endless road, storms

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)  

A destroyed post-apocalyptic Earth, where the majority of the population died and the rest flocks together in desperation into cities for protection from the zombie-like humans affected by the radiation and mutated over-intelligent wolves.

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?  

Many scenes, dialogues, themes, flashes of setting and atmosphere.

22. What excited you about this story?

Something about the destroyed post-apocalyptic world fascinates me. It’s a plot around survival and hard conditions forcing the protagonists to face their inner demons and self-doubts if they want to survive and have the will and drive to fight, witch often makes the difference between life and death. Also the necessity for the characters to trust and rely on each other and their group dynamics development is very exciting.

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!  

I always start with characters that I stick in different scenarios or in my favourite movies and series or books and let them interact. From those I mostly get inspiring scenes that I try to connect through a plot. Afterwards I work on characterisation, world-building, research details and outline stuff a bit. I also write little snippets that sometimes turn long and can be used as chapters.

-

I'm tagging a few peeps I haven't seen doing this game if you are interested: @piratequeenofpixies @imaghostwriter @tenacious-scripturient @writingwhithotchocolate @cabaretofwords @nemowritesstuff @emmathenovelist  @bos-ingit @my-desk-is-full-of-used-pens @purpleshadows1989 @whiteblack-raindrops @surroundedbypearls & anyone who wants to!

Wip tag list:  @tenacious-scripturient @hyba @urbanteeth (tell me if you want to get on/off)

[skiphunt]

Porto Wine Cat Feed

The next stop was Coimbra and a few other towns heading North. Lovely, but the usual travel stuff. First, had to find a budget place to stay, then look for some food, then look up in the guide book or maybe ask around on the street what unique things Coimbra is known for, then wander around aimlessly. Finally, I’d dare adventure fate to take the reins. The usual.

Might’ve called it too quick, but after a good hike around the town, checking out the University campus, and a couple of the parks… it basically just felt like any other cozy college town. Small bars and coffee shops, pretty landscape, and mostly quiet. Figured it might take more time to find any potential adventure than I’d afforded to this one location. I’d only stopped in Coimbra sort of randomly on the way North anyway. Not even sort of randomly. Literally at random. I met another traveler who said he liked to jump on a bus going anywhere, then get off at one of the stops randomly. Sounded cool and so I tried it out with Coimbra. 

Definitely, a lovely place to go to school and live, but wasn’t quite giving me that adventurous edge I was hoping for. Pleasant, but decided to cut bait and keep on moving North toward Porto.

When I made it to Porto, near the border with Spain and the Northernmost port city in Portugal... named after and known for its delicious port wine, I felt the travel magic start to kick in much stronger.

I’m not even entirely sure of the moment the travel vibe shifted from rote to full-on mystique. Might’ve got a hint of it in the ancient Porto train station as I gazed at the giant clock’s antique second hand begin to move in what I began to perceive in slow motion. Or, it could be when I took the train for the day, passing through the vineyards in the rainy emerald green countryside. I looked out the back window of the last train car, through the raindrops collecting on the glass... the vineyard-lined tracks appeared to fall away faster than the train was actually moving. 

It’s bizarre how the perception of time can so drastically change in psychedelic ways when you’re traveling. It speeds up and slows down in ways that can sometimes induce mild vertigo. That’s when you know it’s about to get good.

The moment in Porto that was likely the strongest trigger happened later that day and is also the most vivid. 

The port of Porto is fed by the sea and into the Douro river. The sides of the Douro are lined with tug boats, colorful architecture, and lovely silver bridges. You can wander all day along both sides and will perpetually be presented with the most amazing views across the Douro from just about any point of view.

Near the mouth of the Douro are dozens of places where you can taste fine port wine from various vintners for only a few euro. This is what I’d spend the afternoon doing after the train returned from the vineyards. The sun was now out and the sky defined the words Royal Blue. Contrasted with the colorful tug boats and architecture… it was simply sublime.

Tried to keep my wits about me and pace myself with regard to the wine tasting. The port wine was so incredibly divine that this conservative task of pacing myself was hopelessly futile. Before I knew it, I was so intoxicated that walking and remaining upright had become a bit of a challenge. 

Luckily, while I could still mostly function I realized the beautiful warm light falling all over the uniquely curved and stacked architecture. I knew this would be my last chance to get some final photos before moving on into Spain in the morning so it was time to voluntarily cut myself off from the sweet port nectar. 

Meandered and wobbled my way into the shadowy passageways decorated with flourishes of laundry hung to dry with pigeons swirling about. I could mostly still function well enough to compose a few quick images. I hadn’t counted on the buildings blocking the majority of the best golden light rays streaming across the city. Most of the corridors had already fallen into the darkest shade. 

I panicked that because I’d once again been too lazy and not bothered taking the needed time to capture this special place. Started darting quickly from passageway to passageway, desperate for any bit of leftover light I could find. Moving like an early evening moth drawn to the last diminishing pockets of sunset light. There! I spotted a final sliver of amber rays shooting down a long dark tunnel. I quickly made my way toward the end and when I popped out the other side, I was instantly blinded by last rays of sun burning directly into my retinas. 

Tried to shield my eyes but couldn’t see anything at all until several seconds later when they finally acclimated. Reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit it to kill time. At this point, I was reserved to the fact I’d have to give up. I’d lazily let the day slip away and wasn’t going to get anything decent after the sunset. And, I didn’t have the time or funds to stay on another day. Besides, had I stayed another day, I’d have likely tried to do the exact same port wine tour I’d just done and would make the same mistake again. I know myself too well. 

Inhaled the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the last of the rays dance in the swirling smoke. There was a sound that I couldn’t quite make out. Sounded like small seeds or small pebbles being shaken onto a big tin plate. I looked to my right. My eyes had finally adjusted and noticed that the last shaft of sunset light was illuminating an old Portuguese woman standing on her balcony tossing refuse down below. It was as if she was in a theater with the main spotlight illuminating her. The sound  I heard was whatever she was tossing from her balcony, landing on a large tin roof below. There were about a dozen cats scrambling across the tin roof for the discarded treats. I could also now hear the cats meowing and scrambling for the best bits. A large, lone seagull watched the cats from above as sentry and I noticed the shaft of light diminishing rapidly as it moved past the opening between the buildings. 

Didn’t even have time to check my camera settings or consciously frame the image. Still partially blinded, I raised my camera up quickly, turned it vertically to my right side and blindly snapped one image. Then, just like that, the magnificent light was gone and the old woman went back inside her home. The cats scattered away and the seagull flew off.

Frantically checked to see if I got the lucky shot. I had. This was the precise moment the pure travel magic truly kicked in. —Skip Hunt

(from Absinthe Carousel - A Novela by Skip Hunt - Available as ebook on Apple Books + In Print and on Kindle at Amazon + As a PDF download from this Site)

[snakescript]

a heretic’s demise | jung jaehyun

pairing | jung jaehyun x reader genre | angst warnings | death, alcohol wordcount | 6,9 k

“one for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral and four for birth. five for heaven, six for hell seven for the devil, his own self.” “did you miss me?,” the crow asks.

↳ part of whispers in the dark

Everything is grey. The cobblestone alley behind her, the houses lining it and the sky, washed out and sad, as if someone had suddenly stolen all color from them. She stands at the edge of the street, waiting, sheltered from the pouring rain by the tiny glass roof canopying the stop. It’s freezing, and she tries not to let it affect her too much. It isn’t a cold that clothing can fix, even if she were in her winter coat, - although the coldest season is still months away -, she would be equally as frozen. No, this is a cruel, wet kind of cold that seeps through layers and layers of clothing and flesh until it sinks into your bones where it clings to and rattles your spine. The only way to fight it are happy thoughts and maybe the rising steam of a full bathtub, preferably with bubbles on top. Neither are an option right now. She wraps her jacket tighter around her body, anyway.

The bus pulls up in front of her, spraying from the puddled water all over the sidewalk. With an exhausted huff, it opens its doors. She quickly steps inside, passing the bus driver wordlessly, as well as the only other passenger, that does not even look at her. She sits down somewhere in the back, next to the window where she watches the raindrops hit the glass forcefully - as if they are trying to soak her further, blurring together as they do not manage to get through and run down instead, giving up their vicious attempt. Maybe they want to join the ones that are already dripping from her hair and bag, water from the same cloud calling for a reunion. She wonders if the rain would have drowned her if she stayed out longer. Considering the black cloud that has been following her, it seems plausible enough.

The bus starts back up with a pitiful roar, and somewhere in the distance a bird screams.

It is only a short ride with the roads empty and desolate. No one wants to leave their home in this miserable weather. Changing onto a train, she sits down next to another window, her carry on bag stored over her head even with the seats surrounding her unused. The blur outside the moving wagon turns from grey to green as she leaves the city behind, passing through forests instead. She simply watches the scenery change with a stoic expression. Her hands fidget slightly, but otherwise she sits still throughout the hours long ride, never getting up nor stretching her limbs. The rain gets left behind somewhere along the way, yet the sky stays a drab color. Clouds hang low, in a threatening manner - they still have not emptied all of their tears. Maybe, she muses, they are mourning her departure, it would be a nice gesture.

Her mind, however, is about as blank as her face. Thoughtless, it is as if she were sleeping with her eyes open. But the lethargic blinks and the way her pupils run along with scenery indicates her alertness. When the inspector passes her, she already has the ticket ready for him before he even gets to ask. He greets her in a friendly manner but she only answers with a slight nod. She hasn’t spoken in so long, she isn’t sure she still possesses a voice. It doesn't really matter, anyway.

When there is something she needs to say, her voice will not fail. Just as where she is heading, is where she needs to be. She isn't sure why, but she needs to go there something in her guts tells her. It's a small town, in the middle of nowhere, and she hasn't thought about it in what must be years. But recently, it has been on her mind constantly, urging her to go. It has been driving her crazy, but in the end, she decided to take some days off of work, and go on a spontaneous trip. A short holiday did seem like a good idea. After all, she has been living in a daily routine of work and sleep with not much in between.

The air that hits her as she exits the train is heavy and humid, making it hard to breathe. A soaked cloth as laid itself over her face, and each inhale lacks oxygen. Her earlier thought of drowning comes back into her mind, but now, it evolved. The rain isn't needed anymore.

Another bus takes her from the train station to what could be called the city center. It mostly just consists of one long main road, that plain, impressionable building line. They are worn down and faded, in desperate need of a fresh coat of color or maybe a whole renovation all together. But the way they are build, they don't seem so old, either. A couple decades, maybe. Not enough to be considered historical.

Smaller streets branch off and wind itself into the distance until they disappear between more houses or the enclosing forest. The town is tiny enough, one could walk from one end to the other taking up barely an hour. But it's familiar, nothing has changed. Nothing ever changes, here.

Sure, the supermarket has a new owner, and the bar on the corner she hasn't seen before. But in the grand scheme of things, everything is static.

Walking down one of the asphalt streets, she keeps to the side - there are no sidewalks. But with the lack of cars driving, it isn't an issue. A bit further on the edge, it is lined with wilting bushes and trees, plains of saturated grass stretching out on each side. At the end, a house is waiting for her. A simple construction, those cut and paste multi-story apartment buildings that are build all over the country. Against the backdrop of the dark green forest, the faded blue veneer looks sad and lost.

The door opens with a loud creak, that echoes in the stairway. Another dull, colorless thing. No one ever thought of putting effort into making it look pretty while building. Concrete stairs and metal railing don't make for a welcoming view. But she doesn't mind.

She climbs up to the third floor, stopping in front of the door numbered eleven. The key to it rests underneath the doormat as promised, and she lets herself into the little two room apartment. A light wooden floor groans underneath her step as she crosses the hallway with three doors, all of them open. The one on the right leading to the bathroom, a little moldy and covered in tiles that are a horrendous salmon color, the one on the left leading to the bedroom that only holds a bare mattress, and the third opening into the living space.

Opening all the windows, she hopes to air out the staleness that has settled in the unused apartment. Her steps seems to bounce off the walls without much furniture to absorb the sound. The living room is mostly empty, too, save for the old, tattered build- in kitchen and the dark, oaken table standing against the wall. Still the same.

But at the sight of the furniture, her stomach twists. A queasy feeling settles in her gut, her lungs restricting their capacity, letting her go light headed as she carefully tip toes closer. She rests one hand lightly on the surface, fingers tracing the patterns of the wood, feeling each dent, each nick. It's build in a sturdy way, a few small dents do no damage, it is a wonderful piece of furniture. But there is something about it, a feeling of frustration that comes when she looks at it. Like an old habit, she turns her hand over and rasps her knuckles on the surface three times.

At that moment, a shadow catches her eye, making her turn away and step towards the balcony. Lingering in the frame of the open door, she doesn't step outside entirely as there are still puddles on the tiles from the previous rain and she doesn't want to wet her socks. But she doesn't need to go any further. Because, there on the railing, a large bird is perched, with dark coat of feathers shimmering a opalescent blue in the afternoon light, and black eyes trailed on her. The crow lets out a croak and takes off, disappearing in the forest. It only leaves behind a single feather.

She didn't stay too long in the apartment, after all there wasn't too much to do in it, lacking all kinds sings of live. Putting her coat back on, that is still damp from the earlier rain, she locks the door and decides to take a walk. Her feet carry her through the town automatically, every corner and cobblestone alley still engraved in her mind. It feels like returning home - except something is off. Like a light has been dulled and all the colors got desaturated. The space next to her seems oddly empty.

The sun has started to set, coloring everything in with a golden light. A warm glow that is typical for an autumn day, reminiscent of red apples, fallen leaves and pumpkin soup. It makes the world around her look friendlier, more welcoming, but she isn't fooled. Once the moon has claimed the sky, the facade will crumble, revealing the lonesome nature of this place.

She has encountered quite a few people on her stroll, some faces she even recognized. Yet no one seems to admit to knowing her. Maybe they really forgot who she is, but she feels their eyes burn into her neck once she passed them. She tries to pay no mind to it. It's not like she wants to talk to anyone. She actually enjoys the solitude. She always has. Even in her day to day life, she has always found herself keeping silent and hidden away.

But it is still a strange feeling having her existence doubted like that, no one acknowledging that she is actually there. If it wasn't for her shadow growing longer under the disappearing sun and the sound of her heels on the ground, she would have questioned if she exists at all.

Faint music hits her ears as she makes her way around another corner, coming from a small hole-in-the-wall cafe. The iron tables in front of it are empty, the seats neatly tucked in, but through the open door, she can make out some people inside. The smell of coffee and stale cigarettes meets her as she enters the place. A few glances are send her way, but none linger and she sits down at a little corner table, studying the menu.

A waiter comes to taker her order - a black coffee and a panini to settle her hungry stomach - before she is left to her own devices again. There isn't much to do, other than eat and drink. She is left to observe the place, but the walls are mostly free of fancy decoration, just some simplistic pictures here and there, and the other customers seem to be watching her out of the corner of their eyes as well. She pays them no attention, but it leaves her from idly watching them to let time pass.

Yet, she still spends a long time sitting there. By the time she has settled her bill and stepped outside again, it is only street lamps that are illuminating the way and the night has gotten a frosty bite to it. In the sky the moon stands high, although the glow it casts is dimmed by the clouds that hang over him. It must already be way after nine pm.

So, she makes her way back home, walks all the steps again. This time, in the dark, and she was right. Without the sun giving its warmth away, the city seems eerie, even hostile. The houses she passes have no lit up windows, no cars pass her, her steps echo between the old buildings. She might as well be the only one here. Maybe she is.

Has it always been this way? This empty and desolated? Has the life she got used to in the bustling seaside town she has claimed as her home warped her perception this much? It has always been quiet and empty here, but she has never felt quite this isolated, so unwelcomed. It is as if the city has shut her out, abandoned her even as she is trying to return.

Although she still isn't sure why. The reason for her craving to return is still not clear. There is nothing here to return to as far as she is concerned. Yet, she something inside of her told her to. It's been a small eternity since she last walked those streets, but they will forever be ingrained in her memory.

There is something wrong, however, whenever she tries to recall them. The city is there, vivid and clear, looking friendlier than it does now, the greys less depressing, the blues bright and the greens saturated. Just a regular town. But there is more, something she cannot decipher. A black, blurry stain, as if something has took a marker to cross whatever lies underneath out.  The harder she tries to focus on it, the less solid it becomes and she wonders if there was nothing there at all in the first place. Those memories are always accompanied by a raging headache. She stopped thinking about it.

By the time she has returned to her apartment, she is shivering. The temperatures have dropped significantly, and a thick layer of fog is creeping out of the woods as the humidity of the earlier rain that still hangs in the air makes itself visible. Fingers stiff from the cold, she crams out the key and lets herself back into her momentary home. Dew sticks to her coat and her hair feels moist, so she decides to take a quick shower before heading to bed. Not having been here for a whole day yet, the boiler hasn't managed to warm enough water, leaving her even colder than before.

Wearing too many layers for her liking, she crawls on top of the mattress she has since covered in bedding, wraps herself in a blanket and closes her eyes. Sleep is far from being attainable, but she is trying. Tossing and turning, she spends a long time trying to get comfortable, always keeping her eyes shut tightly.

In the end, she dreams of eyes as black as the feather left behind on her balcony, a dimpled smile and a large, warm hand that stretches out to hold her own.

She settled into an routine.

Wake up late, eat breakfast in the small coffee shop not too far away from her apartment building, wander the streets aimlessly all day to then have dinner, drinks and a cigarette or two in the grubby old bar on the edge of town. It's a rhythm she has been following for days now, even if she shouldn't.

She only taken off work for a few days, yet a week has come and gone by already. She never called in. The thought did not even cross her mind once. It's as if she has entered a different reality, the fog that crept over the meadows on her first night a door that swept her to another dimension. Her cozy apartment in the seaside town, her job, her former life, it all just seems like a distant dream. Too far away to bother her in any way.

All that exists for her is this strange town now and the even stranger memories that tie her to it. They have started to come back, bit by bit. The shadows are starting to take on form, the constant buzz is mellowing out to something not quite human yet, but recognizable. She thinks she can pick out a word here and there, a hoarse, croaking voice that sounds like the cry of a bird. Yet, it is definitely talking to her, and a smoother tone lies underneath.

Maybe it is the large crow that has been following her around. She saw it more than once, lurking just outside of where she could see it, watching her through tree branches intently. It had visited her balcony again, too. She found feathers lying there more than once.

It is always the same one, without a doubt. There is something in it's stare, something about those black eyes she feels constantly watching. It's not just any bird. It is human, it must be. Or supernatural. Perhaps in this new reality birds seem so sentient, how could she know the ins and outs of a place she just became a part of. But no ordinary animal has the ability to watch over her like that.

She has build a connection to it, too - a certain dependency. Without it there, something is off. But with it there, things are even stranger. She is aware of it waiting outside while she sips her coffee in the morning or whiskey at night. Even through the walls, she feels the eyes that are still trailed on her. It doesn't make her uneasy, not anymore. There is something in her gut that tells her it's okay.

But her living shadow made her remember an old nursery rhyme. Her father loved telling it to her, and as a small child she was delighted, trying to babble it back to him. It was when her grandmother, her father's mother, started scolding him for it, she started to feel unease when hearing it. Her father is inviting misfortune in, she would say, he would curse this family.

A superstitious woman, she was, always muttering prayers and spells under her breath to ward off evil. For every situation, she knew something to do as to not attract bad luck. A rabbit's foot in her pocket, natural gift to find four leaf clovers and a strict rule that no black cat has ever to enter her house, she was not fond of ravens, and - in extension - crows.

With lore of disease and grief surrounding them, she thought of those animals as nothing but death bringing omens. They were common, though, on the far out countryside where she lived. In autumn, they would sit on the branches of the trees stripped of leaves in twos and threes, letting out hoarse screams from time to time. Their noisiness would earn them nothing but harsh glares and curses muttered underneath the old woman's breath. Yet she would always make sure to count them, muttering a prayer after.

It was strange, she was strange. How much she believed in all of those myths. Her most prominent habit, the memory of her grandmother doing it over and over again still clear in her head, was to knock on wood whenever she said something horrible. As if letting your knuckles touch the nearest wooden surface three times would stop the said thing from becoming true.

Maybe, she remembers it so vividly because her grandmother was not the only one to have had that habit. There was someone else. Not as old, not as superstitious, not as easy to remember. He was someone close, someone important. That she does remember. But there is no name, no face. Just the image of large hand with bony fingers curled in as it touches the wood, and smooth laughter, as if he was amused by his own habit.

Unconsciously, she runs her fingertips over the wooden cafe table, lightly tapping her knuckles against it too, as if it would somehow make her recall more details. An impossible feast, she is aware, but she cannot help herself. Her hand trails up along the lines and patterns engraved, until it knocks against her coffee, half empty and growing cold.

She take a sip, her face scrunching up as the taste has grown bitter. Somewhere someone yells to turn up the volume on the TV hanging over the bar that broadcasts the morning news. A man in his early forties, dressed in a stiff looking grey suit matching his thinning hair announces the headlines in a monotone voice. Something about politicians lying, companies making profit, and other things she does not care about. The only thing sparking her attention are a couple of unsolved murders in a town nearby. It is speculated to have been just a single person and there are no suspects yet, the locals are advised to not go out on their own and report all suspicious activity.

Mulling over it for a second, she decides she is too far away for it to concern her.

But then something else catches her attention. A static flickers over the display, a high frequency pitch making her flinch. The grain suddenly disappears, leaving behind a black screen and deafening silence before a face appears.

Messy black hair falls into his warm, brown eyes that have the same gentle gleam as always. Milky skin, a straight nose, peachy lips that when turning up create endlessly deep dimples in his cheeks. A smile graces his prince like features, one that feels like home, that makes her want to run toward his tall frame and bury her face in his chest, like she did so many times. His tongue pokes out, running across his lip before he speaks, a voice deep but still alike honey. “I missed you, why did you leave?”

Jaehyun.

Oh god, how did she forget, how could she forget? The blur in her memories, the voice in her dreams. The emptiness at her side. Jaehyun, her best friend, her lover. He was home. This was home. This town, it was theirs together - but, no, it was just his. But he turned it into her haven, as well. Why couldn’t she see him in the shadows?

Why did he leave? Or did she?

She meets his eyes, and oh, how she missed them, missed him. But something is off. His eyes are too dark, it’s not the chestnut hue she knows but a pitch black, and the corners of his smile are turned up too far. It’s not kind, it is sinister. He raises a hand and beacons her close, but all it does is make her want to run. “Come home to me.”

The screen goes black again with another screeching frequency, and her eyes fall down to her hands. They are trembling, so she balls the up to fists, and keeps them at her side. Her breathing is fast and shallow, a lack of oxygen is starting to make her vision go fuzzy. A deep sense of dread has spread through her body.

But once glance around tells her that no one else has noticed anything. Their conversations among themselves don’t seem confused or hushed. Outside of her mind, the cafe is calm, a peaceful backdrop, and on the TV the weather forecast is just finishing up. Nothing unusual ever happened.

She leaves a few coins on the table to pay her debt and silently slides outside. A heavy fog lies in the air, and the temperature feels colder than before. Her hands are still shaking as she keeps them in the pockets of her coat, and a pair of eyes too human for an animal follows her down the road.

She sits cross legged on the mattress in the bedroom. Next to her stands a half full bottle of whiskey. The taste has already stained her tongue, a burn in her throat as she keeps chugging the booze. It's a good feeling, though, the pain making her feel alive, the heat dispelling the ice that has crept into her bones. The mist from outside still lingers in her heart.

He keeps appearing in front of her eyes, like he is branded on her lids, smiling at her each time she blinks. But it's not him. It's the crooked twin of him. He has tainted all her memories. Desperately, she searches for warmth and comfort, for the man she loved, but all there is, is darkness and despair. It's cold.

Just like outside. The sky is weeping the tears she fails to produce. A constant rhythm of the raindrops hitting the window plan fills the silence, and she is glad. She always liked the sound of rain, liked the melancholic weather in general. It always seemed to follow her.

But it reminds her of something else, too. It was raining, just like today, when she first met him. A random encounter in a random street. He accidentally bumped into her, causing her to fall. He helped her up, and with an ashamed smile, apologized a million times. Brushing off the dirt, she forgave him right away, and they ended up going their separate ways once again.

His face, however, remained in her memory. She started seeing him around a lot. Two rows in front of him on the bus, a shelf away in the library, in the line at the grocery store. He asked her out on a coffee after two weeks, laughing about it having to fate. And maybe it was.

They lived close, too, just a few blocks apart, and attended the same college. It was a miracle they haven't met sooner. But once they did, they were inseparable. There was something about him, that made her feel like he got her completely.

She has always felt a little strange, a bit of an outsider. As if everyone else grew up learning the same games and rules, and she was the only one that got the wrong version of the book. Her words would never truly reflect her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to phrase them, her actions were always a bit too brash. People looked at her strange.

But never Jaehyun. It was as if he was in her head. She didn't need to worry about saying things wrong, or being too closed off. With him it was natural. He gave her just the right amount of space, and how to show her his love. They were a match made it heaven. She never left his side.

After college, they moved in together, leaving behind dorm rooms and crappy, little studio apartments. He got a job offer in his field with promising pay back in his hometown. Together with their savings it was enough for the start to keep them afloat until she settled in as well. He reassured here she would find a job easily. The move was intimidating at first. He grew up in a town small enough to have everyone know each other, everyone was anticipating his return.

She was new, a foreigner. It was like she was a child all over again. Everyone was aware of the rules - except her. They accepted her, of course, Jaehyun brought her with him after all. But she felt the falseness in their smiles as her own lacked enthusiasm and the tone of her voice was never quite right. She never fully fit in. She probably never would.

Jaehyun was right, she found a job soon enough. Nothing using her degree, but she didn't mind. Her main reason for college was the lack of career aspects, anyway. A few more years of education to find herself, find something to do, broaden her chances of a good job. She never really found a dream, never found a certain job enticing, even after graduating. So the boring office job she accepted suited her just fine. Typing up reports and fetching coffee were as good as anything, and they did pay her fairly. She felt lonely, sure, but without Jaehyun at her side, that was expected.

They got a decent apartment, too. Nothing new or big, but enough for the two of them, and a huge improvement from their previous home. A cozy bedroom, and a living space that let in lots of light. The only thing she hated about it was the horrendous color of the bathroom tiles.

It suited them just fine. They spend every free second they had in there, just the two of them. But he worked a lot, put in many hours. He loved his job, and as he started coming home late, she would try to kill the time reading books. Going through one novel after next, she sat at the rustic dining table each night. When he came home, he would laugh, teasing her about preferring the stiff dining chairs over their second hand, worn down couch in the other corner. She would argue that the light next to the balcony door was better, even they both knew it had nothing to do with it. One day, he joked, I will afford to buy you the comfiest armchair there is to read in.

She always quipped back about how his company would run him to death first, with the amount of work he had to do. Then the mood turned a little bit more somber when the weight of his tired frame and dark eyebags set in, and how he hadn't taken a real rest in a while. How he barely slept, and never even had time for her anymore. How she hasn't felt so isolated in a very long time.

I won't die for a long time, he'd assure her, you can’t rid of me that easily. Knock on wood.

She stands in front of the same table now, right where he used to be when facing her. Her fingers rest on the oak table as she lets out a sigh. The sturdy furniture helps her keeps herself upright. The room sways a bit, the whiskey has thrown off her balance.

It looks so empty. The room looks empty, feels empty. But she knows that even bringing back all the furniture she decided to sell when she left, wouldn’t fill the room up. It’d just make the feeling even worse. Without him, there is no use in anything. She didn’t leave this town behind without a reason.

Bringing the old memories back to life would do nothing but create an empty shell. Yet, it would match her existence. She has been hollow ever since. A crucial part - the part that feels alive - is missing from her. Maybe that part never existed. Maybe, he was the part that made her whole. A passive life is what she leads. There is no meaning in it, it’s just one endless, unchanging stream of days.

The storm outside has picked up. The rain is now pounding against the window with violence. It targets her, wants to fill the void inside of her, drown her. She isn’t whole and the rain doesn’t like it. Puddles form out on the balcony, and the moisture will stay trapped in the air. Tomorrow, the town will be covered in a heavy fog as the water refused to return to the sky.

She misses him.

The crow watches her from the outside.

Knock on wood.

She doesn’t see much further than her own hand stretched out in front of her eyes. A white mist creeps in the air. It resembles her mind, the hangover fogging up her thoughts. But the cold feels good as it fills her lungs.

Here and there the morning sun peaks through the thick layer of clouds that hangs in the sky. But it is still a gloomy mood. She walks through the empty streets, not one person passing by her. It is early enough that the street lamps are still burning, casting a golden sheen through the fog every couple of meters. It’s a strange sight, feeling more like a painting than real life. But she goes on and enjoyed the scenery.

She still feels its eyes on her. At this point she would be more surprised if it wasn’t watching her. Ignoring the strange feeling it elicits in her, she walks on. In her mind she replays all the memories she made in this place. Every street she walks now, she has walked before with Jaehyun holding her hand. She passes the little park where they would stroll through on calm sundays and the corner store they would go shopping late at night. He kissed her there, bought her this here, and made her laugh over there. His reminders are everywhere. His missing presence is overwhelming.

The crow let's out a croak, breaking the absolute silence. It startles her. She stops in her tracks, her heartbeat a little too fast. She has half a mind to curse it out, address it directly. It is the first time, it has interacted so directly with her. So far, it has been nothing but a silent watcher. But this scream had felt deliberate. It was trying to tell her something. She realizes where she is standing. Across the street, flowers decorate the little shop windows. A few are standing outside, the petals folded up and dotted with dew droplets. The sign in the door reads open, in spite of the early hour.

A faint smell of roses waves over to her, and Jaehyun is back in her mind. A vivid memory, this time, one that crashes over her like an ocean wave. Spring had just begun and a bucket of blood red roses stood outside the shop, incensing passerby's to come take them with them. She was fascinated by the lucid color, and the sweet scent that lingered around them. Tugging at his hand, she lead him over to take a closer look. He poked fun at her, about how she usually expressed her disdain for flowers and their momentariness. But he bought her one, anyway. She kept it around until every last petal had fallen of. She was sure the smell of it lingered on, even then.

Now, there are no red roses calling to her attention. This time are white, blending in with colorless ambiance of the town. But they smell just as sweet. She picks one up. It is perfectly formed, each petal the perfect size to complement the others.

A voice sounds out behind her, causing her to flinch. Her fingers wrap around the flower, a thorn pricking her as she slightly crushes it. The owner of the little flower shop greets her, mentions the beauty of the flowers, how they are impossible to pass up. She just silently nods along. There is a moment of silence in which he studies her closely. A drop of blood runs down her hand, a stark contrast to the pristine white of the blossom it lands on.

Suddenly the urge to buy something overcomes her. Just like back then, she cannot pass it up. She asks him how much a single rose costs, but he offers her a bouquet instead. A special deal, he promises, he won’t charge much. Reluctantly, she agrees and he disappears back inside. Slowly, she follows him.

He doesn’t take long, and as promised, she pays what must be a fraction of the amount he should charge, because she walks out with a beautiful bouquet. It leaves her breathless for a second when she first sees it. Roses in a crimson so deep they appear black, mixed in with the ivory ones she admired outside, as well as white lilies. It is a mournful arrangement, fit for grieving but it is exactly what she needs. Her mind is as dreadful as death.

She now has a destination in mind.

(The crow approves.)

It’s not a far walk to the cemetery. It lies a little outside the town, hidden by the woods. The trees line the gravel road leading up to it, an iron fence marks the perimeter. The handle is cold and wet under her grip, and as the black gate swings open with a loud screech, a bird flies over her.

She knows where to go, it is still fresh in her mind. She feels as if it was yesterday she last was here. Nothing changed, either. It’s a timeless place. The plain gravestone, no flowers, no decorations near it. As she walks up to it, she notices the black birds around her. Some on the ground, some sitting on other graves, all of them their eyes trailed on her. She counts six of them, all together.

The seventh is perched on his grave. It is a familiar one. She nods at it in greeting, before trailing her eyes on the engraving. A look at the date shoots a pang through her heart. She had lost all sense of time during her stay, weekdays blurred together, time became meaningless. But suddenly, she is very aware of the date matching today. Kneeling down, she props the bouquet up against the stone. The crow stays where it is.

She stands back up, brushing the dirt off of her and buries her hands deep in the pockets of her coat. Behind her, she hears the flutter of wings and the tapping of talons on the gravel. The crows have come closer, they surround her. Straightening her posture, she gives the largest one in front of her a sad smile.

���Did you miss me?,” it asks.

“What kind of question even is that?,” she responds with a laugh. “Of course I did.”

“You never came to visit, how was I to know?” Jaehyun responds. She hasn’t heard his voice in so long, it feels strange talking to him now. It’s been forever, yet she could still recognize him with her eyes closed. She will never forget it - except, she had for a long while.

At his words, a sinking feeling overcomes her. The day of his funeral, she had made up her mind. She never returned, never said goodbye. She just left, picked up a new life in another town. It didn’t take long for her to stop thinking about this place, about him. She felt empty, but not until her return did she realize that he was the one that took something from her.

Guilt is heavy on her shoulders. He knows it, too, the way she just erased him from her mind. She looks into the crows eyes, the pitch black orbs. He blinks slowly, and crooks his head, before continuing to talk. “You made it so easy for yourself. You always preferred the easy way, didn’t you?”

She shakes her head. For the first time in years, maybe, for the first time in her life she feels like crying. There is a knot in her throat that burns like fire as she tries to swallow, and tears pool in her eyes, but Jaehyun shows no consideration for her state. “Not once in your life did you have to fight for anything.

“You’ve always just been there, passively. You let things happen to you without ever feeling them. The void where your heart should be, it just always ate everything up. Anger, sadness, grief, they are foreign to you. But so is joy and hope. Have you ever felt real emotion? Have you ever felt human? You never loved me either, did you?”

“No, stop this.” Tears are streaming over her cheeks now, it feels hot and alien. Inside, she feels something breaking. “That’s a lie. Loving you was the only thing good thing that had ever happened to me. I don’t know how, but you made me feel. I love you. I always will.”

“Then join me,” he responds. “You are nothing without me. Be by my side again. I can make you whole.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else. He has said enough. She has one hand clasped over mouth, choking back sobs as she nods. Behind her the crows start to scream, a loud, unbearable noise. Wiping tears away, she waits for more his words, waits for him to tell her what to do. He simply bows his head, and opens his beak, joined the croaks of the others. Fluttering his wings, he takes off into the woods. His scream echoes through the air.

She takes a moment to collect herself. Then, she follows in the direction the crow disappeared into. Leaving the graveyard grounds, she finds a small path snaking through between trees, leading somewhere unseen. It’s overgrown with grass and weeds, no one has used it in a long time. But it ends in the most beautiful clearing in the middle of the forest.

The grass is green here, and without anyone tending to it, nearly reaches her hip. Sunlight breaks through the clouds, giving it a warm atmosphere. Yet, the saturated colors seem strange to her, having spend days, maybe weeks, in a colorless space. The air is clean, an earthy smell stirred up by the earlier rain fills her nostrils.

Slowly, she steps into the middle. Wildflowers hide between the weeds, although they won’t stay for long. Summer is over, and their death is unavoidable in the harsh weather. As she lies down in the middle of them, she wonders if she will be found while the flowers still bloom.

Or, maybe, an eternity will pass before someone crosses her corpse. They will find a skeleton, with vines wrapped around bones. Her flesh will feed the wild, foxes and vermin will state their hunger on her. Closing her eyes, she lets the cold seep into her remains.

Next to her, the grass rustles, and a familiar feeling hand encloses her fingers.

She has returned home.

[theblankestofstares]

Save haven {Kim Seokjin}

Title: Save Haven

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You get strange text messages from your ex-boyfriend and decide to crash at your best friend’s place for a while

Words: 1700

His texts usually didn't bother you.

Your ex-boyfriend had been sending them for months. Ever since you had ended things with him, you'd get one or two messages a week.

The reason behind this was that the two of you hadn't broken up on good terms. After nine months of dating, he had become crazily possessive over you. He didn't let you go to parties, and when he did, he'd be next to you the entire time. He was aggressive towards boys approaching you, even if it was only about stuff like homework.  He went through your phone without your consent, he even had an app to track your iPhone when you were out of the house.

Needless to say, he wasn't very happy to hear that you'd be moving out of your shared apartment, and with that his life.

The texts were mostly about how he knew that you still missed him every day; you didn't, and how he knew you had asked his friends about him; you hadn't.

You never responded to any of his bull shit-messages, and it looked like he was starting to notice, as the texts started to come less frequently.

You were deep in thought, biting your lip as you moved your eyes over the computer screen on the desk in your own private office. You liked your job because it allowed you to make use of your smartness, but it could get very complicated and hard to keep up with.

When you were finally done with your tasks for the day, you stood up from the uncomfortable chair you had been sitting in and stretched. As you walked out of your office and into the main room, you noticed that everyone else had gone home already. You looked at the huge clock on the wall and cursed when you realized exactly how late it was.

You were rushing out of the building when a red bouquet of flowers caught your eye. Frowning, you picked it up. Why had no one taken this home with them?

As you lifted the flowers, a tiny paper fell out. You picked it up to see who this bouquet belonged to.

I'm waiting for you S.

Gasping, you stumbled around a bit. This was obviously meant for you. The S. said it all.

Was he waiting for you? Where? You were suddenly scared out of your mind. He had shown up at your work, what kept him from actually going to your house? You couldn't go back there now.

After a few minutes, you decided to call you friend Jin. He didn't live too far, maybe he could pick you up.

The phone ringed a couple of times until, eventually, it went to his voicemail.

You cursed out loud and stepped out of the office. Locking the door behind you, you began your walk to his house.

Your heels were clicking on the empty streets as you walked them. The darkness was everywhere, only the streetlights provided some light, just enough to make the whole scene a lot eerier.  

The walk to his house was about ten minutes. It started raining after five. Not raining, storming. The water came down from the dark sky in buckets, drenching you in seconds. You pulled your jacket up as much as possible, but it didn't have a hood so even your hair turned into a wet mess.

After a few more minutes, you finally arrived at Jin's house. The light was burning in his living room. This small fact made you very happy, as it meant he was home. You walked over to his door, still in the rain, and rang his doorbell.

A few seconds passed until the door opened. A tall figure appearing in its place. You looked up at him and were met with his beautiful brown eyes. You had to admit, your friend was attractive. And kind, too.

He didn't even say anything as he pulled you inside to get you out of the rain. The sudden pull on your arm surprised you, and you yelped as you smacked into him. A loud groan erupted from the male and you had to stifle your laugh.

"Y/N, look what you've done." He whined and you giggled.

"Nice to see you, too Jin."

He stepped back from you. "So, why did you decide to bless me with your presence at this time of the day," He looked at the clock on the other side of the room, "or I mean night?"

You were just about to explain when a stream of raindrops went from your hair, down your shirt, leaving your entire body in shivers.

Of course, Jin noticed. "Here, I'll get you something warm and dry to put in first. You can make hot chocolate if you want."And he disappeared into his bedroom.

Even though he couldn't see it, you nodded but opted to stay in your spot by the front door in fear of leaving a wet trail in his house. Hugging your chest, you looked around a bit. His house had a huge living room and small bedrooms. His living room was nicely decorated. You were proud to say you helped the boy with that because he wasn't the best at it, to be honest. There were a couch and a small table across from a nice tv. The tv was up against a wall with dozens of pictures; that had been your idea. The pictures were mostly from Jin with his family, friends and you. You had known each other for a very long time. Your parents always used to say that the two of you would end up together, and you were suspicious of a few bets going around in both families.

There as an obvious bond between the two of you, but neither of you ever bothered to see if a romantic relationship would ever work. With that, you thought, he also probably didn't like you in that way.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a pile of clothes being pushed into your arms. Jin smiled at the little yelp of surprise that escaped your mouth.

"You're adorable." He cooed as he petted your head. "You can get dressed in my bathroom, I'll prepare the hot chocolate."

When you walked out of the bathroom, Jin was already sitting on the couch with his back facing you. You decided to scare him and started creeping up behind him.

The moment you had your arms up and were inhaling to shout, he turned around in a millisecond. You screamed loudly as he grabbed you by the arm and literally pulled you over the couch and onto his lap. He held you by your waist as you were trashing to get out of his grip, unsuccessfully of course.

You were struggling for a few minutes until eventually, you relaxed in his arms. By the adrenaline and the craziness of the situation, you hadn't noticed how close you actually were to this boy. And with the realization, came the uneasiness.

You tried to move again, but Jin's muscular arms held you in your place. "Y/N, stop moving," He muttered, "I like sitting like this."

As much as you tried to ignore the feeling of butterflies in your stomach, his words certainly did something to you, even though maybe they didn't to him. You rested your head in the crook of his shoulder. Both your eyes looking at the ceiling.

It felt like hours later that Jin finally spoke again. "I don't get how you haven't done anything about this situation."

You knew exactly what he meant. He had told you countless times before that you should look for help with the texts, but you never actually deemed it necessary.

"I will." You promised. "But can I just stay here for the night please?"

Jin hummed from underneath you. "Of course, Y/N. You could stay here any day of the week."

You smiled and tilted your head slightly, turning to look at him to find him already staring at you.

"Why do you always date the douchebags?" His voice was a mere whisper. You truly didn't know how to answer this question. You could barely think straight. Here you were lying on top of your best friend whom you apparently had a bigger crush on than you had thought. Your faces were only a couple of inches apart. Could it be..?

"You do realize that there are a lot of nice guys, right?" He whispered. With that, your heart broke a little. Of course, he wasn't into you. The fact that he was suggesting the option of dating other guys threw your entire fantasy right out of the window.

"I.. I gue-" Your voice was cut off by Jin's lips smashing against your own. In your confusion, you didn't react for a moment, but then you slowly relaxed into the kiss. His plump lips were moving softly against yours, and you turned your body to face him, as you were still sitting on his lap. He noticed your discomfort, and without removing his lips for even a second, he grabbed the hem of your back and laid you down on the couch as he hovered over you.

Your lips were still moving against each other when your hand found his hair, a small groan erupted from the beautiful boy above you. The sound made you both chuckle a bit.

"Sorry," Jin whispered against your lips, "I've just been waiting for this moment for a long time."

You nodded as the boy started to plant kisses on your jaw and neck, gasping.

"Me too, Jin. Me too."

dude this took forever to upload because the program I write this on deleted like 75% of this imagine and I couldn't be bothered to write it again

But I did work really hard on this and it would mean the world if you could give this a like or whatever. I’d love you more than Hoseok loves dancing.

[bedfordrambles]

thursday

Weekend afternoons became somewhat of a vice between you and George.

Thursdays were spent in the flat with him and Matty - afternoons built on weed and Mortal Kombat and Chinese food. Nights often ended in George’s bed - soundtracked to records from George’s collection, ones you weren’t familiar with, ones that George insisted were crucial staples in music history. Time passed through different activities. Sometimes there were heated kisses, sometimes lazy touches where mouths found new places to draw soft sounds, sometimes simply conversation until one of you fell asleep.

Fridays were rushed mornings and burnt toast and maybe promises of seeing each other later.

Today was one of the Fridays that the promises held up. Grey - cloud heavy skies, sparse raindrops. Uni. Fingers - rooting through your bag, spare change for the bus when a car horn breaks thoughts. The Mustang. George’s Mustang.

A half forgotten promise - weeks ago, a Thursday night in the flat, Joy Ride on the telly. Now - a mostly abandoned stretch of road on the outskirts of town. George knows it’s there from one of Matty’s long ago flings, she lived nearby. Their first ever song was written about her, her namesake. And you tell him you remember, of course you remember. Penelope.

The thrill of doing something you shouldn’t - hot, spiraling through your veins, accelerating heart beats. Attaining an octave at every inch the speedometer gains. Breaths come out fast and hard in laughs or not at all - when George takes sharp corners - rubber squeaking against the ground. Soundtracked to loud laughs, brash cackles, excited squeals.

Adrenaline pumping hard and fast. Windows - down, spring air warm despite it hits like ice, strands of hair ripped from hair ties, your eyes, mouth. Maybe it’s your shouts of delirium, elation are the only reason he needs to push it further, or maybe it’s to keep up with the high spiraling through his veins, knocking through nerve endings. Reckless - you both now, dangerous - at best but the feeling is enough to justify. Alive, lethal.

A growl - the engine revving sounding almost impatient, George having brought it to a stop for too long. Salt & Vinegar crisps, Dr Pepper and shared fags. Kanye - the radio. Seatbelts off - and you’ve turned to face him, legs draped over his lap. Giggles - echoing, heartbeats still struggling to settle, heads still light. Crisps - aiming for his mouth, not exactly working out, but he keeps telling you try one more, eventually ending up smacking the back of his head off the window.

Giggles only growing louder at that, between muffled curses. Fading - but starting up as quickly as they stopped when you catch his eye. He doesn’t help stop them - only grabbing a hold of your legs, fingers tickling your thighs. Ensuing in shrieks of laughter, legs kicking in vain attempts to escape, no refuge in the cramped car.

“G,” when everythings died down, adrenaline fizzling out - something you’re craving more of. His phone, texting, biting his nails - furrowed brow turning to a toothy grin. “Give’s ago?” - you ask, nodding to the steering wheel, already knowing what the answer will be. Eyes - following yours before flickering back with a chuckle. Deep, rasped - “absolutely not, love.”

A pout - mock petulance, he shakes his head, an amused grin. “Let me teach you how to bloody drive first, then maybe..”

A pause, eyes flickering, a smirk - “Actually maybe we’ll use Matty’s van for that.”

You - a huff, telling him to fuck off, only earning more chuckles in response and an, “I love you, babe - but not enough to let you wreck my car. Wanna go again?”

And you nod, despite yourself - buckling back up your seatbelt while telling him he really can be a fucking dickhead at times. Leaning over - a sloppy kiss to your cheek, something you vehemently deny. Giggles echo anyhow.

Only beginning to build up speed, switching gears - the familiar rush beginning to flip in your stomach, beat against your chest when there’s a sudden buzzing, ringing. George’s phone.

Curses - under his breath, slowing down. Phone - from his jeans pockets, an apologetic look before cursing once again when he looks at the caller ID.

“Adam, mate - told you I’m busy, have Matty sort it out, yeah?”

A pause - grunts of disagreement and a breath of, ‘fucking idiot’, listening to whatever Adam is saying. Jaw - clenching when he tries to cut in with, ‘but’s’ and ‘can’t’s’. Sighing - head falling back against the headrest, “Fuck sake, fine fine, I’ll sort it - but after that I’m officially off the fucking grid for the night. I have... arrangements.”

Brown - a glance over at you, before his brow creases -  “What? No - well yes.. oh piss off, she has a name.. No that’s not it, fucking hell is Matty there?”

A few more grumbles, sighs - hanging up, tyres screeching with a hard U turn, back in direction of the main road. Telling you that that was Adam, some guy at the pub needs some gear, he has to shift it.  Apologies - for dragging you into this, he tried his best not to. Adam - busy picking up, Ross out of town for his birthday, and Matty can’t be seen dealing at the minute because he owes money.  Reiterating his earlier point - “fucking twat,” and “they keep calling you fit uni girl, soz about that..”

Rambling - you’re not really listening all that much at this stage. Too caught up in a new kind of thrill - tingling through your blood, sparking. A new kind of danger, risk - resonating through his words. The sudden excitement of joyriding - if you could call it that on a good enough as abandoned stretch of road - was overtaken by the idea of it all. 

You weren’t stupid, or completely oblivious to the fact George and his inner circle of friends - particularly Matty, dabbled in dealing. Now - the idea of messing around with a borderline drug dealer, was becoming quite the reality. 

An idea that turned you on a bit more than you’d care to admit. 

His lips - mirror the curve of yours, when he asks what you’re smirking at. You don’t hesitate to tell him - that this whole thing was quite naughty, sexy even. The chances that he, they could very well get caught only made it a bit more wild, pretty badass. An unexplained electricity, adrenaline building. 

It’s obvious your confession has effects on George. Ego - rising, boosting a bit, and he can’t help but think maybe this was such a bad idea after all. Maybe Hann’s call had been somewhat of a blessing, the kind where he was almost certain the night would end with him definitely not being alone in bed, and definitely not being the only one naked between sheets.  To be blunt about it - Hann’s call had given him a 90% guarantee of getting laid tonight. With a girl he was very much infatuated with. Not bad at all. 

Pressing down on the gas a bit harder once you’re on the way back to town - unintentional, more so on purpose. Excitement - rushing, hearts stuttering. Unknowingly - surpassing the speed limit, gaze shifting to drift over you or a second. Lip - caught between your teeth, pupils blown out. Quiet - exhilaration filtering through the air. George - hand, slipping off the gear shift, finding your thigh. Fingers - squeezing, heat sparking. 

Minute by minute - fingers inching higher, hot against skin. Breath - short, a lack of air, the car.  A new kind of high. 

One that escalates - sirens sounding somewhere behind, car closing in. Police. 

A jumble of breathy curses - eyes flickering up to his rearview mirror, clenched jaw. His thoughts spiral, tumble ahead to the baggy in his jeans, the arsehole behind him finding it - and the seriesi of unfortunate events that would occur after that. Cursing Hann, fucking Matty. Sweaty palms. 

Pulling over - a new kind of tension, asking him where it was. Half sigh, half grumble - his trousers, pocket. Hand - rubbing over his face, through his hair - and you vaguely catch mumbles about being done for.  

Exhilaration - still tingling through your senses, and maybe it’s the thump of adrenaline rushing through you - that guides your hand. And before George can gather his thoughts enough to ask what you’re doing, fingers slip into his pocket, blinking in disbelievement at the flash of the baggy, disappearing under your skirt. Your idea of a prime hiding space. Mouth - still slightly ajar, two policemen appearing at the window. 

It’s the usual routine - asking if he knew why they pulled him over, by how much he was over the speed limit, all that. Reckless. Only beginning to gain his confidence back, kicking the shock of you helping him. All cocky smirks, snide comments - ego rebuilding, recalling your earlier words about the chances of being caught. 

Attitude - proving to be a problem, probably not the best way to go, deal with it. Eyes - watching in the wing mirror when he’s asked to step out of the car. Focused on him - the gravel in his voice saying this a well waste of time, how he has a head in height over them, his hair starting to get longer again. Deep brown - catching your eye in the mirror, a wink, and you roll your eyes but can’t bite back a smirk. Heart still thudding - head light with the idea that you both are on the verge of getting away with this. 

Fingers - tugging, the hem of your skirt down further, George reapproaching. Finding nothing on him - a half full pack of Parliaments, chewing gum, spare change. Heavy warnings of fines, penalty points the next time - ringing in his ears. But not loud enough to kill of the buzz filtering through his veins. 

You - leaning forward, peering around George, the cop hovering by his window. A bright smile - asking if they needed to check you too, politely. George - suddenly growing very interested in his Parliaments pack, eyes staying down, but you don’t miss the amused smirk, the cough covering up a giggle.

A new set of eyes - glancing over you, a gruff, “No, you’re alright, love.”

Silence, electricity still buzzing between bodies - George, driving, under the speed limit this time. Although he had been going exaggerating under the limit for the few minutes the police car had followed, only leaving you to giggle and them to grow undoubtedly increasingly aggravated. You’re only half surprised they didn’t pull him over again.

Eventually - his hand, your thigh again. “Y’know, you didn’t have to hide that for me, babe.”

And you arch a brow - because yeah you kinda did, or he’d be well fucked, but he shushes you, knowing your expressions before you speak out.

“I don’t need you getting caught up in my messes. I’m to look after you and all that, not the opposite.” - glancing over at you, a sigh. “But thank you, you having my back tonight was most helpful, my lifesaver.” 

Overpitched, dramatic - causing an echo of giggles, laughs. Expelling pent up tension, adrenaline. 

Until - his fingers, a squeeze on your thigh. “You know I’ve still got to shift this gear, yeah?” 

Lips curving - your legs parting, fingertips trailing higher, and you give him an expectant look. One that dares him to get it himself. So he does. 

Fingers - dipping into silky material, grasping around the baggy, brushing against skin. And you ask - with a teasing sort of lithe, what you’re to do with him, after him very nearly getting you both into serious trouble. 

Watching - his lips curving into a smirk that’s quickly becoming your favourite, licking his lips. Fingers - lingering in your underwear for a breath or two longer, before slowly sliding out. 

“I could think of a few things.” 

[razxion]

Isle of Stars: Chapter 1: Silent night, deadly night.

If one were to sail North of Lorderon, or West of Silvermoon, far enough away the two lands could not be seen, lied an island full of all sorts of life.  First to be seen would be the Lighthouse, tall, slender and bright, warning of the rocky shores ahead.  Next would be the outlines of the island, the large city-like estate reached to the sky, with the telescope and spires easy to make out.  Further in one would have to navigate the rings of the island, a natural defense against siege by boats taken well advantage of.  The trees were tall along the edges of the islands, with brushes thick so one couldn’t see in.  Once passed the third ring the details could be seen: boats of all sizes lined up at the docks, magisters were unloading the cargo from the largest ships with care, and the only building on the island stood tall, and old.

One would have to pass the security put in place, in order to go into the main section of the building, or stay longer than the day.  It was nearly a fortress, tall and thick walls infused with arcane magics new and old.  A small canalway blocked entry by magic,allowing only those that knew the key to enter.  Elves lived here mostly, but they allowed any with good intent to stay and learn history.  Those of various professions were allowed to stay and learn as well, and they had their own areas to be: the tailors worked near the enchanters, and those were set near the library; alchemists were working alongside the herbalists, fishermen and cooks, each could help the other in their craft; the leather workers were placed between the two previous sections, as they could work with either; and across from the leather workers were the blacksmiths and engineers, jewelcrafters and miners, along with those that could wield and command flames.

There was an area too within the complex focused on religions and allowed all to come and share their beliefs, so long as there were no fights to be had, and each had specific times or days they were allowed to have a private time to pray and worship.  There was peace among all, and near the main gate were the stables, beasts of all kinds were kept here and taught about, anywhere from how to brush and breed them, to their diet and fighting capabilities.  This was an island of knowledge, with those of all walks of life allowed: paladins, priests, mages, druids, hunters, rogues, warriors, and even those a little darker in their magical tastes were, so long as they did not harm others and followed guidelines that were the dead stay dead and summoning was not permitted, nor were portals outside of the designated room.

This certain time of year was special, the heir’s children were coming of age to receieve their Stars, and their parents would govern the island until they would have children of their own that received Stars.  It was bustling and the two young men were running around, causing a little bit of chaos here and there as they chased one another through the working people, but never caused a mess.

Throughout the night, Alexander had wandered across the waters thinking.  He had gone back to Tyleril’s apartment to retrieve his armor, and then to the barracks for his weapon before departing.  The death knight’s frozen steps crackle and echo under the sheet of ice that seemed to move with him.  Coming up to an island that felt familiar, and once he stepped onto the land he could remember where he was.  Looking around he came upon a secret entrance he and his twin knew of and the memory began to play.  He followed it around the interior cautiously, as there were broken pieces of his home lying about, and the feel of danger in the air.  The memory was of him and Rai'thas, and wherever the two of them went, anyone else near that they interacted with appeared.  They seemed to stop in the smithing area, as both boys had interest in what went on there, and even had started to learn the trade.

A heavy clang sounds. A hammer striking the anvil and the sounds of a forge burning happen as Alexander steps into the smithinging area.  The light that comes from the smithy’s rotting doorway is pale and inviting. “-And then they just let you go right?” Tyleril’s voice was clear, devoid of it’s normal stutter and filled with good humour. “Like the Magister would just let you go? Ha!”

Alexander readies his spear, taking another look around before he gently pushes the door open.  Creaking from the old hinges, splintering of the wood that stuck as it had swelled, the door puts up quite a fight but doesn’t break.  He looks in, curiosity barely visible on the death knight’s face as he focuses on the man speaking.  He had seemed familiar.  The two boys were nearby, pushing one another with one being put into a headlock, whining and kept there as the other laughed.

There’s no reaction  as Alexander nearly breaks into the smithy. It was clear that nobody had been there in a long time. Everything was covered in dust and ashes. The roof threatened to break as  rain began to softly land atop it.  A ghostly image of Tyleril stands by the anvil, holding something.  "You two need to be careful- wouldn’t do for you to get burnt, eh?“ It was clearly a younger Tyleril. The clothing he wore had been out of style for decades easily and his hair was tied in a long braid that went to his rear.

The young Alexander laughs loudly, messing with his brother’s long hair as the young Rai'thas flails to try and get out of his grasp.  "We’ll be having something today!  I bet Rai’ll cry.”  "I will not!“ Pipes up the young Rai'thas, finally punching at his brother’s ass a few times before the young Alexander quits messing with his hair.   The death knight looks on and slowly remembers that day, looking over to the smith and it hits him just as the younger version of him speaks once more.  "You’ll come and watch, won’t you Mister Silversword?  The whole island’s invited.”

“You two are turning- nineteen? Twenty?” Tyleril lifts up the weapon he is working on. The ghostly echo waved  it in his hands. “How about I make you two a weapon since it’s such a special day for the two of you?” Raindrops slowly seep through the rooftop to land in the house, dripping and making puddles the echoes don’t notice.  The echo of Tyleril turns for Alexander to get a good look at  him- the blue and grey clothing he wore matched his blue eyes and wide grin.

“Twenty!” The boys say in unison, each with smiles from ear to ear, even if one was still in a headlock.  Alexander’s eyes widened, how could he have forgotten this part of that day?  They had met Tyleril!  The young Alexander spoke up first, “A sword!  I’d love a sword, Mister Silversword!”  Rai'thas not long after, “Me too!”  Rai'thas is pulled around a little, as his twin starts to try and turn them both around for fun.

The echo of Tyleril laughs, even when a piece of the ceiling groans and falls through the coloful echo. “You two are lucky there’s plenty of materials then! Go play with the practice swords and find a grip you like so I know what to do at the end, yes? I’ll get to work on this first one.”  He smiles at Alexander and walks towards the death knight.

Alexander instinctively moves out of the way for the echo of Tyleril, still wondering why he didn’t remember this but soon he would understand why.  The young Alexander starts to spin, with his brother in tow, letting the young Rai'thas go.  The young man stumbles backwards and into a steaming hot piece of metal, crying out in pain as he was burned on his side.  Alexander caused his brother harm, and that had wiped the memory of Tyleril out of his mind.

Tyleril turns. “Hey! Stop that!” The echo of Tyleril dropped the tools he held. The dust and mud beneath his feet didn’t stir as he ran to check Rai'thas. “Here, let me see. Let me see.” His voice is gentle and soothing.“

Alexander reached out, whatever was left of his heart aching as he saw what had happened, as the young version of himself backed up with tears in his eyes.  The young Rai'thas was crying, not very loud as he didn’t want his brother to call him a crybaby.

The echo fo Tyleril shushes Rai'thas, smoothing his hair down as he brings up a hand  that brightens with healing Light. He holds it over the burn. "It’s alright. Don’t worry- See? The Light is making it better and all you’ll have is a scar. That’s not so bad, right?” The color in Tyleril’s magical echo begins to leech away, fading to grey but the echo of him remains.  After a long minute the echo pauses and leans back to look directly at Alexander- not through him or to something else. Directly at him. “Alexander?” The echo whispers.

The young Rai'thas quiets down as he is healed, nodding all the while his young twin runs off to hide.  Alexander squints, looking behind him to see if the echo was speaking to the young version of him.  But once he realizes it was to the one here and now, his frosty eyes widen and his voice answers with an echo of his own.  "Yes?“  He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he’s already dead, what harm could come from this.

The echo of Tyleril smiled and hugged the young Rai'thas close. "You came back.” Although his smile seemed just as warm as  it was when he tended the echo something felt off as he continued to speak. “There’s a chest behind you- would you get the spare sword I made for you? I always wanted to make a second one but my boat…did I ever leave?”  Behind Alexander, left to rot in a corner was a chest that had rusted and sealed itself tight. The contents inside were likely still intact.

The death knight questioned what was going on, if the echo of his priestly friend was indeed talking to him.  Alexander looked behind him though, finding the chest the echo spoke of.  The young version of himself was hiding behind the chest, in tears.  He approached it, knocked on the chest with his boot and then knelt down to open it any way he possibly could.  The echo of his younger self was drawing his attention too, this was something he didn’t want to remember.

The echo’s voice is sweet and gentle to Alexander’s ears, washing away suspicion. “You might have to be a little bit harder on- yes, that’s it Alexander.” The  color leached echo of Tyleril smiles as Alexander found the spare sword Tyleril had forged decades ago that had been forgotten and left in a trunk. “That’s good Alexander- pick it up will you?” Carefully the color leached Echo rocks the young Rai'thas- he seemed to have fallen asleep. Something might feel wrong , a bit off but the color leached echo of Tyleril was friendly. He was just trying to help…right?

Alexander reached into the chest, slowly grabbing at the sword with his free hand as his younger self now dashed off into another room containing a hidden tunnel the boys new of.  Fingers gently gripped the handle and slowly removed it from it’s resting place.  He rose, standing tall as he looked at the forgotten weapon from a forgotten friendly face.  Why did this echo want him to have it?

The echo of Tyleril smiled and slowly rose up and the younger Rai'thas simply faded away.  As the echo walked its braid swayed with its movements. “Very good Alexander.” It holds its arms out and begins to apply its magical charm to override Alexander’s will. “Hold the sword tightly, right? Don’t want to drop it.”

Alexander’s grip on the sword slowly tightens as the echo spoke.  No, he didn’t want to drop it, it was something his friend made and forgot.  He wanted to return it to him.  Slowly the death knight’s frosty gaze moved to the echo of Tyleril, and the grip on his personal spear loosened.

Alexander is rewarded with an approving smile. “You know how to use the sword, right Alexander?” The echo clapped his hands. “I have a good idea.  You ’ll appreciate this.”

Alexander nodded slowly.  "What sort of idea do you have, Tyleril?“  He would do as the echo would ask, and follow him wherever.

"Kill me.” The Echo smiled warmly at him and held his arms out wide. The blue eyes still held warmth, the smile was still there- but something would linger that this wasn’t right. “And then you can kill yourself. It won’t hurt. Then we can go together. ”

Fingers, already touched by death once, tighten on the forgotten sword’s handle, and the spear clanked as it now hit the floor.  "Kill you, and then myself.  As you wish, Tyleril.“  Alexander slowly removed himself from the smithery and back off of the island, heading towards Silvermoon and the apartment of Tyleril Silversword.

Story written with @tyleril-silversword as part of a longer story to introduce my twins, Alexander Bloodshield and Rai’thas Starshield’s home island. @thesunguardmg

[unfltrdlfe]

After a rejuvenating week at Kamalaya , Lacey and I joined each other’s company once more in Phuket, Thailand!

Accommodation: Marriott Resort and Spa, Merlin Beach

Thoughts: AMAZING! It’s located a bit outside of Patong, which is the main tourist location and a MAJOR party place! It was actually recommended to me by someone I’d met who was actually from Phuket originally, to only stay about a night in Patong then to go see the rest of the island, but we didn’t. The main reason we stayed there was because places were a little pricier than we had been paying and we were hoping to continue to save a bit of money. It worked out that my Dad had extra points on his Marriott rewards so we were able to use those and stay there for free. Points are a beautiful thing people, don’t ever underestimate the power of accumulating points.

The resort itself had a private beach, and I swear one of the biggest, most incredible pools I’ve ever seen in my life!! We were obsessed!! There’s also a swim-up bar in the pool that has an amazing happy hour (I don’t think we ever missed this) then you can continue the drink specials in the lounge once happy hour in the pool was done! There’s like 3 restaurants and a coffee shop in the hotel as well. Also, because it’s located slightly out of Patong, there’s shuttles running every hour or two to and from the city centre until like 8pm, and if you want to be out later, you can just taxi back.

Things to do:

Honestly, because we had such an amazing resort that we were staying it, we mostly lounged by the pool for half the day and went into town and walked around. However, we did do a couple of things before we left!

Phi Phi Island Tour

We did a day trip tour of some of the neighbouring islands, including the famous Phi Phi island. It was a great day! It was an early start day, I believe we were at the harbor around 8am. There was free coffee available once you arrived, but if you do this tour, bring water, towels, and breakfast.

We hung out for about an hour before getting on the boats, but everyone finally piled into the speed boat and got ready to go. The water was a little choppy but, I find that to be insanely fun! Between all the  bumps, jumps and falls, I can never help but laugh along the way. After a significant ride on the boat, we arrived at our first island: Khai Nai. Here, we just laid on the beach and swam in the ocean for a while. Snorkeling was offered, I would recommend just buying your own snorkel gear before going on any snorkel trip in Asia, the ones provided really aren’t that great.

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Next, we headed to Yao Yai Island for lunch. Now, typically we would have been given beach and exploring time here, but, it started to rain, and hard! Everyone and everything was soaked by the time we arrived to the lunch spot. Lacey and I were laughing and all our valuables were in a water-proof bag (also recommended, you can find really cheap ones around). Rain is just apart of how it goes in tropical areas most of the time, and having lived in Florida, we were both used to it, knowing it would likely clear and be nice again in an hour or so. Lunch was a buffet, so you were able to eat your fill, however had to purchase drinks. That was all well and good, once everyone was full, and had used the toilet, we made our way back to the boat, the rain had stopped but was still threatening to start again.

Monkeys!

We got a little more rain as we made our way to our next destination, which was Phi Phi Don Island. Here, we were able to do a bit of sight seeing of Monkey Island. This was hilarious to watch actually! There were monkeys all over the cliffs of the island and would climb up and then just dive into the water and swim their way out…I don’t think I ever really knew monkeys could swim before seeing that! I mean it makes sense that they could, it’s just not something I had ever considered. The tour guides would throw fruit and such into the water and the monkeys would jump down into the water to get it, other times they would just jump on their own. It was pretty funny.

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After being thoroughly entertained by the monkeys, we made our way to Bamboo Island to do a bit more swimming. We just jumped off the boat into the water and would swim

around. It was a lot of fun.

Finally, we arrived at Phi Phi Leh Island, which was riddled with people on tours as it’s not just a beautiful beach, but the filming site for the movie “The Beach” starring Leonardo DiCaprio. We did a bit more swimming but were kind of over it quickly as there were so many people.

At last it was time to head back. Lacey, myself and a few others piled into the very front of the speed boat, which is not covered. We were racing our way back to Phuket, when it started to rain again. They stopped the boat and gave us the option to move in the back if we didn’t want to deal with the rain. 2 people moved, but the rest of us decided to tough it out…probably the most amusing decision we could have made. We were in bathing suits, so not really covered, and with how much rain was coming and how fast we were going, the raindrops felt like bullets on our skin. We were also flying over waves, crashing down hard as we went. Holding on for dear life, we all couldn’t help but laugh every time the boat slammed down and our bodies were red from being pelted with water bullets. Some of us were able to get our towels out from under our butts to cover our faces or arms to help a little, but mine failed miserably so I just ended up turning around so my face was at least not getting hit directly with the water. Lacey and I both looked at each other and the end and said “we finally had an arm day!” and laughed because up until that point every tour and excursion we had done was excessive walking and stairs, so it was always leg day, we finally got to balance it out.

All in all, it was a great tour, we had a lot of fun, despite the weather, so if you’re ever in Phuket and are thinking about it, I’d recommend it as a tour for sure!

We arrived back to the hotel around 7 or 8pm, so it was truly a full day!

Phuket FantaSea

I really can’t decide which was better: the island tour or the FantaSea show/experience. FantaSea is a Thai Cultural Theme Park. However, not the typical theme park we think of. There aren’t rides or anything, but there are loads of shops, and all the buildings are heavily decorated. It was fun to just walk around! So, the park is only open before the show, and so you’re able to enter a few hours before the show starts and see everything. In addition, you have a choice of paying for dinner, which we chose to do, it’s a buffet with plenty of options and the food was pretty decent!

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In addition to the dinner, and colorful shops, there was a zoo portion of the park so you were able to go see some animals native to the area. I have previously mentioned that when we were in Chiang Mai, we went to a zoo that was truly amazing and the animals were clearly treated well and had plenty of space to roam. I will disclaim that if you are going to FantaSea and you’re not typically a fan of zoos, I would NOT recommend going into this portion of the park. the enclosures are small, and like the tigers were indoors and kept behind glass. Not the most ideal conditions for the animals.

Also, before the big show, there was a small performance and it was like the most amazing thing ever! Oh, it was so good!!! It was a group of Thai performers singing and dancing to what made me think of 90s pop music and wearing bright colorful clothing that matched. Seriously, I couldn’t stop smiling it was truly fantastic!

After that cheese-tastic mini show, Lacey and I were really wondering what the big show was going to be like, but it couldn’t have been more different! The main show was 100% worth the trip over to the park to see it! There was dancing, singing, traditional costumes, acrobatics and again, disclaimer for those who may be upset by it, there were live animals in the show, who had clearly been trained. If the animal thing is really going to get to you, then I’d recommend not going, but if it won’t then go and I really think you’ll enjoy yourself! Afterwards the park remained open for a little bit for shopping an they have elephants outside that you can take pictures with, and you could also pay to ride them (which we did not do).

We headed out the next day for our flight to Melbourne! We were headed Down Under again to explore the Outback!

  Phi Phi and FantaSea After a rejuvenating week at Kamalaya , Lacey and I joined each other's company once more in Phuket, Thailand!

[gretasideas-blog]

Final Project: Dystopian Future

Dystopian Story

The year is 2100. The use of technology is greater than ever and people are living rich and abundant lives. The realm of architecture has never seen such success, with clean cut, glass buildings that suggest the essence of a successful society. Social media platforms and profile success indicate the users’ rank in society, allowing them to rent certain cars, reserve luxurious hotel rooms, and easily climb the social ladder. This closed community is exclusively called home by the people who have a certain number of followers on social media platforms (3,000,000). Once your numbers drop, you are moved to the outer layers of your community, which surround the main, closed off community. This is where some privileges are also dropped. Have less than 3,000 followers? Unfortunately, you are then placed into The Outskirts. It’s a society where you can ask me anything! But, I won’t be honest.

If you live in The Outskirts, your lives revolve around maintaining The Center. You can be their doctors, therapists, engineers, and accountants, but at the end of the day, you’ll have to return to your community which is the most polluted and crowded. If you live in The Center, your occupation would be to post, snap, and caption everything you see around yourself. You are all considered as celebrities, or more importantly: influencers. The more you post, the more followers you gain, the more likely you’ll keep your home.

So, how are we able to distinguish between a Center and the rest? If a fellow Instagrammer hits 3,000,000 followers, they will receive an award in the mail. This includes a box with silk lining and the famously recognizable 1st class shipping stamp. This carries the crown. Made from genetically modified plants that take decades to grow, that don’t wither, the crown is worn by those who have deserved the title of influencer. Carefully and delicately made with special plants by some Outskirt workers, it has been dipped in shining gold and embedded with delicate, rare flowers.

The garden where all of these plants are kept and tightly sealed somewhere secret in The Center. It is maintained and grown by people from The Outskirts as they are watched by guards during the working hours. It is impossible to steal or change anything while being watched. Except one time. Her name was Astrid and was fed up with the world she was living in. One day, she somehow snuck a few seeds into her pocket and was also able to take one of the many already woven crowns, despite being searched by the guards at the end of the day like they usually did.

This crown is being sent back to a man she trusts. His duty: to start growing the seeds (hide the garden somewhere safe) and to wait until his child has grown old enough to be responsible and hand it over to him/her. And then repeat until 2100. There is the annual Social Media Awards that everyone tunes into November 8th. Who are the hosts, musicians, and entertainers? Mostly people from The Center, since they are mostly famous. However, there are also really talented musicians that are not so recognized and live in The Outskirts.

The mission is this: make 30 flower crowns based on the model that was sent back and find the list of musicians I will attach after. Tell them Astrid sent you. They have to wear it on live television. It will create an outbreak of chaos and frenzy that is for certain. It will cause the system to come crashing down; I know because I always hear whispers that the system was starting to become weak anyway. But what will happen after? I’m not sure; That is for the rest of you to figure out. Just don’t let history repeat itself.

The final prototype is made from gold curly ting and one bundle of dried flowers. I decided to work with only one type of flower because it went along with my story better. I thought if there were too many types of flowers on it, then the flowers would be too distracting, when I wanted the emphasis to be on the idea of the crown. I decided not to spray paint the entire piece because (1) the “branches” were already gold and (2) I liked the look of the flowers because it gave it an earthy feeling, yet wasn’t festival-like, which is what I was trying to avoid. I used hot glue to piece the pieces together. At first, the gold ting would easily bend but when I tried to glue it down, it would not stay. To make it keep its shape I wrapped it around a cooking pot I had and kept it on there whenever I was not working on it. The prototype before this one had the flowers laying in one direction on one side and in an other direction on the other side. I decided that I wanted all the flowers laying in the same direction throughout the whole crown so that it created a infinite loop. At first I only had the flowers facing up, but later decided to add them to the bottom as well to make it fuller. I was planning on creating rain drop shapes out of hot glue, layering it with black glitter, and then hot glueing it onto the crown, however the glitter did not stay on very well and it did not have the rustic, earthy feel I was going for, for the story. Instead I colored parts of the gold with black marker and colored in any remaining dried hot glue I found on the crown. This proved to work very well because most hot glue pieces dried in a raindrop shape. The black symbolizes pollution and corruption, or more literally, oil. I did it in a way that makes it very subtle, yet unavoidable when noticed. 

Presentation: https://gretasideas.tumblr.com/post/168287190366 (with captions)

[skiphunt]

A Porto Wine Cat Feed :)

The next stop was Coimbra and a few other towns heading North. Lovely, but the usual travel stuff. First, had to find a budget place to stay, then look for some food, then look up in the guide book or maybe ask around on the street what unique things Coimbra is known for, then wander around aimlessly. Finally, I’d dare adventure fate to take the reins. The usual.

Might’ve called it too quick, but after a good hike around the town, checking out the University campus, and a couple of the parks… it basically just felt like any other cozy college town. Small bars and coffee shops, pretty landscape, and mostly quiet. Figured it might take more time to find any potential adventure than I’d afforded to this one location. I’d only stopped in Coimbra sort of randomly on the way North anyway. Not even sort of randomly. Literally at random. I met another traveler who said he liked to jump on a bus going anywhere, then get off at one of the stops randomly. Sounded cool and so I tried it out with Coimbra. 

Definitely, a lovely place to go to school and live, but wasn’t quite giving me that adventurous edge I was hoping for. Pleasant, but decided to cut bait and keep on moving North toward Porto.

When I made it to Porto, near the border with Spain and the Northernmost port city in Portugal... named after and known for its delicious port wine, I felt the travel magic start to kick in much stronger.

I’m not even entirely sure of the moment the travel vibe shifted from rote to full-on mystique. Might’ve got a hint of it in the ancient Porto train station as I gazed at the giant clock’s antique second hand begin to move in what I began to perceive in slow motion. Or, it could be when I took the train for the day, passing through the vineyards in the rainy emerald green countryside. I looked out the back window of the last train car, through the raindrops collecting on the glass... the vineyard-lined tracks appeared to fall away faster than the train was actually moving. 

It’s bizarre how the perception of time can so drastically change in psychedelic ways when you’re traveling. It speeds up and slows down in ways that can sometimes induce mild vertigo. That’s when you know it’s about to get good.

The moment in Porto that was likely the strongest trigger happened later that day and is also the most vivid. 

The port of Porto is fed by the sea and into the Douro river. The sides of the Douro are lined with tug boats, colorful architecture, and lovely silver bridges. You can wander all day along both sides and will perpetually be presented with the most amazing views across the Douro from just about any point of view.

Near the mouth of the Douro are dozens of places where you can taste fine port wine from various vintners for only a few euro. This is what I’d spend the afternoon doing after the train returned from the vineyards. The sun was now out and the sky defined the words Royal Blue. Contrasted with the colorful tug boats and architecture… it was simply sublime.

Tried to keep my wits about me and pace myself with regard to the wine tasting. The port wine was so incredibly divine that this conservative task of pacing myself was hopelessly futile. Before I knew it, I was so intoxicated that walking and remaining upright had become a bit of a challenge. 

Luckily, while I could still mostly function I realized the beautiful warm light falling all over the uniquely curved and stacked architecture. I knew this would be my last chance to get some final photos before moving on into Spain in the morning so it was time to voluntarily cut myself off from the sweet port nectar. 

Meandered and wobbled my way into the shadowy passageways decorated with flourishes of laundry hung to dry with pigeons swirling about. I could mostly still function well enough to compose a few quick images. I hadn’t counted on the buildings blocking the majority of the best golden light rays streaming across the city. Most of the corridors had already fallen into the darkest shade. 

I panicked that because I’d once again been too lazy and not bothered taking the needed time to capture this special place. Started darting quickly from passageway to passageway, desperate for any bit of leftover light I could find. Moving like an early evening moth drawn to the last diminishing pockets of sunset light. There! I spotted a final sliver of amber rays shooting down a long dark tunnel. I quickly made my way toward the end and when I popped out the other side, I was instantly blinded by last rays of sun burning directly into my retinas. 

Tried to shield my eyes but couldn’t see anything at all until several seconds later when they finally acclimated. Reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit it to kill time. At this point, I was reserved to the fact I’d have to give up. I’d lazily let the day slip away and wasn’t going to get anything decent after the sunset. And, I didn’t have the time or funds to stay on another day. Besides, had I stayed another day, I’d have likely tried to do the exact same port wine tour I’d just done and would make the same mistake again. I know myself too well. 

Inhaled the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the last of the rays dance in the swirling smoke. There was a sound that I couldn’t quite make out. Sounded like small seeds or small pebbles being shaken onto a big tin plate. I looked to my right. My eyes had finally adjusted and noticed that the last shaft of sunset light was illuminating an old Portuguese woman standing on her balcony tossing refuse down below. It was as if she was in a theater with the main spotlight illuminating her. The sound  I heard was whatever she was tossing from her balcony, landing on a large tin roof below. There were about a dozen cats scrambling across the tin roof for the discarded treats. I could also now hear the cats meowing and scrambling for the best bits. A large, lone seagull watched the cats from above as sentry and I noticed the shaft of light diminishing rapidly as it moved past the opening between the buildings. 

Didn’t even have time to check my camera settings or consciously frame the image. Still partially blinded, I raised my camera up quickly, turned it vertically to my right side and blindly snapped one image. Then, just like that, the magnificent light was gone and the old woman went back inside her home. The cats scattered away and the seagull flew off.

Frantically checked to see if I got the lucky shot. I had. This was the precise moment the pure travel magic truly kicked in. —Skip Hunt

(from Absinthe Carousel - A Novela by Skip Hunt - Available as ebook on Apple Books + In Print and on Kindle at Amazon + As a PDF download from this Site

~~~

I don’t get to order that many prints for myself unless I’m getting something as a gift or a new photo for my portfolio.

Every time I order a new print for myself, or anyone else for that matter… from the second I submit the order I get a tingle on the back of my neck anticipating opening it up. And, no matter how fast the printer can get it completed and delivered, it’s never fast enough. That feeling when you see it for the first time after you’ve carefully removed it from the shipping container is magnificent. It is for me at least.

I’ve decided to try something a little different than what I’ve done in the past. I’m going to have a little flash sale. It’s my very first one so I’m going to keep it simple. It’s just one image, one size, and luster paper finish. The shipping is included if it’s delivered in the U.S. (for international orders, message me and I’ll see what I can do)

This one will be discounted significantly from my normal pricing and you’ll be ordering it directly from me. I’ll fill the order and have it shipped to whichever address you provide on the form. Since I haven’t done this before, and because it is a “flash sale”, it’s only going to be available until Sunday 11/24/19.