#and it was only two days so i am miraculously still alive after it

[raineandsky]

#93

Inspired by this post!

Bzz!

The villain groans and rolls onto her side. It’s still dark out. Surely nothing important can be happening at this time. She’ll ignore it.

Bzzzzzzz!

Ugh. No, it can wait. No job can be that serious when the moon's still out.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

The villain leaps up and snatches her phone from the nightstand. She taps blindly at the screen and brings it to her ear with an incensed “what?”

“Bonjour, amigo,” says the voice on the other side. The other villain. The villain gave him a coffee once—and this is how he repays her endless kindness? Cruel.

“That’s two different languages, you dimwit,” the villain snaps. “What the hell is so important at” — the villain glances at the clock blinking on the table — “quarter to four in the morning?”

“Damn, is that the time?” the other villain says brightly, as if the villain just said it’s time for lunch and not the middle of the goddamn night. “Yeah, okay, look. I don’t mean to get you involved in my maniacal plans” — the villain can imagine him waving his hands rather manically as he says it — “but could you get to the old town hall in, like, half an hour?”

“What—”

“And bring some of your guys.” The other villain coughs a laugh that crackles the speaker. “Your goons, your lackeys. Whatever you call them.”

“I’ll bring a couple of my henchmen,” the villain corrects pointedly, “if you tell me what this is about.”

The other villain goes quiet for a moment. “I’ll give you half the payout if you don’t ask questions.”

Ooh. A fun little mystery and a pile of cash. The villain was never adverse to a little puzzle. “Whatever. I’ll just let [Supervillain] know I’m coming then I’ll get—”

“No!” the other villain cuts in hastily. “No, don’t tell him. It’s a, uh... a surprise.”

“A surprise,” the villain echoes flatly. “You’re an atrocious liar, you know.”

“Half the payout for no questions.”

Something to solve in her free time. “Fine. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“But I said—”

“Half the payout,” the villain drawls, “half the effort. See you in an hour.”

The other villain makes a noise that half resembles a “fine” and hangs up without another word.

The villain sits in silence for a moment, letting the night’s chill rush over her bare feet before begrudgingly hauling herself out of bed.

Half the payout for her silence. The other villain better hope the reward for this is huge.

[my-darling-boy]

(TW injury description)

I am SO glad you asked I lose my mind over this man. Sidney Beldam! He’s most known for his miraculous recovery from a major facial injury sustained while he served as a young sergeant in the First World War. If you’ve read the Facemaker by Lindsay Fitzharris you might recognise him! Sources differ slightly about his story, so I’ve pieced it together as best I could. The photos below were from about February 1919!

Born in 1897, Sidney was about 17 living with his mother in Cambridge, England when the Great War commenced. While he didn’t enlist initially, he was soon conscripted when it came about in 1916 though thankfully he was in a non-combatant role driving lorries transporting soldiers to boats headed for France. It’s where he learned he enjoyed driving! However in April 1917, Sidney was transferred to the Machine Gun Corps and eventually rose to the rank of sergeant where only 7 months later, his life would change forever.

During the battle of Passchendaele, one of the muddiest most gruelling segments of the war, Sidney was on the frontlines when a shell burst, sending a shrapnel fragment tearing diagonally through his nose and the right side of his face. The young soldier collapsed face first into the mud which ended up saving his life as falling backwards would have caused him to choke on his own blood. For three days Sidney laid in a mangled heap floating in and out of consciousness while vermin scurried about his body and the other dead and wounded around him. No one would ever know the details of those agonising three days, but the trauma he experienced there left him with a lifelong phobia of rats and cockroaches. After the initial wounded had been cleared out, a wandering band of stretcher bearers discovered Sidney alive after one man touched him with his boot fully expecting him to be dead. Miraculously, he was still clinging to life.

The 19 year old sergeant was rushed down the line and then transferred to two different military hospitals where his wounds were hastily stitched in an effort to save his life before infection could spread. Unfortunately, closing the gap where he was missing flesh in his cheek caused his upper lip to be pulled into a sneer and a sunken depression formed where most of his nose was missing around the bridge. Still, he was lucky to be alive, which he later used to remark. Well he was luckier still as he would be transferred to Sidcup military hospital in Kent where he would become a patient under Sir Harold Gillies, the man often considered the pioneer of modern plastic surgery. When he arrived at hospital in 1918, his wounds were healed but his face still bore the heavy trauma of his experience. If you want to see his photographs upon arrival, I won’t post them here but if you search his name, the photos are everywhere. IMO they’re not graphic but I know it can upset some people.

Gillies went to work trying to restore Sidney’s face. This required him to reopen the wound in his cheek where a skin flap was grafted to allow his upper lip to return to normal. He also folded down a skin flap from his forehead in order to create a new nose. Behind his facade, a series of tubes and canals had to be inserted for proper sinus drainage and other unnamed functions. While his initial handful of surgeries did most of the work to reconstruct his face, Sidney underwent over 40 surgeries between 1918 and the 1930s, some reconstructive and some to evacuate the tubes behind the flesh, meaning the common cold was a routinely painful affliction for him. Gillies understood operations were traumatic for the men at Sidcup, especially since most required more than one, and so made a point about creating a lighthearted ward environment, one Sidney says was quite jolly with the staff doing everything they could to make them feel comfortable and dignified as possible. And while I thought the topmost photos were the most updated case study photos for his recovery, I stumbled upon another set from 1920 in the Faces of War by Andrew Bamji I have not seen posted anywhere!

And lads listen. In such a sweet little twist, while Sidney was still recovering from the bulk of his major surgeries, a local pianist by the name of Winifred volunteered to play for the resting servicemen, all of whom had some form of disfigurment or amputation. Carrying in her sheet music, she and Sidney laid eyes on each other for the first time and she later remarked how his smile instantly lit up the whole room! For them, it was love at first sight. The two were soon married, and although it was in the 1920s, I don’t have an exact year for this. This most likely came after Sidney was finally discharged from service in 1921. There is a photo of their wedding and y’all look how SWEET!!

Between his initial surgeries and army discharge, Gillies asked if Sidney would be his personal chauffeur, an offer he took up quickly as he loved driving from his time with lorries during the war. One somewhat humorous account tells of Gillies—who was a bit scattered at times—asking Sidney to renew his driver’s license as the surgeon left it until the last day to take care of; Sidney in a rush waited in a long line at the county hall before jumping the queue and begging the administrator to expedite his employer’s license as it was needed to drive him to the hospital the next day. The man refused, even for a surgeon to get him to his patients. Sidney went to another staff member who was friends with Gillies and begged him the same. The man cheerily agreed but was still in need of a signature from the stubborn administrator who again refused... at least until he found out Harold Gillies nearly won a golfing championship, at which point he took Sidney to his personal office to expedite the license as he was happy to do business for a skilled golfer (apparently saving people’s lives doesn’t matter as much??). A no doubt perplexed Sidney was finally able to get back to the hospital on time!

After his army discharge and most likely about the time of his marriage, Sidney moved back to Cambridge where he worked for the council as a rent collector. He was so well liked, apparently even from the people he collected from, that he soon worked his way to Housing Manager for Cambridge. About this time, he had a daughter, Pam. Every account I read of him, people gush about how sweet he was. His wife recalls how Sidney was always adored by all his family and friends. His granddaughter Marilyn McInnes in an interview said, “He was the most warm and optimistic and loving man. I adored my grandfather, I was constantly on his lap as a small child. I never noticed anything funny about his face, I guess I thought all grandads looked like mine.”

Sadly, Sidney Beldam passed away from cancer at about 80 years old in 1978. But considering the man was given 6 months to live and ended up living for 60 years more surrounded by a large and loving family, I’d say he certainly had a full life. There is a picture of him and his wife in the 60s and they are absolutely charming!!

But anyway that’s me done rambling I’ve a massive crush on him. His story makes me genuinely happy to tell and I’m so glad you asked!

[thatgaeilgeoirhag]

I'm so alone without you (angst)

Tate Langdon x Reader

Summary: You visit the murder house after Tate's death. Inspired by the song "A House in Nebraska" by Ethel Cain.

Warnings: mentions of death, school shootings and suggested suicide. It's insinuated that Tate and the reader have slept together. No mentions of the reader's gender. No use of y/n.

a/n: this is the first fic that I've ever posted, and I doubt anyone will read this but I had this idea and wanted to write it. any writing advice would be greatly appreciated.

------------------------------------------------

There was a chill in the air. Just like the day you first met Tate Langdon, and just like that day in the cemetery with his family. No one came to the funeral except his remaining family, his mother, his sister, and you. Hey, who would show up to the funeral of a guy that shot up a school? Your parents didn't want you to go but you needed to. You needed to grieve the boy you knew, and not that monster that the world now knows him as.

So now, you found yourself outside the gate of his house, where you forged your most precious memories with Tate. You pushed the gate and it made that sharp sound it always had. Your feet treaded the path you walked so many times, up the steps and stopped at the front door. You still had the key Tate had made for you so you could come over as you pleased, now you just hoped that the locks weren't changed when Constance and Addie moved out. You inserted the key into the door and miraculously you heard a click. The door swung open. You hesitated. Was this a good idea?

You took a deep breath and stepped inside. You walked the halls of the house and up the stairs, your feet automatically brought you to what was once Tate's room. Now however, the room is empty. All traces of his gone. No furniture, no posters, nothing. Not even the smell of him remained. You sat against the wall in the space where Tate's bed used to be The bed where he made you his, back in a time where it was you two against the world. When the two of you had nothing except each other He was your home.

You shuffled on the floor into a more comfortable position. "Tate?" you whispered under your breath, "wherever you are, I miss you". The room remained still. "The last time I was here I had just had another fight with Dad. I cried so hard 'cause he didn't even try understand my point of view. I had come here because you were the only one who always understood me. And after I cried in your arms you cracked some stupid joke to make me laugh, and I did, like I always did." You exhaled and leaned your head back against the wall.

"You know, your Mom calls me sometimes to see how I'm doing. I lie. I tell her I'm fine like I tell everyone when they ask me that. What no one knows, is that I'd kill myself just to hold you one more time. Or even just touch your skin or run my fingers through your hair. It hurts to miss you 'cause of what you did. The guilt I feel for not knowing you would do such a thing and try to stop you-" you began to choke on your words as you noticed the tears streaming down your face now.

"Your the only person I could ever talk to about how I really feel. I was never scared to tell you that I hurt. Now, all I can do now is look at old photographs and talk to myself in your old house like an idiot." You stood up suddenly. "This is stupid."

You stormed out of the room, but just as you stepped into the hallway you heard an all too familiar voice behind you. "Don't go." You stopped in your tracks. There's no way. You slowly turned around, afraid of what you might see, or maybe even worse, what you don't see.

There, in the center of the room, stood Tate. Without thinking, you sped into his arms. "Am I dead?" you muttered under your breath. "No, your alive alright" Tate whispered into your ear with a chuckle. You removed your head from his chest and looked up to his face, the face you were sure you'd only ever see again in photographs. "Then how are you here?" you were careful not to let go of him, who knows how long you would be able to do this, "Tate, your dead." You were confused, and rightfully so.

"Yeah, I am" he said softly. There was a moment of silence which was then broken by a harsh smack. Tate raised his hand from your waist to his cheek. "Dude! What was that for?" he snapped. "What was that for?" you scoffed, your body became tense "Tate you killed people! You could have talked to me but you decided it was a better idea to set a man on fire and bring a gun to school? What the actual fuck was wrong with you?" You shook Tate's hand off of you and took a step back, flailing your arms at him in anger. The shocked, hurt expression on his face disappeared. His eyes became red and his lips rested into a soft frown. No words left his mouth. The air became thick and heavy as you continued to stare him down, angry and hurt.

The anger dissipated and your body loosens. "You hurt people, Tate" your words were no longer full of anger, they were full of pain, "you hurt me, you left me alone." You took another step away from him. Tate took a step closer to you, "I-" he exhaled helplessly "I'm sorry, I know that doesn't erase the things I did."

You finally turned around to leave, "maybe you could visit me from time to time?" Tate pleaded, "it gets lonely here, we could pretend nothing happened if you want to." You stood there, hesitating. You could never forgive him, but just minutes ago you begged to be with him again, to talk to him, to hold him.

Without a word, you fled the house, leaving Tate there in his empty room.

[zaddyazula]

my thesis on how nishiki, ryuji and mine are alive with basically no evidence other than my memory

nishiki is sort of on tender hooks here. my main reason for thinking he’s alive is that kiryu and haruka survived the fucking bomb blast while only being a few couple of metres away from nishiki. koi boy himself was still quite a few metres away from the bomb when he shot it. it’s possible he survived with some serious injuries (though somehow kiryu and haruka got out unscathed??? 😭😭😭); we don’t actually see nishiki afterwards - no dead body, only the sort of word that he’s dead. was he fatally shot… erm… that’s not important. police showed up straight afterwards anyways so if he was still alive he could’ve gotten medical help. does it make narrative sense for nishiki to die? yes. does it make narrative sense to bring him back? no. the daidoji could’ve got to him and recruited him i guess. they did it with hanawa/morinaga, who was also offscreened like nishiki (who technically was). we sort of just assume nishiki’s dead, considering he’s never been alluded to be alive, when technically we don’t really know if he truly is dead. kiryu and haruka surviving is the main point here, and seeing as how they miraculously sustained no injuries when being 10m at best away from the bomb, it’s possible that nishiki miraculously survived while being 5m at the most away from it. unlike ryuji and mine, there’s really no other hints at him possibly being alive. in reality, i don’t think nishiki will ever be brought back. as much i want him to, considering the position kiryu’s in now, it doesn’t really make much sense. it doesn’t make much sense anyways; nishiki’s death is a large part of his [kiryu’s] character, and alongside both yumi and kazama’s deaths, it marks the separation of kiryu from not only his youth but also the yakuza (or at least the start of it).

now, ryuji. my goat. my queen. the reason i am this insane over these comeback theories. unlike nishiki, ryuji has been hinted many, many a time to be alive, from as early as fucking dead souls (2011! FUCKING FIVE YEARS AFTER 2!) dead souls basically fucking proves he could be alive, because he literally is, and is just missing an arm (binding vow? 😭 it’s been too long since i’ve seen dead souls i can’t remember what the deal with his arm is). this is damning evidence, if i do say so myself. and he’s just living life, working at a food stand (my goat). dead souls confirms that he could’ve survived. ryuji’s death itself is slightly more damning for this thesis (😪). does he die on screen, unlike the other two (nishiki is on tender hooks for this as i said earlier)? maybe. so what, maybe he technically dies on screen? the important thing is, two seconds after he fucking “dies”, sayama and kiryu just start lipsing each other and don’t really pay attention to him. he got shot twice yeah, then got beat to hell by kiryu, but kiryu survived the same injuries (it’s not like ryuji just stood there and let himself get ragged by kiryu) so. it cancels out. you don’t hear anything about ryuji’s death after this basically (from what i can remember). BUT! because of dead souls, that immediately throws his on screen “death” into question. even if dead souls isn’t canon because it literally is a zombie invasion game, that possibility of ryuji being alive in canon is very much there. if it’s possible in the ridiculous zombie spin off, it’s possible in the main line. so, next port of call, and also the most recent damning evidence. gaiden and 8. i remember there being a tweet from rgg about ryuji in gaiden (as in the coliseum) but i literally went through the western rgg’s whole account and couldn’t find it, so i might just be making that up.

this is from a gaiden trailer (most likely; i couldn’t find it myself), but i found it from here:(https://blog.ja.playstation.com/2023/11/06/20231106-ryu7gaiden/) the article is from the 6th nov last year, so three days before gaiden’s official release.

this is what two translations say from the picture (i can’t translate it myself). the second one makes more sense to me but i don’t really trust google translate. just thought i’d mention this as it was from before gaiden’s release.

anyways, onto gaiden itself. this fucking game oh my god. this is where most of the baiting for ryuji comes from.

exhibit a

genuine piss take. obviously this isn’t ryuji who you fight, but the game is explicitly hinting at the possibility he’s still alive.

exhibit b

INCLUDING ME! even though in december it’ll be 18 years since yakuza 2 came out and ryuji’s death, hope has not been lost ✊😪. rgg is dangling ryuji in front of us. i’m fairly sure this is from the akame mission about ryuji (ghost of sotenbori), and i did boot up gaiden to see if i could replay it, but i didn’t have a save where i hadn’t done it. well ryuji doesn’t actually turn up so 🤷‍♂️ there’s two fakes you have to deal with in the mission (if my memory serves), and with the one in the coliseum that makes it three times ryuji was baited in gaiden. then of course, infinite wealth. there isn’t as much here, but it’s still quite a big bait.

i mean what the fuck kiryu. do you know something we don’t.

yeah i booted up a save of 8 too. ‘…any moment now. if only that were possible.’ kiryu knows something… that’s pretty much it for ryuji bait, from what i can remember and think of. another thing though is that rgg do clearly love ryuji, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they did bring him back. and considering how much they’ve baited us with a possible comeback in recent games, i think it’s safe to assume they’re up to something.

(also just want to mention the leaks awhile ago about a ryuji game. i’m pretty sure it’s based on his rgg online story which is set before 2 (1999 i think), so i’m not gonna talk about it here.)

now, finally, mine!!! he’s the most straightforward out of all three of them now because of 8. if we cast our minds back to yakuza 3, mine throws himself off a building along with richardson. and who makes an appearance in 8? richardson, alive. richardson being alive effectively confirms mine has at least a pretty big chance of being so too. one thing i do find funny is that mine wasn’t mentioned once in kiryu’s memoirs of a dragon (from what i could see), but nishiki and ryuji are. i actually don’t think mine is referenced other than in kiryu’s essence of remembrance, but he might’ve been and i’m just not aware of it. i actually don’t know how if richardson survived mine didn’t, because the latter would not save the former from death if they hit the ground (that hospital is ridiculously fucking tall). it’s been 15 and a half years (exactly to the day!) since yakuza 3 released, aka mine’s death, and out of the three he’s the most likely to be alive. considering how richardson survived, i don’t even know if you can count mine falling off the building as an off screen, because now we don’t actually know if he did in fact die. before 8, it seemed pretty improbable that mine would be alive, but it was the same situation as nishiki. also it’s not the most ridiculous death that someone’s come back from from yakuza 3. lau ka long got shot in the forehead ON SCREEN and kashiwagi got ragged by a fucking helicopter minigun ON SCREEN and they both fucking survived 😭 so mine taking a tumble off the top of a hospital isn’t the most extreme thing to survive. rgg also seem to like mine too, but we don’t see nearly as much hinting to him as we do with ryuji. i had a little look on youtube and:

THINGS WERE TOUCH AND GO??? 😭 what is this now the rubber floor??? i don’t even know. would they bring mine back though??? i don’t really know again. i mean i just take richardson being alive to mine also being out there so. make of it what you will.

but there you go. my extensive knowledge and research on how the goats of rgg are still alive. on everyone else’s lives but mine the three of them are gonna come back!

[howlsmovingmind]

I am a huge Dan Howell fan. Really just a huge Phannie in general. Have been for at least 8 or 9 years. So, naturally, when Dan came out with “We’re All Doomed” I bought tickets to the first online showing. With the Dan Q&A after and everything. Not a brag at all, but just to give context.

The first time I saw it, I laughed so hard, I could feel myself become faint. By the end, I was sobbing. And I was just wishing I could buy it in DVD or something.

Today, for the first time since it was released, I rewatched “We’re All Doomed” on YouTube.

I have, “Embrace the void and have the courage to exist.” Written on the side of my converse. I am a dork and a half about these two.

I have the potential to live to my 80s or die before I’m 21 because of my cancer. And that can be extremely discouraging some days when I know I need to do things and be a human. Because, If I’m likely to die so young, why do anything at all?

But Dan said something that we all need to hear when we feel like that- for any reason.

“We may all be doomed. Death may be inevitable. But first, we get to live.”

I often forget that before I die, I get to live.

There are things worth fighting for and worth living for. Relationships, education, careers, or really even just the planet itself. Life is a miraculous thing and we are surrounded by it.

Life is worth living. Every single day is worth embracing and enjoying to the fullest. Some days you can’t get out of bed, and you can still enjoy that day to the fullest.

Being sick can make it hard to live before you die. But everyday is worth embracing for what it is.

I doubt Dan will ever see this, but if he ever did, somehow, miraculously, I would want to say:

Thank you, Dan, for reminding us of these things. And thank you for making my childhood as bearable as it was- even through my first bought of cancer treatment. I, at 14, would rewatch your old videos and watch the Undertale play through just to remember that friendships are worth staying alive for and that there is a light at the end of the tunnel if I only kept trying. So, yeah. Thanks for reminding me that life is worth living, even when you yourself felt it maybe wasn’t.

Forever a phannie, finding the courage to exist,

Howl

[emp-t-man]

okay here’s the thing— i don’t think hilbert actually killed fourier and rhea, and here’s why:

yes. he did kill lambert and hui. we know that it’s because command insisted that he continue the human decima trials after fisher’s death, and since neither lambert nor hui had received the physical and immune system training that he had gone through, their bodies weren’t able to fight it off. but fourier… she didn’t die from the virus. she disappeared. the day after she was able to figure out how to wire the vx3 into lovelace’s escape shuttle. they never found a body. and rhea? she was deactivated only three hours before running the final calculations. and lovelace was right, these were definitely not coincidences. someone didn’t want them to leave the hephaestus. but why would hilbert want them to stay? there was no reason he needed lovelace alive. the door didn’t exist during that mission, and so hilbert had no reason to believe that command wouldn’t simply provide him with more subjects after this one was met with failure. hilbert himself wanted to get off the station and go home! he says so in episode thirty-one, where he admitted to contacting command fifty days before she left and suggesting that they terminate the mission! there was no logical reason for hilbert to resort to murdering in cold blood in order to keep lovelace on that station.

but.

there is someone else that would resort to such an extreme just to keep the hephaestus crew from returning to earth. someone who, several years later, was able to bend the laws of time and space to their will by creating a loop of an entire day just to ensure something would keep them in the same place.

“doug, are you seriously suggesting that the aliens were miraculously able to remove two entire people from existence without a trace?” you bet your ass i am.

here’s the thing: these guys are able to do pretty much anything they want. they’ve created human duplicates, they’ve created time loops, they use a god damn wormhole to transport humans to a seemingly entirely different plane of existence. if someone were to figure out a way to do something they didn’t like, they could very easily just,, make them disappear! just like lovelace assumed it was for hilbert, it was a last resort for them, and last resorts make people get sloppy!

another thing that makes me think hilbert wasn’t behind this in particular? lovelace stated in her logs that command stopped responding to their calls months before the day she died. just like cutter seemingly stopped responding to minkowski’s call for help four months before he arrived on the station. he was only able to actually make it to the hephaestus after eiffel and bob have their little heart to whatever-the-hell-bob-has. that also does not sound like a coincidence to me.

the aliens causing fourier and rhea to disappear also makes sense from a learning standpoint. after they made them go away, lovelace still managed to make it off the station, even if she died shortly after. having a little run-in with the indomitable human spirit like that would make sense as to why they would elect to simply have time repeat itself until someone did something stupid rather than only dwindling their recourses and letting them continue.

as we learned from kepler, this was far from the first time the aliens had done something to interfere with a hephaestus mission in order to attempt to start their process. why would they try so hard during zhang’s (and possibly several others’) mission and leave the crew entirely alone during lovelace’s, just to try and stir the pot again during minkowski’s run?

i dunno, it’s just a theory (a space theory), but i think it would make a lot more sense as to why lovelace’s mission went the way it did rather than simply “hilbert went crazy and pulled a wadsworth on everyone”

[thaliagracesgf]

chapter two: the weirdo on maple street

an: chapter two!! i am flying with these first couple chapters just because i'm so excited about it. please please please do not expect this from future chapters, i am 100% bound to crash at some point. enjoy this chapter! it's pretty fun.

wc: 4.2k

general cws, not necessarily all in this chapter: drinking, alcoholism, drug abuse, smoking, cancer, hopper being kind of a deadbeat, usual canon violence.

masterlist (incl. series)

Your father didn’t get home until long after you had gone to bed, out with Will’s search party. You hadn’t bothered showing up at the meeting point. Hopper had said all he had to say back at the school, and you could see the argument that would ensue in front of half of Hawkins, so you drove home, building up an urge to do something and a nervous energy that nothing was quelling. 

The door slammed behind you as you got in. You stormed through the kitchen and the junkyard you called a living room before chucking your backpack at the floor and collapsing on your bed. You stared at the ceiling for an eternal few seconds until your limbs were jumping and your entire body itched, and you jumped to your feet to pace around the room. 

Slamming your way back through the house, you started pulling ingredients down from shelves with force that the box of sugar probably didn’t deserve. You think you blacked out for a few hours, because by the time your breathing was at a normal pace again, you’d baked six batches of muffins (a miraculous feat, considering the piece of shit kitchen you were working with),your calc homework for the next two weeks was done, and your bedroom looked like a tornado had run through it. 

But staring at the trays of muffins, you still had to do something. So you cleaned the house. Your father arrived home to muffins covering the counters, the entire trailer spotless, and you, absolutely crashed out in your bed with wet hair, holding your sister’s old teddy bear. You’d never had a more productive afternoon in your life.

You wake up feeling like your stomach is eating itself alive, and you realize that the one thing you forgot to do last night was eat dinner. You can’t fathom the thought of getting up, so you lay still for a few more minutes. You love your room, with your quilted bed, rugs overlapping on the floor over hardwood that would give you splinters, your bulletin board with pictures of your mom and Sarah, and your Dad. A picture Carol took of you, Steve, and Tina. A photo of Carol and Tommy, and a photo of Dustin, Lucas, and Erica from the first day of school that their moms gave you. You hold Cara a little bit tighter. 

You remember when the nurse gave her to your sister. You got one too, also named Cara. She handed them to you in your hospital beds, told you that she got them to remind you that they care-a-bout you. At four years old, you and Sarah thought it was the funniest thing in the world. 

You close your eyes tight, then force them open. You pull the blanket back, like a robot, and roll yourself upright, pulling the curtains open. Your trailer is pretty far from the rest of the park, but you can see Eddie Munson coming back from taking out the trash, and Mrs. Kim realizing that the storm last night meant all her clothes were still soaking wet. Her son left for college last year, and you’re getting a little worried about her ability to live on her own. 

You brush your teeth and tie your hair back before trudging your way out for breakfast, only to be met with the results of your frenzy from last night. The counter is still covered with muffins, minus the couple your Dad is actively chowing down on. 

“These are great,” he says, mouth full of food, raising a muffin in your direction. 

“Sale on pumpkins after Halloween,” you shrug. You pass him entering the kitchen, and pull out a container to start piling muffins into. 

“Hey!” He barks, in his very Jim Hopper way. “Where are you taking them?” 

“You do not need to eat six batches of muffins, Dad,” you say, continuing to box them up. He scoffs, offended. “I’m going to take some to school, and then to Steve’s tonight.” You really hope he just glosses over that last bit. 

Unfortunately, you hear him try to speak up, but there’s too much pumpkin muffin in his mouth to be at all intelligible. He sounds alarmed. For fuck’s sake. 

“Dad. I told you I had a thing tonight. I’m going, I’ve been planning on it for, like, a week.”

“Yeah, and I said you could go before a kid when missing, Y/N.” He’s raising his voice.

“I’m not stupid, Dad! I’m not going traipsing around town in the middle of the night! I’m going to Steve’s, for God’s sake.”   

“And I already don’t like that idea,” he says gruffly.

“Dad, we’ve been friends since we were six, you need to get over this. He literally has a girlfriend, anyway.” 

“And what about that Hagan kid?” he retorts. “I’ve had about six complaints about him in a month.” 

“Also has a girlfriend. I’m driving Tina, Dad, I can’t just bail.” 

“Well, she shouldn’t be going either!” he’s yelling. He’s always been this way with the idea that you might possibly, ever in your life, go on a date or hang out with boys. Naturally, you avoid this by never telling him, but he has got to get over this thing with Steve. It’s been nine years.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mutter. He ignores it. 

“Yeah, you’ll be thanking me when you don’t end up dead in a ditch,” he says angrily, grabbing his hat and jacket and storming out the door. 

“Well I guess we’ll never know, because I won’t have the opportunity!” you shout as it shuts behind him. Jesus Christ. You were really hoping you weren’t going to have to sneak out. 

It takes almost forty five minutes for you to pick out your outfit for the day. Fall is always when your fashion is at its best, and it comes at the cost of sifting through a gigantic collection of second-hand sweaters your mom sent you from the city every morning. Finally, you clasp your earrings, grab your muffin containers, and head out the door, keys in your mouth and backpack on one shoulder. You sigh in relief as you drop them in the passenger seat, before swinging around to the other side and starting up your car, which always takes a few minutes. 

You’re halfway to school when you have the idea to drop some at the Byers’ place. You certainly have enough. You pull a probably-illegal u-turn in the middle of the road, and head to the other side of town. 

As you pull into their driveway, you nearly slam your head on the wheel as you see the chief’s car, i.e. your dad’s car, in front of the house. Whatever. You’re just going to have to suck it up, as little as you want to see him again this morning. 

But as you walk up to the house, raised voices slow your approach. 

“No, it was him, it was Will,” Joyce’s distressed voice says. “And he was scared. And then something—”

“It was probably just a prank call. It was somebody trying to scare you,” your father interrupts, and your eyes go wide as you listen, standing on the porch. Is he serious?

“Who would do that?” Jonathan asks. Has he met the people who live in this town?

“Well, this thing’s been on the TV.” Hopper says. It has? You must have missed it in your cleaning coma last night. “It brings out all the crazies, you know. False leads, prank calls, uh…”

“No, Hopper, it was not a prank. It was him,” Joyce says, with a mixture of desperation and determination to convince your father.

“Joyce.” 

“Come on, how about a little trust here?” She shouts. “What, you think that I’m making this up?”

“I’m not saying that you’re making it up. All I’m saying is, it’s an emotional time for you.” He cannot be serious.

“And you think I don’t know my own son’s breathing? Wouldn’t you know your own daughter’s?” Oh. 

Oh.

That hits you like a bat to the chest. Because, no, you don’t know that he would. And you don’t know if she even means you. You know she knows about Sarah, the whole of Hawkins does. You’re too used to people acting like Sarah was your parents’ only daughter, that she was all they had before she died, and it’s infuriating. She wasn’t their only daughter. She was your only sister. 

The silence that follows is loud, and you decide you don’t want to hear any more. Knocking lightly, you push the door open and shuffle in. You don’t see your father around the corner, just Jonathan and Joyce standing together, Joyce with her face in her hands. 

“Um… hey,” you say, your voice small. “I brought… I brought you guys some muffins. Figured you might not have eaten… or something. I’ll just… leave them here.” 

You place them on the coffee table. Joyce is sniffling with her face covered, but Jonathan comes and meets you halfway. 

“I can… I can grab those.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Uh… no, thank you.” He takes the container and nods awkwardly. “I’ll… um, wash this and give it to your dad… or something.” 

“Yeah, no, take your time,” you don’t meet his eyes. 

“I’m sure he would,” he whispers, so your parents don’t hear. You give him a confused look. 

“Recognize… um…”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” You’re desperate to get out of here. You give an awkward wave, and head back out the door, not addressing your father.

On the car ride to school, you can’t not think about Jonathan’s words. Why on earth would he say that? He doesn’t know you, or your Dad. You know he was trying to be nice, but what the hell does he know about Jim Hopper? It’s playing over and over through your head as you walk into school. Who the hell is Jonathan Byers?

But you’re reminded of your Dad’s fit this morning as you approach your friends. 

“Ugh. Problem tonight,” you drag. “My Dad is freaking out, and I can’t drive over anymore. Unless he knocks himself out early, which I would love to count on, but can’t promise.” 

Tommy dives into your muffins, making a gigantic mess that leaves you and Tina giving him a disgusted look.

“Oh, fuck,” Tina complains. I was so looking forward to it.” 

“We can pick you up,” Tommy says, gesturing between himself and Carol, “but I can’t promise you’ll have a ride back.” He smirks disgustingly. Disgusting really is the best word to describe Tommy Hagan in most situations. 

“Ugh. I’ll see if my sister can drive us,” Tina says as you share a worried look for yourselves. The last thing the both of you want is to be sitting downstairs while Tommy and Carol have sex for hours in Steve Harrington’s parents bed. 

There’s a moment of silence, interspersed only with the loud chewing of Tommy on a muffin. “Oh my god,” you say. “Why didn’t I think of this already? I’ll just stay at your place, T. I’ll bring my car and we can go. I’ll tell my Dad we were working on a project super late, and I’m “scared to drive home”.” 

“Oooooooooh,” Tommy and Carol wiggle their fingers. 

“Thank god,” Steve interrupts them, shoving Tommy from the back of the head and turning to you and Tina. “I cannot do this with just them.” 

“Scared, Stevie?” Tina teases him. 

“Yeah, Harrington’s losing his virginity tonight,” Tommy chortles. You’re so glad he makes himself laugh, you think. He really needs someone to acknowledge the things he says.

“Oh, shut up,” Steve scowls. “Your mom knows that was a while ago.”

Wow, Tina gives you a look. Our friends are so witty.

“Speak of the devil,” Carol says as Nancy and Barb head down the hallway, flashcards in hand. Steve jumps up from his spot on the benches where you make yourselves at home (which is conveniently located under the trophy case, which his name is all over). 

The rest of you follow him over, you and Tina giving each other looks as you go.

Steve snatches the flashcards out of Barb’s hands, and she trails off on her question about molecules. “Hey!” 

“I don’t know, I think you’ve studied enough, Nance.” 

“Steve—” she protests.

“I’m telling you, you know, you got this.” He ignores the annoyed look in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Now, on to more important matters.” He clasps the flashcards, drumming his fingers on them as he talks before pocketing them. “My dad has gone out of town for a conference, and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, you know, she doesn’t trust him.” 

You laugh as Tommy says, “Good call.” Steve’s Dad is the biggest douchebag you’ve ever met, and considering Tommy, that’s really saying something. Credit where credit’s due, even if it is the bare minimum, he’s never cheated on Carol. Steve almost laughs too as he looks over at him.

“So, are you in?” 

“In… for what?” Nancy looks genuinely lost. You would be too. Steve uses a lot of words to say very little. 

“No parents? Big house?” Carol looks at her expectantly. 

“A party?” 

“Ding ding ding.” Tina hits her, and you hit Tommy as he laughs at Nancy. 

“It’s… Tuesday.” 

“It’s Tuesday,” Tommy mocks. “Oh my god,” he and Carol are both laughing.

“Dude,” you roll your eyes, making eye contact with Tina. Such a dick, you mouth. 

“Come on,” Steve persists. “It’ll be low key, it’ll just be us. Are you in, or are you out?”

“Um…” Nancy’s thought is interrupted by Carol. 

“Oh God. Look.” You turn your head to where she’s staring. Jonathan. 

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.”

“Steve.” you glare at him. Cut it out. 

“Should we say something?” Nancy asks. You feel bad for him, but you are one hundred percent out after the disaster that was this morning. 

“I don’t think he speaks,” Carol smirks. 

“How much you wanna bet he killed him?” Tommy snickers. 

“Shut up,” Steve shoves his chest. Your eyes widen again, as if you cannot believe what you are hearing from him right now, but Tina’s laugh slips out, and you give her a pointed look. Obviously none of you are exactly great people, but you’ve never known your best friend to be cruel. Steve bites his lip as Nancy watches Jonathan, his eyes following her as she walks over to him. 

You don’t hear their interaction, but if you had to guess, it seems about as awkward as yours. Tommy gives him a wave as he looks over at you. 

The bell goes, and Nancy heads back over to you and your friends. Steve and Tina split for their art class, and you walk awkwardly beside Barb and Nancy as Tommy throws his arm over Carol’s shoulder. 

“Attention, faculty and students,” your principal comes over the PA system. “At eight p.m. tonight, there will be an assembly on the football field in support of Will Byers and his family. All are encouraged to attend. Volunteer signups for search parties are available in the office.” 

You hear the door slam behind you as Jonathan heads back outside the building. 

“Where the hell are you, exactly?” Your dad is predictably furious when he answers the phone. 

“Tina’s,” you reply, exasperated. “We went to the thing at school for Will, and now we’re studying for chem.”

“Didn’t you just have a test today?” 

Fuck. How on earth does he manage to pay attention to the most inconvenient parts of your life? “Yeah, um. We’re working on a project. Doing some math homework too. I just… you know. Studying lumps it all together, didn’t think you wanted the details.”

You mime yourself losing your mind at Tina across her bedroom, who’s trying to hold her laughter in. Since kindergarten, she has found lying to Jim Hopper to be the funniest thing imaginable. For this reason, you’ve banished her to the opposite corner of the room until you hang up. You hope he can’t hear the wide smile in your voice. 

“Dad. Please, please chill. I’m just going to stay over here tonight, I don’t want to drive in the dark.” 

He looks across the trailer at the random woman that came home from the search with him, and decides that maybe it’s for the best that you aren’t here. “Fine. But you’re home by seven tomorrow night, no later.”

“Sounds great. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye, kid.” 

“Bye.” You drop the phone on the stand in relief. 

“Yes!” Tina shouts.

“Tina!” you shout back, laughing and dropping your voice to a whisper. “Your parents.” 

“You know they don’t care,” she grins.

“Ok, well, help me decide what to wear.” You pull out your two bikinis, although you know you want to wear the red one.

“Oh, come on,” Tina laughs at you. “First of all, it’s November—” 

“His pool is heated.”

“Oh, you’re so right.” She turns and starts digging through her closet. “Second of all,” she adds, her head deep in the monster of fabric that is her wardrobe, “don’t act like I don’t know exactly why you brought that one.”  

“Which one?” you ask, feigning innocence and not meeting her eyes. 

“The Phoebe Cates one?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Ha! I knew it.” 

“Come on, just because there are no hot single guys there doesn’t mean I don’t need male validation,” you smile at her. 

“You’re a terrible person,” she laughs at you.

“I know.” 

She pauses. “I’m totally bringing mine, too.” 

The drive over is full of trying to predict exactly how this night is going to go. 

“Okay. One hundred percent Tommy pushes Carol in the pool,” Tina says, doing mascara in the passenger seat. “Hey! Easy on the road, I’m doing eye makeup over here.”

“Take it up with the mayor, or something. Fucking potholes everywhere. But, yes obviously happening. We should get in ourselves before they get the chance. This sweater cannot get wet.” You’re wearing your orange striped zippered sweater under the massive Hawkins Police jacket you stole from your father. 

“You and your fucking sweaters,” Tina snorts. 

You pull in in front of Steve Harrington’s massive house, definitely not running over the grass. 

As you get out of the car, a shout comes from behind you. “When are you going to learn how to park?” Steve calls from his front door. You look back at your car, which is sitting diagonally half on his lawn and half on the gravel driveway. 

“Oh, shut up,” you narrow your eyes at him as you push past into the house. “Raise a Little Hell” by Trooper is playing on his fancy speakers. “Have you been standing here this entire time?” 

“No.”

“Yes!” Tommy calls from the back porch. “He has, it's completely and utterly lame.” 

“Wow! Big word there, Tommy!”

“Yeah, your mom taught it to me.” 

The doorbell rings, echoing through the house, and the speed at which Steve jumps up and runs to the front door has the four of you in the kitchen all snickering. 

“Hello, ladies,” you hear, and you turn your head to see him leaning on the door. You really have to try not to laugh at him. 

The scream actually hurts your ears. You and Tina are standing in the pool near the edge, gossiping and observing your friends until Tommy picks his girlfriend up and swings her over your heads. 

“Tommy!” you both shriek as Carol screams. 

“One!” He shouts, “Two! Three!” 

“Stop it Tommy! No! Don’t!” 

“You’re going to kill somebody!” You hit his ankles, and he finally puts her down as Steve comes back out from the house with his pocket knife. 

You watch as he shotguns it. That sweater really suits him. 

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Nancy smiles at him.

“Yes,” Tina laughs. 

“Definitely.” 

Steve puts his cigarette back between his lips. “You’re not?” 

“You are a cliché, you do realize that.” 

“You are a cliché,” he lights the cig. “What with your grades, and your band practice—” 

“I’m so not in band!” Nancy shakes her head.

“Okay, party girl. Why don’t you just, uh, show us how it’s done, then?” He tosses you and Tina drinks as well, and you grab your keys from the side of the pool, putting out your cig beside them. You see Barb roll her eyes, and Tina nudges you, smirking. 

“Don’t be so mean,” you whisper at her. 

“What? I don’t even get why she’s here.” Carol gives the two of you a look, like right? 

“You gotta make a little hole right in—”

“I got it,” Nancy brushes him off, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, she’s smart, you douche,” Tommy chortles. He crushes his empty can against his head before tossing it at the ground. 

You push yourself up out of the pool to sit on the edge. Holy shit, it’s freezing. “Here, Nance, let’s do it together,” your teeth chatter. “Like right now, too, so I can get back in.” 

You cut the sides of your cans together and raise them to your lips. 

“Chug. Chug, chug,” Steve starts, and the others join. “Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug—” 

You drown them out as you finish your can before tossing it to the deck. Nancy’s done right after you, and she takes a bow. You laugh, meeting her eyes. You suddenly really hope that you can be really good friends with her. 

“Barb, you wanna try?”

The rest of you look about as surprised as Barb herself. “What? No. No, I don’t want to, thanks.”

“Come on,” Nancy pushes her.

“Yeah, come on, yeah!” 

“Nance, I don’t want too—” 

“It’s fun! Just give it a—” 

“Nance…” 

“Just…” she softens her voice. “Just give it a shot.” 

Barb takes the can and the knife from her, hesitantly standing up. She has an audience; Tommy and Carol look on, interested, and Nancy looks back at Steve to an apprehensive look as he raises his cig to his mouth. She struggles with the can for a second before it slips, and she cuts her hand. 

She gasps. “Gnarly,” Tommy laughs, and you hit his leg again. 

“Are you okay?” Nancy worries. 

“Yeah,” Barb shoots back, obviously annoyed. 

“Barb, you’re bleeding,” Nancy looks at her. Drops of blood hit the pool deck. 

“I’m fine,” she insists. “Where’s your bathroom?” She turns to Steve. 

“Oh! It’s… It’s uh, down past the kitchen, to the left.” 

“Okay, thanks.” 

“Do you want me to go with you?” You ask her, and she shakes her head without looking at you, walking back in the direction of the sliding glass doors. Nancy looks on, worried, as her best friend walks away and Steve points out the bathroom. Carol and Tommy are still laughing under their breath. 

Carol looks up at the sky, shaking her head and enjoying the moment as Barb goes inside. 

You see Tommy look her up and down, and before you have a chance to warn her he shoves her into the pool. She and Tina shriek as Tina ducks and Carol flies over her head. “Oh my god, what the hell, Tommy?” He drops his cig, grinning, and dives in after her. You jump back in with Tina, and begin to lose yourself in the splashing and screaming. Nancy laughs from the edge until Steve sneaks up behind her and pushes her in behind them, giving the most over the top jump in after her. Tommy and Carol kiss, you jump on Tina’s shoulders, and Steve grabs Nancy’s shoe and holds it away, teasing her. 

You’re so unbelievably happy, here with your friends. For the next hour, all your thoughts about Will and your father are totally out the window. 

“I’m freezing,” Carol shivers, wrapping herself in a towel in Steve’s living room. 

“Me too, holy shit,” you laugh and dry your hair. You and Tina are the only ones in swimsuits, and you’re looking at each other like thank god you brought them. The idea of trying to peel off soaking wet, cold clothes right now makes you shudder. 

“Hmm… well, I hear his mom’s room has a fireplace,” Tommy smirks. 

“Are you kidding?” Steve throws his hands up and you and Tina laugh. 

“Oh yeah?” Carol says, following him up the stairs. 

“Okay, well, you know, you are cleaning the sheets,” Steve calls after his friend and runs a hand through his hair. “You alright?” he turns to Nancy. 

“Yeah,” she smiles. 

“Yeah? Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes,” he leads her through the house. You and Tina pull on your clothes, finally something resembling not freezing, and grab your bags. 

You follow Nancy out to the front of the house, where she’s talking to Barb. 

“Nance!” her friend calls as she starts to head up the stairs. “Nancy. Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere! Just… upstairs.” Steve moves around her, back down to you and Tina. 

“Here, let me grab those for you.” He takes both of you out to your car while Nancy and Barb talk. You step outside, and you’re glad that for a second it’s just the three of you. You’re trying really, really hard to sort of back away from Steve, not do any of the things you’ve always done with him that might make her uncomfortable. But you think that a little bit, you might really miss him. 

As you fall asleep that night, next to Tina, you can’t keep him and that damn cigarette out of your head.

an: yay!!! chapter two!! i hope you enjoyed it. as always, any reblogs and other interactions are so highly appreciated, i love hearing what you think so so much whether in these comments or in my inbox! let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist <3

xoxo, thaliagracesgf

tags: @thisisourlovestory, @ladygrey03

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #13

13. LATVIA Dons - "Hollow" 16th place

Decade Ranking: 43/153 [above Duje, below Tick-Tock]

ALL HAIL KING EGG 👑🥚

Stanning Dons like was not a development I expected, but here I am. He's precious, he's flawless, he's a walking green flag and should be protected at all costs.

How can you not like him now? Dons is THE biggest shock qualifier of all time. "But Boris, what about-" nope, I won't hear your flimsy suggestions - Robertoad, Sergej Cetkovic, Raiven, Valentina, Eugent- None of them were as jaw-dropping to me as Dons was. I immediately got up and grabbed a (non-alcoholic) drink when it happened. I needed one. My brain could not process it without hydration. Bro qualified from LAST PLACE IN THE ODDS, representing Latvia, the ONLY country in all of Eurovision that failed to reach the top 10 in a semi televote every year since 2016. WITH ONLY ESTONIA AS ALLIES.

Like, yeah hindsight makes it clear why made it in, but come on now. If you thought Latvia were making it before the Thursday show, I would dismiss you as a naive wishful thinker. Regardless, it was very earned. "Hollow" was a diet Hozier song, and that's basically the equivalent to gold dust in Eurovision. It was a SONG, and a good one at that. We collectively assumed Belgium would snag his votes away. Pity most failed to consider that Belgium did not have a song.

However, the painpoint always seemed to be Dons's perceived lack of charm and appeal, and that was not a small concern. Despite being a very capable vocalist, Dons lost to Aarzemnieki in 2014 and to AISHA in 2010. He always has the air of a funerary director to him, and his current bald look (which vibed as part Who / part Syltherin) didn't help matters, nor did a plethora of REALLY DEPRESSING LINES ABOUT DEATH and DYING EARLY.

His looks said ET phone Hozier his facts said ET go home.

And even as "Hollow" played during the semi I still thought he was 100% out, as Dons performed it with the lifeless of one reluctantly going through the motions. You might as well be a nondescript businessman with a briefcase commuting to their underpaid 9-to-5 job. This man's a sitting duck and he knows it, and no amount of BesaBreastplates™ is going to protect him.

But then, excelsior! Dons miraculously made it (by being announced FIRST) on the strength of voice and song and biceps and right in that moment, something changed.

Immediately after qualifying Dons transformed from someone with the same joie de vivre as a palliative care patient into an absolute demigod and icon?

IT STARTED at the press conf when he said "Latvia has the shape of a butterfly, and butterflies symbolize freedom and all countries deserve to be free 🦋🍉" and was the ONLY person from that press conf to shade Israel without any repercussions or harrassment later. (SOCIAL GAME KING ♥)

But then he followed it up with that live performance in the finale and... OMG.😍

That live is why we're this high on the list.

That live... was ALIVE.

For the first time in his life, homeboy SERVED ON A STAGE.

Like yeah sure, Dons being unable to contain his rapture absolutely did NOT fit the song at all, but who the fuck cares. Qualifying rejuvenated him by at least ten years on the inside. Once you realize the emotions stem from the pure joy of finally having made the final, after months of dismissal and mockery, and weeks of being told that he's outclassed by Mustii of all people (imagine that.). it's only human that he cannot contain himself anymore. One HAS to let go, serve, spill, and so he did and it was glory.

"I move with my face and... emotion comes out? and I'm LIKEABLE?!"

I won't pretend this was some AMAZING revelation, but like... who cares? It's rare you witness someone discover the gift Emotions live on stage, which is beyond any price. The positive transformation Dons underwent in a mere two days as the contest collapsed around him is one of the most beautiful and wholesome takeaways from this dark, depressing edition.

Also, finally, Eurovision is not in a good spot right now, and Hollow's lyrics are perfect allegorical representation to the situation going on. The EBU's decision to sell themselves out as something so hollow is killing the contest slowly, and currently show no sign of improvement. (They're professional bureaucrats scared to give up their well-paid jobs. figures.) Which almost makes me bump Hollow up a bit higher given how much resonance the message has with me right now. But at the end of the day, one must remain hopeful. Dons’s journey was a comeback, a triumph from a horrible situation like you rarely see at a competition such as this. It was a sign that the song matters, and that one should never give up. If Latvia can experience such a miraculous turnaround in the face of adversity, I think we must harbour a hope that Eurovision can as well.

THE RANKING

[mikefrawley]

Maybe Self-Forgiveness is Possible Part I

Greetings my friends, and yes, this is another of those baby steps on the long road to wellness posts.  As many of you know, I've already lived through two twenty years plus careers, and often refer to the first one as my former life.  Needless to say, as a young computer programmer long ago, I was living a good bit higher on the corporate food chain than I am now.  Two new houses, the second in South Florida with a pool.  Regrettably though, while I looked mostly good on the outside, my insides were a war zone.  While no one could physically see them, my inner child issues which I never really understood have haunted me for most of my years on planet earth, and ultimately played a great part in discovering the true yet highly self-destructive love of my life, Cocaine, and yes, I have to admit I immediately fell in love.  Soon enough though, along with all of the obvious nightmares my love I could not honestly say I loved anyone or anything else, family, friends, a very special girlfriend, who broke up with me not once but twice over my "other" love.  Amazingly, as I've told only a few very close friends, I joked (but I wasn't joking) that I've been thrown out of most of the best halfway houses in Broward County, and once I got myself thrown out of the homeless shelter.  Forgive me please, but how the fuck do you even do that? If this sounds like a joke, it certainly could be if only it wasn't so true.  Anyway, I'll race through the next few years which included homelessness, being unemployed and unemployable, and I was even an indigent for a while.  My first stay with my current company started on the day after Christmas and lasted just a few months.  Can you guess how?  Yep, I got myself thrown out again.  Miraculously, Joan (the same woman who hired me the first time) hired me again.  Though I’ve brought myself to the edge with many close calls, miraculously I’m still here somehow.  Long ago this crazy life I’ve somehow survived thus far proved to me that there must be something many of us call grace has kept me alive, and maybe there is even a reason for that.  I’ve also been blessed by having several people who’ve loved me, and in some cases I must admit I’m not quite sure why, but I AM grateful!  To be continued.

[mafiatsunafish]

So, if you will, you can say that John Soap MacTavish and his older sister Alisa MacTavish can be considered as Bruce Wayne wards.

Initially, the siblings only know of their parent, they lived a peaceful life in the countryside of Scotland. Only them, they had never heard or meet any of their other relatives, saint to their mum’s cousin who they briefly saw one in a blue moon.

Until there was a car accident, a drunk driver and a in responsive brake, the two woke up side by side miraculously alive but now without their parents. Little John woke up and he cried, little Alana tried her best to stay strong for her brother and herself, too.

However, it was not for long, right when they seemed fit to be released from the hospital, there was a man who dressed in an impeccable black suit stood in front of them. John was too young back then to realize who is that man but Alisa can, she knew that was her mum’s cousin.

“I am Bruce, your uncle. Would you like to come with me?”

Alisa knew that she shouldn’t believe a man no more than a stranger to them, a man they barely know anything, a man you just appear right after their parents just gone and offer them to come with him. John looked at her nervously while his hand still grip the hem of her skirt tightly. They didn’t know any other people, they were alone and his eyes were filled with genuine care and worries.

So they come with him.

And just never leave.

(Little did they know, they are the start of Bruce’s adoption problem cause he never stop collecting strays)

Then he brought home kid that he had told them from the circus, Alisa becomes Bruce’s oldest then Richard or Dick and then John.

(Alisa would fight tooth and nails with anyone who dares to touch her baby brothers, but between Dick’s chandeliers swinging and John’s eerie interest in fire, she don’t know who she want to kick first)

(Batman gained his first Robin while the MacTavish stay with at the back with Alfred, learning how to cook, tends wounds and deal with stubborn vigilantes)

Then Jason came home with a defensive face, after Dick stormed his way out of the manor. Alfred, Alisa and John joined force to take care of the tiny Jason. John finally meet another book nerd that he can camp in the manor’s library with and Alfred had another tail, following him around the kitchen.

But then Jason was gone. It shattered the family once again.

(Batman almost lashed)

Dick moved to Bludheaven and Nightwing soared, John determined to go back to England and enlisted then somehow earned the name Soap.

Only Alisa stayed, hoping one day her brothers will come home.

Then a child stalker named Wayne’s neighbour appeared, Tim Drake is a genius baby who has crippling caffeine addiction and fucked up self-preservation sense. Alisa now has her third baby brother who she would definitely bite someone's head off if they dared to touch him.

(Jason is alive, he is alive, he is alive, he is-)

Then come Damian, Damian Wayne, son of the Bat. God, her murdered baby, their family's precious murdered tiny assassin. He came with so much rage and violence, with so many scars and hurt. She has sworn, until her last breath, she will try her damn best to make him feel loved.

Cassandra Cain just materialized from a shadow one day and called Alisa older sister, Alisha was overjoyed when this household finally had another girl. She loves to go shopping with Cass and gossip with the girls, she loves watching Cass gracefully dance and beat the shit out of their brothers and she loves how Cass slowly becomes more human.

And steaming Jesu’ Christ, is that her John dangling on the window edge of that fucking skyscraper?! And what he is doing with that Lieutenant Ghost with all those talking?????

(thanks O for gave her both visual and sound of that particular moment, because, what the fuck?)

(for some reason, there has been sight of Batman and various of Gotham’s vigilantes in Chicago, what’s the bat colony doing there? No one is sure)

(not for shovel talk or threatening government military)

Alisa MacTavish missed her parents but she also loved the family that that one weird uncle brought her through the years.

(Alisa: Bruce, yer have a problem, yer know?

Bruce: hn

Dick: She is right, B. Like Batman is one thing, but collecting kids?

Bruce: hn)

[ladybeug]

was scrolling thru your art tag enjoying your comics when i suddenly discovered you were the one that wrote strangers in the bright lights. having gotten into miraculous only very recently, was tickled to experience a very small identity shenanigan of my own

incredible fic btw; i love it soooooo much. brilliant, hilarious, sweet, poignant. out of curiosity have you read much postww1 modernist stuff? i adored the usage of free indirect discourse for the narration, drunken and in motion and alive, almost reminded me of virginia woolf in a weird way lol. sorry if this is weird

Hello!! I'm about to get long-winded and self indulgent in this reply, fair warning :)

here goes:

Wow!! I don’t know how you found strangers in the bright lights if you got into ladybug in any time frame that can be described as “very recently”, I wrote that in 2018 when I was digesting some personal stuff and in a fantastic ladybug renaissance (of which I have now had several, I think I’ll die in this fandom).

But I’m so glad you somehow did. I only write every couple of years when I get really specific ideas, and the time I spend on it turns into memories of who I was when I wrote it. I feel like that must happen to actual writers too, ones who write often, but I haven’t written “often” since like 2009 and have never asked, so there you go.

But I guess that’s all to say that I am very attached to that story and it’s also one of the only things I’ve written that still feels like it hit the chord I was aiming for. It is so cool that anyone still reads it!!

To actually answer your question: I have never read virginia woolf, and the only modernist stuff I've read was years ago for school classes. I have to admit none of the style was inspired by classics, but instead inspired by the weird disassociation of trying to be alone in a crowd.

I have a final self-indulgent thought, it is a fun fact I realized as I was going down memory lane about this:

I associate ‘strangers in the bright lights’ with a friendship I made that stands out as one of the luckiest and rarest friendships I’ve made – I went to a mountain goats concert alone, and stood up at the front early, and met someone else who had gone to the same mountain goats concert alone and had stood up at the front early. It was one of the fastest and most comfortable connections I’ve made, and we liked each other so much we stayed in touch, even after they moved away. We are still in touch every so often, and as far as I’m concerned in a few years they’re going to publish the best fantasy novel you’ve ever read, so watch out for that.

The fanfiction is in part inspired by that beautiful feeling of meeting someone new that you want to talk to, and they want to talk to you, and a drink or two has propped up your self esteem and you don’t have to worry about who you are tomorrow, just who you are right now. It’s escapism. You feel important, and carried by that feeling, for as long as you are there. Lonely who? Not me. Trapped by past versions of myself, who? Not me.

Anyways the fun fact is - I found out this morning that concert was a year AFTER I posted this fanfiction. I didn't know about that moment of my life as I was writing this. The two are so connected in my mind that this is genuinely surprising, but the concert was in September 2019 and I published the fanfic a year beforehand.

In the words of mr. mountain goat himself: we held on to hope of better days coming, and when we did we were right!

[botherkupo]

Summer Green (lovesquare oneshot)

So it's been so long probably no one remembers that before I moved cities I promised to write two oneshots as a thank you. Anyway, I got given the prompt "cake" for one of them and this is the result. It was meant to be much more comedic and fluffy, but well ... this happened instead.

i have no idea when the next one will get written, because my job is busy and I'm still recovering from a broken ankle, but hey. I finished one lol

Summary: Twelve years ago, Marinette had found out that Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste were the same person. Twelve years ago, she’d seen him sob like a shattered wreck as he’d knelt in front of his mother’s glass coffin and his father, Hawkmoth, was arrested. Then he'd vanished. Just gone without a word.

After twelve years, on the day of her wedding, they finally meet again.

AO3

Marinette sits on the floor in her kitchen, knees pressed to her chest. Her feet are bare. She’s still wearing the veil, still dressed in white silk and embroidered lace. A wedding rose clipped before full bloom. A wedding rose stained with mascara trails and stupid, stupid regret.

There’s a knock at the door. She ignores it, just like she’s ignored all the calls and texts. She wouldn’t know what to say to anyone anyway. All she knows is that her wedding day had come—the day she’d fantasised about since she was a little girl—and all she’d felt was her heart sinking down, down, down into the arms of suffocation. It had only got worse as she’d walked up the aisle. As she’d looked into coffee-brown eyes and realised she couldn’t say I do.

“Idiot,” she mutters, thunking her head against the cupboard door over and over. “You stupid, crazy idiot.”

The knocking gets louder.

“Marinette?”

Her entire body stills. That voice.

“Marinette, please open the door.”

It’s something achingly deep that drags her to her feet. Something that reaches deep into her bones like the inescapable force of gravity. She moves as if in a trance and wrenches the door open, her heart stuttering into a pounding drum. Adrien blinks. His hand is still poised to knock.

All of her breath escapes her in a shaky rush. “You jerk!” she says, but then she’s throwing herself against his chest and clutching him tight.

He’s taller. Broader in the shoulders, too. His scent is different—light musk and woodsy tones instead of the citrus notes of his youth—but his arms wrap around her just as warmly as they’ve always done. She closes her eyes and lets their heartbeats blend.

“Why did you never contact me?” she says. Her voice is practically a whisper. “Twelve years. Twelve years, Adrien.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words don’t appease her. Not at all. She wants to hit him, wants to curse him, but the fact he’s here—solid and real—is too precious.

Twelve years ago, she’d found out that Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste were the same person. Twelve years ago, she’d seen him sob like a shattered wreck as he’d knelt in front of his mother’s glass coffin and his father, Hawkmoth, was arrested. A twisted fairy tale with no happy ending. A twisted fairy tale that had left Adrien with nothing but grief, bitterness, and ugly court trials.

Then one day she’d woken to find the cat miraculous ring on her bedside table and a note that only had one word printed on it in neat handwriting:

Sorry.

She’d never seen him again. No one had. It was like he’d vanished. Sometimes, she’d found herself wondering if he was even still alive.

A lump forms in her throat. Hot tears sting her eyes and she buries her face into his coat, fingers curling into the soft fabric.

“I waited for you,” she says softly. “I waited for you every day like a total idiot. I waited for years.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her fingers dig in tighter. “Why couldn’t you have just called?” Her voice cracks. “Even a text just to say you’re okay would have been better than nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Marinette. I really am.”

The lump in her throat chokes any response. All she can do is hold him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

He pulls back to meet her gaze, his own cheeks damp with tears. “I wanted to come back. Believe me, I wanted to come back so many times.”

“Then why—”

He lets her go completely, shoulders hunching. “I don’t know. I guess I thought … I thought maybe it would be better if I stayed away.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe then it would hurt less. If I could forget about everything, if I could start fresh, maybe … maybe it would be better. Maybe I could be happy.”

She wordlessly tugs him back into her arms. Her heart aches and aches and aches.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her hair. “I’m so sorry. I was selfish and stupid. I should have never left. I should have come back sooner.”

She clutches him tighter. “Forget it. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

They stay like that for a long time. She’s afraid if she lets him go that he might slip away again. But eventually they part and look at each other. Really look at each other. His expression is soft yet sad.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he says. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“What is it?”

“Why did you run from your wedding?”

She stiffens in surprise. “You know about that?”

“Uh, yeah. I stopped at your home first. I mean your old home. Your parents told me. Plus, the whole—” He gestures at her dress.

She looks the other way, biting her lip.

“I heard he’s a nice guy. Your parents seemed to like him.”

“He is nice.”

The weight of Adrien’s gaze is a silent question. Why? Why break up with him then at the altar? Why run?

Her fingers curl into her palms. She refuses to look at Adrien, though she can’t stop the tickle of heat that blooms on her cheeks. The answer is simple: it’s because her ex-fiance’s eyes are coffee brown instead of summer green. It’s because Adrien—her partner and first love—had wedged himself so far into her heart that he became part of the beat. Twelve years had not changed that. Nothing could change that. Adrien is a song she can’t forget: a song of yearning glances, almost kisses, and words never uttered.

“I think you know the answer to that,” she says softly.

He takes a step closer, then another step. His hand brushes her. She inhales shakily and their eyes meet, aching with heart-thudding longing all over again.

“I didn’t think I had a chance,” he whispers. “A part of me hoped, but—”

She leans up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his. Impulsive. Inevitable. He surrenders to the kiss like waves embracing the shore, his arms enfolding her. Fresh tears sting her eyes. Kissing him hurts just as much as it soothes, like honey sweetening bitter medicine.

She weaves her fingers into his hair and kisses him again and again.

I’ve missed you. I love you.

Silent words are exchanged through every shared breath. The years of loneliness, the years of fruitlessly trying to move on. None of that matters now. All that matters—all that she wants to matter—is being with him in this moment. So she pushes aside the guilt. She pushes aside the thoughts of the other man whose heart she’d broken, of a wedding cake left untouched, and the money wasted on a pretty dress and diamond ring. Instead, she focuses on the warmth of Adrien’s touch, on the way he makes her heart pound faster and faster, and the yielding softness of his lips.

She won’t regret this moment. She won’t regret choosing him.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - Best Fic of 2022

It’s the last day of 2022! We made it, friends, and so it’s time for my annual list of my favorite reads from the year. All of these are amazing, and I spent hours on this list because I kept stopping to reread favorite bits. Check ‘em out. And feel free to send me your favorite reads of 2022! 

~*~ 

Think of This as Solving Problems (That Should Never Have Occurred) by Sineala

No one knows Tony is Iron Man. Then Tony gets amnesia, and literally no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

Sine is always a real treat to read, and I had somehow managed to miss reading this in the past, so I got to enjoy it this year and it was just--lovely. No one does identity porn the way Sine does. 

Some Kind of Personal War by sara_holmes 

And Tony realizes that working out who the Winter Soldier used to be and who he is now are two entirely different things.

The rest of this series is also amazing, but the first part is Bucky/Nat--it’s only part two and three that introduces Stevetony. The entire series is well worth reading, though. 

Teenage Dream by Etharei

"That," says Tony, tone unmistakably smug despite his split lip, "is Captain America. Who, by the way, happens to be my godfather."

I am a sucker for age difference, and also for Steve being utterly protective and besotted, and I loved this verse so much I think I read it twice in December alone. 

Magnetic North by msermesth

Tony joins Steve on his post-Secret Empire road-trip-slash-pity-party.

Turns out the road home is paved with a lot of arguments and sex.

I dug into comics this year, but I still haven’t gotten to Secret Empire, but I really enjoyed this--I had enough working knowledge of the story that it enhanced my reading, but I didn’t feel like it was necessary to enjoy the slow progression Steve and Tony had to each other. 

Like a Comet Streaming On by Sineala

Tony escapes Afghanistan with a functioning Iron Man suit and a perfectly normal heart. He even manages to bring Ho Yinsen home safely at his side. But he may as well have lost everything... because his wolfbrother is dead. Six months later, the Avengers find Captain America, frozen in ice, miraculously alive. Everything and everyone Steve has ever known is gone -- except his wolfsister, the recipient of the lupine version of the super-soldier serum, who was frozen in his arms. Tony has everything but his wolf. Steve has only his wolf. This is how their lives fit together.

I love the worldbuilding in this, and the grief that Tony goes through, the slow bonding between Tony and Steve (and Libby) is just--perfection. 

Mr. July by jibrailis

Tony is the only one who can defend Steve's virtue. Tony hates his life.

It’s just fun. That’s all it is. Just pure fun. 

One-Man Army by Captain_Panda

Takes place immediately after the Chitauri attack in Avengers 1.

Steve is running himself into the ground. Tony notices.

Then Steve gets knocked down hard. And Tony intervenes.

This is absurdly long, and had been unfinished for a while--when it was finished earlier this year, I put it on my list to read and it was even better than I expected--despite the length, it’s exquisitely plotted and perfectly written, and held my attention throughout, something that’s rare during a fic that long. It’s well worth the read. 

For the Love of a Dragon by Captain_Panda

When Steve went down with the Valkyrie, he thought his days with dragons were over.

Then he meets Tony Stark, who inherited Howard Stark's dragon.

As the kids say: "It's complicated."

This entire series is perfect--the world building of dragons in a modern, canon compliant world is just--flawless. I adored the dragons, I adored how different they were and how well they interacted with the people they chose made complete sense and just--I adored it. 

Dangerous Kitchen Tools by ladyshadowdrake

Engineering prodigy, billionaire, and heir to the Stark Industries empire, Tony Stark turned the business world on its head by opening a restuarant and burying himself in the kitchen. Years later, he covers an informal evening cooking class for his friend and fellow molecular gastronomist, Bruce Banner, where he meets famously camera-shy comic artist Steve Rogers.

I really love chef AU’s and this was just so lovely, soft and sweet and perfect. I loved it. 

all in by spqr

What matters is that Steve only hates him 99% of the time now, and the other 1% of the time they laugh together and fight side by side and they’re friends.

Tony’s used to having to wring little bits of love out of people.

He can do it.

I really love SPQR (which is why they’re on this list twice) and this is a flawless little CW AU. 

Patriarch by spqr 

Steve ducks into the hall and comes back with a warm, freshly-laundered towel, which feels so good when he wraps it around Tony’s shoulders that he almost lets out a moan. “There we go,” Steve says. “Don’t want you to catch cold.”

“Thanks, daddy,” Tony quips, because he’s an idiot.

Except Steve’s close enough, his hands wrapped around Tony’s biceps through the towel, that Tony can feel his full-body shudder.

Here we have my most read fic of the year. I think I read this once or twice a month since it was published in March. It’s all my favorite things--mafia, age gap, daddy kink, dangerously possessive Steve. It’s amazing and perfect and I’m gonna go read it again. 

angels who sin by meidui

Summer air is thick and sweet, like Tony's voice pouring honey into Steve's throat, telling Steve more than he needs to know. He's here with his parents for the summer, he just finished his first year at college, he doesn't believe in God but his parents make him come to church.

"They said you can help me find faith," Tony says, as mischievous as he is innocent, and Steve is as good as gone.

Priest Steve, Twink Tony and meidui’s gorgeous prose? That’s it, that’s everything. 

seven years in heaven by meidui

Tony gave Steve everything in the divorce. Their beautiful Brooklyn brownstone and everything in it, Tony's beloved Audi, their private garden upstate. Tony even offered him the lakehouse, but Steve had looked up at him with red eyes and begged softly for him to stop.

Tony gave Steve everything, every last piece of himself. He didn't take much with him when he flew out to his mansion in Malibu, but he took every last piece of Steve, too.

This ached and hurt me in the best ways and then it put me back together. 

you great unfinished symphony (you sent for me) by ketchupcrisp

The last thing Steve Rogers ever expected to see on a Wednesday afternoon was his (their) dead submissive tumbling out of a portal and practically into Phil’s lap, very much alive and frantic about Soul Stones and timelines and some other version of the team.

This is technically poly, but the heavy focus is on Stevetony, and the world-building is just…very very well done. Excellently done. 

Forty-Seven Flat by geekymoviemom

Steve Rogers was on the top of the world. He was one of the top students in his class, a world-class athlete, and had a man who loved him. Winning an Olympic Gold Medal seemed like the perfect addition to his picture-perfect life.

But only four years later, Steve’s entire world has come crashing down around him, leaving defending his Olympic title the only thing lying between him and utter ruin.

And then, the unthinkable happens.

I’m a huge fan of superfamily, and sports AU, and this one is so well done--it’s a little unrealistic but fun and made me cry so, winner winner. 

Without Irony by tsukinofaerii

Open file TS_762-b.ims... Sometimes, when a drive is completely broken, the only thing to do is wipe it clean and start over. When he wakes up, Tony has no idea who he is, or what he did to end up where he is. Depending on who he talks to, he was a villain or a hero, a genius or a degenerate. What he is now is still up for debate, but it doesn't look like he's going to have much time to figure it out. With a computer in his head screwing up and a country falling to pieces, options are getting limited. Steve The world needs Iron Man a lot more than it needs Tony Stark.

I’m a huge fan of fic that covers Tony’s mind wipe and this one did such a great job of that. And then it follows up with part two (below). I looove this little series so much. 

Per Expectations by tsukinofaerii

After the events of Without Irony, Tony wakes up with a freshly rebooted memory and nearly all of his memories from before the deletion and none after. Nearly all isn't nearly enough, and what's missing just might be the most important thing he's ever forgotten. Tony's not sure he wants to remember, but if he doesn't it's going to be the death of him.

Tabula Rasa by Sineala 

Sometimes superheroes save the world. And sometimes they're too late.

Captain America's longtime villain Superia had a plan for revenge. She stopped the Avengers from ever finding Steve in the ice, tore the Avengers apart, and turned the world into her own personal authoritarian dystopia. A team made up of Captains America from across the multiverse came to set things right: they united all the remaining superheroes, took down Superia, and made sure the world would find Steve again.

Tony spent Superia's hellish reign as her prisoner, a suicidally-depressed disembodied brain trapped in a jar for years on end, begging the Avengers to kill him and put him out of his misery. The Captain America Corps instead gives him his freedom, a brand-new body, and even the Avengers -- including his very own Captain America. But Tony's not entirely sure he wants to be here. He's walking wounded, and he thinks some wounds are too deep to heal. He thinks there's no chance the Avengers will ever be what they could have been. He thinks there's no way Steve will ever be the friend and partner he could have been on so many other worlds.

Luckily for Tony, Steve happens to disagree with that.

I really loved this. It was sad, and it hurt to read because of how Tony was depicted, but it was just--perfectly done. 

The Last Love Song of Anthony E. Stark by jibrailis

After contracting an Asgardian virus, Tony starts forgetting things. And people. And Steve.

This is a fandom classic, and I finally got around to reading it and I was absurdly pleased with it--like it was so much better than I even hoped it’d be. 

Relativistic Heat Conduction by BlossomsintheMist

Age of Ultron-based, but not entirely canon compliant. Written for the 2013 Cap-Iron Man Reverse Big Bang. Ultron has attacked, obliterating most of the world's superheroes and resistance in a matter of hours. The remaining heroes band together and share what strength they have to get through it, to survive, and defeat Ultron once and for all. Steve Rogers grieves in the wake of the disaster and the heroes' defeat, and no one knows if he will be able to provide the leadership they need--but Tony Stark isn't about to let him slip away that easily.

This is extremely sad. It was a dark sad read that I loved so much. I especially loved the end--it shouldn’t have been possible to pull off a happy ending, but somehow, it worked, and it was sooooo good. 

[retired-cyrus]

Miraculously, I am alive.

If you are too impatient to read the entire narrative, then know that in terms of what injuries I could have sustained, I am only minorly damaged. I have much bruising to my torso and leg, and my arm has been broken, but they are manageable and have already been tended to. I will likely rest for the following days and help Austin repair his home in any way I am able. All Pokemon involved are fine, which both Godslayer and Austin have seen to.

For those who are much more curious on the details, read on.

Jupiter engaged and attacked merely seconds after my previous update. She damaged much of the front of Austin’s home, but I was able to redirect the battle site further away to minimize the harm towards any personal belongings.

The events that followed did not go according to plan.

I utilized Austin’s Pokemon to battle her’s, but they were no match. His Emolga and Floatzel were knocked out in one hit without hesitation from her Bronzong. The only one that miraculously survived two hits was his Ferrothorn after taking a flamethrower from her Skuntank. 

Once his Ferrothorn was defeated, she ordered her Skuntank to attack me.

Before it could reach, K-3 intervened and took the attack instead. Without my command, it battled her Pokemon, defeating both her Skuntank and Bronzong and heavily injuring her Crobat. However, it was ultimately defeated.

While she was still shocked by the narrow victory, Austin spoke up and persuaded her to stand down so he and Godslayer could tend to the Pokemon’s injuries, including hers, since she would have a difficult time navigating the Distortion World ill-prepared, and with only one Pokemon.

Reluctantly, she agreed.

The following conversations were tense, at best. I do not remember much of what was discussed, but the majority of the time was filled by silence. She was still adamant on her goal of harming me, but she was civil during the time her Pokemon were being tended to. As she returned her Pokemon after Austin had healed them to the best of his ability, she offered a handshake to me as a farewell.

I was foolish for falling for her trick, even after I had sensed her intentions.

She took the advantage to grab my arm and break it in one motion, then the events become somewhat of a blur as Austin’s Pokemon combined with K-3 intervene and force her to flee.

We have not seen her in the area since, but my hope is that she is satisfied with what damage she was able to cause.

[sakarrie-creates]

2022 Fic Round-Up/Reflection

Am I over a month late? Yes. Is that going to stop me? Nnnnnnope.

Another year gone and another end of year summary! Yeash, it’s been a rough creative year haha. I’ve practically done nothing but school and work, which has certainly been problematic for writing. It’s been a productive adulting year though, so hopefully this dead period will help me find more opportunities down the line. My gosh I’m ready to be done with school already.

Since I’ve really not written much this year, this will be an abridged version of my reflection from last year’s template. That being said, I’m still very rambly so you can see the details below the cut!

2022 Stats:

Fics Started: 11 Fics Fully Written: 3 Fics Posted: 2 New WIPs: 7 Total WIPs: 20 (ish?) Words Written: 25,950 (33,176 if including documents of pure brainstorm ramble lol) Words Posted: 9,541 Fandoms Written For: 2 Events: 2 (+1)

Posted Fics

Carmen Sandiego (Gen): 1

So Long As You're With Me (7,804): It's been several months since Team Red rescued Player from the clutches of VILE and snapped him out of their control... mostly. His base personality is back, but he still doesn't remember them from anything other than the false memories VILE created for him. And it's just their luck that VILE painted Carmen and company in such a way that Player thinks that their attempts to help him is all some elaborate form for torture, and it doesn't help that he's currently recovering from an injury she caused. Carmen is near her wit's end, but she refuses to give up on her oldest and best friend.

Supernatural (Gen): 1

Still the Same (1,737): After a hunt, Sam and Dean watch the stars for the first time since Dean came back from Hell. Things are finally starting to fall back into place between them, but it's impossible to ignore the ways things have changed. 

Specifics:

Events Participated In:

SPN Summergen, Player Appreciation Week (Fic and Art), Code Secret Santa (Art), Miraculous Magic Zine (Revamp Fic), and Fandom Trumps Hate (Offered Art/Fic).

General questions:

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

Oof, hard to answer. Definitely less than I’d hoped and maybe still a fair bit less than I expected, but I did know that my life was about to get swallowed by school and I wasn’t wrong. I definitely wish I had been able to participate in more events for sure and I’ve had a lot of inspiration for all sorts of stuff that I just haven’t had the brain power for unfortunately. What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

I mean, looking at posting, I only have two options lol. In general though, I stuck fairly close to my norm for all that. I poked around time travel AUs which was fun but most of that was brainstorming/animatic storyboarding rather than writing.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

Definitely So Long As You're With Me! That AU lives in my head rent free and boy howdy I’d love to share it all one day but there’s just so much to it. I swear, the pieces I have shared are hardly recognisable as the same story haha. Anyway, it’s definitely a little rushed at some points, but it was a very crammed piece that just kept getting longer, so I’ll take it!

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

Since I’ve only posted two new works this year, we’re going to go overall. Which would definitely still be Fragmentation. It’s got 20.3k views!! That’s only 400 less than it’s total word count and it seems like the hit count keeps going up slowly, which is wild to consider it’s on FF.net in a faded fandom and has been complete for like a year. Next up would be The Problem With Good Intentions at 11k, which also blows me away a bit cause Merlin ended a decade ago but I’m proud of the fandom for staying alive! XD

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

Probably still A Letter to Never Be Read on FF.net. It’s a pretty niche fic, so I can’t really be surprised but I felt artsy writing it way back when lol.

Most overdue story?

Welp, It’s Only Natural is certainly overdue, but I don’t think anyone is really following that one so it’s not in a rush. A Long Ways Home on the other hand drives me crazy cause I’ve actually been wanting to write for it, but brainpower’s been too low from school. Can’t believe it’s been a year. :’(

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Tbh, not really? I pushed myself in what I did, but it was all relatively in my comfort zone. I guess I tried writing in S4 of Supernatural in Still the Same, but that doesn’t feel much like a risk. I also tried out some writing from screenshot prompts which was super fun and interesting, but unfortunately that was sniped by lack of time/energy too. So I guess not really this year.

How’d this year compare to your goals of last year?

Oh boy, I’m so intimidated to read these paragraphs haha. I bet I did like none of them. We’ll start with the bullet list though since that should be fairly straightforward. -Unfortunately, prioritizing school is honestly my biggest writing goal this year. So if I do that all successfully and get through any more than like, 1-2 of these, it will be a success haha. 

-A Long Ways Home (Gonna break it up into Chapter 3, Chapter 4, and if that’s not the epilogue, then an epilogue. I’m determined and really think it’s doable, I just need to be careful not to overestimate again) WIP Bang if not done by Summer. -SPN Summergen -PAB if enough interest -February week event -Loyalties AU Plotting/Drafting -SQZ Zines -Comments

If crazy inspired year: -Gencest Bang -WIP Bang with It’s Only Natural -Post More CS One-shots -Other Zines

Okay, so some of those crossings are a little generous, but I wanted to at least check off the school one haha. Tbh, though, it wasn’t as bad as I expected! I did a decent job of having low expectations lol.

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Oh boy. See I wish that this last year being so sad would mean this year would be back to creative rush, but I’m already a month in and I haven’t even tried writing anything other than school papers. I’ve been getting surprisingly into Huntlow (omg, Sakarrie having a romantic ship that she’s like legit into????? whacK), so it’d be fun to experiment with some fic there! Willow needs more angst fic to balance out our traumatized golden boi. Trying to find some zines would also be fun! And I’ll be sad if I ever have to miss Summergen cause it’s 100% my favorite event of the year. Oh, and of course I’m hoping to be able to participate more in Player Appreciation Week this coming month!! Shameless plug.

I’d also like to make some progress on A Long Ways Home, so hopefully in my Summer break I’ll finally have a chance to sit down and write. I’m not going to be dumb enough to put time frame estimations on it again though haha. I also am not a huge fan of having WIPs just sitting out there so if I could knock off It’s Only Natural sometime, that’d be great, but it’s honestly not a priority and I haven’t been feeling Voltron for a bit.

As for other plans, Loyalties AU and EverYOnE is bROkeN AU both haunt me at night and then there’s the time travel au that just has my brain zooming whenever I think about it. They just all get so intense and I WANT to share that intensity cause I know they could be epic, but first I gotta finalize the details, then I gotta have the skills to pull it off, then I gotta actually write sooooooooooooo we’ll see where those get me.

Okay so comments. Bah that project is such a mindset monster haha. I want to be supportive and express thanks to those who write and comment, but also the more pressure I put on it, the harder it gets. I feel like it makes reading new fics very intimidating and makes leaving chill comments harder. I think it would be nice to get through, but I think my goal for this year is to let my 1000 tabs go and just comment/respond in the moment whenever I can and not overthink it. I do want to catch up on replies though so that can be my comment goal for this year. In terms of my numbers, though, I did meet my generous goal of 20k written and 10k posted this year! (Rounding a little but close enough.) And I met my ultimate wc goal if brainstorming essays count!

Bullet list time!

2023:

-Unfortunately, keeping my scholarship has to be my biggest goal this year again so gonna put that here in case it's the only thing I can check off come December. -A Long Ways Home (at least 1 new chapter) -SPN Summergen -At least 3/7 Player Appreciation Week days -Catch up on comment replies -At least do some more brainstorming for bigger CS aus -Huntlow/Owl House fics? -One zine?

If crazy inspired year: -All of A Long Ways Home -All Player Appreciation Week Days -WIP Bang with It’s Only Natural -Post More CS One-shots -Write out more big AU scenes -Other Zines

So with that, I’m gonna set my word count bar pretty low again haha. In fact, I think I’ll just leave it as it was last year.

Easy Goal Word Count Goal: 20k (at least 10k posted)

Stretch Goal (aka, if I don’t die from school): 40k (at least 25k posted)

Ultimate 2023 Word Count Goal: 30k

[amicidomenicani]

Question Dear Father Angelo, I opened your website and went on reading your responses to a wide array of questions, and I found a lot of consolation from them even though they were not directed to me. For this reason I am about now to open up my heart to your discernment. I lost my father to a lung tumor about ten months ago. Being a physician myself, I was the first to make the diagnosis, which was later confirmed by the instrumental tests which also revealed the severity of the condition (inoperability, terminal stage of the illness…).  From the very beginning I shared with my dad both the pain and the truth (within the limits of his acceptance, never telling him that his pain would grow worse, I never told him for instance that there was nothing the official medicine could do, and that he had two or three months to live; I tried to keep his hope alive, and we said to each other that we would face together whatever would come our way). Let me first say that because of my job I live in another town, and that my dad moved in with me at the time of the diagnosis, so he could continue with the diagnostic process and the treatment, which, sadly,  was only palliative.  I had the privilege to assist my dad through his weakness and frailty, with all the highs and lows that came from an extremely stressful situation. With the palliative treatment, associated with prayers and more natural supportive care (diet, medical herb extracts), “miraculously” the illness that had seemed to be unstoppable was eventually controlled and a chemotherapy session could be executed that improved somewhat his respiratory problems, and we managed to go on for nine months in fairly acceptable living conditions. During these months my dad drew closer to prayer, an often silent prayer because, being a man from the south, it was difficult for him to vocalize his thanksgiving to Our Lady with the rosary,  but I noticed that when it was time to say the rosary with us (me and my mother, who never stopped praying), even if he was lying in bed in the grips of the constant pain that began to torture him, he asked to be helped to the armchair and attended the rosary and the blessing given by the priest on TV, and then he went back to bed.  Eventually it became necessary to admit my dad into the hospital, the same one where I work, and in the last days of his earthly life, that unfortunately ended in the hospital, I know that he spoke with the priest there.  He talked with him about what weighed on his heart the most, and he looked more serene, and often sent for him. My dad died of a cause not directly related to his illness, because of a fall followed by a massive cerebral hemorrhage. The last day of his life, while I was dozing on and off, a voice woke me up telling me to run to the hospital because “that fall was not a trivial one, it was not the usual fall…” I heard this very clearly and rushed to the hospital long before the start of my shift. I could only see my father for a moment, he did not respond to me as usual; I had to diagnose a sudden cerebral condition, and I realized that we were close to his passing. I can’t describe the excruciating pain for the sudden separation that was to happen a few hours later; I watched over my father for about six hours, that’s how long his coma lasted, I couldn’t talk to him but I caressed his hands and face all the time, while I tried to impress in my memory his scent and his warmth, with tears running down my face, feeling my heart tear open; at three I heard the bell toll, and I remembered Jesus’s promise and started praying the chaplet of the divine mercy so that my father could be received in the arms of the merciful Jesus, and I immediately felt peace… the pain was still there but more “suave”, less like a boulder. I apologize for dwelling too much on this, but after some time I started having doubts that my father may not have had time to prepare for a good christian death with al

l the sacraments, I don’t know if he was able to confess and receive Jesus, and I wonder if it is OK to think that the fact that he accepted his pain with dignity (my father never swore at God for what happened to him, and even began developing an attachment to our mother Mary to whom he prayed to alleviate his pain) may have been instrumental in saving my dad’s soul… I always pray for him and ask to hear that he is fine and may come to see God’s face. What do you think, father Angelo? Did God’s Mercy save my dad? Thank-you. Priest’s answer Dear friend, 1. There is every reason to hope that your father was saved. He welcomed the priest and our Lord said “Whoever receives you, receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me” (Mt 10,40).. 2. He drew closer to prayer. And by drawing closer to prayer he grew closer to God. 3. He showed an attachment to our mother Mary, asking her to alleviate his pain. Who knows how many times he said “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death”. Would our Lady, whose love for us exceeds that of all mothers in this world, not listen to him? 4. You recited the chaplet of the Divine Mercy at three, trusting in Jesus’s promise. Jesus’s promise is flattering: “It pleases Me to grant everything they ask of Me by saying the chaplet” (Diary 1541) “. Moreover: “Whoever will recite it will receive great mercy at the hour of death… Even if there were a sinner most hardened, if he were to recite this chaplet only once, he would receive grace from My infinite mercy” (Diary 687). 5. “At the hour of their death, I defend as My own glory every soul that will say this chaplet; or when others say it for a dying person, the indulgence is the same. When  this chaplet is said by the bedside of a dying person, God’s anger is placated, unfathomable mercy envelops the soul, and the very depths of My tender mercy are moved for the sake of the sorrowful Passion of My Son” (Diary 811). When hardened sinners say it, I will fill their souls with peace, and the hour of their death will be a happy one… Write that when they say this chaplet in the presence of the dying, I will stand between My Father and the dying person, not as the just Judge but as the merciful Savior” (Diary 1541) 6. True, this is a private revelation.  But it describes nicely how divine mercy works with all of us up until the very end of our life.  We should therefore trust that the Lord granted your father the grace of repentance even if he did not receive the Sacraments. Wasn’t the fact that he sent for the priest repeatedly a tacit plea to receive the goods that priests carry with them, particularly the remission of sins in confession? 7. Having said all this however, do not relent with your suffrages. I like to cite the Catechism of the Catholic Church:”Communion with the dead. «In full consciousness of this communion of the whole Mystical Body of Jesus Christ, the Church in its pilgrim members, from the very earliest days of the Christian religion, has honored with great respect the memory of the dead; and 'because it is a holy and a wholesome thought to pray for the dead that they may be loosed from their sins' (2 Mac 12,45) she offers her suffrages for them» (Lumen Gentium, 50). Our prayer for them is capable not only of helping them, but also of making their intercession for us effective” (CCC 958). I gladly join with you in this prayer of intercession: to help your father, and to be helped by him. I remind you to the Lord and I bless you. Father Angelo 20 January 2017 | A priest answers - Liturgy and pastoral - Pastoral section