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foxtophat · 4 years

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HEY HEY HEY!!!! hey guys. haha. um, idk what to say exactly and tumblr likes to eat my posts so lets see how long this lasts:

its’ only been a couple months but i have been frothing at the mouth trying to figure out what next part of mercy to put out. i have a lot of much bigger stories to tell than this one, but kim and john sharing insomnia felt sort of like the right segue into those bigger bits. so for now, let’s just enjoy a 20k fic about Kim and John, and also a little about John and Nick, but mostly just about John and Jacob.

there are 3 chapters. i’ll post the 2nd one later this week (wednesday or friday i think) and the third will probably go up next monday. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT i actually have most of this one finished right out the gate!!!

as usual, i’ll put the entire chapter under a readmore in case you don’t want to leave tumblr. i hope you enjoy what i’ve got for you this time -- if not don’t worry, there will be more dramatic bullshit later :) comments, kudos, reblogs and likes are all the things that make ficwriting more fun than it already is, so consider helping me out if you enjoy what i’m doing. otherwise, have a good day!!!

Kim's dreams are normally composed of fleeting images in dark, monochrome colors. They're howling-wind nightmares or ethereal moments of peace, but they're short-lived and she's always disconnected from them. She hasn't had a real dream in probably nine years. She used to miss them, before John Seed reappeared with all of his night terrors, just in time to remind her of how good she has it. Now, she's glad that the most she has to contest with is a looming sense of dread that fades almost as soon as she wakes up.

But tonight, Kim is a long way away from all of that. She's standing at the kitchen sink in her childhood home, which is in full summer swing. The rosemary plant her mom keeps on the sill is in full bloom, thick green spikes dotted with blue puffball flowers. Beyond it, the Canadian sky is seawater green, and Kim marvels at the fluffy clouds drifting through the unnatural color. They seem to be floating by much faster than the still air outside would imply. It should rattle her, confuse her, but before that realization sinks in, her mom's voice distracts her away.

"Do you really think he's the one?" she asks, as skeptically as she had all those years ago when Kim first decided to move to Montana. Her mother had liked Nick, of course, because he was a likable guy, but Kim had known from the start that her parents were worried about her. They'd worried about her moving to a red state, about her trusting a man she'd seen a handful of times since they'd met. They hadn't understood the idea of purple pockets or internet dating, and while they supported Kim's love of rifle showmanship, they'd never trusted Nick owning more than three guns.

"What's the point, is all I'm asking," Kim's mom laughs in response to Kim's unspoken comment. "It seems strange to collect weapons..."

"Mom, he hunts !" she chides. "And anyway, he isn't the worst one out there."

"That's exactly what I worry about," her mom says. "What if something bad were to happen? His family is gone, and we'll be so far away..."

Kim sighs, the words stinging more than they should. The aqua colored sky begins to churn outside, the light filtering through a strange red haze. Inside, the sunlight reflects off the white counters, nearly blinding Kim.

"I'll be okay," she says, reciting an amalgamation of all her old defenses as her eyes readjust. "There are a lot of good people out there. They rely on each other a whole lot more than we do here."

"I worry about you, Kimiko. That's all." Her mother sighs sadly. "You'll understand when you have kids of your own."

"But mom..."

Kim tries to tell her that she already has a kid, but she can't muster up the words. After all, shouldn't she know? Wouldn't Kim have visited? Wouldn't she have brought Carmina into this very kitchen, all the surfaces glowing with light, and introduced them? Wouldn't her mom have been there when Carmina was born?

"It's unseasonably warm, isn't it," her dad remarks at the table. He's sitting there with a magazine as if he'd been there the whole time. He, like the rest of the room, glows from the inside, as though a flashlight were shining through his skin. It shines through the wood of the table, through her mom's curious smile, until Kim has to turn her face away. The room grows hotter and hotter, and in the far-off whistling wind she hears the first lonesome wail of an air-raid siren beginning to pick up. There's a blinding burst of light and howling wind, and Kim lifts her hands to her face, desperate not to look directly at the blast —

The bedroom is dark, warm and humid. At first, Kim doesn't know where she is, struggling to sit up, desperate to run, until all at once reality comes crashing back into focus. It doesn't help that she's pinned beneath Nick's arm and Carmina's full dead-sleeping weight.

Normally, moving would be out of the question. But Kim doesn't want this dream clinging to her memory, and she desperately wants to put some space between her and the nuclear glow of her mother's smile. Hell, maybe it isn't the dream at all — maybe it's the heat that's making lying here unbearable. Maybe it's the extra weight pinning her down, or a panic attack waiting in the wings — whatever it is, she needs to get up and run from it. As she worms her way out from underneath her family, Kim can feel the pressure building behind her eyes, fueled by the need to jog out the tension that will soon become unbearable. She needs to exercise the nightmare away before it sticks around and ruins the rest of her night.

It's probably already too late for that. The back of Kim's eyes are itchy with tears as she struggles to get free. She's already memorized her mom's smile, trapped forever in radioactive amber, and that alone is enough trauma to fuel ten more terrible dreams.

Nick and Carmina remain peacefully asleep, even as Kim extracts herself from the bed. That's good — the last thing she needs to do is worry Nick, whose own sleeping habits have just started to even out. He'll try to keep her company, and they'll just wind up keeping each other up, which wasn't ideal back in the day and definitely isn't ideal now .

Even though Carmina sleeps like the dead and Nick isn't likely to hear her, Kim is careful to watch out for the creakiest steps as she heads downstairs. Sunrise isn't for a few hours yet, but Kim isn't going to let that stop her from insomnia-pacing around her own home. It used to be that Kim would jog laps on the runway to clear her head, but that isn't going to work nowadays. She still wants to, of course; she's desperate to step out into the relatively cool night air and run herself ragged enough to pass out again, but that's out of the question. She's not about to break her own rule.

It's only once Kim is downstairs that she starts to relax, lighting one of the candles left out on the table. The light is just barely enough to see by, and Kim struggles to find something to clean up or organize in the half-dark. All of the coping mechanisms that got her through eight years of bunker living have fallen flat in the face of the apocalypse, but that doesn't keep her from trying them over and over again. Some techniques are more adaptable, but it isn't like she can dig into reorganizing the hangar for Nick at... whatever time it is now. Not without somebody catching her breaking her own rules about going outside alone.

If she had any books worth reading, she could throw herself into that, but she can't bear the manuals and children's books right now. Maybe if there was a radio station she could listen to... but no, she wouldn't want to risk burning out the radio after everything Nick and John went through to fix it. There's not going to be another Hail Mary when it comes to that kind of repair.

Her mom would probably use this time to make a series of endless lists. Grocery lists, to-do lists, lists of pros and cons for buying new appliances or inviting Kim's awful step-grandmother to her wedding... there was nothing that her mom couldn't organize into a column of bullet points or check-boxes. Kim could probably do with a few lists herself, but where is she supposed to get the paper? And even if a supply list wouldn't be a waste of resources, where would she go to fill it? It's going to be a while before they can pick up flour from the farmer's market again, that's for sure.

Well, at least wasting some paper will keep her mind busy. There's too much stuff they need, and she's going to drive herself crazy trying to remember all of it. Anyway, they've been using decades-old junk mail to prop up the radio desk — it can't be wasted if it was already trash, right?

She's careful in her search for a decent piece of mail, not wanting to tip the radio over as she jimmies a yellowed envelope from under the desk. It's only once she's back at the table with a worn-down nub of a pencil that she finds herself hesitating. After all, what is she supposed to write? What could they reasonably expect to get out here, with no supply chain to rely on? Everything that comes to mind is laughably improbable at best.

It doesn't really matter, though, does it? They're probably not going to be able to find anything besides what they can hunt and grow for themselves, so any food she writes down will be wishful thinking. John had offered to help their scavenging efforts, but it isn't likely they'll find working walkie-talkies or a new car. People who have been above ground longer than the Ryes have already taken over key resource points, and they'll be hard-pressed to give up things without a fair trade. And until they can reliably communicate with one another, trading is going to be nearly impossible. One day, maybe, they'll have trading posts and reliable supply chains, but like other pieces of their fractured society, that's not coming for a long time yet.

Staring at a blank piece of paper is worse than writing something stupid down, and so Kim quickly scribbles the word flour across the top of the envelope. She can't imagine that's going to be a reasonable expectation for a while, but at least it's on paper — and it's outlandish enough that it encourages her to continue, her thoughts darting between impossible dreams and honest reality. Salt , she thinks might not be quite as hard to find. Sugar, probably impossible. For now, they can hope for honey instead.

It goes on like that, growing more abstract as Kim lets herself dream. Milk, eggs, bread, twinkies , meat grinder, hamburgers, tomatoes, grains (seeds), grill (charcoal), gas, gas canisters (storage), duct tape, insulation foam (spray, sheet), toilet cleaner, toilet, hot water, plumbing, bathtub! , tarp, doors, ammunition, floodlights, security system, cans + string (security) —

Her flow is interrupted by a soft, distant thud somewhere upstairs. Kim listens for a few tense seconds, waiting to hear boots on the roof, the hiss of a walkie-talkie, or the slide-click of a gun being cocked. Without the cult, those fears go unrealized, and Kim slumps tiredly into her seat. She's just as paranoid about armed cultists tonight as she is about wild animals, although she's sure that's just her nightmare talking. Eden's Gate is nowhere near the threat it used to be.

The relief is short-lived, as is her solitude, when she hears an upstairs door click shut, followed by the sound of quick footsteps on the landing. The house is too old for any real attempt at stealth, but John tries to avoid the worst offending stairs on his way down. He only realizes Kim is there when he notices the candlelight, coming to an abrupt stop on the last step, one hand clutching the banister tight.

He's sweaty and out of sorts as he wipes his limp hair out of his face. "Oh," he rasps. "Kim."

He's surprised to see her. Kim should be surprised, too — it's one thing to know that John wanders the house at night, but it's another to see it happen in real-time. Honestly, she's barely phased by his appearance. John's sleep schedule has been bunker-erratic ever since Nick brought him home, and no amount of diurnal activity has managed to change it. If anything, Kim suspects he gets less sleep now than he did underground. It isn't for lack of trying, she's sure, but this isn't the first time she's heard him stumbling around in the dark. It's just the first time she's been in the same boat.

"Late night?" she asks.

John struggles once more with the hair in his eyes before giving up. "Just needed some air," he rasps, minding his volume. "Some water."

"Don't mind me," she replies, surprising herself with her own ambivalence. Knowing he moves around while they're sleeping is one thing, but seeing it should be upsetting. It should bother her when he avoids creaky floorboards on his way to help himself to their fresh water. It should make her angry to see him using their resources; at the very least, it should have upset her back when it began normalizing. But, honestly, it hadn't. Kim had just been relieved to see John acting like a person, and not just a haunted shell.

John wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, regarding Kim with deep uncertainty that Kim mostly makes out from his hunched shoulders and tense posture. He tries to hide just how lost he is, but Kim never misses it when he slips. It's not that she's sympathetic towards him, exactly, but she knows just enough about his history to want to pity him.

He doesn't speak, not even after the silence stretches out. Maybe he's waiting for her to make the first move?

The thought almost makes her laugh, but she still cuts him some slack. "Can't sleep either, huh?" she asks.

"Hardly ever," John replies, although he clearly isn't looking for reassurance. He takes a step away from the kitchen, hovering in the nebulous space between the table and the stairs. He's usually quick to leave Kim alone — quicker than he is with Nick, anyway — and so she appreciates the fact that he doesn't run now.

His voice cracks on its low pitch as he haltingly asks, "What are you doing?"

For just a second, Kim imagines giving John the cold shoulder and telling him it's none of his business. But the thought fades as quickly as it comes; it's replaced by the knowledge that John is just as dependent on the family's supplies as she is. Anything she needs, he'll also need. And besides, she's almost positive he'd been in control of the cult's supplies, which means he might have an idea of what they should realistically be looking for. He would know what the cult had planned to do, and she could probably translate that into useful advice.

"Just making a list," she sighs. It sounds stupid enough to make her wince, and she concedes with a joke, "You know, for the next time we're at Wal-Mart."

John huffs in amusement and approaches the table. Now that she's got an audience, Kim wants nothing more to do with the list, and so she pushes towards him before slumping back into her chair. Instead of the quick, distracted glance she had been expecting, John leans over to read it in full. The longer he reads, the more embarrassed Kim is of her late-night daydreaming, but he finishes with the list before she can grab it back.

"Some of these are... more manageable than others," he says, using the same kind of diplomacy he utilizes whenever Nick makes a particularly dumb comment.

"Uh, yeah ," she says, embarrassed even if she isn't surprised. "I know. It was just... taking up space in my head. I needed to write it down, otherwise, I'm going to be up all night."

Kim runs her hand through her hair, waiting for John to retreat as quickly as he'd arrived. Instead, John rereads the list once more. Kim can see his amusement much more plainly as he leans into the candlelight. It highlights the deep bags under his eyes as well, but who isn't carrying that particular mark of exhaustion these days?

"Ammunition isn't as high on the list as I'd imagined," he comments.

"We're okay on bullets for now," she replies. "And it's not like there's much to spare."

Whether or not that satisfies John, Kim isn't sure. He only hums in response, eyes roaming down the paper.

"I see you didn't bother to add more guns."

"We don't need more guns," Kim insists, although it's not strictly true. She's just hesitant to overwhelm the house with firearms. They've been getting on just fine with what they have — any more, and they might turn into a target themselves. One day, sure, they'll need to find something for Carmina to carry on her own, but that day is a long, long way away.

She doesn't need to explain herself to anyone, let alone John Seed, but as he watches her and waits for more, she feels compelled to justify herself. "I don't think we're going to find spare guns or ammunition just lying around, and I'm not about to take them by force. We've managed just fine with what we have."

"For now," John points out. "Things could change. It won't stay this calm forever."

"Why not?" Kim retorts, feeling childish and petulant as soon as the words leave her mouth. "Why do you even care? You're certainly not getting armed."

John clicks his tongue against his teeth. "It's not that," he says, only to abruptly roll over with a muttered, "Never mind."

If John thinks he can avoid the conversation that easily, he has another thing coming. "No, what is it?" she asks.

"It's nothing," he sighs, as if arrogantly dismissing her will keep Kim from pushing. When Kim only frowns unhappily back at him, he reluctantly relents. "Joseph had said taking your weapons was the only way we could ensure you wouldn't use them after the Collapse. And if we didn't lock them away, it would be all you would look for." He stares at the list, although Kim imagines his thoughts are about fifty miles away. "It's stunning how wrong he was about everything. But there are reminders everywhere."

John rarely speaks about Joseph; Kim hasn't heard him broach the subject of his own volition before. The only person who ever talks to him about his brother is Jerome, and those conversations are private and short. Having John bring him up with almost no needling feels like a step forward, even if it's only a small one. Even though John is anxious saying Joseph's name.

It's so easy to forget how much control Joseph had over John. Kim has to make a concentrated effort now and again to remind herself that Joseph hadn't only brainwashed normal, desperate people, but his own family. She can't imagine doing anything to Carmina or Nick that would turn them into the angry, anxious mess John had been even before the Collapse. Not even if it meant they would always do what they were told and would trust her implicitly. She couldn't bear it if Nick ever talked about her the way John talks about Joseph. It's late enough that Kim finds herself wondering how Joseph can even sleep at night.

"It's stupid," John says, taking Kim's contemplative silence as disapproval. "I should have known better."

He inhales, letting out a shaky breath, and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, they're suspiciously shiny in the candlelight. It sparks a genuine pang of sympathy in Kim, but there's nothing she can say or do to help him. Nothing she's done so far has made an impact.

"Some of this is reasonable enough," John says, desperately trying to redirect the conversation back to the list. It's an obvious, flat-footed attempt to avoid a tender spot in his psyche, but Kim is willing to let it slide.

"Sure, eventually . But we're a long way off from hot baths and backyard barbecues, much less flour and sugar."

"Those are... less reasonable," he admits, dragging his finger across one of the harder to come by items. Still, he isn't nearly as deterred as she is. "But not everything is impossible to come by. Insulation, for one. Tarp, duct tape. Components like that should be easy enough to find." He taps his finger against the envelope. "And there still places to investigate. Root cellars nobody bothered to touch. Caches you never found. Things hidden in places you wouldn't know to look, especially if you weren't in the Project."

Frowning, Kim rereads a few of the items upside-down from her side of the table. "It's been almost nine years," Kim points out, reluctant to get her hopes up so easily. "Isn't it more likely that everything good has already been discovered?"

Still... John's mentioned secret Eden's Gate supplies before. Given the size of the project and how long they were operating in the county, it's not impossible that some of their hidden stashes haven't been found yet. And they were planning for the apocalypse, right? They'd likely have saved things that could last for a long time. John isn't wrong — more ammunition and more weapons would be helpful. At the very least, they could help arm other survivors.

"It wouldn't hurt to have a look, I guess," Kim relents after thinking it over. "How good is your memory?"

That earns her a rare, quiet chuckle from John. "Middling to poor," he admits, "Although if I had a map, it would help. It would make it easier to mark what I remember."

"To think, it only took nine years and an apocalypse for you to finally hand over the intel."

John huffs, but his response is only mildly offended. "Do you want what I have to offer, or not?"

"Don't be like that," Kim says, placating him with a smile. "It would be a big help. It'll help me sleep better, anyway."

It seems there's more on John's mind than Kim teasing him, since he takes the non-apology and moves on without a fight. "Jacob had caches buried for after the Reaping," he says. "They'll most likely be weapons, but he was... hard to read. It could be that he stored survival equipment in one. There were a few in the valley, but most of them would be in the mountains."

Kim shakes her head at that. "As far as I've heard, nobody's made it very far north. And the stories I have heard aren't good. The dam broke, so a lot of the area is flooded, and supposedly the radiation is still pretty bad."

John hums briefly as he considers the facts. He leans contemplatively over the list, and for a moment Kim wonders if this was a common occurrence for him before the Collapse. How many late nights did he spend bent over a map while his brothers watched and waited for his decisions? She has to suspect it was a lot, because this is the first time she's seen John look even remotely confident.

That confidence is clear in his voice as he remarks defiantly, "I suppose the valley will do until we get airborne again. Let flooding stop us then ."

"Oh, okay," Kim laughs, checking her volume before she lets her amusement wake up the rest of her family. "You are just like Nick. Neither of you are going to give up until you get back in the sky, huh?"

"Exactly," John replies. "I won't trust anybody else to do it. Realistically, a helicopter would be the best option..."

"Oh, right," Kim chuckles. " Realistically ."

John taps accusingly at the list and raises an eyebrow at her. "Less realistic than hot water and iodized table salt?"

If Kim didn't know better, she might think that John is actually teasing her. He normally saves that kind of attitude for Nick, who prefers arguing through and around problems. Kim, on the other hand, rarely has the energy to deal with avoidance tactics, and so she tends to demand his sincerity. Thankfully, the liminal time of just-about-three has softened her stance on the matter.

"Okay," she relents with a smile. "Sure. Might as well add helicopters to the list." It would be a pretty big get for them, all things considered. And anyway, John's right — Kim wouldn't trust flying in a plane jury-rigged together by anyone other than Nick.

But that's a resource that will come in the nebulous future, and Kim's too realistic to worry years in advance right now. There are more pressing concerns to deal with, first — like food, water and security. Any caches John can find will at least fulfill one of those priorities, although Kim can't imagine the cult storing anything other than ammunition and weapons. But even if the caches don't pan out, they might find valuable scrap, like logs for firewood, furniture they can re-purpose, or even old survivalist caches that nobody thought to dig up after the world ended. And now that there are four of them, Kim won't feel so uncomfortable when Nick wants to drive to the middle of nowhere looking for supplies.

Kim sighs with relief, feeling a weight roll off her back that she hadn't been trying to remove. "Things will be a lot easier if you can help us with supplies. And I'll feel better about Nick going out if he has somebody to watch his back."

John pulls the same face he usually makes when someone implies they trust him. Kim could ignore it — after all, John doesn't need to believe they trust them for it to be true. Too bad for him, it's too late at night for her to turn a blind eye. "Oh, get over it," she tells him, unable to help a lopsided smile at his offended scowl. "I seriously doubt you're planning on murdering us at this point. And I know Nick is smart enough to knock the crap out of you if he thinks you've changed your mind."

"I won't," John immediately replies.

Kim believes him, if only because there's nobody left for John to rely on other than them. "Good. Because if I can trust you, that means I won't worry about Nick when he decides to go farther than town. It means we can spend more meaningful time with Carmina, too. Anyway, Nick likes bossing you around, and you like being bossed around, so everybody wins."

John ducks his head, embarrassed, but Kim laughs to let him know she's only teasing. "Seriously," she says, relenting for his benefit, "It does help. It's good to have somebody else to rely on."

"I... want to be helpful," John replies, although Kim suspects that he might be confusing his wants and needs again. It's not quite a compulsion anymore, but even John's most heated attempts to argue about a job end with him rolling over quick. He hasn't outright refused to do something, and Kim doesn't think he ever will, if only to prove to himself one more time that he might actually be capable of change.

It might get annoying one day, but for now, Kim can respect his intense desire to make amends. She just wishes he would accept some form of gratitude or praise in return, to make it less awkward on her end.

Kim rests her hands momentarily on the tabletop, tapping her fingers briefly against the wood. "Okay," she softly declares, "I think I'm going to try to get back to sleep." Whatever she winds up dreaming about now, she's pretty sure it won't be the same awful nightmare again — and that's at least partially because of John's intervention. She figures it's worth telling him as much. "You made a pretty good distraction, so thanks."

He nods immediately in response. "Of course," he replies, momentarily bewildered as he checks Kim's expression for signs of sarcasm or annoyance. His posture relaxes as Kim stands, although Kim imagines his relief is temporary. He's pretty good at working himself up into anxious frenzies — staying out of them is another matter entirely.

"Try to get some sleep yourself, okay?" Kim suggests.

There's no way John means it when he says, "I will," but at least he's willing to placate her instead of getting mad at her being concerned in the first place.

"And try not to wake up Carmina."

John nods affirmatively. Kim's positive that he'll sneak outside once she's gone upstairs, but at least he's waiting patiently for her to leave. If it weren't for her returning exhaustion, Kim might've used him as an excuse to do her own late-night workout, but it'll have to do to merely turn a blind eye to him edging around her rule about going out after dark alone. Kim and Nick have both been woken up by the exterior doors, but John never goes beyond the planters out back, and he always closes up when he comes back in. Kim could call him out on it, but... well, it seems like he needs the freedom.

Kim says goodnight and is mildly surprised when John returns it without any lingering sarcasm. He must be pretty tired, but that's not really a surprise. Hopefully, he'll try to take some of her concern to heart, or at least pretend for her sake.

Although Carmina is definitely still asleep when Kim returns to the bedroom, Nick is watching her with bleary-eyed curiosity. He waits until she's closed the door to speak up, and even then it's a dull, quiet whisper.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

He doesn't mind waiting for Kim to creep back to bed before she answers. "It is," she tells him, gratefully crawling into bed as he opens his arms for her. He folds his arms over her shoulders, letting her wiggle into a comfortable spot before she explains in a whisper. "I needed to move around, and John came downstairs. That's all."

"Hope he wasn't a creep," Nick mumbles into her hair. Kim sighs laughingly into his collarbone, which is already sticking to her cheek with sweat. There's no way she's going to be wrapped up in Nick's arms all night, not when it's this hot, but she'll appreciate it while she's got it.

"Not yet," Kim says. "Just talking about supplies." She presses a kiss to Nick's shoulder and whispers, "We'll talk about it in the morning."

Nick hums happily into Kim's hair. "Sounds good to me," he mumbles. The less they talk about John Seed, the better, after all. Especially right now, when they're tangled up in bed with their daughter snoring next to them; there's no room for serious conversation, and there's absolutely no room for John. There's no space for the nightmares that woke her, either; as Kim falls asleep, Nick's hand tangled up in her hair, she thankfully forgets everything save for a warm, melancholy amber glow.

#fc5 #fcnd #john seed #kim rye #far cry new dawn #its only the first 5 right i can't remember #i feel like i was channeling james a janice here for a minute #HEY GUYS welcome to the kill count where we'll be tallying up all the skeletons in john seed's closet #mercyverse #my fic

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

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“I’m a dick, I’m addicted to you”

Do you add extra letters to words sometimes? (ex. haaaa) Yeahhh.

Do you like the letter Z or Q better? I don’t favor one over the other. Who would you like to be stuck on an island with? I’d like to not be stuck on an island at all. What's your favorite quote? I have a lot of favorite quotes. I just love relatable stuff that puts into words how I’m feeling or what I’m thinking better than I can. I struggle with expressing myself and putting it into words, so. Name one random fact about your best friend. She loves the ID channel.

Do you like vegetables or fruit better? Gonna be honest, I don’t eat much of either one. Especially, fruit... it’s been a few years since I’ve had any. :X I have spinach, potatoes, and green onions pretty often, but that’s all the veggies I’ve had in a few years as well. In comparison to my zero fruit intake it’s something at least, ha. There are fruits I like and a few more veggies as well, but I just haven’t had them in awhile. What brand of shoes do you wear? Adidas. What's your favorite smiley face? On the computer I use :) Do you believe that if someone goes to bed thinking of u, u dream of them? I’ve heard that before and it can be a cute thought, but nah. Have you ever snitched on someone for cheating? No. Do you own a Snuggie? I do. What's your favorite number? 8. Which of the 7 dwarves are you most like from Snow White? Sleepy. What's the last movie you watched? Dumb and Dumber yesterday. What's your favorite month? October and December.

“I’m alright”

Do you like the smell of campfires? Yesss. If you could do one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be? I don’t know. Do you like eggnog? Yes. Is there a song out right now that you can't stand? I haven’t heard any new music recently. I haven’t been listening to music lately. If you could stay one age forever, what age would you pick? I’d be fine if I just stayed 31 here on out. What's your favorite state? I like my state the best out of the few states I’ve been to (the others being Arizona, Idaho, and Georgia). There’s a few I’d like to visit that could potentially take the top spot for me, though. Have you ever went in public with your tag still on your clothes? I don’t think so.

Would you say your loud or shy? I’m quiet and shy. What's your favorite symbol on the computer? I don’t have one. Are you afraid of clowns? Pennywise is awesome. Do you wear glasses? I do. Ever rode on a horse? Just on one at the pumpkin patch as a kid. Poor horse, guided around in a circle all day. Do you have trouble saying or spelling some words? I think I spell pretty well. I stumble over my words when I talk sometimes, but I think my pronunciation is pretty good. Have you ever thought something was just to good to be true? Many times. And when I think that, it’s usually true. Do you like potatoes? I love potatoes.

“I’m in trouble, I’m an addict, I’m addicted to this girl”

Are you random? My thoughts and dreams are really random, but I wouldn’t describe myself that way. I’d say I’m predictable and boring. Do you believe that aliens are real? I don’t know. Certainly not the weird looking green creatures that are usually depicted for some reason. Do you sleep with the TV on? I do. I’ve done that ever since I was a kid. What's the longest you've slept in? Like 5PM or so. Have you ever seen a hairy toe? Yes. What's the last thing you watched on TV? Roseanne this morning. Do you have a song stuck in your head? Not at the moment. Who do you talk to the most? My mom and brother. What's the first thing you get on when the internet comes up? When the internet comes up oh man, was this made in the late 90s, early 2000s? lol. The first thing I do when I get on my laptop is continue scrolling through my Tumblr feed or do a survey. When's the last time you were sick? I’ve been sick with something for the past week. And no, it’s not the rona.

Which is your favorite: Music, Dogs, Shoes, Books, Jonas Brother? I love a variety of music, I love doggos in general, but I’m biased towards Labs and German Shepherds, Adidas are my favorite shoes, and back in my die hard Jonas Brothers days I was a total Joe girl. What color is your hair brush? Rose gold. Do you enjoy arcades? I did when I was a kid. We used to have one at my mall back when I was a kid that was a fun place to go. And Chuck E Cheese, ha. Have you ever liked 2 people at once? Yes. Have you taken a nap today? Not so far.

“show me the meaning of being lonely”

Would you ever want to be in a horror movie? I think it’d certainly come off as believable because I’m such a scardy cat and super jumpy. Being chased would genuinely scare me even it was acting. Even knowing what was going to happen I know I’d still be jumpy. Only thing is I don’t have the scream down that you gotta have for a horror movie. Have you ever been to Washington D.C? Nope. Do you hate when girls have guyish names and boys have girly names? I really don’t care. Have you lost or gained any weight since February? I know I haven’t gained any weight. I’ve probably lost some weight, which is really not good for someone who’s already underweight. Have you ever felt like no one wanted to be around you? Yes. I don’t even want to be around me. I often feel like I’m such a burden and annoyance. It’s my own thinking and feeling, though. My family doesn’t do or say anything to make me feel that way. I have had other people make me feel that way, though. Have you ever had to use a pay phone? Yes. Have you listened to music today? Nope. It’s been awhile since I’ve listened to music, actually. Do you only drink bottled water? Yes. Don’t judge me. I bet someone is on your mind right now, right? No, actually. Do you like writing in pen or pencil better? Pen, definitely. What's the last magazine you bought? I don’t even remember it’s been so long. Has anyone in your family ever forgot your birthday? My parents, brother, and close family members always remember. Was it any of your friends birthday in the past week? My older brother’s birthday was a couple days ago. Is anyone else in the same room as you? Nope. Are you one of the popular people in your grade? I’m done with school, but no I was never popular.

“you never call me when you’re sober”

What word best describes you in the dictonary? ”Depressed”, “Awkward”, “Lame”, “Loser”, “Ugly”... Do you like Soy Milk? Yeah, I’m lactose intolerant. I use that or almond milk. I don’t drink any kind of milk by itself, but I use those in stuff like coffee drinks and cereal. And for dunking my cookies and brownies in. Where were you at 10:30am yesterday? Right here in bed where I spent all weekend. I was having a really rough weekend. I felt really shitty and had zero energy. I couldn’t even drag myself outta bed for coffee, so that’s how you know I was feeling really bad. Thankfully, my mom and brother brought me a Starbucks. Do you think ghosts are real? I believe in spirits, but not actual Caspers. Do you know anyone who has been attacked by a shark? No. What is your best friend's mom name? Lupe. Have you ever made out in a movie theatre? No. What part of your body do you wash first? My arms and work my way down. Do you have an innie or an outie? Innie. How do you think the dinosaurs died? An asteroid. What's your favorite flavor of Pringles? Sour cream and onion, cheddar and sour cream, pizza, and ranch. What was the last thing you got grounded for? Something when I was like 12. Did you go to a water park last summer? I don’t go to the water park ever. What shoe do you put on first? I think the right. Finish the sentence: Girls.. Just wanna have fun.

“I think we’re alone now”

Have you ever had a song or poem written about you? No. Did you have a nickname growing up? My family called my Noodles, ha. When was the last time you played the air guitar? I don’t know. Have you ever biten your toenail? Ew, no. I’m not flexible enough to even do that, but I would never want to so it’s fine. Have you ever been dared to do something that you regretted? No. I didn’t do dares. Favorite website? Tumblr and YouTube. Worst thing that has ever happened to you? Probably the incident that made me a paraplegic at 7 months old. That’s certainly top of the list. Best thing that has happened to you? My doggos are definitely amongst the top. Best friend? My mom. If you could dye your hair any color, what color would it be? I dye it red and would like to continue to do so. Do you have a wii? It’s my brother’s, but since we live in the same house and I’ve used it, too, I’m gonna say yes. Most used phrase on IM? I don’t remember, it’s been over a decade since I’ve used IM. Have you ever heard of The Beatles? Of course. Have you ever wanted to give money to a charity? Yes, and I have given to charities.

“Who says you’re not beautiful?”

Would you ever want to have 14 kids? Uh, noooo. I don’t even want one. Are you wearing any bracelets right now? Nope. Do you have any jewelry that once belonged to an old family member? No. Do you dream every night? I usually do. Give me on of your goals Just taking it day by day. Do you like skinny jeans? Yeah, those are the only jeans I have. Do you ever say stuff that you don’t mean? It happens. Have you ever said "I love you" and not meant it? Yeah, but that was back when I was 16 and felt pressured into saying it back to my boyfriend at the time even though I didn’t have those feelings. Ever since then I haven’t thrown those words around lightly. What is your dream guy/girl? A patient, understanding, caring, loving, trustworthy, good sense of humor kind of guy. Do you hate when people overract? I can definitely be one of those people that overreact. And I know I’m overreacting when it’s happening, but I can’t help myself. I sometimes see people in situations where I’m like, ‘omg, they’re totally overreacting’ and think it could be handled differently, but yet I do the same thing. When was the last time you used the oven? It’s been awhile, actually... I don’t remember. Have you ever wanted to be free like a bird? ”And I’m as free as a bird now... and this bird you cannot change.” Are you a worrier? Oh am I ever. Does your house have an attic? Nope. Are you going fishing this weekend? No. I don’t go fishing.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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816

Gonna do a before and after of one of the first surveys I took when I was FOURTEEN. Fucking wild that I’ve been doing this for nearly a decade. Kinda my way of celebrating the fact that I’ve just been reunited with my old blog, which Tumblr has apparently changed the URL of. Baffled by the move but still stoked, and @a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse is absolutely the coolest person for being able to find it haha. Let’s gooooo 1. Are you registered to vote? No. I still have 3 years to go. < That’s so precious. I’ve been a voter for four years now. I registered the second I turned 18 and I remember being very excited to make it to the presidential elections because only a handful of people from my high school batch were 18 by the time of the elections. 2. When days go by, do you cross them off on the calendar? Only when I’m counting down for something. < This still sounds like something I would do, but I don’t really get to anymore because I have digital calendars on my phone and laptop now. 3. Are you currently counting down to something? If so, what? Summer vacation! 4 days left! < Again, so cute. There’s no countdown that exists because I honestly don’t know when it will be okay enough to go out like normal again, but I am waiting for Covid to go away or at least for a vaccine to be available.

No #4? 5. Ever got injured at work? What happened? Nope. < I sprained my ankle at one of the parking lots in school, while walking to my car. Worst thing was it happened in front of an ongoing rally, and I heard their chants slightly falter when they saw me fall. I tried to play it cool, but my foot clearly felt fucked and someone had to hold my arm as I hopped to my car.

6. What color is your roof? Brown. < Stop pretending like you have a roof, Robyn. The house has always had a rooftop.

7. Do you use MySpace or Facebook more? Neither. < I was still far too young when MySpace peaked so I never did get to participate in its glory days. I definitely use Facebook a lot more, then and now. 8. Last time you sharpened a pencil? When I took a diagnostic test last Monday. < Sometime in 2019 when I was still heavily into coloring and I bought several coloring books and a pack of coloring pencils. I loved coloring and wish I kept it up, but it was just a bit of a hassle for me to sharpen every ten minutes or so. 9. List all the people in your phone under T: Zero, zilch, nada. No phone. < A high school batchmade named Dani, a college colleague named Kate, and a couple of aunts and uncles whose contacts start with Tito and Tita. 10. How old were you when you got into text messaging? I once had a super obsessive text problem when I was 11, I think? < That would be the first time I got hooked with texting, but I got my first phone when I was 7 and was already texting by then. Mostly my parents and grandpa, but still. 11. Do you pay rent to your parents? No. < No. They’ve already told me they won’t pressure me to do so either, but out of gratefulness for taking care of me for 20+ years I have absolutely no problems covering some of the bills when the time comes. 12. What do you think of Obama’s new healthcare bill? I don’t know a lot about it. < Honestly, still same. That’s another country’s politics altogether and we have enough issues in our own nation as it is. I do pay attention to US issues that are more universal like LGBT issues, police brutality against black people, Trump as a person...but not the more in-depth ones like healthcare or student debt. 13. How many icons are on your desktop? 34. < Exactly half of that. 14. Do you spit or swallow? Get outta here!!! < Still can’t relate. 15. Ever wrote something on a bathroom wall? Nope. < Eugh no, public bathrooms are so nasty. I don’t usually touch anything in them other than the faucet. I’ve written on other things though, like the desks in school. 16. What’s your definition of a slut? Uh. < Someone who often has casual sex with a lot of people, is how I understand it. 17. If you use the word “slut”, do you apply it to men who do the same thing as what you listed above? Nah. < I don’t really use the word. 18. Do you dye eggs for Easter? I did once, in a children’s party. < Yeah, just that one time at my second cousins’ place when they were in the mood to paint on eggs and invited me and my siblings. 19. What did you do on the first day of spring? Never experienced spring. < We don’t have spring. 23. Are you currently crushing on anyone? No. < Yes. 24. What color hair did the last person you kissed have? NKSB. < LOOOOOOOOOL I spent like two minutes puzzling over this like who tf is NKSB??? Eventually realized this just meant ‘Never Kissed Since Birth’ oh my god 14 year old Robyn you were SO uncool. Anyway, her hair is black. 25. Do you stand up to say the pledge in school? We don’t have a school pledge, but we do recite our country’s pledge and yes, we stand up every time we say it. < Not anymore in university. Everyone just kinda does their own thing in college and we’re never gathered as one student body for anything, except for graduation. 26. Do you like your eye color? God no. It’s so boring. < I mean yeah it is a bit boring, but we kinda have no choice. Unless you go to West Asia which is nearing Europe as it is, nearly all Asians have brown eyes and black hair. 27. What brand of orange juice did you last drink? Zesto. < That’s the only brand of orange juice I’m okay with drinking, even eight years later. 28. Pens or pencils? Pens. < Still feel the same. 29. Last skirt you wore and why? My school skirt, because I have to go to school. < Omfg again, this is so precious. The last one I wore was my denim skirt, but it’s also been a while since I wore that because one of its buttons has since popped out and I never got around to having it fixed, leaving me with no skirts. 30. Last time you wore heels, what kind were they? A prom I went to. I actually have no idea what kind of heels they are so I’m just gonna say old-women heels. < They were stilettos, you dumbass. I also wore a pair of stilettos the last time I wore heels. They’re my favorite kind, so. 31. Shoes you wear the most? My Keds. < My pair of Onitsuka Tiger sneakers. . 32. Favorite quote at the moment? “YOU DUMB BITCH! I’M NOT HOLDING A MICROPHONE! ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?” - CM Punk < Holy crap, I do not remember this quote at all and had to look it up on YouTube and – no regrets. Watching it made so many memories come rushing back lmao that clip is hilarious; Punk is the greatest. Right now I don’t really have a favorite quote. 33. What was the last magazine article you read about? I forgot. < It’s from the website version of the magazine, but the last article I read covered a viral Facebook post wherein someone had photoshopped the faces of The Big Bang Theory boys onto the traditional graduation photos of my university out of boredom. Article is here for anyone who wants to see how well the pictures turned out lol. 34. What do you think about communism? I don’t know enough about it. < I completely support the progressive youth orgs, especially the ones in my university, that are aligned with communist, socialist, and Marxist ideals. They speak the truth more than any other orgs, so I don’t shy away from defending them or promoting their ideals, especially on social media, even if it puts me in danger. 35. Are you planning on going to college? If so, which one? Of course. I want to study in Ateneo. < CAN WE CANCEL 14 YEAR OLD ROBYN?????? What a disappointment omg. You were always meant to be in UP, you weirdo. 22 year old me takes that appalling statement back lol I can’t even begin to imagine spending my college years in Ateneo. 36. What’s your favorite flower? Ugh I hate flowers. < Peonies and roses. 37. What’s the nearest beach? I think it’s like…600 km away + a 2 hour boat ride. < No it is not. There’s a beach I come back to in Nasugbu and that’s only 100 km away. 38. Ever been to Florida? Nope. < Still nope. 39. How old is your brother’s best friend? He’s probably 9 as my brother’s 9. < I don’t know if he has one and I don’t really care anymore. 40. What type of car did you ride in last? A Kia van. < Sksksksks this was referring to the school bus I used to ride omg :( I was last in our Vitara, when I had to go to the hospital to get some tests done back when I still had a pesky fever. 42. Are you excited for summer 2013? Fuck yeah. < I honestly don’t remember how it ultimately went, but apparently I was excited for it so that answers the question. 43. What class were your parents (ex. class of ‘75)? They’re the same age so batch ‘89. < There we go. 44. Are you in debt right now? For what? No. < Kinda-ish? I promised my sister I’d pay her for helping me out with iMovie (I wanted to make Gab a video for her birthday, but had never done it before), but I haven’t had the chance to do it since I only have big bills at the moment. She’s asking for ₱200 but I only have ₱1000s in my wallet, so I can’t pay her for now. 45. If you’re old enough, do you have a credit card? If you’re not old enough, do you want one when you’re older? I definitely want one. < Yep, still want one. Though I’ll need a crash course on how to use it because my parents never really taught me how cards work. 46. What color is your phone? No phone. < Apple calls it space gray but it’s really just black. 47. Have you ever had someone read a text message they weren’t supposed to see? Yes. < Yes. That person was me, and I accidentally read a text from my dad meant for only my mom when I was 5 because I had stubborn fingers that would click on anything. 48. What’s the minimum age you think someone should have a cell phone at? 10. < Holy cow, that’s a nope for me. I’d say 12 or 13. 49. Would you ever work night crew? Sure. < Yes. I’ve seen my girlfriend’s mom do it and honestly I find it pretty badass, especially because while everyone is stuck in traffic trying to get to work by 9 AM, she’s cruising down the highway on the opposite lane with no problem, to be home by 9 hahaha. 50. How old is the last person you texted? 41. < 22.

#survey #surveys

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twilightvolt · 5 years

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And so, another year has come to pass.....almost. ^ ^

Remember when i said i was branching away from Digimon back when i drew up Venom fanart? y’know, “I wanted to be more than what i used to be.” that being “a Digimon artist.”

2019 was basically just that. lots and lots and LOTS of fandom hopping.

If last year was me recovering from the pain and crippling anxiety of 2017, then this year was me finally getting up again, learning to stand up and live for myself rather than in fear of those i shouldn’t care about anymore. life still hasn’t been too kind to me even though, compared to last year, we’re in a better space. but i’ll get into more detail about that while i go through everything month by month on the clock.

Before we begin, if you’d like to see the previous years, here’s the links!

2018:https://twilightvolt.tumblr.com/post/181732950569/i-kinda-was-saving-this-for-when-i-had-the-time-to

2017:https://twilightvolt.tumblr.com/post/171806337539/a-3-month-late-art-summary-featuring-art-that-i

Might wanna grab your popcorn, my dudes. this is a long one.

January: On the Web

Coming out of 2018, things were pretty ok if i remember. i don’t remember much from this month aside from a few doodles i did like this one from when Spiderverse was the hottest thing. this was one of the last things i drew in my old style. before i decided to officially change things up in the next month.

February: Gotta Kick it Up

Pokemon Sword & Shield were announced and things were hype! oh, how things soured as the months went by. lol

But yeah, this was me taking that experimental sketchy pencil style from that Smash Bros. drawing and rolling with it all the way! it’s become my new go-to style and even though it’s still hella sketchy at times, i feel like it looks better in comparison to my old ink outlined drawings.

March: The Overdrive Dweebanoids

Oh right. my old Ben 10 phase that lasted for a millisecond in 2016 returned with a vengeance. and it was glorious. lmao

It spawned an AU that i didn’t delve into much, but if i ever get that spark for my favorite alien watch bearer, i’ll get back to it.

April: True Blue Lizard Bois

My Ben 10 streak continues and i was crankin’ out art left and right for it. i luved all the “doodle dumps” i made, but this drawing was wholesome and i picked it because of that.

To some extent, this could be a comparison between my past and my present. that being Overdrive!Ben being what, at the time, was my current obsession while Digimon!Vivi was a representation of where i used to be, back when i was starting out and entering Digimon OCTs on Deviantart.

May: Return to the Realm of Sleep ~HD ReMIX

Now THIS i feel was one of the grandest drawings i’ve done this year. hell, i even made a wallpaper out of it.

like, it was just a redraw of an old drawing from 2017. but to me, it was a way to tell me just how far i’ve come since then. and i couldn’t be happier.

This was also the month i rebooted my DA after a long time of inactivity!

....Iiiit didn’t really work much, but i’m still working on it. though i highly doubt it’s worth it considering most of the ones i used to hang with there are either people i don’t wanna associate with or people who left while i was gone. seriously, it’s a ghost town there.

June: Art Fight 2019 ~Dreams Vs. Nightmares~

Ahh, my second year of Art Fight. for this year’s event, i wanted to be a tad more grandiose. like drawing up this banner. i like being extra and stuff even if it kills my drawing hand, so yeah. lmao

...

Florida thunderstorms are friggin’ terrifying. idk HOW anyone can get used to that.

July: - BREAK DOWN -

Oookay, it was hard picking my favorite attack this year cuz i pretty much was satisfied with all of them. but i had to go with this attack because the artist i drew it for was someone i really admired for years and i’m just happy i could finally have an opportunity to draw them something. like, i luv how it came out, so yeah.

This was also the month i forced myself to finally do the thing and let go of the constant fear i felt towards certain people i used to hang with. while remembering 2017 will never NOT hurt, i can’t let that fear rule over me forever. i have to take control and not let it stop me from doing what i want. and that’s exactly what i did.

August: Ricky ~Sapphire, Emerald and AlphaSapphire

Oh yeah! after Art Fight ended, i returned to Pokemon randomly cuz i wanted to go back to my roots for a moment. revamping Ricky, formerly Ragna, and Yagami was something i’ve been meaning to do for awhile and it reignited a waning love for a series i started growing distant towards since Gen VII.

I used to really like Ricky’s old design even though i barely ever used him. but i guess this just shows how much more original i’ve gotten in terms of character design. ^ ^

September: Heartbeat Inferno

Now, i haven’t really talked much about what’s been going on life wise for most of this post, but trust me when i say irl, things weren’t really.....happening. like, it’s hard when you live (or rather, lived now) in a place with little job opportunity and you have NO experience whatsoever. the lack of progression must’ve hit something in me, so the week i drew this was me just....shifting moods, feeling everything at once. one day i’d be agitated as hell, the next i’d be so depressed i took a some odd hour nap and didn’t wanna get out of bed. like, for most of this year, i haven’t felt this stressed out and frustrated with myself. so this sudden crash was kind of....unwelcome.

But this drawing was a fresh change though, if i’m being honest. i’m not usually this uncaring about how clean the coloring job is, but i like it! i’d choose that other drawing i did for my friends’ birthdays, Skirmish at the Cable Club, but this one had a more personal drive behind it.

October: - PAPERMOON -

beastarsbeastarsbeASTARSBEASTARS--*COUGH COUGH AHEM* I MEAN....hai. :D

Continuing with my Pokemon shenanigans, i drew this big piece which was something i had in my head for years now, but never actually acted upon it cuz i always felt it was too big of an idea to work on. i’m happy i’ve managed to capture what i envisioned originally.

As for interests, i’m sure most of my current followers can deduce that i quickly shifted gears to Beastars as soon as the anime was released and so far, i regret nothing. it’s spawned a metric butt ton of new art from me and the way i see it, this phase ain’t stopping as long as this series continues. brace yourselves fam, i believe i’ve finally found the successor to my Digimon phase. lmao

Like, damn, i had a tough time choosing art for this month. i was stuck between this, - SMILE/WILD SIDE - and Slip Into Madness. so many good drawings i was satisfied with, y’know?

November: The Future is Now

I was SO planning on putting something else here, but then suddenly i just kinda had this urge to redraw that uggo gouache painting of Miyagi from highschool. and it turned out so good that i had to. like, really. lmao

As with the redraw of Dream Drop Digital’s key art, it was a reminder of how far i’ve come since then art wise. and i feel like i’ve accomplished so much this year because of it. ;w;

December: Winter Lights

And now we’re back to the present time. after over a year or so of living in Florida, we’ve moved once again back up north a bit. yet another clean slate, but things seem to be looking up despite the rather large bumps in the road the past week or so. lately i’ve been feeling that seasonal depression starting to set in, but i think i’ll be fine as long as i stay positive. cuz y’know, it’s not being happy all the time. it’s just knowing that things will get better someday.

One of the other reasons i drew this drawing was cuz i REALLY wanted to have something Beastars related on this clock. this series (and Legoshi in particular) really inspired me, so i had to leave a wedge open for my boi.

Looking back at the beginning of this decade (as 2020 would mark the next one), i realized that the 2010′s were basically me becoming more artsy. finding enjoyment for a new hobby that quickly became something i’m now more passionate about than video games which i didn’t think would EVER be the case.

Funny enough, it all started in the RP section of a little forum for an MMO called Wizard101. i was only in middle school at the time and, to tell you the truth, i had no idea i’d be going at it for this long. thought i’d just do it on the side but not really delve into the art world more.

But despite all the trips and falls, fandom drama or otherwise, i wouldn’t change anything if it meant i wouldn’t have the friends who’ve stuck by me in the aftermath of those times.

I may not be really succeeding in much, but it’s the small steps in life that matter most in the end. these past few months in particular was me getting fed up with feeling sorry for myself for not doing the things i was interested in in the past, getting over my regret and making plans for starting something new even though i know i’ll suck at first and not worrying so much about how others might perceive me.

And just like how life was changing for our resident grey wolf this first season, mine seems to be doing the same. and i believe this decade ended on a better note than i thought it would during the past couple years leading up to this.

Here’s to a new decade! ^ ^

~ For a future I want to believe in. ~

#art meme #summary of art #2019 summary of art #year end reflections #2010's reflections #rambles

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evien-stark · 5 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 18 [5%]

It was sad when life had to eventually resume. A week into the new year you found yourself up on the back pathway of the mansion as he flew off into the sky. It was pointless to stand there and watch him disappear into the distance, but part of you couldn’t help it. You’d done it a few times now, and every single one you wondered if it would be the last time you’d see him. And you weren’t sure whether or not you wanted that ache to dull.

“The Ten Rings have a ship boarded and locked.” A military operation he was honing in on, if only because they were behind it. It helped his case a little bit that the Navy couldn’t free their own men, but hustling in on a government operation was asking for trouble.

Tony had been furiously researching every little thing he could find on the Ten Rings. The people that had kidnapped him. Every time he went out after them you remembered Coulson’s warnings in the debrief, “They’re not to be trifled with.”

And yet Tony was keen on doing a whole lot of trifling. As JARVIS read out the mission clear log hours after, you started wondering if it was just blind revenge. For someone that claimed he wanted information, all those operations ended up in every single terrorist dead. You also wondered if that was going to take a toll on him sooner rather than later.

Playing good guys versus bad guys… taking lives…

“I don’t remember asking for your help.” Nick Fury’s voice came over the computer in the lab and you turned away from your Stark Industries work to tend to your Iron Man work. He looked mad from his little square on the desktop. “Inserting yourself into my missions is begging for trouble. You want trouble?”

“As I heard it, your boys were stuck. So you can send a check to the office.” You were simultaneously scared and at the same time unafraid of Nick Fury. Mostly because you knew showing fear to him was probably the worst mistake you could make.

“Haha. Very funny. You think you’re cute, huh?”

Tony’s face came up on screen next to Fury’s. “As a button, I’ve been told. But really it’s more my chiseled handsomeness that people comment on the most.”

“How are you two gonna turn me down and then keep sniffing around my operations? You’re lucky you haven’t been dragged to a black site.” Despite his threats, he didn’t sound like he was even close to thinking about going through with them.

“What about something more like a gold site? Maybe a light cobalt?”

“Keep yucking it up, Stark. Yap, yap, yapping away.” You were wisely choosing to stay out of this as much as you could. “If I send you another packet you’d better sign your names to it. Otherwise keep out of my business. Or else.” And just like that he was gone.

“Or else. Pfft.” He was also resolved to be unafraid of Nick Fury and SHIELD.

“Maybe we shouldn’t keep pushing him, Tony.”

He made a face at you. “Look, when the guy stops coughing up dime-store villain lines, I’ll consider it. Until then, we’ve got work to do that they clearly can’t.”

You twirled a pencil around between your fingers. “It’s all fun and games for you, but if he comes after me, I don’t exactly have a bullet-proof suit to climb into and fly away in.” All you had were mind games. Ones you weren’t even good at. Ones you didn’t really want to be good at. It wouldn’t serve you if agents dropped in in the middle of the night and carried you off, anyway.

“About that...”

“No, Tony.”

“I’ll paint it your favorite color.”

“No.”

The world could only handle one Iron Man.

And you could barely even handle that. But for him, you’d press on.

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

“So you think it’s right for Tony Stark to operate a weapon unauthorized by our military?” Valentine’s Day and you’d rather be doing anything but getting yelled at by a Fox News correspondent. “We call that vigilante justice, and it’s punishable by law.”

“Tony has been protecting people. Saving people. Saving countless lives. Destroying weapons aimed at innocent people. Cleaning up a decades long mess that no one else has had the means to put a stop to.”

“Who gave him the right? Certainly not me! Here at Fox News we don’t condone vigilantes!”

“Is the peaceful silence hurting your bottom line?"

You got in real trouble for that one. But it was worth all the undignified screams that came with it. For all the anchors did decrying Stark Industries and the mad woman sitting on the throne aside mad self proclaimed king Tony Stark, stocks shot through the roof. That may have had more to do with tentative whisperings about the Stark Expo relaunching. But you’d take well deserved victories where they came.

The world was different now. The louder, angrier, more violent voices were fading into the shadows. Scared they’d be heard by Iron Man and snuffed out. No one wanted their locations found. No one wanted their weapons destroyed. For once murder rates dropped. Killings stopped. War came tumbling down.

Some things about it still bothered you. Would always bother you. But you could only ever show a brave face and make sure you stood by Tony’s side. That was your job.

Besides that…

You loved him.

And as long as it kept making sense, as long as he didn’t fall down the path of Obadiah, choosing who lived and who died gleefully or start trying to turn a profit off of Iron Man’s activities… things would be okay. The fact that he’d turned down several military hearings and briefings and requests was all the proof you needed. It felt like every day those tensions were growing.

No more so than when the military tried to use him. “Thanks for taking the heat.” His voice and face came from your laptop in the early AM, just past three.

You’d been unable to sleep, not unusual when he was out. The bed was too empty to sleep in, so you’d curled up on the couch. Waiting. Waiting for this. “Just doing my job.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade of red on TV.”

“She basically blended into her dress.” Snorting to yourself, taking a long sip of tea that had gone cold some time ago. “Are you on your way home?”

“Couldn’t get there faster if I tried.” The real reason he’d called, no doubt. Even so far away you could tell. He was upset.

You cradled the laptop closer. “What happened?”

“I know the military has been in a real hole since I pulled out of weapons, but letting Hammer take a lead on anything- how desperate can you get?” It sounded pretty bad. But you were already well aware. As soon as you’d read Hammer’s name on the dossier in the file, you knew this mission wasn’t going to be an easy one. A B-2 bomber had been charged across enemy lines inside a Hammer transport. It was very likely he was the sole reason Tony had been asked to come in.

“What did he screw up now?”

“He blew a whole mission on promises that his tech worked the way it was supposed to. Am I the only one with a brain out here?” He shook his head softly, roll of his eyes. “And Ross has another thing coming.”

That would be General Thaddeus Ross, who had asked for Tony’s help on a rescue mission. You worried, briefly, that lives had been lost. No doubt a fault of Ross, but Tony would shoulder the blame. A setup? “Talk to me, Tony.” If he was about to be thrown under the bus, purposefully, you needed to know everything.

His eyes squared on the camera, looking as if he was staring at you briefly before they shifted slightly, looking at your video window instead. “They were putting things where they shouldn’t have been, and got caught red handed. They fed me bullshit and sent me in on a shoot-to-kill. They told me it was Ten Rings activity. But it was just… soldiers fighting their own war.” Shaking his head again, eyes dropping for a few seconds. “They tried to trick me into murdering everyone there to cover up their own trail.”

“And blaming you if it ever got out.” It chilled you to your core, thinking about that. The military trying to use him like that. Like old times. Yet it somehow was completely unsurprising. “But you realized it.” Why else would he be debriefing you like that- talking to you, you reminded yourself. Not everything was a mission. You couldn’t let it be.

“Of course I did. On the list of people who think they’re smarter than they actually are, General Ross is sitting pretty right underneath Justin Hammer.”

You nodded. Foolish of them to think they could get one up over him. Even if you had worried. A thought you’d keep to yourself. “So you stop accepting pleas from them, if they can’t be trusted to do the right thing.”

“I’m nobody’s lapdog.” His tone had grown hard. “That is the last time I let someone talk me into flying into a war zone where I can’t tell who the good guys are and who the bad guys are.”

By contrast, you softened your own voice. “You know now.” There was a boom on the front landing, all metal and shockwave. “You’re home?”

“I just got in. Give me a minute, I’ll be right up.” With that his call ended and you couldn’t help but snap your laptop shut and move to stand. He’d still have to get the suit off, but that was no longer a thing you were shy about seeing. And even if he would be upstairs in just a couple of minutes…

It had been days since you’d seen him last. And he seemed pretty slighted. Good will carried you downstairs to the semi-darkened lab. The process of unpacking the suit had gotten much better. You knew Tony had been tinkering with it for a while. He was already out of it, standing at the computer console, pulling on a long sleeved shirt.

Something he did very abruptly as you opened the lab door, startled. “Couldn’t wait one minute? I mean, I know I’m irresistible, but stroking my ego this late in the evening seems like a pretty bad idea.”

Despite him being absolutely right about that you went to put your arms around him, giving him a little squeeze. “Welcome home.”

Easy satisfaction rolled through you when he hugged you back, a little tighter than usual. “Thanks.” His hands went to your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length. Just taking a good look at you. You let him… but there was this new sense of unease. You weren’t sure if it was just you… “Really. I’ll be right there. I just have to update my files.”

You gave him a little nod. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”

“Tea sounds great.”

Leaning up on your tiptoes you pressed a light kiss just underneath his cheekbone. You hadn’t seen him in a few days and just a touch of neediness found its way to you. Between his missions and work… he was very clearly still devoted to you.

Things were good.

You were happy, if not exhausted from work and worry. And he seemed…

How did Tony seem?

“How does tea in bed sound?” You dropped your tone. You weren’t an expert at flirting, but he didn’t need your senses to hear the promises there.

“Like a dangerous adventure.” His grin was weary and you immediately felt bad for choosing now of all times. Now was not a good time. He’d just been pushed around by Ross. Had just flown hours to get home.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You kissed him on the other cheek, apology in your smile. “Tea and then bed.” Changing up the meaning entirely.

“Sounds perfect.”

You didn’t need much more of an excuse to run off and hide your embarrassment. Lucky he hadn’t called you out on it. He really must have just been exhausted.

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

He waited until she was all the way up the stairs and setting a kettle on the stove to lift his shirt again. “JARVIS, have the readings come back from the suit?” He kept his voice low despite the fact there was no way she’d be able to hear him.

“Yes, sir. Blood toxicity levels at 5%.”

The beginnings of a terrible, angry black etchwork had started lining his skin around the Arc Reactor. He’d gotten lightheaded and actually lost consciousness for a few seconds on the flight home. He couldn’t let that happen again. “What’s on the books for Palladium poisoning? Tell me green tea is the cure.” Slumping to sit in his desk chair.

“Unfortunately no, sir. There is no viable research into Palladium poisoning. There is no known cure.”

He sat with that diagnosis, staring blankly out into space. “How about that. We’ll figure something out.” What other choice did he have? “...in the meantime, run me a quick calculation- at the current rate of spread, how long do I have until I don’t have any longer?”

“My current estimate with lean for faster spread as time goes on… I’d say by the end of May.”

A breath of air escaped him, eyes closing, grinning to himself, shaking his head. “So. Either the best birthday present I’ve ever given myself or the last.” A cure- a workaround... or nothing. No other choice.

“Shall I inform Ms. INY?”

“No.” More guttural noise than anything as it exploded out of him. “Not a word. This goes under prime executive files. She can’t know.”

“With all due respect sir, I think you should allow her-”

“I don’t need your respect. Or what you’re about to tell me. You’re not telling her. Are we clear?” She couldn’t know about this. He couldn’t do that to her. He just couldn’t.

“...yes, sir.”

“Window some simulations for element replacement. Don’t wait up for me.” He pushed himself on his feet, knowing if he spent any more time there she’d grow suspicious. He had to keep this away from her. A daunting task on its own considering the thing. He just needed a clear head. And…

To not think about how soon May was coming.

There at the stove she was leaned half over two cups of tea, dunking bags in and out. When she saw him approaching she looked up and smiled like she’d just seen the stars for the first time. It killed him. “Let’s go to bed, honey.”

“Honey. That’s new.”

He put an arm around her and took the offered mug of tea in his other hand. “Trying it out.”

She hummed something soft in thought. “Try it out a few more times.”

“Yes, dear.” Smiling as she lightly elbowed his side.

“One thing at a time, I can only handle so much excitement.”

Her laughter got him going. Quiet and tired. Just basking in the enjoyment of each other’s presence. Upstairs she moved away to sit cross-legged on the bed, staring up at him again with those big wondering eyes. Unable to help himself, he sat next to her, reaching a hand up to cup the side of her face, holding her close, relishing in the close of her eyes and that soft sweet sigh as she leaned into his palm. As he kissed her it only became clearer.

She can’t know.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter Eighteen

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that-bog-witch · 6 years

Text

"A Story of Somnos,” a Fairytale

(Hey, so this isn’t terato stuff but I wanted to post some of my writing. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! -Aksel)

"A worn, thin storybook sits on a shelf. It's handwritten by a gnome by the name of 'Theadric Drunser-Abalind Pallens-Sarn'. The gnome has a short segment where he talks about how he researched the fairytale and determined what parts of it were later fabricated and what parts actually belonged in the original story. He has reliable sources. Several of his notes are stuck between the pages. It appears as though he wasn't finished writing it, and the original copy appears to be defaced in several places. An ink spill- likely accidental- covers up an illustration of a map inside."

Long ago, or perhaps not long ago at all, there was a fey lord by the name of Wandros. [A note jammed between pages reads: "I say that it wasn't so long ago because it's difficult to tell with the Feywild. Any given place could have a time distortion of mere seconds or entire years. To be entirely certain, I'm not even quite sure the lord's name was Wandros. You see, fey go by many names. At least in most tellings of the story, the fey is Wandros."]

[This appears to be written after the rest of the text "So, let me restart. An indeterminable amount of time ago, a fey lord that may have been called Wandros ruled over the Miststep Pines."] The Pines were a glorious sight on the border of the Material and Fey. So glorious their name ought to be capitalized. Every morning, the grass and stones brimmed with frost. It was like walking through a world of silver. In the afternoon, this frost would melt into a gentle mist that ran like a river across the landscape. Great mossy stones were piled along the trails in the Pines. Runes were carved into them, blessing travelers with protection and haste. By all accounts, Wandros was considered a benevolent lord. Dryads spoke of his name in their songs to the birds, and mortals thanked him for providing them with safety and a bounty of herbs that could be used in medicine.

It was no surprise that some mortal groups worshiped Wandros. He enjoyed the attention. Particularly devout followers were blessed as clerics of life, so that they could spread his blessing to blighted lands. [A note between the pages reads: "It helped Wandros to fight back against unseelie fey. In fact, many of his clerics did such a good job working against the unseelie that many mortals view seelie and unseelie as 'good' and 'evil', respectively. The truth is that the seelie court is more based in tricks and illusion of beauty, while the unseelie is based in power. The politics of it aren't of much mind, right now. The point is that Wandros was popular, in the area."]

One fine summer morning, a traveler came across a town on the border of the Miststep Pines. They said to an innkeeper, "Ma'am, this is quite a fine town. May I know its name?"

"Oh, you mustn't know the name," she said. As all villagers knew, names held great power so close to fey realms.

"Then how may I return here?" The traveler asked, "Your town appears on no maps. It was an accident I arrived here at all."

"An accident? It was no accident. Travelers come upon our town when they need it, like all of the other villages in the Miststep Pines," the innkeep said, "If you want to return here, again, you must merely want to find us."

"I'm sure that will work," the traveler didn't sound at all sure. They spent the night in the inn, and woke up on solid ground. They cursed under their breath and prayed. If they were devout, they should find the town again. So they prayed, and so there was a town over the next hill between two summer pines. [A footnote is written in pencil: "I use neutral pronouns for the traveler because there doesn't appear to be any consistency between tellings. The surviving pages of the original text don't have any pronouns to reference."]

"This is amazing magic," they said to a priest in the town, "What makes your town come and go?"

"Wandros," the priest replied, "A lord of travelers and medicine. He is the fey that brings us our life."

"That's wonderful," the traveler said. So they went about their business in the fine little town, and rested the night in the inn. Again they woke up on the ground. It was a nice enough day, and they continued their hike through the woods. Now, they weren't sure that they wanted to continue their journey to the coast, as they had planned. They wanted to become part of the town. Part of it that it could not leave on the forest floor. So again they searched for the town, and again it left without them. Every day, they prayed to the strange fey that made it possible.

On a warm morning much like the one when they first discovered the town, they found a tower. It was more moss and ivy than stone, and appeared to be rising out of the mist. A stained glass window cast colorful light in front of them. With little else to do, they approached the tower and knocked gently on its oaken door.

"I've heard your prayers," the creature that opened the door was of ethereal beauty, cloaked in river mist, "And I wanted to make you an offer, dear traveler."

"An offer? Surely a lord of your power could bend me to your will."

"I do not know your name. In fact, you have forgotten your own name," it said, scrutinizing them with silver eyes.

"I have?" The traveler had forgotten when their name had slipped away from them.

"Yes," it said, "I know you were jealous of my priest, the second time you discovered my town. I can give you power like that."

"What's the cost?" The traveler knew better than to make deals with fey, or so they told themself.

"Nothing."

"There has to be a cost," they insisted.

"Not to be a priest. But you wouldn't be content in these woods without a purpose. For you, I would offer a pact."

"I shouldn't make a deal with you," they wanted to believe themself.

"Is it not exactly what you've been seeking, to show others what you've found? That is what you would do, as my warlock," it showed no expression. It was like the mist and pines, itself- a piece of the scenery more than a being.

"I suppose it is," the traveler conceded.

It only took a few years for the traveler to gain power they had only dreamed of, in their months wandering the forest. They fought back against unseelie fey and brought medicine to those in need. They shepherded travelers along winding trails and collected fruits for them to eat. They felt like they had a purpose. All the years before this felt like a dream. Like they had been asleep for their own life. The sensation was unnerving to them, so they continued to serve the Miststep Pines.

Two decades passed since the traveler had made their deal, and yet they seemed no older. The nameless town was exactly the same. The only tell of time was the moss that grew up the tree trunks and the rivers that ran dry. The landscape changed around them, but the traveler was the same. Again, they felt like they were asleep. They needed the same rush they had gotten when they first made their pact. They needed more power. They returned to Wandros, who merely chuckled.

"You have been doing an excellent service. I will reward you in due time," the words were like harsh bells to the traveler's ears. They left into the woods.

The Miststep Pines appeared more grey than silver. The mist was more fitful that cloudlike. The town was more disorganized and muddled. The tower in the woods creaked in the wind. Wandros was sick. Wandros had been sick for quite some time. Many mortals believed fey couldn't be sickened, and they might be right. It wasn't exactly sickness, not quite.

The traveler was not receiving their power from Wandros. The traveler was siphoning it. The process was so slow, over so many decades, the fey paid no notice. Not until now. Wandros couldn't feel every forest path beneath its feet as it once had. It couldn't maintain the frost, the town, and the trails. It was unraveling. It asked its warlock to do something- anything- to help. It was completely unaware that its 'warlock' was the cause.

[Another note is jammed between the pages: "Because this tale is quite old, many can't agree on its ending. Most stories say that Wandros passed quietly into an eternal slumber, and its warlock took over its position maintaining the forest. I know this to be false. The original story has the traveler leaving."]

Wandros knew what the warlock had done before it fell into its slumber. It wasn't enraged. It was impressed. It, a fey lord, had been outwitted and bested by a mortal over nearly forty years. A mortal it had regarded as a friend.

"You're too strong," Wandros had whispered, almost proudly. The traveler didn't say a word, "That's why, I will give you a name. Mortals will sometimes give names for achievements, yes?"

"Yes, though they are mostly titles," the traveler responded.

"I will call you Somnos. Because of all fey who have tried to kill me, and of all monster hunters who sought to put me to an end, you are the one that did it. Not by claw or sword, but with my own energy. You haven't killed me, you've spared me. I will be asleep in this woods for all time, thanks to you. And that is why you should be called 'Somnos'. That is why you should be called 'Sleep'."

With the last of its power, Wandros gave the traveler a true name. They thanked their patron and left the forest to its innate nature. No one heard from them, again. Some say they are hibernal state, watching and waiting. Others say they are still abound, and more dangerous than any fey. That is why Somnos' story is told. To tell their name, so that anyone who hears this tale might stand a chance.

#long post #story #writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #fairytale #fairy tale #fae #fey #fairies #magic #fiction

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houseofvans · 6 years

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ART SCHOOL | Q&A WITH DAVID CHUNG (THE CHUNG)

Artist David Chung’s paintings, drawings and sketches are filled with colorful anthropomorphic characters from sword wielding pandas to rainbow spilling landscapes where skeletal heroes battle fuzzy cute creatures. Drawing from his own experiences and psyche, David’s uses his adorable and hilarious creations to help deal with the everyday stresses of life and as a form of catharsis. We’re excited to feature the work of David and talk about his art, his work as an Art Director at Dreamworks TV, and what new projects he’s got in the works!

Find out more about David Chung by taking the leap below!

Photography courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself? My name is David Chung, but a lot of people might know me as The Chung!! I’ve been living in Los Angeles for the past 11 years now, which technically makes California the longest place I’ve ever lived in my entire life. During the day I work in animation, currently as of this interview, I’m an art director at Dreamworks TV, but at night, I’m my own artist, free to do whatever I want!

How did you get into painting and art as a kid? What kinds of things were you influenced by? I’m not really sure how I got into art as a kid. I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember. Much like all kids, I’ve always just enjoyed drawing and making art. I realized early on that I could be as weird as I wanted to be in my drawings, and that was a really liberating feeling. Earlier in my childhood I was raised in Hong Kong and Taiwan but my highschool years were spent in Upstate New York, where I graduated from. I pulled a lot of my influences from growing up in Asia and having a Chinese background, but the subjects and humor mostly came from living in the States.

How do you describe your work to folks who’ve never seen it before? I might describe it like watching an animated kids’ movie with a lot of jokes your pervy parents would appreciate.

You have various creatures and characters throughout your work that we love. Storytelling and humor are elements in your works as well. Can you tell us a little about how each piece evolves? What is your general artistic process like? I’ve been finding myself creating new characters based off of new ways I need to deal with my life at the moment. The characters that are in my work are compartmentalized parts of my psyche or emotions. Being able to take the everyday stresses of life and make cute characters go through it in a more harsh and humorous way is a really effective form of catharsis for me. About 90% of the subjects in my work are autobiographical. The humor in my work is just another way for me to prevent myself from ever taking myself too seriously. If I can’t laugh at my own work, then what’s the point.

Do you have a main protagonist in your work? And who or what is it? How did it come about? It really depends on what I’m going through at the time of my life when I paint my characters. For example, my XiongMao (Panda) character was created during some pretty rough times. He represents my persistent side to survive. Grimothy (the little reaper dude) and Xiaguai (his little chinese demon friend) are my two mischievous daydreamer characters that are all about ditching their responsibilities to have fun adventures. Pouty Pig is the side of me that throws silent tantrums anytime he is unhappy about a certain situation, which apparently is a lot. These are just some of the few recurring characters in my work depending on how I’m feeling. I even have a few recurring antagonists such as the Happy who are pink soulless zombie-like creatures who roam the earth seemingly always happy, but they feed off of people’s energy like vampires. If you ever let them get a whiff that you’re not happy, that’s when they attack. I think we all know people like this. Right?? They’re the worst. I hate them.

What was your last adventure that showed up in one of your work, thematically or just visually? I do these sketches in my Instagram feed called “Procrast-O-Sketches” that usually follow my most current adventures. The overall sketches can be interpreted however you like, but for myself, friends and family in my inner circle, the subject matter is pretty esoteric.

A pretty straight forward Procrast-O-Sketch is from Sept 21, 2018. We just moved into our new house in the beginning of September, and about 2 weeks after moving in, my 2 year old kept crying that there is a monster living in the house. He keeps saying it’s a shadow man that “kind of looks like Daddy” but sometimes it turns into a dog-like creature. He’ll be playing and being super happy, then all of a sudden he’ll see his shadow man, then will let out a terrified scream, scramble over to myself or his mom and cry that “The man is back!!” We’ve been trying to turn it into a game now by going monster hunting together, which seems to be helping. At least helping him... I’m terrified as shit now.

What is your favorite thing to draw or paint? I love drawing or painting creatures and characters in familiar situations that are way worse than my own.

What are your favorite tools? Currently, I always have my little Pentalic Traveler Pocket Journal, a kneaded eraser and a good clutch pencil with me just in case I need a quick therapy sketch session to take out any frustrations. I feel like brands and mediums change all the time, but a good ol’ fashioned pencil and a sketchbook are always constant.

What’s a medium you have yet to try and would love to take a stab at? Oh man, there are way too many mediums I’d love to try one day. I would really like to try oils again. I haven’t messed around with oils since I was in college. I also really want to try out ceramics and bronze casting.

Not only do you draw and paint, you also work as an art director and designer at DreamWorks by day? What’s that like and how did you find yourself working for such a cool company? Dreamworks is a pretty awesome company to work for, and I’m not just being paid to say that. They’ve made me sign a contract to say that. But you know, overall it’s pretty awesome because of the people. I love being able to collaborate and riff off of other artists every day. All of whom are working toward the same goal of making the best looking product possible. I’ve been working in the animation industry for about 10+ years now, and over the past decade, I’ve met some really great people who I know I’d work with again and again like I have in the past. So when a lot of those people who felt the same about me ended up at Dreamworks, I was brought on over, and I’m super grateful for it.

How do you balance your work life with your artistic life? Or are they sort of one in the same? It’s actually pretty easy and difficult all at the same time. I deliberately try to separate my work-life from my art-life because what I do after work, is mine and mine alone. This keeps me from taking anything too personally when there are ridiculous amounts of notes and revisions to be made at work. Nothing is personal, and I’m totally okay with that. My job is to provide them with the work that they want. It’s a lot easier to make revisions when I know that as soon as I go home, I can start working on my own personal stuff that nobody can say shit about.

The hard part is finding the time to have an art-life after work-life. It usually means eliminating good health. Fortunately passion usually wins out over sleep, but unfortunately, “usually” isn’t always. Typical days at work can last 10-14 hours, and when I get home, I still want to be able to hang out with my wife and kid, which means I won’t even be able to get started on my own stuff til around 12-1am. Especially lately, due to the monster keeping my son up all through the night.

What are you constantly inspired by? And who are some of your early and current art influences? I’m constantly inspired by life and all of the little idiosyncratic behaviors we have. Human life is so interesting even at its most mundane moments. There’s always inspiration to be pulled from who we are. When I was in the second grade, I saw Alien for the first time in my life on TV. It fucked me up. I needed to know what this monster was. Then I found out about H.R. Giger when I got a little bit older. It wasn’t necessarily the style that inspired me, but the way the he created. It seemed like an obsession that he turned into a profession. I didn’t even know being an artist for a living was allowed! Lately I’ve been super digging Travis Millard (IG: @theotherfudge), Alex Solis (IG: @Alexmdc) and I was recently introduced to Kamila Mlynarczyk’s (IG: @Woodedwoods) work which is pure insanity and I love it so much.

What do you do when you are not painting or drawing? Lately it’s trying to spend as much time as I can with my family and soak as much of it up as I can before it slips away. While doing that I’ve been messing around with photography and filmmaking as a hobby. Filming my son doing weird shit is super fun. He makes a great subject.

What advice would you offer to an aspiring artist who might wanna follow in your footsteps? You gotta want to do it. And not just because you think it’s a good way to make money. You have to want to do it because you love it. That’s really where it all begins. Next step is to just go fucking do it.

What’s your best Art School tip that you want to share with folks? Could be technical or just advice. This is a continuation of my previous response, but it’s important, after you “just go fucking do it” expect to fail. Don’t even just expect it, LET yourself fail. As long as you learn something from it and never stop trying, you’re totally allowed to fail all the time!

What do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t an artist or doing anything art-related? This one is difficult, everything I can think of that I’d possibly be doing is art related. I’ve always wanted to be a fiction writer or a filmmaker, but those can be very creative. The other thing is to start my own business producing products for creative enthusiasts.

What are your favorite style of VANS? Every time I end up buying a new pair of VANS, I always end up getting the Authentic style. You can never go wrong with them!

What’s coming up for you the rest of the year that you’re super excited about? I’m super excited about two new toys that are currently in production with Martian Toys and Wetworks. Also there’s a bunch of new stuff I’m trying to launch on my own that I’ve been pretty excited to work on, I just need to find the time!

FOLLOW DAVID | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE

#Art #Vans #Vans Art #Art School #David Chung #The Chung #interview #animation

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missmelpcmene · 6 years

Text

The Ticking Crocodile (The West Coast Vampires Saga #2) —Prologue

This is the sequel to The Breaking Point, it is necessary to the enjoyment of this story to have read The Breaking Point first.

DISCLAIMER: The places and characters featured hereinafter are the property of Warner Bros., Joel Shumacher, Janice Fischer, James Jeremias, and Jeffrey Boam and no attempt is being made by the author to claim ownership or profit from the use of the aforementioned characters. The views represented herein do not necessarily represent the views of the original authors and any character names or places mentioned in the original works belong to the copyright holders and are used in this story for nonprofit entertainment purposes by an amateur writer. The original characters used in this story are the creative property of MissMelpomene (parting writing credit goes to my brother) and are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

"I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us."

The room was lit with the sterile white intensity of an operating room and furnished with the same warmth and expectation of visitors as a morgue, as if the vampires were afraid the mere stereotype of a poorly lit, ornately furnished Dracula lair would attract unwanted attention. The table was round, an unsubtle reminder to those that sat at it that they were all equals, from the only one at the table who actually believed that.

The vampire who sat at what would be the head of the table was understatedly handsome with robust, dark eyebrows. His dark hair, swept neatly back from his forehead, was the same color as pencil graphite and the dark gray suspenders he wore. His lighter colored dress shirt was unbuttoned to the second button, and he wasn't wearing a tie. "You know Max isn't directly responsible for this situation," he said.

The vampire to his left was a woman, of approximately the same age as him, though she carried it better, with an aristocratic nose and egg-white blonde hair styled in a classic chignon. She wore an ivory blouse that was made of a soft, liquidy material like silk or satin, and white, wide leg linen pants, tapping her short burgundy colored acrylic nails on a bourbon glass. The amber liquid was tinted red from the blood she mixed in like soda water. "No," a single piece of hair was carefully pulled out so it framed the left side of her face attractively, and it stayed in place perfectly even when she moved her head. "but his inability to control his progeny has exacerbated it." She tapped the large ring on her index finger on the rim of her glass. "Teenage boys need what Max is either unwilling or incapable of providing." She ran her hand over the soft buzzcut of the 6'7" brick shithouse of a vampire sitting immediately to her right, but not at the table. He could have been fifteen or twenty-five, it was impossible to tell, with eyes that were so brown they were almost black and the neutral expression of someone who was either waiting to kill everyone else in the room or incredibly bored on his face. "A mother's touch."

The twelve-year-old vampire to her left had neatly trimmed light brown hair and dark purple circles like bruises under both of his eyes that made him look like he hadn't slept in a century, which for all anyone knew might have been the case. His chair was pulled up flush with the table so his clavicle was pressed against the edge of it, and he wore a dark blazer and dress shirt, and a sour look. "This has nothing to do with Max and you know it."

"I disagree," the woman said without turning to look at him, still petting the tall, broad-shouldered vampire on her right like he was a dog lying obediently across her feet. "it has everything to do with Max, my dear."

"Santa Carla can't handle a group that size." Sat directly across from her was a late thirties Korean vampire with cheekbones you could dance on, and a black tee shirt that cut into his biceps noticeably, though maybe that was the point. A point which was obviously lost on him, because they were all vampires, and every one of them could break the heavy wooden table with one hand, even the one who looked like a twelve-year old.

"Eight now," the vampire to his right was a pretty sort of plain, with pin straight ash blonde hair and very straight, long nose. She was wearing high-waisted black slacks and a sleeveless white blouse that wasn't nearly as nice of quality as the one the other blonde woman was wearing. Her legs were crossed at the knee and she wasn't touching the table, her right forearm lying on the thigh that was on top, and her left hand resting on her right wrist. "including Max."

"We're getting off track." The vampire with the thick eyebrows said mildly, tapping the side of his hand on the table. Though it was incredibly quiet, even by their standards as vampires, it was as effective as banging a gavel in a library. The only ones who didn't look at him was the vampire who towered over them all even while sitting, and the twelve-year old vampire who was bouncing his leg nervously, staring at the fine grain of the table and shaking his head incessantly.

"And let's not forget," the Korean vampire hit the table pointlessly if it was to get their attention, because they were all already listening. "Patrick was Max's problem first and it's because of him that our coyote is back on the west coast in the first place." Agreement went around the table from everyone but the vampire at the "head" of the table, and the twelve-year old vampire.

"Dutton hasn't been west of Kansas in a decade," the former said gently. "are we even sure it's him?"

The Korean vampire snorted. "Some of us are old enough to remember the last time a single human got this uppity." He glanced sidelong sarcastically at the twelve-year-old vampire. "I'm sure."

The twelve-year-old vampire didn't take the bait. "Speaking as the only one sitting at this table who's actually met the man personally, this isn't just another uppity human we're dealing with."

"Raymond is right." The vampire with the Groucho Marx eyebrows said, wringing his left hand anxiously. "This is bigger than Max." One chair at the table was noticeably empty and he glanced sidelong at it. "Patrick drew attention to all of us."

The woman laughed like someone hitting an empty champagne flute with a fork. "How convenient then that he should be killed by a human before we could deal with him and escape all punishment."

"That's enough, Sadie," the vampire with the thick eyebrows said with a prolonged sigh.

"It's not nearly," Sadie replied. "Simon." She added coyly, taking a slow sip of her blood and bourbon. Even the ice stayed at the bottom of the glass rather than touch her.

"Max is not on trial," Simon said carefully. Despite that, Max's absence was still painfully evident, the empty chair to Simon's right where he should have been sat was pushed in, but it still felt intentional, no matter what Simon said.

"How convenient again," Sadie said mildly.

"Enough," Raymond, the twelve-year-old vampire said with an emphasis on the two halves of the word that made it sound like two separate words. "you're all dead. Dutton's going to kill all of you."

"Why are you even here?" The Korean vampire snapped instantly, like he had been itching to say something ever since the twelve-year old vampire sat down at the table.

"Because I asked Sadie to bring him," Simon said. "because he's the only one who has personal experience with Dutton."

"And how'd that turn out for you, huh, Raymond?" The Korean vampire asked. "You run away instead of just dealing with him?"

"Obviously, because unlike you I actually have a brain in my head," Raymond said mildly.

The Korean vampire stood up and Simon sighed "sit down, Park."

"There is no dealing with him," Raymond said.

"He's just a human," Park replied, grabbing the back of his chair and sitting down heavily.

"Any human can get lucky, darling," Sadie said, stirring her bourbon with her finger and sucking the blood/alcohol tonic off her finger without smudging her lipstick or dripping on her blouse. "look at poor Patrick."

Poor Patrick indeed.

"None of you get it." Raymond said. "and that's why he's going to kill all of you."

"Don't be melodramatic, Raymond dear."

"The Reverend isn't a man," Raymond said, looking directly at Park with a shell-shocked look in his deep-set gray eyes. "he's a storm. He's God's wrath. A pillar of salt. There's no weathering him or hiding from him, there's just getting the hell out of his way." The other vampires stared at him like he just finished telling a ghost story. Raymond's foggy gaze dripped over the edge of the table and landed in his lap. "...our punishment," he said quietly, more to himself than the table.

"He's not the boogeyman." Raymond went on, gripping the table so hard that splinters of wood popped up between his fingers. "He's a dead man. His soul is a shell, but it doesn't matter how much vampire blood he puts in it, he can't fill it. The only reason I've lived this long is that I already know what you dumbasses refuse to accept."

"Which is?" Sadie asked, tapping her ring on her glass again.

Raymond glanced sidelong at her but only for a second. "That fighting him isn't an option." Park scoffed. "Keep braying, jackass," Raymond said. "you'll be the first to go. He's smarter than you and more patient than you. He can't be reasoned with or bribed, and unlike us, he isn't afraid of dying. If he knows we're here, and trust me, thanks to our good friend Patrick, he does, he'll smoke us out eventually. He'll cut the head off the snake," he looked at Simon. "and pick the rest of us off one by one until there's no one left this time. Not even me."

The rest of the table was silent.

"Well," Sadie said, taking a sip of bourbon demurely. "you certainly paint a bleak portrait of our future, Raymond dear."

"No shit," Park said. "I'm not a little kid, Raymond, and your bedtime stories don't scare me."

Raymond refused to look at him. "If you're not scared, you're even dumber than you look."

Park shook his head, tapping his knuckles on the underside of the table as he bounced his knee anxiously.

Simon looked across the table at Raymond, tilting his head to try to get Raymond to look at him. "You're the only one who knows him as a man. You survived, this long, you've lived."

"The one who made me wasn't so lucky," Raymond said. "the only difference is I ran, he didn't. But he always comes back."

Park scoffed again. "So we can't run, we can't hide, we can't fight, according to you," Raymond flipped him off. "what the hell do you expect us to actually do?"

"Most likely?" Raymond asked. "Die." He glanced at Simon, whose thick eyebrows had formed a shelf over his eyes. "We'll all probably die."

Thank you for reading.

#{;the ticking crocodile}#the lost boys #lost boys #lost boys fan fiction

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quietasasanctuarymouse · 3 years

Text

Season 1 Episode 3 1/2 ~ Tuatha De Danaan

Helen Magnus sat on the edge of the desk in her office, her legs crossed demurely, the erratic flexing of her feet in their black patent pumps the only outward sign of the nervous energy coursing through her body. Hands grasping the lip of the desktop to either side of her, she leaned forward slightly, all attention focused on Will Zimmerman in the armchair opposite her.

“Are the current security protocols really enough? I mean, they know where we are, they’ve been inside, seen the layout of the facility, and, Magnus, they were pretty pissed.”

“It’s alright, Will. I have my contacts keeping an ear to the ground about any and all Cabal activity, especially in areas near any of the Sanctuaries. This encounter was instigated because of our possession of Danu and her sisters, nothing more. The Cabal have been in operation for centuries and the Sanctuary Network has been a large force for the last two. They have never crossed our path in such a way before, and I see no reason for them to again now, not since they got their ‘property’ back anyway.”

Will pulled his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose and fidgeting with the tines. “Are you saying you think this is over? That you believe the Cabal’s sole interest in us was reclaiming the Morrigan and now that they have them we’ll never hear from them again?”

Helen gave a cheeky grin, “Not hardly. I’m saying they’re smart, resourceful, focused, and patient. This isn’t over by a long shot, but whatever their endgame, our encounter with them two nights ago wasn’t part of it. They never intended to turn their hand to us in such a way at this time. It was a fluke because of the situation with the Morrigan. Now that it's happened, they’ll be planning their next moves even more carefully. Such intentions can be corroborated by the utter silence that has fallen since they left here with the sisters.” She smiled reassuringly. “This isn’t over, but we have time. They won’t be making any moves, not yet. Trust me, Will. When they do, we’ll know.”

“All that confidence and self-assuredness. Calming the anxieties and reassuring the troops. So attractive.”

Will gave a start at the unexpected sound of the unfamiliar voice, sitting forward in his chair he turned to the doorway to see who it belonged to.

Standing in the slanted early morning sunlight falling through the tall windows of Magnus’s study was a tall, lithe, curvaceous woman of about late twenty-something with milky pale flawless skin, striking red hair the vibrant color of blood that fell to mid-thigh in soft full cascading waves, and startling green eyes like vibrant emeralds lit from within as if the sun shone through the perfectly faceted gemstones. The smooth satin of her green dress, a darker shade of her dazzling eyes, that was something of a cross between Victorian era steampunk corseting and a bohemian sundress swirled gracefully about her alluring shape as she strode into the room toward Helen’s frozen form still perched on her desk. She was absolutely stunning. Her lilting voice like music as she spoke again in her undeniably Irish accent. “I do hope you don’t mind, I let myself in. I did so want to surprise you, and I see that I have succeeded.” She smiled warmly, a twinkle of mischief in her glittering eyes.

Will, mouth agape, turned his attention back to Magnus whose eyes were fixed on this strange woman in a mixture of stunned silence and surprised delight. He had only known her a short time, but nothing about her had in any way indicated to him that she was the type of woman who could be rendered speechless. Even the very unexpected appearance of John Druitt a couple of weeks ago had not stolen her voice. Far from it, and yet here she sat, staring unbelievingly at the mysterious woman standing in front of her.

The woman held out her hands and, as if by automatic reflex, Magnus grasped them delicately in her own and allowed herself to be helped to her feet. The gallant gesture seamlessly flowed into a friendly embrace, the woman placing a lingering kiss on Magnus’s cheek, her long elegant hands cupping Helen’s shoulder blades as she took in the length of her, uttering a whimsical sigh; the whole exchange one graceful fluid motion. “Bí fós i mo chroí. You’re as beautiful as ever, Helen, and I love what you’ve done with your hair,” she smiled as she gingerly stroked a lock of chocolate curl between thumb and forefinger, the back of the latter caressed Helen’s other cheek as the hand slowly brushed by.

The brief, yet intimate, physical contact seemed to break whatever had held Magnus spellbound and brought her back to the present. “Dear Lord,” she breathed, the utterance barely more than a whisper. “I haven’t seen you since….” She trailed off.

“Midsommer. ‘98,” the other woman supplied, her eyes still locked on the radiant blue of Helen’s.

“Yes, I saw you in the drawing room and had intentions of finding you at table, but then you just disappeared. I never saw you again after that.” Will caught the tiniest flicker of sadness behind the wonder in her eyes, so quickly covered he doubted the mystery woman had seen it at all- regardless of how intently their gazes were locked. Helen’s eyes searched the woman’s face, for what Will couldn’t even begin to guess. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

“Can’t a girl just pop in to see an old friend for no apparent reason?” her grin was cheshire through and through, and Helen’s raised eyebrow brought a melodious laugh. “I never could get anything past you, could I? Bíodh sin mar atá. It was the Morrigan.”

The shift in the tone of the conversation parted the embrace as Helen stepped back into the edge of her desk. “What?” The change of topic alleviating the privateness of the moment, Will cleared his throat. Helen’s eyes snapped to him, still sitting in the armchair. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Will, this is one of my oldest friends, Rowan Llewellyn. Rowan, this is my newest colleague, Dr. William Zimmerman. I do apologize for my poor manners, the surprise of seeing Rowan after so long has just left me a bit flabbergasted. Please, forgive me.”

Will stood, extending his hand to Rowan, “Nice to meet you,” he smiled. “No need for apologies, Magnus. I can understand being surprised to see someone out of the blue after a decade or so of no contact with them.”

Releasing the handshake, Rowan let out a hearty chuckle, “My dear boy, how long have you known our most lovely Helen Magnus?” At Will’s startled look she continued. “The ‘98 that I was referring to was 1898.” She beamed at Helen as Will’s head tennis court swiveled between the two women’s faces, his turn to be rendered speechless.

When Will found his voice, he turned his quizzical gaze on Magnus. “What, did you give her some of your blood, too? Was she also dying of some terrible disease?”

The left side of Magnus’ mouth quirked up into a small smile. “No, actually she was far older than I am now the first time I ever met her.�� Will’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Rowan is a Daoine Sidhe. She’s immortal.”

Will turned his stunned gaze to Rowan who laughed lightly, “Well, in so much as long as nothing kills me.”

“Yes, Will, I can see that you have many, many questions. Come, let’s sit and we can talk.” The three of them moved to the seating area around the fireplace, Will taking the far armchair and the ladies settling onto the settee. Rowan crossed her ankles sliding her feet under the edge of the settee, her gaze traveling the graceful length of skin up Helen’s bare legs, the black pencil skirt stopping just shy of her demurely crossed knees, the hands clasped delicately in her lap, the swell of her breasts beneath the blue linen of her blouse, the neckline of which was low enough to catch a glimpse of rounded flesh, the arch and curve of her collar bone, the soft line of her neck adorned by only a few errant curls, her chestnut hair swept up and pinned to one side, her full lips, moving as she spoke to Will. “Before you launch into your, I’m sure, very long list of questions, I have one of my own that I’d like to ask.” Then, those piercing sapphire eyes turned upon her, dark lashes fluttering as their gazes met and she smiled. “You said the Morrigan brought you here?”

For a moment, Rowan said nothing, lost in the depths of Helen’s eyes locked with her own. She dropped her gaze to her own hands resting in her lap and took a steadying breath. Returning her gaze to Helen’s crystalline eyes, she nodded, “Two days ago, they used their powers, for the first time in centuries. I felt the call, and I came to investigate. When I saw that the place they had been was yours, well, I had to stay. To see you. I am so very sorry for the unexpected intrusion.” She smiled warmly at the woman seated next to her, “De réir na déithe go léir, I’ve missed you, Helen. Deeply, and I’d like to spend some time here with you if you don’t find objection. Reminisce old times and catch up on current ones. After all, when the Fates drop you on someone’s doorstep, who am I to turn and walk away?”

The grin that spread across Helen’s lips lit her whole face. She took Rowan’s hands in hers and gave a light squeeze, “Of course. You’re welcome for as long as you like. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” She squeezed her hands again before letting them fall and straightening back into the arm of the settee. “Alright, William, I can see you’re full to bursting,” she extended her hand to him, offering the floor. “Please, by all means,” a playful smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

“Okay, well basics first, I guess. What exactly is a Daoine Sidhe? An abnormal, obviously, but….” he let the sentence trail, quite literally sitting on the edge of his seat, eagerly awaiting the answer.

“Well, yes,” Helen said, smiling at the obvious connection. “Daoine Sidhe are an ancient race of abnormal, Irish in origin, who have many names and varying forms throughout Gaelic folklore; Puca, Changeling, Banshee, Sluagh, Leprechaun- to name just a few that you’ve likely heard of.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Will sat straighter on the edge of his chair, “You mean to tell me leprechauns and banshees are real, and they’re abnormals?”

“What we are, Sir William,” Rowan interjected, voice full of pride and dignity, “are the Fair Folk. We are Fae.”

“What, like fairies?” Will couldn’t keep the disbelief from his smile.

Helen smiled at his enthusiastic skepticism. “The legends are numerous and varied, some claim they are the descendants of fallen angels, others claim they are from the lineage of the Tuatha De Danaan.” At Will’s raised eyebrows, Magnus forged ahead, “The Tribe of Danu, the Gaelic gods. The Tuatha De arrived in Ireland in clouds of mist, according to the mythos, likely from heaven due to their knowledge of architecture, the arts, and magic. At the First Battle of Magh Tuireadh they defeated the Fir Bolg, thus securing their reign over the land. A Second Battle of Magh Tuireadh was fought and won, however at the Third Battle the Tuatha De were defeated, and when the victors divided the lands with them, they granted themselves the land above ground and they gave the Tuatha De the land underground. So it was that the Tuatha De Danaan came to live in the Sidhe mounds and the Daoine Sidhe were born.”

“Children of gods, really?” Will gave Magnus a look full of disbelief.

“Well, obviously, fallen angels or children of the gods, these are just stories of the old local folklore. A way to explain evolved creatures that differed so drastically from the human cultures of the area. Creatures with advanced abilities that these people had no other way of explaining. The true origins of this evolutionary strand of abnormals has, unfortunately, been lost to history. But the lore is at least colorful and entertaining.”

“Our dear Helen here has devoted her life to science and all of its many pursuits, and so she finds it easiest to explain things in terms of ‘evolution’ and ‘advanced ability’. She always has had rather the hardest time opening her mind to believe in the concept of true magick.”

“Magic? Seriously?” Will gave a chuckle, but the look in Rowan’s eyes quickly silenced it.

“Cén fáth, you did just have a trio of witches in your home, did you not?”

He leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled, trying to digest all this information. Immortal fairies. Gods and their progeny. Magic? “Wait, what did you mean you ‘heard the call’ when the Morrigan used their powers?”

“Danu and her sisters, Tatha and Caird, are part of the old magicks of Eire, just as the Daoine Sidhe are. We are rooted to the lands that bore us, fundamentally connected to it and to each other. When they unleashed their magick, it was like loosing a shockwave. Macalla. It sent a pulse through the Isle of Eire, a pulse that echoed through the hearts of all her Childer. Not much speaks so loudly from the Olde Earth anymore, so when something does we pay heed.”

“If that is the case, then why do we not have the rest of the Daoine Sidhe at our door asking about the Morrigan?”

Rowan’s features became stoic and withdrawn, her gaze turned down to her lap, her hands twisting and bunching the soft fabric of her skirts.

Magnus cleared her throat and as Will’s focus turned to her, he saw a deep sadness in her eyes. “Because, Will, there are no other Daoine Sidhe. Rowan is the last of her kind.”

“Oh. God. I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“It’s alright,” Rowan smiled at him sadly. “You couldn’t have known, and it’s been my reality for a long time. Tá síocháin déanta agam. I can see that you still have many questions. It’s alright, I’ll answer them as best I can. The first, obviously, is that if we are immortal, how can I be the last?” Will nodded. “The Daoine Sidhe have no natural life span; we are born, we grow to maturity, and then we stop, our physical bodies forever frozen at their peak. Some, who are very old, may choose to allow a bit of their age to show, lines at the corners of their eyes, turning hair, but even still, those of our elders who choose this path will only appear as a human of late forties or early fifties. You would never find a Fae the physical equivalent of an average human elder- seventies, eighties, nineties. Because our cells cease their growth process at the height of health and maturity, they never degenerate and decay, therefore we as a species have no natural cause of death. Our life span is indefinite and unlimited by entropy and deterioration.”

Rowan stood and paced to the cold fireplace, hands clasped behind her back, gaze fixed on some invisible focal point beyond the mantle. “That does not, however, mean that we cannot die. We can be killed, we have no immunity to mortal wounds, just as no other creature has no such capacity. We have impressive regenerative capabilities and heal faster and more fully than mortal entities, but a killing blow will end us just as surely as it would you. We also possess rather intense and thorough immune systems, a common cold or flu does not exist for the Fae, nor do any of us succumb to cancer or other such diseases. Yet, that does not mean we cannot fall ill; there are sicknesses that ravage and even kill Daoine Sidhe that you have no knowledge or understanding of, nor would they have any effect on you at all.” She turned back to them and her eyes fell on Will as she continued. “Death, as you know it, is not the only end to life for one of the Fair Folk. Whereas you have no choice in the matter of your eventual and inevitable death, we Sidhe have every choice since a natural end is not afforded us. As a species, eternal life can appear to be a fantastic gift to those who are limited to less than a century. However, to those faced with an endless eternity, such a gift has quite the way of easily becoming a burden and a curse.” For the briefest of moments, she rested sympathetic eyes and a sad smile upon Helen. “Mallacht sáraitheach. For some, this burden becomes too much to bear, and rather than live on endlessly and forever, they choose to simply fade away. The Daoine Sidhe are children of Eire, sprung from her earth and raised on her waters, we are bound to and fueled by her lands- thus the deep rooted connection between all Childer of the Isle- in this way, if we so choose, we can cut our ties to this physical plane and return to the thrum of the magicks of her earth.

“Some of my Kin fell ill to various plagues among our people, more died in one battle or another. As the centuries stretched on and on, most grew weary of endless existence and began to Fade. As more of my Kith Faded into oblivion and our numbers dwindled fewer and fewer and fewer, it became even harder for those left to continue on. The loneliness, the lack of others not only of their kind but of any creature who existed as they did, who remembered times long gone, who held the memories of the Olde Magicks or even the current world while it was still in its infancy. As more and more chose to Fade, usually the oldest first, those among the numbers of our elders dwindled to almost nothingness. Which placed a new strain on those that remained; how do you combat the isolation and abandonment that you feel when there is no one left who remembers the first thousand or more years of your life? How do you convince yourself to push forward when everyone you knew, loved, grew and shared everything with is gone? How do you justify living as worth it when you have literally nothing left, and not even eventual inevitable release is offered you?” Rowan stared unseeingly at her hands in front of her, fingers twisting aimlessly at the ends of her hair. “And so, one by one, all the remaining Daoine Sidhe gave up. The end of the long, distinguished line of a noble species. Faded out of existence leaving naught a trace. Níl ann ach mise, anois. Tá mé i m'aonair.”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell in the wake of her words. Will sat motionless, stunned and shocked, Helen’s blue eyes were filled with tears, a few that had escaped still glistening on her cheeks. When Rowan finally spoke again, her voice, barely more than a whisper, was nearly deafening after the oppressive quiet. “I hope this has been a sufficient answer. Please, William, what else do you wish to know?”

Will nodded, cleared his throat, straightened himself in the chair. “Um, well, I guess,” he paused.

Rowan smiled wanly, “It’s all right. Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat again, “Honestly, I’m wondering why. If you’re all alone and your longevity is such a burden, why did you stay?”

“Why did I not Fade as the rest of my Kith did? Well, at the time I was fairly young, relatively speaking, for a Fae- I still am- I had not spent the time here to grow weary of this life, nor lonesome for companionship and understanding. I was hungry, for everything- life, experience, knowledge. Gach rud. After the first handful or so decades alone, the isolation did start to take its toll; however, I had grown wise enough to recognize that I didn’t wish to take my leave without the full wealth and richness of every experience I desired, and even after centuries of life there were a few I was lacking.” She moved back to the settee and settled herself next to Helen. “I was thirsty for knowledge, the world was just truly coming into it you know, dramatic advances by leaps and bounds, and I wanted to study everything. It was the late 1800s, Oxford was the premier school of the world, and I wanted to learn. I only audited, of course, but I sat in on everything. In the autumn of my first year in London, I met the most exquisite woman,” she reached out and cupped Helen’s face in her hands, tenderly brushing the tears from her eyes as she spoke. “She was bright and vivacious and determined, with the most insatiable appetite for life, knowledge, exploration. The first time I ever laid eyes on her, I knew she was the most radiant creature I had ever beheld. Croí mo chroí.” Helen’s hand raised to her cheek and placed itself gently over Rowan’s. Eyes locked, the two women smiled at each other, lost in memory. Will watched them with deep curiosity as Rowan continued, “She was unequivocally the most alive person I had ever met, not to mention the most mysterious and alluring, and I decided, upon seeing the drive with which she attacked the world, that there was something out there for me that was worth sticking around to discover.”

Will smiled at the sweetness of the exchange, “How did you two meet, anyway?”

Rowan stroked Helen’s now dry cheek affectionately before returning her hand to her lap. “Your turn for storytelling. I’m quite curious to hear how you remember it,” she said with a wink and a smile.

Helen beamed back at her in return. “Cheeky,” she grinned. “It was late September of 1884, I was beginning my third year at Oxford, lectures were done for the day and weather was nice, lots of us were sprawled about the grounds out of doors. Most of the fellows were picnicking or playing various games, a few close friends and I were taking the opportunity to compare notes and discuss theories about a pet project we were working on. There was a bit of a commotion across the promenade that caught our attention, a crowd of young men were striding through the park, all clustered together and adamantly focused on something in the midst of their congregation. My companions stood to see if they could get a better view of what was causing all the ruckus, that’s when the crowd of gentlemen parted and a young woman emerged from within.”

She glided across the grass of the courtyard as if she were floating, her full and flowing skirts trailing behind, a stunning jewel of purple. Her hair glittered in the light of the setting sun like rubies caught fire, plaited in the latest fashions about her crown, long curls spilling elegantly down her back. She moved with such natural grace and it was clear to see why she was leaving gawping faces and enthusiastic clumsy attentions in her wake. She was elegant, fascinating, magnetic. Helen found herself inexplicably drawn to the striking woman. She could hear her companions speaking amongst themselves in the background, but their voices came to her ears as if across a great void. “Who is that?” “New auditing student.” “Have any of you met her?” “When did she arrive?” “Any of you chaps know her name?” None of their conversation really registered with Helen, though, for she was caught in the pull of the tide flowing out, to her. Transfixed, she couldn’t look away. That was when, as if drawn by Helen’s gaze, the woman looked up from her admirers, across the promenade, straight into Helen’s eyes. Breath caught in her chest, heart thrumming in her throat. Her eyes. Glittering emeralds, glowing with their own light, their own life. It was as if the dazzling woman was staring straight into her soul. Her gaze sent chills all the way up Helen’s spine. No one had ever looked at her that way before. No one had ever looked into her. She smiled, and Helen’s pulse fluttered. Then she turned back in the direction she had been heading and was gone.

Three evenings later, one of the senior fellows was holding a formal ‘back to university’ gathering to which Helen and her colleagues were in attendance. While mingling about the salon, mostly speaking of the week’s most fascinating lectures, there was a bit of a hubbub from the front hall. Moments later, the woman from the courtyard entered the parlor. To Helen’s great surprise, within seconds the woman’s eyes locked onto hers and she glided straight across the room, directly toward Helen. The woman both kissed Helen’s hand and dipped into a small curtsy, though their eyes never parted, introducing herself as Rowan Llewellyn, starting her first year of attendance at Oxford. She said she’d very much like to talk to another woman in attendance as she hadn’t met many people since arriving in London and hadn’t even seen another woman about campus aside from Helen, who was rather enamored herself by the idea of speaking with another woman braving the male dominated world of university at that time. She commented briefly about the press of the crowd and the stuffiness of the room suggesting a stroll through the garden; having already been introduced to the world of abnormals by her father almost ten years prior and wishing to have the opportunity to study this woman more closely, Helen leapt at the excuse for a chance to talk privately.

The two women made their excuses to Helen’s companions and arm in arm walked out into the gardens, strolling under the moonlight. Once they had made their way a good distance into the flowers and fountains, well away from earshot of anyone who might come out onto the lanai for some air or privacy of their own, Rowan broke their companionable silence. “Lady Helen Magnus. I asked about campus after you following our brief encounter across the promenade. Might your father be Dr. Gregory Magnus?”

Helen allowed herself a small smile at the interest Rowan had shown in discovering more about her after only a brief glance, “Yes, actually, he is. Do you know him?”

“We’ve never met, but I’ve heard rather a great deal about him over the years. Both him, and his work.” The last word carried a great deal of emphasis. “Do you work with him?”

“My father has shared with me much of his practice, and I hold great interest in working with him on some of his more specialized projects. Though, that won’t begin until after I complete my studies, of course.”

“Of course. You’re in your third year, are you not? A large accomplishment for a woman of these times, especially one so lovely.”

“Are you implying, Miss Llewellyn, that a pretty face hides an absence of intellect?” Helen lifted an eyebrow at such an implication.

“Surely not, my lady. Simply acknowledging that someone with your charms could easily be the prized bride of any prosperous gentleman she chooses, and thus well kept and cared for. To strike out on one’s own and make one’s own way, especially in university halls, in medicine no less, as not only a woman but an enchanting one at that, is an honorable and admirable feat. If it pleases,” Rowan smiled at her with such genuineness it set her heart to flutter.

“My,” Helen stared at her, at a complete loss for what to make of this rare and beautiful creature before her, nor what to make of the foreign feelings swirling inside her.

“You are unique, Lady Helen, and utterly enchanting. I find myself entirely enraptured by you. I would consider myself most fortunate to find myself blessed with the pleasure of your continued companionship during my stay in London. Might I call on you in the future, possibly engage the honor of your guidance round yon fair city?” she dipped a dramatic bow and a cheeky wink, the corner of her mouth quirking into a wry smile.

Helen felt her cheeks warm and was glad for the low light of the starlit garden to hide the color she knew must be there. This woman, the language and gestures were overtly intended as comical, though the affections were obviously genuine. Women did not behave this way toward other women, not in polite society or otherwise, and well-bred ladies attending university to become well respected doctors did not return feelings toward advances from mysterious women they had just met. And yet.

Helen curtsied low to match the obvious drama Rowan had displayed. “It would be my pleasure to accept your call, Miss Llewellyn, and I would be most happy to show you about London. After all, we can’t leave you unescorted on your first journey to our esteemed capital.” She smiled warmly down upon Rowan as the fire-haired maiden bent to kiss her hand, piercing green eyes never leaving her own twinkling blue, Helen’s pulse hammering in her ears.

The distant shuffle of footsteps, the rustle of leaves, faint voices calling out.

“Adieu and anon, Fair Lady. My gratitude for a moonlight stroll with such enchanting company.” Her lips brushed the back of Helen’s hand while she spoke, lingering as she gazed longingly into the intense crystal blue eyes of the radiant woman standing before her. Eyes full of wonder, a playful smile tugging the corners of full supple lips, angelic blond curls spilling over smooth bare shoulders, maroon satin ruched just so to accentuate supple rounded flesh peaking over the top of a shapely corseted bodice. The most beautiful woman she had ever seen, and she was unequivocally spellbound.

The distant shuffle now deliberate footfalls, faint voices now clearly men calling Helen’s name.

Lips pressed a gentle, intentional kiss firmly to the delicate hand she held as she forced herself to stand and pull away. “Tá tú chomh hálainn. Sweet night and pleasant dreamings to thee.” She bowed once more and backed away into the night, disappearing into the indistinguishable shadows of the moonlit garden, eyes still lingering on Helen’s even after the other woman had lost sight of her to the dark.

The crunch of gravel behind her finally tore Helen’s gaze away from the patch of shadow where the enigmatic Miss Rowan Llewellyn had vanished from her sight, the man’s voice breaking into the swirling multitude of thoughts and feelings coursing through her body, “There you are, Darling. Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, of course. Just taking in some air.” The man’s long arm wrapped about her waist, drawing her down the pathway, back toward the party. For a brief moment, she threw a fleeting glance over her shoulder hoping, well she wasn’t quite sure what for. Yet the moment passed, and she settled her stride to match her beau’s. “Shall we take a turn through Piccadilly this evening on the ride home?”

“We saw much of each other throughout the subsequent semester, both on and off campus. We shared several classes whose lectures we enthusiastically dissected with each other, but more than that it was simply thrilling to have a woman to socialize with who wasn’t looking down her nose at us for daring to have the unwomanly audacity to sit next to the men folk in the lecture halls vying for accolades and accreditation equal to theirs. It was a different time, Will, a different world. Women were meant to sit in parlors with their smallwork, to bear babies to their husbands, to organize charity galas, and to keep house. Education of that level for women was unheard of; studying philosophy, science, medicine, well that was the devil’s work.”

Will had listened to Helen’s tale in rapt silence, closely watching the two women sitting across from him. Their eyes had been on each other while Helen recounted their history, and based on the fleeting micro-expressions on their faces and the minute tells of their body language, it was rather clear to Dr. Zimmerman, profiler extraordinaire, that there was more to this story than was being put into words for his benefit. A lot more.

“Well,” Rowan said, “I’m sure there’s questions you now have for Helen alone that you would prefer to ask in private. If the two of you will excuse me, I’ll take my leave of you for now and set about exploring this gorgeous place. I’d like some time to collect my thoughts and wander my own memories, anyway.”

Will tried to keep the surprise out of his expression as he stood to extend his temporary farewells. It was absolutely true that he wanted to talk to Magnus privately for the moment, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how Rowan had known that.

She stood and leaned over Helen, lips caressing her ear as she barely breathed, “I’ll find you later,” too quietly for Will to hear. She then brushed a gentle kiss against the sweep of her neck and left the room in a quiet rustle of green.

Heat rose to Helen’s cheeks as she watched her go, the loose and flowing construction of her dress allowing far more of the shape of her body to be viewed than the many-layered garments of the late Victorian era that she had worn when Helen knew her last. Helen realized she’d been staring after her, and dropped her gaze to the hands clasped in her lap, painfully aware that she was blushing and Will’s keen eye would not miss that fact.

She could feel his penetrating gaze on her as he analyzed what he had just heard and seen and assessed how best to go about getting the information he wished to know.

“Go ahead, Will,” she said calmly. “Ask what you wish to know. I’ll answer. Every room, every door, right?”

“Magnus, this has nothing to do with us working together. This isn’t a patient or a case. This is your personal life. I have no right to pry, nor to demand full disclosure. My questions are merely curiosity from the perspective of a new friend who would like to get to know you better.”

“Go ahead,” she repeated.

Will cleared his throat. “Alright.” He sat forward in his chair, fingers laced, forearms propped on his thighs, eyes focused on her face. “Did, uh, did you two have, um… Did you have a thing?”

Magnus let out a chuckle at his awkwardness as she looked up at him. “No, we did not have ‘a thing’. Mutual attraction, some seriously intense sexual tension, a handful of hidden coatroom kisses. But nothing ever came of any of it.”

Will’s eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline, bringing a grin to Magnus’ face.

“What, because I’m a relic straight out of good ol’ Victorian England, I can’t have kissed a girl and liked it?”

Now it was Will’s turn to feel heat in his cheeks. “No, I just…. What happened?”

“It was All Hallow’s Eve 1885. I was throwing a party, bit of a masquerade. Music, horderves, dancing, drinks. Some fellows from school, some ladies that I knew from our presentation days, some colleagues of my father’s who mostly kept to his library so as not to ‘spoil the fun for the young folks’. Everyone bedecked with masks, offering a bit of anonymity and allowing folks to mingle a bit more freely than they would have otherwise. There had been no receiving line, and I had arrived half an hour into the affair myself, so that no one knew who anyone else was. Everyone danced and milled about having anonymous conversations, it was a grand time. The soiree had been in full swing for about two hours or so, and most of the gentlemen had retired to the front parlor for cigars and brandys, leaving the gaggle of masked ladies to partner with each other on the dance floor, giggling and gossiping. There was a knock at the door, and our man escorted a late guest who had finally arrived to the ballroom. She cut a striking figure in a stunning sleeveless ballgown; black corset with blood red boning, a panel of black lace down the back behind the blood red laces, the voluminous skirt alternating panels of black and red, studded with sparkling gemstones of the opposite color in swirling patterns down the full length of the skirt. Red jewels hung from her neck, and black from her ears, she wore an elaborate mask dancing with gems that shone in the candlelight, as was the call for the night, it obscured her whole face. Yet there was no mistaking that hair. Laced through with sprigs of black pearls, twisted and coiffed and curled into the very definition of elegance, the waves cascading down the center of her back, brushing the waist of her gown, and red as fire rubies.

“She glided across the room, curtsied, and escorted me onto the dance floor where she twirled me about as effortlessly as if we were dancing on clouds, and for the way it felt, maybe we were. By the end of the third song, we had somehow made our way to the doorway of the salon that was serving as coatroom for the duration of the masquerade. She spun me through the doors, had them closed behind us, and was turning me through the final steps of the dance all in one liquid movement. She danced us farther into the room, deeper amidst the rows of racks of coats and furs, further into the shadows. Her eyes held me rapt, my heart in my throat, as she gingerly pulled the mask from my face, smiling, stroking my cheek.

“Your ensemble is stunning, my Lady, but I would gaze upon thy lovely face,” she said. She tugged at the ribbons of her own mask and, once removed, tossed them both onto a chair in the corner, taking my hands in hers. Her eyes. My God, it was like she was trying to drink me up with them. She drew her hands up my arms, across my shoulders, up the sides of my neck. My skin tingled and pulsed under her touch. Those eyes, they searched my face, looking deep for something. They found it, or maybe didn’t, depending on exactly what she was looking for; because then, her right hand still cupping the side of my neck, her left sliding around to cradle the back of my head, she drew me to her, ever so slowly, bent her head, eyes still boring right into me the whole time, and she kissed me. Slow, gentle, lingering, tender. Each caress of lips so deliberate. She held my face, and she breathed in to me, her tongue ran lightly across my lower lip, then she was kissing me again, my lip between hers, sucking ever so softly. My whole body was on fire, I could feel each and every nerve where her skin touched my bare flesh, all of them quivering with desire, and I was intimately aware of the length of her pressed against the length of me as we stood there lost to all the world, save each other. Her fingers slid into my hair at the base of my neck and her other hand glided its way down my back, stopping in that curve just above hips, and she pulled me tighter against her. I could feel the heat, the desire, rolling off her in waves, her breath coming in short gasps, yet every move she made remained very intentional, and the moment went on and on and on.

“I was no innocent maiden at that point in my life, Will. I was thirty-five and while some aspects of physical romance had not yet made themselves known to me, I wasn’t completely ignorant of it all. Now, well, I can assure you I am well and truly an experienced woman, but I have never been kissed like that in my life, ever.

“She drew back from my lips, her face hovering in front of mine, our foreheads almost touching, her breath quick and short, just as mine was, those vibrantly intense emerald eyes of hers staring straight into my soul. For a long moment, she just stood there looking at me, stone still except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Then she pressed her cheek to mine, her lips brushing against my left ear, her breath tickling the few loose ringlets that fell down my neck, and she whispered to me, “I’ve been dying to do that from the moment I first laid eyes on you.” I could feel her smile against my ear. ”I wanted the first kiss I gave you to be one that you would never forget.”

“She let go of me all at once, dropping into a sweeping bow, “Fair night, lovely Lady, and sweet dreamings to thee.” With a flourish, she swept out of the room and was gone.”

Helen’s breathing had quickened with the memory of the kiss, her fingers unconsciously on her lips, and she sat silently, trying to quell the tingling nerves crawling across her skin.

“Wow,” Will uttered, almost to himself.

“That kiss was the singular most paramount experience of my life. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of monumental comparisons by which to judge it.” Helen took a deep, steadying breath. “Things only got more intense from there. On the Christmas Eve of 1891 we held a small get together, just a handful of closest friends, to exchange gifts, eat, drink, and make merry. No band, no ballroom, just an intimate gathering in the salon. I had dismissed the staff for the week to spend time with their families, and so I was playing full hostess that night. The six of us were sitting informally in the salon trading stories and catching up on each other’s lives, we had gone a bit separate ways since Oxford, but we still got together for special occasions. At one point, I had gotten up to take something to or retrieve something from the kitchens- I don’t remember what now- but as I was down the hall, closer to the kitchen than the salon, Rowan caught up to me. She had excused herself from the men and had followed me out. No sooner had I turned around to the sound of her footsteps than she had her hands on my hips, pushing me into an alcove in the wall- someplace we’d be out of the line of eyesight should anyone else leave the salon- her lips on mine, kissing me fervently. She pressed me into the wall, her hands sliding up my sides as she kissed at my neck, my collar bone, across the neckline of my dress, back up my neck, across the line of my jaw. I was panting, my hands running the length of her back, trying to draw her closer to me. Her hips pressed against mine, her strong delicate hands stroked their way up my chest as she ran them up my arms, holding my wrists against the wall above my head, kissing me again and again, harder, with more desperation.

“The whole length of her body now pressed against mine as she held me against the wall, her free hand drawing my skirt toward my waist, her fingertips brushed the bare skin of my thigh, and she traced them up my leg, drawing my knee up to rest on her hip bone, her hand then sliding back to cup my bum. I couldn’t kiss her hard enough, fast enough, deep enough; I just wanted more of her- I wanted all of her.

“Pulling my hips harder against hers, she drew her lips away from mine, again running kisses down and up my neck, a shudder of pleasure coursing through my whole body. Then her whisper brushed against my ear, just as it always did, “My gods, do you have any idea how exquisite you are? I just couldn’t stand it any longer, sitting in there watching you from across the room, not being able to touch you. Is ar éigean is féidir liom é a iompróidh.” She glided the hand she had under my bum up my abdomen and wrapped it around my right breast, squeezing gently, and she kissed me again; deep, passionate, full of hunger and desire, but tender, intentional. “Oh, gods.” She breathed against my gasping mouth, her breath just as ragged and erratic as mine. “Tá m’intinn caillte, you drive me crazy! I swear, I can’t think when you’re around.”

I laughed at her at that, “Oh, please. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and we always talk about the latest scientific advancements, we’ve traded philosophical views for years, you’re knowledge of the arts is vast beyond imagining and you’ve schooled me on more than one o-” Her mouth pressing over mine stopped my train of thought as well as my words.

“Bíodh sin mar atá, I can’t think of anything but you when you’re around. You tucked that errant lock of hair behind your ear earlier, and all I wanted to do was kiss you here,” her lips brushed across my ear, “and here,” the bit of tender flesh just behind the lobe, “and here,” up and down the side of my neck. “You had a bit of jelly tart,” she brushed delicate fingertips across the corner of my mouth, “and I just wanted to,” her tongue flicked across the same spot, then traced my swollen lips before she pressed hers over them again. “You leaned down to set the tea on the table in front of me, and I,” her eyes were watching my chest rise and fall in heavy, panting breaths, her hands sliding over me cupping the underside of my bosom, her hot shallow breath on my skin as she kissed feverishly along the tops of my bare breasts where my corset spilled them out the top of my dress. She muttered into my chest, the exact words muffled and lost in the press of flesh. Their meaning, however, was quite clear. She was just as aroused and hungry as I was, and she also knew just as well as I did that there was nothing to be done about it.

“Don’t look at me like that, Will. It simply wasn’t done in those days, and as open-minded and forward thinking as I have always been, there were some conventions of society that just couldn’t be broken until times had changed enough for me to still keep my feet under me if anything was ever discovered. I was building the Network, after all, and it was a cause just as important to Rowan as it was to me. We both understood what was at stake, and we were both willing to put our personal desires aside for the sake of larger things. Not to mention, we weren’t alone. Four well-known, upstanding, and revered men sitting in my salon at that very moment, one my father. What, precisely, do you think would have happened if we had just disappeared to my bedchamber to conduct our affair?

“With sighs of frustration from our lips and longing in our eyes, we parted ways to compose ourselves and rejoin the rest of our assemblage. Rowan set off to the powder room, and then the kitchen to collect whatever it was I was supposed to be bringing back with me. She’d make my excuses to the boys and garner me a bit more time to get myself together, which I sorely needed.

“A few moments quiet to myself, my legs too weak to hold me without the support of the walls, I was propped in that alcove, my skirts wrinkled, my hair mussed, my breasts spilling a bit overmuch from my neckline. I might have known it was best not to act upon the desires burning within me with Rowan, but I was neither inexperienced nor prude enough to be closed to the notion of acting upon them by myself, if for no other reason than to satisfy my arousal enough to be able to return to my father’s presence without fantasies of a sexy female abnormal flooding my thoughts. So in the handful of minutes that I had left before I was missed overmuch, my own fingers found their way beneath the hem of my skirts and worked at the places Rowan couldn’t touch while the rest of my body quivered with the memory of her caresses still fresh on my flesh.”

Will’s face was so flushed, Magnus thought he might faint. “You did ask to hear this, did you not?” she asked him, a suppressed smile twitching at the corners of her mouth anyway.

“Well, yeah, I just-” He stopped, cleared his throat, started again, “I guess I just didn’t expect that this story would include you, um, well…” He stopped again and made no attempt to continue.

“Did you think me incapable?”

“What? No! I mean, I’d never considered… Uh-” Will floundered miserably, stuttering. Then he noticed the teasing smile spreading on Magnus’s lips and the mischievous glimmer in her eyes. “Ah, I see.” He smiled ruefully.

“I am sorry that I’ve embarrassed you, Will. But history lessons about Rowan and I don’t much come without kisses and fondling in some form or other.”

A bit of the extra color had left Will’s cheeks as he flopped back in the armchair, “Jesus. But I don’t understand, you were both obviously into each other, like seriously into each other. I mean, that’s pretty hot and heavy, Magnus. How did you get from that to ‘nothing ever came of any of it’?”

Magnus sighed, a wistful smile playing across her lips. “May Day, 1898, she showed up at a garden party I was hosting. She made eyes to me from across the lawn and disappeared into the house. I excused myself from the group of guests I had been talking to, and I followed her. Once inside, I began hunting through the rooms for where she had gone. As I passed the parlor door, a hand reached out and pulled me inside, sliding the door closed behind me. In the stretch of a blink she had closed the distance, wrapped one hand around my neck and the other about my waist, and her lips were pressed to mine. Delicate, tender, slow. Like the first time. She took her time, gently caressing me with her supple lips. Time slowed, the world disappeared, we were the only two beings in all of existence. When our lips parted, her eyes were more intense than I’d ever seen them before. She took my hands, and her look took on a somber quality.

“Run away with me, Helen,” she said.

Helen let out a peal of ringing laughter. “Be serious, Rowan. Run away? To where, why? Our lives are here, our friends are here, our work is here.”

“I am serious. You’ve been through so much these last years, you need time, you need respite in which to heal. You always spend so much time taking care of everyone else, you take care of the whole world, but you need taking care of too.”

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you.” Helen smiled in mock offense.

“Yes, I know, but you don’t. You never save any time for yourself.” Rowan dropped her hands and paced anxiously across the floor. Frustration at an inability to express herself was clear in her countenance. “I don’t mean we should disappear, much as I envy the idea of falling off the face of the earth with you. But we could go for a time. Take a trip, we’ll go anywhere you wish. There’s so much of the world it would give me great pleasure to show you.” She turned back to face the golden haired beauty standing in the center of the room; soft sunlight gleaming in her sapphire eyes, playing across the highlights of her delicate curls setting them on fire, creating a fitting halo about her elegant face. Rowan’s pounding heart caught in her throat at the sight. She’s magnificent, she thought, the most glorious creature ever to exist. She’s witty, and charming, and brilliant- one of the foremost minds in the world… and she can’t even see how I feel about her. “Just the two of us, in some far off city, exploring the culture by day,” her vibrant, mossy eyes drank in the length of Helen’s stunning figure, “exploring each other by night. Do come, we could be on the train tonight. Ní fheiceann tú go bhfuil grá agam duit?”

“As enticing as that proposition is, there’s simply far too much to be done right now. With Father away someone has to keep everything in order; the expansions to the Sanctuary, we’re taking on new residents by the dozen, cataloguing the correspondences he’s sending back, to say nothing of the massive shipment he’s sent. I’ve barely even gotten half of it unboxed.” Helen closed the distance between the two women.

“What about James, he could-” Helen laid a gentle finger across Rowan’s lips, silencing her.

“It’s just not possible right now. Too much is at stake, not the least of which if anyone were to see us….” Her words trailed, leaving the harsh reality of the situation unspoken. She slowly twined her arms around Rowan’s waist, palms flat against her back, drawing their bodies closer. “In the meantime,” she smiled, removing the remaining distance between their lips, electricity sparking between them, mouths pressed fervently together, Rowan’s fingers twisting their way into Helen’s curls, soft moans escaping from both mouths.

“This isn’t the end of this conversation, Fairest Lady,” breathless voice emanating through a cheshire grin reaching all the way to probing eyes captivated by the face they witnessed. “I will give you time to get your affairs in order, and I shall ask you again. Perchance you shall be less thoroughly engaged with other pursuits by Midsommer.”

“She wrapped her arms tighter and drew me closer to her. She kissed me like her life depended on it, long and slow, every feeling either of us had ever had for the other all pressed into that single joining of lips. She lingered, like she couldn’t bear to part, and I couldn’t either. When she did pull away, pulled so very slowly away, her eyes on mine, like she was memorizing every facet and shift of color, she brushed her thumb gently over my lips, one final caress. Crossing back to the door, she slipped her hand into the gap and slid one side back into its pocket in the wall. She winked at me, her devilish grin full of cheek, and was gone.

“After a few moments to compose myself and a quick glance in the mirror above the fireplace to make sure my hair was still in place, I smoothed my skirts and followed her through the doorway.

“I didn’t see her for the next fifty-one days, an attempted correspondence elicited a simple written reply, ‘I shan’t engage your attention toward pursuits other than thy current occupation of settling affairs into order, thus possibly engaging another dismissal of my petition for your attendance on holiday.’ Midsommer arrived, and my nerves were fluttering all day long. I had not realized how much comfort I had gotten used to drawing from her steadfast company. I missed her fiercely, and the desperate desire to see her again consumed me.

“Finally, half an hour before the meal was called, I saw her enter the drawing room. I started to make my way across the room toward her, but halfway to her my course was diverted by some associates of a colleague of mine who wished to discuss some funding we had requested for one of our ventures.

“I thought to join her at table, but she wasn’t there. After, when the men retired for cigars and brandy and the women tucked in to gossip, I excused myself and began hunting through the house. She was here somewhere, tucked away in some empty room far from the rest of the gathered crowds, awaiting the chance to steal kisses behind the drapery and in the alcoves, just as she always was. Yet there was no sign of her, and upon inquiry the doorman announced he had seen her depart rather quickly just as everyone had been settling into the dining hall.”

“In the weeks that followed, when she never made an appearance at any of the various social functions, was absent from the music halls and the theatres, didn’t pay a call to any of her friends in residence at the Sanctuary, a dark knot of certainty settled itself in the pit of my stomach. I called to her apartments, even though in my heart I already knew what I would find. “She’s not here, Miss. Took a carriage out well after dark back Midsommer night, loaded down with trucks she was. Left instruction to place the rest of her belongings into storage. Ent leave no forwarding address,” her porter told me when I enquired at the door.

“She was gone.” Magnus’s unseeing eyes stared ahead, looking through the arcane mists of the past, recalling times long gone. Not for the first time, Will wondered just how much had transpired between them that had gone unsaid.

“I never saw her again. Not until she walked in here today like a ghost straight out of memory locked away long ago. I had begun to wonder if she was even still alive.”

Will sat quietly, staring out the window. He could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t fall far short of the response that her tale deserved.

“Will?”

“Yeah, Magnus. What is it?”

“I’m done talking for now. I think I’d like to be alone.”

“Yeah, of course.” Will stepped into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind himself, leaving Magnus to her memories.

Helen Magnus stood on a parapet of the tower jutting from the Sanctuary roof, watching the dying sun set the skyline of Old City on fire. She snugged her shawl around her shoulders against the wind, her chocolate locks lifting off her shoulders in soft waves.

“I had a feeling I’d find you up here,” the melodic voice from behind her sent a warm shiver up her spine. How quickly feelings long buried could wash back over you as if it were just yesterday you had felt them in the first place. Rowan soundlessly stepped up beside her, “It’s beautiful. Cé nach bhfuil sé chomh hálainn leat. I can see why you picked this spot.”

They stood in silence, gazing out at the last breaths of the day falling across the city that Helen had made her home for the last ninety years.

“Why did you leave?” Helen watched the final rays of light shine across the peaks of the cityscape.

“I’m sorry, leannán, I swore a promise. It’s not important anyway. You had work to do, and by the looks of it, you’ve done it well. My path lay elsewhere. What matters to me is that we are together now. I’ve missed you.”

Helen turned to face her, the dying light setting diamonds to sparkle in her deep blue eyes. She smiled. “I am very glad to see you.” Rowan’s arms wrapped around her shoulders as she leaned her head against Rowan’s chest. The pair stood on the roof embraced that way as the full moon climbed high into the sky.

“Come,” Helen said once the orb had reached its zenith. “I think I’ve the perfect room for you.”

Rowan gently kissed the top of Helen’s head and stepped to the roof floor, offering her hand to Helen. She took it and, after stepping to the floor herself, they walked hand in hand back into Helen’s home.

Once back inside, they stopped at the first landing. At Rowan’s raised brows, Helen grinned and threw the door in front of them wide. It opened on a large square room ringed in oversized stained glass windows, though the ones to their left were doors leading to a small balcony overlooking the water, the tall ceiling all exposed rafters and stonework, gaslight sconces adorned the walls and a single gas chandelier hung from the central beam of the ceiling. Helen strode into the middle of the room where she turned circles with her arms held out from her sides, a playful smile making her mischievous eyes twinkle. “Well?”

“Déithe, it’s beautiful,” Rowan smiled, joining Helen in the middle of the gothic revival-esque room, turning a slow circle herself.

“It’s away from the rest of the rooms, so you’ll have plenty of privacy, it’s got views for days, we can make any changes or additions to it you’d like, I want you to feel at home here. There is one other, small benefit to this particular room’s location. I rarely sleep these days, not much anyway, and I spend much of my time on the tower roof at night. On occasion, one might happen to hear the sounds of a sleepless woman climbing the stairs outside their door and decide to mount the roof to offer the company of an old friend.” She quirked a conspiratorial smile.

“Well, in that case, I’d say it’s perfect. Thank you, Helen.”

“Welcome to the Sanctuary.”

#sanctuary #helen magnus #will zimmerman #fanfic #nsftumblr

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debtfreeinthree · 7 years

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Why Self-Care Doesn't (Always) Mean Spending More Money

Lately, I’ve been seeing the word “self-care” thrown about often. I feel like I see it on every social media platform and in magazine ads and I hear it when I’m talking to my friends.

I am a BIG fan of self-care. My favorite ways to self-care are going to my therapist, doing a facial mask a few times a week and eating more veggies than I used to.

But lately, I’ve seen self-care bastardized and co-opted for marketing campaigns and by Instagram influencers. They use self-care to sell you something you probably don’t even need. But in an age where self-care is a valuable commodity, everyone is hopping on the self-care bandwagon.

My Self-Care Journey

When she was stressed out, my college roommate Leah would sometimes declare a “mental health day.” She’d skip class, indulge in a favorite romantic comedy and generally just chill out.

When I was stressed out, I would often indulge in retail therapy, another bullshit term used to entice women to shop. In fact, I became so good at retail therapy that I ended up with a bulging closet and a collection of bras so large my friends used to make fun of me.

My retail therapy took a huge upswing when I lived in New York for a summer, interning at the Associated Press. I was so stressed out with work that I often overspent just to make myself feel better. I’d take a cab instead of the subway or buy food out instead of cooking at home. At one point, I was buying take-out three times a day – THAT’S INSANE!

I used money to make myself feel better, but it never really worked as a long-term strategy. I remember one day I had really messed up at my internship and I went down to the bookstore, where I spent approximately $84 on books and notebooks. Then, I went to the diner to have lunch. I felt sick to my stomach with all my spending, which wasn’t helping me forget about my work mistake.

Money isn’t a band-aid. It isn’t a magic salve that will help you forget about your troubles. In fact, it usually amplifies them.

When I started working as a newspaper reporter making $28,000 a year, I couldn’t afford to rely on retail therapy. After paying my $350 student loan payment, I barely had anything left over. Suddenly, I had to face whatever feelings I was running away from.

Do You Use Self-Care as an Excuse to Spend Money?

I was reading this article from finance guru Tonya Rapley, where she shared her journey from financial abuse victim to financial warrior.

I read this line and immediately knew what she meant:

But when I left, I had no savings to speak of, and thought that healing myself meant not worrying about how much I was spending.

I’ve never been a victim of abuse, but I’ve been depressed and anxious and thought that worrying about money was counter-productive. Dealing with your finances seems like it’s a chore, but in fact, caring about money is the biggest self-care activity you can do.

One way I hear people talk about stress, self-care and money is this phrase. You’re going to jump back in your seat when you read this. Are you ready? Ok here we go:

I had a bad day, so I DESERVE THIS.

Whoa! Did you just jump back? See, I said you would. Deserve is one of those words that makes it seem like spending money is ok, that it’s great for your mental health. But in fact, it’s just a trick, an excuse your brain uses to spend money when you know you shouldn’t.

How often have you been feeling crappy and used the phrase “I deserve” to justify buying something? It can be as small as a new NYX lipstick or as big as a Kate Spade purse, but this phrase is DESTRUCTIVE TO YOUR FINANCES.

How to Do Self-Care on a Budget

Ok so if bottomless mimosas and retail therapy are outlawed, how can you actually relax, take some time for yourself and not feel bad about it afterward?

Here are my favorite ideas for self-care on a budget:

Take a bubble bath

Ok, yes, you might be thinking: isn’t this kind of an old-fashioned idea? But lemme tell you something: Bubble baths work! Any time I’ve taken a bubble bath, my first thought is, “Why don’t I do this more often?” Quietly soaking in a hot bath is one of the most invigorating activities you can do.

I don’t even buy pricey bubble bath. I just use body oils and body wash I already have and pump in lots of my favorite moisturizer. My bubble bath doesn’t look perfect, but I leave with smooth skin and a calm mind.

Do something with my hands

Most of the time when I feel the need for self-care, I really just want some quiet. The world can feel so loud and noisy and even scrolling through my Instagram feed can seem too much. Sometimes it feels good to get back to the basics and do something tactile. I’ll usually get out my sewing or jewelry-making supplies and work on a simple project.

Sometimes I’ll even get out my watercolors or drawing pencils. Ever wondered why adult coloring books were so popular? It’s the same reason. They allow us to make something with their hands instead of just absorbing content. P.S. For bonus frugal points, I try to find art supplies on sale. Sometimes you can find people giving away free stuff at yard sales or on Craigslist.

Declutter my house

Ok, I know this sounds like work, but honestly, throwing stuff away is ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS. I love the satisfaction that comes with filling up a 32-liter garbage bag and tossing it away (or putting it in my donate pile).

Decluttering always makes me feel I’ve truly accomplished something. And since I’m still in the stage of life where I move almost every year, I know that every garbage bag I throw away is one less garbage bag I have to pack. Plus, it’s always fun going through old stuff (at least if you’re a weirdo like me).

Bake something decadent

I love to bake. I think it comes from my mom not baking a lot as a kid and me being jealous of kids who always had boxed brownie mix in their pantry. In college, I made cookies and brownies all the time and started experimenting with my own recipes.

Recently, my husband and I have been watching “The Great British Bake-Off” on Netflix and I’ve rediscovered a love for baking. Last time, I made a two-tier chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. It was so good – I still dream about it when I’m feeling hangry. Baking is one of my favorite self-care activities because it’s so innately satisfying. Baking requires your utmost attention and since I struggle with getting through a sentence without – SQUIRREL – losing track, I love the focus I have to spend on baking.

Baking something yourself is so much better than buying it from a store, unless you’re going to a real bakery in which case you’re spending a lot of money. Not only is the act of baking itself enjoyable, but then you get to eat what you made! Even if you don’t love baking, try making a box cake next time you need self-care. I promise you’ll enjoy the process.

Watch a favorite movie

Ok this idea kind of seems like cheating because, “Duh, everyone knows watching a movie is a good idea when you’re feeling bad.” But trust me, when was the last time you sat down to watch a good old-fashioned chick flick?

A few weeks ago, I discovered that “Miss Congeniality” was on Netflix so I immediately started watching it while painting my nails. IT FELT SO GOOD. The combo of watching a movie I basically grew up with combined with doing something indulgent like an at-home manicure filled my soul.

If you’re lucky enough to have some girlfriends near you, invite them for a full-blown spa session complete with rom coms. One time, my friends and I made homemade strawberry yogurt masks and did a coffee scrub on our legs. It was hilarious, especially when we realized that we’d left the curtains wide open and everyone on the street could see us with red faces and legs covered in leftover coffee grounds.

Exercise

I hope I don’t get any flack for this comment, but there’s a reason why people recommend exercise when you’re depressed or anxious. When I’m feeling anxious, I tend to think about skipping the gym. But every time I go, I feel better. Maybe instead of your normal routine, do something different. Take a bike ride, do some basic yoga or hit the heavy bag (my personal favorite).

Remember, self-care isn’t always about doing the easiest thing. It’s about doing what will truly help you in the moment and in the long run.

via GIPHY

How do you do self-care on a budget? What are your favorite frugal ways to indulge? Leave your suggestions in the comments below!

Why Self-Care Doesn’t (Always) Mean Spending More Money was originally published on Debt Free After Three

#fun #hobbies #self care

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

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Life Story - Part 63

(i just want to throw in a trigger warning for sexual violence being mentioned. It’s probably fine, but i don’t want anyone who is struggling personally to be hurt by what i have written.)

It's just shy by two weeks or so from a decade to the days I started painting my first canvases. I realized when I started painting that it had actually been my thing all along. I couldn't work with lines the way I worked with color. I guess it stems from the way I saw the world through my perception, and the lead of a pencil was simply not conveying what I wanted. I was so much better of a painter than I was an illustrator too. Having drawn so much for years did help me paint – it helped me lay the ground work, and painting in the long run helped me do things like shade better and be more experimental in how I drew. It was finally great to find something I was good at for once, and some way I could express myself.

I like drawing still of course, it was a cheap way to get through school, something to do with all the free paper and pencils that I had to have in my hands anyway. I still do it time to time when I am bored, but it's always somewhat cartoonish when I draw. Line work is just not my way of expressing myself artistically. I could demonstrate so much more by use of color and contrast in a way that seemed flat when I drew. This had been the first time in a very very long time where I felt good at something I had done. I felt like I had some kind of value. I had been proud of my critiques in high school, but it never really mattered to me like painting did. It wasn't as personal as this was.

I set up a deviantart account, and I kept it for a few years to put my art on. I lost the password several years ago, started a new one, and though I check it maybe once every two months or so, I never have any art to put out, and I have struggled with having a place to put my scanner. But all of it is still there for what it's worth. This became my life in a way – reading, listening to music, painting, MySpace

Strangely enough though, the act of painting caused/causes me a great deal of pain though, and in saying this, I don't want to also say that I don't love to paint, because it hurts and is also a passion, albeit a confusing one. I believe it might be the frame of mind I get in, some psychological aspect I don't quite understand, but it really does screw with me physically. My heart begins to race, I feel sick to my stomach. I have a fever. I start feeling paranoid and meaningless and lonely. Everything feels wrong. I often have to get up after painting for twenty minutes and pace the house. I will check the bathroom to make sure nobody is in there. I will look outside to try to cool off. My mind has these impulsive feelings of feeling like someone is watching me from a closet, to feeling paranoid that I am not real – I am merely a figment of someone else's imagination and this is all an illusion. I get this feeling of intense loneliness and wanting to close the doorway that I am looking through mentally that I paint from. I start going crazy, and this is why I have struggled to be prolific. It exposes the fact that underneath my demeanor and my sense that I am in control, I am actually a chaotic lunatic.

I've never talked to another artist who had those symptoms from making artwork that they enjoyed. Everyone I have ever spoken to seem to feel at ease with what they are doing. It feels good – liberating even. Not me though. I feel the liberation, but then I feel even more suffocated. And yet, it is still worth doing. I suspect that I am at my best when I am discontent and obsessively closed off, which is unfortunate for me most likely. I feel I am more efficient, clear minded, creative and a better person when I am unhappy. Maybe the psyche aspect of my painting self is one element of this self truth? I don't seek out misery, however, misery and despair are very easy to find.

On the weekends when we were all at our mother's, my brother was beginning to be a bit of a bully to the household. It was a strange phase he was going through and it only got worse and worse. There were some very dark reasons for all of this, and I will try to explain. I think it came from a deep seated insecurity he had that my father had instilled in him in fear that David would be too feminine. David had stuttered as a child, due largely to my father screaming at David about his speech impediment and mocking him. Being the only son of a man who had been raised by a mean-spirited brother who shamed him, it must have been sort of difficult emotionally for David. He was always spoiled too, separate from us somehow. It was a strange mix. My father was always shaming David to act competitive and masculine.

David's truer personality is shy, meticulous, and honest. He had a temper from the day he was born, but it could have been dealt with differently. Maybe it was the way he was taken out of the womb? David's head got stuck in my mother's womb, and when the doctors pulled him out it misshaped just a bit. I know that even a minor altering of the human brain can cause people to lose control of things like their emotions. Anyway my father didn't like what he perceived as feminine in David, freaked out at me once for putting David in makeup – probably kids at school made him feel vulnerable and weak when he stuttered and was shy as a child. So David, feeling vulnerable, weak and unhappy and not really connected with, began walking around starting fights with everyone at home when he turned eleven or twelve – especially me and Allison, and getting disturbingly deeply violent in the nature that he attacked everyone. It was honestly a lot more terrifying then it sounds.

At random times, he would believe everyone was out to get him – in a way that went beyond typical. These were delusions. I know from experience that most boys I have known go through something in their personality at this time in their lives. Some hormone stuff happens, and boy culture at school causes them to feel a compulsion to compete and do what they perceive to be tough. But this was particularly disturbing. He walked around with clenched fists. He took whatever he wanted. His ego was over the top. At times, he was cussing us out and threatening everybody in the house. I fought back a few times, but in the end, I just became scared and closed down. I could still take him down if I had to, but David was a particularly strong kid, and I knew that it would only be a short matter of time before we were equals if it came down to a physical altercation.

Looking back, David caused me an immense amount of stress that stays with me to this day. I feel weird pointing out trauma that happened in my late teens to early twenties rather than something that happened when I was four as having a long lasting effect on my mental health, but it's truth. Years of constant uncertainty of a blow up eventually ground me down. And I don't blame David per say, but it eventually nearly ruined our relationship, which was a shame. David has a thoughtful intelligence to him that is very rare. He is one of the few people who opens himself up in a way to truly care about everything he sees around him, and it's a shame that there are parts of him that are so painful. It's a shame for his own sake. From the time David turned eleven, everyone in the house was walking on egg shells – eventually my father was even walking on them.

My mother in a weird sort of way, spoiled him even harder – maybe enjoying in this weird way that he was in control of the household, and trying to appease him constantly to avoid conflict was kind of fun for her. It made her feel special. By this time in my life I had drastically changed as a person too. I could kind of understand some of the stuff David was going through emotionally. It hadn't even been a year or two before and I myself had thought everyone was out to get me. No doubt some of this was David innocently picking these behaviors off me. But I had changed, too late, but I had. I no longer felt any room to be a person at all in a lot of ways – I couldn't feel mad. I stopped thinking in the first person at all. I thought only in facts. I tried to rely on the feelings underneath the words. I tried to be a ghost in the house whenever I could. I didn't like the way I looked and thought I was going to die, so I just had sort of shut down. If I let myself think about myself too much, if I got personal with myself at all, I would often times struggle to breath and would have these moments of intense and sudden panic that I would choke down even harder. My thoughts would scramble, and I would feel this sense that I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn't even explain. I didn't let anyone see me that way of course. I saw, and rightly so, my family in their various forms as wolves who would pick me off if I showed weakness.

I felt like my only option was to hide away, to play and believe that I was dead inside. I needed to be somewhere private. It was hard to even do that though since the house was small and if someone was looking for trouble they would find me. So, when I was at my mom's I would lock myself away in the bathroom and read, for hours upon hours. It was a strange pattern for me. I would wake up, eat quickly and impulsively, grab a book and lay in the bathtub sometimes hiding in there for eight or nine hours a day. I would only get out when people needed to use the bathroom, and occasionally to let it air out. And then I would get back in. It was the only way for me to escape David and everyone else in the household, and it kind of worked. The bathroom had an atmosphere that was harder to fight in, and besides, out of sight out of mind. I would hear David screaming outside the door, and I would mentally shut myself off so I didn't feel anxious. But I was anxious anyway. I just didn't let myself feel that or cognitively let myself process it. I compartmentalized everything about myself as a defense mechanism. And nobody in my family noticed.

I have to take a step back, and try to understand my brother's behavior for what it was, because it was a combination of many things. It was borderline personality disorder in a very early stage. Sometimes David would be delusional. His eyes would look glassed over and he would accuse you of having said something you didn't say. And I could tell he believed it. He chased us all away, and then was hurt that we had left him alone. I could tell he knew he had manipulated the fabrication, but believed it anyway and it was beyond frustrating. My parents never cared one bit about our mental health, and he had done similar things as a little boy – the tendencies had been there, but it could have been corrected had anyone cared about what David was actually going through instead of buying him whatever he did or didn't want. But rather than sit down to talk to David, they either spoiled him and favored him – somewhat rewarding him for his bad behavior. Our father, if he did anything at all, would use fear and frighten David so he didn't act that way around him. David behaved himself, but more or less, he was only bottling it up. To my father, he only saw the problem in context to the misery it caused him personally. He didn't want to be bothered, and if he yelled or was frightening enough, we would be too afraid to act in a way that was unpleasant to him personally. It was second nature to my father, and he naively believed I think that if he wasn't seeing the behavior, then it was not there.

Nobody would ever addressed the real problem in David's young life. Nobody cared about what was really going on in David's mind at all. I tried to care, but I was mentally fucked too, in my own way. I couldn't compete with my parent's ways of dealing with him. I was not his real parent. And though I know he was not capable of fully understanding that, and though he was a terror to me and Allison, he definitely contributed to mental concerns later on in my life (and has probably shaken Allison's mind too), I must also take a step back and realize that my early babysitting techniques with David had been abusive and horrendous and probably had something to do with what was now happening later on. So to a degree, who am I to judge David? Of course, it had been several years by that time since I had raised my voice or treated Allison and David unfairly. I was their ally now – or at least I tried to be, but it didn't matter. I may have stopped years ago and become a different person than I had been, but it doesn't make the pain I caused someone else to simply vanish. That's not how it works. If anything, I am not saying it was all my fault. I had been severely neglected in a sense myself, and I had been in my early teens. But it was still abuse, and I can only try to mend what has been broken. I can't just say sorry and wash my hands of the whole mess.

Not all of this was on me though. David was also abusing and taking advantage of every power display he could because he, well – could. I think most people are capable of some pretty shady stuff if they are given free reign to do so. It's just a part of being human. Power corrupts. Rage can be an addiction for some people. My mother pampered David and made him feel entitled – and disabled to a degree, and my father pumped David up with toxic masculinity issues. David had the advantage over Allison and I and he gained something from using that power. It was disgusting and obnoxious and animalistic – but it was a territory he was allowed to cross at an early age without any repercussions. He was being mean for the sake of being mean. And on this end of it I grew to resent him deeply. I didn't understand what it meant to feel that much animosity towards others. I would almost feel bad about how much I resented him at times because if I let myself feel too much, I almost felt nauseous with resentment and confusion about how he acted. And it hurt because I loved him. He was such a deep thinker and so collected, noble and humble even. We had a lot of fun sometimes. There were days when we really connected. It was like there were two different versions of him. He was deep down a very sensitive and thoughtful person. And that was partially what made it so upsetting. Because he would destroy our friendship over and over. He never felt he was given enough. It made me sick eventually.

Lastly, and probably most importantly in David's development, was that a grotesque sociopathic older boy had locked David up that summer, overpowered him and molested him. I think this obscene and horrible situation ruined his life forever. We didn't find out about this till many years later. He never told anyone. David started trying to tell my father one time that summer, and my dad laughed at him and told him he was too young to know what he was talking about – like, David didn't know what sex was by that age. It makes me truly sick to think about on every level. David told me some of what happened that summer – mostly talking about what the neighborhood boys were doing in this club house on the hillside, but augmented the story explaining that he had managed to get away when they chased him. I look back over and over, and I am completely sickened that I didn't think much of it. Some of the girls I knew when we were kids would kiss and stuff, and they tried to get me involved, and I had walked away. I had related it to my situation. While my situation had been weird for me growing up, it had not been violent, and nothing had been forced. It had not been vicious.

His situation had not been like mine. This same sociopathic boy was a boy who later killed animals in the town, was obsessed with joining the military so he could be sent to the middle east to rape and pillage. He moved to Spokane eventually, and I imagine be may well have gone on to do just what he had planned to. He beat his own pet dog to death for fun one day. I hated that boy. And poor David. That poor freckled sensitive little boy walking home in such an enormous amount of shame. And he was all alone. No wonder he became ill. Who knows what kind of psychological impact that had on him at such a young age. It breaks my heart and to a degree it is beyond my comprehension. The incident scarred him. He hasn't been fond of people as a whole ever since. And I don't know that I blame him. You really just can't trust most people to do the right thing.

So, Roxanne – my older sister, and her family were homeless for awhile and had to move in with my mom which added even more to the stress. Mind you, this is a very small one bedroom. There was eleven of us all crammed in a tiny one bedroom. This ordeal definitely caused me to go back and stay back to my dad's at some point that winter. It seemed that the chaos of each place I went caused me to never really have a home. I was always on the move. I never felt safe. My home was whatever book I happened to be carrying around with me, and that was it. I was even short of clothing I could call my own, mostly being stuck with pajama pants and a oversized t-shirt. Other than my collection of drawings and writings, my art supplies, my slowly growing book collection, and a few knick knacks, I had nothing. I was a nobody.

Roxanne had all sorts of issues. She was waiting on a list for people who were looking to get in low income housing, and that can sometimes take several years for one of these places to open up. Jeremy, her fiance, had taken over every aspect of her life. I cannot stress this enough, or how abusive he was to them all psychologically. He is probably one of the most annoying and disturbing individuals I have ever met and I dare say, I think he was a sociopath. Roxanne and her kids lived in fear of Jeremy, doting on his every whim else he explode. He was a drug dealer, addicted to meth, very manipulative and friendly in a frenzied sort of way if he wasn't in a rage. He rarely if ever took on a job and usually landed in jail at least one month of the year. If he did take a job, then he demanded everyone behave perfectly. Sometimes he would abuse the kids or Roxanne for fun. We all saw it happening. But in a way, we couldn't almost believe it. Roxanne was brainwashed by this guy and if you said anything bad about Jeremy, she reported it to him, and he would claim you were a witch and a Satan worshiper and they wouldn't talk to us anymore.

He had come to Roxanne's aid when she had been eighteen and had spent all of the money she got from her father's death. He had hung out when she had money for awhile, but had been thrown in prison for a year. Her boys wouldn't listen to her at this time, she was addicted to pills and would hide in her bedroom. She slept all the time. Jeremy imposed himself on her, and decided to leach onto her vulnerable situation and become some kind of overlord for the family. Roxanne saw it at the time like he booted her into shape. He forced her to get out of bed and make food and engage. He forced her to take care of herself. He instilled discipline to her sons. In her mind, he transformed their household and recreated her purpose in life. He treated Roxanne's children like it was bootcamp 24-7. He was so fucking phony, pretending he was some kind of sergeant and child rearing expert. He loved nothing more than to brag about himself with Roxanne massaging his feet. It was too much. Meanwhile, He left bruises and marks on the kids, and CPS was called on more than one occasion. The kids were of course trained to lie to the authorities. I know one of his disturbing games was to take one of the kids arms or legs and bend it just so it was on the brink of breaking. They would scream and cry and Roxanne looked shaken and upset about these incidences, but she would sort of mentally shut down, and go deeper into her obsession with him. Almost doubling down on her brainwashing.

Roxanne talked about him like he was almost a biblical figure. He was, or rather, he saw himself a fundamentalist Christian (at least the creepy parts that he liked). He believed Catholics were serving the antichrist and he talked about this all the time. He convinced Roxanne she deserved the punishment because of Eve's original sin, so whenever I tried to passively let Roxanne know that she didn't deserve something, she would go onto say that Eve had brought the suffering down upon her head. She gave up any control she had over to him including her children. He controlled her drugs in order to have more power over her – keeping her at an amount where he felt she was somewhat functional, in order to maintain her level of sobriety enough to where she could still cook and clean for him.

Jeremy was also a very sick pervert. He cheated on Roxanne occasionally, had this really disturbing collection of fake snuff and hardcore rape porn pictures he kept in a box in the closet. Roxanne showed me years later. If you got off on this stuff, honestly, you were a sick person. And nobody knew about this till way later, but when he had been eighteen he had tied up a thirteen year old neighbor girl and raped her. No charges were pressed for whatever reason. He had done time for stabbing his ex girlfriend with a pencil. He would get these moments of blind rage and his eyes would go black. He claimed to blackout when he became violent. He was a horrid and gross person – it's hard to describe having to swallow that much disgust for someone and smile for the sake of the situation. When he moved to our mother's he took over the house like it was his. He convinced Roxanne eventually to stop talking to all of us later on when they moved out.

You couldn't tell Roxanne any of this though. It's like somewhere deep down she already knew, but wouldn't accept it. If you started talking poorly about Jeremy Frye, even if she had a moment of clarity about her situation, she would soon turn on you and 'turn' you in to him like he was some kind of headmaster to you as well. I felt that in order to help her and her family, I had to be nice to this disgusting creep. And I found ways to do it. It's not how I like to be. I don't like sucking up to bad people. Inside, though I would never partake in doing anything, I would like to kill people like Jeremy. Not out of emotional hatred, but a sort of pleasure of ridding the world of something that bad. But given how fickle my living situation was, given that I was succeeding as an emotional statue, I was afraid to react to anything naturally. Perhaps I was afraid that my most natural reaction would be to kill him. That realization in and of itself caused me to find other means of coping at any cost.

When he moved in, he talked to me about Christianity a lot. I used this subject as a way to tinker with his ego. He randomly would believe that my mother was being possessed by Satan. I went along with it. I started doing this weird mental game where I would train myself in these horrendous situations to agree with people. I did it with Jeremy, my fathe and my mother. I learned how to do it with anyone, and I don't feel bad about it. For one, I didn't have the option of freaking out, at least I didn't feel I did. And life is like that. If you are desperate, or poor you do not have the option of opting out or ruining your opportunities by reacting naturally. So you have to learn to lie when you need to. Plus, it was a challenge for me. To a degree I find that I can empathize with anyone to such an extent, that I can for a short time, take on their perspective. That wasn't why I was friendly with Jeremy though. It was practice for the future, but at the time I felt Jeremy's presence in and of itself was an extreme threat to my being. I was afraid of causing a riff. I didn't want Jeremy to kill someone in my family. And Roxanne didn't have anyone in her life anymore. She was alone. Her friends had deserted her, if not when she ran out of money, than when Jeremy decided she couldn't have friends anymore that wasn't him or his own haggish mother.

What little time she had with me was all the time she really got to spend with anyone. I didn't want to ruin that – as I felt like when she was truly ready to leave him, she was going to need someone to talk to. With that said, I hated Jeremy Frye with every fiber of my being. But in this hatred, and in this situation, I was able to analyze power and what power really meant in the exchanges between people. Breaking human beings and their behaviors down, you really see an intricate web of power struggles. It's something that effects nations as well as families. It plays into every facet of our lives. It's something that is demonstrated in the very architecture of our system of thought. We are designed for this power struggle in some very basic way, and we get integrated into the power struggle as individuals based on our positions in society. This on a side note is why sociology interests me, why I believe racism is far from over, and it gives me a greater understanding of religion, cults, jobs, foreign relations, and dictators. I had so much time to compare these micro-power-plays in my everyday life in these ugly years. There was so much ugly content in my life, that I couldn't escape. I gained insight of myself that was far from pleasant. Being relatively weak in some areas of my life, I have had to learn how to analyze the game and how it is played – I try to see deeply into people. I study their values, their motives, their feelings, insecurities and mannerisms. Maybe I was compensating for not being really able to personally play these games myself since I was so extremely and totally isolated. Psychoanalyzing people can give you a closeness with people on the whole.

I would pretend to agree with Jeremy wholeheartedly, and I found my ability to do so very fascinating. I liked to study my own psychology while I did so. I found ways to lie and tell the truth at the same time. I found ways to flatter and convince people in subtle ways, to give them weird power to see what they would do with it, but at the same time using my own naturally honest nature to be unseemly about it. I learned how to deep sea dive in the concepts that were put out there and I learned to entertain ideas without accepting them. I said things that made inner me disgusted to the very fiber of my being, but I trained myself to temporarily entertain the notion that I was telling the truth and therefore strengthen that lie. Obviously, aside from preventing conflict, I wasn't getting much out of this directly. It wasn't really fun for me. I was very lonely. I was surrounded by people I couldn't trust. In fact, I was probably being self destructive in how far I could push myself to gain trust. I was learning.

By psychoanalyzed how Jeremy thought, I was able to take what I had learned about his functioning and apply it to other things. This is of course not to say that I had never in any way tried this before. But I had never treated it like a science project. Of course, not everyone is some lesser or greater version of Jeremy. Most people aren't quite mentally built like him obviously. This was just one type of person – a narcissist essentially. But most of us are capable of some level of narcissism or power corruption given the right set of circumstances. I have found those traits in my own personality at times. It's something universal about the human ego. But Jeremy was a monster and I don't think that should be ignored. Most people are better than him. There is an enormous and vast wealth of mystery about human beings, and kindness. I do not want to give the false impression that I think at the core we are all bad.

For the record too, this is also not the way I typically do business. I hated having to become someone who studies people. It is fine now that I am older. I can sort of shut it off and have fun once in awhile. I have enough grace to not let myself analyze strangers. But being in the situation where I had to learn these traits of power dominance and deceiving the enemy hurt something innocent about myself. I became to a degree, morally ambiguous. But I would not call myself a corrupt person these days. I like to try to believe in the spirit of ideas, regardless of how I see the world as a sea of power plays and chaos overlapping a great nothingness that we all are running from. I am in part, blindly hopeful about human beings and what we are capable of. But at the same time, I am also bleak about life's great purpose ultimately and I wish I was not. I cannot shake myself from that part of my thinking ever. But I do find a sort of beauty to living at a different frequency than all that – and most days I am able to escape it all. I really, if anything, like to use my inquisitiveness to get to know people in a way that is more meaningful. I rarely get the opportunity to get to know a person. I like getting to know people, but I don't like them getting to know me. Even my writing this extremely open tale of my life, I am hiding behind my words.

Being really psychoanalytical is my way of compensating for the fact that I am quiet, terrible at small talk, often times daydreaming or zoning out, slightly anxious, and most people don't understand me very well. I don't think I am pretty enough or smart enough. I feel like a loser a great deal of the time. I feel broken. I want to reach out to people and experience friendship, but after my preteen years when my personality underwent considerable development, I lost the unique gift of simply exist among other people. It's hard to explain. Secondly, it's my way of mapping out danger. I want to know people's weaknesses, not to exploit them, but to know what I must do to either help them, or escape them. If you have corrupt leaders in your life who control you, or control someone you care about, then it's highly important that combat that. It's also important to be able to see that behavior in yourself. When I fight someone I hate, I only have two approaches. Physically attack and murder them, or undermine them. Since murder is illegal in today's society for good reason, I cannot just get to killing people no matter what they do or don't deserve. I don't believe in it. I don't believe in killing animals even. I am not for the death penalty. Creating death is not what I am about. So my only real weapon is to quietly slip into enemy lines and do damage that way, gaining trust- undermine the enemy that way. Talking and getting along with Jeremy was my way of practicing.

I wish I could explain happier times. To me, I see this chapter of my story as one of my most negatives to date. I realize that it would only be fair to add a trigger warning on it. I feel like I talked about murder and rape and brokenness and negative aspects of the human ego more than I would want to, and more than people should probably have to hear. I feel gross having to explore that. I haven't thought about Jeremy for years, and I can feel his negative vibes in the room with me. But it had to be explained. It was a part of life. I don't think I could just lightly graze the seriousness of these topics, and move on.

I do have to say though that certain books and music kept me sane during these times. Painting, even though it created that great mysterious anxiety kept me sane. Kurt Vonnegut, and Robert Pirsig, who wrote the Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and Lila; an Inquiry into Morals gave me this strong groundwork to my belief systems. They gave me perspective on living. I remember the day I read that book. I had a fever for two days. Finally, I was sweating the fever away, and I picked up that book. Something about the intensity of having a fever while I read Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance burned that book into the motherboard of my reality. I became an even wiser person. I became more aware of my own contradictions as a person. While the people around me simply seemed to respond to life in this mindless way, I felt like I had taken a step back and was truly in some way seeing the world for what it was for the first time. It was liberating, and it felt horrible. Out there in the world, I should have been getting my first job, meeting new friends, finding a boyfriend. I should have had my health issues dealt with, both physically and mentally. I should have gone to school. But instead I did not. All I had were these books, and my own thoughts. I had secret moments where I would let myself come out and be myself sometimes, alone while I was walking in the graveyard near my mother's apartment. Sometimes, I would fast for a few days to reset my brain. I still kept Zack tucked away in my heart. I don't know what use those memories did me in those years, but I suppose remembering times where you really felt something real in the past have value when you mostly let yourself feel almost nothing. Zack was genuinely beginning to sink away in my thoughts. I tried to revive him. But by this time, I was a different person than I had been. I didn't know if I even agreed with a single thing Zack had said. He started losing his profound attributes, he started seeming a little bit silly. I still remembered when he told me that everyone in the world deserved love, and I thought about that a lot. But as for who I was now, and who Zack had become, I had no information. I wasn't so sure he would even like me now.

I listened to a lot of Bob Dylan. I sort of deceived myself into believing that Bob Dylan was a friend of mine. He became my best friend in my innermost thoughts. When I listened to Bob Dylan I felt like he was talking to me through the music. Obviously, I didn't literally believe that he was, but the music itself and a piece of who he was had sort of become a piece of the timeless cosmos, individual from Bob Dylan's literal existence. His music was my best friend. This is not to say that Sarah was not still a friend. I just didn't feel her. Her life was in Texas now. She had no idea what it was like going through what I had been going through. I wasn't mad about that. I did try to explain my life, and for what it's worth, she did empathize. Sarah's life hadn't gone exactly as she had hoped in Texas. When she moved there, her and Alex tried to write one song together, which quickly fell apart and they ended up living in a part of the his parent's house sleeping and eating all day. Eventually, they got summer jobs as bus washers at this water park in Texas called The Schlitterbahn. They only got five dollars an hour. Sometimes they would just not go to work and nobody would notice. But Sarah's life lost direction. She missed me terribly, and if I had allowed myself to feel, I missed her terribly as well. We wrote one another all the time. In a way, I think our friendship became more balanced and meaningful after she left. I started reading the Stephen King books that had been my grandma's. I read The Stand, and several others. Aside from Stephen King, and Sarah-Mae, I had MySpace. People seemed to like me quite well there. Nobody knew I was living in a bathtub. Which felt kind of nice.

PART 62 - https://tinyurl.com/ybjrvccn

PART 61 - https://tinyurl.com/ybm99k8o

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-60 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far).

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/okay-so-i-am-posting-another-part-of-my-life

#text

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