#and its suddenly 2018 holy shit ?

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 4, Chapter 2

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness? Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 4 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

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PART 4

Chapter 2

“Matt!” Foggy clambered to his feet from where he’d been sitting on the tiled floor outside the apartment. He grabbed Matt in a hug, and thumped his clenched fist against Matt’s back a few times for good measure.

“Hey, Fog,” Matt said wearily.

“‘Hey Fog’?” Foggy repeated. “I might not have seen you in five years, and all you got is ‘Hey, Fog’”

“It’s not been five years,” Matt said, unlocking his apartment door. “I saw you yesterday - and you saw me then too. You returned today, just like I did.”

“How do you know? How do you always know these things?”

“I went by the office.”

“Oh. You mean the office that is now a frickin’ beauty salon?!”

“Apparently.”

“Holy shit, was that wild,” Foggy elaborated. “One minute I’m sitting at my desk, and the next I’m on my ass because the desk is no longer there, and I’m surrounded by a bunch of screaming Vietnamese women.”

Matt huffed out a laugh, the visual momentarily raising his mood. But only momentarily.

He was glad to see his friend was okay, but he wanted - he needed - to know what had happened to Calina, and he was running out of means to do so.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, and asked Foggy about the third member of their team. “You heard about Karen?”

“Yeah,” Foggy said sadly. “She stayed behind.”

“What about Marci?” Matt asked, hoping his Foggy wasn’t going through the same hell he was.

“She disappeared with us. I went to our apartment first - she was working from home this morning, and she was still there.” Foggy’s voice wavered slightly as he said the last sentence, his relief palpable. “Her parents rushed over right away, so I left to give them some space to reconnect. What about Calina?”

Matt shook his head. “I- I don’t know. She’s not next door. She’s not here. She’s not in any of the places I’ve checked. The internet’s down-”

“The internet’s down?” Foggy checked the display on his phone. “Shit, I thought it was just me.”

“No. The servers crashed apparently. So I have no idea how to look for her, Foggy. I don’t know if she returned and got hurt somewhere, or if she never disappeared in the first place. If she stayed, she could be anywhere. Five years is a long time, man, and she could be-”

“Hey,” Foggy interrupted. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. The first step is figuring out if she disappeared. The moment the internet is back up we’ll start looking for her. In the meantime, sit down and take a minute, you look wrecked, man. Did you even sleep last night? In 2018, I mean?”

Matt remembered back to the night before. To the restaurant. To tailing Cross and Ranieri, and staying out until dawn. To the fight with Calina…

Jesus, had that only been last night? Less than 12 hours ago?

It felt like another lifetime.

Matt took Foggy’s advice, suddenly feeling exhausted. He collapsed onto the couch, the movement dislodging the layer of dust coating the unused piece of furniture. Matt coughed as the particles swirled in the air, and frowned as he heard plastic crinkle beneath him. He smoothed his hand over the couch, and realised it was covered in some sort of protective wrapping.

“Weird,” Foggy said, commented on the same thing. “Your stuff’s all still here. Its covered in sheets and plastic…but it’s still here.”

Matt shrugged. “Maybe the landlord couldn’t rent the place out again?”

“But why would he give a shit about your stuff? Why didn’t he toss it on the street or give it to Goodwill?”

Matt stood up again and wandered around the apartment, cataloguing the contents. Foggy was right, everything was still here, just as he’d left it. His phone charger was still plugged in by the radiator. His toothbrush was still in the bathroom. His clothes were in the closet. His alarm was on the bedside table…

But there were no signs of Calina. The book she keep by the side of the bed was gone. The silky robe that hung in the bathroom - gone. The running shoes she stashed by the front door - gone.

“Matt?” Foggy called out. “I’ve got something.”

“What is it?” Matt asked. He found Foggy standing in front of the small bureau in the living room, rifling through a pile of papers.

“Electricity bills, water bills…all for this address, all in the name of Calina Balashova. And-” Foggy sucked in a breath.

“What?”

“The deed for the apartment. Matt…she bought this place. In 2019.”

2019.

“She stayed,” Matt whispered. Part of him had known it all along, but the actual confirmation was a gut-punch.

She’d stayed.

He’d disappeared, and she’d stayed here. For five years. Without him.

Which meant she wouldn’t be walking in the door any minute, lost and confused like he was. She could be literally anywhere. Anywhere in the fucking world. She could be completely off the grid. She could be with someone else. Married, even…

She could be-

“We’ll find her, Matt,” Foggy assured him, obviously sensing Matt’s spiral. “As soon as we can get back online, we’ll find her.”

“But what if…,” Matt replied, his voice shaking as he tried to articulate his deepest fear. “What if she’s not even ali-”

“No! Don’t even go there. Don’t think the worst. Look, why don’t you pack a bag and come stay with me and Marci while we sort this out.”

“No. I think I need to stay here,” Matt replied. Calina had bought the place for a reason. Maybe she’d come back. He’d have to be here when she did. He opened his mouth to try to explain that to his friend but paused as he heard a noise in the stairwell. He cocked his head, zeroing in on the sound.

“What is it?” Foggy asked.

Matt recognised the cadence of the steps and the sound of the person’s breathing. He may not always know Karen by scent, but she was recognisable in other ways. “We have a visitor.”

He walked to the front door and pulled it open just as she reached it. Her tall body collided with his as she threw herself at him. Her long, slender arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her head in his neck.

Matt stroked his hand down her back, feeling the tremors racing through her. Hot, wet tears stained his shirt as she cried against him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

She pulled back, wiping her hand across her face. “I’m sorry, I tried to keep it together all the way here, but I just-” she broke off on a sob.

Matt pulled her back into the hug and held her as she continued to weep. It was still so hard to fathom that he’d lost five years, but Karen’s reaction was making it feel very real. 

Eventually, her tears ran dry, and she stepped out of the embrace. “Hi, Matt,” she said, letting out a watery laugh.

“Hey, Karen.”

“I came back too, ya know,” Foggy said with mock disgruntlement.

Karen jerked at the sound of his voice. “Foggy?”

“In the flesh.”

She gave Foggy the same long, crushing hug. When it was over, Foggy wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks. “Long time no see, I guess,” he joked.

The look she gave him must have been withering, because Foggy held up his hands in remorse. “Too soon?”

“Yes, Foggy. Too soon. Way too soon.”

“Sorry.”

Karen shook her head. “It’s okay. I…I just feel a little raw, you know. I bet you guys feel the same way - but for very different reasons.”

“You could say that,” Matt answered.

“You both must be so confused. I’m sorry I wasn’t here in the city when you first came back. I wanted to come as soon as I heard, but I couldn’t get a sitter at first. Then there was traffic on the Queensboro bridge and I had to go through the tunnel-”

“Wait, back up,” Foggy said. “Sitter? Does that mean…?”

Karen nodded, and Matt could hear the pride in her voice. “I’m a mom, now. I have a little girl.”

———

Half an hour later, when all the furniture was uncovered, the dust cleared from the surfaces, and the three of them were sitting around Matt’s kitchen table eating take-out, Karen told them about her 21-month old daughter, Izzy.

“It’s short for ‘Isabelle’. It was David's mother’s name. She died when he was young, and he wanted to honour her memory.”

“So David’s the father?” Foggy asked. “Are you guys married?”

“We were. Briefly. Things, um, didn’t work out. He’s not really a part of Izzy’s life.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said.

Karen shrugged. “I have Izzy. And we’re happy together. She’s amazing. Just so…joyful. Every day she learns something new, and I learn what kind of person she’s going to be - her personality is really starting to shine through, and its wonderful.”

Foggy reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. “I’m really happy for you, Karen.”

“Thank you. I’m not saying the last five years haven't been awful, but I was one of the lucky ones, you know? I found a reason to keep going. To keep hopeful about the future.”

“Can you tell us about the last five years? About what happened?” Matt asked gently - he was desperate for more answers, but could sense it was a deeply traumatising subject.

Karen took a deep breath. “You don’t know?”

“Just that it had something to with someone named Thanos.”

“Yeah,” Foggy added. “Marci’s parents started to explain, but they just kept breaking down in tears. And with the internet down, we’re in the dark ages, information-wise.”

“Wow,” Karen said. “It- it’s so hard to know where to start. Thanos has loomed so large in all of our lives for so long. It’s so strange to think that you don’t even know who he is.” She launched into an explanation of infinity stones, and the all-powerful alien obsessed with using them to bend the universe to his will. It would have sounded fantastical and far-fetched on any other day, but not today.

Not after what Matt had experienced this morning.

And the matter-of-fact way Karen - his no-nonsense, intelligent and rational friend - recited the information convinced Matt of it's truth.

“None of us knew what had happened at first,” she went on. “Everyone just started disappearing. I was on a coffee run - do you remember Foggy?”

“Yeah, you said you were sick of burnt coffee and wanted something frothy and delicious.”

“Yeah,” Karen whispered. She was quiet for a few moments, as if reliving the time in her life where her biggest concern was a caffeinated beverage. “I was on my way back from the coffee shop when the man walking towards me just…disintegrated. Turned to dust. I stood there, frozen in the street, as more and more people vanished. And it was quiet. So eerily quiet, at first. There were no screams, no cries for help. Just dust in the air. And I waited there, on the sidewalk, heart pounding, for it to happen to me. But it never did.”

“Then what happened?” Foggy asked.

Karen laughed wryly. “Then it was anything but quiet. It was pandemonium. Planes fell out of the sky. There were blackouts across the city. The rioting started soon after that. Then the mass suicides - the evangelicals thought it was the rapture, and that they’d been left behind. The vice president had to step in because the President disappeared, and she ordered martial law on the streets. When we finally got news out of Wakanda-”

“Wakanda?”

“That’s where it all went down. We found out it wasn’t the rapture, or some chemical weapon, or any of the hundreds of other theories that flew around those first few days. It was just some megalomaniacal asshole from another planet who’d decided that the way to solve the universe’s problems was to eradicate half of it. Half of everything - every person, every animal, every insect - just gone, with one snap of his fingers.”

Karen went quiet again, as if reliving the trauma. Matt tried to imagine what it must have been like at the time - the confusion, and panic and fear.

Probably not so different from this morning. And it made him wonder which scenario was worse: watching those around you disappear…or being one of the returned, suddenly thrust back into a world that had moved on without you.

“Sorry,” Karen said after a few long moments of silence. “Like I said, it’s so strange to talk about it. Up until this morning, every adult on the planet had lived through it. And we never really discussed it much. It was always there - the grief, and the loss - but everyone tried to ignore it. Even though we knew it was probably eating us away from the inside.”

Matt took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it anymore today. Me and Foggy have plenty of time to find out the rest by ourselves. But…”

“What is it?”

“Do you know anything about Calina?” Matt asked, figuring it was a long shot. Karen and Calina hadn’t been close back in 2018. They’d gone shopping together once, and had been friendly to each other around the office, but Calina had always been closer to her Widow sisters. “Do you know where she is?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Matt frowned. Karen’s words seemed truthful. And her tone was sympathetic. But there was something off about the way she said it…and the way she was shifting slightly in her seat. “What aren’t you telling me? Is she okay? Is she- is she still alive?”

Karen started in surprise. It was her turn to squeeze Matt’s hand. “Yes. I’m sorry, Matt. Yes, as far as I know, she’s alive.”

Matt frowned again. “As far as you know? What does that mean?”

“Sorry, I’m messing this up. I don’t know what to say-”

“Just say the truth, Karen.” Matt tried to control the anger creeping into his voice. But he didn’t know why Karen was being so cagey about this.

“I just meant that I haven’t spoken to her in a few weeks. And what she’s doing is often dangerous-”

“Dangerous? Why? What is she doing?”

“She’s a Black Widow again, Matt.” Karen’s voice was soft, gentle. As if she knew the news would be a blow to Matt.

And it was. Matt stood up from the table, the plates and glasses rattling with the sudden movement. He backed away, shaking his head. “She- she was out. She was out of that life. She didn’t want it anymore.”

The Calina of yesterday - his yesterday - didn’t want to fight anymore. She didn’t want a life of violence and danger. She was going to be a translator. She was going to help people with her other gifts. And she’d been happy with that choice. More than happy - she’d been excited about finally finding her purpose in her new life.

“Matt, the world needed her,” Karen explained. “It needed the Widows - the ones who were left, anyway. Most of the Avengers disappeared, and it was all hands on deck to try to keep civilisation from completely collapsing. That first year…it was bad. It was really bad - all across the world. So she suited up again. The UN scrapped the Sokovia Accords, granted the Widows full immunity, and they’ve been out there all this time helping to keep everyone safe.”

Matt stood still, head bowed, hands on his hips, as he tried to process how much Calina’s life had changed these past five years.

“Can you call her?” Matt asked, not even trying to disguise the pleading in his voice. “Please? I need to know she’s okay.”

“I don’t have a way to contact her,” Karen replied. “Its safer for her that way. She checks in with me every few weeks-”

“She didn’t call today? When this all happened?”

“No. But when she does, I’ll tell her to come to New York. I promise, Matt.”

———

Karen left shortly after, needing to get back home to her daughter. Matt cleared away the plates and stowed the leftovers in his fridge. He grabbed the last two remaining bottles of beer and passed one to Foggy. Then, in unspoken agreement, they both collapsed on to the couch, as if needing to sit with the enormity of it all for a while. Silence reigned as they sipped on the drinks, both of them feeling a little shell-shocked by the events of the day.

Foggy placed his empty bottle on the coffee table, the clink of glass meeting wood the only sound heard for the past half an hour.  “It’s fucking crazy, man. It’s just…crazy.” He shook his head. “Five years. Five YEARS.”

Matt laughed, a choked-off, bitter sound. It seemed the safest response - the alternative was to scream. Or punch a hole in the wall. “Yeah.”

“Five years!”

“I know.”

“What do we even do now? Do we exist, like from a legal standpoint? What about our bank accounts and credit cards? If Karen hadn’t bought dinner tonight, would we have starved?”

“We wouldn’t have starved,” Matt responded, laughing in humour this time.

“But what about our careers? Can we still practice law? I don’t even know who the District attorney is. Fuck, I don’t even know who the President is!”

“Foggy, relax. Those are relatively easy problems to solve in the grand scheme of things. Once we get back online we can find out all those answers. You have a roof over your head, you have Marci, you have your friends. Everything else will sort itself out.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said, calming down a bit. “Shit. I’m sorry, man. Here I am stressed about legalities, and you’re still in the dark about Calina.”

“I know she’s alive. Or, at least, she was, up until a few weeks ago.”

“That’s something.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them sounded convinced. Matt especially - because until he could ‘see’ her in person, and know that she was truly safe and unharmed, he wouldn’t be at peace.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back to mine?” Foggy asked. “I don’t feel right just leaving you here alone.”

“It’s fine. You need to get back to Marci. I’ll be fine. I need to go out anyway.”

“You’re going out as Daredevil? Tonight?”

“Of course.”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it, Matt. You’ve had a major, life-altering shock today, and you haven’t slept in, what, 36 hours?”

“About that.”

“I don’t think anyone - not even the Almighty himself - would blame you for taking the night off.”

Matt opened his mouth to argue...but found himself nodding instead. Saying he was going out on patrol had been more of a reflex than anything else. When the truth was, for the first time in a long time, Matt didn’t want to suit up. He didn’t want to fight tonight. He didn’t want to wade back out into the chaos. He knew he should - that it was his duty and his responsibility - but he couldn’t find the strength to do so.

And it had nothing to do with a lack of sleep.

He wanted - just for tonight - to be selfish. He wanted to stay in the familiarity of his apartment and wallow for a while in the absolute fucking unfairness of it all.

Five years.

He kept coming back to those two little words. Like Foggy, he just couldn’t comprehend that timescale.

Five years.

He’d lost five years of his life.

No. Five years of his life had been stolen from him. Then he’d been dropped back into this new and foreign world to flounder and flail in confusion. 

Five years of his life…gone in an instant.

And he knew he wasn’t the only person dealing with this tonight - half the universe was, apparently. But that didn’t bring much comfort. Because while the event was the same, the individual circumstances were unique to each and every person.

And his unique circumstances just straight-up fucking sucked.

He’d lost Calina. The woman he loved more than life itself. The woman he was planning a future with just yesterday…

A future that had been ripped away.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe with missing her. With worrying about her. With wondering what her life had been like these past five years, and what she was doing right at this moment.

Was she missing him, as much as he was missing her?

Was she safe?

Was she hurt?

Was she even alive?

———

7000 miles away, in a medical facility in Wakanda.

The doctor addressed the tall red-head, still dressed in blood-splattered black leather. “You need to decide now. The longer we wait, the less chance there is of the treatment working.”

His voice was calm and measured - a stark contrast to the chaos behind him. The wounded from the fight this morning had been arriving all day, the sparking yellow circles providing a shortcut between the high tech medical facility in Africa and the scorched battlefield in upstate New York.

The shouts of the medical personnel, the cries of the injured, and the screaming alarms of the machinery made it hard for Anya to think. But she knew what was right for her friend. “Do it.”

The petite Widow at her side protested. “But she’ll be unconscious for weeks!”

“What’s the alternative, Inessa? You heard what he said - her legs are completely crushed. Without this treatment, they’ll have to be amputated.”

“But she doesn’t even know that we’re back - that everyone came back. That Matt came back! She deserves to know that before she’s put in a coma for a month!”

“Look at her legs, Inessa! There’s no amount of morphine in the world that will spare her from that pain. We wake her up now, she’ll be in too much agony to think about Matt. The shock might even kill her!” Anya turned back to the doctor, patiently waiting by the side of the pod. “Do what you have to do to save her. Please.”

The doctor nodded and pressed the button, sealing up the pod.

A mist of medicated air filled the device, obscuring Calina from view.

————–

Chapter 3

Tag list: @hollandorks @stilldreaming666 @sio-ina-bottle @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy @chezagnes

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

[selfishwife]

The Sisyphus Effect, or One Way to Ensure You May Get Kicked in the Taco

Today I would like to tackle the phrase "one day at a time", especially in its relationship to cancer. This is an important PSA, and one you should take to heart.

"One day at a time," in theory, is a lovely idea. As a person who made it through exactly 1.5 AA meetings, I can tell it brings comfort to many. To others (raises hand), it can cause distress and the desire to kick someone in the taco. If you have personally said "one day at a time" to me, don't worry, I didn't want to kick you in the taco. This is because I love you, and why we are not discussing a restraining order. You said it from a place of love and complete compassion.I may have even repeated it back to you to end the conversation. But please, for the love of God and all that is holy, never again.

Cancer is obviously one day at a time. It's a very "no shit, Sherlock" statement. You mean I can't push a fast-forward button to the end of this nonsense and suddenly I'm singing Miley Cyrus' "The Climb" at karaoke and people tear up while the credits roll and my partner has all their hair back? It's like living in the Matrix and realizing you could have taken the blue pill the entire time and avoided a lot of bullshit.

There are, however, worse things than "one day at a time." It's not nearly as bad as "everything happens for a reason," which would absolutely ensure the speaker receives a kick to the taco. There is also "thoughts and prayers," which should be regulated to times of avoidable horrific public tragedies. However, "one day at a time" is their cousin. It's a needlepoint pillow phrase your basic friend would buy at a boutique that also sells "Mommy's Juice" wine sippy cups. It's what you say when you don't know what to say. It's fine to not know what to say. "Fuck everything" is a suitable alternative.

The final reason is that today really sucks. The chemo's poison isn't leaving my partner's body, our children are insatiable puddles of need. I would not like this to be my one day at a time. I don't need this to be a Hawaiian sunset day, it can be a "rainy ass my kids are bugging the shit out of me" day. I am not picky. But I will trade you this one day at a time and you may have it with my compliments.

This one day at a time is not going anywhere anytime soon. It's also going to get worse before it gets better. I can handle that. It's the Sisyphus effect. Or maybe the Kate Bush effect. I don't know. But this day is a nightmare. Don't remind me of it.

<a little too on the nose, but whatever>

[byronictrash]

so I was thinking about the whole hbo supernatural thing and all I could think was how it would fit in my major spn interpretation which is TRANSFEM SAM WINCHESTER!!!!

• changed her name to samantha for pure praticity

• is a lesbian, so all the romantic part is pretty similar to the canon, monsterfucking and all

• in which dean got a little confused about the distinction of gender ≠ sexuality at first like “wait but why did you become a girl if you like girls?” (he doesn’t know a lot of queer people, give him some time)

• AND SPEAKING OF DEAN! the biggest ally of all times. at first he doesn’t understand lots of stuff that seems obvious to sam (“why are you putting on a suit?” “dean we’re going to a small town, the case will be way harder if everyone is staring at me”), asks indiscrety questions (“can i ask you something?” “it depends” “you wanna chop your dick off?” “NO YOU CANT ASK IT”) but over time he starts to get it more naturally

• despite his numerous hook-ups, dean has never spent so much time in his life in a company of a woman so even the smallest things are extraterrestrial to him (“hey whats that bowl in the microwave?” “depilatory wax” “OH CMON SAMMY I WAS GOING TO HEAT UP MY DINNER THERE”)

• of course, there would be a scene where they met some hunter friend of john who says shit about sam, misgender her etc and dean goes FERAL, fist fighting with the guy and stuff. later sam yells at dean, saying she doesn't need dean to protect her and the argument would escalate to all the times that dean treated her in a condescending way, dean yelling back that dad said it was his job to take care of her and sam yelling even louder that dad would probably dead by now (in this moment all the lamps in their room (and in the street) simply explode, but they ignore. it was probably some short circuit…. right?)

• ok lets talk about john. still the same asshole, still gave a gun to kid who was afraid of the boogeyman, still tried to summon azazel when his son was in comma in 02X01 BUT now he also has a whole series of microaggressions with sam. she’s not stupid, she know the dad she has so doesn’t come out until she’s in stanford, SO john finds out sam is trans in 01X16 when john see sam after two years wearing a skirt and holding a .45 gun. he looks at her up and down and doesn’t say anything however, suddenly stops calling sam sam and starts calling her strictly samuel.

• it got worse after s1 season finale with the whole azazel possessed john > sam had the opportunity of killing azazel/her dad > couldn’t do it > azazel escaped > the winchesters get hit by a truck. when sam questions her father about being worried about the colt while his own son is dying, john explodes with her “you know samuel this is all your fault, once again you couldn’t just man up and pull the fucking trigger, kill the thing, you had to be same old sissy and chicken off, if your brother dies its his blood in your hands”

• aaaaaanyway, lets go back to our girl :D

• her style is kinda a mess. makeup done in a hurry, most of her clothes are mid skirts, hoodies and long dresses but now and then she spends a week wearing baggy jeans and band t-shirts, like dean’s, and no makeup at all. when he asks her “where is the whole angry teen outfit?” sam would simply respond its “because of the praticity, it’s tough to fight with a vampire in a dress lol” dean knows its because sometimes sam’s internalized transphobia ft repression gets loud

• her music taste is mostly grunge, punk and some alt bands she discover in stanford but dean call all of it emo “oh fuck off sammy, i let you drive once and you already put this emo shit” “dean this is literally nirvana, you cant call everything made after the 80’s emo”

• when she came out to bobby his reaction was literally “so now you’re a girl?” “uh… yeah” “gonna change your name or something?” “now is samantha but sam is still fine” “okay, now look this sigil... (and went back to the lore they were searching)”

• sam’s catholicism being more portrained on screen and how the dilemma of being a Christian and queer filled sam with religious guilty

• her paranormal powers also showed up sooner and since the beginning she knew something was wrong. her throat felt sore every time she recited the rituale romanus and holy water made her skin itchy. the older she got, the harder those “symptoms” became and with her denial, desire to be normal combined with religious guilt, it was easier to just convince herself that all this was just god punishing her for living in sin.

• surprisingly, all the demons and angels (and most of the monsters) even being assholes treats sam with the right pronouns

• which make sam and cas fist encounter even more interesting because cas literally turns to dean and go “is this your sister, samantha winchester?” “yeah” “ABOMINATION”’

• samruby second (cause the real first was ruby killing the seven deadly sins and stuff) encounter on the other side was a little more like "why are you following me?” “because youre tall and tall women are sexy as fuck” (then sam’s brain was short circuited for a sec because her height make usually makes her dysphoric)

• between s3-s4, dean still in hell, there would be a scene of one of the first times that sam drank blood to exorcise a demon with her mind. so here they are, demon tied in a chair and trapped in a trap, sam with blood all over her chin and ruby looking at her all heart eyes. Sam tries to do the exorcism but it doesnt work so ruby says sam needs more blood. Sam responds that shes nauseous and if takes any more shes gonna puke (cause you know voluntary vampirism came too natural in canon and that disturbs me) so the demon, who's wearing a cheerleader as a vessel, laughs and says "you know sammy, for real women blood tends to be a natural thing". ruby kills her on the spot.

• speaking of the catholicism (and the blood drinking) again, sam prays every single time before/after drinking demon blood, ruby mocks her for it but she doesnt care. its a weird feeling because even thinking that what shes doing is right, that she needs to get strong to kill lilith, it still feels bad, unholy in some sense.

• of course lucifer tempted her in s5 not only appearing as jess but also saying things like "why samantha, after all, are you willing to sacrifice yourself for a society that treats you like scum, that looks at you like a freak?"

• no need to say that in 05x04 "The End" episode when dean faces lucifer using sam as his vessel, she's wearing an outfit way cooler than that abbey-road-john-lennon-white-suit (to know what i mean search amanda seyfried 2018 met gala look THATS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT!!!!!)

• even after being clean of blood drinking, sam still has some of her paranormal powers. she can't do exorcises with her mind anymore but she can move small objects with telekinesis (she doesn't do it in front of dean cause she knows it would scares the fuck out of him)

i also had a list of some episodes rewritten in this au but this list is already long, guess i'll post later

[eremosjournal]

Holy Saturday

As a good Catholic boy, I remember waking up on Good Friday morning and wanting to be sad all day. Which isn’t very healthy when my default already bends sad. A funny moment would come, and I’d feel guilty for laughing. A smile would slither to my face and I'd feel like I did something wrong.

Then came Easter Sunday. And suddenly the sadness I was used to feeling - and felt with pride on Good Friday - was incorrect, just 48 hours later. Immense joy today! And nothing else.

But what changed? Jesus hadn’t died on Good Friday 2018. And Christ was no more resurrected on Easter 2018 than Christ was resurrected two days before on Good Friday. But we Catholics love a show. Like a good Confirmation retreat.

If I may paint a familiar picture:

Sleep deprived on Saturday with a twinge of altitude sickness. Away from screens and surrounded by nature. Physically drained from outdoor games & only eating half of each meal (retreat food). A vulnerable testimony followed by a healthy portion of small group oversharing. A Tony Award -worthy Lifehouse skit and intimate love letters from parents. Tissue boxes conspicuously placed throughout the room so everyone is within arm’s reach. All leading to an hour-plus of adoration with repetitive, meditative, and even trance-like worship music.

Did the ‘body and blood, soul and divinity of Jesus’ make this room of hormonal and over-stimulated teenagers cry, or were their emotions manipulated by a well-orchestrated and scripted production from a core team of adults, and a teen leadership team that definitely has a weird name?

Looking at it now, Holy Week has the same flavor.

I’m tired of being emotionally manipulated by the church. And I’m tired of emotionally manipulating teenagers in the same way that I was.

I still work at the church. But Lent and Holy Week have been different this year. I baked cookies for middle schoolers on Lenten Fridays. I laughed with teens on Palm Sunday. I didn’t go to mass on Holy Thursday. I didn’t try to feel sad on Good Friday. And I fucking posted this shit to Erēmos Journal on Holy Saturday.

The joy I’ve gained from letting myself feel however I want to feel is more of an offering to God than my forced emotions ever were. “Holy” does not mean “has permission to tell me how to feel”. If God gave us free will, wouldn’t it be an insult to that gift to go against my real feelings? To substitute my emotions for ones manufactured by people just as flawed and confused as myself?

Emotional extremes are not what make Holy Week “Holy”. The sanctity of my week, my faith, my life comes from its authenticity. And the church can cry about it.

[medli20]

Holy cow, your animations are so smooth! May I ask what you use to animate?

I use Adobe Animate, which is the re-branded version of Flash. 

That said, you should absolutely not use it. It’s a garbage program that crashed on me (no joke, no hyperbole) at least a dozen times as I was working on this animation.

It’s also fucky at interpreting your audio so you’ll get desync issues or it’ll crackle when you export to video. It will interpret a brush stroke as “I want to delete the entire fill selection that this stroke touches, because using a tool that CREATES pigment means that I want to ERASE it, surely.” Sometimes it will think that the brush tool is actually the eraser, despite the fact that you VERY CLEARLY have the brush tool selected. Sometimes you’ll draw a straight-ass line, and Adobe Animate will suddenly want to pretend to be an old-school fountain pen and bleed all over your canvas. I didn’t even think it was possible for a basic-ass digital tool to bleed. Sometimes Adobe Animate will chug like hell and require that you sit through a progress bar when you put down a stroke-- and not even a long one, but just a short, basic stroke, like 2 inches long. Because despite running on a computer that is specifically built to be tanky in order to render animations, Adobe Animate has trouble actually using your computer’s hardware to function. 

I’ve had these problems before, while I was working on my “Listen to Liszt” animation and it was awful then. I figured “well maybe it’s because I’m using the 2018 version so it’s just out of date. I’ll update to the most recent 2020 version and see if I see an improvement in performance. I was wrong, much to my “surprise.” 

You might be wondering “medli, why the hell are you still using Adobe Animate? Or Adobe products in general, for that matter?” To which I answer:

I’ve been using Flash/Adobe Animate since the late 2000s and I’m extremely comfortable with it, as garbage as it is.

I still have free access to the entire Adobe suite through my school’s email, though that will expire around May.

As much as I abhor Adobe Animate, I don’t think ALL Adobe products are garbage. Adobe Photoshop 2018 is my baby, my golden child, and my absolute most favorite program in the whole world. And then I look at its horrible, puppy-kicking, deadbeat stepbrother and I wonder what the hell went wrong.

In terms of 2D animation software that ISN’T hot garbage, I’ve really only used OpenToonz for like... one project. That said, I didn’t run into any issues while using it, aside from a slight calibration issue with my display monitor, but it wasn’t major enough to turn me off.

I’ve also used Toon Boom Harmony for a semester, which is fantastic. It and OpenToonz were pretty similar in terms of interface, but while OpenToonz is free and open-source, Harmony is available through a paid subscription. But it’s also one of those programs that gets used often in the industry (so I’m told) so knowing how to use it is a plus, I guess.

Aside from that there’s a whole shit-load of free software that you can try. I can’t say from personal experience how they are, but they exist if you wanna try them out for yourself.

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Five

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Dudes, real talk. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Your support on this particular endeavor is just mindblowing and I love you guys so much (no this isn’t the end or anything I’m just in my feels right now). This installment has a monologue in it that I'm really, really stupid proud of. I hope you guys like it. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains vague depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

You thought you heard someone running, heavy boots pounding hard on the ground. Who even has the energy for that, you wondered idly.

Oxygen abruptly flooded back into your helmet and you inhaled on instinct, hacking and wheezing. The bayonet twitched roughly, making you sob out before some of the pressure on the blade was relieved. 

"There. Detached it from the fucking thrower. You still with me, gentle soul?" Ezra, it was Ezra, talking loudly, tapping your helmet and seeming relieved when you barely opened your eyes once more. "I'm goin' to stabilize the bayonet, you understand me? We can't remove it or we'll do more damage. Have to stabilize with the patcher cream."

"Told y...you to...leave--" you gasped, grabbing desperately at his shoulder. "Miss the--sling...back…"

"Kevva was a martyr, you know." Ezra said suddenly. "A little bit Prometheus, a little bit Jesus. Shot himself into space so others wouldn't fear to follow in his footsteps, to give countless souls the chance to be reforged in booster fire. Always found martyrdom more trouble than it was worth, myself. Living on struck me as the more attractive option." He murmured, struggling with your suit.

The only reply you could manage was more of a wet gurgle of confusion. What was he even talking about?

"Now, we as human beings are taught that self-sacrifice is the loftiest of moral pedestals to stand upon. We are taught that puttin' the needs of others above ourselves is the pinnacle, the quintessential desirous trait." He carried on in a pleasant tone, like this was a normal conversation the two of you were having as he poured the antiseptic liquid over your abdomen. 

It burned and stung. You wanted to scream but you couldn't draw the breath, settling for a pitiful whimper.

"I cannot tell you how many times I roundly railed against the purported divine will of that miserable martyr when I found myself trapped on this forsaken moon. The last thing I wanted was to be slain before I finally got to revel in my spoils, reduced to no more than a cautionary tale of avarice and loss in the annals of time. Lo and behold though, despite all my tribulations, it appears I was not the one in danger of being a sacrificial lamb."

The clear dome of his helmet thudded against your own, and he tried to time your breathing for a moment before he gave up and just clicked the trigger on the patcher gun. You cried out hoarsely in pain and he echoed you with a groan, shaking his head.

"Instead, that malevolent bearded bastard sent me a precious gentle soul, one more gracious and generous than any harvest, to shield my worthless body from the slings and arrows of this hostile moon. But I do not accept the debt of another's life so free and easy, especially not when it's counted against all my sins." He continued relentlessly, tossing the foam gun aside. "You can urge me until your holy heart stops, yet I refuse to indulge you in your blasted martyrdom." The word was furious, hissed out between his teeth. "You will live. If I have to drag you back from Kevva's greedy, graspin' hand myself, I damn well will. You have suffered Purgatory long enough, gentle soul." 

With that emphatic declaration he heaved you upright, draping your arm over his shoulder and beginning the slow, tortuous walk back to the mercenary rock jumper. "Ez--ra…" you choked, your legs barely supporting you. "C-an't--"

"Hush, gentle soul." He said firmly, struggling to distribute more of your weight onto his shoulders. "I would carry you if I trusted my arm, but regrettably I am not at full-test. All the same, I'm putting you into that fuckin' pod even if I have to drag you every accursed step of the way." 

Your fingers dug into his suit and you straightened up marginally. Just enough for him to get a better grip on your body. "M' gonna'-" you coughed, red droplets hitting the dome of your helmet.

"Keep your free hand on that blade, gentle soul. The less damage we do to your internal machinations, the better." 

You obediently curled your glove around the foam-crusted bayonet, stabilizing the protruding weapon with what little strength you had left. You stared down at his leg, trying to get your own steps to match up with his so he didn't trip over the tether tube. You weren't sure whether either of you would be able to get back up if that occurred.

"Almost there." Ezra announced, making your head jerk up. You had been wavering on the edge of unconsciousness, just focusing on keeping your feet moving. 

He dropped your hand onto one of the railings for the pod ladder and you obligingly tried to pull yourself into it after he gave you a boost, ending up essentially throwing your body forward and to the side on the floor of the pod.

Ezra staggered up behind you, fumbling to shift you from your fetal position. "In the seat, gentle soul, we need to strap you in. Can't have loose cargo when we take off." He muttered. 

Your head felt too heavy. You let it loll against your chest while he essentially manhandled you into the passenger seat and snapped the harness around you as best as he could. "M'sorry…" Your voice was barely audible through your helmet. "Can't..."

"You manage those lungs of yours, don't worry about me." He replied tersely, yanking off his helmet and then tearing at the latches on your own. "You just keep breathin'. We'll be out of this in no time, gentle soul, no time at all." 

You nodded dazedly after he pulled the helmet off over your head. "Thank…"

"Hush, damn it." Ezra rasped, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Hush. Save your energy and keep that bayonet steady. We'll be on that freighter in a tick. Get you to a proper med bay." His voice trembled.

You were vaguely aware that he had strapped in beside you. There was the soft rustle of manual pages, then the deafening rattle of the pod boosters, the thrum of the engines as it broke the atmosphere. Light from Bakhroma's sun poured in through the triangular windows overhead, all but blinding you. 

Ezra weakly stripped your glove and then clasped your fingers across the center console as the freighter appeared, spindly arms of pods hanging suspended in the brilliant green and navy halo of the surrounding cosmos. "We have at last been delivered from our toilsome strife." He sighed. "Better days beckon us onward, gentle soul." He raised your hand to his lips, and you felt the brush of his facial hair when he kissed your open palm.

...

You were unsure of how much time had passed. You thought you were being removed from the pod, something about getting rushed through the triage protocols. 

An oxygen mask was snapped down over your face, the whirr of an intraosseous needle reaching your ears. Conversations around you faded in and out, random voices discussing your condition. 

Where was Ezra?

"If that bayonet had gone half an inch deeper-"

"I suggest you apply the brakes on that particular intellectual locomotive." You felt your fears ebb at the familiar sound of his drawl. "We are running on precious little sleep and I must confess to an unhealthy inclination towards impatience when I am deprived of my slumber. Now, my individual trauma can wait until you have available staff, but their wound will fester if it is left much longer." A large hand rested on your forehead, shielding your half-open eyes from the fluorescent lighting. "Take care of their potential pneumothorax, doctor, and I will be as docile as a lamb."

"Ez…" you whispered.

"Still tryin' to palaver? Gentle soul, now is not the time for idle conversation." His hand stroked your forehead as he soothed, "Rest now. We did it. You did it." 

With his assurance, you closed your eyes.

...

You were confined to a rehabiter chamber for what felt like a short eternity as the freighter made its laborious way back to Central, Puggart Bench and the overcrowded wards that dotted the outskirts.

All you had left physically to remind you of your ordeal was a slow-healing wound on your abdomen and muscles that felt like they would never stop aching. You had one hundred percent overdone it and, if the resident freighter physician had anything to say regarding the matter, you were incredibly lucky to be alive.

The freighter's lung scrubber wasn't exactly on par with the level of sanitation either you or Ezra needed, so you were kept on it at all times until you could be transferred to the Puggart Bench medicog. You were grateful to be weathering the travel in the freighter's dingy med bay, as strange as that was to say. You weren't sure how long it would be before you could travel in a pod without feeling deeply apprehensive.

Once dropped at Puggart, you barely even got to wave at Ezra (he waved back with a drowsy grin from beneath the oxygen tent) before you were whisked away to a different room and hooked up to something a little more high-test. 

Fully purging the dust took literal days of treatment. The preliminary scans of your lungs revealed what looked like thick, puffy cotton balls in the place of usual bronchioles. You could only imagine how bad Ezra's lungs must be if that was what yours were like.

The rest of your body continued to arduously heal. You spent the hours of solitary treatment quietly drawing on your memo pad. Once that ran out of pages, you began to save the napkins that came with your Pastors slurry. A kind orderly found you an abandoned clipboard and you would balance it on your knees to draw for as long as you were able before your stomach began to protest.

You did your best to not think about the Bakhroma Green moon. It was difficult, but you tried. The lushly poisonous foliage, the Queen's Lair, Damon-

Your sleep was fitfully restless, either due to the lingering pain of your wound or the nightmares that hounded you. You were unsure of the last time you had truly enjoyed a good night's sleep.

Once you had been off the scrubber for a full week, Ezra came to visit. You almost didn't recognize him sans the bulk of his suit and helmet, but the brilliant blond Mallen streak that jutted mischievously out from his right temple removed all doubt. He looked much better, which was to be expected. Clean food and fresh air had done him wonders.

"Gentle soul!" He exclaimed warmly upon entering your cubicle, his voice rasping slightly, "all those days of good behavior paid off. Your jealous warden has finally deemed me worthy of entry into your domain." 

"Good to see you too, Ezra." You replied with a smile, raising an eyebrow at the flowers he carried. "I won't take up much of your time, obviously you've got places to be." What was that weird pang in your chest? Were you jealous? Why would you be jealous? 

"Your modesty, while one of your finest qualities, wounds me deeply. These are for you, gentle soul." Ezra placed a hand over his heart, bowing grandly as he presented you with the bouquet. 

"F-For me? Oh." You felt a little ashamed of your strange jealousy now, fumbling to take the flowers from him. "These are so beautiful, you...you didn't have to, you know." You murmured, burying your nose in the soft petals. 

"What better way to celebrate you bein' on the mend?" He inquired incredulously, pulling up the chair beside your bed. 

"I'm kind of surprised you're still here, honestly." You confessed. 

"Whyever for?"

"Well I just...I assumed you would have set back out in search of the next big thing." You twiddled your fingers, keeping your eyes on the flowers. 

"I am full of surprises, I suppose. Oh! And in that vein." Ezra tugged free a long, flat box from inside the (obviously very new) blazer he wore. "Another surprise."

The box was wrapped simply in plain paper and twine, a bit like all your sketchpads had been. "Ezra-" you began to protest. 

He waved off your words though, gesturing impatiently for you to rip off the paper. "I have been burstin' at the seams to give this to you, gentle soul. Do not make me wait one iota longer, I implore you."

Laughing a little at his enthusiasm, you obliged. Your laughter caught in your throat as you turned the brightly-colored box over, the graphics on the front proudly announcing the contents. "This...Th-This is…" You stammered, swallowing hard. "I...Ezra-"

"It's the draw-pad! Y'know, the one we discussed. Brand new, hot off the line." Ezra looked insanely pleased with himself, fidgeting in the seat. "I saw it and I knew you needed it."

"Ezra, this is too much." You tried to sound like you disapproved, but you were relatively certain your fingers reverently tracing the brilliant logo gave you away. Just the box alone looked so crisp, the edges still sharp instead of crushed in and rounded with age.

"Now, this gift does come with a request." He drawled from his spot beside your bed. You glanced up, that old wariness creeping back in. "I want you to familiarize yourself with this tool. Not sure how long it'll take. I have faith in your tenacity and ability to adapt, however. Once you're confident in your skill, I would be most obliged if you would consider a solicitation of partnership. " 

"Part...nership?" You repeated, thoroughly confused.

Ezra nodded. "Yes, gentle soul. I am penning a semi-fictitious memoir and it would add a certain...gravitas if your sketches graced the pages as well, you understand."

You fairly erupted with excitement, "I would love to!" Your enthusiasm jerked to a sudden stop as you remembered just where you were, and how much debt you were probably in. "But I...I can't." You finished sadly, stroking the brightly-colored illustrations on the front of the draw-pad box one last wistful time before you pressed it back into his hands. "I'm sorry Ezra, I need to hurry up and heal so I can hurry up and find another job, work through paying off this treatment bill--"

"Gentle soul, I don't think you have a full grasp of your situation." Ezra interjected. "You are an incredibly rich individual." You stared at him, not entirely registering his words. "Have you truly forgotten just how much of the Queen your deft little hands plundered?"

"That's not mine, that's y-"

"Kevva above, gentle soul. If not for your steady skinnin' and de-blisterin', we wouldn't have secured a damn thing." Ezra leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers. "I turned a handsome profit as well, mind you. I am quite comfortably off with my harvest as it is. But you, gentle soul, you…" He cleared his throat. "I took the liberty of arrangin' an account for you while you were indisposed."

"There was enough for an account?" You squeaked. 

Ezra's laugh sounded raw. "The wonder in your eyes! I wish you could see yourself. Give me a moment, I'll pull up the numbers." He had apparently gotten one of those new, touchscreen Servs. He didn't even need a cable! You watched apprehensively as he tapped away at the tablet, swiping through a few menus. 

When he tilted the screen to show you your account, you were relatively certain you had gone into shock. You knew your mouth was opening and closing, but you couldn't seem to form any words.

"I daresay you may be able to afford your hospital bill." The man said dryly after watching you gawk for several long minutes. "And perhaps a few meager indulgences on top of that."

"That's...that can't be right." You whispered, reaching out to touch the numbers. Ezra chuckled when your clumsy fingers accidentally brought up another menu, the older man easily dismissing it. 

"It is indeed correct, gentle soul. The exchange was the cleanest I've ever done, and sported the highest rates I've ever encountered. It seems we returned from the Bakhroma Green in the nick of time, in more ways than one." 

"Ezra, that's...I-I've never even dreamed of having so many points. I…" you trailed off, biting your lip. Tears welled up in your eyes and, for the first time since Damon had been killed, you started to cry in earnest.

Ezra's hand rested on your arm after a moment and you let yourself be eased into his embrace, sobbing against his shoulder. "Steady now, gentle soul. You just let it all out. It's over, you understand?" He soothed, cupping the back of your head. "Over and done with. Your perdition is at its end. You are free from those terrible burdens." 

"I just...this doesn't even feel real." You hiccupped. "I feel like I'm g-gonna' wake up in that pod all over ag-gain."

"I know that sensation all too well. My sleep is poor, my dreams fraught with dark recollections." Ezra admitted quietly. "Safety and stability are luxuries I have not been able to afford for many years. Now that I have them, I am...unsure of what to do with them." He sighed, his chin resting on the top of your head. "We have endured so much worse than having a little good fortune, yet upon bein' confronted with it, we do not feel worthy."

You nodded into his shoulder. It was no surprise that he would know exactly how to put into words what you had been feeling. You jolted abruptly when you realized which shoulder you were molesting. "Oh! Your arm, I'm so-"

"Don't you fret, gentle soul." He released you and carefully slid his arm out of his blazer, the barest wince betraying him as he flexed the limb freely. "I'm on the mend, with a...zeal I did not realize I possessed. The matron in charge of my circulatory rehabilitation seems hell-bent on gettin' me to break a sweat." Ezra sounded rueful. "I'm just glad I can breathe unaided once more. I'll never take my lungs for granted ever again."

...

You doused the eggs with the brilliant orange sauce, shoveling a forkful into your mouth and groaning in appreciative delight. 

"Now normally, condiments are a compliment to the dish." Ezra delicately gestured at your orange-stained plate with his fork. "With you however, condiments appear to be the main course." He teased. Ezra had offered to take you out for breakfast on the morning of your release, he called it a daring escape from the confines of modern medicine. Hence your current locale. You had, however, insisted that the two of you split the bill.

"After so long eating Pastors Calori-pouches and bits bars, I...I need the color just as much as I need the flavor, y'know?" You mumbled around your mouthful. "My tastebuds are all brand new again."

"I meant no disrespect, gentle soul." Ezra reached across the table with a paper napkin and you jerked back on reflex, laughing awkwardly as you tried to play off your sharp reaction. He cocked his head, eyebrows drawn quizzically tight. "I said I would not ask, and I will not break that promise." He murmured, tucking the napkin into your limp hand instead. "If ever there is anything I can do though, anything I can say to...to ease these burdens you carry on your body, all you need do is ask."

This was far too serious of a topic to be discussing in a greasy diner with bright orange hot sauce dripping off your chin. 

Ezra skewered a bite of flapjack with his fork, dipped it in the vibrant condiment that smeared your dish and then popped it into his mouth. You gawked at him as he chewed, his eyes idly roaming the diner. You could take the man out of the communal mining canteen, but you couldn't take the communal mining canteen out of the man, you supposed. You remembered all too well the stands worth of others pilfering off your own tray.

"I know you are no doubt eager twice over to get your mitts on my draft and begin your creative process, but I must insist we allow you the time to reacclimate to city livin'." He changed the subject deftly, his fingers drumming on the scarred diner table as he spoke. "Elsewise you may just end up sealin' yourself into a studio like a cask of Amontillado and drawin' the day away." His eyes wandered back to your face. "Have you given any more consideration to which ward you might prefer to hang your hat in?" 

You gulped down a bite of toast before shaking your head. "I...I looked through the listings two days ago but I don't...I mean, I know I can afford to, but…" you trailed off. 

"Livin' alone holds no allure." Ezra's tone was sympathetic. He steepled his hands on the tabletop. "Permit me to suggest an alternative, gentle soul." You inclined your head. "We are two wandering drifters that, through sheer grit and a healthy sprinkling of providence, have managed to slog through hell together and survive without growing to loathe each other's company." 

You stared at him blankly, sponging the sauce off your chin. Ezra settled back in the booth, his body language enviably relaxed. 

"I am more than willin' to open my humble abode to you. For a few stands or simply until you find yourself despising my lugubrious company." He held up a hand as you opened your mouth. "I offer without any malice or intent of predation, gentle soul. I know that the return to non-floater spaces is not often an easy one, and I strongly suspect that you have been preyed upon in the past."

"I know you're not like that." You blurted out, flushing immediately afterwards.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I am grateful you don't lump my gregarious self in with the refuse, gentle soul."

"I just...I mean you've done so much for me already." You continued helplessly. "I'm in your debt, Ezra. By a lot."

"Nonsense." He scoffed. "Without you, we never would have escaped the Green! If we are to speak of debts and debtors, I must reason that I am still in yours. Shooting me would have been a ludicrously simple task, as I pointed out when we were still in that Kevva-forsaken place. Never mind the steady-handed salvage of my arm, your heroic duel with Inumon-"

"Oh yes, nothing more heroic than getting three-quarters killed by a grungy Krebine bayonet." You interrupted him dryly. "While hopped up on Brism."

Ezra chuckled. "Modest as ever!" He quickly sobered, his eyes serious. "My lodgings are more than adequate to house another individual, should you decide to grace me with your presence."

...

You didn't really have any possessions, which made your move relatively straightforward. All you had was your helmet, your suit, your underclothes and the contents of the pockets of said suit. Mercifully, everything had been decontaminated, so you didn't have anything to fear from throwing your familiar kit back on.

"I will offer you a change of clothes, but! We must venture out and acquire you new attire at your earliest convenience." Ezra insisted, already rummaging through his laughably barren closet even as you protested. "I doubt you wish to eternally linger in my dubious, threadbare garb." He suddenly stopped, snapping his fingers. "Wait. No. Kevva, we can order on the Serv. Unless you prefer the torment of physical fitting rooms?" He queried with a grimace, making you laugh.

You found yourself curled up on the couch several hours later, clad in one out of his two 'casual' shirts and your thermal leggings. You held the Serv tablet carefully in your hands as Ezra swiped through page after page of various clothing, the precocious man enthusiastically supporting any item you expressed interest in. 

"This will at least tide you over until you feel more comfortable wanderin' the streets of the Pug again. We should also find you some underthings and socks." He mused, tapping the appropriate area on the screen to bring up the search option. "I'll leave you to that, gentle soul." You hesitantly took over from him and he rose from the couch, stretching with a quiet groan. "Tea? I feel inordinately cozy right now." He offered cordially. 

"Mmhm." You nodded, a little distracted by the waves of choices available to you. Granted, at this stage all you needed were a few essentials. Undergarments that would hold up in the wash, good socks to ward off the chill. "Should I get shoes too, or wait until I go out for that?" You called.

"I feel it would be prudent to dally on that particular front." Ezra drawled from the kitchen. "It's best to ensure a proper fit in person if at all possible. Though, I hardly need to tell you that." He stuck his head back out through the doorway after a moment. "Toiletries tab should be the second to last on the right."

"I mean, I took the toothbrush from the hospital so I'm probably fine for-" His raucous laughter interrupted your reasoning and you scowled at him, uncertain of what could be so funny. 

"You've got more funds than most people would see in six lifetimes, and yet you purloined the toothbrush from your hospital room." Ezra managed to say after a few moments. "Floater habits die hard, eh gentle soul?"

Against your will, you felt giggles bubbling in your chest and you huffed out a breath, trying to ward them off. "Shush, you...you!" You retorted lamely, losing your battle with your own laughter. "Stop judging me, your moral high ground is subterranean."

"Subterranean, I like that!" Ezra exclaimed, his eyes shining with good humor as he passed you a plain white mug full to the brim with tea. "I'll have to pilfer that for my illustrious tale. Give you full credit, naturally."

You smiled at him over your mug. "You'd better."

He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. "I am a man of subterranean high ground, true enough. But I am a man of my word!"

Part Six

[fairestcat]

We Did The Thing: Musings On the AO3, Wiscon, and Winning the Fandom Culture Wars

HOLY SHIT WE WON A MOTHERFUCKING HUGO.

Ahem.

More seriously - or at least more verbosely - I think we won the fandom culture wars. How weird is that?

This is a sort of rambly post. It's about the OTW and the AO3, but it's also about Wiscon, because that's the community I'm in where old-school SFF fandom and transformative works fandom collide, and it's where I've watched this transformation happen over the last decade.

Back in October I made a tumblr post about the history of the OTW/AO3: On the AO3 all these years later.

That post is mostly just quotes from the comments to @astolat's original post that started the AO3: An Archive Of One's Own - and quotes from the post I made back then linking to hers:  An Archive of One's Own, Or: Why Shouldn't We Ask For Everything We Want?

Those posts are from May 2007. I was on the OTW Finance Committee by that fall.

One year later, in May 2008, I went to my first Wiscon. I was on two panels: "Fanfic and Slash 201," and "Fanfic Rising: The Organization for Transformative Works."

They were back to back on Saturday night. "Fanfic and Slash 201" from 9:00 to 10:15 and the OTW panel from 10:30 to 11:45. All fanworks panels at non fanworks-specific cons were late night panels back then. Or, occasionally, on Monday morning after half the con had gone home.

I don't remember who else was on the Fanfic 201 panel, but the OTW panel was me, @oliviacirce and ellen_fremedon. The three of us had never met before that con. @oliviacirce and I had been in Chicago Friday night for a Panic! At the Disco concert and hadn't gotten back to Madison until 3am. I have no idea how we were even still coherent for a 10:30 PM panel.

None of us wrote the panel description, which reads even more impressively antagonistic in retrospect.

"The Organization for Transformative Works (OTW), led by fanfic writers, fan vidders, and fan artists (including writer Naomi Novik) seeks to establish a new regime in copyright law, in which 'all fannish works are recognized as legal and transformative and are accepted as a legitimate creative activity.' Should there be an exception for fanfic under copyright? Is OTW a good idea? (Some fans are afraid that OTW's activities will end BigMedia's tolerance for fannish creations.) What does the law say? What's the viewpoint of those who create original works -- should authors lose control of their original creations, as long as fans claim protection under a fanfic exception? And what about OTW's commitment to offer protection for RPF (Real People Fanfic)?"

At the time I would have said it was a pretty good panel, and yet we spent a distressing percentage of the panel defending the mere right of fanworks to even exist.

I went back to Wiscon in 2009, which was an...eventful year. It was the first Wiscon post-Racefail and it sparked a lot of discussion of intersecting modes of fannishness and particularly online fandom vs. offline con-based fandom, which was at the time a much bigger divide.

Wiscon 2009 was also the year @ellen_fremedon went to a panel on historical fiction, and got jumped on by Ellen Klages, who was one of that year's Guests of Honor, for the sin of mentioning fanfic in her presence.

After that Wiscon I posted Wiscon, Media Fandom and The Larger Fannish Conversation, about my experience of that divide, particularly as a transformative works fan at Wiscon.

Here's the thing: online media and fanfic fandom is a vibrant, active community within broader SF fandom. [...] And to a large extent media fandom is where the young female fans are, the women who are the future of fandom. We're there at Wiscon too; I was amazed by the number of people from LJ fandom I saw at the con this year. And yet, when it comes to having a voice in larger fandom, we're still the embarrassing cousin shuffled off into the corner (or the hotel lobby). Even at Wiscon, the feminist science fiction convention, we're mostly under the radar, carving out a tiny niche for ourselves.

Last year we had two general, broad-topic fanfic panels. This year we had a fanfic panel, a vidding panel and the media vs. book fandom panel, which was not explicitly a media fandom panel but had an audience heavily weighted towards media fandom participants. And I walked into those panels and I thought "Here! Here are my people!" But it was frustrating too. Why are we relegated to the corner, why are we willing to be relegated to the corner? The conversations we're having, the things we're doing, they don't exist in a vacuum, they're relevant to the larger fannish conversation, they're especially relevant, I think, to the conversation going on at Wiscon. And I think it's time we were a bigger, more open part of that conversation.

So, we set out to make that happen. The OTW and the AO3 were a big part of that. Everyone who was worried at the time that the OTW would bring too much attention to fandom was right to be afraid. And wrong to be afraid too. Because that attention was how everything started to change. The OTW was fandom coming out of the closet, and like any coming out it was a powerful, transformative moment for those involved.

In 2010, a group of fans held the first ever Wiscon Vid Party. 

At Wiscon in 2010, we held the first ever vid party in one of these hospitality suites on the Saturday night, from 9pm to 3am. That's six hours of vid programming! It was mostly unthemed, other than "here are some amazing vids!"[...] The general vibe of the party was loud, a little bit raucous, and pretty informal. We had a mixture of sofas and armchairs, stackable seating, and standing room. People came and went at will. We put a sign on the door asking people to keep conversations to a minimum, and it worked pretty well to keep chatter down while still allowing people to relax and have a good time. It was pretty much like a really big living room.

I missed that con due to the whole move to Canada and get married thing I did, but I remember my first Vid Party in 2012, looking around the party room and having this amazing feeling of being surrounded by my people.

I loved Wiscon, but it was always a fraught experience. There was always this worry that I'd say the wrong thing in the wrong place and suddenly get that disappointed, "oh, you're one of those fans," response. The vid party was the one place at the con that you could just walk in and that worry went away.

And then there started being more of those places. We started suggesting more and more fic and vid related panels.

In 2012, @oliviacirce and I were both on two transformative works panels. "What makes a great transformative work?" and "Fans Fix SF." In a step up from previous fanworks panels at Wiscon they were both during the day. But they were also both in the smallest panel rooms at the con, and both panels fit comfortably into those rooms. Conference 5, where "Fans Fix SF" was held, is still the only room Wiscon uses for programming that's so small it isn't wired for microphones.

And then in 2013 I suggested ten panels for Wiscon and nine of them ended up on the schedule. They weren't all explicitly transformative fandom panels, but a lot of them were, and most of the panel descriptions were informed by my experience in transformative works fandom. Looking back, that was a sea-change moment, because an interesting thing happened. There mostly stopped being transformative fandom-specific panels at Wiscon, because it started being okay, even expected, that fanfic and other transformative works might come up on any panel, from the audience or the panelists.

At Wiscon 2018, I went to a panel on #OwnVoices fiction. Every panelist was a published author and/or professional editor. In the course of the panel, every panelist mentioned fanfic in general or the AO3 in specific in an explicitly complementary fashion. I nearly burst into tears in the back of the panel room.

Afterwards, I met up with @oliviacirce and ellen_fremedon to flail about it, at which point we realized that it had been ten years since that first fateful OTW panel where we all met. And that ten years both felt like so long ago, and also so recent for everything to have changed so completely.

At Wiscon 2019, the three of us were on another panel together. We called it "Fanfic: Threat or Menace - Ten Years Later," and this time I wrote the description:

Do you remember a time before the AO3? Do you remember a time when mentioning fanfic at Wiscon risked a lecture on its illegality and/or immorality? We sure do! In 2008 we met on the panel “Fanfic Rising: The Organization for Transformative Works,” & spent most of our time defending the right of fanworks to exist. In 2018 we were amazed to realize just how much had changed. Let’s talk about how the perception & reception of fanworks have changed, both in fandom at large and right here at Wiscon.

We made it onto the schedule. They once again put us in the smallest panel room. We looked around the lobby on Thursday night and said, "yeah, that ain't happening." We eventually moved to one of the largest panel rooms.

It was almost completely full.

I started the panel by reading out the original panel description from 2008. There was laughter! revolutionaryjo came up afterwards and asked to take a picture of the description on my phone. There were so many people in that room who had no idea what the Wiscon of a decade previous had been like. It was amazing.

Best Related Work? The OTW and AO3 changed the nature of the relationship between fic readers and writers and the entirety of mainstream organized SFF fandom.

The Wiscon Vid Party is still happening, and it's still a marathon of amazing vids, but it's not a really big living room anymore. The Vid Party is the Friday night feature in the biggest panel room. There are Premieres. There’s a sing-a-long. People come who have never watched a vid outside of Wiscon. People come who've never even heard of vids outside of Wiscon. The first year the Vid Party was in the big room, I walked into the room just before the show started, looked around, and realized I didn't recognize ⅔ of the people in the room. And I was so happy. Because I no longer need the Vid Party as a safe space to let down my guard, the entire con is now that place.

We did that. We made that happen.

The OTW made that happen. The AO3 made that happen. But also, a whole lot of individual fans made that happen. We stepped out of our corner, we stepped out of our closet. We demanded a seat at the table. And now we have a motherfucking HUGO AWARD, and when Naomi Novik got on stage at the Hugos and asked everyone who felt that they were part of the AO3 to stand up to be acknowledged, a notable number of this year's other Hugo nominees were among the attendees who got to their feet.

[monstersandmaw]

Male vampire (Ruben) x trans male reader (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Because approximately 3 people expressed interest in seeing this 4.4k story extract, here it is. It’s been up on my Patreon since June 2018, so I think it’s ok to post here now...

As I said in the answer to the ask that prompted this, it’s a bit AU ish because it assumes that his partner doesn’t know what happened to him with the hunters, which was discussed in his story with Ash, and its a reader insert. Ash is a trans guy in Ruben’s two part story, but the reader here is almost completely gender neutral, with one reference to being ‘male’ (trans or otherwise) mentioned: “You are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. Thank you.” and one passing reference to ‘T shots’…

It’s fluffy, with a bit of angst, lots of tender feels, and features some violence/attack (not to the reader), blood drinking and, because it’s Ruben, a bit of vomiting…*shrugs, it is what it is*.

Ruben shifted his weight, pulling you close to him and humming contentedly. It was early for you, around five in the morning. It was a real pain having a boyfriend who couldn’t go out in the daylight and who got weaker and weaker the longer he stayed up past dawn.  

But he was worth it.  

“Morning,” you croaked, grinding your hips playfully back against him where he lay curled around you, one arm draped over your waist.  

He answered by kissing your neck, just below your ear, inhaling deeply as he did so. Something seemed to thrum through him a second later, like the wind in the rigging of a ship, and his whole body went taut.  

“Ruben?” you asked, coming awake with a jolt as his hands tightened on your hips.  

He wasn’t breathing.  

You turned over in his arms and saw that he had rammed his eyes shut and his jaw was clenched. “Stop moving. Please,” he hissed through his teeth as you reached for his face, hard and sharp enough to have been carved from stone. “Lie still.”

You froze.  

“Shit,” he hissed, and suddenly he had dissolved into dark, swirling mist, and left the room. 

The bed was cold where he’d been lying. With no heartbeat, his body was always cold, but now it drove home to you just how inhuman Ruben really was. He’d been good about controlling his bloodlust around you, but Aubrey had warned him just the previous evening that since he was now in a relationship, he needed to feed much more regularly. He still hadn’t got the hang of that, and so his bloodlust was unpredictable.  

You sighed and sat up, running a hand through your tangled hair. Residual tiredness clung to your body like the shadows in the corners of the room, but your brain was awake.  

Ten minutes or so later, you slipped on a pair of jeans and yanked a hoody over your pyjama t-shirt, shuffling out of the room and heading for the kitchen. If you were awake, you might as well be up. Lying in bed without Ruben didn’t seem all that appealing.  

To your surprise, you found him in the kitchen, leaning against the solid-oak island in the middle, head bowed, hair falling forwards. He was dressed now, in simple black trousers and a white shirt, tucked into the waistband. His back was heaving irregularly, almost like he was crying. His heavy, black cane was nowhere in sight.  

“Ruben?” you asked in a small voice from the doorway, not wanting to crowd him if he was still having difficulty.  

He jerked around to face you, and you saw the tell-tale flush in his cheeks that told you he’d just fed. His eyes were a violent, scarlet red, and when he saw you he began to pant again like he’d just come out of a dead sprint. He whispered your name, looking away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Can I come closer?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, voice like broken glass.  

You crossed the room straight to him and looped your arms around his solid torso. His chest was hard as marble, and he stopped breathing immediately when you laid your head against him, squeezing hard. “I love you, Ru,” you breathed.  

“I should try harder for you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you countered. “You are trying. Ruben, you let me share your bed; you’re trying to drink more often even though the thought of it still makes you sick; you’re staying up past dawn just so you can get a few more hours in with me… Ruben, you’re… amazing.”

He heaved a little, as though he really was going to be sick, and you pulled back just in case.  

“I’m sorry,” he said again, bringing the fingertips of one hand to his lips.  

“Ruben… Why does drinking blood make you sick?” you asked hesitantly a moment or two later.  

He sighed and looked down, dropping his hand to run his palm absentmindedly over the top of his thigh beneath his hip where you knew the scars from his old injury lay.  

“I… I wasn’t always like this,” he began. “When I was newly turned, I had no trouble drinking.”  

He didn’t look at you as he spoke, instead his eyes went to the kitchen window, pupils shrinking to mere pinpricks as the rising dawn gathered pace and the sun climbed towards the horizon. The sky above was still a dreamy, lilac blue, but the horizon showed the glow of dawn.  

“Not long after the turn of the century,” he went on, “What with the interest in mesmerism in the early 1800s, and Conan Doyle’s involvement in –”  

“Oh, that century…” you interrupted with a snort, and he did look down at you then.  

For a moment, it seemed he didn’t understand, and then he softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he snorted a laugh out of his nose. “Yes, that century,” he chuckled. “Apologies.” The light of amusement faded a little in his bright, red eyes as he went on, but it didn’t leave his expression completely, despite the nature of the story he told you. He seemed to draw strength from the distance you represented between that time and the now, anchoring himself by sheer proximity to you in time and space.  

You went very still as he spoke. He’d never told you why he walked with a limp, or why he bore those terrible scars at the top of his leg, the silvery-grey lines and puckered marks boring into his flesh and snaking up his torso like veins in his marble skin.  

“There had been a steady rise in interest in the ‘occult’ and all things ‘supernatural’, and it prompted the ranks of the infernal guild of people who call themselves ‘vampire hunters’ to swell almost exponentially.” His lip curled in disgust as he spat the words out. “I had been living in London at the time. Aubrey kept an eye on things here, but I shut up the castle every eighty years or so in order for folks to forget about us.”  

“I see,” you said, leaning your weight against the kitchen counter beside him.  

He looked at you for a long moment before smiling sadly. “It’s very early for you. Are you sure you want to hear all this now?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you rasped. “I do.” No way you wanted to stop him now that he’d started to open up to you.

“Very well. Would you like a coffee at least?”

You nodded again, and he began to make you one while he spoke. He seemed grateful for something to do while he talked. The little espresso machine whirred away, dribbling strong coffee into the mug.  

“You want it watered down?”  

“Yes please,” you said, and he boiled the kettle too.  

“My house was broken into during the middle of the day, and my housekeeper – who knew about me, about what I am – tried to warn me. It’s almost impossible to wake me after I’ve fallen into my trance during the daylight hours, but she managed to rouse me by slamming a silver crucifix into my chest.”  

He snorted sarcastically and shot a sideways glance at you.  

“That’s like hooking a car battery up to your heart, let me tell you.”  

He sighed, turning his attention back to the boiling kettle.  

“The hunters burst in then, and dragged her away, believing I had been holding her there under my influence. I fought for my life, but I was so weak. They almost killed me. They had weapons designed specifically to hurt vampires…”  

The kettle clicked off as it reached a boil, and Ruben seemed to welcome the interruption. He topped the mug up with water before handing it to you, and you caught his retreating hand in your fingers and squeezed him hard. Ruben looked down at you then and smiled.  

The red light had not faded from his eyes and his features still seemed sharper than usual in the dim light of the kitchen.  

“What happened?” you asked, still holding his cold hand.  

He didn’t try to pull away, but he did resume his former stance, staring out of the window with his left hand behind his ramrod straight back.  

“They wanted to try out their new weapons, I suppose,” he said, voice growing a little distant. “One of them had a shotgun full of silver buckshot. I lashed out at him just as he fired it, and it all went into my right thigh and hip. That’s where all those ugly marks come from,” he said, bringing his fingers back to his leg.  

You laid your hand down over his and looked up at him, eyes blazing with the unspoken sentiment that his scars were not ugly.  

He smiled, though the gesture was hollow, and continued. “Another had a phial of silver nitrate,” he said, tone turning bitter. “He was a photographer, and had discovered that vampires could not appear on film because of the use of silver in the preparation of the film. The clever fuck thought to weaponise it.”  

He raised the lower hem of his white shirt and revealed the snaking dark lines up his stomach.  

“I was incapacitated by it, and they thought they’d take advantage of that fact to try out a little experiment they’d been cooking up for us. They forced blood down my throat, but it was laced with garlic and holy water. It wreaked havoc with my insides and I’ve never been the same since.”

“Shit, Ruben,” you said. “That’s… barbaric…”

He smiled at you, and this time it held no humour at all. “Vampire hunters are not known for their empathy, sweetheart,” he said, and you actually shivered. He sighed. “Now every time I drink blood, my body tries to reject it.”

“How did you survive? How did you get away?”

He smiled. “I… I am not a very strong vampire during the day – my bloodline is much more powerful under the influence of the moon – but there are some vampires who can walk about in the day, so long as they are careful not to expose their skin to the sun for any great length of time. I have a couple of friends – twins actually – who are able to walk in the daylight. They are well known for fighting back against vampire hunters, and they had caught wind of the planned attack on my house. They came just in time.”

“I’d like to meet them,” you said. “So I can thank them.”

He smiled and squeezed your hand, still held gently between his fingers. “I would like to introduce you to them. I think you would like them.”

“Thank you for… sharing that with me,” you said in a soft voice.  

He looked down at you and you set the coffee down on the counter behind you and tucked yourself under his arm.  

He didn’t speak for a long while, but eventually he brought the conversation back to the whole reason you were both standing in the kitchen together, and not lying side by side in bed. “Not being able to drink blood very easily doesn’t mean I don’t experience bloodlust though…”

“Do you think not drinking regularly makes it worse?”

“Definitely,” he sighed.

He leaned down and kissed the crown of your head, raking his fingers through your hair, just above your ear. He inhaled deeply, beginning slowly and expanding his chest until he’d drawn in a great lungful of your scent.  

“It doesn’t help that I like the smell of you so much,” he chuckled wryly, letting his breath go in a rush. He didn’t seem to be in danger now that he had fed.  

“Would…?” you began, swallowing, feeling your heartrate rising with mingled excitement and apprehension. “Would… Would it be easier if you… um… you know…” Unable to articulate the rest of your question, you tilted your head to one side and exposed your carotid to him.  

You looked back up to see his eyes locked on your neck. “I don’t know,” he said, unblinking.  

“Ruben,” you asked, an idea suddenly occurring to you, “Have you ever been in a relationship with a human before?”

He laughed. “No. Only vampires, and few enough of them.”

“Male or female?”

“Male,” he said immediately. And then he kissed the tip of your nose.

“Would you be willing to try drinking from me?” you asked.  

“Now?” he blurted, looking taken aback, almost panic-stricken.  

You shrugged. “Why not? You’re full, so you’re unlikely to lose control, right?”

He licked his lips, his irises flaring brighter like hot coals graced with a breath. “It does significantly reduce the danger,” he said. And then he snapped back, blinking. “No. I can’t believe I even entertained the possibility. No.”

“Ruben, please,” you begged. “Just try… It might make things easier.”

“Or it might make everything ten times worse!” he fired back, releasing you and limping a few steps away. “I can’t risk it. I can’t risk hurting you.”

Anger flared in your stomach and you ground your teeth, and you spat, “You’re already hurting me, Ruben, by not trusting me enough to try.” And then you turned on your heel and marched from the kitchen, fists clenched at your side.

You didn’t see him for the rest of the day, and you felt guilt gnawing at the pit of your stomach as the sun wheeled through the sky at a pace that was painfully slow.  

Finally, late in the afternoon, you went to his bedroom, unable to bear his absence any longer. As expected, his double bed was empty, but you pressed your hands on the wall panel where you had seen him disappear into the secret room, and sure enough you found yourself in the little connecting corridor to his room.  

His coffin was in a far corner, tucked up demurely against the wall, and you crossed to it. Your hands trembled as you reached for the lid and raised it soundlessly up, leaning it against the wall. The room was dark, with no windows or lights and illuminated only by the sliver of light which spilled from the passageway behind you. In the gloom, his face looked gaunt and lifeless, his chest was still, and he looked truly dead in a way that chilled your blood. You’d only seen him ‘asleep’ or in his trance a couple of times and it wasn’t your favourite way to see him, stretched out like a lifeless corpse.

Tentatively you reached for his face and as your warm palm came in contact with his chilly skin, his eyes flew open and he sucked in a great breath, like a free-diver coming up for air for the first time in minutes. He sat bolt upright and stared at you, confused, eyes blazing red in the dimness of the room.  

You didn’t wait. You couldn’t wait. You flung your arms around him and hugged him. “I’m so sorry Ruben,” you said from somewhere near his neck. “I never should have said that to you. I’m sorry.”

His breathing was became ragged and irregular for a moment, as though his body hadn’t quite remembered how it was supposed to do it, but he held you in return, somewhat cautiously, and murmured, “Shh, it’s alright.”

“I was wrong to say that you don’t trust me. You do, I know you do. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he repeated, chuckling this time. “I could have reacted a little better myself. I was just… a little overwhelmed by your suggestion.”

You pulled back, rocking onto your heels while he cracked the tension from his neck and jutted his chin out at you, asking you to move back and give him some room while he got up.  

“I gave your idea some thought before I passed out,” he said once he was standing. He still wore the black trousers and white shirt he’d been in that morning, though there was hardly a crease in them. “I would like to give it a try, if you’re still willing.” He held onto the wall as he stood, as though waiting for a head-rush to pass.

“Really?” you gasped, eyes going wide and heart skipping a beat or three. “Sure.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Come, let’s get you out of this dark room. You belong in the light.”

He squinted as he limped out into the bedroom, and, despite the curtains which were drawn, he reached for his dark glasses, the light levels of the late afternoon clearly too much for him. He grabbed his cane, the steel handle slipping into his palm with long familiarity, and made his way wordlessly towards the door.  

You walked through the house beside him in silence, following his lead. He ended up taking you to the little courtyard on the north side of the castle which was walled in on all sides and sheltered from the sun during all but the middle hours of the day. He sank into a wooden chair at the little table beside the fountain at the centre, and waited while you dropped into a nearby one.  

Aubrey joined you a while later, armour clanking quietly, and he took a seat beside his brother. He chatted amicably with news of his partner’s progress on the job that had taken them away from the castle, and then, at a single look from Ruben during a natural lull in the conversation, Aubrey quietly took his leave, and disappeared back inside the castle just as sunset began to gild the upper parapets of the walls above.

Ruben was silent for a long time.  Finally, he crossed his legs elegantly in a way that made your blood pool in your groin, and he looked up at you. “I would like to try to drink from you,” he said slowly. “But you have to understand my reticence.”  

“I get it,” you said immediately. “I know you care for me, and if it really might make the bloodlust worse, then obviously, I don’t think we should do it. But… if you think there’s a chance it could make it easier for you to be around me, then…”

He drew in a deep breath and slid his hand across the wooden slats of the scrubbed table-top. He opened his fingers and invited you to slip your hand into his. He let the pad of his cool thumb play over your knuckles, his face quiet and dark, lost in thought.  

Eventually he swallowed and flicked his eyes up to meet yours. You were surprised to see that they had returned to the chocolate brown colour which he showed when he was passing for a human or trying to make you forget what he was.  

“So, when do you want to try it?” you asked, seeing something akin to resolve settling into his features. He wasn’t happy about it, but you thought you could sense a slight, nervous excitement in the very corners of his pale lips.  

“I think if I spend too much time thinking about it, I’ll overthink myself out of it,” he said very softly. “I want you to be comfortable, and I want to do it while it’s still light.” While I’m still weak.

“Let’s go then,” you said, standing and holding your hand out to him.  

He followed you inside, his hand closing tightly around yours. You felt the familiar, rocking rhythm of his walk behind you, and drew comfort from it.  

“I’ll fetch a dressing,” he said awkwardly. “You’ll probably need it for the wound.” He sighed and added, “I’m not biting you in the bathroom though.”

You grinned, “But it has such a nice alliteration.”  

Caught off guard by your unexpected humour, Ruben did that little snort where his nose crinkled and his eyes creased at the corners. “Come here,” he said, tugging you off balance and into his arms.  

He kissed you then, and it was like the very first time he’d kissed you properly. His hands travelled through your hair and then to your shoulders. He pulled you tight against him and deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking your mouth. He moaned as he traced the contours of your torso til he landed at your hips and then he growled softly, pulling back a moment as he grabbed you and his hips reared into yours. The point where the two of you touched seemed to thrum with energy and you both gasped, panting.  

Ruben began to laugh. “I love you,” he said, shifting his hands to cup your jaw. “You are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. Thank you.”

You shook your head, smiling. “You are strange, Ru…”

“I know,” he sighed. “Come on, let’s get this over with. Go and sit down in my room. I’ll join you there.”

You couldn’t help the fizzing fear that ran along your veins as you sat there alone in the waning light of day, waiting for his footsteps on the corridor outside. It felt like the waiting room at the doctor’s or something. Soon, however, the door creaked open and he stepped in looking pale and more than a little grim, his dark glasses folded and tucked into the top pocket of his white shirt.

You smiled, trying to reassure him as much as yourself, and he blew the air from his lungs in a rush. He was clearly as nervous as – if not more so – you were. He laid his cane against the table nearby and limped over to where you sat in the armchair by the window in a perfect rectangle of evening sunlight.  

“I’m glad you pulled the curtains back,” he said, standing right on the edge of the pool of direct light.  

“How do you want to do this?” you asked with trepidation.  

He smiled nervously. “Bring the chair to the edge of the light and get comfortable. When you tell me you are, hold out your wrist to me in the shadow.”

“Not my neck?” you asked.  

“You’ve watched too many vampire films with Aubrey,” he scoffed. When you scowled, he added, “I need to work up to that.”

“Oh,” you said. “Right.” And you began to arrange the chair as he’d instructed. Happy at last, you drew a deep breath, and held out your hand. “Will it hurt?” you asked.  

“Probably at first,” he said, eyes dark and warm with no hint of red. “But your adrenaline will kick in and you’ll probably feel mild euphoria.”  

You nodded.  

“Last chance to –”

“Do it, Ruben. I want this. It’s not as if you’re turning me with this, is it?”

He actually snarled at you for that, and you flinched. “I will not turn you,” he said. “You will never ask me to do that, do you understand?” His eyes blazed scarlet now.  

A mute nod was all you could muster.

Ruben relaxed and took your wrist in his cool hands, massaging over the veins with both his thumbs. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just couldn’t inflict this on you.”

“I understand,” you said, voice cracking.  

Ruben closed his eyes and exhaled. Then, without opening his eyes, he raised your wrist to his lips and as they peeled back you saw that his canines had elongated. He sank them straight into the flesh beneath the heel of your palm and you flinched in pain as he punctured the radial artery.  

He let out a long, deep moan, as though he’d never savoured anything so beautiful, and then he began to suck. He drank deeply from you, bent over your hand, until you felt him start to shake, and he pulled back with an effort, eyes blazing crimson. He lapped at the tiny, welling pinpricks of blood – you had expected there to be much more – and then in a swift motion he placed the lint dressing over them and taped it down.  

He grabbed your other hand and pressed it down hard over the wound without a word.  

He still hadn’t taken a breath.  

He didn’t look at you as he pushed himself stiffly back to his feet and turned away. You watched his torso contract as his body began to reject the blood already, and he staggered to the en-suite on the far side of the room. He disappeared inside it and a moment later you heard him fall to his knees and wretch into the bowl of the toilet.  

Was it like this every time he fed?  

He heaved again and you heard more fluid hitting the water in the toilet. Rising, you made your way hesitantly to the door and found him clutching the seat of the toilet, kneeling before it, back curved over as his body tried to expel the blood.  

You rushed to him and dropped to your knees beside him.  

“I’m sorry,” he hissed, spitting blood. “I’m so sorry. Please, don’t look. I’m fine. It’s… It’s…” he heaved anew, and spat while you rubbed his back between his shoulders.  

“I don’t mind, Ruben. It’s ok.” There wasn’t much in the bowl, but it still looked dramatic.  

He fell still for a while, and then nodded once, pushing himself up with a grunt and flushing the toilet, closing the lid promptly. He crossed to the mirrored wash basin and splashed his face clean. Eventually, he turned to look at you, standing in the centre of the bathroom.  

“Not a total disaster,” you smiled weakly.  

“Admittedly… no,” he conceded. “But it could have ended a little less… indecorously.”

You chuckled, but the sound quickly died. “Ruben, is it always like that for you?”

He shook his head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve fed directly from the artery. Your blood was probably a bit rich for me…” he said. “The stored blood I drink tends to change the longer it’s kept. Stale blood is… ‘gentler’ on my system, let’s say.”

“Oh.”  

“But I didn’t feel a surge of bloodlust the way I was expecting, so I suppose I should be grateful for that at least. How are you? Did it hurt? Do you need to sit down?”

“No,” you said. “Trust me, my T shots hurt more than that.” You waited for his smile, and then stepped close to him. You held him. “Thank you,” you said. “I hope… I hope it helps, and I hope maybe we can try again.”

He nodded and kissed the crown of your head. “I love you,” he said. “Never doubt that.”

“I won’t,” you said. “I couldn’t.”

________

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[terramythos]

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 27 of 26

Title: How Long ‘Til Black Future Month? (2018)

Author: N. K. Jemisin

Genre/Tags: Short Story Collection, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror, Dystopia, Magical Realism, Steampunk, Cyberpunk, Post-Apocalyptic, Female Protagonist(s), LGBT Protagonist(s).

Rating: 8/10 (Note: This is an average of all the stories -- see below the cut for individual story blurbs/ratings).

Date Began: 9/27/2020

Date Finished: 10/4/2020

I really liked this collection! Jemisin wrote my favorite fanstasy/scifi series ever with The Broken Earth trilogy, and I really enjoyed her recent novel The City We Became. I was in the mindset for shorter fiction so decided to read this collection of short stories. Of these 22 stories, my absolute favorites (9/10 or higher) were:

The City Born Great - 10/10

The Effluent Engine - 9/10

Cloud Dragon Skies - 9/10

The Trojan Girl -10/10

Valedictorian - 9/10

The Evaluators - 10/10

Stone Hunger - 9/10

The Narcomancer - 9/10

Too Many Yesterdays, Not Enough Tomorrows - 9/10

Sinners, Saints, Dragons, and Haints, in the City Beneath the Still Waters - 9/10

A more detailed summary/reaction to each story under the cut. WARNING: IT’S LONG.

1. Those Who Stay and Fight - 8/10  

Describes a utopia called Um-Helat that exists solely because no one is seen as superior or inferior to anyone else. Over time we learn it's a future, or potential future, of America. But America today is pure anathema to it due to rampant structural inequality. In order to achieve its utopian ideal, Um-Helatians have to root out and destroy people corrupted by the past.

This story was apparently written as a tribute/response to the Ursula K. Le Guin story “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas”. I first read this without context, then went and read the Le Guin story. I definitely see the parallels. Both feature a narrator describing a wonderful utopia in the midst of festival, trying to convince the reader of the place's existence, before introducing something dark that is the price of the utopia. In the Le Guin story, the utopia exists at the price of the horrible misery and suffering of one child, and everyone is aware of it. Most live with it, but a few leave for the unknown rather than continue to live there (hence the title). In Jemisin's story, the price is instead the annihilation of those tainted by exposure to the evils of the past. The choice, instead of leaving, is for those tainted yet capable to become protectors of the new world, or die.

The thesis is pretty clear: that only by abandoning horrible ideologies and refusing to give them any ground or quarter can a utopian society truly exist. I will say that rings clear, especially when one considers Naziism and fascism. Not all ideologies deserve the light of day or debate, and even entertaining them as valid allows it to take hold. I liked this story, though it comes off as a social justice essay more than a story in and of itself.

2. The City Born Great - 10/10

This one is told from the perspective of a homeless young black man who feels a strange resonance with New York City. He meets a mysterious figure named Paulo, who tells him the city is about to be born as a full-fledged entity, and the man has been chosen to assist with its birth. However, there’s an eldritch force known simply as The Enemy that seeks to prevent this from happening.

I've read this one before since it's the prologue to The City We Became. And honestly it was one of my favorite parts of that book. New York City is a phenomenal character. I love that the proto-avatar of NYC is a young homeless black man, one of the most denigrated groups out there. Cops being the harbingers of eldritch destruction is... yeah. It was fun to reread this. The ending is a little different, because in the novel, something goes terribly wrong that doesn't happen in this short story. There is also a flash forward where he is, apparently, about to awaken the avatar of Los Angeles. Makes me wonder if that is ultimately the endgame of the series. But otherwise it's the same thing with absolutely phenomenal character voice and creativity regarding cities as living creatures. I'm glad Jemisin expanded this idea into a full series.

3. Red Dirt Witch - 7/10

Takes place before the (1960s) Civil Rights Movement in Pratt City, AL. The main character is Emmaline, a witch with three kids. A creepy figure called The White Lady comes to visit and steal one of her children.

I love the little twist that The White Lady is a faerie. And the different take on rowan/ash/thorn instead being rosemary/sage/sycamore fig. There is a lot of touching bits about the horrible trials and human rights abuses during the Civil Rights marches (which are unfortunately all too relevant still), but ultimately a hopeful glimpse of the future of black people in America, though hard-won.

4. L'Alchimista - 6/10

Stars a Milanese master chef named Franca, who fell from glory for Reasons, who now works as head chef at a run-down inn. She feeds a mysterious stranger, who then challenges her to fix a seemingly impossible recipe.

This one was fun and charming. I thought the food (and magical food) descriptions were very vibrant and interesting, especially the last meal. I can tell this is an earlier story and it's pretty light hearted, but I enjoyed it. It felt like it needed a little more of.. something.  

5. The Effluent Engine - 9/10

In an interesting steampunk take, Haitian spy Jessaline comes to the city of New Orleans to meet one of its foremost scientists. Her goal is to find a viable, unique energy source to strengthen Haiti in a world that wants to see her nation dead.

I really liked this; it's one of the longer stories so there's more time for character development and worldbuilding. And it's gay. I'm not hugely into pure steampunk because a lot of it comes off as very... samey (hyper Eurocentric/Victorian, etc) but I thought this take was fresh.

Like much of Jemisin's work, there is a lot of racial under and overtones; this one specifically goes into the terrible atrocities committed against the Haitians during their Revolution, and the varied social classes of black/Creole people in New Orleans at the time. A lot of this is stuff I was unaware of or knew very little about. I thought it was interesting to bring all of these to the forefront in a steampunk story in addition to the dirigibles, clockwork, action, and subterfuge. Also, everything tries together in a very satisfying way by the end (the rum bottle!), which I love in short fiction.

6. Cloud Dragon Skies - 9/10

Takes place in a post-apoc future where some humans evacuated to space while others stayed behind and took on more indigenous traditions to heal the Earth. The sky has suddenly turned red on Earth, and some representatives from the "sky-people" come to study it and figure out why.

I really enjoyed this little story; fantasy/scifi fusions are my jam, but science fiction specifically told through a fantasy lens is just so cool to me. The cloud dragons were very interesting and imaginative. Also, I love how the opening statement's meaning isn't particularly clear until you read the whole thing.

7. The Trojan Girl - 10/10

This one is about sentient computer programs/viruses that struggle to survive in something called the Amorph, which is basically a more advanced, omnipresent version of the Internet.

Holy fucking shit was this a cool story. Probably the coolest take on cyberpunk I've ever read. The main character Moroe has formed a messed up little family of creatures like him who live and hunt in Amorph's code, but can upload to "the Static" (real life) if needed by hijacking human hosts. The way this is described is so damn creepy and unsettling. I love that while they're anthropomorphized, the characters are mostly feral and compared to a pack of wolves. Soooo much wolf pack imagery. And the ending is so fucking good and imaginative.

This was apparently a proof of concept story that Jemisin decided not to adapt to a longer series, which I'm kind of sad about, but it was REALLY cool nevertheless. The next story is apparently in the same universe and serves as the "conclusion".

8. Valedictorian - 9/10

This one is about a girl who is, well, top of her class in high school, and the stresses that mount as graduation approaches. But while it seems like a familiar setup, there is something decidedly Off about everything, which is revealed gradually over the course of the story.

I originally gave this an 8, but honestly I couldn't stop thinking about it so I boosted it to a 9. It doesn’t become clear how this connects to the previous story until the midpoint. I liked this one because it functions as a nice dystopian science fiction story but also biting social commentary on the modern American education system. I'm not going go say more on it because spoilers. While I personally like the first story more I think this is an interesting followup/conclusion with a more cerebral approach.  

9. The Storyteller's Replacement - 6/10

This one's presented as a traditional "once upon a time" fable told by a storyteller narrator, about a shitty despotic king named Paramenter. Desperate to prove his virility, he eats the heart of a dragon, which is said to be a cure-all for impotence. It's successful, but the six strange daughters that result seem to have plans of their own.

Not really my cup of tea-- it's pretty fucked up. But it's definitely cathartic by the end, which I appreciate, and I do like how creepy the daughters are.

10. The Brides of Heaven - 5/10

Framed as an interrogation in an offworld colony called Illiyin, in which a terrible accident occurred on the way that left all the adult men dead. Dihya, who lost her only son to an alien parasite, is caught trying to sabotage the colony's water supply for reasons unknown.

I like some things in this story. I love the trope of alien biology affecting human biology in unexpected ways. I'm not terribly familiar with Islam but thought it added an interesting faith vs practicality vs tradition element to the science fiction. However I found the sexual body horror REALLY squicky which turned me off the story as a whole.

11. The Evaluators - 10/10

Stylized as a collection of logs and excerpts from a First Contact team of humans visiting and studying a sapient alien species to potentially set up trade relations. There's a focus on one team member named Aihua and her conversations with one of the aliens, but there's miscellaneous important hints/excerpts from the survey that hint Something Creepy Is Going On.

This one was BIZARRE and took me two reads to fully appreciate, but it’s a great work of nontraditional science fiction horror. Just... the epitome of "*nervous laughter* 'what the fuck'". I can't say more without spoiling but dear lord. That whole Jesus bit hits different on a second read. Fucking hell.

12. Walking Awake - 7/10

Takes place in a dystopian society in which parasitic creatures known as Masters keep a small number of humans alive to be flesh suits for them, which they take over and trade around at will. The main character Sadie is a human "caretaker" responsible for propagandizing and raising well-bred human children that eventually become the Masters' hosts. She starts to have disturbing dreams when one takes over the body of a teenage boy she was particularly attached to.

This is apparently a response to Robert Heinlein's The Puppet Masters, which I have never read. It's a full damn novel so I probably won't. Google tells me it's about parasitic aliens, but was obviously also Red Scare paranoia about communist Russia. The argument in the Jemisin story is that the parasites are a result of human folly in an attempt to punish/control people their creators didn't like. This went poorly and resulted in the whole world being taken over.

The story itself is disturbing since the victims are innocent children, but it's ultimately about standing up and taking the first step toward revolution. I felt pretty neutral about the story itself; perhaps I would have liked it more if it was longer and I had more time with the world and protagonist. I wanted to connect to Sadie and her maternal relationship the boy who got killed more. Or maybe it's more impactful if you're familiar with the Heinlein novel and can see the nods/digs.

13. The Elevator Dancer - 7/10

A very short story that takes place in a Christian fundamentalist surveillance state. The protagonist is an unnamed security guard who occasionally sees a woman dancing alone in the elevator and obsesses over her.

I like this one but I'm not sure if I really get it. It's heavily implied the dancer is a hallucination, and the narrator gets "re-educated" but it's all a little ambiguous. I think it's about the struggle to find meaning and inspiration in an oppressive world.  

14. Cuisine des Mémoires - 8/10

This one's about a man named Harold who visits a strange restaurant that claims it can replicate any meal from any point in history. He orders a meal which his ex-wife, whom he still loves very much, fixed for him years ago.

This one was certainly different, but I really like the idea of food-as-memory, especially because that's an actual thing. This story just takes it to an extra level. Honestly this story made me feel things... the longing of memory and missed connections/opportunities. Jemisin did a great job with emotion on this one.

15. Stone Hunger - 9/10

Stars a girl in with the ability to manipulate the earth who's tracking down a man she senses in an unfamiliar city. It's heavily implied the world is in a perpetual post-apocalyptic state. When she's caught damaging the outer wall of the city to break in and injured/imprisoned, she's aided by a mysterious, humanoid statue creature with motives of its own.

I have to say it's really interesting to see an early beta concept of The Broken Earth. Orogeny is a little different (and not named)-- there's some kind of taste component to it? Though that's possibly unique to the main character? While hatred of orogenes exists I don't think it's a structural exploitation allegory at this point. Ykka + proto-Castrima existing this early is pretty funny to me. People also use metal, which is VERY funny if you’ve read the series. But I was thrilled to see stone eaters were Very Much A Thing this early and almost exactly how they appear in the series (a little more sinister I guess. At least the one in this story is. I think he basically gets integrated into the Steel/Gray character in the final version).

Anyway as a huge fan of The Broken Earth it's inspiring to see these early ideas and just how much got changed. It's hard for me to look at this as an independent story without the context of the series. I think I'd like it due to the creative setting and strange concepts, but I appreciate the final changes to narrative style and worldbuilding, which really made the series for me.

16. On The Banks of the River Lex - 8/10

Death explores a decaying, post-human version of New York City. He and various deities/ideas created by humans are all that survives in the future and they struggle to exist in the crumbling infrastructure of the city. But Death gradually observes new and different creatures developing amid the wreckage.

I liked this! Despite a typically bleak premise the story is very optimistic and hopeful for the future of the world post-humanity. I like anthropomorphized concepts/deities/etc in general. I thought the imagery of decay and life was gorgeous. Also octopuses are cool.

17. The Narcomancer - 9/10

Told from the perspective of Cet, a priest known as a Gatherer, who can take the life of someone through their dreams in order to bring them peace. When a village petitions his order to investigate a series of raids conducted by brigands using forbidden magic, Cet joins the party. However, he is troubled by his growing attraction to a strong-willed woman of the village.

This apparently takes place in the Dreamblood universe, which I have not read and know nothing about. However, I really enjoyed this story. It's the longest in the collection so I felt I really got to know the characters. The dream-based religion and fantasy was captivating to learn about. It was also romantic as hell, but not in the typical way you’d expect. I thought the central conflict of a priest struggling between an oath of celibacy and his duty to do the right thing (bring peace to someone who needs it) was fascinating.

18. Henosis - 4/10

A short piece, told anachronistically, about a lauded, award winning author on the way to an award ceremony. He gets kidnapped, but there's Something Else going on.

Honestly I get the sense this one is personal, lol. I will say I like the disturbing play on expectations, but I didn't connect much with it otherwise.  

19. Too Many Yesterdays, Not Enough Tomorrows - 9/10

Follows a group of bloggers who have found themselves caught in isolated quantum loops. Their only human contact is through tenuous online conversations with each other. Styled as various chat logs and emails interspersed with the thoughts and perspectives of Helen, a young black woman who before the loop was teaching English in Japan.

This one is real depressing and definitely Social Commentary (TM). The central thesis about loneliness and disconnect at the end made me pretty dang sad. Good stuff in an ouch kind of way and made me think.

20. The You Train - 6/10

Told from the perspective of an unnamed narrator talking (presumably on the phone) to a friend about her struggles adjusting to life in New York City. She regularly mentions seeing train lines that either don't exist or retired a long time ago.

This is the kind of story I'd normally really like. I think trains are interesting and like vaguely supernatural, inexplicable shit. The one-sided phone call is also an interesting narrative device. But I'm not sure I really got this one. It comes off as vaguely horror-y but also optimistic? I couldn't really figure this one out, and it was too short to feel much investment on top of that.

21. Non-Zero Probabilities - 7/10

Luck has gone completely out of whack in New York City. Highly improbable events suddenly become way more likely, both good and bad. This story follows a woman named Adele and coming to grips with the new ways of life this brings.

I liked this one well enough but I don't have a lot to say about it. I liked how the story looks at how people would adapt to a life where probability doesn't mean anything anymore.  

22. Sinners, Saints, Dragons, and Haints, in the City Beneath the Still Waters - 9/10

A magical realism story about a man named Tookie struggling to survive in New Orleans in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. He meets a talking, winged lizard and the two help each other out. But it soon becomes clear there is something sinister lurking in the flooded ruins of the city.

This story was very imaginative and a great cap to the collection. I thought it was an intriguing time period to set a magical realism story in. I love the little details, especially those of omission -- the "lizard" is never called a dragon, for example. I can see echoes of this story in The City We Became, especially the themes of cities as powerful entities, vague eldritch fuckery centered around hatred, and certain people being guardians of the city.  

[metfell]

i just went thru my entire art tag from start to finish and i can thoroughly say 2018 was the year i just lost a bunch of my creativity. like before that i was pumping out some pretty good stuff for my skill level at the time, but then theres this like... wall that my art hits and suddenly its only pencil sketches for about 2 years. maybe thats why ive been feeling so shitty about my stuff lately, its literally like im starting over from scratch. ive even forgotten about how much i enjoyed watercolor and looking back im remembering its all i used to use and i could make some pretty vibrant pics. holy shit man......

[launaej]

I realize I never really introduced myself on this tumblr.

I like to go by Ren. She/her/they. I’m 23, turning 24 in Feb. & I’ve decided to start a fresh tumblr. My old one I’ve had since like 2011 & I feel like it had posts & phases of so many closed chapters in my life that I decided to start a new one. So I’ve been on tumblr for a long while. It’s honestly wild to think about my time on this social media platform. Started using it when I was a wee lil freshman in high school with goals of becoming a drum major for my high school marching band & becoming a music teacher. I’d come home afterschool, drink mi cafesito with my mom, take a nap, finish my homework, then spend the rest of my time on tumblr or watching youtube. I’d have long school days, waking up at 5am, to really get ready and sneak some tumblr before school, then be at the bus stop by 6:15 and get the day started. Like holy crap, what a different change of pace life is now. Now I’m 23 & still find this website to be a humble lil sanctuary to unwind & draw inspiration from. Crazy to think I’m now the same age that Lana del Rey was when she was posting Video Games on tumblr back in 2011. What is time??? 

 Tumblr has seen me through my best times, like finally reaching to be drum major, and some of the worst, like finding out financial aid changed its rules and suddenly you can’t finish school. I have yet to still reach the finish line with my academic goals. Still have yet to get that piece of paper, but I know it’s in the horizon. 

For now, I hope to soon make Youtube content on some of the things I've been learning this quarantine. My goal is by the end of this year to be a full on ~interwebs~ person & hopefully make a little money doing it. After 2 years of trying to save up money working a call center job & STILL not being able to save money to finish school (I wasn't trying to take out loans) and then losing my savings in this pandemic, I figure you know what, if people are out here making money doing what they love, maybe I can too. The goal for me is to still get my Bachelor's in Music Education but I'm not trying to break myself over it. Not that I need a degree for music, but my parents never finished college & I really want that degree for me & for us. I was supposed to walk across the stage spring of 2019, but financial aid decided to add some new rules at my community college where if you had over 24 elective credits, they wouldn't pay for anymore electives . At that point, I had 36 elective credits & basically that rule fucked over a lot of art students who were close to finishing. ANYWHO, at the time (Fall 2017) I said no problem, I'll work extra hours at work, save money & take 1 class at a time. & I did. Spring 2018, I was able to take 2 classes. Fall 2018 & Spring 2019 I didn’t take classes but I picked up a LOT of extra hours to save money. Then I got into a car accident on July 4, 2019, which ate up my school savings. But whatever, I kept going. Saved up again & then the pandemic happens & I had to leave my job in April after confirmed cases in the call center & lack of enforcing safety measures. Loved the job, but I didn’t feel safe. Fast forward now to January 2021, my savings are eaten up again. Not only that there was a whole thing where the college I wanted to transfer to was shutting down its college of education, and honestly at that point I laughed out loud when I read the article. Feels like my simple little goal of getting a degree to be a music teacher keeps running away from me. I graduated high school 2015, like this was supposed to be an easy journey. But yet here I am, in 2021, somehow without the degree & you know, I used to curse a lot at the events that lead me to not finish my goal; just so many factors out of my control. But after 2020 & seeing a lot of close friends start their teaching careers in this mess, I can’t look back at those setbacks with the same sourness I had before. I am now more of a believer in divine intervention. I'm still going to answer the same call in life, I just have to take a different path. A path I hadn’t planned for at all, but you know, we out here, winging it. 

So for now, I’m unemployed. BUT I’ve been learning a shit ton on an assortment of various topics. I don’t think I could have made some serious headway on some of these topics if it were’t for 2020. At this point, this is how I see things. I could spend my time trying to look for a job, & work at a place I couldn’t care less for + isn’t helping me grow & where i risk my life over something I don’t love. OR, I can simply grow & follow what I love & figure out the rest as it may. If it’s one thing I’ve learned, is that just as things can fall apart, they can fall into place. I’ve had many MANY moments where I’ve found solutions just in time. After 2020, I am definitely more of a believer in ‘Rejection is God’s protection.’ & somehow, after this crazy year, I’m here. I have to make it count, & I owe myself my dreams.

Soo I’m going to posting random things I find on some learning I’m doing. Even though I don’t have the money to go to school, doesn’t mean I still can’t learn my lil heart out. Topics I’m currently researching / learning more on that you’ll probably see posts about:

Music Theory {I'm trying to learn more about atonal / microtonal music / tonnetz / harry partch / erv wilson / abstract music notation systems / ancient music theory}

Puerto Rico {trying to learn more history & more about my lineage / trying to learn about how my family's history in Aibonito y Corozal / trying to dig deeper into the history of Sephardic Jews on the island & the influence of Jewish music & Ladino music on Jibaro music / taino mythology & history / santeria / 21 divisiones / Brujeria}

Physics of Sound / Sound Architecture / {kepler / acoustics / resonance / harmonic oscillations}

History of Latin America & Spanish Conquistadors / Black History in South America & the Caribbean / Antilles History {SO much history I'm still learning that I never learned in A.P. U. S. History or A. P. Euro. in 2020 I learned about how many places in FL are named after some really bad conquistadors i.e. Hernando de Soto who was such a bad dude !! so much to still learn}

Astrology / Tarot {being raised with watching Walter Mercado in the background, astrology has been a part of life since I was really little. But I've been heavily studying astrology since 2016 & tarot since 2018.}

Self-sufficency {farming / solar punk / fermenting foods} 

Feel free to ask me any questions about music education, music theory, college experience, etc. I also have played clarinet for the past 12+ years & have played alto sax, euphonium & piano for a bit. Know about that band geek/drum major life. Big DCI fan. Recently borrowed my dad's cuatro to start learning how to play some Puerto Rican classics.  También hablo español. Aunque nací en Nueva Orleans, crecí en Aibonito y Corozal y más tarde en Florida. Ahora, estoy en FL, pero toda mi familia es de la isla. Si eres puertorriqueño o de FL, ¡no tengas miedo de decir qué pasa! Social medias @launaej

Hope to have some videos & content up soon! Feel free to send me suggestions! Not used to being a person on the internet. But here we go! :)

[thesniggles]

holy. shit. i was rewatching solve it squad bc why not (its a goddamn masterpiece ok) and it fucking. uncovered memories from over a year ago that i had repressed the hell out of and i only rediscovered them when i was thinking “wow that pillar in the background is bugging me” and i remembered thinking the exact same thing in fall 2018 and suddenly the memories came RUSHING BACK

[excuseme-howdareyou]

(In reference to this)

Paris, 1920

The alcohol burned all the way down her throat but it did nothing to soothe the ache she felt in her heart. "Another please," she lifted her empty glass and waited for it to be refilled.

"To the last one standing," Diana murmured and lifted the glass in the air before tipping it back. No one was there to clink glasses with her.

With a sigh, she stood up and dug into her unnecessarily large coat and its pockets. (Why these people insisted on such confining clothing, she'll probably never understand. But Etta had been adamant she not wear armour all the time and Diana really couldn't say no to one of her only friends left. )

She left the money on the cafe counter and exited with little to no fanfare. It was time to go home. There was nothing left in France for her.

...........

The Watchtower, 2018

"Do you believe in reincarnation?"

Bruce turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye. If he had any opinions on her sudden question, his expression didn't show it. "Not unless there's magic or something similar involved," he answered truthfully," Why?"

Diana continued to look out the viewing bay, towards the stars and not to Earth. As if she were speaking to the glass and not to him, she spoke quietly," I had a friend once who could."

"Oh," he hummed and they fell silent for a moment, then because he's Bruce and he's curious," So are they-?"

"Not anymore," she shook her head," I was told this last time would be the final. Whatever was keeping the soul alive... it was destroyed. And my friend is never coming back."

...............

Gotham, 2021

Jason let out what could only be construed as an inelegant squawk when he suddenly found himself wrapped in an embrace that could very well squeeze the life out of him. And it felt like it was. "Hurrrrr," he wheezed when Diana's arms tightened around his torso and arms, effectively trapping him.

'Holy shit holy shit holy shit, Wonder Woman is hugging me!' he may have panicked a little bit.

At long last, she relented in her hug and with her ridiculously strong grip she held him at arms length so she could assess him. She looked deliriously relieved.

"We have much to discuss, Jason Todd," Diana said," But first..." She glanced over his shoulder at- well... and received a matching smile in return.

She looked back to Jason, young young Jason who has lived -and died- through so much. She remembered him when he was a boy, so tiny but so full of life and ready to take on the world all by himself. Now he was big and even more full of life, and she would be damned before he took on the world all by himself.

"Thank you ," she told him and for the first time in 101 years she could feel that familiar pressure build right behind her sternum and she knew the Soul was back," for bringing back my friend."

[go-bonkers-go-foolish]

highlights of The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals

this is gonna be a long one. spoilers ahead.

the CHOREOGRAPHY

not to mention the special effects, the team Went Off for this one

lauren lopez’s OUTFIT....,,,,,, im gay

lauren lopez in general

“where the Fuck is he”

mariel’s already kicking so much ass and it’s literally the first TWO MINUTES MA’AM CALM DOWN

“the touring production OF M A M M A  M I A’

‘the L A T T E H O T T I E as she’s knownthroughouttheland” jesus god joey

“oh nooooooo so meeeeean” *flips guy off*

who the fuck organized these quick changes man they’re killer

‘i’m on Vocal Rest’ “what??” “I’M ON VOCAL---”

“she hired all her theatre friends and they will not S H U T  T H E  F U C K U P P P P” 

“do you know how much of that money ACTUALLY GOES to the turtles???” “well none of it i just made that up”

“i NEVER miss a musical and if anyone thinks that makes me LESS of a man they can talk to my fUCKING GUN”

lauren and joey smoking weed

“I MAY NOT HAVE A HOOOOOOMEEEE”

fr though when does this soundtrack drop on spotify

“ok..... ok............ OK...... okay.....*behind the set* ok.......”

“he said he was coming home late last night...” “HE DIDN’T COME HOME AT ALL! .......i dunno i wasn’t there.”

*musical theatre voice* “So whAt dO yOU WanT, pAuL???”

*singing beautifully* “i want you to choke me..........while i jerk off.........”

“HELLO?????? PLEASE G O D, I JUST WANT A BLACK COFFEE”

The Tip Song™

it’s not like i already learned the choreo to it or anything

A N D  W E ‘ L L  B R I N G  I T  R I G H T  U P

“I was in BRIGADOOOOON in high school and i FUCKIN’ KILLED IT”

“fucKING GROSS”

the (honestly downright chilling) Tip Song Reprise

on that one bit that’s like “jack, jaCK, jACK, JACK...”

man i got CHILLS

“whose decision was it to line an alleyway with SHRUBS” *walking through audience*

think about the I M P L I C A T I O N S

*bill jumping out of a trash can* “NO IT’S NOT ALL RIGHT PAUL”

“we were just at beanie’s---”  *ted, jumping out of the trash can*: “YOU DIDN’T INVITE ME!!!???”

“uhh, fuck you?”

“she’s the....the barista, from beanie’s? ya know, the.......l a t t e h o t t i e .....” *regrets so hard he astral projects into another dimension*

*soothing tone* “we have to get out of downtown okay? downtown is FUCKED.”

“we cannot split up, ok? i am a presbyterian, i am not gonna die in your dirty-ass methodist church.”

“who is it?!”  “professor hidgins???”  “don’t lie to me, whoever you are. I’M professor hidgins.”

“this is paul, and....them.”

“i theorized this exact scenario THIRTY YEARS AGO”

“Emma!! what does this look like to you?” “i dunno, some kind of blue...shit???”

“EXACTLY! what the Fuck™ is this Shit????”

“ted,,,you’re such a Horny Bastard” *dramatic slow motion gasps*

ted and charlotte really just decided to Fuck right there didn’t they

the audience screaming when ted and charlotte decided to Fuck right there

*sam suddenly rises from the dead* “CHARLOTTEEEE” *charlotte screams*

“now, i’m gonna free up your heart, baby...” (proceeds to LITERALLY RIP OUT INTESTINES)

that short bit where he’s holding charlotte bridal-style with all the guts and shit...little shop of horrors WHOMST

“I AM GONNA......KICK YOUR HEAD.”

“show me that rOuNDhOusE”

emma’s monologue about her sister...holy shit.

“we hated you guys.” “we hated ourselves! :D”

“it is time.....TO DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE”

“you killed charlotte!” “i shot a charlaTAN!”

the attempt at singing moana

bill quietly singing “circle of life” in the background

whoever wrote these monologues is going off too holy SHIT man

“i will NEVER...be in a FUCKING musical.”

“...and suddenly, i’m defending Grace Chastity of all people!”

bill’s devotion to his daughter actually kills me he deserved so much better

“did you know that i wanted to live with you? but when you needed to fight, you gave her that too.” OUCH.

“i’m not gonna let you die.” *bill immediately gets shot*

the army sound effects

“Special unit P-E-I-P, we call it PEIP.” “i’ve never heard of you guys.” “and you never will. not a PEIP.”

“do you like coffee, son?”   “yes sir”   “Do you like musicals, son?”   “no sir”   “...now that’s a goddamn red-blooded american *aggressive salute*”

“its 2018.......”

“my first love was..and always will be..*reveals keyboard* M U S I C A L  T H E A T R E!!!!” 

a moment of appreciation for the most dramatic seat ever taken at a keyboard

SHOW STOPPING NUMBER!!!!!

“....mind if i give you the pitch?” “we don’t have time---” “fuckin’ GO FOR IT!”

Working Boys™

“...........aNd cHaD” 

TED’S SO INTO THIS GODDAMN PITCH SJBKHJHD

F I V E  O  C L O C K  C A N T  C O M E  S O O N  E N O U G H

“should I take this chair????”

“BYE! Fuuuuuuuuck that...”

helicopter acting™

“F U C K  Y O U,  H A T C H E T F I E L D!!!!!” me too lauren

Zoey’s (somehow even creepier) reprise of the tip song

the Kiss Attempt

“watch out paul...he might kick your head.”

“NEVEEEEER” 

jon’s acting during “let it out” was genuinely creepy, i LOVED  IT

when the music started for “inevitable” my heart fucking DROPPED

“emma, do you believe in ghosts?” CHILLS, man. chills.

the reprise of every song in the show in the middle of “inevitable”

the KICKLINE

emma screaming during said kickline

“the apotheosis is upon UUUUUUUSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!”

lauren staying in character during curtain call

“WHY ARE YOU CLAPPING????”

basically The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals is a godsend and you all need to watch it Now okay thank you

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Four

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: I promise I'm not doing this on purpose...I'll see you guys on Monday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains vivid depictions of gore and minor allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

"Well, there's our ride." Ezra observed, sounding relieved. You didn't blame him. The two of you had pushed yourselves hard to get to the camp with enough time to spare for harvesting after your short rest. Night had slowly fallen as you moved, so it had been a blessing to see the large fire from the mercenaries' camp.

"Let's go then, c'mon." You murmured, striding forward. A hand on your sleeve stopped you in your tracks, and you turned back to give him a look of confusion.

His eyes had gone wide, deep brown reflecting the greenish-yellow gleam of the fire. "Damon spoke of Karolclan mercs. He conveniently forgot to mention that they were the Karolclan mercs. The only ones that fucking matter." Ezra hissed, "That's fuckin' Mikken's crew, gentle soul, or I will eat my haul."

You hadn't actually been concerned about the mercenaries until Ezra resorted to dropping 'fucking' every other word. He hadn't cursed this much when you had taken a chunk out of his arm.

"Martyr's malfeasance, we are in the shit." He continued, sounding panicky. "See that woman? Inumon, the fuckin' Krebine defector. The fabled blood-soaked bloodhound from that whole mess with the Second Illumination."

Your stomach knotted nervously despite not even knowing who (or what) the Second Illumination was. "I...maybe I should go in alone?" You suggested. Ezra fixed you with an incredulous look, those heavy brows drawn tight enough to carve furrows in his forehead. "Look, I'm...I'm not threatening, right? If I go in first..."

"You wander into that camp of Fringeling mercs, raw at the end of tour--" He stopped, shaking his head grimly. "Gentle soul, the outcome of that particular negotiation technique has less and less favor as the seconds pass."

You swallowed hard. "They might be more willing to accept our terms if I...if I offer them something first. Damon said I-" You closed your eyes, not wanting to repeat what Damon had said about you and your potential bodily bargaining capabilities. "M-Maybe I could-"

"Damon is dead for a reason, gentle soul. And if that man did anythin' to you regarding something like that, he deserved every slug Number Two and myself placed in his churlish, thieving junkie guts." Ezra snarled. "Did he-?"

"I told you not to ask." You reminded him in a whisper. His fury made you feel warmer even as your stomach dropped out.

"That...you did." He allowed reluctantly. "I apologize. Intrigue will always be the death of my good sense." He pulled himself up a bit, squaring his shoulders. "All the same, no. I am not throwin' you into that lions den alone. You are no Daniel, gentle soul. Stay clear and close and I'll talk us through." Ezra bumped his helmet against your own, his tone serious. "When it comes time to dig, I'll need you sharp. I've never harvested one-handed before. I'm gonna' need some help. But we'll keep it creamy, and it'll all be fine." He assured you with a wan smile.

You did your best to smile back, but you were certain it looked more like a wince. Ezra gripped your arm tight, almost like a hug. 

"Alright, gentle soul. Deep breaths."

…

The fabled Mikken's reception was...less than warm. As Ezra haggled carefully with him, all easy smiles, bowing and scraping, you watched the man's second in command slink closer in the light of the fire. Something about her eyes set off warning bells in your head; now this was a Krebine. She had the lethal grace, the jammer belt, and on her flank hung a red canvas square with a faded, complex insignia. 

Inumon, Ezra had said. It sounded almost like inhuman.

You weren't particularly surprised when she lunged at you, but that didn't stop you from being scared stiff. Your back hit the ground hard and you felt her body press down on you, the square angles of her helmet skidding against the round dome of your own. Her eyes flicked back and forth, like she was waiting for you to start struggling. Prey, that was all you were to her.

"Inumon here has been lookin' for a way out since touchdown." Mikken remarked calmly to Ezra. "I'd reckon you'd best jump to it if you're tryin' to keep your pay...and your partner."

Inumon was muttering under her breath in Vayok, those eyes watching you as she palmed roughly over the front of your helmet. You didn't make a sound. You weren't sure if you even could have at that point, her weight concentrated on your abdomen all but cutting off your ability to breathe. 

Ezra crouched next to your head, his knee rubbing your shoulder as he fixed Inumon with a fierce gaze through his helmet. "I am the gatekeeper to more wealth than any of us have ever seen." Gone was his easy smile, his words as strategically aimed as thrower shots. "And you've been wastin' in the Green for far too long to let that slip away."

Inumon slid Ezra's confiscated pistol beneath your chin. You cringed, giving Ezra a panicky look.

The prospector seemed unaffected by Inumon's threat, the knee pointedly digging into your shoulder the only indicator that he took note of your fright. "I'm afraid I am the only means to the successful end of your venture." He tipped his eyes up to Mikken. "And I say the terms have changed." Ezra rose to his full height once more, his voice firm. "Thirteen points, plus a ride for me and my partner on your handsome craft, or no deal. Find a way." 

Inumon ground her helmet down against your own and you could feel the thrower pressing up into your gorget gasket. The chiclet of Brism popped free from its tape, landing somewhere behind your head inside your helmet. The side of Ezra's boot rested against your arm and you closed your eyes, attempting to center yourself with the steady pressure. 

"Now, I do not intend to breach my station," Spoke up one of the other mercenaries, his voice humming mechanically. "But perhaps the secondary hydrogen four offers a viable solution to this stalemate." He hesitated, then continued, "one that will keep us all in pay."

"My boy, this is a winner." Ezra agreed, his genial smile back. "I think a little backup thrust is an easy drop under the circumstances. What do you say, boss?"

Mikken waited for what felt like an eternity before growling out, "Fine."

Inumon jerked away from you at the sound of his agreement, spitting more Vayok. It was clear that she was dissatisfied with this arrangement, and she made that lack of satisfaction abundantly clear when she grabbed hold of Ezra's filter and switched it off.

The man began to choke almost immediately, coughing and struggling for breath while Inumon just stared at him impassively through her helmet. You inched your hand towards her ankle. If you pulled, she would at the very least be knocked off balance; she would probably let go of Ezra's filter and then-

Mikken suddenly spoke up in Vayok, barking some sort of order, and Inumon reluctantly released the switch. She hissed something at Ezra that made his back go rigid even as he gulped air, the prospector glaring at her venomously before he seemed to be able to stop himself. 

"Well…" he drawled, his tone dripping with forced joviality as he reached down to help you up from the ground, "gentlemen...and women, let's get rich." Acting like he was assisting you in dusting yourself off, he pressed the side of his helmet to yours and muttered, "too close, sorry about that. Glad you would have helped though." Obviously he had noticed your intent to go after her ankle.

You gripped his good arm tightly, nodding as you kneaded at the exosuit sleeve. You didn't trust your voice, certain that if you opened your mouth you would start crying and wouldn't be able to stop. 

Ezra patted the back of your helmet and then pulled away. "Ready to dig?" He asked brightly.

...

It was indeed the Queen's Lair, or as close to it as reality could get. Rows upon rows of small mounds dotted the shallow crater, each one promising aurelac pearls that dwarfed whatever you had harvested previously. 

Ezra was as giddy as a child, his exhaustion forgotten as he scampered around the dig site examining everything while you prepared the diffuser and the fazer squeeze bottle. 

One of the hummocks had been pierced, the blood spattered around it serving as a clear indicator of the excavationary skill Mikken's crew possessed. "Somebody already gave her a go?" Ezra queried curiously, tugging free the knife that was still embedded in the hummock.

"We found it diggin' for tie-downs." Mikken tilted his head back towards the fire, indicating the mercenary in the red exosuit. The empty left sleeve of his suit had been knotted and pinned at the shoulder. "Our boy dove in fist first, and it ate his arm." 

Ezra shook his head, ruefully drawling, "That's the price of a dry breach." He seemed a touch too self-assured when he continued, "but my chem will calm the brine." He began using the knife to test the area, carefully tapping the hilt against the hummocks. 

It was important to know how filled with brine each mound was, as the prudent prospector would begin with the least full and work their way up, nullifying and draining the brine as they went to reduce the potential risk. Of course, you had never seen a cluster of this particular magnitude. You were uncertain if there was even a way to safely 'runoff' the no-doubt copious amounts of brine, but you were game to try if Ezra was.

"Hello, sweetheart." Ezra crooned as a hollow noise rang out from beneath the knife's questing grip. The older man flipped the knife around and stabbed into the mounded earth, slicing it open gingerly. He was solely using his left hand, the right hanging limp at his side.

You pressed the square container of diffuser into his hand when he gestured you over, and you could feel him shaking. Whether from excitement or weariness, you couldn't say. 

"You got the cocktail mixed, gentle soul?" He asked idly as steam issued from the hole, the nuller working its magic to render the gear-dissolving brine impotent. 

"Of course." You replied, all business. This was what you knew how to do. "Are we pulling them all and then de-blistering and fazing, or are we fazing as we go?"

Ezra hummed contemplatively, working his jaw. "I'd say a bit of both." He murmured. "Lest our gracious hosts grow impatient with us." He cocked his head surreptitiously over at Mikken, who was looking back towards the campfire. "We'll pull a few, faze, rinse and repeat." 

"How's your hand?" You asked softly.

"It is...not suited for delicate work." Ezra grimaced. "I can feel it again and it is not festerin', mind you, but I know better than to try and use it for anythin' important."

You nodded. "I'll handle the skinning, then."

The two of you worked nearly in silence for a time. You constantly checked your watch, the red indicators at the top blinking to warn you that the second cycle had long since shifted into the third. 

Ezra was slow, almost too slow. The minutes between pulls seemed to be stretching longer and longer as he struggled along left-handed to extract the aurelac sacks, and you noticed Mikken beginning to get antsy. 

"Want to swap?" You offered, climbing down into the crater. "Skin a few, rest." 

"No, n-no no, I'm fine." Ezra waved you off with that easy grin, but his eyes were grave. "I would not be of any particular use for the de-blisterin', my hands...I'm not up to snuff, gentle soul." He sighed. "This is the more prudent option. I am simply weary due to our forced march, you can sympathize."

"Is there a problem?" Mikken asked, his thrower rifle whining as he primed it.

"We're just discussing a switch, maybe taking a short break." You squeaked before Ezra could pipe up. 

Mikken shook his head. "No breaks. You work through to the end or you don't get on the rock jumper. Simple as that." The thrower remained primed, aimed lazily to the side of you.

"Indeed." Ezra replied dryly. "We'll get back to it then." His hand caught your own and he squeezed it, whispering, "I will endure, gentle soul. I have no choice. Salvation beckons."

The hours dragged by, that mercenary with the voice modulator (who apparently went by Jack) wandering over every now and then to collect the extracted pearls and package them up. Your neck and back ached, fingers cramping from how tightly you had to hold the scalpel. But if you wavered you would puncture the blisters of carrom acid that protected the aurelac, ruining the pearls beyond any hope of salvage.

Ezra's breathing was dissolving into hacking coughs yet again. His battered filter had clearly given out. You rose from your spot beside the crater and nearly toppled in, pins and needles flooding your body. 

Mikken leveled the thrower at you and you raised your hands. "I-I'm just going to tether to him! If he can't breathe, he can't harvest." You reasoned frantically, tapping your tether tube and then gesturing down at the wheezing man. "We have enough length that he can still work, I promise. I can always move closer."

Mikken muttered something under his breath, but lowered the gun. 

You stumbled into the pit, moving as fast as your half-sleeping limbs would allow. Ezra didn't even seem to notice your presence until the tube had been hooked up for several seconds, the man starting violently and stepping back from you. "Martyr's malfeasance gentle soul, don't creep up on a man unawares." He said blearily. "Liable to get perforated."

You scooped the large knife off the ground where he had dropped it and gave him a gentle nudge towards the lip of the crater. "I know you don't trust yourself to faze right now, but I'm sure you can at least skin a few. Hop out. I'll extract."

"Gentle soul, I-" Ezra shook his head, extending his left hand to you. His whole arm was trembling and jerking wildly, muscles in spasm from the prolonged toil. "I can assure you that is a poor choice." He said through gritted teeth. 

"You need to rest." You insisted.

"No, I need to get the fuck off this pestilence-ridden Nessus before I lose the last tenuous fragments of my sanity!" He snapped, raising his voice in frustration. You cringed at his volume and Ezra swore again, closing his eyes tightly and taking several deep breaths. "I-I apologize, gentle soul, it's not you that I'm-"

"Hey." Mikken said sharply. "You're here to dig, not have a damn conversation."

"And how much longer do you expect us to do so, praytell?" Ezra queried angrily, attempting to pull himself up out of the shallow crater. "The shadows are growin' heavy. We were hardly a dose away from the freighter pass when we arrived, and it has been--" 

Mikken interrupted him with a shrug. "Don't take more than five minutes to prime the jumper for takeoff. And Jack's been loadin' as you harvest, floater." He spat the term like a curse.

You could pinpoint the exact moment where Ezra entirely lost his composure, the prospector seizing your scalpel and wordlessly sawing it into Mikken's heel. The mercenary toppled into the pit, his thrower going off as he did. Hideously silent aside from his struggling breathing, Ezra caught the back of the man's neck and forced his entire head into one of the many open wounds on the Queen. The brine hissed and sizzled as Mikken thrashed, then everything was still.

You stared at Ezra, who was staring down at the still-twitching body at his feet. "The...the shot will bring the rest of 'em in." He choked out. "Don't say anythin'. I'll do my best to salvage this, alright?" 

You nodded dumbly, setting the knife back down on the ground and instead grabbing the small squeeze bottle of fazer. If worse came to worst, you at least knew you could use the fazer as a distraction.

Ezra launched into a string of profanities under his breath, each one more creative than the last. The man was clearly furious with himself for losing his grip on his temper, but you could hardly blame him. Floater.

You heard the distant clatter of gear approaching, catching sight of Inumon and Jack storming past the campfire. Your heart leaped into your throat as the mercenaries clustered around the crater, throwers aimed at you and Ezra.

"Greedy fool!" Ezra announced, his smooth grin back on his face. "Couldn't help himself. Took a stumble gettin' a closer look." He gestured down at Mikken's remains. "Now, time presses! And I am going to need assistance if we are to-"

Whatever he would have said was drowned out by the deafening music and static from Inumon's jammer belt, the woman circling the pit as the sound overrode the transmission from Ezra's helmet com. Your ears rang at the sudden auditory assault, making you shake your head in a vain attempt to dislodge the noise.

Inumon knelt at the edge of the excavation, her eyes trailing down the length of Mikken's body. You clutched the bottle of fazer tightly and, as you heard the primer on her gun shriek to life, you yanked Ezra's arm and pitched the fazer into the nearest open mound. Ezra grabbed hold of you, pinning you to the side of the pit and shielding you with the bulk of his suit. 

The resulting chemical reaction rocked the ground and kicked up a massive cloud of dust. Ezra snatched Mikken's gun, cradling it in the crook of his bad arm and then grasping your hand to all but fling you in front of him. A thrower shot whizzed past your helmet and Ezra shouted, "go, go!" 

His heavy boots thundered on the ground behind you as the two of you fled into the surrounding woodland. The prospector jerked you down into a bush and you heard the thrower prime as he checked the ammunition. 

"Fuck, how fortuitous." Ezra groaned, "best hope they come in singles." 

As if in response to his comment, that merc named Jack emerged from the dust cloud, yelling, "over here!" when he caught sight of your headlamps. His shot went wide, but Ezra's didn't. 

The older man jettisoned the empty thrower as Inumon came careening forward over Jack's body, her shots not nearly as haphazard as Jack's. Half-blind, you and Ezra ran through the woods while she pursued. 

You finally skidded to a stop behind a large tree, gasping for breath and turning off your headlamp. Ezra began fumbling, like he was looking for something. You heard the whining buzz of the scalpel.

He suddenly said, "If we uncouple, you can run a distraction, opening me up for the backstab." You nodded quickly, already trying to undo the tube. Ezra grabbed your hand, halting you. "Are you sure?" He rasped, the concern in his tone causing your eyes to tear up momentarily. "I know that you are-"

The jamming signal blared through your coms again, making Ezra flinch and stiffen in pain at the ear-shattering volume. You, on the other hand, ripped yourself free and slammed your fingers down on your comm-box, killing the radio in your helmet. You then reached over and muted his channels as well, effectively nullifying the blaring jamming. Ezra seemed to stagger at the silence, grabbing onto the tree to steady himself before he turned back to you.

"I can do it!" You assured him, yelling so he could hear you through your helmet. Without the aid of your com, you had to resort to analog measures. "I can do it."

He looked torn for a moment, then leaned down to shove his helmet against yours. "You run fast, and you don't stop. You keep plenty of trees between you and her. You come straight back here as soon as I make the kill, so we can recouple. Clear?" He demanded, his own voice raised. His eyes met yours fiercely and you nodded, letting him know that you got the message. You switched your filter over into his purifier hurriedly before he could protest or stop you, and then you uncoupled from the tether.

You sprinted off, keeping low as you watched Inumon's headlamps advance through the trees. A shot rang out, but she wasn't aiming at you. It sounded like she was headed for Ezra. 

No time like the present, you decided, and you quickly threw your head forward to locate the lone piece of Brism. A few shakes later and the gum tumbled against your clear dome for you to scoop up with your tongue. The second the smooth coating hit your mouth it was like something exploded behind your eyes. Chewing furiously, you felt energy surge through your body. Despite your weariness, your dwindling oxygen and your fear, the woods around you flared to new and vibrant life. And through it all strode Inumon, her attention focused wholly on where she thought Ezra was.

You bolted forward, keeping the trees between yourself and her for as long as possible, letting her get as close to Ezra as you dared before you finally lunged at her. The clumsy scuffle of your boots in the thick underbrush obviously alerted the woman to your presence, too late to change course now though. Her body swung around to face you as you charged in.

You hadn't realized she had a bayonet on her thrower. The deadly blade pierced your stomach, your own headlong motion aiding the plunge. The Brism cranked the pain bright, sensations dulled and heightened at the same time. You shakily dropped your hands to the barrel of the rifle, about to try and push yourself backwards off the bayonet, but then…

Inumon started cackling at you, more Vayok words you didn't understand laced in with her scornful laughter. It was plain to see that she was mocking you though, mocking your pitiful attempt at stopping her. She probably thought you were useless, a useless little floater--

You're a floater, who the fuck would even care?

The fledgling pride in your timid belly roared to life like a bonfire at her taunting and you leaned into it with every ounce of the Brism burst, slamming your helmet against hers with enough force to stagger the both of you. You didn't recognize your own voice when you screamed, "don't you fucking laugh at me, bitch!" Blood and saliva spattered on the inside of your dome and you gritted your teeth, continuing to bear down on her head with your helmet. 

Her eyes went wide like you had startled her, and she began fighting to free up her thrower from your abdomen. You snapped one arm beneath the barrel, the other above it like you had done a hundred times before to get the rifle away from Damon and you managed to jerk it out of her grip with the superior leverage of the bayonet, staggering back a step.

Ezra loomed out of the darkness behind Inumon as the two of you struggled, the man brandishing the laughably-small scalpel with deadly intent. The blade stabbed into the gasket on Inumon's helmet, whirring wildly through the rubber gorget and then piercing the skin beneath it. 

Her maniac gaze landed on your face inches from her own and she shrieked, clawing frantically at your suit and then at Ezra as he punched the knife home again and again.

You took another step back, sinking to your knees as you tried to maintain your hold on the gun so it didn't end up doing even more damage...

The next thing you knew, you were being eased back against a tree trunk. Ezra was fumbling with your suit, trying to retether the two of you and working around the thrower. 

You pawed weakly at his arm and he jolted, staring wide-eyed through his helmet. "Go." You rasped, shoving the tube back into his violently-trembling hands. "Go…" His jaw worked and he turned his head away, seemingly to look at Inumon's body. Then back at you. "Leave, dammit!" You spat, slamming your fist into his good arm. "Don't let--all of this be f-for nothing!"

That appeared to do the trick. Ezra staggered to his feet, grabbed his confiscated pistol from Inumon's corpse and took off towards the fire of the dig site without so much as a goodbye. 

Tears welled up in your eyes and your vision blurred, your body working harder and harder to pull what little oxygen it could from the air left circulating in your suit. Now that the Brism burst had faded you could feel every inch of the bayonet, and each quivering, shallow breath served as a painful reminder that you hadn't died just yet. Inumon's headlamps were all but blinding, exploding starry across your eyesight every time you blinked back the tears.

You had always assumed, somewhere, deep down, that you would die alone. Being a floater, you had been alone for the majority of your life, and after enduring Damon's noisome company, you had hoped to be solitary for the rest of your days. As you watched Ezra's form dissolve into the haze of your tears, however, you couldn't help but wish that, just this once, you didn't have to be alone.

Part Five

[johannesviii]

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2018

I’m kinda sad this series of posts is coming to a close, especially with two mediocre years for the kind of hit songs I enjoy.

I was very depressed in 2018 so I thought maybe it was the reason why I didn’t like most songs I heard, so I revisited the entire catalogue of 2018 hit songs from the year-end lists and... no, it wasn’t just me.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

As I mentioned before I was super depressed in 2018, which wasn’t helped by the death of two family members including one I was super close to, and by catching a mysterious infection on a finger that doctors didn’t seem to be able to cure and which made my left hand hurt all year long, until I had to have an operation in early 2019 to fix the issue (plot twist, it wasn’t an infection, which is why nothing was working). On the plus side, my s.o and I decided to get married but it only happened the next year.

Ok so, hit songs weren’t that good (stay tuned for that), but albums? Some great stuff dropped in 2018. Unfortunately, Eminem’s Kamikaze wasn’t among those great albums and at that point he was basically dead to me. BUT! A Perfect Circle came back, which was completely unexpected! Nine Inch Nails released Bad Witch which contained the excellent and super hypnotic Over And Out! Mike Shinoda released Post Traumatic and every single Linkin Park fan was like “oh god what a mood”! Moby, which I hadn’t liked for years at that point after loving his stuff so much when I was 15 or so, released Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt and it was unexpectedly good! And The 1975 released A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships, which, in my opinion, isn’t quite as great as their second album (I refuse to write its super long title again), but still super good. Just like the previous one, a lot of songs had crossover potential and I’m very sad it didn’t happen. Stay tuned for the unelligible songs.

But you know what? The album of the year, at least to me, was always going to be something much darker. Fortunately, the end of the year was when VNV Nation decided to drop its best album of the entire decade, Noire. In these trying times, an album about the fight between light and darkness was exactly what I needed to hear. I was super emotional when I first listened to it. Armour might just be the best song on the album. Collide explodes into a million colors after a super slow start. Wonders is a big mood. Lights Go Out is a super angry song which basically says ‘we’re dancing while the apocalypse is happening because they won’t let us do anything else’, and we need more stuff like this. When is the Future was a super solid first single and yeah, exactly, where is the future we were promised as kids? Only Satellites became one of my fight songs in record time. And All Of Our Sins is terrifying and super good. Just an amazing album all around. I certainly hope they make more in the future, but if they don’t, that would be a super high note to finish on.

As for unelligible stuff, there’s Chun Li (Nicki Minaj) which I found super weird at first, but it grew on me a lot as the year went on. I’m very surprised it’s not on the US year-end list, by the way. And I wish more stuff from Indochine had charted... again, I know. Apart from that, it’s all The 1975. Love it if we made it should have been a hit but wasn’t a safe bet for a leading single so it kind of makes sense. TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME despite its stupid title was a much more convincing hit, and yet, it wasn’t one, and that pisses me off more. And It’s Not Living (If It’s Not With You) is one of their best songs ever. Catch me on the right day and I’ll call it better than The Sound, even. This should have been a hit. I’m so angry it didn’t happen.

But hey! Their new album is getting released in just a couple of days! Maybe 2020 is finally going to be their year? Wait and see.

Holy shit there hasn’t been a shorter list of honorable mentions since my 2008 list.

Remind Me To Forget (Kygo) - Good but (ironically) a bit too forgettable to be on the list.

Later Bitches (The Prince Karma) - So bad it’s good at its finest right there. Not enough to put it higher though.

High Hopes (Panic! At The Disco) - Tiptoes the line between good and super annoying too much to be higher. Not even the best song on the album (that would be Say Amen (Saturday Night)). Not sure why this was more popular.

Sicko Mode (Travis Scott) - God I want to love this song so bad. I tried so hard and it never completely clicked for me.

Next To Me (Imagine Dragons) - Believe it or not, this was the last cut from the list. I sincerely hope that Imagine Dragons will make good music again in the future and that their new songs will stop sounding like a person dragging themselves accross the wet sand of some post-apocalyptic beach covered in ashes.

So how do I know this was a bad year for hit songs? Well I not only struggled to find ten songs for this list but also struggled to find a suitable #1. Then I just went “I’m gonna put the only 2018 song I ever put on my mp3 player at #1 by default.” Does it make 2018 as bad as 1990? I’m not so sure. The top 3 I made for 1990 contained two songs I absolutely adored, including one of my favorite songs of all time. On the other hand, it was a bit easier to find ten songs I liked (not loved) in 2018. So... I don’t know.

I should also mention that Bohemian Rhapsody made the French year-end list again, at #83, and that is hilarious, but putting it on the list feels like cheating. Consider it to be an alternative #1!

10 - Finesse (Bruno Mars)

US: #14 / FR: Not on the list

I know. Everybody likes this song. I’m no exception, and I love its aesthetic, but I also like it wayyyyyy less than 24k Magic.

9 - New Rules (Dua Lipa)

US: #16 / FR: Not on the list

Basically, same thing here. I like it but I’m using it mostly as filler for this list. The lyrics are pretty great, though.

8 - This is America (Childish Gambino)

US: #51 / FR: Not on the list

This would be much better if the radio version had kept the gunshot sounds from the music video, but on the other hand it would have been pretty terrifying to hear gunshots on the radio while driving, so eh... this was probably the right decision to make. Apart from that, this song and this video have already been analysed by countless people on the internet and I don’t see what I could contribute after all this time.

7 - Sweet but Psycho (Ava Max)

US: Not on the list / FR: #42

This sounds like a song from the bygone era of Bad Romance and to be honest, it would have been annoying several years ago but in 2018 that was genuinely a refreshing blast from the past.

6 - Speed (Zazie)

US: Not on the list / FR: #74

To be honest, I never expected Zazie to show up on one of my lists again, but 2018′s general quality forced me to do it. This is a song that starts super slow and keeps getting faster, and it’s mostly about overcoming depression. Everything I needed that year.

5 - Let You Down (NF)

US: #29 / FR: Not on the list

I don’t think I know a single other person or critic who likes this song, and yet it charted super high. I don’t love it, and the chorus is grating, but there’s some damn powerful lyrics in there, and a lot of it is extremely relatable.

What can I say, in this day and age, if you give me a super-watered-down version of early 2000s Eminem, I’ll take it.

4 - Marry Me (Thomas Rhett)

US: #76 / FR: Not on the list

Yeah, it’s a slow emotional song and I tend to dislike those, but I heard this song only maybe four times in total and it destroyed me every single time.

No, I don’t have anything else to say about it.

3 - Un Été Français (Indochine)

US: Not on the list / FR: #67

I do not like this song’s chorus, it’s a mess and a half. There’s a lot of much better songs on the 13 album. 2033 should have been a single. But this is the one which charted instead. And you know what? I’ll take “super messy and clunkily written song about how the far right is gonna destroy this country if we let it exist any longer, sung over a nice tune” over everything I mentioned previously on this list.

In a better year, this wouldn’t have climbed higher than the honorable mentions. But yeah, I’m not gonna repeat my entire 2017 lecture about Indochine. It takes a lot for me to dislike one of their songs. Even at their weakest, their hearts are in the right place.

2 - Flames (David Guetta & Sia)

US: Not on the list / FR: #13

We’ve finally reached the songs I genuinely love and uh, yeah, there’s only two of them. This is sad. But this song is a lot of fun! And the music video is absolutely ridiculous in all the best ways.

It was also a super useful song to me. You’re being super sad and unenergetic, you’re climbing into your car to buy some food, you’re turning the radio on and suddenly you’re hearing “Go, go, go, figure it out / Figure it out, you can do this / So my love, keep on running / You gotta get through today / There my love, keep on running / Gotta keep those tears at bay / Oh my love, don't stop burning / Gotta send them up in flames” over a super good beat and yeah, definitely. You can do this.

1 - La Même (Maître Gims & Vianney)

US: Not on the list / FR: #1 (!! holy shit quality wins for once)

This might just be the weakest #1 I’ve ever put at the top of one of my lists, since the only criteria that put this one there was “this is actually on my mp3 player and none of the other songs are”. Also, somehow, I only discovered it last year even though it was the biggest song of 2018 in my country, apparently...

Even so, that’s a fantastic song with great lyrics and a wonderfully catchy tune and that would have been enough to put it at #1 on its own, I think. But look at those lyrics! (here’s a rather good translation) It’s about how society judges people by their looks in public. The chorus literally goes “If what I am bothers you, well, tough”. That’s even the title. And I like the music video a lot, with this white box in which people are put and as soon as they aren’t in it anymore you notice how different they act or look, like the buff guy who turns out to have prosthetic legs, or the grandma who turns out to be covered in tatoos. Simple but cool idea.

It may be a weak #1, but it’s an extremely useful song, because having “si je vous gêne, bah c’est la même” (”if I bother you, well tough”) turning in your head like a playground taunt, it really does wonders for your confidence.

And to think some French friends thought making these lists would make me hate Maître Gims’ music once I discovered it.

Next up: the last list?! It’s been a wild ride.