#and obviously its not all sunshine and rainbows here its never like that anywhere on the internet

[mockingbirdshymn]

being in certain fandoms have made me so on edge with things that i forgot what fandoms were for. theyre for having fun and sharing things you like about characters. i dont have to block people who have headcanons i dont like/dont like my headcanons because that shouldnt be a thing. they wont lecture me for an hour about how my headcanons are wrong and how im problamatic for some arbitrary reason. its just a difference in opinion, and thats the fun thing about fan interpratations

[beatricethecat2]

"No joy," Myka says, peeking into the static bag.

"That was the correct part, was it not?" Helena enlarges the photo on Myka's phone of a nineteenth-century elevator car housed at the Warehouse.

"I'm pretty sure. But that picture's not great." Myka slides the handle out and plops it back in to the tune of no sparks.

Helena noses around the storage space as The Dakota building's manager walks in.

"Maybe what you're looking for's in here," he says, plunking down a milk crate full of parts. "When they renovate, they save anything original."

"It's an elevator handle. From the original manual ones. Just not this one." Myka slips the part from the bag and holds it up.

"Might be in Ms. Shiva's apartment then. Parents took two cars and made them into a bar. Or could be from the one that went missing, the mysterious fourth car."

Myka and Helena share a concerned look, knowing the Warehouse took it without permission.

"Can we see the other two?" Myka asks.

"Look just like that one." The man points toward the ornately carved wooden car on the other side of the room. "Handle's that important to you, huh?"

"As architectural historians? Yes," Helena snips in a clipped, scholarly tone.

"Alright. Gimme a minute." He slips his phone out of its belt clip and walks out of the room.

Helena picks through dust-covered items in the crate. "This may be a lost cause."

"It must be upstairs. The walls are so thick, the ping could have come from anywhere."

"You said 'pickup,' not 'ping.'"

"Claudia called it a pickup yesterday! Today she called it a ping."

Helena huffs a disgruntled breath.

The manager waves a hand from the doorway. "She said it's ok to come up."

Myka follows the man, but Helena hangs back.

"Aren't you coming?" 

"I...should look through this crate."

"You know more about this stuff than me. You should come with."

"Myka, I...."

Myka steps closer and lowers her voice. "I know you're not happy about being here, but I really need your help."

Helena holds Myka's gaze but doesn't move.

"Please."

Helena nods an apprehensive yes.

"You'll tell me what's going on with you later, right?"

Helena nods again, with equal apprehension.

Myka grimaces. "Come on."

They follow the manager out of the room and into the elevator to the fourth floor.

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

The Adventures of Wells and Bering ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 3 Title: New York City: I'm buggin' out!

Summary: After three blissful days holed up in their Philadelphia hotel room, Myka receives a call from the Warehouse asking for help. Helena proclaims New York "a cesspool" when told the pickup is in the city. Myka laughs when told Helena was last there in 1893. Told she can stay behind, Helena follows anyway, the pair taking the train to avoid driving. Helena tells tales of city adventures with her partner Wolcott as she and Myka make their way uptown. Helena tenses upon arrival at their destination, so much so, Myka can tell something is off.  Later that day, Helena reveals a long buried secret.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2

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

***BONUS SCENES***

After a less than jovial dinner (pictured above), Myka and Helena settle into their hotel room. Myka lounges in bed, already showered, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, nose buried in a book. Helena searches through her luggage after emerging from a shower swathed only in a robe.

"I know dinner wasn't great," Myka says, setting her book on the nightstand, "but something else's off. You've been weirdly touchy all day."

"I apologize for not being, as Claudia might say, 'all sunshine and rainbows.'" Helena yanks a t-shirt out of her suitcase. "Perhaps we should call the whole thing off." 

"What 'thing'?"

"This trip."

"Why?" Myka sits up.

"Because me being sullen is not an anomaly." 

"I know."

"Then why on earth would you subject yourself to that again?" Helena turns to face Myka and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Because you promised when you got like this you'd talk to me and I believed you."

"Fool," Helena says, the word filled with fondness rather than bite.

"Come here," Myka says, patting a spot next to her.

Helena stares at the bed but doesn't move.

"Come here..."

Helena's eyes lift to meet Myka's; the longer they stay locked, the less defiance they hold. She huffs a disgruntled breath but does as she's told. She sits stiffly, arms folded over her chest, back propped up against the headboard.

"Now, tell me what happened in that building," Myka says, laying back, turning to face Helena, head propped up by a hand. "Remember, I said I wouldn't judge you."

"You say that now..." Helena says, glancing at Myka.

"I won't," Myka says, slipping her hand over Helena's and squeezing, dragging it down to her lap, breaking her protective arm-fold.

"Where to begin," Helena grumbles, pressing her eyes closed, head falling back against the wall.

"How about..." Myka scoots up, aligning herself with Helena, all the while keeping hold of her hand. "The first time you were there, finding that artifact."

Helena rolls her head to the side and meets Myka's gaze.

Myka raises her brow and grins expectantly.

"Oh, alright," Helena grumps, sighing deeply, then lifting her head from the headboard.

"Wolly posed as an investor, and I, his wife. He and I were given guest accommodations, courtesy of Gustav Schirmer, a music publisher. We had a vague idea of what the curiosity was but needed time and access to suss out its location."

"I bet you and Wolly made a better couple than Pete and I ever did," Myka quips.

Helena huffs a short laugh. "People like us 'acted the part' on a daily basis. Anything beyond that was an extension of those fabricated selves. One had to switch 'on' any number of personas just to keep safe. It was difficult at times to remember our true selves."

"I'm sorry. That sucks."

"Easier for me than others. Though in that regard, I'm glad society seems to have changed for the better." Helena meets Myka's gaze, her eyes falling to her lips.

"Me too," Myka says as Helena cups her jaw, guiding their mouths together.

Their kiss lingers but as Helena's hand slides to the nape of Myka's neck, Myka pulls away.

"Story first," Myka says, slipping her hand over Helena's, lifting it away.

Helena pouts.

"After." Myka caresses Helena's cheek, then places a soft, brief kiss there. "I promise."

"I shall hold you to that."

"Oh, I know," Myka says, smiling. She settles back and waits as Helena collects her thoughts.

"The Dakota was unique,' Helena begins, "its design, the first of its kind in the world. A playground for 'new money,' miles away from 'civilization' further downtown. Few dared travel that far north, so their soirees were rather insular."

"That's good, right? Easier to find the artifact?" Myka says.

"Indeed. Gustav adored hosting events, along with the Steinways. Guests chased tunes all over the building as engagements spilled between apartments. Wolly and I snooped around gratuitously."

"Steinways...as in the grand-piano-maker Steinways?"

"The very same," Helena mumbles. Her eyes turn distant, a thumb rubbing idly over a knuckle, her hands linked primly on her lap. 

"Did you find the artifact?" Myka asks.

"Hmm? Oh...yes. But it took quite some time," Helena answers. "And along the way, I found something far more profound." She looks down at her lap, her hands pulling away from each other, tensing. 

"What was it?"

"I found my One."

"Y-You had a One?" Myka says, stiffening.

"All too briefly," Helena says, then glances at Myka. "To have found another is a kindness beyond anything I'd ever imagined. I'm sorry it took so long for me to believe it possible."

"You mean me?"

"I do." Helena brings Myka's hand up to her lips and kisses its palm.

"I, um, guess it's silly to be jealous of someone who lived over a hundred years ago. Especially since I know nothing about them." Myka scoots closer, cozying up to Helena. "Will you tell me?"

"Would you like to know?"

"I want to know everything about you."

"That may take some time."

"We have time, don't we?"

"Time has never been my ally. Especially with the ones I love."

"Let's change that." Myka tugs on Helena's sleeve, and the pair slip down to lie prone on the bed. She turns and snuggles up, head pillowed on Helena's shoulder, arm resting across her middle. Helena relaxes into Myka's hold and wraps an arm over Myka's.

"Tell me about your One," Myka says. "Or, your 'first' One."

"She...was an extraordinary woman," Helena answers. "Unlike any I'd ever known. We bonded instantly, which was unusual."

"How did you meet?"

"I caught her hiding from the merriment during a soiree, nose tucked in a book. One Mrs. Elizabeth Westcott." Helena smiles, obviously warmed by the memory.

"Mrs.?"

"A marriage for appearances; personal gain for two up-and-coming families. Residing at The Dakota allowed her husband to carry on extramarital affairs with less scrutiny. He cared little about her own."

"So you and she..."

"If those walls could talk," Helena says, her smile bordering on devilish. "We had several glorious years together before she..." Her smile fades in an instant.

"I'm afraid to ask."

"She died, as one does when one's husband's mistress plots to kill you."

"S-She was murdered?"

"Freak carriage accident. Never proven, but everyone knew. To ensure Elizabeth never gave him an heir, after Christina. The irony being we'd planned on running away to California soon enough--"

"Wait, Christina was Elizabeth's?" Myka lifts her head to look Helena in the eye.

"I loved her as if she were my own," Helena snaps, "spirited her away to England as soon as I could, with the housekeeper's help."

"You stole her?" Myka pushes away, falling back on her elbows, mouth agape.

"I rescued her," Helena barks, jerking upright. "That monstrous woman still had talons in her father. There was no doubt Christina wasn't safe. It's what Elizabeth would have wanted." 

Helena moves to leave, but Myka grabs her arm.

"Don't go," Myka pleads. "I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't judge you."

Helena freezes in place, her heart pounding wildly. A few moments later, she returns to Myka's side.

"Did anyone come looking for her?" Myka asks, pushing forward so as not to leave Helena stewing.

"I don't know. I doubt they could find me as only Elizabeth knew my true identity. And I never set foot in New York again."

"So literally 1893."

Helena nods, the sour look on her face softening. "I'd thought to visit her grave but haven't found the courage."

"You should go. We could go together. It'll give you closure."

"You sound so certain."

"I know it will help. I've loved and lost, too, you know."

"Indeed, you have, my love," Helena says, then sighs heavy-heartedly. "What a pair we make."

"I think we're a good match," Myka says, tugging Helena back to lie flat again. "We could take our minds off it. Make some new, pleasant memories." She slips a hand under the tie of Helena's robe.

"You did make a promise earlier," Helena replies.

"And I always make good on my promises," Myka says, drawing the tie free, brushing a fingertip over newly exposed skin. Helena quivers and relaxes back, offering no resistance as Myka fulfills her word.

End of Episode 3

-TBC-

NOTES: According to the internet, the term "buggin'" was coined in New York City. The fourth elevator really did go missing during The Dakota renovations in the 1960's (pre-landmarking). Thank you to the library for being open so I could borrow books and down some facts as this got way more involved than I meant it to become (but that's part of the fun).

This story format is...in my head, I'm calling it "TV POV." If we were watching the show, we'd see things but not hear the character's thoughts, so that's what I'm going for, I think? Broad strokes and quicker resolutions due to the 45 minute-ish run time (or would this show be a 25 minute one? Hmm.) Let me know if that's not working at all. I mean these are obviously pastiches of content - the images come first then the stories materialize afterwards. They are supposed to be short and clippy - plenty of room for the reader to fill in the blanks - but this one got away from me! Also Tumblr keeps making the second image blurry and I can't figure out why...

[serendipitykpop]

the person he talks about

Pairing: park chanyeol x reader

Request: Hey can I get a scenario where chanyeol or ten dates a girl who is from a punk band, with colored hair with a shaved side, piercing on the lips and eyebrow, full of tattoos and the rest of the group, when they meet the person that chanyeol/ten been talking all the time, is just surprised and don't know how to react and they are scared of her a little but after a while talking to her they love her because she is actually very shy and nice.

“Chanyeol. Checking your watch isn’t going to make time go any faster.”

Snickering and amusement of the members filled the room while one remained pacing back and forth, his restlessness becoming more evident as they continued to tease him about the meeting.

“Baekhyun, that’s not very nice. You’re making him more nervous than he already is, seeing as how mismatched his socks are. “Junmyeon couldn’t help but join in with the other members, which only intensified the laughter.

Baekhyun’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched Chanyeol stress out over the time going by. 

“Can’t you go be nervous anywhere else that isn't in front of the tv? We’re trying to watch our show, “Kyungsoo interjected in the midst of the cackling and teasing, moving to the side to get a glimpse of the tv. Chanyeol stopped packing around and stood in front of the tv with his hands on his hips, making Kyungsoo sigh as he gave up on watching the show entirely. Not with this chaos.

“I’m serious about this. I want all of you to get along with Y/N, so could you please behave yourselves?”

“Woah. I never thought I’d hear those words come from you,” Jongdae said, equally surprised as everyone else. The look on his face showed how serious he was about this.

“This person must be very important to you if you’re saying such things,” Yixing smiled.

Are you that afraid of us scaring your partner away? Come on, don’t you trust us?” Jongin teased, which only made the frown on Chanyeol’s face deepen.

“Not really.”

“Chanyeol, why are you getting so worked about this?” Minseok questioned. “You’re not acting like yourself. You’re even being weirdly nervous, it’s concerning.”

He rubbed his neck. “Well-”

Before he had the chance to elaborate, the doorbell rang. Everyone grew quiet, looking at each other and then at Chanyeol. Big smirks were plastered on their lips. They were more than ready to embarrass him in front of you.

“Please be nice.” He gave one last warning to his members, then walked to the door to greet you.

“We will, we will! You don’t have to say that so much.” Sehun waved his hand. Chanyeol rolled his eyes and pulled the door open.

Upon seeing you, his face instantly lit up and he pulled you in for a tight embrace. You giggled and wrapped your arms around him to return his hug. He greeted you with a kiss on the lips, then another on your forehead to which you let out a hum of content.

“I missed you,” He pouted.

“I missed you more.” You grinned.

“You ready to meet the boys?”

You took a deep breath, then exhaled and nodded. “I’m beyond nervous. It’s like the same nervousness I felt when I met your family!”

He chuckled, making you relax. “You’re going to do great. Just be yourself and they’ll love you. Obviously, not as much as I love you, but you know what I mean.”

“I know, Yeol.” You pinched his cheeks.

The two of you then walked into the living room where the boys were waiting for you. They were finally going to meet the person Chanyeol never stopped talking about all the time, so they couldn’t wait to tease him about it in front of you.

“Members. This is my partner, Y/N. Y/N, you know my members.”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” You waved. 

This was Chanyeol’s important person.

The members blinked. They were left astounded. You had your hair dyed a color that wasn’t a natural shade and styled with a shaved side. Your face were decorated with piercings on your lips and your eyebrows. Your body was painted with all different kinds of tattoos, each looking like a piece of art in its own rights. Truthfully, they didn’t know how to react to you. They were a bit scared and intimidated.

“So you’re the person he talks about,” Baekhyun gaped, his mouth opened in wonder. Junmyeon nudged him to be polite before standing up and smiling.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Please, sit down.” He gestured and you did so with Chanyeol.

“Y/N’s from that punk band I told you about the other day. You remember, right?”

“Right, right. Yeah.”

“You showed them my band’s songs?”

He nodded. “They actually really liked them.”

“Wow. That’s an honor to hear from a group of talented artists,” You timidly said as your cheeks grew a pinkish hue. “Thank you. It means a lot to hear such high praise and that you like the songs I’ve written. Oh, I’m getting so red! This is so embarrassing!”

You covered your burning cheeks with your hands and turned to Chanyeol for help. Though, he only laughed and hugged you into his side while you whined for him to help.

“Wah, so cute.” The boys gaped.

“I also am a big fan of yours. I may not be able to go to concerts or buy every album or stream every video, but I do adore everything you do. I’m always so starstruck and amazed by everything you boys achieve. It makes me very happy to be sitting here in front of you,” You beamed.

“WOAH, SO CUTE!” It was like you had won them over and shot an arrow through their hearts. They absolutely loved you because of how shy and nice you were. They felt awful for judging you so quickly, but they were glad to have given you a chance.

“You’re so sweet, Y/N. Thank you.”

“The room. It’s getting too bright,” Chanyeol mumbled from all the smiling and happiness from his members and his beloved. Though, it did warm his heart when he saw how well you all got along. It seemed the members approved of you despite their initial reaction to you. Maybe after the talking, they saw you as he did you. The sweetest and most loving person he had come to know.

While it looked like sunshine and rainbows to him, the members radiated a different kind of energy. It was almost sinister. This couldn’t be good.

“You know, Y/N. Since you’re going to be with us for a long time-”

“Long time?” You gasped as your eyes widened. Did that mean they approved of you?

“Shall I let you on a little secret?” Baekhyun continued, eyes lighting up in excitement. “About Chanyeol.”

“Baekhyun, whatever you’re planning on saying, don’t.”

Ignoring his plea, Baekhyun leaned close to you, but far enough, so that everyone can hear him.

“No matter the time or day, may it be a time where we have no time to even sit down or a time where we do nothing, Park Chanyeol loves to talk about you all the time.” He glanced at him and smirked. 

Chanyeol gulped. The tips of his ears grew red as he hid his red, burning face behind his hand. He didn’t dare look in your direction. It was too much of an embarrassment.

“Yeol,” You softly called to him, making him look at you because he couldn’t resist when you called him in that sweet voice of yours. “Is that true? Do you talk about me all the time?”

He let out a small whine. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” The members scoffed, about to elaborate when Chanyeol’s yelling interrupted them.

“Okay, fine! I do talk about you all the time!”

You blushed. You didn’t expect for such a confession to come out of this meeting.

“To be so loved by you, I really am lucky!” Your smile was so bright, it matched even the sun.

“Wah, so precious!”

[havenesa-sera-fina]

Hidden Marks [5: Drunk Confession]

Summary: Wrapping his own arms around her shoulders, Namjoon pulled her in, resting his head on the crown of her head, his heart beating steadily, which Sera heard and smiled to herself. Even with his odd lengthy limbs, they fit together perfectly, "Sera, I'm falling in love with you, that I want to convince you not to go, but I trust you. I just want you to be happy, to never cry over us again. I can't promise you that if you choose to stay with us, everything will be rainbows and sunshine, but I promise you that we won't give up on you, on this relationship. We're not perfect like everyone thinks we are, we're not the perfect bunch of soulmates, we have problems as a group and individuals, secrets that we all keep, burdens that we try to carry on our own. Though we all have each other, to fall back on when things get brought, and that includes you now. We're soulmates, so if anything happens, don't be scared to tell us.

(Poly BTS/OT7 x Reader/OC)

College Au / Soulmate Au

Disclaimer: Bts isn't my or any real life people (obviously.) Any other characters are my though. This is my story so do not republish this anywhere or I will report.

There maybe some triggers, but I will address them within the chapters.

Sources: Wattpad

Word count: 2466

"Canada ain't real and that's the tea sis." I pronounced randomly, walking side by side with Baekhyun through the fairground. Cotton candy in one hand, and beer in another.

It was a Saturday, so the fairground was packed with people, but it didn't stop us and our crazy antics. We've been here for only an hour, and we've moved onto our third cup of beer. Considering the fair was close to the college, there were a ton of uni students, all with the same idea to just get drunk tonight.

I invited Kimie to join us, after an awkward discussion of, 'if I was alright or not.' It ended up with me apologizing and Kimie just saying she was glad that I'm alright. She ended up declining as she was tired from the week that was filled with nothing best tests for her.

Somewhere in the week, I did end up calling the hospital to get more medicine, after embarrassingly explained what had happened. They offered therapy for me, but I declined as I knew therapy wouldn't help me. Because I already knew the types of questions and suggestions they were gonna tell me.

I haven't talked to Lilia yet and managed to just straight up ignore her boyfriends, which wasn't hard. We had no classes together and pretty sure we were all majoring in different things.

So it was just Baekhyun and me, and I was fine with that.

"Are you drunk already darling?" Baekhyun snorted, chugging down the rest of his beer and disposing of the cup in a nearby trash can, "We literally visited Canada for our high school senior trip dumb ass."

"It's all a ruse and Russia created Canada to watch over the US."

At that, we both giggled like little girls, feeling buzzed from the alcohol and the night just started, "Nothing in this world is real!" I yelled out, garnering a few weird looks from the older people at the fair, "it's all figments of our imagination!"

He bumped shoulders with me slightly, "Shut up you drunk."

Baekhyun was always a mean drunk.

It didn't take long for the hours to go by, with Baekhyun and I got a beer and more beer along with food, getting on rides and luckily not throwing up. There were attempts to play some carnival games, but that just ended up with me throwing a ball at him.

"What the hell you bitch!" Baekhyun yelled after I somehow threw the ball at him instead of in front of me at the plates, "my beer!" Sadly the impact caused him to drop his beer.

The vendors were staring at the two college students with amusement, not upset by the ruckus they were causing.

"Shut up you pink starburst," I yelled back, only to giggle. I was more than buzzed and tipsy, and this was always the best feeling as I bid the cute vendor guy goodbye, before dragging Baekhyun away, "I'll buy you more."

We were walking a little out of line, leaning against each other for support as we laughed over the most random things, our drunk mind thinking a blue cotton candy was worthy of laughing our ass off.

So drunk that we ended up bumping into someone.

A numbing feeling came over me, but I ignored it, the alcohol did its job to hide the feelings I didn't want to confront.

I met the most enchanting gray eyes I've ever seen, and couldn't help but giggle as I felt Baekhyun lean more of his weight against me, causing me to stumble, "Funny seeing you here Taetae!" My voice slurred slightly, as I raised my half-drunk beer up to him, "want to get fucked up with us?"

Taehyung stared amusingly at Sera, how some pieces of her light brown hair stuck to her face due to sweat. A pair of beautiful amber eyes stared at him, finally looked at him, even if it was through a drunken haze as a playful smirk played at her lips. His heart never pounded this painfully, but his eyes flickered to where Baekhyun was all but wrapped around her side and he wanted to tear them apart.

"How much did you drink exactly Noona?" He asked, voice dipped slightly when he said Noona, his eyes never leaving Sera's as she didn't bother to look away either, "you're never this friendly."

"Don't be silly! We're so much closer than you think," she then pushed the beer into his hands, along with an uneaten churro she bought few moments before they bumped into each other, "You should get drunk with us, Hyunnies beginning to get boring."

"Shut up you bitch!"

Sera didn't take offense to Baekhyun, as she slightly detached herself from him and looked back up at Taehyung, who stared on with slight fascination. He liked the way her cheeks flushed slightly, and wanted her to just keep staring at him, "You sure you ain't drunk already?"

"Not even buzzed! Where's Lilia anyway, why ain't you with her?"

Truth be told, Lilia and his six soulmates were somewhere in this fairground. They had all went together, but he and Lilia still weren't in talking terms, and not being able to stand the tense atmosphere, he excused himself from the group. Jungkook offered to accompany him, but he stated he wanted to be alone, before walking off.

"Let's not worry about her," he mumbled, before mentally saying fuck it, and chugging down the rest of Sera's beer, "lets gets fucked up tonight."

Both Baekhyun and Sera cheered at his words, as the pink-haired boy quickly went to get more beer.

Sera, the alcohol influencing her, instantly attached herself to Taehyung's side, "Taetae let's go on the Ferris wheel okay? Hyunnie and I haven't been on there yet."

Taehyung wasn't use to this, wasn't use to her being so friendly and close to him.

Sera had always been so cold and distant towards him and his other her soulmates, barely even muttering a word when any of them were near, let alone invite him or the others to get wasted with her. To have her so close, to feel her breathing as she wrapped her arms around one of his, a drunken smile on her lips. She was a drunken beauty, despite always, in general, being beautiful in his eyes, especially now she didn't have a blank expression on her face, and was now staring at him with so much.

It caused something to stir within him.

Even in his head was telling him that this wasn't right, that he had his soulmates and his girlfriend somewhere in this fairground. That he should push her away and go back to his group, but his soul was telling him to stay. That this was where he belonged.

"Yeah," he breathed in, just basking in her presence because he knew, once Sera was sober again, she would never look at him the way she is now, "anything you want."

Baekhyun came back, and seemed unfazed by the clingy Sera, and pushed a beer into each of their hands, and took the churro from Taehyung, "Hurry up dude, you got catching up to do."

Grinning slightly, just for this night, Taehyung would be selfish and indulge himself. Because while his head was screaming at him that this was all wrong, he never felt so sure with Sera holding onto him.

*****

"Fucking shit I'm gonna throw up," Taehyung frowned, leaning against a tree as he gulped down the rest of his water, "What time is it," he grumbled.

"Like 3 am," Baekhyun replied, patting the other man back in slight comfort.

They passed the stage of being stupid drunks, to being sober drunks. Not saying stupid shit and stumbling on their words, but still marking poor life decisions and most likely will not remember the type of drunk. The best type of drunk stage to just have a deep and philosophical discussion. Make confessions, because it'll be a miracle if any of them remembers what transpired.

Groaning, I looked down at the two boys on the ground, making myself comfy on top of the jungle gym I managed to climb. The cool air somewhat calming down the heat I felt as I gazed at Taehyung. Despite his need to throw up, I couldn't help but find him enchanting, especially underneath the moonlight.

The fair had closed three hours ago, and the three of us had jumped all over the place. To a bar for more drinks, a convenience store, onto college campus where we ran away quickly when we saw a security guard. Which we wouldn't have even gotten in trouble because we were students, but we're stupid drunks. Then we ended up at Baekhyun's apartment to get his car keys, but we were smart enough and just raided his kitchen, and now we found ourselves at a park in whom no gods nowhere. My phone luckily still at 20% as Baekhyun's at 80% because he was smart enough to charge it at the convenience store as we ate to our heart's content.

"You comfy over there cutie?" Taehyung called out, gray eyes meeting with clashing amber ones, a hint of amusement in them as he began to walk towards the jungle gym as well.

"You can't come up here if you're going to throw up!" I laughed, watching as he stumbled his way up the stairs, Baekhyun following him. My mark burning slightly, but not in an unpleasant way, as the alcohol in my system telling me everything was fine. My reasoning long gone as I accepted Taehyung company for tonight or morning or whatever.

"Jesus, we're going to get alcohol poisoning," Baekhyun groaned, as the two boys finally reached the top, where Sera was and seated themselves, "Where even are we?"

"Some park."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Taetae! Hyunnie's being mean! He's always a mean bitchy drunk."

The man in the middle only laughed, sounding like bells and causing my cheeks to flush, "come here cutie, I'll protect yah," he held out his hands and made grabbing motions towards me.

My heart skipped a beat with how adorably handsome he looked. Somewhere in the haze of the alcohol, my mind was telling me to stop, that I would regret this later, but my soul was telling me that I belonged in his arms.

So I listened to my soul and all but lunged into his arms. Instantly they wrapped around me securely, and while he reeked of alcohol, there was still a faint cinnamon smell to him as I buried my face into his chest. He was so warm compared to the chilly air night, and I didn't ever want to move away from here.

"I'm gonna gag," Baekhyun spoke somewhere in the background, before pulling out his phone and snapping a picture of the two. For later uses as in to blackmail Sera with whenever he wanted free food and possibly gossip with Kimie. Like he'll ever go behind Sera's back and expose her secret.

He was a mean drunk, but not a bastard of a drunk.

"I should," I mumbled, finding some reason within myself, and began to push myself away from Taehyung. While it felt so right and comforting to be in his arms, I knew it was wrong, "Lilia's my friend..."

Something in Taehyung panicked as he felt Sera pull away from him, causing him to tighten his grip and pull her back. Burying his nose in her soft hair, he breathed in her blueberry scented hair wash, "Lilia isn't my soulmate," he spoke, voice husky and deep, "Plus, all she's been doing is talking shit about you all week, I don't think she sees you as a friend anymore."

I should be bothered by his words, tell him he was wrong and try to defend my friendship.

However, I knew a long time ago we stopped becoming friends. We stopped being friends when I made the decision to keep my soulmates a secret from her. Maybe we stopped being friends a long time ago.

"She hates me because I killed her soulmate," I spoke bluntly, not being able to control my mouth and thoughts, "It's my fault why he's dead. That's why she took my own soulmates from me."

"Who's your soulmate cutie," his lips were close to my ear, as I felt his warm breath against my cheeks. It caused the most delightful shiver to run down my back, as my marks burn, not in pain, but in such an addicting feeling.

His hands went to my shoulders, before slowly trailing down my arm. So dangerously close to the very thing I kept hidden all these years. To the very thing I was so tired of hiding, "Won't you tell me, sweet Sera," his little nickname caused another shiver, "I always knew my little girlfriend was keeping secrets from us and I never liked it. Like she was trying to paint a different image of herself, that's far from reality."

The way he addressed Lilia as his girlfriend, I didn't like that at all as it caused me to feel a slight bitterness and jealousy. I should be Taehyung's girlfriend, not Lilia. I was his soulmate for crying out loud, I was all of their soulmates.

"You gave up on me," I mumbled, but I knew he heard, "If you just waited for one more year, you could have had all your seven soulmates."

"Is it really too late to find my other one? When she's so...so close."

"Shut up, you don't deserve me anymore. You gave up on waiting and began dating my best friend!" I raised my voice slightly and heard Baekhyun whine slightly in the background, "do you know how much it hurts to see all you guys together?"

Baekhyun, who knew he should shut Sera up, stop this discussion and pull the two away. However, he couldn't bring himself to, as he accepted being the third wheel as he went on his phone.

After all, all three have a better chance of getting alcohol poisoning then remembering anything that happened tonight.

Grumbling to himself, he scrolled through his contacts and clicked on a name: Nam fucking annoying Joon.

He didn't have a personal hatred towards Namjoon or any of the seven soulmates but didn't like them at the same time. They were the reasons why his friend was always in constant pain.

He grumbled slightly, then types away on the keyboard:

Hey it's Baekhyun. Come pick up your drunk boyfriend. We're at the park near the high school that's like ten miles away from the college. I'll send you our location.

Instantly he got a reply, to which he only rolled his eyes:

Why is he with you?

Ask him yourself. 

[unpack-my-heart]

I Have Crossed Oceans Of Time To Find You

Fic Tag List: @sunshines-fabulous-legs @perrytheplatypus4president @stellarbisexual @rainbow-reddie @pulitzerandhearst​ @qwertsod​

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Chapter One [click HERE to read on AO3] : [WC 6794]

The sleepy town of Krov died in 1539, and no one heard its death rattle. Ask a historian, and they’ll tell you that it was the pestilence that finished Krov off, that death had swung his buboed scythe just enough times to ensure that the entire town was swallowed by the gaping maw of the plague pit. Those who could afford to migrate south to Brașov did so, plague snapping at their heels as they ran. Those bound to the town with invisible manacles barricaded themselves in their small houses and prayed feverishly to a deaf God. Now dead, the body of the town sailed straight past rigor mortis and steam rolled into rot and ruin. Buildings crumbled, and wild flowers sprouted, vein-like, in the cracks.

The only building that remained stood proud and untouched by the hand of decay at the top of the tallest hill, a splintered pearl-white rib jutting out of a wound.

The town of Krov heaved its last staccato breath in 1439, and in 1893, Richard Tozier, hands scrabbling against pallid skin, followed suit.

Ever since he was a boy, Richard had been fascinated by maps. When he was an infant, still attached to his mother’s breast, he’d watched as his father, back hunched and eyes squinting, had drawn the swooping, dancing lines of the town.

“Is that our house?” Richard had lisped when he was older, with a tongue that still felt too large in his small mouth.

“Yes,” his father confirmed, “that’s our house, and that’s where the tree is that you fell out of, and that’s where your grandmother lives, and that’s where …”

Richard had watched with fascination, eyes glued to the rustly piece of paper, as his father pointed at each landmark. His father told him that he’s a cartographer, someone standing on the shoulders of the many great men who came before, men who charted the land with careful eyes and dancing lines. With his thumb lodged firmly in his mouth, Richard had confidently announced that he wanted to be a cart-grapher too.

– X –

The tale of the disappearing town had fast become Richard’s favourite bedtime story. When Brașov marched into the mists of winter, the nights drawing in earlier and earlier, young Richard could be found tucked up in bed, head poking out from under the thick, scratchy blanket.

“Tell me the story about the disappearing town again?”

At that, the question that came, like clockwork, at the time of year when the blustery winds hammered on the windowpanes with fleeting fingers, his father rolled his eyes.

“You know this story just about as well as I do, Richie”

And, as he always did, Richard would squeal with faux-frustration until his father, with a tut and a sigh, relented.

“Once upon a time, a long long time ago, in a small town called Krov …”

– X –

True to his six year old self, Richard apprenticed with his father in the art of cartography when he came of age. Like his father, with steady hands, Richard immortalised the boundaries of his home town, the houses, the forest on the eastern most edge of the town, the church with its singing bells. Now fluent in lines of longitude, Richard slowly built up an impressive portfolio, expansive enough to rival even his fathers. Still, when the snow fell from the sky in great woollen clumps, Richard found himself sprawled on the floor in front of the raging fire, gazing up at his father.

“Do tell me the tale of the disappearing town, just one last time”

“That’s what you said last year, and the year before that, and the year before that and –”

“I know! I know. I am a rotten liar, but please, tell me just one last time”

“How about you tell me the story, since I am now a weary old man,” his father scolded, the fire dancing in the watery sheen coating his eyes.

Shifting onto his back, Richard closed his eyes, and began to speak.

“Once upon a time, a long long time ago, in a small town called Krov … wait, father?”

“Yes, child?”

“Why is Krov not on the big map in your study?”

His father rolled his eyes. “Why on earth would a mythological place be on a map?”

“Maybe people just haven’t put enough effort into finding it,” Richard mumbled, as he stared up at the cracks that divided the ceiling into fictional countries.

– X –

Richard’s obsession with the story of the disappearing town only deepened after that conversation. Blindly convinced that the town could never be anything but real, Richard devoted large portions of his time to pouring through printed collections of maps of the region, basing his search off the vague references to an unusually large and dense forest collected at the belly of a mountain range the town was near . Confident that he’d plotted the 100 mile radius that the town must be located in, Richard intensified his search, picking through map after map, going back four centuries, searching for the elusive town.

However, the search proved fruitless. Exhausted and bleary eyed, Richard scooped the pile of crinkly maps up into his arms, intending to throw them onto the fire in a fit of sleep-deprived impulsivity when a fresh, crisp map fluttered to the floor like a leaf carried by a lazy autumn breeze. Dropping the rest of the papers to the floor, Richard stooped and picked up the errant map, and inspected it.

The Northern Transylvanian Region (1530)

The map, though ostensibly entirely unremarkable, felt inexplicably hot in Richard’s hands, as if he’d just wrenched it from a hungry flame. Tracing the roads with a trembling finger, Richard’s eyes fell upon a faint, but very obviously present, line that he’d not noticed in the previous maps.  Dropping to his knees, Richard spread out the other maps of northern Transylvania, eyes searching for, but never finding, the line. Scrabbling once more for the 1530 map, Richard again located the faint line, but this time, looked closer. Bringing the paper but millimetres from his face, he noticed six tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-them words, written neatly besides the line.

‘the road that leads to Nowhere’

The road, connected to the main street running through the small town of Zhizn, curved in a gradual arc that halted before it even attempted to connect to another road. It stopped, abruptly, in the middle of an empty section of map, jutting out from the rest of the lines awkwardly, like the cartographer had become distracted and forgotten to finish it.

A small part of him, a part of him that had been born the moment he had laid eyes on those six words, knew he’d found it. If Krov was to be anywhere, it was here. This infant part of him screamed with the lungs of a newborn, it’s here it’s here it’s here it’s here, and then, in a voice that wasn’t his own, slick and dripping with rot, it spoke again,

seek Him.

– X –

Richard didn’t recognise the name on the back of the map. He asked his father if he had ever heard of a sixteenth-century cartographer called J Alexe, and his father nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Yes, I worked with him over twenty years ago now. I haven’t spoken to him in years, why do you ask?”

“No significant reason,” Richard had replied, playing at inconspicuous, “I just found an map he drew a few years ago and was curious”

“Oh? I didn’t think he’d published anything for several years after – well. I think I have an old letter of his”

With that, his father stood from his chair, knees creaking, and shuffled into his study. Several minutes later he emerged, waving a crumpled letter victoriously in his hands.

“See, here. He said he was retiring from the craft, but the old devil mustn’t have been able to resist her siren call. Could you show me the map once you’re done with it?”

“Of course”

Taking the letter from his father’s hands, under the pretence of reading the rather dry conversation about cartography tools, Richard internally memorised the return address.

– X –

Dear Mr Alexe,

I do hope you won’t mind me contacting you. I am the son of Wentworth Tozier, I believe you worked together many times. The reason for this letter is that I found a copy of your map of northern Transylvania in the fourteenth-century, and I notice that there is a road marked ‘the road to nowhere’. I was wondering if you would be able to confirm whether this road leads to the city of Krov?

Many thanks,

Richard Wentworth Tozier

Immediately after finishing his letter, Richard folded the paper in half, before carefully sliding it into a cream coloured envelope. Impulsively, with the eagerness of a child, he all but ran to the post office, sending the letter off to, hopefully, reach its desired recipient in full health.

When he arrived home, his father waved a shiny black envelope in his face.

“This arrived for you”

Richard took the envelope from his father, retreated to his bedroom, and ripped it open.

Mr Tozier,

It is wonderful to make your acquaintance. I have admired your father since we met long ago, and it is a long awaited privilege to speak with you. I believe the map you are enquiring about is simply the object of a joke once played on your father, who was once enthralled by the story of Krov.–

A thick blot of black ink strikes through the next line, obscuring it so Richard cannot read it; the word ‘home’ barely visible near the margin.

–I assume by your letter that Wentworth’s indulgence in the story of Krov has not faltered, unless this obsession is hereditary. These are li- (again, the rest of the line has been struck through in thick black ink). I can assure you that the road to Nowhere leads not to nothing, but to something that cannot be explained using ink. It’s true that Krov no longer has a heartbeat, but it still breathes. Listen for it.

And then, right at the bottom of the page, scrawled in a crusted, brown liquid, two words.

seek Him.

– X –

The decision to travel to Krov, following the road that lead to Nowhere, came to Richard as easily as the decision to send the letter to Alexe in the first place. He had spun his father a lie out of golden thread, told him that he was going to travel north, up towards Zhizn (this, of course, only a half lie) with the intention of visiting an old archive kept in the town hall. Such a town hall, and such an archive, didn’t exist, but his father didn’t know that.

Richard left on a frigid Monday, breath visible in the air when he’d bid his father farewell at the station. The train, a rickety thing that jaunted across the Romanian landscape like a drunk staggering home, wound this way and that, until, nearly a full day later, it pulled into the station at Zhizn. Richard wasted no time wandering the windy streets of Zhizn, instead, he walked with purpose into the tavern, door swinging violently behind him. A stunned hush fell over the patrons of the tavern, as they all turned with dinner-plate eyes to stare at the newcomer with wild hair and bottle-top glasses. The young woman stood behind the bar, glass of honey’d liquid frozen in the air comically, stared at him with curious eyes.

“Glass of ale, sir?”

“That would be marvellous,” Richard replied, and the quiet chatter resumed around him.

The tavern was fairly small, with a creaking wooden floor that sung out every time Richard took a step towards the bar.

“New around here, are you?” the barmaid asked, busying herself with pouring Richard’s drink.

“Yes. I’ve come up from Brașov, I’m trying to find a town that’s near here, perhaps you’ve heard of it”

“Aren’t any towns near here, Sir. Not for miles”

“Ah, but there is. It’s on this map, see,” Richard fished in his pocket, looking for J. Alexe’s map that he’d folded into tiny pieces, small enough to fit snugly in the pocket of his jacket.

Locating it, he pulled the map out and unfolded it on the bar. The barmaid, expression a hybrid bemused-annoyed, stared blankly at it. With eager fingers, Richard jabbed at the road to Nowhere.

“Here, I have reason to believe there’s a town at the end of this road, a town called Krov, have you –”

At the mention of the word Krov, the barmaid gagged dramatically, a great retch that sounded like it had been pulled directly from the very pit of her stomach. The noise startled Richard, his sentence extinguished abruptly like a flame.

“Are you alright, can I help? Do you need –”

“Stop,” the barmaid commanded, sticking her hands out in front of her, defensively, “I need nothing from you. I just … that place”

At that, Richard noticed that the quiet chatter had died down once more, and the silence hung itself oppressively around his neck.

“We don’t speak of that town here, lad,” a man called out, obscured by shadow, “not anymore. Not for centuries”

“Why ever not?”

“Brings bad things if you mention it. That word hasn’t been spoken on this here soil for decades and we’ve been just fine”

“See, I was hoping that I’d find someone to take me there, I have no transport”

“There’s no one here that’ll take you. You best go back where you came from, forget you ever came here, forget about that … place. No sane man would take you there” the barmaid insisted.

“How much are you paying?” the man from the shadows interrupted, slamming his glass down on the bar top.

“As much as it’ll take”

“It’s gonna cost you,” the man warned, but Richard shook his head.

“I’ll pay anything”

“It’ll cost you everything”

– X –

The man, William Denbrough, was a drunk. Richard learnt that almost immediately. As William stood up, with every intention of leading Richard and his luggage to his cart, but this plan had been interrupted by his inebriated brains inability to keep himself upright. Richard watched as William staggered, and then fell to his knees as if in prayer, all the while laughing rather manically to himself.

“Er … Do you need help?”

“Naw, leave him be. He’s fine, just a bit giddy. Give him a few minutes and he’ll be right as rain,” The barmaid laughed, scrubbing the inside of a glass with a cloth.

“Is he here a lot?”

She nodded. “Every day like clockwork. He always says to me, ‘Bev, keep me out’, but his habit pays half of my wage, so, I let him in every time”

By that point, William had managed to haul himself to his feet, and was walking towards the door on unsteady feet. Richard said goodbye to the barmaid, and followed William out of the door. With rough, calloused hands, William threw Richard’s luggage unceremoniously onto the back of his cart, before clambering onto it and, barely giving Richard a chance to hop on himself, urged his horse onwards.

The journey took a little over two hours, and, try as he might, Richard could coax very little information out of his chauffer.

“How many times have you been to Krov?”

“I haven’t”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know”

“Do you know if anyone lives there?”

“I don’t know”

“Do you know when the town disappeared off the map?”

“I don’t know”

“Do you know why the town disappeared off the map?”

“I don’t know”

William’s mantra, ‘I don’t know’, echoed in Richard’s mind for the rest of the journey, which they spent in uncomfortable silence. Thirty minutes before they stopped, William’s horse became unsettled, whickering and whinnying loudly. Fifteen minutes before they stopped, the horse began to sweat, despite the aggressive chill that seeped into Richard’s marrow. Five minutes before they stopped, the horse bucked wildly, eyes wide and white.

“He won’t go on, you’ll have to walk from here. I’ll be back for you in five hours, leave your luggage with me” William muttered, climbing off his cart and running a soothing hand down the horses sodden neck.

“I see. Is it far from here?” Richard asked, climbing down.

“No, a ten minute walk or so”

“How will I know if I’m in the right place?”

“You’ll know,” William said, and, with a grimace, continued.

“You’ll smell it”

With that, and without any further explanation, William Denbrough and his petrified horse disappeared back down the track, leaving Richard standing dumbly on the side of the dusty path.

– X –

Cursing William Denbrough and his alcohol-hazed brain, Richard had trudged down the path for nearly thirty minutes before he reached any indication that he was going in the right direction. As he pushed his way through a thicket of thorny bushes that obscured the path, a huge wooden sign loomed ominously overhead.

KROV.

Richard stared at the sign, unblinking, unbreathing. Krov. Seeing the word, written down in letters as large as his arm span, set Richard’s blood on fire. As plain as day and night, as real as the sun and stars, there it was, written in chipped paint on rotting wood. Krov.

Richard scurried past the sign, finally breaching the border of the town. As soon as he set foot past the boundary, however, Richard was hit by an overwhelming stink. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air. It was a cloying smell, a syrupy stench that stoppered his nostrils with the scent of death, of decaying plant matter, of wood left in the rain, mixed with something Richard couldn’t place. The sort of smell that attacked you, violently, unrelentingly, but the sort of smell you’d let assault you. The sort of smell you’d let devour you, consume you, subsume you. It was a smell that, deep in the hollow of his gut, Richard craved. Covering his nose and mouth with his hand, he pushed on.

The town, as Richard has expected, was entirely deserted. The buildings were nothing more than dilapidated old huts dotted slapdash along the main street, with the houses stood in hodgepodge rows like crumbling gravestones in a long-forgotten churchyard. Dead plants wound themselves around the houses, out through the windows, sprouting through cracks in the walls like hairs. As he picked his way down the street, stepping over centuries old detritus, Richard listened to the click-clacking of his shoes, echoing painfully loudly in the otherwise deafening silence that snaked its way through the town. There were no birds singing their evening songs, no insects chirping happily in the undergrowth, no leaves rustling in the autumn breeze. The sky was empty. The plants were dead. The air was still.

Fishing in his pocket for his notebook, Richard began to sketch the lines of the town, using little boxes to indicate where each building was. It had always been his intention to map this town, to discover it, to immortalise it, godlike. However, the further Richard ventured into the town, and the more streets he wandered down, pencil scribbling furiously, the worse his headache became. What had started as a dull echo in his head had swiftly become a cruel bellowing, a great roaring between his ears that caused his eyes to ache and his stomach to churn.  The wind had picked up, nipping furiously at his heels, and the thin overcoat he was wearing provided but little respite. Rubbing his hands together in hopes of generating some friction, Richard began to walk purposefully towards the nearest house, hoping to find shelter from the wind. However, a rogue and rotting tree root ensnared his foot in its grasp, throwing the entirety of his bodyweight against the house. The door gave way, splintering into thousands of tiny shards, and Richard fell to the ground with a loud thump.

“Son of a bitch!”

Richard’s head collided with the tough ground with a dull thwack, and he lay there for several seconds, groaning pitifully to himself. He lay on his back, watching as the dust danced daintily in the air, illuminated in technicolour by the thin strings of light that filtered in from the windows. Richard rolled onto his side, before hauling his protesting bones upwards. Standing on unsteady feet, he surveyed the small lodgings, that seemed to be just big enough for one. The house was cold, colder than it had been outside, and the sickly-sweet smell of decay was much stronger. Rolling his aching shoulders, Richard advanced towards the only identifiable thing in the room – a small wooden pallet bed – before recoiling in horror. On the bed, lying perfectly serene with its head on a straw pillow and its arms crossed over its chest, was a person. Or, more accurately, the remains of what had once been a person. Taking careful steps so as to not to disturb the eternally slumbering corpse, he approached the pallet bed. The bones didn’t move. Upon closer inspection, the rib cage had been caved in, and in the now cavernous and empty space, in the space where previously the heart had thrummed with the energy of life, was a small, brown leather book.

14th May 1539

Three more young men vanished from their beds the night before last. As before, all that remains is a bloody handprint. Mary came to visit, she tells me she is fleeing for Brașov in the morning light. I do not begrudge her this, but oh how I yearn to be taken from this place. I fear I shall die in my bed like a dog.

16th May 1539

They will leave me. I hear them, each day, children screaming, men shouting, women weeping. They will leave me here, to rot with the town. The chanting grows quieter each night. It does not work. For now, silence.

20th May 1539

I heard someone scream three nights ago. I have not heard anything since, not a whisper, not a groan, not a laugh, not a sob.

28th May 1539

I grow wearier and wearier each day. I am tormented by nightmares, of wheezing breaths, of hot saliva on feverish skin, of coal black eyes. It has come for me.

3rd June 1539

It comes each night. Each night, it stands by my bed, and it watches. Never speaks, only breathes. I, the coward, cannot look. I do not look at it, and yet it looks at me. I feel it. Perhaps tomorrow I shall look. Perhaps tomorrow I shall talk to it. Tomorrow, I will open my eyes, and see what looks back.

The leather book fell from Richard’s hands with a clattering thud. On the last page, written in an almost illegible scrawl,

seek Him.

– X –

Richard couldn’t breathe. The combination of the biting cold, the skeleton lying peacefully on the pallet bed with a splintered rib-cage, and the bizarre diary had spliced together, reaching for Richard’s throat with large, meaty arms. He had a job to do. That much, he could do. Chart the town, immortalise it on paper, and then never return. It was enough to know that it was real, to breathe the air, but he didn’t want to be here, in this strange, silent, rotting world, any longer than was absolutely necessary. Richard left the house, relief hot and heavy on his tongue like treacle, but was stopped in his tracks by a monster looming over the town with bright, yellow eyes.

How he hadn’t noticed the large manor house, with its illuminated windows and soaring turrets, when he’d first begun his exploration was a mystery. The mansion, large enough to perhaps be described as a castle, stood erect and proud atop a large cliff that overlooked the rest of Krov.  Something about the house, something about the way it stood against the grey sky, unnaturally, as if, at any moment, it would blink out of existence, tugged at Richard’s gut with slithering, persuading, hands.

Come. Come. Come.

As if on autopilot, with hurried footsteps, Richard began his ascent.

– X –

When Richard was nearly nine years old, his father had taken him on a brisk trek up one of the mountains near their house. His father had told him it wasn’t a mountain, that it had been, in fact, just a medium-sized hill, but Richard had bitterly complained otherwise. To him, and his bean-pole legs, that medium-sized hill was a Promethean effort, a mortal trying to scale the side of mount Olympus. This was nothing like that. This cliffside, at least four times as big as that medium-sized hill, was infinitely, suspiciously, easier. Richard expected his legs to give out at any point, expected his lungs to burn with the flames of exhaustion, but it never came. In fact, the headache that had been pummelling the inside of his skull continually since he began to breathe in the Krov air seemed to dissolve more and more with each step.

Soon enough, much sooner than he could have anticipated, Richard summited the cliff. His headache had entirely gone, and no memory of the debilitating pain remained. Staring at the mansion, the monstrosity that looked over the town with spiteful eyes and perfect stonework, Richard gulped. The windows, illuminated by a dim yellow light, stared back at him. Daring him, willing him, inviting him in with open arms and a hungry belly.

Richard graciously accepted.

– X –

The door opened easily. Stepping into the enormous entrance hall, Richard held his breath, as if the straining in his lungs would mask the clacking of his shoes on the worn marble floor. The air was musty, as if the house had been breathing the same air for centuries, but it was warm, a welcome change from the frigid air of the rest of the town, and it caressed the tundra of Richard’s skin. As he progressed further into the bowels of the mansion, the door swung shut suddenly behind him, lock clicking into place with a loud clack.  Richard stepped forwards with measured footsteps, advancing through the entrance hall quickly, searching for something he couldn’t quite name.

The mansion, he quickly discovered, was a rabbit’s warren of twisting corridors, hallways that lurched this way and that, doors that opened up onto brick walls, stairways that disappeared into thick, deep black voids. In every room, propped up in the corner like an afterthought, was a small brass candelabra. A candelabra that had four lit candles sat in pride of place, flame flickering despite the unmoving air.

He was not alone. That much was certain. It was a certainty that he’d been sure of since the moment he began his ascent, and perhaps, in the deep recesses of his brain, since the moment he set foot onto Krov soil. Even if it weren’t for the flickering yellow in the windows, Richard knew that the mansion, the breathing body amongst the cadaver of the town, held the key to something. The same something that made the stench of the town so appealing, the same something that compelled him to pocket the diary he’d found, and the same something that drew him here, up that cliffside, a magnet, helpless.

A scream, blood-curdling and raw, ripped its way through the silence, and then, abruptly, as if nothing had happened, it stopped. Despite every fibre of his being willing him not to investigate, screaming at him to run, to run far, far away and forget about Krov, he didn’t listen. On shaking, reckless legs, Richard walked towards the room where the scream had come from, opened the door, and came face to face with none other than William Denbrough.

William Denbrough’s corpse was sprawled face up on the floor of the room. His face had been twisted into a mask of not quite terror and not quite peace,  and the bones in his neck stuck out awkwardly, like someone had wrung him like a damp cloth. Blood was oozing in thick streams from two angry, rapidly bruising puncture wounds on his neck.

“He felt no pain”

Richard, who had been crouched on his knees in despair, slowly rose to his feet.

“He felt no pain. I snapped his neck as easily as a child snaps a twig, he felt nothing”

The voice, metallic and shimmery but human, almost human, spoke with quiet grace from the doorway.

“Wh-who are you?” Richard stuttered, voice gravelly and hoarse, a stark contrast to the velvety smoothness of the stranger.

“You know who I am”

seek Him seek Him seek Him seek Him seek Him seek Him

“You’re … You’re – you killed –”

The stranger stepped forwards, and placed a hand on Richard’s shoulder. Even through the layers of his overcoat and shirt, he could feel an icy coldness seeping through the fabric, leaking into his bones.  

“Richard,” the stranger implored, “turn around”

Richard did not turn.

“Turn”

“No. How do you know my name?”

“TURN!”

Richard turned, spinning on his heels like a top, and was confronted with the face of the most beautiful man he had ever seen. The strangers face, though pallid and pointed, looked as if it had been chiselled from the finest of marble with the careful hands of Pygmalion himself. The man was slightly shorter than Richard, but he stood erect, with his chin jutted forwards, a challenge. He wore a long, sweeping coat made of the thickest looking wool, with a black cravat tied in an elaborate knot around his neck. His hand, that still sat on Richard’s shoulder with a firm grip, was slender with a single, gold ring on the index finger.

“Richard,” the stranger began once again, but Richard cut him off impatiently.

“You know my name. You knew I was coming,” he stated dumbly, and the stranger nodded.

“I do, and I did”

“For how long?”

“For longer than you care to imagine”

“I’m rather imaginative, I’m sure I could –”

“For four centuries, I’ve known of this day,” the stranger said, voice ocean calm, “for four centuries, I’ve felt you, anticipated you, I’ve …” the stranger paused, staring into Richard’s eyes steadily, “I’ve smelt you”

Richard snorted. An ugly sort of laugh that escaped his nose without permission.

“Four centuries? Are you insane?”

“Quite the contrary”

“You snapped old Bill’s neck like it was nothing, like you do this sort of thing …” Richard’s voice died in his throat. “what are you?”

“My kind have had many names”

When Richard said nothing, the stranger continued.

“Perhaps you’ll know of us as strigoi, lurid beasts who bite and claw and scratch and gnash their awful teeth, or perhaps your father told you stories about the moroi who visit naughty little children under the cover of darkness and drain their bodies of life, or perhaps,” the stranger stopped, a strange, ugly smirk blooming on his mouth, “perhaps, you’ll know of my kind by a different name”

Richard, growing impatient, wrenched his shoulder away from the strangers hand. “Tell me”

“Vampire”

The last time he’d run for his life, Richard had been seven years old with a pocket full of stolen candy. This time, he wasn’t being chased by the old woman who ran the corner shop. This time, he wasn’t being chased at all. He had taken off at a screeching run when the stranger had muttered that word, that word that set his teeth on edge. Although he had expected the stranger, the vampire, to reach out and grab him, or to charge after him, he could only hear one set of pounding footsteps on the dusty carpet – his own.

Soon, when he’d reached what he thought was the door he’d entered the mansion through, a familiar voice floated into the room, carried on the stale air.

“Do you know how many years I’ve waited? Do you know what it’s like to crave something that doesn’t exist, that will not exist for centuries? Do you know how it feels to smell something so intoxicating, so delicious, so inviting, and have to wait?”

“Fuck off!” Richard shot back, voice shaking wildly, but he was met with the sound of whooping laughter.

“You’ll be back. You’ll come back to me, eventually. You’ll come straight back, and I’ll let you, just this once, Richard, I’ll let you”

– X –

It took three hours of pacing the grounds of the mansion for Richard to decide to venture back inside. For those three hours, Richard stalked the gardens like a stray cat marking its territory, hackles raised and teeth bared. Something in his gut, deep deep down, was pulling him straight back to the mansion, and straight back to the stranger. It wanted him. Richard had experienced his fair share of lust, longing looks at the blacksmith’s apprentice with the strong arms, letting his eyes linger for too long on the chest of the young woman who taught the children on a Wednesday morning. This was different. This wasn’t lust. This was hunger. This was an insatiable, unquenchable hunger that only abated when he was staring into those watery grey eyes, or when he thought about pressing his body, heaving and needy, against the body of the stranger.

Before he could push the door open, he looked up, up to the top window of the tallest turret, and there he was. Standing in the window, looking down at Richard with apathetic eyes but a wide, manic grin, was the vampire. When Richard pushed his way into the mansion, however, the vampire was standing on the balcony that overlooked the entrance hall.

“It took you less time than I had expected”

“What can I say, I’m decisive when I need to be,” Richard tried to joke, but the words fell to the ground, flat, with a squelch.

“You know, when I smelt you in the mansion for the first time, I thought I was hallucinating”

“Pardon?”

“I had waited for this day for so long, I have been so patient, that I did not trust my own nose when you finally arrived”

Unsure of what to say, Richard decided not to say anything at all. This seemed to be the correct answer, as the vampire began to descend the stairs slowly, almost performatively.

“I’ve been so patient,” the stranger repeated, “but you’re here now, and my century-long wait has, I suppose, come to an end”

“Your …” Richard muttered, pausing before he continued, reticent to hear the answer. “Your wait? Wait for what?”

“For you, of course”

“Me?”

“You” the vampire nodded.

By this point, the vampire had reached the bottom of the staircase. Richard steeled himself, but the vampire floated straight past him, but not before sending a, “call me Edward” in his direction.  

– X –

Edward was, by all accounts, a terrible host. He left Richard standing dumbly in the entrance hall, unsure whether to follow Edward or whether to take off screaming. Eventually, predictably, he followed the vampire down the twisting, turning labyrinth of hallways and into a surprisingly cosy room. There were lit torches hung in metal brackets on the wall, the smell of burning wood hanging comfortingly in the air. In the center of the room was a plush looking velvet couch, upon which Edward was reclined, an Adonis in repose, arm slung lazily behind his head.

“Come sit”

Richard hovered in the doorway, causing Edward to roll his eyes.

“Sit with me, I don’t bite,” he said, before chuckling to himself, “although, I would, you know. If you asked me to”

“What, like you bit William Denbrough and snapped the bones in his neck like sticks?”

Edward hissed out a laugh, stretching his arms behind his head luxuriously like a cat until his back cracked loudly.

“That was entirely different. I had no intention of, uh …”

“Of what?”

“Of turning him”

“Turning him?” Richard parroted, feeling faint once more. Edward, noticing this, rose to his feet.

“I really do insist that you sit. I’ll stand by the window, you do not even have to look at me, should you choose not to”

The couch did look inviting, all soft velvet and squashy cushions, so Richard picked his way over, sitting down on the cushions cautiously, like they might jump up and savage him if he moved too quickly.

“Is there anything you would like to know?” Edward asked, voice flippant and breezy, causing Richard to splutter indignantly.

“Anything I’d like to know?!” Richard repeated, “anything I’d like to know about what? Who or what the hell it is you say you are? What I’m doing here? Why it feels like I’m going to vomit out all of my internal organs when I so much as think about leaving this place?”

“Those are all valid questions,” Edward replied lightly.

“Let’s start with the last one, because that’s the only thing keeping me from running away as fast as I can and sending the police in to arrest you for murder”

Something shot across Edward’s face, something that Richard swore looked almost like hurt, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

“Your body is, um, well. Your body is bound to mine, and always has been. For centuries, we’ve been … linked, I suppose is the best way to describe it. Linked through a metaphysical bond that I cannot even begin to explain so do not ask me to”

“But –”

“I said do not,” Edward warned. “It is far too complicated. Your body is … it knows that mine has … changed”

“Changed?”

“Changed,” Edward confirmed with one short nod. “I suppose we were supposed to be the unlucky ones, the ones destined to be born centuries apart from their partner, but … that changed. I changed”

“Oh, the whole … vampire thing”

Edward flinched. “Yes. Do please be more flippant about it, you know how that thrills me”

“I don’t know anything about you,” Richard replied petulantly, but he sank back into the couch, relishing in the feeling of being surrounded by the soft cushions.

“You will. Know anything about me, I mean. You could know everything about me, but only if you want it. Only if you want … I shan’t keep you here against your will”

“I can’t leave, I tried to, before, but I couldn’t …”

“Eventually, when we have been sharing the same space long enough, the link will allow you to leave without feeling too sick. You’ll know it, though, for the rest of your days, you will never feel pure comfort again, but you will be able to live a normal life away from here. Away from me”

“and what if, hypothetically, I don’t … I don’t leave. What happens then?”

“Ah, that’s something we’ll talk about when you’re ready, when you’ve decided. For now, we drink”

In a flash, Edward had produced two crystal glasses, and a bottle of syrupy looking red liquid. Richard, who had never been much of a fan of alcohol, took the glass from Edward gingerly.

“Is this …”

“It’s wine, Richard. Wine.”

“I knew that, I was just … checking” Richard admitted guiltily, taking a small sip of the burgundy wine. It was sweet, and tasted like blackcurrant with a woody undertone, and Richard gulped it down happily.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was so long that I have forgotten the exact length of time?”

“I suppose so”

“Well good. I do not remember when I arrived, but I remember when everybody else left”

Richard sucked in a breath, remembering the diary sitting hot and heavy in his coat pocket. “You mean the people of Krov?”

“I do. Even I, an undead creature of the night, get lonely. It is a very human emotion, loneliness”

“You’re not human”

“I was,” Edward spat back, venom dripping from the words. “I was, and I remember it so fondly, so vividly. I remember the crushing isolation, the months and months I spent without talking to another living soul that wasn’t my mother. I remember the hours I spent wishing I had a confidant, someone to share my wishes, hopes, sorrows, dreams with. And you, Richard Tozier, are that. You supposed to be that. My ally, my partner, and wish all you want that it was not be true, it will change nothing”

“So I’m your, what, your soulmate?”

Edward scoffed. “I do not believe in souls, but yes, I suppose the theory is the same”

“Only I could end up with a fucking vampire for a soulmate”

Edward hissed again, teeth bared sharp in his mouth. “I may have a heart that no longer beats in my chest but I am not immune to your barbed words, Tozier”

With that, Edward stood from where he was perched on the window sill and stalked out of the room, air buzzing in his wake.

[inikavulpixelreviews]

New Game Special: Let’s Talk About Pokemon - Sword and Shield

Just as a warning, this thinkpiece WILL contain minor to major spoilers of the newest games.

So. Sword and Shield, huh?

While the Pokemon reviews themselves might not be starting for a while just yet, I think these games and the little discourse that comes with them warrants a little “introductory” thinkpiece to drop my thoughts and hot takes out there. I've played all the way through Sword, beaten its postgame epilogue, and am currently working on a Living Galardex.

Honestly? As flawed as it is, this is the most fun I've had with Pokemon since Black and White. No way I would call it better than BW, or even my second-favorite game HGSS. But it was far more engaging than the Gen 6 games and its ideas felt like a far better way to “revitalize what is familiar” than Sun and Moon did. The Wild Area is a wonderful addition I want to see expanded on tremendously in future games. And I mean like. Almost every route should be a miniature Wild Area in and of itself.

So yeah, I've had a lot of fun with it. It's not entirely scratched the itch that I've been feeling about the Pokemon series taking a serious overhaul to its mechanics (more on that in a bit). And like I said, its flaws are very apparent. Graphically it's still not caught up to modern games, and it's still very much a Pokemon game anchored down by conventions that have been with the series since the very start. And online interactions leave a lot to be desired. The story is back to a much more simple structure, which is a shame since there's a handful of really good characters present between Bede, Hop, and even the game’s main villains that all had a lot of potential. I would love to see them in a story that was handled with the same finesse as Black and White.

But in the end? I did enjoy it quite a bit. A solid 7/10 from me. But with the little micro-review done and over with, we're gonna move onto the two bigger points I'd like to drop my thoughts on.

The Pokemon Themselves:

I mean, what else would it have been?

While Gen 8 is one I wouldn't say is in my top two favorites or anything, it's still very solid and has a lot of fun Pokemon within it. Without giving a ton away, and since I've posted this publicly already, here's a first brush tier list of what I think of em. Though Gigantamax form are missing obviously, and some Pokemon are just not here. For some reason, it's hard to find one of these tier lists with all the new Pokemon on it. Just know that Skwovet and Greedent are around C-range and Galarian Stunfisk, Darumaka, and Darmanitan would be in A.

These can change with time of course, there's quite a few Pokemon that my opinion has changed on once I've examined their design more closely. Yeah, leaning a lot more into the positive! I think Gen 7 edges out just BAAARELY ahead, but 3rd place behind the greatness of Gens 5 and 7 is not bad at all! All that really holds it back are some lackluster cover-legendaries and, tragically, the lack of any new Ultra Beasts.

Figuring out an order to cover these in is gonna be a thing. I'd rather cover new the lines in their entirety, but because some new Regional Variants evolve into entirely new Pokemon, it's puzzling to figure out where they aughta go! In the end, I might go in the order of covering Regionals with no relation to new Pokemon first, then Gigantamax forms, then go through the 810 to 890 in order, plus whatever Galarian forms are related to new Pokemon when they come around.

I’d still say reviews will likely not start until 2020. I’d obviously wanna wait until the official artwork of all the Pokemon in a decent resolution would be available, plus I’d like to put a bit of extra oomph into these reviews. I’ll save what exactly I mean by that for when I start the Gen 8 reviews proper.

But of course, Sword and Shield isn't all sunshine and rainbows. As I'm sure any Pokemon fan has heard, in the middle of this very year, Junichi Masuda himself came out on E3 with the very unfortunate announcement that Sword and Shield will be the first games in the series' long run to not feature every single Pokemon. And indeed, that this will very likely be the standard for all Pokemon games going forward, electing to chose different Pokemon that are best suited to the theme of the region, and all others will be completely incompatible. Fans didn't take this news lightly, to say the least.

And I've thought about it long and hard on my own time, occasionally listening to what others had to say about the matter. Which of course, brings me, the person who mind you hasn't bothered trading their team to the most recent games in a LONG time BUT also had their top favorite Pokemon of all time axed from the Galardex, to my own hot take, gulp:

How badly do we really need the National Dex?

Okay, before I get into it any further than that, I wanna preface this by saying if you're one of the people that are genuinely upset about the National Dex cut, I understand. If you don't think Sword and Shield are worth buying because of the National Dex cut, it's your money to do with what you please. If you think Pokemon from this point forward won't be worth playing anymore due to the possibility that it will never feature every single Pokemon ever again, I totally get it. I'd be a fool to deny that there's a lot to be upset with Gamefreak with at the moment. But I will rather boldly make the statement that, after all the consideration I've done over the last few months, the Nation Dex has been a long-running mistake that should've never happened and the very concept of having every single Pokemon in every single game should've died when Gen 2 ended.

While I have taken its presence much for granted over the years, since it had been such a matter-of-fact thing. Of course every Pokemon would be in every game, why wouldn't they be? Turns out, Gamefreak's insistence on making sure all Pokemon are present for every game could very well be a root for a good chunk of the series' problems, both in the long run and recent.

Implementing the entire Pokedex, for one, is a huge waste of resources and time. People have already proven that putting in the Pokemon themselves doesn't take too long; modders have already stuck their favorites not in SwSh into the games and they are more or less fully functioning (albeit with the need to program your own moves and stats onto them). But to take that as evidence that maintaining the Nat. Dex shouldn't be a problem would be fairly disingenuous. For every single Pokemon, form, ability, move, and whatnot that they add to the game adds to an ever-inflating problem in terms of Pokemon's scope. With how many combinations of Pokemon, moves, abilities, and held items there are, I can only imagine that making sure no catastrophic game-breaking bug is going to happen in-battle due to an extremely and stupidly specific interaction is a QA nightmare that eats up far more of the work force’s time and energy that could be better spent... literally anywhere else.

And all this for what? So that a small and ever-shrinking minority of the fanbase can fulfill the increasingly difficult if not outright impossible dream of catching them all. Especially given how many of said Pokemon are only obtainable during a limited time. Not to mention how you are required to own multiple games to catch them all at this point. And there's obviously FAR too many to reasonably pile into a single region. The other side of that particular coin is the opposite; the people that usually only bring over anywhere between 2-16 favorites. Even that, as much as it is understandable to be upset that Cacturne's biggest fan won't be able to have their favorite Pokemon in the newest game at all, is so much commitment to a relatively tiny part of the game.

...Which is a real shame, since the very existence of the Nat. Dex has only encouraged the deep rut of series stagnation the franchise has suffered. Most if not all other major RPG franchises have had the room to experiment and do major mechanical overhauls because they never have to worry about whether or not the most recent title is reliably compatible with previous entries in their respective series. Because Gamefreak has been so insistent that every Pokemon, move, ability, and item has to be present in all future games, it's lead to a bigger issue in ensuring that everything functions the same way it did in previous games (barring tiny changes made to numbers more than anything). Meaning even the most recent games in the series have been bound to game design decisions made in 1996 on the goddamn Gameboy. Because of Gamefreak adamantly making sure EVERYTHING can function in future games now and forever, the franchise has not been given the room it needs to properly evolve or have a major update to its battle mechanics. For every new major mechanic that's added to the game, they would have to go back and ensure that it works with EVERY Pokemon, their alternate forms, and whatever moves they all may learn. And all the other major mechanical features in the battles. Is it any wonder that it was only twice that an entirely new feature was added that drastically changed the way battles played out? Only twice! Once when Held Items were introduced in Gen 2 and again when Abilities were introduced in Gen 3. There's been other, comparatively tiny updates here and there (The physical/special split in Gen 4, The streamlining of the battle system and the Pokemon themselves finally being animated in Gen 5, etc.) Is it any wonder Mega Evolution only effected a select handful of Pokemon? Or that Z-moves were a feature that affected moves more than they did the Pokemon themselves?

If you chop down the number of Pokemon to say, 400 or so per game, it would be considerably more reasonable to experiment with each new title. It's disappointing that this couldn't be evident in SwSh itself (though I would attribute a lot of that game's problems to questionable mid-development decisions). I personally would just hope the backlash has them listening to the criticism but not take it so much to heart that they backpedal entirely. Otherwise we'll just wind up neck-deep in the first problem again. I really want them to commit to this because it feels like there's a golden opportunity to make a truly modernized Pokemon game.

(A bit of a side-note, but I’m also noticing that now that the Pokedex is down to a much more reasonable number, a lot of people, myself included, are actually attempting to complete Galar’s Pokedex.)

NOT TO MENTION that it'll free up opportunity to make more new Pokemon. A lot of the reason recent gens have slowed down in Pokemon numbers is simply because the the National Dex was getting too big. Now that there's no more National Dex, perhaps we can start having generations of 100+ Pokemon again? In fact, I think SwSh would've been all the better had they pulled another Gen 5 in conjunction with the natdex offing to say that Sword and Shield will ONLY have 200 or so ENTIRELY new Pokemon, and not a single returning one. Fans would've still gotten upset, but the prospect of a game with ONLY new ones in the form of a soft reboot would've gotten people excited to see a sizable generation again. It'd also have shown a bigger commitment to making up for the lack of a National Dex, even before large gameplay changes would be made. (Although again, who knows how plausible that would've been given the implications SwSh had a rocky development)

Could Gamefreak have handled this mess better? Absolutely. I love what y’all do but I’ll give brutal honesty when I feel it’s warranted; they have been ultra trash about communicating with the fans correctly. Between citing “to make high-quality animations” as a reason for the Dex cutting as if you wouldn’t have expected every single animation in the game to be under heavy scrutiny as soon as you said so. Plus rather tone-deaf responses to the backlash. Something that should’ve been communicated was a reaffirmation that this decision was made for the betterment of the series’ longevity, and that it’s a choice that would make the series better in the long run (Even then though, that sounds like admitting SwSh aren’t as good as they could’ve been. And I doubt PTC would ever let anyone at Gamefreak say anything like that.)

This next point is just a personal one more than anything, but it’s a lot better of a solution than the other thing I was fearful might happen at some point: a hard reboot on the National dex. As in, most if not ALL Pokemon get permanently booted from the series and they start over, only keeping a select few. At least with this, so long as they prioritize Pokemon that haven’t been featured in a regional dex in while, I’m all for it. Friggin CHARIZARD aside, the Galar Dex feels like it has a healthy balance of fan favorites and niche Pokemon as far as returning ones go, which is good.

And of course, the Nat Dex isn't the ONLY problems in the Pokemon franchise. For one thing, I'd love it if this annual release schedule just stopped right the hell now. It's hardly a secret that crunchtime because of Pokemon game development is a huge problem at Gamefreak, all because of decisions most likely made by Nintendo and The Pokemon Company, though I'm sure some blame can be shafted on GF upper management as well. It's literally as easy as making the supplemental media stop being so caught up in doing the exact same thing the main series is doing. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the recent anime arc being “Globetrotting with Ash” is a move to distance the anime away from the games so the two don't have to be so coincided at all times. Like, Pokemon can literally do anything and make money off it. Why arbitrarily chain down the main series to a tight one-generation-every-3-years deadline.

Also Gamefreak REALLY needs to expand its workforce. There's evidently only 150 or so employees who natively work for Gamefreak, in which they have to rely on a lot of freelance work. Even so, that's a tiny work force to be working on a game that should be, by all accounts, treated with Triple-A game quality.

And again, let me just say that as much as I genuinely believe that the removal of the National Dex will be better for the series in the long term, nobody is wrong for being upset about it, and nobody is wrong for deciding they don't see the games as worth buying anymore. It's not your fault that Gamefreak made a promise to all of its players that they wouldn't be able to keep forever. And it’s certainly understandable to be upset given the very marketing has trained us to get very emotionally invested in these fictional animals. Like, as much as I saw this day coming, my first gut reaction upon hearing the news was genuine shock. And a slight tinge of disgust that Zorua, my top favorite of all time, could very well not be in the first home console main Pokemon games. At least until I realized “oh wait, I limit myself to only using new Pokemon anyway.”

And obviously this is by no means a guarantee that Gen 9's games will feature massively sweeping changes that fix all the shortcomings of the battle mechanics and will feature the vast Breath of the Wild-esque open world experience that fans have been clamoring for and 250 new Pokemon (plus 75 regional variants!). Gamefreak has been conservative enough about Pokemon to have landed themselves in this problem in the first place. Just forgive me if I hold onto even just a little bit of cautious optimism for the next games.

[maevelin]

Despite everything that has happened with TVD, The Originals, Klaroline, and all the characters, was watching the show and getting invested in the fandom worth it? Is the fic, art, gifs, etcs worthwhile despite what the writers did?

Totally worth it! I have not regretted it even for a second and this is whyI am still part of the fandom and still write and read fanfiction and my blogstill features Klaroline so heavily.

The writers own the rights of their work and creatively they can do whateverthey want with their shows. I never objected to that. I criticized what I waswatching because I was a consumer of an entertainment product that targetedfans like me to entertain and in entertainment people have the right tocriticize any work of art that once is published should be open to criticism. And that is something that applies for every similar project. Books, movies, songs, architecture, sculptures, photography, any form of art etc.

Some people have -insanely- tried to cultivate a mentality where criticism equals hate. That came from the writers and stans and it created a toxic environment for many people to the point where people had to speak up against bullying and to defend themselves for simply liking a ship or for expressing criticism over a character or the show or a ship. At that point you should not let that kind of fuckery stand. You need to speak up. Letting others shame you or make you feel bad or censor you for simply liking something in fiction is not right.When adults and bullies target even teens and young people for liking something fictional or for not liking something fictional then you must not keep quiet. Not when we are talking about common sense and basic human decency. So I get that when this situation seems to get out of control why many would assume that I (since I can speak only for myself) would regret getting in such a fandom that is not always rainbows and roses and unicorns and sunshine. It did get out of hand (from all sides involved) but personally I have learned in my life to not let go of the things I love and like because other people are disrespectful or have lost their marbles or because hate is raging. I either focus on the positive (as I still do with Klaroline) or even if I step back I will keep the fond memories and never regret liking something that made me happy at some point of my life.

And both the show and Klaroline and certain characters at some point were making me ecstatically happy and excited and they still do since I connect with them through fanon these days. My criticism over the show had not always been negative. Sometimes (many times) my opinions were in favor of the show. People tend to focus on thenegative stuff but for three years prior to the mess the fourth season of TVDhad been (and prior to what followed after that too) I was praising the ships Iliked and the plots that intrigued me and most of all the Originals as characters.I was stanning the hell out of the show and characters I loved and I was alwayspositive and supportive even though I was still trying to give constructive criticism because I wanted the show to become better and not lose its steam. Interactive communication with the producers and writers can be tricky but it can also help them keep their shows afloat and their momentum going if they actually pay attention and connect with their audience. Shows like TVD are also commerce. It is TV. You need to see what gains traction and what the fans like. You need to balance your artistic vision with what sells. And many times when people like something very much they get passionate about it. I was passionate about TVD too. Something that I do not regret because I think that up to acertain extent it was well earned and it was something I was doing with goodwill. Nonetheless I am not a person that in any departments of my life I will fanaticallyand blindly follow something. Once the quality in TVD started deteriorating Icriticized it and when eventually TVD and its spin off became things thatoffered me no entertainment I simply stopped watching.

However the fact that the writers own the rights of the show does not changethe fact that once they publish their show and offer it to people then it doesnot solely belong to them in essence. It becomes a breathing organism thatmakes people create other things and dream and form communities and fandoms andweb circles and connections between REAL people and the writers have no power or control over that. THAT does not belong to them. So it has nothing to do with them oreven the shows after a point despite the fact that it stemmed from them and hasties with the tv universe. So there is nothing to regret for forming ties withpeople and fandoms. If it is something that makes you happy despite a show orbecause of it then it is a personal thing to do. And even if you decide todetach yourself from a show (not my case obviously) then it is still something thatinspired you at some point so it would be best in my opinion to keep the goodmemories and cherish those with no regrets.

On a personal level (when it comes to the attitude of the writers) since thedisrespect of the writers extended beyond the shows and targeted fans even on apersonal level which was bullying I spoke of it but in truth that had nothingto do with the shows but it had everything to do with the attacks some peoplebelieved had the right to do against fans and teens that their only fault waswatching their shows or/and a ship of that shows and speaking about them. The level of ingratitude and disrespect was astonishing really. Thatkind of attitude should never be tolerated. You need to speak up and not letothers drag you down no matter who the others are. Respect is everything. It isabout human decency that has nothing to do with third rate shows and cheapproduced products of light entertainment. It is as I have said before a matter of common sense andbeing a human being.

As far as the shows goes now…The fact that the quality of the writing inside the show (and I am onlytalking about TVD here because I never watched the Originals) deteriorated doesnot change the fact that once it was a show that entertained me and thatthrough the connection I had with the show and the characters and the ships Igot into a fandom from which I gained more important things than simply afavorite ship and some characters to stan. I gained memories, excitement, theability to write stories that inspire me (and work on my writing skills and the English language better), to read stories that make me dream.And aside the fun positive fandom stuff I also got to know some great people.The Klaroline fandom is basically a big community. There are bad apples in itas they exist in every community -big or small- either it is in the web or anywhere elsereally. But I do not bother with the assholes because they do not deserve my attention.And this is why I was always able to focus my attention to the positive goodhearted people that are so many and so diverse and are always so welcoming and are always sokind. The fandom for me has been a big hug in times I needed it the most. Surelythere were bad moments and haters and toxicity is the TVD/TO fandom in generaland crazy stans and every disrespectful shit the writers did -inside andunfortunately outside the narrative- but all that do not even register in comparisonwith all the brilliant and incredible people that create the Klaroline fandom(and I am speaking about the Klaroline fandom here because this is the onefandom I personally got to know in depth).

I talked with some amazing people in this fandom and I got to know them on apersonal level and I will keep my communication with them far beyond the reachof any show. I made friends which I now know some of them for almost five yearsand I am talking with them and laughing with them and sharing things andthoughts with them on a personal level aside shows and fandoms. They have comfortedme and supported me when I needed it them most and I would like to think I havedone the same with them. On the other hand I am still meeting new people fromthis fandom. Beautiful positive people and even a good word and a hello andsome common excitement over a ship and a common interest -no matter how smallor silly might seem to others- is something very very important that can makeyou smile and make your day. Especially when we are talking about introverts or shy people or people that want so much to reach out and be understood even if it is about aship or whatever else. Klaroline is just the stepping stone when it comes toconnecting with wonderful people.

That is something priceless really and this is why I would never regretwatching the show in the first place and getting into the fandom. I would do itall over again and would not change a thing. No regrets at all.

P.s: Sorry for the long winded word vomit…you are a hero if you read all that lol!

[kaileynel4-blog]

Shanti Shanti Shanti

Well my time in India is quickly coming to an end and I can’t help but reflect! This country is truly eye opening and surprised me in so many ways. I would like to say, that if you have the chance to visit India, do it!

My first few days were spent in Delhi and lucky for me I actually know a wonderful human who lives in Delhi, so I was able to crash with her for a couple days. This was the perfect way to ease into the craziness of India. All the photos, stories and crazy shit you hear about India is pretty much accurate. The traffic and driving is insane...I thought I had been prepared for it while being in Thailand but India is on a whole other level! The diverse flavors and endless supply of masala tea will keep you fat and happy. The markets are filled with soooo many beautiful sari’s and scarfs...I was in scarf heaven!! Sensory overload for the taste buds cause the food in India is BOMB.COM!! I love Indian food and think that it is surpassing my love for Thai food! Here’s a couple photos of India!

Now, it can’t all be rainbows and sunshine when traveling. I wish it was but there are ups and downs. So far on my travels, it has been pretty easy to naivatge and travel as a solo female. I take pride in the fact that I have survived this far with minimal scrapes and bruises. But India is a whole other ball game when it comes to solo traveling and being a female. Now, I am not saying anything negative towards the culture and fully understand that I am a guest in your country and respect all aspects of the diverse culture but here are a few things I have observed and learned so far. When walking around you can’t smile at everyone cause then they won’t leave you alone and potentially follow you. Unfortunately, as a female, you have to be on guard more and when in India just a little bit more than I have been used to. This was an adjustment. I have been followed, cat called, and not let walk down the road without hackling me to come into their shop, even when I politely say “no thank you”. These may seem like minimal things and can happen to you whereever you go but it just seemed a little more intense here. The navigation of this country is not like Thailand. Thailand and Cambodia are a breeze in comparison to figuring out the transportation here. Usually when backpacking you can ask the front desk at your hostel to arrange your transportation to the next destination. India is not so...well at least the places I went to. This is a true traveling experience for me. Figuring out that going to the train station and buying your ticket is not easy and that they may accidentally give you the wrong ticket or that the bus driver really doesnt like it when you bring a beer onto a 12 hour bus journey....I mean, most countries probably don’t like that haha the lesson I have learned overal is acceptance. This is the phone home message that I want to get across. I have ran into slightly scary situations, been angry that people won’t stop asking me to buy things from their shop or that they are obviously ripping me off cause I am a foreigner. But accepting the situation and choosing to process it in a positive manner is what I have learned. Holding grudges or continuing to be angry at a situation is not going to get you anywhere...maybe just a little bit more bitter and a little bit more of shoving that stick up your ass. So here’s my challenge to you, focus on acceptance. Bring balance to your life and try to just accept the situation. You don’t know where the person is coming from, their back ground, how long they may have been away from their families just trying to make ends meet, or that shit just happens and you have to roll with it. Here is a lovely store owner that read my aura in Udaipur and a super nice college student that helped me navigate the train system. She also drew me a beautiful mandala bookmark! I have met many amazing people in India that just want to sit down over a cup of chai tea and chat about life. This is my favorite part about India and one that I will hold dearly to my heart.

Yoga...I have been living and breathing all things yoga (and a little bit of beach life) the past month. Learning about the different positions, anatomy and philosophy of yoga. It has truly been a month that I will never forget. Yoga is not just about flexiblity, that is actually the smallest aspect to yoga. The culture behind it is diverse, accepting, inspiring and deep as shit. If anyone is ever interested in yoga but feels intimidated by it cause they aren’t flexible, do not worry about that. The beautiful thing about yoga is that it’s about you. Its your journey to find that inner balance in life and truly figure out how you can clear your mind. This has been the hardest thing for me. Meditation is no joke and I suck at it. Like truly can’t do it. This is all part of yoga too. It is something that I have to work on and accept that over time it will come. Now without getting to yoga intense on you, here’s the last positive point I want to make...find your balance. I am all about balance and it’s true in my nature to seek it. So if you are stressed in life, figure out why and find the balance of managing it that works for you. If you are depressed or continually sad, find the thing that will balance you out and bring you up. My balance is yoga and it has helped me calm down when things get to be too much and it’s also the thing that can level me up and bring energy to my day. So sit back and reflect upon yourself...think about how you are feeling and what type of changes or tweaks you want to make to find that balance in your life to be truly your best self and then of course do it!

Now on a slightly lighter note, I would like to say, I love you, to my parents. Thank you for continuing to support me, store all my shit even though you hate doing it and please continue to struggle at using the video chat. It is hilarious and I love that I stare up your noses every time we chat.

Share some extra love to those in your life today and be thankful to have them!

Cheers and see you Oregonians in 2 months!

Oh and look up what shanti shanti shanti means :)

[fashiontrendin-blog]

A Chronicle of All the Fashion Shows I Saw, Missed and Loved

http://fashion-trendin.com/a-chronicle-of-all-the-fashion-shows-i-saw-missed-and-loved/

A Chronicle of All the Fashion Shows I Saw, Missed and Loved

I’ve tempted fate one too many times during past fashion weeks and skinned a few too many of my teeth in the almost-late process. It finally caught up with me. On the rainy morning of Monday, September 10th, late to Wes Gordon’s debut at Carolina Herrera and got locked out of the show.

I was pissed. The show was at the New York Historical Society, which I wanted to see the inside of. On top of that, I’d planned to cover Carolina Herrera, and not being there in person to experience the lights and the sound and the general ambiance made me nervous I’d have no real feelings about it.

Turns out I am the rainbow cake girl from Mean Girls this week, because I had plenty of feelings about it, and about a few other shows I didn’t actually attend…and I managed to save some for the shows I did sit at! Details below.

Monday, 10 a.m.

Carolina Herrera Spring 2019

I look at fashion shows the way I read magazines: back to front. So when I got to the office after my commute of shame and opened Vogue.com, my first impression of Wes Gordon’s Carolina Herrera really started with look #43: a four-tone stripe tent (compliment) with an off-the-shoulder ruffle and a flower exploding its own petals in a fit of “loves me, loves me not.” Then came look #40, with a curved arc up toward the clavicle and molten sunshine satin fabric melting below. As the collection subdued, ever so slightly, toward the technical front, I imagined a Carolina fan in the audience’s excitement growing as she liked what she saw — especially, unexpectedly, the knee-high boots with embroidered flowers — but had no idea what to expect next. We’d meet somewhere in the middle, around look #24, perhaps, lock eyes at the marigold gown covered in a leopard-spot-print of red flowers, simultaneously register our appreciating for the menswear-esque top’s silhouette (a nod, maybe, to her classic white shirt-plus-ball-skirt combination) and proclaim together, “Yes!”

Wes’s version of Carolina no doubt leans a just a little bit younger (the blazer-coats, the shorts, the mini skirts) but if youthfulness is a state of mind and the numbers are just for candle-adorning purposes, than these clothes are for his customers of all ages. I think they’re going to be very excited.

11 a.m. – 3 p.m.

I’m at the office. I write some emails, eat a kale-bowl thingy with sweet potato hash and a poached egg, drink half an ice coffee, attend a short meeting, do some work-work, and then OFF I DASH, en foot, to 3.1 Phillip Lim, located in a high school about a 15-minute walk from our office.

3 p.m.

3.1 Phillip Lim Spring 2019

We’re on the roof of a high school, which is giving me flashbacks, and reminding me that everyone, including another Philip (Philip Ellis), has been telling me to watch To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. It’s my main plan for this evening.

And now, a two-sentence review of Phillip Lim: The slight drizzle that steadied during Phillip Lim’s Spring 2019 collection was weirdly perfect given that he’s going one step past the bucket hat and full-on into fisherman headgear. As for the clothes, they’re perfect for a summer city staycation, but they wouldn’t mind if you brought them (the silver coat in particular) to Burning Man.

4 – 7 p.m., back to the office

Hello! Here I am, back in the saddle. I picked up a weird salad on my way back from Lim. It was weird because it was more bacon than lettuce, so also kind of a blessing. I can’t focus on work yet, so I use this time to catch up on Rodarte and Chromat online.

Set in a graveyard on a rainy Sunday, Rodarte’s Spring collection show looks like it would have given me goosebumps had I been there in person. There was a beautiful, romantic melancholia to the whole production that carried over into the photos (either everyone who posted on Instagram caught the hazy effect of light and water just so, or there’s a new Huji in town), but pulled away from the wonderful drama, I could see any of these pieces worn by the happiest of person, like a bride, on the happiest of days, like a wedding — or an attention-grabbing attendee! Or someone very excited to pick up their unicorn’s groceries. Either way, it was a lesson in pure candy fantasy. And a really nice work break.

Out of the woods and into the water: Chromat. In addition to her fantastic casting that, season after season, proves to the industry there are 8 million ways to be beautiful and make clothes look aspirational, she turned the self-conscious coverup beach tee on its head, then soaked it in water, confidence and sex appeal. She told Vogue it was a reimagining of “throwing a ginormous shirt over your swimsuit at the pool because you’re too embarrassed to be seen … to take that moment of vulnerability and make it something to be proud of.” If you’ve ever wondered what the “point” of a runway show is, I’d say Becca’s makes the case for the importance of a stage.

7 – 11 p.m.

Home to watch To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before and eat pizza from this gluten-free pizza place called Wild. The pizza is AN HOUR AND A HALF LATE (way worse than my timing to Carolina, okay) and I’m starving so I eat an entire bag of full-gluten everything bagel chips. The movie is perfect. I, like every other person on this planet apparently, am in love with Noah Centineo.

Tuesday, 6:30 a.m.

Oh look, it’s morning! Nothing to see here folks, other than my Artist’s Way morning pages, 15 minutes of not very good meditation, teeth brushing, varied attempts at writing a few stories I have do (writer’s block has been at an all-time high this week, bad timing) and other general boring morning stuff.

At 9:55 I haul ass to the 1 train, stand too close to the platform because I’m impatient and can’t get it out of my body that leaning into the dark abyss won’t make the train come, when a woman I don’t know gently scolds me (lovingly, or as much as a stranger can muster) for doing so. She’s right, though! I vow to be a changed woman.

10 a.m.

Oscar de la Renta Spring 2019

Time for Oscar de la Renta, which was partially a lesson in How to Look Really Chic While You Travel (with a blanket and socks in your carryon if you get cold), but largely a reminder that glamour is alive and well — or it could be if we all stopped wearing workout clothes to dinner and spent more time inside the heads of Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia. Their take on Oscar de la Renta this round isn’t 100% what I associate the house with, and from watching Monse a few days earlier, it’s clear they’re two designers who are growing and changing. But that’s what fashion is about, right? And how boring would it be if all they did was the same old thing?

Some of the dresses were so dramatic that I almost felt redeemed for missing Carolina yesterday (I’m not going to Paris, so this is just in case there’s a glamour quota I was supposed to be hitting during fashion week). Also alive and well, I am so happy to say, are little straw hats for your little square handbags, and flat sandals with raffia fringe all around, like that of a deconstructed straw hat brim. Shuffle, shuffle.

Now off I go, to the 1 train, back home.

11:30 a.m.

I’m eating last night’s leftover pizza and chugging water while working. Get lost in an email black hole. And then, like it’s groundhog day, I leave my apartment, get back on the 1 train, get off at the same stop, and head to the same studio that Oscar was in, this time for Tome.

1 p.m.

To quote our one-sentence review (which, don’t forget, has its own Highlight on our Instagram!) of Tome: “Dip-dyed and faded sherbert-colored happy sunny sweet breeze clothes to combat a rainy mood, or, to dream about for next summer.” Okay I’ll take it.

2 – 3 p.m.

I have traveled far and wide to reach these parts by subway and my feet hurt. These old boots are not (here comes a joke you’ve never heard before) made for walking. I’m sitting at Coach and thrilled that the bench is a little too high, so my feet are dangling. It feels like sweet relief and makes me think of T. Wise’s bit about dangling feet:

“This obviously makes me think that it doesn’t matter how big or grown or serious a person might be: If they sit in a place where their feet don’t touch the floor, they look absolutely adorable. There are no exceptions to this rule: Football players, supermodels, soldiers, reverends, rappers, I don’t care. Adorable.”

I couldn’t see so well from my seat, but upon close online review, I’d call the collection a cross between West World meets your favorite childhood cartoons that says “PrairieCore isn’t going anywhere, but it might get a lot less sweet and a little more everyday-vampire.”

4 p.m.

They gave us popsicles after the show. I eat mine on the subway ride home, change into sweatpants upon arrival, clean up my apartment that got weirdly messy out of nowhere, and start writing all of this.

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Feature image by Slaven Vlasic/Getty Images for NYFW: The Shows. Photos via Amelia Diamond.