#and then collected photos from i’d taken from throughout my whole life

[ghoulfr13nd]

i finished a project about this recently but the more i think about it and the more i live my life, the more i see life and love as a garden. its something you have to tend to. its something that isn’t always pretty. sometimes you have to dig into soil, you have to get your hands dirty. sometimes you have to fertilize the earth with manure. but you’ll produce such a beautiful harvest by doing so.

and if your plants don’t grow despite your hard work, you pull them out and plant something new, that will flourish in your sunlight and soil composition and seasonal temperatures. you don’t keep watering dead plants.

[silvysartfulness]

I've gotten a whole bunch of new followers since I started making The Untamed content about a year ago, and I think it may be a good time to introduce myself and this blog to the newcomers.

Hi! ♥

I'm glad you find this chaotic mess entertaining enough to want to stick around!

That said, if you don't feel comfortable with who I am and/or what I post, just unfollow at any time, no explanations needed.

I'm Silvy, I'm a Fandom Old, 40+, and have been involved in online fandom since the late 90ies.

I'm neurodivergent, Aspie/ADHD and some spare change. I hyperfocus on things, and love to analyze fictional characters and tropes, especially things to do with the messiness and complexities of human nature and emotion. At the moment, as should be obvious, I live in the The Untamed universe, especially the Yi City corner. (You don't get emotions much messier and more complex than that!)

I have always been fascinated by ”villains” - the people who don't act like others do, who are different, and who hurt people, sometimes without meaning to. (Sometimes very much meaning to.)

I love redemption arcs. I've grown to realize there's a this recent phenomenon happening online where people claim certain fictional characters don't ”deserve” them. I think that's utter bullshit, and an extremely negative and destructive mindset to have. People should always have the chance to change and do better. Everyone makes mistakes. Some worse than others. But while no one ”deserves” forgiveness, unless it's freely given, everyone should have the chance to change, move on and be better.

I have always been fascinated by fiction as a medium to explore the messiness of humanity. Of how people hurt each other and heal each other and grow either way. The mess of who people end up loving, or hating, or - bittersweetly - both at once. In my opinion, that is the very purpose of fiction – the mirror held up to explore our own humanity, without suffering any of the negative consequences of reality. Yes, that includes the really problematic stuff. Yes, all the problematic stuff. Fiction is not reality.

I have 100% understanding for people who don't want to watch or read certain things – don't self-harm by engaging with content and creators that makes you angry and upset! I also have 0% patience with people demanding others conform to their particular standards of purity. It's everyone's responsibility to curate their own online experience. Haters will be blocked.

I'm queer (no, queer is not a slur.) Non-straight, asexual, married to another woman for 6 years now. I'd say a majority of my best friends are trans or otherwise non-cis. If you’re cis and find trans/non-binary/intersex/non-gender conforming etc people strange and frightening, by all means – stick around! I reblog quite a lot of trans-positive content. Maybe it'll offer insights! Any TERF-rhethoric will be blocked and shut down on sight, though. This is a safe space.

I'm Swedish. Socialism works. Just saying. 👍

These are simple facts – if any of the above is a dealbreaker, just click unfollow and everyone will probably be happier in the long run. :)

The less problematic stuff: I'm a professional illustrator, though currently on more or less permanent sick leave. Despite sometimes crippling social anxiety, I also ended up teaching art classes - Life Drawing and Concept Art - at the local university, and was often told I was one of their most popular and well-liked guest teachers. I'm self-taught as a writer, though I am a sponge when it comes to prose and language, so for any skills I have picked up over the years, I can only thank those whose works I have read throughout my life.

I like trying my hand at most creative crafts; painting, woodcarving, glasspainting, pewter pouring, looking to try out resins soon maybe..? I take tons upon tons of pictures. If you know me better, you have probably been exposed to my random ”Look at pretty thing X I saw today!” photo-assault. (It's a love language. ♥)

I used to study archaeology at university for years, before sidling over into a creative career as a museum-illustrator, and then onward to other projects from there. It's amazing what a 100.000+ year view on humanity will do for your sense of perspective! People are people. People have always been people. We are all one people - and diversity in culture, ethnicity and language is one of the most beautiful arts of our human race. Our differences and samenesses always to be equally celebrated. (Now if we could only get better at looking back and learn from previous civilizations' mistakes so we'd stop repeating them...)

I like cats. And betta fish. And purple roses (I used to collect purple rose cultivars, before I got too fatigued to be able to take care of my garden properly. Some still live! Rhapsody In Blue is a trooper, if you want a really hardy purple rose! They can even live in pots, if you don't have a garden.)

(See, I told you I could never resist a chance to share a photo...)

I am very, very forgetful. I got my neurodivergence diagnoses very late in life, and by then my brain was so burned out, it's permanently damaged. Fatigue, memory problems and concentration issues are things I always struggle with. If I ghost you, it's not because I'm upset or dislike you – I either missed your message, or forgot about it, or just didn’t know what to say. I'm sorry. I'm trying my best. ♥

I believe in kindness.

I try to be kind and understanding, and meet others with patience. It's taken me a lifetime fraught with generous amounts of trauma to learn to feel strong, comfortable and mostly at peace with myself, and I have very little interest in conflict or drama.

That's about it, Silvy all summed up.

Wishing all you a happy weekend!

[softboywriting]

Welcome To The Pack | Mendes Triplets Series | Part Seven

Summary: You’re a human who has moved in with the Mendes triplets as their newest housemate. You’ll have to learn to navigate life with werewolves, college classes, and your feelings for each guy. [fluff] [tattoos/piercings]

Word Count: 2.2k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Peter walks around the house gathering laundry. You and the boys have a set schedule for who does what chores and makes dinner throughout the week. Wednesday is laundry day for Peter. If he doesn't have enough to preoccupy the washer for the day he will collect everyone else's and do it too.

"Hey, got anything you need washed?" Peter asks from your bedroom doorway, basket propped out on his hip. There's a small tattoo on his inner bicep that you can't recall ever noticing before.

"No, I don't. I tossed all my bath towels and stuff down the chute yesterday." You get up and cross the room to grab one of Shawn's hoodies that is laying on your chair. "I have this, but I don't know if it needs washed. Shawn left it in here the other night."

Peter holds the basket out and you drop it in. "What was he in here for?"

"Watching TV. His remote broke and he needs another one." You shake your head. "I think he stepped on it or something."

"Sounds like Shawn."

"Yeah," you chuckle and touch his arm. "When did you get that?"

"The swallow?" He asks, looking down to the small bird on his arm. "About a year ago."

"I never noticed it. It's nice."

"It's our thing." He smiles. "Shawn's got the one on his hand y'know?"

"Yeah! It is the same huh?"

"Exact same. Raul is getting his this week. He has been trying to decide where to get it forever."

"Oh, that'll be fun. Where did he decide on?"

"Ribcage just under his heart. They're a reminder that we're always going to be each other's home even when we fight and want to wring each other's necks. Because the swallow represents love, family and loyalty."

You smile and nod. "That's sweet. I wish I had something that special."

"You do." Peter runs a hand over his hair. "You're part of this pack."

"While I'm here. One day I'll move out though. Besides, I'm not a wolf, and I'm definitely not blood related."

"You're pack forever. You belong here, with us. We don't just call anyone our packmate. You've left your mark on us as much as we have on you." Peter shift the basket on his hip and pushes his glasses up. "I don't want you to leave."

"I'm not. Not anytime soon." You put your hand on his shoulder. "I promise I won't leave you Peter."

"Good." He grins. "Now follow me, I've got a dryer warm sweatshirt for you if you like."

"A man after my heart."

He shows his fangs, nose scrunching up and lip curling as he lets out a growl. "Definitely. I'm gonna eat it up. Don't you know I'm a wolf?"

"It's all yours." You laugh and he laughs too. It was a joke but...it almost felt like it wasn't. You do truly care for Peter. _____________________

"What are you doing after class?" Raul asks as he steals your french fries at lunch. He's taken you to the diner down the street from the campus for a quick bite. The boys won't let you go anywhere alone after the nightshade incident. Peter is working on getting cameras for the house to detect any further attacks.

"Homework."

"Do you want to go somewhere with me?"

"I'm somewhere now?" You swat his hand away from your fries so you can actually eat some.

Raul disregards your swatting and grabs a handful quickly. "I mean somewhere else dipshit."

"Dipshit? How kind of you. Makes me definitely want to go somewhere else with you."

Raul pinches the bridge of his nose and growls. "Sorry, sorry. I...I'm nervous?"

You raise your eyebrows. Raul, admitting he has emotions other than indifference? Shocker. "About what?"

"My tattoo. I'm getting-"

"The swallow right? Peter told me."

"Yeah."

"You're nervous about getting a tattoo? But don't you have others?"

Raul nods and lifts his jacket sleeve up, revealing the sleeve tattoo you knew was there from the first time you met him. It's a silhouetted forest with the moon shining through the trees and it wraps around his whole arm, the sky decorated with swirls of stars and hues of blue and purple. It's beautiful. You wish you saw it more often, or you could just take the time to really study it. It’s like a painting on his body. Beautiful.

"Isn't that way more painful than a simple swallow?"

"Yeah...but...I sort of got really wasted while I had this one done. I wasn't going to survive hours on end of needle work on my arm sober." Raul tugs his sleeve back down and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't want to do that again either. I don't like myself when I'm drunk."

"So you want me to go with you?"

"Mmhmm. Peter and Shawn are gonna go too, but I thought I'd invite you along. They say the rib cage is painful to get tattooed but it's the only place I want the swallow.”

"Aren't werewolves supposed to be really tough?"

Raul gives you a look. "I have feelings. Things do hurt me still. I'm not superhuman."

"Maybe if you showed those feelings more often I wouldn't think you're different."

"Maybe if people didn't turn on me I would."

You frown, eyes meeting his. "I don't know who's hurt you or what they did but I swear not everyone is like that. I like you Raul, somehow, I do. But you gotta open up."

He growls, holding his head in his hands. "It's hard. Just...can we stop talking about this? I don't want therapy. Are you coming with me to get the tattoo or not?"

"Yes."

"Good. Thank you."

_____________________

Going to the tattoo and piercings place turns into a fiasco. Of course Raul has his appointment scheduled to do the swallow, but his brothers seem to have other plans while you're all there. Shawn doesn't surprise you when he starts looking at the tattoo wall, oohing and awing over several very complicated designs. But Peter looking at the piercings does surprise you.

Raul gets set up in his chair, opting for one that's in the main room instead of a private area. The show off. You walk around and look at all the different stuff the shop does. Everything from first time ear piercings for little kids to photos of detailed tattoos the artists on staff have done. There is one photo on the wall you find familiar. It's Raul's arm, his sleeve tattoo. It's beautiful even in the photo.

Peter chats with a staff member nearby and you walk over to see what he's up to. He is standing at a glass case with several piercings demonstrated on foam models in it. "So it's just in and out then?"

"Yes, nose piercing is very quick." The staff member says smiling softly. She's a tiny little woman, but her blue mohawk makes her look bigger. "I don't have any appointments right now, if you wanna get one I'd be happy to help."

Peter looks to you sheepishly. "Should I get one?"

"Why not? But also, why?" You laugh, looking down at the selection of studs in the case.

"I don't know. Raul and Shawn have so many tattoos and piercings...maybe I could too?"

You lay your hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to be like your brothers. Don't feel like you have to do it just to fit in."

"I know." Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Maybe just my ears? Or one ear? I want to be different. I'm just Peter y'know?"

"Yes, you're Peter." You chuckle. "And for what it's worth I like you just how you are. But if you want to get a piercing because you actually would like it, then go for it. Don't do it just because your brothers have."

"I'll think about it." Peter looks over to where Raul is pulling his shirt off. "Raul looks like he's about to get started. He'll want you there."

"He will?"

"Yeah. Trust me, he's going to cry and he's going to want someone who isn't his brother to hold his hand."

You raise your eyebrows. "Raul?That Raul?"

"Yep. Go on. I'll talk to Shawn about the piercing thing."

You wander over toward Raul and take a seat on a rolling stool on his right side. The artists gets his tools ready and preps Raul's rib cage. Hopefully this won't take long.

The moment the needle gun hits Raul's skin he's baring his fangs, eyes changing to a deep gold color. He has one arm up around the head of the slightly reclined chair for a better angle for the artist. With his other arm he grips the soft cushion of the armrest and you worry about the artists safety as time ticks by..

"Raul, hey," you lay your hand on his arm after a few minutes and he tears his eyes away from the ceiling to look at you. "Relax, take a deep breath."

"I can't," he groans. "I can't or he'll mess up."

The artist pulls back and gives Raul a moment to breath. "Take your time," he says coolly.

Raul has tears in his eyes as he says, "Alright I'm ready, go again." He's most definitely not ready because he rips the arm of the chair up and the artist has to stop to assess the damage.

"We'll cover the repair cost." You say quickly and you take Raul's hand in yours.

"Keep going," Raul growls, breathing heavily before the artist goes back in.

"Please don't rip my arm off," you say half jokingly and Raul shakes his head.

Ten minutes of agonizing silence passes. You just keep holding Raul’s hand and he grinds his teeth. "Maybe if we talked it'd go faster?"

"Can't talk much though. Breathing is hard."

"Okay, okay." You wiggle your fingers against his hand, his death grip absolutely killing you. "I'll talk?"

"Sure, or you can...fuck...can you put your hand in my hair?" He lets out a groan as the artist takes a break to let him breath. "I like my hair played with, it's calming. Please?"

You tentatively reach for his hair with your free hand, fingers carding gently through it. His hair is so dark, at least a few shades darker than Peter and Shawn's. It's thick and soft, no product in it today for sure.

Raul barely flinches when the artist starts to work again. He has his eyes closed, hand gripped tight in yours. "Don't stop," he mutters when you pull your fingers out of his hair. He opens his eyes and they're pure golden brown, like rich honey, and he stares at you, eyes half lidded.

"I wasn't going to," you mutter, eyes going to his lips. They're so soft looking, a little pink and puffy from him chewing on them due to nerves. Your heart skips, the thought of kissing him is suddenly so tempting.

"Keep talking."

"Okay. Your eyes are very pretty like this." He smiles, full on smiles like a bashfully shy boy talking to his crush. "You're doing really well."

"Mmm."

"I think you're almost done." You look down at the artist and he's working on the tail of the bird.

"Your eyes are pretty too."

"Oh yeah? You never showed me what you painted with the color of them."

"Not done."

"Ohh. I see, it's a big project then?" You flex your fingers in his hair. "I bet it'll be incredible. I know you said you don't like when I tell you how good your art is, but it is so good. I love the roses, I hung it in my room."

"Thank you." He groans as the artist finishes and pulls away.

You wipe his cheek and he relaxes, lowering his arm from over his head. "I'm glad I could help."

"I thought you two were going to start making out at one point." Shawn says from a seat behind you.

You turn and he's got his head to the side, laying against a reclined chair while the girl with the blue mo-hawk from earlier is setting up a tray with implements beside him. "You jealous?" You ask jokingly.

"If I was?" Shawn quips.

"Then I guess you'd have to suffer."

Shawn puts his hand over his heart. "You wound me."

"Oh psh."

Peter walks out of a back area and you see him holding a cloth to his face.

"What'd you do Peter?" Raul asks, standing up and gently putting his sweater on.

"Oh shit he did it." Shawn says with a laugh.

Peter gets closer and pulls the cloth away to reveal a black stud in the lower left part of his lip. "What do you think?"

You cover your mouth and let out a giggle. "Its so-"

"Damn Peter." Raul laughs, hand coming down on his brothers shoulder. "Didn't think you had the balls."

Peter shrugs. "I gotta do something crazy some time right?"

"It's nice." You smile, stepping closer and looking at the tiny stud. "I definitely wouldn't have the guts to do it."

"Maybe someday we could get you to get something though," he smiles.

Shawn reaches out for you, flexing his hand. "Hold my hand?"

You take it and he squeezes it while he gets cartilage pierced. You laugh as he groans, grinning into the pain while the employee works quickly to get a stud in. Shawn is such a weirdo. A simple outing turned into such an event. These boys will be the death of you.

———–

End Part Seven

———-

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. Next part coming soon! - A

Custom header per part made by the incredible delicateshawn

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[superman86to99]

Action Comics #692 (October 1993)

In this issue: Superman goes to the doctor and finds out why he's not dead anymore! But, before that, he's clearing some of the debris left by his fight with Doomsday when he finds... Clark Kent? Lois Lane is very happy to see Clark again, but Superman himself doesn't look very thrilled in these panels.

Turns out Clark wasn't dead as everyone believed, he was simply trapped in the basement of a collapsed building! The basement happened to equipped with plenty of food and gym equipment (explaining why he's still jacked, like Superman), but unfortunately not a single pair of scissors (explaining why his hair is now long, like Superman's).

Later, Superman bumps into Lex Luthor Jr., who demands to know where Supergirl is, but Superman gives him the runaround. Hmm, where could Superman's good friend who can change shape and pretend to be other people be? Anyway, Superman then meets Lois and Clark and... holy crap! Mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent is secretly Supergirl!

So yeah, Supergirl pretended to be Clark for a while just so he and Superman would be seen together and no one would question why both are suddenly alive again. Then Supergirl leaves and we move on to the second dilemma solved in this issue: How the hell is Superman alive again? To address that question, supernatural DC character (and fellow Jerry Siegel/Joe Shuster creation) Doctor Occult appears out of nowhere and rudely teleports Lois and Clark to a black void, where he replays moments from Superman's life... and death.

Occult explains that Doomsday DID punch Superman's spirit out of his body, but there was still solar energy keeping the body just barely alive. Superman's ghost ended up stuck between the living and the dead, attracting some nasty soul-eating demons. Fortunately, Pa Kent happened to be dying of a heart attack at the same time, so he and Superman teamed up to fight off the demons (as seen in Adventures #500). Superman’s soul returned to his near-corpse, which was taken to the Fortress of Solitude by the Eradicator and lovingly nursed back into health. (Okay, more like “coldly,” but you can’t argue with the results.)

Anyway, the point is that Superman's resurrection happened due to a convoluted series of events that could never be repeated, unless someone's willing to sneak behind Pa Kent and blow an airhorn in his ear or something. As the mystical exposition dump ends, Occult teleports Lois and Clark to Smallville, and the issue ends with the Kents finally reuniting. A tender moment...

...until two seconds later, when Ma smacks Clark in the back of the head for taking two whole issues to come see them (or that’s what I’d do).

Plotline-Watch:

Doctor Occult reveals that the moment when Bibbo shocked Superman’s body with a hyper-charged defibrillator in Adventures #498 actually helped keep him alive. Once again, Bibbo is the real hero of this saga.

Supergirl has a lot of experience posing as Clark, since she was stuck in that form between 1989 and 1992. That was also her in the only other photo of Superman and Clark together, taken in Superman #34.

While Superman is being interviewed by a news crew after rescuing "Clark", that lawyer from Action #689 barges in and demands that they stop calling Superman Superman, since that name is now trademarked by Superboy's manager. Damn, maybe he's gonna have to start calling himself "Supreme" or something?

Aww, Lex is happy to see Superman again. Sure, it's only because he wants to be the one to kill him, but still.

S.T.A.R. Labs is examining the Eradicator's corpse when they realize he's alive! Sort of. Later, Doctor Occult remarks that the Eradicator sacrificed himself "in mind, if not in body". Hmm. The doctors overseeing his condition are Kitty Faulkner, who can turn into an orange She-Hulk called Rampage after a workplace mishap, and a new character called David Connors, the only S.T.A.R. employee without superpowers. So far.

The JLA returns from the little space vacation the Cyborg sent them on, and we get the first instance in all of comics of Guy Gardner admitting he was wrong. Character growth! Don Sparrow says: “Nice to see some follow-up to the characters around the DCU and how they react to Superman’s return. No mention of the fact that they got suckered into a mission into space that went nowhere.”

When Doctor Occult shows up, Superman is like "aw, not this guy again!", referencing that classic tale of Superman's first encounter with the supernatural... which hasn't come out yet. Don: “It’s a neat forward call-back (is that a thing?) when Superman references his first encounter with Doctor Occult, given that we won’t see it happen until 1995, when DC does a line-wide ‘Year One’ series of stories. And wouldn’t you know it, that story is written by none other than Roger Stern (and even involves tentacles, as in the thumbnail image)!” #rogersternplaysthelonggame

Don Sparrow's section, on the other hand, can be read NOW, after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We open with the cover, and it’s one of the top ten best of this era, for sure.  Drawn by Kerry Gammill and Butch Guice, DC used this drawing on the “Return of Superman” cards.  I tend to favour simpler, iconic covers, even when they don’t necessarily represent the story within, but in this case, it’s showing exactly what the heart of the story is about: Clark Kent is back. 

Inside, we open with a full page splash of Superman’s shield, through tons of rubble, and it’s a great image, but without the face, it allows us to focus on the title of the story, a callback to the speech introduction of the old Fleischer Cartoons.

I don’t know if it’s from the writing, or the artist, but Action Comics has always seemed the most romantic of the Super-titles, and this one is no exception, as Clark and Lois have their hands all over each other for basically the whole comic. While it is a bit weird to remember that it isn’t Clark that Lois is caressing (more on that in a bit) in the early part of the story, it always feels intimate and romantic more than it feels graphic or titillating.  A tricky balance that this team pulls off well, particularly in their “reunion” on page 3. [Max: Every time I read this issue I think it’s Martian Manhunter posing as Clark and when they start flirting I’m like “ew”. Then I remember who it is and I’m like “nice”.]

I always enjoy seeing Superman flying upside-down, which I consider to be a Byrne innovation—I don’t remember him doing it pre-Crisis. It always seems so joyful and carefree, and it’s nice to see Superman savouring his powers. 

Jackson Guice uses tone very well in the scenes with Lex Luthor II in his aviators, and I quite like the sense of motion to Superman’s pose as he approaches the helicopter—almost like he’s swimming in the sky rather than floating.

It’s a good drawing of the Eradicator getting the post-Hoth Luke Skywalker treatment, with David Connor and Kitty Faulkner getting an eyeful.  My copy has a slight colouring error that makes it look like the Eradicator is awake in the tank, even though he’s supposed to be catatonic. [Max: Still looks like that in the collections. Maybe he’s one of those people who sleep with their eyes open?]

Superman embracing Lois after the ruse of “Clark Kent” is very cutely drawn, as is the Ghost-like backward embrace on the following page.  

The entire sequence replaying Superman’s death and rebirth is drawn well throughout, especially the dreamlike staging, and the darkness as Lois knocks the flashlight away.  It’s also moving that Superman can see the heroic lengths that Bibbo went to try to save him once Superman succumbed to his injuries.  

Lastly, it was wonderful to see Clark reunited physically with Ma and Pa, especially with the nice touch of the poem by DH Lawrence as the only narration.  Stern was always the best at referencing secondary texts in his stories, and it’s well used here.

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

Is it me, or is Matrix/Supergirl a little too into this Clark Kent act?  I get that making their performances light and funny keep it from seemingly overtly dishonest, but “Clark” is pretty tender in these scenes. Lois does a good job of playing along, but it’s hard for me to fully forget that all this canoodling is actually with Supergirl.  So as a helpful tool, I created these graphics: [Max: Nice.]

It was cool that Lois specifically mentioned that Jimmy got a shot of the returned Clark Kent next to Superman, I always like it when that can happen.

In previous posts, I’ve talked about how creepy it is that Luthor has a sexual relationship with Supergirl/Matrix, when she is in so many ways (mainly mentally) a child, and I can’t help but read the scene where Lois chooses Superman over “Clark” this way.  The laughing and clapping has a whole different feel if you think of her as mentally diminished somewhat.  

So it’s not exactly a continuity error that Clark says on page 13 that he has to call Ma and Pa to let them know that “Clark” is alright (even though he already called them in a previous issue).  It could be that they want to tell the Kents the cover story of Clark’s return has now taken place, and they can act like their son is alive again when they go to the corner store, etc. [Max: Yeah, that’s how I took it. It would be awkward if their neighbors saw them all cheerful while their son is still “dead”.]

 I like to imagine that Dr. Occult looks and sounds like Robert Stack. [Max: It’s impossible for me to hear him as anyone other than Humphrey Bogart after Lois calls him “Sam Spade”.]

We’ve mentioned previously Jackson Guice’s tendency to use photo reference for his characters.  In this issue, Superman looks a lot like Jason Patric to me, who would have made a pretty great Superman had there been movies being made in this time.

I also appreciated this issue explaining both the physical and metaphysical reasons Superman was able to return—and that there’s no back door to the story—if Superman ever died again, he would be unable to return.  

[swiftiesimonriley]

dark passenger

pairing: stenbrough warning: murder, breif mentions of past abuse and drug use summary: stanley uris has it all. a gorgeous boyfriend, a beautiful view of the atlantic, and his dream job of blood splatter analysist. he’s made a name for himself by helping to put away some of miami’s most deadly serial killers, but what his colleagues might never crack is that he is the most dangerous one of them all. a/n: the dexter! au is here!! let me know if you wanna be tagged!

"Please, please you don't have to do this!" A woman yells out, her cries falling on deaf ears throughout her large home.

Her husband left the night before for a business trip, leaving her alone for the weekend. The last thing she remembers was coming home from work and placing her purse down before the world went black.

She tries to pull against her restraints, to her what looked like plastic wrap, which tie around her chest, legs and lower stomach, binding her to her dining room table. A strap of plastic wrap keeps her head still on the table, only being able to use her eyes to look around her grand dining room.

Whoever was doing this to her covered her whole dining room in the plastic, leaving no inch uncovered.

The sound of heavy footsteps startles the woman, her heart rate accelerating as the figure gets closer.

"Please, I'll do anything! You don't have to do this to me!" She screams, hoping he has some sense of mercy.

"You see, I kind of have to do this," her attacker says firmly, moving to stand at the head of the table so he can look at her face to face.

The first thing she notices are his deep green eyes, which have no sense of life behind them. She shudders as he brings a small blade down and cuts her cheek, using a pipet he had in his other hand to extract some blood and place it on a glass slide.

"Why are you doing this?" She gasps, looking up at him helplessly as he stares back down at her, face devoid of any emotion.

He reaches down to the side table and grabs a handful of photos, flashing them to to the woman, who immediately shuts her eyes.

"Oh so now you're ashamed?" He asks, a few of his golden curls falling down in front of his eyes as he leans over her. "So you weren't ashamed when you killed these men?"

The woman tries shaking her head, only to be stopped by the plastic wrap. "I didn't do anything!" She yelps, tugging at the plastic binding her arms. Her attacker rolls his eyes, showing her the photos taken from the crime scene.

"Roy Beckett, Zach Mauzy, Carson Mckay, Sam Wyatt, you killed these men," he deadpans, flipping through each photo, causing the woman to wince, refusing to make eye contact with the man.

"You did this to them, you lured them in and killed them. You didn't care that they had families or that they had loved ones, you just took their lives away as if they were nothing."

A tear falls down the woman's cheek, mixing with the blood from her attacker's cut, causing a red trail to flow down onto the table. "Crying won't save you now, God knows it didn't save your victims."

The blonde reaches for the small table, ghosting his hand over his collection of weapons before settling for the large butcher's knife. The woman below lets out a deafening scream, only silenced by the wad of gauze being shoved inside her mouth.

"You won't get sympathy for me," he says plainly, playing with the blade in his hands. "I'm just like you, but I have standards."

Before the woman can process his words, the blonde violently jams the knife into her chest, a small, final gasp for air being forced out of her lungs as a pool of blood collects underneath the plastic wrap.

-

"Stanny!"

A young, brown-haired boy comes running full speed towards the blonde, his arms open wide, a toy truck still held in one hand.

Stanley gasps as he picks up the boy, swinging him around in a circle before settling him on his hip, holding him tight in his arms. "What did you bring me?"

Stan chuckles to himself. Alexander always wanted to know if there were presents.

"I brought you and your sister ice cream buddy!" He smiles, watching how the young boy's face lights up at the mention of his favorite treat. "Lia get in here, Stanny has ice cream!"

As if on cue, Alex's older sister Ophelia runs out of her room and straight into Stan, wrapping her small arms around his waist. She had come a long way since the first time they met, having shied away from her dad's new boyfriend, bad memories of the last one still etched into her memory.

"Alright kids, let's get you settled," Stan smiles, leading the two Denbrough children into the kitchen, settling them into seats at the kitchen counter before dishing up their ice cream. Chocolate with rainbow sprinkles for Ophelia and mint chocolate chip with chocolate sauce for Xander.

The blonde watches the kids for a few minutes, before excusing himself. He walks up the stairs, passing numerous family photos and pieces of art, before coming face to face with the master bedroom door, which was closed.

He knocks gently before peering inside, seeing his boyfriend of 6 months, Bill Denbrough, typing away at his computer.

He smiles to himself, noticing the way Bill pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he edits his latest chapter, his reading glasses perched upon his nose.

The brunette continues typing as Stan sits down next to him, finishing his edits on the second to last paragraph on the page before briskly closing his laptop and shoving it out of the way.

It takes less than 3 seconds for Bill to crawl into Stan's lap, their lips crashing together gently, with Stan's large hands moving to grip his lover's hips.

The pair remain entangled for a few moments before pulling away, with Bill leaning to rest his head on one of Stan's broad shoulders.

"How way your day?"

He could tell him the truth.

How the day started with an officer giving him shit for not getting a blood analysis into him exactly when he wanted it. The feelings inside of him of how quickly he could slice the officer up and clean it up as if it never happened.

He could explain how annoyed he was when his adopted brother, and officer, Eddie wouldn't stop complaining about his hatred of working VICE, how he deserved to be on homicide, how unfair it was that he was stuck in VICE just because the lieutenant "has it out for him."

Or how difficult it was to wait for the perfect time to kill his latest victim. How weeks of waiting and observing had driven him crazy. How hard it was to clean up her place and dispose of her body into the Atlantic, having to sneak out onto his small boat around 3 am with 3 black garbage bags, making sure to dump them far enough out and away from people.

But he couldn't do that.

"It was okay, just a lot going on at work," he breathes out, bringing a hand to run his fingers through Bill's brown locks.

It wasn't necessarily a lie. The precinct had seen a jump in gang-related activity within Miami in the past few months, with officers feeling pressure from the Captain to find the connections between different cases.

This pressure had also been felt by Stan, as one of the best blood analysts within the state, he was called to almost every crime scene to help officers understand the type of people they were up against. It all seemed so simple to him, but having to explain how these criminals used certain techniques to the average detective just gave him headaches.

"Well I know something that could help you," Bill starts, lifting his head off Stan's shoulder so he can lock eyes with him. "The sitter should be here in a few minutes, that will give us some time for ourselves," he says, pressing a few kisses to Stan's neck, causing the blonde to tense up a bit at the sudden affection and attention he was receiving.

It's not that he didn't enjoy this, hell he really enjoys it, but something about possibly having sex with your boyfriend after you have just murdered someone is not really what Stan was looking forward to.

Bill feels the hesitance in Stan, using his fingers to tilt Stan's head so he can look into his eyes, having not have noticed how the blonde ceased eye contact moments prior.

"Sorry if that was too much," Bill stammers, "We don't have to if you don't want to."

Stan nods softly, flashing his boyfriend a small smile, bringing hands up to cup his face. "Thank you baby, I just feel a bit tired, is it okay if we just lay here and maybe watch a movie?"

Bill smiles back, a look of utter happiness in his eyes.

"I'd love that."

- 

Eddie was the one that introduced Stan to Bill.

Just about a year ago, Eddie was the responding officer on a domestic assault call. He remembers rushing to the scene, a small white house in a residential neighborhood just within city limits.

He remembers making his way inside, seeing a coffee table flipped over, its prior contents spilled across the carpet. Chairs were knocked over, items askew and out of place.

He followed the trail of blood upstairs, coming face to face with the man who did this.

Other officers rushed passed him to cuff the man as he shouted extremities, forcing multiple officers to have to drag him out of the house and down to the station.

Eddie remembers opening the master bedroom door, seeing a young man, his face bruised and bleeding, his lip split and eye starting to swell, holding a young boy to his chest. A young girl next to them clenches the phone in her hands. She's the one who called him here.

"Are you here to help my daddy?" The young boy asks, peeking his head out from his father's chest with watery eyes.

Eddie remembers nodding his head, promising no one would ever hurt them again.

Eddie learned the man's name was Bill, and that the man forcibly dragged out of his home was his husband, Jacob Mills.

The pair had been together for a few years, being there for Bill after his long-time girlfriend, and mother of his children walked out on him.

Jacob was there for Bill every step of the way, helping him to raise his two beautiful children, who reminded him of their mother every day. He loved and supported Bill, but over time they began to fight.

At first, it was over small things, like forgetting to sign Ophelia's permission slip, or not being able to make it to a date night. But over time things got worse.

Things started to become physical after Jacob started using.

It started with smoking. Bill didn't mind at first, hell he smoked in high school and college, but he always made sure Jacob didn't bring it around the kids. But then weed and cigarettes escalated to drinking.

There were nights where Bill wouldn't know where Jacob was, or when or if he would be returning home.

When he did return, it was bad.

The first time, Bill waited up that night for him. Around 3 am he stumbled in, slamming the door closed, only to be startled by Bill turning on the kitchen light.

Bill told him that this was unacceptable, how he and the kids were worried sick, but Jacob was too far gone. He just brushed past Bill, muttering something about going to bed, but Bill kept going, telling him that he was scared for him, how he never answered his messages, how he-

SMACK

Next thing he knows, he is on the ground, clutching his now red cheek, with Jacob walking right upstairs and plopping right into bed.

It didn't happen again for a few months.

Jacob always insisted afterward that he was sorry, and that he would never do it again.

But it just kept happening.

The night Eddie was dispatched to the scene was the night Bill decided enough was enough. Jacob was out at the bar with some friends, so he knew he had time. He planned on packing his and the kid's things and getting out of town, probably with his parents, while he filed for a divorce.

He was just finished packing Ophelia's toys when Jacob got home.

The next thing he knew he was on the bedroom floor, with Eddie leaning over him, promising that he would keep them safe.

Eddie kept good on his promise, helping Bill find the right resources and people who could help him, recommending a therapist that Bill could work with to figure out how to plan out his next moves.

Bill was eternally grateful to Eddie for saving them, insisting that if he didn't receive that dispatch, he wasn't sure where he would be right now. The kids got attached to Eddie quite quickly, finding his demeanor quite calming and his jokes hilarious.

Bill and Eddie from then on had standing "lunch dates" where Eddie would check in on him and the kids, making sure that they were okay and if they needed any help.

It was on one of these "dates" that Eddie introduced Bill to Stan.

Eddie's car was in the shop for repairs, repairs that he insisted he do himself much to Stan's dismay, which ended up making the problem worse. This led to Stan becoming his brother's taxi, driving them both to and from work, and any other place they had to go.

Eddie had mentioned that he was going to check up on one of his old victims and that he needed a ride.

Stan agreed, driving the two of them to the small white house. Eddie had insisted that it would only take a few minutes, but after 30 minutes, Stan was getting a little frustrated. He gave it another ten minutes before he got out of his car angrily, slamming the driver's side door shut loudly.

I should be out getting my next victim, not here just sitting out in the middle of some neighborhood. I could be halfway done by now, what the hell am I doing just waiting for-

Just then, the front door had opened and Stan's eyes widened. Before him stood the most gorgeous man he had ever laid eyes on, his smile bringing an unfamiliar sense of warmth and comfort over the blonde.

God, he could look at his smile all day.

Eddie chuckled from his spot on the couch with Ophelia and Alexander, the younger of the two playing with an airplane toy, dragging it along Eddie's arm, claiming that it was the best runway for the plane.

Conversation between the pair came naturally, even out of earshot Eddie could tell something was up there. He swears he had never seen his brother talk to someone that easily and eagerly before.

It was about a week later when Eddie set them up. He told both of them separately that he wanted to go to dinner, arranging a sitter for Bill, and promising Stan that he would do some of his paperwork for him.

But when both men arrived at the restaurant to see no Eddie, they weren't disappointed.

-

The sound of Stan's phone woke him up a few hours later.

The tv was still playing softly, a re-run of a Law and Order episode he and Bill had seen at least 10 times playing as he picks up his phone.

"Stan its Eddie, you have to get down to the 7 Seas Motel right now, you need to see this."

Stan lets out a sigh and assures Eddie he will be there soon before hanging up. He places his phone back down on the bedside table and looks down at Bill, who is currently nestled into his side. He hates to leave, but work calls.

He carefully maneuvers his body as to not disturb the sleeping brunette, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead before making his way downstairs and out the front door.

It's about a 15-minute drive to the motel.

Stan fidgets with his fingers as he waits at a stoplight, his mind wandering to the previous night.

He watches silently as the blood begins to accumulate underneath the plastic, sighing in relief. The first blow was always the hardest.

He makes quick work with his buzzsaw, making sure to make as little of a mess as possible. Even though he covered the room in the plastic, he still wanted things to be somewhat neat, even down to the cuts he makes.

When he's done, he feels a sense of relief wash over his body, his work finally being done.

Once on the scene, Stan pulls a pair of rubber gloves on from his bag, showing an officer his official badge so he can gain access to the scene.

Several motel guests and onlookers wait behind the yellow tape, craning their necks to try and look at the crime scene.

Voyeurs. Stan thinks to himself, walking a few feet before seeing Eddie leaning up against the doorway of one of the motel rooms. He's dressed in a pair of short, red athletic shorts, just like the ones he would wear when they were kids. 

He wears no top, which could be blamed on the Florida heat, or the fact that he's trying to fit in with the hookers he is working alongside with as an undercover. 

"It's one of the girls who works here," Eddie rushes out, pulling Stan into the small room. "I was asking around about her when some other girls noticed she was missing, but then she turned back up."

Stan notices the pain in his brother's voice. Working VICE is hard, you form connections with those around you, even if you aren't telling them who you really are.

"What sick son of a bitch gets off on cutting up people into pieces like this?"

If only he knew.

Stan shakes his head, promising to talk to Eddie later and telling him to stay safe before walking over to the taped off area around the pool.

A few officers are already in the drained pool, a few taking photographs of what sits at the end of the deep end. He makes his way down the stairs and over towards the end, seeing Richie and Ben already on scene.

"How's your brother doing Stan? Fitting in well with the other whores?" Richie teases, a small smirk pulling at his lips.

It's no secret that Richie has some sort of infatuation with Eddie. Whenever the smaller detective is brought up, Richie cannot help himself from cracking jokes or making remarks about getting with him. It mostly just annoys Stan, but Eddie knows how to stand his ground, but Stan swears sometimes Eddie blushes when Richie talks about him.

In this instance Stan ignores him, moving past the two detectives, feeling his blood run cold when he sees what the detectives have been looking at.

Lying before him is the body of the woman Eddie had mentioned, sectioned into several pieces across the tiled pool floor. But what shocks Stan is the lack of blood. No blood to be exact.

"We think the guy drained her blood before dumping her here," Ben says, "But what he did or is doing with the blood is what's throwing us for a loop."

Stan bends down to get a better look at the body. "These cuts are very precise," he states, "whoever did this has some sort of medical training or expertise to understand how to get clean cuts like this, with no hesitation marks."

Ben nods, taking a few notes on what Stan said before patting him on the back. "You can go since there's no blood we don't need you here."

Stan nods, standing back up and turning toward the black-haired forensic science investigator. "Let me know if you find anything Rich."

Richie nods, making a mental note to check by Eddie's room as Stan walks away.

Stan decides to head back to the station, where he can get a jump on finding his next target. He heads back under the crime tape and over towards his car when his phone starts ringing.

He pauses for a moment to look at the caller ID before picking up.

"Miss me already Denbrough?" He asks with a smile, getting into his car and placing his keys in and starting the engine.

"Stan you need to come here right now, the prison called, they let Jacob out due to overcrowding and he's here right now."

Stan doesn't miss the sense of panic in Bill's voice, and he speeds off before he can get a word out.

Looks like his next target already found him.

[slowlymadeart]

After a month of making adjustments to the script and editing things out I’ve kind of lost perspective on how this can been seen from a stranger’s point of view.

(And may have over explained in areas just to make sure communication was clear).

All images are cropped to instagram size. (except the first one with the “critique” message).

Tried my best to jam everything into 10 panels.

Oh, and what’s happening in that last panel is me being arrested for spoon debt. 

Annnd to answer your question, yes. I do imagine a world in which “spoon court” and a “spoon bank”  is being run by utensils.

I know it’s weird. It’s the whole “Goofy is a dog with a dog (Pluto) as a pet!

but.. I think it’s kinda funny….or could be if I ever draw more. Just doing research on obscure and various utensil to make into characters? I don’t think I could pass on that.

Anyhow, here’s some thoughts and explanations you are free to ignore. Seriously. They might cloud whatever you thought of the comic before reading a backlog of thoughts…But if you wanna follow the thought train, hop aboard. 

1. Is “Well, You could just google it” too condescending or will the internet be okay with this? When it’s written in a post it’s fine, but in a comic? I just don’t want to push people away. Especially first thing. (After a month of rewrites and redraws is when I changed up that speech bubble and put that line in there, lol).

2. “Spoonie” comes with many associations with chronically ill/disabled communities. I tried to acknowledge as many points of view as simply as I could. Hinting at a bunch of perspectives from both the people who love it and reasons why people hate it. 

3. Also nodding towards the idea that “Spoonie” is easier to say than “Disabled”, and for some, the internalized “Disabled is a dirty word” has them opting to say “spoonie” instead. Often unintentionally. So I then tried to blur the distinction between the two a bit. Out of a desire to mae “Disabled” a more approachable word.

4. Alright, so the idea ”Spoonies are just one part of the disabled community.” I feel like I may have been able to communicate this, but when I drew the group image of various spoonies connecting from their beds, it might feel too “Any person with a disability can be a spoonie to some degree.” …..which makes me worried healthy people may eventually start projecting it onto people they meet with disabilities. Sort of a “I can help you somehow, here’s this info a about spoons! Did you know it exist yet? it could change your life!!” all while still disregarding the person their talking to.

5. The facial expression on my character for “My body is disabled and day to day living sometimes breaks my brain” -I could not figure it. For me, there’s a mixture of “slight embarrassment but I gotta say it” and “LET’S PRETEND YOUR ELSA IN “LET IT GO” AND YOU HAVE NO MORE FUCKS TO GIVE!”

or “calm. with no more fucks to give. A ‘deal with it’ sunglasses or vacant eyes and a slight smile situation”

then I’d go back to “Embarrassment, both crying and laughing from brain breaking, wants to have no more fucks to give but that’s just not true”

and I was worried that gave the wrong impression about being disabled. Yes, there’s absolutely truth to it. but after reading articles by some extremely well educated disabled advocate types, and a critique on the show “Special.” I wanted to try and set a good example- pretending I’m further along with coming to terms with what my life is than how I can be at times.

We’re allowed to feel like this is a mindfuck. It absolutely can be. But I don’t want to be seen as too whiny…

…. and I need to clean up my language so my 11 and 12 year old sisters can read. (Will be changing a couple words for the finished version that goes on instagram and webtoons).

6. Christina Miserandino seems to use to be very into tanning. When collecting photos, her shade of skin changed all the time. But it’s not “arianna grande” type stuff, just more so her genetic predisposition and past beauty habits conflicting with going through a lot in recent years and hasn’t been getting out as much, or caring about looks. I tried to capture a sense of her advocacy prime, with the purple, when she put a lot of work into her hair, her love of girlishness but with a slight edge to show maturity. Just going with a skin tone she’s had consistently in the past couple years- just because going darker would have been a lot more strange to those who looked into her now. (This one’s less of a concern and more of a…disclosure? Just felt weird to deal with).

7. I don’t know if any of you have ever looked through spoonie selfies, or disabled selfies. but we seem to LOVE DYING OUR HAIR. (It’s one thing we can change). Hair dye is having a moment in the world. So I hope the change of hair colors here and in the future is not taken the wrong way. It’s just really fun to use unique hair colors on characters. I will say, the reason the woman on the left side of the “Today a spoonie is” has blue hair, is because she’s Trans, it’s a wig. her hair isn’t where she wants it to be yet, she uses the hat because she couldn’t afford a lace-front wig. Yes, it’s hot on her head. but it’s easier than using energy to secure everything and make the top look nice. and it feels too fake looking when the top is not covered up……. And…yes, I realize this is all in my head and not conveyed or relevant at all- but that’s the backstory, lol. I gave her shirt the trans flag colors, but she didn’t seem like a pastel person and so I kept them darker, feeling like that’s what this character would like.

8. I included cutting scars on two characters because a few years back I had a friend who pointed out to me I always omitted drawing her scars. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, I just kept forgetting. But I felt bad. It seemed like including the scars was more empowering to her at that point in her life. That’s why they were included here. 

9.  I know some think “Spoonie” is just for those with Chronic illness. It can feel that way- it’s a large majority of Spoonies. But Christine herself said in an interview Spoon Theory can be used those with disabilities and Mental health conditions. Basically, whoever has a condition that causes fatigue. 

When put that way- well, the panel that reads “Perhaps detached enough for misguided normies to think” -could happen.

(All the more reason to blur distinction between “disability” and “spoonie”?…maybe. but, that could alienate neurodivergents. And the blurred distinction between “Neurodivergence” and “disability” is…exploding as a topic currently. And I don’t want to contribute to more people thinking neurodivergence means “disabled” and therefore “broken”- that’s the opposite of what I want to do).

((Thus why there’s info supporting the idea throughout the rest of the comic “Don’t fix it. work with it. My situation’s just different.”))

Maybe the panel isn’t needed, but that’s how/why it came to be.

10. If there’s unhealthy mentalities portrayed in the comic that don’t serve a greater purpose, let me know. Unhealthy mentalities are great for humor, and getting to let someone else who’s going through the same type of thinking at times have comfort- but what I’m worried about is anything that is problematic. 

11. If any of the terms I used are incorrect- such as places I use “conditions” to sum up- everyone who can be a spoonie. Let me know! It get’s really tricky at times when you have to make the statement as simple as possible to refer to a very diverse group with very diverse bodies.

12. I’m starting to put “mean stranger” type characters in colors without skin tones so that they can be applicable to more people, as being sick/disabled/neurodivergent is somehow in open invitation for the opinions of jerks. Drawing them all as Donkeys or “Asses” would be cool and clever, but too much work. 

13. Because of Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia sitting with my legs down in a wheelchair is extremely draining, so I want to stop drawing that.

[radiosteve]

Need Your Loving Tonight Ch.2

Summary: About a year after you first met your best friend Brian, he tells you that he wants to fulfill his lifelong dream and form a band. After recruiting his friend Tim to join, you help them hold auditions to find the perfect drummer. Much to Brian’s surprise, you and Tim seem to be getting along a lot better than expected. 

Note: Here is part 2!! Now that we’ve got a little introduction we can start to get into the juicy stuff. I’m trying to follow along with a semi-accurate timeline so that’s why there might be a few weird time jumps. Freddie will be in the next chapter, I’m so excited! The italicized words are the readers thoughts, just like last time. I’m going to be as consistent with updates as I can, so I’ll try to have a new chapter out every few days. Also, if you want to be added to the taglist just send me a message or an ask and I’ll add you! I found the photo on google, I do not own it.

Warnings: Some language and slight smut

Pairing: (will be) Roger Taylor x Reader x John Deacon 

Words: 2.2k+

September 29, 1968

It had been a little over a year since you packed up your life and shipped yourself overseas to attend Imperial College. Your friendship with Brian only grew as the year went on. By the end of your freshman year you felt so well adjusted and comfortable with your foreign surrounds that you dreaded going back home. But, with no place to stay in London for the summer, you filled your suitcases once more and headed back to your hometown. Your mom greeted you at the airport with the biggest smile you had ever seen. 

It was difficult to tell if she actually was happy to see you or if she was just glad to have someone to fill the space between her and your father. You spent your summer like most others, working on the boardwalk and going to the beach after your shift ended. It was a lonely summer, but you knew how to adapt. All of your high school friends seemed to move on without you and all of your college friends lived in a different country, but hey that’s life. Occasionally you would go out with your friends from work when you all had time off, but you longed for the end of the summer. 

Being at home made you realize just how different New Jersey was from London. You cursed yourself from those first couple weeks of the fall semester for wishing to escape back home. Because now that you were here, it sure as hell didn’t feel like something you would call a home.The only thing that kept you sane during the warm, sunny months was the beach that was just a ten minute bike ride away. Night or day, rain or shine, it was your favorite place to hide from the lonely reality that you grew to know. It was the only thing that London lacked.

Finally the sun started to set earlier and the days quickly faded to night, bringing along the end of August and the start of a new school year. The taxi ride from Heathrow airport to campus seemed to be the longest thirty minutes of your life. But after you dragged your luggage from the taxi trunk you were nearly tackled by a hug from your best friend. After a long session of catching up and unpacking, you felt happier than you had in months. You felt as if you were laid out on the beach without a cloud in the sky. Classes went on as normal and your social life excelled along with your grades. Bringing you to where you are now. 

You and Brian had taken over your dorm for the day because your roommate Sally had gone home for the weekend. Both you and Brian were nursing pretty wicked hangovers after a very intense party the night before. You sat at your desk staring at the textbook in front of you, blinking to try and see straight. Brian sat on your bed with his guitar on his lap as he strummed softly to some tune he had made up.  

“I think I’m finally going to do it,” he spoke, pulling you from your textbook induced trance. You spun around in your chair, happy to have a distraction, but confused by the statement.

“What are you finally going to do?” You questioned, your head throbbed a little from twisting around so quickly. Brian looked up at you and slowly set his guitar down, leaning his back against the wall that your bed was pushed against. 

“I’m going to start a band, Y/n! Well, I’m actually going to put flyers up around campus and hopefully people will respond so then I can start a band,” he seemed utterly ecstatic while telling you his plans for the future. You nodded along as he talked, taking in his words and the excitement that was etched across his face. A smile overtook your expression as a thought popped into your head. This could be something big.

October 5, 1968

You stood with Brian throughout his desperate search for decent band mates. Luckily, Tim Staffell, who he had met at a concert, was all in favor of joining Brian’s new band. Now with a guitarist and a singing bassist, the duo needed a drummer. The desperate search frustrated the three of you after seeing the same mediocre drum skills over and over again. You three decided to take a break, blow some steam, and have a few drinks at Tim’s apartment. One drink turned into two and two turned into five and five became eight until you felt drunk off your ass. 

Brian had discovered early on in your friendship that you had a passion for music but you never seemed to elaborate on it whenever he brought it up. He also knew that if he got you drunk enough you would get giggly and start revealing things about yourself that you hardly ever talked about. That wasn’t his intention when he suggested to drink a few beers, but that didn’t stop him from listening when you started to giggle before you spoke.

“Guess what,” you giggled out, taking another drink from your beer bottle as the boys both turned their gaze towards you. “You guys are going to be so pissed. I can actually play the piano and the drums,” you said between giggles. Brian and Tim both sat up quickly from the couch that they rested on. 

“You’re saying that this whole time we have been searching for a drummer when we’ve had one with us the whole time?” Tim interrogated you, but his voice spoke without a hint a malice. 

“Uh-huh, I didn’t want to tell you guys though because I have no desire to be in a band. Plus I’d hate to be in a band with my best friend, break up, and then have it ruin our friendship. That would be soul crushing,” the words tumbled from your mouth before you even knew what you were saying. “Oh shit, you guys are friends, my bad,” you mumbled before draping yourself across the chair you sat on as you laughed. Brian and Tim looked at each other with raised eyebrows before looking back at you in your alcohol induced giggle-fit. Brian chuckled and took a swig from his beer bottle. Your infectious laughter and charming smile brought a grin to his lips. Tim eventually joined in on your and Brian’s giddey feeling, leaving the three of you laughing like maniacs. 

October 14, 1968

By four o’clock in the afternoon, you, Brian, and Tim felt as if you had completely lost a majority of your collective brain cells. The three of you had been stuck in a lecture theatre on campus that Brian rented out so the band could hold auditions for drummers all day. After seeing about six different people play you felt like your brain had turned to mush. Hearing the same few songs over and over was starting to give you a massive headache. You sat on a couch that Tim had managed to smuggle into the audition space as some lanky red haired boy tried, and failed, to maintain a steady tempo on the drums. 

The boy was clearly nervous, but nerves and music do not work well together. After  the three audition songs, Brian stood up and began to speak in the nicest tone he could muster.

“That was great, thank you. I think we are going to need some time to think over our decision. We’ll give you a call soon,” he said as the boy shakily stood up and grabbed his things. He responded to with only a nod and quickly fled from the room. Brian plopped back down on the right side of the couch while you sat in the middle with Tim on your left. Tim shifted his arm so that it rested across the top of the couch as he turned to look at you. 

“What do you think Y/n? In your own professional drumming opinion,” Tim asked  with a cheeky smile on his face as you turned to nudge his shoulder. 

“I’m certainly not a professional drummer, but even I can tell that whatever-his-name-is can’t drum for shit,” you signed, sinking further into the couch.

“Well, we only have one more hour and then we can leave and get some decent food. In the meantime, do you guys need anything? I’m going to run down the hall to the vending machine and get something to drink,” Brian offered, picking himself up from the couch once more. 

“Some aspirin would be great Bri,” you joked as he waved you off while walking out of the room, heading to the other side of the building. 

“Alone at last,” Tim whispered in your ear making goosebumps flourish all over your skin. “We’ve got at least five minutes,” he grabbed your cheeks and pressed his lips against yours in a rush of passion and hunger. You and Tim had secretly started hooking up ever since you woke up at his apartment the day after you got drunk and spilled the news of your secret music skills. Brian had to leave early that morning to run some errands, leaving you and Tim alone for the first time. You started of with just talking and teasing, but it soon became flirting and kissing and next thing you knew you were naked in Tim’s bed. 

You’d both promised to not tell Brian in hopes that it would prevent him from getting angry at you both. Honestly, you felt kind of bad for lying to your best friend but it seemed like the right thing to do. Plus its not like you and Tim were dating. What was going on between you two was more of a casual hookup than anything. As great as relationships may seem, you were never much of a fan of dating. 

Tim had you pinned against the couch as he brought his knee between your thighs, rubbing against your clothed core as a moan escaped your lips. He swallowed your pretty sounds as your hands traveled down his body, reached for his growing bulge. His lips traveled down your neck and towards your breasts. He stuck his face inside your shirt earning a giggle from you that soon became a moan as he sucked on the top of your left breast and gripped your hips. 

“Fuck Timmy, that feels so-”

“Hey guys-oH MY GOD,” Brian exclaimed turning around so he didn’t have to face you and shielding his eyes as you and Tim quickly pulled yourself apart. A shorter, but attractive blonde-brunette boy stood behind Brian with wide eyes and his mouth turned up in a smirk. You and Tim stood up from the couch and adjusted your clothing as Brian slowly began to turn around. “When did you guys start-” Brian began quietly but quickly cut himself off. “Nevermind, not the time. Uh this is Roger he’s here to audition.” Brian turned and gestured to Roger who waved his hand that held two drum sticks. “Roger, this is our bassist and lead singer Tim, and my best friend Y/n. Who is apparently much closer with Tim than I first thought,” He mumbled the last part more to himself, but everyone still heard it. Roger let out a small chuckle as your cheeks began to turn red. 

“You can, um, warm up or whatever you need before you start,” Tim instructed Roger, trying to cut the awkward tension in the air. You looked over at Brian who sat in the middle of the couch in order to separate you and Tim. You took a seat on Brian’s right as Roger moved towards the drumset and began to tune it.

“What are you doing,” Brian said after looking up at Roger with the drums.

“I’m tuning them,” he replied as if it was obvious. Brian turned his head towards you, with raised eyebrows and his mouth slightly agape. 

“I didn’t know that was a thing,” he muttered and you smiled at his exasperated expression. Roger finished what he had been doing and began to play the first audition song. It was by far the best rendition that you had heard all day. It sounded extremely similar to the original song but with an added dash of flair that you assumed Roger used to show off a little. When he had finished playing the three audition songs you started to clap, bringing a large smile to the blonde’s face. While Brian and Tim didn’t join in on your clapping, you could still tell that they were just as impressed as you were. 

Roger stood up, sweeping his long strands of hair behind his ears as his made his way towards where you three were seated on the couch. Brian shot up from the couch to shake Rogers hand as he approached them. Tim slowly followed and you stood soon after. A smile spread across Brian’s face after he shook Roger’s hand, earning a suspicious look from you. He’s going to say something stupid, isn’t he? Brian looked straight into Roger’s eyes and said the words you knew were coming. “You’re in.” 

Taglist: @retromusicsalad      

[askiisoft]

FAN ART FRIDAY: ALL THE WARRIORS, Part 2

And to think I was planning to fit all of the OCs into one week...yeah, not happening. With 50+ entries and counting, I’ll be lucky to fit them all into four parts.

Welcome back to Part 2 of “All The Warriors”, a multi-week showcase of the Katana ZERO community’s awesome fan characters! The volume of submissions for this event has been mind-blowing, to the point where I’ve had to create a dedicated Excel spreadsheet to keep track of them all. If you haven’t submitted your character yet, there’s still one week left! If you have, rest assured that it’ll will be included eventually, so please be patient! 

For those who missed it, don’t forget to check out Part 1 of this series.

[WARNING: The work herein is based on fan creations, and should not be considered canon.]

Alpha 13, “Believer” by @DokusatsuMurXer

What is the loneliest number? ‘One’, you say? Nope, it’s 13...Alpha 13, that is.

Being one of the first Alpha-series NULL, it’s likely that Thirteen joined purely out of adoration for the illusive “Great Scientist”—a noble cause compared to the violent psychosis that defined the later Gamma-series NULL. While it’s clear he’s taken lives in service of his one-sided infatuation, it’s hard not to see him as another victim, still pining for his senpai’s attention even after everyone’s graduated and moved away years ago. Why do we always love the one who will hurt us the most? 

According to @DokusatsuMurXer’s, the drunken swirls in his Post-war portrait are hiding something much steamier. I can only imagine.

Please, senpai. By @DokusatsuMurXer

—

Beta 6, “Blade” by @Khwany_kawawii

In the Third District, there’s only two ways to get what you need: by coercion, or by force. Beta 6 opts for both, and seems to have a reputation on par with The Dragon amongst hapless goons. Ironically, it seems amnesiac NULL like Blade or Zero are the ones who kept going on killing sprees after the war, instead of throwing in with criminal syndicates or settling into an ordinary day job.

Her giant curtain of hair, while a bit ridiculous-looking standing still, would certainly add a sense of dynamism as she flipped and pirouetted in midair, tossing knives left and right. Also, knives.

“With no drugs, I will die. But with the drugs...I am the Killing Angel.” By @Khwany_kawawii

—

Ema by @Khwany_kawawii

Well, would you look at that. Not only is Ema our first non-NULL OC, but also the first...*drum roll*...Cromag! That’s right—as a child, Ema barely survived a NULL attack that killed her family, and she’s dedicated her life to finding whoever was responsible ever since. 

The concept of a private eye in Katana ZERO’s neo-noir metropolis, especially one who suffers from such intense trauma and racial discrimination, has fantastic plot potential. What if she finds the NULL who orphaned her, but they don’t remember it? What if they have to team up? I can’t help but wonder how long an average woman (bionic arm aside) could survive in this dark underbelly of drugged-up super-soldiers...

—

Gamma 4 by @camellia_066

Not every hero dies on a battlefield.

Being a commander means taking responsibility for those under your command. For some that extends beyond wartime, and especially so after the one-way process of becoming NULL; while an Alpha could skip doses of Chronos with nothing more than a nosebleed, a Gamma might require twice the dosage just to stay lucid. 

Maybe the weight of New Mecca’s defeat was too much for him to bear. Maybe he knew that a cure for Chronos was a pipedream. But it was better to die for the slim chance of salvation than witness his former comrades slaughter one another for just another dose. 

—

Gamma 12 by @wqwrppwu

So this is who’s been stealing my Uber Eats.

The idea of a Gamma-level NULL—especially one as devious-looking as Gamma 12—working as a pizza guy is hilarious to me. I have a soft spot for features like thin noses, wild eyes, and razor teeth that just scream “bad guy, stay away”. Most other NULL would just kill the cashier and take what they want, but Twelve uses his powers to steal booze and cigarettes and get away with it, every time. 

It makes sense that he’d be best friends with Alpha 25, “Pomidor” (see Part 1)  thanks to their mutual eccentricity and love of mayhem. 

Camaraderie at work. By @wqwrppwu

—

Gamma 5 by twink-182

Beta 6 had better be a wizard to claim the nickname “Blade”, given how many Gamma-level knife experts roam the city’s underbelly. Once part of Fifteen’s circle of former NULL, Gamma 5 evidently saw the writing on the wall and decided to leave before his comrade’s vendetta drew him deeper into danger. Otherwise, who knows, we might have had a quick, teleporting knife-thrower heckling us throughout the Headhunter boss fight...yeah, maybe it’s for the best that he’s M.I.A.

I’m guessing the photo and red string is just another point on Fifteen’s byzantine conspiracy board; I hope we get to see the whole thing one day.

—

Alpha 4 by @kym0433

As with any conflict, the end of Cromag War produced massive windfalls for organized crime in terms of illegal weapons, war drugs, and super-soldiers thirsty for Chronos. Luckily for Alpha 4, the Chinese had carved out their own niche in New Mecca’s Chinatown, and they offered him a steady supply of "ke le nuo si”, as they called it, plus a cushy job as a bodyguard; after all, who would dare to start trouble on their turf? Who, but a certain samurai who walked up to the roulette table one day...

While Ted might not be the strongest NULL, he leads the pack in terms of fashion. No musty olive fatigues for this killer—whether it’s a traditional patterned chengshan or tasseled shawl, Ted makes it look awesome. No one would even suspect he’s hiding weapons under there! 

By @kym0433

—

Beta 24, “Cecil” by @Tacoyaki86

Contrary to popular belief, the inability to feel pain is not a superpower, especially when paired with a military specialization as hazardous as demolitions and bomb disposal. Imagine not realizing your hands got blown off until you reached for a sip of coffee. That, and you’d be stone deaf from constant close-range explosions and minigun fire.

Knowing that, I can understand Beta 24′s desire to spend a quiet veterancy at a manga café, where the otaku don’t want to chat anyway and the biggest risks are coffee burns and paper cuts. 

Also, is that chevron on his beret the same as Headhunter’s? That must indicate rank, or possibly explosives experts. Given Headhunter’s propensity for sticky mines and suicide vests, I’d believe it.

“Detonation successful!” By @Tacoyaki86

—

Gamma 767, “Retana” by @TailWood

Given how many NULL prefer close-range weapons like knives, swords, and bludgeons, having to fire artillery from kilometers away must seem like a crushing indignity for a Gamma like 767: slowing time just means it takes longer for his rockets to hit their targets, and he can’t even collect any trophies to show off to the guys at the bar once they’re off-duty! But hey, someone’s got to do it; I don’t think even the sharpest steel would do much against a tank...

By @TailWood

—

Gamma 9, “Nara” by @couriervictor

Sadism and sharp objects don’t pair well together. It was never explained why Headhunter chose to wear her old uniform everywhere, but in Gamma 9′s case it’s pretty clear: he’s an elite, and he wants you to know it. Lack of physical strength doesn’t matter, since everyone in Katana ZERO died in one hit anyway, and his affinity for throwing knives reminds me of Biker’s levels from Hotline Miami. More knives.

—

Alpha 35, “Sako” by @matsumatsu_kou

For a Gamma NULL, overcoming a debilitating wound is as simple as using their powers to ‘reset’ and try again until they can win the battle without a single scratch. Sadly, that wasn’t an option for their lesser Alpha brethren, as evidenced by Alpha 35. 

There have been known cases of NULL choosing to retain scars and other superficial injuries as badges of honor, but if there’s a reason why Sako chooses to fight with a blind eye and busted arm, it’s beyond me. However, if Proto-15 is anything to go by, battle damage is a huge plus for you ferals out there, and it gives him an extra place to store those KNIVES. *snickt*

By @matsumatsu_kou

—

Beta 74 by @cheezysucks

“Take everything from a man but his weapon, and do not judge him thereafter.”

Even in the far-flung future of New Mecca, it seems PTSD still haunts soldiers returning from conflict, even those as exceptional as NULL—if a near-death experience is harrowing, imagine the trauma of countless actual deaths, each instance being dragged backwards in time to start over.

Still, as far as ex-NULL go, Beta 74 chose as honest a job as his ilk can manage, given their stigma abroad. And oh, wow, is he wearing a pair of those funky four-eyed night-vision goggles? Look them up, they’re real, and just as absurd-looking.

—

Gamma 5, “Heatseeker” by 6at

Pour one out for another fallen warrior, Gamma 5 (yes, I know there was already a Gamma 5 earlier, won’t be the last time this happens). Five seems more like a tactical fire commander than your average NULL, with actual combat armor and a bubble helmet seemingly inspired by early concept versions of Headhunter’s gear, replete with a digitized HUD; pretty slick-looking, I must say.

Knowing how far far New Mecca went to cover up the NULL program, I’m surprised they let Five live as long as they did, though his hermetic lifestyle likely made him a minimal risk. I’m guessing he was terminated around the same time the government halted the production of Chronos. Coincidence? 

Seems like ‘Heatseeker’ attracted a bit too much heat, heh heh.

—

And that was Part 2 of our Katana ZERO OC event. Is your finger tired from scrolling yet? Not as much as mine...

Click here to read ‘Part 3: Was Going To Be The Finale But I’m Drowning’. Thanks immensely to every single artist who’s submitted their characters and expanded the world of Katana ZERO just a bit more!

By @wqwrppwu

[komorebirei]

The Water Was Never Afraid - Chapter 14: Grind

(AO3)

“You’ll be fine, kid,” Plagg whispered from Adrien’s collar as he strode down the hall to the photography studio, all made up and ready to go. “Remember to breathe, and don’t do anything stupid.”

Adrien heeded Plagg’s advice and took a deep breath before pushing open the door.

“Adrien! Good morning!”

The effervescent voice made Adrien’s heart quicken. He took in Marinette’s appearance—her hair was loose, one side hooked behind her ear, and she wore a loose, silk crepe button-down blouse in red, tucked into form-fitting black pants and red ballet flats. She looked good in red. “Good morning,” he said, trying not to blush or think about last night.

Not that last night had been anything remarkable for her. They’d just hung out and talked over banana bread.

But for him, it was the earth-shattering night that he had realized he had fallen in love for the second time in his life.

“Violette should be here soon, too,” Marinette remarked, beckoning Adrien toward the changing booths.

Violette was a model from a partner agency, and Adrien had worked with her on multiple occasions while he was still modeling, so they were on friendly terms.

Étienne, the photographer, waved as he approached. “‘Morning, boss.”

Adrien greeted him back, as Marinette held open the curtain for him. Four outfits were hanging in garment bags on hooks inside the booth.

As Adrien was changing, he heard the door open and a feminine, Italian-accented voice enter the room.

“Marinette, love! You look gorgeous as usual, my dear. Are you sure you don’t want to take my place?”

Adrien couldn’t help but agree with her appraisal, though it was probably for the better that he wouldn’t be posing with Marinette.

“Oh, hush, Violette,” Marinette laughed. “I’m a disaster in photos. I’d rather be on the other side of the camera.”

Footsteps came closer as Marinette ushered Violette to the other changing booth. “Adrien’s already changing, so we’ll start soon.”

The color scheme was neutrals with a pop of color. For the first look, Adrien wore a cream coat with black buttons, a grey turtleneck, and ochre yellow pants. The inner lining of the coat, which showed with certain poses, was white with centimeter-sized polka dots the same color as the pants. Violette, wearing a light grey overcoat draped over her shoulders, a white chiffon blouse with ruffled collar, and white straight-leg pants with black stiletto ankle-boots, donned a bright orange scarf.

“Good to see you, love,” Violette pulled Adrien in for a hug, throwing air kisses at his cheeks, careful not to disturb their hair and makeup.

Marinette handed Adrien a black umbrella.

“Did I tell you anything about the collection?”

Adrien shook his head. “Sorry, I should know by now.”

“It’s okay, this was all last minute,” Marinette reassured him. Addressing both him and Violette, she explained, “The theme centers around the pop of color in a greyscale palette, and since rain kind of symbolizes a drab or greyscale environment, I decided to use an umbrella as a prop, and even do some shots that look like they were taken in the rain. We’ll do a round of ‘dry shots,’ where you’ll pose with the umbrella, then move on to the ‘wet shots.’ Don’t worry, you won’t actually get wet, Étienne’s just going to use props to simulate rain.”

They shot a series of photos against a neutral grey backdrop with just the umbrella. Adrien settled into the familiar routine, his mind going into autopilot. He couldn’t help but watch Marinette as she moved around the studio, checking different angles, giving Étienne directions.

“Great expression, Adrien, but I need you to look left,” Étienne instructed. Marinette adjusted his arm, and he swooned internally at her soft touch and the subtle whiff of her perfume.

It had been eight long years since he had last fallen in love. The way he felt about Ladybug had scarred over into something calm, mature, and occasionally painful. He had forgotten what it was like to feel giddy from the mere proximity of the object of his affections.

Why had he ever agreed to date Kagami without feeling this way about her?

“Open the umbrella and hold it—yes, just like that.” Étienne continued to give instructions, Marinette leaning into him to whisper something inaudible to the models. She motioned with her hand. “Violette, over here.”

Bodies shifted. Adrien peeked under the umbrella’s canopy at Marinette—she met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. Feeling burned, he reverted his gaze to where Étienne wanted him to look.

Sure, he had rationalized that he couldn’t have Ladybug, and he didn’t think he was capable of loving anyone else the same way. He cared for Kagami deeply, of course. Their friendship was irreplaceable. She was important to him, and he wanted her to be happy.

Yet, Marinette had blindsided him. Since last night, he had been drowning in reminiscence of all the moments they had shared over the past eight years. She had caused him a fair amount of grief throughout collège and the beginning of lycée, when he wasn’t sure where their friendship stood and whether she really considered him a good friend or thought of him as highly as he thought of her.

“Try a little smile. Like you have a secret.”

Adrien shifted his weight, adjusting his pose. He had a secret, all right, but it didn’t make him want to smile. Nonetheless, shooting a longing glance at Marinette, he pretended there was hope for them and smiled. Why was love always out of his reach?

“Marinette deserves nothing less than fabulous, don’t you think?” Violette remarked to him, shifting her pose. “Spice it up, darling.”

That drove the last of the clouds out of his expression.

He recalled how precious those small victories with Marinette were, like the time they’d sat next to each other on the bus for three hours on a school trip and rather than it being awkward, they had lost themselves in chatting the whole way.

Since then, they had shared inside jokes and movie recommendations, and his heart swelled every time he reminded himself that they were really and truly friends.

Could that have been love, after all? A form of love? Maybe he had loved her all along.

Maybe he was so smitten with Ladybug he hadn’t recognized the potential that was there.

“… to Romeo. Earth to Romeo.”

Adrien blinked and looked at Violette, realizing he’d zoned out. “What?”

“How was your trip to outer space? We’re done with this round—time to change.” She snaked an arm around his and pulled him toward the booths, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “So, lover boy, sweet on our little designer, aren’t you?”

“W-what?” Adrien blushed. “Why do you say that?”

“Darling, you keep looking at her as if she holds all the secrets of the universe.”

“It’s not like that,” Adrien insisted, fighting a blush. His brain caught up to what Violette had been calling him—Romeo—and he gasped in horror. “Violette, you’ve got it all wrong! I’m in a committed relationship. With… someone else. Not Marinette. Please don’t insinuate anything.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Violette held up her hands. “I didn’t mean to offend you, my love. I didn’t know, otherwise I would not have said anything, okay? Forgive me.”

They went into their separate booths, the word ‘committed’ rubbing Adrien like a grain of sand under his skin.

For the next look, Adrien wore a primary blue coat over a grey-pinstriped white button down shirt and slate grey slacks, while Violette wore an emerald fitted blouse with a gathered collar and sleeves, tucked into beige wide-leg pants cinched with a forest green fabric sash.

Marinette pulled an inflatable pool from the other end of the studio, while Étienne clamped a pane of glass to an upright stand and misted it with water droplets from a spray bottle. He set up a portable shower head behind the glass, over the pool, and adjusted the lighting.

“Are you sure we’re not going to get wet?” Adrien asked dubiously, not quite sure how this was going to work.

Marinette laughed. “Of course! Watch and learn. First, you, Adrien… stand right here.” She guided Adrien into place while Violette settled into a chair on the side to wait her turn.

Marinette switched on the shower and held the umbrella under it until the top was decorated with water droplets and trails of water, then handed it to Adrien. Their fingers brushed, and she gave him a warm smile.

A sense of déjà vu dredged up an ancient memory. “Marinette, remember the day we became friends?” he asked breathlessly before she could step away.

The smile faltered and she blushed. “Of course I remember,” she murmured. “I’m surprised you do.”

“Why wouldn’t I? That was one of the most important days of my life.”

Marinette’s lips curled up subtly, as if she were lost in thought, then she looked Adrien over, choosing not to respond. Several seconds passed achingly as she adjusted his jacket, smoothed his shirt, and shifted a few strands of hair. Though she did it with all the innocent attentiveness of an artist examining the composition of her piece of work, Adrien couldn’t help but imagine tenderness in her touch.

When she stepped away, the atmosphere reverted to all business.

Étienne took his position behind the pane of glass, snapping a few shots as Adrien improvised poses.

“Violette,” Marinette called, and she switched places with Adrien.

Adrien hovered over Étienne’s shoulder as he photographed Violette.

“Let me work in peace, boss,” Étienne said with gruff affection, elbowing Adrien lightly without taking his hands off the camera.

“I just want to see how the ‘rain’ is turning out.”

Étienne humored him with a sneak peek. The droplet-covered pane of glass created a glittering bokeh effect in the foreground, and combined with the streaks of falling water droplets in the background and the water-covered umbrella, the shots looked convincingly to have been taken in the rain. “They’ll look even better after post processing,” Étienne added.

“Very impressive.”

“I’ll confess, the idea was Marinette’s.”

“Ah, she’s brilliant,” Adrien sighed.

The look Étienne gave him went over his head.

Violette snagged Adrien on the way to the dressing booths for the third outfit change. “You made her blush, Casanova. What ever did you say, love?”

“Violette, I’m serious,” Adrien pleaded, looking her firmly in the eyes. He lowered his voice and gave in to the fact that she could see right through him. “I’m not supposed to feel this way about her. If anything gets out about it, it’s not going to look good for either of us, so please stop.”

She looked at him pityingly and squeezed his arm. “If she’s the one you want, there’s always a chance. I don’t see a ring on your finger, after all.” She winked, a sly expression flitting across her face.

“Maybe,” Adrien sighed.

“I won’t breathe a word, my love, don’t worry.” She patted his shoulder, and they split into their respective booths.

“She’s right, you know,” Plagg whispered very quietly in his ear once the curtain was secured. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble if you keep this up. You don’t have to be with Kagami if you don’t love her that way.”

“I can’t do that to Kagami,” Adrien returned quietly. “And I do love her.” Just not that way, maybe.

“Did you say something, love?” Violette called from the neighboring booth.

“No, nothing,” Adrien called back.

—

Adrien cut into his steak and, spearing an asparagus tip along with it, put a small piece in his mouth.

The low-lit restaurant was hushed, the sound of subdued chatter and silverware against ceramic filling the room.

“How did the photoshoot go?” Kagami asked, nudging his foot with hers under the table.

“I thought it went well.” Adrien took a deep breath to quell the sense of anxiety that was rising in his chest. “The photographer used this cool effect to make the shots look like they were taken in the rain. I can’t wait to see them published.”

“I’m really happy for Marinette.” Kagami’s smile didn’t show that she had any reservations about this sentiment.

Adrien nodded, then changed the topic because he couldn’t bear to talk about Marinette with Kagami. “I heard this dinner was your doing?” He looked around at the table, where some of Gabriel’s biggest backers were seated, enjoying the food and conversation. Best of all, Gabriel himself was present, with Nathalie at his side.

Kagami shook her head modestly. “I had lunch with your father, and we talked, that’s all. It was his idea.”

Adrien knew better. Kagami had a way of inspiring people to action. “Thank you,” he whispered, sliding his hand across the table to brush her fingers.

“I know you’ve been encouraging him to go out lately. I just wanted to help… I thought it would make you happy.”

“I am happy.” With a rueful smile, he retracted his hand to cut another piece of steak.

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Forgotten Alliance Ch. 11

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x OC with other parings mentioned throughout.

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Canon Typical things

Author’s Note: As a reminder, FA can be found on ffnet up to chapter 42. I am uploading chapters here on tumblr for convenience. I decided against tagging this until new chapters are posted. Of course there are a few that wished to be tagged and I will be tagging them in this. If you would like to be tagged please let me know! Chapters are queued and will be posted randomly.  Enjoy

The fire in the fireplace had lit the whole room. The crackle of the fire was the only thing that could be heard. Elizabeth laid on the floor looking up the ceiling. On the floor next to her was an old small chest. Elizabeth had taken that chest with her everywhere. It held things from her past that meant something to her. For being alive for eight centuries she didn't have a lot in that box. Inside, it held many photos, letters and trinkets that meant the world to her. Most of those trinkets belonged to those she had cared for that had passed. Since they had been back from spreading Finn's ashes, Elizabeth had left the family in the living room to leave them be as a family.

Finn's death had reminded her of the deaths of those that had grown close to her. She had seen a lot of death over some time. But no matter how many times Elizabeth had lost someone, she grieved like any other human did. She should have easily had been able to say they had died and moved on. But it had been impossible for her to do so. It was one of the things that made Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth knew that she would no longer feel the grief after a few days. But until then she always found herself with the chest next to her debating on opening it up or leaving it locked up.

Even as she looked up at the ceiling, her hand was wrapped around the small key that hung from a necklace around her neck. She hadn't opened it yet. She tired telling herself that there was nothing that she could put into this time. She only ever placed something in there that belonged to the deceased when they were close friends. Elizabeth and Finn hadn't even known each other that long. She had no right to add anything of his in there. That had been the reason she had not opened the chest yet.

Elizabeth heard footsteps approach her room but she didn't move her eyes away from the ceiling until the person stood looking over her. Turning her head slightly, she saw Elijah standing over her. He gave a small smile as he looked down at her. She smiled back at him and let go of the key.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news." He said with a sigh.

"Can't we just save the bad news for tomorrow?" She asked looking back up at the ceiling. There was always something. Elizabeth learned that a long time ago. "What ever news it is, what is a few hours going to do if we just ignore it?"

"Lucien freed Aurora." Elijah said softly.

"He already has a head start, Elijah." She said turning her head towards him. "For all we know he already freed her when he left us in Mystic Falls." She sighed softly. "You just lost your brother. It may be the second time, Elijah, but you need to give yourself time to grieve." She sat up in her spot. "I may have never had any siblings. But I had Malakai. And I may not have lost him, but it felt like it."

Elijah had sighed once more as he moved to sit down next to her. He had noticed the chest and picked it up and placed it on his lap. "Chest full of secrets?" He asked with a small smile.

Elizabeth shook her head and she pulled the necklace over her head and held her hand out to him. "A box of memories." She said as he took the key from her. "I had been debating on opening it. I usually do after a funeral."

"Why haven't you opened it yet?" He asked examining the key. He wouldn't open it without her permission.

"I couldn't bring myself to do it." She said looking down at the box. "I have everything that is in there memorized front and back." She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on one knee. "It's the things I collected over the centuries from those I cared about that died."

"Like trophies." He whispered. And Elizabeth shook her head.

"Like memories." She said looking at the chest. "Open it up." She looked back up at him.

Elijah hesitated at first, but he opened it. And when he did, he looked at how the chest was neatly organized. Some of the items he vaguely remember them. He pulled out a chain that held a marble that looked like it held the universe in it. Elijah couldnt place where he had seen it before. He looked at it for a moment before placing it back into the chest. Next, he pulled out a small blanket and looked at Elizabeth, curious.

"That was hers." She said with a small nod. It was the first blanket she was wrapped in before we sent her to the other village.

"We had gone through a lot to ensure her safety." Elijah said with a small nod.

"We did." Her eyes began to fill with tears as she remembered the planning it had taken for them to ensure her daughter would not come into a world with an abusive father. Elijah had gone through the trouble of compelling everyone in the village for them to forget that she had been pregnant, even her own husband. And when the night came that Elizabeth went into labor, Rebekah had been the one to help deliver her daughter. "She got to live a happy life." She smiled slightly.

"I thought the last time you saw her was when she was younger." Elijah asked thinking about when he had been inside her head.

"It was, but being that I always wanted to know how she was doing, I compelled her neighbor to tell me how she was doing. If I saw her, I would have either tried taking her back or told her that I was her mother. They named her Jane. Its not the name I wanted for her, but it's her name."

"If I recall correctly, you wanted her name to be Lily." Elizabeth's smile grew.

"Because I remember seeing the lilies growing and they had bloomed so beautifully that year. And then I gave birth to her a few weeks later. "

"I remember walking through the field with you that day." Elijah said with a smile on his face.

"Things seemed so much simpler then." Elizabeth said with a slight shake of her head. "It was in those moments that everything felt at peace. Like I'd be safe and wouldn't have to worry about anything."

"They were simple for you, Elizabeth." Elijah said watching her. "I had still been in hiding from Mikael. Coming to see you could have put you in danger."

"Mikael came because Niklaus decided to try and make hybrids." She said with some hate towards both Mikael and Klaus. Even though Elizabeth had forgiven Klaus for what happened, it still didn't change the fact that a lot of those that lived in her village had died just because they had activated their werewolf curse. She could remember that day as if it had been yesterday. She hadn't understand what vampire blood could do until that night. She had watched as Klaus fed and killed them all. "Compulsion or not, others knew about what he had done and that had spread like a wildfire. I'm just surprised he didn't try killing me for taking and hiding Malakai."

"It was only a matter of time until he died, Elizabeth. He thought of it as a waste of time to chase after you for someone that was bound to die."

"Joke is on him right?" She said with a smirk on her face. Elijah chuckled and closed the chest, handing it to her along with the key. She placed the key around her neck before standing up to place the chest back in it's spot. When she turned back, she found Elijah standing up, with his arm leaning on the mantle of the fireplace and his eyes on the fire. Elizabeth stood there for a moment just watching him. As he watched the flames flicker, she could feel the feeling of guilt began to build. She knew this time he had felt guilty for something. Along with that guilt, there was sadness. And Elizabeth knew it had to do with Finn.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked taking a few steps towards him and placing her hand on his shoulder. Elijah looked over at her and sighed.

"I should have had that bullet destroyed. " He said almost emotionless.

"You had no idea that any of this would happen." She said trying to comfort him. "You wanted to keep your family whole. Destroying it would have broken this family more than it already had been."

"My family has been broken for some time, Elizabeth. I have no reason to believe it could have been any worse than it already has been."

"What would destroying it have done to Finn?" She asked shaking her head slightly. "He had wanted to live a life in a witch's body and live at peace. You would have had your family back. It isn't good to think about the 'what ifs' Elijah." She watched as he looked away from her and back to the fire. A thought crossed her mind and she hoped that it would help him now, just as he helped her when she needed it. "Remember what you said the night I came back from hiding Malakai?"

Elijah looked up at her once more. There was confusion in his eyes for a moment before he nodded. "We can not change what has already been done. We can only take what we've learned from it and move on."

"Remember what I said to that?" She asked with a small smirk. "I'll be the one to make sure Malakai makes it, even if I had to make a deal with a devil to do so."

"How can I forget?" He said with a smile now on his lips. "That was the first time I ever saw a hint of the devil in your eyes."

Elizabeth chuckled. "I was a pregnant at the time, you were bound to see different things." She could no longer feel his guilt. She was glad she was able to distract him from it.

"Pregnant or not, that particular gleam is still there, and I cant help to wonder why?" He said looking her in the eyes. "Malakai is alive and well. What is it that still has the devil hiding behind those eyes?"

All Elizabeth could do was smirk slightly looking into his eyes. It took her a moment to find the right words about the devil he claimed to be hiding. "My deal with the devil is far from over." She said and watched as his eyebrow raised. The truth was Elizabeth had made several other promises to herself over the centuries. They seemed to pile together and the gleam that was in her eyes was the need for her own revenge free happiness. While she was able to hide the feelings that came with those promises, her mind couldn't easily forget them and there would be a time where she would no longer seek anymore bloodshed.

"What is it that you have yet to finish?" He asked. They both had not seemed to notice that they had moved closer to each other during their conversation. They were only standing inches apart. The fire that had light the room up earlier had now dimmed from not being fed.

"You'll just have to compel that out of me." Elizabeth still had a smirk playing on the corner of her lips. She wasn't sure if he would actually do it or if he would leave it as it was.

"Such a tempting offer, Liz." He said as he moved a strand of hair behind her ear. Elizabeth looked at Elijah surprised. He had never once called her by her nickname. It had been different to hear it coming from his lips. "But I won't force it out of you. I'd like to help you though."

Elizabeth swallowed the lump that was starting to form in her throat. "Some devils and demons are better left unknown to others." Elizabeth knew she could trust Elijah. She knew that everyone had a dark place that other kept their secrets. She even knew about Elijah's red door, and what it once held. She had heard the stories what Ester had done to open that door. But it was what her own memories would do to him. It was what she had done and some of the things she had witnessed that would make him possibly think differently of her or even himself.

"May, I?" Elijah asked bring his hand up to her head. He wanted to see into her mind. He wanted to see what creatures filled her with the need for revenge. He wanted to see the life she had while he had forgotten about her. Elizabeth had hesitated a moment at his question. She knew that he wanted to see the demons that she hid. She nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off his.

"Just don't say I didn't warn you." She said as he placed his hand on her head and she opened her mind to him.

Elijah said nothing as several images had passed through his mind. They were quick flashes of memories and moments in Elizabeth's life that had caused the gleam to stay with in her eyes. He could see and feel the hatred she had towards Aya the night she had taken everything from her. The satisfying pleasure she received from being the one to end Aya's life was something Elijah may have witnessed but feeling it and seeing it from her view had given him a different view on it. He caught the glimpse of a memory of Elizabeth arguing with Lucien about his witch that laid dead at Elizabeth's feet. The witch's death had triggered Elizabeth's blood lust and the deaths that had followed had been more than Elijah had ever killed. He watched as she had fallen far off the wagon before she had been brought back by a human that had only wished to help her. She had fallen in love with him. And while she had loved him, it had always felt off in someway that Elizabeth could never understand.

Elijah then found one of the demons that Elizabeth had warned him about. The human Elizabeth had fallen in love with had stopped to eat at a Diner on his way to meet Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been on her way to meet him from checking on Malakai who had been enjoying his life since he had been up. He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Elijah knew the diner very well. He had recognized it the moment he saw through Elizabeth's eyes as she had run up to it, only to hide herself from the windows. Through her memories, Elijah saw himself speaking with Rebekah before she had snapped his neck. It was then Elijah had realized what had been done. He had lost himself in the moment and killed many in the diner. And one of them had been Elizabeth's human. It was why the chain in Elizabeth's chest had looked so familiar to him.

Elijah wanted to pull his hand away from her head, but Elizabeth continued to show him the other demons that awaited for their revenge. And for a woman that he had thought lived a better life than he had while she was away had seen more betrayal and suffering than he had living with Klaus or on the run from Mikael. Elizabeth had easily been able to put her revenge aside for those that she had cared about. She had dropped everything the moment Malakai had gotten into some trouble and they fled the country. It was how they had ended up in Paris until Elizabeth found out about the Strix. And with their return to the states, she knew it was only a matter of time until the pack Malakai had betrayed would find them again. While Elijah had no need to know the worries of Malakai there had been one thing that had stuck out like to him. Another demon to be warned about.

Elijah saw her conversations with Hayley and how she had convinced her to have a kill list. And with that, Elijah learned that the pack Malakai had betrayed had been one close to the Crescents. They wanted Malakai dead and it was why he always stayed away when a wolf was near. And with Elizabeth doing anything to protect those she cares about, she did what she had to. Elizabeth wanted the Alpha as far away from them as possible. It had been why Elizabeth had planted the idea of keeping Hope safe by leaving with Klaus in Hayley's head when she didn't expect it. While Elizabeth hated doing it, she had to keep the person she cared about safe. She just never expected Malakai to take off with both of them. Elizabeth had kept the selfish reasons she had done it hidden from Elijah, though. There was no way she would allow that to be seen.

Pulling his hand away from her head, he looked with several emotions passing his face. He wanted to be angry at her for getting Hayley to agree to killing the Strix. He wanted to apologize for killing the human. He wanted to comfort her for the pain and suffering she had endured. But he couldn't bring himself to show any of those. Elizabeth could see it in his eyes that he was trying to process everything she had allowed him to see.

She sighed softly looking down at her feet. "I warned you." She said softly before looking back up at him. "And I don't expect you to feel pity for what had been done at that Diner, Elijah. " She shook her head slightly. "I do, however, expect that anger to come back out." She said watching him. And when she hadn't seen the anger return or even any of the other emotions return, she had began to wonder why. Her eyebrow raised slightly as she waited for him to say or do anything. When a sigh passed his lips, she had relaxed a little.

"I can't be angry with you." He said with a small nod. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. "As much as I would like to feel some anger towards you, it is just not there."

"Then what is the-"Elijah had cut Elizabeth off by pressing his lips to her. While it had surprised Elizabeth, she hadn't pulled away from him. The kiss had been slow and sweet. There was no reason to rush anything. While Elizabeth had been surprised, Elijah had been surprised with himself. It had been so much easier to let Elizabeth in. There was no fight with himself on deciding if this was wrong or right. Elijah had just felt it to be the right thing to do. But just as sudden as the kiss started, it ended with the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Elizabeth had been the first one to pull away seeing as it had been her room that they were still standing in. Who ever it was that was trying to get their attention had obviously came to see her. Her eyes looked away from Elijah and toward the door. While she should be surprised to see who had been standing there she wasn't. And if Elizabeth had to be completely honest, she had been smirking on the inside. "Hayley."

[cdlabelsize-blog]

The strength of Labels

dvd dimensions You define your own world with labels. Anyone define those around a person using labels. You specify your self with labels. Product labels tend to be powerful - become careful the method that you use these people: they can make or even break your current attitude along with energy.

dvd dimensions

Entire world Labels

While a freshman within college or university my bicycle had been lost from my dormitory hall while my roomie in addition to I cleaned our place. I was lucky for you to get this bicycle again. I was luckier to help learn a valuable "Labeling" tutorial. A Hispanic man (fellow student) had consumed typically the bike. I has been prejudiced versus Hispanics intended for some time after which as a consequence of his actions.

My spouse and i don't like seeing my very own attitudes with regards to people transform because of an individual. In which realization helped me redouble my attitude so that will My partner and i didn't lump tons of great people straight into my frustration at him or her. Time dissolved that rage so he has not possibly the subject of the ire, and hasn't also been in generations. Hispanics decided not to steal our bike -- one person did, as well as he happened to end up being Latino.

That label confident eaten a lot associated with my energy to get a short time there.

Accuracy in the labels is important so in which your thinking correctly reveal the world and also appearance your attitude in regards to the entire world you are describing along with living in.

Better still, minimizing your own personal labeling let us you see men and women with regard to all that they are usually, and can be. Gowns energizing for them, in addition to for an individual, rather compared to taking energy.

Trademarks about Others

On a care my husband and We took a Refezione analyze. Mensa is the "high IQ society" - clever people, to label these individuals. We'd been speaking with Mensa conventions and a single on the organizers felt many of us were Tavola material, nevertheless I was not sure I'd personally even accommodate with the class - or perhaps wanted in order to. I'd long assumed persons in Mensa had been geeks who played expression as well as number games, and have had little social skills. Similar to this collection of labels?!

Considering that our interactions with the various people at often the conventions have been favorable most of us took the assessment : and passed! I actually shoved into a whole distinct collection of labels any time I included with my LinkedIn account that we was any Mensa member (yes, all of us joined the association). My spouse and i was now labeled while some sort of know-it-all, as inside I must recognize every little thing about everything. Inappropriate!

Labeling can help define your personal tribe, or circle regarding contacts and friends. They might be labels of praise or maybe derision. But, labels could also often be narrow and also limiting - and gowns the thing that makes them a difficulty. Labels will come from trusting stereotypes, not being totally sure or being familiar with the full qualifications involving someone's life, as well as via your own life experience along with biases.

Labels place individuals in boxes. Packing containers are generally simplistic. How perform those product labels drain your own energy because of your current "need" to defend all of them? And also the do those trademarks influence impact the folks you put them with?

Others' Labels on You actually

I've possessed others use labels in my experience that, until eventually I saw the fact that was going on and changed my very own response, brought me along. Occasionally I've quickly observed this the label didn't get pian relief, or even apply, in addition to had the ability to rise above the actual energy drain the idea made in me. Occasionally really taken me months to be able to see what happened, arrive at grips with my effect, and re-energize myself.

At times positive labels, while experiencing good, have encouraged me personally to feel cocky or even exceptional. That's limiting as well. While intended compliment connected with a ticket was supposed well, the reaction had not been reasonable. Brands shouldn't help make us no more than they need to break us. Permitting the particular meaning of a point check out your head basically healthy.

Product labels are aspect of how "tribes" usually are created, or identified. Tribes are great to always be part of! Many of us expand, connect, and experience realized with "our people". Typically the trick is to not really permit the tribe's label "get you". You aren't excellent or poor because associated with the tribe label. You will be more than the group, just as you will be much more than the label.

Experiencing precisely how others' labels impression our psyche, it's fair personally to expect this labels upon others affects them in the same manner, even in the event that positive. I know everyone in business is in charge of each of our own reactions on the universe, but I want for you to tread carefully but not lead to others to have a lot more challenges than they actually do. I want to help limit my very own label apps. I want the phrases to lift men and women, certainly not box them throughout.

Your own personal Labels on On your own

Almost certainly my most destroying self applied label I've given to personally is "I'm wii businesswoman". Never mind that My partner and i are actually successfully self-employed regarding over 29 years rapid that is beside typically the point. When I determined to alter the focus regarding my career, the following a few year hiatus did not support my self photo.

Throughout hindsight, those restrictions We bought into contributed in my opinion losing passion for our previous career as a new guest house consultant and brokerage. The volume of four- and five-star B&Bs I'd coached loaded this resume. The range of people I actually really helped realize their hopes for buying and operating a resort filled my cardiovascular system. Nevertheless somehow all of which has not been enough.

I weren't productive by others' explanations involving success: my cash flow levels, my website site visitors, how informed the globe was of myself, often the number of books We would printed - all fell into listed below others' ideas connected with precisely what made for the successful businessperson. U ordered into those constraints intended for a long time. I had created caged me personally with damaging labels.

Joining Brendon Burchard's High Performance Secondary school with March 2015 time to share view the cage I'd set myself into and start its door so My spouse and i could possibly fly free yet again. I am able to still feel that will surge associated with power as well as self identification! What any moment when I started out that cage door, got out into the home, and also stretched my wings.

I am just back!

The almost all damaging labeling of almost all are probably the brands anyone apply to oneself. As you control who have others can be, or perhaps how they are noticed, when you utilize product labels to them, you carry out a similar to yourself instructions merely more so. A person are more important along with unforgiving of on your own as compared to others, most of the actual time, knowning that takes some sort of lot of energy.

While you can be so very much more than you, in addition to more than a tag stated, be careful regarding the labels you actually implement to yourself. If a person think also highly involving yourself, an individual limit your own personal growth in that spot. If you think way too lowly connected with yourself, anyone discourage expansion there far too. The labels you actually employ reflect all the methods you put yourself within packing containers, the ways a person limit by yourself, and the particular ways you don't accept yourself fully.

Your power is usually connected to your personal acceptance, your own growth, as well as your freedom. Whenever you steer clear of self labels an individual mirror self acceptance. Once you adopt yourself you assist your current growth. When you no longer box yourself in you could have the freedom to possibly be yourself inside myriad techniques. Those just about all support a new strong energy.

Good vitality keeps you living with typically the day, allows you in order to be fruitful, and results in alertness. Lifestyle label cost-free supports a lively life.

[humansofap]

I drive up Springwood Ave. to Ridge on a sunny September morning. The streets are virtually deserted and the empty lots and buildings look foreboding. I am on my way to meet Barsheen Ridout, a 57-year-old, long-time resident of Asbury Park who I befriended while taking street photos. He stopped me in front of the barbershop and asked me about my camera. We got to talking about photography and Asbury Park in general. When I told him about my project, he was suspicious, maybe even angry. His exact words were “What I want to know is why a little white girl gives a shit about the west side of Asbury Park and the people who live here!” I had prepared myself for a question like this, but was taken aback at how much I had upset him. I tried to explain how I felt that all stories need to be told and I wanted to help tell them. This seemed to assuage him a bit, and he begrudgingly agreed to meet with me to be interviewed.

I had asked him to pick a spot in Asbury Park that had the most meaning to him, and he told me to meet him at his childhood home on Ridge Ave., which is where I am headed now. I pull up to the house and Barsheen is waiting for me with a wistful look on his face. He tells me this house brings back so many memories. It was his aunt’s home and he lived with her on and off throughout the 60’s and 70’s. His life has not been easy but the times he spent in this house with his aunt were happy ones. Looking back, he realizes this home in Asbury Park was a safe haven for him.

“I lived here from when I was very little until I was 9. Both my parents were IV drug users. Dopers. My father was a pickpocket and my mother did anything he told her to do. It was in my blood, in my family’s blood. So my aunt was raising me. When I was 9, me and my sister decided to run away to go live with my parents in New York. We moved to Harlem and ended up living in 4 different places over 5 years. We were gypsies. Within the 5 years a lot of stuff happened. My father was in jail for shooting somebody. And then the same guy that killed my mother stabbed me. So my father was in the penitentiary and mother was dead and us kids had no one. So I came back to Asbury and my aunt’s house when I was 14.

I came back after the riots. Everything was so different. It was amazingly different. Sometimes I feel a little disconnected and connected to this place. It’s hard for me to say but every time I came back there was something new. It’s an interesting perspective because I wasn’t always here but I always came back.”

We decided to walk around a little so Barsheen can describe what the neighborhood looked like when he was growing up. There is an empty lot next to his aunt’s house that he tells me there used to be full of trees and the kids would call it “the woods” and play in it. He points out a house across the street and tells me it used to be a candy shop owned by Puerto Ricans. As he talks, I can see that the memories are transporting Barsheen to a different time and he gets more animated as he points out different buildings, recalling his old neighborhood.

 “These all used to be older houses but they all got knocked down and built over. My aunt used to send me to the store around the corner. There used to be a gas station right here. Lake Ave. is a whole lot different than it was back then. The whole avenue was full of stores. That used to the be nun’s home and the catholic hall. There was a church on the other corner.”

 We walk up Lake Ave. and it is hard to imagine the bustling neighborhood he is describing. Barsheen points to one of the very few businesses that are open.

 “That liquor store been there forever, since I can remember. See there are 3 things you can count on in a poverty-stricken area. Liquor stores, churches, and laundromats. Those things will always be there in low income areas. That shit right there’s been killing us for a long time. Because you won’t find that in suburbs. You can’t walk to the liquor store in the suburbs, you gotta get in your car and drive there. But in every inner-city poverty stricken community, you can walk to numerous liquor stores. That fires me up. I used to frequent the store a whole lot in the 80’s. Now understanding the science of control and conditioning, about how the establishment that kills a community can stay in the same spot for the past 40 years makes me understand it a little more. None of it is owned by members of the community. Indians run the liquor store. In the 60’s Caucasians owned it. In the 80’s they took it over. Now I’m not talking about the owners. I’m talking about the condition of the institution. That they can come to a place like this and profit. The circumstances and situations.”

 As he speaks, he raises his voice and is growing more and more upset. A man on a bicycle rides past us and stops to stare. Barsheen tells him “peace” and assures him we are fine, and he rides away slowly. We are standing in front of a non-descript building and I notice that Barsheen is looking up at the second floor.

“Up top here used to be a gambling club called the 54 House. From when I can remember till the late 80’s. I remember it when I was a kid, then I remember when I was old enough to go in it. We’d play cards, shoot dice, it was a social place for the community. Even in the 70’s when I was a teenager the block was alive. It was a construction town. There were a whole lot more people and whole lot more buildings. This was the construction man’s and the common man’s place to socialize. They had a charter from the city to have a social club.”

I am curious about what police presence was like at that time and whether they were ever shut down.

“They [54 House] did illegal activity, however the guy who ran it for years, who was called Rayfield, was partners with a guy called Artesia Moore. He [Moore] was an ex police officer and he married into a family that owned the Arking lounge. He worked for the gangsters. When his father in law passed away, Artesia’s wife gave him the racket for the town. So him and Rayfield ran it. This was left alone by the cops. They were left alone as long as no drugs were involved. I’m not sure what happened to it [54 House]. I left Asbury for a while and when I came back it just wasn’t there no more”

We decide move our conversation to Kula café, a block away. Big glass windows afford us a great view of Lake Ave. We are right down the block from 2nd Baptist church was where Barsheen was baptized. He tells me it was THE church back then. He tells me it’s where “all the uppity people went.”

He tells me that the café we are sitting in used to be a drug store. There used to be a bar across the street called the Turf Club in the 50’s and 60’s. It was home to many famous performers including the then up and coming Clarence Clemmons. He tells me that both sides of the street were full of bars and lounges. There was the Paramount Pool Hall. It used to be a movie theater until Barsheen’s cousin, Robin Hill bought it and turned it into a pool room. On the other side of the block was Cuba’s bar.

“My aunt Evelyn Smith, worked there, she was barmaid. The husband was Cuba and the wife was Mini. When the gangsters came down to Asbury and they would bring black folks with them, they would break the glasses afterward. [They didn’t want to keep glasses that black folks had drank out of] So my aunt would ask if she could take them home instead. So she had a whole collection of glasses.”

I am slightly taken about by this. I am trying to understand the demographics of the west side at that time. I ask if the neighborhood was mixed.

“In the 60’s a lot of Italians owned things, like all those stores we call bodegas now. The paramount was a black club, the turf club was black too. Cuba’s was not. It was the elite. The borderline was the railroad track and Asbury Ave. Past there you didn’t find too many black people in the 60’s. If you went to Cookman Ave., you knew you had to act right. You knew you were someplace special. You better act right in the white folk’s shit. Cuz the borderline was the goddamn tracks. Then the riots happened in the 70’s. After everything was burnt down, there was a portion of Lake Ave. that was left empty on both sides. It never got rebuilt. Recently they built a few homes on both sides. Maybe in the 90s. But it’s never been the same.”

Barsheen tells me that in the 90’s there were black-run businesses in Downtown Asbury Park, which are all gone now; a result of gentrification.

“They had Freeman’s bakery and a black woman ran it. Bond St. and Cookman, that whole side was run by black people. There was a deli on the corner, then a barber shop, then the Jamaican guy’s clothing store. Then they pushed him out by raising the rents and now he’s in Collingswood barely making a living. They pushed everybody out!”

I want to know what growing up in Asbury Park was like for him and how it affected him personally.

“This whole area right here was all lower income. This was all stores and above them were tenements. So when I came back in 79’ that’s when I was hustling. My whole crew was doing it. I would stand on this corner right here and I could see all the way down this block. I could see all the way to the bar and I could see everybody hanging out there. And I’d get butterflies all in my stomach. I was going to that corner, it was my destination. I was going to sell drugs; I knew it was dangerous. And I’ve never told anybody this but every time I did it I was so scared. A lot of my friends died or are in prison. Yeah a lot of them. My father and mother were both dopers. I sold drugs all my life, in and out of the penitentiary. Then I finally went through recovery and got clean and identified that it’s a disease. Part of it was hereditary.”

I wonder out loud if he feels like this is a continuing problem in Asbury Park.

“That’s a really complex topic. Parents passing it on might have a lot to do with it. There’s a documentary and the guy phrased it so well he said “We didn’t bring the guns here, we didn’t bring the drugs here, we didn’t invent no poverty, we didn’t invent racism. But you hold us guilty when we can’t rise above it.”

My oldest daughter for example, is an accomplished lawyer living in Voorhees in a beautiful home. She came from right here. Both her parents were drug users. She was raised in the same house in the same environment as my step son. He’s still bumping his head. So environment plays a part but it also doesn’t. If we had more resources dedicated to us, we would have a better chance to succeed. I’m not holding to the environment 100%. The cocaine epidemic of the 80’s destroyed us [the black community]. Every block had a crack house. Everybody in this community was smoking. It affected everything very badly. That effected the next generation. I’m a survivor of it. I know people in the penitentiary for life because of it. I have close friends who died because of it. My mother’s dead because of it. This isn’t something I read about, it’s something I’ve lived.

I’ve been pondering on your question you asked me the other day about how we feel about the gentrification. One: why would you want to be someplace where they don’t want you anyway? And two: if you don’t own anything in the community, the community ain’t yours. It’s who owns it who has the voices when they go to town meetings. There are very few black people that own houses. If you own something you have a voice. But most don’t own. If you don’t own it, it isn’t yours. You and I both know this. Change in constant. And sometimes change is good. Because at one time, in this town everybody knew everybody. Is it all bad? No. This place we’re sitting in is a good change. People died for me to have the right to vote. Medgar Evers died registering people to vote. But I don’t think my vote honestly makes a goddamn difference.”

I ask if he feels like he has emotionally detached himself from Asbury Park. He seems conflicted in that he says he won’t stay some place he feels like he is not wanted, but at the same time this is his home.

“I guess it’s a paradox. It’s hard to explain. No I haven’t [emotionally detached]. I have a son here who just had a son here. I have other family in this city too. I’m 57 years old. I haven’t survived anywhere else but in the hood. This is all I remember and know. This is my home.”

I ask him if he hopes his son stays and builds a life in Asbury Park. And he replies that he hopes he does not. Barsheen wants his son to see the bigger world, see beyond this town. He says he sees too many of the young people here get caught up in it. The ones that might fall victim to the environment. He believes that success means a lot of different things to different people. It has a lot to do with ambition.

“My son lives with his sister, in the same household. His sister is doing really well in school and already has college credits. My son is always with the boys, he’s a member of the Olds. He’s got a job. He gangster raps. He graduated by the skin of his teeth.”

I’m finding it interesting that the girls seem to be more motivated that the boys and I ask if he feels the same way. He says that he knows both men and women who he grew up with who have succeeded in life and built names for themselves in the community. But he admits that the women do tend to do better.

 I ask him why he thinks that is. He gets very quiet, and the silence stretches across the table and engulfs us.

I am not leaving without an answer and I dare to ask again, “why?”

Barsheen’s eyes fill with tears and his voice shakes as he finally replies.

“Do you know that the black man is an endangered species in this country? They kill them when they want to. Trying to kill our hopes, our dreams, our spirit, our ambitions. And then when they can’t do that they put a bullet in our head. What you talking about WHY. You want to keep it for real? You asked me why? Why? That’s why.”

[dulwichdiverter]

Queen of the south

Words Luke G Williams; Photo Lima Charlie

In the words of its publisher, Candice Carty-Williams’ debut novel Queenie is “a darkly comic and bitingly subversive take on life, love, race and family”.

Centred on the trials and tribulations of protagonist Queenie Jenkins, the novel has already attracted admiring comments from writers Jojo Moyes and Diana Evans, as well as serious industry buzz.

As the publication date of 11 April approaches, Candice, in conversation with the Dulwich Diverter, admits that she is finding her new-found status as south London’s latest literary sensation “quite surreal”.

“I don’t take it lightly,” the 29-year-old says. “All the buzz around the book has been amazing but now I’m really looking forward to people reading the story and understanding what it’s about and what I’m trying to say.

“I really want people to find something in the book and in Queenie’s character. I want to give the literature landscape a heroine who is flawed, reckless and different.”

Candice admits that the process of “being taken on by an agent to being signed is in my memory but it’s sort of got a really weird haze to it! The whole thing is a blur!”

Having submitted her first draft of Queenie to influential agent Jo Unwin, Candice eventually decided to sign with Orion, who are publishing the book through their imprint Trapeze.

“When I finally made a decision I just sat sobbing in Jo’s office,” Candice reveals. “It was an amazing feeling but also quite scary, because I knew I was putting my work out there now!”

Throughout our conversation Candice’s charisma and occasionally self-deprecating wit prove charming, but above all else it is her passionate desire to broaden representation within the publishing industry that dazzles.

Refreshingly, this is not an author against whom accusations of egotism or pretension could be levelled.

“I didn’t write Queenie for any sort of glory!’ she laughs. “If I see a problem that needs fixing I try and fix it and Queenie stems from the idea of representation.

“A central character like this hasn’t existed before in a ‘big event’ publication like this has been set up to be.We’ve had Bridget Jones types and other ‘mainstream’ female characters, but growing up I never had a character like that for myself.

“When you’ve grown up not really seeing yourself represented you don’t view yourself as important. For me it was always a case of having to be grateful when I saw a black woman represented as a ‘sassy best friend’ or an exotic sexual conquest.

“That was a problem because I always saw myself as a secondary person. So I thought I’m going to write something about a young woman who people can see themselves in, and she is going to be black because I’m black and I like to write about what I know.

“It’s important to show that black women are like everyone else but also different because we see things through a different lens.”

As a youngster Croydon-born Candice – a Herne Hill resident now for almost a year - admits she lacked confidence in her abilities and creativity – a revelation that makes her current success all the more remarkable and laudable.

“Growing up I never felt I could write,” she explains. “The secondary school I went to was good but I was in all the lower sets, I didn’t really have much in the way of academic or career aspirations. Writing wasn’t something I thought I could do.

“Even now I sometimes think: is this all a joke? Writing is something I came to really late and I guess I’m still finding my confidence because I never thought it was an attainable career.”

When I remark to Candice that she seems full of confidence and self-assurance she laughs. “It’s all a ruse! I’m an introvert mainly. Talking to people and public speaking I find quite hard, but you just have to get on with it I guess.”

Candice’s route into publishing was somewhat circuitous, and speaks volumes for her determination.

After studying for a degree in Media Studies at the University of Sussex (“I wasn’t allowed to study English – I was always told I wasn’t clever enough”) her eyes were gradually opened to the mechanics of the publishing industry by university friends.

“I hadn’t realised literature was a viable career,” she explains. “I remember looking at spines of books and seeing the names of the publisher or imprints and not knowing what they were.”

Post-university a period of anxiety was salved by a book that remains one of Candice’s favourites – Dodie Smith’s I Capture the Castle.

“I’d left university and was no longer part of an institution that told me where to go, what to do and so on. I was like; what am I doing now? I was so acutely anxious that whole time and I couldn’t read anything because I just couldn’t focus.

“I Capture the Castle was the first book I was able to read in a long time. It completely took me out of myself and I was so grateful. South London is a million miles away from the setting in that book which is a crumbling castle atop a hill in the middle of nowhere!

“I’ve read a lot since then but that book will always have a place in my heart and I have a giant castle tattooed on my leg because of that book.”

Realising that she wanted to crack the publishing industry Candice worked her way up through a series of internships.

“Internships are always the answer, unless you have family or friends that work in books,” she says.“My first one was at Melville House when I was 23.

“After that I did a two-week internship at 4th Estate, and then got a job as a temporary editorial assistant at Vintage. I did that for six weeks and then 4th estate asked me to come back and be a marketing assistant. Marketing really felt like where my heart was at that time, it allowed me to be creative.

“I did that for two-and-a-half years and it was great and then I came back to Vintage but in a different capacity.”

Now senior marketing executive at Vintage, Candice stresses that she focuses her attention on work by “under-represented authors”. Indeed, while at 4th Estate, Candice was responsible for the creation - in 2016 - of the Guardian and 4th Estate BAME Short Story Prize, a highly successful initiative that is still going strong.

“I’d been in publishing for less than a year and realised the middle ground to getting your book published was having an agent,” Candice says as she explains the genesis of the initiative.

“I knew that there were loads of people who were really underrepresented in publishing – who didn’t know what agents were or didn’t have access to agents or the publishing industry.

“So I asked my boss if we could think abut a short story prize so we could see what was out there. I thought if we couldn’t immediately publish some of these writers maybe we could help them get agents.

“I went away and I drew up a proposal, which I had to pitch to the division and the head of Harper Collins, which was terrifying.

“I think it was the first industry inclusion initiative and it was done on a budget of £48 to create a website so we could collect entries. I did all the sifting, which was about 300 stories.

“It was a great success. One of the stories I read was called Black Flag by Guy Gunaratne, who was just long-listed for the Booker Prize. He thanked me in the back of his novel In Our Mad and Furious City. It is amazing the impact that the prize hashad. It’s sad that it has to exist but good that it does, if you see what I mean.”

Having lived in a variety of south London locales, from Lewisham to Brixton, Streatham, Norbury and now Herne Hill, Candice – somewhat unsurprisingly – relishes the range of local bookshops at her disposal in nearby Dulwich.

“Dulwich has some amazing bookshops,” she enthuses. “I love Dulwich Books, Village Books and Rye Books on Northcross Road.”

Another source of local pleasure for the up and coming author is somewhat more left-field.

“If there’s one thing I want to say and get into this interview somewhere it’s that I love tower blocks,” she says. “I find them very romantic. There are two tower blocks in Herne Hill that I really love.”

Candice pauses, before adding with a chuckle. “I don’t know how you’re going to work that into the article, but I think it’s important for people to know!”

[thiskryptonite]

Love

I thought for a moment that maybe there was a man beneath the beast, that I could learn to love the thing that haunted my steps and eroded my mind. I thought that I could escape, that I could be free. I thought that I could outrun myself, I thought that maybe, I belonged.

Tagging: August Knight, Cassandra (NPC), Elfain (NPC)

Timeframe: September 2014 - February 2015

Word Count: 3230

Notes: August arranges to fall in league with a coven he believes might have an elusive cipher for his mother’s grimoire. Unexpectedly, August finds himself considering leaving his current life behind and pledging himself to the coven, but things don’t go according to plan.

It was late afternoon by the time August got in from the night before, the stench of his deeds stuck to him now like the matted, blood-soaked hair that stuck to Cassandra’s face as he poured dirt over her still corpse. He didn’t know how it happened. He didn’t know how they’d gone wrong. Nobody was ever supposed to get hurt, especially not her. It had been her idea to break-in, she’d been the one who told him of the collection hoarded by the local coven. Her coven.

He’d never killed anyone before, not directly anyways, not like that. But had he really had any choice?

In the back of his mind, Aunt Lisa whispered: you always had a choice, boy.  

14 hours previously.

“Don’t be such a wanker, Gus,” she had a way of saying his name in a manner that took the edge off, she was carefree, wild, resilient. Her coven had a reputation for old ways, and it was that reputation that had drawn him to her company. Selfishly at first. He’d hoped that she could lead him to knowledge regarding his mother’s grimoire, and she had, but now the young witch was beginning to get cold feet.

They had gotten as far as the vault before August’s stomach had begun to churn, these people had been strangers to him, and truthfully, they weren’t supposed to be anything but another in a series of supernatural that would further him along towards his goal. Finding a coven that would speak to him on blood magic, on the old ways had taken years, and what he’d expected was what his aunt had raised him on.

But the truth was they were kind, normal, functioning people with different views on magic and the dark arts. While corruption had sprung up among them in the past, most recently Cassandra’s mother, but the coven did not succumb to the wild inclinations that the worst of the practitioners had given the practice over the centuries.

And despite what August might have thought would happen, they welcomed him in and after spending the last six months with them there was even talk of being claimed by them.

But then Cassandra told him of the cipher that her family kept locked away with other dangerous artifacts.

“Do it Gus.” He should have told her months ago that he hated that name.

“Do it!”

There was the muffled sound of a minute explosion as red static crackled around and dust filled the chamber, August turned away from it, but Cassandra had caught bits of fragmented dirt in her eyes.

“Fucking – a little warning might have been nice. Dick.” Cassandra dropped the muffled spell she’d placed around them and pushed past as the energy dissipated. August let out a small, exasperated sigh before he followed her, trying still to shake off his hesitation. This is why he was here.

Now she was just in his way.

Except that only a few hours ago she’d whispered across his chest: I love you from between half lidded eyes that needed to just stay for a few moments longer, to delay the falling sun from bringing forth the night. He thought that he should tell her then: I’ve changed my mind, or I love you too. But he said neither, instead he whispered back: we should go soon.

The vault had walls of books with pages older than anything he’d seen, absently they reminded him of the library in his childhood home, except these grimoires did not have anything censored out by his aunt. His fingers grazed the edges of the spine of a book, its bindings seemingly made from the strong white curvature of real bone. His fingers, electrified at the contact, like a current running beneath his skin it was invigorating but before he could seize the rest of the book Cassandra grasped his hand.

“Don’t touch that one.”

Cassandra had said the same thing about some old CDs she’d forgotten to tuck away on another afternoon when he’d snuck into her room. They were sprawled across the top of the stereo as if the idea that someone might see them wasn’t the most offensive thing in the world. But he’d teased her because of the Spice World record that was sitting neatly on the stack, the disk still in the player.

Cassandra had laughed and made fun of August’s freckles before wrestling the plastic case from his hand, and then they kissed, landing on her bed and laughing in unison. Afterwards she’d asked him if he was really planning to stay, and for some reason, August had said yes, because the truth was harder for him to get out. The truth was it didn’t, and his confirmation only seemed to dishearten her.

August asked why. She should be happy he was staying, right? Even if it was a lie.

“That belonged to a witch in the 15th century, our coven betrayed her and turned her over to the humans that were persecuting us at the time.” Cassandra was bothered, but she released his hand and kept looking through the stacks, she had her own reasons for wanting to enter this place. The cipher was to be a boon that they’d both share, none of these treasures were August’s to take. She’d been sure to let him know.

August moved towards some of the artifacts that were arranged nearer the entrance, his senses fully drawn though the overwhelming presence within the chambers was more than he’d ever felt in one location. When August was sure Cassandra was fully preoccupied, he set his sights higher and climbed the stone steps to the upper landing. Silently through hushed breaths he wove a spell to shroud his actions, he was a shadow climbing the wall, he was a specter in the peripherals, should she call to him, August would appear.

“My grandmother had it last,” Cassandra said as she showed him the photo of the diadem that had been in her families’ possession since a time long before the founding of their already ancient coven. “She was supposed to pass it on to my mother, but she never did. It’s in the vault, it has to be.” August asked immediately what made this object so special, but it was said to allow someone of her bloodline to pass through to the Otherworld and confer there as a Seer would, but just as a Seer they would suffer the physical repercussions of the act. It was what had killed her grandmother, though the woman had only used it a small handful of times throughout her life, she’d refused to entrust it to Cassandra’s mom.

“Maybe it’s better off there? Sounds pretty risky.” August said, “you could end up blind, or deaf, or paralyzed if you even tried.” She hated being told what to do.

They sat then in the back of a local haunt, a backroom in a café that they had spelled to keep their secrets contained. She leaned forward, and her knee brushed against his as her eyes went alight, Cassandra had been waiting for someone like him, and August had known from the moment they met that he had found his in. “Fuck that it’s mine. My gran died before she came of age, she wanted me to have it I know that. It’s my stupid dad keeping it from me, if it were up to him I’d have married Jean already and already be on my way to giving him the grandkids he’s always wanted.” She reached forward and grabbed August’s hand as he let out a sigh, pretending that this wasn’t something he wanted any part of.

“Please, will you help me.” She’d asked before August’s thumb moved across her hand and he whispered back, “Of course.”

Then there it was, the diadem. Useless to him, but there was a fae who had an interest in seeing the diadem brought to the Otherworld where witchkind could no longer use it. It looked far grander than the picture allowed, a simple tiara to the untrained eye, it was fixed with gems of a fantastic range of colours, hues of red and gold and silver and blues that shimmered with a light that was almost irreverent.

Then it was in his hands, under his jacket and he was moving down the stairs to see what progress Cassandra had made on the cipher.

“I just feel like I never got the chance to know her, she was this whole other person, and looking back even – it was fucked up.” August was drunk because Cassandra had insisted on taking him out, she’d said it was hazing but really, she just hated being cooped up under her father’s watch. “I don’t know, my dad killed my mom, and now he’s dead too.” He winced at the memory of bones breaking against the kitchen floor, at the sound of heavy boots that landed outside his door, the man he’d later hired to break into his father’s prison cell.

“Did your mom try to imprison you within an urn and channel your life essence to fuel her magic forever?” Cassandra asked pointedly, to which August smirked, why was it easier to compare scars than simply show them? She wasn’t the first person he’d met whose past was like whiteboard waiting to be wiped out, but Cassandra was the first who August felt he could relate to. Or could understand. Or maybe even be understood. It wasn’t a romantic feeling, it was just nice to have someone he could talk to.  “Nah, guess you win.”

August felt something was off from the moment his feet landed from the last step to the base of the stairs, a presence crackled in the air that sent chills up his spine. Cassandra stood in front of the book case, a vacant expression on her face, it was not that she was being spoken through, but that she was spoke with such an ethereal tone that August thought it could not possibly have been her.

“You… are, such a delight.” Came Cassandra said as she began to close the distance between the two of them, her posture had shifted, her facial expressions, even the way her clothes clung to her body had changed in some way. August could sense her magic within her, but it was changed like her very chemistry had shifted. He took a step back and his foot hit the stairs. “What’s wrong, Gus? You seem distressed.” A yowl in the shadows and a black cat shot from the dark between them. A familiar.

“Who are you? What have you done to Cass?” August asked, standing his ground as a static crackled across his body, his eyes fixed as his pupils wavered slightly. He hadn’t recovered fully from entering this tomb and whomever was inhabiting his girlfriend’s body, felt much stronger than him.

“Foolish boy,” She whispered before she was suddenly only a breath away from him, she’d moved through the air as if it was nothing, as if she was air. “My daughter believed me gone, but I was here, and I was also in her, I should really thank you. You were kind enough to reunite us,” Cassandra patted her chest where her heart should have been, “now she can sleep. Forever.”

August felt a strike across his face before he slid across the room, he moved to stand but he was gripped by his neck telekinetically and hoisted off the ground.  “Cass,” August whispered, his hazel eyes almost pleading, but there was nobody there, just dark eyes and a smile that could pull the flesh off his face. She stood across the room with her palm outstretched, grinning as she left him there, fixed and stagnant before she used her other hand to outstretch his limbs, further and then further.

August cried out in pain as he felt the force of her own sick form of medieval torture. He struggled out a few words and the ground where she stood shifted, suddenly Cassandra suck into the floor up to her knees before it quickly solidified. August hit the floor again but scrambled to his feet and ducked behind the nearest book case, flames engulfed the tomes as she roared with laughter. She was toying with him.

His eyes were on the exit when he broke for it, but before he could get through the crumbled opening a field forced him back, again she laughed as he fell for her obvious trap. She would not allow August to leave so easily, and if he was backed into a corner then she wasn’t giving him any other option. He’d have to try and separate them, himself.

You always have a choice, foolish boy.

August had never played the part of hero before, but for Cassandra he was willing to try.

“August Knight, of the Knight Coven?” Efrain asked, his long beard encircled his mouth and though it may have once been a strong, solid colour it had faded in wisps and at its edges. Its frazzled and greyed edges made the man look older still than he was, but the deep circles beneath his eyes, the hunger that lurked behind, it all told him one thing: darkness.

“No sir, I was never claimed.” It was a tired question.

To Efrain’s right stood his eldest child, until the seventh on the end was Cassandra, August could tell immediately she had no interest in attending this – whatever it was. August had been caught trying to enter their library and while it wouldn’t have been out of the question for Efrain to take the hands of an unclaimed witch who dared to try and steal knowledge from his coven. He showed mercy in the light of what August’s aunt had always called charisma.

He was simply a misguided witch, one whose coven had shunned the darkness of their past, a past he wholly embraced. And Efrain decided then to allow the young man to stay, permitted he earn his keep, and proved himself worthy.

The older witch brought forth each of his children, and at last when he called forth Cassandra he said, “and this, my youngest, she’s to be married this spring to Jean,” he gestured towards one of his inner circle, a witch who did not appear to be more than a decade younger than Efrain himself.

“Sorry for the trouble,” August offered, a greeting that apparently caught her off guard, to everyone in the chambers it must have appeared that he’d simply apologized again for the breaking and entering. But to her, he’d seen how miserable she was to be gathered in this place, with all these people, including the man that, in less than a year, she’d be made to marry.

August managed around the room enough times to trace the outline for a binding, though he was now having a hard time keeping the elder witch within Cassandra contained. She was stronger than he, and her familiar was lurking around the bookshelves somewhere, he was little more than an unclaimed witch with power he had stolen from elsewhere, and he was fading.

She stood within a runed circle as chains bound either arm and forced them apart, the chains connected through the now broken floor of the vault, static crackled along the chain and across the woman’s skin, weaving its way through her. He was trying to force the woman within back so Cassandra could come forward, but it wasn’t enough and with a fwoosh as the air was sucked towards the center of the room where Cassandra was bound, the circle vanished and the power he’d put forth vanished, all that remained was a few residual cracks that still clung to the air.

August fell shortly afterwards, his back near resting on his feet as he tried to keep it straight, deep breaths shook him as a thick film of sweat matted his hair and made his clothes cling to him. She closed the distance between them calmly, shushing him as she did, the struggle was over Cassandra told him,

You don’t need to fight anymore. Your mother wanted this life for you, too. I know how hard it must have been for you – growing up the way you did. Half human, half witch. It’s no wonder Lisa hated you when you look just like your father.

“Fuck you!” It was cliché, but it was all he could muster. August kept his eyes trained on the woman. She wanted to see him beg, to break, she wanted to know that she could get to him, here and now, looking like the ghost of Cassandra. But she did not know him, and frankly, he’d been through worse.

He threw the nearest thing he could find and missed the woman by a mile, she smirked before a residual smash as the book collided with a brittle porcelain urn. There was a boom that sounded something like a gunshot that immediately followed, August smiled, expecting to see Cassandra’s face looking back at him, but there was just the vacant ghost of the smirk her mother had left behind before forcefully fleeing her daughter’s cerebellum.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

August had never met this fae before, but word of mouth had brought them together. The fae’s deal had been simple, they would ensure that August made it in front of the court, that August would get the opportunity to join the coven, and August would need to retrieve one simple artifact. A diadem of fae origin, that was all that the witch would be told.

He’d fled the vault with the corpse, August didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t been able to leave it behind, though dawn was fast approaching and Cassandra’s absence from her chambers would be noticed. August told himself that she deserved better than being abandoned in the dark, among the things that had claimed her. The truth was too hard for him to say, but the evidence was in the shallow grave at the bottom of a hill: he’d killed her.

“And what of the diadem?”

The fae asked, having observed the shallow burial from a distance.

“Here. Take it.”

August passed it off, feeling wholly spiteful over the entire exchange. The fae only seemed amused, but elated when their fingers closed around the diadem, naturally, August had to ask what they intended to do with it.

The fae laughed and refused to tell the insolent child anything, August had done his part, and the fae had done theirs. Enraged, August demanded to know, that everything he’d gone through to obtain it, he’d still been left short of what he’d really been after. Mournfully, the fae told him.

“It was mine first to give, and so it was mine by rights to take back.”

For the first time in seven days, August checked his phone. He’d spent the last week in some pit in Vegas, he was in the dark, and then there was light again. There was a witch, one from Cassandra’s coven that had escaped with the cipher from the vault previously, if he could find him, then August could at last unlock the secrets of his mother’s grimoire. Absently, the words of Kassandra echoed in his mind: Your mother wanted this life for you, too

[harpsichord-canvas]

[archive] highly late "top 5 of 2016" list

Yes yes, I know. It's March. But I thought this would be a good introduction to this blog. Both personally as a way to practice and for a reader to gain an idea of what kind of music I'm into. This was also an enjoyable peace for me to write in retrospect. I'll keep the write ups for each album brief merely touching the surface and highlighting certain songs or moments which add to what made these so notable and important to me.

5. Nicolas Jaar - Sirens

The reason for this albums inclusion in my end of year list can be summarised in as single word; 'atmosphere'. In honesty my first reaction at the beginning of the album was to check the connections on my headphones before that initial shattering outburst that leaves a trail of cascading piano arpeggios in its wake, a moment that would similarly leave a trail of goosebumps down my spine. The minimalist approach to the opening track is immediately contrasted in 'The Governor' which features noisy and visceral drum beats alongside chaotic saxophone lines which warble there way around on top.  For the next three track these feeling are explored and built upon with such some wonderfully composed beats, moments of desolation and bilingual lyricism. The album finishes with the infectiously catchy 'History Lesson' where Jaar sings about humanities repeated mistakes throughout history in the form of chapters in a book which all builds up to a triumphant breakdown of soaring manipulated vocals. 'Sirens' also gets my praise for having the most interesting artwork and packaging of any physical release I picked up last year with its blank scratchcard preface that can be erased to reveal the photo of Nicolas' fathers artwork on display in Times Square. The visual piece by Alfredo Jaar entitled 'A Logo for America' focuses on the modern ethnocentrism of the United States and the oft forgotten history of South America, a theme which also resonates throughout this album.

4. Radiohead - A Moon Shaped Pool

It's not often that an album reaches the levels of hype that surrounded Radiohead's anticipated "LP9". I was consistently somewhere near this congregation of excited fans adding in my wild speculations to the upcoming album of possibly my favourite band of all time and the first band I fell in love with (there's a story behind that I'll maybe explain some other time). I remember vividly when the album finally leaked, loading the album up on my phone and going out for a walk with my dog for the first listen. As the album ventured out of the tension of 'Burn the Witch' and the spacious beauty of 'Daydreaming' into the uncharted territory of 'Decks Dark' I was approaching the top of the hill behind my house, the sun was setting and by the time the chorus hit I knew it had been worth the wait. This album has , An underappreciated aspect of the album is in my opinion the lyricism on track six, 'Glass Eyes'. The words describe the disembarking of a train into an unfamiliar environment, perhaps a new stage of life, and the anxiety that inevitably comes with it. Its noted how when we are presented with these new and uncomfortable paths it can be all to easy just to slip back into old ways. This appears to be the option the character in this song opts for as Thom continues to describe a train winding its way through a landscape, in which his input is unnecessary. He doesn't know nor care where he is being led, just content to drift effortlessly through life. The song ends with the simple line "I feel this love to the core" which, when combined with the luscious instrumentation, can be frankly overwhelming.  This cripplingly sad lyricism is present throughout and is often stated bluntly to great effect. There's nothing all that new within this album but rather it is a culmination of all there past adventures with obvious influences from all stages of their career. I really hope this isn't the last we hear from Radiohead but I'd be content with this as the bookend to one of the greatest discographies in rock music history. (On a lighter note, I'm finally seeing them live this summer and I can't wait!)  

3. Pinegrove - Cardinal

It was at this point in the arranging of the list that things became really difficult for me. These top three are all within a thread's width of each other and the order in which I place can change depending on situation or mood. Had you mentioned the band Pinegrove to me at the beginning of the year you would of been met with a blank face. It was only upon the release of this album that I gave them my initial listen and for the first time in a while I was instantaneously hooked on a bands music. Lead singer Evan Stephen Hall has a talent for writing memorable vocal melodies which are perfectly delivered in that unique country flare his voice he possesses. The album begins and ends with the contrasting songs 'Old Friends' and 'New Friends'. The infectiously catchy former serves as a reminder to not take the loved ones who surround you for granted. In the final song however the writer finds them self isolated, after neglecting friendships they grew stale and now he is left on his own. What takes place in between could allude to the reasons for this with stories of social anxiety and failed relationships. I can't really overstate just how listenable these tracks are with there relatable lyrics that flow so easily off the tongue. In the past year I have had the pleasure of seeing them live twice with a noticable increase in the size of crowd only over a short period of time and have high hopes for the future of the band. I am eagerly anticipating what they can come up with for their following album. I personally hope to see an ambitious step up with a longer tracklisting of varied and thematically intriguing topics but I'd also be happy just to have a new set of wonderful tunes to drunkenly sing along to.  

2. Frank Ocean - Blonde

I noted how few albums could reach the anticipation levels of 'A Moon Shaped Pool' but after four years of waiting since the universally acclaimed 'Channel Orange', Frank Ocean had it beaten. This album may have rubbed certain fans up the wrong way on initial listens. Compared to Frank's previous efforts this album is notably more stripped back in terms of production with drums often totally absent in tracks. However to me this adds to delicate nature of this album that oozes with class and grow further upon me with every spin. A prime example of this stripped back approach is the song 'Solo' where he details, with scarily vivid imagery, an acid trip where he envisions "a bull and a matador duelling in the sky" over nothing but a gently drifting chord progression. This album just has a bountiful collection of memorable moments spread throughout the hour long duration. To name but a few the gorgeous clean guitar work in 'Self Control', when the beat switches in 'Nights', the surprise entrance of Andre 3000 to the beautifully poignant outro of 'White Ferrari' that brought out the allergy excuses in the majority of fans. Despite reaching such heights of fame though this album is still authentically Frank's work with fearless decision making to strip back the production while featuring some largely experimental moments like the noisy sound collage which rounds off the album. By that point I always find myself in a near delirious state and it comes as a comfort to just let the abstract collections of sound wash you down. Overall if it takes four years to produce an album of this calibre then every one the countless delays was worth it. Despite being less than a year old is deservedly a modern classic in many eyes, an accolade which I'm sure will only become more cemented with time.  

1. Car Seat Headrest - Teens of Denial

The point that finally made me settle on this as my number one album of the year was the play count which is far and away above the rest to the stage where I know every word to heart. Everytime I left the house to go to a lecture I found this as my go to soundtrack and would have have to restrain myself from singing refrains out loud in the street. But amongst these potently catchy hooks and riffs lies some truly incredible examples of creative songwriting. Front man Will Toledo is no stranger to intimate transparency in his lyricism but I still found myself taken aback as he so openly conveys the motions of his emotional breakdowns to the listener. In an age where we still struggle to openly discuss issues of mental health it's so refreshing to find a public figure who is willing to put his life on display like he does through this album. A prime example of this is presented in the anthemic 'Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales'. In this centerpiece Will recalls experiences of his younger self getting blackout drunk before driving home from a party, a dark and tabooed past which most adults would carry as a secret to their grave. Instead it is used as a lesson to encourage listeners to listen to the voices of reason in similar situations and put aside these selfish and reckless thoughts.  If you were still somehow unsure of Will's writing ability following the former half of the album then any remaining doubt will be thrown away following track ten, 'The Ballad of the Costa Concordia'. This incredibly grandeur and lengthy track can be broken down into three sections. In the first he discusses his own personal experiences with depression with a slowly declining enthusiasm for life. This portion acts as a hugely effective build up to the second part in which he breaks down hopelessly letting free a chain of thoughts about his inability to deal with adult life, reaching a climactic point with simple shouts of defeat and surrender. The song then continues to detail depression but far less on the introspective level but instead addressing society as a whole and all the while these lyrics are skillfully infused with references and analogies comparing his own life to the fate of the Costa Concordia, the luxury cruise ship which capsized of the coast of Italy following a collision with a submerged rock. As a final note this songwriting is backed up with a an approach which is distinctly lacking in modern rock music. A lot of beauty in classic albums lies in the imperfections and raw production style and I wish producers would learn from this album and make the choice to not compress the life out of every instrument in their arsenal. I have only touched upon what I love about this album but I sincerely hope you can take a listen yourself and understand why it is my choice for album of the year 2016.  

Honourable Mentions

Jeff Rosenstock - WORRY.

Bon Iver - 22, a million

Parquet Courts - Human Performance

[sammyvisualessay]

Deshma Weerapperuma

TRANSCRIPT

Could you talk a little bit about your camera and what draws you to photography?

Carl was a birthday gift, he used to be one of my close friend’s mums so he’s already got a bit of history but I love capturing special moments.

I also like the fact that, with your phone, you can easily take so many photos with it. On a camera or a disposable, you only take a few and like you kinda have to make those ones good you know.

I feel like it makes you live more in the moment because you’re less on your phone trying to get like a billion photos. I dont know it’s also fun having a little camera you know and especially since he has a name although he is dead I don’t know if there’s any reviving him but it is also kinda scary because I wanna go get him fixed you know. 

Do you have a favourite photo you’ve taken with Carl?

Why do you enjoy journaling, do you use it as a way of documenting your thoughts/feelings to look back in or more just like an instant release/ something that you enjoy doing?

Yea I would say document. Not even intentionally but I end up writing when im upset or sad just as a way to kinda let it out um so I just end up with basically all the entries just being like, you know not happy.

So yea as a release but I also do love reading through them because I always like to write the date and the exact time because it’s interesting to see what time I always end up writing it’s always like past 12 am. 

But yea also to document, I started writing on the bus into uni so that I can write about little tiny things like that are insignificant and I wouldn’t usually write about you know so not necessarily good or bad but day to day kinda stuff that I can look back on. Stuff that I wouldn’t remember otherwise. I like keeping things as memories.

How important is music to you (listening and/or playing) do you use music as a form of expression?

When playing the piano maybe more as a form of expression, although you know I definitely enjoy listening now more than playing.

I started playing when I was five and that’s like 14 years ago. My parents pushed me to do it so I was like I dont really like doing it anymore. But now it’s great learning songs that I actually like so in that sense im glad I learned the piano.

But I definitely enjoy listening more because its sort of like a release. If im sad I will put a sad playlist on just to like you know feel more sad. Also just to fill up silence like I dont mind silence but it’s just like fun to have it in the background.

If you could play any song on the piano, what would it be?

If I could play any song on the piano I’d have to say- I mean Hozier’s music is just beautiful and one of my favourite songs of his is shrike so I think that would be the next one I want to learn.

Can you tell me about your childhood and what kind of places you travelled to when you were younger?

I was born in Botswana and moved to New Zealand when I was two. I really want to go back to Botswana my parents talk about it all the time. Canada was our second option to move to and I would’ve potentially learnt french and lived in the snow. My parents are from Sri Lanka so we would go back to visit every couple of years. Sri Lanka is fun to visit as a tourist but I wouldn’t want to live there. It’s very hot and the mosquitos but more than that I just hate how as a girl you can’t wear or do certain things.

Interests/ activities that are important to you?

Um most important, I would say baking is up there. Playing and listening to music, rollerskating. Also tennis and gym sort of anything active. Not swimming I despise swimming. I really like crocheting and beading- I wanna get into that more. My favourite wool at spotlight is on sale at the moment, I wanna get it but I dont wanna pay like $15 for shipping.

Top 4:

Baking, music, rollerskating, crochet

What do you enjoy about baking, would you say it’s more about the process or the final product?

I definitely enjoy the process, it’s very therapeutic. Kind of like a stress reliever. The end result is also fun. I really like trying to stick the recipe- im a bit of a perfectionist as in like I’m following the recipe to a tea. So it’s just, I don’t know therapeutic and relaxing, it’s fun making thing look pretty as well.

How would you describe your personal style and ur 3-5 favourite items of clothing and why

I dont know if I have a style. Probably my docs, I do wanna get new cool ones though and probably my brown fluffy cardigan and my pink pants because they’re the only kinda cool pants I have. How can I forget ok my Phoebe Bridgers jumper is definitely on the list.

Where are your favourite places to go and why?

I had to think about that one. I dont know why but I really like Victoria Park. It’s just very peaceful. Sometimes I’d sit there on my break when I used to work at swashbucklers, it’s just really nice watching because everyone’s just doing their own thing. I really like Albert park as well. Just in general I really like the Devonport area, its very cute. And just biking around Devonport.

If you could live anywhere else, where would it be and why?

I took Spanish all throughout high school and will be taking a paper at uni so Spain or anywhere in Latin America would definitely be up there. I love the culture/history & language 

but otherwise anywhere in Europe, plus one of my closest friends lives in Germany so that’d be great to live close to her.

Where do you potentially see yourself in 5 years?

I better be moved out. I don’t wanna be at home at 25. Because five years is such a long time. I feel like it’s gonna go like that, like really quick. I want to be working full time but not working at recycle full time but working in the career I wanna be in for the rest of my life you know. I really want to own a cat cafe but I don’t really see that happening as much as I want it to. Probably working in something to do with you know the environmental science area. But yea so I wanna be flatting and ideally want cats. No Kids. I still want to be doing everything I love you know. And I want to have travelled a couple of years too.

Can u tell me about your tattoo? And your plans for any possible new ones

My tattoo is of the cat in question and some flowers. I wanted to get Jasmine flowers because they’re my favourite flower and they just really remind me of Sri Lanka. They smell really nice because they’re the flowers they use at temples. And then future tattoos - my favourite lyric for a while has been “love it if we made it” I just really resonate with that one it would be cool if we actually made it in life you know.

Can you talk about some of your collections, I know you like to collect things like rocks/shells/crystals, what draws you towards collecting these objects that have more of an emotional than monetary value?

I’ve only bought two crystals, the rest I have just collected from places and then they just remind me of like a time or place or person. Just a little memory, falls into the whole things that have sentimental value and memories just like keeping concert tickets and movie tickets.

What’s a potential new hobby you would be interested in starting?

The next thing I want to learn is probably skateboarding and embroidery. Pottery is definitely up there possibly even above embroidery or on par. Embroidery there is the factor that it’s a little bit cheaper