#anyways all my theories are very raw for now cause i read the books in a feverish state over a couple of days

[acourtofthought]

I used to really respect this blog but you’re turning so anti-Azriel that you sound like an el/riel. He’s no where near perfect and no where close to being my favorite character (so don’t come at me like I’m some kind of stan) but like…chill out. Your favorite characters don’t get better or more page time by trashing others. Your book theories don’t come true because of how much you ship two people. There’s this epidemic in this fandom where shipping clouds judgment, and it’s very few blogs where it doesn’t happen.

I honestly thought the elucien side was fun and sweet, but people like you are ruining that. You’ve preached about how above you are from el/riels and gw/nriels fighting that you quite literally mimic their weird behavior. Congrats on becoming your own worst enemy.

I don’t like to leave hate. Consider this constructive criticism.

Delete this if you will. I’ve blocked you anyway.

I'm glad you've blocked me because no one should be forced to read content that makes them unhappy however I'm not going to follow your suggestion to "delete this" because sometimes a girls just got to journal her thoughts and after your post I've got many 😂

If I were an E/riel then wouldn't I be singing Azriel's praises? I'm not sure how that comment makes any sense.

Also my Anti E/riel posts, Az's problematic behavior, and Lucien deserving his HEA before Az go way back so I'm not sure what new content you're suddenly having the problem with.

It's incredible when other people decide to box you into what you're allowed to write about. That because I support Elucien, all my content must be hearts and flowers in regards to Elucien at all times. Seriously, who the hell is anyone to place that label on someone? SJM writes raw and real characters who deal with heavy stuff, she's not a fluff writer. So it's alright to have strong opinions.

Don't get me wrong, there are definitely Elucien blogs that are 100% positive all the time and they are a gift to us all however let's not go around shaming the blogs who argue against some of the takes they've seen in the fandom.

I am an Elucien through and through however my username does lend itself towards the series as a whole.

I'm also a realist and that means I know that Az is getting a HEA. That means that I'm capable of picking up on the clues that the author has left for us, clues as to which female Az is well suited to be with, clues as to the direction Az might be headed in, clues as to which female he's got the chance at the healthiest relationship with. I also don't act like Az is a lost cause because that's not SJMs style. He's a main character and I know by the end, everything will fall into place. So maybe posts I've done demonstrating why I think Gwynriel is well suited and the fact that I do envision a HEA for Az has led someone into thinking I have a great opinion of Az?

Right now I don't, there is nothing that I find appealing about Az and I'm not sure why that's an issue.

Do you know how many posts I've seen where others don't care that much for Elain? Sure I wish that weren't the case and I'll argue in favor of Elain but I'm not about to go on to their page and tell them "chill out. Your favorite characters don’t get better or more page time by trashing others. Your book theories don’t come true because of how much you ship two people. There’s this epidemic in this fandom where shipping clouds judgment, and it’s very few blogs where it doesn’t happen."

In your own words there are "very few blogs where it doesn't happen" so I'm guessing the list of those you follow is fairly short? If you're a Gwynriel than I have to imagine you've seen a few judgemental posts on Elain that are clearly a result of the ship war. If an E/riel than I imagine you've seen the same slander in regards to Lucien and Gwyn. And I can't be the first Elucien you've met who isn't Az's #1 fan. Did you unfolllow those blogs with a farewell message? Or maybe I'm just the singular lucky target of your "constructive criticism".

Someone can disagree with me and create posts on why Az is their favorite, they can explain why they disagree in hopes I'll change my mind but why is it that crazy that I'm not all that impressed? Honestly, what makes Az all that special or awesome?

Right now there are so many posts building Az up to be some glorious creature who is so much more worthy than Elain. Or so much better than Gwyn who is just luring him. Who is a poor boy who was screwed over by Mor. Whose opinion that Lucien will never be good enough must be taken as fact rather than the more likely scenario that it's jealousy through and through. And I don't agree with any of that, there is NOTHING that makes Az better than Elain or Lucien or Gwyn.

Do my posts speak untruths about Az? Is he not fixated on the wrong women in unhealthy ways? Is he not insanely jealous of Lucien and being a dick as a result? Is he not a hothead when it comes to Rhys and Feyre as of late? Has he not made Mor uncomfortable at times, something she herself tells us?

While people are entitled to their opinion, I disagree with some of the takes placing Az as ruler on high too superior for the likes of Gwyn / Elain (choose your ship) and my posts are a rebuttal of sorts.

Which is no different than what the entire fandom does. One side claims Gwyn is evil, the other side argues against it. One side claims Elain is not good enough to be with Az, the other side argues against it.

I do think Gwyn deserves better than getting dragged into the mess that is Azriel's love life right now. However I think SJM is writing it so Gwyn is it for Az and I look for the positive in their relationship as a result. I anticipate the ways they will be good together eventually (as there are hints of it now) but since Az and Gwyn as a thing is not the current situation, I don't like Az all that much at the moment. The Az of the moment is yeesh and that's why the first half of the bonus was a shit show. Am I supposed to like Az for how he acted with Elain? For the way he acted with Rhys? For the way he spoke on behalf of Elain, that she should not be allowed near the Trove? For what he thinks of Lucien? If I applauded those moments then I'd be an E/riel.

I love when people gaslight with phrases like, "I thought the Elucien side was fun and sweet and people like you are ruining that". As if Elucien's can never be anything but fun and sweet. They MUST listen to the bullshit around them and take it up the ass with a smile on their faces. Somehow only other ship stans are allowed to yell the loudest to have their voices heard but as soon as an Elucien does it, we're suddenly the problem. Somehow E/riels are allowed to talk smack on Gwyn and Lucien and it's acceptable, some Gwynriels and even Eluciens are allowed to talk smack on Elain and it's acceptable but nobody better dare speak ill of Az!. If the posts tearing down Gwyn, Elain and Lucien did not exist in the first place, maybe there would not be the need for posts pointing out that Az is not the Grand Poobah of the ACOTAR world.

Eluciens are no better or worse. We're here trying to make our points and stand up for our characters (who really are two characters who get a lot of hate from many in the fandom).

Also, my ship is clouding my judgement of Az?

Most of Az's personality is wrapped up in his desire to be in a relationship, his self loathing or his anger at many many people. That's not my judgment being clouded, they are common refrains throughout the series.

Is it not possible that your ship is preventing you from actually paying attention to Az's personality outside of Gwyn and the problematic ways he's acting?

Sure he and Feyre had a few good scenes where he taught her to fly and it definitely seems like there's a good relationship forming between he and Nesta but that was a newly introduced thing. And yes, there are the fun brother moments where they're ribbing on one another, in the sauna or playing chess. But outside of that, what have we really been told of Az? He doesn't talk to anyone about the truly important stuff. He hates an entire group of men because they're Illyrians. He actually sulks when having to follow orders or simply ignores them. He is a bit of a dick when it comes to Lucien. For each warm and fuzzy Az moment there are way more problematic ones, for now.

Am I supposed to love Az for these things? I know Az will be different by the end of his book but right now, what is truly amazing about him? What makes him a stand up guy? Do I have to put him on a pedestal for running into danger and being a protector? Tamlin did that too yet it didn't win him favors with the fandom.

I'm an Elucien so isn't the goal to point out why Az is not well suited for Elain and why his behavior in regards to both Lucien and Elain is problematic? If I didn't take note of those things than wouldn't I think that Az is right in thinking Lucien isn't good enough for her? Wouldn't I think Az was heroic for just trying to protect Elain from the Trove?

Every Az and Gwyn interaction I've written about has been extremely positive and demonstrates how I can see the good in Az. Because there is an amazing vibe that surrounds the two of them. But compared to the Az/ Lucien / Elain stuff in the last few books, we have been given more problematic behavior from Az than we've been given positive behavior and honestly, that is basically the majority of Az's character these days. SJM has written much of his persona as being obsessed with Mor and a bond, his anger at the Illyrians, his anger at Eris, the jealousy he has over Lucien and Helion, his anger at orders he doesn't agree with.

For me, it's always a scale. I expect a character to have flaws, I don't expect them to be perfect. However the pro side of the scale needs to weigh more heavily than the cons side and that's not where Az is at for me right now.

Az has good moments, absolutely. Even villains are probably likeable in certain scenarios (not that Az is a villain but I'm making a point). But a characters "character" is more telling when they're at their worst. It's in how they treat others even when they don't like them. It's whether they unfairly take out their problems on those who don't deserve it. It's in their ability to communicate in a mature and healthy way.

For me, Az being sweet to Feyre during flying lessons, kind to the priestesses during training, his thoughtful gift for Nesta at Solstice, etc. don't really add up to all that much when stacked up against his more problematic behaviors. I'm sorry but one or two "awww, how sweet" moments don't eclipse the other things right now. I think it's SJM showing us who Az is capable of being but it's still overshadowed by the rest. The way he's disrespectful towards Feyre in SF, they way he disobeys his High Lords orders during a war, the way he would completely wipe the Illyrians off the map if given the chance, the way he's got issues with Lucien for no good reason at all (come to think of it, Az has issues with every single male in the series outside Rhys and Cassian), the way he can't control himself in important political meetings, the way he pouted after Rhys and Feyre told him not to go after Briallyn, the way he, at 539 ish years old doesn't know how to communicate to the people who have done nothing but love him for 500+ years.

I expect that balance to eventually shift but I'm not there yet. And I do think Lucien deserves a chance to prove himself before Az gets a HEA with his own mate after his having little respect for Lucien's own bond and Lucien in general. I'd like a lot more space between Az's history with Mor and his fixation on Elain before Gwyn ends up with him because she doesn't deserve to be stuck in the middle of a Jerry Springer-like episode.

And I've never preached at being above anything. In fact I'm quite sure I've mentioned I will match the energy of that which I see around me because sometimes being nice and sweet doesn't get you anywhere when dealing with certain people or groups. When others have sent anons on how well I hold my temper I respond with a personal acknowledgment that I know I got a bit feisty and apologized for it.

That will be all for now. I'm done "preaching" and I hope you've enjoyed the gospel of ACourtofThought.

[themthistles]

via @mogcrow

First of all thank you. Nothing better than a wall of thoughtful interesting tags on your post.

Secondly, completely agree on the Society's shady past. They've proven themselves again and again as 1. hypocrites 2. capable of revising history when it's convenient. Actually one of my main theories is that the Courage Square Massacre wasn't this valiant defense of Nevermoor by noble heroes against the Evil Squall but rather a big Wundersmith inflighting caused by Wunsoc themselves. Perhaps by an order so messed up that some of the Smiths chose their conscience over 'loyalty' to the Society. Here are my reasons:

1. Sofia said herself that it's hard to know exactly what happened. It just seems really suspicious that instead of boosting the narrative of 'heroic Wundersmiths standing up to the evil one' they decided to purge all mention of them and turn the 'heroes' of CSM into these faceless good guys. However if the real events were to reveal the Society's involvement and the exact reason the fight occured then it seems like a reasonable thing to do. Infuriating but reasonable. You know it's like when people in movies set a car with evidence on fire. Much easier to control the narrative this way. What happened before it was on fire? Well we changed the story two times already but this third one is definitely the whole truth, we promise.

2. Look, no matter how talanted Squall is... you're telling me that they couldn't beat him? 8 against 1? Also sure he's very skilled now but at the time of the fight he was what? Twenty six? And the majority of the others were his seniors with much more experience. In fact 6/8 were his teachers. Griselda especially was this 'great' 'venerable' ancient master, 'more skilled than any of the others'. Morrigan and Squall's words. All this sounds very....eh? It would be a different story if the odds were a little more even. 4 against 5 or at least 3 against 6. (My bet is that at least Mathilde Lachance was on Squall's side)

3. Squall's hatered of the Society and him telling Morrigan that thing about them 'flipping the script' when it's convenient for them. If Wunsoc hypothetically gave a divisive order and Squall hypothetically stood by them and did their dirty work and they made him the scapegoat anyways then of course he's gonna be bitter and hateful. Squall keeps emphasising Wundersmiths as those who have no choice but to do what people in power tell them to do, granting their wishes. The way Wundersmiths were probably viewed and treated in the past is best summed up by his own words in Hollowpox:

‘Because I could. And because I had to. Because I am a Wundersmith, and that is what we do. We say yes. We do the ghastly things that are asked of us by people in power, and we do the good things, and we take none of the credit and all of the blame. It’s what we do.’

I don't think he's trying to make excuses for his actions. I think that was genuinely the attitude towards Wundersmiths at the time. You had to do what was asked of you. You could get funky with it like king of malicious compliance Odbuoy Jemmity but you HAD to do it. And that's very um concerning.

Also still thinking about this exchange between Morrigan and Squall:

‘What an awful thought, that I might be asked to help people. How truly terrible.’

‘You have no idea.’

Moving on.

Wow. I completely forgot about the signatures. Elders being hypocrites as usual and doing exactly what their behated Squall does? And being even less merciful than him cause grandpa at least lets them live until next Eventide? (the bar is so low) I agree. I too am obsessed with this.

And love the idea about the League of Explorers. Considering how proud they are of being the 'Free State' it would be extremely ironic if they are absolutely no better than the Republic in terms of colonisation. We don't know much about the concept of Pockets and how they're formed but like.... imagining the League coming in like 'Hi hello. We come in peace or whatever. Would you like to join our State?' and the locals willingly agreeing is a bit laughable.

questionable actions of wundrous society just keep escalating so rapidly that i wouldn't be surprised if by book five we learn that the elders also did some war crimes or something

[delicioussshame]

Have some more prostitute!SY and OLBH.

Shen Yuan flinches when Luo Binghe’s fingers press gently against the wet fabric covering his eyes.

Shen Yuan can’t help being overwhelmed. Luo Binghe is too much even for him. The combination of his size and his never-ending stamina was enough to leave even him unable to do much more than take it.

Then again, it might just be the ropes. Shen Yuan had never enjoyed being bound. Sadly for him, Luo Binghe enjoyed binding him very much, in all manners of ways. At the moment, he kept things simple, only tying his wrists together over his head. Shen Yuan could, in theory, kick him off or close his legs.

They both know he won’t. Nothing good would come out of it, not for him anyway. He suspects Luo Binghe would love nothing more than having a real reason to punish him. Despite what Shen Yuan thinks are his best efforts, he can’t quite contain his sadistic streak.

Maybe Shen Yuan isn’t being fair. Luo Binghe has never outright hurt Shen Yuan, or caused him pain that he could have been spared from. He hasn’t called him names or degraded him. Shen Yuan lacks for nothing; he lives in splendor, eats delicacies until he’s full whenever he wants to, has access to more books than any one person should own.

He’s just trapped. The idea that he could leave Luo Binghe’s palace against his will is ridiculous. Even if he managed to fool the guards (which he might; some aren’t that smart), he could never survive in the demon realm. He can only remain here until Luo Binghe loses interest.

Shen Yuan supposes it will happen soon enough. He’s older than Luo Binghe. He has no cultivation to stop the passage of time. His resemblance to that teacher of his will fade. His best bet is to keep Luo Binghe happy until then, so that he might let Shen Yuan finish his life in peace here. If his master feels magnanimous, he might free Shen Yuan back into the human world, with some gold or object of worth to give him a start. Considering Shen Yuan spends most of his time reading, he might become learned enough to try his hand at tutoring.  

These are concerns for the future. Luo Binghe has far from tired of him. Instead of visiting one of the innumerable women he keeps here, he spends most nights bedding Shen Yuan just like he is now, keeping steadying hands griped over his hips to keep him right where he wants him as he fucks him for the fourth time tonight. Shen Yuan’s wordless pleas, the only thing he still has enough strength for, only spur his partner on.

Shen Yuan hears himself break under Luo Binghe’s relentless assault, until Luo Binghe decides to shut him up with his own mouth.

Their kiss tastes faintly of blood by the time Luo Binghe stills, hands digging at Shen Yuan so hard he’ll be wearing bruises for days, and refuses to let go until Shen Yuan is almost nauseous from being too full, courtesy of Luo Binghe’s futile attempts at impregnating him.

Shen Yuan is almost surprised when Luo Binghe unties both his hands and the ribbon of silk he had wrapped around his head. It wouldn’t have been out of character for him to keep Shen Yuan bound all night, only freeing him when other duties called him away.

The room is dark enough that Shen Yuan isn’t blinded by the sudden influx of light, but he still has to blink away moisture from his eyes.

He winces as he moves sore shoulders to rub sensitive wrists. The rest of his body decides that it also has to remind him that sharing a bed with Luo Binghe is a trial, no matter how exalting it could be. He is as talented a lover as he is demanding, a rare combination in a client for someone of Shen Yuan’s trade.

Luo Binghe’s voice breaks the silence. “I should apologise. I keep forgetting you don’t have a cultivator’s constitution.”

Despite his apologetic words, his face shows no sign of regret.

“My lord has nothing to apologise for.” Surely an owner can use his possession however he chooses.

A hand presses oh so innocently against a bruise. “Use my name.”

Fuck. He should have known better. Luo Binghe isn’t the first person who wants to pretend he’s not sleeping with someone who can’t say no. “Luo Binghe.”

The smile he gets in response holds nothing nice. “Better. I don’t need those who are mine to be this obsequious.”

But you don’t mind it, do you? At least not when it comes to Shen Yuan. For all he knows, maybe he is nothing but tender and respectful to his beloved wives.

Luo Binghe’s fingers linger on the remains of a bite mark he left on Shen Yuan’s left thigh two days ago. “Still, your lack of cultivation has its advantages. I do like how you always bear something of mine on you.”

Shen Yuan could sigh. It would be so easy to fall back into old habits. To let out a deep, falsely polite laugh and tell Luo Binghe that if he enjoyed marking Shen Yuan so much, which not do it some more, and pulls him into bed again. Luo Binghe would follow through, he’s sure. His eyes gleam with renewed lust already.

He has no desire for another round. It’s not like Luo Binghe is a paying client. Shen Yuan doesn’t want to anger him, but he’s not sure he wants to encourage him either.

Plus, in the end, Luo Binghe will take what he wants, whether Shen Yuan entices him or not.

Shen Yuan stays silent as Luo Binghe grows bolder, his hands sliding from the top of his thigh to the inside of it, before moving up and forcing a moan out of Shen Yuan’s raw throat.

Before he knows it, Luo Binghe has him pinned under him.

He doesn’t bother to hide his glee at his easy domination of it all.

Shen Yuan kisses him back and makes sure not to call him anything but his name, this time.

[adamarks]

Food = lurv: a baby meta

This meta’s less prediction/deep analysis based than my other ones. A lot of people message me or comment on my other analyses saying that they don’t look for all of the subtext in these books. I kinda find this to be a shame because Rainbow obviously puts a lot of work into her symbolism and themes. So, here we are. Analyzing for funzies. Cause I’m a fuckin’ nerd. 

Let’s go!

First off, let’s talk about food and sex in literature in general. 

A book I favor is How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas C. Foster. If you’re lookin to enhance your analysis skillz I highly recommend it. It’s, for the most part, fairly easy to read and it gives plenty of easy-to-understand examples from recent books or pop culture. 9/10 would recommend. Anywho. The second chapter of this book is dedicated entirely to eating within the confines of storytelling. 

“whenever people eat or drink together, it’s communion.” 

Rainbow does not stray from that rule. (”rule” in a loose sense. this is writing we’re talking about-- everything is a symbol unless it’s not, and nothing is symbolic until it is. It’s not an exact science.) 

Baz, Penny, and Simon all snack together in their room right after the truce is made. Baz, Penny, Simon, and Shepard all eat pizza together during their first night of “okay fine we won’t ditch you, nosy bitch.” 

Food is communion for everyone on this earth. Not in the Christian sense but in the “you’re not bad i can hang out and eat with you” sense. First dates at a restaurant, grabbing some food with your friends, sitting down for a big family meal on special holidays, food is a deeply important part of every culture. As Foster says in his food chapter, “I’m with you, I like you, we form a community together.” 

Rainbow doesn’t just use food as shorthand for community, though. She also uses it to let us know that the characters in question trust each other. Not just any character, though. Food as trust is very specifically tacked onto Baz. 

Because of his fangs, Baz doesn’t eat in front of anyone. This is why it was such a big deal when he ate while Simon watched him in Carry On. It’s also why he’s shown immediately eating around Lamb. It’s why you got so upset when Lamb betrayed Baz. The shorthand for trust immediately put you in a place where you trusted him too.

Baz getting ready to eat a raw-ass steak in front of his tiny family was a big deal too. Not only was the food batshit, but he didn’t even give it a second thought. He trusts them implicitly, without a grain of doubt in his head. 

alright, alright alright, you say. So it’s trust and friendship. So like, friendship intimacy? we already knew they were all best friends. why am i reading a lit analysis what

Listen, man. Idk why you’re reading a lit analysis in your free time. That’s your problem. Also you’re buckshit WRONG because it’s not just platonic intimacy!

Food is used very specifically as romantic intimacy in Carry On. 

This is why Agatha stops eating lunch with them when Simon and her break up. This is why Baz and Simon eat together after chapter 61 and after Simon comes back after leaving with Penny and Agatha. It’s them cementing their newly developing relationship before our eyes. It’s why they sneak off to get sandwiches at the dance. Food is romantic love when it comes to these two.

Y’all, we didn’t see them eating all alone together once in Wayward Son.

It’s because Simon’s scared of romantic intimacy right now. It’s because they’re not communicating. It’s because their relationship is completely sexless at the moment. It’s because the relationship is stuck and it doesn’t get unstuck by the end of the book. (Which is not a bad thing. Rainbow is handling this very well, in my humble opinion.)

The dumb fucks don’t get to eat dessert until they talk to each other, basically. 

Now, listen. I’m not sure where I was going with this one. I had no real goal in mind. I just really like food/intimacy metaphors; they really bake my potato I’m gonna be real. I have no deep reveal of the theme of the series like i did in my wings meta; I didn’t answer how we know their relationship is gonna get fixed like i did here; and i didn’t posit any wack ass theories like i did here. Or answer the mysterious scarf question.

All I really wanted was to talk about how sweet the three of them eating at the Cheesecake Factory was and to say that Simon and Baz are gonna share a soft quiet meal in AWTWB. Truly this was nothing special.

Thank you for reading though. I hope you read the book and get the warm fuzzies every time they eat from now on. 

Wait. I need to end this analysis the way I’ve ended all my other ones.

THEY’RE TENDER AND IN LOVE AND THEY’RE GONNA GET MARRIED ONE DAY WHAT THE FUCK. The End.

Idk why you people wanted to see this but i’ll tag ya anyway.

@theflyingpeach @singerofsimplesongs @oh-pitch-please @birdybabybird @teaandinanity @sadcactusboii

[hibibun]

A New Perspective

Series: The Magnus Archives Pairing: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims Summary: “Statement of Jonathan Sims regarding a tome that… appears to transmogrify humans to have catlike features. Statement given direct from subje—Ow,” Jon glares, trying to ignore the unintentional way he feels his newfound tail swish to reflect his annoyance, ears flattening. Elias’s normally well-manicured nails have elongated to claws, and currently one was digging through the thin fabric of his skirt and into his thigh.

“Oops,” Elias says, infuriatingly blasé. Jon hesitates another moment, before sighing and leaving the tape recorder going. If the topic ceased being important, surely it would turn itself off.

“You could at least pretend you didn’t do this on purpose.”

for day 5 - alternate universe Notes/Warnings: Catboy Leitner, Seduction to the Dark Side, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Asexual Character, Demisexual Jon, Nonbinary Jon, Intercrural Sex, Misuse of Beholding Powers, mild bloodplay this is the self indulgent fic i gifted to myself this week and by virtue of that very little set up for this AU dynamic. i just wanted to use the day five prompts for catboys and was encouraged. thank you theo for suggesting specifically catboy leitners.

also jon's gender identity is not super elaborated on here, but he has been experimenting with presentation and finding comfort in some more typically 'feminine' clothing, but hasn't given much thought to pronouns or labels beyond it yet. he just realized after hiding out at georgie's and needing to borrow her clothes again that wow skirts are nice and he deserves to feel good about that after everything that's happened. if i ever play around in this universe again, the progression may develop, but for now. here we go!

AO3

“Statement of Jonathan Sims regarding a tome that… appears to transmogrify humans to have catlike features. Statement given direct from subje—Ow,” Jon glares, trying to ignore the unintentional way he feels his newfound tail swish to reflect his annoyance, ears flattening. Elias’s normally well-manicured nails have elongated to claws, and currently one was digging through the thin fabric of his skirt and into his thigh.

“Oops,” Elias says, infuriatingly blasé. Jon hesitates another moment, before sighing and leaving the tape recorder going. If the topic ceased being important, surely it would turn itself off.

“You could at least pretend you didn’t do this on purpose.”

Elias makes a noise implying he’s listening, but doesn’t do much else besides repeat that same flexing of claws and Jon hates the hiss that leaves his mouth. It’s unnatural, and for that reason it catches Elias’s attention, an upturn to the corner of his already smiling mouth, which Jon recognizes as the man holding back laughter.

“Don’t tell me you weren’t curious,” he tries to justify knowing it to be the truth, but one Jon will protest.

“Yes, but I’m not so rash as to mess with any of those cursed things; which leads me to believe you knew what it would do,” Jon retorts, as there are now too many concerns and questions arising that he doesn’t know the answers to and will simply have to wait out. It is possible Elias knows, but extremely doubtful he’d tell him.

At least if he was stuck in this state as well that had to mean whatever they were in for couldn’t be dangerous—just unpleasant.

He shifts back trying to squirm away from Elias who had only been getting closer. It wasn’t like he had very many places to go what with being on the edge of the sofa and a coffee table in front of him. Next time, he’ll think twice about Elias asking if he’d like to see something in such a vague manner when he’s over. Not that he wasn’t prepared on some level for it to be undoubtedly supernatural, but this was something he hadn’t necessarily signed up for.

During his complaints, Elias has now fully managed to straddle the leg that isn’t pressed to the side of the couch, and Jon is mentally cataloguing the notion that whatever the book did to them, it must have made him feel the need to be twice as physically annoying. Surely.

“Still unpleasant?” Elias whispers, mouth ghosting the shell of his ear. He raises a hand to gently tug at the corner of one of Jon’s cat ears, observing the way it flicks out of his grasp.

“Get out of my head,” Jon bats at his shoulder, but doesn’t try to move away. Rather than pull again, Elias has moved on to experimenting with different petting styles. Reluctantly, Jon finds himself relaxing when his scratching lingers between his ears and drifting to the base of his neck.

“You were fond of this even before getting these, but it is interesting to see how you react now,” Elias starts, pleased in the way Jon’s eyes unwittingly close. “See, you’re even purring.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles back though any bite in it is absent. He’s content and this was Elias’s fault anyway, so he should deal with the consequences.

“You are fixing this after,” Jon cracks an eye open to stare at Elias, who was still scratching gently at his nape. He closes it again soon after, trying not to stress too much about how strange it felt to have appendages he shouldn’t.

“After?” Elias muses, closing their distance again this time to nip at his earlobe. The hand Jon had been resting on the arm of the sofa flinches, tearing into the cushion. The discrepancy between one calm activity and one that gives a very different implication startled him, and he certainly did not feel bad about the outcome.

“I’m not paying for that,” he lets out testily, followed by a short gasp as Elias begins making his way down his neck. In lieu of a proper response, Jon’s only given a hum before the bites turn sharper, harder. There’s a slightly different edge to it than usual, as if whatever the tome did even managed to sharpen Elias’s teeth, but it’s a detail he only thinks in passing.

As much as he complains about it, beyond familiarity, what makes these things bearable with someone like Elias is he can see and read his boundaries before even Jon realizes them. In that regard, he trusts the man. He shouldn’t, case in point with this whole situation, but he has only ever promised him the eventuality of answers and assurance they will be to his expectations. Jon may not enjoy or have wished for the experiences he’s had, but he knows deep down he doesn’t necessarily regret them as much as he should. Not when he knows now just what they’ve done for him. The answers they gave. The power.

He’s lost himself in that sometimes. The Knowing and the Seeing. He is forever seemingly a moth to that blindingly atrocious, yet beautiful light.

Something he had denied and feared for so long, but with Elias there’s freedom to it now. Acceptance. Even if his patience is constantly tried.

He inhales sharply as a hand unbuttons enough of his dress shirt to fondle a nipple. Gently, ever so gently that he barely catches on in time, Elias shifts his legs apart enough to press one knee to approximately where his crotch would be hidden under the folds of the skirt. A whine leaves him unintentionally because through the fabric it barely feels like anything at all, even as his cock twitches in response. Jon doesn’t need to voice his complaints—he knows Elias can hear them and feel them, but he knows similarly he won’t actually do anything until he speaks up.

Adjusting for discomfort immediately without question is one thing, making him beg as a form of consent is another.

“How would you like this?” Elias asks so simply. It’s the option for an out, but the question has thoughts and images rushing through Jon’s mind. Things they’ve done. Things he wouldn’t mind again right now. The burning question of whether their current ailments are causing any influence, and if that was another thing Elias knew and refused to share. Somehow, he doubts that part—which lends itself further to the theory that Elias had his own ideas and irritatingly is keeping them to himself.

The man in question smiles at him in a chiding way, applying a touch more pressure with his nails against the skin of his chest. “I believe I asked a question, Jon.”

Hesitantly, he grinds into that knee, still thinking things over. The question does make him want to hide, squirm away into that place he can go to when they start proper if Elias lets him. Usually though, like now, he’s dragging him out bit by bit—quite appropriate of one who wants to watch and strip him bare both physically and mentally.

He isn’t afraid of sex. On the surface, it is a messy activity that occasionally is worth the pleasure that comes with it. It’s the intimacy that comes with it, however, that truly scares him. That raw sensation of uncontrollable openness Jon has no way of hiding from. It’s terrifying, enthralling. But he’s found acceptance—Elias has accepted him. Wants it. Wants him.

Jon doesn’t vocalize what he’s thinking, but he does focus on one image. The fantasy of it playing behind his eyelids broadcasted for Elias and he must be feeling kind if he isn’t still pushing Jon to speak.

It might have something to do with putting them in this situation in the first place. Even then, Jon is surprised he’s being so nice.

“Very well, we can do that.” With all the grace Elias normally has, it feels even more fluid this time as he slinks off him and stands. Delicately, he leans down and presses the stop button on the tape recorder. They both know if it wants to keep recording, there will simply be another one waiting for them in the bedroom. Whatever else their new forms cause in this regard though is something even Jon is fighting himself on wanting to catalogue—not that he sincerely believes what they’re about to do has any relevance to how the tome has changed them.

He turns and heads there now, and in a daze, Jon moves to join him feeling much less graceful in comparison.

Jon typically hates showing skin wishing to avoid the sensation of feeling exposed. When clothed it’s easier to hide and vulnerability aside, it’s also simply easier to pretend his body isn’t nearly as scarred as he knows it is. Considering who’s looking, there won’t be the lingering and questioning stares like those of strangers when he’s on the tube. Right now at least, it’s freeing if only for the sheer fact his new tail has a little less pressure from the elastic that was pinching it to his back as he slips the skirt off. If this lasts longer than the next day or two, he’ll have to make adjustments to his clothes, but such a mundane fact is the last thing he has on his mind right now.

Elias is once again watching him seated from the bed, and that shiver returns as to why he doesn’t normally like to be naked. His expression reflects how effortlessly the man has mentioned that watching him is one of his favorite things to do, and Jon personally can’t understand it even now. It at least made sense when he was plotting; quietly maneuvering all the pieces on his elaborate board game, but maybe in a way he’s still doing that. After all, he had freely admitted that Jon learning his place on the board and coming to willingly take those moves on his own wasn’t a part of his initial plan—just one he seemed happy to see nonetheless.

Slowly, he unbuttons a few more buttons of his dress shirt, but ultimately leaves it on. Elias doesn’t comment, not even to tease on how it was more notably the top buttons below the collar he slips apart, and merely continues to watch. The way his ears flick just slightly, alongside how well he’s come to know the man are the only indications Jon has on any of it. His steps take him to beside the bed, and after a beat of hesitation, he straddles one of Elias’s knees and braces his hands on his shoulders.

Immediately, Elias’s hands find purchase on Jon’s hips, one hand drifting closer to his lower back. Jon lets out a shaky breath as that hand brushes just below the waistband of his pants where his new tail meets his skin. Jon shifts so it’s more of an embrace than a balancing act, wanting instead to hide in the crook of Elias’s shoulder as he slowly begins to guide himself along the other man’s thigh, moving closer so he can rut at his chest. He can feel himself already leaking and it’s embarrassing, not at all helped as the hand on his lower back starts playing with the sensitive tail he never asked for. As he’s starting to get comfortable, Elias tugs on the tail. Not sharp enough for genuine pain, but testing the sensation to see how Jon would react.

What he likely wasn’t expecting was for Jon’s hands to tighten their grip, impulsively shredding down the cloth of Elias’s dress shirt, tearing it enough for slivers of blood to rise at the newly made cuts.

It’s satisfying hearing the exhalation of pain soaked pleasure, a sure sign that the bastard got what he deserved and wouldn’t try that again. It’s less satisfying when it only dissolves into a chuckle as Elias moves his hand away, instead navigating Jon away from where he’d been trying to hide and into a kiss. He indulges him briefly, before biting Elias’s lower lip. None of this dissuades him though, and irritatingly Jon can tell it’s acting as encouragement.

At some point during the kiss, he’s moved back to holding him, and in short work, Elias slips the hand holding Jon’s waist under his thighs, lifting him just slightly to shift him properly on the bed. The movement is a little jarring, but more so that his tail seems to move on its own out of the way of being crushed by his back.

Elias hisses in a not quite human way himself as he slowly removes his now ruined shirt. Jon doesn’t feel the least bit sympathetic, instead a little entranced by the severity of the lines staining the back now facing him. An odd impulse to lick at the wounds flickers through his mind, and while he’s quick to dismiss it, it definitely catches Elias’s attention.

He sits back at the edge of the bed and looks over his shoulder at the Archivist sprawled. There’s no need to say out loud what his eyes say for him. So Jon sits up again and slinks forward to splay his hands on Elias’s back taking in the extent of the damage. In that same daze, he’s moved forward the rest of the way, tentatively licking up a bead of blood along the stripe of reddened skin. Jon feels more than hears Elias’s sigh and he snaps out of it.

“Elias… what exactly did you intend when you read from that book?”

A shiver wracks through Elias and Jon is startled as he didn’t think he’d been asking that earnestly. In truth, he hadn’t really been thinking at all.

There’s a pause as he catches his breath, and with deliberate patience to prove he’s still in control, only then does Elias offer an answer.

“I wanted to see what you would do,” he twists around, a familiar smile in place as he knows it isn’t a satisfactory answer at all, however true he means it. Jon’s frown speaks as much.

“Now then, will you let me finish undressing or were you not finished?”

His irritation bleeds into arousal as even though he’ll complain about everything else regarding their current state, Jon has been given the reins with this one. He remains where he is until Elias has left for the adjoining bathroom and then tries to get comfortable. It’s easier when there aren’t eyes directly on him, even if he knows truly that he’s never really free of them.

The brief sound of the faucet is calming, and by the time Elias returns his annoyance, while still present, has simmered back down. He joins him soon enough, and all at once again he feels the dual maddening sensation of being quietly observed in all its assurance and fear. He watches too though, as Elias kneels on the bed above him and traces his hands up Jon’s thighs causing shivers in their wake. Elias’s hands are still slightly cold and damp, and being exposed like this always makes him fidget.

“Would you be a dear and tell me what it is you’d like again? I believe in all that excitement, it must have slipped my mind,” Elias asks, fingers now playing along the waistband of Jon’s panties, not quite taking them off, but teasingly letting the silk fabric brush against his cock. Whatever amount of kindness he’d attributed the man earlier clearly meant nothing, and the smug smile presented towards him now only makes him bare his teeth.

“What does it matter if you’ll do as you like anyway?”

Elias lowers himself, his hands having abandoned their place at Jon’s waistband and now rucking up the bottom of his dress shirt. His breath ghosts the skin of Jon’s stomach before biting down and sucking harshly. Jon yelps and reaches for Elias’s head, though he doesn’t attempt to pull him off so much as tugs at his hair in response to the treatment—almost pulling at one of his cat ears instead. He only feels him moan in response, not letting up until he’s satisfied the mark will be a vibrant purple. The momentary lick Elias gives before pulling back has Jon thankful again that their tongues hadn’t been changed as well.

“I’m sure you’ll give me your input regardless. Now then, shall we?”

If he wasn’t busy panting, Jon would call him out for being a bastard, but judging from his expression Elias knows well enough what he’s thinking. Feeling Elias rub his hands along his sides is placating to a degree, but the motion is also a gentle reminder that he’s waiting for an answer.

“I-I don’t want any penetration—but between my thighs is fine,” Jon finally gets out, a twinge of annoyance at being forced to admit it out loud. The desire is in equal parts wanting an easier to clean mess and because he can’t see a particularly comfortable way to prepare for anything more with the state their nails are in. A fact that is likely obvious and one the man above him could have realized on his own, but he’s almost certain putting Jon in situations like this where he must confess his desires is pleasurable in its own way.

Still, for all his irritation, Elias moves back up and distracts him with a kiss. It’s difficult to tell whether he’s genuinely trying to ease the jittery sensation he’s caused or chase after it. It works in calming Jon down enough though that when he feels the palm of Elias’s hand brush and rub at the bulge threatening to escape his underwear, his nervousness doesn’t get in the way of enjoying it.

His noises are their own quiet admissions that he’s enjoying this and Elias happily swallows them all, pinching Jon’s lower lip between his teeth again as a reward. Jon has already seen the lengths Elias will deny him if he tries to quiet himself or close his eyes.

“Hold yourself for me,” Elias tells him, leaving one final kiss on the scar adorning his neck. Once they break, anticipation pools in Jon’s stomach. He’s slow and deliberate as he moves away again, finally sliding down the slightly soiled silk from Jon’s waist and watches him. It’s mystifying still for Jon, being looked at like this considering what he knows his body looks like. Yet, Elias looks at him like he’s everything, as bizarre as that feeling is.

“My Archivist… do you want to see for yourself?” The man muses in response no doubt once again reading what he’s thinking. Jon intends to say no or ignore the sentiment, but like the times before he’s shown anyway.

Through Elias’s eyes, he watches the man trace the remnants of worm holes, long scarred over. He trails down his arm and lingers on his hand, palm holding his burn scar as his thumb brushes along the faded pink scar Michael left him. He shivers again with the weight of that gaze. It’s more than simply being Seen when Elias talks to him like this he’s found.

It helps a little, oddly enough. Jon will never quite understand it beyond knowing Elias had a vision and a plan for him, but to be gazed at like this is nice.

Moments after, it’s disorienting to return to his own line of sight, and it takes him an extra minute to realize he’s supposed to position himself. He raises his hips, uncomfortably shifting to hold his legs together and hates the way Elias leaves him hanging like that. His prick is pressed against his stomach smearing precum, and he wants to look away out of embarrassment. The man is obviously just enjoying himself, but Jon’s tail swishes in impatience.

“Sheathe your claws, I was just admiring the view,” Elias reassures and closes their distance, taking a hold of Jon’s calves and places a hand on his hip. It helps significantly in easing Jon’s tension, no longer needing to hold himself up on his own. His breath hitches soon after though as he feels Elias position himself between his thighs. The sight is somehow more erotic even though what they’re doing is a mere pantomime of the act itself—though, it’s likely the similar enough sensation along with watching Elias’s cock move in and out that gets to him.

Jon doesn’t even quite know where to focus his attention after a point. There’s the aforementioned view of the act in question, his own body in frame next to it and then there is Elias. Usual, perfectly composed Elias is wonderful to view like this. Jon has more than once thought the man was obnoxiously beautiful to the point where his tastes and sense of decorum were annoyingly impressed upon Jon. Even the moment he’d divulged wanting to once more express himself outside the confines of what was thought to be strictly male business fashion, the man was relentless in his gifts of long silk skirts and dresses designed for galas he’d only attend once, maybe twice, if negotiated, a year.

Like this though, that carefully constructed image he pieced together fell to pieces. Jon knows by now, Elias isn’t ‘human’, that he himself is becoming less human as the days go on, but right now they’re doing something that feels unlike whatever godly status Elias strives for.

It’d be easier to lose himself in the sensation if allowed to close his eyes, but Jon knows and already sees the disappointed stare that would greet him if he tried. Perhaps more threatening is the awareness that Elias would do more than just that. His disappointment while devastating is nothing compared to the teasing and repeated denial he’d impose to get what he wants. To ensure that Jon knows better and acknowledges not only that he will watch, but that deep down Jon would prefer to see too.

Elias is mostly quiet above him, the set of heavier breaths come from the movement involved and surely the pleasure he’s feeling. Jon’s legs feel just as messy the more he feels Elias move, his member spreading slick precum between his thighs with each thrust.

He doesn’t notice himself how good the watching and the sensation of it make him feel, but Elias must as he shifts their position just slightly. Opening Jon’s thighs more, he slots himself in easily, instead moving the hand he’d been using to help hold the Archivist’s legs up to instead grip both their pricks and stroke them together.

Jon moans and arches into his touch, having it hit him all at once how desperately he’d been wanting that and wanting Elias close. Without needing to speak it, he’s granted the kiss he wanted, too lost in the feeling to realize how noisy he’s become with his mouth now open. When Elias tries to move back, Jon chases his mouth. The kiss resumes with a chuckle that Jon quickly silences with another bite.

“Eager thing aren’t you?” Elias teases him when they break next and too swept up in it all, Jon doesn’t even register the inhuman growl he lets out at being teased or denied contact once again. As to which bothered him worse, even he doesn’t know. Never once does it occur to Jon that he’s become less dependent on air when they kiss and that each time they break it is for different reasons entirely. Elias is pleased nonetheless from that reaction, and rewards him by increasing his pace just slightly.

His vision shifts dramatically as release hits him, Elias once again making his point loud and clear. Layered across his skin are dozens of eyes rapidly opening, and if he isn’t mistaken, there’s a few on Elias himself no doubt wanting to capture the event as thoroughly as possible. It borders on overwhelming. The fear of acknowledging himself like this—seeing the way Elias practically adores it.

Jon comes back to himself slowly, unsure if he’s uncomfortable by having to view himself that way or by distinctly how filthy he’s aware his stomach and legs have become. What’s worse is, as he looks down when Elias gets off the bed to fetch a washcloth for them, Jon sees his tail is still there.

There is absolutely no reason to think sex would fix this. Nothing suggested as much obviously, but it was a momentary distraction from how much the situation irked him. Now that it was over, he’s also aware that Elias likely had meant it as such. A poor attempt at changing the subject and maybe an even poorer excuse of an apology. No, the man wasn’t sorry in the least bit—he probably was genuinely excited by the inhumanity of it given how pleased he looked at… the eyes.

Jon shivers as he recalls that part too. It isn’t the first time he’s seen it, and while he’s made his choice, acceptance only comes sparingly. Whatever it meant to become the Archivist was something he’s given into. This change, he thinks trying to ignore his new appendages once more, however, he direly hopes is temporary.

For now, Jon finally closes his eyes and resolves to prod Elias for a proper answer when he returns.

[dansedan]

I threatened on the Disco Writer’s Nook server to share my notes from this latest fic, but since they’re wildly incomprehensible and kind of silly I thought maybe I’ll just... chuck ‘em on here instead, under a readmore where they can pass by easier so uhhh xX WeLcOmE To My TwIsTeD mInDXx !!!1!!

(warning for LONG LONG post- I write full sections and asides from the universe that aren’t even in the damn fic within the same notes document a lot... I’m also insufferably pretentious on notes I KNOW and I cull it on the final as much as I can, as well as mild possible spoilers for a fic I haven’t written in the same au-timeline-thing I suppose and NSFT stuff)

(also a lot of this gets discarded because it’s so stupid and I write it at terrible brain moments)

"Por la mañana me di a la estúpida tarea de esconder mis cigarros por los rincones de la casa. Los encuentro, claro, pero fumo poco, fumo menos, hago esfuerzos por mejorarme de una vez."

meditative cigarettes and quitting fic.

Harry smokes less than he drinks, because he smokes to keep sharp and he usually wants to be numb, down to zero, space-based. but after going tee-total and opening up on his quest to actual-human-persondom he finds himself chainsmoking constantly. A concern in his volition is raised, a thought project ruminated on, and strategems laid out.

Harry grasps at the first half at a low point in his attempts to get better without anyone knowing or helping. He wonders about Kim's life, Kim's control. The electrochemistry in him fantasizes about a free-wheeling party-boy sort of Kim, still cool, still quiet, but free and soft and in control of his lack of control- the aviator, the flying ace, at the mercy of the elements and gliding by by choice- lands on the question of the one-per day, the Kim he knows, who takes what he needs with trepidation and preparation.

The truth is that last one- Kim was a social smoker, an after-dinner-if-the-date-is-pleasant smoker, an after-sex smoker, a bumming-cigarettes-to-gague-his-interest smoker (it all started with a boyfriend) but police work and his neverending stint in Juvie drove him to once-per-day, a creature of obsession. He used to heavily resent it- until Harry came along and joined the ritual.

"bebiendo mate con el ademán gracioso de los novatos. Es lo que hago ahora cuando siento ganas de fumar, dijo, con una sonrisa."

Kim and Harry not so close together- the idea of Kim and Harry not knowing everything about each other, because that's just not how you survive, but somehow Kim aching to be up-to-date on Harry all the time.

Harry and his funny little excursions around town. Kim visits and finds cigarettes hidden around the house, smells them in fear of finding drugs, or Harry has to awkwardly shuffle around for one when Kim invites him to smoke. Harry tries to join a book club, starts cooking lofty meals for his yoga class, tries being vegan for a week, checks out a bunch of books on the history of the Coupris Corp (SUZERAINTY ERA MARK OF AUTHENTICITY BABEY) as a way to help him wean off substances but also off Kim. They want each other but they know they need to stand on their own </3

Harry starts going to this novelty/gourmet supermarket and buying one new thing every paycheck like furikake that says it has lead on it and mate and all that. He spends his ex-drinking, smoking money on it.

Harry makes Kim huevos rotos :'-)

You're barely holding it together- how the hell did you get to this newsstand? Is it a newsstand? This structure- round, metal, iron-wrought frame and squat stature- was once a newsstand. How do you know it isn't? What is it now? You feel yourself point someplace on a menu you can't see past the dew of heavy crying- the clerk does not react, he's seen you like this- slam your wallet on the counter. You receive a paper parcel slightly larger than your fist, long. It's warm through the paper, and you can feel the dryness of a light dusting of flour passing through it. Food.

Your legs and arms are moving on their own again, wallet shoved this way, steps stumbled past the other, clumsily bringing whatever it is to your mouth and feeling crumbs fall into your beard- like a shark. That's one of the first things you remember, the beautiful old ultraliberal woman, like a shark, on her boat. The joy of your first- no, second- idiom. The first was up on Marvel Hill where you can't live. Kim said that. Kim's gonna be there, when you do it like a shark and don't stop any of this on your way to work and you stop crying so nobody thinks you did what you're avoiding doing. Is there anyway you can forget the frittte? There's so many locations in your mind, what kind of man are you, remembering the placement of a store that's meant to vanish and appear out of convenience like it's a fucking pitstop (would a flask not be enough? A single habit to get rid of, easy- but you're never easy).

You feel dark-dark-light-darkness and then light again, and smoother flooring and your coat being too warm. You're at the precinct- fuck, you're at the precinct- and it's late, real late, but you are here and there's too many people to fuck up here and at least you aren't crying. Your red face and eyes blend perfectly into too many years and days of red and puffy eyes to call attention. Perfect, perfect- god bless the innocence (or is innocence god? You can't forget- Remember- something.)

"You're late, shitkid." At some point Jean appears beside you. He's walked the other way and stopped- he's grimacing- but more importantly you see his left arm raise and still and clench itself, like a restricted movement, natural instinct. "You smell like shit- is that fish?" You do not know if that is fish because your throat hurts so bad already that you cannot know if you've been swallowing bones for this past hour (minute? Minutes? The walk feels like forever and never enough. You're swearing like a pig now that you're standing, how adequate.) 

You want to say it's agony, the end of days, the end of you- you want to say reprise, and sorry, and oh god I didn't want to see you please I don't deserve it Jean please leave and go away from me and also please oh god please hold me up I don't know what I'm doing but I'm trying to be better but I ate this thing that might as well be sawdust and I do not know what time it's been for several days.

Instead you say "it's my GOD-GIVEN RIGHT, VIC" and you move along like a fucking idiot.

"An image arises in your mind's eye-- a baby, dirty, hideous, its skin mottled and raw and red, peeling, stretching almost impossibly. The baby cries from pain- in it's brief stay on this earth it has already suffered more than some men do in their entire lives. He is built for it- thick skin, quite literally. He is being held by a slight, pale, ugly nurse- a nun in bloodied white rags with a terrible smell of herbs permanently attached to her. The scene is a caricature of mother and child- the hideous thing, held up to her chest, is drinking from an amber bottle, clouded over. In ten years, the contents of this bottle he will be legally too young for-- is this the reason you became the way you are? Are you just born-and-bred this way, surviving off of alcohol where most people had blood and human kindness?

-- It's not. The little pastiche you've thought up for yourself is half propaganda and half racist idiocy. Despite what the supposed "race-realists" may say, not everyone from the Insulindian is thrown on the bottle the moment they're weaned from the tit. In truth, you were barely even medicated, and those bitter, herbaceous spirits are not the cause of your current addiction. It's still on you harry, it's always still on you.

"Wake up- time to listen to the radio.

You love the radio. You really, really love the radio. You think the radio was the greatest purchase you have ever made- drunk you was horrible, and traumatizing, and entirely undebatably subhuman, but he did buy this radio, and by god fuck if that isn't his saving grace (a story comes to mind- a Dolorean allegory from your childhood- about a selfish rich woman and a lazy cheating bum both ferried up to heaven by a single onion that she'd given him during their lives as charity. You choose to ignore the part where they fight and fall back into hellfire). It's the thing that broke you off from your mazovian monk-like refusal to buy anything for yourself other than flour for a week after THE HANGED MAN, it's what got you into cycling and hanging out with the neon eyebleed catsuits crew, it's what reminded you that public libraries exist and nobody will ask you why you're in there reading about suzerainty-era motor carriage manufacturing and the homo-sexual underground. It's the greatest thing since communism, since disco, since-- since-- since cigarettes and kebabs and- and--

... And idolizing someone to the point of crucifixion. Which you aren't supposed to be doing.

Good thing the radio cranks up real loud! 

"You've read everything in this section- theory, history, photography, even, notably, the single romance novel, comically bad, about a middle-aged Vespertine businessman travelling north to the harbour where he had experienced his first teenaged love-- and the young, strapping man he gets to know there. (There are boats involved- it's very biblical). All in all, you read it twice,  meticulously rewrote its horrifyingly vague and unsafe sex scenes (in pen, inside. Not like the librarian's gonna check it) and masturbated at your efforts, winning you a very sore wrist and about 30 minutes of crying because you remembered being in a bookshop with Kim in Martinaise while you were remembering what books were, and then remembered Jean's apartment having a secret stack of equally terrible heterosexual novels bequeathed to him by an ex that you made fun of him for (rabidly, for years).

"Harry's apartment is no longer clean, but not as dirty as before, and its stalwart light-green walls seem, in the summer light, less queasy and foreboding than what they are now, almost dainty in the contrast of the sparse few frames and piles of knickknacks on the floor. 

Believe it or not, this is good-- sometimes, life with Harry makes you feel like a zoologist, intricately analysing an animal's pile of leaves and refuse and knowing, despite all human standards, what these habits mean for the foreign species. And for Harry, mess like this is good. It means he's kept busy by any one of his million little projects,  picked up and put down at a dizzying speed and constancy, each one increasingly out of left field in

Kim and harry talk about the radio, kim thinks about it "radio, what's new? Radio- some-one still loves you"

Harry talking abt agenda + library bc you can't smoke + planning for dinner with Kim :-)

Gotta go to the library so you don't chainsmoke

Gotta shower to go to the library 

Don't wanna shower bc executive dysfunction

Grab a smoke before you shower 

Oh wait you've been chain-smoking fuck (insert meditation on sharp vs smooth)

Hide all your cigarettes around the house feeling pathetic about it

You still don't feel like showering

But you just chainsmoked and you know you'll do it again because you JUST hid your smokes and the hiding spots are fresh in your mind

Birdbath (why are you so fucking dysfunctional that you can't shower like a normal adult) 

Introspective rubber ducky selfhate momence

Rubber ducky encourages you through the power of nihilism and Kim

Thought project gain

Go to library and need comfort so you're going thru all your usual shelves (insert le funny homo shelf joke here) 

What does he read about? Smoking? Idk

Kiiiiiim. Kimmy kim kim. Think about Kim

Maybe he reads recipe books to woo kim

        INSERT EXISTENTIAL BROTH EPISODE HERE to talk about how you've never actually seen Kim cook (he told you it was good soup, clearly lying, you told him it was broth, and that you could teach him how to make soup out of it if he wanted...)

(broth episode was another note, inserted here: 

ANOTHER harry coping fic. Miserable housebound weekend nights because he can't party but the house is horrible to be in and he keeps dunking his hands into more and more ice water and taking like half-body cold showers and he's like "maybe this is bad for my skin!!! I gotta get out holy shit" and he's like uhhhh fucking. Can't go to work. Let's go to the supermarket. And then he's almost there and he's like OH FUCK NO THERES ALCOHOL AT THE SUPERMARKET and he straight up bolts out of there and muscle memory gets him to a shady ass butcher shop in some random immigrant neighborhood and he buys so much fish because of a failed check and he goes home and basically he makes so much fish stock. He makes just so fucking much fish stock and Kim comes to pick him up the next day and panics because it genuinely smells like the dead in there but it's just harry making fucking. fish broth or something. Just harry coming up to the door in his work clothes with way too much cologne on and a thermos of fish soup like "uh... Do you want some Broth kim?" And Kim can't fucking cook but he takes some Broth anyway and he's trying to figure out why harry would do that but harry is being a little edgy about it and Kim is like oh god I need to help him a little and they have a sit down about it and he's like wanting to say "hey if you need somewhere to go I'm here for you" but it's hard and I don't even know if he ends up actually saying it. Okay bye)

Talking about the sexiness of supermarkets and how they make reptile brain go brrr

Think about alcohol vs smoking. Think about kimmy kim kim (insert european drinking joke here)

Have that get stuck in his head. Kim kimmy kim kimmy kimmy kim kim. Kimster. Kimbo. Kitsy. Kitty. Cutie. Oh god no fuck oh god I need to stop.

He goes home and still rlly wants to smonk

You hide the cigarettes around the house. It feels stupid, and you know you’ll be embarrassed having to pull the Jamrock Shuffle in your own apartment, that you’re a grown adult who could just *buy another box of cigarettes* whenever you wanted to, but you feel like it helps. Drag the killing thing away from the crappy little animal even for a couple moments more, let yourself get tired out like the old man you are below all the disco scaffolding. You can’t really bring yourself to shower, but you drag the radio into the bathroom with you and wash yourself in the sink. You try to be good about it- stay away from the mirror, really lather up and clear away the sweat that’s caked to you throughout the night and morning, feel the warm graze of the water on your skin. You brush shampoo through your hair and work it in in cycles, focus on the humming feeling of the bristles on your scalp, trying not to think of much of anything, just the smell of the cheap powdery soap and of what clothes you’ll wear today, try to settle into a better memory of this instead of picking at the shame you feel about how hard it is for you. ducking your head into the stream of the water in the sink and forgetting everything except the whishing, scratching sounds of cleaning.

Being clean feels good, and being dressed again feels maybe even better (knit sweaters are a revelation- who could’ve known polyester satin wasn’t made for seaside winters), so by the time you walk your way into the Jamrock public library the morning’s incidents are nigh-forgotten. The dry warmth of the old library is a reliable balm- the yellowed fluorescent lighting washing out the rows and rows of slate-grey plastic bookshelves lined up like soldiers over prerevolutionary tile, with its woven edges and dark, jeweled pinwheels of color, stretching out endlessly full of books, reels, and the rare intricate portrait hanging overhead. Before them, long wooden tables dotted with mismatched lamps, flickering in and out of use, occupied by antsy juveniles and sleeping hobos. It feels effortlessly like home, like a shared worldly past that welcomes everybody- and maybe that just means that it's generic and a little overdue for renovations, but you love it as it is.

Shuffling through the tall shelves of books, you weave through mindlessly to find your favorite sections- the history (both common and infra-cultural, with a surprisingly competent collection of industrial works and a predictably miserablly little shelf of homo-sexual underground interest), the art, and the meager offerings of political literature. You can hear your off-tune humming echo back to you somewhat feebly off the high, painted ceiling, done up in some lame facsimile of early Dolorian excess (therriers, noblewomen, forget-me-nots crowding the edges of each filligreed panel, dead-eyed faces in doleful expressions, pale and empty smiling). You've got all of daylight ahead of you, which is more than enough time to browse around as usual before you have to get yourself home and start cooking.

You turn the corner smoothly into the very back of the library, into a wider set of dusty and anachronistic wooden bookshelves-- history trends unpopular, considering the fact that all the books within are horrifyngly outdated due to a miserable municipal budget, maybe that's for the best. There are better places for students to get this information now, like the private library a couple blocks away at the Cycle Universitee, or from library dial-stations tuned in from the south, where the Bibliotheque Nacionelle Des Travailleures is run by Coalition-approved volunteers. The first thing to catch your eye is the pillar of works of infra-cultural expression and documentstion- essays and short stories from New authors, studies and zines on Disco, and of course, the particular political darling of the 20s, the homo-sexual underground.

You've read everything in this section- theory, history, photography- even, notably, the single commercial romance novel, comically bad, about a middle-aged Vespertine businessman travelling north to the harbour where he had experienced his first teenaged love-- and the young, strapping man he gets to know there. (There are boats involved- it's very biblical). All in all, you read it twice,  meticulously rewrote its horrifyingly vague and unsafe sex scenes (in pen, inside. Not like the librarian's gonna check it) and masturbated at your efforts, winning you a very sore wrist and about 30 minutes of crying because you remembered being in a bookshop with Kim in Martinaise while you were remembering what the world was, and then remembered Jean's apartment having a secret stack of equally terrible heterosexual novels bequeathed to him by an ex that you made fun of him for (rabidly, for years). You shudder, now, at the sight of its cracked spine looking you from the middle sill. Its gaze feels hefty and judgemental, and you do not like it.

There are  

KIM CHAPTAAAA

"you'd like him to take care of himself. You'd like to be there to do it for him when he can't"

"He opens the door, and immediately there are a million little things that test you (hell, with that thick-knit sweater he's wearing, any weakness in you would have him writhing on the floor in seconds). The half-up style of his now-so soft looking auburn hair, split across to reveal the pale white of his nape between the raised collar of his sweater, the kind wrinkling of his open smile upon seeing you walk in, the light, jazzy music of the radio backing his belly-deep laugh and the heady smell of incense in the room are all exhilaratingly Harry to you.

What to do with jean:Standalone fic for him?

Starts when he sees Harry with the eyebleed crew and he's the one who goes up to him like "WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING SHIT KID" and harry is like. Oh god oh fuck jean uh let's be... Cordial! Optimistic! (What jean sees is one of his signature pauses but like. Yeah it's the skills talking) and he's just like "oh it helps me stay sober and make friends, I found out about it on the radio🙂" and Jean is like holy fucking shit this is absolutely insane.

            1) bc Harry used to be so repressed he was basically homophobic with his macho act

            2)bc Jean originally didn't believe the amnesia thing but then when Harry genuinely did shit like this and never told him (which, if it was a cruel joke he would've tried to make it very public and obvious and drag jean into it to embarrass him)

            3) because JEAN was his friend and why the fuck does he just. Run off with random people with a radio ad instead

            4) because he's doing so well. He's like, fully at the sort of "this-side-of-pudgy" bear level that's hot enough to get him positive attention over the damage of the alcohol and he's wearing the sort of clothes that show it and he's got all these crew buddies where Jean is stuck with his hellish depression workouts where he sometimes works until he pukes and then feels like shit about self-harming like that. (what he doesn't know is that Harry is basically doing that same exact shit just he's using his swag alcoholic skills to lieeeeee about it. rip)

Maybe harry apologizes in their conversation about the romance novels. Like it blurts out.

eventually add in the previous consideration fic you were thinking of &quot

starting with bitter porno kimbo/viccy catfight bullshit

"no that's pathetic and he'd never go there." dynamic where kim cares quietly and jean is bitchy about Harry

then "no, he's dealt with harry so much already, I can't imagine." so it's all concern for him

and then that backslides into "how could I comfort him? how could he understand my need for comfort? "

we stan a mildly nonaccepted himself Jean so he's like "WAIT UH GAY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS GUY TOO? FUCK FUCK FUCK"

gotta make it panic horny. it's a Dan Gat fic. how would kim look.... yknow......

since the only other guy who's been like that with him has been harry -> third wheel dynamic going to ->

horny ot3 dynamic. old men doting on him because it's his fantasy and he gets to be the pampered one goddamnit

end somehow

THIS IS THE EXACT DYNAMIC WE'RE GOING FOR Jean liked Harry premart and Harry was unbearably machismo repressed homophobic bullshitero man (I need to decide if he was stupid enough to be like AS LONG AS IM ON TOP IT ISNT GAYYYY or smth sex/intimacy related like that maybe he just kinda. ""comically"" hit on Jean or said suggestive shit to him but never fully acted on it) and then he comes back from Martinaise all loyal puppy dog or whatever for Kim and Jean is like "??? OKAY SO I GO THROUGH ALL THIS BULLSHIT AND HE TALKS SO BIG ABOUT LOVING MUSCLE DUDES AND NOW HES GONNA FUCK THIS GRANDPA?" but then he's like self-aware enough to know that's stupid.(Jean's problem is that he looks for wounds on Kim and not Harry, so he's all like "damn this bitch stole my mans when he's actually good...." meanwhile Harry is like Very Obviously Self Harming All The Time and not even really with Kim so often rip)

Harry wants to reach out and ask him about his thing with Kim because he has memories of Jean either being gay or being less homophobic or just having Gay Energy that he was an asshole about or whatever plus it just feels natural to work through shit with Jean but he stops himself because he's like "well DRINKING also felt natural that doesn't mean we should do it..."

maybe they get into it because Jean makes an offhand comment about "stop ogling kim" and harry is like (computer warmup noises) and jean just kinda forces him to spit it out RE: meme description

Harry's whole deal with avoiding Jean is "some things are unforgivable and I'm fairly sure I've done things bordering on that to you for so, so long, and now I don't even know what they were or who I was when I did them, to me that person is dead, and I know then that I can't apologize to you thoroughly, genuinely, and I don't want to insult you by presuming that I ever could, at this point. I don't want to insult you by assuming I can just go back to what we were before, to each other, without an apology or an actual understanding of what went wrong. I can't speak for certain about his mind-my mind- but at least in some part that guy killed himself because of what he did to you, and to everyone around him, sure, but mostly to you. And now I'm here, and it feels horrible to try and go against that and push myself into your life. It feels horrible to see I've done something to you worth killing myself over and then still insist on coming back to bother you beyond the grave"

And Jean's response is "you thought everything was bad enough to kill yourself over! And you're still alive, you're still him, and fuck, yes it'll take a long ass fucking time for me to ever really forgive you, but you were my best friend and you're still fucking alive- I see you every single day, Harry, do you know what that's like? To see your best fucking friend every single day and watch him flinch and try to act like he doesn't exist every single time he sees you? Fuck you and fuck what you wanted before, *I* never wanted you dead, and your little stunt here with pretending you're finally fine and then keeping everyone at an arm's distance is just another, slower grave you're digging" etc etc "if this is the upswing at last, I’d better be there for it.**”

Jean is a frat boy that you do not expect to be a frat boy. He unironically gets along with mack and chester. He's only just started to grow out of it through dealing with Harry's horrible downfall

sequel to geste drole des debutantes but it's just a 3 chapter PWP masturbation fic..... of Kim and Harry after the dinner and then SHOOKETH SURPRISE IT'S JEANGST YEARNING TIME!

Kim trans.... Good for him...

Stroker shit

He wants to fuck Harry basically

     ...slow tease? Or fast and desperate?

Dry kissing

Hair pulling...

Youre hard, and you're wet, and you can't help but think of that smile on his face as you left and you want him to taste it, to get on his knees for what he's done to you and swallow it all down, feels the soft brush of his beard on your thighs.

 Harry also trans... Good for them good for them...

Handkink shit

Wants kim to absolutely wreck his shit

... He's new at this

Slow....

Jean

Jeangst

Want to wreck harry's shit... Mouthfuck stuff maybe

Power bottoming?? Idk

Whoops my hardcore dom revenge fantasy has slipped into a getting bossed around by the guy I thought I disliked for taking away my partner UHH.... LETS NOT UNPACK THAT....

Some idiot makes like a homophobic stupid "ah the fucking lieutants off scissoring or something" comment and then jean is like "oh god what if that but sexual instead"

Gym shower...

Jean has a big dick too bad bitch

When harry du bois ruined his life, thinks satelitte-officer Jean Vicquemare- he might at least have had the decency not to also curse his dick. This shit was weekly and only getting worse, now that the shitkid didn't constantly smell like despair and carrion had scored a threesome with a bartender's manual.

[quidfree]

Hi!! :) I was thinking about the marauders and I started wondering about the Snape Incident. It is popular opinion that Remus thought Sirius was the spy because of this Incident in the books. What do you think? Also do you think Remus, James, and even Peter changed their opinions or feelings about Sirius in anyway (long or short term) after the incident? If you feel like saying. have a good day :)

hello!! this is a v good q ty

i actually do not subscribe to that theory because... i find it kind of dumb?

ok that’s a little harsh let me clarify- i very much believe that remus’ opinions/view of sirius were permanently altered by the incident, and i’m sure that when he believed sirius to be guilty he remembered it as the first of two great betrayals on his part. however, i don’t really think one had much bearing upon the other at all beyond the superficial. sure, in both cases (as remus would have seen it at the time) sirius betrayed the marauders’ trust by divulging a secret and leading an an enemy to them- but the two scenarios are completely different. in one, sirius told snape about the whomping willow because he wanted to harm/frighten *snape* and was sick of him trying to expose remus; it was a reckless and callous way to go about it, and it shone a light on some of his uglier traits, but it was driven by characteristic blind loyalty to his friends and hatred of those seeking to do them harm. if sirius had been the spy, he would have had to pull a complete 180 from those motivations, or been faking it all along- so that his loyalty had somehow shifted to voldemort at some point, or had covertly been with his family, or those traits had been part of some elaborate lie on his behalf. the latter would be too absurd a theory (i doubt remus would honestly believe sirius to have been faking it for the entirety of their school years) so he must have thought sirius had simply gone to the dark side at some point and coldly relinquished his prior attachments- none of which meshes with the thoughtless, defensive anger that coloured his actions in the snape incident. honestly, now that im thinking about im not sure what might have lead remus to suspect sirius- i think it had to have been a simple process of elimination; obviously james and lily wouldn’t spy on themselves, and peter was dismissed because dear old frightened pete couldnt possibly imagine such a thing, so sirius was the only option close to them. certainly he had the profile for it- magically gifted, death eater connections, legilimens, etc. i don’t think remus had any strong conviction of his guilt (it was *sirius* and james and lily, for god’s sake) but i think the fact that sirius in turn considered him the most likely suspect and was presumably the one slowly pushing him away from james and lily would have naturally seemed suspicious from his side of things.

as for changed opinions post-incident: most definitely, yes!!!

for short-term, i think they all must have had instinctive knee-jerk reactions to the shock of it all. i tend to imagine james as the most angry, remus as the most hurt, and peter as the most scared by it; so their respective readings would have been something like “sirius is a bastard”, “sirius is heartless”, and “sirius is a monster”. peter i think is just scared shitless- obviously pissed off too, because what the fuck, sirius, someone could have died- but also it took him the longest time to grow close to sirius because sirius doesn’t take him very seriously and tends to be the meanest to him (especially at first because he’s james’ childhood friend but james is sirius’ now and sirius does not want to share), and he’s always been a little wary of him, but now he feels like he was right all along and sirius is just the prodigal black son that he looks like, cruel and dangerous and filled with bloodlust and oh god he’s crazy he might kill peter in his sleep (etc ad nauseam). remus is furious, but more than that he is devastated, because he nearly killed snape- he came close to genuinely slaughtering his schoolmate, and it just confirms all of his worst nightmares about his monstrosity, and he can’t belive sirius would do that to him; for the first while he thinks maybe they were never friends at all and sirius has just been biding his time to use him as a pet monster, and he thinks to himself that he’ll never be able to trust a word he says again. james is besides himself- james is the one sirius tells, darkly excited and expecting support, and james is the one who stares at him like he’s never seen him before it hits him and he’s sprinting wildly across the school grounds, horrified beyond words and swearing blindly to himself that snape won’t die, that he’ll ge there in time; james is the one who wrenches snape back as he gapes pale-faced at a snarling remus, and james is the one who sees remus first when he awakens, remembers himself, shudders full-body and goes “did i-“ in such a raw terrified voice it haunts james forever. it’s like sirius spat in his face. he can’t even look at him, it makes him so angry. he sees him after he’s dragged snape back into the school and dumbledore’s handled it, and sirius by then is unmoored and his eyes are like cracked glass but james doesn’t care, doesn’t feel anything for him but anger and disgust, and he shouts at him for ten good minutes and then doesn’t speak to him at all. short-term, james ceases to think of sirius as someone he knows.

long-term... hm. it’s hard to delineate. i think peter from then on is always just a little scared of sirius, which he’d stopped being between second and fifth year, and during the war there are countless moments where he stands with ice in his veins sure that sirius knows and ready to die, because he’s seen sirius nearly kill someone for less. remus never manages to trust him so fully again- though he trusts him with his life, he never quite trusts him on a personal level the way he might have otherwise, and it’s the cause of that sliver of distance they never manage to bridge. he and peter also both lose some degree of their hero worship for him- peter less so, because the people peter admires are strong and powerful and not necessarily good, but remus’ hidden shiny-eyed admiration dies there and then. i think oddly enough for james it probably changes things the least (counterintuitive i know) because it’s not so much that it changes his feelings or opinions about sirius as that it makes him change his optics- stop seeing sirius quite so much as someone just like him who has a few quirks courtesy of his upbringing, start seeing sirius as the person he is, and understand for the first time the unspeakably intricate relationship the two of them have. i think the incident as much as anything lily related (more, actually) is what motivates james’ decision to change his ways in fifth year. you know snape’s worst memory? james taunts and teases long past lily telling him to stop; he only starts going after snape in the first place because *sirius is bored* and he’s looking to entertain him. that’s fifth year james and sirius- bored, justifiably cocky, wrapped up in themselves, each other, and their self-made mythos; james has always been indulged and spoiled, and sirius’ sense of right and wrong is completely relative, and between the two of them they fail to realize (james) or care (sirius) that they are doing bad things and no one is going to stop them. the incident changes that. he’s furious for a bit, and incomprehending (how could sirius have done it? why would he have thought james would be on board?), and then gradually he simmers down and really pays attention- to everyone’s reactions, to how devastated sirius is, to the way he feels- and he registers for the first time that since first year he has been sirius’ moral compass in a post-black family world and if sirius thought this would be ok with him then he has been ok-ing too many things he shouldn’t have. once he figures that out, remus and sirius are cautiously talking again, and james doesn’t even wait on a further apology; he saw the look on sirius’ face, he knows. they never fight like that again.

anyways those are my two cents on the subject- ty for asking :)

[purplesurveys]

868

Favorite beverage: Just your good ol’ cold water. If I wanna treat myself I’ll get milk tea. When was the last time you had ketchup? Ooh I don’t remember...it would probably be 3-4 weeks ago. Or whenever the last time we had lumpia was, because I like drowning that shit in ketchup. Have you ever had a red hotdog? Yeah frozen hotdogs is a favorite snack here and they’re usually red. We usually have them for breakfast, it’s served in parties, it’s in every school caf, etc. What is the most recent gift you've been given? So my uncle has his budding cooking business and sells different dishes everyday. His most recent bestseller is burnt basque cheesecake and while I’ve always wanted my own because it looks SO good, I just haven’t had the money to allot for it. I was really surprised when my grandma called me up today and told me she had ordered an entire cake for me as a graduation gift :) I asked my dad to pick it up from her place this afternoon and it’s crazy delicious.

Is what you're wearing comfortable? Yeup, now that it’s cooler. I sweated through my top when it was hot earlier though, and that wasn’t a comfortable situation at. all.

Did you leave the house today? Nah. I did step out to help my dad with the groceries, but that was it for today’s adventure. Are there bumper stickers on your car? No. If I wanna put stickers on my car I would rather have them on my rear window, and not directly on my car. Are you watching tv right now? What? The dining room TV is turned on but I’m not watching; my dad likes to have it on to listen to the evening news while he cooks dinner. Are you wearing anything blue? Nope, it’s all black for me today. Do you have a job? Not yet. Is your car messy? No. There’s really no reason for it to be, I’ve only driven out once since March. When did you last have whipped cream? I...can’t recall, actually. We don’t have whipped cream at home and I don’t think I ever ordered anything with whipped cream on it shortly before lockdown. How far away is the closest house? 10-20 steps away, depending on how big your stride is. What street do you live on? I’m not dropping that on here. The most I’ll tell you is that our streets are named after tropical cities, haha.

What is your favorite flavor of smoothie? Used to not like smoothies 100% because of the presence of fruits in them, but thanks to my friends Apple and Ed introducing me to Go Salads I’ve come to really like their Breakfast Smoothie – which, after looking up their menu just now, has apple, banana, cinnamon, oats, coco sugar, chia seeds, greens, and soy milk. Are you dating anyone? Yes ma’am. What color is you computer? Silver. Do you own an iPod? What color is it? Technically I still do but only because I haven’t thrown it out. It’s a blue iPod Nano. What is the most recent picture on your phone/camera of: A photo of the aforementioned burnt basque cheesecake. I was planning to post a Facebook status to promote my tito’s business and show my support, so I asked my sister to take a few aesthetic shots of the cake for my post to look presentable. Have you ever shot a gun? No. I’ve shot a fake one that belonged to Athenna’s dad, which he used for like target practice or something. What temperature is it? 31C.

Do you know anyone with a third nipple? No but Harry Styles has four, HAHAHA. There’s your random fact for the day. What do your parents do for a living? My dad’s an executive sous chef and my mom’s a secretary in her specific department in the hotel she works in. Both have always been in the hotel and restaurant industry. Have you ever had a pet that had babies? No. We’ve avoided female dogs because we know we’re not capable of caring for newborn puppies, so instead of potentially being reckless owners we’ve just not had female pets altogether. Which grocery store is closest to you? A local mall chain that has their own grocery, SM. Do you have a hamper in your room? Nah, my parents prefer a general hamper in the bathroom. Do you know anyone that's a nurse? Yes, I have several aunts and as far as I know, one cousin :) I feel really bad for them especially in these times, but they’re such strong people and they just keep powering through and powering through. Do you know someone with the name Alaina? Not that I can recall. What color is the blanket on your bed? Off-white. What are your parent's middle names? No thank you. Have you ever broken a bone? Never. Do you wear braces or glasses? I wore braces in high school, and I’ve had glasses since Grade 5. What color are they? I picked a different color for my braces for every monthly visit cause it made me feel quirkly; my glasses’ frame is dark brown. Are you currently reading a book? Not currently, no. When did you last get your blood drawn? Ughhhhh, cringed reading this haha. Last May when I needed to get a blood test done. Have you ever done hard drugs? Nopes. How many contacts are in your phone? I just know I have a lot, but Apple doesn’t tell you exactly how many and I don’t feel like counting all of them right now. Does your toilet have a seat cover? It has a lid cover, but not a seat cover. What's currently on your grocery list? My dad did the groceries today so we’re pretty stocked rn. What things do you take with you everywhere? My glasses, car and house keys, phone, wallet. Do you know someone that is/was over 100 years old? Gab’s great-grandma was like 106 or 107 by the time she passed. Was your HS principal a girl or a boy? Girl. I went to an all-girls school so it would honestly be a little peculiar if we had a male principal. Have you ever eaten a raw egg? Nah. I wanna try it out though, just for funsies. Do you own any rings? Gab got me this cheap ring for the shits and giggles, but I stopped wearing it when it started turning pink and smelling weird. So no.

If you were to get a new puppy what would you name her? We did get a new puppy! ;) But should we get another, the name will depend on the puppy’s attitude and overall vibe. That’s what we did with Cooper, who was named after Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory because he had been a smartass from the very first minute we played with him. Have you eaten fruit today? No. What about milk? Even more nope haha. I can’t have it all the time. What letter does your state start with? We don’t have states. My province starts with the letter R. Could you list all 50 states? I’ve listed them down on countlesssssss occasions but I always only come up with 35-45 states. I’ve observed that the ones I always forget about are the states in the middle of the map/country-ish states hahaha. What about their capitals? I know a good number of the states’ capitals, but I’ll still undoubtedly do worse. What internet browser do you use? I’ve been on Chrome for the longest time. Do you know anyone that lives in Wyoming? I don’t think so. Do you smoke cigarettes? Yes, starting this year lol. Which person you know has the most unique name? I’m sure I know more unique ones out there but the first names that came to mind are friends of mine named Bernadean, Jeuel (pronounced Jay-well), and Jabes. Oh and I also have an aunt named Marheedoll. Do you know someone that's missing a limb? I don’t think so, no. Do you have facial hair? I do not. Are you a bad person? Not when it comes down to it. I have my petty moments though. What was the last swear you said? I almost yelled the word puta in front of my dad earlier, but I slurred the word and made random noises to avoid saying the full thing haha so it kinda went like puuuuutehshahjskhf. Have you ever called the police on someone? No. What is the most amount of pets you've had at one time? Three – one dog and two birds. When did you last check your email? Last night. I wanted to check if I received any email from the college. Have you ever had a 3rd degree burn? Nope and that sounds so painful, I never want to sustain one. Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? I haven’t. How long is your hair? Right now it reaches only my collarbones. I had it cut fairly recently, so it’s still on the shorter side. Do you lock your doors at night? The doors on the first floor. Does your bedroom have a lock? It does but my mom is such a big sissy about locks and says that “there’s nothing to hide/be private about” since we’re all relatives. She really shouldn’t have gotten a lock for my room if I wasn’t allowed to use it anyway... What do you have at your bedside? I have a rattan trunk that stores all my childhood knickknacks like board games and encyclopedias; then on the other side is a drawer with my home clothes and other knickknacks on the lower drawers. I got some hoarding tendencies from my grandma, so a lot of the stuff I keep in the drawer really has no reason behind my keeping them until today. How big is your bed? Not big at all, it’s just twin-sized. I am so investing on a big-ass bed when I have my own place. Do you know someone that was murdered? I didn’t know her personally but an alumna from my old school got stabbed to death. I don’t know the details but I think she got stabbed because she had gadgets on her, which makes you an easy target for criminals here. The only reason I know her is because my school would do tributes for her from time to time, so I really can’t tell you anything more other than she was stabbed. Do you know someone who's pregnant? I don’t think so. Do you wear a watch? Used to, but I kept losing them. What was your first pet? A pair of goldfish. How much jewelry do you own? Not a lot. The ones I do wear are technically my mom’s too; she just likes sharing them with me. What is the closest purple thing? Probably the ube halaya in the fridge. Green? A piece of Cooper’s toy. What time is it? It isssss 8:43 PM. What is your ideal profession? Lawyer. How tall are you? A little over 5 feet. Have you ever gotten x-rays? Probably once when I was a kid, then around two or three times before I started college. Do you wear gloves in the winter? I imagine I would but we don’t get winter. Do you consider yourself smart? Academic-wise, yep. I’m good at tests and memorizing and I generally enjoy reading educational content. Are you good at algebra? Yeah but I wanna keep it at algebra and geometry lol, I don’t have the patience for calculus and trig. What color eyes are the prettiest? I’ve always loved green/olive green eyes. Are your teeth straight? One of my front teeth protrudes a bit, but that’s all my fault because I lost my retainers back when I still had to use them. My teeth are otherwise fine. Do you like chocolate milk? LOVE IT Do you own a bike? We own a family bike and I’m free to use it, I just don’t because I don’t know how lmao Are you taller than your mom? No. I thought I’d grow taller than her because I had an intense growth spurt at one point, but it never happened. Have you ever been engaged? No. What, in your opinion, is the ugliest name? I’m not a fan of names that end in -leigh, but I don’t think they’re ugly names.

[duocreatix]

Ok, can I talk a little thing (or two) about Good Omens impressions?

Or actually, can I talk a little about the development of their love story as shown in the (glorious) third episode?

I was re-watching the series with my husband and, when it came to this specific episode, some things came to my mind while watching the marvelous half an hour of it that I’d like to put into words for a better understanding, for me and for y’all that maybe agree with me.

First of all, I’m gonna start from the idea that Crowley wasn’t primarily in love with him since the Garden of Eden, but acquired a heavy interest, almost an obsession, towards Aziraphale (the first angel that treated him as an equal) that slowly translated into pure affection (and eventual love) throughout 6000 years together. Where this transition occurred is not clear during the scenes, since the whole flashback is told from the angel’s point of view… except the 1967 scene, and this is important.

Secondly, I’ve already seen many people discussing that, in the 1941 church scene, Aziraphale didn’t found out he was in love with Crowley, but that he was being loved back, and I personally agree with this thinking line. This is also very important.

Why? Let’s go back a little bit…

(This is gonna be long, please bear with me…)

So, based on what’s written in the book, Aziraphale and Crowley agreed on sealing the Arrangement in 1020 AD, and the series showed very well the changes in their dynamics between 537 AD (before the Arrangement) and 1601 (after the Arrangement), where I’ll start.

Aziraphale leaves this marvelously obvious when he basically smiles at the sight of Crowley (even though he also smiled when saw him at Rome in 41 AD) and, well, asking for extra favors with that puppy eyes of him…

(and Crowley accepting, which is adorable in my opinion)

They’re doing favors to each other for almost 600 years by then, seeing each other more frequently than ever, so yes, they’re already seeing each other as friends (or at least kind of coworkers). Is Crowley spoiling the angel and said angel is starting to take advantage of this demon’s tendency? Absolutely. But romance…? Maybe not yet.

And then, well, comes French Revolution and Aziraphale is locked in the Bastille in the verge of being discorporated and Crowley comes to the rescue. Maybe the angel hadn’t fallen in love yet with the demon, but I’m in favor of the theory that, being the bastard that we already noticed he can be, Aziraphale walked into France aware he wasn’t appropriately suited for the historical moment (and with a miracle restraint) hoping to run into Crowley. So, yeah, that would justify the literal stars that shone in his eyes when he listened to his demon’s voice:

I could screenshot this entire scene piece by piece to prove my point, but I won’t, ok? The entire development leaves clear their mutual pining and how used to Crowley being always there Aziraphale became in those 770 years of Arrangement, to the point of risking his human form in the name of gluttony, almost in a leap of faith because he was sure Crowley would save him at the end.

(Aaaand he does all this not so little selfish things conscious that they could bring problems to Crowley, as he mentioned during the Globe Theatre scene, but the demon keeps doing anyway just to please his angel… Is Crowley already in love? Probably yes)

And then we arrive in 1862, and that for me was the breaking point in their relationship. Up to now, as I mentioned, Aziraphale always had the certainty that Crowley would be there for him, but this drastically changes here. I have my own thoughts about the holy water situation, and what amazes me the most is the fact that, instead of reading Crowley’s request as “I want holy water so I have a weapon to use against other demons if they ever come to me”, he read like “I want holy water to end my own life in case everything goes wrong”.

You can see, right here, his change of posture:

What does it mean? Simply that, for the first time in 5840 years, Aziraphale felt the fear of really losing Crowley, forever, no coming back, and panicked. The panic was big enough to label their relationship as other thing than friendship (probably as a defense mechanism against the fear of losing, even what they have done all those millenia is, indeed, fraternizing), which enrages Crowley: So what you’re saying is that I’ve been fooling myself all these centuries thinking of you as a friend, as someone I could trust my fucking demon life???

Thinking about it while writing, the whole “I-don’t-need-you-And-the-feeling-is-mutual-obviously” sounds like pure bickering from both sides trying to hurt the other. Do they succeed into it? Marvelously: they stop talking to each other, Crowley probably goes to his century-long nap (while hating himself for the fact that he knows he loves the angel, otherwise he wouldn’t be so angry with the fraternizing thing), and Aziraphale starts attending Gentlemen’s Clubs to forget his sorrows and try to detach from Crowley (any ficwriter can insert Oscar Wilde right here in Azi’s life). Their relationship ruins from here, and they’ll never be the same.

So, we arrive at 1941, both angel and demon living their lives fully apart from each other… but Crowley is unable to refrain himself from worrying about his angel. And then, that pathetic excuse of a demon, aware that Aziraphale was manipulated by the Nazis to hand over his precious books and was about to be discorporated again, enters a church, steps on consecrated ground and diverges a whole enemy attack to save the angel he loves.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale really considers he’s totally alone this time (i.e. without the guarantee of Crowley being around, because he barely knows if he still exists), doomed, forced to being discorporated and having to deal with celestial paperwork… Look at the despair in his eyes:

Thankfully, things go well and the two escape miraculously from the explosion, and Aziraphale can breathe again, like things can almost go back to how they were before. Almost.

 And then comes The Scene:

And that’s here, the exact moment, when Crowley, more than saving his life (which, btw, he had no obligation to do), also saved his books, that Aziraphale actually feels Crowley’s love for him emanating for the first time, and it leaves the angel absolutely astonished. His feelings are being returned for real, and he honestly doesn’t know what to do about it.

Look at him, look at his eyes and dare to tell me this isn’t pure love??? He thought he lost his friend, but in the end he came back in his aid, like some sort of knight in a shining armor… and also saves everything he cares about!! (bonus points for the romantic soundtrack, Mr. Arnold)

Poor Aziraphale. (evil laugh)

Finally, we arrive at 1967, where this whole consideration came from. As I said, this is the only scene from Crowley’s POV, and there’s a reason to it: up to this point, Aziraphale is finally certain of his own feelings and that he’s actually being reciprocated, but the other side isn’t. So, while Crowley keeps going with his plan, the angel decided to pay back the gesture from 1941 by providing the Holy Water he needs so much.

What does it mean? It means for Aziraphale an opportunity to stop Crowley from hurting himself again or being caught by Heaven’s lot during the robery (even if providing said water causes trouble to himself), but mostly is another leap of faith to both sides: Aziraphale is willing to trust that Crowley won’t kill himself with Holy water while asking Crowley to trust his word and keep the fucking tartan thermos closed until it’s needed (which he actually does).

So, what I really, really wanted to reach is this specific point:

Tbh, their interpretation was crucial to me here because, let’s be real, the dialogue in this scene is very subtle in its real meaning. This moment is Crowley’s time to realize and understand what’s going on with Aziraphale through the last hundred years, and it hits him like a rock: his angel loves him enough to go against his own principles to attend his request, sacrificing his rationality and risking being discovered. He’s right there, by his side, raw and truly open like he wasn’t for centuries, letting the demon sense his own feelings for the very first time. So yes, after everything he said, Crowley, he loves you back.

And, interesting enough, what’s his first reaction after acknowledging this fact? Offer a ride, wanting to spend some time with his beloved angel and, who knows, make up for lost time. But Aziraphale feels too fragile, too uneasy, about the fact that he opened himself for Crowley and now the demon truly knows his feelings, and needs time to rebuild his walls and create a convincing facade that’ll deceive his lot he has nothing to do with his hereditary enemy. He wants to reciprocate Crowley, but now like that, it’s too early for him yet: Don’t expect me to accept your advances right away, I’m feeling too vulnerable right now and I’m afraid that I’ll let you consume me completely if I surrender in my current state, so please respect my time.

Interesting enough, Crowley actually kept his cool facade in 1941, when he let the angel see his true feelings, something that seemed impossible to Aziraphale when he did the same. He’s an angel, after all, he’s unable to lie!

This way, he’ll probably only understand Aziraphale’s insecurities when he goes through the same situation, or at least the closest he’ll get: while the angel feared losing the demon, the demon really lost the angel, and with him his stability, his other half, his world:

And suddenly, running away from the Apocalypse didn’t matter anymore, to the point the sunny ballad of “You’re My Best Friend” turns into the anguished prayer of “Somebody to Love”.

[prongsisabadger]

Songs for the Heartbroken: That’s What You Get

AO3

FF.net

Prologue.

What is the scariest thing in the world? If people say whatever first comes to mind, we would probably end up with answers like heights, spiders, or maybe even death; but there are definitively things in this world that are scarier than that. The ones I particularly find most terrifying, are people. Of course there are different types of people that are terrifying in their own particular way, but here, I'll only write about one of them.

People who love. This might sound a little stupid to some but bare with me and allow me to explain. The word 'love' has now lost its essence from the amount of times we've heard it said with astonishing lack of sentiment. But I am not referring to an eleven-year-old's version of love when they first confess to their crush; nor am I speaking about those words guiltily spat between ground teeth or stuttered in the spur of a moment for lack of a better thing to say. I don't mean those many whispered 'I love you's of someone who just cheated on their significant other.

No, what I fear is much more profound, raw, animalistic even. What I feat is a person who disregards their own life in order to whatever or whomever they love. Those people have a purpose and will do anything to see it through. Just like a parent protecting their child, a soldier fighting for a cause they believe in or anything that can inspire such passion in a person's heart that the consequences of their actions go beyond one's imagination. People with a mission and the will to lay down their lives to accomplish it; those are the people who scare me the most. It's men and women with this kind of drive and determination who bring down nations, who are able to destroy anything in their path; capable of building relationships, entire lives and tear through them with savage violence and not an ounce of hesitation.

But the most frightening part of it is not what they are capable of, it's the fact that you never know who they are until its too late. You might have known that person your entire life and never had contemplated the possibility. Anyone can be one of these people, one of those who love too much; and you'll never know until it's too late, not even if that person is you.

That is the moment these people will stun you the most, when you find that you yourself are one of them, unsuspicious even to your own consciousness, until you realize that you would be willing to do the unthinkable to protect what you love. When you realize, that after all, those things that once seemed so terrible are not anymore, and that if it means safety, then you don't mind doing them anymore. Not even if it means you will lose your humanity in the process.

I have only seen such drive in someone other than my brother and me, and it took me quite some time to realize it too. I knew Shisui and I were special in some way other kids in the clan were not, that was at least until I met Itachi. The heir to the Uchiha leadership seemed like nothing special when we had first been introduced, he was serious, pensive even beyond what would be considered normal for a four year old. Even I with the extensive training (it was extensive, ok? Cut me some slack I was four) I had been put through at that tender age, was not as stuck up as he was. Turns out it wasn't because he felt superior to others, as most people outside the clan thought, he was just very insightful and preferred to assess the situation before taking part in it.

His father, the Uchiha clan head Fugaku, was insanely proud of him, and he had reason to. Itachi was a prodigy in every sense of the word, excelling in every ninja art at a very young age and showing more promise than any other child in Konohagakure no Sato. But what no one expected from the quiet prodigy, was the fact that he was one of these people; one of those who love too much.

My childhood had been good enough considering the times we were living in. I had grown up within the safe walls of the Uchiha compound, caging me in for six years until I would be allowed to enroll in the academy, keeping me from seeing much of the village and even less of the world. Not that this was uncommon, after all I was a child; but it was at that young age that life started shaping itself around me, and events that would be shaping my future, started taking place.

"But onii-chan, I already practiced shuriken jutsu and kunai this morning! Why can't you teach me more taijutsu?"

Ah, the innocent, peaceful days when my only concerns were regarding my training. For some reason, even if I was a spoilt brat most times, my brother managed to somehow keep his cool; he was good with children like that, even if he was only two years older.

"Akane, your taijutsu is nearly perfect; you're the only one who could give Fugaku-sama's son a run for his money. Your other skills need honing too, you know?" I pouted. I used to do that a lot back in the day, so much in fact that Shisui had become immune to its effects, unlike our grandparents.

I took the weapons basket my brother handed me and once again, turned to face the target hung on the sole sakura tree in our garden. It had become a routine with the passing of the years, after our parents died in the war, Shisui had decided to take my training upon himself; since our grandparents were too old (and in my oba-chans case, too reluctant) for the task. So ever since I could stand up straight, Shisui had attempted to give me the knowledge he had acquired over his few years ahead of me. So far, he had been succeeding, and with my upcoming entrance exam in two years and Shisui's eventual graduation, we tried to spend as much time together as possible.

All of this led to a very strict training schedule we followed almost religiously. Before Shisui left for the academy, we would do a series of stretches and warm-ups, followed by our daily morning spar. And when I say spar, I mean a four year old attempting to pose a challenge to her seven year old brother. Anyway, Shisui would leave for class after breakfast and a bath, and I would get stuck with obaa-chan and the chores for the rest of the morning. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, doing the futons, I hated it all; but I did it without complaining or slacking off for obaa-chan's sake.

After that, I would help jii-chan at his shop in the Uchiha district market. He was a blacksmith, one of the best among the clan, and I had always loved watching him turn raw iron into the fine pieces of art that were considered his blades. Most customers were members of the clan, but every now and then came people from other parts of the village; and since I rarely stepped out of the compound, these were the most interesting days.

The bell hung on top of the front door chimed, snapping me out of my reading induced trance; I marked the page I was reading and put the book under the counter. Chakra control was a very important part of shinobi lifestyle, and I'd taken to read it's theory after a rather long rant Shisui had gone on after being under graded at the academy. The chunin sensei had obviously been in the wrong, so I was determined to, when the time came, point this person in the right direction and avenge my brother. No one looked down on Uchiha Shisui without facing the wrath of his younger sister, ever.

I let go of my still unborn plan for vengeance as I saw one of my favorite cousins enter the shop.

"Obi-niiiiiiii" I screeched as I jumped down from the stool behind the counter and made my way to him as fast as my short legs allowed me.

I only stopped a few feet away when I saw he wasn't alone. Embarrassing Obito-nii in front of his friends would not do. I would have loved to force the air out of my cousin with all the force a four year old could put into a hug, but apart from embarrassing him, I would put a blemish in the spotless name of the Uchiha with such childish behavior. So before I could give jii-chan a reason to scold me, I bowed down at the waist and tried to put the best impression of 'shinobi Shisui' on my face.

"Obi-chan, Onii-san, Onee-san; welcome to Uchiha Fuko's armory. What can I do for you?"

The girl behind my cousin cooed as silently as she could to try and not hurt my pride; while the silver haired boy simply acknowledged me with a slight bow of his own. Meanwhile, Obito smiled proudly and held his held high, probably showing off, with a light blush on his cheeks.

"Mah, Akane-chan, no need for formalities, this is just my team. This is Rin, and The gloomy bastard is Kakashi, I call him Bakashi though, It's more fun that way." The last part he whispered, shooting me a cheeky grin.

My cousin had always been quite easy to read, but the fact that a four year old could tell he was extremely pleased, spoke volumes. When Obito was pleased about something, he tended to boast, a lot; thus providing me with a semi-reliable information source; one just had to know where to look. That was how I came to know they were due another mission the next day, which delighted me in a way only Shisui knew. I had always been almost morbidly interested in anything shinobi, so this new information summoned a wave of curiosity and enthusiasm that I could only just hide.

"So you need more supplies for your new mission, is that right? Should I get your usual order of kunai, shuriken and fire conducting wire? Or will you need something else? I heard things are getting rough out in the battlefield."

I tried to hide my curiosity as best I could, Obito might have been a bit naïve, but I had heard about a silver haired prodigy before, and didn't want to get caught red handed trying to collect information. Thank goodness, he seemed to think I was interested in the subject, or at least making polite conversation; because he gave no signs of being onto me. Meanwhile both Obito and Rin looked amused by my 'playing adult' and had bright smiles on their faces as well as their full attention on me.

Ever since I had first started speaking, I'd found that different words and expressions, got different reactions out of people. Shisui, being the ideal shinobi trainee, had wasted no time in helping me hone that skill. He said information gathering and manipulation were key abilities for a shinobi to have; but that should only be used on the enemy. Of course, being a four year old, my 'enemy' was whoever happened to have what I wanted. In this case, Obito-nii and his team.

Obito put his hands on his knees and crouched to my height in order to address me. I, on my behalf stood straighter at attention, like my brother had told me when being addressed by a superior.

"That, Akane-chan, is classified information." he said slowly, clearly with the intention of letting my brain take in the new word; but I had been in the same room as my brother when he studied, it wasn't completely foreign to me.

I nodded rapidly and took a step back to address the other two, obaa-chan would have my head if she heard I was impolite to customers; and she would sure flip if she knew said customers were friends and comrades of the Uchiha.

"Rin-san, Kakashi-san, were you two looking for anything in particular? Our shop has quite the reputation for our work with chakra conducting metals." I said and made my way behind the counter to look for my cousin's usual order.

I struggled a bit with my yukata when I tried to climb the ladders and reach the top shelves behind the counter; but I managed to avoid breaking my neck and look at least a bit like I knew what I was doing. Traditional clothes were very restricting, when movement was concerned, but it sure looked good on a shopkeeper.

"That's the reason we are here actually, Uchiha-san. Both Kakashi and me are in need of chakra conducting blades." Answered the girl politely, the gleam of amusement still present in her eyes.

The other boy, on the other hand, who I was now certain, was the last member of the Hatake clan, stood silently to the side. He was eyeing up a tanto that was being displayed on a shelve to the side. He had a good eye, if I was being honest. The blade was not just beautifully decorated, displaying a wolf pack in the hunt on the side; but it was also of the finest quality my jii-chan had ever been able to make.

"I am no expert in that specific area," I said climbing down and placing my cousin's order on the front desk. "Would you please excuse me while I fetch my grandfather?"

When the lone kunoichi nodded, I smiled as sweetly as I could. Turns out Fuko Jii-chan was done with his orders for the day; so when the customers left, with their personal needs satisfied, I was allowed to go home and wait for Shisui.

In the afternoons, my brother would tell me about the lessons he had had that day or even a story if he had one about his classmates or teachers. After that, he would oversee my chakra training for the day. On this special discipline, I struggled more than was considered appropriate for a member of the Uchiha clan. Shisui worked hard to encourage me and hide his concern, but even if I was four, the disappointment whenever the leaf fell from my forehead, was still present in my eyes.

I tried really hard not to get discouraged, my brother was making a huge effort, and giving in to despair would be like throwing it all away. I didn't care if the clan thought of me as a disgrace; I just wanted to make my brother proud, to make him acknowledge me as a capable individual, someone worthy of being his sister.

I panted hard, trying to regain my composure, as my brother sat cross legged in front of me; leaf still firmly chakra-bound to my forehead.

"Nii-san, this isn't working!"

I wasn't trying to be ungrateful, not at all, but there was clearly something I was doing wrong; and it wasn't only compromising my training and hindering my development, it was making me a burden for Shisui. I never wanted to burden my brother, ever.

"Maybe Obaa-chan is right, maybe I'm no good-"

"Nonsense" Shisui never showed his frustration, not when it came to me; but for some reason, whenever I mentioned the issue with Obaa-chan he seemed really bothered by it. "If you want to be a Shinobi; that is what you will become. It makes no difference if you develop slower than everybody else in the clan. You will not be a career bride if you so clearly don't wish to."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before standing from his place on the training ground floor.

"I don't care if I have to train you myself. We will make an outstanding kunoichi out of you, Akane-chan." Shisui offered me his hand with a tired smile and waited for me to take it.

I couldn't help but hug him once I was on my feet. I knew he meant every single word he had said, he always did; and the fact that he so clearly had my future in consideration, showed me just how much he cared, and how lucky I was.

"Thank you Nii-chan, you are the best."

Shisui smiled right back at me and crouched, offering me his back. It had become almost a ritual; whenever we would be done with afternoon training, Shisui would give me a piggyback ride back home.

"Everyone deserves to live their own lives the way they want to, to make their own decisions and learn from their mistakes. No one is the same, Akane, and even if you don't agree with them, you should respect the path they have chosen."

The usual buzz surrounding the main road in the Uchiha compound was noticeably absent as we made our way through; it was to be expected since business was a lot less in the evenings. Very few people could be seen roaming around, and the few shop keepers that usually worked late were now closing up their stores.

"what if someone makes a bad decision, Nii-chan?" I asked quietly, noticing that I had no need to raise my voice above a whisper for him to hear me. The atmosphere around us was very calm and gave off a sense of warmth and comfort that I didn't want to break.

"Then you can do nothing but accept that it is the path they have chosen for themselves; and that they will have to face the consequences no matter what. Just make sure you never enforce those consequences out of spite, anger or vengeance, Akane. If someone has to atone for their sins, then let yourself be guided by your sense of justice."

Not entirely sure about what he had just said, I decided to just nod and let my head rest against his shoulder. I would later in life realize what he had meant back then; when friends and family would turn into criminals if only for a series of bad decisions.

[islandpcosjourney]

Hindsight

29th December 2020

3 years ago, after a lovely family Christmas and a crazy few weeks beforehand redecorating the kitchen & dining room, I was enjoying some down-time. Facebook reminded me today that we were removing my fireplace in town – a big job involving big hammers and lots of sweat, on hubby’s part anyway ;) I had also just said goodbye to my Dad for the last time, although I didn’t know that. My final words to him were “Please go see a doctor” as we had noticed that he wasn’t himself while he was with us Christmas week. If I’d known in hindsight that I’d never see or speak to him again, I’d have never let him go. For the last 3 years I’ve punished myself for that. But in all honesty, I’m glad I didn’t know, despite the shock of his untimely passing, as I spent no time trying to cling onto something I wouldn’t have. He was just my Dad, it was just an ordinary Christmas, we were just hammering concrete out of a fireplace, as per usual and it was his time to go.

This year. The year of COVID. The year of cancellations. The year of worry. The year of unknowns. The year of excess screen time. The year of FOOD! This was the year of a fresh start. A chance to really sit down and think, quietly about anything and everything. In a year where our health has been debated so much in the press and in the community, I chose this year to sort it out, head on. Or rather, this was the year that my body chose, to WANT to sort itself out.

Many of you will have read before of the trials and tribulations that my PCOS gives me daily. It’s a vicious circle of physical and mental symptoms caused by external and internal factors. But before this year, although I’d done tons of research and I knew everything I could about my difficulties, I still couldn’t solve them. Something was always stopping me and that was indeed me.

We are what we eat. I truly believe this and always did but mentally I was always being drawn to the wrong foods. I still am, I am human after all but while most people had a kill switch to stop themselves from eating junk, my switch was broken, or so I thought. I understood the theory behind what foods would be good for me but putting it into practice is always the hard part and I’m sure many of you will have faced this before yourselves!

During lockdown, like many others, I was forced online to work. It wasn’t long after that I started noticing daily headaches, getting worse and worse. After a while, it was debilitating, and I was at the point (when in normal circumstances) where I’d have run to the GP for some stronger pills! But this wasn’t really an option this time and it forced me to think alternatively. I was convinced it was screen time to blame so I took a wee break and combined my teaching days/hours to make sure I had a long weekend away from the computer to recover each week. Around the same time, I was also experiencing buzzing in my ears – one Sunday thinking I was going insane hearing somebody strimming in their garden, when of course nobody would do that up here on a Sunday! Kevin definitely thought I’d gone mad and I was certainly believing I was! We figured out it was tinnitus or something similar and deduced I’d just have to ignore it, along-with my headaches. Fast forward to June when I finally decided to move a huge pile of recipe books from the landing upstairs. I can’t remember why they ended up there in the first place but rather than putting them back downstairs again, they’d just sat there in a tall pile for months. It was at this stage that I came across Jason Vale’s Turbo Charge Your Life in 14 Days book. A book I’d had at college and had used to lose weight before my degree’s final recital in 2009. I remembered losing 7lbs in 7 days. I sifted through all the pages and got swept back through memory lane and my tastebuds started to remember the taste of some of the juices. Mmmmmmmm yummy. Especially the Turbo charge smoothie – Pineapple, apple, lime, spinach, cucumber, celery & avocado. The ONLY form of avocado I would eat as I hated its taste but seemed to love its creaminess in a smoothie! Avocado being an essential fat that I KNEW I should be eating with my PCOS…… So, the next shopping trip I decided the buy the ingredients, dig out my juicer and before I knew it, while planning a week away to see my Mum & brother, I also planned a detox! AND it timed in perfectly with Jason’s BIG juice challenge between 6th – 12th July! Perfect, all meant to be.

So now, let’s cut a long story very short. I returned a week later totally rejuvenated, hadn’t eaten a single morsel of chewable food in 8 days and I’d lost 8lbs – here, something was working! I felt amazing, my headaches had gone, my skin was glowing, my teeth were whiter, I had tons of energy and I no longer had any ringing in my ears – all after just one week. Ok, so let’s continue! Nearly 6 months later incorporating juicing into my daily diet and I’m 30lbs down (It was at 33lbs, but Christmas was far too good hahahaha). I’ve set myself a target of 100lbs but the biggest reason for this dietary change is not to lose all the excess weight I’m carrying, although of course that will help, its to always put my health first and live the healthiest life I can. In a year where health has never been more important, I am finally on top of mine. I have finally found a way to control my symptoms and my cravings, naturally. I know it probably all sounds ridiculously obvious, but we are what we eat. My body was consuming junk therefore I was junk – I was overweight, chronically fatigued, had oily/acne skin, excess hair, moody, depressive, stressed, dull, no fun – the list is endless. I will now consume, in an average juicy week: 7 pineapples, 56 apples, 7 limes, 28 celery sticks, 28 asparagus spears, 7 courgettes, 2 bags of spinach, 1.5 bags of kale, 3.5 cucumbers, 3 broccoli stems, a few bananas, massive handfuls of mixed berries, beetroot, 7 pears, 7 avocados. Safe to say I am now bright, bubbly, happy, positive, glowing, full of energy, no back pain or headaches, smooth skin everywhere and best of all, I am reducing my PCOS symptoms massively. I’ve been at this weight before; I remember how I felt at this weight before. My weight has nothing to do with this feeling. The food I am eating is directly responsible. Finally, an answer to all my troubles. I know it sounds obvious but how many of us will turn to medications or look for other factors to blame for our chronic conditions? I did! As soon as I was diagnosed, I continuously went running back to the GP/consultant for more and more pills. One to sort that, one to sort this, another one to counteract the last one etc etc. I KNOW categorically that the medications were intoxicating me and that the fuel I put into my body causes the relevant energy output whether strong or weak. I know that if I wake up in the morning and feel tired, a juice will sort me out, not caffeine. I know that if I’m tired at night it is because of the incorrect fuel I’ve put into my body earlier that day, for whatever reason I decided to consume it. I am seeing a direct long-term result of it all too.

From previous blogs, you will know that I DID NOT have a menstrual cycle without medical intervention. As of Boxing Day this year, that is no longer true. It may have taken since July to regulate my hormones naturally, but it has worked. Obviously, time will tell if I’m going to restore any kind of regularity to it but in all honesty, that’s not a concern right now as I can’t remember having a regular cycle since I was a teenager, so we’re talking around 20 years of hormonal disruption to be reversed and Rome wasn’t built in a day! Interestingly the last “natural” cycle I had after stopping years of medication also appeared on Boxing Day, in 2016 ;) In August this year, I was convinced “mother nature” had come to visit but she only said a very brief hello in a socially distanced way for a day so this time with the COVID restrictions lifted a little she was able to come to stay with gifts of stomach cramps, carb cravings & headaches as a way of getting us reacquainted again. Needless to say, she was made very welcome and I’ve never been happier, especially by hugging a hot water bottle.

Not everything is quite sorted but as you can imagine, its well on track! I now choose my food wisely, looking for naturally wholesome options as is humanly possible and just being more conscious of what I am eating (of course I eat treats ocassionally but I’m doing it consciously). Would you put dirty fuel in a car? Of course not. Would you put dirty oil in during an oil change? Of course not. That’s what I believe medications do to chronic conditions – they throw dirty oil into an already dirty engine. Our cars need servicing each year where they get an oil change, where the filters are cleaned, where essential maintenance is done, so why don’t we do that when we’re chronically sick? Why do we turn to pills to sort a condition we’ve developed rather than look to what we’re fuelling our body with and give it a good clean out? Of course we need medicines for acute conditions but chronic ones can be reversed if we clean out the “filter” and do an “oil change”. I’ve seen tons of documentaries recently where I’ve learned of people curing their Asthma, Eczema, Psoriasis, Diabetes etc I’ve even seen a documentary where cancers have gone into remission for dozens of years through eating raw food alone. I know it’ll sound very “out there” for some people and it would’ve done for me too had I not gone looking for Functional Medicine (using food to heal) research after years of understanding the theory behind it but not finding the right way to put it into practice. But, never in my whole life and in spite of a worldwide Pandemic, have I felt more alive or healthier than I do right now. I may have turned the clock back 3 years on my weight but energy-wise I feel about 15 years younger which is far more important than any number on the bathroom scales.

In hindsight, do I wish that I’d reached these dietary conclusions earlier? Not at all. It wasn’t the right time. In hindsight, I can see that all of the information that I have been armed with over the years, are the tools that have set me up for the success I now have. Like a fine wine, I needed time to breathe, time to mature to become the best I can be. No point in opening it early, you’ll just be disappointed. A good teacher is somebody who’s struggled themselves and I’m a better, stronger person for having had my major struggles. There’s probably many still to come. Life is never boring!

Now that I’ve written this, I logged into Tumblr to copy this blog across and to see when I last posted and to my amazement it was Boxing day last year! I love coincidences of dates & Boxing Day seems to have cropped up a number of times. I said that my goal was to increase my energy levels as I really struggled this time last year. I had said regarding Christmas day:

“I want to be able to, one day, wake up early to make the breakfast, open stocking presents, get dressed inc. make up, cook a Christmas dinner, watch a bit of Christmas TV, play some board games, do the washing up and still feel like a proper woman – not some shadow of one who can only do one or two tasks a day.”

Well I did all those things! I’d totally forgotten that I’d even set that goal (for one day!) but I reached it a year later and more. I never thought I’d be sizes smaller than a previous year as my pattern has always been to be one size bigger each year ;) I recently ordered a few jumpers for the harsh winter, one a size 16-18 and one a size 14 for the future. Well, although a stretchy material, I’m in the size 14 jumper and had to send back the other as it just hung off me! Considering I was a size 20 last year, ballooned to a size 22 by the middle of the year and now I’m back to the size I was 3 years ago, I’m delighted. I also don’t get the violently ill episodes when I eat gluten/dairy now that I did before when I religiously followed a PCOS diet and ocassionally slipped up. I honestly think fruit & veg is healing my gut, my hormones, my skin, every organ in my body! There’s a lot to say for eating a plant-based diet, not only for my health but also the purse-strings but there’s also lots to say for eating balanced nutrition and listening to one’s body for what it really needs. My ears are wide open now.

[timebuzzer]

Love Channels • Chapter 10

Sean’s POV

Saturday is almost over and we’re finally done addressing the emergency I had since this morning.

I’m supposed to be working on my dataset the entire day but I got a call from Charlotte and had to rush to the factory due to the needed machine troubleshooting. I really thought it was just minor but there were issues on the design we started integrating a few days ago.

After almost the entire day of cracking our brains and going over it, we found out that there was a very minute unnoticeable gap in one of the gears we added that’s causing delays and error warnings. There is a need to review the design but everyone agreed to do it next week and call it a day.

It's a good thing I didn’t go home this weekend or else it’ll take me a while to get to the factory. Jamie is at her parents’. She knew what happened this morning when she checked on me but I got pretty busy and only sent her an update when I was heading home.

She wouldn't really mind my late replies especially in situations like this plus whenever we’re visiting our parents, we both tend to ignore our phones to spend time with family.

“Are you up for a drink?” Pete is on the other end of the phone.

“I don’t know if I still have the energy to go out tonight, man. I’m pretty beat. Just come over and bring drinks.”

“Yeah, I’ll come over. See you in a few minutes, anything you want to drink?”

“Just soju, I still have some side dishes my mom sent me last week but you can buy food if you want to. See you.”

I need to shower and get these grime off me, it’ll take him a little more than 30 minutes to get here anyway. Pete rarely asks to have drinks with me. It’s usually the other way around so whenever he does, circumstance willing, I won’t refuse the invite. He must be having a hard time these days.

Most of our friends from high school and University are office workers now. Whenever we hang out for drinks, we’d hear their stories and complaints about work. We can keep up but Pete and I cannot really discuss about the demands of graduate school because they cannot relate much. Usually we’ll just hang out with each other to talk about our struggles instead.

At least I have company after this long day and I kinda need his help to process a few things too. The living room was prepped when my doorbell rang, I opened the door and saw him carrying a few bags. Now, it might be a few bottles but this guy has a high alcohol tolerance compared to me.

“Sup, took you awhile.” I greeted and helped him carry the stuff he brought. I see a few chips in here and there’s tteok and fish cake too.

We settled in the living room and switched the channel to a soccer game rerun, we won’t really be paying much attention so the sound is turned to a minimum.

“What’s up?”

“Just needed the usual break.”

“Everything well with your requirements?” I guess I’d do the asking first.

“My adviser is kinda giving me a hard time on my analysis. I went to his office today to consult and it took me almost two hours to go through a chapter. I had to discuss portions of my raw data, go through my inferences and descriptives and still he wants revisions on the interpretations. I really want to graduate soon and I only have this paper, like most of us, chaining me from completely proceeding with my hospital internship.”

He looked dispirited while airing his concern. I understand how it can get frustrating especially when you’ve been adamant about finishing your research.

“That bad? I don’t know much about the theories you guys have but if you need some help running and going through the numbers again, I’d be happy to.” aside from listening, that’s what I think I can offer him.

“I might need your help on that part. I don’t think I can handle more statistics in the next few days. It’s draining. I can always seek inputs from the rest of my friends but they too are going through the loops of getting their research done.”

He continued narrating what happened during the consultation and all I could do was earnestly listen to him rant.

Like I said, he’s got high tolerance and I on the other hand can already feel the alcohol’s effect after a few shots. It doesn't help either that today has been exhausting for me too.

“How are things with your girlfriend?” I know this will be a light topic for him and would also allow me to get some inputs.

“It’s going well, would you believe that? She’s out with her family today so I need to fend for myself. Thanks for being available.” he then winked.

I smacked the back of his head. He laughed at my response and quickly dropped the pun.

“Well, you fare better at relationships than I do. I just lucked out at this one. Really did.” I told him in a serious tone.

“It’s true that we can get lucky but I think it’s just on meeting someone who would fit our description of who’s special. What you do with that luck is all that matters after. You gotta do what you need to do to keep the relationship going and get better as it progresses.”

Thank heavens for Pete and his emphatic side.

“I’m trying my best. It might be too early to tell but with her it's uncomplicated, it feels stable and sure, consistent. That’s just how it is for me. Honestly though, I’m still figuring these things.”

“You’re right about the uncomplicated part, with Jamie, you won’t and don’t have to sugar coat anything. She can see through you, what goes on in that brain of hers is just remarkable. If she’s having a hard time in any aspect, it’s actually pretty hard. She’d know too if it’s your case and she’ll be there for you before you know it.” Pete affirms some of Jamie’s qualities I have observed.

“I’m her total opposite most of the time.”

“As the old saying goes, opposites attract, man. It can't be any better than that. How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Hundred days a few days from now. Surprising her won’t totally work so I’m just going to ask her on a date or anything we could do to celebrate.” I laughed at the thought of how challenging it is to truly surprise Jamie.

“You should read up more on some self help to aid you with that and not just about equipment designs and mechanisms all day.” Pete said in jest while pointing at my bookshelves.

“I got you to help me out, why would I read self help books? Your inputs are even for free. I just have to get you soju and that’s it.”

“Sean, technically speaking I am not that equipped in relational therapy. I’m more exposed on Social Recovery Therapy, that’s what my research is all about. Hmmm, you should try checking this light reading I came across before, hold up let me search it online.”

He scrolled through his phone, searched for the book title and showed me “The Five Love Languages” by Gary Chapman.

“It’s an old book but it’s still very much revered by a lot of people. We also gotta learn how to express our commitment to our significant others right? Just because we’re men doesn't mean we have to live up to what society has initially dictated when it comes to relationships. Maintaining great relationships is all about playing equal roles. So read up. That could help you keep up better.”

I should get this book and take that quiz to figure out what my so-called love language is and perhaps check on Jamie’s too for a better perspective.

Pete left around 11PM when Jamie called for our usual night talk.

[satans-codpiece]

ok fr im gonna post this bc this is amazing @ 16 y/o me, what happened to you? selfshipping with a character not a single person on this hell of an earth cares about while staring the entire SPN cast straight in the eyes and being like fuck y’all?

[December 27th, 2012]

HE hadn't thought dying would feel quite like this. Or maybe he did, to an extent. Weightless, like he was floating was to be expected, feeling lightheaded, especially as the almost blinding light blasted from the stone. "It wall went white" doesn't have the same ring to it, though. He had seen that poor woman earlier be vaporized by the stone's power, and he was sure that was what was happening to him right now. Individual atomic bonds being ripped apart by the raw energy being thrown off by Stonehenge.

Even as an astrophysicist he hadn't expected to die such an unpredictable death. Maybe in an accidental atomic explosion at the worst, maybe get cancer or something. Much domestic deaths available than this seemed almost appealing, but in the end, he had saved the world in his death. He knew that long before he left the car with Dr. Jennings. He would die at Stonehenge, even if he failed. Getting the key to the center rock would cause what was happening: this discharge of power on a much smaller scale than the one hat would've occurred had he failed. The one that would redirect the atomic bomb, and then the one after procuring enough of the magnetic power from the Earth's poles.

That was why he left his ring with Dr. Jennings, and faked hope when she said she'd be giving it back. He would never see her again. A chestful of anticipation and the weight of quite possibly the literal world rested on his shoulders and he set out with determination.

Which he was successful and lead to this feeling of weightlessness, of falling even. To be honest he hadn't even realized he was falling until he realized his side and leg burned with pain. He had thought with just enough clarity to think that wasn't the pain supposed to stop once your brain had been picked apart one atomic-level bond at a time? Weren't you supposed to stop thinking? And in that moment he opened his eyes and he could swear on every book of astrophysical theory that he was actually falling. The light spiralling around his was not his near death experience, he was actually falling Goddamn it all. Hell, for all he knew he was actually being taken to see who the hell made Stonehenge and the key and terraformed Earth in the first place billions of years ago. He admitted earlier that there were forces they simply couldn't explain with modern theories, and maybe even any theories to ever trickle through peer reviews. Maybe they had something else at work in their terraforming device, they wouldn't even have to know.

The weightlessness was expected, the falling was a bit of a surprise but still could maybe to chalked up to last-minute hallucinations in an attempt to keep his mind in a single piece. It was the collision of his back to a very solid, very hard surface that had Dr. Glaser sputtering and trying to keep his focus on the material world.

Landing had jostled his already tender gunshot wound, and he groaned despite himself. This was so much less graceful than just being ripped apart or vaporized. He really hoped that at least the cult follower was being as disgraced as himself. Maybe a little more dead, since he did after all wish death upon all the humans in the world. That wasn't very nice.

Jacob stared up from his position on what he assumed was the ground of some abandoned building. The walls were concrete, maybe in a basement somewhere- supposing it was of human origins. The walls were old and a dingy gray, obviously uncared for and let to fall into disrepair. On the ceiling, however, Jacob could not comment since above him was only a swirling vortex of light and color: one that he had obviously just fallen from. He thought for perhaps a moment he had fallen through some sort of wormhole, created by the extreme energy at the stone and forced a counterpart white hole somewhere and had sucked him through. Though that hardly explained how he was still alive: a black hole would crush him under the extreme internal gravity. Not to mention it would also be ripping apart Europe by now.

No, Dr. Glaser was contented to ponder on how he got here as he bled to death slowly. It was a sad death, he thought. He much preferred being vaporized to this, at least in being vaporized he could hope someone would make a movie for him one day, with decent special effects for being vaporized. He could be famous, but no, like this he would be that one scientist that ends up being found in 30 years and then accused of faking his death for publicity. At the scale of everything that had happened surely it would be even more incredible than if they had found Hitler's body in South America. He pondered it a moment more.

Maybe not quite that sensational. It would certainly still rattle the gossiping TV shows for a couple weeks. No, he contented to pressing a hand to his wound which still oozed warm blood over his fingers and into this clothing. Judging from the state of the room and likelihood that he was in an evacuated zone, he hadn't expected anyone to show up. He certainly did not expect a loud cry of "Jesus Christ! Sam, Cas! Get in here!"

Actually he was expecting to really be hallucinating that. He looked lazily, the blood loss finally digging at his consciousness, and saw a large pair of too-green eyes staring back at him. The man, - oh God, Jacob could swear he looks just like Jensen Ackles, the American actor, pushes Jacob's hand out of the way to press a cloth to his wound. "Hey man, it's going to be okay, alright?" Jacob's head is too blurry to really understand what's going on, but is clear enough to know that that tone is more like 'I'm saying this so you wont freak out on me' than 'its okay'.

He expected to die anyway so it's all good. Maybe not with an actor trying to keep his blood inside his body, but hey it'll only make the story even better. He could probably get by with better last words than "It was a robot head", but he could settle for dying in an actor's basement. The man turned around again and yelled: "Sam! Cas!"

This time another man appeared from a doorway, rushing over to the first. He was remarkably tall, Jacob knew for certain even from his state on the floor. And now maybe Jacob could start having a panic attack or laughing off this hallucination because god dammit the other man was fucking Jared Padalecki. So either he was dying on the set of Supernatural, or something was definitely off. He recalled distantly that he had called him Sam, not Jared. And now he was sure he was hallucinating: this was absurdly nuts. Yeah, maybe Sabrina had told him that it was real and she was stuck on the wrong side, but come on. She was having some sort of mental breakdown when she said that. She'd said his alternate on the other side was an angel but this was stupid, this was ridiculous.

"Oh my god, Dean, he looks just like..." Jared (Sam?) mumbled, grabbing a hold of the wound on Jacob's leg. Dean- Jensen- nodded somewhere between numbly and grimly. And then around the corner came another body. Oh Christ, why would this have to be his pre-death hallucination, why couldn't he be receiving his award for astrophysics again, that would be nice.

"Move," The Jacob lookalike said, voice way too low and gravelly to be correct with his body. But they moved and Cas(?) moved in close, squinting at Jacob and all Jacob could was try to not cough up any blood that he felt trickling in his throat. Cas pressed two fingers the Jacob's temple and -now its certain he's hallucinating, but whatever- he was just fine. He gasped, happy to not feel restricted by the pain in his abdomen.

"What do we do...?" Sam began, looking helplessly between Cas and Dean. Jacob was still trying to sort his thoughts.

"Do you know Sariel?" Cas questioned, and it took him a moment to realize his lookalike was talking to him. He thought over a minute. Sariel? No, he didn't think he knew any and shook his head accordingly, too stunned for words.

"If she was stuck on the other side would she even be using her real name? Wouldn't she pick something else so she wouldn't, you know, stand out?"

Jacob could piece that together. Stuck on the otherside and there even being a Jacob alternate? He breathed in through his mouth, expecting it to feel tight and dry and shocked to feel it wet and edging on normal. He worked out, "Sabrina,"

The trio looked down at him. "This is another.. world, right?" They exchanged glances and shrugged, a unison of 'more or less'. "Sabrina Jennings, she said she was,"

The surprised yelp from above was all the warning he got as a body was falling much too quickly from the ceiling to stop. It landed heavily with a thick 'thump' on Jacob's middle, making his cough and sputter.

[December 28th, 2012]

"Oooh, I think I'm dying..."

"You are not dying, Sariel."

"You don't know that, ughh, this feels so awful. Won't you help me Jacob?" "No, just taken some more Nyquil, you're fine. You have the flu." I rolled onto my other side and mustered up my best kicked puppy dog look. "Jacob, won't you please go get it for me...?"

He turned around to glared at me, frustrated and tired with my antics. I really did feel horrible, more than what I expected the "flu" to feel like: more accurately I felt like death personified. I ached all over and moving at all left me terribly nauseousness. I'd never felt anything like it, Angelic or otherwise. Hell, I wasn't supposed to be able to get sick. I may have only partially fallen but that implied I was still partially an Angel and as a part angel being, I shouldn't be able to get sick with such human diseases, right? surely that was in my contract. Maybe

I probably should've read the fine print. I didn't even bother reading the shortened juicier version. Not that this metaphorical contract existed, that's why its metaphorical. I just didn't bother to actually consider what would actually happen if I ripped half my grace out (closer to two thirds, I still had a single pair of wings, not all three). I felt temperature and was bothered by it (I took to wearing several pairs of socks in the winter), I needed food occasionally, I slept a little off and on (maybe 3 hours a night, easily looked over). I hadn't even thought that sickness could also claim my much more fragile body.

I was still angelic enough that it would require a heavenly blade to kill me, I knew that for certain after I tripped and stabbed myself one evening. Whether it still took an archangels' blade or if any lackey could kill me was a mystery I wasn't too keen on figuring out. Being dipped in holy oil would probably fry me, which is such a pity.

But sickness is another thing all together, there were a handful of diseases that could affect angels. Mostly they attached to the wings: the most sensitive part of any angel, arch- or not. They were akin to birds' diseases, but the difference was simple. We could rid ourselves of them almost instantaneously. I'd only heard of cherubs being stuck with their sickness for a while, and even then they are so far down the food chain it isn't surprising. They're barely above humans, only capable of flight and hiding themselves from human view. They don't even require vessels.

But the flu, oh the flu. I had kept the part of my grace the healed, which seemed to be useless now, unable to rid my vessel which was essentially now my body, of this virus. Or whatever it was. It wasn't pleasant, I knew that. I ached all over to the very core of my being and even trying to press my grace against the wound-less pains seemed to be useless. I felt cold all the time and yet my body burned inside, and I was partially worried I was becoming Lucifer: burning cold and vessel flushed hot in attempts to press my grace and form out of its physical self. I slept much more, a full 8 hours which Jacob had explained was normal for humans to sleep more when they were sick. It meant their body was working overtime to try to push the stuff that was making you sick out. He swore to show me a movie he called Osmosis Jones, "Even though it's inaccurate in so many ways, it's pretty funny." I didn't really pay attention. I liked almost every movie he'd shown me thus far even though I hadn't seen a whole lot. Only maybe 50ish, and that was being generous. I guess for being around for a year on Earth, that was pretty good.

But this sickness was not "pretty good". It was horrible. I don't know how humans dealt with this as a possibility every winter. I snuggled deeper into the bed, pulling the blankets up to my nose and Jacob seemed to understand that getting up really would send my nausea into overload again. (Last time I had tried to move ended with me curled up on the floor with my head between my legs, crying out of my misery). I left the room for a minute, and I coughed roughly. Dry and it ripped at my throat, I grumbled something about probably using all my archangel abilities, as soon as I got them back, into wiping out the flu virus. This was a perfect example of grade A suckage.

I sniffled and suddenly a bluish greenish liquid in a clear bottle was being thrust at me. Jacob held it out while I took it from it, opened the top and took a large drink of it. He raised an eyebrow and I shrugged. I still had resistance to much of humanities drugs, making going to the doctor especially weird. Jacob had feigned flu as well to get a double dose of Tamaflu, whatever that was. He said I should probably just double the dose and anymore and he'd be worried about its effects on me.

So far I didn't feel any better. Doubling the amount of any medicine I took never seemed to do the trick, at tripling I got trickles of effects, mostly little things. Six ibuprofen and I noted that I didn't want to tear my spine out quite as much. It took ten to really make me relax and be able to think about anything besides it.

I screwed the cap back on and held it out to him again. He took it and set it upon the night stand. He sighed and ran a hand over my forehead, his palm feeling cool against my skin. "I'm sorry you're sick, Sariel." He cooed softly. He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

I stifled a cough and mumbled, "Yeah well, don't get yourself sick too, I can't take care of you like you take care of me... I wouldn't even be able to heal it out of you."

He laughed and stroked a hand through my hair, "I can't get the flu."

I barely contained the shock in my voice: "What? how?"

He grinned and shook it head. "Unlike you, I got my flu shot."

[meditationsinausterity]

September Reading Roundup

Will Self, The Book of Dave.

So after my August of almost exclusively lady books, I've kicked off with a Geezer. Not just a male writer, an actual fucking Geezer. I love Will Self, and would highly recommend The Quantum Theory of Insanity, and The Butt, works of his I've previously enjoyed. I'd have picked this up from the free books box outside of Stella's Voice in North end based on my previous enjoyment alone, but a friend of mine, Tim who was one of my favourite regulars in The Whippet, the first pub I helped manage and therefore always my first love, once recommended it to me on a snowy Sunday, when he and I were the only people in the bar and I was line-cleaning and chomping at the bit for handover so he and I could go drinking.

 I had several friendships in that pub where I'd give out, and receive books in that pub (blame it on the Bloomsbury postcode I guess), and take and give recommendations. Tim, on this Sunday, was waxing absolutely lyrical about this one, and the concept, the idea of a future society finding a book written by a London cab driver and forming a religion and a society surrounding it, really appealed to me.

I wasn't disappointed, but the novel was definitely different to my expectations, as is often the case when you come to a book with preconceptions (I see you Wuthering Heights, I fucking see you). It's part Ridley Walker, part an 'It's all a load of Fackin' Bollocks MAAAATE' yowl into the abyss. It hops between a post-disaster pastoral society with a rigid hierarchy and cockney-rooted chaucerian dialect, and a despicably unlikeable but sympathetic North London pleb of a taxi driver experiencing an inarticulate masculine fury at his distinctly class struggle related breakdown, which he channels through the only set of rules that make sense to him; The Knowledge (for the uninitiated, The Knowledge is the test London cab drivers undergo in order to qualify).

I'm still a sucker for a London novel of any description, but I fall very much in love with those that described the tired, angry thoughts of its underclasses, because reader, I was one. Despite my education and self awareness, I've felt that snarling, visceral 'FFFFUUUUUCK YOUUUU' that can only rise in your gut in a city that thanklessly grinds you down and through it for the benefit of others until you're basically used up. I'm not as exciting a prospect to read as Dave Rudman because university and therapy have made me too irritatingly self-aware, and too keyed into the emotional jargon of our times. I'm dull because I can talk about hierarchies of needs and hegemonic struggle and how they impact my mental health as a member of the working class. I can voice discontent in safe terms that you already know. The beauty of Dave Rudman is he knows his life is bullshit, and he's surrounded by cunts, but he struggles with the articulation of why and how this is unfair. As his psychiatrist puts it:

'For, while many of the patients who shuffled into his consulting room were emotional malingerers - unwilling to turn up for any of life's feelings - this big, raw boned fellow was reeling. He doesn't have either the wit or the imagination to know what's happening.'

There's a beautiful symmetry in the novel. Dave's 'we're fucked and if everyone would just listen to me i'd sort it ahhhht' working class masculinity (my late stepdad was a real one for that, I'm so familiar with it I could cry), contrasted with the society that takes his unlistened-to working class voice as gospel but ultimately is just as unfair, taking his disenfranchisement-born misogyny to drastic conclusions, is powerful, and grabs your gut. We feel bad when nobody is listening to our Dave, but we're simultaneously confronted with the horrific reality of what happens when his rage at women, born of what contemporary life is doing to his masculinity and sense of self, is taken seriously.

It's not a happy book, staring directly into the face of the impossibility of self expression, or at least the lack of access to it that the majority of society has. it directly looks to the ways in which we fuck up and get angry at the wrong things when our core identity is assaulted on every side, and how unfair and misguided that really is if you logically played out the redressings of those imagined balances. The modern world is presented as fragmented and irredeemable, the future a feudal dystopia of racial divide, illiteracy, and poverty.

There's no shred of hope in this book, even in Dave's regret-fuelled about face, and the insurrection it could cause in the future were it listened to. But it definitely has laughs, as all darkness does. And much like the kind of much-maligned working class character Self breathes life beyond trope-dom into, it tells it like it is. This bleak realtalks made me oddly nostalgic; for the peculiarly London form of contempt you can only feel when you've racked up a sixteen hour day for little-to-no-money, and have to look at all the moneyed visitors and suburb-dwellers pumping their cash into tourist bottlenecks. It's a weird sense of superiority and knowledge you cling to to stop yourself feeling like as much of a mug as the people at the other end of the economic scale. In reality, you're all equally mugs, because the city always wins; but you feel like you really belong there and they're just visiting. Likewise, in reality, as we see in Dave's inability to transcend any of his social constraints in anyway, there's no joy in this small victory you give yourself, because if you do really belong there, there's nowhere else to go.

 Shirley Jackson, Dark Tales.

A present from my friend Zachery, on a visit to Portsmouth on a sunny Monday that feels like forever ago now. Don't you just love it when someone slings you a book to read? Tells you not just about them, but about what they know of, or think of, you, too. I'm totally including this in September's books, as I did start it then, despite finishing it in October. It's been a slow month for reading while I try and figure out a work-life balance, so I'm being kind to myself. It was passed my way because, in an accurate educated guess, it was determined to be my kind of thing.

Oh BOY is it. I love anything creepy and dark, to the point where when people get to know me better, the witch jokes come thick and fast. I'm particularly obsessed with women who are obsessed with death (Lana del Rey, Florence Welch, Sylvia Plath, American Horror Story Coven, I'm looking at you here), and Shirley Jackson is one dark motherfucker. I particularly love a good slab of American gothic, and having read all these stories I'd undoubtedly say that these are Jackson's strength. There were stories in there about getting lost in the woods, and ghosts and so on, but I could decidedly have taken or left them, particularly as I find ghost stories inevitably have the same quasi-Victorian conclusions.

Her strongest efforts, if you ask me, are the ones about malcontent simmering under the surface of classically American tropes, small-town life, country summer idylls, young marrieds in the big city, that kind of thing. The lapsed literature student in me wants to point out that these stories could be used as fantastic allegorical examples of the rotten core lurking within the American dream, which let's face it, is a fair shout, but more simply put, that workaday surface is a fundamental part of what makes the stories so deeply disconcerting. In the same way that the workaday rhythms and relatability of a Bruce Springsteen song or a Raymond Carver short are so emotionally powerful because their narratives could be and are, playing themselves out time after time in towns across America, so Jackson's are terrifying because we, the readers think to ourselves, probably so are hers.

We tell ourselves 'it's just a story', but it's harder to do when the characters are so intricately and cleverly made real by their intentional stock quality. And we're so fascinated with her characters for the same reason we're still fascinated with Ted Bundy; because he was innocuous and unnoticeable enough to have gotten away with it for so long. It's far less scary to have our demons look like demons that to imagine them buying milk from the same grocers as us.

I usually treat short stories as small dose thought-provokers to read over a morning coffee, consuming them in tandem with whatever else I have on the go, but a combination of me having less attention to pay, and these commanding it so strongly meant that wasn't really the case this time, and I'd highly recommend getting these under your belt. I wouldn't say I could think of another writer who has made me feel genuinely disconcerted in a long time, and given that horror is a genre in which most of the tropes have been played out in every which way they figuratively can, Jackson still manages to generate a sense of the unexpected in her tales that I haven't encountered elsewhere in a long time.

[friends-call-me-wobbly-hands]

Truly Exceptional

An Undertale funfiction

Summary: In Underfell, Alphys starts her experiments on DT. She demands more subjects. She receives what she asked for.

Word count: 1609

Characters: Alphys, Asgore, Undyne

XX – XX – 206X

I managed to extract what appears to be the main source of a human’s soul power. It is seemingly clear enough to be used in following experiments. All the files on this research from now on are to be marked as “completely confidential”.

01 – XX – 206X

I decided to call the source DT, or the “determinant trait”, since it seems to be the only way we can put those souls to use before we have all seven. The previous tests on raw soul power were discarded as fruitless. All the documentation can be found in the royal archives, listed as the Soul Project and marked as “confidential”.

12 – XX – 206X

DT behaves differently from magic. The theory that it can be used as a power source was proved implausible (it would be too costly in any case). The readings I got recently show that monster souls are compatible with DT. This sounds very promising. His Royal Highness has requested a proper research of weaponry on more than one occasion, and I suppose living weapons will be enough to meet his needs.

22 – XX – 206X

The tests are disastrous. Monsters exposed to the DT either melt and dust or stay just alive enough to be a constant source of litter. Failure. Probably the cause of such a catastrophe is in the injections; the DT may be not clear enough. The tests will be continued upon an investigation. The remaining subjects will be classified accordingly and reduced to thirty percent for further experiments and research.

 30 – XX – 206X

 The studies showed that DT, no matter how well refined, leads to the same effects. It is obvious for me now that the main mistake lies in the weakness of chosen monsters. His Highness received my claim and agreed to solve this problem. I did not dare ask how.

 02 – XX – 206X

 The first new subject has arrived. She is a volunteer, as unbelievable as it is. His Highness has personally given her quite a flattering characteristic.

 She is… exceptional.

 06 – XX – 206X

 The new subject has been holding surprisingly well. Her body takes in DT like a sponge. As exciting as it sounds, it may prove to be detrimental for her on the later stages of the project. The results of the previous tests show that monsters that were most receptive to the positive effects of DT succumbed to it sooner. There is almost no chance to prolong her existence in case of a sudden crisis. It is both exciting and disappointing to work on such an exceptional specimen.

 14 – XX – 206X

 The subject has been on her best behavior. Today’s test required an operation on her left eye; it is a lucky coincidence that it was lost before she came in for the program, so less surgical intervention was needed. The scar is seemingly fresh. The remains of flesh and tissue were to be removed. Halfway through the operation the pump with the anesthetic broke down.  Much to my shame, this fact slipped my attention completely. I became aware of it only when I met the stare of the subject’s remaining eye while putting the bandages. She did not emit a single sound during the whole operation. Truly, such behavior can be only praised, as it allowed me to finish the procedure smoothly. It does feel somehow saddening to know how quick and inevitable will be her eventual demise. However, the job of a Royal Scientist requires emotions to be put aside for the sake of the majority. Single monsters can be sacrificed if that means breaking the barrier, defeating humanity and ensuring the rule of His Highness.

 19 – XX – 206X

 I demanded that the subject gave me the details of the accident that caused the loss of her eye. It was necessary for the treatment of her eye. She consented. Apparently it was lost as a result of a sparring session with His Highness, after a blunt trauma to her face. She stated that her main reason for coming into the program was a desire to regain her fighting abilities, and thus “to continue serving King Asgore as well as he deserves”. As noble as her reasoning is, I cannot help but remember that she will meet the same end as the others. It is probably in vain to try to prolong her existence, and yet I will do anything possible to get her at least a couple of months more. After all, this is exactly what His Highness wants me to do…

 28 – XX – 206X

 It seems that conversations with the subject have a positive effect on the subject’s psychological state. I thereby made a decision to arrange daily meetings with the subject in order to preserve this result. After all, it will only be a nuisance if I will have to deal with more problems than I already have. And maybe her emotional wellbeing will affect the outcome of this test as well. Anyway, such conversations may prove interesting and even pleasurable for me as well, even if it is not the main reason by any costs. As for now I will attend those meetings singlehandedly. I will try to find a therapist to handle them instead, but I am mostly sure I will not succeed as they are quite underprepared for such a task.

 16 – XX – 206X

 The subject is holding surprisingly well. She has proven to be quite an interesting person. The zest and passion she shows when finding a theme she likes are truly enviable. It seems she has a very close bond with Asgore, which can explain the characteristic he gave to her. Also this fact only made me admit that my subject is honestly exceptional (His Highness wouldn’t bother with her otherwise). Aside from her fighting skills, she also can boast with a sharp mind, which is an unusual combination, I dare say. If the test is a success, she will be a remarkable achievement for the monsterkind and the knight we could only hope for. She asked for a chance to continue her trainings. I am afraid we cannot provide her neither with a room nor with a sparring partner, and excessive physical activity can mess with my results, so I decided to give her some of my books instead. I bet she would not mind to learn more about the “human history”.

 25 – XX – 206X

 Un – The subject has proven to be possibly the finest colleague I could ever desire. It is truly a shame we cannot work together. She seems to catch my ideas about human history and characters so well. The DT seems to blend into her system perfectly, and the readings do not cross the margin of what was predicted. I could only dream of such a result. Then again, her opinions on the human fighting techniques prove to be so very interesting too… I appear to be in a hurry right now. I will continue this entry after the following meeting with the subject.

 30 – XX – 206X

 Attention: no talks are allowed with the subject aside from naturally neutral remarks and interrogations.

 01 – XX – 206X

 The worker that put a name on the subject’s cell should be properly punished. I should always remember that the subject, after all, is disposable, and the test will most probably end just like the rest of them did.

 12 – XX – 206X

 She is disposable.

She is disposable.

She is disposable.

 18 – XX – 206X

 Feelings like those are unprecedented and shameful for a Royal Scientist. Truly disgusting.

 27 – XX – 206X

 Today’s operation had to be painful. His Highness demanded a higher dose of DT to make the process quicker. This is the part that always challenged my composure. Even though the job of a Royal Scientist means that my emotions should be discarded so they don’t go in the way of my work, it doesn’t mean that sometimes I cannot feel a fleeting feeling of distress or disgust.

Even she couldn’t hold the screams.

The belts were fastened tight enough to prevent her from hurting herself, and the anesthetic was administered to numb her sensations, according to the common procedure. That was all I could do. However, even with the drug in effect the agony seemed to be almost unbearable for her, just as it always is for the subjects at this stage. I came in to check her. She fell silent when seeing me. I told her not to hold it in – after all, I am a mere scientist, and not someone to impress. She growled, but she didn’t scream anymore. I came close to her. She watched me for the whole time. I couldn’t identify the emotion she showed. I took her hand. I told her that the sensors were overloaded (this can be proven by the readings gotten from 01.23 to 02.01), and the only way to get her heart rate was to do it manually. She stayed silent for the whole time I was there. She closed her eyes. I told her I couldn’t count her pulse properly, so I held her hand a little longer.

 XX – XX – 206X

 The experiment is a success. It shall be classified properly and marked as “more than completely confidential”.

 XX – XX – 207X

 The former subject Undyne came back for a checkup. As always, it showed that her system works just fine. Hopefully, without any excessive physical strain, she will last for a long, long time.

She asked me for more of my history books – she said that our conversations were a perfect mind training. She asked if we could continue them.

I see no reason not to agree.