#been in a funk for the last few months since moving

[mo-gxn]

yall what’s uppppppp!!!! wanted to say hi and like- apologize for not posting much anymore😋👍

[cariantha]

In a Mood

Book: Open Heart, Book 3 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Warning: Mention of pregnancy Category: Grumpy/Sunshine; Angst Word count: 1.3K Prompt: From @kyra75, “Sunshine is humming and singing constantly, while grumpy at best just tolerates it quietly.” A/N: This is a prequel to their proposal fic.💍Hope you don’t mind, Kyra, but I reversed the grumpy/sunshine roles.🤭

Ethan stepped out of the high-end jewelry store, twirling his keys around his finger and sporting an uncontrollable grin. He whistled a happy, upbeat tune as he walked down the block to where he had parallel parked. Settling into the leather seat of his Jaguar, he started the ignition and cranked up the stereo. Safely merged into traffic, his fingers drummed to the classic rock beat as he sang along. “l said, are you gonna be my girl… 🎵🎶🎵… I say you look so fine that I really wanna make you mine… 🎵🎶🎵”

Sawyer woke on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe because it wasn’t the comfy bed she became accustomed to. She’d been sleeping in Ethan’s for the better part of the past year but stayed at her apartment last night to start packing. Her lease ended in a couple of months, and despite Ethan’s offers to pay the penalty for breaking the lease early to encourage her to move in with him, Sawyer insisted on keeping her room until after her board exams. The six-foot-four, blue-eyed sex machine was too great a distraction when she needed to hunker down and study. 

Shuffling down the hall and into the kitchen, she found Sienna balancing a mixing bowl on her hip while she swayed back and forth, singing a Taylor Swift hit. When Sienna noticed her, she shoved a batter-coated spoon into Sawyer's face, suggesting she take over lead vocals, but Sawyer shook her head and grumbled. “Sorry, Sienna. I’m not awake enough for the Eras tour.”

The day continued in the same irritable fashion. She was fifteen seconds late catching the T. While she waited for the next one to arrive, a street musician embarrassingly circled and serenaded her with “The Lady in Red,” making her wish she had picked a different color jacket this morning.

Later, she watched from the gallery as Bryce led his first heart-lung transplant. He bobbed his head and lip-synced to a mix of 90’s alternative rock playing through the operating room’s speaker system. The intro to “Bring Me to Life” by Evanescence began to play. 

“Ohhh yeah,” Bryce hyped and looked to the gallery. “Brooks! It’s our song. Sing with me!” 

Not one to usually shy away from some lighthearted fun, Sawyer just couldn’t get past her funk this morning. “I’m good, buddy.” 

After a couple more headbangers, Sawyer wished him luck on the rest of the procedure and went back to work. 

That afternoon, Ethan suggested a walk to Derry’s Roasters. On the way, he began to whistle a chirpy tune. It was familiar, probably a melody from one of the arias from the opera they attended a few nights ago. “Ugh, not you, too,” she muttered. Ethan wasn’t usually a whistling and humming guy, but something was definitely in the air today, and she seemed to be allergic to whatever it was. 

“Did you say something?” Ethan asked. 

“It was nothing.” 

The annoying merriment continued into the evening hours. Music sounded from the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen as her man prepared dinner. It wasn’t loud, but he sang along with the lyrics. Ethan Ramsey was singing! It should have brought a huge smile to her face and forced her into a fit of laughter, but for reasons she could not explain, it grated on her. 

She fake-smiled her way through dinner, not wanting to project her foul mood on her disgustingly happy boyfriend. When Ethan hopped in the shower and started humming another melody, Sawyer grabbed her phone and headed to the balcony. She texted her best friend, hoping Christian would allow her to vent.  

A couple of days had passed since her text exchange with Christian. Saywer’s moodiness was at an all-time high, though she tried to curb it, especially around Ethan. He had been so sweet the past several days and had done nothing to deserve her bite. 

Hoping a jog would burn off some of the negative energy, Sawyer headed to the waterfront. As she ran along the boardwalk, she made a mental note to shop for a new sports bra because this one felt like it was lacking support. With every pound of the pavement, her breasts ached. Midway through her route, she had to stop for a breather, her body heavy with an unusual fatigue. 

When another female jogger pushing a stroller passed and politely waved, a potentially life-altering thought occurred to her. One that detoured her to the pharmacy on the way back to Ethan’s apartment. 

Sawyer heard his happy tune when he entered the apartment later that evening. Finding her in the kitchen prepping dinner, Ethan greeted her with a “Hi” and kissed her temple. “I’ll be right back,” he said. 

As he put his things away and changed into more comfortable clothes, Sawyer could hear the song he whistled on his lips getting louder as he returned to the kitchen.

Even if she found his carefree mood annoying lately, she couldn’t deny him his happiness. Her heart hurt knowing there was an excellent chance he wouldn't be humming or whistling much in the days to come. Because Ethan Ramsey didn't see kids in his future. He said as much two and a half years ago. When she had asked him the question, the fMRI scan of his brain confirmed it.

Ethan stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her from neck to cheek. He greeted her with a proper kiss when she turned her face toward him. "How was your day off, baby?" he asked.

Baby. 

Sawyer hesitated before answering. With his hand splayed over her stomach, she wanted to say, "It was shocking, and I'm terrified to tell you because it's going to change everything." 

Instead, she shrugged and answered with a deceiving truth. "I went for a jog, ran some errands, and waited for test results."

Ethan kissed her temple again and gently moved her to the side to take over dinner prep. "Stop stressing over those test results, Rookie. You've got nothing to worry about."

Sawyer stepped behind him to hide the mist gathering in her eyes. She squeezed him around the waist, and to herself, she said, "Please let that be true."  

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @peonierose  @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction 

@jerzwriter @queencarb @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @jamespotterthefirst 

@liaromancewriter @tveitertotwrites @tessa-liam @youlookappropriate @kyra75

@socalwriterbee @txemrn @midnightmelodiz @snoopdogcone

[project-reaper]

Moving forward into 2024!

I haven’t really had a proper chance to say Happy New Years, so this will have to suffice, with a little breakdown of what’s been going on and what’s to come!

WHAT I'VE BEEN UP TO

I’ve been spending the better part of the last year working on new projects and endeavors. Both with Time Gate and outside of it. From vendoring at markets and working expo’s for the first time to working on art pieces completely outside of Time Gate, 2023 was a hell of a year and it makes me all the more hyped for 2024. That said, I’ve been carrying a weight with me through 2023 that’s made it difficult to enjoy it to the fullest - the weight of knowing that [AFTERBIRTH] is still on hiatus.

This isn’t the longest hiatus that I’ve been on, but it’s certainly starting to approach the record and I wanna get it back on track. Like getting back in shape after spending an entire winter hibernating and eating nothing but junk food, getting back into drawing [AFTERBIRTH] on a schedule is gonna be a process of rebuilding good habits and learning what I can do better to keep those habits alive and well.

The fortunate side to taking hiatuses is that it always does give me a new sense of perspective. In this case, I learned that I put myself through a lot at the start of [AFTERBIRTH]’s production. Like, way more than I realized. At the time I thought I was super capable - and I am! - but now in hindsight I can recognize it wasn’t healthy or sustainable for me to manage that sort of output all on my own. I’m still grinding away at comics like I always do with those other projects I’ve mentioned, but it’s still nothing near the amount of work I put myself through just to meet my own deadlines with [AFTERBIRTH]. I also have this thing called help now in the form of a background artist who’s been working with me on those other projects, which has been an amazing and enriching experience.

Having that time away from [AFTERBIRTH] not only gave me the breathing room I needed to recuperate from the burnout I got myself into, but also got me out of the routines I had stuck myself into, which has given me some new tricks and skills that I’m really hyped to bring back into Time Gate with me.

This does, in a way, mean that I’ve had to really reflect on Time Gate, a lot. It’s a project I’ve been writing since I was a kid, and drawing as a webcomic since I was around 18-19. It’s changed a lot in that time, but I’m finding while a lot of those changes have been reflected in the comic as it is, there are still so many more I want to make - because like the comic, I’ve changed a lot, too, both as an artist and as a person, and considering Time Gate’s always been a sort of personal extension of myself, I no longer resonate with a lot of parts of it that I’ve since outgrown. It’s not so much that I want to hide or take for granted those parts of it that are ‘uglier’, but I want the writing and art to be expressed in the best way it can be because at the end of the day, I’m trying to tell a coherent story that’s enjoyable to read and experience. I’m also the sort of person who learns best by just getting their hands dirty and learning what not to do, and boy, have I spent a lot of years doing just that through Time Gate.

GOING FORWARD

So, going forward, I’ve adjusted my schedule with my other projects to accommodate the time I need to both get back into Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] as well as prepare for the upcoming convention season. I’ve got a bunch of plans for this year’s markets with new ideas for prints and stickers and other goodies that I’m really excited to make! And I just, overall, want to pull myself out of the burnout funk. You can’t force recovery to happen on your own time but there does come a point where you gotta start taking steps otherwise you get stagnant, and I feel like that’s where I’ve been the last few months.

AFTERBIRTH FORMAT CHANGE

[AFTERBIRTH]’s format will be changing back to page format in its second season. Vertical format works for some projects and stories, but not for Time Gate. It’s been fun, but part of learning what I’m best at is learning what I’m not best at and the vertical format is too limiting for what I want to do with Time Gate in the future. Color will still be remaining!

REAPER RECOMPILED

I will also be working on the Recompiled editions of Reaper. These will predominantly be the first few volumes redrawn and rewritten to accommodate a tighter story down the road. I know, I know, “don’t get trapped redrawing/rewriting stuff”, but I feel the changes that I wanna make are so necessary that they’re part of what’s holding me back from continuing with [AFTERBIRTH] into Thread of Fate and beyond. There are a lot of really silly and otherwise unnecessary writing decisions I made back during Reaper that I currently feel aren’t working for what I’m trying to accomplish in its sequels, and let’s face it, I wrote it almost ten years ago when I was still very much learning, so it’s due for an upgrade. It'll be the last time too, because it'll be putting us on Loop 9999 and remember what Matty said about surpassing 9999-

This will be something I’ll be picking at slowly but surely. When it’s ready I’ll basically be replacing the old pages and updating any new mirror sites with only the new version (I’m currently planning on trying out NamiComi and Lemoon and of course I'll be continuing to post on ComicFury and GlobalComix).

THE BIG GREEN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM-

All of that will basically be working towards my biggest step - getting the flying fuck off Webtoons. Because let me tell you, I've basically spent the last two years like this:

Y’all know that I’m not really one to roll over and take shit from massive platforms, and Webtoons is no exception. I’ve been posting to it since 2016 and I’m very very much done with it; just like with Tapas it’s no longer the site it used to be and there’s fresh competition entering the market that I’d rather put my focus on. At the very least, I want my independence back, if I’m gonna be stuck having to market and network my own work anyways I’d much rather be doing it for my own site or platforms that aren’t constantly undercutting its creators by removing core features and not implementing necessary ones. I as well as many others have been doing our own investigating into Webtoons and we’re basically feeling like canaries in the mineshaft right now, picking up on some massive warning signs that we want to get ahead of. The worst that can happen is that I pull the same stats I pull on Webtoons somewhere else, what a tragedy that would be LMAO

LIVESTREAMING

And then of course there are my livestreams. Like learning the hard way that I shouldn’t have been drawing [AFTERBIRTH] on such a strict schedule, I’ve learned that streaming on the schedule I used to be streaming on just ain’t for me. Call it the ADHD but I’d much rather stream when I have something to legitimately talk about or showcase rather than force myself to stream even on days when I’m really not feeling up to talking. And I’d like to get back into doing actual video editing content, whether it’s speedpaints or gaming videos or commentary stuff, whatever have you. Now that I have a proper PC rig that’s actually built to do heavy duty stuff, the possibilities of what I can create are a LOT more vast and I wanna take full advantage of them!

That said, if you wanna see an example of what the streams will look like when we return, check out this lil’ time lapse demo:

Definitely couldn't do that on my old setup! It might not be regular streaming like before, but it’ll damn well be higher quality and more fun to watch haha

WELL THAT WAS A BIG WALL OF TEXT WASN'T IT

So yeah! That was a lot of words but I hope it clears up everything that's been happening on my end. Thanks for following along with my work all these years, whether it’s Time Gate or my lil’ secret projects or my streams, through all the ups and the downs. Long-term projects like these may take their toll but there’s so much joy in seeing them change and grow over time, and I want to fully embrace and reflect that growth as best as I can through what I bring you guys.

Thank you all so much, let’s make 2024 a good year <3

[rhymesalot]

Nightlife (3 of 3)

Chapter III Good Bye

Scrambling back to the console and quickly changing up songs before getting back to the mess he made and continued to ignore the phones and the mic. Back on the floor, still in damp underwear with knees held to his chest, Steve was overwhelmed with the urge to drink, his old escape from reality. It’s been nearly a decade since Steve’s last drink, which ultimately put him in jail for twenty six long months. The silence was eventually broken by a loud and forceful bang on the door. “You OK in there Steve” yelled Sargent Bouchard of the local police force. Hearing no response the Sargent yelled in his deep ominous voice “Open this door now or I will.” Snapping out of his funk by flashbacks of the police. Screaming, Steve frantically jumped to his feet “It’s cool Frank, I’m good, I’m good.”, lunging for the door Steve slipped on the wet paper and fell back to the floor, spraining his wrist on impact. “Shit, damn, damn!, Steve breathed in deeply, “It’s alright Frank, I slipped.” Steve scooted over to the door and pulled himself up with the chintzy door handle before unlocking it. However, while Steve pushed, the three hundred pound Sargent Bouchard was also pulling on the door handle. The flimsy door flew open, taking first Steve and then the Sargent, down the make-shift stairs crashing onto the gravel driveway. Steve was saved from any major injury landing on the Sargent. The Sargent was not as fortunate, landing on his back and slamming the back of head on the gravel, knocking him out cold. Rolling off of the Sargent, Steve laid on his back, enjoying the mornings warmth. Close to a minute passed before Steve realized Frank still hadn’t move. Turning his head Steve could see blood dripping from Frank’s sun suit hood. Steve screamed in horror before reaching over to shake his friend. “Frank, you OK Frank, Frank wake up!” Steve jumped to his feet, yelling “Help” over and over again, as loudly as he could before realizing everyone was indoors, avoiding the sun. Being closer to the patrol car than the trailer Steve lunged for the car and opened the drivers door. Surprised by the surge of cool, refreshing air, Steve hesitated for a second then jumped in, grabbed the radio mic, pressed the button and yelled, “Hello anyone, Frank’s down, Sargent Bouchard I mean. He’s out cold and bleeding, hurry, we’re at the radio station, hurry! Throwing down the mic Steve hurried from the car and back to Frank, who was still out. Sitting next to Frank, Steve noticed a tingling sensation in his hands soon followed by a similar sensation in his arms and legs. Finally remembering his morning’s opening monologue and the symptoms of Airfrilation Steve gave Frank one last push before retreating to the shade. Working hard to get off of the ground Steve managed only one step before his legs gave out. Back on gravel Steve tried to drag himself to the trailer, a few feet where gained with great pain and effort. In the distance a siren could be heard, music to Steve’s ears, soon we’ll be safe he thought. When the ambulance did finally arrive Sargent Bouchard was tended to immediately, later to be treated and sent home. The town firetruck arrived shortly after the ambulance and Bailey now had its first casualty.

The End

[justabirdy]

From the Feeder 5-17 to 5-23

I won't lie, I've had a rough week. Amidst multiple breaks of bad new in my life and getting sick, I've found myself in a funk. There's a chance I may not even have a job in the coming weeks or months, so the bird feeders and the livestream have been a comfort of mine and may even become more important as time progresses. 

But enough about hardship, lets look at some pretty birds and talk shop about the birdfeeder livestream. 

Our first new visitor of the week is in fact our turkey who finally decided it was worth coming all the way to the feeder.

Wild Turkey

I was also finally able to get photos of our House finches who made themselves right at home the past few days. 

House finch

Another exciting visitor that proved difficult to photograph was a Ruby-throated hummingbird that stopped by a few times just before dusk when my camera would have the most challenging time catching it.

Ruby-throated hummingbird

And finally, our surprise star visitor, at least in my book was in fact our Pileated woodpecker who decided to swoop in and make his presence known at both our suet blocks. I just happened to be lucky enough to be around and catch him both on a video clip and in photos below! I'm still stunned at how big they are. That also makes 4 species of woodpecker to visit now!

Pileated woodpecker

And of course we had some of our regulars! I'll add those to the bottom of this post. 

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

Stream Updates

Okay, we only made a few minor updates this week. Here's a rough breakdown of the improvements: 

Added a running timestamp to the stream to better help people look back through the stream to find things people may talk about in the chat. 

Moved the feeders slightly closer to the camera. This should help improve video quality while cameras are zoomed in. 

Investigated ways to lower the latency so there's not a 25 second lag between inputting a command in chat and seeing anything happen. (this frustrates me too since a bird may be gone by the time I zoom in or pull up the audio) 

The first two changes are simple quality of life, the last one is something where I want your feedback and input. The conclusion I've come to is that youtube will only allow ultra-low latency on videos that 1080p or less. If we dropped to 1080p we could have a lag of only 3-5 seconds at the expense of 4k. So which do you prefer? Less lag or 4k video. Please let me know and I'll take it into consideration.

Final Thing

One of these days when I'm not feeling sick, I'm thinking about doing a birdwatching livestream where we can all watch the bird feeders together and talk about the birds and behaviors they are showcasing. I'm by no means an expert, but I would enjoy sending a morning truly birdwatching with y'all. Let me know in a reply as well if this is of interest too

- Birdy

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Check out the Interactive Livestream Here

Support me on Ko-Fi

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White-breasted Nuthatch

Common Grackle

Indigo Bunting

Hairy Woodpecker

Red-bellied Woodpecker

Mourning Dove

Red-winged Blackbird

Baltimore Oriole

American Goldfinch

Rose-breasted grosbeak

Northern Cardinal

Blue Jay

Brown Thrasher

Black-capped Chickadee

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 40

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Mulder watches Scully climb down the open hatch before following behind her. There’s a small landing at the bottom, and the light pouring in from overhead reveals just the first couple feet of a tunnel, beyond which there is only darkness. 

“What’s down there?” Scully asks, and Mulder pulls in a deep breath. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I was told it’s a safe way out. I think it’s our only viable option.”

She gives him a long, weary look, and it makes him wish that they had time to rest for a minute. Time for him to hold her and tell her how terrified he was by the prospect of losing her again. But every minute they spend down here brings them closer to being discovered, and they have to keep moving.

He reaches for her hand, wincing when he feels the sticky slip of Cal’s blood, and then enters the opaqueness of the tunnel, feeling along the earthen wall beside him so he has some sense of his position. 

They walk slowly, sweeping their feet across the ground to avoid tripping over the occasional tree root or divot in the path. The shriek of the fire alarm begins to fade, and within a few minutes there is neither light nor sound, just the shuffle of their feet and the wet funk of detritus filling their noses. 

Time is immeasurable, as is distance, and the further they go the more tightly he clings to her hand, afraid that if he stops touching her she might cease to exist. 

As harrowing as these last few hours have been, he feels more like himself than he has since waking up in the hospital. The heft of a pistol in his hand, the brazenness of walking willingly into danger, the reliance on instinct over logic, felt natural and right. At the same time, each pop of gunfire, each panicked shout, and the rusty smell of blood set off what he has to assume are flashbacks. Little snippets out of sequence and context, like a single frame from a motion picture he can’t see in entirety. It was enough to bring the weight of how many times he’s almost lost her come crashing down on his shoulders, and her sticky hand in his suddenly feels like a miracle. 

He doesn’t believe what the smoking man said about her dying within a month is true. Or even if it could have become true, the old man had no opportunity to put it in place before Cal put a bullet between his eyes. Prior to Mulder and Cal arriving he’d been planning to kill her, so why would he have gone to the effort to implant another chip or otherwise ensure her demise? It was only the last in a long line of manipulation tactics, and Mulder decides then and there in the pitch black of the tunnel not to tell Scully what the old man said. She’s going to be fine, because he’s going to do everything within his power to make sure that she is. He’s not going to let anyone hurt her again. 

In the distance, thin, shimmery lines begin to appear. As they draw closer, the lines take on the shape of a rectangle, and then reveal themselves to be slivers of light. 

“Is that a door?” Scully asks hopefully, the first words she’s spoken since they plunged into darkness. 

They shuffle that much quicker, less disoriented with a point to move towards, and when they run up against the end of the tunnel Mulder drops Scully’s hand and begins to run his palms over the surface of the door in search of a knob. His hands bump up against hers as she also paws desperately at the exit, and the door rattles when she digs her fingers in around the edges and pulls. 

“Stand back,” he says, gently moving her behind him with his arm. 

Resting one hand on the wall for balance, he slams his heel against the door and it gives a satisfying crack. He does it again and the wood splinters, letting in enough light that they both wince and shield their eyes. Scully steps forward, pushing and pulling at what remains of the door until it falls away and reveals the serene bank of a river. 

They both take a step back, looking at each other and then the river. Without speaking, they each pull the weapons from their waistbands and stand at opposite sides of the door, peeking out to be sure that the coast is clear. Confident that they aren’t being ambushed, Scully carefully scoots down the steep, rocky bank until she reaches level ground, then goes immediately to the edge of the river and plunges her hands under the water. Mulder takes a bit more time scanning the surrounding trees and peering up over the bank wall to clear the area. When he sees railroad tracks running alongside the river, he knows they aren’t too far from where they got off the train.

He makes his way to the water’s edge and crouches down beside Scully. She’s scooping up sand and silt from the riverbed, scrubbing it over her hands and forearms and digging dried blood from beneath her fingernails with a somewhat vacant expression on her face. Mulder dips his hands under the cool running water and watches smudges of blood fade from red to pink, then stands up and shakes them out, peppering the stones beside the river with droplets of water. 

“We need to keep moving,” he says gently, and Scully nods but doesn’t look at him. 

He watches her back as he pulls a cell phone from his pocket and powers it up. It’s another burner, provided by the gunmen so he could share their location once they found Scully and made it out. For the first time, he realizes that the children are now without a father, and that this is news Scully will likely be in the unfortunate position to break to them. Immediately after having this thought, he has the sobering realization that she won’t leave them behind; she is now the closest thing to a parent that they have. The resentment he feels in light of this realization kicks up a wave of guilt so strong that he immediately stuffs it down, tabling it for closer examination at a later time. 

When the cell phone lights up, the time reads 4:17 pm and the bars that should indicate the strength of the signal are replaced with the word “searching.”

“There’s no service,” he grumbles, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. 

Scully doesn’t say anything in response to this, and he’s becoming anxious about staying so close to the tunnel’s exit. He glances back to the gaping hole in the side of the river wall and stares at it until he’s sure that there isn’t any light coming through from underground. He crouches down beside her again and touches her shoulder, and she looks up at him sharply as though she hadn’t realized that she wasn’t alone. 

“We need to go, Scully,” he says, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “We should cross the river so we’re harder to track.”

She stares at him for a beat. 

“What am I going to tell them?” she asks, and the guilt comes roaring back with a vengeance. 

He shakes his head, giving her a sympathetic smile. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But we can’t stay here. It’s not safe. We need to keep moving until we find cell service.”

She nods and stands up, and pink-tinted water runs off the tips of her fingers. She has blood on her chin as well, but he’ll have to help her clean up later when they’re somewhere safer. 

They walk along the bank of the river, Scully staring absently at her feet and Mulder scanning the water to watch for a good place to cross. The river is overall relatively shallow, but if they can avoid soaking their clothes it will make whatever remains of their trek much more comfortable. He checks the cell phone again to confirm that it hasn’t connected to any towers, then turns it off to avoid leaving a data trail that can be followed.  

He finds a span of water where he can see the rocks beneath the surface for the entire width, which is about thirty feet. He holds out his hand for Scully and then guides them across, pausing with each new step to be sure he has steady footing before bearing any weight. Halfway across, Scully slips and he nearly loses his balance as he clings tightly to her hand. He manages to keep a hold on her, and she is able to get back to her feet with only her pants below the knees getting wet, which turns the rust colored blotches of dried blood on them cherry red. Once on the other side, they make their way up the opposite bank and into the forest where they are less likely to be spotted and begin to walk, keeping the river in their view at all times. 

He catches little glimpses of her from the corner of his eye as patches of sunlight sneak through the canopy of the forest. Her blood-stained jeans and her dirty Stanford T-shirt, and the abjectly miserable look on her face. He feels left out, in an odd way, like the fourth wheel of her nuclear family. Though Cal is dead, the loss of him and the resulting impact on the children they parented together is a significant event in a life that doesn’t belong to him. And though his relationship with Scully predates Cal’s, Mulder cannot remember it well enough for that fact to bring him comfort. 

“I’m sorry about Cal,” he says, and she pulls in a deep breath and nods. He should probably leave it at that, but for some reason he can’t. “I know I only knew him for a few hours, but he seemed like a good guy,” he adds, and Scully looks up at him briefly. 

“He was,” she says blandly, then resumes staring at the forest floor. 

They walk in relative silence for at least an hour before they stop to rest and check for cell service. Scully is sullen and withdrawn, and he begins to draw terrifying conclusions about what she must be thinking and what will happen next. He decides that she will likely choose the children over him, which is both devastating and understandable. The problem with this is that he cannot see any value in a life in which she does not play a major part, which gives him little hope for his future. 

“Still nothin’,” he says, flipping the phone shut. Scully is sitting on a rock, her blood-smudged face tipped up toward the sun and her eyes closed. “You okay?” he asks, immediately kicking himself for such a stupid question. Of course she isn’t.  

Scully slowly opens her eyes and looks at him. 

“Yeah,” she says, extremely unconvincingly. “Just tired and hungry.”

She forces a thin smile and it breaks his heart. 

“I wish I’d eaten more at breakfast,” he says, resorting to small talk. “I was so nervous about getting on the train I barely touched my food.”

“Hm,” Scully hums with a slow-motion pop of her eyebrows. “Breakfast would have been nice.”

Mulder considers her for a moment. Her affect has become increasingly flat since they left the bunker, and she looks like she could fall asleep right here. Even the cadence of her speech is lagging.

“When did you eat last?”

“Sometime yesterday,” she says, slowly getting to her feet. “I’m going down to the river to get a drink of water.”

“Hey, hold on,” he says, touching her shoulder to still her. “You need to conserve your energy, and we need to find something you can eat.”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says, attempting to move past him. 

He wraps his hand loosely around her upper arm, and she has so little energy he doesn’t need to exert much force to prevent her from walking away. Scully’s shoulders slump and she looks up at him with a pitiful little pout. There’s something so familiar in her petulance, it makes him smile. 

“Please let me help you,” he says, pushing her hair behind her ear. 

Scully closes her eyes and steps forward, slumping against his chest. He wraps his arms around her and kisses the crown of her head, and an acute mix of love and pain pits painfully in his throat. He won’t blame her if she chooses to go her separate way with the kids, but he’s not sure he’ll survive losing her again. 

They stay like that for a long while, taking comfort in the safety of each other’s bodies while birds sing carefree summer songs in the trees overhead. When she finally pulls away, he bends down and kisses her, and she kisses him back without hesitation. Perhaps she is still his afterall. 

“Come on,” he says, turning his back to her and crouching down. “Saddle up.”

“Mulder,” she whines, but he waits, and eventually he feels her hands on his shoulders and then her legs around his waist. 

He carries her down to the edge of the river, and they both scoop up mouthfuls of cool running water with their hands until they’ve had their fill. It takes less convincing to get her on his back the second time, and they resume their trek through the trees at a slightly faster clip. 

Scully wraps her arms loosely around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. Every now and then she startles a little and tightens her grip, and after a few repetitions of this he realizes that she keeps dozing off. He’s pretty exhausted himself, and the sun is beginning to move lower in the sky, less and less light reaching them through the trunks of the old-growth trees. It seems likely that they’ll need to find a safe place to stop for the night soon. 

Suddenly she lifts her head and starts looking around, and Mulder stops in his tracks. 

“What is it?”

“Do you smell that?” she asks.

“Smell what?”

“Put me down.”

He squats down so she can get off his back, and a chill runs up his spine when the evening breeze moves over the warm spot she left behind. Scully walks purposefully deeper into the woods, disappearing into the trees, then lets out a little squeal. 

“Scully?” he calls out, readying his weapon as he follows after her. 

He finds her beside a sprawling blackberry bush, eagerly stuffing barely-ripened berries into her mouth. Her lips are already stained with bruise-colored patches, and her fingertips are once again red. 

“I smelled the fruit,” she says with a satisfied smile.

“Are they any good?” he asks, tugging a raspberry-colored fruit off the vine. 

“No,” she says around a mouthful. “They’re incredibly sour, but I’d be willing to eat dirt at this point.”

Mulder smiles at her immediate change in mood, then walks around the perimeter of the bush looking for the ripest berries and brings them to her. He eats enough to take the edge off his own hunger, and when Scully is sated, they make their way back to the river to rinse the stickiness from their hands and lips. 

When they’re finished, Mulder wordlessly shucks off his shirt and wets the hem, then holds Scully’s chin in his hand and wipes bits of dried blood from her cheeks. Her eyes roam over his face while he works, and when her jaw begins to tremble, he looks up to see that there are tears pooling under her irises. 

“Hey,” he says, abandoning his task. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t leave them, Mulder,” she whispers tightly, and his heart sinks. “I’m all they have.”

“I know,” he says somberly, pulling her into a hug. “I understand.”

He feels her tears wetting his bare chest, and he squeezes his eyes closed. It suddenly feels as though a clock is ticking, a final countdown until he’ll have to say goodbye. 

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for,” she says, her voice muffled. “If you can’t do it—if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

He pulls away from her slowly, considering her blotchy cheeks and watery eyes. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, too afraid to be hopeful. 

“I would never ask or expect you to take responsibility for two children you don’t even know,” she explains, averting her eyes to his chest. “It will make everything harder: traveling, avoiding detection. I don’t know what will happen when I take their chips out, how they’ll behave. If that’s too much and you don’t want to go with us, I’ll understand.”

As she speaks, tears run quietly down her cheeks and follow the curve of her jaw to her neck. Mulder runs the back of his knuckles under her chin to clear them away. 

“Is that an option? Me going with you?” he asks, forcing himself to sound neutral. 

Her eyes flash up to his face, wide and wet and incredibly blue.

“Of course,” she says emphatically. “I just couldn’t imagine that you’d want to. It’s not going to be easy.”

Mulder heaves a sigh, then tips his face up to the slowly darkening sky and smiles. He looks back down at her befuddled expression, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her soundly. With his lips still lingering near hers, he whispers, “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Easy isn’t even a factor.”

He feels her cheeks stretch against his palms when she smiles, and he kisses her again, and again, and again. 

They find a relatively clear and level patch of ground beside a thick-trunked oak tree and settle down for the night just as the sun kisses the distant horizon. Mulder leans against the tree and Scully sits between his legs with her back against his chest so he can wrap his arms around her as a makeshift blanket. He tells her about how he crossed paths with Cal and the kids, updates her on Langly’s condition, and fills her in on the lakeside community in British Columbia, Canada that they’ll soon call home. By the time he’s finished, it’s so dark he can’t see anything beyond the stand of trees that surrounds them. Scully shivers, and he rubs his hands over the gooseflesh on her arms to try and generate heat.

“This just reminded me of something,” she says through chattering teeth. 

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Another time we slept in the forest,” she says. “I can’t recall the exact circumstances, but I remember sitting in the woods, in the dark, and you had your head in my lap. And you asked me to sing to you.”

Mulder laughs. 

“Can you sing?”

“God, no,” she says emphatically. “Which I did warn you of, but you insisted.”

“Sounds like me,” he says. “Would you like me to sing to you?” he asks playfully, brushing his thumbs over her wrists. 

“Can you sing?” she teases.

Mulder shrugs. 

“I’m no Pavarotti, but I don’t think I’ve broken any glass yet.”

“Then by all means, please do.”

Mulder thinks about what to sing. Elvis is always a good choice, but all the songs that come to mind are too sad or too serious for the occasion. It should be something upbeat but melodic. 

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine,” he begins. “Never understood a single word he said, but I helped him drink his wine.”

Scully sits up and twists around to look at him. He can barely make out her face, but her demeanor is clear. 

“What?” he asks. “Is something wrong?”

“Why did you sing that?” she asks. “Why that song, specifically?”

Again, Mulder shrugs. 

“I don’t know. It’s just what came to mind. Why?”

“That’s the song I sang to you when we slept in the woods. Did you know that?”

He considers it for a beat. He doesn’t feel like he knew that it had any significance, it just popped into his head. 

“I don’t think so. That’s odd, though, isn’t it? Odd coincidence?”

Scully shuffles around to face him more fully, then feels for him in the dark. Her fingers collide with his cheek, then run up the side of his face and into his hair. Mulder closes his eyes and savors the sensation. 

“I think it’s all still in here somewhere,” she says softly, scraping her fingernails over his scalp. “Maybe you’ll be able to remember, with time.”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling her close again. “And if not, you can tell me about it.”

“I will,” she tells him, giving him a squeeze. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[thedawningofthehour]

didn't you say you were making Draxum's house in the sims? Did you ever finish? :(

So I whined about this on my main blog, but I'm having issues with my computer. The power port, and I've noticed this for a while, gets extremely hot whenever I try to run anything more intensive than Powerwash Simulator, and the past few months it's become harder and harder to get it to charge. (I'm not overclocking or anything-I bought this computer for gaming and made sure it had the specs to run shit like my heavily modded Skyrim and Fallout, it should be able to run Sims) I contacted Acer about a repair and they quoted me over eight hundred dollars. The actual computer was about 1200-1300, for comparison. There's other issues with it as well-there's a chip on the screen that's really obvious on a white background, and they advertised that it would support a second hard drive, but it's never recognized the one I bought. The power port is the most grievous though, and power ports on laptops are notoriously hard to repair.

And this computer isn't old. I bought it last spring. Less than a year and a half-and I've barely been gaming on it because I've been writing this, so I spent over a thousand dollars on a turtles fanfiction machine essentially. (there's been other reasons, depression funk caused a complete disinterest in gaming and after so many mass shootings I've started feeling guilty whenever playing games with guns, but writing is mostly what I've been using this expensive gaming PC for) I only had the one-year warranty that came with the computer, but honestly I can't find it in myself to regret that too much because I have never once had a company actually honor a warranty. It's like safety deposits on apartments or insurance claims-they'll do everything they can to weasel out of doing what they're supposed to.

So back to your question-I currently don't trust my computer to run the Sims. Or anything else. And I can afford to buy another gaming PC right now, but it would be financially pretty irresponsible. I returned the tablet I bought to draw with, and I think I'm going to get one of those two-in-one laptop/tablets so I can use it for drawing and writing. Maybe I'll be able to run the Sims 4 on that-it doesn't have to run great, I use it mostly as a building simulator. Kind of sucks though, Crusader Kings 3 came out with another expansion pack and the new Cities Skylines is coming out this fall, plus I've been getting a hankering to play Skyrim again.

But enough about my computer woes, I do think I have some screenshots I could show...

First floor, I apparently took these during the first round of building because I made a lot of changes. The lab is way bigger now, and I have the rest of the house shell done. The blank space in the back right is where I was going to put in the multi-story room where the turtles find the weapons-which is probably the least completed part of the entire house because holy hell the building controls do not want to work with me.

But in the back left you can see Cass and Gale's rooms! :)

I do like how the main hallway turned out. I know it was mostly destroyed on Creation Day, but let's just say Draxum redid it in the same style. The middle picture, that's the little storage room that hides the door to the part of the house where Gale's room is. If you know the Sims you can tell where the secret door is.

And yes, I know the half-walls under the stairs look ridiculous, I've fixed it since then. I couldn't just extend the half-wall all the way back because it would delete the upper staircase, for some reason.

I'm pretty proud of how the living room is turning out. Could be a little bigger, but the symmetry of the bookshelves are just too perfect. (also the curved walls get fussy, FUCK CURVED WALLS) Needs some clutter on the mantle though.

The kitchen no longer looks like this, I moved around a lot of the pictures and added another layer of cabinets, because Draxum probably has like six sets of fine china he's received as gifts throughout the years and refuses to part with. I added more retro-looking décor, because the last time he remodeled this room was in the sixties and I wanted it to look a little old-fashioned. I also imagine he refuses to get an electric stove, saying his mystic wood-burning stove works just fine. I tried to work a pantry in, but it didn't really pan out. (lol) And the more I think about it, he probably has a legit larder somewhere in the basement, since Draxum is from a time before refrigeration and would have grown up storing food in underground cellars. (and he deffo has like several years worth of food stored away, he's pretty much a doomsday prepper)

This is also incidentally the layout of the kitchen at my old house, hence the weird octagon dining area. Except we had windows. With no curtains. In the woods. It was unsettling to cook at night.

Draxum's study is bigger now, and I think I added a fireplace? He absolutely has eight bazillion degrees and awards and he puts them ALL on his wall. He earned that shit, dammit.

His bedroom's nothing to write home about. It's comfortable, not luxurious. There's no electric lights because he prefers candlelight.

Just imagine that white bathroom counter stained with pink splotches from Draxum's hair dye.

I had BARELY done anything with the pool, but as you can see it is indeed a tank. Draxum was planning to keep a mutant or something in there.

I was actually in the process of redoing the entire greenery lol, but I think I did an okay job on 1.0. Not the mason jar lamps though, I'm not sure what I was thinking there.

Some pictures of Lab 1.0. The ooze-vine-thing looks terrible; I straight up haven't even started to recreate it in 2.0. I pushed back Draxum's alchemy area and gave him an actual medical bay in the back, which is where The Table would have been located.

That's mostly Gale's area on the left, I think it still broadly looks this way? I didn't put in stuff like the robotics table because it just looked silly-and besides, we're not actually playing this build. We know Galois only needs two hands and a welder to make a robot.

I will leave you off with a slightly more clutterfied Gale's room! Oh, but also, I GOT PURPLE CC CURTAINS FOR HIM. :D After I took this picture, but just know he has them now. He has no reason to have them because he does not have a window, but I'm happy for him.

[utterlyinevitable]

↪ series masterlist  

29. Birthday Babes

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington   Format: textfic   Chapter Rating: T+

Summary: Colin's been weird since V-Day, but then he takes Pen to a romantic cabin for her birthday

Penelope: Happy birthday, superstar 🌟♥️ any big plans?

Hungry One🦛: Thanks, P. Nothing too exciting. Having dinner with a few travelers I met up with

Penelope: What's on the menu?

Hungry One🦛: Cajun I think

Penelope: Hey, you ok?

Hungry One🦛: Yea

Penelope: You can talk to me you know. You've been weird since you left.

Birthday blues?

Hungry One🦛: Just unplugging for a bit. Don't worry. I'll see you 3rd April, yeah?

Penelope: Yeah if that works for you. Don't go rearranging on my account.

Hungry One🦛: My tour will be done by then. There won't be a sleeper train in the US I haven't tried when I'm through

Penelope: Can’t wait to read your review. I'll see you then.

Promise me one thing?

Hungry One🦛: I WILL be taking you for a birthday meal. Allow a man his small pleasures.

Penelope: No not that but thank you.

Be kind to yourself. Whatever this is that's got you in a funk will sort itself out. You're very funny and wonderful and charming and so bloody brilliant it's unreal. No matter what grief they give you, your family loves you dearly and just want to help.

You're also much too good looking to be sad 😉

Hungry One🦛: Thanks pen

Penelope: I hope you know you're my best friend. I care about you so so much, Colin.

Hungry One🦛: You're my best friend too <3

Penelope: If you're taking me out for my birthday, let me take you out for yours. Lets have a big bash (theoretically speaking, i'm poor yk)

Hungry One🦛: Deal

-

She’s mucked things up.

Penelope doesn’t know how but she knows something has undoubtedly changed between them. They've barely talked since he left whilst she was still asleep some three-odd weeks ago.

It can’t be the fact she’s sharing her place with him when he needs -- he's stayed around hers a countless amount of times these last two years and there has never ever been weirdness.

And it’s not that they share a bed -- they’ve never not shared a bed since they reconnected. She has some of her best sleep with him wrapped around her, legs intertwined and his heartbeat her lullaby.

Maybe it’s…

She does the quick math: they haven’t fucked in months. Since she moved in and christened nearly every room of her flat to be exact.

That can’t be it, could it?

Colin could just as well initiate; he’s certainly woken up with enough hard ons to get her hot and bothered. God, are they too comfortable with each other? Has the spark dimmed on their sex friendship? Are they well and truly only flatmates at this point? Or worse…

Has he met someone else?

Colin wouldn’t be cagey for no reason. He’s been backpacking across North America and bound to make a connection with some beautiful worldly woman with long legs and blemish-free tanned skin. A model, probably. Penelope always figured he'd fall in love with a model. One that will always feature perfectly in his posts; a muse for his media. Is Colin worried about pieing her off? Is that why he's been so odd?

It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. All that matters is that they stay friends.

Nearly a decade later and Penelope Featherington is still content savoring whatever scraps Colin Bridgerton deems to give her.

***

Colin: Pack a bag.

Pen: Why

Colin: Birthday surprise!

Pen: Colin...

Colin: And maybe an assignment I need to do in Wales and could not rearrange for next week....

Pen: How long we staying?

Colin: 2 nights.

Pack for hiking and swimming! 😊

-

They’re in for a ride. A 3-hour drive over to a private nature reserve in Wales known for beautiful scenery and six luxury cottages scattered across a few hundred acres of woodland. It's just an ordinary early-spring day - there is a chill in the air but the sun is still shining in strong warm hues. 

One hour in and the conversation has lulled comfortably. The Birmingham cityscape has turned to rolling hills along the motorway as they looped on Radio 4. Colin's lost a bet - or so he laments. Makes a grumble and a show of Pen changing the playlist he had programmed in when he picked up the rental car.  

Not even two seconds into her choice of tunes and Colin’s groaning. His distaste (more so at losing than the songs playing) reverberates the same second Pen’s mouth drops open to sing along. Her fingers turning the volume dial up and rolling down the window to scream-sing even louder. 

He watches her out the corner of his eye; one trained on the empty road ahead, the other gazing at Penelope. Her face fresh and glowing from a goodnights sleep, cheeks rosy with daylight highlighting her freckles since she foregone makeup (come to think of it she hasn't worn a full face around him in ages...? not that Colin is complaining. he prefers her natural beauty, much like he still prefers her with unruly red hair). Her fingers tapping on the windowsill. Happiness radiates from her half as intense as the waning sun over the horizon. 

Colin silently wishes he could watch her for hours, just existing in this space together like two normal people.

Another hour or two or twenty minutes ticks down and then…   

Colin’s eyes light up with the first chord. He hasn't heard this song since they were rowdy teenagers causing havoc all those summers at Aubrey Hall. God he's thrown back in time.

Pen feels it too; all the flashes and memories taking up space in the small sedan.

She doesn’t dare break the moment. Her gaze trained on the outside world passing by. Her fingers tap along as she mouths her favorite lines. 

He breaks the silence just after the second verse, voice low and reverent; "I haven't heard this in ages."

"Me either."

"Do you remember when...?"

"Yeah," she sighs fondly. "Yeah, I do."

Both Colin and Penelope relish the companionable silence surrounding them as the song plays through and into a '00s pop piece neither pay much attention to. 

-

“We made it,” she breathes as she fiddles to find the right key to the cabin that's been left in the lockbox for them. Colin holding his denim jack over the two of them as huddle under the awning in the freak hailstorm. 

He grumbles an agreement, still angered that the weather app could not predict this turn of events - so much for modern technology. It's Wales; he should be used to the unpredictable UK weather by now but the shift from a cloudless spring day to this and a drastic drop in temperature was so not on his bingo card today. Guess the hike's out of the question...

They enter the dark cabin, testing the switches, the lamps and even the fridge light as one last hopeful saving grace. Nothing’s working. With twin groans from opposite sides of the one bedroom cabin, they realize there’s no electricity. Stuck in the middle of some foresty hill estate in a storm with no electricity and no neighbors for miles, fucking perfect.

Colin paces around the living room as he calls his useless contact, then the inept property manager. He uses an authoritative voice that rivals Anthony's to borderline berate the person on the other end into fixing this nightmare of a compt'd stay before he has no choice but to publicise the poor facilities. Penelope hears his exasperation, his agitation radiating off the wooden pillars as she stokes the fire to life. Busies herself through the awkwardness by moving about grabbing blankets and pillows from various closets on fuzzy sock-clad tiptoes as he continues his bellows.

So many minutes pass for Colin in frustration. Enough that once he's hung up the phone after the fourth call out, he flops on the couch, hunched with his head in his hands. He barely hears when Penelope returns from the kitchen but he feels the old paisley-patterned couch dip as she curls up beside him. 

“The earliest they will send someone is 5AM," he groans through gritted teeth. "And the imbecile couldn’t even tell me where the breakers are. So much for a relaxing weekend.” 

“Glass half full,” she says as she offers him a mug. 

“What’s this?” He takes the ceramic in one large hand, pads of his fingers tingling with heat. 

“We have warm water, that’s something.” 

He grumbles once more. 

“It’s enough,” she justifies. 

Penelope looks at her watch. Then to where the couch is positioned too many feet from the fireplace. She unzips her bulky winter coat, discarding it on the armchair before effortlessly turning her attention to her pile of mismatched bedding. With a delighted sense of determination she wraps two thick throws around herself, cuddling all bundled up on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

Colin watches her every graceful movement shadowed in an amber glow. Intrigue setting in and eclipsing the distain souring their sacred time together, quickly morphing into admiration for the little pile of green and red tartan before him. 

In no time he’s grabbing his own blanket and settles next to her - around her. Penelope’s back leaning against his warm chest, Colin’s hands cradling her blue-tinted fingertips. His palms curling around her cold acrylic nails positioned in her lap.

“You’re freezing. Let’s go to a hotel.” 

“I’ll be fine,” she assures him, relishing in his embrace as she snuggles in closer. “I’ve got snacks, the fire and you.” 

He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s donning a small simper. The way her head nuzzles against him and her hands tugging him tighter around her tells him all he needs to know.

Minutes upon minutes pass with them staring into the flames and Colin's hands mindfully mapping the edges of her body (and if he leans in and buries his nose in her hair, taking in the comforting scent, so be it).

An idea pops into his head - a silly little idea that makes him feel childish.

Colin extracts himself, much to Penelope's displeasure. He wanders in the ever-darkening space of the cabin to the sole bedroom. He finds the bed stripped of the duvet and pillows from Pen's nesting and grabs the rest of all he can find - pillows and throw pillows and a spare set of thermal sheets.   

Penelope watches him keenly when he returns, a raised brow as he chucks the couch cushions onto the floor. Stares intently as he pushes the coffee table far from the sitting area leaving a space for his grand plan - a plan that gets better the moment Pen rises and surmises - 

“The mattress would fit.” 

Colin's grin could light up the whole cabin.

Penelope helps him move the furniture and carry the double mattress in. They strip off the rest of their day-soaked clothes leaving them in their underwear and cuddle in the bed they make, talking and enjoying one another’s company like planned.

"So.." she begins "What's on the plan for the rest of the day?"

"We were supposed to go on a hike and have dinner at the pub in the woods."

"Is that the only way to get there?"

"There should be ATV's for us to use in the shed."

She looks at him incredulously.

"Or not," he chuckles. He can't blame her for not wanting to go out in this weather.

"Think they deliver?"

"Doubt it."

She hmph's. And a beat later asks the most important question:

"Can you survive on our rations or will you waste away?"

"I'll be fine for one night," he gallantly, confidently reassures. Colin isn't so melodramatic that the mere idea of skipping a meal or two would throw him and his endless stomach into a fit of despair. However... "What did we pack again?"

"Crisps, biscuits, sweets and cheese. A balanced diet if ever there was one."

"What kind of biscuits?"

"Does it really matter? You'll eat them regardless."

He makes a little noise somewhere between a huff and an agreement. His mind wandering to the food in their possession, how much there is and if it will be able to sustain them until morning when they can wander back to the welcome centre.

"Stop thinking about food."

"You put it in my head!"

"I can show you where to put your head."

He blanches. He didn't - This isn't what - my god woman. Pen is on her knees facing him, he feels hot and undressed by her heady gaze. She licks her bottom lip, fingers coyly tracing patterns across her bare stomach.

Colin's mouth is on hers before she can even implore further methods of seduction.

[henrys-wee-hen]

No-one Fucks With The Lobos - Chapter 18

This is getting out of hand but fuuuuuuck me. We're at 48,069 words with this one, friends.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48070186/chapters/122487352

Under the cut!

The first time in months since I’d been out alone. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to do something outside of that apartment without Teddy by my side. The last time I’d been in that car, Teddy had been there, scared. But, at least that presence was bolstering for me.

I turned on the engine, my hands shaking as I pulled out of the bay and left via the same gate. I took my time through the city, ignoring the looks from people at stoplights and just in the street in general, but by the time I arrived at the Lobo mansion, I was almost a shaking wreck. Gone was the bravado I’d had when Teddy had been beside me. But then, Bellafrancesca hadn’t had any real reason to hate me back then.

Now, she had every reason to have me shot on sight.

I threw the car into a space out front and cut the engine, forcing myself to get out. I then locked the car, and jogged up the stairs to the mansion.

Inside, there was a hive of activity. Men bustling around, a party atmosphere rather than the sullen atmosphere there had been the last time we’d gone around. But then, last time had been in the night. This time was still fairly early... I swallowed.

First things first: sweet talk Brice. Maybe I wouldn’t even need to speak to Bellafrancesca...

“(Y/N).” A gruff voice cut through the crowd, and I froze. Brice was staring straight at me, along with a few other men who all held huge fucking guns. I pressed my lips together, held my hands up, and made straight for Brice. “What are you doing here? You know we have orders to take you out.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble, Brice,” I said softly. “I need cocaine. For Teddy. He’s been stuck in a depressive funk since he’s coming off it, and -”

“Woah, woah, woah. I'm not giving you anything. You want that, you gotta speak to the boss.” He grabbed a hold of my arm, and I yelped. “Come on. She’ll be happy to see you.”

Brice and the others surrounded me and led me upstairs, and I felt the fear strike me. I was grateful my knees didn’t buckle as I was taken down that long corridor, past the living room where Teddy and I had sat a few weeks before, and to a spacious area with a waiting-room-type space. I swallowed, my entire mouth dry. Teddy wouldn’t know what had happened. They stopped me, and gave me a very thorough, very rough patting-down. I felt a little violated, at one point, but I took it because there were so many of them, and I was completely unarmed.

Brice knocked on a large door, and the soft shout of Bellafrancesca came shortly after.

“Yes?”

He opened the door. The other men held me in place.

“Boss,” Brice said. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N) is here to see you. Alone.”

“My, my. Alright. Come on in.” The men marched me in, still holding me fast. Bellafrancesca was sitting behind a huge desk, minimally-furnished with a pen holder, a computer, and the peripherals. A notepad sat to the side, too. A few notes on there, in very elegant script. Bellafrancesca looked me up and down, not standing. “I have to admit, if I didn’t hate everything you are, my dear, I would admire your courage to come back here and face me again.” I licked my teeth, trying to get some moisture back.

“I’m here for Teddy,” I said softly. God, my fucking voice sounded so weak. “I haven’t come as a threat.”

“Regardless, you have come here,” Bellafrancesca purred. I pressed my lips together. “After taking my son away from me, you have come here.”

“A lot has happened since,” I whispered, struggling a little against the grip of the guys. Bellafrancesca stood, moving to a small table, on which sat a beautiful flick-knife, with an ivory handle. She moved to me, fingering the blade. Everything about her screamed snake, a snake with prey in its trance. She moved slowly, sensually. I swallowed.

“You took my son away from me.” That knife was suddenly against my throat. I tried to move away, but the guys held me fast. “My sweet, beautiful boy... and I hear you have turned him into a shell of himself. Which begs me the question... whichh of the five families you work for?”

“I d-don't work for the five families -”

“Ah-ah-ah, dear (Y/N),” she murmured, shaking her head. “Don’t think I am stupid, my dear. I am not.” She showed me the knife again. “I recommend you tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth,” I whispered. “I don’t work for any of them. I want to work with Teddy – I – I understand how it all works -”

“You understand nothing, my dear.” The knife against my throat again. “You have ruined everything! The five families are circling my empire like sharks because Teddy is nowhere to be seen. Where is he now? Why is he not here with you?”

“Sleeping.” It was all I could manage, while that lethally sharp blade was pressed against my skin. One move, and Bellafrancesca would open my carotid. “He - he’s c-coming off the cocaine... and... it’s... n-not going well...”

“You stink of fear.” Bellafrancesca smirked at me. “You have ruined my son’s life, and now his health... and you want my help.”

“I... I just need a little cocaine. T-to microdose him... bring him up a t-tiny bit -” Bellafrancesca’s throaty laugh cut me off.

“Did you hear this, Brice?! (Y/N) needs cocaine! For Teddy!” Brice started to laugh obediently, as did the guys holding me. “For Teddy… but if he is coming off it, why would you need to have him take more?”

“Microdosing,” I said softly. “I’ve been weaning him off it bit by bit… but I just need a little more… not even fifty grams.” I was thinking in months, here. But it was apparently hilarious.

Bellafrancesca dissolved into mocking laughter again. She shook her head at me.

“My dear, I don’t think you could afford such an amount. Since you have no job, and no money…”

“It’s for Teddy,” I tried.

“And? Even Teddy worked for his perks.” I stared at her. “Let me see… you want fifty grams. Our street price is ninety-three dollars per gram… that’s four thousand, six hundred and fifty dollars.” Bellafrancesca smiled at me, twirling the knife about. “But since I now know you only want enough for one person, over months, which means we will lose out on additional business from that fifty grams… let’s call it an even six thousand.” She faced me, a one hand on her hip, the other holding the knife. “Do you have six thousand dollars, my dear?” I swallowed.

“Do you want your son to be able to come back to work without wanting to kill himself?” I asked softly.

“I want my son back to the way he was,” Bellafrancesca growled. “And I am not above taking away the thing that is ruining his life faster than any little bit of drug could. I believe he nearly threw himself from the balcony of his apartment! You come along and he does this kind of thing! You are the problem in this equation, (Y/N), not the drugs!” Her words were a hiss. “Before you, Teddy was fine –“

“You never told him any of that!”

“I didn’t need to! He wasn’t causing trouble!”

“Please, Bellafrance-“ The look she shot me silenced me. She made a small gesture with her hand, and the guys forced me to my knees. “Mrs… Lobo…”

“I should have had you killed when I saw what had happened in the hospital to you, (Y/N),” she breathed, the tip of the knife pressed against my throat. She pushed a little, and I felt it go into the fleshy part. “But for Teddy telling me you’d eventually one day join us… I decided to leave you alive. What a shame to see you’re still so desperate to take Teddy away from us completely.”

“If you’d let me speak,” I gasped, trying to move away from the knife’s bite. One of the guys holding me forced my head up. I could feel the blood trickling down my collarbone. Teddy had never ever even tried to cut my throat.

“No.” Bellafrancesca rolled the word around her tongue. “You don’t have the right to speak. Not here. Not unless I invite you.” I swallowed. The knife was really biting into my skin. I felt sick. “You take my son away from me. You cost us millions in medical bills. You reduce my son to a shell of his former self… and then you come and ask me for drugs, after you throw a bag of them at my feet, the equivalent of spitting in my face…” I looked down. “And then, I get word that my son tried to throw himself from the balcony of his apartment. And has tried repeatedly to harm himself – hanging himself, drowning himself, cutting himself! You want me to give you something now, (Y/N), knowing you are the cause of all of this?!”

I felt sick. I felt so, so sick. The thought of Teddy in that apartment on his own right then, curled up beneath the blankets, sleeping off the shit I was doing to him… but I knew if he didn’t get clean, he’d never be able to amount to the shit his father had. It had been a running joke in the city that Ritchie Lobo didn’t take a single hit of his own drugs. Getting Teddy clean would also give me more time with him, too. But those thoughts didn’t do shit aside from push thick, ugly tears down my cheeks as I thought of never seeing Teddy again. Of Teddy being back in the clawed clutches of Bellafrancesca. Mother of the fucking century.

Bellafrancesca pulled the knife up, cutting a line along my neck vertically. I yelped, panicking. She laughed at me, crouching down as blood soaked into my shirt. She took my jaw in a delicate hand, but her grip was like a fucking vice.

“Consider this a warning, you vile little snake,” she murmured, her eyes hard. “If you come through these doors again, especially if you come here alone, I will not hesitate to take you downstairs and show you what happens to those who cross the head of the Lobo empire. Do you understand me?” I nodded. “Words!”

“Y-yes, Mrs Lobo,” I breathed, tears still dripping. She threw me back, and the guys let me fall.

“Get out,” she snapped, and I scrambled to my feet, clutching at my throat. I ran through the door that Brice held open for me, and staggered down the corridor, eyes huge. I stumbled down the stairs, aware that the eyes of every single person in there were on me. And none of them helped me. I tried to calm myself down, but I could barely breathe in. I got to the bottom of the stairs. Brice was watching me from the mezzanine.

And then, as I was about to leave… I saw it. A neat little stack of 8 balls. A neat little fucking pyramid of 8 balls of cocaine, little wrapped three-and-a-half-ounce balls ready to go to the streets. Without thinking, I lunged for them and grabbed as many as I could, stuffing them into my pocket before I ran from the place, heart thundering in my chest.

I fell down the stairs outside, clattering to the foot of them on the concrete. It took far too much time for me to get to my feet, scramble to get the car keys from my pocket, and get into what I hoped was safety of the Dodge. I turned the engine on, shaking far too much. And then, I drove away like I’d never driven before, burning off, grateful this time for the cars that got the fuck out of the way.

In the rearview, I saw men spill out. They fired at the car, but none of them hit. I shot off. I had to. I knew they’d come after me and I knew they’d come right to Teddy’s place… but at least he might protect me.

I burst into the penthouse corridor, running on jelly legs for the front door. LOCKED! I hammered on it for dear life.

“LET ME IN! TEDDY! MATTHIAS! LET ME IN!” I screamed. Footsteps on the other side came running, and the door opened. Poor Matthias didn’t stand a chance as I fell in, scrambling to shut it.

“(Y/N)?! What’s happe – FUCK! What happened to you?!”

I lay on the floor, the enormity of the situation catching me now I was ‘safe’. Teddy stumbled into the room too. He looked a little better, his eyes a little brighter. Obviously the sleeping had helped him out.

“(Y/N)?!” he ran to my side, frowning.

“I stole – drugs -from your mom –“ I gasped. “I went – I asked for – Teddy, I’m sorry!”

“You did what?!” I fished a violently shaking hand into my pocket and drew out the six 8 balls I’d swiped. Teddy burst out laughing. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N)… is that for me? Are those – fuck! Are those for me?” He inspected the cut on my throat.

“She’s killed me, hasn’t she?!” I gasped. Teddy shook his head.

“Nah. She’s scared you, that’s all. This is a fucking warning cut, (Y/N), nothing deadly.” He gestured to Matthias, who fetched over a pretty packed-out first aid kit. “Do you think you can walk to the bathroom, or no?” I nodded, taking Teddy’s outstretched hand. He led me into the bathroom and sat me down. “Be a little easier if you got in the shower, (Y/N). Wash the blood off completely.”

“Alright,” I breathed. I knew it’d sting, but I trusted Teddy. He knew enough about cutting people open to know what was a deadly cut, and what wasn’t. I stripped down when Matthias left, and climbed under lukewarm water. “Owwwww!” I cried. Teddy turned the water off, wrapping a towel around me quickly.

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” Teddy said softly, holding me. “Mom can be pretty fucking brutal, huh?” He dried my throat off and stuck a couple little butterfly stitches along the length of the cut. “Why’d you fucking go without me?”

“Because you were sleeping,” I said softly, as Teddy wrapped a length of bandage around my throat lightly, just tight enough to keep the stitches covered. And then...

BANG BANG BANG!

The door was almost kicked in. Teddy’s head snapped around.

“Oh... yeah... and her guys came after me.”

“For fuck’s sake, (Y/N),” Teddy growled. He abandoned me and stood, leaving me to scuttle to the bedroom to go get dressed. I felt about close to shitting myself.

Teddy

Teddy scratched the back of his head as he moved through to the hallway, where Matthias, James, and three others who’d come over to see him were stood.

“Gentlemen, this might get a little fucking messy, alright? But I don’t wanna give my mom -” Teddy was cut off by more banging. “- my mom... reason to start a fucking gang war with me, alright?” Nods all around. Teddy opened the door.

And almost immediately, Brice’s fist hit him squarely in the face, sending him backwards.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Teddy yelled.

“Where’s your little fuckbuddy, Teddy?” Brice asked. He’d never liked Teddy. So getting to deck the little shit-for-brains in the face felt real good.

“You’re not laying a FUCKING FINGER ON (Y/N), BRICE!” Teddy yelled, climbing to his feet. Brice towered over him. “Any fucking problem you got, you got it with me.”

“(Y/N) stole drugs. I just wanna chat about how we don’t steal from the Lobos.”

“(Y/N) practically IS a fucking Lobo.”

“What, you guys get fucking married or some shit?” Brice asked softly.

“No. But shit’s been happening here that my fucking mom hasn’t been privy to. I asked (Y/N) to go get me drugs. I’m coming off that shit. Gotta clean my fucking shit up if I’m gonna prove to my mom that I can take over her work.”

Brice regarded him for a second.

“That’s not the story we were given. (Y/N) said you needed microdosing, and that you were out of it. And...” Brice crouched down. “(Y/N) had come alone.” Teddy rolled his eyes.

“Sure. I asked. What, does my mom not wanna give me drugs any fucking more?” Brice shook his head. “Why the fuck not?!”

“Because you’re not working, Teddy.”

“I’M ON A FUCKING COME DOWN!” If Teddy’s irritation had ever been useful, those mood swings from his rollercoaster withdrawal... it was right then. Teddy swung a fist at Brice and hit the man cleanly on the temple, sending him crumpling to the floor. He turned to the others who’d arrived, too. “Tell my fucking mom if she wants her drugs back, she can come fucking get them herself. FUCK!”

The guys, confused and a little afraid, lifted Brice up and carried him out of the hallway. Teddy clutched his head and let out a scream of frustration. But, (Y/N) had brought those little 8 balls... a microdose did seem like a good idea. He moved to the kitchen, where they were stacked already in a neat little pile. After blowing his nose of the blood that had congealed from Brice’s punch (but thankfully, his nose wasn’t broken), he unwrapped one, placing a tiny, barely there amount on the countertop.

You

I came out of the bedroom once I was sure the coast was clear, and made my way to the kitchen. Teddy was stood there, an 8 ball unwrapped and open on the countertop. A very small amount lay in a thin line, and Teddy bent over it. Something in me… shifted.

“Fuck,” I breathed. The look in his eyes – anger, frustration, wanting, doubt – coupled with the blood that still glistened around his mouth, did something within me. I bit my lip hard, but I couldn’t look away. Almost like Teddy was daring me to do it, daring me to stop him. “Do it. You need it.”

Watching him snort it shouldn’t have been sexy. It should have been repulsive, but it wasn’t. It should have been a lot of things that were bad, but it wasn’t. Something was fucking wrong with me, because when he stood up straight and hissed with the sting of the drug in his nose, I nearly fucking buckled.

“FuuuuuuUUUCK,” Teddy groaned, massaging the side of his nose. “Fuck me…”

“Fucking gladly,” I growled, striding forwards. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him through to the bedroom.

“Matthias – lads – you can go home!” Teddy yelled, kicking the door shut. “The fuck’s brought this on, baby?” he purred, as I threw him onto the bed.

“Maybe nearly losing my life,” I purred, shuffling down so I was sitting on his thighs, so I could tug his sweats down. “Maybe you covered in fucking blood…” I freed him and started stroking him, barely looking down as he grew hard. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking at me. “Maybe…”

“Maybe?” Teddy shook his head, groaning and bucking his hips lightly. “C’mere, baby, you’re overdressed.” Teddy pulled my waistband, and I shimmied them off. As soon as I was stood naked in front of him… well, let’s just say I lost control of the entire situation, and Teddy showed me exactly what his extra-curricular skills were…

[sizzleissues]

café (840 words. Warm up)

There was a café about ten minutes out of his way on his commute to work that Adrien always made the detour to. It was to the point he’d arrive late rather than miss out on the morning stop and his colleagues would notice his commitment to getting that coffee every morning. Some had even added it to their own commute, believing he took the risk because it was of better quality than the nearer café.

Which was also true, but that wasn’t the reason. 

He locked his bicycle to the same lamp post at the same corner with the same charity collector nodding as he passed and entered through the café doors. As part of him donating his change every day the collector looked out for his bike while he ordered his coffee.

He’d started cycling a few years back as part of an eco initiative for the students and hadn’t stopped since. He sold off his car to Nino a few months ago when he had his first kid and got a year long pass for the train and bus. Last he’d been in a car was on a school trip to London when a student left something in the hotel and he had to grab a taxi to make it there and back to the train station in time. He didn’t miss it one bit.

The café was tiny for its location, barely wide enough for three people to stand shoulder to shoulder. Two tall-legged tables sat into the windows either side of the door and a serving counter cut through the middle of the room. The place might have seemed bigger if it weren’t for the overflow of decor; eclectic signage across the walls, trinkets on every surface and tiny potted cacti with cute faces painted on. Every surface was polished and smooth to the touch but each item still bore its wear, no effort made to conceal the peeling layers of paint or the dips of dents on the counter. 

The immediate smell of coffee and herbal teas nearly was enough to energise Adrien for the rest of the day. He waited patiently though for the customer ahead of him to collect their order, tapping his foot along to the funk music just under the sounds of machines running. 

He looked out of place there, with his beige outfit paired with bright red runners and a neon helmet tucked under his arm. No one would think he used to model for a leading fashion house. It was an object of endless amusement for his students to bring up his old adverts like they didn’t already haunt his dreams and ask if all models were as unfashionable as him. Adrien knew how to look ‘fashionable’. He was intimately aware of what looked good on him, what made his eyes pop and his skin glow and of what was ‘in’ or what was timeless and a must have in his wardrobe, and had long since decided he’d ignore it all completely. 

Model Adrien Agreste was a different person to Mr Graham De Vanilly, physics and maths teacher. 

He stepped aside as the person ahead of him took their drinks and left and moved up to place his order. There wasn’t really any need for him to reiterate it at this point, the barista knew his order to the letter and if they weren’t busy would begin making it without question. 

“Same as usual, Mr Graham?” The barista asked. She smirked, a delight taken in her daily habit of teasing him. Adrien propped up his head in his hands, leaning over the counter with a grin to match.

“Surely we’re past formalities. You know every one of my student's names.”

“But you get so annoyed when I call you that.” She giggled, touching her hand to her lips. “Speaking of which, did Grace’ - she turned to the coffee machine- ‘take the advice I gave?”

“She did and she thanks you. The costumes couldn’t look better this year for the play.”

The way she worked mesmerised him. There was a complete command to her actions that only came from them being repeated so many times. Place her outside the café and she’d slip on the ground as though it was ice but here every element was under her total control. He didn’t even think she realised just how competent she was when her mind didn’t invent its own obstacles.

“I’ll have to come see it then. Since it includes some of my own work.”

Adrien accepted the coffee she handed him but his hands were shaking before he’d even taken the first sip.

“Yeah. You should.”

She stared at him with a strange expression for a moment before he corrected himself. There'd been too much sincerity in his voice.

“We might be even able to get you free tickets since you technically helped in the backstage process.”

“That sounds more like it, I can't be handing all these tips away for free." When she smiled he could see the past in her eyes. "Enjoy your day, sir.”

Adrien leaned his head to the side, a slight frown pulling his lips. She laughed again. “Enjoy your day, Adrien.”

“See you at the play, Marinette.”

( for context Marinette amnesia au where Adrien promised he'd get her to love him again but also he's aware she's a different person now and wants to do it naturally.)

[uraniumwriting]

Not Alone Anymore

A response for @flashfictionfridayofficial ‘s prompt “You’re Not Alone”. 760 words total

I’ve been in a bit of a writing funk the past month, but I’m happy I managed to finish this! This is in a new world I’m coming up with for a wip (which may end up as an audio drama?????)

~~~~~~~~~~

No one dared to enter the forests of Highriver State Park anymore, and that was the very reason Jay walked down a hiking path and listened to the crunch of dry leaves underneath their boots.

Normally, the hiking paths would be filled with tourists and locals trying to soak in the last days of warm weather and sunlight before winter settled in. But not now. The stupid monster and the mayor’s stupid bounty had kept everyone away from Highriver State Park except for troublemakers looking for a quick buck.

It had been over six months since the first group of bounty hunters arrived in the area, and as Sheriff, Jay had been the one who had to babysit them, along with the three other groups who wanted to play hero. In those six months, no one got any closer to figuring out the mystery of the monster.

They were lucky none of those bounty hunters got themselves killed in those six months. They couldn’t say the same about their officers.

Jay stopped as they got to one of the rivers that flowed through the park. Having grown up in one of the small town around the state park, Monty, they knew every river well, but this area brought back more memories than most.

There was an old, decaying log that had toppled over the river a long time ago, probably before Jay was even born. As they grew up, their friend, Everest, would always climb up on the log, and teased Jay relentlessly whenever they worried about his safety.

That was before Everest became mayor, and before Jay was forced to drop out of high school and join the local police because of their mother’s death. Now, all Everest cared about was his image, and Jay tolerated his bullshit one too many times.

It was over, though. Jay officially resigned the day before, and now they could spend as much time as they wanted alone in the forest.

Jay trudged over to the log and put their hand on the rough bark. It was a miracle the log hadn’t fallen into the river yet, with the water constantly wearing away at the bottom of the log. It would’ve been foolish to tempt luck and climb on it, but no one else was around.

For the first time in their life, Jay hoisted themself onto the log.

As they stood up and gained their balance, Jay looked out at the rushing current beneath them. And they laughed.

This was all ridiculous. Everest didn’t know what he was up against. He hadn’t seen the destruction of the monster like Jay had. He didn’t understand how indescribable the monster was. Everest only put up the bounty to hush his critics, not because he actually knew that someone could do something.

Jay took a few more steps out onto the log.

They had seen the monster. And they were pretty sure the monster had seen them. But Jay lived through that encounter, even if they weren’t sure why. All they were sure of was that the monster couldn’t simply be stopped. Something drew it to Highriver State Park, and the only way to get rid of it would be if something drew it somewhere else.

As Jay got about halfway down the log, they froze. They were suddenly transported back to when they were a kid, when they were terrified of Everest’s antics on the log.

Underneath the log, sharp rocked protruded out from the water.

Heart pounding, they looked back to where they came from. Of course, they were alone. Jay had wanted to be alone. If they fell, no one would know, and despite the logical part of their mind telling them otherwise (or was it the illogical part?), they were terrified to fall without anyone knowing.

Jay needed to get back to shore, but they couldn’t move.

They stood there for what felt like just a few seconds but also hours, and just listened to the silence of the forest. It was wrong. The forest shouldn’t have been silent. It should’ve been full of annoying tourists and local teenage troublemakers and animals scurrying for forgotten leftovers. Now, it was empty.

Something slammed onto the log behind Jay. Their breath caught in their throat, but they didn’t turn around at first. Jay just stood completely still and hoped that they had made up the sound and the vibrations of the log.

But then something snarled. And that snarl was familiar.

Jay wasn’t as alone as they thought they were.

[growwithmeastrology]

Saturday, November 4th 2023

Sun in Scorpio ♏️🌊 Moon in Leo ♌️🔥

Today is a good day to just have some fun and not think about things too much or take anything too seriously. The Moon shifted into Leo overnight where the vibe feels a little brighter, more casual and upbeat than they have the last few days. This is a great mood to hang onto as we wrap up a major karmic cycle today.

After five very long months Saturn, the setter of karma, restrictions and hard lessons is finally going direct in Pisces. Whatever has been challenging you during this retrograde is about to get a little easier. While Saturn transits can be hard, this planet sets us on the path of understanding and realization of the things we have to shed and also embrace in order to stay on our destined path.

With Mercury in Scorpio still opposite Uranus in Taurus, it’s easier to engage in less serious topics while all of this change is occurring. These guys can help you get out of that funk you’ve been in since June by recalibrating your thought process and get you moving forward.

The Moon in Leo begins a square to Jupiter in Taurus tonight which might just give us that final push to embrace the change of heart and mind, helping us align with that path and beginning to help us see where we’re headed.

All of this energy is calling us to do a little less reflection now and take more action. Check the area of your birth chart that Pisces rules to see where some positive changes could be in the process of manifesting themselves. What’s been nagging at you to address, embrace or change these last few months? ☮️💚✨

If you enjoy my daily forecasts please like, comment, share and consider a gratitude tip in support. 🅿️ PayPal, Venmo or CashApp - @NaliniFlor

Learn more about your personal energies and how the daily forecast affects you! Comment below⬇️ or DM me for a consultation.

[frankbedbroken]

frankcore 2k25 !!

and if you can believe it. it's a monthly playlist once again. for this first installment (?) this year it mostly falls into three separate blocks: a lot of stuff that passed me by during last year and i didn't get hip to until i checked out a bunch of year-end lists (shouts out billdifferen and vhs midnight style), the few new releases that i got to during this month, and assorted random stuff from previous years.

for the first part: we've got ominous and haunting acappella performance from vocal-centric catalan folk duo tarta relena; an incredibly addicting loosie from lucy bedroque that only recently got put onto streaming services (had it been around by the time my year-end list dropped, i would've definitely gotten a hard time deciding between it and how to pretend to be on said list),; poppy bassline/garage numbers from niko b as well as silva bumpa with megan wroe on vocals; broken, ever changing rhythms and corrosive sound design under the always uncertain umbrella of deconstructed club from ship sket and seychelles; a metalcore number from the band kaonashi with an off-kilter and unique vocal performance but also maintaining the aggression and chaos you'd want out of the genre; and finally, speaking of chaos, mind-numbingly hard stuff from CONNIE, moving from a bouncy, hyperactive, super saturated donk-like rhythm which later on slows things down to a brazilian funk drum pattern and tempo but not letting go in the harshness department, all underlying the hardest tts vocal performance since knife party's internet friends (?).

in terms of new stuff: hazy and disorienting yet compelling and riveting ambient / hypnagogic sounds from voice actor & squu; very solid trip hop revivalism from destroyer (very unfamiliar with his discography, this track's not really representative as i understand but im interested to see what the rest of that album is like); pitch-dark and sombre slowcore from the ever-inspiring ethel cain; delightfully euro pop rap with a l'amour toujours interpolation thrown in for good measure from bassvictim (this track dropped last year technically but the project it's from was released just now); slow-burning and mechanical yet vaguely horny new beat vibes from marie davidson; of course i had to include something from twigs' most recent album, went with a track that feels very in line with ray of light and impossible princess, introducing acid techno influences into a pop format; wonderfully sweet indietronica with some influences of microhouse from baths; light and icy garage rhythms intermingling with hip hop and r&b on the latest from john glacier alongside sampha; turn-of-the-millenium-inspired house-pop crossover from rose gray (featuring an interpolation of blue (da ba dee) as well, i know im a bit hypocritical when it comes to that kinda thing but idk i think the two tracks featured here do it well); a couple of tracks from projects that will be dropping shortly: from mun sing, a track that feels equally as indebted to post-club / uk bass experimentalism as it does pc music and recent developments in pop and r&b; from traxman, no-nonsense footwork that works exactly as well as you'd want it to; and from aya, a track that you could compare to machine girl in its tackling of digital hardcore idioms but that also brings in a lot more influence of deconstructed club sound design as well as more hectic edm influences from hard techno and donk; wrapping up, a track off the most recent pink siifu project, this one having really atmospheric yet danceable production courtesy of the duo hi-tech, in a way reminds me of the more dnb-centric side of artists like machinedrum.

and then: the rest! big trip hop block at the start, with more recent revivalism from buttechno & triš, a bizarrely ahead-of-its-time anomaly that's technically folk and industrial adjacent but sounds just like trip hop in 1977 from emmanuelle parrenin, and languid r&b sounds from chinah, mixing an almost monotone vocal delivery with rhythms influenced by trip hop and minimal drum and bass; later on, probably the most popular track off that model/actriz album, the album itself didn't do as much as i wanted to but i do like this track quite a bit; finally, bedroom-esque screamo with potent vocal delivery filled with rage and angst from awakebutstillinbed.

my one track that i would've liked to include but couldn't because it's not on streaming is left leg out by mala, classic uk dubstep sounds from one of the originators of the sound, very grimy and dingy as you would want from the genre.

that's it for now, tube it!

[suttonstrackesdrinkingproblem]

Y'all not to get serious again on main but I'm starting to get self conscious about my age.

Let me explain. I am 26 years old. I know y'all are thinking ''that isn't old at all'' and you're correct but that isn't my problem. The problem is that I am 26 years old and a fucking failure. I used to feel like I was somewhat okayish but I lived in a small town and I was literally one of the most normal people from that town. I know live in a bigger city since I moved in August, I couldn't stand my small town and was ready to move and be on to bigger things. I was in a bit of a funk after moving, I started applying to jobs and had a couple bad interviews which put me in a deeper funk. Until last month when I got hired at Burlington I started to feel good again like my life was going in the direction I wanted. Now Burlington was a big step for me, I've been a cashier for 2 and half years but it was at a small family owned store and I kind of ran everything by myself on my shifts so working with a bunch of people at the same time and not being fully in charge is a strange thing to me, but I could handle it. Things were going well, I enjoy the job though like I said I miss the control I guess, and it seemed I was doing well. Until this Friday when one of the cashier higher ups said I was the slowest cashier there and my scan time was long, I told her I am still kind of new and I am still learning things, and she quite coldly told me then even with all the other newbies, I'm still the slowest. It's been sitting with me ever since and now I have major anxiety every time I go to work because I don't want to be the slowest and I don't want them to think I'm dumb, so now because of this I've been making stupid mistakes the last few days and I really wasn't before. Every time I get a customer I am sort of trying to rush and I keep running into problems. She told me she better see improvement by the 24th. The thing is some of the newbies are literal teens and people younger than me and yet they're doing better than me, the literal 26 year old! It should be the other way around in my opinion. Today I heard someone mention my name (there's two other girls with my name at work) and my last name and it felt like they were laughing/talking shit about me being slow, they more likely weren't but still that didn't make me feel better either. At my other job I didn't have to worry about scan time because my work didn't care about shit like that and they also told me things I was doing wrong or I could do better in a more...I don't know, not so condescending tone? And they also asked what was going on in my life which I know, jobs like big corporation don't give a fuck. It made me want to do better with that at my job with that approach. I was celebrated at my old job, and appreciated.

And it isn't just this situation that makes me self-conscious about my age all of sudden. It doesn't help that I'm a virgin and never dated nobody ever, I don't drive (I can I'm just absolutely terrified to), and plus everyone always thinks I am younger than I am, which isn't necessarily a bad thing and I normally take it as a compliment, but now I'm starting to think people are insulting me with they say that! They're saying that I act like child! That I'm not adult enough, and they're fucking RIGHT!!!!

I'm 26 motherfucking years old, I still live with my dad and my grandpa and I didn't accomplish shit in my fucking 20's at all. I mean I'm the fucking slowest cashier at my job like a giant fucking loser.

I know we should ignore societies expectations of us but most people my age live by themselves, are in a committed relationship with kids, finished college, oh and AREN'T THE SLOWEST MOTHERFUCKING CASHIER AT A FUCKING BURLINGTON JOB! Not everyone has that life I mentioned, I understand that but it doesn't take away the fact that most if not all people have at least accomplished one of the things I mentioned above and I haven't. So therefore I am a failure, I have nothing to offer anyone, and there's more than likely something wrong with me even everyone tells me there isn't (they're just being nice lets bffr) and like maybe there wasn't anything wrong with me in my small town, but there definitely is here.

In my town, I was a big fish in a little pond, and now....I'm like the tiny like piece of trash that floats above the huge, flowing river full of fishes who are better than me.

I didn't think my life would be like this at 26 I really really REALLY fucking didn't and I hate myself for it.

I should just quite while I am ahead and stop myself for embarrassing myself further.

[bitch-its-sleeping-beauty]

I know over the years I’ve changed a lot as a person. I’m not the same girl I was even 8 years ago. Favorites have changed, friends, activities.

I go through phases. I become really hooked on things and obsess. But the one thing is that’s I’ve always been happy. Yeah I have my fair share of heartbreaks, disappointments, and wrong turns. Nothing has quite been like this. I feel as though I’m a jumbled up mess. Happiness is hard to come by these days. It’s a strange feeling to feel so low. Yeah I have happy moments still but they don’t last long.

I thought moving to San Francisco would be this long awaited dream I had always had. Younger Bianca always wanted to move there. But as I grew older wants and dreams have shifted. In blur of a messy breakup, the urge for big change was on my mind. At this point I’ve discovered it was a mistake. I didn’t leave home because I was unhappy. I left for a big change, thinking all about new good positive things the future could hold.

A very happy, positive Bianca moved. Little did she know what the next few months would hold for her. I got back together with my boyfriend aside from that, the day to day life was not what I expected. Being alone so much could really take a toll on someone who’s come all the way hardly knowing anyone. I guess I’ve always had that one friend who likes to go out as much as me, and not having that there felt like a big hole in my life. I thought I’d be happy with doing this alone, but in reality the feeling of doing things alone didn’t feel as rewarding and exciting like it did when I was home.

Since being there I’ve been in the biggest funk of my life. I’m sad a lot. The day to day is just survival. It makes me even more sad that the city I love and I have such an uncomfortable relationship. Like all I loved, feels completely numb and nonexistent. I always loved visiting there, but maybe it wasn’t about the location but the people I loved and who I was with when I was there. The people made the city seem dazzling, not the city alone. It’s a hard concept to have to come to terms with.

The day to day like I said is rough. I have no pleasure in waking up and doing anything. Work is overwhelming. Necessities have become inconvenienced. The activities I loved to do, I have no will to do. Cooking is just to eat, no more enjoyment, or experimenting. Art, I have no inspiration in myself to even pick up a pen .The urge to try new activities seems impossible. The urge to go out and discover new places is nonexistent.

As miserable as I am, moving home seems like it’ll give me the peace in my mind and heart I’m longing for. A part of me is strangely nervous about leaving even though it’s all I think about. The fear that I’ve become so lost I’ve completely lost my way all together. There will be things I’ll miss when I leave, but the one good thing is I can always visit. A part of me will miss my cute little apartment with the good view I had fallen in love with the first time I stepped into it. Over time it’s just become a backdrop. When I look at it the awe I once had is sadly no longer there. Falling out of love with a city you’ve loved for nearly your whole life is a pretty heart wrenching thing, and seems to add to the whole sadness of this experience.

Being an adult and realizing the simple joys in life really make your life full is a different kind of discovery. Laundry, grocery shopping, driving the convenience of it all. Pretty sunsets, nature, a good cup of coffee, etc.

Unfortunately all I ever wanted to do when I came and so i thought living there how excited I was to dress up with the cutest, trendiest outfits. When I came for my birthday I felt so confident and stylish. Since then I haven’t dressed up like that all but one time. Even that girl can’t break through the dark cloud that hangs around her.

With this sadness so heavy on my mind and heart. I hope whatever the future holds for my next chapter I’m preparing myself I can say I followed my heart, and that all the love and joy I’m about to pour in, is rewarding and I find that peace in my heart and mind I once had. I hope future Bianca gets what she dreams about. I hope I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.

Dear God, please don’t leave my side during these turbulent times. I need your strength more than ever. I know I thought you were pushing me to this jump to the city where I am. But maybe it was for some sort of self discovery or a sign that my heart belongs to Cody and I needed this distance to realize it. I know you have a plan in place for me already. Just guide me back to happiness, I’ve never truly felt more in the dark than I have in this time of my life right now.

Yours Truly,

B

[sinceileftyoublog]

Aaron Frazer Interview: Implicit to Explicit

Photo by Rosie Cohe

BY JORDAN MAINZER

"The difference between Carole King and Westside Gunn...is a lot shorter than people realize," Aaron Frazer said to contextualize his second solo album Into The Blue (Dead Oceans). Reading that before I listened to the record for the first time had me primed for the unexpected. And while it's not an album that sounds like A$AP Rocky and Jessica Pratt--let alone a legendary folk singer and raw Griselda crew member--Into The Blue does demonstrate the genre-hopping prowess of a versatile singer-songwriter. Frazer, dealing with a breakup and a cross-country move from New York to Los Angeles, looked to his own record collection for comfort. He also returned to the exploratory mindset of his crate-digging past to make an album that captures heartbreak, transitions, ends, and new beginnings in all of their complexity.

Long before he was known as the falsetto singer and drummer of Durand Jones & The Indications, Frazer was a beatmaker, toying around with FL Studio (fka FruityLoops) as a teenager. He went on to study sound engineering at Indiana University, where The Indications were formed. While his records with The Indications as well as his solo debut Introducing..., the latter produced by Dan Auerbach, are clear contemporary takes on old-school soul, Into The Blue reveals Frazer's love for hip-hop. Co-producer Alex Goose (Freddie Gibbs, Madlib, Brockhampton) helped Frazer incorporate samples, from 60s teen pop music to 90's R&B, into his songs. Best, the samples are purposeful and tasteful. Opening track "Thinking Of You" takes the opening line from The Shades' "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town", "Hey...it's him again...uh-oh!" to reintroduce Frazer and establish the modus operandi of Into The Blue. "Lonely nights like this, I still feel your kiss," Frazer sings over a swelling, lovelorn orchestra. "Fly Away" culls from the Hi-Five song of the same name in a coincidental bit of studio magic, where a song Frazer and Jungle's Lydia Kitto had been working on happened to follow the same chord progression as the 90's R&B classic that Goose had filed away for future sampling use.

Of course, for Frazer, sampling is just a more direct callback to the past than his normal, indirect cherry picking of blue-eyed soul. Into The Blue expands his horizons. The title track juxtaposes strings, breakbeats, and country western guitars. "I Don't Wanna Stay" employs a 5-piece string section to enhance the dramatic, cinematic flair of Frazer's storytelling. "Easy To Love", which does interpolate Kenix's disco classic "There's Never Been (No One Like You)", sports a four-on-the-floor drum beat and keyboard sprinkles for a slice of pure funk. And "Payback" takes a base of Northern soul-esque drum fills and handclaps and smothers them with whispered and lurking-to-shouting backing vocals and Nick Waterhouse's blistering guitar.

A few months ago, I spoke with Frazer over the phone. Calling from his apartment in Los Angeles, he discussed both the sonic inspirations and making of Into The Blue. He was also in the process of figuring out how to play the album live. Frazer had done a release show on June 28th, the day the album was released, something that he hadn't done since he was in college. "I forgot how much work goes into finishing an album rollout," Frazer said, "adding in the last little bits before release while also trying to perform not just passably, but well, for the first time in front of an audience who has only heard the record for a maximum of 18 hours." The answer on his current tour, including a stop Sunday at Thalia Hall? A 7-piece band, including Frazer behind the drum kits for a third of the show, switching places with his drummer/singer. It's still a challenge. "[Into The Blue is] a band album, but it's a production album, as well," Frazer said. "There are elements that need to be shifted in a live context...There are more voices on the record than I'm going to have on stage. I'm not going to have the string section. How are you getting to capture that psychedelic moment and dub basement soul in a live setting?"

Find out the answer on Sunday and read our conversation below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: On Into The Blue, why did you decide to work with a different set of people than those whom you worked with on your first record?

Aaron Frazer: In some ways, it's a whole new set, but in [other] ways, it's a return to my normal workflow. On the strings and horns, those are all my friends from Brooklyn who I've been working with on the Durand Jones & The Indications records since 2018, with American Love Call. It's less that this was a new thing: When you work with Dan Auerbach, and he's in the producer role, you have access to his collaborators. They're legends who have played on cornerstone records of American music. It's amazing. When I do it myself, I like to work with my friends. This was a mix of my friends from New York and new friends that I had made in Los Angeles, which included Lydia Kitto and Joshua Lloyd from Jungle, [as well as] Nick Waterhouse. Also, because I had the opportunity to do whatever I wanted, I was also able to hit up people I had wanted to work with for a long time, like Cold Diamond & Mink.

SILY: You were dealing with material that was a bit more vulnerable than on past records. Was it a blessing to work with your friends, people you could be vulnerable around?

AF: This record is the sound of me navigating and processing the things happening in my life very much in real-time. Definitely, working with friends allows me a certain level of vulnerability. When I wrote "Into the Blue", the day I showed up for that session, I was honestly too bummed out to write anything. Maybe in another session, that wouldn't be okay, or I'd feel some sort of pressure to power through, but because they were my friends, I voiced that. There was no pressure, and we just listened to some records, and the records we were listening to wound up inspiring the original demo of "Into the Blue". So it's definitely a blessing to work with friends.

SILY: What records were you listening to?

AF: We all geek out over records that feel ghostly, so The Ink Spots, for example. "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire" is the classic Ink Spots tune people know. Some of the Charlie Parker with Strings album has this big, classic Disney chorus. I don't mean Frozen, more the old school Disney.

SILY: Fluttery instrumentation.

AF: Some Hawaiian stuff has a lot of ghostly qualities. Eventually, we came to Ennio Morricone's stuff, which is very much in the through-line to Into the Blue and a thread throughout this record.

SILY: I wrote down the word "ghostly" the first time I listened to "I Don't Wanna Stay", with the five-piece string section and the backing vocal harmonies. Combined with the themes of the record in general--a dying or dead relationship--it fits. Was that interplay between theme and instrumentation at top of mind when making the record?

AF: Definitely. It felt like I was navigating a haunted house. It kind of feels like for me, this album is the sound of driving across the country, but having flashbacks to the life that I left.

SILY: I'm definitely intrigued by the use of samples, and I imagine working with Alex Goose spurred that. It doesn't seem like that different of an overall approach from what you were doing previously, the same way you might call back to a classic genre or sound. Sampling is just a little more specific.

AF: I grew up making hip-hop instrumentals. I downloaded a free version of FruityLoops, which is now called FL Studio. It now sounds more professional. The first beat I ever made was a loop of the intro of the song "Lullaby of Birdland", this great piano intro. I made it in Windows Movie Maker, which was on the computer. I've always been drawn to samples. At first, it was jazz samples, then soul samples. I started going to Goodwill in the dollar bin to look for stuff to sample when I was in high school. That's when I started to learn all these other types of music, looking for samples. Hip hop and sampling have been there early on in my musical career. The current approach that people know me for with The Indications and my solo stuff is referential, and I think that referencing is its own form of sampling. You sort of approximate rather than go directly to the source. You put your own spin on it. Working with Goose was really cool because not only do we both share an enthusiasm for eclecticism, but hip hop is a genre that brings disparate elements together. That's always who I have been as a music fan and music writer. Allowing hip hop production to be in the driver's seat allows me to bring that eclecticism back to the forefront, to shift the dial one click towards hip hop being explicit instead of implicit in my writing. I don't think it was a big transition for me. I feel like I've been doing it in one form or another my whole life.

SILY: Certain songs, like "Fly Away", seem to be built around the sample, whereas others are more interpolative, or the sample is just thrown in at the beginning. How did your songwriting process come about? Did you start with the sample, or come up with the song and later think, "I could add something in here."?

AF: The beginning of "Thinking of You", that vocal drop, we were just digging through some stuff, and we thought, "That would be so sick," so we just threw it in at the beginning. We didn't construct the song around it. "Fly Away" is an interesting one, because I have the demo, and it's me and Lydia--I have this piano progression that we played--and we wrote the song to the piano progression. When Lydia and I were at Goose's studio, he was flipping through some loops he had. Sometimes, he'll just chop up songs to file them away for future use. He had this Hi-Five loop, and I realized it was the same general chord movement as the song Lydia and I had put together. As he was playing this loop, I started singing this song down that Goose had never heard before, and Lydia was in on the background vocals with me. It was so funny to see Goose's reaction. His jaw dropped. He was like, "What is happening? How have you already written a song to this?" It was a bit of good luck and coincidence that the chord movements could wrap onto each other. It had already been a 90's R&B vibe, it was just divine timing to hit this 90's R&B loop and bring this implicit influence to an explicit place.

SILY: The first time I listened to it, that's exactly what stood out: the sample, yes, but the song sounds like you could hear it on a 90's R&B radio station.

AF: Mary J. Blige in the 90's made her career by taking soul samples and doing this neo soul approach to 70's soul samples. I feel like I inverted the ratio. I'm more inspired by 70's soul, but I applied it to 90's sampling.

SILY: What was your approach to sequencing the record?

AF: Sequencing is so important on a record like this. This is such an eclectic, sprawling record. I'm not doing death metal, or anything--it's all in its zone--but this album is the sound of my record collection. When it comes to food, sometimes the flavors that would work together, if eaten in the wrong order, don't taste good. Music is very much like that. You are a DJ. Two songs that are sick won't connect with people if you don't sequence it correctly. We tinkered around a lot with the--I almost said setlist, but that's kind of how it feels. We're DJs and trying to get that set together to feel good and not give you whiplash stylistically and show the authentic emotional journey I went on from New York to LA, from in a relationship to out of a relationship, from touring like crazy with a band to all of a sudden having a year off.

SILY: I noticed a lot of contrast in texture from one song to another, which is key in both albums and food! That ghostly quality is there throughout Into The Blue, but on a song like "Payback", Nick Waterhouse's guitars are so fuzzy and sharp.

AF: It's brash and bombastic. And then "Perfect Strangers" is the salmon sashimi of the record. It's subtle.

SILY: That one's just you on your guitar with background singers?

AF: There's a little bit of bass, but it's very minimal.

SILY: Are you the type of songwriter who is always writing even when you've just released a new album?

AF: There were maybe two weeks where I was feeling a bit of burnout. came out on June 28th, and on July 2nd, I flew to North Carolina to start working with The Indications on our 4th record, to start recording. That took a lot of caffeine to get me dialed back in. But I'm always hearing sounds where I'm like, "I want to do something like that!" Or little scraps come to me in the shower.

SILY: Are the sounds you're hearing, is that from you actively listening to music?

AF: I love clicking around YouTube until all the sidebar recommendations are 45 labels, and then I'm like, "Now I'm digging in." Instagram is an incredible discovery tool. It's crazy. Spotify's Discover Weekly is really cool. Thankfully, I also have friends who I tell, "Literally send me music any time of day or night." I might not respond if you text me at 2 A.M.--actually, I probably will be still awake--but I love getting recommendations from anywhere and everywhere.

SILY: Some people I talk to, when actively writing music, they really need to shut out all art. It sounds like you're the total opposite. You're a sponge.

AF: Yeah. [Ralph Waldo] Emerson coined "transparent eyeball." You have to see everything and let it pass through you. I will say that while I am a sponge, there's times for soaking in and times for wringing out. There's a bit of a reset period. Before I start wringing out again, I'm definitely in a soaking in period. But with The Indications, I'm having to soak in while finding a corner of my sponge self to wring out.

SILY: You're deft with metaphors! I can tell you're a songwriter.

AF: [laughs]

SILY: Is there anything else about the record I didn't ask about that you want to say?

AF: I feel very proud of the high-brow/low-brow [duality] of this record. "The Fool", the last track of the record, the drums, bass, and guitar are all one iPhone voice memo. It's fun to be at a point in my career where I've done this enough times to be grounded in my compass so I can be like, "Yeah, it's an iPhone voice memo, but it had magic to it, so I used it and tracked on top of it." I hope people listen to the full record. I think it's hard to pick any one song to represent what this album is. I tried to make it a full body of work.

SILY: It's funny that you mention high-brow/low-brow with "The Fool", because you have the low-brow with the iPhone, but in regard to the high-brow, Bryan Ponce's backing vocals remind me of a Greek chorus.

AF: It's exactly supposed to be that!