#don’t even get me started on tUmbLer LiVe. that shit is evil

[samuraisharkie]

hey @staff undo this update it sucks. I know you hear that every time but I am not kidding, this update makes mobile barely useable. Do you run changing the basic UI of the site by anyone before you do this?? going to my page feels AWFUL. And I see you’ve replaced that with your tumblr store, trying to get people to click over there and buy something. shoving the products under someone’s nose while they’re trying to do something else is really the least effective advertising tool. The whole site is turning into your advertisement and dick sucking circle, and it’s actually, genuinely, getting to the point where it’s not even recognizable as tumblr, and it’s genuinely miserable to interact with this site. the original setup wasn’t broken, don’t fix it. Maybe instead of changing the entire navigation of mobile, FIX THE SPAM BOT ISSUE.

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 "𝚘𝚑"

PART 8: CAT BOYS 

... it’s late into the night and y/n is streaming with one of her new friends, sykkuno. running on caffeine and redbull is apparently not enough because she falls asleep on his shoulder 45 minutes into their cyberpunk gameplay. at that exact moment, twitter goes up in flames.

─── corpse husband x reader, sykkuno x reader (because i was threatened by thirsty anons) ─── soc. media + written fiction!  ─── word count: 1.8k author’s note: here it is...what yall been asking for. literally had to add a new part for this but i loved this idea sm i couldnt just nOT NOT do it. i tried writing this with the same energy as the smau lmao so expect chaos as always. hope you enjoy it and as always lmk what u think! hopefully yall wont go too feral, but tbh thats prolly too much to ask for xx EDIT: srr for the fucky format tumbler dot com is being lame 

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous.   ҉   next.

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Such a back and forth continues for the better part of the day as you get ready. Corpse only whines a bit when you forget to text him back - you are packing, and your prestigious cat ears you bought from Amazon for 10$ deserve exquisite care - which only fuels your seemingly bottomless hunger for mischief, leading to you sneakily ignoring him more. When your phone lights up with a message, you giggle, giddy with excitement. Your laughter only gets louder and more erratic, to the point where Rae had busted down your door and threw her Hello Kitty plush at you - one you’d gotten her, mind you! - and told you to just “Shut the fuck up!”

Ungrateful. You know not everyone can appreciate your sense of humor, or stand your hyena like cackle, but that was uncalled for and you told her as much. Noting the mess your room is in (more than usual, that’s for certain), she leans onto the door frame, crossing her arms over her chest, pretty brown eyes twinkling curiously, “Where you off to?”

“So I had this idea-” You start, but are promptly shut down with a raise of her palm.

“Already know it’s a bad one.”

Insulted, and hurt, you clutch your heart. As if she had not mocked you enough today, “Rae...The hell, that’s so mean...” You mutter, face scrunching into a soft frown, “I only wanted to tell you what me and Syk thought of.”

“Oh?” Intrigued, she raises a brow, “Continue.”

“Gee, thanks for letting me this time.” You mumble, rolling your eyes, “So. We thought we’d stream together. The catch? In the same room! We’ll be playing Cyberpunk. Gotta cash in while the hype is still up.” You add, making her snort, “And, ya know, the whole cat boy business...We’ll be wearing matching cat ears. Admit it, I’m a genius.”

She’s quiet for a moment, mulling over your words; you can practically see the gears in her head turning. She glances around the room, then briefly at you, strangely apprehensive. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Well, that is definitely not what you expected her to say. You figured it’d be more along the lines of you’d be one ugly cat. “Huh?” Is all you manage to stutter, “What do you mean?”

She gives you a look, one all people give when something is so plainly obvious, “Y/n. You do know the stans will go wild, right? And you do remember our conversation involving Corp-”

“Nope!” You exclaim cheerily with a bright smile to match. You don’t want to think about that. The relationship between you and Corpse is strictly platonic, and besides, seeing Twitter loosing their shit is always funny, and you never miss an opportunity to mess with your fans. Sykkuno is also a good friend, albeit a new one. This supposed flirting from Corpse’s end Rae deduced was nothing more than her projecting her feelings onto the situation. She always liked shoujo anime and was probably thinking one was happening right in front of her. Not a chance. Corpse was just being a friendly crackhead. Your energies mesh beautifully.

Like, beautifully in a strictly friend way. Absolutely nothing more than that.

She gives up, naturally, arguing with a wall would be more productive than arguing with you. You’re such a (Zodiac sign).

“Well,” She mumbles, ticking her head to the side, leaning off of the door frame and turning to leave, “Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Your grin melts as soon as she leaves. Glancing at your bag, you shove your last necessities in with newfound hesitance. 

Nothing bad will happen, right?

...Right?

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It is well past the generally set “appropriate” time to hang out, but since quarantine, what is appropriate anymore anyway? You’ve never been in Sykkuno’s apartment, but now that you’re here it’s...strangely him. Every corner seems tailored to his specific requirements. It’s cozy, and pleasantly warm - it’s a bit chilly in LA, as surprising as that is.

He’s even shyer than you remember him being. And a whole lot more awkward, but in an endearing way, a way that makes you want to laugh and try to reassure him that it’s just you and he has nothing to worry about. While you hung out only once, the history you share is rich and tender. From him following you on Twitter and subsequently prematurely ending your stream, to kidnapping a stray cat affectionately named Juan. His long lost brother, Juan (no the Second, just Juan), lives in your Minecraft server. 

His stream room is sadly bare. There’s an appalling lack of merch or fairy lights. Not even led-lights. It’s a good thing you brought your own. As you try to decided which color would be best - his signature lime green, reminiscent of his adorable Among Us astronaut, or, perhaps, mischievous violet? - he boots the game and tweets out a quick “streaming with y/n in ten mins! come one come all!” 

“You should probably tell your fans, too.” He mumbles, looking somewhere above your shoulder. You settle with cherry blossom pink. Glancing at him, you shrug.

“Ah, do it for me, please?”

“Oh!” He hiccups, “Uhm, I wouldn’t want to pry and I don’t know your password and-”

“It doesn’t have a password.” You had removed it, knowing something like this would happen. Bless your foresight, you did not want him to know it was demonspiitinmymouth. Before he could protest further, you rush to the nearest mirror to put on your cat ears and make sure they aren’t crooked. You look absolutely adorable. The cat boys in your dms will go feral. Hell, you might just go feral looking at yourself! Sykkuno is not ready. No one is. This will be a stream to remember.

When you return (with flourish of course), he’s anxiously fidgeting by his computer, his own little cat ears, one’s he wore for the Halloween stream, peaking out from his silky brown hair. You have to suppress a squeal. When he catches you gaze he gives the kindest, sweetest little smile.

“They, uh--” He points at you, then decides it’s rude to point, bringing his hand back to his lap, then clutching his mouse, lastly releasing a sound stuck between a chuckle and a wheeze, “suit you, uhm, a lot!” He finishes with a resolute nod, quickly spinning in his chair and away from you.

This is the reaction you desired. All is going according to plan. Is this what God feels like? If not, then you pity her. She’s missing out.

Taking a seat next to him - he had been gracious enough to haul you a spare chair from the kitchen - you draw closer, and he, instinctively, shrinks away with another nervous chuckle. 

“You have, uhm... I-I didn’t look!” He quickly chimes. You raise a brow, “Uhm, unopened messages? From Corpse? He texted you when I was tweeting! I didn’t mean to look, I’m sorry-”

Instantly, you recall the famous vine with the scandalous “daddy chill” line, though refrain from saying it aloud. You love havoc, but you’re not evil (Rae would ardently disagree with you, though). Instead, you just shrug, “’S fine, don’t worry. I’ll text him back later. Let’s start?”

He nods, but doesn’t look at you. Granted, you don’t think he glanced at you even once since you returned, “...Okay. Ready?”

“Ready!”

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You’re much too immersed into the game and Sykkuno’s twitch chat to even check what’s happening on Twitter, but your estimated guess is that everyone’s going crazy. The stream chat is unruly as well, but missing the signature Twitter spark. Most of the chaos is bravely lead by your fans. Sykkuno’s, much like the man himself, are too nice to scream so unabashedly.

Perhaps you excitement had been a bit too taxing, perhaps drinking 5 coffees and 2 energy drinks today and not enough water are to blame for the sudden drowsiness you’re feeling, but you can’t focus on the swimming chat or the abundance of cut-scenes at the starting point of the game. You steadily draw nearer and he, more composed in front of his audience, doesn’t react. About ten more minutes of hoovering by his shoulder and muttering soft commentary, and you feel yourself slipping.

The last coherent thought you have is a few choice words directed at caffeine itself for having the opposite effect of you at the worst time possible.

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You float in oblivion for perhaps ten minutes at best. Once you awake with a startle, you shower Sykkuno in shy apologies and he quickly reassures you that it’s fine and that he didn’t mind at all!

“Though,” He adds after a thoughtful pause, “not sure if it was very, uh, comfortable?”

His stream chat spams uwu and variations of similar kind. The stream continues for a few more hours before the both of you wish everyone a good night. 

While you planned on wreaking absolute havoc, this sudden falling asleep was unexpected. You pondered the consequences of such an innocent, unplanned act whilst ubering home, fearing to check your phone which by now was blowing up with not only Twitter notifications but also Rae’s angry messages that vaguely read “what the fuck y/n”. Within the past two hours she had left 57 messages on all platforms collectively, including 7 calls. 

Corpse’s last text was over three hours ago.

Now that’s strange. Worry festers quickly. Briefly glancing at your surroundings - the pretty glimmer of passing street lights, neon signs, familiar buildings - you decide that it’s time to check what kind of nuclear explosion you’ve caused.

Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach as you scroll past the hundreds of tweets and mentions. Scan through Rae’s messages. 

You had failed to prepare ahead. Every explosion of such kind is followed by nuclear winter. And Corpse’s lack of messages feels especially cold.

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Not you smiling like a fucking idiot reading his last message! You shrink into the backseat, afraid the driver will accidentally look into the rear-view mirror and see you a bit too happy before asking questions. Good news? Yeah, but it’s not like it’s his any beeswax! In the words of Rihanna, just shut up and drive. 

This argument had not yet happened, but you’re preparing, just in case. 

As you think up of potential scenarios, your eyes drill into Corpse’s goodnight text. You’ve looked at it enough. Time to turn the phone screen off. Leave the app, at the very least. When the screen dims you instantly press on it to wake it up. This is embarrassing. Maybe the deadly amount of caffeine really did mess you up, big time. Your heart races in your chest, painfully almost. You feel a bit sick. Worst of all, you can’t stop smiling.

A notification from Rae makes you snap out of it. Ah, one more demon to deal with. 

However, before you talk to her, you really need to tell Twitter that you’re not with Sykkuno. And apologize to Sykkuno as well. 

At least Corpse doesn’t hate you.

Fucking hell, just exit the chat you idiot!

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[shadow--link]

List of things that I don't get because Ganon sucked as a 'parent' and I hate humans but the list gets more concerning the more you read it

uh tw this is kinda a vent

1: People liking 'toe beans' What is so cool about an animal's feet grippers. and like, I saw them on a fersona and they had human hands..that is very imprracticall..just..why

2: Calling things cute. it fucking makes me sick. I hear it so much I wanna burn something. Like people calling a shirt cute and the shirt is one piece of a cloth that barly covers their breasts. No. It's not cute, it's gross.

3: Sticking your tongue out trying to be cute/sexy The amount of rage that boils inside me when I see someone stick out their tongue is insane. I feel so fucking pissed and I don't know why. I wanna punch them in the face and rip out their tongue then burn it.

4: People that I look up to liking something I know shit about I feel bad that I don't know this thing you really like and I wanna relate with you but if all you talk about is this thing I know nothing about I feel dumb and stupid like I wanna cry and why am I your friend when we have nothing in common..I just feel bad and I hate it and I don't know why.

5: Not knowing 100% of a hyperfixation Like I kinda enjoy the DreamSMP but there's things in it that I don't know..it took me weeks to figure out what o7 meant (it's a salute) and like EVERYONE knew what it was and I didn't and I felt like a fake fan cause I don't know what this thing is and it's CLEARLY IMPORTANT but I don't know what it is cause I joined the fandom late and now I'm the stupid one

6: any word that ends in 'isum' Like... "oh nooo the people that have more meletonin then me are evil" the fuck. Why is that even a thing. "Oh no, person have boobie and coochie. Person stupid. I have penis. I smart." why. Y'all are all Hylians. Just..fucking GAH stAHP with it. It makes no sense. What's so bad about someone being a different colour then you? IT'S A FUCKING COLOUR GUHHHHHH also "oh no man kissed another man the world is gonna end." Why. THey're just kissing. I don't..H

7: I can't remember shit for shit Why is forgetting things a thing. I hate it. SOmetimes I can't remember what my favorite "insert noun here" is! Like someone will ask me "Hey what's your favorite food??" And I don't fucking know! WHY DON'T I FUCKING KNOW?? IT'S mY FAVORITE FOOD! I SHOULD KNOW THESE THINGS! But I don't.. like, I think it's sushi.. but now that I think about it, sushi is kinda gross. So it could be pizza.. but.. ok there's nothing bad about pizza, but..I sound like a dumb little kid saying that..

8: I'm close to being an adult Ganon forced me to grow up from a young age. I don't remember my childhood..probably because I didn't have one. Man, this thouht hurts the most.. I've been forced to mature far before I'm ready..I'm still 15..I'm still a kid...but no, I'm almost 16 and at 16 I HAVE to get a job or I'll just be sitting around the castle like a worthless sack of fleash... and well, I am in a batter situation now, I'm living in the castle with Link and his family.. no longer with abusive Ganon.. but Link's Dad is still scary when he yells...and he expects me to work when I'm 16 and to stop mooching off of him in my mid 20's...but... I don't feel like I'm ready.. I can't function on my own... I really can't...and..I finally worked up the courage to tell Zelda that.. but Link's Dad heard me say that, and he said "So I've failed you? It's my job to prepare you for the outside world!"..or something like that.. it made me feel so upset.. I ran out of the room and fled to my bed to cry, and wanting to die.. I'm not suicidal. I'm scared of death. But in that moment..I really wanted to die.

9: Talking about feelings I never vent. This is like the 3rd time I've vented. Besides in Among Us. hheh, sorry. I couldn't help myself..humor is how I cope with stuff. Guess I now understand why the 'funny friend' in memes is portrayed as sad when alone..cause at the end of the day, that's what I am. Alone. with no one to talk too. Guess that's why I went back to this blog to vent.. Link might see this and talk to me, though. And I know Vio will be talking through him. Just hope he doesn't scold me about putting this on Tumbler lol........what was I saying.. oh right.. talking about feelings is hard for me. When I was young, before Ganon stole me from my homeland, I was always an outcast. The one time I went to school, everyone hated me. Now that I look back, it's probaly cause I have autism and ADHD. Well, I might have them. Not diagnosed yet. But Me and Zelda have done the reasurch. A tone of it. And there's no way I'm nerotypical. But anyway. No one wanted to be my friend when I was a child. Probably why Ganon took me away. I wouldn't be missed. And I wasn't. Only a few remembered who I was when I returned to Lorole after breaking the mirror. I spelled that wrong but don't care. And the friends I made as a kid...I couldn't find them..and any friends I did make...man..I was such an asshole towards. I.. was transphobic towards this one friend...I feel so bad about it. I hate how I used to act. I hate it. I fucking hate it so much I just wanna- no. that's not me anymore. No more killing.

10: The medical system Why do ya gotta wait years to get diagnosed for mental disorders. WHy do you gotta be an adult to get trans uh helping surgery. Why do ya gotta wait till 16 to get on hormone blockers. THEY AIN'T GONNA BLOCK SHIT NO MORE, I ALREADY WENT THROUGH PUBORTY AND IT ENDED AT LIKE 14 FOR ME!... at least my chest is small. I am so greatful that my chest is small and can be hidden in a bif shirt. "bUt ShAdOw LiNk, YoU'rE a BoY" well I'm glad you think that, asshole. SOmetimes, when a Lohian/shadow/shade is born, they're the oppaside of Hylians, right? Well, sometimes the gender is reversed as well..so...Link is male, I was born a female. Hada stupid ass name that sounds like raw-vio lmao. But I didn't like that. So I changed..I.. wanted to be Link, but different.. so I called myself Lync, cause that looks cool. But Ganon was like "No, that sounds like Link, and he's an asshole. Don't call yourself Lync." So he called me Shadow Link.. and well, that's the only thing Ganon has done to me that I don't hate...but now that I think about it, I kinda relate to the Lohian god Loki and wanna call myself that instead. But anyway..when I failed at anything, Ganon would call me by my deadname. I hated it.. when I would win, he would call me Shadow Link. And I started to hate my deadname...now I hate it cause it's too girly. Reminds me of the old old me. I think I got off track. oh well.

this had been a list of shit that pisses me off. There might be more to add to this but I'm sad, it's late, and I don't want Link yelling at me. Goodnight.

[assassinscreed-photomode]

softish Spoilers for the final final chapter (Hunting Alfred)

😭

long, sorry. also I have an identity crisis at the end. Fuck england

Gods I hate that final final hunting king Aelfred quest, erasing that from my memory in 3 2 1...nope, everyone was just horribly injured, but survived and they all got everything they wanted, and lived full happy lives until the end of their days! Woo fiction!

Seriously, my delicate heart can’t take the whole trope of bringing in all these wonderful fantastic characters only for them to be used as pawns to sacrifice in the final chapters for the emotions.

I actually ended up skipping through a number of death scenes and similar because I was so desperate to get to the end. I don’t even know for sure how many of the characters died lmao......It really draws you in with those first few chapters, oh look how fun and interesting everyone is, here's a low stakes saga to get you started and then BAM dead dead dead.

I don’t know what it is. 

I think because this game is set in my country, one that I have a complicated relationship with. Many of the regions I know and love, places I have not been able to go to or anywhere this year due to covid,  I found myself feeling deeply emotional in regard to certain visual and regional aspects  of it, and then that high emotional state would transfer onto the characters and story. It mainly manifested in me having deep deep empathy for our Eivor, so much that I felt I was hurting on her behalf. Especially in regards to Sigurd, all those visions, the shit that went down in Norway like girl ARE YOU OK? Someone hug her, please.

There were times I was playing this where I genuinely felt distressed and anxious on behalf of Eivor, mainly in regards to Sigurd’s sudden anger after Suthsexe, but that's a whole other thing. I tried to be perfect around him so he wouldn’t shout at me, which obviously didn’t work. which is literally what I learnt to do as a small child and have been working through now I’m an adult. Did Sigurd fuck with my mental health progress? Omg that’s kinda amazing lol.  (though it did work out with him returning to Ravensthorpe with me because I didnt fck his wife and punch him in the face, so lesson.....learnt???) 

AC games can be stressful because they chronicle somebody’s whole life from start to finish, and that can feel like a lot of pressure when you are playing through the game and growing very found of the character you are using.

It’s also a bittersweet ending because you know that historically.................y’know with Alfred and the Danes, it’s no fairy tale. Its a shitshow, the danes do not conquer england or leave, they slowly lost more and more land over the century and their culture just blurred in with all the others

That SHIT IS NOT OVER.

England’s history is so so ugly. I’m talking England specifically, not Britain. It’s hideous, truly. There has not been one age in England that hasn't be fraught, fractured and rotting. From when the Romans showed up and started killing off and kicking out the indigenous celtic people, to god damn last week.

Like, as an english person who has roots and ancestors deep in these regions from as far back as my family can tell, who am I meant to be rooting for in this story? Who are me? The Saxons? They shot up from germanic regions a few hundred years before, are they my people? The Vikings? Danes the like invaded and took the land, for...reasons? I suppose? I mean, I did grow up in a town names for a viking raid of the monastery there...?

Should I root for the celtic britons? Don’t get me wrong Rhodri was evil, but is he my people?

By the time england became england, where there any celts still there? All kicked out of killed off by invading forces. Should I be rooting for the Picts from Scotland and the Pagans from the West Country? Indigenous Celts, who stick out and stand out in Valhalla’s England but were once the only people there, do they count as me? Or whatever is left of Roman descendants? Am I all of them? Centuries later the French took over, sort of. It was all mixed together at that point, genetically, culturally.

What does it even mean to be english? It’s like an ancient version of america. We all came from somewhere else, or left. What counts as being from somewhere?

I mean, I kind of knew this history before, but this game has really cemented in me just how fucked up the concept of england is. The last 5 years or so, politically, has made me resent and hate england in many ways. Not britain, england. I couldn’t imagine myself loving it ever again. But I think I do, I think I understand what it is now, more than I did before. 

A mish mash of fractured ancient cultures clashing together trying to resemble a country. Its a wound that may never truly heal, but that is what makes it different from its celtic neighbours . NOT BETTER but it just had a different and very ugly start in life. I always joke about needing to move to scotland, to escape. But  I know I never will, I’ve always known. I can’t do it. When Ivarr was talking about Ubba in that drinking scene, saying he disagrees with what Ubba is doing and what his goals are but he CAN’T leave him, he’s his brother. Yeah, that’s kind of how I feel about this stupid ancient busted up land. 

I just want Eivor to be happy. I’m reminded of an amazing post I saw here on tumbler years ago, it went something like: I feel like a lot of people fail to realise that for some,  loving fictional characters is the closest thing they have to loving themselves. Self love, self compassion, it can be so, so hard. So when you see someone else on screen, someone you can relate to, you pour your heart and soul into loving them. You want to protect them and give them all the love you can’t quite convince yourself you deserve. And by doing that, maybe just maybe, they can bring you one step closer to loving yourself.

I feel like I’ve been trampled by a fucking horse. This started out as a joke post about head canons and turned into me delving into my life long relationship with national identity. All I’m going to do in Valhalla now is fish.

Wow, successful therapy session, thanks all

._.

[purplesurveys]

962

Do you have a pair of Beat headphones? I used to have a pair. I mean it’s still around in my closet, but it’s completely broken now with the cable all given out and the cushion for the left ear has been missing for a while. I just don’t have the heart to throw it out because it was my absolute favorite pair of headphones that gave me good memories during a particularly shitty time in high school.

How was your week? A little better. I’ve gotten into the groove at work so I’m no longer shy when it comes to asking questions and giving inputs, and I’ve gained a better grasp of the workplace’s dynamic so it’s also been easier to communicate with people. Heavy life stuff is still around and it won’t be leaving for a while, but they were easier to ignore this week.

Are any of your electronics not working properly at the moment? Not really, but my phone’s charger cable recently stopped working. I have a backup that I’m using at the moment and while it’s able to charge my phone, it’s starting to fray and I’m not feeling too good about the wires that I’m starting to see hahaha. I just don’t know how to take care of my cables, guys. Anyway, this question made me paranoid so I took a few minutes to wrap a shit ton of electrical tape on the frayed area so I think it’s all good for now.

Are you excited to pick out your wedding dress one day? I like thinking about my wedding but I truthfully dread the wedding gown part. I’ve never been able to decide what look and style suits me best and I’ve just never been good at determining things like that. I like to imagine that I’d leave that bit to whoever my maid of honor will be, because I’d definitely prize a second opinion more than my own.

When was the last time you felt relieved? Yesterday, 6 PM when I exited the last Google Meet for the day. It was a Friday night and it meant my work week was over :)) I mean I love what I do, but Friday nights will always hit differently.

Does it bother you when an artist remakes a song that one has previously done? I wouldn’t say it bothers me but covers are definitely a hit or miss for me, with way more misses than hits. Nothing wrong with acts putting their own spin on an already existing song, but I’m personally the “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” type when it comes to music.

What brand of chapstick do you use? I don’t use any mainly because I’m bound to lose them within a week. Same goes for other care products.

Do you really think someone could be perfect? No. Everyone has their flaws and that should be okay to acknowledge.

When was the last time you cried? Wednesday, I think. It’s been three days! I’d count that as an achievement. But idk, my sadness comes in waves so I shouldn’t be celebrating too early. I’m sure I’ll feel a pang soon and be crying again over the weekend.

What’s a food that you like every once in awhile but not often? Cake. Too sweet and rich; I wouldn’t enjoy eating it every day. What letter is the song you’re listening to under? Not listening to music, but I have a YouTube video on.

Would you rather visit the 60s or 70s? 60s would be the lesser evil, I guess. I would NOT want to live through Martial Law in the 70s...I originally wasn’t even going to go with 60s because I think the world was a bit chaotic at the time, but I think my country was mostly unaffected by the political/cultural things happening then so it’s whatever.

Are you the type of person that enjoys getting hugs? I don’t actively seek them out but it feels nice when someone likes me enough to extend their arms out to me for a hug. I haven’t been hugged for a while and I feel kinda empty.

Do your socks say anything on them? I think some of my socks have the brand name on them but that’s it.

Name a TV channel that only has three letters in it. AMC.

Have you found out who your true friends are? For now, yes.

Gray or Grey? I use both spellings for no particular context. I simply like changing it up lol.

Will you be buying concert tickets any time soon? LOL of course not. And I’m very picky when it comes to concerts that I choose to attend anyway, so I doubt I would’ve bought any tickets in the last six months even without Covid unless it was for Paramore or Beyoncé.

Have you seen the movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower? Did you like it? Nope, but everyone was hyping that movie up when it came out. It never really looked like my thing < Yeah pretty much. I feel like it’s such a teenage-y movie so I was never drawn to it. I also think it would be too triggering for my depression, so I’ve felt wary about checking both book and movie out.

Is there something you’d fall apart if you didn’t have? One of my biggest fears is to end up alone, so I always have to have some form of a support system to fall back into. I would be very lost if I didn’t have at least one person to rely on.

How many weddings have you been to? I can think of four off the top of my head. I was either a flower girl or a junior bridesmaid for all of those.

When you smile, are you confident? Most times I am; I like to smile. But sometimes I smile just to fake it and avoid any questions.

Have you ever not done something because you were afraid of getting in trouble? Yesss, all the time. I’ve always been all about following the rules and I’ve never seen the appeal in breaking them. That makes me sound boring but at least I’ve never gotten in serious trouble lol.

Was the weather beautiful today? For me it is, but only because I like the rain and cloudy weather. Others might find it bleak and sad, but I feel right at home.

Do you have to have a fan on when you sleep? Yeah, all year long.

Would you rather have an orange, red or gray bedroom? If I had my dream modern/brutalist home, grey would be soooo fucking perfect for the bedroom. 

Would you ever dye part of your hair blue? I’m open to it, but I don’t think it’ll be a good match for my black hair as both are darker shades as it is. If I could dye my hair I’d pick lighter colors like green or even go all the way to blonde.

Have you ever gone to a private school? Yeah, from kindergarten all the way to high school. Private schools here typically give a better quality of education and they don’t give off the for-lazy-spoiled-kids vibe that I always hear from private schools in other countries, which makes them the norm for middle and upper-middle class families.

Is Finding Nemo a favorite movie of yours? I have other favorite animated movies, but that doesn’t stop me from loving Finding Nemo. :) I would always tune in for the whole thing if it were on.

Does/Did your school have a uniform? I had to wear one in my first school, but I didn’t need one for college.

Turn on the TV. What channel are you on? No TV where I am. I think my parents are watching a movie on their TV, but it’s on Netflix rather than a channel.

Does your house have security cameras? It does not.

Does a popsicle sound good right now? Eh, I guess it sounds fine but I’d rather have a pint of ice cream. I think that fits better with the weather and the mood that I’m in today.

What’s your favorite exercise workout? My weight training class last year was a lot of fun. I always felt dead after every session haha but I definitely felt healthier. I wish the semester had gone on longer just for that one class.

What’s your favorite thing to do? Lol I love doing many different things < Same lmao this question is so vague??? My favorite thing to do these days is binge-watch Rhett and Link content, but I like doing so many other things too.

What did you do for your 17th birthday? I was with Gabie that day and we went to a local art museum, as well as to a restaurant that she had wanted to take me to.

Does your local Walmart have benches in them to rest? We don’t have Walmarts.

Was your favorite stuffed animal really a teddy bear growing up? I never had stuffed animals. Well I was given a few of them as gifts, but I was never into them and they always ended up being owned by my sister.

If your house was haunted, what would you do? Not even think about it. Just show them that I couldn’t care less, lol.

Are you good at swimming? I can do a few strokes and am pretty good at treading, but I'm prone to panic-kicking when I can tell that the water is too deep.

What’s worse: Slow internet or slow walkers? Slow internet is such a pain in the ass. Shouldn’t even have to be an issue in 2020 anymore.

What is the rudest thing a guy has ever done to you? Cat-called, whistled at, winked at, lunged at. One good thing about this lockdown is that I haven’t had to deal with men as much as I used to. Do you sleep with the sheets tucked in or out? Well I only have one layer of bedsheet and it’s the one that covers up the mattress, so it’s tucked in by default. I have a blanket to cover me up when I’m cold.

What do you do to fall asleep faster? I find a few videos to watch as that tends to make me feel sleepy the quickest.

Do you carry a bottle of water wherever you go? I used to have a tumbler/water bottle in college but I forgot it at the gym one day and when I came back for it, somebody already stole it :( It was such a handy water bottle because it kept my water cold all day, so it sucks that I lost it. I’m planning to buy the same model again soon.

Are you afraid that one day you might get cancer? It doesn’t really run in my family save for one grand-aunt who had cancer, so I’m not too worried. But I’ve accepted the fact that it is at least a possibility.

Are you a fast or slow walker? I like being in the middle. Slow walkers are annoying so I try not to be one, and walking fast just reminds me of my mom and how quickly she walks at malls when she’s supposed to be spending time with her family lol.

Do you usually have to wear a belt with your pants? No. They all fit me just fine.

Does it bother you when people’s underwear hangs out? Eghhh, it really does. I know it shouldn’t but it really does. I just feel like it’s so invasive and it gives me a lot of secondhand embarassment.

Are you usually the person to try new things with your hair? Not really. I like staying safe with my hair. The most daring thing I’ve done with it is get bangs tbh, and I don’t plan on going any further than that.

When’s your birthday? April 21st.

What age do you look forward to reaching? I don’t feel that way about any age. Whenever I reach ultimate satisfaction and security will be a good enough age for me.

Name a state that begins with the letter M. Minnesota.

What’s the first thing you do after a car accident? Think about how to tell my parents. D:

What do you use to get rid of bad breath? Brush my teeth, drink water.

What exercise do you hate the most? Pull-ups.

What do you do at a party? Drink, socialize, tell stories, eat allllllll the food ha.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 6: The Rescue

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Nadya’s first real job as a vampire’s assistant means venturing into a den of criminals. Lily’s girlfriend is more than she seems.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Maricruz Espinoza was born somewhere around the shifting borders of Texas and Mexico in the year 1901. Her madre moved Mari and her three younger brothers to New York to live with their extended family following the death of their father. Prohibition was ratified and her cousins found her work in the rum-running business.

They worked for a man who only went by a title: The Baron.

Somewhere else in New York City, maybe while Mari was sitting down with her brothers and a home-cooked meal, the Council was being formed of six of the city’s most powerful and influential vampires at the same time. They laid down laws — pacts by which every Council member and those within their Clan were to follow… or else. But every system just starting out has flaws. Like during Prohibition; where the mass disagreement with the law gave way to speakeasies, rum runners, and corruption. In the newly formed vampire community of New York it wasn’t as easy to keep track of those being Turned.

She doesn’t remember how it happened. Probably one of The Baron’s men got her. Maybe a newbie who couldn’t control their impulses. But she remembers passing out — the pain — and waking up feeling like she’d gone forty days and forty nights in the desert.

But with no brand to keep her safe.

It’s a startling story; the kind that makes history buffs drool and gothic groupies stare in awe through their red color-contacts. But Nadya couldn’t care less. There’s only one thing on her mind.

“Does Lily know?”

Mari’s snorted laughter is just barely above a whisper. “I could ask you the same.”

“What, that I like going to costume bars?” She does her best to hide the folder from plain sight but it’s not enough. Mari isn’t impressed.

“I could smell the Council’s claim all over you the moment we met,” her nose crinkles, “with that… stench of self-importance; of power. And you wouldn’t be here without knowing the secret so how about we cut the crap and get to the part where you and I agree to keep this from Lily for as long as possible?”

Maricruz holds out her hand to shake. Something they didn’t do when they first met at the apartment and she gets why when she takes it. The coolness of her touch; same as Adrian’s, same as Kamilah’s. Once you know the trademarks of a vampire they get easier to recognize.

Why do you care so much, she wants to ask — but doesn’t. They may both be walking into a den of wolves but at least Mari is a dog in this metaphor. Making friends won’t be on the agenda.

Mari exits the coat closet first. Gives a quick look on either side before gesturing for Nadya to follow behind her.

“What if the guard told —”

“Don’t assume things you don’t know.” Hisses the vampire in reply.

Nadya frowns. “Isn’t it better to be prepared?”

“Look,” she rounds on Nadya, “this isn’t one of Lily’s Blood Suckers games. Vampires are fucking weird — and this guy’s about as weird as they come. The ones you’ve met have probably kept up with the times. That’s not the case with El Baron here. Just follow my lead.”

While she watches Mari’s rapidly receding back Nadya sticks her tongue out for good measure. Sometimes even the little victories matter.

At the end of the hall is another door with faint music and dim lighting filtering through the bottom gap. Mari reaches out for the knob but it opens unbidden. The sudden light makes Nadya wince — her eyes take a moment to adjust.

There’s no time to ask Mari if The Shrike looks anything like its forefathers. Walls lined in red brick are decorated with the heads of various trophy animals — ranging in rarity from a common stag to what looks like (but can’t possibly be, could it?) a hippopotamus with its mouth frozen open. Ready to take a bite.

The deep cherry lacquer on the wooden floors make every polished step heard — a cacophony trying to overtake the man playing a vintage piano in the back corner. Beside the piano man a bartop begins, the same wood as the rest of the place, with the old-timey feel of an unlived nostalgia Nadya gets when she sees old movies. Only this isn’t a prop — the generous layer of dust on dozens of the bottles lining the reflective back wall prove that well enough.

A few men smoking fat cigars near the entrance pause their conversation to watch Maricruz and Nadya enter. Their eyes are dark; shadowed. Indulgence and arousal bead on their upper lips.

One catches her gaze and winks; pulls back his lips in a smarmy grin to reveal yellowed teeth as tobacco smoke pours from his maw like a burst dam. Nadya hastily rushes to catch up with the hem of Mari’s dress. His amused laugh is charred and guttural.

Mari leans up against the bartop and belongs. They both do on the outside but Mari — she acts like it. Names long-forgotten smuggled gains for them to drink and doesn’t take the bartender’s grimness for a ‘no.’

She hands Nadya a tumbler of honey-colored alcohol with a cube of clear ice in the middle. Nudges her to partake silently while downing her own. The booze carves a long path down her throat and settles uncomfortably. Makes the room suddenly seem a touch warmer — which only makes the chill venting in that much worse on her bare arms.

“You’re shit at this.” Mari mutters.

Nadya accepts an unspoken challenge then. Places her glass back down and gestures for a refill — which burns possibly more the second time around. But the deed is done and Mari looks a combination of impressed and exasperated.

Probably not what Lily had in mind when she suggested her roommate and possible-girlfriend get to know one another better. But life is full of surprises.

Nadya mimics her companion; leans back against the bar with her elbows on the edge. Still keeps the envelope clutched so tight it might puncture. They survey The Shrike’s inhabitants together.

“So, which one?” Nadya whispers. She’s got her eyes on a man with a beard to rival Santa and a monocle. He looks stately enough to be in charge.

“Hm? Oh,” Mari shakes her head, “The Baron isn’t up here. If he was it’d be a sign for us to high-tail it out.”

Before Nadya can question her Mari’s blue curls bounce — she jerks her head towards a set of stairs at the back of one of the brick walls. There the lamps are dimmer still; barely casting a glow on the golden railing descending into the dark.

“Down there?” Nadya asks.

“Yup. El Baron rarely comes up from the Pit. Likes the fighting too much.”

“Of course he does.” Because why would things ever be easy for me is her unspoken complaint. She steels herself and tosses her hair over her shoulder. Ready to enter.

Then Mari grabs her by the arm.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Nadya breaks free after a quick struggle. “My job.”

“You’re a human going into the Pit. You’re gonna get eaten alive down there. Literally.”

“Adrian said —”

Mari barks a laugh that settles in Nadya’s stomach at an awkward angle. “‘Adrian said,’” she mocks, “no matter what he said there’s no way you’re leaving this place alive without sticking by me. He’s probably already looking at new applicants.”

Mari may be right — Nadya knows she wouldn’t have even gotten in the doorway without her help. But she’s still a Clanless vampire in a Clan den and from everything Adrian’s told her there’s nothing good coming out of something like that. And… and she trusts Adrian. He wouldn’t send her to her death. Not when he went through so much to save her life.

He wouldn’t.

“Maricruz,” Nadya keeps her voice low, feels the fuzziness of strong alcohol at the edges of her words, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I came here to do one thing and, I’m sorry, but I can’t back down now. Not with how much is at stake.”

It makes the vampire shake her head in disappointment. “Like you could possibly know…”

“I know the Clans and your kind have their issues,” Nadya continues, “but I’d like to think getting to the bottom of the Feral crisis would benefit everyone.”

Whatever Mari was ready to say dies in her eyes as she takes in Nadya’s words. She silently mouths ‘Feral crisis?’ but nothing more. There’s a sudden consternation in her brow. Whatever it is, Nadya doesn’t know, but she does take her opening to slip out of Mari’s immediate space — heads towards the stairs to the Pit.

“Thank you again,” she’s sincere, too, “maybe we’ll catch up like Lily wanted. When I’ve done my job.”

Despite everything inside her screaming against it, Nadya turns and descends into the Pit.

Oh yeah, that’s definitely The Baron. She didn’t expect him to look precisely like the love child of the Monopoly man and the Godfather but some stereotypes just can’t be overcome.

There’s a brawl out in the middle of the floor. A couple men in a no-holds-barred brawl while onlookers jeer and trade bills with every punch and fumble. Others keep to sofas and stools littered around the walls. Nadya nudges her way through a pair of tall twins to catch sight of the fighters — and she quickly wishes she hadn’t.

One’s eye isn’t just purple, it’s bulging and crying a little blood and looks like it might’ve gotten skewered by one of the little metal shivs inside an audience member’s martini glass. One man’s suspender straps hang limp and broken around his waist near a large gash in his side. The other favors his ribs slightly and it only takes one look to understand why; she’s only ever seen internal bleeding on television but if it’s anything like real life it looks like that.

There’s a crash and a whooping cheer from a flapper on a man’s lap; Nadya and the crowd hastily step aside as a broken bottle neck-end rolls into the fighter’s fray.

They both dive for it at inhuman speeds. Red eyes and fangs may be not unlike show props but these aren’t fakers — these are vampires through and through. The one with both good eyes claims his prize; turns with the brown glass glinting in the light of the overhead chandelier.

She turns away, eyes squeezed shut, and the crowd erupts into applause.

“Can’t say I’m surprised a little treat like you ain’t got the stomach for violence. Begs the question of what you’re doin’ seekin’ it out, though.”

His mobster accent is almost farcical. If she wasn’t so near hurling up her lunch at the smell of blood she’d laugh. But when Nadya raises her head and looks into the bright red eyes of an oily patron laughter is the last thing on her mind.

The watchers have started to disperse; give Mister Oily a wide berth to reach out and slide his arm around Nadya’s waist. She struggles for freedom but this vampire isn’t like Maricruz; there’s no questioning whether he’s friend or foe. His nails threaten to tear the fabric of her dress; dig in hard enough to make her wince.

“O-Ow. Let go of me. Now.”

His grin widens. “Hey now — don’t be like that. We could have fun, you and me.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her eyes, “I doubt it.”

But her wriggling attempts at freedom seem to only excite the vampire more. He’s close enough that she can smell the whiskey on his breath. Whiskey and the same smell coming from the fighting ring.

“Seriously. Let go.” She tries again. “You do not wanna piss off the guy I work for.”

“And who would that be?” barks a gruff, angry voice from across the Pit.

Nadya feels sweat bead down her spine in a thick drop. If the callout was good for one thing it was getting the vampire’s slippery hands off her — but at what cost.

She takes a moment; steels herself against the look of sudden fear on the creep’s face before she turns bodily to face The Baron in his large booth.

The Pit is silent. The only breath — hers.

Before she can open her mouth The Baron’s beady glare darts up to the vampire behind her.

“I’m guessing you didn’t bring your own tart tonight, Arnold?”

Arnold? Nadya mouths in disbelief, but Arnold definitely isn’t as funny as his name.

“Nah, boss. Was busy finishin’ that Litchfield job.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Baron’s head turns to look around the Pit. The fact she can’t see his neck makes him look almost animatronic.

“So whose whore is she, then?!”

Whispers and mutterings travel between the vampires in a breeze. One looks ready to say something but his friend holds him back.

Her first instinct is to be extremely offended — but there’s no Kamilah, no Adrian to protect her this time — so she stays silent. Feels the presence of Arnold back off into the shadows to leave her in the proverbial spotlight.

The Baron doesn’t seem pleased he’s met with silence. His scowl deepens and he turns a similar shade of purple to his pinstriped suit. Then he levels on her.

“Well go on, kitten,” said not with seduction, but building ire, “go back to your master.”

Just before panic sets in, she recalls Adrian’s final words before dropping her off at the subway station.

“You’ll want to be brave and stand your ground. But those aren’t mutual, Nadya,” and his knuckles went white from his grip on the steering wheel, “you have to treat a Council member with respect even if they don’t deserve it. We all hate The Baron but that doesn’t mean we can treat him however we want. Bow as you approach him and announce who you are. Lies won’t do anyone any good, least of all you.”

Being brave and standing her ground aren’t mutual; that’s what he’d said. This must be what he meant.

Nadya’s careful not to step in the pools of drying blood on the concrete floor while she approaches. A pair of larger vampires step closer as if to stop her but she doesn’t falter — keeps walking with her head held high.

The Baron holds up a hand littered with golden rings. “Let her come. I wanna see who told this hussy she had a pair of balls over tits.”

In front of his seat Nadya offers the shortest and most curt of bows she can muster. If Adrian hadn’t mentioned it specifically she wouldn’t even have bothered. Not like the pig deserved it. But the display makes The Baron shake with a haughty laugh.

“At least she knows her place!”

A flapper beside him flashes a brief fanged smile. “Think you can get her on her knees? I’d like to see that.”

“Now there’s an idea.” He looks Nadya up and down with hunger and greed. “Hear that, hussy? Why don’t’cha get on your knees? Rouge ‘em up a bit.”

She swallows down whiskey-tinged bile and offers the envelope instead.

“I’m here on behalf of the Council. You’ve been served.” Thank you, Law and Order.

All eyes fall on The Baron. His upper lip curls; he swiftly snatches the envelope from between them. When he catches sight of the wax seal he his anger bloats him further.

“Adrian fucking Raines; how am I not surprised…” The Baron rips the flimsy seal — practically yanks the papers out to give them a good look.

This part she wishes she’d discussed with Adrian. Did she need to bow before leaving? Could she just take off? Was Maricruz still upstairs waiting to see if the shrieks of her untimely demise would pierce through The Shrike?

The Baron gives the contents of the summons several derogatory huffs and snorts; clenches the packet in his fist as though it were as thin as tissue. Whatever superiority he looked upon Nadya with first is now gone — replaced by loathing, spite. A desire to see pain and revel in it the same way they had with the brawlers.

“Too much of a pussy to come here himself, eh?” And because it takes Nadya a moment to realize he’s addressing her, he barks: “Speak! Fucking bloodbag.”

Hot frustration bursts in her gut. “Like you would have let him in? I’m not that stupid, and neither is he. But you’re bound to the summons now, Baron, there’s no getting out of it.”

His chest puffs up. “You come into my territory, speak to me like that… Of all the cockamamie insults Raines could pay me this is by far the worst.”

With nothing but a gesture from The Baron, Nadya doesn’t even have time to blink before she’s held in place by a vampire on each arm.

“Hey!”

“‘Hey!’” parrots the same flapper. The rest of the Pit laughs at the display.

“Pathetic,” The Baron sneers, “Raines couldn’t even send a pretty twat to wet my whistle. Still… now comes the question of what to do with you.”

Nadya struggles in vain. “Dude, if you —”

The Baron jerks to a stand and causes a collective gasp around the room. He jabs the packet in his fist at her with a bellowing roar of rage. “How dare you speak to me with that kind of disrespect! What kinda whore do you think you are?!”

“I’m not a whore!”

The word cracks in Nadya’s throat as The Baron backhands her with his clenched fist. Sends her head snapping aside and a dizzying pain to shoot through her body.

“I’ve had about enough��a your lip!” To his men, “Lock the whore up in the Cellar. Maybe a few decades down there can teach her some manners!”

“A whore’s a whores a whore.” mocks the flapper; though one brazen look from The Baron has her silent as the grave.

The vampires begin to drag Nadya — still struggling — towards a door at the darkest part of the Pit. Heart racing words choked up in her lungs fear stifling her every breath she looks around, almost on the cusp of begging for help, but the only thing she sees are dozens of pairs of bright red eyes and malicious sneering grins.

There is no help.

“You can’t—can’t do this,” she shouts back to The Baron. Tries to dig her heels into the floor and feels one snap off. There’s a blur on her right and she watches with disgust as Arnold sucks on the heel stem lewdly. “Adrian knows I’m here! He won’t let you do this!”

“Is that so, toots?” His rage quelled, The Baron resumes his seat and throws his arms around the back of the sofa. Two flappers curl up against him and flash Nadya twin hisses.

She hates to sound like a cliche but the words tumble from her unbidden. “You’re not gonna get away with this!”

One of the vampires nearly yanks her arm from its socket to get the Cellar door open. The darkness calls to her, cold and villainous. Holy crap.

“Pretty sure I already have. Who’s up for another brawl, ey?!”

The vampires of the Pit cheer. Nadya bursts into tears.

There’s nothing she can give them in trade and begging for her life just seems so… pathetic. Like somehow she’s supposed to be stronger than this just because she’s a part of Adrian’s Clan. Or because she belongs to them, more like.

The Cellar is a long row of rusty cells on both sides. Some are empty. Some have captives — vampire or mortal, she can’t rightly tell — thrusting themselves out through the bars; spurred onward by the thought of freedom. They pass one where a figure with their back turned to the door stays huddled on the ground; motionless — lifeless, thinks Nadya, and she tries to break free of their hold one last time to no avail.

“Lookie here, we gotcha a neighbor.”

Nadya looks up when she realizes they aren’t talking to her. They’ve stopped in front of an occupied cell.

A man — no, not with those eyes, a vampire — stands in the middle of the cramped space. While some of the others they had passed were wearing worn rags or clothes that didn’t quite fit with the time, this man’s rust-red leather jacket and tight jeans could very well get him on the cover of a magazine. His devilish gaze is half obscured by his mop of dark hair.

Despite the dire nature of her situation Nadya can’t help but feel like she’s being imprisoned next to a pop star.

One of her jailers nudges the other; frustrated. “Why’s he sayin’ nothin’?”

“Probably too hungry,” the thug grunts a laugh, “ey, Jaxxie? You too hungry to think right?”

But ‘Jaxxie’ keeps his vow of silence. Nadya’s heart breaks for him.

The thuggish one grunts at his friend. “Maybe cellin’ him next to a human will drive him crazy faster.”

With a rusty squeal the empty cell door to their right gives way. Nadya’s never thought of herself as claustrophobic and isn’t looking forward to revisiting the idea.

She stumbles as she’s shoved inside. Expects to hear the slam of the cell door. But instead one of the vampires looms in the doorway; transfixed.

“Oi, you comin’?” The other vampire sounds distant. Likely eager to get back to watching the fights.

“Yeah yeah,” replies his friend in a dazed tone. The longer he stares the more Nadya wishes she had been locked up with ‘Jaxxie.’ “Just wanna have a taste. Dun’ care what the Boss said — she’s awful pretty.”

“How are you a literal cartoon henchman?” Nadya spits — literally spits — and watches with brief satisfaction as it lands just shy of his eye. The vampire recoils — then snarls with fangs bared.

“Oh that’s it, I’m gonna bleed your whore neck out!”

With a cry — so much for her flash of courage — Nadya squeezes her eyes shut and prepares for the pain. She’s not spent much time considering what having her throat ripped out might feel like — so when there’s nothing but the tingle of her nerves dialed to eleven she’s almost glad death wasn’t as awful as they said.

Then a solid thud shocks her into looking where the vampire lies face-down on the concrete cell floor.

The broken-off end of a billiards cue sticks out of his back.

After she scrambles to the back wall Nadya watches the vampire’s death unfold. His skin withering, sucking in on itself and going dark, veiny gray. Then like snow under the sun he begins to wilt; flecks gathering into the air and dispersing. When she realizes he’s turning to ash Nadya sucks in a breath and holds it; cheeks puffed and nose plugged, to keep any from getting into her lungs.

The cue collapses onto the ground; the perfect (if unlikely) weapon for this particular evil.

A brief echo of footsteps spur her to action; Nadya grasps the cue and holds the jagged end out like she knows what to do with it. In theory, yes — execution however might prove to be a bit more difficult. Doesn’t stop her from trying.

She should feel relief when Maricruz appears in front of the bars with the other half of the cue dangling in one hand and a long tube in the other. But adrenaline and probably the closest she’s ever come to sheer unadulterated terror keep her on edge.

“Ma—Mari…?”

Mari eyes the sharp wood. “I’d like to see you try, chica.”

The vampiress offers her a helping hand to stand. Nadya takes it warily; wavers before practically going limp in her arms. Mari holds her up — displeased.

“Alright, I appreciate the attraction but I’m really more into geeks.”

With a strangled laugh Nadya manages to stabilize herself against the cell bars. Mari nods as if satisfied with her effort. Then, in a blur, she’s five feet away and forcing a ring of old metal keys through the bars of the cell beside Nadya’s.

“Took you long enough, Espinoza.” Grunts a deep voice on the other side of the wall. The keys jingle as they’re sorted.

Mari shrugs. Obviously nonplussed by the frustration of her companion.

“Well you weren’t the one on the ground looking like a snack.”

“You only say that because you’re attracted to her type.”

“What, women? That’s lesbophobic, Jax.”

“Yup, that’s me; your big ol’ lesbophobic boss.”

She watches as the man in leather — Jaxxie, no, Jax — twists the right key and kicks the door open with a deeply rooted sense of satisfaction. Mari offers him what Nadya previously thought was a tube, but the sparse torchlight of the Dungeon catches on the steel blade of a sword as he unsheathes it.

“Holycrap...”

Jax swings the sheath strap over his chest and looks between the women.

“You know her?”

Mari looks for a moment as though she’s debating introductions. Finally she nods. “Yeah. She’s uh… well unfortunately she works for Adrian Raines.”

If he was previously disinterested Jax’s expressive growl of anger says it all. Makes Nadya feel weak in the knees again.

“And you rescued one of the Clan’s cattle… why, Espinoza?” He rounds on Mari who, to her credit, doesn’t flinch, move, or blink.

“She’s dating my roommate.”

Both Jax and Mari look at Nadya in surprise. She swallows down her racing heart and leans on the cue for support. “What, she didn’t tell you that before? She’s dating my very human roommate, Lily.”

“She mentioned an interest… but not that she was human.” Silent words are exchanged between the vampires, but Mari doesn’t intend to let it last.

“Come on. We need to get going, like, five minutes ago. You can give me a real thank you when we’re back at the Shad —”

Maricruz cuts herself off. Both of them exchange glances and focus on Nadya.

It’s frankly frustrating as all get out.

“Listen,” she wearily gestures between them, “I don’t care. Like really — I couldn’t care less right now. Just… please help me get out of here. That’s all I’m focused on.” Then she fixates on Mari with a pleading look. “Just help me get back to Lil’.”

Maricruz definitely doesn’t seem the type to ask for permission but there’s little else the look she gives Jax could mean. And it makes her stomach drop when he seems to actually be considering leaving her behind. But, after taking in the state of her, he looks at the very least pitying.

“Yeah, alright. Lets get her up. Here, help me with her arm.”

It takes no great effort on the part of both vampires but every last drop of energy Nadya has to hold onto them during the escape. Later she plans on asking them exactly how they got out — what hidden sewage ducts they must have wormed their ways through — but that would be much much later.

“Thanks for giving me your boots.”

“Borrow. I let you borrow my boots. Next time don’t break a fucking heel so you don’t end up limping all the way through an escape.”

Nadya wiggles her toes in the roomy leather and nods. Hugs herself tighter against the night chill while Mari watches her with attitude and a cock in her hip.

“You can take them back on your next date with Lil’.”

Mari takes a moment of quiet thought; when she speaks she can’t help but be hesitant. “You’re not gonna…?”

“Tell her?”

Mari nods.

The breeze brushes Nadya’s hair in her eyes. She quickly pushes it back. “If you like her, whatever. If you hurt her, though, or get her involved in business like The Baron’s, or whatever samurai-dude’s up to —”

“Jax. His name is Jax.”

Right, Jax. He’d left them once they reached the inner city — but not without a promise to Maricruz that they weren’t finished talking. Nadya even felt a little bad for her.

Her point stands. “You keep Lily out of this. At least until I find a way to ease her into it.”

“Why you?” Mari challenges, but it’s halfhearted and without much threat behind it. “Whatever. See you around, chica.”

Mari’s not gotten two steps away before Nadya calls out to her, fumbling around her costume dress frantically.

“Hey, think you could, uh…” She gestures awkwardly to the door.

“What,” then, with raised eyebrows, “you want me to break the door lock?”

“Well my keys are at work and Lily isn’t answering the comm.” Yes, she should probably head back to the office, to Adrian, but first — a shower.

A shadow crosses over Mari’s face. The same sort of vampiric darkness that Nadya’s been forced to endure so many times tonight — it makes her cringe. “What? She’s probably asleep.”

“She had an Underwatcher tournament tonight. That’s why we didn’t go out.”

“Maybe it’s over?”

The looks they exchange carry Mari’s worry to Nadya almost telepathically. Her grip tightens on her half of the wooden cue.

It takes everything inside her to force down her building exhaustion — to follow Maricruz through the busted complex door and up the back stairwell two steps at a time. Her vampire speed wins out as she pushes open the door to her and Lily’s floor.

She’s only just made it onto the landing when Maricruz screams.

“LILY!”

Nadya rushes to the open door of the apartment and clings to the threshold — the edges of her vision going fuzzy. Mari’s on her knees over something on the kitchen tile.

Nadya’s senses have become all too familiar with the smell of blood after tonight’s trip to The Shrike. She violently heaves on instinct when the salted iron tinge assaults her nose.

“Lily, baby, come on — come on open your eyes for me — Lily! Lily! Fuckshit LILY OPEN YOUR EYES!”

Numb, Nadya watches; her world contracting into sharp clarity at the sight of Lily’s crumpled body lying in a pool of her own blood.

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 23: Abraxas - Part 1

Moya is thinking about the ocean when Shizuka finds her, standing alone on the grass beneath the overpass between Post Way and Sepulveda Boulevard, just beyond the terminal complex. “What are you doing here?” Shizuka asks, with a serious expression.

Moya looks at her. “... Getting out of the sun. What are you doing here?” 

“I told Jerome to go on without me. I felt… I needed to talk to you.”

“... What is there to talk about? You asked for the truth and I gave it to you.”

“You did. I just wanted to say that I’m grateful…”

“Grateful? All I did was give you bad news.”

“It was the truth. I hope I can rely on you going forward, but I understand if you can’t- ”

Moya squints at her. “What are you talking about? Going forward? Towards what? You’re not… you’re not seriously still going after T’onga, are you? After what I told you!?”

“... You know why I’m in LA.”

“To reunite with your mom! To… reconcile with her, be a family or whatever! Right? I thought I made it clear, that is not going to happen! Not with T’onga, not ever.”

“That’s ok.”

Moya stops, and frowns. “... What?”

“That’s ok,” Shizuka says, candidly, “I’ve known since I got here that my mom might not be a good person. She might even be an evil person. That doesn’t matter, because I don’t want anything you said from her. I already have a family. All I want… all I need from her is the truth. About who I am, where I came from. So that the dark spot from the beginning of my life can finally be brought into the light.”

Moya stares at her. “... You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Nope!”

Moya stares at her, for a long time. For a while, she can think of nothing to say. Finally she declares, “I’ve got enough nightmares. Seeing you get killed would send me over the edge. I’ll see this through with you, as far as I can.”

“Y-you will?” Shizuka asks, her smile returning.

“Yeah. Of course, it’s easier said than done. I wasn’t lying before, there are players in the Congregation that are beyond dangerous. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help. Plus, with Tarantula dead and me AWOL, they will be coming down on us. Hard… What’s so funny?”

Grinning, Shizuka shakes her head. “The last time you told me that, that was the exact moment Tarantula showed up!”

“That was just bad timing—!” she begins, then trails off. In the distance, coming up Sepulveda is a sight that makes her blood run cold. She quickly steps in front of Shizuka, to her confusion. 

It is a gleaming white Cadillac limousine with silver hubcaps which seem to glow like ultraviolet lamps in the intense glare of the sun. On the hood is a large silver ornament in the shape of a swooping eagle, light gleaming off its metal talons. It slows as it approaches them, stopping right in the middle of traffic, forcing a trail of cars to stop and raises a chorus of angry beeping.

To this tune, the occupant of the vehicle steps out. She must duck her head low to fit out of the door, and when she stands at her full height, the beeping gradually fades out. Like something pulled from ancient folklore, she stands as large as life itself, clad in silver and blue, her face covered by a mask decorated with white flames.

“Phantasma…” Moya says in a harsh whisper.

Phantasma stares at her, her gaze like a hail of bullets. “Moya. You helped to kill Tarantula. You’ve betrayed me.” The woman in the blue mask raises her right hand. WITCH MOUNTAIN flickers in and out of being behind its users, but Moya herself does not move an inch. Deliberately, Phantasma points at her and says one word: “Challenge.”

Moya winces and shuts her eyes, looking down. She clenches her fists, then releases them and her breath in a shaky sigh. “Challenge accepted,” she replies.

“Huh?” Shizuka says as Phantasma lowers her finger and strides back to her limousine. “I’m sorry, what’s happening now? Moya, is… is that really the lady you mentioned back at the mansion? The… your boss? Why is she wearing a mask? ...Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“... I gotta go… I’m sorry,” Moya says, wiping the sweat off her forehead. She looks straight ahead at the limousine, of which Phantasma has left the door open. The masked woman sits inside, waiting.

“Go? Go where? You can’t be serious…! If that’s really the woman you were talking about, then … I don’t know what her, like, deal is, but I can tell she’s strong just by looking at her! You can’t go alone…!”

“NO!” Moya snaps, turning her head furiously to Shizuka. “You are NOT coming! You are not going ANYWHERE near that woman!” Shizuka is struck dumb by the sudden outburst. “I have to do this alone, and you will stay right here. You are not strong enough to fight her. I won’t have your murder on my hands, got it!? … Goodbye.”

 Moya turns away, giving Shizuka no option to not get it, and stomps to the limo. She clambers inside and looks at the Joestar girl once more, making sure she is still standing there, before shutting the door. It slams shut and echoes around the interior. It sounds like a coffin nailed shut.

Phantasma taps on the glass dividing them and the drivers side, signalling the chauffeur to move. The interior of the Cadillac is immaculate, the upholstery lined with rich Corinthian leather, and the whole cabin is made as cool as a tropical lagoon by the air-conditioning. Moya shivers, but also sweats. She sits hunched over in her seat, hands clasped tightly between her knees. She keeps her eyes on her feet, away from Phantasma sitting across from her, legs crossed. 

The masked woman presses in a leather-clad panel in between the fine seating, and this opens to reveal miniature drinks cabinet. She takes a bottle of tequila and pours it into two gleaming crystal glass tumblers, then presents one of them right in front of Moya’s face. She says nothing. 

Slowly, Moya takes it, fighting hard to keep her hand from shaking. She feels as though the air itself is crushing her. 

“Salud,” Phantasma says, raising her glass and sipping on the alcohol.

Moya raises her own glass and downs the fiery liquid, holding it in both hands. She stares at the glass. The tinted windows make it impossible to tell which way they’re going. 

“How long?” Phantasma asks.

“... How long what?”

“How long have you been a traitor?”

“... How do you know that I am? Maybe I was there to help Tarantula.”

“Tarantula himself long suspected your loyalties were in question. He came to me some time ago, but I dismissed him. Promised to kill him should he doubt you once more. But now he is dead, and my sources confirm witnessing you assisting in his murder, on the rooftop of the C-King mansion.”

“Alright. Then maybe we found the place together. And maybe, we figured out they were the wrong guys, but Tarantula felt like killing them all anyway, because he was a fucking lunatic who turned on me when I tried to stop him. Or maybe I was just tired of his shit.”

“Maybe,” Phantasma says, “but that isn’t the truth.”

“... No, it’s not.”

A heartbeat passes in silence. “How long?”

“... 6 years.”

Further beats pass. The ice in Phantasma’s glass clinks. “... 6 years…”

Moya nods, sitting back in her and looking off to the side. 

“... Since you came back…”

Wordlessly, Moya slowly pulls her badge from her back pocket, presenting it to Phantasma like a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. The masked woman reaches over, taking the badge from her hand and studies it. Her expression cannot be discerned, but Moya believes she sees the corners of her mouth twitch downward. That is all. She tosses the badge to the side, losing interest. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then takes another sip of her drink. Then, “... And that… girl, in the face-paint? How does she fit into this? I doubt she’s your superior. Much too young, and… liberal…”

“She doesn’t fit into this,” Moya says quickly, “You must promise to leave her be.”

Phantasma stares at her. “Must I?”

Moya swallows once. “… She stumbled her way into our world, chasing fantasies. Just some little girl who started clinging to me after I showed her a bit of kindness. She had no part in Tarantula’s death… or my betrayal.”

The masked woman leans forward in her seat. “Tarantula’s murder. Do you feel nothing for the loss of, if not a friend, then a comrade?”

Moya grimaces, then forces herself to lean forward, meeting Phantasma’s eyes. “Tarantula was evil, and he knew that someday, somebody would take him. The last words out of his mouth was a prayer to his bloody idol. He got what he wanted. He had no regrets… And neither do I.”

This hangs in the air. The two women glare at each other for some time, each waiting for the other to break the eye contact. Like gun-fighters, waiting to see who will make the first move.

It turns out to be Phantasma. Slowly, she reaches her hand into her jacket and produces a silver cigar case. She takes a cigar from inside and lights it, inhaling deeply and releasing a cloud of thick grey smoke, swiftly dissipated by the air-conditioning.

“You and I,” she begins, “were once… very close. And I do not forget, even when others do… In memory of that bond, the final kindness I do for you is to honor your request. While I live, no harm will come to that girl.”

Moya sighs shakily, and bows her head. “... Muchas gracias…”

[thebibliosphere]

Hello fam. This is a post brought to you by a Patreon request—I know, it’s been a while since I’ve done one of these—from Sarah G, asking my thoughts and opinions on the Zero Waste movement that is sweeping across certain parts of the online strata, particularly on youtube and pinterest. (Links are in bold for  ease of access and viewing, and are non affiliated.)

Sarah writes: Hi  Joy, I know this isn’t exactly in the realm of vampires (can’t wait for  Phangs!) but I feel this is something you might have some good advice  on if you have the spoons to talk about it. I recently started looking  into more eco-friendly ways to live after your posts about allergies and  toxic synthetics made me realize I had several things in my home that  were triggering my asthma and I came across the concept of zero waste,  which sounded really cool at first, and then I looked into it some more  and it just sort of seems fake and I was wondering what your thoughts  were on it.

Zero Waste is indeed something I’m familiar with, and like you, I have mixed feelings on the community around it. The principles of Zero Waste i.e. reducing the amount of waste you produce an the types  of waste you produce, are great. I think it’s a solid, good idea to try  and promote more ethical produce and buying habits, both for the planet and from a personal financial stand point. The more you can reuse and  recycle the better. But I also feel the … fandom (can you call it  that???) can be quite off putting and at times extremely self righteous and judgemental in attitude. Amidst the crunchy hippies, the minimalists and those just straight up trying to live a little better, are those who have managed to make something meant for the betterment of the planet into something about themselves, and they're willing and ready to make sure we know just how evil we are for still having plastic straws with our drinks. Cause, y’know, it’s not big companies doing the most damage to the environment, no sirree it’s you and your plastic water bottle, you monster. (Don’t  worry, we’ll get to why the war on plastic is being handled wrong.)

Yea, those people are very fake and very off putting, and I see a lot  of them on youtube. And a lot of the time, they’re actually giving  contradictory advice toward actually living a zero waste lifestyle.

When talking about this with other people, I have taken to calling this The Mason Jar Aesthetic.

A  while ago, while I was talking about sustainable living with a friend (hi Michael!), and he mentioned that he and his wife were thinking of using  mason jars as an alternative to buying expensive glassware, because if  one breaks, you’ll always be able to replace them easily and you'll always have a matching  set. Which blew my mind as genius because not only is that a super cost effective, but it’s also a really sustainable way of living, both from a zero waste ethic standpoint and financially too.

For example, where I am in the US,  for $15 I can usually get 12 half pint mason jars, if not for less  depending on where I shop. They come with lids and seal top discs, which  are easy to replace if I ever use them for canning and can also be safely frozen, sanitized and reused again and again, meaning they are long lasting and multi-purpose. And, if you are using them as drinkware and this is important to you, they all match.

For me however, the real benefit of the humble mason jar, is that they can be fully recycled, though it is important to note that in some regions, the tops may need to go to a separate facility from the glass jar itself, so you’d  need to check with your local recycling center on that. But regardless, the whole thing is recyclable, sturdy, multi-purpose, easily transportable (seal your drink and off you go!), cost effective, and some may even argue, aesthetically pleasing.

Pinterest certainly seems to think so:

[ID: a screenshot from the website Pinterest depicting many diy crafty projets for home and the kitchen involving mason jars]

Some of the larger pint ones, would also fit nicely into a mobility aid like a cup holder, for those of us who need easy to grip handles. (Also as an aside, if you need more stability and often lament that  there is no such thing as a two handed mug—or even if you find most mug  handles too small to get a good grip—those things are great, they just  clip right on. Life changing.) Because if your argument for sustainability isn’t inclusive, it’s not good enough.

Which  is where the war on plastic comes in. Looking at you “lets ban all  drinking straws regardless of the fact that plastic straws are a vital  necessity for some people with disabilities”, and no, pasta straws are not a safe alternative for everyone (allergies/celiac), metal is expensive and also inflexible, and neither are the bamboo, glass or silicone ones. Banning plastic straws at this moment in time, is not the solution.

Brighter minds than mine have tried to solve this, but as a general proposal, instead of an outright ban, until a sustainable and disabled friendly alternative is found, plastic straws in food establishments could be issued by request, without—and this is important—without shaming disabled people for needing to use something which you can easily opt to avoid if you desire  to do so. Because once more kids and with feeling, if your argument for sustainability isn’t inclusive, it’s not good enough.

(I am fully prepared to get hate over this, the arguments over this shit on twitter were wild. And no, it is not the responsibility of disabled people to come up with a solution to this, while subsisting on restricted income, restricted access to resources, and often times restricted mobility to boot. If you feel this strongly about disabled people using plastic straws, be part of the solution that helps to find a valid alternative. You want this problem fixed, you do it inclusively.)

Now, where was I, oh yeah. Mason jars.

By  contrast, a box of 4 glass tumblers of roughly the same volume, can be  anywhere from $10-$20 or even more depending on where you look. And  while they might look nice, they are single purpose, expensive, and  also—and this is important, cause not a lot of people know this—cannot be recycled.

But Joy, you say, waiting to throw the shards of the broken glass you just swept up off the floor into the recycling, how much damage can it  really do? Glass is just glass? Right?  

Well, here’s the thing about this type of glass. In order to make it thin and aesthetically appealing, it has to be treated with special chemicals (like molten potassium nitrate) to toughen it up and make it shock resistant to temperatures. The problem with this however, is that treated glass, doesn’t melt  at the same temperature as untreated glass, which can cause several  problems at recycling facilities, ranging from damaged equipment at the  plant (not good!) to creating flawed, glass which is too fragile for  use, and will ultimately, you guessed it, end up on the landfill. [Source] The same is true of mirrors and glass from doors and windowpanes. [Source]

So if you do drop your glass and it breaks, please don't put it in the recycling, wrap it up in brown paper and throw it in the trash. Similarly, if you are sick of the sight of your old glassware, don't pitch it. Instead consider giving it to goodwill or your local equivalent. Someone will use it.

And don't feel bad if you didn't know. I never knew this either till a while ago, but it made me  really think twice about how non-eco-friendly and sustainable my home life  is. And I’m not saying this to guilt anymore or make you feel bad that  you don’t do more, heck knows I never used to give a crap about any of  this stuff until I started getting sick and developed multiple chemical  sensitivities (Hi if you’re new here, I’m allergic to the modern world due  to some frankly dystopian levels of auto-immune problems that emerged  in the last few years, send help) and realized just how very not good a  lot of the things I was doing are, for both me and the planet.

I  am not a crunchy hippy by choice, but by necessity of survival. You  have to be when plastics and most mattress fillers and couch stuffing  starts bringing you out in a rash/makes you wheeze and suddenly you find  yourself wandering the aisles of “eco-friendly" stores wondering if the sales rep you’re listening to actually knows what they’re talking about or  if they’re a tinfoil hatter who also puts essential oils in their drinking water. (We've been over this, do not.)

But do you know what I also noticed in those supposedly eco-friendly stores?

Mason jar drinkware being sold at $20 a pop. Surely, I thought to myself, surely it’s $20 for a set of at least four?

Nope.

And  do you know what else? This wasn’t just a regular mason jar glass that  had been tinted blue, no, this was “treated shock resistant glass”. So  what they did was, they took an iconic recyclable object that is  actually very cheap to produce and buy, inflated the cost by a huge  amount, and then, made it non-recyclable, for profit.

Are-you-freaking-kidding-me?

And  that’s a huge problem I find, with trying to find information and  resources online about sustainable living and eco-friendly products, because a lot of them? Are actually hugely wasteful if not in actual material, then certainly in mentality.

I watched one notable youtuber vlog about how she got rid of everything in her  kitchen and replaced it with more eco-friendly (and extremely expensive) options, because she just couldn’t stand the thought of those  "toxic" things being in her kitchen … except … they weren’t doing her any harm, and they weren’t worn out. They weren’t falling apart. They were still very much safe and usable and might even have been donated to somewhere like goodwill for someone else to use … but she threw them out to replace them with shiny bamboo and kitschy ceramics, and now they’re heading toward a landfill, where they will not be used to their fullest extent, and where they will pollute the earth.

Surely by the zero waste ethos, it’s more sustainable to use the product until it has to be replaced, and then buy the eco-made alternative?

To  give you an example, I’m in the process of replacing all my tupperware with glass, metal and ceramics because I’m allergic to plastics, but also because I’d like to invest in more sustainable planet friendly options for the future. But I’m also doing it once piece at a time. Partly because my husband can and does still use those things, but also because, well, I  can’t afford to replace them all. I just plain can’t, it’s too  expensive to go out and replace all my leftover food containers with  stainless steel lunch boxes from Japan. I’d like to, and I wish I could,  but if wishes were horses then I’d need a much bigger yard. (That’s how  that saying goes, right?)

I guess the point of this lengthy  ramble, is a complaint that the aesthetic of sustainability is actually  more popular than actual ethical sustainable practices. Too many people  are concerned with looking like they care, but don’t actually  want to get into the nuance of things. And I get it, I do. It’s nice to  feel like you’re doing something good. Who doesn’t want to feel  like they’re taking responsibility for their time on this earth and  being the best version of themselves?

But it has to require  thought, and method, and looking beyond the narrow scope of your own four walls (metaphorical or otherwise) and what that one person on youtube said, while merely swapping one form of consumerism for another because it looks and feels ethical, but not actually exacting any kind of global change.

And that’s the difference between using a mason jar to drink out of, and the Mason Jar Aesthetic. Being aware of your impact on the earth and doing what you can within your limits and means (and respecting the means of others), vs wanting to be seen as such. And it's an important distinction and one that requires self reflection and a great deal more thought than buying into an aesthetic.

Me switching out all my plastics and turning my backyard into a compost heap might make my home more eco-friendly, but real change cannot be effected without also putting pressure on large corporations (looking at you Nestle) to change their practices, and boycotting those stores in favor of expensive organic and "ethical" brands is not the solution to this. It merely creates a niche market where the rich and privileged are able to live in a very small self-contained bubble of moral "eco purity", while actively punching down at those who cannot. Real change? Comes from getting involved in the community and lobbying against big corporations like Nestle turning round and extracting water from drought stricken states, and then selling it back for profit.  It's boots to the ground, and writing letters and emails, and doing more than just buying organic bamboo washcloths and telling yourself you saved the world one micro-bead of plastic at a time.

So do I think zero waste is a crock? Absolutely not, at the core it has some great points about how we use and consume products, which are things we should be thinking about in our day to day lives. But do I feel it places too much emphasis on the self rather than the global community? Absolutely. And at it's core sustainability isn't about the self. It's about community, and the changes we can affect together in order to make the world a little better than how we found it.

Otherwise it's just survivalism with a rose tinted aesthetic.

What do you guys think? Does anyone have anything to add? Let me know in the comments and see if we can get a discussion going. Also, if you’d like to see more of these types of posts, Patreon subscribers can expect to see them two weeks earlier than tumblr, and get a say in what we discuss, so if you’d like to see me talk about something, let me know :)

[Patreon] * [Twitter] * [Ko-Fi] * [Facebook]

[writingwell]

3 Words Prompt: SpyCastle, ArmyAU, Start

#262 (this is literally the very beginning of the AU of Spy Castle called Army Spy)

—–

Never leave a trace behind.

Well, it had worked. A little too well.

The son of Special Agent John Black sat hunched in the booth at the back of the room, his eyes sweeping and scanning the bar, cataloging every movement, unable to let go of battle-ready, combat alert.

He had no name, no passport, no driver’s license. He’d been an Army Ranger six months ago, but then his father had terminated the project when half the squad went AWOL after the rest had committed suicide. Yet, he was still here, ticking along without a problem, popping supplements like candy and drinking his gallon and a half of water like a good boy. He’d been trained to follow orders, and he didn’t see much reason not to.

It worked for him. Had worked.

He had no name now but it had once been Richard. Most people didn’t know that one, though his CO, Captain Eastman, must have been CIA Special Operations because he had known the truth. Eastman had let him go with a sigh, told him not to deal New York City too much damage.

Richard was on the hunt. For what, he had no idea. He just needed something… other. A taste of it. Just for a week, a week to stop looking and moving and answering like an Army Ranger, and then he’d be stationed in Ireland for a long-term mission, back to operative assignments where his father needed his services.

He wasn’t looking forward to Ireland, but he couldn’t go back to the Army either. It didn’t hold the appeal it once had, after the Towers had fallen, to get out there and do something about the evil in the world. Not when the guy he stared down the rifle scope loved his kids and kissed his wife, and the only intel Castle had on him was a word from some bureaucrat.

Not when half his unit had never gotten back-up, out there stranded, abandoned. No bureaucrat in sight.

Castle had been taught by the best at West Point, and in Afghanistan, he’d seen every wrong move and every shit tactical decision that went against the best ideas of commanders on the ground, not to mention his CIA training, and he just couldn’t go back to following orders.

“Soldier,” the waitress said, coming around with his drink. She placed the tumbler of Scotch on the scarred wood and nodded as she left, not bothering to force him into conversation. He appreciated that at least.

He never drank. Another rule he hadn’t cared enough about to break until now. His father never drank, and so Richard had never touched it until West Point. In order to blend in, he’d started a habit with his friends of drinking just enough. He’d acquired the officers’ taste - Scotch on the rocks. He swirled it around the glass now, watching the amber diffuse across the ice.

He took a long swallow and let it burn.

It was enough. He’d nurse it for a few hours, he decided, and then he’d find the CIA safe house near Harlem, sleep long enough to forget upon waking where he was.

Right. That never happened. Still, it’d be nice to try. Sleep so hard and so long that when he came to in the darkness, for just a moment he could be anywhere at all.

He remembered that feeling, that disorientation upon waking. He’d been five and his father had stuck him in a bunk house on the training grounds at Clayton that Christmas break. He’d woken alone, no understanding of where he’d been, no clue or hints in the darkness, only the starched sheets under his cheek. He’d been with his father for a week by that time and the sense of maybe it was all a dream had been so fierce that the sensation had been pleasant and appealing.

If he could do that again, he thought maybe his life would make sense for him.

He wasn’t a kid any longer. He wasn’t even a fresh-faced recruit or an Army Ranger on a mission; he was a 32 year old guy whose whole point of existence was Leave no trace behind.

It was fucking him up a little. He just needed a week to be nothing and no one before he dove into Ireland and Foley again. He couldn’t forget what Colleen had done to him there on his very first mission out of training years ago, and though he’d matured since then, figured out his shit, he couldn’t help feeling like he was doomed to repeat his past.

And then the door opened and summer sun walked right inside the bar.

Doomed had a whole new meaning.

—–

She stepped inside like she owned the place, but he saw - because he was trained to see - that she wore her confidence like armor and below that, in the glints of green in those brown eyes, she wanted nothing more than to not be here.

In this bar.

She approached the bartender with a discreet tuck of her hand into his, and Castle watched the man glance at the paper he’d been palmed. She had worked the exchange professionally, even if the bartender had not, and Castle admired the skill.

She wasn’t a professional, he didn’t think, but it did make him pause.

Middle twenties, early side, probably twenty-four. Young enough to be cautiously optimistic, old enough to think she’d seen it all. Dark hair pulled back into a pony tail in deference to the heat, a sleeveless shirt with a long v-neck so that those tantalizing glimpses no doubt smoothed her way in any conversation with the opposite sex.

Her jeans were well-worn but her shoes were black boots with heels that were expensive and probably recently purchased. She had the look of a woman who was outside frequently - summer kissed and golden - but she wasn’t rough around the edges. Smooth, polished, sophisticated. He was getting two different vibes from her: both well-bred New York money with a promising career in the law or medicine, and also a former street rat who had been starved for opportunity.

One led to the lifestyles of the rich and famous, the other led to crime. Or.

Police work.

Ah, that was it. She was a cop. A fresh cop, because she didn’t quite know how to hold herself when she wasn’t carrying heat, and because she had made an effort with her civvies. Hair, make-up, lip gloss so that those pale, pink lips shone. She didn’t smile; she didn’t look like she had many smiles left in her today. But her eyes were alert.

They caught his and held. He studied her. She studied him, unflinchingly, assessing, and then she must have seen the army on him, because she forgot him and looked away.

He somehow didn’t want her dismissing him so easily.

He watched her because she had dismissed him, and she didn’t even bother trying to lower her voice or keep it private; she spoke at a normal volume, designed to wash away in the white noise of the bar.

But Richard heard. He always did.

“I’m sure you know him,” the woman resumed. “I know you know him, Trout. He talks about you. So please, when he comes in-”

“I’m not refusing him,” the bartender said. (His name was Trout? How awful. Score one for living under the name of a legend.) “If he comes in here and wants a drink, I’m serving him. No right telling a man he can’t drown his sorrows.”

“Don’t be a cliche,” she muttered. “All I’m saying is that you call me. When it’s bad. Call me and not the taxi service, not the guys patrolling this block, not his asshole friend, George.”

“George is-”

“I’m telling you - I’m not asking you,” she cut in. “You call me. I don’t want my father in the tank again.”

The tank. She was a cop; she used cop lingo and she knew how to get around the guys on patrol. Richard put his elbows on the table and lifted his drink, swirled it around and around, studying her instead of the Scotch.

She was amber on ice herself.

And much more interesting, especially since he seemed unable to get drunk.

“Fine, fine, fine,” the bartender said, throwing up a hand to ward her off. He waved the piece of paper in front of her face and then turned around, tacking it to the corkboard just behind his head. “I’ve got your number, sweetheart.”

He saw her face ripple with it, that instinctive fuck you for the casual tossed-off endearment. But she swallowed it down and thanked the bartender, backed away from the wood. As she did, she shot him a hot, frustrated look, as if he were allowed to see it even if the bartender couldn’t. As if Richard were safe.

He didn’t want to be safe. But he did want… something.

She turned and left the bar, her pony tail stiff and not swinging an inch, but her hips moving probably in spite of herself, giving him a glimpse of how good it could be.

She slid her sunglasses down on her head and moved up the sidewalk and out of sight.

He sat there for five seconds, the longest he’d ever been indecisive, and then he jerked to his feet and strode towards the bar. Trout gave him a bleary what the hell do you want kind of glance and Richard pushed right past him and out with one long look at that board.

He’d memorized her name, her number, and her address.

Kate.

—–