#english machine broke today

[uzurimisery]

the space between two bodies. / satosugu x reader / part 1

Warnings: MDNI, happy ending, angst, cheating (not really this is explained in part 2), unhealthy relationships/coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, depression, smut, no sorcery au, unedited

A/N: I started thinking about Gojo with anxiety and nihilist Geto and then what that looks like in a poly relationship with someone as flawed as they are

“We’re sorry but we’ve decided to go with another candidate now. We will retain your information on file should a more suitable role open up.” 

The email stared back at you, the words on your phone screen blurring as droplets of rain hit it as you read it over for the hundredth time. Today was just another shitty fucked up day in the endless string of shitty fucked up days that had become your life. The third consecutive month of unemployment in a row. At least previously you could get temp jobs but now each day that passed just ate away at you with how useless you felt. 

Pocketing your phone, you pull out a 100 yen coin and put it in the vending machine.

You didn’t even like your old job but Jesus it was like no one was actually hiring. And when you did get an interview, you’d get ghosted afterward. On the rare occasion they didn’t ghost you, you’d receive a rejection letter like this one. It was preferable, you supposed, that your existence and effort were at least acknowledged, no matter how much it stung. Still hurt like a bitch to be told you weren’t good enough. 

Anything would be better than this, fuck you’d take being overworked and underpaid if it felt like you were doing something. This endless cycle of gnawing uncertainty and applications, interviews, followed by rejections. Worse than that you were out of deodorant and trying to find some in Japan was a Herculean effort. 

Yeah, it’s been a shit go and you’re fucking exhausted.

Maybe you’d go be an English teacher like everyone else who moves to Japan. You wouldn’t need a co-teacher so the pay would be better if you were just starting out. Not that you wanted to teach again dear god that was less than ideal. Thank god you had settled status. The thought of having to deal with visa issues at the same time made you feel sick. 

Maybe you could work at a host club. You turned, staring at your reflection in the glass. Your boobs weren’t half bad as you pushed them up from the underside like a push-up bra would. Or sell feet pictures. The market was probably oversaturated at this point but maybe there would be some interest.

Wait Jesus had your hair looked like that all day? Fuck. No wonder that girl kept staring at you on the train she thought you were a lunatic.

Sighing you press the button for 4H. It wasn’t like you’d always been this way, sort of drifting in a sea of uncertainty abroad your boat of doubt with no wind to guide your sails. There was a period of time, maybe a five-year stretch after you had graduated from university where your life was on track. An entry-level job in your degree field, a long-term boyfriend turned fiance, wedding planning, and a great group of friends. Shit, you had it all. 

The fiance was the first to go. 

As it turns out, finding your fiance in bed with the girl he swore you didn’t have to worry about, his tongue halfway down her throat like he’s trying to do an endoscopy, is a terrible way to find out you’re being cheated on. When he noticed you standing in the doorway he had the gall to sputter some bullshit about how it was your fault it happened. You were too focused on your work, you didn’t give him attention, blah, blah, blah. It was you who broke the relationship up by working so much and being married to your job. And as he paid for the overpriced four-bedroom apartment in an area of Tokyo that you didn’t even like, you lost the apartment in the breakup. 

You couldn’t slum dog millionaire your life away on Shoko and Utahime’s couch forever eating tubs of ice cream and binging TV after that, so everyone told you, or rather forced you, to move in with Suguru and Satoru. Bouncing around from couple to couple. It did give you some stability and just as things go up so must they come down. 

The company you were working for was liquidated after an investigation by the federal government found years of tax fraud. Luckily they got bought out, and you thought maybe if you put in work you could still climb the ladder. But all those late nights in the office, conbini dinners, and unpaid overtime, you were just another name on a severance list.

It felt like waves were crashing over you, each one larger than the rest. Almost like you were tied to a dock during a hurricane, a tsunami, or some fucking natural disaster that threatened to drown you if you didn’t hold onto something but there wasn’t much to hold on to. You could hold onto the minuscule amount of friendships that you had at least. It was far too awkward and messy to keep up with anyone else other than your main four since the rest were so tied to your ex-fiance and his life. Stupid fucking lawyer. 

The four of you were close-ish. Less close since Shoko had gone on rotation at a university on the other side of Tokyo. It meant she and Utahime had moved nearer to it since Utahime was willing to commute. But Suguru and Satoru were still close with you and still dating.  Biting as that felt at times. 

You met Geto first in a shared philosophy lecture. One of those run-of-the-mill ones, but the content that really got the two of you talking was nihilism. It was the seminar groups after class you shared where he really saw you. Stripped away of pretenses and your nerves laid bare. Not just another face in a lecture hall but something more, something human. The deep indents of nails in your palms and the rubbing of your hands together under the table. He had seen right through you, recognized the darker parts of himself in you- it made you feel understood.

The machine made a mechanical noise and the lights flickered. Sighing you kick the machine lightly to see if anything happens, if life could give you this one thing today that you so desperately needed. Just like everything else, nothing goes your way and your stupid drink stays logged on the shelf. So like every reasonable person you kick the machine again. 

“Stupid fucking piece of shit machine,” you murmur a growing string of profanities under your breath as you repeatedly kick the machine

.

All you wanted was one of those ¥100 coffee drinks that were loaded with caffeine to keep going through your slog of a day was that so hard? Maybe it would be best if you just packed it up and called it quits. Move back home with your parents and be berated daily. Why aren’t you married? Why did you and Kosuke break up? When are they going to get some grandchildren? They aren’t getting any younger you know. Face the cutting shame of fucking up another opportunity, another chance. 

What was the point in trying anymore when you couldn’t even get a stupid drink that you don't honestly even want at this point out of a vending machine so you can go home and masturbate to audio porn before you cry yourself to fucking sleep? 

Suguru’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts, your name on his lips. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had an interview and you’d be home late?” 

Of course, he’d catch you like this. 

“Hey Sugs,” it came out as a groan as you kicked the machine again, a loud clang following as your drink hit the bottom of the dispenser. Bending down, you grab the can before turning and facing him. “I did.” 

“How’d it go?”

“Like shit.” Maybe you should work on your delivery. This flat effect is really making you should like a bitch. Are you a bitch? 

Geto’s eyes raked over you, infuriatingly calm and measured. He was always so carefully disheveled, the type of person to look effortlessly put together no matter the occasion. Stupid name-brand black sweater over a white button-down half tucked into chinos with a chain on the belt. His hair, shiny and perfect, was neatly tucked into his signature half-up-hald-down look to keep the strand out of his eyes, minus the one for style. Notably, he was wearing his glasses for once, sleek frames perks on a tall nose. Oh, he smelt nice too, his sandalwood and bergamot cologne hitting you as he stepped closer, extending his umbrella to cover the two of you. Fuck he was so handsome it wasn’t fair.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Geto replied softly.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “ It is what it is.”

But the reality of it clung to you and drug you down, down, down into the depths of your psyche. That small, scared feeling you tried so hard to suppress started bubbling up again, twisting your insides into knots. It made you feel sick, so much like a lost little child in a world that had grown far too big and complex. Here it was, rearing its ugly head, in front of one of the top ten people you never wanted to see in such a shit state.

But that's all Gojo and Geto do at this point. They pick up the broken, crumbling pieces of yourself that slip between your fingers. You feel like a cracked vase leaking water all over the place no matter how desperately they try and patch up the ceramic. Each day the gap between you and them grows more apparent. They were both soaring and you were falling to the ground and rolling around in the mud. 

Geto had just done a four-page spread in Architects Digest, even though he was a pretentious motherfucker who hated the magazine. And Gojo… God, he’d just opened for Prada at Paris Fashion Week. They went viral on every social media platform a while back for how hot and gay they were. You’d been caught in the crossfire of your accounts being tagged and gained a social media boost, but that also meant a bunch of people DMing you telling you to take pictures of them. 

The most fucked up thing about it all was the gnawing feeling that chewing on your bones that you were being dragged around like an accessory to remind them how good they had it. A permanent third wheel they’ve been stuck with since university. Two talented lovers on the brink of permanent importance and their weird little friend who follows them along like a lost puppy. It wasn’t even true and that's why it hurt so much. You knew they believed in you, thought that you could be a successful artist, and supported you in it even, but the jealousy rotted inside you like a festering wound. You weren’t even jealous of their success, only just partial, but it was like you weren’t good enough to be around them. 

Maybe you were better off as wall decor in the life they were building together. Something quiet and serene that didn’t demand anything from them. Better that than the bitter, jealous mess you were every time you saw them succeed.

He starts, the same spiel he goes to when you get like this. “You can always-”

“No.” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. 

“I don’t know why you act like it’s such a bad off,” Suguru presses, his calm demeanor only pissing you off more.  

“I don’t want to work for you.” 

“Why not.” 

You snap. “Because I don’t want to, Suguru! Is that so hard to understand?”

Fuck, you wanted to storm off, go back to the house, and slam the door behind you as you went. But it didn’t matter if you stormed off, you lived in one of his guest bedrooms. Both of you were just headed to the same place. Sad little rescue that you were.

Suguru assessed, his eyes softened, breaking you down. He picked out every one of your insecurities as he stared at you. Microscopic inspection, each of your cells was being assessed for your state of being. Have you eaten? Was it enough? Had you slept? Are you even capable of taking care of yourself in this state? 

The weight of his gaze made your chest tighten, and before you could control it, try and reel it back in, tears welled up in your eyes. Blinking them back, you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat bobbing as you did. You hated this. Hated the way his care, his pity, felt like a knife twisting in the last remaining shred of pride you clung to. 

Pity was the killy of pride and you should accept that your pride was already decomposing in the septic tank in the backyard. 

Fuck up, fuck up, fuck up. All you ever were, all you’d ever be. Every loose thread of your shirt feels like it's cutting against your skin. The hem of your trousers drowns your feet like you're wearing your parents' clothes. Shabby. Uncouth. Inept. 

Wordlessly, you turned on your heel and fled, rushing out of the side street as the tears spilled past your lash line. You couldn’t do this anymore--no more questions, no more pity. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you struggled, clawed your way through the fucking dirt, you could never be like them. Never be good like theme, never right like them, never fit like them. They had these perfect little lives that they could boast to everyone about. When they spoke, people listened. People cared what they had to say. The world parted for them, it was the Red Sea and they were Moses, making space. There’d always be room for them to shine. 

But you were screaming into a void, your throat raw, bloody, and you were aching from the endless effort to be seen, to be heard. You wanted to be looked at like your own person, your own successes. Hard to be noticed for something that rarely happened. No matter how loud you screamed, how much you begged, your voice was just lost in the noise. 

You knew Suguru would follow. He always did. Even if you didn’t live in the same house, he’d have followed you. His voice was muffled by the pressure in your ears but you could hear him trying to talk to you. He let you get all the way home and inside the gate of the house before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you backward. 

Trying to pull away, your shoulder wrenched painfully as you trashed in his grip. 

“Calm down,” Suguru spoke firmly, pulling you into his chest. His sweater was soft, and your face smushed against the fabric as sobs wrecked your body, trembling like the earth in an earthquake.

It was hard to speak through the tears, so all you could do was try and slip out of his hold as you sobbed. You didn’t want this comfort. You wanted to run from your failure. From how suffocating life felt and that no matter what you'd never be enough. Worse than that, the sweet sickly feeling that trickled down your throat that when he held your life this, it made the world feel just a little bit more bearable. As if somewhere you could survive another day if he kept touching you. It wasn’t yours to feel and he wasn’t yours to hold. 

Suguru lets you wiggle around. You hit his torso a few times, your strength fading as you cry. When your sobs turned to hiccups and gasps for breaths, he gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that still spilled from your eyes. 

“Talk to me,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. The songs of a city nearly eclipsing it. 

What could you say? How could you explain this feeling? This horrible guilt, pain, and jealousy ate away at you every single day. The tears came harder now, speeding up as if to help drown you in your misery and take you out of it for good. Hiccuping you drew breath, sharp and quick, hoping to speak but nothing comes out. Words claw at your throat, digging it with sharpened points. It hurts the way they hang onto you.

“Is it all too much again?” His voice is so soft, warm like fleece pajamas fresh out of the dryer as he holds you so delicately.

This wasn’t the first time that one of the three of you had been so consumed by dread, suffocated by the weight of life itself. Suguru knew it all too well himself, from high school to know he held it tightly in his hands. It never went away from him, he just learned to live with it, let it fade into the background, and let a constant hum of despair serve as the baseline for the day-to-day. 

His thumbs brush over the apex of your cheekbones again and the tenderness shatters you, another wave of sobs tearing through you. They pull you under, out into the open ocean, and through their rip current.

“I just..” you start, it scratches your throat, thick with phlegm. “ I can’t do this anymore.” 

His voice remained steady. “Do what?” 

“Any of it. I can’t do it.” 

“You’re capable of it. You can do it.” 

Jarring, rough, whipping across your skin as the rubber band pulls too tight and snaps. You lash out, and it stings where it hits. The anger cuts through your skin like your fingernails leave crescent moons in your palms. 

“No, I fucking can’t!” It's ripped out of you as you stalk away like a wounded animal. “I can’t okay. I can’t do shit. I can’t keep a relationship without being cheated on. I can’t manage to get my own place. I can’t get a fucking job. I can’t sit here and pretend like I’m not fucking wasting away in my own misery watching you and Gojo and Shoko all succeed and be the only one of us still shooting for the stars and coming crashing down to earth every single fucking time. You and Gojo with your perfect little lives look at me like a charity case to be fixed.”

“We have never looked at you like a charity case.” His tone was firm.

“Really? Then what the fuck do you look at me like, huh?” You press the question circling back around. “Is it pity? Did the two of you see some poor stray that you wanted to take in and keep like a pet when we met at university? Is that it?” 

His eyes were hard, unreadable.

“It is that. You pity me.”

“Jesus, no! We don’t pity you- I don’t pity you! Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

“Yes, it is! There’s no reason for you to care,” 

“What the hell wouldn’t I care?” Suguru’s voice raised to a shout, frustration cracking his facade. 

“Because I’m just like everyone you hate!” Your chest heaves as you let out a flood of emotions. “ No ambitions, contributing nothing to society, just leeching off others.” 

“You’re not like them.” 

“I am. On paper, I’m exactly like them. The only reason that you’d keep me around is because it makes you feel good to watch me suffer or you pity me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t pity you?” His voice cracked with emotion, but you didn’t stop.

“Then tell me why you care!” It comes out so desperately. You're begging him for understanding, to know why he stays. To know why he lets you in.

For once he looked uncertain. His mask slipped, revealing the cracks in his facade. It’s been so long since you’ve seen underneath it you’d almost forgotten how he looked when he wasn’t pretending to be happy. 

“Or is it that you don’t care?” 

Something flashed in his eyes, flickerings of things you only saw when he looked at Gojo. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. There's a fear in his eyes, like if he acts in this moment something may crack and crumble like the foundation of a house that leaves him crumpled in a pile of wood. He doesn’t, or won’t, give you an answer. 

So you turn on your heel, the conversation over in your mind, and head to the front door. You’ll go up and pack a bag before heading across town and crashing on Shoko and Utahime’s couch before calling your parents and groveling to them. 

But as you reach the door, Suguru reaches you. His arm wraps around your waist and he spins you around and pushes your back against it. He’s got you pinned. 

“It’s because I love you.” It’s the faintest breeze that passes from his lips, like a car driving past on a hot day, sweat making your shirt stick to you. “I care because I love you.”

Everything is frozen in a still frame. Neither one of you moves, neither one of you breathes. A still moment that holds you tight, threatens to squeeze you so tightly your heart bursts. 

“What do you mean by that?” You swallow as you speak, like pebbles in your throat. 

Suguru blinks back tears, looking up and then back at you. “That I love you. Fuck! I’m in love with you.” 

Disbelief makes your voice shake. “No, you’re not not. You’re with Satoru.” 

“And? I can’t love both of you?” 

“No, you can’t,” Hypocrisy tastes acrid on your tongue. You know damn well you could never pick between the two of them, that this blighted jealousy you feel towards them is more the fact they have the other rather than their success. It’s something you don’t admit but it’s there. “Besides, you’re lying to me.”

“No.” His response was firm and immediate. The whole time you’d known them, their worlds had revolved around each other. They’d been the only thing for each other for so long. It was an unspoken truth that they were made for each other in a way that could only be sewn by the fabric of the universe itself. Something so profoundly and divinely created it had been written in the fabric of life at the moment of the Big Bang. 

“I’ve seen you watching.” Suguru’s tone is low, cutting, it vibrates through you as he has you pinned. 

A sick, icy dread wraps around your spine. It starts in your toes and crawls up your body. Your muscles lock in place as it climbs up until it's all the way in your head. Paralyzing fear grips you.

“I don't…” The lie is transparent before it comes to fruition. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s brittle, cracking on your teeth as it passes through them.

“Don’t play innocent.” Suguru’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The tension between you tightens and winds up to pitch, but there's a current that punctuates it. One that feels heady and warm. One that excites you in the same way it embarrasses you. “I’ve seen you watching. I’ve seen you for years. The first time, maybe it was a mistake. But last week? Three weeks before that?”

Your mouth went dry, choking on the excuse that tried to bubble up. Like finely ground chalk powder coasted every surface of it. “I—”

He cuts you off before you can even try to defend yourself. “I know you get off on it too. Leave your curtains open while you touch yourself. Saying his name, my name.”

Horror twists inside you like a knife, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. You’d always been so careful, never acting when you thought they were home. Never want to risk exactly this happening. Your face burned like you drank half a liter of vodka in a go. Maybe you’d wake up and realize this was a nightmare. The humiliation was unbearable. 

“Imagine my surprise,” Suguru continues in a low chuckle, left hand slotting perfectly against your waist, “when I came home early one day and saw that.” 

The tears that had stopped in your flash of anger spill hot and fast down your cheeks. The raw, hot shame and embarrassment muddle you. It makes you want a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You can’t meet his gaze, your vision blurry. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll move out.” you stammer out, the words falling in a chopping spiccato, desperate to create space between the two of you. You’d never be able to face him again. 

“Who said anything about moving out?” Suguru comes, pulling you closer to him till you're flush against his chest. He bends down, breath tickling your ear. You feel the sharp pressure of his teeth grazing the shell of it, a jolt going through your body. “You don’t get to leave now.” Pulling back, he meets your eyes in a half-lidded gaze. 

Both of you are playing the game again. Looking for something unspoken, some cryptic clue you need to decipher. He was searching for discomfort, disgust, anything to make him draw back and stop. You searched for understanding, dissecting how it got to this point. Every moment, every glance, every touch from him that you had ever overlooked. 

He always held a soft glint in his eyes when he looked at you. Something subtle, normally reserved for Satoru. It warmed the edge of his voice when he spoke and crinkled the corners of his eyes when he smiled. There was that softness for Shoko, but it was different. The one he had for you was a more reserved, pulled-back, and dialled-down version of what gripped him when he looked at Satoru. He had always viewed you this way.

The times you sat sandwiched between him and Gojo, your legs brushing against him, his arm slung around your shoulders to reach Satoru. Pulling you against him on the train, in clubs, at parties, the bump of your hips against his own. Compliments when you wore flattering, his pushing Satoru to dress you up. He liked it best when you were in shorter dresses and skirts with tights. 

Suguru had always wanted you, but you had failed to notice. 

Instinct took over before reason could temper it. You pushed off the door, your hands flying to the loose part of his hair at the nape of his neck. The strands feelt just as silky an shiny as they look between your fingers. Without hesitation, the space between you two diminishes. You aren’t sure who closes the distance first, but your lips lock hungry. Teeth knocking against each other as you both desperately cling to the other. It's rough and aggressive, both of you starved animals feasting on flesh. The taste of copper spreading in your mouth as he bit down on your lip making you whine. His breathing becomes your own, heady mix of desire and dark, primal urge..

His tongue pushes against yours, taking advantage of your now open mouth, wet and warm brushing against the back of your teeth, laying claim to your mouth. Geto was dominating in all aspects of his life so it was unsurprising that he set the pace and led you to where he wanted to be. He moved your legs up, patting your ass to jump, to then wrap around his waist as he pressed you against the door. You grind your hips against his growing erection as he holds you there, and you can feel the heat of him even through his pants.

Suguru pulls away panting. His eyes are half closed, lips blushed a beautiful red and damp with saliva. He moves in again, this time to your neck, where he bites down hard. You squirm as he sucks a dark and angry mark, his mark, on your skin. The bite of his teeth against your skin feels right. It eats away at the jealous monster inside you every second he’s latched onto you.

Fed up with the door, Suguru opens it and carries you through the threshold. He moves the two of you through the genkan, toeing off his shoes while you kick your own off, and into the living room where he drops you on the couch. There’s an air about him, so intense it’s nearly oppressive, as his fingers inch up underneath your sweater, sliding it off of you. It’s a predator circling their prey, the success of a hunt now that he’s got you on your back against the soft fabric of the couch. He’d been waiting for this far longer than you thought and it spurs you on.

Suguru moves in tandem with you, tugging off his sweater and button-up shirt, exposing his happy trail. The dark dusting of hair makes your mouth water. Once his shirt is off, his hands cover your chest through your bra, palming your tits like stress balls. It's unpadded and lacey, and it lets him feel as if your nipples get hard. He pushes the cups down, leaving them to rest under your breasts, and pushes them up slightly, accentuated by your being on your back.

His fingertips close around your nipples as he pinches and pulls at them. You knew how much of a sadist he could be. One night you watched him edge Satoru for an hour straight. Seen how hot he looked with Gojo in his mouth as he writhed around. A sweet moan escaped you as he played with your nipples and rolled his hips against yours. It makes your head feel fuzzy, thoughts focusing purely on him. His weight presses down on you, so heavy and right it makes you ache.

You lunge forward, propping yourself up on your elbows to kiss him again. It’s just as messy and hungry as before, years of built-up desire between the two of you saturating your every pore. It settles in your bones that pulses in time with your heart. 

Suguru doesn’t separate from you, but he slides your trousers and underwear off in one go as you kick your socks off. He tugs his own off hastily, boxer briefs following in turn. His public hair is trimmed, a close crop like you’ve seen it before. Like every other aspect of him, it’s neatly maintained, put into its place, and kept there. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he pulls your hips up by his head. Your back is half off the sofa as he places your legs over his shoulders and parts your core with his fingers. He blows cold air onto your clit that makes you squirm before he licks your clit. Moaning, you try to grind yourself against his face but his hands tighten on your hips, holding them firm. You’d get what he wanted to give you. Fight against it and get nothing, or accept it. 

He was slow to start. His tongue lazily explores you, getting familiar with your taste. It pushed against your clit, wide and flat, before swirling his tongue around it. The ball of his tongue piercing rubbed against the most sensitive part of you. Your hips jerk forward and he looks up, a warning in his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. Suguru curls his tongue again, this time moving it side to side, letting his piercing catch on your clit purposefully.  Every action he takes is measured as he picks up speed while latching his lips around it to add delicious suction. Two of his fingers slide inside you, reaching far deeper than your own ever could. He pumps them in and out of you, driving you closer to the edge.

You felt your pussy drooling, liquid gushing out and covering his chin. The muscles in your abdomen tightened with each passing second until you swore they'd cramp. It was all too much as you came, jerking and contracting in on yourself. Black spots dot your vision as your world shakes on this axis. 

Sugru watched as you came, pulling back from your pussy to stare at your face. His eyes never left yours as he rubbed soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. He could cover nearly all of you with how big his hands were, warm and calloused. Minus a cold spot on his left hand. 

His engagement ring. 

The silver felt like it burned your skin as he smiled at you and planted a kiss on your inner thigh. It glimmers in the low light, bouncing light off like a homing beacon. Bubbling sickness, bile rising in your throat, disgust palming at your skin. What had you just done? You’ve just violated a boundary so gigantic with Suguru. Let your own selfish need for intimacy lead you to this. He was engaged to your best friend. They were getting married next year.

You rushed to grab your clothes, panic surging through you. The world spins around you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you buttoned up your trousers, throwing your sweater on. Your hair is a mess and your skin feels clammy and flushed. The need to vomit is overwhelming. “This was a mistake.”

Suguru’s rising from the couch, trying to grab you, stopping you from moving but you dodge his hand. “A mistake?” 

Your left hand meets your mouth as you bite the nail of your thumb. It clicks against your front teeth. 

“Satoru won’t mind-” 

“A mistake Suguru,” You shake your head, bending down and grabbing the rest of your stuff. “Please. Just forget this.” Without waiting for his reply, you run up the stairs and slam the door behind you. 

You really are a bitch.

©️ uzuzrimisery

[cattimeswithjellie]

Liveblogging Skizzleman Stream VOD, 6/7/24

Skizz Stream 06.07.24

06:05 Skizz opens the stream with a birthday you-yo for himself. He gives shout-outs to donos, they are coming thick and fast because this is a birthday stream.

10:50 Skizz attempts to login to Hermitcraft, gets the invalid session message that pops up whenever you’ve had the Minecraft window open more than 24 hours. Skizz does not seem to have ever seen this error before and attempts to get back into the game without restarting the launcher. It fails again, someone suggests that the Hermits have permabanned Skizz for his birthday. Skizz restarts the launcher.

14:20 Skizz successfully joins the server, appearing inside Level 1 of his pyramid. He jokes about the permaban and is immediately derailed by a $1000 dono. While he is stuttering over the donation, Joe Hills crashes into the pyramid and sings him Happy Birthday in Spanish. He’s followed immediately by Doc, who sings Happy Birthday in mixed English and German, and then by Scar, who sings Happy Birthday in English but makes up about half the words. Doc teases Skizz about not making his hours quota on the server and suggests that if Skizz does not file his reports, Impulse will be mad at him at the next Hermitcraft corporate meeting.

19:00 Doc encourages the birthday donos to continue rolling in and tells Scar to leave because he is ruining the hype vibes. (Scar is standing on top of the dark maze, almost invisible and not saying anything, so the vibe ruination is not immediately apparent.) Skizz insists that Scar is not ruining the vibes, whereupon Scar flies down off the maze with an enormous and unmuted burp. Skizz and Doc react to this with the delighted disgust of third graders at the lunch table. Doc brings up yesterday’s Twitter story of Scar getting his off-road wheelchair stuck in a field. Skizz has not seen this story, but Joe says they should get Scar a riding lawnmower.

20:20 Skizz shows off the shutter shades he got from Mission Possible. Doc is skeptical, but Joe is all about the green glasses, for obvious reasons. He calls Skizz a percussionist, but Skizz says he is only a drummer. Scar asks what the difference is, and Skizz explains that percussionists should be able to play marimba, xylophone, bells, and similar instruments while drummers don’t. Scar chimes in “So it’s all about banging stuff!” with the sort of glee that suggests he knows exactly what he is saying. Skizz happily affirms that it is, indeed, all about the banging and says that’s right up Scar’s alley. Joe, who is also streaming, giggles nervously and Doc mutters a “Jesus Christ” that may or may not be prayerful. Joe says that this is why he doesn’t want VODs of his streams.

22:00 Skizz shows off a bit of his dark/snow/drowning/lava maze and declares with certainty that nobody could survive it in its current state. Scar says he definitely could and jumps into the snow portion through the side wall. Doc says that Skizz should not be giving people test runs because you don’t get test runs in real life. Scar escapes out the top of the snow portion somehow (he is not onscreen) and greets Cleo, who has just arrived.

23:00 Cleo appears in her MCC Pride skin and gives Skizz a cake for his birthday. Skizz places it and eats several pieces while relating a story about the time Impulse’s son, who was very young at the time, made him a Minecraft cake for his birthday and presented it to him in-server. Skizz, not knowing how to eat a cake, left clicked on it and broke it to bits in front of the child instead of eating it. The assembled Hermits agree that this has probably scarred the kid for life. Doc, who is the parent of a young child, sounds like he is in real physical pain from the story.

24:15 Skizz asks what everyone is up to today. Doc tells him that strange things are happening on the server and questions him suspiciously about whether he stole one block of diamond ore from one of Doc’s machines. Skizz claims innocence, as do Scar and Joe, though Joe confesses he thought about replacing all the diamond ore with lapis ore and claiming that if you leave diamond ore exposed to the elements, it will rot. He asks if someone swapped them with lapis and Doc says no, just deepslate. Joe, clearly extremely disappointed, says “Oh. That’s not funny. Lapis is way funnier.” Doc agrees and says he knows it wasn’t Joe because Joe would’ve done something much more bizarre. Skizz compliments Joe about how he really has his moments and Cleo, with the incredibly longsuffering air of a survivor of most of Joe’s “moments,” agrees.

25:30 Doc mentions that a pig died because of the diamond theft, which really gets Cleo’s attention. She accuses Doc of using the passive voice to soften the fact that he killed her special pig. Doc and Joe and Cleo are all discussing this loudly but we cannot hear much of it because Skizz breaks away briefly to address chat. Donos are still rolling in at a fast pace and Skizz promises that he’s going to go back and catch all of them in just a couple of minutes. Doc, who is clearly stream sniping, thanks one of Skizz’s donors for a large gift sub while Cleo attacks him with a sword. Doc admits to killing her pig but claims he was in emotional distress because someone broke his redstone. Cleo reiterates that this pig was special because it was the one she sent to hell and it survived. Doc contends that the pig had no name and was just randomly sitting there, like many pigs he has killed over the years. Joe interrupts to say that if a pig went to hell he thinks it probably would’ve gotten a name because even the most minor characters in Dante’s Inferno seem to have names somehow. Cleo is ignoring him and spelling out exactly where the pig was (in a boat? At a dock?) but she is sitting low in the mix on Skizz’s audio and it’s hard to hear exactly what she’s saying. She is very emphatic about it though.

26:30 Skizz tries to pull together the threads of the narrative with limited success as Doc reiterates his claim of emotional distress leading to pig slaughter. Cleo asks Skizz to be her lawyer. Skizz is enthusiastic about the idea, as Scar suggests they need Bdubs for “short claims court.” Doc tries to explain that Cleo was dismissive of the emotional pain Doc felt when someone touched his redstone, and so he killed the pig so she would understand what it felt like to lose someone. (In the background, Cleo points out that the redstone wasn’t even broken, because the block that was replaced was being used as a building block and was not essential to machine function.)

27:10 Skizz asks Doc about his state of mind during the slaughter and Doc, suddenly realizing that he is talking to opposing counsel, decides it is time to clam up and demand a lawyer. Cleo mocks him for making a full and open confession in front of witnesses before demanding a lawyer, while Skizz makes a motion in limine to a nonexistent judge to have the defendant declared mentally unstable. Doc says he has watched many videos on YouTube and knows he is entitled to an attorney. (It’s hard to say if this is true since there is no indication of whether a criminal or civil proceeding is being contemplated, or indeed whether any of the hermits involved understand the difference.) Doc accuses Skizz of walking like a lawyer, and Joe offers the advice that if someone tells you they are the opposition’s lawyer that means they are not your lawyer and you should stop talking to them. Doc displays a very confused understanding of his Miranda rights and the other Hermits continue to mock him for claiming them after the confession and not before. Doc claims to be appalled that all of this criminal behavior is being discussed on Skizz’s birthday stream, then declares himself to be “The Teflon GOAT.”

28:30 Skizz reiterates his willingness to be a lawyer in the case, and Cleo reiterates the fact that they have hired Skizz and Doc cannot have him. Doc retaliates by saying he will hire Joe and then they can talk to a sock puppet in court. Joe accepts the job but insists on being paid in sand. Doc agrees. Skizz laughs evilly with Cleo and says they will have the Doc/Joe team for lunch. Joe responds by saying it’s too bad Skizz already filled up on CAKE. Cleo claims she has witnesses, and Doc claims that Ren cannot be compelled to testify due to spousal privilege. (Apparently Ren is now Doc’s husband.) Scar says he didn’t know Doc got married and says that’s nice. Skizz tells Cleo they need to confer and stop talking outside of court, then tells the others that there will be no more questions or interrogations until they meet in open court. Cleo tries to say something and Skizz shushes them, being a man of either extreme bravery or extraordinary foolishness. Cleo doesn’t stop talking and Skizz goes full Muppet-style trying to shut her up, which works in the sense that it makes her laugh. Skizz assures her that this is the kind of lawyer he intends on being, and Cleo laughs until she starts coughing and has to mute. Doc laments the fact that he is stuck with the public defender, with Joe immediately punning about Pupplet Defender. Doc tells Joe that if Joe were a lawyer he would absolutely be a public defender because Joe is weird and would love to do it. Joe does not know how to take that. Cleo suggests that it not a compliment, though Doc insists it is.

30:45 Skizz makes a movie reference to Liar, Liar and then tells everyone that he’s had fun but he really, really needs to talk to his chat and catch up on his donos. Scar says that Skizz hates collaboration and walks disconsolately out of the pyramid to begin slapping a salmon head sitting on a jukebox. Skizz joins him and they invite Doc to join in as well. (Technically this consists of Skizz screaming “GET OVER HERE AND SLAP IT!”) Doc demurs, citing lingering trauma from salmon-related food poisoning. Skizz says this is all he wants for his birthday, but Doc insists he cannot. Skizz says if Doc loves him, he will slap the fish. Doc approaches, but begins making gagging noises and backs away again. The salmon-slapping noises are quite loud. Cleo suggests that the best way to have a private meeting with no Doc eavesdropping is to make this noise. Doc says he would rather bathe in a tub of poisonous spiders than slap the fish. He flies away.

32:40 Skizz turns to Scar and tells him that all he wants for his birthday is a death message in chat saying that Scar killed Doc. Scar immediately flies away. Joe and Cleo express great appreciation for Skizz’s plan, with Cleo claiming that all she ever wanted was for Doc to die horribly. Doc logs out at the exact right time for it to be clear that he was stream sniping and has finally caught up to stream delay. Everyone is disappointed. Cleo starts to talk to Skizz about killing Doc, then realizes they shouldn’t talk to their lawyer about extrajudicial murder. Skizz assures her they have attorney client privilege, but Joe correctly realizes that his presence could destroy the presumption of privilege and heads out. He gives Skizz a number of Joe Hills specialty fireworks for his birthday, insists that they are flight duration 3, and then flies away using one with predictably painful results. Skizz attempts the same thing and Cleo cheers that he farts rainbows. Cleo leaves.

34:45 Skizz returns to the pyramid and begins to address chat, only to be interrupted by Scar singing “check your mail, check your mail, check your mail.” Skizz promises that he will, then spends several minutes catching up with donos. He receives the link for Rusty_Courage and Persefida’s GIGGS Phasmo collab animation and assures a viewer that nobody ever needs to apologize for not being able to sub or donate.

39:38 Skizz goes to check his mail, accidentally using another one of Joe’s fireworks to fly. He receives a Ruber Sea Pickle, presumably from Tango, which is specifically labeled as a gift so he will have to put it up on the wall in his base. Cleo falls from a high place but says they are fine. Scar, also clearly stream sniping, drops off a gift of item frames when Skizz can’t find any.

43:00 Skizz leaves the maibox and sleeps, waking to find Scar haunting his mailbox to indicate that he has additional mail. Skizz finds mail from Scar, a coupon for the sand and gravel store along with a jukebox and a disc that plays the advertisement Scar made for his Star Wars themed shop. Skizz is clearly charmed and impressed. He wants Scar to teach him how to do that.

45:15 Skizz stops by Bop ‘n Go to repair his elytra, then heads for the sand and gravel shop. He leaves while the Bop song is still playing, disappointing his chat. Although the Death Scar initially appears to be its normal self, closer inspection reveals that it has been turned into a giant emoji sphere (thanks to Jevin.) Skizz, not fully understanding the cache function of the Bobby mod, is very confused. He visits the gravel shop, admires it, kills the inevitable mobs that spawn in any Scar build, and buys some gravel. Scar tells him in chat that the price for gravel is 12 diamonds per shulker rather than the posted 20. Skizz uses his coupon to buy a box of gravel.

52:30 Skizz leaves the gravel shop for the sand shop and catches up with donos again. A donor asks how he juggles streaming and a full time job. He suggests “A lot of cocaine,” then immediately insists multiple times that he is joking. He says it is very difficult and not necessarily very healthy, but suggests that as long as a streamer has a thick skin and an understanding that it’s very hard work, and that they listen to their body, they can get by. Another donor asks why he calls Tango ‘Top.’ Skizz says it’s from Rocket League, but that he also thinks very highly of Tango, so Top is an appropriate name.

55:00 Skizz actually enters the sand shop. Scar tells him via chat that shulkers of sand are 15 diamonds, and Skizz buys one. Chat complains that they cannot see in-game chat because of Twitch chat overlay. Skizz moves the chat box around on the screen to solicit chat opinions on the best place and size for it. Chat has a hard time achieving consensus. Skizz puts it back in the same place but slightly smaller.

58:30 Skizz addresses a viewer asking how to grow his drumming channel. He says you must be at peace with the fact that there is no magic formula. Collaborate as much as possible with other YouTubers in similar genres.

59:30 Return to the pyramid, inventory organization time. More dono shout-outs, and Skizz spends approximately 90 seconds walking aimlessly up and down his stairs.

1:02:30 Skizz fails to find ink in his chest monster. He sees that Tango has signed on and goes to visit the factory. Cleo raids into the stream. Not finding Tango, Skizz returns to the pyramid, gets chased by Tango, chases Tango, and engages in a sky battle that ends in an inglorious crash landing at the factory. Tango plays a custom music disc of Happy Birthday to the tune of the Hallelujah Chorus while slapping Skizz on the beat. Scar drops by and attempts to HotGuy Tango, but does not achieve Velocitay. Tango calls him a tryhard.

1:06:00 Scar and Skizz begin rummaging through Tango’s storage system. Tango only objects when Scar gets into the redstone guts of the factory and begins singing in a suspiciously innocent fashion. Tango shows off his piglin extermination system, complete with pressure-plate activated scream.

1:08:50 Scar remembers something he wanted to talk to Tango about, then remembers he either doesn’t want to talk in front of Skizz or in front of several thousand chatters. Skizz plays dejected and says he will leave. He flies away, then returns and successfully HotGuys Scar. Scar, who does not have a bed, is dumped off at Spawn. Skizz and Tango collect the bits and gloat over the kill. Skizz gathers up Scar’s elytra and rockets and goes to find Scar, only to realize he is not sure where Spawn is. Scar gets killed by a Vindicator at spawn.

1:11:10 Skizz finds Scar and returns the elytra while Scar claims that his failed Hotguy was more impressive because it was a blind shot over the rafters and into the factory. Tango arrives as well, wearing Scar’s hat. Scar calls him a Rancher. Tango agrees. Scar trolls Skizz over Mission Possible (Impossible) (Kimpossible), then shouts that he still needs to talk to Tango about record players while flying off. His departure angle is a bit low, causing him to slam nonfatally into the side of a hill. He corrects himself and flies away while Tango and Skizz laugh and make George of the Jungle jokes.

1:13:00 Skizz claims that he needs to go to work, Tango says that he shouldn’t really have to because it is his birthday you-yo. Tango says he went to the gym that morning, but admits it was just a preliminary meeting. He and and Skizz start talking about hockey, til Scar reappears and demands his arrows and ender chest. Scar asks Tango a technical question about custom heads as music players and Skizz flies back to the pyramid.

1:15:30. Back to work… except Skizz needs food and rockets. Skizz flies back to the shopping district while catching up on donos. He admires Joel’s new honey shop, then heads for the rocket shop and gets Hotguyed by Scar, who then logs out. Skizz collects Breadstick to return to the shopping district while lamenting the bad etiquette of not returning someone’s wingies to them after Hotguying them.

1:19:45 Skizz arrives back at the shopping district and collects his bits. Tango had been looking for them as well, but was misled by Skizz’s claim that he was “at the rocket shop” and had looked at Cuboom instead of the flight rocket shop. Skizz jokingly regrets being so polite about returning Scar’s elytra. He says Scar is “in barney” and vows revenge.

1:21:00 Tango makes fun of Skizz for still riding a horse, and Skizz decides it’s time to buy an elytra. They don’t know where they elytra shop is, but chat points the way. Tango steals the elytra from the barrel before Skizz can buy one, Skizz retaliates with vociferous movie quotation. Tango suggests that maybe there should be police on the server to keep order. Skizz buys an elytra and some golden carrots. He is running out of money. Tango mocks him for not selling more wood. Skizz says he has lowered the price of mangrove to 8, but people have stopped buying. Tango and Skizz both have a lot of permits unshopped. They realize they each have a wool permit they can use at the wool shop and Skizz rides home to get it.

1:27:15 Breadstick is returned safely to the corral. Skizz puts his new spare elytra in his shulker box and finds his permit for green wool. Tango has light blue. Neither of them understand the Wolves of Wool Street concept, but they assume they can put their permits on the wall of the shop and collect their profits. They return to the shopping district.

1:28:55 Skizz finds Wool Street and puts up his permit. He has already accumulated four blocks of diamonds in profit from the shop. Skizz and Tango open every trap door in the Terracotta shop facade. Skizz suggests that instead of just opening all the doors, they place many more trapdoors around the facade. They admire the cuteness of the Fresh Animations dogs.

1:33:00 Skizz lays out his plan for trapdoors, insisting that he wants to go juuuuust to the edge of not funny and stopping before that. Skizz cannot differentiate between spruce and dark oak, but Tango and the chat help. They go to the wood shop and decide to make a chat group, but both of them create and neither of them join. Tango eventually joins Skizz’s group after some frantic moon landing. Skizz experiences a serious and fundamental misunderstanding about the prices of logs in Doc’s shop, insisting briefly that a shulker of logs is three sand rather than three shulkers of sand. Tango is longsuffering.

1:37:00 Skizz resorts to using cherry wood from his own backstock, but is embarrassed when he can only make 33 trapdoors and they are all pink. Tango offers for a second time to go get wood. Skizz reluctantly agrees, then gets lost in the nether trying to follow Tango home. He shows off his own portal, then returns to the shopping district.

1:40:00 Decoration of the Terracotta Shop begins. Tango expresses sudden reservations and Skizz mocks him for having cold feet. They place a dozen trapdoors, mostly randomly.

1:41:05 A creeper blows up directly behind Skizz, narrowly missing taking out the entire Terracotta Shop. It makes a sizeable creeper hole just in front of the shop. Skizz says he’s starting to feel bad. Tango asks if he needs a hug. Skizz clarifies that he feels bad about what they’re doing. Tango says he feels bad, but not bad enough to stop. He is worried that it’s not funny enough. Skizz places a single froglight in the bottom of the creeper hole. He sees what Tango has done while he was in the hole (place another 15-20 trapdoors) declares that it is terrible and that he’s going to tell Bdubs what Tango did. Tango tears down what he made, while Skizz begins placing more trapdoors. The trapdoor situation is entirely random at this point.

1:43:15 Skizz exclaims that he knows what to do and flees the scene, cackling. He returns after a minute, and he and Tango try to figure out which trapdoors they actually placed. Chat reminds Tango (Skizz is not reading chat) that there are trapdoors on the floor. He begins picking them up while Skizz places down additional trapdoors. Tango slaps him right through the front door and out of the shop, then finishes picking up the doors. They leave the shop only minimally pranked.

1:46:00 Skizz and Tango leave through the wool shop. Skizz relays a question from chat about why Tango is not streaming today. Tango pauses for a moment, declares “Explosive diarrhea,” and immediately flies away. He is still in the group, however, and admits he actually should be working on a video but was distracted by birthday shenanigans. He leaves the group and Skizz returns once more to the pyramid. He catches up on donos again.

1:48:30 Back at the pyramid, time to work! Skizz notices the froglights that Joe used for climbing inside the pyramid earlier and thinks they are an obscure prank. He declares no pranking in the pyramid, and earns a cheevo by taking them down.

1:50:25 Time for the Bop Song… or for slapping a fish. Skizz slaps the fish, then looks at some fanart by JustHydra. He talks about an exciting dragon fight on the Skizzlecraft server. He reads a birthday poem from a fan and tears up a little. He decides it’s time for a Ted Lasso rewatch soon and catches up on donos.

1:58:14 Actually time for Bop Song. Skizz kills squid in the river to get dye, then uses his new sand and gravel to make black concrete. He talks about Cobra Kai and catches up on chat and donos.

2:06:30 Skizz begins placing black concrete around the lava portion of the maze.

2:09:20 Skizz forgets he is in freecam and has a brief out-of-body experience.

2:14:00 Catching up with chat. Skizz talks about how he is unqualified to talk about social anxiety issues at pride events, but suggests that chatter should go along with somebody who they are very comfortable with to provide support if the crowds get to be too much.

2:16:15 Another freecam jumpscare, right into the lava pit. Chat suggests a poll on how long before Skizz dies to his own maze again.

2:20:30 Skizz backs up into lava. He catches fire but does not die.

2:22:00 Poll suggests 77% of chat believes Skizz will die in his own lava.

2:23:00 Skizz fights a spider in the pyramid, then tries to figure out where it came from and mob-proof it.

2:29:30 Skizz decides to put black banners on the wall of the maze and leaves to go buy banners. He gets outside the pyramid before chat reminds him that he is the holder of the banner permit. He goes into his base and looks at the banner permit, then does a classic facepalm. He makes a loom but must sleep and kill more squid before he can make any banners.

2:36:00 Having decided that the best way to proceed is black banners with red downward-pointing arrows, Skizz pauses the game to look up how to make them. He “borrows” some poppies from Gem for dye and kills more squid.

2:40:10 Skizz attempts his first banner. He forgets how to do it. After some trial and error, he gets the colors he wants and begins working on patterns.

2:45:40 Skizz runs out of black ink, goes to kill more squid. He catches up with chat and advises a chatter to introduce a new person to gaming by first understanding what sort of person you are working with and what sort of learning process they vibe with.

2:49:00 First banner is completed. The banner copying function makes the second banner considerably faster.

2:52:00 Banners are placed in the maze, declared “not great, but not bad.” Skizz catches on fire again but does not die. Test run time is declared.

2:53:30 Skizz turns off the texture pack, strips naked and does a test run of the maze. He’s forgotten to turn off jump boost, invalidating the magma block jump. He drops to a half-heart at the berry bushes but survives to eat. It is time for the Skizzleman Fart Song.

2:59:20 Motion sickness warning as Skizz leaves his cubito bobbing in the top of a water stream while he sends a text message. He leaves the stream to go let his brother in the house.

3:00:50 Skizz returns to wrap up the stream. He was not able to finish the snow maze, so he skips to the lava drop to test that part. He successfully makes the jump and does not die in the lava. Chat experiences mixed feelings. Skizz realizes that he cannot get out of the hole at the bottom of the lava and will eventually have to starve to death, but that is a problem for Future (Hungry) Skizz. Skizz raids into Ginger_Crush and signs off.

[honey-riley]

Love You To Death || S.R.

WARNINGS: Military themes, guns, weapons, violence, detailed gore, mentions of Simon's past.

A/N: This contains an OC :) her name is Honey Tailer (my user is after her 🫡), she's German, so I hope you brought your google translate or other translators. There are more descriptors of her in the story itself <3

A/N pt.2: I'm learning German, and for most of the dialog in German, I use a translator. So, if anything is incorrect in German, don't behead me pls.

wc: 5.9k

1 || 2

War.

That's all that ever ran through him. A traumatized, mean, brooding war machine. Ever since he was little, that's all he could remember. The war within his household, the constant abuse that his father passed around. The constant abuse he endured as a child had profound and lasting effects on him. It shaped his worldview, eroded his sense of self-worth, and left him with deep emotional scars that manifested in his brooding and mean demeanor. The war within his household became the war within himself, and it consumed him every day.

He had never truly felt warmth. Sure, he had happy moments, moments where he could forget the trauma, moments where the gray cloud looming above him would clear. But only for a moment. He was human after all. The impact of his traumatic childhood on his relationships was profound. He struggled to form deep connections with others, always keeping them at arms length, afraid of being hurt again. His fear of vulnerability and his need for control made it difficult for him to trust and open up to others, resulting in a cycle of loneliness and isolation.

Riddling himself with routines, sticking to schedules, running everything in a timely, comfortable manner is what he loves. What he thrived on. It was something that he knew he could rely on. Every morning, he would wake up at the exact same time, following a strict routine that he had meticulously planned out. From the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he closed them again at night, every minute of his day was accounted for. He found solace in the predictability of his schedule, as it provided a sense of control and stability in a chaotic world. His routines became his lifeline, a way for him to regain some semblance of order in his life and protect himself from the unpredictable nature of human interactions.

So, the day that someone broke that routine for him, that was a day that he was going to remember.

Preparing for a mission, he went in with his normal routine - shower, get his gear on, put the mask on, prepare mentally, head to base, scan in, have breakfast, pack his tactical vest, check his gear, clean his weapons, and head out to the chopper by 0400.

This time, when he got to the chopper, there was a new face. Striking green eyes, long black hair that was slicked back into a regulatory military bun, fair skin, and God, was she short. Standing at four feet, eleven inches, just barely meeting the height requirements.

"Lieutenant." Laswell nodded as he approached. "This is Sergeant Honey Tailer, hope you don't mind her joining you today." She added with a smile. Ghost stuck his hand out for Honey to shake, which she accepted, giving him a firm shake back.

He took in her appearance one more time, noting her black, polished boots, her uniform, which wasn't digital camo, but more like spotted camo. She had a German flag on her shoulders and on her tactical vest.

"My pleasure, Lieutenant." She smiled softly, her German accent apparent in her words. It wasn't strong, it was subtle, she sounded like she had been speaking English her entire life - but she hadn't.

"It's great to meet you, Sergeant." He nodded, releasing her hand.

"Honey's going to be your DM for today. She'll provide surveillance, make sure you guys keep your heads." Laswell grinned as she looked over at Honey. DM, or designated marksman, was a good position to be in - a position that they needed in the team.

The team then loaded into the chopper, strapping into their seats. Honey's rifle sat on her chest, the barrel pointing to the tin floor of the chopper as she looked out of the window. She stared off, lost in thought, devising a plan on how she would go about this. It was an in and out mission, quick and easy - if things went according to plan.

Honey would provide recon and examine from a distance, while the team went in, gathering intel, hopefully going undetected, then Soap would plant the bombs, they would all get back onto the chopper, where Soap would detonate them.

"You'll do just fine, kid." Price's gruff voice snapped her out of thought as he patted her on the shoulder. Honey shot him a small, tight lipped, slightly nervous smile. She was used to this kind of stuff, but to work with a team she had never met, find her groove all over again, and to do it in time, was nerve wracking.

"This isn't your first time, right?" Ghost grunted as he looked over at her, his voice deep, almost like a growl.

"No, sir. I've been deployed multiple times." She replied with a nod.

Ghost took that in an almost snooty, stuck up way. Like she was so young, and she had all this experience, and she sounded like she was bragging about it. That irked him.

Instead of saying anything, he stayed quiet, crossing his arms over his chest. To pass the time, Honey put her AirPods in, and turned on some music, letting out a small sigh as she leaned back into her chair.

There was something about her that Ghost didn't find appealing. Something about her annoyed him, but he couldn't tell what it was.

The metallic sound of her ring clanking against her rifle as she tapped her fingers to the beat of the song she was listening to only made his annoyance grow.

"Wha' song are ye listenin' to?" Soap asked, nudging her.

"Oh, Love You To Death by Type O Negative." Honey said, looking over at him with a small smile.

"Damn, gothic stuff." Soap chuckled, cuing Honey to nod. "Yer pal, Ghostie over there loves that kind of music." Soap chuckled, nodding towards Ghost, making him let out a small scoff.

Not only was Honey now annoying him, she also had the same taste in music? That felt like it wasn't going to fly with him for whatever reason. He was already annoyed that his routine had been disrupted, and now, her presence alone annoyed him more.

"Alright, team. We're landing in Verdansk, just to refresh, you are to take out Makarov. He's in a highly guarded area, with plenty of people surrounding him." Laswell said over the comms.

"Copy." Honey replied, letting out a small sigh. She was the one who was tasked with disturbing the hive - taking out Makarov. She had already been filled in on why they needed him dead, and all the other necessary things such as his identity, where he would be at, his rank, what he looked like.

Once the chopper landed Price divided everyone into partners, and one trio. Ghost and Honey were tasked with surveillance. Ghost was Honey's spotter.

'I'm gonna be stuck with this annoying, snooty, stuck up bitch?' Ghost thought to himself. He kept his opinions inward, thankfully. Usually, with new recruits, he was very vocal about his disdain for them. This time, he kept his mouth shut, just wanting to get the mission done quicker.

Honey established a sniper's nest, and laid on the roof of the building opposite of where the team would be infiltrating.

"What's the drag?" Honey whispered, looking through her iron sights, ready to set her rifle up.

"Not a clue." Ghost grunted as he looked through the scope of his own rifle, adjusting accordingly. He did know, he just wanted her to struggle a bit, make her more 'human' in his eyes.

"You're no help." Honey muttered under her breath, looking down her iron sights again. She glanced over at Ghost for a moment, turning to her own rifle, contemplating something.

She deftly reached over, sliding the scope off of his rifle.

'Now she's trying to fuck with my gear?' Ghost scorned in his own mind. He looked over at her, his brows furrowed under his mask before he snatched his scope back, sliding it back on.

"Du erzeugst ein Glitzern." She growled, taking it back off.

"English." Ghost muttered under his breath, starting to get pissed off.

"You're creating a glint. There's people in that building that can see you because of your scope." She growled, looking over at the moon for a second before looking back at him. She subtly lifted her hand, pointing at the opposing building, and indeed, a faint reflection from the scope could be seen if you knew where to look.

He let out an audible scoff, rolling his eyes. He adjusted his rifle, getting used to just using his iron sights.

"It's a 42 meter separation, the wind is blowing south-east. We're facing north-west. The wind is 6 knots. Light breeze." He replied, telling her what she would need to adjust her rifle.

"Any visuals on Makarov?" Laswell said through the comms.

Honey glanced through a pair of binoculars for a second, seeing Makarov working at a table in an empty room, his back turned to the window.

"Positive. Black, short hair, suit, I can't tell how tall he is, but Ghost can verify that it's him." Honey replied through the comms. "It's him, Kate." Ghost muttered into the comms. "Permission to take the shot?" Honey asked Laswell.

"Granted." Laswell replied.

Honey put down the binoculars and Ghost picked them up, ready to watch Honey shoot Makarov.

Honey lined up her shot, calculating the drag, and the possible path that the bullet would take once it hit the glass. Doubt nibbled at the edges of her mind, raising its voice as her finger hovered over the trigger. But she pushed it away, reminding herself of the countless hours of training. She took a deep breath, pulling the rifle tight to her shoulder, holding her breath so that the shot was steady. She loaded her chamber, taking the rifle off of safety, and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Ghost's heart raced. He felt a pang of jealousy, mixed with a swirl of emotions. 'This should've been mine,' He thought, his chest tightening. 'This is my team. What does she think she's doing, muscling in on my territory?' His fists clenched around the binoculars, sweat dripping from his temple.

The bullet shattered through the glass, sending a gory red mist into the air as Makarov's head exploded. Ghost's jaw clenched as his anger bubbled, the realization of what just happened setting in.

Honey laid her rifle down, staying on her stomach as she glanced over to Ghost. She could see the tension in his body, the balaclava clinging to his face with each heavy gasp for air. Unsure of how to respond to Ghost's obvious displeasure, she gave him a small, tight lipped, reassuring smile.

Ghost glared back, his eyes filled with the intensity of his rage. 'She's taken everything from me,' he thought. 'I can't let her win. I can't let her take this from me too.'

In the aftermath, the team sat in stunned silence, their gazes fixed on the lifeless body now sprawled on the floor. The reality of their success hung in the air, a weighty, shared accomplishment that lingered, tainted by Ghost's bitter resentment. This was a man that they had been tracking for years and Honey came in and shot him like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. And God, that smile afterwards pissed him off so much more.

'What the fuck is she doing? This was supposed to be my job. What the hell does she know about shooting?' Ghost fought with himself internally. He hated this. He ha=ted everything about her.

The pair watched as the team infiltrated the room, occasional gunfire sounding through the air. Honey watched as Soap went in, took a laptop and all the needed files, planting a few bombs on his way out.

Honey stood up, grabbing her rifle, unloading the chamber and putting it back onto safety. Ghost stood up as well, grabbing his own rifle, storming his way back down the flight of stairs to the ground floor.

"Ghost." Honey said as she followed him, her rifle slung over her back. He didn't bother waiting for her, or even listening to her. He silently stormed his way back to the chopper, getting in, and buckling himself up.

Honey set their things back where they belonged on the chopper, ensuring that nothing would fall out. There was an awkward silence as they waited for the rest of the team to get back to where the chopper was. Nikolai sat in the cockpit.

"How was the mission? You finally nail him?" Nikolai grinned, his thick Russian accent apparent in his words as he looked back through the door, glancing at Ghost.

"Honey did." Ghost muttered, his fists balled under his biceps as he crossed his arms. "Her shot was just luck." He added, looking outside of the chopper, avoiding eye contact. He knew it was more than luck - it was skill, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Honey winced at his words, looking over at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She glanced away, keeping her eyes off of him. She had always been doubted. She had worked her entire life for this moment, and the entire time, she had been doubted. She didn't know why it even hurt at this point - she should've expected it. But, she was going to stand up for herself for once - even if it didn't work.

Honey looked at him, her brow furrowing. "Luck?" She asked, her voice slightly hurt. "I took the damn shot, calculated it. I did everything I needed to. And it's just luck? I’ve worked my entire life for this, I’ve worked my ass off. Making sure that I could make a damn shot." She added. Honey wanted to get frustrated, she wanted to argue, but she took a deep breath, keeping her mouth shut.

Ghost's jaw dropped slightly at her response. His glare softened, his unwavering anger faltering for the first time. He didn't know what to say to counter her words, her confidence - and for once, he found himself at a loss.

'All of my years of practicing, honing, just for it to be chalked up to luck? Fuck this guy.' Honey thought to herself, letting out a sigh. She wanted to be on this team, she had worked for it for years. She wanted to be on the top - the best of the best, and this was her chance. She wasn't going to ruin it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rest of the team getting into the chopper, carrying files, laptops, and USB sticks. Everything that they could get their hands on that could be important, they took.

"Let's watch this puppy blow." Soap chuckled as he buckled into the chopper. Nikolai lifted the chopper off the ground, getting it a distance away before Soap pressed the button, making the entire building explode and collapse in on itself.

Honey watched as the orange and yellow flames licked the air, huge billows of smoke and debris shooting up into the air.

"Christ." Honey murmured, watching the smoke shoot up. The blast wave then hit the chopper, making it sway and vibrate. Nikolai quickly corrected, starting their flight back. The flight back to base was almost silent, everyone processing what had just happened, and why it had happened.

'Why was Honey the one to kill Makarov? Why was this new recruit the one who got to end the man we had fought to kill for years? And why was it so easy for her?' Ghost was furious at the thought of it.

'Why did she get the pleasure? The satisfaction?'

When they got back to base, Ghost just wanted to get his report filled and then think things through in his quarters, but of course, Laswell had other plans.

"You and Honey are bunking together." Laswell said as she opened the door to his quarters. Honey stood behind Laswell, her bag slung on her shoulder as well as a few other things in her hands - two pillows and a blanket.

"What about Soap?" Ghost asked, looking over at the other bed in the room - the bed where Soap slept. That side of the room was blank, Soap moved rooms.

"Soap bunked with Gaz. We don't have another room for Honey, so she's going with you." Laswell said, turning around and walking away. Honey came in quietly, her steps silent.

She placed her things on the bed, avoiding him. She busied herself with the task of getting her things set up - making the bed, putting her things in her dresser and closet.

"There are rules here." Ghost grunted as he watched her, his attention drawn away from his paperwork.

"Keep your shit on your side of the room, keep it clean, keep it neat, and don't talk to me." He added. Honey didn't do anything but nod as she folded her clothes. Pajamas, uniforms, dress uniforms, civilian clothes - they were all put away neatly.

There was something about her, something that kept his attention away from his paperwork. Something that kept him from focusing. Maybe it was the rage towards her, maybe it was the envy - there was something. Something that he hated. Something that Simon despised. Ghost hated it more.

What do we think of the first part, y'all? Do we love it? Hate it? Eh? Lmk what I can work on as well! My ask me is still open :))

[strawberrykisseslia]

Vanessa Shelly x F! reader

this was slightly inspired by White dress by Lana Del Rey :) not really the story of the song but the vibe(?) so yea! :D

TW: none; fluff, first love thing, harmless flirting, slight angst with alternative ending, waitress reader

A/N: this is my first work that I actually post so please be kind 😭 i already wrote ffs before but never posted them; English is not my first language so, sorry if I make any grammar mistakes, i dont bother to correct them+ im dyslexic but I'll try my best <3

have a pleasant reading time!

~~~

As always you were working in your favorite diner as a waitress. It was a pretty calm job so you liked it, not the night shifts though, because it was open 24/0.

In the few past months you noticed that a woman always came every morning and always on the same exact time. You never really talked to her more than taking her order, you were too busy. The woman was a police officer so she was also almost always in a hurry.

Today was different. It was pouring rain outside and there weren't many people in. However, your favorite costumer came though. She was wearing her raincoat and the hood was on her. When she came in she took off the hood and gave you a small smile. "The usual?" Your voice broke the silence. She slightly chuckled and nodded while leaning against the counter. "I think you already memorized it well, no?" You turned around and started to make her coffee. A soft chuckle left your lips. "How couldn't I?" She smiled before crossing her arms. You turned your head back and smiled at her. She extremely gorgeous and attractive, how didn't you notice this before? You did now.

Silence filled the almost empty diner, the only sound was the coffee machine. "I'm Vanessa Shelly, by the way. How about you?" Her voice was also soothing. You turned back and faced her while placing down the coffee, sugar and milk down on the counter before you and her. "Y/N L/N." You looked down and started putting the milk and sugar into the coffee. "I like the sounding of your name. How old are you? You seem pretty young." She tilted her head to the side while looking up and down at you. She noticed that your uniform were different from the other waitress's. Yours were white, it suited you just well. You were beautiful even in your uniform.

"I'm 19." You smiled and slided the coffee towards her and you put away the ingredients. She took a sip of her coffee. "Then I was right. You are still pretty young." You nodded, your sweet smile never leaving your face. "Can I ask how old you are?" You were slightly scared by asking her. She sounded more older than you. "I'm already 30." She chuckled and put the coffee down. You were slightly surprised by her age since she looked a lot younger. You would have guessed she is in her early 20s like you. "You don't seem like in a hurry like the other days." You mentioned. She looked at you pretty confusedly. "You noticed?" She smiled. "Today is a bit more chilling than the others. I only have some job to do during afternoon." You were slightly surprised by that but you were also happy that you at least got the chance to talk with her.

After the little chat you had with her, you had to go back to the other customers because finally people came in so it wasn't all empty anymore. Some time later you notice Vanessa wasn't there anymore. You sighed, feeling down because you didn't have the chance to say bye to her. You hoped she comes tomorrow like always.

~~~

"Baby! Look what I've found!" Your voice filled the house. You were in front of your closet. In your hand there was your old white dress that you wear when you first had your conversation with Vanessa. It was nostalgic to see it again after years of it being at the closets darkest corner.

Vanessa came up to you to your shared bedroom with a small smile. She walked up to your side and noticed the dress in your hand. A wave of nostalgia went through her and a bigger smile went on her lips. "Oh my god! Is that the dress you were working in when we first met? It's been so long since I last seen it!" She laughed lightly. You nodded and smiled. "It's been a while... Should I try it on some time?" You turned around and put the dress down on the bed. Looking down at it, it was still in good conditions, you only needed to wash and it would be better than ever. "I would love to see it on you again." Her voice was filled with nothing other than love. She put her arm around your waist and kissed your forehead. "I love you." You giggled and turned to face her. You put your arms around her neck and gently stroked her hair that was down. Her beautiful green eyes looking into yours and that loving and that gorgeous smile you fell in love with was smiling at you. "I love you too. More than anything."

I only mention it cause it was such a scene and I felt seen.

~ALTERNATIVE ENDING:

"Baby! Look what I've found!" Your voice filled the house. You were in front of your closet. In your hand there was your old white dress that you wear when you first had your conversation with Vanessa. It was nostalgic to see it again after years of it being at the closets darkest corner.

Your girlfriend came in with curiosity to your shared bedroom. "What is it?" She asked. Her voice was much different from Vanessa's. It was a lot harsher but of course, you loved your girlfriend so much but somehow... you still remember to Vanessa's voice and always fantasize about it.

You smiled at her. "Looked what I've found..." You repeated yourself and turned to face her. She came closer to you. "Oh! Was that your old uniform?" She smiled. "It must nostalgic to see it again. Probably it holds many dear memories to you, no?" You nodded and looked down at the dress in your hand.

"Truly. Many dear memories."

'I only mention it cause it was such a scene and I felt seen.'

[elbiotipo]

My grandpa was one of the last to work for La Forestal. They came to the Argentine Chaco to extract tannin from the quebracho tree. He tells me that every time a huge quebracho was cut down, it fell on the new little trees, not giving the forest time to grow back. A job from sun to sun, on lands stolen from the native peoples of the Chaco, who, along with criollos and immigrants, were also forced into gangs to cut down trees so hard that broke down axes, with trunks meters in diameter, to be pulverized in sweatshop factories and sent as tanin podwer to European industries. La Forestal did not pay you in pesos; you had a coin (my grandpa still has his, it says "Obrero N° 14"), which you presented at the company store, and they gave you whatever (food, booze) they cared to give you, or what they said they had; after all, as my grandfather says, if you didn't know how to read or write, how would you know you were getting less than they said?

And if you went on strike? And if you formed a union? And if you wanted to resist, like the indigenous peoples did? Some boys with a blood-red cap, the Cardenales, criminals taken from prison, would come and kill you, in broad daylight if you were striking, in the middle of the forest if you were alone. Many books tell about hacheros yelling one last long sapucai before killing themselves, because they couldn't stand it anymore.

Who were the owners of this terrible company? English. In the La Forestal HQ in the north of Santa Fe, a beautiful mansion (I understand that it is now a ruin) while the workers lived in mud huts with roofs of palm leaves, every day, the Union Jack was hoisted over Argentine soil, and of course, at five o'clock it was tea time, while all the tannin, loaded on barges and on railways worked by Argentines but owned by the British, went to Europe, and the wealth, of course, to London.

My grandfather lived through the last of this. Perón already came by that time, with worker's rights, unions, rural schools and clinics, the nationalization of railways... Nevertheless, he still had to hunt to eat and work from a young age at the machines of the company, as the company was leaving the country and couldn't even bother to pay a pittance to its workers. It eventually closed most of its operations and came into Argentine hands. But don't think it was because the English had a change of heart. They just found a better source of tannin, the acacias in their African colonies. God knows what crimes they committed there, if this is what they did in the territory of a 'sovereign' country.

And this is the side of the story I know. I cannot yet speak for all the territories the British owned in the Patagonia, some of which are still owned by English millionaries today. Don't come to tell me that the poor innocent English had nothing to do with the genocide that was done to the indigenous peoples in this country.

[gh1dd]

CATNIP

(HybridCat!Ghost X Reader)

You adopted ghost when you go throw the trash, He can’t change back in human

//Eng is not my first language sorry if my English is broke 🫡//

You just finished university in the UK, you don't want to go back to your country because your family is a... difficult childhood place, don't you know that it is because of the above reasons that you are determined to study architecture practice and strive to get out of that place.

You tried to get a full scholarship and now you’re in England. It can be said that you study very well, you don't have many friends and you also don't like going to crowded and noisy places because you are an introverted person. Looking inward and outward at work and life becomes dull, you don't know what to do anymore.

You work at a small convenience store here to help you pay for your miserable apartment.

Today is another bad day at work, feeling tired because your co-worker is really an asshole he leaves everything to you from mopping the floor to taking out the trash. He knows that those things have to be done in the morning but still leave it to you and you surely have revenge on him later at least that much.

You work from 7pm to 4am and then you finish your work. Why the hell are there so many people buying things today and you don't finish your work until 4.36am? Sighing in frustration and looking at the work to be done, feeling uncomfortable and tired.

More than an hour has passed, you've finished cleaning up the store, and now all that's left to do is throw away the trash, you walk over to the trash bags. There are two big bags in total so you pick it up off the ground and walk towards the back door.

When the door opened you felt the smell of rain and dirt entering your nose, your breathing felt choked.

Being silent and not saying anything, you just sighed and inhaled this smell, perhaps you were familiar with it. When you went to the trash cans, you noticed that there was a set of clothes lying on the ground. You weren't sure if that was an outfit or something because the surroundings were too dark.

You feel strange because your area is especially like a place behind this convenience store where almost no one will go in regardless of that, you go to the trash cans and in your head at this point you are only thinking about what the morning shift worker left for you. While still lost in your own thoughts, you heard strange noises coming from those clothes, and you began to feel worried about whether you should... come check or not?

The voice approached the clothes and carefully lifted it up and...Ohhhh it was just a gray cat. You breathe a sigh of relief, why is there a cat here? You ask yourself why is there a cat lying here?

The cat was weak and felt like it was about to die.

You see that inside the clothes, more specifically a tactical outfit, there is something shiny, you immediately pick it up and realize it was a dogtag with the name Simon"ghost"Riley engraved on it, maybe Is this the name of its owner?

And the cat was seriously leg injured, the blood has dried, but if it continues to be left outside like this, this cat will definitely get infected and die. You check a little and realize it is still alive. You looked around for a moment to see if anyone was there, then you picked up the cat, its body moving a little instinctively when it felt the warmth of your body enveloping it.

You stood up with the cat in your lap, your hand still holding the dogtag before putting it in your pocket as you carried the cat inside the store.

You walk through the door and now you are in the warehouse, you take a temporary seed and put it in. Before going back to the cashier area and getting the first aid box under the table, you went back to the warehouse and started giving first aid to the cat. When you finished, you breathed a sigh of relief. It moved a little. The little bit only emitted weak roars.

“At least the machine is fine now”

“Hsss..but why are there such cruel owner’s ?? Would you leave your pet in the landfill?"

You grumbled while petting the cat, realizing that it was just like you in a place like this which made you feel protective over the cat.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59162365/chapters/150855010

[dramatic-dolphin]

I'm writing this anonymously because I don't want my blog to be connected to this but I think I have something that might interest you and fellow hungarians.

I'm in the 12th grade of highschool and I'm 18 years old. I decided to take an early érettségi exam from english. The problems started after nobody told us what exactly we need to in order to get permission for that. Somehow we scraped the info we needed. They told us to go to a different school to get papers. I and a friend of mine arrived there at 14:20. There was quite the line there, so we figured it will take an hour or so and we can go home.

Well one hour turned into nine. The school should have been closed and frankly I don't know what happened and why it was so slow. The queue advanced three centimetres per hour. Around 18:00 the porter came up to ask what the fuck was up, why are we still here. We couldn't go anywhere else, we couldn't get the papers anywhere else. So we stayed. It was starting to look really dire. I don't know how many of us were there, but it's safe to say that more than a hundred. In a narrow corridor, sitting. The line seemed to not progress at all at that point. It was around 23:30 when I finally got my papers. I waited for NINE hours. I sat on the ground of a narrow corridor for NINE hours. I got out just in time to catch the last tram to home. I got home around 1:00 and I had to get up 6:00. I run on around 4 hours of sleep. I'm dead tired.

While waiting a friend of mine wrote to Telex in hopes of getting their attention with this story. Now I obviously don't blame the poor teachers who had to do our papers, I bet they won't get extra money for this. But this is unaccaptable. I hate this fucking country.

On the flip side though we tried to have fun while waiting. We brought food, we talked, we sang and one guy pulled an ukulele out of somewhere. There was also guy with a mouth harmonica. So all in all, the people were 10/10 but the experience itself was like a personal hell, 0/10 would not recommend.

oh god, the early érettségi process was bad enough when I had to do it years ago, this sounds like an actual nightmare.

NINE HOURS???? 23:30??????? if I were you I straight up would not have gone to school the next day, this is more than enough of an excuse

I'm thinking there were like two teachers at best doing all this and every single important machine broke. or something. I actually have no idea what sort of circumstances could excuse NINE HOURS OF WAITING. jesus christ.

but also as we all know there is no tanárhiány, and if there is it's their own fault, and nothing is wrong in this country 🙃

what the fuckkkkk. get some sleep today <3

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

Firstly, I'd like to apologise to everyone for the person I became when Time Stands Still at the Iron Hill came on. Secondly, Blind Guardian were magical

It felt like being invited to attend my dad's D&D session; I struggle to describe it any other way. Atmosphere was electric, the songs were hype, Hansi was just a really sweet, affable guy the whole way through. At one point we made eye contact and it nearly gave me a heart attack. Hansi the adoption papers are in the mail.

Was surprised they didn't do too much of God Machine. It was a nice even spread from their whole career, which was great to experience. And today was the 35th anniversary of Follow the Blind's release, so we got to celebrate that a little.

A Bard's Song was of course played and of course Hansi barely sung any of it because we knew all the lyrics by heart. It's crazy to experience that live. Singing along with everyone to a song that's meant a lot to you since childhood; I wept the obligatory solitary tear and was thankful when Violent Shadows came on next so I could recover from all the emotions xD

I'm not gonna lie. When Hansi said they were coming to the end of their show and they would have to leave after the next one - bearing in mind I knew full well there must be an encore - I burst into tears and spent the next song violently trying to hide my crying from the stage cos god I'm just a baby Hansi you can't say that to me even as a joke apparently Dx I was genuinely so upset at the idea of them leaving lmao

Luckily ofc they had a four song encore and played a bit of Twilight Orchestra in the interim. Hansi tried to tell us they had more songs for us but he kept forgetting the English word for "more" and spent a good minute trying to figure it out bless him xD everyone started chanting "Hansi" when he got it right finally lol

Valhalla was included in the encore and, yes, we did chant the chorus for far longer than necessary after the song ended. And then started it back up again a minute later xD

And we got one extra song that wasn't on the set list! Was not expecting them to play Majesty but it brought the house down. What had been a pretty sedate crowd suddenly broke out into crowd surfers lmao

So glad I got to see these guys finally; it's so bizarre to come face to face with someone who kind of directed the course of your life a little bit

[mariacallous]

I wrote about the results of the English local elections for the Spectator today, and looked at how Labour was defying some of the cliches about centre-left parties.

The left assumes that their leaders will betray the noble cause because they are evil or weak and allow themselves to be corrupted by capitalism.  Their moral failings lead them to abandon left-wing policies. 

In their own way Conservatives agree. Even when they are defeated at the polls, they want to believe they have won the battle of ideas. Centre-left parties will abandon radical policies when they learn the hard way that Margaret Thatcher was right when she said that the “facts of life are conservative”.

But that’s not what is happening with Keir Starmer’s Labour party, as I explain below….

Labour people are used to defeat. Before every election they wonder if the Tories will defy expectations. Real votes are not the same as opinion polls, after all, they say. 

And yet ever since Boris Johnson broke his own lockdown rules, disastrous performances for the Tories in opinion polls have been replicated by disastrous results in real elections. We are only beginning to grasp the consequences of an inevitable Tory defeat.

Not all the results of the 2024 local elections are in by any means, but come on now. At the time of writing, Labour has taken the Blackpool South parliamentary seat. Conservative support collapsed by 32 per cent. 

This was not a one off. As the unstoppable electoral stats machine, Rob Ford, professor of politics at Manchester University points out, Tony Blair achieved four swings of 20 points or more from the Conservatives when he was opposition leader. Starmer has now achieved five – including four of the five largest swings ever recorded in British political history.

Barring divine intervention by a Tory god, Labour will win the next election. And that knowledge is making Labour more left-wing than many Westminster correspondents acknowledge. 

The gains of the Green party in the local elections and Muslim boycotts of Labour candidates because of the party’s pro-Israel stance may not have had a great impact this time round. But it is easy for any clear-sighted Labour politician to see how left anti-Labour forces might build in the future.

As a result, Starmer is not following the Tony Blair playbook of appeasing conservative opinion, or at least he is not following it to the letter. Here are a few examples of his thinking that deserved more notice than they received.

Last week, the New Statesman reported a political rumour that Labour would carry on with the government’s plans to deport asylum seekers to the corrupt, militarist and quasi-dictatorial Rwandan state, which have outraged liberal opinion. ‘We cannot just come in, tear it up and have nothing to put in its place,’ an anonymous adviser told the magazine. 

All the criticism shadow home secretary Yvette Cooper and shadow immigration minister Stephen Kinnock have poured on the waste of public money Rwanda has prompted was to be forgotten, apparently. 

The only template modern Labour leaders have for winning an election is the punitive strategy of Tony Blair and Gordon Brown in 1997, and it seemed they would follow it again in 2024. Readers old enough to remember the 1990s will recall an arms race on crime and asylum policies, as Michael Howard and Tony Blair outbid each other with gimmicky authoritarian stunts.

Today, the Blairite model of refusing to allow Labour to be outflanked on the right would have mandated accepting deportations to Africa. Nothing of the sort happened, however. Keir Starmer thought it worth his while to personally crush the story. ‘I don’t think it will work, I know we have to stop the boats and I want to get going with our plan on day one,’ he said. ‘What I’m not going to do is flog a dead horse.’

The Greens, the SNP, and whatever Corbynite movement emerges after the next election would all use a U-turn on Rwanda to attack Labour, and you can see the political damage that would flow from changing course. 

But to highlight the political threat is to miss a wider point. Most Labour politicians are not ‘desiccated calculating machines’ to use Nye Bevan’s putdown of Hugh Gaitskell. They do not just weigh electoral consequences. They believe the Rwanda policy is a cruel stunt, as does Keir Starmer. That is why it will die with this government.

We are moving into a new Britain where the old calculations do not apply. Ever since the Brexit referendum of 2016, all who criticised right-wing populism were dismissed as elitist fools who did not understand the beliefs of ordinary, honest people. Now that right-wing populism has failed so utterly it is no longer even popular, new concerns will dominate. The attitudes of renters, young home buyers, Muslims, and the supposed out-of-touch progressives will matter.

Another episode from earlier this week made my point for me. The Financial Times claimed that Labour was about to unveil a weakened package of workers’ rights. Its promises to deliver higher sick pay, end employers’ use of  ‘fire and rehire’, and reverse anti-strike legislation would be watered down or forgotten, apparently

The story tallied with the easy, fashionable view that Starmer’s Labour will say and do anything to win, and with Margaret Thatcher’s rather complacent Tory assumption that ‘the facts of life are conservative,’ and Labour must follow conservative policies when it is in power.

Starmer blew both assumptions away. He categorically denied the FT story saying, ‘We will not be watering down the New Deal for Working People’.

The biggest test for Labour is yet to come. Chancellor Jeremy Hunt has gone into full Liz Truss mode and has pushed forward unfunded cuts to National Insurance. On the one hand, Hunt and Sunak, have been politically naïve: by saying they want to abolish NI they have allowed Labour to engage in the populism of the left and claim that the Conservatives are threatening the state pension.

But eventually Labour will have to declare whether it will accept the huge spending cuts Hunt’s uncosted proposals will necessitate. In 1997, Gordon Brown accepted the incredibly tight fiscal programme Ken Clarke left him. Better to do that, he reasoned, than allow the Tories to hang the ‘tax raiser’ label around Labour’s neck in the general election campaign.

Do not be shocked if shadow chancellor Rachel Reeves refuses to do the same. Instead she may well point out that Hunt is trying to play a trick and say that she will not go along with the charade, and nor should the voters.

If you look ahead to 2025, you can see a Labour government under attack from the left by the Greens and Corbynistas, from Scottish nationalists in the SNP and English nationalists in the Conservative party. To hold the centre ground, it must treat all its opponents with equal seriousness.

The idea that it will only make concession to conservatives, that it will give ground to them on asylum, human rights, workers’ rights, public spending, and indeed Brexit, because Labour has no other choice is a delusion born of the long years of Conservative rule, which I can say with certainty, are now over.

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 13: Budding Spring - Episode 15: Ketchuped Thoroughly

Employee A: I apologize for the inconvenience.

Employee A: We are doing relatively well in English-speaking countries and Asia, but this region is difficult and not a lot of people within the company can help…

Employee A: I’m considering out-sourcing, but I have yet to receive approval. Please at least correct the parts that don’t make sense through machine translation.

Chikage: I can do this much quickly, it’s alright.

Chikage: …

[Keyboard keys clicking]

Chikage: (Is this the last one?)

Chikage: — —

Chikage: (... Same last name? I’m starting to develop a bad habit of reacting on reflex.)

-

Tsumugi: It’s been a while since the voting period started, but the notifications for debut performances don’t seem to be letting up.

Kazunari: There are still a lot of announcements about new theater companies being formed and member recruitments~

Kumon: Oh yeah. A kid in my class also said they wanted to try acting.

Tsumugi: As more people are exposed to theater, more of them want to try it out.

Tenma: And because of the SNS voting, more and more companies are focused on online distribution.

Omi: While working on a photoshoot the other day, I met someone who works in the video industry, and they said they suddenly got a lot busier.

Yuki: There’s also comments from overseas on online reviews.

Tasuku: As they said in the press conference, the New Fleur Award is revitalizing the world of theater.

Azuma: That’s amazing, considering it’s only just begun.

Sakyo: Yukio-san’s the kind of person to be smack-dab in the eye of the storm when it comes to theater. 

Guy: He has gotten busier as the award gains more attention. He has been doing a lot of interviews together with Kamikizaka.

Sakyo: Well, I’m sure Reni-san’s handling that part just fine.

Yuki: The reviews on En.com are also increasingly rapidly, but there’s a lot of bad ones.

Yuki: Even plays by famous troupes and screenwriters have comments like, “They spoke too fast, and I didn’t understand a thing, the costumes were cute tho”.

Yuki: There’s also, “I didn’t understand why, but they suddenly broke into contemporary dance. It was interesting overall, however.”.

Azami: Honest but harsh, huh.

Sakyo: They probably don’t understand the artistic beauty of theater and are just sharing their first impressions of it.

Tsuzuru: They’re interesting to read, but it’s scary to think how that might be us next time.

Sakuya: I wonder what they’ll say about us…

Izumi: Don’t think about it so much and get discouraged. We’ll be fine if we do things as we usually do.

Itaru: Tru. If we worry about it too much and worry our fans, we’ll be putting the cart before the horse.

Yuki: It’d be a good idea to keep review checking in moderation.

-

Yuzo: Good morning.

Tsuzuru: Good morning.

Sakuya: Good morning! Thank you for today!

Izumi: Sorry for calling you here when you’re also busy with your own troupe.

Yuzo: I don’t mind.

Itaru: Have you thought of any strat for the New Fleur Award, Yuzo-san?

Yuzo: We’re just gonna do what we usually do. The pre-voting stung, though.

Izumi: MANKAI Company came up 70th.

Yuzo: We got 103rd.

Sakuya: Lower than us!?

Tsuzuru: Even though you sell out all your tickets and have a loyal following…

Yuzo: Most of our fans are pretty old.

Yuzo: There’s probably people who didn’t know about the pre-voting, or they just didn’t know how to participate.

Yuzo: It seems like it’ll be an uphill battle, but all we can do is be ourselves.

Yuzo: Well, this round ain’t over. We’ll go at our own pace, with no rush.

Yuzo: Still, Yukio-san threw a curveball at us like he always does. I’m always amazed at what he can come up with.

Izumi: Haha… You can say that again.

Yuzo: Alright. If you’ve finished getting ready, let’s start.

Sakuya: Yes! Thank you very much!

-

Yuzo: …

Izumi: What do you think…?

Izumi: (It’s been a while since I last felt this nervous…)

Yuzo: Hah… As rough as ever.

Yuzo: Since it’s a sequel to your debut performance, your interpretation of your characters is good. What you’re lacking on is spirit.

Yuzo: And Tsuzuru, you’ve still got your doubts about the script, so you can’t concentrate on acting it out, yeah?

Tsuzuru: … Yes.

Yuzo: The rest of you guys are too caught up in wanting to put on a good show in order to produce good results for the ranking.

Yuzo: Having to put on a good performance is common sense. I’m sure you guys understand that by now.

Yuzo: So, you need to think about what you want to convey and achieve through this performance on top of that.

Yuzo: Do you want a better place in the rankings, or do you want to show how much you’ve grown…

Sakuya: — —

Yuzo: It’s not a bad thing to want the audience’s reception to be positive, obviously. But if that’s all you’re aiming for, then this is all just a way to earn points.

Yuzo: All your thoughts will be things like, “if we do this we’ll get more popular and get more points” and “if we do that we’ll get extra points”. But what we’re doing here is theater, not a competition.

Yuzo: What is you guys’, what is the Spring Troupe’s acting all about? Who are you doing it for? For what purpose?

Yuzo: You’re doing a sequel for your debut play. What did that debut mean to you guys?

Yuzo: If you’re going to go through with this, wouldn’t it be a good idea to discuss and re-evaluate your origins?

Yuzo: …Heh, but do so with some self-discipline, yeah?

Izumi: (I wonder if Yuzo-san also has various concerns regarding the New Fleur Award?)

Izumi: (No, I’m sure troupes other than Yuzo-san’s do too… It’s not just us.)

Izumi: (What role should our theater company have in this world of theater that is rapidly changing in front of our eyes…)

Izumi: (We may have to re-evaluate the direction we’re headed in.)

-

Citron: It’s been a while since he ketchuped us so thoroughly~

Masumi: Criticized us so thoroughly?

Itaru: But he’s upped his kindness levels recently.

Chikage: Doesn’t that mean he approves of us?

Masumi: But the parts that are no good have become much harder to fix.

Sakuya: That’s true… We can’t come up with an easy answer this time. Our acting… Our origin…

Tsuzuru: It’s surprisingly difficult to just be ourselves.

Chikage: Probably because we’re the ones who understand ourselves the least.

Izumi: We chose to make a sequel of our debut performance with the intention to go back to our roots and remember our beginning…

Izumi: So, what do you think was the best thing about the original RomiJuli?

Sakuya: Honestly, I think I was pretty bad at acting. All I had going for me was how badly I wanted to act.

Tsuzuru: Though those feelings of yours haven’t changed.

Sakuya: Yes! If anything, I love and treasure acting even more now.

Masumi: So, we have to find what our current selves are “lacking”.

Itaru: I do feel like my current self is more absorbed in acting than I was back then.

Chikage: Our bonds have deepened, and we’ve all leveled up.

Citron: I can not think of anything we’re lacking~....

Masumi: But I understand what Yuzo’s saying.

Tsuzuru: Right… He’s also right about me still doubting the script.

Chikage: A difference from our debut performance, huh… For better or worse, it’s no longer our “first time” acting.

Itaru: You mean, like our freshness has disappeared? I guess a writer’s debut work always has a certain kind of oomph to it.

Sakuya: A “beginning” only comes once, so it’s not something we can replicate…

Tsuzuru: So in a sense, we’ll never be able to surpass our debut performance…?

Itaru: Sad but true.

Masumi: Something that can’t be surpassed despite our growth…

Itaru: A “first time” and the image of innocently rushing forward both have a certain kind of impact.

Sakuya: Hmmm…

Izumi: …

Izumi: (Everyone’s mood dampened.)

Izumi: Let’s put this on hold, think about it individually, and then have another meeting.

Tsuzuru: ‘Kay.

Itaru: … Good idea.

[Phone vibrating]

Sakuya: Oh–

Izumi: The meeting’s over, so it’s okay if you go out.

Sakuya: I’m sorry, please excuse me.

[Sakuya walks out]

Sakuya: — —Hello, This is Sakuma speaking.

Sakuya: Ummm, I’m sorry. About that…

Iv: long af maint shiki: i’ve got a test tomorrow, so i might not be on much Iv: we start on thurs Kar: gl Iv: aren’t you also starting soon Kar: been at it since the day before ytd Iv: oh you already did shiki: you’re so chill about it momo has entered the chat Kar: sup shiki: you’re late today Iv: have your tests started too? momo: i ran away from home Kar: sudden mood shift lmao

previous episode | masterpost | next episode

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

Rebecca Ferguson on the relationship with Sweden - and Swedish film: "Give me a role" The criticism after the TV4 interview: "I don't want to fuck it up"

LONDON. Rebecca Ferguson, 40, has left Sweden and is taking Hollywood by storm.

But beyond the successes with "Dune", "Silo" and "Mission: impossible", she is careful to nurture the ties to her home country.

"I don't get that many Swedish offers, give me a role", says Rebecca Ferguson to Aftonbladet Nöje.

The Hollywood star is sitting in a suite at the five-star Rosewood Hotel in Holborn in central London. Here, the blockbuster "Dune: Part two" has occupied an entire floor for marketing and interviews ahead of the premiere date, which in Sweden is February 28.

Since a couple of years ago, London is also Rebecca Ferguson's hometown.

"I left Sweden, after covid I really moved", says the actress.

She grew up in Stockholm with a British mother and a Swedish father, went to Adolf Fredrik's music classes and broke through as a 15-year-old with the TV4 soap "Nya tider" where she had the lead role as Anna Gripenhielm. This in turn gave her a role in the American-Swedish drama series "Ocean Ave".

After she moved to Österlen in 2007 to be in the BBC's Wallander film "Sidetracked", she chose to stay in Simrishamn in Scania. There she met the filmmaker Richard Hobert, who gave her one of the main roles in the feature film "En enkel till Antibes", where she played opposite Sven-Bertil Taube, among other things. Then the international career really took off.

Wanted to start a colony Rebecca Ferguson played the main role of Elisabet Woodville in the BBC series "The white queen", for which she was Emmy nominated, Jenny Lind in the musical "The greatest showman" (2017) and the British spy Ilsa Faust in several "Mission: impossible" films. But when she wasn't working with Tom Cruise, Hugh Jackman or Michael Fassbender, she tried to build a life on the plains of East Scania. Until a few years ago.

"I built a large farm in Knäbäckshusen and tried to create some kind of colony there, with a key box, so that people could come and go, she says. "But then I had a long conversation with my son where I really said "what am I doing?"

Until 2015, she was together with Ludwig Hallberg, with whom she has a 16-year-old son, Isac. But according to Rebecca Ferguson, the ex-boyfriend was not completely on board with the plans for an open-door farm.

"Ludde" said that "we are fine, we don't need a colony, we live here", and I felt that I needed to find a root somewhere. I needed to let go of Simrishamn and root in London.

Assistant and schedule Today, Rebecca Ferguson lives in Richmond in West London with her husband Rory, who she married in December 2018. Together they have a daughter Saga, who turns 6 this spring, and Rebecca Ferguson describes the puzzle of recordings, marketing and family life as a well-oiled machine.

"It works great. I have such a luxury. It's like running a business in that it's scheduling and I have people to help", she says.

Although life as a movie star is often changeable, Rebecca Ferguson makes sure that the children have structure in their lives.

"I have an assistant, but it's more of a family friend who helps with our daughter and makes sure to fly over my son. I am also extremely close to my son's father, we are very communicative and talk all the time. We are like a big family and it's like a puzzle, but it works."

Criticism after interview The relationship with the home country suffered a thorn in connection with an interview with Efter fem on TV4 in April last year, where she did not want to speak Swedish and questioned reporter Nanna Martorell's English skills.

A storm of criticism followed and Rebecca Ferguson was noticed, among other things, by the Instagram account "Dyngbaggegalan", which celebrates uncomfortable moments from Swedish television.

Rebecca Ferguson has said that she was saddened when she heard about the criticism after the interview and said that she did not recognize herself. Almost a year after the interview, which was supposed to be about the film "Mission: impossible: dead reckoning", she brings up the incident herself - when Swedish "Dune" colleague Stellan Skarsgård, 72, comes forward.

"Stellan, I love him. That Swedish root is so important. That's why I was so sad about the interview that took place between me and Nanna. It became such a big deal", she says.

"I was misinformed, I had no idea who I was going to meet, only that I had an angry journalist who was pissed off. They asked if they should cut her out but I said "no, take her in, why is she so damn angry?" So I went in with the gas at the bottom - and met the world's most beautiful woman."

Is there something still gnawing at you?

"The reason I bring it up is that the Swedish relationship, for example to Stellan, when I speak Swedish, feels so important. It is enough for someone to speak Swedish and I feel a sense of calm."

"Was extremely rude" Rebecca Ferguson is worried that the interview has given the Swedes a wrong image of her as an expatriate Hollywood diva.

"The only thing I needed to know was that Nanna is okay, because I was extremely rude to her. I called her, we had the world's conversation and now she gets any interview she wants," she says.

"But I don't want that role in Sweden. Sweden is the archipelago, semlor, Värmdö and my dad, Vasastan and Rörstrandsgatan – I don't want to fuck it up."

In addition to "Dune: Part two", this year Rebecca Ferguson is also currently in theaters with "Mission: impossible - dead reckoning part two". At the same time, she is recording the second season of the TV series "Silo".

Opens for Swedish film But despite a burgeoning Hollywood career, she keeps the door open to making Swedish films.

"It is not important in that way that I have to do culture in Sweden, but give me a script that is great, give me a role. I don't get that many offers so that would be great," she says.

In an interview with the British newspaper The Guardian in October 2019, the star said that "I don't get recognized and that suits me". According to Rebecca Ferguson, very little has changed on that front in the last five years - despite the fact that her CV has been significantly replenished.

""It's pretty cool when you're at a premiere, like with "Dune", and it's like a rock concert: thousands of people screaming when Timothée and Austin - and also me - come in. It has created such a large following, she says.

"Mission" was probably also a bit like that, with Tom. It's on a whole other level. I can imagine that many people in this film need security personnel when they are out and about. But I can only go where I want and do what I want."

Doesn't want to be seen as a diva Rebecca Ferguson estimates that four to five people a day come to her.

"They take a picture, you give them a small hug or a high-five, and move on," she says.

"There is probably a part of me that wishes I also needed to be snuck out of a restaurant from the back way, because there are so many people out there who just love me. It is the ego. But the sane part of me thanks God that I can go wherever I want with my children, my husband and my friends."

The same applies when she comes home to Sweden - which she is happy about.

"Sweden is somehow my soul. I wouldn't like to come to Sweden and it would have been the world's damned "hoppla". That's why I think I brought up this interview with Nanna again, that it hurts me that so many people saw a side of me that I'm not, which is a diva."

Rebecca Ferguson on… …to miss large parts of the "Dune" sequel's extensive PR tour:

"I'm filming "Silo" season two so I've only had to jump in now, it was no from my production company Apple because they needed to finish. Considering the strike (in Hollywood), we were behind in the filming. And I have had such FOMO. It's been a hell of a job, and at the same time quite nice, because I get anxiety on all these red carpets, I think it's quite tough."

…combining promotion of “Dune” in Paris with “Silo” recording in the UK:

"I worked during the day, flew into Paris, did interviews, changed, premiere, did the red carpet, then everyone else came, then we took one or two pictures, then I had to jump into the car, take off the corset and everything, jump into gym clothes, get on the train, take the 21 train back to London, drive to the hotel by the studio and then I was there filming all day."

…"Dune" colleague Stellan Skarsgård, whose son Gustaf Skarsgård she also worked with, in the film "We" (2013):

"He has 150 children and his family is so damn cool. God I can see it in him. And I miss Gustaf, I haven't seen him for a long time. They are such a big family and so close."

…”Dune” director Denis Villeneuve:

"He is the best director I have ever worked with. I know that in Sweden we hate the word "normal", but he is adequate, normal and so damn stable. He is calm and it rubs off on others. He doesn't have an ego, he's shy, he's direct, has a plan, he's incredibly prepared, and you don't push him. And it's awesome."

…the collaboration with Villeneuve:

"I'm mischievous, I'm cocky, I talk before I think. When I'm sensitive, I talk. And he likes it. So he and I work great together."

…the Swedish traditions she misses in Great Britain:

"I want to start holding cancer plaques, wearing a hat and the whole choir. Midsummer must be in Sweden. I have to start booking to go over, if you could rent a small house in the archipelago and take friends there and spend midsummer. At Christmas we celebrate twice and mix Swedish and British traditions."

Translated from swedish for @rebeccalouisaferguson

[organicleadpaint]

i moved from central canada to maritime canada a few years back, and at first everything seemed mostly the same (whether in a post-industrial prefab suburb or a fishing town suburb, there's only so much difference between suburbs.) some folks with, shall we say, rural accents, different music on the radio, more seafood. i knew i would love the maritimes was when i learned of rappie pie. rappie pie, or rapure, or patates rapures, is an acadian delicacy. basically eastern canada used to be a french colony called Acadia, before a series of wars broke out between england and france that led to the seizure of this french land by english settlers. there was a great deportation; many of the former acadian settlers went south to french louisiana, becoming the cajuns that many know today. eventually, acadians were allowed back into canada, but not given back the same lands that were stolen. so they had to get inventive with their new cuisine. you take a bunch of potatoes. you grate them (hence the french rapure). you squeeze out as much water as you physically can (you can do this with the spin setting on a washing machine if you're making a huge batch.) you rehydrate the potato with hot broth, gelatinizing the starches in the grated potato with that hot liquid. then you put that into a big casserole dish with some meat (usually chicken, sometimes rabbit, venison, clams, or anything a person could find), sometimes vegetables like carrot or celery, and then you bake it. it gets a crusty, burnished top, a savory taste, and it becomes the perfect receptacle for copious amounts of butter and molasses. now, saying all of this, i might almost be making the dish sound appetizing. and i must admit, it is delicious. but it isnt appetizing. it's far from appetizing. it is bowl of wet slop. and i love it.

[thatrickmcginnis]

WIRE, Toronto, 1987 & 1988

I was a music fan when I started my career as a photographer, so doing shoots with my favorite bands made up for the weird hours, hearing loss and lack of money. I was also learning on the job, not just as a photographer but as a fan. Not long after starting at Nerve, the free alternative music weekly where I got my start, my editor asked if I'd ever heard Wire. I'd heard of them - the Minutemen talked about them all the time - but I hadn't heard a note so he pressed a copy of their third (and at that point last) album, 154, in my hand. It was what passed for psychedelia at Nerve, and I was immediately hooked. Almost weeks afterwards news broke that the band had re-formed, and would be touring to promote their first new record, The Ideal Copy.

When they arrived to play RPM, a cavernous club by the waterfront, I showed up with only the vaguest idea of what I wanted to do and was met by four taciturn English gentlemen who seemed more interested in having a drink after soundcheck. I managed a few frames of a group photo with the harbour in the background, then snapped some informal portraits with my Mamiya C330 while the band congregated around the bar. Nearly forty years later they're interesting documents of the band at a particularly crucial point in their career, and that's pretty much how I'm presenting them here.

I stuck around to shoot Wire's show that night. They'd gone on tour with a band from New Jersey, the Ex-Lion Tamers, who performed the whole of Pink Flag, Wire's first record, from start to finish. As Wire didn't want to play any of their old songs, this was both convenient and clever; as Steve Coogan said, playing Factory Records founder Tony Wilson in the movie 24 Hour Party People, they were being post-modern before it was fashionable. Wire's show for that first tour was impressively minimal; drummer Robert Grey (alias Gotobed) had stripped down his kit to the bare essentials, as his mathematically precise drum parts on The Ideal Copy were occasionally indistinguishable from a drum machine. And their "light show" consisted of banks of bright white light that turned on when they started playing and turned off at the end of each song. As my editor Dave from Nerve put it at the time, it was like they were doing their whole set in air quotes.

When Wire returned to Toronto almost exactly a year later promoting their record A Bell is a Cup, I set myself to the task of getting the band photo I felt I'd failed to achieve the previous summer. This time they toured with Band of Susans as their opening act; I shot part of a roll of them and then went about my shoot with Wire. Bassist Graham Lewis had shed his mullet from the previous tour, and guitarist Bruce Gilbert had acquired a pair of impressive shades, but lead singer Colin Newman seemed to be wearing exactly the same outfit he had on a year before. I took them out to the street by the waterfront again, put a flash on my camera (a big new Metz this time, with a bounce attachment) and set the flash to take down the evening sky to a medium gray. This time I seemed to get the photo I had tried to take a year earlier. They would not, however, get published anywhere until today.

[subtile-jagden]

Emil Schäfer - Part 2

Jasta 11

Schäfer had no trouble keeping up with the other pilots and shot down his first victory within Richthofens Staffel (his second in total) a few weeks after his arrival. On 4 March 1917 he shot down two enemies in one day. On 6 March he was awarded the Iron Cross First Class. Within the squadron there was room for friendly teasing; when Schäfer reported about his fight, his comrades teased him about his supposed bad shooting (he himself admitted that he needed a lot of ammunition): “The observer must have thrown the map at you” (in reverence to him having to get so close to the other airplane), “The observer probably cried about your lousy shooting and his handkerchief flew away”. But all in good fun.

Once when Manfred von Richthofen didn´t return after a big fight, Schäfer drove around the area trying to find out what had happened. Rumours of bullet wounds and life threatening injuried were making rounds. That's why Schäfer was pleasantly surprised when he found his squadron leader happily in the mess of a pioneer unit in Hénin-Lietard. Slurping oysters.

In his first full month with Jasta 11 Emil Schäfer increased his victory score to 8, then it was time for the infamous Bloody April. Schäfer contributed to that terrible time for the British by shooting down 15 of them. He enjoyed the spring time: “Numbers 12 and 13 fell today. It's wonderful spring weather here and it's been raining Englishmen for eight days”, he writes to his parents on 6 April 1917.

On 22 April Schäfer got shot down during a fight and he had to emergency land between lines. He had to hid in a shell hole and wait for darkness, then he had to sneak back to the German lines dodging English patrols. He managed to reach an outpost and after a short recovery break he made his way back to his comrades. His adventure impressed his comrades and even Richthofen mentioned it in his biography. He learned a lesson from that experience: “I am glad that I got out of the situation yesterday in one piece, and in future I will strongly consider attacking at low altitudes beyond the line”.

On 26 April he got the notification that the Kaiser awarded him the Hausorden von Hohenzollern (the award that usually preceeded the Pour le Mérite). He also got less happy news, as he was ordered to leave Jasta 11 and become leader of Jasta 28. He was excited about getting to lead his own unit,  but “I am bitterly sorry that I now have to leave my beloved squadron, my excellent comrades and, above all, von Richthofen”.

On the same day, Schäfer had the pleasure to safe Lothar von Richthofens life. Lothar was being attacked by an English plane and lost controll of his machine, Schäfer got behind the enemy and managed to shoot it down in flames.

On 30 April he was awarded the Pour le Mérite.

In May he left for Jasta 28. “I now face a task like no other I´ve had before. I hope and believe that I´ll be well up to it. Staffel 28 is filled with good pilots. In the four days since I am in command, we´ve shot down four, so the prospects are good”.

On 5 June 1917 Schäfers luck ran out. Used to the extremely close teamwork and mutual protection within Jasta 11 he went into a group of English planes. Max Müller, an experienced pilot himself, described the fight: “Leutnant Schäfer was the leader of our flight against eight Englishmen. I myself was attacking from above – that’s the best way to attack. Leutnant Schäfer was attacking with six other gentlemen from the same hight. He had almost brought down one Englishmen when he was attacked by three more from the rear and from above. I came to his assistance but it was too late. Leutnant Schäfer´s machine broke up and crashed vetically. The other gentlemen did not attack vigorously enough. They are not as yet proficient enough. It could also be that a cable had been severed or shot off. He made the mistake of acting without regard for himself in order to take care of the others. I have told him that many times before”.

He was buried in his home town of Krefeld on 11 June 1917. Manfred von Richthofen and Werner Voss attended the funeral. The plaque commemorating Schäfer is still above his birthplace.

RIP Emil Schäfer (1891 – 1917)

Sources:

Vom Jäger zum Flieger, by Schäfer (1918)

The Blue Max Airmen Vol.7, by Lance J. Bronnenkant (2015)

[inscrutable-shadow]

Mediwhump May Day 8 - Scared of Blood

@mediwhumpmay

Cassiel belongs to @painful-pooch! Based on the fact that I broke my wrist in fifth grade, treated it as a sprain even though it def wasn't (no fracture on the x-ray so guessing it was a hairline) and then developed a ganglion cyst ten years later lol my wrist is still fucked up it's so fun (i went over my self-imposed word count on this one ack) Content Warnings: needles, minor surgical procedure

Another transfer case. The Doctor was considering making it look like they’d retired to avoid these. At this point, it was usually minor outpatient procedures that were incredibly annoying to perform and even though they could charge the insurance their usual “nameless doctor” rate (which was still less than other doctors would have), having to deal with legal processes at all made them want to spend an afternoon performing unsavoury experiments on a corpse. Not that they didn’t always want to do that. 

Between that and the fact that the espresso machine had broken down and they’d been forced to fuel their morning on drive-through coffee, they were already in quite a bad mood when their patient arrived, all shyness and deference and looking out of place, and they couldn’t bring themselves to demur back. 

“Mr Belanger, I presume? Do come in. I do not have all day to waste. The outreach programme has sent you over, no? I do wish that they would not send their excess to me…” “Oh, I can just… I dinnae have to…” Cassiel was slightly shorter than the Doctor, and despite his broad shoulders appeared to shrink back into the doorframe. They identified his accent as Scottish, though pulled at and smoothed over around the edges by proximity to other regions like the Doctor’s own mostly-English, sometimes-Swedish intonation.

They sighed. “My apologies. That was unprofessional of me. Just an annual physical, yes? Please, have a seat. I shall have you in and out in no time.” 

He hesitantly took his seat on the examination table while the Doctor pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. “It’s… you dinnae need money frae me, right?” Yes. He did not appear to be the sort of person who could afford them: his clothes were in tatters and his shoes full of holes. They were used to a clientele with large amounts of ill-gotten gains. 

They raised an eyebrow. “Correct, my compensation is covered by an agreement with the clinic you came from. Verify your name, date of birth, and medical history on that tablet over there, will you?” They rolled over the cart with the medical supplies on it while he did so, frowning and exchanging one tool for another just to kill the time. “Any particular complaints?”

Cassiel watched them warily as they brought their gloved hands up to check his lymph nodes. “Nay, nothin’ I can think of…”

Liar. “Oh? And does it hurt when I do this?” They bent his right wrist forward at a completely reasonable angle, which made him flinch and a spark of vindicated mischief flare in the Doctor’s chest. “That is what I expected. How long have you had the ganglion cyst?”

Cassiel blinked. “The what?”

“Ganglion cyst. A pocket of fluid found on the top or bottom of the wrist. Cause unknown, though they are common for patients who perform repeated wrist motions or have a history of wrist trauma.” They held up the hand, running a gloved finger down the scars on his arm. “You engage in some form of martial arts, no? I assume you fractured your wrist at some point in the past, perhaps a hairline, and you treated it as a sprain. This is quite a lot of fluid, I am sure it hinders your daily activities. How long have you had it?”

“Oh, er… Couple o’ years, I think… Is it dangerous? It does bother me a bit…”

“Not dangerous, no, but if it is impeding your activities, I do recommend aspiration, especially if it is multiple years old and has not gone down. It is a minor outpatient procedure, I could have the whole thing done for you before you leave today.” They rolled over to the supply cabinet to begin withdrawing the materials even before receiving an answer.

The colour had drained out of the man’s face by the time they turned around again. “H-hold on, wait… what’s… aspiration?”

The Doctor was too busy comparing needle gauges and deciding which one would be appropriate to really pay this any mind. “Quite simple, needle goes in, fluid comes out. Local anaesthetic is all that will be necessary. Just take care with the hand in question for a couple of days.”

“It… doesnae have to be a needle, do it? I, er…” Oh. Needle phobia. How annoying.

They tilted their head at him. “Well, I could excise instead. A bit more involved, I would need to use the scalpel, but should still have you in and out in an hour or so.”

He seemed to like that idea even less. “No, ah, it’s… all right, ye can, aspirate or wha’ever it is…”  

“Very good.” They began preparing the implements. “To reduce anxiety during the procedure, you can feel free to talk about whatever you would like. Keep your eyes on the chart on the back wall, yes?” 

The patient was silent for a moment as the Doctor began swabbing the site for the lidocaine injection, but eventually, he took a breath and blurted out, “I thought yer voice didnae match ye, when I walked in.”

“What?” The word came out strangely, as if their voice didn’t know how to behave when attention was called to it.

“Ye didnae seem like a purple person. I can… I see sounds.”

“Ah. Chromesthesia. Continue.”

Cassiel swallowed hard. “Is that… blood?” They tracked his eyes to the barrel of the syringe, which was now drawing up fluid.

“No. I told you to keep your eyes on the wall, did I not? If you stress yourself into syncope, I will not be pleased.”

He shifted uncomfortably, but relaxed after moving his attention. “See? That’s it. I thought ye’d be redder, but yer purple is very blue.” They didn’t really know how to respond to that. “Chromesthesia rarely has any tangible logic behind it, though I have been described as ‘cold’ and ‘rigid’ repeatedly by others in the past. I prefer to think of myself as efficient. There we are, all done. Not so bad, was it?” They’d done the steroid injection without him even noticing, and all that was needed now was the splint.

“That was… fast.”

“Like I said, I am efficient. Now, let us continue with the examination, yes?”

[lingshanhermit]

Lingshan Hermit: Neither born nor destroyed

Today is my birthday. 39 years ago on this day, I was born. On our planet, actually everything has a birthday - the day when it was invented or created - that is its birthday. According to historical records, beer (in this cycle of civilization) was first born in the Sumerian civilization in 5000 BC, the ballpoint pen was born in 1888, and the batteries we use every day were born in 1800. Telephones have birthdays, napkins have birthdays, even engines have birthdays. We think everything is born and dies, has a beginning and an end. But according to the Buddhist sages, actually there is no birth, and no death. The Heart Sutra says: neither born nor destroyed. A carpenter saws wood into small pieces, then assembles them into a stool. When he paints it for the final step, you would think: a stool is born. But actually, nothing was born. The pieces were just piled up together, they did not unite, nor did they produce anything new. It is said that the lithography machine made in the Netherlands consists of a hundred thousand parts - I wonder why people still see it as one thing. If one day the stool breaks down, you can't use it normally, you'd say the stool is broken, it should be thrown away. But actually, nothing broke down, because the thing you thought broke never existed. This is the most profound teaching of Buddhism.

This article was first published on Lingshan Hermit's Sina Weibo, Google Blogger and other social media on October 29, 2020. Copyright owned, infringement must investigate.

Copyright Notice：All copyrights of Ling Shan Hermit's articles in Simplified and Traditional Chinese, English, and other languages belong to the natural person who owns "Ling Shan Hermit". Please respect copyright. Publishers, media, or individuals (including but not limited to internet media, websites, personal spaces, Weibo, WeChat public accounts, print media) must obtain authorization from Ling Shan Hermit before use. No modifications to the articles are allowed (including: author's name, title, main text content, and punctuation marks). We reserve all legal rights.

灵山居士：不生不灭