#fic: carpe diem

[stargazing-reader]

THE WAY I CHOKED HELP

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Carpe Diem - Chapter 12

Pairing: Sketchbook (Kaisa/Johanna)

Summary: Carpe diem: one of the five latim mottos of the arcadist, or neoclassical movement. Literally translates to "seize the day"

Picking up where Locus Amoenus left off, this fic follows the lives of Kaisa and Johanna for a couple weeks as their feelings grow and develop. Now completed!

Notes: You guys. You guuuyyss. Can't believe this is the last chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who kept up with this fic, your support meant the world to me. I hope this fic was as fun to read as it was to write. Now enjoy one last chapter of these sapphic cringefail losers <3

Btw that poem at the end is by Nikita Gill! She’s my own favourite contemporary poet, I’d definitely recommend checking her stuff out

Read it on ao3 or read the first installment on this verse or read the second installment on this verse  

With all of the madness that had filled the week, Johanna had decided to wait a couple of days before asking Kaisa to be her girlfriend. The poor girl was already dealing with so much, she didn’t want to put another thing on her plate and risk making her overwhelmed. But as it turned out, Johanna had probably been worrying more than Kaisa herself. After her first hours of a near catatonic state that she had needed to process that new information, she had come back looking… more carefree, in a way. Her steps were lighter and her shoulders weren’t constantly as tense. When she realised she didn’t need to carry that weight, she let it fall onto the floor gladly.

They had all been wondering what she’d do about it. Considering the positions of power Abigail and her sister held in the university, it couldn’t be too hard to press charges for defamation, should they take this to the court, or to get them fired if they took it further up the university’s hierarchy. To every person who asked, however, Kaisa only shrugged.

“It’s all done, now.” She’d say. “Nothing I do against them will magically fix the way people think about me, or undo the toll that it took on my brain. I’m just happy to know it was all fake. I feel like now I can actually put it behind me.”

It was what she had told her and her cousin, who had been at the house when they went there after the Tuesday seminar and got to hear the story from Kaisa’s own mouth. Admittedly, Johanna’s feelings were convoluted on the matter. Happiness for her beloved warmed her heart, but that did not at all attenuate her urge to hunt the people who had hurt her down for sport. She decided, eventually, that whatever was good for Kaisa would be the right decision. If she was feeling like she had what she needed already, Johanna would only stay at her side and cheer her on.

Which meant she could turn her mind back to the girlfriend matter.

They had seen each other every single day of the week, either in the middle of their study days or right after their last lectures were over. Already many plans were being made of places on campus where they could hang out together if they didn’t have the time to walk to Johanna’s home. Every single day, they had acted exactly like a couple would. It should be enough, but the words hadn’t yet been spoken so Johanna now knew better than to assume.

On Thursday, after she knew Kaisa had already left campus, she did a quick search on the university’s website, and easily found the location of the climate sciences lab. It was nothing more than an office in the STEMs building, which made things easy to Johanna since it was the building closest to her house. She walked there with determined steps, ignoring how she did not understand a single word that came out of the mouths of the students she passed by on the way there (what on earth was a ‘cosecant’, anyway?), and knocked on the door that had been marked as the lab she’d been looking for.

The woman she had already met opened the door. Her hair was sticking out of the messy bun on her head in all directions, and she looked like she was surviving on coffee alone. Her tired eyes blinked when she recognized the student in front of her.

“Johanna?” She asked with confusion and glanced at the clock on her wall, which confirmed that she was, indeed, not there at the time during which she allowed students to go to her with questions.

Not that Johanna would have any sort of academic question she could answer, but Victoria had been working since ungodly hours in the morning and her brain wasn’t fully processing things anymore.

“Hi, goodnight, Victoria.” Johanna shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware that she had knocked on a professor’s lab to ask for romantic advice. “Sorry to bother you, it’s silly, but when you have some free time, could you maybe help me with something? It won’t take much of your time.”

“I… yeah, of course.” She sounded like she was making a question rather than an affirmation. “Is this about Kaisa?”

Johanna nodded.

“I see. Well, why don’t you take my phone number? You can tell me how I can help, then.”

Gladly accepting the offering, Johanna waited by the door while Victoria headed inside to find a pen and a slip of paper where she could write down her contact. Johanna would have given her her phone so she could add it on directly, but embarrassment wasn’t allowing her to think properly.

“Professor Van Gale, this isn’t working!” From the inside, a voice that she recognized as that of one of Alfred’s flatmates shouted, just to remind her once again that this was a serious lab that promoted learning and research and not some friend's house.

“Ugh, just hold it for a minute, I’m coming!” Rushing to give Johanna the paper, Victoria closed the lab’s door and went to fix whatever was going on inside just after giving her a hurried goodnight. Johanna was left, standing there while holding a wrinkled paper with a scribbled phone number, wondering if that was what people meant when they said love made you do crazy things, or if she should ready herself for it to get even worse with time.

                                                      ………

Later, at a time Johanna thought she could be fairly certain that any lab work would have been halted for the day, she dared to shoot a message to her most recently acquired contact. She had saved the number, and felt incredibly silly as she typed her little text asking if the woman had any idea about how Kaisa would like to be asked to be her girlfriend.

God, Victoria was way too academically qualified to be dealing with her shit.

Still, she answered and did so without sounding like the conversation was a waste of her time. Sure, she wasn’t very good at answering quickly, but that was something Johanna had been expecting from what she heard of her and Kaisa’s banter at the cafeteria. When Johanna woke up, nevertheless, the answer (spread among many different texts that would definitely have awakened her with the constant plinging had her phone not been on silent) had already been waiting for her on her locked screen.

Prof. Van Gale (Kaisa)

aww its so cute that youre planning on doing that

honestly i dont know? one thing i can tell you is that she acts all broody but is sappy as shit

so shed probably enjoy it if you pulled some cliche on her. i dont know im so out of my depth here 

BUT what i do know is that shell love whatever you do

shes so gone for you that just the question alone will make her melt

please tell me when you do it so i can congratulate the happy couple :)

and give her hell for it :))

Johanna chuckled, even if her eyes were still stinging and her mind was still fuzzy from sleep. She typed back thanking her, knowing that being in the good graces of your partner's best friend always came in handy, and wondered if she should maybe ask Frida or Tildy the same question. The idea was discarded as she brushed her teeth, since she figured that that would probably be an overstep and she had no idea how to get close to them without arousing suspicion, anyway. 

Plus, the feeling that reading ‘she’ll love whatever you do’ had brought her was too satisfying to ignore. 

In her mind, she built up and tore down several plans. The boldest of them had been to write ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ with flowers on her living room floor and bring Kaisa home under the pretence of studying. But not only did she shudder to think about cutting that many flowers (because plastic ones just weren’t the same thing), but also she didn’t think that Kaisa’s heart would be the most touched by any grand gestures. They had gotten where they were by going slow and steady, one study date and subtextual flirtation at a time, and Johanna wasn’t crazy enough  to change a strategy that had been proven to work. 

On Friday night, right after dropping Kaisa home (which had become something she gladly did basically every day now), she turned right on the highway instead of left, in order to follow it further inside the town. There was a small shop in the city centre that served as both a bookshop and an antique seller, and Johanna decided that she could probably find something there that would be of use to her.

After seeing that she would not be able to understand the way that the shelves had been organised, she called for the help of the cashier, who was the only worker in sight. The kind woman guided her exactly to what she wanted with a surprising ease, and Johanna felt very proud of the find as she paid for it. The cashier didn’t question it when she asked to take the manila wrapping paper home so she could wrap it herself later, only shrugging and handing her both the book and the sheet for her to take.

She got back home in a giddy state, one which Edmund mercifully didn’t comment on when she arrived after taking much longer than she usually did to drop Kaisa home. Politely declining his invitation for dinner, she rushed to her bedroom and took out of her desk’s drawer all the calligraphy and journaling instruments she’d acquired mostly during her High School years, which had lasted until now. As a college student who had limited time to study so much content, she couldn’t be blamed for not being able to write pretty notes on her subjects, but at least the collection came in handy at that moment.

After having written her note with the prettiest cursive handwriting she could while still making it legible, she put it on the first page of the book she had bought and wrapped it up, closing the package with washi tape that had a flowery pattern on it.

                                                      ……...

Her laughter sounds like a fairy flying, the thought crossed the back of Kaisa’s mind as both of them doubled over a story she’d been telling about when Frida was still very young. She tried to disperse it, but it was useless, and from then on whenever she heard Johanna laughing she’d be reminded of the cheerful twinkling of the fairy bells that Tildy liked to put in the garden during Spring, saying that they attracted the little winged helpers. Love was making her ridiculous, she knew.

But could she be blamed when being ridiculous was such fun?

Tildy had left the house to drop Frida off at the weekly Scouts meeting, saying she’d only be back later as she’d spend the afternoon visiting a friend, so Kaisa took the opportunity to invite Johanna to spend the day with her. Looking at her now, cheeks flushed with joy as they ignored the notebooks and textbooks spread in front of them for the time being, Kaisa was infinitely glad she had. Johanna just fit in there. She couldn’t pinpoint what made her think so, but she did. Maybe it was just the desire to have her near at all times speaking louder.

She had just suggested they take a snack break, since they clearly weren’t focused on their studying, when something shifted and Johanna suddenly looked nervous. 

“Actually,” She shifted in her chair, a small gesture that Kaisa wouldn’t have noticed at all if she hadn’t spent the last two months or so learning all of the girl’s cues. “I have something I’d like to give you first. Is that okay?”

Kaisa frowned and nodded, not understanding why it could possibly not be okay. She stared after Johanna’s back as she all but ran to her car, coming back holding a beige packet in her hands.

“Here it is!” Her voice was forcibly happy and her hands shook just slightly as she handed it to Kaisa. “I hope you enjoy it.”

Kaisa felt the weight of it in her hands. It felt solid and heavy, and the scent of paper was too strong for it to belong only to the package. She raised her eyes to the fidgety Johanna in front of her and gave what she hoped was a comforting smile.

“Thank you.” She said sincerely.

“You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“No, but I know you gave something to me even when you really didn’t have to. Whatever it is, thank you for it.”

She leaned forward onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to Johanna’s cheek. Turning her mind back to the package, she carefully removed the cutesy tape that had been put on it to bind the paper and unwrapped its contents. She had already figured out it was a book, but the first glimpse of a faded dark green cover made her heart beat faster with curiosity.

When the paper was unwrapped, Johanna reached out to take it from her hands so she could hold the book properly. It was a thick volume with yellowed pages, and the cover sported golden details that though fainter now than they probably had been back in the day, made out the shape of a flower and the name of the book. Kaisa’s lip parted as her eyes took in the beauty of the “Collection of Irish poems”, a book that she could so easily imagine inside an ancient castle’s library but which was currently in her hands.

“Holy shit.” She blurted out, unable to contain herself. “Anna, this is incredible.”

Even though Kaisa was now too absorbed in the present to realise, the affirmation hadn’t been enough to disperse her anxiety.

“There’s something else.” She cleared her throat. “Open it.”

After shooting her a quizzical look, Kaisa did as she was told, finding a piece of letter-paper inside, etched with a few lines in a dark purple colour.

 “For The Wildest Mystery I Know

Fall for someone

With an air of mystery

And wildness in their bones, 

But with the kindest eyes

And a thousand beautiful stories

Woven into their soul.

This has always been one of my most beloved pieces from my favourite poet. And, finally, I think I did follow its advice, and I can only hope to be the same for you.

Will you be my girlfriend?

When Kaisa looked up at her, perplexed, Johanna’s heart did an anxious leap in her chest, urging her to assure the girl that she hadn’t meant to put pressure on her of any kind.

The chance for that was missed, however, because Kaisa leaped forward and captured Johanna in a kiss that tasted of drizzling rain, storytime and fall. All felt right as she smiled into her girlfriend’s lips and wrapped her arms around her waist, holding her as close as two beings made of solid matter could be.

Carpe diem, she thought for the second time that month, this poetry thing has its merits, after all.

[higgsbison]

A thing I've really grown to appreciate when writing Discworld stuff, is how the style's designed for you to mash together a random shower thought, a cool fact you know and the most obnoxious pun you could think of, and then just plop it straight into the middle of whatever actual plot you're going thru AND you also get to call it worldbuilding.

[carpe-meow]

[smth-intheway]

I have no inspiration so here we go for another meme.

[so-sick-of-17]

Seriously?! There is a chat gbt Anderperry fic on ao3? Gag! Get that away from me. No one wants to see your disgusting chat gbt story. I can’t call it a work because no work was done and I can’t call it fanfic because how much of a fan could you possibly be if you don’t write it yourself!? “I wanted to see a happier ending to the movie.” There are hundreds of stories you could have picked from that a real person actually created because they care about the characters. They are all infinitely better than anything a computer could have produced because they actually have a human connection and people who actually are capable of liking the movie and the characters. That tag is my happy place and it is tainted by that monstrosity. Normally I would be incredibly annoyed no matter the fandom, but for Dead Poets Society?! Really?! The movie about how art is tied with humanity?! Did you watch the movie?! Every single character would be disgusted by the use of ai to produce art. Art doesn’t exist without humanity and some cheep to imitation is an insult to anyone that actually works to make art.

[natjennie]

thinking about how much a time loop ghosts fic would rip like. maybe it's carpe diem right. like imagine cap doesn't reveal his story, he chickens out, the clock strikes midnight no one moves on they dance they go to bed they wake up.

the morning clubs and discussions seem vaguely familiar but, he's been dead almost 80 years, they run into repeating themselves sometimes, it doesn't register as weird. but when robin runs in yelling that there's a pattern to when they move on, cap starts to get confused. maybe robin is just trying again, he thinks it's TODAY instead? but everyone is reacting like this is the first time they've heard it. maybe he dreamed last night? but he's never had such vivid dreams. strange. he's on edge all day, coming up with theories, and everyone who talks to him can tell there's something a little off. but he doesn't rush into things, so he tries his best to do things the same as yesterday and not make anyone suspicious, but keeps an eye out for anything weird. and he has nothing, clock, dance, sleep. maybe it was a weird dream? but here robin comes again and now he knows something is wrong. so then like, who would he go to first? how does he tell the different ghosts?

there's loops upon loops where he tries telling some of them but not others, having to learn the specific things to say to convince them it's happening and to get them to help. there's loops where he goes to alison and loops where he doesn't and loops where he tries staying away from everyone all day and loops where he can quote what everyone is gonna say before they say it and then. he starts to think, is this really any different than being a ghost in the first place? he's so tired and nothing is working and. maybe he should just give up. experiencing this day over and over again isnt functionally any different than experiencing mindless other days over and over again for years on end. and then he starts to question himself. has this happened before and he's just never noticed? where there years in there, before alison, before pat's clubs, when he'd done the same day multiple times and just been so used to the monotony it didn't register?

and he falls into this like hole of grief and fear and confusion and mostly he thinks about havers. about how if he was here, he would know what to do. about how he always knew what to do. and for loops and loops on end, he stops counting, all he does is wish havers was there with him. he grips the swagger stick so hard it snaps and he throws it as far into the forest and as deep into the lake as he can just to watch it reappear in his hands and he thinks about anthony. about what he had, about what he lost, about what he still has to gain. and he thinks that maybe his family deserve to know. it's not that he owes it to them, it's not something being dragged out of him, taken, like everything else. this is something he can give, freely, and maybe, just maybe, it'll start to feel a little lighter.

so he decides, tomorrow, or today, or the same yesterday, or however it works. next loop, he'll tell them. he keeps everything as similar as he can to that first day, in case this doesn't work and he has to start changing variables again, and when the clock starts to chime, he tells them. and he grips the stick over his heart and he's ready.

[nym-wibbly]

My Bonds in Thee by Nym on AO3 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley Additional Tags: Second Kiss, First Time, Character Study, Flashbacks, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Series 2, Hell is Terrible, Heaven is Terrible, Ineffable Idiots, Ducks, Lack of Communication, different exactlys Chapters: 19/? Summary: Aziraphale comes back. Their love was never in doubt but they still have different exactlys.

1839. London. The Hesperus Club. A demon, broken and bleeding, hunches naked on the tiled floor. His knees beneath his chin, arms wrapped around his legs, he'd succeed at making himself appear small if not for his wings. They're magnificent, as wings go—black, broad—but they're not currently obeying the demon's will and they've seen better days. They droop weakly behind him, spreading across the wet floor like spilt ink, pulling against his visceral need to curl into a ball and vanish into stillness. An angel kneels behind him, slowly scooping water from the bathing pool with the cup of his hand; patiently pouring it over the demon's wounds. Blood and water mingle, pooling over the moss-green tiles and trickling towards the brass-lattice drains. Towards the pool, where the water slowly darkens to rusty brown. "Crowley," the angel prompts when the demon begins to crumple, ready to join his useless wings in a boneless sprawl across the floor—something fit for a gothic painter or the pen of a tortured poet. At the angel's voice, Crowley stops himself falling (but he's always falling; a raging star plunging in cold fire across the heavens towards bottomless destruction). With such effort, he holds himself still. Allows the angel to wash the neglect from his wounds and then, when the wounds are raw enough to begin healing, to gather up one raven wing at a time in careful, angelic hands, folding Crowley like the limp bellows of a broken accordion. Hissing with pain—and it is a hiss, fork-tongued, instinctive, and warning—Crowley tugs his right wing from the angel's grasp and sits up a little straighter. With more of an effort, he folds both wings against his back. Brittle feathers break quietly against the ground. "Oh, but they're filthy, my dear. Let me—" "Someone'll come in here. They'll see." Crowley glances towards the doors. He's suddenly alert enough, present enough, to know that time has passed since he came to this place, and that it's a human place. His wings shrug themselves unthinkingly into some other sliver of reality, safely out of sight, exposing more bloody sores on his flanks for the angel's fussing hands to tend. Water and prayers, wasted on him. "No one will come," soothes the angel (but his voice shakes, too angry and hurt to soothe anyone). "No one will see. You're safe now. I promise." Crowley nods automatically. Safe. Yes. Safe from the humans, anyway. The angel's made sure of that. "Thank you." He grits his teeth when the angel tips water over a crusted gash beneath his ribs, refusing to make another sound. "Don't mention it, my dear." The saddest part is, the angel really, really means that.

[nothingifnotobstinate]

New single "Learn to love again" OUT NOW !!!💞💞💞

💿 New Album "Carpe some Diem"

Lyrics by Seizefried Farnon

Produced by Sensitive Sydney 🎛️

[scifrey]

Keepsakes

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta'd

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature-ish.

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Some sexytimes. Some whomp and hurt/comfort.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Patrick the Bartender, Harriet Butler, Matthew the Raven

Summary: Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Feel free to DM me or leave prompts in the comments, and if it resonates with me, I may write up a ficlet! Thank you for the inspiration in advance.

Set amid the events of Cling Fast and Carpe Diem

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Postcards

"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"

"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."

Hari offers him a sympathetic smile. They're the only ones in the pub proper today, as Patrick is off to tend his ailing mother, Dee doesn't come in Mondays, and Morph is having lunch with his editor.

"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"

"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.

"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"

“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."

She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.

"Was so!" Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. "Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday."

Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. "I won't believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me," she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. "And I don't believe you."

Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it's been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of others, all from the same city. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says "Greetings from Sin City!" in bright yellow font.

Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. Her face gets drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.

"To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I did it! I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you'd like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar," Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.

She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.

"So hell is real, then," Hari warbles.

Hob shrugs. "Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists."

Hari nods thoughtfully. "I suppose you would know, being married to a god."

Hob chuckles. "Well, former god-ish. And don't worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. Self-punishment or fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff."

Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she's going to need it.

"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.

"Not any time soon, I hope," Hob says, folding his arms on the bar top and leaning close to offer her a comforting look. "And when it does happen, I can promise you that my sister-in-law is gentle and kind. You have nothing to worry about."

Harriet runs her arthritis gnarled finger up and down the side of the glass, collecting up the condensation. "You know, that is actually a comfort." She looks up at Hob with a wicked little grin. "Especially knowing your husband."

Hob throws his head back and laughs.

[http-byler]

“All’s fair,” Todd claims, boyishly charming when he smiles like this - blatant, unashamed, unveiled, and Neil wants to treasure it, mark it in oil paints and hang it up to dry, to admire. Even amidst the frigid ends of February winter, he feels alight with warmth, with that of spring, of sunshine. 

HAD to draw this part from where we lay our scene by @smoosnoom <3

[jumpscaregoose]

*emerges from writing cocoon* what day is it

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Aurea Mediocritas - Chapter 1

Summary: Aurea mediocritas: one of the five latin mottos of the arcadist, or neoclassical movement. Literally translates to “golden mediocrity”

A series of glimpses into what life was after the events of Carpe Diem. Not all is resolved, but they’re getting there. On their own time, at least.

Notes: EYYY I’m so happy to be continuing this verse! Ngl, this chapter has been written since March, but after Carpe Diem was done I got sucked into my OC wonderland, and then there was Sketchbook Week, and now I’m having to post it this instant exclusively because the next chapter is a Christmas special and I want to keep it on time jskdfksjdfh (which is also to say, no season 3 spoilers here. In fact, as I write these notes, I’m minutes away from watching the first episodes haha)

For any newcomers to this verse, it’s recommended that you take a look at the previous installments first – or at least the ones with Latin names!

Thank you for coming back to this AU, I hope you enjoy it! For info on posting schedule/frequency, please check out the end notes on ao3 :)

[Read it on ao3] [Read this verse's previous instalments]

This must be how lab rats feel before having experiments done on them, Kaisa thought as she had to, once again, consciously stop herself from picking at her nails after she’d begun doing so without noticing it. Or at least how they would if they’d signed up for the torture themselves.

Luckily, no one around her seemed to notice, much less care. The other patient in the waiting room was looking at something on his phone, bouncing his leg all the while, and the receptionist was typing on her computer. She’d probably seen a lot worse than people fidgeting in that waiting room, anyway.

Some fifteen minutes after she had arrived there, and been told to hang around and wait, a person came out of the psychologist’s office. They had tears streaming down their face, but they smiled politely at both her and the other man in the waiting room, and thanked the receptionist. It confused her, to see someone and not understand if they were upset or thankful.

Was it possible to be both at the same time?

Well, she supposed it must be. It was basically how she’d been feeling since she’d found out she’d been framed for a crime she didn’t commit.

As the receptionist went inside the therapist’s office, Kaisa shifted on her chair, crossing the opposite leg on top of the other. She hated this position that she’d put herself in, but at the same time there was a part of her that was very proud of herself for being there. Tildy had spent years and years saying she could ask her to make an appointment whenever she wanted, and Frida had sung high praises for therapy for as long as she could remember. But Kaisa had never given in. She was too proud, too blind to the fact that the way she thought (and consequently, the way she lived) wasn’t healthy.

And then along came Johanna, and that had been what had mined the last of her resistance. She was sure that, had she been going through that situation alone (or rather, just with her family and her one friend), she would have done what she had during every other crisis that arose: talk about it to them exactly once and then pretend the matter was resolved.

But it was never that simple with the human mind, was it? She was just beginning to realize that everything she’d tried to repress during her life had turned her mentality into what it was, and that was… not great. But Johanna made her want to do better, and be better. Not only for her girlfriend, but for herself. Johanna had been so similar to her mere years ago, and was now so free to live her life in a way that made her happier, that Kaisa couldn’t not have listened when she gently suggested that therapy would do her a lot of good.

“Miss Pilqvist?” The receptionist called, making Kaisa snap her head up to her. She smiled gently and gestured with her head, pointing to the office.

Trying her best to not allow her legs to shake or her hands to fidget, Kaisa got up and walked to the door.

………

The couch was itchy. It was the first thing that she noticed when the therapist told her to sit down on it after they had made their introductions. It caused her to try to change the position she was sitting on during the whole session, hoping a different angle would help her feel it less.

Unfortunately, the therapist took this simply as a sign that she was nervous. Which, mind you, she hadn’t actually been wrong to assume.

Knowing herself, Kaisa had expected to be the personification of that meme about wanting to get good grade in therapy. It turned out not to be the case, however. She had never wanted to flunk something that bad.

(Not that she’d ever wanted to flunk anything before, that was.)

As the kind looking woman with wild auburn hair looked at her, occasionally taking notes about something she said or did, Kaisa felt very much like she wanted to get a nice, round zero at therapy and just be expelled. Not that the psychologist was doing anything wrong, or at least she imagined she wasn’t. She just wanted this to end, so she could stop having her mind and her life poked and prodded with a stick, could leave in the dark the parts that that woman apparently wanted to shine a light on.

When she said ‘this is an interesting thing for us to discuss at a later date’ for the second time in that hour long appointment, about something that Kaisa very much did not want to discuss, the girl looked at the wall clock impatiently. They couldn’t possibly be too far from the end, right?

The poor woman had told her, in the beginning, that if she wasn’t ready to talk about something then she only needed to say it. But once again, Kaisa was way too proud, way too high achieving to actually admit discomfort. It would feel like a failure at something she had signed up for on her own.

It wasn’t just because she wanted to flunk that she’d rig the exam herself, after all.

They parted ways with an appointment for the same time next week, and Kaisa walked back home as quickly as she could, before she did something embarrassing.

Like begin to cry in the middle of the street.

………

Kaisa had attempted to exfoliate only once before. She had done it with her sister, in the bathroom they shared, and they were quite certain they had done it wrong. It didn’t take a lot to make Kaisa’s skin red – approximately two minutes of sunlight exposure would do it – but considering that Frida herself had a pinkish skin when they were done, they had been able to say, with fair certainty, that they had fucked up. Their skins had felt raw and exposed, like they got rid of something essential.

Following that logic, Kaisa went home thinking that therapy was exfoliation for the mind, and that the keratin she shouldn’t have gotten rid of was, in this case, whatever kept her bad memories and feelings from resurfacing at the slightest chance.

This is fine, she told herself all the while she walked back. I wasn’t told anything I didn’t already know. She didn’t even go that deep yet, I had already come to the conclusions she wanted me to for now. It’s fine.

Upon opening the front door, however, and being welcomed by the sight of Tildy’s warm smile, something inside her broke.

It was not fine.

Tildy had been using her reading glasses, since she’d been waiting for her daughter to come back with the book she was currently reading; Kaisa knew she would have been able to see the tears springing up in her eyes regardless. When she closed the door behind herself, Tildy was already beckoning her to go sit by her side on the couch.

“I don’t want to worry you.” Kaisa began, her voice cracking up. “Nothing bad happened. I promise.”

The nod Tildy gave her told her that she understood, and that she was listening. Cornelius woke up when Kaisa sat beside the spot where he had been sleeping, and she scratched the top of his head (or at least what she imagined was the top of his head) as an apology. The feeling of curly fur brushing against her fingers soothed her.

“But it’s hard.” She continued. “I guess I did so much effort to not let certain things affect me, and now I’m being forced to walk the opposite trail. I need to put even more effort into letting it all affect me in a way that helps. I’m a little lost.”

Tildy hummed. Kaisa was still turned to Cornelius, so her back was to her mother, but she didn’t need to look at her to picture the pensive gaze she must be wearing in her mind’s eye.

“But if you know the path you’re supposed to be taking, isn’t that the opposite of being lost?”

Even her chuckle sounded a bit like a whine, fragile as she felt. “It’s a metaphor.”

“I know. But even that is worth something.”

“Now you’re talking like a therapist as well, Tildy.”

Kaisa finally turned to face her more fully, knowing there would be no concealing the redness in her eyes but not caring, since her voice already denounced her feelings. She took only one look at Tildy’s apologetic face before putting her hands on her lap and staring at them.

“Do I have to keep doing this?” She asked in a small voice after they had gone some minutes in silence; Tildy knew how to recognize when her child needed space. “I know I had agreed to give it a try, but now I’m wondering if it’s more of a bother than it’s worth.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” The gentle words made the sting on Kaisa’s eyes even sharper. “But if you don’t put in the effort, you won’t ever get the results you’re looking for. Take care of yourself. Respect your limits, my dear. But we only grow by dipping our toes outside our comfort zone.”

Kaisa let her head fall against Tildy’s shoulder; her frame may look fragile, but she knew how much strength it hid. It had never let down her children when they needed to lean on her, which was quite often.

“I hate it when you are right.” Kaisa whined, feeling herself run out of air; it was never pretty when she cried over her own distress. It wasn’t a cinematic fall of tears like when she heard a sad story. It was more noise and the feeling of having air sucked out of her lungs, but Tildy had never complained.

Handling her daughter in a way to have her laying her head down on her lap, Tildy sighed.

“Then you must live a miserable life, sugar pie.”

For a while, Kaisa just cried. She could hear nothing else over the sound, except for the thought at the back of her mind that she was grateful that Frida was out at a friend’s house for the time being; she didn’t want her seeing her big sister like that. But as she calmed down, other things became noticeable. The softness of the fabric of Tildy’s skirt. The soothing caress of her fingers on her hair. Her own heartbeat. Cornelius, who was now pressing himself against her belly like a warm compress, purring like he was trying to calm her himself. It was such a comforting thought that she didn’t even dwell too long on the fact that she was pretty sure dogs shouldn’t purr.

As her eyes ran out of tears, her eyelids began growing heavy. Her distress crying usually had abrupt endings, and this time was no different. Once she’d sobbed enough, it simply stopped, and allowed her to enjoy the beautiful sensations around her. And while sleep gently, gradually embraced her, images filled her eyes. Of her family, of Johanna, of Victoria and even Edmund. Not only that, but she also remembered the scent of Tildy’s garden. The soft breeze during her walks to campus in the mornings. The beauty of when light hit just the right angle at the library. Her books, her plushies, and all the places she wanted to meet.

There were so many amazing things in the world. So many things she wanted to enjoy, so many things she didn’t want to miss out on. So many people she wanted to connect with to the best of her ability, not because she owed them anything but because they made her feel like all the effort was worth it.

She had to try. She had to give her best, but not in the ‘white-knuckling through it’ way that she had done all her life. She owed it to herself to take all of the joy and the wonder this life had to offer. And that would have to mean getting out of her head and into her body, her surroundings, her heart.

“I’m going to heal.” Whether she only thought this or if she was able to mutter it was a mystery to her; her mother would forever be the only person who knew the answer, and Kaisa definitely would never ask. “I promise. It’s what I deserve.”

[immortalarizona]

me wanting to write an update for my wip I haven’t touched in four months versus me also being in a Really Weird stage of my relationship with the fandom the wip is based in

[carpe-meow]

[smth-intheway]

I haven't seen anyone talk about it, or maybe someone noticed but didn't said anything...

Neil and Charlie are connected, not only by the bonds of friendship but also by their shared symbolism of “death”, which is shown at the very end of the movie/book when their seats were empty. They are both key characters and as those who, despite their differences, are very similar.

Let's start with Neil. We all know that Neil is the one who started the dead poets society in 1959, he is the speaker and the leader of the group, as if leading the boys. He is the first to find the album with Keating's photo in it, the first to learn what the society is (yeah boys were near him), the first to read the official opening speech and assign roles to everyone. Who will read and who won’t. He acts as a confident person, his actions are based on a new feeling and finding freedom from the grip of his father. Everyone noticed how he looked at Keating when he gave his famous speech that every person in this fandom knows?

Yes, you can't help but notice how his eyes shine with hope, that he like a prisoner, will free himself from the shackles and escape from the clutches of his father. By the way, about his dad.

This man plays a very important role in Neil's life, as he does in his, albeit in the most disgusting way. His father sees himself in him only in his youth, he wants to achieve what he could not in the past. He uses Neil to turn back the time and become an ideal version of himself without caring what Neil thinks. Most likely, Mr. Perry was an unsuccessful person and perhaps he did not succeed in many things, proving this with the following phrases: "I sacrificed so much for you to be here" and "you have opportunities that I don’t had” He kind of puts pressure on Neil shoulders to give him false motivation to do things as he said, setting himself as an example, like... if you don’t do as I say, then the worst will happen to you, because I know better than you and I have lived longer than you. His father makes his son a submissive and obedient boy who is obliged to do and act as he is told, simply because he has no choice, because he is inexperienced and "impressionable" in the opinion of his father and he must definitely listen to the one who knows better in order to avoid the worst outcome. Just lower your head and show obedience like everyone else.

By the way, it is interesting that in the book the first description of Neil, and the first words about his appearance sound like this: "The breast pocket of his Welton blazer was covered with a huge cluster of achievement pins." (page 5, ch.1) Ironic, right? Now try to close your eyes and imagine the same student, without imagining Neil. What impression will you have of him? Right.. smart, successful with a brilliant future. This is what people who don’t know Neil see. He has become someone who is held up as an example. A diligent student and an example of behavior. Even the fact that in the book he wears a pillar with the inscription "excellence" as if hanging a label of idealism and perfection on himself. That is why they gave him this sign, so that he would carry it, introducing himself as the personification of that very perfection that teachers want to have in their students. But is that what he needs? Neil did not know what he wanted, he did not allow himself to go beyond what was permitted, always silently and following the rules. Afraid of getting burned like a moth over a fire. He was suppressed by his father, all the time his desires and dreams were rejected and not accepted, because there is a coordinate system and you cannot move against it. I can even assume that his father pressured him if his academic results did not satisfy him, from which Neil tried to prove that he could do better, because he wants his father to be proud of him and love him for being a good son, perhaps Mr. Perry could punish Neil for disobedience, from which the boy began to fear his father like a nightmare. Remember the scene when his father entered the room at the very beginning of the movie after the ceremony? Neil's behavior changed from before to after. With his friends he was happy, self-confident and the life of the party, but when his father showed up on the doorstep all of these traits were washed away and Neil showed his fear and insecurity.

So he hid himself, his dreams, ambitions and desires including emotions in front of his father. Several times in the book, (the movie didn’t showed it) Neil had the outbursts and slightly hysterical release of his emotions he was holding when his father was around. “Neil held the achievement pin in his hand as he spoke. “The bastard!” he shouted suddenly, jabbing his thumb with the metal point of the pin and drawing blood. Todd winced, but Neil just stared at the blood intently. He pulled the pin out and hurled it against the wall.” (Page 19, Chap3)

“Mr. Perry turned and stalked out. Neil stood still for a long time, then, walking to his desk, he started pounding on it, harder and harder until his fists went numb and tears began rolling down his cheeks.” (Page 119, chap11) Neil isn’t an emotionally stable person because his emotions only show when his father is not around. He is mentally weak because he is afraid to speak his mind around someone who will not listen to him. This is important and worth remembering because Neil has no voice around his father, so he did not tell him what he wanted, so he kept silent because he understood and built a mental reflex that his father's stubborn nature would still make him do what Neil does not want. He already knows what his father will say. Rejection. This is his weak point. He is afraid of rejection and does not want to hear it again, because he has heard it so many times ... over and over again. This Neil is very different from the confident guy he shows himself to be in society.

he did not share his feelings/thoughts with anyone, because he most likely not had close friends except Charlie. Because His entire life was planned and controlled by his authoritarian father, from A to Z. His dad would’ve probably not be happy about his son being friends with the “who the hell knows”.

That's why when he heard Keating's words about enjoying the moment, living here and now while this moment is here because one day it won't be. Carpe diem my friend. You need to look at things in the different way and not be afraid of what others think because what matters is what you think. These words entered Neil's thoughts as a basis for changing his situation, to free himself from the shackles and become who he always wanted. Because if not, this moment will never come. He began to think differently and began to go towards his dream that he wanted to acquire so much. Neil was slowly drowning in his ideal world, living freely and hopelessly, but he misunderstood Keating's words, because he had to change his idea of ​​the world and not himself. Neil did not understand that you cannot change the situation you are in, you can only change your idea and vision of it. He wanted to take control, but he forgot that sucking out the bone marrow, you need to do it so as not to choke on the bone. It is interesting that he was the first to come and recreate the Dead poets society and the first to leave, thus killing this society.

His death has a huge influence on the plot as well as on the symbolism itself, because if you look closely, in the book he dies with his crown of flowers as if killing his personality "Puck" through which he embodied the archetype of the deceiver (his father’s deceiver), challenging the established standards of behaviour. The second one is a reference to Jesus that many talk about. So, if you think about it, the crown of branches that he wore is very similar to the one that Jesus had. At first, he looks up, supposedly into the sky, in search of the meaning of life and pondering his decision. He puts on the crown, proclaiming himself his own liberator, just as Jesus was in Christian culture.

He didn't want to depend on his father or the rotten system anymore, Neil thought he would make his own decision outside of his father's wishes. After all, if there is no freedom in life itself, then why should he live?

Then, he lowers his head as if accepting his fate and knowing that he has chosen the right path for himself.

Neil showed obedience to himself and not to someone else which made him one step freer before he got freedom completely. He, like Jesus, accepted himself as a sacrifice in the face of freedom intending to be free even if not for others then for himself. Therefore, it was his own "crucifixion".

It is interesting that he lowers his head just like the boy from that very wall painting.

Okay, but then how does he relate to Charlie? It's simple, Charlie isn't always himself either, and unlike Neil's hidden symbolism, he directly proclaims himself to be another person, namely "Nuwanda". He abandons his boring, past self by forgetting who he was through self-destruction. "I have an announcement. In keeping with the spirit of passionate experimentation of the Dead Poets, I'm giving up the name Charles Dalton. From now on, call me 'Nuwanda.'" (page 89, chap9) In the same way, he added more nuances to his personality, such as his famous phrase "getting red" and when he painted the Indian symbol of virility on his torso supposedly giving himself confidence through the symbol's underlying meaning, which is anchored in the Indian goddess Shiva-Lingam which signifies masculinity, virility and association with fertility due to its sexual significance.

The same goes for the symbols he drew on his cheek, what's interesting is that in the movie he drew it with lipstick using red again, which usually symbolizes power, passion and life, this colour is used to attract attention. But in the book... he literally scrapes dirt off the wall to draw this symbol on his cheek. (What a cheerful boy fr)

Charlie is a time bomb. He constantly has ideas in his head, at first it may seem empty but there really is a lot of things, plus this “dish” is also seasoned with the guy's self-confidence and huge ego. This is proven by the fact that Charlie literally claimed the cave when he entered it and then used it to bring girls, without worrying about the opinions of others. He kind of stands as an example of the opposite of the Welton school value system, and encourages boys not to be afraid to be more confident. In the film, he was the first to support Neil in the idea of ​​creating a club, standing on his side, and also defending him after Cameron's betrayal at the very end, knowing that he is risking his education in Welton, but he is not afraid to take on such responsibility ... well, because why should he be afraid? He already has a future full of money, knowing that his father will force him to work with his business. By the way, about his father.

Unlike Neil, his relationship with his father is controversial and he can fight back with the confidence that he will be forgiven. In the film, his parents are shown in the background.

And in the book we only know his mother. I can assume that Charlie is a child from a rich family who lives as an accessory in the hands of his parents. He, like Neil, is the "pride" of his parents and should be an example, only Charlie does not want to follow the coordinate system and enter it instead he moves against it. Like Neil at the end of his path.

We know that Rebellion is already embedded in any ideology at the time of its creation, and rebels only personify rebellion and do not bring it to the established system of values. After all, there will always be those who are against the established system, moving in the opposite direction and trying to find other conclusions, other ideas that will definitely suit a certain type.

Charlie could become a rebel for two reasons, the first: the search for attention. Unlike the hyper-care of Neil's father over his son, his father could be so bogged down in work that he forgot about his own son, perhaps not even his beloved, because then the marriage would be of convenience. His parents did not give him enough attention, pushing him away, rejecting him. He wanted to be noticed by them so that they would give him love, so he tried to achieve it in every possible way and it became a habit. Or the second option: He was tired of living a pretense. Straightforwardness is always a way out when it’s difficult to explain. Just be simple and do not bother to be complex, so the fear of making a mistake disappears. So Charlie did, because as far back as he could remember, he hated being told how he should behave, how he should talk to guests, how he should smile, how he should take utensils for food, and so on. Charlie was tired of seeing people from high society smiling at each other with such hypocrisy, as if a second ago they had not been in deep judgmental discussion. The world of big business disgusted Charlie, because those people were too worried about how they looked in front of others and they ran after status. Charlie was a prisoner of this every day and he didn't want to be like the others, he wanted to create something of his own in his personality, something that the others didn't have and something that would distinguish them from him, or him from them. So he chose the easy way - rebellion. So Keating's words meant something to him in the sense that he would enjoy the moment of rebelling against the school's rules and building his own system. Charlie could relate to his own approaching "death" if life at Welton was not symbolic but real. That is, his expulsion is an actual death. It could be similar to the phrase that Carpe diem oppose - Memento Mori. Carpe diem, in simple terms, says that death is inevitable, but it is unknown when it will come, and therefore it should not be feared, but instead enjoy the moment, which is what Keating taught his students, but there is also memento mori, which says that death is inevitable, but the moment of its onset can be delayed by behaving, so to speak, you should live “correctly” and act rationally for the benefit of your own life. In other words, memento mori means that everything is in your hands and when you die is determined by how you live. And Carpe diem is about the opposite, that nothing depends on you. And therefore you can and should take everything from life here and now. These two terms are closely related to the understanding of Keating's lessons, so each DPS boy had his own end. Tragic or partly happy. Knox and Todd understood that you can't change this system, but you can change your attitude towards it by finding beauty in things and avoiding death, but Neil and Charlie didn't understand him, wanting to change system and putting their lives on the line, so both of their seats are empty at the end.

If you think about it... Charlie is Neil's desire for suicide. After all, he too is moving towards self-destruction by excluding himself from the system directly through death, while Charlie does it indirectly by going through exclusion.