#hard to be a collector and not have Too Much but so far i’m threading the needle…… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohmyasmodeus · 4 years ago

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𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳

as fun as the devildom is, it probably isn’t hard for mc to miss their home ♡ here are the boys being tender again !

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳

✧ Astute as he can be, it’s not something Lucifer notices at first. He knows that any human taken from their realm without warning would naturally miss their home, but he watches your growing progress and assumes that all is well; especially with the bonds you develop with him and his brothers.

✧ Your heartache is something you share with him in the silence of the more intimate moments when the both of you begin to grow closer. The pain of being so devastatingly far from everything you know is something Lucifer is all too familiar with, and he holds you as he softly encourages you to tell him what weighs on your mind.

“Tell me, my love,” he says quietly. “What do you miss the most about your home?”

“Everything.” You whisper, curling into him and resting your head on his chest. His hand comes to rest on your back, before he threads his fingers through your hair. You smile at the bittersweetness of it all. “But at least I have you.”

He kisses your head gently. “You always will.”

✧ He prefers if you talk about it. A distraction from the ache only works for so long, and he believes you’ll benefit more in the long run by acknowledging your feelings and letting him work through them with you. He rarely has time, but he always makes some for you when you need him. He’ll even listen to you while he’s in the middle of paperwork while you sit in his lap, pressing kisses to your cheeks.

✧ There are so many memories and emotions that he keeps close to his chest, but with you, he shares them in exchange for the vulnerability you show him. He mentions his own grief at times, talking wistfully about the things he loved the most about the celestial realm… Lucifer is a sentimental, old demon who has struggled with losing his identity and his home— and there is a solace he finds in sharing the grief with someone who understands him like nobody else.

♡ 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯

✧ Being tasked to look after you makes Mammon more aware of changes in you than he would like to be— and frankly? It’s irritating as hell to him. It’s not like it’s any of his business when you start putting a damper on things! That’s how he feels at first, at least. The more time you two spend together, the more he’s inclined to quietly sidle up beside you and just kind of sit with you when you seem a little less energetic and up for fun than usual.

✧ “What?” He has to laugh almost incredulously when he finds out what you’re really moping about. “Oh, come on, quit acting like you’re never going to go home again!”

“Mammon, I’m going to beat your ass.” You huff, regretting ever deciding to open up to him.

“No, I’m going to beat your ass. You’ve got a whole new world to explore and you’re getting all sad about your old one?” Mammon grabs your hand triumphantly and pulls you to stand. “Get ready, because I’m gonna show you all the best parts about living in the Devildom!”

✧ Mammon makes it a point to distract you from getting too sad. He’s sure there are great things about the human world and some great memories made there, he himself would know, but he’d like to help you make amazing memories in the Devildom too. There’s always a new restaurant or a gimmicky attraction to visit, and he’s sure to drag you along and force you to have some fun! Your D.D.D is going to run out of memory with all the photos you two take together.

✧ But when the hurt gets too much, he settles in with you. He’ll let you put on the human music as he leans into your side, and while there’s not much he can say… at least you know that there’s someone by your side.

♡ 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯

✧ Saying that Levi is uncomfortable would be an understatement. It’s like being in a room with someone currently choking on something and completely forgetting how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre. He knows he’s meant to be doing something when you make that sad little face, but he doesn’t know what or how.

✧ He starts by saying, “Hey.” His elbow nudges yours on the desk in the middle of class.

“Hm?” You look up from your classwork, startled out of your thoughts.

“My stuff from Akuzon arrived today!”

“Oh. That’s great.” You give him a smile, and he feels better, until he notices that it’s still not the same smile that he’s used to getting from you. His leg starts to jiggle under the table as he gets a little nervous, but he persists.

“I ordered a collector’s edition copy of one of my favourite games, and- and the story might be wayyy too complicated for normies like you to understand, but playing it all over again alone would be pretty boring since-”

You don’t wait for him to finish his sentence before you latch onto his arm, chuckling with delight. “Oh? Does Leviathan want to share his games with an undeserving normie like me? Is this the third coming of Christ?”

You watch his face turn red from the teasing, and he furiously tries to stutter out excuses, which in turn makes you bury your face in his sleeve to muffle your laughter! It’s all too easy to forget about the homesickness and the heartache when Levi is so fun to wind up.

✧ It’s not easy for Levi to talk about emotions. It’s too easy to mess up, so he’d much rather try to make you happy, and bashfully watches your face as you focus on the game you two play together. He’ll wait, he decides as you two sit alone together. He’ll wait until you feel comfortable enough to tell him how you feel.

♡ 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯

✧ Satan probably keeps self-help books by the hundreds. He has had more than his fair share of strong emotions, aches that never seem to subside, and the bouts of rage that sends fire through his veins without a warning… Although your type of sadness is something that he has yet to experience. He has always had a home with his brothers, and tries to show you that you have the same thing.

✧ He does way too much armchair psychology at first. “You might be experiencing this sadness because of a lack of a sense of belonging, like a fish-”

“A fish out of water, I know.” You sigh as you lean into his side.

“I’m just saying.” Satan huffs.

“Can’t you just hold me for a bit? I just… I just want you to hold me.” Satan softens at your pleading, and can’t help but immediately shift to pull you into him, using a hand to guide your head to rest on his chest. It makes you smile, the way he acts so aloof but finds it the hardest thing to deny you anything you ask for.

✧ In time, he learns not to talk so much. It’s obvious that you already know what’s bothering you and why, so he goes with the flow and lets you guide him to do whatever he can to make you feel better. It’s wonderful to have the opportunity to be shown such a real side of you, and in return, he shows himself at his most genuine. It becomes easy to express his love when it’s just you and him, faces nuzzled into each other’s.

✧ Satan develops a habit of reading to you from whatever book he finds himself fixated on in the moment. He waits for you to seek him out when you feel the pain return and opens his arms to let you settle into him before he returns to his book, stroking your head gently as he begins to read out loud. He loves it when he can enjoy a good story from the human realm together with you, or at least soothe the ache in your chest with his smooth, soothing voice.

♡ 𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴

✧ Oh, Asmodeus has a thousand different salacious methods to distract you from your emotions. You can’t quite say that none of them work, because he always finds a way to have you melting in his arms while making all your thoughts slip away. You love it, you love him and every vaguely suggestive joke he makes about cheering you up, but sometimes you’d like him to read the room just a little more. It’s almost a little bit harder to open up emotionally with him.

✧ “You’ll get wrinkles if you frown so much!” Asmo sighs as he gently tilts your face up with a finger under your chin. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“I’m just… thinking,” You mumble.

Unsatisfied with the answer, Asmodeus shifts his hand to rest it on the side of your face, stroking your cheek with a thumb. You can’t help but lean into the touch, because Asmodeus feels like home to you. He may not know how to read the room, but the comfort he gives you is strikingly genuine, as honest as the concerned way his bright amber eyes gaze into yours. It’s as if he’s searching for an answer in them.

“Oh, sweetheart, starshine, ______, my dearest,” Asmodeus kisses your nose, and begins peppering your face in chaste kisses that you can’t help but lean into. “My sweet cherry, you know you can tell me anything… How can I make you smile again?”

And you smile.

✧ Asmodeus loves new experiences, and would encourage you to show him your favourite things from the human world. His favourite is when you watch human rom-coms together! He can wrap you in his clothes and give you a squeeze in his arms as the both of you squeal over the romantic moments in the show, joking about how you two should totally reenact them.

✧ You teach Asmo more and more about love and personal connection with each passing day, and while he hates the thought of you ever having to leave, he savours the moments in which he gets to be alone with you. For now, he is your home. He clings to you almost desperately, hoping that he can bring you as much happiness as you bring him.

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘻𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘣

✧ Homesickness, missing everything you had, wondering about what could’ve been… Beelzebub is far from a stranger to these things. It’s easy for him to notice when you start to experience the same things that he does. He finds himself sitting closer to you on the days where your heart weighs heavier than it usually does, putting an arm around you quietly, even when the both of you are surrounded by his brothers. It’s his subtle way of letting you know that you can always depend on him.

✧ He keeps you company. In the darkness of your room, as the both of you settle in for the night, he holds your hand and gazes at you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hm?” You softly press your forehead against his. It’s easy to forget how perceptive Beel can be due to the naïvete you’re used to from him, and it makes you smile.

“You looked sad today. I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone else, but I was worried…” Beel gives you the softest gaze as he kisses the hand of yours that he holds. “I’ll hold you tonight. I don’t want you to have any nightmares.”

✧ Having shared all of his heartache with you, Beel doesn’t hesitate to tell you to do the same with him. He keeps you warm in his arms while you talk about your pain, preferring to listen quietly as he presses soft kisses to your head. It hurts him to hear the sorrow in your voice, so he tries to cheer you up, reminding you that you’ll be home in no time, and saying that he hopes he and his brothers can visit you there!

✧ Beel likes sharing his comfort food with you when he notices that you’re feeling a little down. It’s relaxing to cook with him, though more often than not, it ends up in him hugging you from behind as he nibbles on your neck and mumbles about eating you instead. He likes pampering you, feeding you spoonfuls of hot soup or simple pasta while you sit in his lap.

✧ Beel also happens to be adorably protective when you have a bad day. “Don’t talk to ______ like that,” he mutters when his brothers fool around a little too much for his liking.

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳

✧ Belphegor is hard to read and seems vaguely uninterested in your emotional state, seemingly preferring to mind his own business as he usually does. Even so, he tries to make things easier for you. It’s in the little details, the way he shifts in his nest of blankets and pillows to give you his favourite warm space to curl up into, or how he goes out of his way to serve you food.

✧ You two are out shopping and enjoying the freedom of the afternoon after school when he brings it up. He looks at you as you browse through the street vendor’s menu, noticing your distant expression.

“Are you going to act like this forever?” Belphie sighs. He takes your hand and orders food for the both of you in your stead, knowing that you’re never going to make a decision in a state like this.

“Excuse me?” You ask, taken aback by his bluntness.

“You say that like you haven’t been moping all day.” He smiles in a teasing way, making up for it by feeding you a bite of his portion when you two are served. “What’s on your mind, ______?”

“...Don’t laugh, okay?”

Belphie kisses your cheek with a soft laugh. He nuzzles his nose into yours, those bright eyes already doing miracles in cheering you up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

✧ Like his brother, he knows what it’s like to be isolated from your whole world. That loneliness will cling to him for the rest of his days without a doubt, and in turn, he clings to you when he feels like you may be experiencing the same thing. He’s not quite sure what to do, but he likes keeping you company and talking to you for hours on end while the both of you cling to each other’s warmth. A little bit of rest makes anyone feel better.

✧ He asks you point blank what will make you feel better. He can only play trial and error for so long, and it’s not fun at all to see you hurting. He’s lazy, but eager to provide when it’s with you, even if it includes a painful reintroduction to human culture.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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subwalls · 3 years ago

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WHUMPTOBER 2021 - 4/30

No. 4 - TRUST FALL “Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Also available on AO3!

Sapnap’s day starts off with his shitty apartment flooding ankle-deep in unidentifiable monsterly fluids, which sucks.

It’s not as dangerous as that one time the whole building came alive and tried to eat its residents, but it’s definitely messier, which is arguably worse.

This is the kind of thing most people usually take as a sign from the universe that they should go over to a friend’s place and sulk for the rest of the day. Anyone who’s survived more than a week in this clusterfuck of a city knows to trust their instincts on that—which usually means getting the hell out of dodge.

Unfortunately, Sapnap has kind of garbage instincts.

Oh, they’re fantastic at keeping him alive, sure. He’s coming up on his one-year anniversary of being here, and he’ll definitely be celebrating that at one of those dubiously legal and definitely non-human bars, but the fact that he’s still here, squelching through monster goop and all…

Sapnap wrinkles his nose as he sidesteps the still-twitching corpse in the lobby. Some idiot with an organ graft from the End, probably, which explains the goop seeping into everything. Shouldn’t the drawbacks of End tissue be common knowledge by know? Specifically the fact that it implodes at the first hint of water?

Most apartment complexes these days have sprinklers installed on the doorstep for the explicit purpose of enforcing their dumb Huma-only policies.

Sapnap, with his Netherborn lungs, counts himself lucky. He looks Huma, is legally Huma, and can hold his breath when the sprinkler douses him. So his landlord’s none the wiser.

Probably.

Eh, if he was going to be evicted for that, it would’ve already happened. Work comes first, and if Sapnap’s lucky, he’ll be too worn out to even notice if they’ve cleaned up the mess by the time he comes back.

He pats the left side of his face, checking that his eyepatch is in place like it should be, and walks out into the thoroughfare of SMP City.

Immediately, the world drops out from under him. Sapnap whirls around, reaching out for the wall that should be right there, but the thin clouds slip through his fingers without so much as a whisper of substance.

The wind forces his good eye shut. He forces it open again, squinting, all too aware of the warmth smoldering in his chest. His vision blurs weirdly in a way that could’ve been from wind pressure or because he’s been out for longer than he thinks. After a few seconds of blinking furiously, it clears.

Oh. That’s not the sky.

That’s the void.

Those are two very different things. One is up, and the other is… well. All around the city, truthfully; it swallows the ocean and heaven alike into the dragon’s maw, marking out the abyssal boundary of where the other worlds bleed into this one.

It’s part of what makes commute in and out of the place troublesome, because too-big vehicles that get too close end up attacked by the aforementioned dragon—not that anyone’s every seen the whole breadth of the thing, just an errant wing or tail that swings up to demolish a plane or ship, black scales iridescent against the darkness.

The fact that Sapnap is standing on a platform in the middle of this beast’s territory is, as they say, Not Good.

Leaning over the edge, Sapnap sees no support holding up the square of rock he’s somehow ended up on. It’s just floating over the misty emptiness. Looking up yields nothing of note either; he must be pretty low in the void if he can only see the wispy fog instead of the surface.

Something silver flashes at the edge of his vision, and Sapnap ducks out of the way of a shattered blade. His cheek flares, and he slaps a hand against it, wincing.

The metal tumbles into the void. Sapnap pulls his hand away, and blinks at the smear of blood left behind.

“GREETINGS,” bellows out from somewhere overhead. A long scythe of a blade lowers from the fog, and Sapnap backs up to the edge of his floating rock as its tip comes to a gentle rest over his throat.

“Why am I here?” Sapnap demands. He slouches backward, sticking his hands into his pockets like the perfect image of a begrudged student. If it’s to hide the trembling of his arms, that’s a secret between him and the phone in his pocket. “Who are you?”

“I AM UNKNOWN, COLLECTOR OF DIVINE INSTRUMENTS, PROSTHESIS MADE BY THE GREATER POWERS,” the voice booms. “I AM HERE TO COLLECT YOURS.”

“Uh, divine what now?” Sapnap says. He presses his thumb against the cool screen of his phone, making sure it’s facing towards himself so the light doesn’t bleed out. “I don’t know what those are. You’ve got the wrong person.”

The scythe jerks upward, nicking open his chin, trailing up his face.

And comes to rest directly over his eyepatch.

Sapnap stills.

“THE ALL-SEEING EYES OF THE GODS.”

“What about them?”

“YOU HAVE THEM. OR SO I THOUGHT,” the voice adds, and the scythe withdraws a little. “I DID THINK YOU FELL FOR THAT TRAP TOO EASILY FOR A TRUE WIELDER… IT WAS EITHER YOU OR YOUR SYNDICATE FRIEND, THEY SAID, AND THE FANG HUNTER IS MORE TROUBLE THAN I’D LIKE.”

Syndicate friend. Fang hunter. Dream. Sapnap's heart plummets to his heels, but he tries to keep an even keel. “Who’s they?” he asks over the sound of his phone unlocking. As subtly as possible, he drags his thumb across the screen.

“AH, NOW THAT WOULD BE TELLING, WOULDN’T IT?” A low cackle rolls through the fog like thunder, ruby light flashing faintly in the distance. “OF COURSE, IF YOU GIVE ME WHAT I WANT, I WILL GLADLY TELL.”

“You… want to take the Eyes,” Sapnap says, slowly.

“I DO.” A metallic click echoes overhead, and two more scythes descend, grinding against each other in a thin shriek of metal on metal. “BUT IF YOU ARE NOT THE ONE WHO WIELDS THEM…”

Inhale, feel the air warm in his throat, embers into flame. “What’re you gonna do,” Sapnap says, “kill me?”

“AND WASTE SUCH A RESOURCE? NO, NO. YOU ARE BEST KEPT HERE,” Unknown says, amused. Another blade comes low, and clinks against the phone in his pocket. Sapnap freezes. “GO ON. ASK YOUR FRIEND TO SAVE YOU. CALL THEM HERE. THESE THINGS ARE ALWAYS EASIER TO NEGOTIATE FACE TO FACE.”

Well now he doesn’t want to do it.

Sapnap snorts, and a tongue of flame washes over the back of his teeth. “I’m not going to be your good little hostage,” he spits.

“BUT YOU ALREADY ARE,” says Unknown, and the scythes all turn to slam into the rock.

Ruptures tear across the surface of the stone, and Sapnap swears as he quickly shuffles onto the biggest piece. The edge crumbles away; far below, the fog shifts. A dull purple glow starts to brighten in the abyss, a tell-tale sign of the dragon waking, and Sapnap throws himself at the scythe in preparation to climb up the weapon-limb if he must—

His vision sings.

Suddenly, the world takes on a blue tint. Everything jumps into high-definition, and the fog might as well not exist, and Sapnap can see the arching crimson light of a fucking Blood Breed looming above him, Unknown is a Blood Breed, Sapnap doesn’t stand a chance even if he can read out the letters of their true name from the red aura surrounding them—he looks away, and notices for the first time the golden threads spanning the width of the void, glittering with magic.

In the back of his mind, he registers that he’s looking at the spell that stopped the Great Collapse, the one that saved the worlds from folding in on each other into utter destruction.

The rest of his mind is a little busy screaming, though.

A displeased snarl rips through the air as another set of scythes cleave down towards him, and Sapnap exhales a spout of flame that slows them down only barely enough to dodge.

“OH,” says Unknown, “OH, OH! IS THAT AN EYE? YOU DO HAVE ONE! I DIDN’T KNOW YOU COULD HIDE THE GODS’ GIFT LIKE THAT—YOU MUST LET ME HAVE IT, HUMA, IT IS WASTED IN YOUR SOCKET!”

Sapnap shouts, “You can take it over my dead body!” and throws himself at the ground when a blade tries to cut him in half at the hip.

“GLADLY!” Unknown dives, now, their nebulous aura now a very clear and vivid blood-red glare into Sapnap’s vision, ruby light spinning down their bony weapon-limbs like latticework.

Sapnap doesn’t flinch, and even swings his head upward to let the Eye watch and watch and watch—thinking this is what I go through for you with only half the bitterness he really feels—which is the only reason he notices the other one.

Two Blood Breeds in a single day. Fan-fucking-tastic.

A blade pins him through the shoulder in a burst of hot-eyed pain, but the rest all miss as a thin red string wraps around Unknown’s limbs and yanks them upward, into the low-hanging mist.

Sapnap blinks. He can still see them, thrashing against a thread that yanks Unknown around like a plaything before throwing them aside. It’s connected to the second Blood Breed, which is descending towards him now.

Okay, okay, it’s fine, he has a little time. A Blood Breed’s weakness is their true name, so if he can just extract that, he might be able to… burn it, or something.

Sapnap takes a deep breath, gives his vision the middle finger just so the other end of the Eye can see it, and then focuses hard on that deep red aura.

For the most part, it’s just a storm of crimson, red and red and ruby and blood, but Sapnap keeps looking and his one working eye whirs like a machine as it narrows, cutting through the noise, piercing down until he can see the heart and the core and… at the very end, a thin string of letters in a language he shouldn’t know.

The All-Seeing Eye of the Gods pours it all into his head: red red crimson-winged elder ⍊𝙹╎ᓵᒷ↸╎⍊ᒷ ᓵ∷ᔑℸ ̣ ╎リᒷ ⍑||!¡╎ ̇/ᒷꖌ ℸ ̣ ᒷᓵ⍑リ𝙹ʖꖎᔑ↸ᒷred blood red red war red—

“Tech—” he begins, and promptly chokes as a hand slaps over his mouth.

“Shush,” says the Blood Breed, calm as anything, quite suddenly right beside him. “Yeah, I got there in time, of course I did. Hey, you’re Sapnap, right?”

Sapnap tries to melt him on pure force of will alone.

“I’m gonna let go of you now. Maybe don’t be rude and expose me in front of an idiot like that, alright?” The Blood Breed exaggeratedly steps back, and Sapnap immediately flings himself to the opposite side of the very tiny floating rock they’re standing on. “Great, cool, nice talk. Not awkward at all.”

“What do you want?” Sapnap demands, bristling.

“You don’t recognize me?”

Sapnap pauses. He gives the Blood Breed another once-over, taking in the plush red cape and royal garb. Looks at the name again. Nothing rings a bell. “Should I?”

“Eh. Guess not. We’re a little short on time anyway, so introductions can wait, I guess.” As if on cue, the void begins to rumble. The dragon must be inches from rushing out.

Sapnap waves his hand through what he’s sure is a gear of light blue energy rotating in front of his face, trying to tell his friend to let it go. He doesn’t want him to watch him die.

The Blood Breed interrupts him with a hand on his wrist. “Hey. Do you trust me?”

“Hell no.”

“Smart,” the Blood Breed says, and shoves him off the edge.

#my fics

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goodbysunball · 4 years ago

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Quarantine rock, pt. III

Another long overdue update from the indoors. Hope you and yours are hanging in there - if nothing else, there’s no shortage of great music to keep you company. Here’s my take on some recent favorites.

C. Lavender, Myth of Equilibrium (Editions Mego)

Admittedly had not heard of C. Lavender until her collaborative cassette with Aaron Dilloway dropped earlier this year, but it’s safe to say that the tape was strong enough to blindly buy her new LP on Editions Mego. Myth of Equilibrium has been one of the best surprises from this year, drone at its core but opening up to something much more soothing over repeated listens, despite the jagged edges and tendency to embrace caustic noise. It came as no surprise to find out that C. Lavender embraces sound as a healing medium, as Myth of Equilibrium takes a deep, buzzing bass tone and twists and stretches it until individual packets of sound are weightless and ethereal. “Remedy Potion Extraction” is the most obvious example of this dark-to-light transformation C. Lavender excels at, but mostly the tracks present a satisfying puree of sound over shorter durations (”Engulf the Mystery,” “Dimly Lit Exit”). The brevity is a strength, and in that way C. Lavender reminds me of French duo Femme or even some of Tim Hecker’s work, but without the startling track-to-track transitions of the former or the diaphanous shroud of the latter. The bass keeps Myth of Equilibrium tangible and firmly grounded, and the rest of the sounds conjured by C. Lavender weave a very heady, very rich tapestry. The best respite from 2020 money can buy; soak it in. The LP is sold out from Editions Mego but those in the US can order it direct from C. Lavender for a very fair price.

Kobra, Confusione (Iron Lung)

Alright, I’m admittedly not a huge fan of the cover art for this record, but it’s an easy enough barrier to jump over when the music rips this hard. Kobra is from Italy, and they traffic in a mid-paced, pounding strain of punk that is right up my alley. Sounds like Una Bèstia Incontrolable meets Mecht Mensch to these ears: like the title track, which starts out like “Zombie” and then flips into a UBI-level groove, sax bleating and moaning on top of it all. This is punk through and through, the blown-out drums always there to remind you that this is presented by Iron Lung Records, but there’s a definite early post-punk/art-rock vibe present, too - check the groggy “Fogna” that opens up side B, which kinda sounds like Kobra doing their best impression of the Circle Jerks in Repo Man. The guitars don’t riff as much as they slash and chop, fragmented stabs landing among the onslaught of drums. The vocalist uses a menacing speak-scream (most effectively on ”Sogni Illusioni” and closer “C.P.D.M.”), and if I could speak or read Italian, I’m sure the lyrics would be intelligible amongst the din. Confusione is loaded with hits, but when the band clicks and all the parts come together, Kobra whips up a maelstrom; hard to deny the power of “Dentro Agli Schermi” (my favorite track) or “C.P.D.M.,” and though both of those tracks feature the saxophone, I’m glad the band wields that weapon sparingly for maximum effect. One of the most memorable and exciting punk releases of 2020, for sure, a formidable, brawny brew that’ll flex your pencil neck and have you involuntarily pogoing in no time. Highest recommendation! Confusione is sold out direct from Iron Lung, but Sorry State, Feel It, Grave Mistake, etc. all have it in stock.

Oily Boys, Cro Memory Grin (Cool Death)

The best musical news this year, hands-down: NEW OILY BOYS. Not only was an Oily Boys LP drop completely unexpected, I am completely steamrolled by this record every single time I drop the needle, from the opening “UGH!” on “Given” to the nearly nine minutes of caustic self-loathing on “GTrance.” There’s a definite metallic edge to the way Oily Boys approach punk, from the riffing to Drew Bennett’s brutally intense vocal performance, but while most punkers approach metal as a gimmick and end up sounding pretty tame, Oily Boys just sound absolutely mad - the 1-2 of “C.B.D.” into “My Sex Life,” especially the wild guitar theatrics on the latter, carry an intense, teeth-clenching physicality. If that was all Oily Boys did on this LP, it’d be a success, but the band throws curveballs and mid-tempo fits across Cro Memory Grin’s 13 tracks. “Heat Harmony” was the most jarring inclusion at first, relatively tuneful dark punk that could’ve been lifted from drummer Yuta Matsumura’s other band Orion. It definitely works, and the slightly softened approach of the band thankfully has no effect on Drew Bennett’s vocals. “Lizard Scheme” is another detour, swelling noise and Bennett’s barking (”Stupid is as stupid does, jazz boy!” is a choice lyric), reminiscent of Gutter Gods’ dizzying “Allan.” Probably the two most pummeling tracks here slow the tempos significantly and close out each side: “Stick Him,” my favorite track, and “GTrance,” the exhaustive closer. “Stick Him” is absolutely ferocious, the band emphasizing the quiet-loud dynamic with saxophone, the loud parts lurching into place like heavy machinery turning on, Bennett screaming the title with a violent ferocity. Where “Stick Him” is feral, the screed unleashed on “GTrance” by Bennett feels therapeutic, expelling every bit of toxic bile into the song without a break, and even if there is no resolution, the end result is a momentary peace, the same kind afforded by pushing to the full extent of one’s mental or physical abilities. That kinda seems like the point of Oily Boys, from the self-effacing name to the poisonous lyrical content to the absolutely ferocious performance: know your enemies, push back against the lowering boot of the world, fuck the rest. 2020′s best punk record, no contest, and maybe even the best record/soundtrack to the perfect storm of this year. Sick artwork/inserts on this LP, a nice job as usual from Cool Death. Cro Memory Grin is still available direct from them, and Goner still has it domestically.

Subdued, Over the Hills and Far Away (Roachleg)

With last year’s Bad Breeding LP still fresh and prescient as ever, and the political climate seemingly spiraling into reality TV while people mercilessly struggle and suffer all over, it seemed like scoping this new LP from the UK’s Subdued was more than appropriate. It’s reductive and maybe a little offensive to mention UK compatriots Bad Breeding in the first line of this review, but the similarities are hard to ignore: both bands create fiery politically-charged punk that flirts with metal and noise, delivered in screamed vocals with a heavy British accent. Subdued don’t fly off the rails as much as Bad Breeding; there’s more of a Crass/Rudimentary Peni vibe, with the emphasis on vocal delivery and riffs rather than conjuring a visceral tornado of noise. Sometimes the riffs can be a little clunky (particularly the end of “The Joke,” even though “Is hope the joke?” is a pretty powerful lyric), and for how much room the vocals are given, the lyrics can tread into oft-used clichés. Doesn’t make the message any less true, and I think the longer I spend with Over the Hills and Far Away, the more I come under its spell. “Problem of Evil” is probably the best song here, a near-perfect blend of deathrock, stomping riffs and barked vocals, and when it turns into the sprint of “No More,” Subdued are an undeniable force. Not sure if it just takes me until those two songs to warm up to Over the Hills, but the B-side of the LP seems to be more memorable - like the world-beating metallic riffs of the title track, or the frenetic guitar solo that finishes off “Call to Suffer.” There’s more than enough at play on Over the Hills to keep me coming back, and overall it’s a strong debut LP, and a great reason to check in with what Roachleg Records is bringing to the US punk scene. Cop the LP direct from Roachleg, and if you’re lucky you might have a chance at one of the limited-to-100 hand-screened covers. La Vida Es Un Mus put out the LP for the rest of the world, another solid co-sign for Subdued.

Aviador Dro, Nuclear, Sí 7″ (La Vida Es Un Mus) // Algara, Enamorados Del Control Total 7″ (La Vida Es Un Mus)

I don’t think these two 7″s have much in common other than the fact that they’re both put out by La Vida Es Un Mus, they’re both sung in Spanish and they’ve both been ruling my turntable this year. The Aviador Dro record is a reissue, one that came out last year, and it’s a gem: sci-fi keyboard punk from the '80s, the titular track one of the best songs I’ve ever heard, a slinking, funky beat driving the song into your brain forevermore. The B-side feels more edgy than the A-side but it’s all undeniably great; Paco did us all a favor by repressing this record, and continuing to keep it in print. Fast forward to 2020 for Algara’s 7″, their debut, which came out way back in pre-pandemic January. The cover art caught my eye, and the spindly, groovy drum-machine post-punk within is immediately addictive. The label says Crisis and Joy Division are in Algara’s musical DNA, and that sounds about right; the sound is spare, you can kinda dance to it, the bass lines carry the weight and the wiry guitars smear into each other (”Miedo a Perder”) or stitch single golden threads into the tapestry (”Dopamina y Producción”). Algara’s a 4-piece now, and they’ve got an LP coming soon on LVEUM, so 2021′s lookin’ bright. Both 7″s are mandatory, widely available from distros and direct from La Vida Es Un Mus. Scope the feature that Lulu’s wrote on Algara while you’re at it.

Saskia, Eeuwig Op Reis 7″ (Stroom)

The record collector sweat starts when you read about a 7″ reissued from a “highly intimate cassette” limited to ten or so copies in 1983, circulated only amongst friends and family. My eyes typically roll at such uncovered “gems” or whatever, but these two songs definitely deserve a wider audience. “My Lips Get Hot” splits the difference between the foggy late night atmosphere conjured by Chromatics and a breezy Balearic vibe, topped by sensual, high-pitched vocals that really drive the whole woozy, lovesick message home. The flip has the instrumental “You Left Your Soul Behind,” wherein said Balearic vibe is now at the forefront. It’s a strong track on its own, but kinda just serves as the comedown from “My Lips Get Hot” in this presentation. Stroom continues to unearth overlooked records with unnerving ease, and this Saskia 7″ might be the one that makes the label a more common name. One copy of this record is left at Stroom’s Bandcamp as of this writing - move quick.

Glen Schenau, “Jhumble” b/w “Jearnest” (self-released)

Glen Schenau is at the forefront of Brisbane’s experimental musical scene; he’s done time in Kitchen’s Floor, Bent and has even self-released a few things under his own name. The solo stuff I’ve checked by him was restless, frantic guitar and bass lines seemingly swimming against the current of his Bryan Ferry crooning. While there’s no denying that it was singular, it never really coalesced for me in the same way that this new 7″ does. That same restlessness is still at play here, obvious from the beginning strumming of “Jhumble,” and Schenau seems to still relish the vocal stylings of Ferry, though his vocals also remind me of some of the alterna-rock radio I was subjected to while working in a warehouse during summers between school. Normally that sort of vocal homage would send me running to the hills, but it really works here: the busy guitar line and the drums lock into an undeniable groove on “Jhumble,” and whatever Glen is singing, the melody is stuck in my head for days. “Jearnest” is my pick, the more difficult foil to “Jhumble”’s pop leanings. The sprightly guitar at the beginning is submerged into this rubbery goo, which eventually takes over the song while a whistle floats in to carry a melody over the tarry pit. Can’t say I’ve ever heard anything like it, but it doesn’t just float along on that claim; this is a highly potent brew served up on both sides of this single. Glen self-released this record and it’s limited to 150 copies; mine came with a hand-written note and drawing, which was a nice touch. High marks all around. I’ve got to echo Matt K.’s sentiments when he reviewed this record: “Seems like every Australian band gets their own album without much delay, so I have to ask: where the hell is Glen Schenau’s?!”

#C. Lavender #Kobra #Oily Boys #Subdued #Aviador Dro #Algara #Saskia #Glen Schenau #Editions Mego #Iron Lung Records #Cool Death Records #La Vida Es Un Mus #Roachleg #Stroom

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childrenoflight-darkness-nothing · 5 years ago

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Only a Matter of Time....

before tumblr made me start ANOTHER thread. Anyways, I’m actually really proud of this one so, I hope you enjoy it! Final product 3409 words!!!!

Had Aislin been more lucid the night before she never would’ve asked him to stay. Wanted him to? Yes. Actually asked? No. Though she was hard pressed to actually admit it, she was very much not fine. And she didn’t need or want to get Adair sick. But there he was every time she opened up her eyes, seemingly unconcerned with the possibility that he himself might catch it, pressing an ice pack to her skin. Or a glass of water to her lips. Or a kiss to her temple.

Aislin truly didn’t remember much from the night before, only brief moments that seemed to shine through a haze of heat and discomfort. Though she remembered the nightmares—each and every one—with vivid detail.

Trapped in a lightless void she felt nothing but chains on her wrists and ankles holding her completely still. Unable to move. To breathe. As all she could do was listen to the screams. They echoed around her from a location unknown. Though their source was unmistakable. The first set had been Adair’s. A cruel and worse rendition of what she’d heard in the videos when he’d been taken. Aislin, powerless to do anything but listen. Screaming of her own filling the dark room as she fought to do anything. To move. To stop it. To free herself and save him. But nothing worked and her own shouts did nothing to drown out his own. Like the sound was being played directly into her ears, with nothing to muffle it.

She’d only cried when Adair woke her up, pulling her way from the room and everything that had held her prisoner. He woke her with soft reassurances that she was safe as she clung to him, the screams still echoing in her ears before he coaxed water down her throat and lulled her back to sleep.

Each dream was the same aside from the screams. The setting, the same. The powerlessness, constant. With each one was a new loved one, tortured and calling out for help. For her to save them.

Clarissa. Adair. Castor. Faye. Clarissa. Adair. Castor. Faye.

She could do nothing.

——

Aislin found a semblance of lucidness in the early hours of the morning. Her fever loosening the worst of its hold for a short time. A small reprieve.

Adair smiled, though a bit worriedly, as she came to. A bit of awareness in her expression for the first time during what had been a very long night. “Feeling any better?” He asked before adding, as a bit of an afterthought, “and don’t say you’re fine, love. I’m not accepting that as an answer at this time, I’m afraid.”

She laughed a little. A small huff of air before she fell into a tiny coughing fit. Adair helped her to sit up, running circles over her back before she could get air to return to her lungs. Words to form. “Sorry—“

“No apologies for anything, either.”

Aislin fell back into his side again, and Adair wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The both of them leaned up against the bed frame. She shook her head instead of answering him, burying her face into his chest. She didn’t feel any better. Only a little more alert than she’d been before. And aside from the reprieve from the dreams she wasn’t sure the wakefulness was a good thing.

There was an ache in her chest and in her limbs, and everything felt heavy. “You’re going to get sick if you keep doing that,” was all she said as Adair placed a kiss in her hair. “And then we’ll both be miserable.”

“Better miserable with you than anywhere else, love. Besides, someone didn’t want to be left alone last night,” he teased, placing another small kiss to her head. Though in all fairness, he wouldn’t have stayed on the couch even if she hadn’t begged him to stay. And if he had, he would’ve been making constant rounds back and forth to ensure she didn’t get any worse in the middle of the night.

“That’s where you’re supposed to be the level, clear-headed doctor and don’t give in to the delirious whims of your feverish fiancée.”

Adair grinned a little, she could feel the action through her hair. “Hmm, but I can care for you better if I’m right here.”

“You’re not allowed to get sick,” she said.

“I won’t.”

Aislin nodded, satisfied with the impossible promise, before she remembered his thirteen hour shift the night before. And him having to stay up with Peadar when she’d left for work. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little,” he said.

It was a lie, one she saw right through. And she was flooded with guilt. “I’m sorry,” Aislin started.

“Don’t be.”

——

She drifted for a little while longer, Adair rubbing shapes into her skin as she tried to get even a small bit of restful sleep. His fingers kept hovering over her waist, only barely tracing the raised skin there with his own. It was a movement she’d noticed over the last few days, but had tried to ignore. Hoping he’d ask about it, or hoping she was just imagining the way his touch lingered there. Aislin wasn’t quite sure which scenario she would’ve preferred. But it was undeniable now, there being nothing between his fingers and her skin. He’d seen it.

“You can ask, you know…” She sighed a little, bracing herself for the explanation. “I’m not planning on hiding anything from you. Anything you want to know… you can ask…” In truth, she didn’t mind him knowing. She’d only failed to speak about it this long, because of fear. An irrational, she knew, fear that he’d look at her differently. That things would change. Or that he’d decide….

She bit her lip before the thought could fully form. That wouldn’t happen.

“What happened?” Adair finally asked, though he had his own suspicions.

——

Aislin’s voice was quiet as she spoke. Smaller than Adair had ever heard her sound. Where she would always sound so full of life and kindness and love, she was a husk. Every word a struggle to get out. To not pull and hide away. Aislin struggled with the words, speaking slowly around coughs and shivers. Sniffles and a fair amount of fear as the memories pulled her further away. If Adair was able to see her expression he wouldn’t recognize anything in her eyes, gone the usual hope and sparkle of light.

“It’s a serial number, marking my place in his collection. And the date I was added. It officially marks the date Clarissa and Faye were added though, as I was the only one before. And he wasn’t yet obsessed with having a collection. A series.” Aislin took a breath, her hand stilling completely from where she’d been tracing a slow pattern across his chest. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Only nestled deeper into his side, completely safe in his arms but feeling very far away. She could picture everything so vividly. The table she’d been strapped to forced completely still, Claire and Faye trapped in a similar position across the room. The collector leaned over her side. And the stinging of the needle as he’d ingrained the numbers forever in her skin. “I was nine years old, same as Peadar is now, when Clarissa and Faye had been taken. When I stopped being the only one after three years. When he’d marked us and bound us in a set together forever. His prized collection, he’d called us. He branded us that same night. An iron poker he’d had fashioned specifically for the purpose. Designed himself. Forever burning his seal into our skin.

“Marking us as his. So that no one else could ever have us, could ever want us. Whatever happened we would bear his mark. And anyone else, any lovers we might try to claim should we find ourselves away from him, would know that we were spoken for. Used.” She closed her eyes as she recounted exactly what the Collector had said to them, word for word. Remembered from years of repetition and having it ingrained in her skull.

Words she didn’t think she’d ever forget. After all, it had been six years since she was first rescued. And the memories were still fresh as spring.

I understand if this changes things, she didn’t say. Though she couldn’t help herself from thinking. Couldn’t stop that little voice in the back of her head, even though she knew it wouldn’t change a thing. If there was one thing she was certain of… it was Adair. And the love in his eyes and his heart whenever they happened to share a glance. Her past wouldn’t change that. She knew. She knew.

Didn’t stop the shame from bubbling up as she continued to speak. It was the first time she’d gone into any details of what had happened. Clarissa had told him what she knew, so he knew most of it. But Aislin had never really shared her side. And in the early hours of the morning, her brow slick with fever and her thoughts loose from too many nightmares, she told him everything. Aislin didn’t gloss over a single detail. Told him things she hadn’t even recounted to Claire. If anyone were going to know her completely, if anyone could, she wanted it to be him. What he chose to do with her soul once it was laid bare? Well that was for him to decide.

His fingers traced over the scars on her back as she spoke. A gentle touch. A reminder that he was there and so was she and that she was not trapped. Was not still left there forgotten to the world.

Her voice lacked emotion as she spoke. A soft monotone as she was left feeling empty. She didn’t cry or shake or even reach her hand to pick at her wrists as she told him everything. As she recalled how at first she had gone with the Collector. How she hadn’t even tried to fight back. That it hadn’t occurred to her that she needed to. And that for a long time she’d blamed her child self for that. For not fighting back. That she struggled with that blame still, though she knew that she really couldn’t expect a six year old to defend herself properly if she had tried.

How she’d spent a good deal of time trapped in the dark. Sightless, and unable to move. To do anything while she listened to Clarissa’s screams on the other side of an invisible door. How Aislin had learned to heal as a way to keep the three of them alive. The Collector was messy, never as careful with his toys as he should’ve been. And there were many times the three of them would’ve fallen victim to the injuries. To infection. How sometimes she’d wished she would have. Just so that it would’ve all been over. But she’d stayed and kept at it so that she could keep Clarissa and Faye alive. How she’d thought that maybe it was cruel of her to do so, would’ve been more merciful to let them all slip away. But he was always more careful with her and she couldn’t bear the thought of being left alone with him again. So she kept at it, holding on to the hope that they’d find a way out.

Aislin told Adair how Clarissa was always good at angering him, pulling his rage away from Aislin and Faye so that Claire could take the beating herself. How they both tried to make sure Faye took as little of it as possible. How Aislin would beg to take the punishments herself, suffering double… triple what had been intended for the other girls, this Clarissa hadn’t even told him. How the scar over her eye was from when Faye had fought back, clawing down The Collectors face. And Aislin had suffered the girl's fate, offering herself a sacrifice to his anger.

The Collector had never touched them. Obsessed as he was, in his own perverted way, with their purity. He would break their bodies anyway he pleased, owning them completely. But he had never done that. Not crossed that line.

She told him how she still couldn’t stand small spaces, or anything against her throat. How it had taken her ages to be able to stand being indoors away from the sunlight for any substantial period of time. Always feeling trapped. Like if she turned around she’d be locked in again. Never free. Never safe. How plants had been her escape those first few years being out. Flowers and shrubs didn’t judge or listen or care what you’d been through. How she’d tried to go into a medical field, a surgeon same as him. Just to do some good in the world with the skills she’d learned. But she ultimately left the program during her residency, never finishing. Too many flashbacks, and unable to handle them. How she’d told everyone else that she’d just decided it wasn’t her calling before settling for work at the nursery.

Plants were simpler. It was a different kind of healing, true. But at least it was something she could do.

Adair now knew the story behind every scar. Each one another stop on a roadmap through her past. She didn’t even have to point them out, knowing the shape and location of each one from memory. How the memories that bothered her the worst was the feeling of cold metal digging into her skin. Chains, holding her in place, that she could do nothing more than claw at; try to break free.

He was silent for a long time after she finished speaking, and Aislin knew he was struggling for words. The right ones, if they existed. She had said so much and it felt like she had spoken more than she ever had before. And Aislin really hadn’t meant to say much of anything at all, to tell him about the brand and leave it at that. But once she’d started everything had tumbled out; an endless stream until her mouth had gone dry and she’d run out of anything else to say.

Aislin toyed with the ring on her finger—the metal of it was surprisingly cool against her skin—not entirely sure if she wanted him to say anything at all. Or what she wanted him to say if he did. She could feel the weight of her fever pulling her back under, as it had all night as she’d drifted between wakefulness and sleep. But before it could claim her completely Aislin felt him shift away. She blinked and Adair was hovering over her. His expression hard and unreadable, though eyes soft, as he spoke.

——

It wasn’t a sexual thing as he leaned over her, pulling Aislin flat on her back so Adair could be sure she was looking him in the eyes as he spoke. Nor was it as the fingers of his free hand—the one not supporting his weight against the bed—traced lightly over the burn on her waist. “This,” he started, with the hope she could see and understand every ounce of love he held for her burning in his expression, “does not mark you as a toy. Or the belonging of a…” Adair chewed over his next words, hating how they tasted before they were even spoken. Man was not right. Was not an apt descriptor for someone who had done such horrifying things. “He cannot possess you. Claim you. He never had any right to try. You belong to no one but yourself. You’re not property, or a prize to be won. This is nothing more than another scar. A mark of everything you’ve been through. Everything you’ve survived.”

He cemented his words with a kiss against the mark. A wish for all of the horrible things that had been done to her to merely drift away, to plague her know more. Though he knew it could never work like that. A few words, a gentle stroke against the scars encircling Aislin’s wrists could never make them fade away, nor the memories that were attached. She had years of memories and pain and shame built up around the burn on her waist. And a few words and a kiss could not make it just another mark. Just another scar. Just like the scars across his collar bone could never be forgotten. Nor the names attached to each one. But Adair could try. He would spend his entire life trying to make everything that had happened to her a faded memory. She deserved it. To smile. To forget. To be free of her years spent in the dark. Free of the shame. The pain. And every horror she’d been subjected to.

Never again, he promised against her skin. A silent thing he hoped he could keep. He’d failed her once in that respect, though she would never say it. Or believe. Aislin would smile and shake her head, telling him he was being ridiculous if he believed he’d ever failed her. Not your fault, Adair could almost hear her voice say. She would never blame him. This he knew. But it didn’t mean he didn’t blame himself. That he didn’t still carry around the guilt for not protecting her. For nearly losing her. She’d slipped through his fingers once, and into the arms of a madman who felt entitled to possess her. Never again.

——

Aislin was curled opposite of Peadar on the couch, a large blanket spread across them both. Where she had been burning before, she shivered. Her skin feeling, to her at least, like ice. Though everyone else, a thermometer included, disagreed with her. Her fever being nearly as bad as it’d been the night before. Every bit of warmth escaped her even beneath one of Adair’s hoodies, and a pair of sweats. And, what was supposed to be, a very warm blanket. She could barely focus on the movie that was playing, though it was admittedly more for Peadar’s benefit than her own.

The both of them had convinced Adair to go try and get at least some sleep, only winning out once they’d both promised to stay on the couch and had insisted he could care for them better if he was well rested. Adair had agreed to an hour more to humor them than anything, Aislin had turned off the alarm as soon as she’d been sure he was asleep. If they needed him he was only a hallway away, and neither of them were completely incapable of fending for themselves for a few hours. All they planned to do was drift in and out of sleep on the couch anyways, and Adair had left them with plenty of fluids in reach.

Aislin wasn’t sure how many movies had played by the time Adair pulled himself out of the bedroom, only that Peadar had occasionally asked if there was anything Ash wanted to watch before she insisted he should put on whatever he wanted, with a last minute reminder to make sure it was something Adair would actually approve of him watching. Not that she thought the boy needed it, but just in case. She was making an effort to be a responsible caretaker in the midst of everything, not that she was doing an amazing job. But Aislin would count it as a success that nothing had gone horribly wrong, and Peadar was in no worse shape than she was.

In fact, he was probably better than she was.

She only groaned as Adair asked how she was feeling after he’d checked over his brother (the lad’s fever still present, but mild). She knew better than to argue she was fine. She was in fact, not. And he knew it. And so arguing anything different was pointless as Aislin didn’t have the strength to put on an okay face and pretend. She was exhausted even still, feeling lazy for sleeping all day. And so cold.

“She hasn’t really been drinking anything,” Peadar spoke up from his side of the couch. “And I’m pretty sure she got up to throw up a couple of times. So she really needs to be. Even more than me, and she’s been reminding me to drink something at least every five minutes.”

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yourbeauties · 5 years ago

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deleted scene from ch 16

This is a different version of the scene where Bill confronts the teacher about Holden’s Matchbox car. It’s far inferior to the scene I ended up posting, IMO, but if you are interested in my writing process, maybe you will find it interesting.

Some context:

- When the story was emerging and I knew that I wanted a toy of Holden’s to go missing and for Bill to investigate, I ended up going entirely the wrong route. I thought the principal would take it, because he was a collector of tchotchkes, and then I had to figure out what Holden’s toy would be based on that. So I spent a lot of time learning about Matchbox cars, only to throw most of it out!

- I wrote a very loose outline of the parent-teacher meeting with only the principal and not Mrs. Reid, that featured the things McNarland had collected in his office. He said he displayed them to show his students how to be patient, because the collectables gained value over time? Or something lol?

- I ended up deciding against this plan because a) collectables weren’t as big a field at this point in time, I think, and b) it wasn’t hitting the profiling theme as strongly as I thought it could. I wasn’t connecting how Bill could figure it out, or how he could “interview” the principal. Once I realized that the actual item didn’t matter, and it should just be about the theft itself, the rest fell into place. RIP all that Matchbox car research! Then I went and created Mrs. Reid and the Campus Creep to be mirrors of each other. (I also decided using the principal would be too close to the foot-tickling principal in canon.)

- When I was first outlining this story, I also kicked around the idea of Holden getting bullied by popular jock-types at school. At some point I was going to have him being hazed, and getting himself out of being hurt by offering sexual favours to the bullies. I was looking for a way to keep the sexual acting-out symptom of abuse that we saw in chapter two alive.

- Dealing with bullies at school was kind of stressing me out though, it seemed like a lot of pipe to lay for what was essentially a C-Story. And while I wanted to keep the thread of his sexual acting-out-ness alive, I didn’t want to go too deep on it. So at some point, it shifted to his teacher. Mrs. Reid was going to be a man, and I was going to have an off-screen scene where Mr. Reid asked Holden to stay after class because he had failed a test or something. Holden would panic and try to offer some kind of sexual favour, the way he panicked and touched Bill’s thigh in chapter two. Mr. Reid would shut it down, but NOT report it to anyone— until Holden got lost in DC on Mr. Reid’s watch. Then that would all come out in the parent-teacher meeting.

- However, because the parent-teacher meeting was going to have to cover 1) the book 2) suspension and 3) the Matchbox car, another element just seemed like too much. The consequences of something like that seemed like they’d take over the story, and again, I thought that wouldn’t strike the right tone with Holden’s symptoms of abuse. I’m not sure if I am reaching the right tone at all anyway, but I think less is more.

Anyway, with all that in mind, here is the scene!

—

Bill went to James Monroe to talk to the principal.

“Hey, about Holden,” he started.

“Mr. Tench, I know you’re in a tough situation with him, but policy is policy,” said Mr. McNarland.

Bill shook his head. “It’s not about the suspension. I totally understand. And I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday, with Holden’s outburst. I was taken aback, and I shouldn’t have let it get so out of control.”

Mr. McNarland blinked. “Well. I appreciate that, Mr. Tench. Thank you.”

“This business with the Matchbox car, though,” said Bill. He coughed, and shifted. “Holden’s been through a lot.”

Mr. McNarland nodded. “I know. He’s not the only child in care that I’ve had as a student. I know it’s a unique challenge.”

“Yeah. It is.” Bill nodded in return, mirroring the principal’s movements. “He doesn’t have a lot of his own possessions. We only recently started giving him an allowance and he doesn’t even seem to know what to do with it. But he had those cars since he was little. They mean more to him than a typical kid’s toys do. And you’re a collector, Mr. McNarland.” He nodded at the display shelf of aging trinkets. “You know how important a kid’s toys can be to begin with.”

Mr. McNarland sighed. “That’s unfortunate. My heart goes out to him. But…” he shrugged. “Screaming at school staff, and his foster parents, and trying to destroy someone else’s property is not the right way to deal with his problems.”

Bill nodded, frowning, trying to look like he was taking in what the principal was saying. “I’m just trying to help him figure it out. Because he’s very organized. It’s not like him to lose things.”

Mr. McNarland sighed and shook his head. “Well… even the most organized kids lose things, Mr. Tench.”

“Yeah,” Bill conceded. “But not Holden. Not really. You don’t live with him. He’s meticulous. More than any adult I know. And if he says he never took those Matchbox cars out of that plastic bag, I believe him.”

Mr. McNarland fiddled with his tie uncomfortably. “I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at here, Mr. Tench.”

Bill leaned forward. Let his face get a little harder. “Holden didn’t lose his Matchbox car at home. And I seriously doubt he would have taken it out at school. Do you think he would have?”

Mr. McNarland frowned. His fingers fiddled with his tie faster.

“You always wear such cute ties?” Bill asked. “The little boats yesterday. Planes today. The Matchbox people make boats and planes, too. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Mr. McNarland looked taken aback. “Are you… insinuating something?”

“I’m not insinuating shit,” Bill spat. “You know exactly what Holden was talking about when he had his tantrum. And you know that the only time his backpack was out of his sight was when you were searching it.”

“Mr. Tench—”

“You said you knew how hard that particular car was to find. You said Matchbox wasn’t the same after Superfast. Because you knew that’s why they don’t make Holden’s car anymore.” Bill leaned one arm on the principal’s desk. “I wonder if you happen to know how much a late ‘60s, pre-Superfast, brown Ford Cortina with doors that open is worth these days. Probably not a fortune, but at least two or three times what was paid for it, right?”

The principal sputtered indignantly.

“But the trick is to wait,” Bill said, staring McNarland straight in the eye, “for the value to mature.”

McNarland’s lip quivered. He broke the stare, and shook his head rapidly. “Mr. Tench, this is really out of line.”

“Oh, is it?” Bill stood. “You know what I think is out of line? A teacher that doesn’t do anything about a student trying to trade sexual favours with him, and a principal who steals from poor foster kids.”

“Excuse me!” McNarland stood too, trying and failing to match Bill’s height. “If you have an issue with how we’re handling Mr. Reid, you’re welcome to take it up with the school board. But I won’t stand here and let you accuse me of—”

“You’re fucking right I’m gonna take it up with the school board,” said Bill. “Where’s the car, McNarland? Or do you want me to get the Bureau involved, too?”

McNarland laughed in disbelief. “Mr. Tench, you are not the only law enforcement parent who’s tried to pull strings.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m the only law enforcement parent whose foster kid you were dumb enough to steal from. Give it back.”

“I don’t have it,” McNarland said forcefully, hands fisted in his tie, dropping his gaze on the last word.

“Then maybe it’s not just me who goes to the school board,” said Bill. “Maybe I’ll round up all the other law enforcement parents and tell them how Mr. Reid let a kid make sexual passes at him for over two months and nothing was done about it. Maybe I’ll call all the military parents I know, too. I know some Marines who would be thrilled to hear it.”

McNarland huffed. “You think— you think I don’t see bullies like you day in and day out? You think I didn’t grow up with kids like you, who are used to— to making threats to get what they want?”

“Oh, I’m sure you were well acquainted with bullies like me when you were a nerd in high school,” said Bill. “But the difference between us, Mr. McNarland, is that I grew up and got my head out of my ass. While sad twerps like you grew up into the kind of adults who would steal a toy from a child.” He shook his head and turned to leave. “I guess we’re done. You’ll hear from the school board.”

“Wait.” Mr. McNarland’s voice was strained. He shakily opened a drawer and slapped a little Matchbox on the desk. The brown Ford Cortina.

Bill sighed, half disbelieving. “You’re pathetic,” he sneered, taking the Matchbox and slipping it in his pocket.

“Get out of my office,” McNarland snapped.

“Gladly,” said Bill. “You should get started on your resume, Mr. McNarland.”

He stepped out of the principal’s office and closed the door with a shaky sigh. The secretary stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I think I may have made your life a bit harder, Miss. Sorry about that.”

#ch16 #deleted scenes #who composed your beauties

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grell-writes-stuff · 5 years ago

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I finished chapter 28 and I’m posting it here because I did so many bad things

Tag List: @fenfaerie @arieswriting

I spent the week avoiding my phone as much as possible, and immediately deleting any notifications that popped up from that group chat. To keep it all confined to that forbidden, digital space, I tried to distance myself from the guys at school. Kelley had a lot to say about that yesterday.

“Do I have to bribe you into doing stuff?”

“Using what?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe I just need to start smacking you with a newspaper until you do the thing that I want you to do.”

“You said we’re not hitting people.”

“I said you aren’t hitting people. I have free rein to do whatever is best for your health, and, at this point, I’m thinking of getting a little spray bottle–”

“Seriously?”

“You’re like a misbehaving cat, and I’m training you to stay off the kitchen table.”

She let up when I told her what my plans were for today.

At around six, I receive the “Here” text from Cole as his Cherokee rolls into our driveway behind – avoidance – something that I decide not to think about. Not today. For the sake of getting through this jam session and keeping it a good day, I can’t let myself focus on anything except drumming. That’s it. Nothing else.

That’s also why I slip my headphones in before leaving the house. I don’t have any music playing, but it keeps the ride to West Hills quiet – with the exception of Cole’s screamo. I say a polite “hey” to him and Matt, but that’s about it.

In approximately fifteen minutes, we’re pulling into the Mechis’ driveway next to a sleek, black Lexus that I refuse to look at. I don’t notice it, or the person walking from it to the entrance to the garage. I wedge a broom through the handle, because I refuse to open that door in my mind and let the memory of the screaming match ruin this day. Frankly, I’m determined to block out her shrill voice in whatever way I can. I fight against the ever-present urge to give myself tinnitus.

The three of us get out of Cole’s car, and I hang back for a moment as they grab their guitars. Together, we enter the garage, and I tug out my earbuds.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, but that’s tough when my windpipe is constricted.

It’s such a familiar place. It used to be comforting, but now it feels tainted and hollow. The old, duct-taped couches that are falling apart seem like dusty relics of some long-forgotten past for which I am the sole historian. The boxes of Full Stop. merch lying around feel like clutter now instead of a celebration and achievement, like some ancient memorabilia that no one will ever purchase, not even the most dedicated collectors. The band binder is still just hanging on by a thread, but it feels like it’s already exploded and setlists and notes are paper shrapnel raining down from the sky. My drum kit feels like a foreign technology that I don’t understand. This room is infested with age. It’s an abandoned ghost town, and I feel haunted.

As we enter, Bryson greets me. Cole and Matt say hi back, but I’m still finding it hard to make words, so I just nod and try to put my attention elsewhere. I try to remember the workings of my setup. I’ve been visualizing the placement of cymbals, and toms, and the kickdrum while I’ve been recovering. I know where everything is. I can figure out how I’d once played music on this strange contraption again. Maybe someday it’ll feel the same.

I head to one of the sofas as Matt and Cole go about tuning their instruments.

And I ignore the screeches that she calls vocal warmups. In fact, I do everything within my power to forget her presence all together.

“Okay,” Bryson interrupts after a few minutes have passed. In that time, I’d listened to the twangs of the guitar and bass, and not her shrieks into the microphone. “I guess we can start.”

Since we don’t have a gig lined up, and this is just an unofficial jam session for something like fun, there’s a difference in his tone. It’s not as desperate. That’s probably a good thing. He’s not stressed, and there’s less pressure on us to be perfect. We’ll be far from it. The walking boot on my leg acts as a constant reminder of that fact as I rise and move over to my kit.

“We’ll probably be a bit rusty,” he elaborates. “But everyone just try your best. We don’t have to sound filled-out. Just let us know if you need a break, Scott.” He gestures to my leg, to the boot.

I nod. There was no hope of us sounding full anyway, and I haven’t tried drumming with a cast ever, but I doubt it will help my limb coordination and timing, and it probably won’t feel too great after a while, so I’ll definitely be off. And we’re painfully lacking in guitars, but I force that thought out of my mind.

I don’t purposefully bump into her shoulder as I pass. It’s easier to pretend she’s not there – that she’s not even furniture – rather than acknowledging her as an obstacle.

“All right. So, Scott?” Bryson says to grab my attention. Once I’m sat on my stool behind my setup, I look at him. It’s tough to define what’s in his expression, but his words are rather transparent. I didn’t text him back at all the past few days and he knows that was a deliberate choice. “We all picked songs this week that we want to run today, and, after that, we’ll focus on originals, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Cole wants to run Ocean Avenue – so we’ll start there – and Selena picked Told You So.”

Of course it’s a Paramore song. Of course it is.

“Matt chose You Think You Know It All by Red As Dusk. What’s your pick?”

It takes me a second longer than normal to peruse my mental music library because now it’s shrunk in size, and so many songs have been filed away and are now off-limits. Kelley’s suggestions are background noise as I search the stacks. Purge the excess negative energy. Purge the anger. Hitting my sticks against my drums will help, but only if I can find a way to throw everything that I possibly can into it. It’s a good thing that I’m battling rage because those tracks are the safe ones now, and anything rebellious will do.

“The Anthem – Good Charlotte.”

Bryson gives me a brief nod, but that’s ruined immediately. Every hair on my body seems to rise in defense.

“Um, I don’t know that one!” It’s her sharp voice speaking, and I shove my earplugs in to filter out some of the volume and annoyance. “I would have learned it if you’d picked sooner.”

“Sucks to be you!” It slips out of me, and I realize that means I’ve broken my vow for the day, and now Selena’s materialized in the garage, and my glare lands on her, which she matches with one of her own. In my peripheral, the rest of the guys look like they’re getting ready to break up the resulting physical fistfight that seems to be inevitable.

But that will get me in trouble in some way. I know it for a fact. I’ve already reacted, so retreating is tough, but I grapple for a way to deescalate.

“I’ll fucking sing it then. Why does it even need lyrics anyway? It just needs to be cynical and loud.” My fingers clamp around my sticks, the tools that will help me feel better and prevent me from punching her square in her contoured cheek.

“You just want Vikki to come in here and yell at us again, don’t you?” Bryson asks, deadpan, probably so Selena doesn’t have a chance to retaliate.

“Yes,” says Cole.

“Oh, my God,” he sighs. “Really, Cole?”

“Dude, I can’t be the only one who’s told you that your sister is hot.”

“She’s hot,” Matt agrees.

“See? Verdict’s in: she’s hot.”

“Why am I friends with you?” That knocks the desperation back into his tone, and it almost feels like a normal detour from practicing. Like we have a gig soon, but we’re all screwing around, and Bryson’s the only one with a sense of urgency and deadlines. I almost make myself savour it. “Can we just start the song? Please? Just play the fucking song?”

At that, Cole shrugs slightly, and his gaze sweeps over us to find confirmation. I signal back, my limbs still humming with everything I had to repress a second ago. They’re vibrating with the need to get it out, and I feel ready to drum to release it all before it boils my blood. She injected the steam into my veins and it wants out.

When everyone’s ready, Cole’s guitar plays the chugging, palm-muted intro to Ocean Avenue. Finally, my sticks hit and my foot stomps the kickdrum’s pedal. Matt’s bass fills it out a little bit, but we still sound empty. We’ve played this track before, but it doesn’t sound anything like it used to when it came out of our instruments. Selena’s unstable voice wails without a care, and I try to block it out and focus on my drumming so I don’t sound so off even though I totally am.

My limb coordination is flawed because the boot is throwing off my time-keeping and I haven’t put my formerly-sprained wrist to much work until now. I knew that I wouldn’t be perfect, but it’s bugging me nevertheless. My brain is telling me that it shouldn’t be like this. As a whole, we should sound better. My limbs shouldn’t feel so stiff as if I were a marble statue, as if I’m turning to stone. I hope for a second where I get the chance to shake it off, except–

Except my throat has a tight knot in it, and it hastily, heavily drops down into my chest. It’s so sudden and strange, but I feel something stirring and then curdling within me, rising up and bubbling through every artery before solidifying into a heavy, black mass that weighs down my arms. I remember a moment too late that I should be breathing, and I only accomplish that because I haven’t been taking in air and it already feels like my lungs have been set on fire after being filled with concrete, so it’s tough to shove into my subconscious. My eyes are stinging so bad that I can’t see my sticks where they rest in my shaking hands. The knot launches itself up from my chest and I feel like I have to gag. My pulmonary function fails and I become as empty as the music that falls silent.

Not all at once. It dies off in pieces, but I stop first, right at the start of the chorus. Then, everyone else cuts off too. The sticks slip through my loose fingers, but I barely hear them hit the hard floor with a soft clatter because a song is echoing in my mind now, and it’s not Ocean Avenue.

But it’s close. Too close. Ahead of me, I see blurs.

But also, an endless horizon of blue.

“Scott?”

Bryson’s voice penetrates my earplugs, but it still sounds twenty-thousand feet away from me. My mouth feels like it’s been filled with sand, and my stomach hurts, and everything is blocked by the firm, congealed sludge living inside of me. My hands are caught up in earthquakes, and I hear my hollow attempts to breathe as something between gasps and augmenting sobs.

I suddenly feel his hand on my shoulder and I don’t know how because his touch is light and everything is hot and numb.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a distorted voice.

No. I’m not. I’m not okay, but I can’t speak to lie and say that I’m fine, or to, for once, tell the truth. My mind is not a blank whiteboard. Instead, someone has written lyrics on it in permanent marker, and now the words are tormenting me along with dark chords, and a frantic, panicking drum beat that’s pounding against my skull.

“What’s wrong, Scott?” One of them questions me. I can’t even tell which one of them it is anymore. Matt, I think. Maybe.

I want to throw up. Or I need to. Or I just need to take in air. Any fucking air at all. Before everything finally shuts down, I have to get it out. Quavering. Quiet.

“Yellowcard.”

There’s some silence. Or it would be, but my ears are ringing, and my cheeks feel wet. After a few hundred, frenzied heartbeats, Bryson stiffens beside me, which I know because the hand that’s on my shoulder is attached to a body that I feel go rigid. His voice mingles with the deafening tone and my tears, and I hate how horrified and sorry it sounds. How lost and guilt-ridden it is.

“I was playing Lights And Sounds when they jumped…”

It’s not even the same fucking song! So what?! I’m just never going to be able to listen to Yellowcard again?! Because now they are tainted with tragedy and I’ll always remember in some crevice of my mind that that stupid song was playing, and I can almost feel our arms locked, and the salty breeze as it all rushes up ahead of us–

“Shit, man. I-I’m sorry.” I hear Cole say, and I hate the way that it sounds too because he shouldn’t have to apologize. “I didn’t know–”

I can’t even tell him to stop because I won’t be able to make any words, and I can’t breathe. Nothing’s going in and reaching my burning lungs even though I’m gasping for it. It’s not his fault, but those words stop on my tongue. It isn’t Cole’s fault. He doesn’t have to say sorry. He was in the water. He couldn’t have heard it. It’s not Cole’s fault. It’s not Matt’s fault. It’s not Bryson’s fault.

Because maybe it’s mine. We did it together, and one of us tripped, and what if it was me? Maybe if we hadn’t jumped at the same time, things would be different. He would be here, and this would be a practice for a gig instead of a failed jam session, and his guitar would have filled out Full Stop. and we would feel like Full Stop., and I wouldn’t be breaking down over a fucking Yellowcard song! But it’s too late now, and it’s all my fault.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fuck it! Move!”

Such a loud voice that slices through my earplugs like a razor blade and splits the air with the shrill metal sound of an axe hammering down. If I wasn’t shaking so terribly, I’d flinch at it because it hurts, but it also makes every trembling muscle inside of me tense painfully.

It’s sudden, but Bryson’s hand withdraws quick, and my vision finally goes dark, and then talons dig into my flesh and sear it, and I’m yanked up violently to the sounds of muffled protests surrounding us. My own laboured, raspy, wailing gasps rise above the guys as I try to bring in anything at all, but it turns out to just be another futile attempt because there’s not enough air in the atmosphere to keep me alive.

My skin burns where fingernails dig in and inflict agony like they’re steel nails instead, and I don’t know how I stumble when my legs have turned to rubber, and my feet feel weighted down. I could crumble and snap and break at any moment like a building ready to topple. All the retentions are groaning, the supports failing, and I’m about to fall, and I can’t fucking breathe!

There are bewildered and demanding words coming from the dark blurs around me, and I try to blink the water away, but it’s coming too fast. Only one forceful voice has the volume to rise above, and it’s almost clear, and so close to me, and shoving me harshly as if the sound itself has become a physical entity, and it’s so damn annoying. It pushes and pulls me, and I’m running out of the strength to fight it because everything I have left is trying to suppress the bile gathering in my stomach and threatening my useless esophagus.

Then everything is bright, like the sun on that horrible, unsuspecting day. I’d say I feel blinded by it, but I didn’t see anything before anyway. There’s more forced stumbling and a muddling of voices and sounds. Another rises over them, so loud, and shrill, yet it can never hit the notes it sets out to despite always trying to rise at the end of every line.

“Get in,” it demands.

“Selena, what the fuck are you doing?!” Bryson. I think it’s Bryson. It sounds kind of like Bryson, but so far away.

I think there’s a response, but I’m trapped in a fishbowl and everything is half muted. I’m sitting, and all I hear before someone else speaks is a loud slam right beside me. Then there’s something that sounds like angry arguing, but I can’t make it out because my thundering heartbeat and broken lungs are trying to kill me. Another harsh slam, then a jingle, sputter, and hum, and then the whole world lurches forward.

And my gut lurches forward and upwards again, and that forces the blackness clouding my eyes to dissolve into dizzy, sparkling fragments. I barely have the air to heave, but I manage to start gagging, rocking forward in my leather seat, and then her voice shrieks:

“Don’t you fucking dare puke in my car!”

I’m in Selena Walton’s stupid, expensive Lexus. There’s that small, sane part of me clinging to the thought that blowing chunks inside of her Lexus is a bigger fuck you to her than smearing Vaseline on the door handle, but it’s microscopic because the acidic needles of the bile are pricking the base of my empty windpipe, and it’s so fucking hot in here, and no matter how much blinking I do everything is blurry, and those lyrics are stuck in my mind.

“But make it loud, cause nobody’s there.”

Nobody’s there.

He’s not there. He’s not here. One. I’m alone in the chapel with a monument to destruction, the end of an era. Two. Together, we jump. Three. My leg feels like it’s been severed. Four. My head has exploded. Five. I shatter into pieces. Six. I’m gripping the porcelain sides of a bathroom sink to keep from falling. Seven. In the nightmares, I’m falling. Falling, falling, falling. Eight. I’m suffocated by the emptiness of a black abyss and closed-in walls of my bedroom without him in it. Nine. The futon is in couch mode. And that’s not ever going to change again. Ten. There’s not enough air, but I can’t seem to drown. Eleven. We hit the ledge over half-way down a thirty-foot fall, and it was all my fault. He’s gone, and I should have gone with him, but I didn’t and he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone – You’re never going to get rid of me, Morgan – and why can’t I fucking breathe–

And then something unimaginable happens.

It’s fast, unpredictable, and unprompted, and my boiled blood becomes lava because the second I realize what’s going on, I am furious.

Her arm smacks into and lays across my chest and pushes me back harshly against the seat, pinning me. She’s leaned over the console in the middle with her other hand still stretched to hold the wheel, but I only notice that after the fact, and it’s still not the most terrifying thing. My tear-blinded eyes go wide, and probably vault out of my skull like a cartoon because this is a new kind of unwelcome proximity.

Her lips are on my lips. She kisses me with her greasy, scalding, obnoxious, red mouth and suddenly my trembling limbs freeze in place. The world pauses for a second – or it feels like it except she’s also fucking driving in West Hills, which is just as uneven and winding as Woodland Hills and Bryson’s street is no exception, and her fucking foot must be pressing the accelerator to the floor.

But I am less focused on fearing for my life and more focused on the fact that I have now kissed Selena fucking Walton.

“What the FUCK?!”

#interlude #wip: interlude #book: interlude #morgan scott #selena walton #bryson mechis #cole marshall #matt jordan #mental breakdown #writing #my writing

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bicycles-bees-bisexuals · 6 years ago

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50 Question Book Tag For World Book Day

My darling pal @thebestoftimes tagged me in this and who am I to refuse, though i am a lame loser who hasn’t read very much since high school. I read so much in elementary and middle school that I think I read enough for a whole lifetime. Also I’m a verbose asshole so enjoy my essays on books I read 13 years ago.

Who or what sparked your love of literature?

My mom used to read to me when I was really little and my sister despised being read to so my mom stopped. It made me sad so I started reading to myself and I just kept reading and reading and reading all throughout elementary and onward.

Do you have an ‘odd’ book habit? (page sniffing/never leaving the house with a book)

If I really really really love a book I use it to press flowers, so you’ll know which book is my favorite when you open it and it’s full of flowers

Do you have a book that you think has changed your life? How?

Shit I dunno man, I feel like Tolkien shaped my creativity and his characters are characters that I truly hold dear. But Pride and Prejudice really impacted me, which I know is weird, but it was my first foray into literature written by women for women and I just loved the dynamic of the characters, the spunkiness of Elizabeth Bennet, and the style of writing.

Which book have you reread most frequently?

Pride and Prejudice because I’m a huge freakin’ nerd and whenever I’m sad P&P is my comfort book. This is closely followed by the Lord of the Rings/the Hobbit

You can meet any author and ask one question. What author would you chose and what question would you ask?

Oh shit.....ummmmmm..... Ummmmmmmmmmmm.....I would ask Jane Austen her opinion on the Lizzie Bennet Diaries(after showing her the whole series)

Best book published this year so far?

(I haven’t read any books published this year I am so sorry)

Imagine you’ve started a book and don’t like it. Do you see the experience through to the bitter end?

I am a sinner of the highest caliber and I read the end to see if it’s interesting enough to warrant suffering through the rest

What book is top of your wish list/TBR pile?

Any of Holly Blacks books tbh, I hear such good things about her work and I just haven’t gotten around to reading it yet and I really want to

Favourite place to read?

On the porch in my beach chair with a mug of tea and a blanket

If you buy books, do you lend them out? Ever had a bad experience?

I lend books out all the time. I recently had a person I considered my friend abscond to Russia with several of my books and I am not happy about it

What fictional character do you ship yourself with?

There are so many badass ladies that if I lived in their world I would flirt so hard with them and I can’t decide. Definitely Annabeth and Rachel for Percy Jackson, Hermione/Ginny/Luna from Harry Potter... Brett Ashley from The Sun Also Rises....Arwen from LOTR but also Aragorn and also Eowyn....I just love hot ladies who get in fights alright

Weirdest thing you’ve used as a bookmark.

A whole sock, it was the nearest object to me and I was in a hurry, but at least it was clean

Favorite quality/qualities in a protagonist and antagonist

I love a flawed character who experiences character growth in the story, be they protagonist or antagonist. Not even in a ‘bad guy becomes good guy’ way, character growth is just so sexy man I wish writers used it more

Favorite genre and favorite book from that genre.

Why must you hurt me in this way, making me decide. I must say Fantasy is my genre of choice, and my favorite is actually The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Best/worst movie adaptation in your eyes

Dragon is by far the worst movie adaptation I have ever seen, I remember being so utterly disappointed and gutted when I watched it, I love those books so much and that movie let me down so hard(the effects were really good for the time though I must give them that)

Do you prefer reading your own books, or library books?

I am poor so library books all the way

How do you choose your next book to read?

I read descriptions until something strikes my interest. Or Jess recommends something to me.

Your favorite word.

Flourish

Book that got you hooked on reading/how you got hooked.

Mrs Peregrins Home for Peculiar Children, which isn’t a book I didn’t expect to like and didn’t have much interest in but the opening line of “I had just come to accept my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen” it was an interesting enough hook to draw me in. I was not disappointed, it’s a pretty great book

Opinion on dog-earing, margin writing, ect.

I dog ear books and write all over them. I love books and I love the stories they contain but I don’t think the pages of each individual book are sacred. My books look loved because they are loved. Unless I’m borrowing them then I don’t dog ear or write in them because that’s rude

Top 5 immediate to read in no order

The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic

The Cruel Prince by Holly Black

Lady Midnight by Cassandra Clare

Lord of Shadows by Cassandra Clare

Queen of Air and Darkness by Cassandra Clare

Most underrated book you’ve read

Tbh I don’t think I’ve read any underrated books. They’re all pretty highly rated

What is the first book that catches your eye when you look at your bookshelf?

My collectors copy of Sherlock Holmes because it’s beautiful and fancy and those stories hold a dead place in my heart

How do you arrange your books on your shelves?

I don’t arrange them, I just place them so that they fit, though I do keep series together

You have the power to change a book’s ending. Which ending would you change and what would you make happen instead?

Why do you do this to me.....okay I would definitely change the ending of Inheretence by Christopher Paolini. Tbh I wish he hadn’t written the fourth book at all and just left it with Eragon, Eldest, and Brisingr but if we accept this book then it must be changed. I would have liked to see more character growth from Murtagh especially, but also Eragon who really regressed in this book. And I think Galbatorix’ death was super anti climatic and didn’t really resolve all of the built up tension from the series, it was too easy and didn’t resolve anything at all.

And Eragon just abandons Arya and the riders and they separate themselves from each other after all they did together, several books of allusion to a relationship and all of the issues between them being resolved and he just leaves. The plot threads just weren’t resolved and honestly I would have to scrap the whole book for the most part and start over.

Favourite book cover?

The book covers for the Inheretence Cycle by Christopher Paolini hold a special place in my heart and are what drew me to that series in the first place. I bought hard covers just for the aesthetic of them

Which book from your childhood has had the most impact on you?

The Chronicles of Narnia, tbh, my first introduction to fantasy

When reading, what do you value most: writing style, characters, plot, world building, pacing, etc?

Characters are the most valuable to me, if I don’t love the characters I don’t love the book

Do you prefer buying books or borrowing them from a library/friend?

Borrowing, for sure

What books/sequels that are being published this year are you most excited for?

Unfortunately I haven’t read enough lately to know what’s coming out this year

Which fictional character would you want as a sidekick?

Samwise Gamgee all the way

How many books have you read so far this year?

Seven, all academic books

What’s been your favourite read so far this year?

The Heliand

You’re stuck on an island with a suitcase big enough to hold five books. What books are they?

Arghhhhh ummm.... the lord of the rings trilogy, Pride and Prejudice, and a book on survival tactics

If you had to go out to dinner with any character who would it be and why? What would you talk about?

Hmmmmm Bilbo Baggins because I wanna hear the hidden stories of his journeys

Is there a book you have such a hatred for that you would throw it off of the highest tower knowing that the last copy of it will be destroyed so that not another living soul can read it?

Inheretence by Christopher Paolini tbh

Do you believe books make nice decoration?

Yeah I do and one day I want to have book shelves displaying all my books

Do you listen to music when you read? Or do you need complete silence?

I do listen to music because I can’t focus on just one thing at a time because I’m ridiculous

Do you have a favorite book? If not are you in the group that believes there are too many great books out there to just choose one?

I CANT CHOOSE I CANT CHOOSE I CANT CHOOSE I CANT CHOOSE I CANTTTFTTTT

Do you sleep with books under your pillow.

No because I move too much in my sleep I would destroy the poor thing

Do you go to the library or do you have a book buying addiction or are you one of those lucky people who is able to do both?

I definitely go to the library because I am poooorrrrr

Own any book inspired clothing?

I have a pride and prejudice book scarf and several Jane Austen necklaces

Have you ever read a book in another language?

Yep I read books in Latin all the time and I used to read books in Spanish because I used to be smart, what the fuck happened to that who knows

Strangest book you’ve ever read?

The Heliand

Favourite type of non-fiction?

Historical Drama, in which they tell real events but in the most dramatic way possible. The best.

Favourite non-fiction book?

I CANT CHOOSE I CANT CHOOSE I CANT CHOOSE I CANT CHOOSE I CANT CHOOSE (does hidden figures by Margot Lee Shetterly count? If not then I can’t decide)

Favourite subject to read about?

History, always, especially history involving regular people losing their shot

Favourite book you’ve read in school?

No Turning Back: The History of Feminism and the Future of Women by Estelle Freedman

Favourite work of Shakespeare?

Tbh I don’t like Shakespeare but Midsummer Nights Dream is most entertaining to me. Though I love merchant of Venice for all the jokes I get out of it on Bards Dispense Profanity

Character you’d love as a mom or dad or guardian?

All of them would be terrible parents and it would be so delightful but tbh I’d love to have Han Solo and Leia as my parents so I can beat the shit out of my bro Kyle Ron every time he tried to glorify space hitler

#books #i do miss reading #thank you jess for making me think about non academic books again

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wardati · 6 years ago

Text

Void: A Brighter Future For Us All.

Myani vowed to protect his sister like any brother would but soon the vow fades out of memory, but for now he'll hold her as she falls asleep in his arms.

She becomes a tidal wave at six when she masters three languages and goes on to a fourth. He knew this would happen, his little sister becoming more than a prodigy. He looks at his father enticed by his own creation as she speaks eloquently in tongue and spirit, the dreams of her conquering the world were now in reach. He looks over at his sister, hair slicked back like ravines eyes wide and attentive. Maybe if he looked hard enough he could see it too- his redemption- the person she would be in between her kind laughter.

She would grow up following a line drawn for her since birth, perfect, brilliant, practically cosmic. Myani knows this universe his father has created would eventually crumble. He takes his pills crushing each one after the other with his teeth, barely seething from the bitter taste as he downs it with water. This morning it's worse, he's thrown up for most of it, bones aching, skin breaking out in thick sheets of sweat and the skin, the skin would later on peel off in thin grainy layers. Hani sits next to him crushing weed, it will help but in the long run it will do nothing. Myani thinks of his sister instead it eases the crushing thump of his heart but he's still sweating, the thought of when he'll leave this world and how she would be next. Fighting her own body ,sitting on a couch with her best friend and secretly regretting saving the world.

Hani, his best friend is still talking about his fiance, she's pregnant now. Myani tries to smile he's known this for a couple months even if Hani talks around it like friends do when they know you're dying so you won't feel bad that you'll probably never have children of your own. Friends like Hani are rare.Infuriating but rare and Myani has been in love with him for the past five years and has done little to nothing about it.

Hani will be a great father better than his own that's true, yet he wonders if his best friend will finally stop talking about the life he wants to have and just live it. But, he never says anything about it, he never does.

His long fingers take the joint, it sits between his plump lips and he inhales longer than he should so the clouds he blows into the air are thick and eggshell.

Myani wonders again, if this is it. If dying on the couch will be the greatest achievement he'll ever accomplish and even so, his father - the man who built him into becoming one of the most innovative people in the world, the martyr and sacrificial head of a biological enterprise that would start a new age for the years to come,yada yada fucking yada. The man who claims to be omnipotent- his father isn't here to witness.

So he's decided; Myani will make him. He'll turn the upcoming burden that will be throttled to his baby sister and take it with him in death. He'll destroy it all, he'll be a martyr one last time to save what's important to him. If he must he'll encase it Chinese finger trap and all, like a tongue stuck on ice or a kiss that leaves a stain. It will hurt but none of that will matter if he was saving Noa in the end.

"Hani." He says in thought. "Hmm?" "You should show me your dad's collection again." "You know I hate that stuff, it's barbaric." It's amusing how Hani is intimidating in looks but a pacifist at heart. Truthfully it was annoying. "I remember you saying he only keeps it so collectors and curators don't colonize any more of your peoples artifacts." Myani takes another heavy sigh, "just for a couple of minutes, I need air."

Hani rolls his eyes and plucks the joint from Myani's fingers who gives a tired smile. "He has other things in there too.You do remember he was a military rat right?" Myani licks his lips, "I know."

BREAKING NEWS: 14 Dead at Ally Genesis Corporation including John "Myani" Paul, son of CEO and chairman Jahseem Paul.

BREAKING NEWS: 1 Million people may be at high risk because of Allie Genesis Corporation deficiencies and leaks since mass shooting.

BREAKING NEWS: Could John Myani Paul be a lead to the suspect of the AGC Shooting?

BREAKING NEWS: 4,020 people fired at Allie Genesis and 9 institutions are ordered to shut down by government officials with JIC and MGU approval.

BREAKING NEWS: AGC President of Defense Salah Bahatt under fire for potential information on the mass shooting at AGC Institution and bio-plague outbreak that killed 4 in Oregon back in 2010

BREAKING NEWS: Ally Genesis, science saviors? Find out how after the tragedy how the corporation is taking bio-mechanics, neurology and many more into uncharted territory.

BREAKING NEWS: Ally Genesis declares cellular regeneration is now possible. Could we bring people back from the dead?

There's something that pushes Noa out of the water, as if someone had yanked her out of the tub. It feels like a thread pinned under the skin of her chest, so when she's heaving for air as if her throat was wrung out with closed tight fists. It hurts to breathe even if she's supposed to be grateful for it, how conveienet. She at twenty decided to take her own life and failed so time and time again she'd cry into her arms puckered in scars. She could hear Myani's laugh someplace far away in her emptiness and every time she tried to follow his voice she'd be here back into this world that she could never escape.

Later in the day when she pushed herself into comfort and laid in Myani's bed a thought she would read his letters again, go through his photography, miss him with abandon. Yet the thread in her chest caught taught on to something else. She woke up from his bed and walked down to his living room for no real reason and without thought sat on his couch and as her hand pressed into the cushions something brushed against her fingers. She pulled at it and noticed it was an envelope. It was different then the letter he left for her, this did not have her name on it but it was directed to her... it had t be. Her eyes widened as she read the words, the prickle in her eyes gained a heaviness that almost blurred her vision as she read the letter. She held her breath realizing even in death her brother still had a hold on her.

He still had secrets.

They framed someone else for what I did, didn't they? I would think so. If everything has gone exactly how I had envisioned. Noa, I'm sure they've started their trials on you. It may not look like they have, but father has his ways. I can't display my remorse in colorful words that elude to being remorseful or sorry, for once, I am not. I killed those people and planned on shortening my already short life not on a whim but it was something I had to do. I don't know how far back I've pushed their quota but it should be enough.

Leaking AGC's information will barely leave a scratch but it's a start to a very long journey. Whatever you choose to do in this life it will not outweigh your true purpose. Furthermore, in the next couple of years I know you'll find information about what I could do, and as I left you that day, the darkness in me will now rest in you. It will protect you now when I no longer can.

Noa,in a normal world all I would want for you is to be free, to smile to live and love as you please. But it isn't like that and I will need you to remember this life you live is yours but the part that you play is easily malleable. Father and his people will learn about you. You have always been his prized possession you have always been his favorite even if you don't think you are but all of this will be foreign to him if it means broadening the horizons of humanity and evolution. He is a man that will do what needs to be done. You should also take the same initiative. It was too late for me but I know you're strong enough. I know you're capable of much more than I. I wasn't capable of protecting you no matter how much you tried to follow me. I had to push you away at times because you needn't any more influence or my bad choices to pick up. I could of been a better brother to you, and I'm sorry.

So, when you wake up promise that you'll stop looking for me?

-Myani.

Noa opened her eyes realizing quickly what had just happened. It could be her mind drowned in grief and playing tricks on her but she swore she was sitting on the couch and not back in Myani's bed. She pushed the sheets aside and darted down the hall, when she reached the couch she sank her fingers between the cushions moving them from its frame, tossing them aside to find nothing. It was empty, it was all empty.

She stood alone in her silence for a long time. Noa reached for something, a remote that sat neatly on the end table. With a press of a button the television blinked alive.

BREAKING NEWS: New footage shows son of Ally Genesis chairman, John Myani Paul trying to calm the true shooter of the one AGC Shooting in 2012. The shooter is 38 year old Kowen Williams who killed 14 and wounded 2. AGC claim no prior knowledge or how this new footage has come about. Williams had been tracked to his home in Washington state but found dead from self inflicting wounds.

AGC's Chairman Jahseem Paul issued this statement:

"This could be justice, but it is also saddening and it is also salt on a wound that reminds the people who have been affected on that day. I'm glad officials have done their part in finding this murderer but it will not bring the lives lost back. It cannot bring my son back. Yet I will walk into each day hoping with vigor in my heart to carry on for my son and for my family and for Ally Genesis. My job is to push forward,endure and to broaden the horizon of humanity and evolution. For my son, and for the 14 lives lost that day I will continue to do so. I thank you all for the support and I thank the incredible people who made Ally Genesis with me and continue to better and brighten the future for all us ahead."

The news played on and Noa stood alone knowing all too well what her fathers words really meant. It had dawned on her just how orchestrated this all was, from Myani's trajectory till his suicide to the purpose of Ally Genesis, to her own. Every piece was set into place and finally it was time to make her move.

#m:noa paul #m:myani paul #drabbles.txt #i forgot the tag for this verse honestly #tw: mentions of mass shooting #tw: mentions of past suicide #im not formatting this really cuz im tired #long post//

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forged-through-trials · 4 years ago

Photo

With nothing else to do, for the moment, Ruin and I waited around in our Inn room until it was dark. Once it was dark, I suggested that we go back to the Shrine of Mephala. Ruin insisted on coming with me, this time, so I fetched the Nightshade I was told to bring, and we two left the Imperial City at dusk, headed north.

It was as dark as the Daedric Lord insisted by the time we arrived. Late enough to finally conjure her, so I presented the shrine with the clove of Nightshade, and the booming voice of a Daedric Lord filled the air at last. Mephala: “Call me ‘Webspinner’. Pluck but a single thread, and the weave unravels.” Trials: “Huh. Well, call me ‘Forged-Through-Trials’. People also call me ‘lizard,’ ‘scaly,’ ‘a fine pair of boots,’ ‘lass,’ ‘girly,’ and ‘late for dinner.’ Pluck a slice of my pie and get ready for a bruisin’!” Mephala: “...” She become audibly angry. “Listen, you little s’wit! Shut your dumb-hole and do as I say; “There’s a village called ‘Bleaker’s Way’ not far to the west from here. Two families, Nord and Dunmer, live in harmony within. I want you to destroy that harmony.” Trials: “...huh, kind of a jerk move to foul-up their singalong. I mean, I could do it pretty easily, because I sing like someone beating a cat with lute, but you’d better be offering a nice reward for this prank.” Mephala: “It’s not a prank, you N’wah! I’m trying to tell you I want you to use deception and mendacity to sever their fraternal ties and pit them against each other.” Trials: “...that doesn’t sound very nice.” Mephala: “I’m not nice! I’m the god lies, deceit, schemes, and clandestine assassination! “Look, you’re the one who summoned me. In case you’re unaware, it’s a very, very bad idea to summon a Daedric Lord only to infuriate them! Do as I have asked, or I will pull the threads of fate to cause you unimaginable suffering.” Trials: I yawned. “...nah, hard pass. In fact, I think I’m just going to take a trip over to Bleaker’s Way and warn them about your plot. Ya know, ‘pluck that single thread and unravel your weave’.” Mephala: “...” Audibly fuming. “Curse you, fetcher! You will rue this day!” What a jerk! People in a sleepy little town are getting along and living their best life, and in comes this Daedric Bint here looking to start some business!

We quickly made for Bleaker’s Way. It was very late by the time we arrived, but thankfully the town had its own inn, so we had a place to stay for the night, and someone to talk to for information. Kirsten: “Welcome to Bleaker’s Way, Stranger. What can I do for you?” Trials: “G’evening. We need a place to stay for the night, and some info.” Kirsten: “Happy to help with both. What do you need info on?” Trials: “We’d like to meet the leaders of this handsome little community. We have something important to tell them.” Kirsten: “Ah, you’d be looking for Hrol Ulfgar, and Nivan Dalvilu. They usually come around here in the mornings to socialize. I’ll wake you up when they arrive.” We retired to our room. The beds weren’t as soft as over in the Imperial City, but they’d do. Ruin spoke up once we were settled in. Ruin: “I cannot tell if that was the bravest, or most foolhardy thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. Why would you speak that way to a Daedra Lord?” Trials: “I... I don’t really know. Maybe I’m just a little sick of her attitude. Sick of the idea that she wants to mess with other people, just because she can. Reminds me too much of...” Ruin: “...of being a slave?” Trials: “...” I looked away, anxiously. “Yeah.” Ruin: “Do not dwell on your past, my friend. It is not what you will be remembered for.” Trials: I laughed mirthlessly. “And what will I be remembered for? The s’wit who mouthed off to a Daedra Lord?” Ruin: “Perhaps. And I would not be surprised if more than a few people admire you for it. But I think you will more likely be remembered for your heroic deeds. Your efforts in clearing the name of Bradon Lirrian, your drive to bring Baron von Zarov to answer for his crimes. “...or maybe your courageous affection for alcohol despite your inability to handle more than three beers at a time. That is especially memorable.” Trials: I frowned and pouted. “I’m getting better. I’ll be up to four beers in a couple of weeks!” Ruin: “Hahaha, I’m sure you will. You don��t like to give up, and I do admire that about you, and I believe it will assuredly see you go down in history. What do you think of that?” Trials: I hesitated, pensively. “I don’t know. I... I’d rather live a normal life.” Ruin: “Is that why you work as a courier, despite being so much more talented?” Trials: I flushed at that, smiling at him. “Oh Ruin, I’m not that talented. But, yes.” Ruin: “Ah, perhaps you would indeed prefer the simple life of a courier, but are the history books not full of tales of heroes that so befit your own profile? The ‘accidental heroes’ who fall and stumble their way into the story, being the ‘right man in the wrong place’ when fate deems it necessary? “You know the ones I mean; the peasant boy that defeats the daedra-horde. The tavern whore that unveils a grand conspiracy to assassinate the king... “...the former slave with a sharp-tongue and a shrewd mind, solving mysterious and changing history...” Ruin trailed off, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes in a decidedly sheepish manner. Trials: I smiled, and chortled softly. “Where is this going, Ruin?” Ruin: “My... meditations on morality, have led, inexorably, toward meditations on mortality. For, when I die--and let’s face it, sooner or later, I will--what will I leave behind? Will I only be remembered as 'That Argonian Battlemage Who Liked to Talk A Lot’? Will I even have that? “Could I have more than that? Through actions, could I be one of those accidental-heroes who shapes Tamriel’s future? Will my dark upbringing only serve to contrast the light at the end of the final chapters of my story?” Trials: “Wow...” I touched a pair of fingers to my lips, eyes wide with pensive contemplation. “If that’s really what you want, you have to work for it. I believe that you’ll succeed, if you try.” Ruin: “...perhaps. But if Cleon, the Butcher of Armindale, is any example to learn from, it would seem that trying to be a hero is precisely the wrong thing to do.” Trials: “...who?” Ruin: “Exactly! He fought to carve his name into history, to become a legend in infamy. But it availed him not. His enemies saw to it that he was stricken from all records and history books. Despite his efforts to the contrary, he was forgotten. “Do you know what I see, my friend? I see a choice.” Trials: “Do you really believe that?” Ruin: He tried to harden his face, but the facade cracked as his shoulders slumped. “I... believe that the statement is true, as Good and Evil are only means to an end, as far as carving a place in history is concerned. But am I capable of following through on that philosophy? ...I don’t know. If fate chose to make me the ‘right man in the wrong place,’ and that I could make a difference as an ‘accidental hero’, all I could do is heed that call, and let my morals decide whether good, evil, or the shades of gray between will earn me a place in renown... or in infamy. “But it is late, and I’m sure all of my talk has made you weary. Let us rest.” Ruin left me with a lot to think about. He seems to have a way of doing that. But he brought up the problem again, that I really need to decide what I want. Do I really just want that normal life, in all of its mundane drollness? Do I just steal because I want the money to gorge on meat and booze? Or do I want more? And what does ‘more’ even mean, for me? Helping people? Becoming famous, or infamous? Sleep was evasive that night, as I just had so much to think about. I did found it eventually, but not until after a lot of tossing, turning, and thinking.

We woke late into the following morning, just in time to meet up with the two leaders of Bleaker’s Way; “ Hrol Ulfgar,” and “Nivan Dalvilu.” We filled them in quickly. Trials: “So that’s the whole story. I contacted Mephala, and she’s plotting against your little community.” Nivan: He raised one eyebrow at me. “And this is all true? Including the part where you punched the statue so hard it cracked in half?” Trials: “Oh, that was the most true part!” Hrol: “...and the part where you saved a princess from the cultists and she gave you a castle, an orc-butler, and a katana that sung songs in ‘Dwemer’?” Ruin: Flushed with embarrassment. “She may have embellished that part a little.” He shook his head. “Regardless, we advise that you both be on your guard.” The two of them looked at once another anxiously, and one could almost see a flash of something behind their eyes. Though they turned back to Ruin and I, and smiled. Nivan: “We appreciate your warnings. But please, keep this to yourself, for now. We don’t want to worry anyone else unduly. Hrol and I will discuss the matter and decide what to do from here.” That concluded our business in Bleakers Way, so Ruin and I looped back to the Imperial City. There, I rented a room, and after I’d convinced Baby-Sitter Ruin that I could stay out of trouble for a while, I went out to meet Derrien, and finally trade that oversized ring to him.

Now several hundred gold richer, I laid down the coin for another hint on an item to move. While the gold is certainly nice, I must admit that there is something of a thrill to this kind of work. The next job was to ‘relieve’ Temple District resident Marana Rian--my old Sneak teacher--of a special Silverware Vase. It’s apparently part of a set, and a collector is willing to pay a hansom sum to finally complete his collection. So, that was another job. Is it a jerk move to steal from someone who taught me how to sneak? Eh... she did say my technique was ‘meh’, so I should just see this as an opportunity to show her how good I’ve gotten! But that’ll have to wait. Derrien is outta gold again, so I’ll need to wait for him to get further funds from his bank. Besides, probably a better idea to wait until dark before I hit Marana’s house. I don’t think a Master Trainer of Sneak will be quite as unobservant as a housewife. With time to kill, I checked my journal, and was reminded of the situation with the city’s aqueducts. Well, if that job was still available, I could go see if I can make myself useful.

Ruin and I departed the city. Across lake Rumare, we could see Charcoal Cave to the south. It seemed like the fastest way to get there was to run along the top of the aqueduct, so we traversed it like a bridge, noting the trap doors spread sparsely across the duct. It was a short enough trip, and we arrived at the cave, spying a small home at the top of the spring that fed the aqueduct.

Within, we found the caretaker, “Vabvam Drothan.” He was a surly old gent, with a voice like a crackling ash-pit, and he seemed more red-eyed than was usual for a Dark Elf. Vabvam: “What the hell do you want, lizard?” Trials: “Whoa, hostile! We’re just here because we saw some fliers in the city describing some kind of ‘disturbance’ with the aqueducts. We’re here to see if we can help.” Vabvam: “...” He slumped onto his bed, rubbing his forehead. “Are you an engineer?” Trials: “Nope!” Vabvam: “A mason?” Trials: “Nah-uh.” Vabvam: “A plumber?” Trials: “Negatory.” Vabvam: He tugged at his hair in frustration. “Then what, exactly, do you bring to the table?” Trials: “A can-do attitude!” Vabvam: “...so, almost nothing, then? Great. “Thankfully, I think this job can be done by any boob with two working hands. Something’s stopped up the aqueduct, so I need you to check the hatches along the top, and see if any debris is clogging the waterway.” Trial: “If ‘any boob’ can do this job, why haven’t you done it, yet?” Vabvam: “I would have, but I'm currently being ‘blessed’ by Peryite‘s latest gift to the world.” Trials: “Ah, is that why you sound like you just smoked a bag of gravel?” Vabvam: “...” He groaned buried his face in his palm. “’S’wits like you make me happy to Social-Distance. “But anyway, I’m sure everyone in the city would prefer I not touch their water-source while I’m contagious with the empire-wide crisis. That’s why I haven’t just checked the aqueducts myself.” Trials: “Oh! Well, sorry for all of the snark. You have a perfectly valid reason for not doing this yourself.” Vabvam: He gave a firm nod. “And of course you’ll be paid a modest sum for your service. So get to it, and get out of my house before I sneeze on you!” Trials: “...we won’t get sick, but anyway, please don’t? I didn’t bring a handkerchief.”

So back out, we went, racing across the top of the aqueduct, opening hatch after hatch. It was near the far north end of the duct, close the city itself, that was finally found the blockage. It looked to just be a bunch of rocks and sticks. Clearing it was a simple matter, and we doubled back toward Vabvam’s hut to report our findings. Trials: “Job’s done!” Vabvam: “No it’s not. The water still isn’t flowing. What’re you trying to do; kill me with your lies?” Trials: “Why so hostile? Jeez, we cleared the blockage, honest!” Vabvam: “Well you can’t have cleared everything. Go back and finish what you started.” Trials: “Look, pal, we checked every hatch. About the only thing we haven’t checked is that big door on the City-side of the duct.” Vabvam: “Ah, that would be the Waterworks. So, guess what you’re checking, next?” He offered me a key. “Get to it, boob!” Trials: “...” I scowled at him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me ‘boob’.” Vabvam: “And I’d appreciate a tall flask of Sujamma, and some peace and quiet. Neither is likely to happen, boob.”

So, after another long hike across the aqueduct, Ruin and I returned to the door to the Waterworks. With key in hand, we were easily able to unlock the door and enter.

#the elder scrolls #oblivion #modded #let's play #roleplay #ask blog

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hopelesschromantic · 7 years ago

Text

2017 Songs of My Year

2017 was traumatic for everyone, wasn’t it? And I was no exception. I learned a lot about myself in 2017, formed new relationships and suffered some collateral damage along the way.

In a way, this list is more personal than the years since I started this tradition in 2010, maybe in part because 2017 cut me deeper than a lot of years I’ve had. The highs were high, the lows were real low, and the learning curve was steep indeed.

January

Frankie Knuckles, I’ll Take You There (ft. Jamie Principle)

The night of January 1, 2017, I sat in a loose state of undress on my living room floor, high and over-warm, in a state of mounting, spiraling dread. We listened to a Frankie Knuckles Boiler Room on Youtube and I struggled to find to words to explain that, eleven days after tying the knot, I knew something was very wrong and I didn’t know how to put it right. I missed my family at the ceremony. I missed the ocean. I missed feeling healthy and vital; the disease in my gut and the medication for it was already starting to exact a brutal toll on me. I missed not feeling afraid. Trump was about to be inaugurated. Christmas vacation was already over and the post-holiday and party slump was hitting me hard. The only thing that soothed me in those late hours were the synesthetic sunshine yellow chords from Frankie Knuckles promising that maybe it wasn’t as bad as I feared.

February

Just Us, Cloudbusting

February was a slight upturn with only patches of stomach churning horror and my mind turned to future training and projects as I took on new challenges at work and tried to ignore the continued dread that seeped into the edges of my life. The best thing about February was undoubtedly taking a trip to Edmonton to see one of my best friends, Eric. A dark mood hung over me that I couldn’t disguise but this old and faithful cover of one of my favorite Kate Bush songs buoyed me during the schlep from Saskatoon to Edmonton. Like the sun coming out, I just know that something good is going to happen echoes the audacious, sparkling optimism of the Frankie Knuckles track above. Despite the reality that it wasn’t *just us* I sang along to this song like a mantra. Just us, just us. Bust those clouds open and let in the sun.

March

Goldfrapp, Ocean

I opened the month by drunkenly having sex with someone I shouldn’t while I was blacked out and the self-sabotage only continued. I learned I was capable of twisting myself in knots to belong, just like I’d done as a little girl and later a teenager. Don’t leave me behind. Take me with you. Once a passenger, always a passenger. As I fell for someone who never cared for me, I found myself unable to sleep, in a constant state of panic and dread, waiting for a confrontation I knew would never come, all the while terrified I would be quietly edged out of my own life, replaced by someone who didn’t even want my life. The intensity I felt was misdirected at the woman who became the object of my fascination, not because of anything about her but because of the lengths I’d go to participate in my own life as it went further off the rails. No boundaries. Let your love consume you and burn you to the wick.

Goldfrapp’s “Ocean” reminds me of both the woman and myself; I’m the titular ocean, vast and mercurial and she’s the narrator of the song, the people collector, the one who wouldn’t lie. But of course she would.

April

Yaeji, Passionfruit

April was more tranquil, for me at least. I’ve learned I overcome pain and humiliation quickly, and that’s a blessing at least. This tranquil remix of Drake’s Passionfruit played a lot during the month of April, with it’s cold lyrical indictments, muted vocals, deep, ebbing beats, all delivered in distant, minimal space. It echoed my emotions well. Numb, healing, detached. I still hadn’t felt the return of my sense of safety, the seismic sense that my love life and my health could change at any moment would stay with me for months to come.

May

Joe Goddard, Music is the Answer

By May I had enough distance from the misery of March and April that I could catch my breath. My world had shrunk over the past few years and I felt a powerful need to expand it, to connect with people outside my small circle, with the hopes of establishes more people in my life who wouldn’t take my energy and warmth for granted, people who wouldn’t be compelled to compare me unfavorably to my partner. I was missing the kind of intimacy that comes from having someone in your life beyond your partner, people who care deeply about you and is warm and caring and intimate. May was a month of burgeoning connections and false starts, like a false spring, but a spring nonetheless. Joe Goddard’s video heightens the track, the lost war satellite in search of its target, not unlike my nascent forays into finding a connection to someone far, far away.

June

Kaityn Aurelia Smith, An Intention

In June we went to Calgary to visit one of my best friends, Alan, and managed to see Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith at Studio Bell, a cavernous and breathtaking cathedral of music in Calgary’s East Village. KAS stood in front of us with her analogue synth and her trippy light show and for the length of her show I was suspended in this psychedelic pastoral wetland, all shimmering tadpoles and dividing cells. I came away from the experience euphoric, feeling like I’d transcended something immense, learned important secrets of creation.

July

Brandon Flowers, Never Get You Right

I revisited this song when I was feel particularly alone as my attempts to connect to different people around me crumbled before me and I heard some bad reviews of my behavior through the grapevine. Was it worth it, trying to be known and understood? Is that all I wanted? Or was I asking for too much? Was there anyone I could connect with enough that I trusted their review or was I really at sea? They’ll turn you into something whether you are it or not. Yes of course, a worthwhile reminder that this misunderstanding, this feeling of being unknowable and isolated isn’t particular to me but instead a universal.

August

Carly Rae Jepson, Cut to the Feeling

August long weekend started with one of my best friends Chris coming to Saskatoon. We had an amazing time, the highlight of which was Brock’s DJ set at Pink. CRJ reminds me of Chris and when Brock played this song, the room lit up and I had the rare and glorious feeling that I was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.

September

Galantic - Hey Alligator

It’s sugary and gay and over the top as all Galantis is want to be but this song soundtracked the last of lonely Saturday nights at home, flitting about the kitchen cooking or chatting up veritable strangers on the internet, which was not ultimately a particularly gay activity but this track makes me feel like the last word in gay. Some of the relationships I’d formed online at that time had started to go septic and I started wondering what it was about me that lead me to seek out such unsatisfying and ultimately destructive connections. My introspection started with this song and continued over the coming months.

October

Shura, White Light

If I had a single song that spoke to my personal process and internal conflict this year, it was this one. Morgan put me on to it, indeed put it on me, and I became addicted to it, playing it literally dozens of times and in every mood. Shura’s sweet, breathy voice purrs intimately on the track while electropop burbles around her. Her lyrics speak to a blinding intensity, a seductive and almost alien nature or for my purposes a fictive personality manufactured to elicit validation but ultimately flimsy. But at the same time I felt like a part of me that had never been properly seen was given space to flourish. Intense and intimate, this aspect of myself could give with abandon because the people I was giving to were many miles away, sometimes on different continents, a safe distance for my heart and body and real life, practically in space. You're from another planet/And I'd like you to take me there/You can fly your alien spaceship

November

Miguel, Told You So

November swam by so quickly. In the first couple weeks Eric came to visit completely by surprise and we had the most ideal, chill time and I’ve been craving it ever since.

Miguel’s War and Leisure is without a doubt one of my favorite albums of the year and Told You So was my favorite track. The song is pure romance, sunlight, promises of fantasy and romance and escape and yet we from Miguel that the video for this track is a protest video, shot in the desert, missiles falling in the sky just as others launch. There’s an air of dread and voyeurism to the video, meant to refer to the political world in the Trump era but it felt true of my life too. Did I really understand all the changes I’d undergone in 2017? For good and for ill? The practice I’d had setting boundaries but also the increasing social anxiety? The strain that living more truthfully had put on my closest relationships?

December

Sasha ft. Poliça, Out of Time

I don’t usually have much to say to trance as a musical genre but this track is a common thread throughout my 2017. Brock played this track to great appreciation at the rainy and isolated little Solstice Festival back in June and reprised it, mostly for me, at a miserable, failing Saskatoon club called Eclipse in the first week of December.

This track is airy, cavernous, with juicy, acidy beats throughout and Channy Leaneagh’s throaty, disembodied voice haunting the track. Yes, we are out of time. Out of time for Christmas. Out of time to change, to do better in 2017. Time moves so much faster than I handle and it scares me.

Song of the Year:

The 1975, Somebody Else

I’ve listened to this song with all my friends, Brock and Morgan most of all. Definitely most played in 2017.

Ignore if you want the three minute Lynchian introduction that carries on from where Change of Heart leaves off, but I can’t. Twin Peaks was a part of my year and the Lynch references with the doppelgangers and rabbits on the wall were impossible to ignore. Matty Healy splits himself into twos, threes, fours, and more as he mourns what he’s lost and revels in self-pity, excess and self-destruction. It all seems terribly familiar.

In the video for this track, Matty Healy wanders through the ugly concrete cityscape that I think is Manchester, surrounded by green-blue twilight, neon lights, reflective surfaces and gathering storms. He undersings all but the bridges, were his gently screwed and chopped voice hits registers beyond his range, translating on the track to keen and visceral pining interspersed with chilly ambivalence--my entire process of untangling my mind, my desires from someone else’s.

Over the course of the song I lose track of Matty Healy’s gender and orientation, mostly because he invites it, but in that moment it’s easy for me to assume his perspective--something I usually find impossible in bands with guitars fronted by men. In that moment I’m thinking about who I am with and without love in my life, how I choose to define myself in and outside of relationships and my role in shaping them. This year has seen huge growth and painful realizations for my heart and head but the way forward is through.

#2017 #songs of my year #music #the 1975 #shura #edm #music journaling #personal

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fasterthanmydemons · 5 years ago

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Apple, peach, and turnip. Have a frabjous day/night!

APPLE - first muse?

{out of breath} Hmm... depends on what you mean by “first.” First OC I ever made? First one I wrote? First one I rped? First one I brought to Tumblr? XD Okay I’ll just list all the firsts I can think of, lol.

The first OC I ever created was a prince named Shian whose father, the king, died and he basically panicked and fled the kingdom because he didn’t want to be king. It was... a very simplistic story, the first book I had ever written. It was titled Story, haha. Eh, my teenage self thought that was supposed to be profound or something.

The first OC I ever roleplayed was Silence Leaflin (also my pen name), who I played in a friend’s in-person D&D game. She was a half-human, half-vampire sorceress with a tiny bat familiar named Fizzle. She grew up in a very isolated and cult-like village who believed that sorcerers were cursed and doomed to die young, because every one born in the village had left in their teenage years and never come back. Really, what it was, was that once they left, they realized how crazy the village was and never wanted to go back, heh.

The first OC I felt like I ever really put a lot of effort into and fleshed out like a real person as far as world, background, timeline, personality, skill class, magic, race, mental health, etc. was Channe ( @fxcelessqueen ). I created her for the first D&D game I ever ran myself, and she is a main character in a fantasy book I never finished entitled The Mask of Truth. Unfortunately, I think she was just a little too weird for Tumblr, and her blog just never gained any permanent writing partners.

The first muse I ever wrote on Tumblr was Ned Stark of Game of Thrones, and it was completely by accident. I had a fan blog for the character that someone mistook for a rp blog, and they sent me an ask and just basically started rping... and I had been following rp blogs for GoT, so I knew what was going on, and instead of correcting the person, I just went ahead and rped with them. It ended up being a lot of fun, but the GoT fandom was a bit too expansive and oppressive as far a fans really wanting everything perfect in their rp threads for me to stay in it.

The first muse I ever deliberately brought to Tumblr and made a blog for was Nuada of Hellboy II ( @fallxnprxnce ), which is my main on this account. All other muses are sideblogs of his. He had been a favorite character of mine for a while and he was a very easy character for me to write, so I figured he’d be a great way to get into the whole rping community here on Tumblr. I had a lot of fun with him, but his blog has been dead for a while now. I intend to bring him back, but I need to revamp the blog first and I want to finish writing my Nuada in Silent Hill fanfic first.

PEACH - least favourite muse?

Hahaha, well... I did have one completely failed baby on here. Lacryma ( @crackedbellsandsilenttears ). She has a really complicated back story, but simply put, she is a sentient spell of sadness who really just wants to be happy and make friends. In other words. If a spell could develop its own persona, and the longer it remained “alive,” the more it became like a real person, that’s what she would be like. She’s a character from The Mask of Truth world as well. The reason her blog failed was because I let it, pretty much the same day I created it, heh. So... what happened was that I thought she would be a neat character to write on Tumblr and I had seen a movie that had the perfect FC in it for her. Aaaaaaaand then I ended up really badly triggering the very first person I told about the blog because the FC was too scary. I... felt... HORRIBLE. And it basically killed my desire the write the character completely. Like I just felt so totally terrible that I had really upset this person that I just wanted nothing to do with the blog after that. I tried a little bit to write her, but... nah... It died, heh. I’ve been watching horror movies since I was little, and sometimes I forget that things are a lot scarier to other people than they are to me. I still feel really terrible about scaring that poor person, ugh.

TURNIP - most damaged muse?

Oh MAAAAN... That’s going to be a hard one to answer because that’s kindof my thing, heh. I tend to collect muses that have really been through SomeShit™. Almost all of my muses have tragic backstories and/or anxiety, stress, or trauma disorders. But hmm... let me think... Yeah, Imma split this one up too because I can’t pick just one, heh.

The most physically damaged muse would have to be my poor Nemmer-kins, haha. Nemesis ( @freewillacquired, of Resident Evil ) used to be a human man named Matt Addison, but he was captured by Umbrella after being infected with a highly mutagenic strain of the T-virus. Matt is a carrier of the virus (my headcanon), so instead of being killed by it and becoming undead, he suffered monstrous mutations, fueled by his own natural genetics and enhanced by experiments performed on him by Dr. Isaacs and Major Cain.

The results of the mutation were basically that he looks beyond recognition as a human. He’s a lot taller now, a lot more muscular, and is basically a tank that can take a shit ton of damage without dying. Basically as long as his brain is intact, he will regenerate. He is virtually unaffected by bullets, resistance to fire and nuclear blasts, and is of course immune to further infection by the undead. His teeth are razor sharp and oversized and he lacks lips, a nose, and ears. Well he’s got the holes for them, heh, but no physical ears or nose anymore. But after he is awakened and remembers himself, he’s basically a human man in the body of a horrifically mutated monster. And Matt’s a nice guy, heh. So, not to minimize the psychological anguish here at all by saying that Nemesis is my most physically damaged muse, because he’s in constant physical and emotional pain every minute of his life, basically. But yeah... no other muse has been so physically violated and had their body changed against their will the way Nemesis has.

My most mentally damaged muse... would be a tossup between Wanda Maximoff ( @thiscrimsonsoul ) , Luther ( @armed-and-alxne ), and Channe, I’m guessing. But... Channe actually makes a pretty good recovery over the decades of her life and becomes more stable and at peace with herself and what’s happened in her life, so Imma eliminate her. Early on in her life, yeah, but considering the whole journey of the character, she’s doing okay. And Wanda... we still don’t even know how she is going to deal with everything that’s happened to her. I guess we all have to wait for WandaVision. I’m guessing... not well at all, heh, but since we don’t know, I’ll eliminate her. That leaves Luther, who I guess is my most damaged muse baby, heh.

Luther was born to a father he never knew at all and a mother who didn’t want him and who was a drug addict and alcoholic. He was left to fend for himself and learned at a young age that if he didn’t want to be hungry he had to steal what he wanted. He was headed for the criminal justice system when was taken off the streets at age 12 by a man he looked up to as a father figure. The problem was, the man was the head of a bratva (Russian mafia family) and selected Luther specifically because he had a personality conducive to mental conditioning. By the time he was 16, Luther was conditioned to believe that he owed this man what is known as a “life debt,” which is basically... I saved your life so now you belong to me and owe it to me to spend your life serving me. Luther served this man and his family for 27 years as basically a glorified salve.

He was everything to the family but never family. Bodyguard, bouncer, handyman, bartender, chauffeur, debt collector, security specialist, accountant.... and hitman. He was physically and mentally abused as a teenager into complete subservience, and to believe that he was innately a lesser human being. He was lucky to serve the family, was what he believed. Lucky to even be in their presence. He was in love with the man’s daughter for nearly all the years he was with the family but couldn’t ever say anything because he probably would’ve been killed for it. He watched her marry someone else, have kids, be happy... and then one day his boss asked him to kill her husband. Yep, his daughter’s husband. Long story.

Anyway, it went against everything Luther believed in because at his core he’s actually a very honorable and protective guy. But he’s so conditioned to obey... that he does it. And then his boss has him lie... to this woman he loves... and her kids... for months about it... and pretend like he had nothing to do with it. Anyway I won’t ramble on, but yeah, the mental prison this man lived in for almost 30 years, the speak only went spoken to, you work for the family but will never be family, on call 24-7, not permitted to have friends or a pet or a girlfriend nature of his life... was incredibly sad. In the end he gave his life for the woman he loved, taking a bullet for her. Because that’s the kind of guy he was, even under all those layers of abuse and trauma.

#{ out of breath } ᵒᵒᶜ

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crystallofolia · 7 years ago

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I'm new to flight rising and all the guides I've read have been very vague on dragon pricing, simply stating its very subjective. Could you help with "ballpark" figures, or qualities guaranteed to add value and around how much? I know gen 1s and old dragons are worth a lot but that's it.

I’m honestly not the best person to ask about the current dragon economy since I just got back from a year long hiatus last month, but I’ll try to help you out anon using what I remember from when I was super active! Unfortunately pricing is super subjective, so a lot of what I’m about say is probably similar to guides you’ve read. :/For general dragons, a good rule of thumb is to look at what’s selling best and price match! Things like pastels are still super popular from what I can tell, same with color pairs that have matching accents in their primaries and secondaries from genes like Butterfly, Petals, Toxic, Poison, Skink, and Spinner. Good color ranges usually include blues, reds, pinks, the upper white ranges, the lower black ranges, and sometimes greens. Gold is a popular tert when paired with red or black primaries and secondaries. Bright ‘ Lisa Frank ‘ like dragons are still popular too I think, but I might be wrong. Usually above all else the hatchlings with the newest genes are going to sell for the most within a month or so of releasing, but you still need to be conscious of what colors your pairs can produce before you just slap new genes on them and wait five ( or six? ) days hoping that you’ll eventually make back the treasure/gems you spend on the parents.

Following popular trends is a good way to make treasure/gems if your lair has the space and you can afford it. Back when I joined FR XXXs were all the rage and were still relatively rare compared to the massive amounts of them available today, so I ended up structuring my entire lair around breeding XXXs for a good year or so. You can see the remnants of that fad in the very back of my lair with a triple lemon pair I still haven’t been able to let go of. Even though half the pairs I had were colors I weren’t exactly fond of, the fact still remained that I ended up making a ton of money off them everytime I breed them.

Ballpark prices are hard to suggest, unless you’re selling dragons that have similar color schemes to dragons that you know are already selling. Generally I feel like if you have an interesting pair that has some people asking for pings and stuff when they breed you can probably get away with asking for upwards of 50kT+ for hatchlings, with more if they have newer genes. In the case of newer genes ( as in during the weeks immediately following release ) I feel like it’s best to price lower than the cost of the genes themselves for potential quick sells. Pricing dragons around 100kT+ each when they have new primaries and secondaries you can find in the treasure marketplace isn’t unheard of and I’ve seen some dragons sell at the price. As for brand new gem genes I think pricing really depends on how popular the gene seems to be. For release day hatchlings that have been boon’d it isn’t uncommon to see ones in the AH for 500g+, but I’m not sure if most people would ever consider buying at that price unless the colors are really good and they’re disinterested in waiting to see if prices go down.

Oh, as I said above more or less, some people will be happy to pay more than what you expect for dragons that they’re especially fond of. So, if you’re not getting any bites off just putting them in the AH and advertising them in tags, don’t be afraid to go promote them in the Dragon Search forum so long as you’re paying attention to what people are looking for in each thread and offering accordingly. Sometimes having a hatchery in Dragon Sales helps too as far as gathering potential buyers, but I haven’t had experience with running one in forever.

Either way, regardless of what you originally start off as pricing your dragons at, don’t be discouraged to adjust prices if your dragons don’t sell! Sometimes a person won’t consider buying a dragon for more than a certain amount, but might reconsider if they see that you’ve dropped the price to something more affordable to them. That said, never drop them below fodder prices because you can make at least a quick 10~15kt off them yourself via leveling them up in the coli if they haven’t sold by the time they’re adults. A good way to make money in general if you have the lair space and time to waste in the coli is to just have an exalt fodder pair or two that breeds every 15 days, put their hatchlings up for adult fodder prices, and then if they’re not sold by then just train them to level 7 or 8 or so to exalt.

Also, like you said, certain 1st generation and older 3~6 digit dragons are worth a lot of money to the right person!

First gens with desirable colors and matching eyes sell way better than ones with a completely random unworkable color scheme, but there’s always the possibility that someone might be interested. If you don’t know how much a gen one is worth when you feel like it’s colors are good and work well together there’s several places on the site forums you can ask around for price checks full of people that regularly sell and buy them who might help you. If you have enough starting funds and feel confident in knowing what might sell well, I know that some people have had luck flipping first gens they find on the AH for low prices in dragon sales and auction threads after pinging the gen one collectors list. But that said, I wouldn’t really recommend it since the market for them is always changing it feels like. ( Personally I don’t enjoy the gamble of buying and hatching eggs, so when I do end up with them I usually sell them as soon as possible l o l )

Older dragons are worth more just for the fact that they have lower digit ids, in most cases. Most people who buy super low digits seem to have enough funds not to care what the dragon’s current colors and genes are and are likely to just use scatterscrolls until they get a roll they like. Things that make older dragons more desirable: Unbred/Low # of Offspring 1st Gens, Unbred/Low # of Offspring 2nd Gens, bred dragons that have no Unnameds or weird/vulgar names on their Offspring list, ones that are already breed scroll’d into Wildclaws and Coatls, older 2nd Gen Imperials are especially valuable to the right person ( even more so if both their parents are Imps too! ), and things like that. Back when older dragons were first taking off in popularity it was easy to browse the AH for older 6 digit dragons and filp them for an easy 50kT or so, but I think that’s harder now.

As a closing note, it’s probably super discouraging to hear this, but hatching and selling dragons for treasure outside of making your own exalt fodder isn’t as profitable as it used to be a few years ago. Some of the easiest ways to make money is grinding in the coli and selling all your drops, buying low priced popular apparel/genes in the marketplace every 5~10 min refresh and selling high in the AH, maxing out your fairgrounds earnings daily by playing artifracture, and trying your hand at accent making if you’re able to.

Anyways I really hope that at least one thing I typed up there was semi useful, if anything, for you anon! D|

#i'm so sorry if this isn't helpful at all D|#it's probably super similar to everything else you've read in the forum guides #long post #Anonymous

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theotherredeyedmaster · 7 years ago

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Mun Survey

Knowing your partner well makes writing together a lot easier. Tag this with the people you enjoy roleplaying with but want to get to know better. Repost for the sake of activity notes please!

Tagged by: I snatched this from @the-wandering-rock-collector

Tagging: @brightresearcher, @laurelwrxathed, @mtsilverscryptid, @hughhyuuhue

3 BASICS

I am a science nerd with a plausibility boner and will scream at every plothole I see before trying to fix it. My hcs probably all have a really good explanation - even if I haven't found it for some yet.

I might seem hard to approach because I can be a sarcastic lil shit and the characters I play don't help either, but I'm actually a shy noodle that gets overexcited at times and will send you memes at 3AM.

I love making hcs and world building and all that good stuff. As a result I have a whole bunch of AUs and crossover verses, way more than are listed on my verses page, and I'd like to rp them sometime too.

EXPERIENCE

How’d You Start: For tumblr rp - I'm actually from the shippy fanart and fic writing corner originally. An art friend in the FMA fandom introduced me to tumblr rp with her Ed blog, and I've met a few other friends that had rp blogs on the side as well. Things sort of went from there. Then I decided to bring back a character from my pre-tumblr days and now Fire is here. As for rp in general, I have no fucking clue.

Platforms You’ve Used: Skype, Tumblr, Discord, a sheet of paper and a whole bunch of coloured pens

Worst Experience: Not getting into this, nope.

Best Experience: On here without a doubt the times I'd pull allnighters to thread with @laurelwrxathed and we'd get up to 30 replies done in a few hours together because we were so invested in our threads. Fun times.

MUSE PREFERENCES

Original or Canon: I prefer playing canon but I don't mind interacting with either as long as I can get to know the character well enough.

Favourite Face: :'D and ;A;

Least Favorite Face: Every face I draw in profile ever.

Multi or Single: Multiship and multiverse all the way, I like keeping all options open for the future. Single- and multimuse blogs are both fine and I have both as well.

Mirror Friendly?: I WOULD BE IF I WASN'T THE ONLY ACTIVE INDIE FIRE I KNOW! If anyone knows any other indie Fires PLEASE tell me because duplicate shenanigans are fun!

WRITING PREFERENCES

Plots or Memes: Both is good though I prefer some minor plotting for bigger threads because obvious reasons.

Best Time to Write: Whenever I effin' feel like it.

Do You Like Your Muse(s): yES I love Fire so much even if he can be an asshole at times and I want to scream about him always aaaAAA! I love all my other muses too, especially the GS ones, and yes please talk to me about all these nerds.

How Long (Months/Years?): My first serious rp was a bunch of really bad script format stuff on Skype in 2013. I later got into tumblr RP in 2015, and this blog in particular has existed since over a year and a half now, though I've only been really doing stuff with it for little under a year.

Female or Male: I'd like to say I have no preference but most of the characters I play are male... as far as who I interact with goes though, I'm open to all.

Fluff, Angst or Smut: All, though I'm hesitant about smut, especially if it's public and if we don't know each other well. Fluff is nice but can get really tiring to write for me, but angst is 100% my thing.

#the wandering rock collector #brightresearcher #laurelwrxathed #mtsilverscryptid #ooc #long post #tag meme

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mychaoticallyeclecticlife · 8 years ago

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So I’ve decided to join in with the weekly feature hosted by the lovely Lipsy over at Lipsy’s Lost and Found which highlights our week in books. A similar theme is run by Sam at Taking On A World of Words. I’m also following her lead and linking up with Stacking the Shelves and Waiting on Wednesday.

It turns out that as much as I love four day weeks, they play havoc with my planning and I frequently find myself playing catch up. That said, the extra day also meant I had extra reading time so I suppose the trade off was worth it in the long run.

Anyway, here’s what my week in books looks like.

Now, Then, Next

My current read is the second book in the Scarlet Suffragette series by Nicola Claire. I finished the first book, Fearless, earlier in the year and have been patiently waiting for the release of Breathless since then. I had it on pre-order and it arrived on my Kindle on 27 April 2017 ready for me to read as soon as I got a minute. I’m about 25% of the way through it at the minute and I’m loving it as much as the first book.

Last week was a good week for reading and I managed to get through two books, both by Jen Blood. The first was The Darkest Thread (The Flint K-9 Search and Rescue Mysteries #1), the second was All the Blue-Eyed Angels (Erin Solomon Mystery, #1)

Next up I’m planning to read The Girl of Ink and Stars by Kiran Millwood Hargrave. This was the book chosen by Emma over at The Stationery Geekette for the April BookBox.

New on the TBR List

I really should unsubscribe from all the e-mails offering free Kindle books as I have no willpower at all. This week hasn’t been too bad. In addition to my current read I have added Lost Library by Kate Baray and The Good Widow by Liz Fenton.

Elementary school teacher Jacqueline “Jacks” Morales’s marriage was far from perfect, but even in its ups and downs it was predictable, familiar. Or at least she thought it was…until two police officers showed up at her door with devastating news. Her husband of eight years, the one who should have been on a business trip to Kansas, had suffered a fatal car accident in Hawaii. And he wasn’t alone.

For Jacks, laying her husband to rest was hard. But it was even harder to think that his final moments belonged to another woman—one who had left behind her own grieving and bewildered fiancé. Nick, just as blindsided by the affair, wants answers. So he suggests that he and Jacks search for the truth together, retracing the doomed lovers’ last days in paradise.

Now, following the twisting path of that fateful road, Jacks is learning that nothing is ever as it seems. Not her marriage. Not her husband. And most certainly not his death…

Lost Library brings together a mysterious, magical book and a quirky heroine to create the adventure of a lifetime!

John Braxton arrives unannounced on Lizzie Smith’s doorstep looking for answers she doesn’t have. She may have a magical book, but she hasn’t a clue what to do with it–or even how to read it. And John’s revelation that he’s a Lycan isn’t making the job any easier.

Before the code to the book can be cracked, Lizzie and John stumble into the middle of a power-hungry mastermind’s plan. Caught up in one man’s search for power, Lizzie soon begins to uncover surprising secrets about her past and powers. Can she and John put a stop to their new found enemy’s plans?

Take a romp through the life of the quirky and well-meaning Lizzie as she discovers magic, creatures that go bump in the night, and maybe love.

What I’m Waiting For

I’ve got my eye on a few new releases over the coming months but my firm favourite at the minute is Roses of May (The Collector #2) by Dot Hutchison. The first book in the series, The Butterfly Garden, is one of my favourite reads of 2017.

Synopsis

Four months after the explosion at the Garden, a place where young women known as the Butterflies were kept captive, FBI agents Brandon Eddison, Victor Hanoverian, and Mercedes Ramirez are still entrenched in the aftermath, helping survivors in the process of adjusting to life on the outside. With winter coming to an end, the Butterflies have longer, warmer days of healing ahead. But for the agents, the impending thaw means one gruesome thing: a chilling guarantee that somewhere in the country, another young woman will turn up dead in a church with her throat slit and her body surrounded by flowers.

Priya Sravasti’s sister fell victim to the killer years ago. Now she and her mother move every few months, hoping for a new beginning. But when she ends up in the madman’s crosshairs, the hunt takes on new urgency. Only with Priya’s help can the killer be found—but will her desperate hope for closure compel her to put her very life on the line?

Expected publication: May 23rd 2017 by Thomas & Mercer

So that’s my week in books!

What are you currently reading? Have you finished any good books recently? Are there any books you are eagerly awaiting?

What do you think of my selection? Have you read any of them? Have any made it to your TBR list?

I’d love for you to join in with this meme, just share you link below or comment with your choices if you don’t have a blog.

This Week In Books: 03.05.17 So I've decided to join in with the weekly feature hosted by the lovely Lipsy over at

#2017 new release #2017 reads #Book Haul #Currently Reading #Kindle #kindle first #New on the TBR List #New Release #Now Then Next #Stacking the Shelves #Waiting on Wednesday

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authorsofparadiseroleplay · 5 years ago

Text

James and Wynter: The Dead Still Speak

Thread transfer for @lxvingdeadgxrl

James

James smiled at the shop’s proprietor as he approached her, effecting a casual air. “Hello, miss. I wonder if you might help me. I’m searching for a first edition of De Civitatum Origine Saeculum in Favillam.” He punctuated his request with a small laugh before continuing in his rich baritone, the syllables and vowels still containing the faint lilt of an accent that most modern people would not be able to place. “I’ve had a devil of a time finding it. Evidently the phrase “rare book” is something of an understatement in this case.”

The book request was a smoke screen. His contact had informed him that the Order of the Ouroboros had been showing interest in this woman, though there had not yet been any planned move to take her, and he wanted to find out why. Was she an intended recruit or a potential victim? Either way, he was there to throw a spanner in the works.

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Wynter

God, but it was rather busy that morning, wasn’t it? Far more so than most Tuesdays, that was for certain. She wasn’t aware of anything special going on in town, and it wasn’t exactly the height of tourist season, so where the influx of customers had come from, she couldn’t say…

Nor would she complain, of course. An influx of customers was always a plus, especially when there was rent to make and bills to pay.

Wyn had just finished helping one of her regulars, when she was approached by another gentleman. Quite the charming smile on that one, wasn’t there? And those eyes of his…Such a brilliant emerald. But there was something else, wasn’t there? Something just below the surface, though what it was, she didn’t know…

She caught herself staring about a moment or so before it would have become awkward and rude, the young woman clearing her throat a bit as her smile warmed.

“Ah…Yeah, bit of a tall order, that. I couldn’t tell you off the top of my head, but I can take a peek?” she offered. The chances really were slim, to be perfectly honest. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d seen a copy come across her counter, let alone a first edition. “If I don’t have it, I might be able to direct you to someone who might.” she added, leading him back to the counter. Moravian was always squirreling away rare texts, and lord knew his collection made hers look minuscule.

Which, all things considered, was really damn impressive.

Wynter shuffled around behind the counter for a moment, before pulling out a large, leather bound book. She’d never really been much for computers for her records, so all of her specialty books, first editions and rare titles were logged in that particular volume. “Let’s see…” the young woman hummed, thumbing through the various pages.

She glanced up at him whilst deftly flipping through to the proper section. “Just looking for a bit of light reading, I take it.” she offered with a chuckle. Not that there was anything at all light about the particular title he was looking for, but hey, small talk was something that came along with the job.

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James

Politely, James ignored the stare. A man of his size and appearance became accustomed to such things after awhile, and though it still stroked his ego a fair bit, time and experience had taught him not to allow himself to preen too much. It made it easy to miss little details that could be indispensable.

Such as the large book she referenced. It had occurred to him that the Order might have interest in something she carried in her shop, rather than in the woman herself. He made a mental note to come by later after it was closed and make a detailed sweep of the stock. It was a long shot, but his anonymous contact, as usual, hadn’t given him much to go on, just a tiny morsel of information for him to pursue.

Sometimes he had to wonder if he was being played. Like a chess piece.

Drawn back to the moment, he laughed softly in reply to her gentle teasing. “Always.” He let his eyes wander around the shop, searching for any signs that Ouroboros agents might be lurking. They were good at blending, but he was good at flushing them out. Nothing stood out to him at the moment, though. “I lost a fair number of texts from my collection in a fire some years back. I’ve been traveling about a bit lately, and thought to start building it back up again as I’m able.”

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Wynter

A fair guess, in all honesty. Her collection was vast and she had plenty of tomes and baubles that less than savory folks would love to get their hands on. That was why she kept them, honestly, because as long as they were in her collection, they weren’t out on the streets. Dangerous? Sure it was, but the back room of the shop was warded to high heaven, and the second floor even more so.

So, if anyone were to try to get at them, they’d have a hell of a time.

Her face fell a bit when he mentioned losing a chunk of his own, personal collection to fire. Honestly, Wynter couldn’t even begin to imagine what that had to have been like. She didn’t know what she’d do if she lost any part of her own collection, no matter how small.

She’d just…she’d spent so many years collecting them all, and while some might say it was strange, she was so very protective of them. Some of them were the last copies known to exist, others so rare that it’d be next to impossible to track another down without spending a fortune. To lose those books would be to lose a piece of history. Some might argue that it would be for the best, that those books should be destroyed, given their contents, but she would argue till she was blue in the face, that they needed to be preserved.

“I’m so sorry…That had to have been gutting for you. I certainly hope that you are able to rebuild, though I know how hard it can be with older texts…”

Her gaze shifted back to the log before her, the young woman finally finding the section she was looking for. A finger traced over the page whilst she scanned the various entries, but it was looking as if he was out of luck.

“Well, hate to say it, but I don’t think I’ve got it on the shelves. I know I did at one point, but if it’s not listed here…I can check in the back, just to be sure?” she offered, not wanting to send him off empty handed.

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James

James nodded, but didn’t expound on his thoughts verbally. He had grown accustomed to loss in one way, when that loss involved personal possessions and property. It still stung, because so many memories clung to those things, but losing them would never rival the agony of losing the people he loved– or of having them turn on him. That was a pain that he had chosen never to feel again. One could never lose what one did not allow one’s self to have.

He shrugged as he watched her comb through her inventory book. “It was long ago. I’ve rebuilt much of it over the years, but I’ve still a few stragglers left to track down. Hence my stopping by here.”

As he waited, he continued his visual sweep of the shop, still on the alert. Perhaps the Ouroboros agents were waiting for him to leave before making their move; certainly he had been a thorn in their side often enough that his face had to be known to them. He wasn’t clear why they had never attempted to assassinate or kidnap him, rather reacting defensively whenever he stood between them and whatever target they were attempting to abduct. True, he moved around a great deal, and his home in the California mountains was well hidden and well protected, but it wasn’t like his was a face that was easy to forget. They had to know he was here.

Perhaps he should slip away into the shadows and keep watch until Ms. Davenport closed for the night, then return to the shop for a less legal form of investigation. He knew she kept her living quarters above the shop; if anyone were to try anything, it would likely be after the shop closed and the crowd had dispersed.

His attention shifted back to her and he nodded at her offer to search in the back, keeping up the pretense of merely searching for a difficult-to-find book. “I would be grateful.”

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Wynter

Just because one became accustomed to the loss, didn’t mean it wasn’t still a tragedy. It was a loss of knowledge, information, and that was one of the worst losses that anyone could ever experience. Never mind the possible familial or sentimental attachments that said volumes might have held. Even some of the rarest tomes might have another copy floating around, but items with sentimental value?

Those could never be replaced.

Family and friends? Those couldn’t be replaced, either and their loss was far greater than any material possession. She of all people knew that…All too well, in fact.

“Understood.” she offered. “If anything, you can always check back. I can’t promise the other titles will ever come across my counter, but I get new stock in fairly regularly.” the young woman explained. She wouldn’t mind keeping an eye out, either. Anything to help a fellow collector.

Well, within reason, of course. Some books didn’t need to pass hands or leave the confines of her shop, no matter how eager the buyer.

“Right, let me go and take a peek. Won’t take very long.” she promised. Well, it wouldn’t take overly long thanks to her methods, at least.

Wynter slipped into the back room, the door closing securely behind her. Alone, she allowed a whisper of her magic to search through the various shelves, shuffling through the tomes.

She gave it a few moments, but her search was coming up empty as she’d expected. Ah well…There went that last bit of hope she had. She waved a hand and dismissed the spell, before heading back into the main part of the shop.

An apologetic smile curved her lips as she approached him once more. “Alas, no luck…So sorry about that. Like I said, I could put you in contact with someone who might be able to help, if you’re interested?”

#lxvingdeadgxrl #The Dragon Inside (James)#The Dead Still Speak #It's my turn to reply so I'll draft this and put it on my Thread Tracker #and reply to it soon!

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