#i eat rigorous levels for breakfast

[crabfungi]

Im having the time of my life it simply does not get better than this

[im-no-jedi]

TBB headcanons: Body Stuff

these are ones that I know will cause controversy haha. I’ve already touched on some physical traits, but this is more of how each of them takes care of and manages their bodies as opposed to natural things

that being said, here’s some headcanons about each of the boys’ hygiene, food/clothing preferences, and the like:

Hunter

Only has half his face tattooed; he originally wanted to tattoo his entire face, but was persuaded out of it by the artist (he regrets it very much, not because he thinks it looks stupid, but because he doesn’t like his own face) 

Favorite workout routine is jogging (he does this EVERY morning after breakfast) and hand-to-hand/martial arts 

Doesn’t like to shower; when he does, it’s water only, no soap; if he has to use soap, it’s one product for everything (not like a 3 in 1, I mean like he washes everything with the same bar of soap like an idiot)

Low level of hygiene overall, literally smells like dirt and sweat 99% of the time (and usually some other type of flora that only Tech can identify) 

Mostly eats bland food; can’t tolerate things that are too spicy, sweet, sour, etc 

Has good rhythm and can dance really well, but he doesn’t like doing it in front of others (dude could be on SYTYCD and win fr; he’s a DDR and Just Dance master, and nobody knows it)

Doesn’t get drunk easily (he’s built a tolerance to it); when he is drunk, he’s overly smug and flirtatious and is less in control of his emotions (easily gets jealous, overly excited, actually cries at things) 

Dislikes his own appearance, which is why he doesn’t care how dirty he gets or what he looks like; will bluescreen if someone compliments his appearance 

Hates wearing shirts with buttons (can only tolerate his blacks cause he’s used to them); literally could care less about what he wears, he just wants it to be comfy and not too flashy (please do not perceive him)

Tech

No tattoos, and if he did get one, he’d do it himself cause he doesn’t trust anyone like that (except maybe Crosshair) 

Doesn’t workout much, he believes it’s better to strengthen his mind, plus he gets good arm workouts from all the mechanical work he does

Has a very specific shower routine and takes almost as long as Wrecker because of it (washes his hair twice fr)

Is extremely hygienic about himself personally, but not anything else (keeps things like lotion and chapstick in his pouches); doesn’t mind getting messy, but he has a “beauty” routine that he keeps to

Not that picky about food, but doesn’t like things that are too sweet 

Terrible rhythm, please don’t ask him to dance, he can do the Robot and that’s IT 

Doesn’t get drunk easily; is the designated driver in most instances; when he is drunk, he just rambles about random things, sometimes in different languages 

Loves getting compliments of all kinds, especially his own appearance (he has a beauty routine for a reason) 

Enjoys dressing up and being fashionable, knows quite a bit about fashion (dude knows color theory like he made it himself)

Wrecker

Has “99″ in Aurebesh tattooed on both upper biceps, practically on the shoulders 

Does all kinds of exercise and has a rigorous workout routine, but his fav is just lifting weights

Takes extra long in the shower cause he likes to play in the water; soap is usually only used if he sees dirt on himself

Really low level of hygiene, a stinky stinky man; vaguely smells sweet and sugary sometimes 

Will eat literally anything, but mostly loves sweet things; not a huge fan of sour or bitter 

Has good rhythm and can dance pretty well, is just a bit clumsy about it due to his size

Gets drunk pretty easily and just becomes a more exaggerated version of himself; starts randomly singing while drunk 

Thinks he’s hot stuff and loves getting complimented on his appearance 

Likes wearing clothes that show off his muscles; also absolutely loves cute things and isn’t ashamed to do/wear girly things (will get irritated if he’s teased for it though)

Crosshair

Only has the crosshair tattoo on his face; cried from the pain when he got the tattoo, but only Hunter knows that (and hasn’t told anybody ever)

Doesn’t exercise much, but he does a lot of stretches to keep his body limber (more of a yoga guy fr)  

Takes a normal amount of time in the shower, nothing fancy (the soap needs to be good soap though)

Good hygiene, dislikes smelling bad for too long and would 100% wear strong cologne all the time if he could (even if Hunter couldn’t stand it LOL) 

Loves spicy food (could eat a ghost pepper and not flinch), is fine with everything else (although he can’t tolerate sour very well, but he won’t admit it even though everyone already knows) 

Has decent rhythm and can dance, he just looks really lanky while doing so (more of a ballet dancer than anything)

Doesn’t get drunk easily, but goes down the quickest after Wrecker; when he is drunk, he gives zero fricks about anything and just lets loose (and regrets it later) 

Is very particular about his appearance, but believes he looks good no matter what (he made do with the burn after Bracca, but it greatly upset him the first time he saw it); welcomes compliments about his appearance and absolutely agrees with them 

Loves looking well put-together and fashionable; secretly wishes he could wear nicer clothes all the time (someone get this man in a suit PRONTO plz)

Echo

No tattoos, but he’s strongly considered getting one of the handprint like on his old armor 🥺

Doesn’t exercise as much as he used to, but he likes going on jogs with Hunter and will join Wrecker during his workouts sometimes (but at a MUCH lower level LOL)

Takes a bit longer in the shower cause he only got one hand and washing prosthetics ain’t easy

Fantastic hygiene, very much likes to be clean, hates bad smells of all kinds (srsly how was this man able to live with TBB for so long OMG) 

Very picky eater, if it smells/looks bad, he ain’t eatin’ it; however, he’s the most tolerant of sour foods than any of the others (man could down a whole bag of Warheads and not bat an eye)

Has decent rhythm, he just can’t dance very well cause of his prosthetics; boy can shake them hips tho 

Doesn’t get drunk that easily; when he is drunk, he’s kind of rude and loud and starts airing all his grievances (good for him honestly)

Struggles with his appearance; literally cannot fathom someone finding him attractive with all of his prosthetics and alterations; will bluescreen if someone compliments his appearance 

Doesn’t care what he wears as long as it keeps him warm (give him a nice hoodie plz and ty)

other headcanons: Physical and Mental Traits | Sleep

[rdayenterprises]

Healthy Eating Habits To Complement Your Fitness Goals

Within the dynamic realm of fitness, diet plays a pivotal role, frequently surpassing the efficacy of the most rigorous training regimens. The adage "You are what you eat" especially applies to well-being and physical fitness. Nutrition is the foundation of your exercise program and goes beyond weight control.

Understanding how diet affects your training regimen is helpful and critical, regardless of your level of experience in the gym. Proper nutrition means giving your body the proper nutrients to preserve overall health, speed recovery, and increase performance. In addition, you can also benefit from a fat burner supplement to improve your fitness. 

In this comprehensive guide, I will examine the complex relationship between diet and exercise, emphasizing food's vital role in your quest for fitness. So grab a water bottle and join me as I set off on this fascinating adventure to learn how to optimize your food to support your fitness objectives.

Create Your Diet Plan

Without a planned meal schedule, we could easily give in to irrational desires, choose junk food instead of healthful options, and develop bad eating habits. Meal planning can be made more accessible by searching for "healthy meal plan" online and selecting from many possibilities. An alternative is to utilize a meal planning tool, which lets us input our dietary choices, food sensitivities, and health objectives to create a customized plan that meets our needs. Another alternative is to hire a dietician to establish a food plan for more individualized help. A well-crafted meal plan considers the person's lifestyle and includes snacks and drinks in addition to meals.

Eat a Fruit Snack

Fruit is an excellent snack because it contains necessary vitamins, minerals, and easily absorbed carbohydrates. The fruit thus serves as a quick energy source for the body and mind. Fruits also have a high fiber level that supports intestinal health, suppleness of the skin and joints, and a high silica concentration.

Try to eat two fruits a day or more. For example, eat a banana or clementine for breakfast and enjoy an apple or some dried mango for an energy boost in the middle of the day. Fruit is high in hydration and beneficial energy-sustaining sugars yet low in calories compared to traditional snack foods, fats, and proteins.

Measure the food

The amount of food you eat has a more significant impact on your fitness level. I can understand the pain at first, but slowly, it becomes your habit. Measuring the food will also make you keenly aware of what foods fill you up and are not worth the calories. Knowing this will help you make better dietary choices. Consider investing in a food scale, which is a small scale that measures ounces and grams of the food. A simple set of measuring cups and spoons can help you know the weight of your food portions.

Selecting the Correct Foods

What meals are appropriate? More processing is needed for nutrients during weightlifting and sports. Emphasize fiber, complex carbs, and lean proteins, particularly if you're trying to lose weight. Your body needs lean proteins like turkey, salmon, egg whites, and nonfat Greek yogurt to gain muscle and keep you full. Complex carbohydrates, like those found in leafy green vegetables, provide the energy you need, while fiber keeps you full and helps your hormones and digestive system work correctly. Omega-3 fatty acid-rich plant-based meals and olive oil are good sources of healthy fats. These good fats are abundant in walnuts, flaxseeds, and related oils, nuts, and seeds.

Conclusion

Preparing a nutritious diet plan is difficult, but achieving the desired fitness level is very important. These practices are great for promoting physical health and improving mental and emotional health. So read this guide for the proper diet and improve your fitness level like never before.

[conniejoworld]

A reckless Trump put U.S. in danger At the CIA, we were careful with national secrets. The former president wasn’t. By NANCY ROSENBERG In the 1990s, I worked as an editor for the Central Intelligence Agency, where I was tasked with ensuring that intelligence briefs, including the President’s Daily Brief, met rigorous publication standards. In orientation, I learned that often the most mundane facts are very highly classified, not because of the content, but because of the way that information was obtained. This is what is meant by “sources and methods.” For example, the fact that an adversarial world leader had pancakes for breakfast would be classified at the highest level, not because of the pancakes, but because the knowledge of that fact meant that our intelligence community had someone in the room with him as he ate. We also learned that certain locations were known to be popular targets and hangouts of foreign intelligence agents. We were told to avoid certain restaurants in the vicinity of the headquarters at Langley, where foreign agents liked to eat lunch and try to overhear conversations from nearby patrons. It is well known in the intelligence field that Mar-a-Lago has been a target for years, with members buying their way onto the property and afforded easy access to … well, you know. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to imagine adversaries sneaking into rooms and photographing what we now know are some of our country’s most valued secrets. Reports of the contents of the indictment against former President Donald Trump have made my stomach churn with the sickening realization that so many of our country’s friends and allies, as well as our own brave agents, have been compromised by the very person who should have done the most to protect them. The cavalier nature of his handling of these documents means that he either did not know, or did not care, about what that information means. For years, we watched as highly decorated military and intelligence leaders tried in vain to corral Trump. In 2017, one day after he fired FBI Director James Comey, we watched helplessly as a jovial Trump was photographed with Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov and Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak in the Oval Office. We later learned that Trump revealed code-word intelligence during that meeting that had not even been shared with our closest allies. Later meetings with Russian President Vladimir Putin, Chinese President Xi Jinping, North Korean leader Kim Jong Un and Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan were tinged with unease in the intelligence community as the president was known to play fast and loose with vital government secrets. The ease with which Trump glad-handed adversarial world leaders was alarmingly compounded by his disdain for our own military and intelligence leaders. One by one, we watched as he denigrated John McCain, John Brennan, James Comey, James Clapper, Jim Mattis — men who have honorably served our country for decades, and who sounded the alarm time and again that Trump was reckless and dangerous. For years, I have stood by helplessly and watched as people I know and love have turned a blind eye to this behavior and this set of facts. They readily accept this “flawed vessel” because of the goods he has delivered, including hundreds of federal judges and a Supreme Court they like. Pointing out Trump’s egregious flaws has seemed only to reinforce their commitment, which feels like a bizarre cult of personality with deadly consequences. Can they now hear what is being said? Can they finally understand the danger and risk to our most valuable assets? I pray that special counsel Jack Smith can lay it out in a way that can finally be heard. Dallas therapist and writer Nancy Rosenberg worked for the CIA from 1990 to 1998. She wrote this column for The Dallas Morning News.

[connor-sent-by-cyberlife]

🎄 DBH Advent Calendar 2021 🎄

By @mnictasbcl

TITLE: Deck the halls with a lot of tinsel

DATE

DEC 1ST, 2038

TIME

AM 10:33:00

Connor had never experienced Christmas, let alone celebrated it, nor any holiday besides Halloween. Since the Connor-series had begun, many Christmases had passed. For the first 30 or so Connors, these were spent in rigorous testing. Nothing festive about that.

If he’d still been a machine, he wouldn’t have given much thought to the month. But since deviating, every little ‘human’ thing interested him. Cooking, love and relationships, pets, displays of affection… So, when the date rolled around, he spent five minutes researching the traditions before walking into Hank’s room.

“I’m sleepin’.”

“It’s 10.35 in the morning, Hank.”

“Still sleeping.”

Connor folded his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. Sometimes it was difficult to get the Lieutenant out of bed. But he’d also been given permission to ‘drag his ass out of bed’ in order to help him get better.

“Perhaps you’d like to get up later, where I’ll cook you something for breakfast?”

The covers of the bed were thrown onto the floor within seconds.

“I’m up, I’m up. Jesus, you can’t keep threatening me with your shit cooking.”

“It won’t just be a threat one day.”

Hank groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face, and finally looking up at the android.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Christmas.”

“Uh… how long was I asleep for?”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Very funny. No, it’s still the first of December. Which I also realise is when some begin Christmas traditions. Now, I don’t know whether you celebrate, and if you celebrate another festival—which is fine! I’d like to celebrate whatever you celebrate.”

“Lot of words to listen to before I’ve had my coffee. Give me a minute.”

Connor nodded, stepping to the side to let Hank leave the room and freshen up. As soon as he left the bathroom, he trailed after the man into the kitchen and stood waiting. He tried not to let his impatient excitement show, but as he began his pre-programmed idle postures, flicking his coin from hand to hand, it was obvious.

“So, you wanted to know about Christmas?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Right. God, it’s a long time since I thought about that… Shit’s everywhere this time of year, I don’t think I’ve bothered with it in years.”

“Oh. I apologise, I—”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try it now. I guess.” Hank sighed, stirring his spoon around his bowl, staring off somewhere into the distance. Then blinked, looked quickly back to Connor, and smiled. “Did you want to?”

“Yes. Yes, I mean, I only researched the holiday this morning, but I enjoyed reading of many of the traditions. Festive-themed decorations and movies and gift-giving, as well as the fact androids are starting to pick up different human festivals…” He took in a breath. “I do.”

“Alright. Well, there isn’t much to start with today. Some people do put up decorations on the 1 st , or on the first Sunday of the month. What do you want to—”

“Today! Today, please. If we have any. If not, I don’t mind going to the store.”

“No, I think I’ve got something at least stuffed in the garage. But let me eat my breakfast first in peace. And that means stop staring at me like that, it’s creepy as shit.”

“Sorry. I’ll… go and research other customs!”

“Go wild.”

Hank relished the five minutes of peace he got to finish his bran flakes. The next second, however, his ears were attacked with the blasting sound of Christmas music.

He called for Connor but regretted it when the sound got even louder as the android came into the room. Putting two and two together, he frowned.

“I hope that crap isn’t coming out of you.”

“That sounds very inappropriate, Hank.”

Hank flipped him off.

“But yes, if you mean the music, I managed to play it from my internal speakers! It’s very loud for me and I can barely hear you, but I do believe it’s incredibly festive!”

“Incredibly fucking annoying! Turn it down!”

“Oh, apologies. I set it to the volume level you play Knights of the Black Death on during car rides.”

“Don’t make me take back Christmas.”

He gasped. “You wouldn’t, Lieutenant! But I will promise to leave you in peace until you’re ready to help with decorations.”

As Connor walked away with a smile, Jingle Bell Rock blasting out of his speakers, Hank began to wonder what he’d got himself into.

TIME

PM 11:26:05

Hank walked out of his bedroom after getting changed and crashed straight into Connor.

“Personal space?”

“Sorry. I was just coming to check if you were ready yet.”

“Yeah, I’m ready now. Unless I forgot something…” He turned to move back into his bedroom with a snicker but stopped his joke when he saw Connor frown. “Alright, fine, I’m ready. Follow me.”

He led Connor into the garage, fumbling blindly round the corner for the light switch before finally finding it, clicking it on. The room flickered to life, not much to be desired with cobwebs strung about and dust coating every surface.

“Yeah, sorry about the mess. Don’t really go in here much, I don’t even park the car in here.”

“It is quite a large space. I could help you get it back in order.”

“No. I told you, no more feeling like you got to do everything for me. I’ll sort it out, eventually. Right now, you want the decorations…”

He walked to the right side, stared long and hard at the boxes, before gesturing to two at the stop.

“Ah, fuck, they’re all the way up there.”

“Please, let me.”

Hank shrugged, gesturing him forwards. He thought maybe Connor had some sort of technology to make him taller or propel him upwards, but instead…

Instead, Connor swiftly climbed up to the top, grabbed one box under each arm and

hopped back down.

“Jesus Christ. Have all androids got a fuckin’ parkour routine?”

“No. But since we have heightened dexterity…”

“Yeah. Well, maybe don’t go climbing up every shelf you see, but that did the job. Thanks.”

Connor smiled.

“Now, uh, bring them out with you, we can unpack them in the living room.”

He did so, dropping the boxes onto the living room table and staring expectantly at Hank.

“Have at them. But—”

It was too late for a warning. The box lid came off, and a cloud of dust choked the air.

Even Connor started coughing, LED complaining an angry yellow.

“Shit. Yeah, I really haven’t got these out in a long time… Guess we’ll have to do some cleaning after all.”

But Connor had already delved into the boxes, coming back out with strings of tinsel bunched up in his hands.

“This is amazing.”

“Yeah, it’s tinsel. You put it on stuff, whatever you want, really. Banisters, windowsills, your bedframe… Just don’t go overboard. At least in the sitting room.”

“Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.” Connor replied distractedly, already pulling more strings of tinsel out of the box.

Afterwards, once each item from the box was unpacked, Hank stood back and took it all in.

“I think we’re missing something. Oh—right, the tree. Well, what about we decorate the house first, and then get the tree out afterwards?”

Connor nodded, immediately speeding off to his own room with copious amounts of tinsel in his arms.

Hank was suspicious about this development but let him do what he wanted. After all, it was the kid’s first Christmas. As long as it didn’t offend his eyes all day long, he didn’t care.

Of course, curiosity did eventually get the better of him. About five minutes after Connor had left to decorate his room, Hank walked down the corridor to check on him.

“How’s it—”

He stopped mid-sentence. Connor was stood on his bed, attempting to string a piece of red and green tinsel over the picture above the bed. Taking in the rest of the room, all he could see was glittering strings of colour, golds and silvers, reds and greens, some pinks and blues mixed in too.

“Looks like a fuckin’ tinsel factory.”

Connor turned around, now showing to Hank the necklace he was wearing. Which was also a piece of tinsel.

“Thank you! I’ve decided, I like tinsel.”

“No shit.”

TIME

PM 12:47:45

Once the rest of the house was finally decorated (luckily not with much tinsel, seeing as though most of it was in Connor’s room), they were left with the final task of the tree.

Hank insisted he could help carry it, but Connor stubbornly refused, instead lifting the huge artificial tree from the garage to the living room.

“You know, you could have carried it in parts? You didn’t have to assemble it and then carry it all the way.”

“I know. But it’s more efficient this way.”

“Looked pretty heavy.”

“I’ve carried heavier.”

Hank scowled at him, picking up a red plastic bauble off the table and chucking it at the android. Immediately he ducked and it went over his head, clattering off into the distance. A moment later Sumo chased after it.

“I assume that isn’t how we decorate the tree.”

“No, I think it is. You put the decorations on the tree after throwing them at the kid who won’t stop playing Christmas music from his ass.”

“It’s not coming from my ass, Hank. Why would speakers be installed in my ass?”

“It’s funny.”

“It’s highly impractical.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Connor threw a bauble at Hank. It hit him square in the face.

“Good thing I bought plastic ones. They’re usually glass.”

“I don’t suppose glass baubles would have been very useful with Sumo around.” Connor commented as he picked up another decoration, finally putting this one on the tree.

“Nope. Tried it once. Ended up with a lot of broken shit and a guilty looking dog.”

“Poor Sumo.”

“What about me?”

Connor chuckled. “I’m sure you coped. But Sumo probably felt really bad.”

“Hah, as if. He probably thought it was funny.”

Somewhere behind them, Sumo grumbled, smacking the red bauble between his paws.

“See? He enjoys it.”

Connor shook his head, picking up a string of fairy lights and began to wrap them around the branches of the tree. Eventually, it was complete, some decorations perfectly placed and others more haphazard.

“Why’d you have to make yours look perfect?” Hank grumbled.

“Aw, thank you, Lieutenant!”

“Yeah, whatever.” He stepped backwards, looking at the tree before glancing back over the room, taking in the decorations and the soft hum of festive music jingling from Connor’s speakers. “Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

[marias-in-pyjamas]

Eclipse: Chapter 1.1

See more from the masterlist.

Pairings:

Commanding Agent Adam du Mortain x Detective Eliana Langford x Specialist Agent Mason ; Agent Nate Sewell x Detective Ellara Kingston

Content Rating - Warnings: G - none

At Detective Kingston’s Apartment 

Ellara groans as she felt her face slowly getting wet because of the thing that is excitedly licking it. Albeit reluctant, she opened her eyes only to be greeted by the sight of her dog's nose. 

"Woof." The dog barks, making her let out yet another groan before she wraps her arms around the small of its body. Stirring from her position, she saw the clock and realized what day it was. 

14 Jan ’19 – 05:00

It's so early omg. 

But it's not like she could complain. And she is feeling pretty excited about today too. Who wouldn't, when it's the first day that you are officially your town's detective? Ellara chuckles to herself, scrambling to stand on her feet. 

She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, carrying Sol with her. She stares at herself, and oh does she look like a disaster. But it doesn't matter. She can do a lot to fix it. 

And so with Sol still perched on her arms, she walked to the kitchen starting her morning rituals with breakfast for the both of them as usual. 

Everything feels like the usual except from the rapid beating of her heart inside her chest. She doesn't even know if it's excitement, or just her nerves trying to make her reconsider all of this. Well she wouldn't, would she? She dismisses the thought by shaking her head. She proceeds to continue eating as she happily watches her dog eat with the same enthusiasm. 

A few spoonfuls and minutes later, she found herself cleaning after their mess. It was quick, as she only ever need to wash a single breakfast set. Maybe I should sleep more. 

"Woof!" Sol calls out wagging his tail and getting his owner's attention 

The woman's eyes immediately went to him and she gave him a very fond smile. A smile that is a lot more genuine than a lot of her others. She crouches down and pets the pupper, "Wanna go for a walk? What do you say, boy?" 

"Woof, woof!" 

And that was all it took for her to understand the answer.

After the walk

07:15

"I hope the walk was enough for you, baby." Ellara smiles as she detaches the leash from Sol's collar, letting him run free around the apartment again. 

Thankfully, the weather isn't hot, and the walk wasn't that much of a bother. Getting ready for work before walking Sol is probably the best decision she ever made this week. Especially with Tina's message. 

Ugh, a murder? As my first case? 

Her smile turned into a frown just thinking about it. Wayhaven is a quiet town. And it's the first murder in town ever since she was born. It shouldn't even bother her, but it does anyway. Ellara values all of her firsts, so it's only natural that she's reading too much into this. 

Her thought was cut off just as she heard a motorcycle engine start up loudly. And, when did someone own a motorcycle in this street before? 

Curious, she quickly pulled her blinds open. Peeking on her window, she saw a figure sitting on a big motorcycle. The person has their back facing her, and with a black helmet on she can't even catch a glimpse of what they look like. The motorcycle zooms away. 

It must be her new neighbor. She saw a car parked in front of the apartment yesterday. Unfortunately, she weren't able to meet her new neighbor yet. Oh well, maybe she'll knock later at night just to make sure they're settling in. With a shrug, she closed her blinds once again. 

07:30

She looks around her apartment making sure that everything is in order before she grabs a box of dog food from her kitchen. She puts plenty of it on the pet feeder she had managed to assemble. At least now, she won't feel too worried for her dog during work hours. 

The dog catches up to her, and follows her closely behind until she stepped outside the door. Sol sits on the floor inside the apartment at a close distance. She crouches on the floor to level with him and smiles. 

"Bye, boy. Be good okay? Mommy will be home before you even know it," she says, giving Sol one last kiss before she stood, locked the door, and finally left for work.

At Detective Langford’s Apartment

14 Jan ’19 – 04:15

Eliana had been staring at the ceiling for almost an hour now, her racing thoughts still not calming down. She was woken up by a nightmare earlier, but considering her line of work, it’s not really much of a surprise to her anymore. The things she’d seen in the city marked her, haunted her. But it also made her stronger, fiercer. Things normal people would easily succumb into and feel squeamish about. But still, she persevered. She continued working hard. She continued doing her job well. She continued pushing forward towards her goal – to be the youngest police captain in the history of Metropolis Police Department. And for a while, it seemed like the universe was finally on her side. Her career was advancing according to the time line she had planned for herself. But of course, as it always does, something eventually happens to prove her how wrong she is to think that the universe is on anyone’s side. Just as she was finally getting the hang of being a detective, she was reassigned out of nowhere into some backwater town: Wayhaven. A wrench in her carefully-crafted plan. A wrench in her career.

So that’s how Eliana had found herself staring at the ceiling of her new apartment in Wayhaven, wondering if she was maybe cursed from something she did from her past life. Luna – her pet puppy – was snoring beside her. Her furry companion’s head resting on the crook of her arm. Careful not to jostle her too much, Eliana turned her head towards the clock in her bedside table to look at the time. Knowing that she will not be able to sleep again anytime soon, she fully turned her body towards Luna and cuddled the puppy closer to her chest. Counting down from five to calm her nerves, she inhaled the familiar scent of the puppy and planted a soft kiss in her forehead. Luna turned sleepily towards her and licked Eliana’s nose as a response before going back to sleep again. Chuckling softly, she gently extricated herself from Luna and scratched her ears before sitting up on the side of the bed.

Going to work early is not exactly new for Eliana. So with that in mind, she pushed herself off of the bed and started her morning routine. She changed from wearing her night clothes to her sportswear before she started stretching her limbs to prepare herself for a little rigorous exercise. After a few minutes of exercising, she proceeded to place some dog food on Luna’s bowl, causing the energetic puppy to clamber off of the bed in a hurry to get to her food.

Eliana went to her kitchen to make herself some much needed coffee. Whenever asked, she always say that she prefers her coffee as dark and black as her soul. While waiting for the coffee machine to finish, she sat on the bar stool in the kitchen island and searched the internet for the directions of the police station. Bookmarking it, she prepared all the stuff she needs for work and finished drinking her coffee, which actually counts as her breakfast.

After Luna finished her breakfast, Eliana spent a few more minutes spoiling the little girl with pets before fetching the puppy’s collar and leash. With a smile on her face that only her furry companion ever witnesses, she turned toward Luna and asked, “Who wants to go for a walk?”

“Bork, bork!” Luna exclaimed while wagging her tail enthusiastically, already running towards her human.

God, she loves that puppy, even if she’s not really on good terms with the one who gave Luna to her. Fastening Luna’s leash on, the pair of them went outside to do their usual morning run, but in a different area and surroundings now.

05:30

After an hour of running, Eliana decided to walk around the neighborhood with Luna, just to acquaint herself more with her current residence. The stares of the townspeople as she and her puppy passed was something she expected. After all, she knows that it’s not usual for people to see someone from the city transferring here as she herself is not even sure why she was transferred here. But what else can I do right now except to suck it up?

Taking the other way around towards home, Eliana and Luna walked together at a leisurely pace, knowing that there’s still a long time before she needs to prepare for work.

After the walk

07:00

After arriving home, Eliana rested for a little while before finally taking a shower. Enjoying the hot shower for a few minutes, she turned it off to get dressed and get ready.

Having finally finished dressing-up for work, Eliana stared at herself on her full-body mirror. Her hazel eyes stared back at her, the only memory of her late father that she remembers. Her lean form is hidden beneath her black button-down shirt that was tucked in a tight-fitting black jeans, with her police badge holder clipped on the side of her belt. A simple gold necklace is sitting prettily on the base of her throat partnered by stud earrings of the same color, three on her right ear and two on the left. The black combat boots she’s wearing gives her an extra two inches on her height, but even without the boots, she’s already taller than some of the detectives in the city. A black leather jacket completes her whole look, helping her fight off the chill when she’s riding her motorcycle. She’s about to turn away from the mirror – seemingly satisfied by what she saw – when her eyes zoomed in on the roots of her hair. The light brown color is reappearing again, a reminder that no matter what color of hair dye she chooses and uses – underneath it all and despite everything that has happened – she’s still her mother’s daughter and having that same hair color of hers is an evidence of that.

Making a mental note to buy more hair dye in the town square, she went outside her room and secured Luna’s playpen. She double-checked that the automatic food and water dispenser is working then kissed Luna goodbye. She shouldered her bag and her black helmet and turned to leave.

Not really knowing what to expect (although she thinks that she’ll most likely be bored to death on her first day as a detective in Wayhaven), she took a deep breath and went outside her apartment, locking it behind her.

Eliana went to the parking space where she left her motorcycle. Securing her helmet on and starting the engine, she decided to first try out the coffee shop she saw near the police station as she still has plenty of time to spare. Maybe she’ll stakeout outside the station for a few minutes, just to see how busy and active it could really be, this early in the morning.

Making up her mind, Eliana drove away from the apartment block’s parking space, the roar of the engine of her motorcycle heard by the detective living next door to her’s.

[weeniewrites]

Lost Connections

Zombie Kenma x g/n reader part 3

Part 1 Part 2

3k Words

tw: zombies, descriptions of blood and gore, insects, fear, there’s some touching (not sexual) that kenma can’t verbally consent to

___________________________________

As hard as it is to get a good night's rest in the apocalypse, this morning’s a particularly ungraceful one for you. All cuddly and warm, the ends of your blanket hugged to your chest, you sit up, yet to even lazily open your eyes. Your initial yawn peters out as you’re tugged back.

    “Huh?”

Your blanket bed may not be great but the crick in your neck and your back and the base of your spine before your butt isn’t worth being upright so why did you sleep here. A hiss of air comes from right beside you and you tense up, remembering why. Kenma removes his hand from its place on your shirt and you watch the movement with suddenly alert eyes, trailing back up to find his dried out face. You can’t help shivering, seeing him from this close is never easy and it’s almost harder first thing in the morning with no preparation. In a voice wet from sleep you murmur “I think I believe you now.”

His head tilts cutely

    “That you won’t... that you won’t hurt me, I mean.”

He nods.

Is he reacting more today?

    “Good Morning to you too I guess.”

You go to stand and he lets you this time, staying in his spot on the floor. You can’t stop yourself from keeping him in your peripheral out of habit but you doubt he minds. He does the same thing after all. His eyes trail up your spine as you stretch out the tension, squinting when your spine cracks. You patter around, deciding what to have for breakfast, a little woozy from your lack of a meal last night. If anything Kenma’s more responsive than you... hmmm

    “Hey Kenma?” You call, listening to the way he shifts, leaning towards you.

    “Do you feel better today?”

He blinks but doesn’t give any kind of response.

    “Wait lemme, let me define better or.. I’ll rephrase actually. Do you have more energy today than yesterday?”

A pause, and then a nod

    Your smile comes through in your voice “I’m glad”

As you sort through your snacks, deciding what to have for an easy breakfast, Kenma’s intensely focused on a bug slowly scooting around the floor. Taking a  break from your indecisive searching, you start to nudge the bug closer to him, tensing but not flinching away when he crushes it between his fingers as expected. And eats it.

As you munch your breakfast bar of choice, you giggle and scoot beetles and spiders in his direction. His lips part slightly at the happy noise from you but other than that he’s far far too focused on catching each bug. Some pop and ooze between his fingers as he kills them. Most fail to skitter away from your combined efforts but it’s hard to mind when this is the most active participation you’ve had with each other.

By the end of it all, you’re much more awake and in the best mood you can remember being in, but Kenma once again, is a dirty little boy and turns out goop from crushed insects is not a look on him. It’s pretty gross, to be honest. 

    “Okay Kenma I, really, really don’t want to use all of our wipes on you if this is going to become a habit. Can you stand up?”

He doesn’t budge

    “It’s not that much effort to move. C’mon, pretty please?”

He shakes his head

    “Are you pouting?”

Oh NOW he decides to lift his head, little attitude filled fuck. 

    “Just stand up for me? Here.”

You wrap your hand around his gently, not tugging just kneeling in front of him and basically letting your hand rest around the wrapped parts of his palm. “Please? It’ll be like a little game, just hold onto my hand and follow me and you win?”

...

He’s slow to respond but you keep his hand in yours. As you return to standing and tug lightly, eventually he does get up. His eye level being closer to yours is intimidating in a way, reminding you of your situation. Standing right next to and touching a zombie. A zombie that’s completely capable of hurting you. Wouldn’t have to bend that far to bite into your neck. Against your will you begin to sweat but remain calm as best you can. He’s a zombie but he’s also an old friend that isn’t reacting beyond staring at where your hand is touching his, fingers adjusting and readjusting in your hold.

    “Let’s get washed up okay?” 

He follows, hand still in yours as you move to the door. Realizing it’ll be hard to unlatch and open it with one hand you move to let go and he tenses, suddenly grabbing your wrist. Breath picking up you look back at him and his wide unblinking stare.

    “K-Kenma I just need to open this. Just for one moment okay? Please-”

He tugs your arm towards him

    “P-Please let go. It’s like, like a pause menu. We’re not-not playing the game. We’re paused. Pause.”

He stops tugging, staring at your arm as it unlatches everything. With the door opened up, your hands find each other, actually hand in hand this time not just touching the outside. He follows in his usual silence but this time it’s comfortable. There’s something happy about it. If he wasn't tense from rigor mortis you’d almost think his shoulders had relaxed.

The walk to the river is uneventful besides Kenma tensing anytime he sees an animal, as do you, but nothing like the other night's event happens thankfully. Well, up until you reach the bank that is. At the first sight of a fish he tears away and stabs his nails straight into it. Before you can even react, blood from his kill and filth from his pants are already staining the river.

    “You know Kenma you’re the first, the first uh...” Why does it feel so weird to call him a zombie? “First I’ve seen to eat animals like that?” You say, voice cracking at the end.

He’s too mesmerized by the water to react, more so the fish flying past occasionally. Oh, he’s for sure gonna go for another one.

    “I’m just gonna, sit over here until you’re done. Please don’t wander off okay?” He looks back for a moment before returning to his task.

There’s plenty of trees to find shade under and you brush away leaves and twigs to make a more comfortable seat. Unease fills you at the sound of each crunch of bone and his occasional near frantic splashing at the water, but eventually, you manage to peak over as he quiets, his hunt over. The blood washes away as his arm rests at his side, trailing lazily as he stumbles around for a bit, eventually resting in a shallow area.

You call out to him, hoping to get his attention now that he’s stopped.

    “Hey Kenma? Do you, you know, get hungry?”

He turns to face you, staring blankly.

    “Okay I mean, I thought you’d always be hungry but, I, uh”

    “Is it, easier? After you’ve eaten?”

A nod. His eyes twitch as a mist kicked up by the current hits his face.

Huh. That question wasn’t even straightforward.

    “It’s a little convenient that you’re already in there you know. I did suggest washing up after all but uh-”

Wait, how are you even going to do that. Can he wash himself? If he can’t, is it okay to do it for him? Should you even do that? Wouldn’t you have to take his clothes off? Are you okay with doing that? You’d see a lot more of his injuries and-

He’s stood up, water dripping off him as he makes his way to the bank, pausing, before continuing to the tree you’re seated under, squinting down at you.. It’s kinda sweet that he’s following you around like this.

    “You look like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

But you don’t know what to do either. He plops down in front of you, startling a squeak out which in turn startles the birds out of the trees near you, though soon enough they settle back down right where they were. Kenma’s still staring at you and this close you can see just the ends of his hair are wet, the pieces peeking out of the knots clinging to his neck and shoulders.

    “Hey Kenma, is it okay if I touch your hair?”

No response

Drat. Can’t rely on him to respond all the time you suppose.

    “Can you come a little closer?”

He leans on his arm, scooting a foot or so nearer, well within reach of you now.

“I’m going to touch your hair now, and if you... If you don’t like it or you want me to stop you can grab my arm or something again okay? Just...” You trail off, losing the courage to keep speaking, instead using what remains to rest your hand on his greasy hair, testing the boundaries. He’s almost cross-eyed as he watches the movement. The top of his head’s been warmed by the sun and you aren’t directly touching his skin so it’s not too unpleasant. You circle your fingers and he still doesn’t give any reaction besides his yellow eyes following the movement of your arm. Time to go in for the kill. Carefully, oh so carefully, you bring your hand to the ends of his hair and run it through just once, stopping once you hit a knot and gauging his reaction. He looks between your arm and your face, settling down once you start moving again, your other hand coming in to help with slowly working out the mats. Some hair falls out as you go. When you finally finish a section you pause, noticing his lids are shut. For how long you don’t know, but stopping the soothing motion is enough to make them pop open again, pupils latching onto your face as your fingers still.

“Kenma I’m just gonna stand up for a sec.” You move to sit behind him and he watches you because of course he does. It takes a little effort to get him to stop staring long enough to actually reach the back of his head, but once you continue your gentle combing his eyes flutter shut once more. His hairs messy after, less straight than you remember with weird kinks left from the knots, but it’s done.

    “You did great. Thank you.”

His eyes open lazily to peer up at you from his slouched posture.

Now onto the part you’ve been dreading for the entire trip, despite it being the reason you two actually left your hidey hole, cleaning him. “Kenma, can I take your jacket off?” He doesn’t stop you from touching his sleeve, and slowly, just in case you could set him off, giving him plenty of chances to stop you, you work the sleeve off his arm. It slides halfway off his torso before it sticks. Pausing, you notice dried blood is keeping it firmly attached to his skin, scabs and indents peeking through where the fabric is torn. Some pebbles are stuck inside the deeper spots. Right, his bad side.

    “Is this uncomfortable Kenma? I don’t want to hurt you.”

No response.

    “Okay just, seriously if you ever want me to stop, however you want to tell me, however you can tell me. Please do.”

    You continue pulling his wet jacket off. The whole process is easier than expected. The time in the river must’ve helped loosen things up. As you get closer and closer to the worst damage, his face scrunches up, making you stop.

    “Can you feel this Kenma? Does it hurt?”

A pause, and then the smallest little nod you’ve seen so far.

    “Can you bear with it for me? We’re almost there.”

You wait for a response and when none comes, you continue slowly and a minute or so later, his arm shoots out, catching your wrist. His face is tense, eyes shut slightly in discomfort.

    “Shit I-I’m so sorry. That hurt didn’t it?”

He’s not looking at you, focused on keeping your wrist in place, not harshly, just firm. With your arm pushed away, nothing’s stopping gravity from continuing your work. With so much of the jacket already unstuck from his skin, falling further and further until its nearly popped off. Only the remains of his right sleeve stick to the stump on his shoulder.

Kenma gurgles, body tensing, fingers uncomfortably tight around your arm. 

Unsure of what to do, you sit in silence as he curls into himself from the pain of each reopened scab. A zombie, in pain. You shake your head. This is your friend in pain! Not a zombie, pull yourself together and calm him. His hold is shaky. His whole arm is noticeably shaky.

‘I won’t touch you anymore I promise. I’m sorry. It’s okay.” He stops you from pulling your arm away, head still dipped too much for you to see his face. If you could move enough to kick yourself by god you would. How could you have missed this? Of course removing fabric from a wound would hurt! But since his grip is so tight (though just the pads of his fingers are touching you, not his long cracked nails) there’s no choice but to watch and wait as he starts to calm down, refusing to let go.

    “I’m not going to touch you again, and if you want me to I’m... I won’t go anywhere.”

A beat of silence

    “I scared you pretty badly didn’t I.”

His head tilts to glare up at you

    “No I did. Pain is scary. Even for you.”

His gaze travels back to the ground

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lecture you, I just. I’m not sure what to do. It feels like... It feels like I need to clean you off, like maybe if we just. Get all this” You start to gesture at the built up grime his time in the river couldn’t take off but stop as his grip tenses on you once again.

    “Kenma I’m not going to touch you. I promise.”

You keep whispering promises until his fingers aren’t quite so tight, continuing your explanation.

    “I thought maybe you’d, feel better, more like yourself if you... If you”

If he what? If he wasn’t covered with clues to how he died. Pockmarked with injuries filled with dried blood from either himself or the animals he’s killed or, you don’t want to think about what else he could’ve done. Even if he’s never hurt you, who’s to say he’d be the same to other people. He’s such an anomaly you can’t make assumptions.

    “I don’t know what I’m doing Kenma. It just felt like the right thing to do.” You sigh. “You can’t even understand what I’m saying can you. I’m sorry for putting you through this.”

    For a while it’s silent besides the rush of wind through the trees as you try to process your guilt over your actions. You hurt him. You’ve done more to hurt him than he’s ever done to you, physically at least. Now’s not the time to remember high school. How does this even benefit him? Reducing the smell of rot and not having to look at his injuries only helps you doesn’t it? Festering in your emotions, you barely catch a huff before he removes his hand from yours. You have to resist following it, almost mirroring his own actions whenever you’ve tried to pull away but you stop yourself. One last huff from him and then

A rip

He’s torn the last of his jacket off, mouth tense as he throws it to the ground. Wide and alert eyes look at you expectantly.

    “Kenma??”

Off color blood oozes out of the reopened wounds on the remaining stump of his arm. Bits of bone peek out at the collar and the remains of his shoulder are... it’s gruesome. Bits of dried muscle of varying lengths dangle off and you know, you know without having to see that with that much exposed muscle and blood there’s bugs in there, feeding on him and his long dead flesh. You jerk your head away before you can take in any more.

    Covering your mouth in an attempt not to hurl fails, the scent of his hair on your palms forcing it out. You squeeze your eyes shut tight to avoid the sight, the injuries, the thing you should’ve been prepared for, or at least tried to be ready to see rather than ignoring it and swallow. Through it all, Kenma continues staring expectantly at you, head tilting at your reaction. You can hear him shuffling closer and instincts and experience tell you to react, to do something, react! React! Instead, you whimper as he sits, the scent of blood reaching you despite your simultaneous efforts to process things, calm down, or ignore it all. He just sits next to you and stares.

Deja vu hits, making you remember your dark basement and the last time you avoided looking at Kenma. The way he grabbed you when you wouldn’t. Opening your teary eyes, you look at him and keep looking as his head tilts to take you in. This time it’s his turn to sit by your side and wait for you to calm down.

    “I think that’s, more than enough for today don’t you? Let’s, Let’s..... Do you want to go back? B-Back home.”

A nod and you’re up, standing on shaky legs, much more aware of the distance between the two of you as you make your way back, leaving his Nekoma jacket behind. _____________________________________________

taglist! @beanst0ck @toungextied

[crimson-snowfall]

Hello ! I absolutely love your headcanons, so when I saw your askbox was open I jumped in. I wanted to Ask a headcanon for the ikevamp suitors (if you can't do all of them I really love Mozart, Napoléon, Vincent and Arthur... But I must admit that if you could do all of them it would be fantastic :)) ) with a MC with an eating disorder ? Because this was not really common during their Time and I Wonder how they would react ? Thank you so much and continue with the good work !)

Hey there sorry for the wait, I tried to do all characters but I’m simply running out of time (there are still 7 requests after this and I might close my ask box once uni starts again), so I did 8 of them… which is 2/3 of them all so I hope that’s fine with you too.

A little disclaimer, this topic kinda scared me at first because gone are the days of the internet where people don’t get offended by literally anything. Anyway MC’s eating disorder here is nothing too extreme, she just eats way too little to the point that the suitors can’t help but worry over how unhealthy it is sometimes.

Ikevamp HC request: Reacting to MC with eating disorder (Napoleon, Leo, Arthur, Vincent, Theo, Isaac, Dazai, Comte)

Napoleon

Napoleon is notably bewildered since he has ruled an empire in a time where famine is still a common occurrence. He asked you if famine occurs as often in the modern world, to which you reply that it doesn’t.

He genuinely wonders what could’ve brought about such condition in a time where food is abundant, so he turns to Sebastian for further enlightenment and advice.

As soon as Napoleon gained a deeper understanding about your condition and how certain standards from the society you came from might’ve had brought it about, he wrote down a list, which includes his favorite dishes, as well as the particularly scrumptious foreign dishes he had tasted in his human life.

Napoleon makes good use of his culinary talent, and uses your curiosity over the variety of dishes you’ve never seen in your life as a motivation to discover more recipes so he can keep on feeding you new things and keep you healthy.

Leo

At some point in his life, Leo was a vegetarian, so he knew what it’s like to have people questioning your choices in food. Thus, it comes naturally that he out of all the residents in the mansion would understand you the most.

However, he acknowledges the fact that you’re eating way too less than you should, so he has found a way to subtly make sure you’re still getting enough nutrients from what little you eat.

Leo has put his genius mind into work by extracting essential nutrients from natural ingredients and somehow converted them into spices. He has discretely asked Sebastian to put them in your meals. The rich taste enhanced your appetite and improved your preference for certain meals.

Arthur

Upon hearing about your condition, Arthur takes it as a challenge to keep you healthy without overstepping your boundaries, and without you realizing that he’s began to give you some special treatment.

Your dates became more often and Arthur has kept a watchful eye on you every time you eat, rigorously taking a mental note on your eating habits and compiling this data so he can better deduce what foods you prefer from the rest.

Once Arthur has completed this period of initial observation, he immediately puts his plan into action. Every other day, Arthur would bring you breakfast in bed, where he would serve you the dishes he figured you like the most.

At first his cooking is average, but as he continued observing you, in several months he managed to perfect the array of meals that gives you a well-balanced diet.

Vincent

Vincent grew very concerned upon learning about your condition and tries to find out more about it. In fact, he’s become so pre-occupied with the thought as to what food you may like that he subconsciously ended up painting a lot of portraits of food.

The food in his paintings looked insanely mouthwatering to you, and you ended up having cravings for those foods. Once Vincent had realized this, he asked Sebastian for the list of dishes that would be served for the next few days, and painted them.

Your appetite has considerably improved in the following days and overtime has gradually approached satisfactory levels of normal food intake. Thankfully, Theo doesn’t seem to mind his brother had developed a habit of painting food every other day.

Theo

One time, you fainted from eating so little, which earned you a severe scolding from Theo. The two of you got into a heated argument, and it is only when you explained to Theo about your condition did he calm down.

Theo apologized to you the next day, but told you that you can’t keep doing that to yourself and he will definitely figure out a way to keep the incident of you fainting from happening again.

Theo doesn’t want to be forceful about it, so he takes it slowly but surely. One day he told you that he believes that “Food becomes more enjoyable when you share it with your loved ones,” and asked you if you would like to eat his pancakes with him.

With his method, you eventually acquired his addiction for pancakes, but Theo knows you need more than pancakes to stay healthy. That’s how Theo began making his own pancakes for you with secret ingredients he researched himself that will provide you with all your other basic nutritional needs.

Isaac

As a vampire with an unusual condition that gives him an extraordinary appetite, Isaac can relate to you one way or another.

Isaac thinks of your condition in a similar way he thinks of his, that you have no control over it and thus you can expect him to be the last person who’s going to tell you that it’s your choice to be like that.

However, Isaac still feels bad for you because on the other hand, he has you to satisfy his hunger. So he thought that the least he could do for you is to give you something in return for always sating his hunger.

It surprised you when Isaac suddenly got into cooking. While the meals he prepares for you certainly does end up tasting strange, you just can’t have enough of his cooking after seeing him put in the effort and the embarrassed expression he makes when he asks if you if it even tastes edible.

Dazai

Dazai listens attentively to you as you explain your condition to him. He looked like his usual whimsical self as he offered you some words of comfort about it.

Unbeknownst to you, Dazai was already coming up with an idea on how he could possibly help you with your condition as you told him about it.

Every now and then, you would find a neatly wrapped box of bento on your bed. Being stuck in 19th century France, you couldn’t help but miss Japanese food so you end up having a feast to yourself every time this happens. Not to mention how ridiculously good the dishes taste.

Dazai skillfully dodges any confrontation about it but that unmistakable genuine smile of contentment you rarely see on his face afterwards confirms your suspicions. You’re curious whether Dazai prepares these dishes himself, but knowing that he goes to such lengths to keep you healthy deeply warms your heart.

Comte

Comte’s expression didn’t show it, but he was a bit horrified to hear about your eating disorder (mainly because he feels like he can’t spoil you that much on your fancy dates with him). The next time the door to the modern time opened, he didn’t return for at least three days.

In the time that he spent in the modern world, Comte got in touch with a team of health and diet experts and sought advice on how to deal with your condition. Of course, he hasn’t told you about this.

The changes were not abrupt, so you didn’t notice how the meals being prepared for you changed in variety and nature overtime, but whatever it is, it was doing a good job of promoting your appetite.

You also noticed new dishes in the menu of the fancy restaurants he often takes you to, which reminds you of the unique assortment of ingredients in the meals you usually have in the mansion.

Next HC request will be up in a few hours or so because I got busy with enrollment yesterday and couldn’t post one for yesterday, thanks for being patient with me~

[bordeauxatdusk]

Mystique (A Detroit: Become Human Fanfic) Part 1

 Read the full fic (so far) on Ao3 here!

DISCLAIMER this fic is about gay android detectives in 2038. Please know that I am a BLM supporter and that I do not write in this in support of our current shitty criminal justice system. 

Forget-me-nots.

The dead woman’s eyes were the same color as the flowers in her hair.

She was poised, artfully, in an elegant position that looked almost like a sculpture. Rigor mortis held her in place. The crown of forget-me-nots was integrated with an elaborate veil of white lace that fell gracefully down her back.

The bloodstained silk wedding gown she was wrapped in extended outward, rippling over the room, which was staged like a movie set; a host of antique items and classic still-life objects had been structured to frame her. Elaborate globes mingled with vases of flowers mingled with stacks of old yellowing books, covers frayed. Warm light streamed in lazily from large arcing windows, illuminating the oakwood floors of the room.

The light glinted off the pearl dagger embedded in the woman’s chest. In front of her, a gold-leafed, leather-bound edition of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet had been left open to the infamous scene:

“O, happy dagger, this is thy sheath.”

A human would undoubtedly call the scene beautiful.

To Nines, however, it was simply another murder.

He was capable of appreciating beauty, although many would be surprised to hear it. (Some people were surprised to hear that androids were capable of any abstract thought at all.)

Nines understand the concept of aesthetic value perfectly well. What he was not capable of understanding was how humans, in their love of aesthetic value, sometimes seemed to discard logic and reason.

The concept of a beautiful murder was immaterial to him. It was still murder. Whether it was committed in a wide-open oak room or in a rotting gutter made no difference.

Nines would hunt down and eliminate the murderer either way.

He was glad that Gavin felt the same, although Nines was concerned that he seemed disproportionately unnerved by something. What exactly it was, Nines couldn’t tell.

He knew that Gavin was upset partially from the rising levels of adrenaline in his scans, partially from the fact that Gavin’s pupils were dilated and he was beginning to fidget in the way he typically expressed distress (tapping his fingers together and pacing, mostly) and partially from the fact that he was increasing his profanity from its normal rate of about every one in fifteen words to every one in ten.

Nines had spent a lot of time analyzing Gavin Reed. Perhaps an irrational amount.

It hadn’t helped much.

Nines guessed that the cause of his partner’s distress must be some deeply-held psychological trauma. Humans often experienced it, and Gavin personally had suffered a difficult childhood. Whatever the reason for his distress, it must be very serious.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘ I don’t know ’, Tina?! ” his partner was currently yelling into his phone. “It’s a simple goddamn question! Do they have jalapeno poppers or not?!”

Fascinating.

Nines was well equipped to read Gavin, but very poorly equipped to understand him. The difference, he felt, was vast. He was... displeased by it. Androids were predictable, generally. Deviants much less so than non-deviants, of course, but they were still more logical than humans. At first Nines had been convinced that Gavin was simply uncomfortable expressing his emotions, but the android had begun to discover that Gavin himself was often unaware of them.

Perhaps there was some unpleasant memory jalapeno poppers evoked for his partner. He would have to ask later. Nines would have preferred to have Gavin leave the room and take a few minutes to calm down, but he had learned recently that it wasn’t an option. Apparently, Nines doing what he was designed to do and examining the physical evidence without Gavin’s interference meant he was “being a fucking know-it-all” and a “stuck-up asshole.”

“Look,” Gavin had said a few weeks ago, waving a hand dismissively to try and distract from the fact that he was clearly upset. “ It’s no big deal. Just don’t keep fucking asking me to leave in the middle of crime scenes, okay?”

Nines had been unable to see the point of this request. “ Gavin, you were clearly disgusted by the scope of the damage done to the victim.”

“Well, yeah,” Gavin had muttered sulkily, “but you don’t need to be all weird about it. Look, Nines, I want to do my job. Let me do it. Even if I’m not really helping, just let me feel like I am, okay?”

Nines had been even more confused. “ If you aren’t going to help, why are you so determined to be there? Humans aren’t exactly well-equipped for forensic analysis to begin with. I don’t hold it against you.”

It had escalated into a full-blown fight that left Nines more confused than ever until Gavin was finally able to articulate that he didn’t want to feel useless.

The absurdity and simplicity of the answer had caught Nines off guard. Gavin Reed, useless? They had won a medal together just six months ago for solving an incredibly dangerous case, saving the lives of ten other officers in the process (and possibly the entire DPD). Their success had almost entirely been due to Gavin. Useless?

Nines strongly disagreed.

He had told Gavin so. Nines always said what he meant.

Gavin had huffed under his breath.

“ Alright, shit, I get it,” he’d said, trying and failing not to smile. “You’re a big fucking suck-up.”

Nines knew enough about humans to understand that the insulting response had roughly meant, in Gavin-language,“Thank you, Nines. I’m flattered.”

What confused him is why Gavin didn’t just say that instead.

Humans never said what they meant. It was inconvenient.

Gavin's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Robocop. You find anything?”

Nines blinked. Gavin was staring at him, phone in hand, waiting.

Nine shook his head. “This crime scene is so elaborately staged, I can’t move through it without risking disrupting the evidence. Every object in this room is potentially a key to solving the case. There’s a very low probability the killer managed to set this up without leaving some traces of his presence behind-- fingerprints, hair, DNA. It would be better to wait until forensics arrives, and allow them to do their job. “

Gavin wrinkled his nose, thinking. It was a habit of his.

(One that Nines found extremely distracting, but it wasn’t the time for that.)

“Is something bothering you, Detective?” Nines asked.

Gavin huffed. “Yeah, stop calling me ‘detective.’ You know my name.”

He paused for a moment, sighed, and then gestured to the scene in front of them.

“It’s this whole thing, Nines. I hate it when they do this shit. It’s so fucked up. Trying to turn something so horrible into something pretty, or romantic, or-- I don’t know. You’ll see. These cases are always hell to investigate. We can’t let a single drop of this leak to the media, or else this poor girl is going to be on the front page of every newspaper across the country. ‘The Girl In the Wedding Dress’, or some shit like that.”

Nines didn’t understand. “I’m not sure I’m following you. You don’t want her case to be publicized?”

Gavin shook his head. “Hell no. How do I explain this? Okay. This girl, she’s not fucking Juliet, right? What's her real name? You know it already with your facial recognition?”

“Ashley Briggs.”

“Okay. She’s not Juliet. She’s Ashley. Ashley was a whole person, with a life and family and friends, and then some fucking creepy asshole murdered her and dressed her up like Juliet. The media’s problem is, they like stories with publicity. They like stuff that has a nice ring to it. Ashley Briggs, not so much. ‘The Girl in the White Dress?’ ‘The Woman in White?’ some other bullshit like that? They eat that up.  A picture of a pretty girl in a wedding dress with a dagger in her chest? That’s the kind of stuff they eat for breakfast. They love it, Nines! It’s like the Black Dahlia. If any of this gets out,  nobody will give two fucks about Ashley Briggs, but they’ll all love her death."

Gavin stopped for a moment to take a breath, hands gesturing wildly, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Rumors will be everywhere. Poor Ashley’s family is gonna have to deal with photos of their little girl murdered and dressed up in a fucking wedding dress all over every tabloid in the grocery store for the next eight years. And not a single one of the people obsessed with ‘Juliet’ is gonna give a shit about Ashley. Everyone’s gonna see her how the killer saw her, how he wanted us to see her, how he set her up: as pretty tragic Juliet in a wedding dress. Nobody is gonna know or remember Ashley Briggs. Don’t you see how fucked up that is? They never give a shit about the victim, even though they pretend to. It’s always about the fucking killer and his ideology.”

Nines was stunned. He had never considered that aspect of a crime before. Looking at it from that perspective, it did seem disturbing.

“They’ll romanticize her murder," he finished for Gavin, who looked almost too angry to continue.

Gavin nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The most fucked up part is, that’s what he wants. Her killer staged her this way because he’s trying to put on a fucking show. This is a murder with a message, we just don’t know what it is. I hate that those bastards always seem to get the attention they want. People always remember the killer, but they never remember the victim. Hell, how many people do you think could name a single victim of Ted Bundy? Or Jeffery Dahmer? Or any of the other sick bastards that decide to take their sexual fantasies out on so many innocent people that everyone forgets about?”

Nines raised an eyebrow. “We don’t know that this murder is sexual in nature.”

Gavin huffed. “Nah, but there’s a pattern when it comes to motive and method. There’s tons of examples. Um. Execution-style gunshots to the back of the head are cold, professional. Victim’s turned away, there’s a distance between them and the killer. No eye contact. Hired killers, a lot of the time.”

Gavin demonstrated with a finger gun, eyes distant, like he was remembering cases he’d seen before.

“Stranglings are personal, and a lot of the time they’re sexual. Killer’s up close, right in their face. Looking them in the eye, watching them slowly die, hands-on contact. It’s ‘intimate’ for those fucked-up pieces of shit. They’re normally sexual sadists. Hate those ones.”

Gavin’s brow wrinkled in disgust as he demonstrated.

“Stabbings are personal too, but in a different way. Bloody, aggressive, painful. Personal vendetta, lots of times. Someone close to the victim with a grudge. Betrayal maybe, ‘cause there’s anger behind it. Besides, she’s staged as fucking Juliet. Who do you think her Romeo’s supposed to be? The mailman?”

Nines hummed in response. He didn’t doubt Gavin’s theory, but any investigation should work from the external to the internal. The solid evidence should be interpreted to form theories, not theories interpreted to fit the evidence. The second an investigator began to let their personal opinions dictate the situation, they became biased.

“I still believe we should wait for the evidence to be analyzed before assuming anything.”

Gavin crossed his arms. His body language throughout this speech had been aggressive. Nines’ scans told him that Gavin was intensely angry.

“I’m not fucking assuming, I’m theorizing. If the evidence says something different then I’ll change my tune. I’m just saying, maybe the fact that she’s being staged all pretty in a fancy room in a wedding dress mirroring the suicide from goddamn ‘ Romeo and Juliet’ might have some tiny romantic undertones, Nines.”

“So perhaps we should interview her neighbors first.”

“Hell yes, we should,” Gavin said. “Starting with whoever found the body.”

He started to turn away to head out the door.

Nines stopped him. “Gavin, wait.”

He twisted back around in surprise. “What?”

Nines pressed his hands together, standing stiffly. “Are you angry with me?”

Gavin stopped in his tracks and paused for a moment in an emotion Nines was unable to read. There was a second of tension, and then Nines’ partner seemed to crumple inward as he sighed heavily, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

“No,” he said to the floor by his feet. “Sorry. It’s this case. Stuff like this- it’s fucking creepy. I get all tense. Of course I’m not mad at you, dumbass. I’m just- I’m not good at expressing shit, y’know. ”

Nines walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

Gavin’s entire demeanor changed, going from aggressive to something much more vulnerable instantly. It was a switch that, even though they’d been together for six months now, Nines had rarely seen.

“No,” Gavin said softly. “I just want to catch the bastard. Otherwise, cases like this, they always stick with me. I’ll- I’ll see her everywhere. Ashley, I mean. In mirrors, reflections, dreams. Asking me why I couldn’t do it. People always act like murder investigations are some cop-show badass bullshit, but they aren’t. The pressure’s gonna be hell. We’re gonna have to go through her whole life and dig up a lot of secrets. Everyone has graves that are better left buried. Take my word for it, it’s gonna suck. And even if we find the fucking bastard, he still might get off. Normally, I can distance myself from it, I guess, but when it’s something this creepy- I just- I don’t know if I can do it. There's something about this case. I have such a bad fucking feeling about this whole thing. It’s driving me crazy. ”

Nines reached out and wrapped his arms around Gavin, pulling him close. It was meant as a comforting gesture, and he noticed with satisfaction that his partner’s distress seemed to decrease.

Nines was beginning to understand how to react to Gavin’s moods, even if he didn’t always understand the reason why they were happening. They had both worked dozens of homicide cases. Nines didn’t understand how this case was any different, but it didn’t matter. He was programmed to adapt to human unpredictability.

He never knew what to make of Gavin’s hunches, though. They were objectively irrational, and they were also always right. It drove him insane. It defied reason.

Then again, nothing about Gavin was reasonable.

“We’re professionals,” Nines began, “and-”

“And you’re hugging me in the middle of a fucking murder scene,” Gavin interrupted, voice muffled from pressing his face into Nines’ shoulder, “like a true professional.”

“You needed a hug. Let me finish. We’re professionals, and there’s a lot of potential just in this room for the killer to have made a mistake. The chances of him staging all this with zero forensic evidence left behind are very low-”

“Mhmmm,” Gavin said, leaning into the hug.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Nope,” Gavin muttered.

Nines sighed.

He gently pulled Gavin away from him, brushing off his partner’s coat, which was eternally covered in cat hair.

“We need to go interview the neighbors. Listen. We work very well together. We’ve faced near-impossible odds before. Compared to our last big case, this will most likely be easy.”

“Nothing’s ever easy,” Gavin groaned. “Especially not in fucking homicide.”

“Well then, we’ll support each other, just like last time.”

Gavin smiled wryly. “Are you going to break a rib and give me a concussion again?”

“That highly depends,” Nines said, “on whether or not you plan to shoot me a second time.”

“You told me to!”

“I was paralyzed and all my communications were disabled. I couldn’t tell you to do anything."

“Your light flashed!”

“My LED,” Nines said, raising an eyebrow, “never stops flashing, unless I’m decommissioned.”

Gavin shoved him-- an adorably futile effort, considering he didn’t move even a fraction of an inch.

“Come on, smartass,” Gavin said. “We have some friendly neighbors to interrogate.”

[healthmedia]

The truth is that yes, you can change your body in 9  Weeks

Naturally, you are unlikely to wake up on day 31 with the bulging biceps of a body builder, nor morph from couch surfer to swimsuit model either.

But after decades working with bodies of all shapes and sizes, what we definitely can advise is that with 30 days of rigorous, dedicated exercise, you will see and feel huge change – physically and mentally – that is highly likely to create a new, lifetime habit.

And if you want to live better for longer, then this is vital. Plus, we’ve seen it time and time again – once you start the challenge, you’ll wonder what you were worried about in the first place.

Here, two of our most experienced trainers, Xtend Barre® and Pilates instructor, Anna Serafinas Luk and yoga supremo, Victor Chau, explain how to stick with a 30-day exercise plan, so you can feel the change once and for all:

Every time you put a morsel of food into your mouth, you're making a decision - about your mind and your body. They are affected by everything you eat, in a way that modern science is making clearer through new research.

What you eat is responsible for making you tired and exhausted, or keeping you energetic, vibrant and ready for action. It's the choice of food you eat that helps keep you calm and clear, and makes you glow with good health, or relish a healthy weight, or stay fit and trim.

How can I transform my body with professional tip's

Increase your protein intake. Many fitness experts tend always to have a protein shake after their workout.

Buy The Fundamentals

Let's face it: The world isn't a fit place. If you're relying on circumstance, gyms, and restaurants to keep you on-track, you're going to face an uphill battle. So before you begin, fortify your home base with the essential food and workout arsenal.

Having good choices always at-hand in your refrigerator and cupboards will make your life much easier. The specifics will definitely vary depending on the diet play you follow, but these are all solid options to have in your pantry in a pinch.

Pantry Items

Brown Rice

Nutritionally, brown rice is recommended for a healthy diet because it contains extra nutrients. Brown rice tends to be a bit more caloric, but it also contains extra protein and fiber that offer these health benefits: Lowers cholesterol. Controls blood sugar levels.06

Quinoa

Rich in fiber, minerals, antioxidants and all nine essential amino acids, quinoa is one of the healthiest and most nutritious foods on the planet. It may improve your blood sugar and cholesterol levels and even aid weight loss

Oats

The oat, sometimes called the common oat, is a species of cereal grain grown for its seed, which is known by the same name. While oats are suitable for human consumption as oatmeal and oat milk, one of the most common uses is as livestock feed. Oats are associated with lower blood cholesterol when consumed regularly.

But that doesn't mean oatmeal cannot do any harm to you. If you do not take a few things into consideration, even oatmeal can lead to weight gain. It can instantly turn from a slimming breakfast to a blood sugar-spiking food that can be harmful to your waistline.

Sweet Potatoes

Vitamin A. A single sweet potato can contain 769 percent of the amount of Vitamin A you need to consume daily. Vitamin A is great for your vision, bones and skin, and helps strengthen your immune system.

Highly Nutritious. Sweet potatoes are a great source of fiber, vitamins, and minerals. ...

Promote Gut Health. The fiber and antioxidants in sweet potatoes are advantageous to gut health. ...

May Have Cancer-Fighting Properties. ...

Support Healthy Vision. ...

May Enhance Brain Function. ...

May Support Your Immune System.

Whole Grain Cereals

What are wholegrain cereals? Wholegrain cereals include wheat, rice, corn, oats, rye, barley and millet. Wholegrain cereals contain the three layers of the grain. Wholemeal foods are made from wholegrains which have been crushed to a finer texture.

Nuts

You could possibly gain weight.

Eat more than the recommended handful, and you might actually start to gain weight. That's because nuts are calorie-dense, Jones says, meaning they contain more energy per ounce than many other foods (you can thank all the healthy fats for that!

Which nuts are real nuts?

Hazelnuts, acorns and chestnuts are true nuts

Natural Nut Butter

The largest study of its kind, published in the New England Journal of Medicine, finds that people who eat a handful of nuts every day live longer than those who do not eat them at all

Ounce for ounce, macadamia nuts (10 to 12 nuts; 2 grams protein, 21 grams fat) and pecans (18 to 20 halves; 3 grams protein, 20 grams fat) have the most calories - 200 each - along with the lowest amounts of protein and the highest amounts of fats

Sesame Seed

Sprinkle seeds over your favorite veggie and bean side dishes. Sesame seeds add a subtle, satisfying, and healthy crunch to steamed broccoli, sauteed green beans, and a range of other side dishes. Simply sprinkle on raw or toasted sesame seeds right before serving—that way, the seeds will retain their crunch.

Here are health benefits of sesame seeds.

Good Source of Fiber. ...

May Lower Cholesterol and Triglycerides. ...

Nutritious Source of Plant Protein. ...

May Help Lower Blood Pressure. ...

May Support Healthy Bones. ...

May Reduce Inflammation. ...

Good Source of B Vitamins. ...

May Aid Blood Cell Formation.

Olive oil

Olive oil protects against inflammation, a key driver of heart disease (17, 18). Reduces oxidation of LDL (bad) cholesterol. The oil protects LDL particles from oxidative damage, a key factor in the development of heart disease ( 19 ). Improves blood vessel health

Olive Oil Is Not Associated With Weight Gain and Obesity

Eating excessive amounts of fat causes weight gain. However, numerous studies have linked the Mediterranean diet, rich in olive oil, with favorable effects on body weight ( 29 , 30 , 31 ).

Olive oil is a healthy fat that contains anti-inflammatory compounds. Drinking it regularly may benefit your heart, bone, and digestive health and help stabilize your blood sugar levels

Canned tuna

The bottom line. Canned tuna is a nutritious and inexpensive source of protein. Because cans of tuna last for several years, they are excellent for stocking your pantry with easy lunches and snacks. Opt for varieties that are sustainable and low in mercury.

You should never boil or sear canned tuna as this could easily overdo your meat. The most important thing to remember is that canned fish is almost always cooked already, so you're only reheating it. ... So, keep an eye on your canned tuna while it's being heated.

Salmon

Why is salmon so healthy?

The vitamin B12 in salmon keeps blood and nerve cells humming and helps you make DNA. But for your health, the true beauty of salmon is its wealth of omega-3 fatty acids. Most omega-3s are "essential" fatty acids. Your body can't make them, but they play critical roles in your body.

The American Heart Association maintains that eating two servings a week of oily fish (like salmon) can help healthy adults ward off sudden cardiac death, thanks to the protective effects of omega-3 fatty acids.

Spices

India contributes 75% of spice production throughout the world, and world spice market is continuously growing. Food ingredients such as salt, mustard, or pickle that is used to add only taste to the food.

...

Fridge Items

Fresh Fruit and Vegetables

Most fresh fruits and vegetables are picked before they are ripe. ... However, the USDA states that some produce, such as apples and pears, can be stored for up to 12 months under controlled conditions before being sold.

Fresh Fruits

Greek Yogurt

Egg whites

Low-Fat Milk

Turkey

Low-Sodium Soy Sauce

Salsa

Mustard

Chicken or beef broth

Bottled Water

Freezer Items

Frozen Chicken Breasts

Chicken breasts, larger pieces of frozen chicken and whole frozen birds can be cooked in the oven, although it will take around 50% longer than the normal cooking time for thawed chicken. ... Let the chicken stand at room temperature for 20-30 minutes. Set the oven to 150°C as this will gently thaw and cook the chicken.Frozen chicken is a healthy source of protein. If you're looking for a substitute for red meat, consider healthy frozen chicken. ... Frozen chicken vs. fresh chicken is often cheaper and has the added benefit of having longer storage times than fresh chicken does.

Frozen Lean Beef

Frozen Turkey

Frozen Fish

Frozen Vegetables

Frozen Berries

The truth is that yes, you can change your body in 9  Weeks

[monsterywriting]

Monster Demon Boyfriend (Dirrath) - pt 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Word count: 2,731

Growing up, you loved riding on your family’s old gelding. Deep in the outskirts, your mother had been the only healer for nearly a dozen villages. As such, you were often dragged along as a necessary helping hand in her work riding to and fro on various calls.

Most of your childhood memories were of you and your mother swiftly riding on the well-worn paths between different settlements, your saddlebags only filled with what couldn’t be obtained at your destinations.

But you weren’t on yet another couple hour ride to a neighboring village, you were on day three of riding on a barely-trained colt in uncomfortable armor on a path that felt like it hadn’t been used in a hundred years—coincidentally the same age of your maps, which had been drawn up before the closed borders and stored in the castle archives.

The navigator had informed you just this morning that the rough terrain would add at least another few days to the twelve days of the trip if the path didn’t clear up. Just last night the convoy had been forced to set up camp early in order to clear out the remains of an old mudslide blocking the path.

To make matters worse, to your complete dismay you were entirely out of shape for the level of rigor the journey required. After only a year of staying in the castle, you were nearly dysfunction with a few days of riding without lunch. In fact, just the few hours of riding since your breakfast of porridge and dried meat at daybreak with a long ways until dinner at sundown left you feeling weak and irritable. Not to mention the soreness of your entire body from riding and chafing in places you didn’t even know could be chafed.

Not long ago you were used to riding for hours to do seemingly endless work as an assistant healer and then riding all the way home late in the night with much less to eat.

You felt very much as though you’d been transformed into one of the retired farmers who moved into the villages your mother used to treat for arthritis and other ailments that came with old age, complete with complaints of the hardships of The Olden Days when poverty forced them to walk miles in the snow for work. Uphill. Both ways.

 “Here,” a large, dried yellow disk suddenly dangled in your line of sight, snapping you out of your misery and nearly making you fall back from your saddle. You hadn’t even noticed Dirrath falling back from his position to ride beside you.

“What is it?” You asked suspiciously, eyeing the round object as though it were about to combust.

“Food,” Dirrath deadpanned, “take it or leave it, princess.”

Your trust of Dirrath hadn’t improved much over the past few days, though you appreciated that he made no effort to push to be your “right hand man” as you had spent your final night dreading.

But rather than antagonize Dirrath as you had while still in Altruria, you were now completely and utterly terrified of the possibility of being alone with a demon—muzzled with a contract or not—and definitely not about to accept anything from a literal demon.

Just as you were about to kindly tell Dirrath to fuck off back to his position, your stomach answered for you. Face burning as your hunger won out, you snatched the disk from his hand and turned it around in your hands, ignoring Dirrath’s smirk.

It was much larger than your palm, yellow with a darker orange center you assumed was the pit. Finally nibbling on the edge, you were pleasantly surprised by the sweet taste that flooded your mouth.

“What is it?” Your tone starkly different from when you had first asked the question, unable to contain your awe.

You were always surprised at how much food existed outside of what you grew up eating. Some things you had once only imagined—and most you hadn’t—you suddenly found in front of you once you became the 13th. It didn’t at all surprise you there were still things you had never heard of.

“Fruit,” Dirrath replied, his smirk turning into a full on shit-eating grin as he popped a small piece from a small saddlebag into his mouth.

“I know that,” you hissed in indignation, “what kind?”

“They’re called peaches,” Dirrath finally answered, watching as you savored your next bite.

You make a mental note to ask for more peaches when you return to the castle, not wanting to beg Dirrath for more but also completely hooked on the taste.

“What does a demon like you need with mortal food?” You quipped, changing the subject as you grew uncomfortable under Dirrath’s unblinking gaze.

“I do have tastebuds, you know,” Dirrath scoffed, finally looking away from you and towards the path ahead, “I still enjoy tastes.”

Before you could come up with some witty remark to shoot back at Dirrath, a loud whoop sounded from deep in the forest, echoing amongst the trees and making it impossible to tell where it came from or how far off it was.

The entire forest fell silent, including everyone in the convoy. The only sound that could be heard were the horses and the supply wagons’ wheels. You could even hear Olek order the guards around him to keep moving.

Even Dirrath kept quiet, his eyes analyzing both edges of the forest as though waiting for whoever made the sound to jump out from the underbrush, keeping you tense as well as you watched for any sign of movement in the forest.

Quiet conversations slowly resumed, but the mood remained largely subdued even after stopping for the evening, especially since a fallen tree and the horribly uneven paths meant there wasn’t nearly as much distance between the group and whoever made the noise as anyone would have liked.

“I’ve added extra guards for the night watch,” Olek informed you grimly just as you finished popping up your tent from the small box the 8th had given you as a going away present.

“Thank you, Olek,” you smiled, dismissing the captain before entering your tent.

It was fairly large, considering you were the only person staying inside of it, though you suppose that was due to you being a member of the court.

A small bed lay perfectly made on one side of the tent and a small desk and chair on the other. On the far end was an armoire constantly filled with clean clothing. In the corner behind the desk was a wooden door that should have led to the area behind your tent, but instead was a private bathroom nearly identical to your own in the castle, the part of your present you were the most grateful for.

You refrained from sitting down on either the bed or the chair, knowing you’d likely not be getting up for the rest of the night if you did. Instead, you stretched in the center of the tent, popping your various joints until you were feeling a bit less dead on your feet.

With that done, you made your way through the camp, the tension persisted as the guards went through the motions of their evening duties. However, as more people entered the center of the camp where dinner was being cooked, the sight of Olek on the undesirable duty for the night unsurprisingly lifted the dark cloud looming over everyone’s head—although you were the only one who dared laugh at the seething captain.

You sat close to the fire, eating quickly so you could sleep sooner in preparation of yet another long day ahead. You weren’t surprised that Dirrath was nowhere to be found amongst the group. A demon that didn’t absolutely need to eat wasn’t likely to find the watery beef stew very appealing.

Once you were done, you quickly retired to your tent, almost gleeful as you quickly undid your armor and nearly rushed into the bathroom.

You sunk into the hot water, soaking in the hot water for a while before finally scrubbing the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the course of the day. You even decided to use some of the oils that were bottled and lining the edges of the tub, knowing they would be refilled once you opened the tent again the next night.

By the time you left the bathroom wearing your clothes for the next day, you were feeling almost completely refreshed, collapsing in your bed and falling into the dreamless sleep that comes with complete exhaustion.

The next week passes surprisingly easy.

As luck would have it, the forgotten paths between the kingdom soon gave way to almost perfectly smooth roads around the fifth day of the journey. The convoy was surrounded on either side by endless fields of crops and grazing animals, with only a few patches of forest in between.

The navigators had even reported to you that the convoy was back on schedule to make it to the kingdom’s capital in two days as had been initially estimated.

The only caveat was that this made it harder to find a place to set up camp, as there was no way of knowing when the convoy would pass the next piece of available forest or if it would even be large enough to house all the tents and four supply wagons.

And, over time, you grew used to the taxing rides until you finally reached the point where you no longer felt as though you were constantly on the brink of starvation, nor were you as mentally or physically drained at the end of the day.

However, as though the universe had been waiting for you to let your guard down before unleashing yet another shitstorm on you.

In a particularly long stretch of forest between fields, a loud shout sounded from your right and men poured out of the woods with swords drawn.

Your horse sidestepped nervously as chaos erupted around you, the obvious enemies had waited until the convoy was nearly past before attacking, allowing them to cut off your half from those in the front—including Olek and Dirrath.

The guards that had been near you circled around you, but it was soon clear the men were targeting the supplies rather than the convoy.

“Protect the wagons!” You shouted the best you could over the cacophony of fighting, “They’re bandits!”

Dismounting, you drew your sword and began making your way to the wagons, soon loosing track of your guards, all the while muttering any and every curse you could think of against the attackers.

Some fell to the ground as painful boils erupted across their skin, other felt no immediate effects but would later regret their next meal, and still other escaped with only a few choice words regarding where they could stick their swords.

While you could fall back on magic when you needed to, you were grateful for your time with the 8th as you were able to conserve your energy as there seemed to be an endless amount of men coming at you.

While you wouldn’t call what she taught you “technique,” you were still easily able to keep the bandits relying on brute strength and not much else at bay without the aid of your guards.

As soon as you reached the first wagon, you jumped onto the front seat, keeping back any bandits that tried to climb on. From your new vantage point, you could see that, although the bandits had numbers, your guard clearly had the upper hand, their attempt to break up the convoy not working in their favor as they had hoped.

Unfortunately, you also noticed a few of your men lay injured on the ground and your guard was clearly growing tired as the fight dragged on.

Fortunately, both wagons were all entirely enclosed and the lock at the back was enchanted against any attempt to force it open, meaning the only way for the bandits to make off with any supplies was to try and take the entire thing, making it much easier for you to defend.

Your priority was the wagons above all else. Without it, the entire convoy would be stranded without any tents, food, or water. Not to mention the final wagon with the offerings of peace for the king and his court.

When you heard the creak of wood behind you, you swung your sword without thought or warning, Dirrath barely having time to duck his head down to dodge it.

“Great gods below, princess!” Dirrath shouted over the fighting behind him, pulling himself up onto the bench next to you, “Get down!”

Thinking Dirrath was trying to keep you from fighting, you almost made a biting retort until you saw him reach for the reins. As Dirrath struggled to calm the horses enough to listen to him, you were forced to keep the bandits from climbing on.

“So much for my hired mercenary,” you snarked as you smashed your foot into a particularly persistent bandits’ face.

Whatever flimsy truce that had been forged during the better pars of the journey was now officially broken.

Dirrath said nothing as he grabbed your armor strap on your side and pulled you down, sitting just in time for the wagon to lurch forward, the horses barreling through the throng that just barely parted in time to avoid being on the wrong side of their hooves at full speed.

“My priority is getting you away from danger,” muttered Dirrath as he grabbed the back of your head and forced you to lean into him just as an arrow whizzed next to your ear, getting lodged into the wood behind your head.

“Wait, we can’t go ahead, we have to stay and help,” you sat straight up once you realized Dirrath didn’t intent on stopping just outside the main fight.

“It’s too dangerous,” Dirrath snapped, “you aren’t a warrior and you have a much more important job to do here. It’s their duty to die for you not the other way around.”

Rather than reply, you elbowed Dirrath in his side as hard as you could, snatching the reins from him and bringing the wagon to a complete stop.

“Stay and guard the supplies,” you ordered, readying your sword as you prepared to throw yourself back into the fray.

It was clear your guard was clearly winning, some of the would-be bandits on the ground and most long since fled back into the forest.

“You are extremely aggravating,” Dirrath grunted as he caught up to you, pulling his axe off his back and standing in front of you.

A small smile escaped you before you pushed ahead of the demon and began cutting through the crowd, drawing the attention of the remaining bandits away from your guards to you, Dirrath staying nearby to keep you from being overrun.

Eventually, as though the bandits finally realized they were quickly becoming outnumbered as more broke away back to the forest, the last of the bandits fled from the road.

Finally having a chance to survey the damage, you weren’t surprised to find that the wagon Dirrath left had been taken. The rest, fortunately, had been kept safe as the bandits hadn’t been able to drive off with them without trampling their own on the ground.

There were a surprising few severe injuries on your side, only ten guards needed immediate help, six of which had been caught by surprise when the bandits initially attacked. One horse had a sprained fetlock, but the rest were fine and none had strayed too far from the road, glad you had the forethought to have the bridles enchanted before leaving the castle.

So, you immediately set to healing the all the wounded, hoping the adrenaline from the fight would keep you from passing out from the exertion. You were at least able to make it through all the seriously injured guards before you were too weak to continue, allowing the rest of the guard to tend to the minor cuts and scrapes from there.

As soon as you tried to stand from healing the horse, however, your vision began to swim with dark spots and you had the faint sensation of falling before fully blacking out.

[youngerdaniel]

MAKE SPACE GREAT AGAIN

They were out in the middle of nowhere’s nowhere, studying a black hole named Jeff who only spoke in the screaming pain of matter being crushed into oblivion.

The only known image of Jeff the Black Hole.

It was a complicated relationship, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, the lozenge shaped ship named the U.S.S. TRASH-FIRE was going down. What’s down in space, you may ask? Well, it’s probably in the direction of the cosmic sink drain named Fred. I could tell you to ask the scientists, but we already know what you’ll do. The problem was pretty simple in its construction: They were coming far too very close to the black hole. Fred invited them in the same way it did with all matter -- “C’mon in, I’ll turn you to spaghetti and crush you like a tomato when we’re through.” “Stage ship left by eight and a half bearings,” said the captain. He was ugly, and looked a bit like in an Oompa Loompa had bred with a pilling scarecrow. Most of the crew found covering their eyes the best way to deal with him. “Sir, that would put us directly on the event horizon.” “I disagree. In fact, I’m not even convinced this event horizon thing even exists. Who found it? Who’s actually seen it?” “No one, sir. That’s literally why we’re out here. To see it for the first time.” “Right. So how are we supposed to prove it’s out there if we don’t cross it?”

“We could throw something in it?”

“If we fly in, that’s what we’d be doing.” “Sir, the consequences could be catastrophic... And I mean turned into a string of matter and stretched out for eternity like a really chatty noodle, bad.” “Again, I haven’t seen proof. I say we go in.” “Hang on,” said the first mate. He used to be handsome, but in his years dealing with the captain’s style of management (the lack-thereof style), he’d gone mostly gray. His voice, once a reedy but robust Brooklyn baritone, now sounded a bit like if someone turned the L-train into a kazoo. “We have plenty of theoretical proof, and we’re already way too close. Let’s be careful.” “I eat careful for breakfast!” said the Captain. It was true, too. He’d put a piece of space tape over all of his food stores and written the word “CAREFUL” on it. Because his colleagues weren’t idiots, they always assumed it was a warning not to eat the food and just didn’t ask questions. But not asking questions, it turned out, was the most dangerous thing you could do with an ignoramus flying a spaceship “Cap, didn’t you read the report? This could be pretty serious. Another four degrees without reverse-thrusters and we’ll cross over.” “Read? Who reads anymore? It’s the 23rd Century.”

The first mate hung his head. This was an hourly ritual, but because even his own life was on the line now, it was growing in intensity. Soon, he thought, I’m going to look exactly like one of those bobble heads on car dashboards.

The thought of mutiny crossed his mind. After all, they were on the ragged edge. The ship was crashing, and nobody would be angry if it saved their lives... right? But he believed, wholeheartedly, in the construct of order -- and believed, though there is in fact no evidence for this in all of human existence, that somehow, protocol would weed out the bad eggs. The Captain was a bad egg, and if you were brave enough to crawl into the worming barrel of cats that was his brain, you’d learn that he actually believed this was a good thing. He wanted to see what would happen, and there was nothing -- no sense, reason, protocol, or anything else that would get in the way of his curiosity. After all, wasn’t that what science was? Brave leaps by brave men into the unknown. If they died, they’d be heroes, and there’s no better way to die than as a hero. There was even an inkling of hope that things would go differently -- because it was him out here. The folly of the narcissist: Thinking just showing up will make things work out. The problem was this: Gravity did not care about this. It didn’t care what the Captain’s ratings were, didn’t care how many lightyears he’d flown, didn’t give a dark-matter shit who he thought he was... Human constructs don’t matter to supermassive black holes, mostly because they’re not stupid enough to think they’re true.  “Captain, please.” the first mate’s voice began to tremble. “I can get us out of here, but we have to act now. We have to clock the reverse thrusters at exactly 42 parsecs. If you could just”

“Wait, wait, wait. A few moments ago you said it was just dangerous. Now you’re telling me this is life and death?” “It’s called development, Captain. You should try it sometime.” “Oh, right. Of course! Now the little kazoo voice guy’s going to try and question my cognitive abilities. I’m cognitively there, you know.” “Cognitively where? You can’t even speak English.” “It’s going out of style.” “You’re an idiot!” “I’m in control. I am in complete, total, air-lock level control.” “That’s kind of the problem,” said the first mate. He didn’t realize yet that calling the captain names had no point. This is in fact a strange truth of all matters in the universe. It turns out, when you call an egoist names and belittle them, you’re actually playing on their level -- and you’re giving them the home field advantage. 

It’s a bit like pointing out there’s a problem and thinking this is the same thing as providing a solution. “You know what, first mate? I never liked you. I never respected anything you’ve ever said in your life, and I’d like to see what makes your PhD in astrophysics so much more of a credential than my frequent flyer card? I get receipts!” “Institutions, academia...” “Blah, blah, blah. You never get to be the captain because you’re too afraid to take the joystick.” “It’s called a yoke.” “It looks like a joystick to me. Have you ever played Halo? I love it.”

This guy would love to take the controls... but he’s waiting for someone to let him. At this moment, all the light in the craft went red. A voice blared over the loudspeakers: “ALERT. ALERT. EVENT HORIZON PROXIMITY CRITICAL.” The captain hit mute. Rather than finally take the controls here, the first mate just stared out the window. He believed until the last minute -- which incidentally lasted for eternity -- that somehow, the rigors of the rules he believed in would leap out from beyond the console and brain the idiot captain into a blueberry smoothie... But that’s the problem with rules. They’re given to you by people who break them, to keep you from figuring out that you’ve been duped. The ship and everyone in it crossed the threshold. It wasn’t weird, it wasn’t fantastic. It was a few moments of absolute agony for the rest of perceivable time... But at least they spotted the problem. Although it defies all manner of explanation, a scrap of the last few minutes of the craft were transmitted back to NASA:

For matters of national security, the exact quotes must be withheld, but it’s been said on good authority that the captain can be heard reciting the titles of popular television programs, perhaps as orders, or perhaps to make himself feel like he invented them. Small people cause huge problems.

[sweetsmellosuccess]

TIFF 2020: Last Call

Films: 3 Best Film of the Day(s): Another Round

I Am Greta: A 15-year-old girl sits alone in front of the Swedish Parliament in Stockholm with a simple hand-painted sign on a flat piece of wood that says “Skolstrejk For Klimatet” (School Strike for Climate”). A year later, that same girl, now 16, speaks before the general assembly of the UN in New York, and has helped rally millions to the cause of significant climate reform. In between those two poles lies the majority of Nathan Grossman’s fascinating documentary about young Greta Thunberg, and the movement she helped create of young people taking action for their own future. A slightly withdrawn kid with what she calls “a touch” of Asperger’s, Greta’s success, as unexpected and unprepared for as it was, lies partially in the very idea she conveys to another group of world leaders in Europe: “All you care about is popularity,” she growls at them, “I don’t care to be popular.” Because of her lack of personal ego in the process  —  else, you can imagine how going from having a small personal protest to meetings with the UN Attorney General and President of France within a few months; or better yet, in modern teen terms, to being largely ostracized from your school, where other kids “never invited” you to parties or gatherings, to having 10.6 million followers on IG, and the attention of many millions more, might swell your head and put you out of touch with yourself. For Greta, it’s a simple equation: She sees the problem (such that she was so depressed at first she sat out a year of school, and only spoke with her immediate family), and sees what needs to be done, no matter the personal cost. This isn’t to say she’s okay with it: “I miss having a regular life, with routines,” she sighs into her iPhone journal, while sailing across the Atlantic in a small watercraft to attend the UN meeting. “It is such a responsibility. I don’t want to have to do this.” A lament she turns into outrage when she actually does speak in New York, to the assemblage of world leaders: “You’re failing us!” she exhorts, “How dare you?” and ends with a sober warning to those who seek to dismiss her: “The eyes of all future generations are on you.” Naturally, for her effort, she takes potshots from condescending old men (Putin, Trump, Fox News Blowhards, et al.), some of whom trying to make things entirely personal (pundit Michael Knowles sniffed she was “a mentally ill Swedish child,” a statement Fox later apologized for), but none of it seems to matter to her. As before, she uses her “laser focus” on the matter at hand, not interested in rising to the bait of personal conflicts. The film takes us from her first days as a lone but emphatic voice to the de facto leader of a movement now millions strong, though it’s pretty clear in Greta’s mind, the only thing that ultimately matters is what these leaders are actually going to do about the climate catastrophe. At one UN gathering in Europe, she delivers her impassioned speech, only to have to sit and listen to an elderly German politician respond by trying to point out all the “good” they have done. With a look of tired disdain on her face, she pulls off the headphones translating his empty words into English, and sets them down in front of her.

Spring Blossom: Suzanne (Suzanne Lindon), the 16-year-old Parisian heroine in writer/director Lindon’s feature debut, prefers a drink of lemonade and grenadine, the purplish color of which is not-quite red, and not-quite pink. It’s in-between colors you could say, as she is herself, caught between the stifling boredom she feels at her high school with kids her own age, and the more exciting, but scary, possibilities of adulthood personified by Raphael (Arnaud Valois), an actor performing in a local, modernized production concerning Erastes  —  in ancient Greece, an adult in a romance with a child. Raphael, also bored and tired of the production he’s featured in, takes note of Suzanne’s apparent besottlement (in one of the better small details, she watches him eating a breakfast of baguette and strawberry jam at a cafe and requests the same from her mother the next morning), and before long they are a kind of couple, though, we are to understand, not necessarily fully consummated (it’s purposefully left ambiguous). Surprisingly, rather than duck into the well-covered territory of a young innocent ravaged by the rigors of adult love, Suzanne, a prepossessing young woman with a considerable sense of herself, senses both the danger, and her unreadiness, and herself pulls away, even though, as she says flatly “I love him and he loves me” (Raphael, ever gallant, doesn’t challenge her on this, and accepts her feelings). With her elongated neck and slightly crooked teeth, Lindon at first doesn’t appear fully suitable to the character that the script calls for, but soon it becomes apparent how well she precisely embodies the sense of between-worlds. The tone of the project is a marvel, allowing natural realism to intersect with more fanciful adornment  —  the scene when the couple have their first breakfast date, as Raphael puts his headphones on Suzanne so she can hear the genuinely beautiful opera that opens his show, leading them to perform a complex, sitting dance of hand gestures in perfect synchronicity together, is particularly charming  —  and, what’s more, the young writer/director seems to know exactly what she wants from each scene. The film itself isn’t breaking much new ground, but it does herald the rise of another talented young filmmaker.

Another Round: Thomas Vinterberg has a penchant for enigmatic endings. Not so coincidentally, he also tends to make very good films, and his latest, which stars Mads Mikkelsen as a disaffected high school teacher, who along with a small group of male colleagues, decides to try keeping his blood alcohol level at .05% throughout the day as a cure for his malaise, fits the bill. It might not be up to the otherworldly standards of his best work (Celebration or The Hunt  —  which also starred Mikkelsen), but it’s a good snootful of warm bourbon just the same. Mikkelson plays Martin, a history teacher and family man who seems half-alive, encased in a shell of hardened disappointment. He knows he’s lost his way (“Do you find me boring?” he asks his wife, played by Helene Reingaard Neumann, who responds “You’re not the same Martin I first met”), but seems unable to get himself out of his lethargy to do anything about it. When confronted by an angry group of parents and students that he’s not doing enough to prepare them for their all-important final exam, all he can respond with is a meek “Okay.” One night, out with some male colleagues, including psychology teacher Nikolaj (Magnus Millang), music teacher Peter (Lars Ranthe), and lonely gym teacher Tommy (Thomas Bo Larson), Martin breaks his silence and tells his friends about the perilous state of his marriage. Nikolaj cites the work of an obscure philosopher who maintained human beings were born with .05% less alcohol in their system than is ideal, and, on something of a desperate gamble, the group agree to reach that limit throughout the day (in other words, during teaching hours), quitting, as Hemmingway did, at 8 pm. Initially, it seems to work wonders  —  revitalized, Martin brings relish to his teaching again, and he re-engages with his wife and kids in a way he hasn’t felt in years, with the others all sharing the same sorts of success  —  but when the emboldened group attempt to push the envelope, first to .1%, then, much more disastrously, to the absolute limit of their tolerance, things get a good deal more dicey, putting the men, their jobs and their relationships in peril. Typically, Vinterberg avoids simple conclusions  —  and God help us all if this film gets picked up by a U.S. studio and remade with, say, Vince Vaughn, Kevin James, Steve Buscemi, and Chris Rock  —  providing more or less equal examples of the delirious fun drinking with your friends can be (the film opens with a group of high schoolers gleefully doing “lake races” whereby teams compete to drink a case of beer while running around the nearby body of water; and closes with the same teen crew, and some of their teachers, whooping it up in celebrating their graduation); and the horrorshow it can become (one teacher ends up peeing the bed, and on his wife in the process, another wakes up bloodied and out of it in front of his neighbor’s house), leading to very real and horrible consequences. By film’s end, as the delightful Mikkelsen, a professionally trained dancer, performs an impromptu and wildly entertaining series of complicated dance choreographies, it’s clear Vinterberg doesn’t intend to answer definitively either way on the subject: As “The Simpsons” so sagely put it many years ago, alcohol is “the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems.”

In a year of bizarre happenings, and altered realities, TIFF has shifted its gears to a significantly paired down virtual festival. Thus, U.S. film critics are regulated to watching the international offerings from our own living room couches.

[planetary-bound-star]

Isolation Journal: Day 1

So I found these prompts today for an Isolation Journal / ways to stay creative despite stress and anxiety.  And while I wouldn't say that I've felt isolated in a 'feeling lonely' or 'wanting to be around people' sort of way, I have been feeling the effects of my partner's isolation and of the fact that there aren't many ways to have true alone time to recharge my social batteries.  Having constantly half-empty social batteries happens to really hamper my creativity, especially when I'm in the same room with someone else, knowing that at any moment they're likely to intrude on whatever thought I'm trying to communicate through my stories.  I've tried going into different rooms -- and sometimes that even works -- but given the fact that the other humans in the house are awake and exist, I can't get completely comfortable in my creative space unless they're asleep.  

So I've been struggling to motivate myself to create, to finish homework assignments, to do more than the most basic chores and / or acts of self-care, etc, which only adds to my anxiety and depressive tendencies.  I've tried setting a strict routine, which worked for a few days max.  I've tried setting a very loose routine, which worked for a bit longer, but ultimately didn't long-term.  I've tried no routine, and that DEFINITELY doesn't work, and while writing a to-do list first thing in the morning can help, I have to remember to do that every day BEFORE I get distracted by other things and / or my partner and our other housemates, which is rare at best.  

Really, I'm ready to try anything, right now.  And this seems like a good idea at the best of times.  So I'm going to attempt this challenge.  Luckily, it seems pretty relaxed, so if I miss a day, it's not like I miss the prompt or have to start over or anything, which should help especially in a 'not adding to my anxiety pile' sort of way, and it is likely to also add significantly to my overall daily mental health!  So... that'd be a definite plus.  

So!  Here goes:  Day 1 [Prompt: Write a Letter to a Stranger]

Dear Seth and Stephen,

I've been watching you both for comfort since before the Florida Orange Man took office, and likely will long after he leaves (I hope).  I can't remember when I first took note of you.  I know that with you, Seth, it happened not long after the 2016 Elections, when YouTube offered me the lifeline of suggesting one of your A Closer Look or The Check-In segments, and I subscribed the same night.  With you, Stephen, I first noticed you during your The Werd segments from the Daily Show with Jon Stewart.  I noticed you initially when I was a young Republican teen still living at home with my Papa, and I found you again as a newly emerging, bleeding-heart Democrat.  

Now, you're both a huge part of the intricate net of lifelines that keep me afloat day-to-day in this completely bonkers world.  

When I first imagined spending my days working from my home as a writer, I imagined waking up each day to a warm cup of tea, some hot cereal or oatmeal or fried eggs, and some toast.  I never considered who would make those things or how I might teach myself the focus and rigorous morning routine needed to do all of that without wasting hours of my day due to distractions, derailments, and depletions of energy.  

In my mind, this morning routine would take place on a patio or deck or balcony, outside on a warm and sunny, but not too overwhelmingly bright day, a light breeze keeping the worst of the sun's heat from burying itself in your skin and clothing.  The outdoor space would be surrounded by greenery and flowers and walls, any human-made sounds (aside from maybe a fountain or, possibly, wind-chimes) would be silenced somehow.  

Then, after breakfast (again, clean-up energy and time never entered into my imagination before now), I would retreat to a comfortable, cushioned window-seat, warmed by the sunlight streaming through the windows, reclining, and spending several hours a day reading through entire novels and, thus, getting through them in a few days to, at most, a week.  

Finally, after my reading time ends (at a decent, if not perfect, stopping point in the novel, if at all possible so that the story isn't nagging at the back of your mind the rest of the day), I would move to my writing space to... you guessed it... write for many more hours.  

Granted, the writing bit should probably take place after a lunch of some description and / or many (ideally healthy) snacks at hand, but I never imagined these details either in my initial plans.  Nor did I factor in dinner.  I do love food when I have the time to enjoy it, but given my schedule and levels of focus on the regular, I'd genuinely be happy to go to an all liquid diet with only quick and nommy solid foods to snack on here and there.  I loathe the necessity of eating, so I keep it as nommy as possible to force myself to fuel my body in a mostly appropriate manner.  It's only natural that I'd forget about this irritating necessity in my daydreams, really.  They are, after all dayDREAMS, not dayREAL-LIFES.  

I feel like that's how I'd like to end every day, come to think on it:  Writing.  Typing frantically into a word-processor to transport the pictures in my mind on the ship of words until the images dry out and evaporate in the sun, or the words dry up on the tips of my fingers.  I want to write for hours, take a break for necessities (like dinner and dog-walking and spending time with loved ones), then write for hours more... until I can write no more and my pillows start tempting my brain.  I want to write until I pass out every night, then get up the next day and do all of it all over again.  

Lately, I've imagined a small, one-room Hobbit-hole constructed in the hill behind Sam's house.  A soundproof structure partially underground with a window-seat for reading, a space for writing, and another space for singing and playing and making a lot of noise without worry of being a nuisance to any neighboors or family members, but also without them interrupting my thought or creative processes while I'm working.  Maybe that space is just a creative space large enough to transition for sewing, painting, drawing, writing, singing, playing, and, even, rehearsing, but small enough to feel safely enclosed, like a shed or... a fucking Hobbithole.  ;P  

I think it can be done, and maybe with the money I make from my first sold artistic project, I can attempt to make it a reality.  And I feel you're both nerdy enough to understand how awesome a reality that would be!  

I just want a space that doesn't give me any excuses not to create and the space to just spend time creating.  And yet... here I am, home all day with nowhere to be, and I'm not creating.  I have a myriad excuses for it all, and I will also say (to be kind and fair with myself) that my mental health has been tricky to navigate throughout all of this.  

But these excuses are allowing me to escape creating and doing... pretty much anything that brings me joy.  Essentially, the whole reason I quit full-time work and decided to go through the stress and uncertainty of putting myself through college is the one thing I'm not using my suddenly AMPLE HOME TIME doing.  

And I'd very much like to change that.  

So here I am... writing this letter.  Telling you random things that are on my mind.  Knowing... (hoping?)... that neither of you will EVER read this.  Right?  Maybe, after all of the other prompts are finished or whatever, I'll continue writing to you both about my day and my struggles and my projects.  Because why the hell not?  You're both already like the nerdy, understanding, choice-affirming fathers I never had?  

My papa wasn't bad, he was just a stereotypical dad, who expected his kids to be tough all the time, couldn't deal with emotions, and watched football with a beer in his hand yelling at the tv on Sundays.  He didn't understand the proclivity to read all day or write well or watch shows on sociology and scientific experimentation.  He didn't understand much of anything that wasn't 'working on a career' or 'sport-related current events.'  He definitely didn't understand how to deal with a child who moved away from home, started learning about the world intellectually and largely unbiasedly for the first time, and developed views and opinions of their own, for themself, after seeing how the world really worked with their own eyes.  

So I see you, my two tv dads, as the parent he's unlikely to ever be... and it helps me to know there are dads like you out there, even if parts of it are shows put on for your audiences.  And I do hope to meet you both one day, as one of your guests, and (if we can ever hug again) give you both hugs to thank you for helping to raise me, keep me informed, and prepare me to survive the batshit, bonkers world that currently exists around us all.  

My best to you both and to your families,

Me

[toevenexist]

Melon

Hello, thank you to my lovely anon for this prompt:

Prompt: Good to hear from you again, I hope you’re doing well!! ❤️ I really missed you 😉 I also have a new prompt, should you decide to write again. Something I throughly about the other day. After the finale I’m really in the mood for a fic about Amelia and Carina so I thought what if Carina finds out about the pregnancy. Could be when they’re having a sexual relationship or after Amelia has some kind of symptoms and Carina offers to check her out.

I complicated the parentage and relationships in this fic! Feedback and suggestions for future fic is very welcome! The next chapter is already written!!

“Amelia, wake up, I’ve brought breakfast” Carina spoke melodically as she padded barefoot into the bedroom, wearing only her underwear and an unbuttoned baggy shirt. 

Amelia lay naked, a mustard yellow sheet draped around her. Carina placed the tray of food at the foot of the bed and drifted towards the window, opening the curtains slightly letting unfiltered light pour in. She turned where she stood, looking at Amelia. Amelia grimaced in her waking, rolling onto her back. She groaned, arching her back, stretching. “Aggh, what time is it?” Amelia asked, lifting her head, watching Carina as she came back to bed and pulled the food in between them. 

“Six thirty” she said, passing a cool glass of orange juice to Amelia, holding it as she pulled herself up in the bed. Amelia tugged the sheet across her chest and took a sip of juice. 

“Too early, you’re a crazy person” Amelia said, holding her glass against her stomach. 

“Yeah well look at that beautiful sun… you want to miss that” Carina said, grinning, waving a slice of toast through the air. 

“Will you eat? Are you not hungry?” Carina said, lifting the plate of toast she’d made. Amelia seemed to consider it but leaned away, frowning. “Nah, sorry,  maybe some of that fruit…  what is that... melon?” 

“Yes, honeydew. You don’t feel well?” Carina moved the plate towards Amelia and shifted around the bed, concern twisting her face. Amelia passed her juice to Carina and took the plate of fruit, sitting it in her lap. Carina caressed Amelia’s thigh.

 “I do, I just… My stomach is… washy”

“Washy, what does this mean? Washy?” 

Amelia, took a small bite of melon, and placed a splayed hand against her stomach. “Um washy, bad word, more like, woozy” 

“Nauseous?”

“Yeah kinda” Amelia took another bite of melon and sighed, smiling at Carina’s thoughtful expression. 

“Hm” she pursed her lips and nodded sharply, picking up another slice of toast. 

“Hmm? Hmm what?”

“Nothing, it’s just… when did you sleep with a man last?” 

“What?... Carina… no, you think… you’re saying… no” Amelia chuckled, shaking her head. 

“Who was it? Owen?” 

“Owen’s with Teddy” 

“He wasn’t then. What two months ago” Carina quipped, eyebrows raised. 

Silence was Amelia’s response. She placed an entire piece of melon in her mouth and sat the plate back on the tray. “Have you been regular? Your menstruation”

Amelia rolled her eyes, pulling her knees up to her chest, arranging the sheet over herself. She sighed heavily, sinking back down into bed, her short hair splaying wildly against the pillow. “Kinda, sort of.” 

“Amelia” Carina’s posture laxened in disbelief. 

“Okay, A couple of months ago... yeah... with Owen” 

“Amelia!” Carina’s voice heightened, “I don’t believe it, have you suspected?”

“What! No, no, I… I didn’t think until just now” Amelia squeezed her eyes closed, rubbing her face rigorously. Carina lifted the tray and placed it on the floor. Amelia sat up and buried her face in her hands, head between her knees. 

Carina left the room for a moment, returning and sitting directly in front of Amelia. “Amelia” Carina called, cupping Amelia’s knee, squeezing. Amelia peered up, face still downturned. 

Carina held up a packet, “I have a bunch of these in my medical case... “ 

Amelia looked at the package quizzically. Carina presented it closer, “pregnancy test.”

Amelia sighed, tipping her head to one side, her hair turning amber in the sun. 

“You don’t have to do it now, but… take it.”

Amelia huffed and slipped out of bed, taking the test once she was standing, uttering “thanks” before moving into the dark bathroom, leaving the light off, relying on the natural light from the bedroom window.      

   She sat on the toilet, in the dark for longer than she needed to. She tugged a towel from the rack at her side, wrapping it around her shoulders, fighting against a fearful chill. She had placed the test on the floor between her feet. It had been more than three minutes, but the room was too dark to see it. “Amelia?” Carina startled her back into action. 

Amelia entered the bedroom and dived back into bed, empty handed. “Where… Well, did you read it? It’s okay if you don’t want to…”

“I didn’t read it, it’s still in there… you… could you?” Amelia pulled the sheet up, and dragged a blanket from the floor, draping it around herself, swallowing her anxiety. 

Carina pursed her lips, looking to the window, nodding softly to herself. “Alright, Okay….” she said, standing up, buttoning her shirt as she headed to the bathroom. Amelia unblinkingly eyed the doorway to the bathroom as the light was switched on. She sat for what felt like, too long, before shifting to get up. Just as she did, Carina appeared again, a well rehearsed, blank expression on her face. 

10 days later:

“Hey! Amelia, wait up” Link hollered across the parking lot, holding his bag to his side as he sped to catch up with Amelia. “Hey, didn’t you hear me calling you” he said, smiling warmly, taking her shoulder in his hand. Amelia looked to him, and smiled back, apologetically. Things had cooled down between them for a good while, they’d decided to just be friends, as Amelia hadn’t wanted to get back into a relationship so soon after Owen. “I don’t want us to be a rebound relationship” she’d said, “You deserve better than that.” Things had cooled between her and Carina now too.

“Hey... hi, yeah, sorry I was in my head” Amelia said, shaking her head, shifting her bag further up on her shoulder. Link stopped her, crouching to catch her eye. “Amelia, what’s wrong? It’s not all the time but… you’ve been off recently” he said, stopping with her. 

Amelia considered him, taking him in, warmth ebbed from him. She frowned and pulled her gaze from his, shaking her head. “It’s nothing, I… it’s… nothing, just tired” She lied. Link nodded, “Please tell me, let me be the person you talk to…” he said. Amelia scowled with frustration, looking around at all the people rushing past them. Link guided her away from the hospital, with a hand against her back, to a bench, but they didn’t sit. 

Amelia grit her teeth, looking at her feet. Her eyes filled with unruly tears. She’d been in charge of some heavy news for ten days now, completely at a loss as to what to do with it, how to act upon it. And now there’s Link, noticing, being the person who notices, he read her like a book, ‘When did that happen?’, she thought. She felt so afraid, and so alone, and there Link was, standing right before her, steadying her between his hands, stooping to meet her elusive gaze. 

“Amelia?” He begged her. 

She inhaled sharply, and fixed her eyes, finally, on his, steadfast in her decision.   She looked down at her shoes again. “I slept with Owen again, nearly two months ago” she said. Link stepped closer to her, wanting her hear her clearly. “And I’m pregnant.” She spoke the words and then bit down hard on her bottom lip, resenting her inability to contain her tears. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for Link’s response. Seeing tears roll down her cheeks, Link’s chest tightened. He just pulled her against him, and held her. It seemed that was all she needed, to break.

“Oh Amelia…” 

“I… I don’t know what to do… I don’t…”

“It’s okay, I’m here with you, I’m here”

“Link… you don’t have to… I’m not expecting you too…”

“Amelia, I don’t even need to think about it, we’re taking it slow, I know, okay, but you’re my best friend, and I won’t let you struggle through anything, alright? Alright...” He stooped even lower, so he was level with her eye line. He cupped one of her cheeks in his hand and thumbed away her tears,  “I refuse to allow you to feel alone in anything okay?… Alright?”

Amelia frowned, twisting her lips, still feeling like she was somehow coercing him.

 “Amelia, I mean it, actually, you know what, I’m going to now stay with you as my default, I’ll only fuck off when you tell me too, I mean it, Amelia, I mean it” he brought up his other hand, against her other cheek, trapping fresh tears under his palm.

 He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to show her he meant it because he loved her. But instead, he just thought it, and hoped she’d somehow hear, somehow know. 

“I…” Amelia began to speak but her voice broke. Her head hurt now from the crying, but she felt better off. “I have an appointment, in twenty minutes,” she said, asking a question without asking. 

His default was to be with her now, “Well we best head there now then” he said, nodding, soothing her hair back, away from her face. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and held her again. She inhaled deeply and released a long sigh, closing her eyes, awash, tingling with, relief.

Link to next chapter.

[cuddleslutloki]

SO! i have been asked to give advice a couple times by a couple different writers in fandom who are cis and want to know how to/if it’s okay to write trans characters, so here’s my take and a few pieces of advice. it’s gonna be a little long lol

to answer the question “can cis writers write trans characters?”

Y E S 

i would personally love it, and i know other trans people who would also love it, if more cis writers wrote trans characters. the only limitation that i’d ever put on this is to say that i wouldn’t want to see a cis writer writing about trans self-discovery or a Trans Journey bc... i mean... those are our stories to tell, y’know?

generally most of the trans people i know feel the same way. we want to see ourselves in stories, even if we’re not the main characters. we want to know that you see us and think us worth writing about. representation matters. 

but if you’re writing a story about female friendship and you wanna make one of those women trans? please do bc we need more normalized representation. seeing these really intense Trans Journey stories is great, it is, but it feels one-note when it’s like.... practically the only thing we ever see.

wanna write a story about brotherhood and the bonds of found family and male friendship? make a dude trans! he’s a dude! who’s trans! 

quick advice for writing trans men:

not all trans men bind. i don’t. i have a triple D chest, so yeah it’s kind of obvious that i have tits. with the full beard it can be a confusing look lmao. your trans male character doesn’t have to bind, and it doesn’t have to be bc he’s had top surgery, or because he’s flat chested. some of us just don’t want to have the damage done to our bodies that binding can and will do if done consistently enough for long enough.

not all trans men use packers, which are prosthetics made to give a bulge where trans guys don’t have one. 

trans men can top lol. it isn’t just skinny cis women using strap-ons, and a guy can cum using a harness bc of where it sits. also, emotionally, that shit is fantastic (speaking from personal experience). 

if you’re writing erotica, then be aware that some trans guys are okay with the word clit, some aren’t. this is more of a stylistic choice on the part of the writer, but if you’re using AFAB language for trans male genitals then make a note bc for some men that’s legitimately triggering. personally, i’m fine w/ my vagina, he’s a chill dude.

testosterone doesn’t make you taller, and it won’t make your character taller either lol. physical changes from T are increased muscle mass, changes in fat distribution on the body, voice drop, hairline receding around the temples, facial and body hair growth for some (takes 6+ months usually), clitoral growth, some men experience vaginal dryness some don’t, in the beginning there’s an increased sex drive which tends to even out once T levels are stable, since it’s basically a second puberty a lot of trans guys do get acne, hair can become coarser over time texture wise, and tends to thin

testosterone is administered via injection or with androgel which is topical, generally. if you want to write about a guy giving himself his T, then he’s probably on a weekly or bi-weekly injection schedule at home, or he’s using androgel which is daily and gets rubbed into the skin and has to dry fully. there’s no option right now to take testosterone orally that i know of. there’s also the option for a 3-month dose of testosterone to be given via injection, but it’s always done by a nurse and every trans guy i’ve talked to who’s had it has said they can’t even sit down for an hour afterward bc it’s injected into the ass and it hurts like a motherfucker. however it’s also only once every 3 months. personally i don’t mind my wee thigh shot lol. 

if anyone has more specific questions for writing trans male characters send me an ask and i’ll be glad to help

full disclaimer that i’m not a trans woman, but here’s some advice for writing trans women based on what i’ve heard from them:

unlike with T, where trans men can basically just start T and begin the process of a testosterone-based puberty, trans women first have to go on T blockers so that their T levels drop to where they should be for a woman, then they go on estrogen, which is usually??? a pill (not dissimilar to birth control)

when trans women have been on estrogen for long enough they can have multiple orgasms like any other woman, which is a pretty nifty perk

loss of muscle mass is common

breast growth happens differently for everyone, but breasts become more sensitive and as they grow a lot of women can experience some tenderness, and if the chest is struck/prodded that tenderness can be painful. (as someone who naturally developed breasts as a teen, i remember fucking crying when someone hit me in chest once bc everything was so sensitive)

trans women have natural hormone cycles and can experience period-like symptoms! so yeah! a trans woman can wake up and be >:( and have mood swings!

the penis and balls will shrink over time on estrogen, some trans women stop getting hard, some don’t

some trans women tuck their penises, some don’t

trans women have to make the choice to raise their voices, as most of the effects of testosterone-based puberty cannot be reversed. T thickens the vocal chords, which is what makes a trans guy’s voice drop, but if a trans woman is transitioning after she’s experienced a full T-based puberty, her voice isn’t going to raise. a lot of trans women do vocal training to get used to talking in their head voice versus their chest voice. some even pick out like a celebrity or a character to emulate bc it’s a lot easier when you’ve got a goal to aim for.

facial hair generally doesn’t stop growing. the follicles being active doesn’t change when testosterone levels drop. hair growth can slow, but it’s probably not going to stop entirely without laser hair removal or electrolysis. same with body hair. 

hair texture can change, though, and become softer over time

if any trans women followers want to add to this feel free :D

your character might not have IDs that match up w/ their identity. having your government docs changed can be a pain in the ass depending on where you live, and a lot of places require some kind of surgery as “proof” which is bullshit but... y’know, it happens. 

big thing to remember: not all trans people want surgery. not all trans people fall into the gender binary. the way i define being trans is that your gender doesn’t match what you were assigned at birth. that’s it. i consider non-binary people transgender bc. y’know. they fucking are. not all of them want to ID that way or feel like they can, but if they do then i fully welcome them bc they’re my people. 

i think cis writers can feel like it’s a taboo or a no-go to write trans characters bc “well what if i do it wrong” and i think it comes down to being really caught up in the fact that the character is trans, rather than them just being a trans character. like. here’s my day as an out, transitioning trans man:

i wake up between 6am and 7am, i dick around on my phone, i let my dogs out, feed them, have breakfast, go to work, eat lunch, work more, come home, eat dinner, dick around on my phone more, go to bed. repeat. my weekends consist of writing, primarily, and watching stuff on netflix. and every other sunday i give myself an injection of testosterone into my thigh. every couple months i see my endocrinologist and maybe have a blood test.

diabetics have a more rigorous schedule than i do, health-wise. 

me being trans is part of who i am, a defining part even, but it’s not all i am. if someone were to write a story about my life and make it all about me being trans, they’d first be ignoring like... the first 25 years of my life, but also everything that happens to me in between these big transition milestones. 

not everything with trans people is about being trans. sometimes it’s about being bored. or wanting to play video games.

on another personal note, some of the signs that i was trans weren’t very obvious. they make a lot of sense in hind sight (like when i was 4 and told my mom i was going to wear a suit to prom, or when i was 5 and told my dad that my husband was taking my last name bc that just seemed how shit should work to me) but at the time they were just these small, weird little quirks that no one saw as anything more.

in fandom a lot of our stories tend to veer toward the romantic or erotic, so let me just say that you don’t need to write about dysphoria or remark on the topic within the story. i know this is a sticking point for a lot of cis writers bc most of them haven’t experienced dysphoria so they don’t know how to write it. good news is you don’t have to, a trans person can be happy with their body, especially if they’re far enough along in their transition, and it can just be a smutty, smutty story about people fucking lol.

this is a really loose guide w/ very loose bits of advice and seriously if anyone ever wants to ask more specific questions or my opinion you can DM me or send an ask on or off anon and i’ll be glad to offer any help i can