#i guess there’s just not a one to one correlation between remembering death and spending your time well

[bright-eyed]

I know marcus aurelius said we should remember that we are going to die so that we will use our time on earth wisely, but, personally, thinking about the inevitability and possible untimeliness of my own death every time i open my eyes upon waking, then sporadically throughout the day, and then also as i lay my head down to rest has been, let’s just say, not great for me

[yeonmuse]

𓇢𓆸. 𝕯ECELIS ACA𝕯EMY. —— YJW

BLOODBOUND. ִ. 𓍯𓂃

☪︎ ִFull Chapter log Next Chapter

WARNING | EXPLICIT CONTENT ℭontains the mention of blood & voilence. Mentions of sex & death, Jungwon will be a little mean in this one but the way that each member is written in this does not portray their true selves. Includes ot7, angst/romance/fluff

𖤓 reader x yang jungwon ── 𝒢enre. angst. fluff, non idol vamp enha. [reqs are open] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary

𝕾ynopsis. — Yang Jungwon has stood by her side from the age of six to the night of her eternal age ceremony. He has spent nearly her entire life reassuring her that her time would come, that she would possess her vampiric abilities soon enough, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Her lack in vampiric traits cause a ripple in their friendship, her father is withholding secrets from her and she slowly begins to lose a sense of self, but maybe with Jungwons help she can find out who she is truly meant to be in this life.

More | please remember that the things written in this series are a work of FICTION,meaning NOTHING you read in this series correlates to neither enha nor their storyline.

© YEONMUSE 2024. do not copy, plagiarize or steal my works. You can join the taglist for this series here

CHAPTER 4

The next morning she was woken up to Aleera singing at the top of her lungs while she got dressed.

“Does she always do this?” Yn groans as she pushes herself up on bed and rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“Yup, you’ll get used to it and actually just learn to tune it out.” Fawna responds while brushing her teeth.

By the time the girls had finished the time had rolled around for them to go and right on time Sunghoon had come knocking on the door.

“Alright let's go people, I want to show her everything before nightfall!” Aleera opens the door and rushes yn and Fawna out not even giving Sunghoon much of a chance to realize what was going on.

Meanwhile back in his history class the others couldn’t help but wonder where Sunghoon had been, it wasn’t like him to miss any classes.

The day went by pretty smoothly, most of it being Aleera dragging them all to her favorite places for half of their time out, she had barely even gathered any of the supplies she needed.

“You know what Sunghoon, why don’t you take yn to get her supplies, I’ll try and keep Aleera busy for a while before we end up spending the entire day just sightseeing. Fawna pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, earning a laugh from yn as she follows Sunghoons leave before Aleera makes her return from the bathroom.

For a while the walk between Sunghoon and her was entirely silent until he decided to break the silence between the two of them.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Oh- no of course not go ahead you already know my secret so at this rate there isn’t anything I can’t tell you.”

“You and Jungwon, how do you know each other? Did you date?”

“What” her eyes widened at the sudden unexpected question, for a moment she stood there embarrassed. Has she dated Jungwon? Never, because no matter how much she looked at him like she adorned him back then he had never noticed her in that way.

“You and Jungwon. Everything seems a little tense between the two of you and I assume you wouldn’t just tell your secret to him if you two weren’t close in some kind of way, I’ve never seen him act that way until now.”

“We just- we were only friends, he was the only friend i had since i was six. My father never really let me leave the estate, so when he found out that I snuck out to watch the other kids play one day he brought Jungwon. Jungwon was the only person that understood me, the only person aside from my father and I that knew my secret. After my 20th he just stopped coming over and I didn’t see him again, I didn’t know why but after seeing the way he reacted to me yesterday I guess- I guess maybe he was just putting on an act until I got old enough for him to just dump back onto my father.”

“Mm I see.” And there it was again that awkward silence between the two of them grew even thicker.

“Sunghoon??” The sound of a familiar voice snapped Sunghoon from his thoughts. As he and yn turn around standing behind him stood Heeseung, Niki, and Sunoo.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We could ask you the same thing? We haven’t seen you in class all day.” Heeseungs eyes then shifted to yn and back to Sunghoon and his eyes quirk up out of interest.

“I’m helping Aleera and Fawna show her around, Mrs. Yang asked them to help her spend today getting supplies.” They all shared a look with one another as if his answer stirred up some sort of suspicion within him, it was completely unusual for Sunghoon to not only skip classes, but for a girl? Before Heeseung and the others could question him further Aleeras voice could be heard all the way from the other side of the square. The group turns around as they find Aleera and Fawna running towards them.

“Sorry I tried to keep her distracted for as long as I could but the girl is impatient.” Fawna apologizes and stops dead in her tracks as her eyes land on the group of three.

“What are they doing here?”

“They saw me and Sunghoon when we were on our way to the boutique.”

Heeseungs mouth fell open. Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon? To a boutique?

“You know I'm kinda offended that you would invite Sunghoon and not me.” Sunoo chimes in giving an annoyed eye roll to Aleera

“Actually yn invited him, if it were up to me I wouldn't be inviting any of you anywhere after what happened with Jungwon yesterday.”

“Hey, why are we getting the blame for something Jungwon said? We just wanted to know more about her and he had a little outburst.” Niki who finally looks up from his phone joins in on the conversation.

“So what that two faced fucker is still your friend.” Fawna retorts, with evident annoyance in her tone.

“Fawna, Aleera it's okay��it's fine they were curious. It's not like they could have known Jungwon would react that way.” yn sighs, now having to think about what had happened in the cafeteria once again, for the second time today. Heeseung was shocked to say the least, that she would vouch for them without even knowing them but he was grateful that she didn’t judge them based on Jungwons actions.

“Heeseung you’re lucky our yn is such a sweetheart, if i were her i'd have you both head first in that fountain over there.”

“Aren't you being too harsh, why do you always have to threaten me, why is it never Niki or the others?”

“Oh that was meant for all of you, not just you, Niki and Sunoo”

“You realize whatever it is you try wouldn’t even work on me right?” Nikis eyebrows raise, an amused grin on his face.

“I'll make it work Niki don’t worry”

“Since you guys are here if you’re still curious, you’re free to join us? We were going to go to the boutique and then Aleera was going to show me her favorite ice cream spot after.” yn tries to diverge their attention away by inviting them along which makes Aleeras mouth fall open, but before she could say anything Fawna shakes her head in disapproval.

“Ice cream, does it even taste good?” Sunghoon asks making Aleeras mouth fall wide open once again

“You’re joking?”

“I’ve actually never had it either…” Heeseung joins in, followed by Niki.

“I feel like I’m surrounded by a bunch of freaks.” Aleera sighs, and Heeseung and Niki seemingly get offended, while Sunghoon just shrugs. yn can’t seem to hide the smile on her face from her simple interaction. Was this what it was like to have friends? Back then she would sneak out with Jungwon and they’d go out into the village and watch all the other kids and teens interact and they seemed so happy. Was this what they were feeling?

“What about you Sunoo? Have you ever had it?”

“Unlike these two my parents weren’t strict, they spoiled me like the perfect prince. They gave me everything I asked for. Ice cream was the only human food I'd ever been interested in.” Sunoos' response didn’t seem to shock any of them.

“That's why he always has an attitude, he was too spoiled.” Niki chimes in earning a nod of agreement from all except yn.

“You know what all of you can kiss my ass, yn let’s go.” Sunoo suddenly locks his arm with hers and walks away from the group leaving her somewhat dumbfounded.

“Hey get back here with my yn.” Aleera chases after the two before locking her other arm with hers and the rest of the group wasn’t too far behind.

Sunghoon simply sighs, this was meant to be his opportunity to ask her more questions about her childhood and such, but once again their time was cut short. He would just have to wait until tonight when the two of them could be alone. But unfortunately that wouldn’t happen.

“You know what i was actually judging you when you decided to get mint chocolate chip, but this isn’t that bad.” Aleera nods her head upon approving Fawnas choice in ice cream.

“Not like you have to eat it anyways, don’t you have your own.” Fawna responds, shaking her head at the girl as she continues to eat her ice cream.

Meanwhile Heeseung and Niki had been on their third cone.

“I think I finally found someone that might like ice cream more than me.” Aleeras comment earns a laugh from yn as they all watched Niki and Heeseung scarf down their cones for the nth time. Sunghoon on the other hand sat silently enjoying his.

“Is it good?” yn turns to him curiously, at his question he simply nods.

“Want to try some?” At his question all yn could do was stare at him blankly, her lashes batting every two seconds. Even the others stopped what they were doing momentarily after hearing him ask her such a question.

Her eyes shifted from his ice cream then up to his lips and she quickly turned away to continue eating her own.

“No- no thank you.” How could he ask her a question like that so easily. Sunghoon on the other hand found nothing wrong with what he asked, without a care in the world he just went back to eating his ice cream. Before leaving the parlor they all ordered one more cone before making their return back to the Academy.

“I still think we should watch twilight, what do you guys have against it?” Heeseung complains as the eight of them stepped back on campus, they had been trying hard to decide on a movie to watch together the entire walk back to the Academy.

“Absolutely not.” The others say in unison. Heeseungs eyes shift to yn who had been trying to stay out of the conversation the entire time seeing them all go back and forth with their decisions

“Yn? What do you think?” He asks expectantly, fully expecting her to agree with him, only to end up disappointed by her answer

“Sorry Heeseung but I absolutely hated it, I’ll never understand why humans love it so much, its cringe and insulting.”

“You guys have no sense of romance.”

“Why don’t we just let yn pick I’m sure she’ll pick out something entertaining.”

“Have you guys seen Practical Magic?”

“Nope.” They all respond with a string of no’s and nopes

“Then I’ll go with that one.”

“So it's settled then we all meet back at the girls' dorm in ten?” Sunoo announces to the group to which they all nod in agreement.

“I can’t believe you really invited them here.” Aleera voiced as the three girls prepared for their guests' arrival.

“Why are you acting like you’ve never had Sunoo here before, you two always come back here after shopping and stuff.” Fawna counterattacks

“Yeah but that’s just Sunoo the others haven’t really been in here since that fight.”

“Fight?”

“Before you got here there was a big fight between the group and one of the guys that used to go here, he had been friends with the guys and us for years but once they found out he was only friends with the group to get some sort of information from Jungwon, things got heated and things were awkward between all of us for a while.”

“Oh- what kind of information was he looking for? And from Jungwon of all people?”

“We don’t really know, we never found out and after the fight he disappeared from the school.” yn couldn’t help but wonder how much she had missed in the short span of time that she hadn’t seen Jungwon.

[go-against-fate]

tged oc info dump because ive got fuck all to do

beloww

Frédéric-Ange Robillard

He's a painter who came from a noble family of Seers. The future is revealed to him through his paintings. As if his hands has a mind of its own, it illustrates the reality of what's to come. He doesn't have visions of it and he never knows if the future that's revealed to him would be good or bad. He just knows that his paintings has never been proved to be false

In TKOBAI he was executed via decapitation for not obeying Alicia's order to use his Seer ability to predict the actions of her enemies. His blood would paint the ground red. And it would be his final art piece.

In TGED, a lot his paintings involved a certain brown hair civil engineer. He gets a bit tired of being shown the same guy over and over but hes glad to know that this man is trying his hardest to bring peace to the world. He eventually retired and lived a quiet life with his family

Kalei

Hailing from a small village in Sortino Barony, she's a self taught... mage? She wouldn't exactly call herself one. But either way, she can manipulate the mana around her. She always had a fascination of its correlation with life. Too bad that same fascination is also what lead her to lose her home village.

One day she was just attending the village gathering to welcome the autumn season. Then she felt a sudden surge of power roaming inside her, gradually increasing in volume. Her small body couldnt handle this huge abrupt supply of mana inside her and she could feel herself coughing until her lungs hurt, until her throat burns, until red liquid poured out. She could hear muffled screams before she blacked out. Something happened in between that and she couldnt remember. All she knows is that when she opened her eyes, everyone (but her) in the village lay lifeless and cold; her parents not excluded.

She spent the next years trying to survive by herself. It's just a good thing she had plenty of knowledge and crafty hands to aid her

In TKOBAI she would spend the rest of her remaining years alone in the forest, isolated from any human interaction. The feeling of impending doom lingers in the air. Her forest companions whisper of death and despair outside the woods, yet she's not concerned anymore. She only wonders when the sunlight would finally peek through the dark clouds. After all, her plants need sunlight to grow

In TGED she wandered north and eventually arrived to the Frontera Estate. She was given a warm welcome by the people that she met and they even gave her a place to live, food to eat, and.. a job. She doesnt complain much about it though, she's glad that her ability to help plants grow is more useful than ever now

_

I created Kalei before Fred, but her lore is still unfinished compared to Fred whose story I felt is already pretty solid. The one i kinda struggle to figure out with is how exactly did she absorbed the life out of the people in her village ತ⁠_⁠ತ

I was thinking maybe.. she picked up like an ancient relic when she was playing in the forest near her village thinking it was another pretty rock for her collection. And the celebration triggered the relic to activate. Basically a pebble sized life absorption relic used in ancient times during a war or somthn

Im not rocking (🥁) with her outfit now tho:/ i want to redesign it

But anyway, random facts about Kalei:

Shes that weird kid who would torture bugs by slurping their mana out of them, watch them writhe, and when theyre in the brink of passing away, she would return their mana. Shes done this to plants too. It's rather cruel but shes literally just a morbidly curious child (⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ Guess she had a fascination with how abrupt a being's life could end (funny how that is considering her backstory lol) She has done the opposite of if this too tho! Sometimes, she would give them (specifically plants) a piece of her mana and watch as they grow a teensy bit faster than before

She likes collecting rocks that she thinks looks cool. There's a corner in her room dedicated to them

She has a cane because she has a limp in her right leg. It developed after The Incident™ she tripped and sprained her ankle. Never bothered to treat it because she thought that it'll just go away on its own. It never did tho. Instead, it got worse. It's to the point that she couldnt bare to put pressure on it. In TKOBAI she straight up just amputated her leg and crafted a handmade prosthetic. However, in TGED, she did get it treated but the damage has already been done

She had to fight a squirrel for acorns once. It was not a fun memory. And not only that, she had to fight with a lot of forest critters for food. Ate a lot of dubiously edible food. I think her taste buds are dead at this point. In general tho, she was dubbed a menace to the forest creatures and they made sure to stay away from her path

[marvelstars]

That connects to - how did Naboo not know about the human-sized members of an advanced indigenous sentient species on their planet?? How old was the Naboo human settlement?? Are the gungans in a completely different hemisphere and the humans hadn't spread far?? You'd think that at least SOME humans would have gungan sightings like big foot rumors or something(@taylor-renee)

Gungans and Naboo are very aware of each other, enough to have conflict between them, it´s implied for many centuries humans and gungans stayed appart in a kind of cold war with the humans taking the surface of the planet while the gungans stayed in the water, Palpatine perjuice agaisnt not human beings, so prevalent on the Empire is in a way connected given he grew up on Naboo but he´s hardly the only one.

This is why the Phantom Menace presents such an interesting mix of events into this conflict because sucedenly the Naboo Queen and her people have to depend on the Gungans to overcome the blockade and forceful take over of the planet, Padme is very aware of this, enough to know she has to get on her kness before Boss Nass and ask for help to the Gungan leader given all the bad blood and history between both their peoples, because they, unlike the Naboo, had weapons and an army able to counteract the Droids and this is also why at the end of the movie they sign a "Peace treaty"

Many people make a lot of fun and memes about Jar Jar but the truth is that inside story, Jar Jar role wasn´t just to be Padme´s support because she felt bad for him and the gungans wanted to get rid of him, he was supposed to be the added political representation the Gungans lacked for so many centuries, be it with the Naboo or the Republic. I do think this correlation was made on purpose by Lucas and that´s why he spend so much time with Jar Jar and the Gungans in the first movie but as many interesting ideas of the prequels this has to get cut back to advance the story in the limited time they had for Episode II and Episode III.

Tatooine I don´t think they have this radical separation but the main reason for this imo is because Tatooine bassically doens´t have a goverment, sure Jabba and Gardulla may sometimes help solve some dispute with extreme violence but they are bassically gangsters who took advantage of the lack of goverment and general rule of law on Tatooine to enforce slavery, illegal trade,jobs for bounty hunters, etc the people of Tatooine who mostly want just to get by are very much on their own, including the Tusken and the Farmers because they know nobody is going to intervene if something happens to them and they can´t afford to get on Jabba´s or Gardulla´s bad side either, that´s a death sentence and this is also why Republic credits are not accepted on Tatooine, they may be in theory within the republic but in practice Tatooine and many other worlds are part of the Hutt Empire.

Imo Vader´s whole "Lest put order in the galaxy" seems out of place for his character until you remember he grew up as a slave and suffered in a lawless planet ruled by gangsters and then it makes all the sense in the world for him to have rule of law and a galaxy in order as a priority even while almost completely consumed by the darkside.

The Empire didn´t manage to do much better than the Republic on Tatooine, not surprising because the Empire is the Republic, just under another form of goverment, still they installed an imperial military academy on the planet and by the time of A New Hope, the planet is also using the same credits other planets under the Empire are using and there´s not talk about open slavery, except on the parts of the planet still ruled by Jabba and his people but they still can extort the people of Tatooine with water or other things.

So yes, I don´t think those details are accidental at all but they are also not explored very much either, I guess to give way to novels and comics to explain those parts the movies can´t cover.

There's definitely something about the how the colonialism vibes of both Naboo and Tatooine, and Padme and Anakin when they discuss The Massacre, do all sort of fit together to paint a picture of some sort. (I mean Naboo was quite extraordinary really, they weren't even in contact with the indigenous people.)

and the way that fits with the whole picture of the republic and Padme's role

And it does have me sitting there squinting about how much was intentional commentary occasionally

[calzona-ga]

[Spoiler's] departure marks only the fifth time (and first since Patrick Dempsey) that the ABC medical drama has said farewell to a series regular via character death.

[This story contains spoilers from the March 11, "Helplessly Hoping," episode of Grey's Anatomy.]

Grey's Anatomy said parted ways with a beloved member of its cast during Thursday's midseason premiere and it did so in a relatively rare fashion for the ABC medical drama: with a character death.

Giacomo Gianniotti's Dr. Andrew DeLuca was killed off following a heroic battle to stop a sex trafficker in a storyline that stretched back to last season and ultimately capped the actor's seven-season run on the Shondaland favorite. DeLuca, who was stabbed and ultimately died in surgery, became only the fifth series regular in Grey's Anatomy history to have their storyline end in a fatality and the first since Patrick Dempsey's shocking exit nearly six years ago.

In a fitting end to his storyline, DeLuca winds up on Meredith's (Ellen Pompeo) magical beach and is able to have a farewell with his former love interest before walking into the sunset. DeLuca joins George (T.R. Knight), Derek (Dempsey), Mark (Eric Dane) and Lexie (Chyler Leigh) as series regulars (per Wikipedia) to leave the show in death. Of the 33 total series regulars in 17 seasons of Grey's, 13 characters have left alive. And it's of course worth noting that several other characters have been killed off of Grey's, though those actors have either been guest stars or recurring players.

Below, showrunner Krista Vernoff and star Gianniotti talk with The Hollywood Reporter about how DeLuca's death factors into a season that has put COVID-19 at the top of the show's call sheet and what's next.

Meredith is on a vent and that was the last beat until the show's return tonight. Why was it important for that to be the image viewers had of this iconic character for three months? She's still on the vent in the midseason return.

Vernoff: That happened to be the midseason finale. Sometimes stories tell themselves and things happen in very powerful ways. As an image, that works on people's psyche and helps them understand that this pandemic is ongoing and profound and impacting communities in really painful ways. It's a powerful image to help people remember why staying they're home. If this thing can hit Meredith Grey, it can hit anybody.

This season has put COVID-19 at the top of the call sheet, with realistic portrayals of everything from infected doctors, others struggling with the emotional gravity and, in the midseason finale, hospitals reached capacity. When it aired, that episode was sadly prescient. How does the rest of the season play out in terms of how close it has been to what's happening in the world now?

Vernoff: What's so interesting about it being prescient is that we were telling the truth in that episode of what was happening in May 2020 in Washington state and it was happening again in Los Angeles in December, when the episode aired. We weren't prescient; we were telling a story that happened in the early stage of the pandemic. It's been amazing how when we thought when we were breaking the show, we thought we were going home for two weeks and now it's a year later and we're looking at this in this way. It's still staggering to me. We are not jumping forward to some imaginary future where covid is a thing of the past. We are still set in the past in the back half of the season. That was one of the decisions when we decided that Meredith has covid and that that would span a fair amount of the season. We didn't want Meredith in a bed with covid for 11 months. We are still in like May/June of 2020 creatively. We're not jumping forward so we don't have to try and keep up with what's happening now; we're looking at what was happening then.

In a season exploring covid, why was the first major character death of the season unrelated? Was this supposed to be the season finale last year?

Vernoff: There was no plan to kill him at the end of last season. I very much did not want to kill DeLuca last season because he'd been through a mental health crisis and he'd come through it. I wanted to show that a person can go through a mental health crisis and come out the other side and be a functional, contributing member of the hospital staff. This story of DeLuca seeing that sex trafficker again and following her out of the hospital and refusing to let up and it becoming a part of Station 19 and following it and right when you think he's got her, somebody punches him. You think he's been punched but you come back and realize he's been stabbed and then he's on the beach with Meredith. My reaction to [the story idea] was, What?! Fuck! No! Really!? This is what I'm doing?! No! Many times after I pitched it to the writers and we designed the season around this story, I started to chicken out and second-guess myself. Can we save him?! Can he live?! He can't. We've done a lot of near-deaths and saved them since I took over the show. So now people are expecting that. This was the story. It was as shocking to me as it was to you.

Giacomo, what was your reaction when you got the call that Andrew was being killed off?

Gianniotti: Krista and Debbie Allen, our exec producer, called me into an office said they've tried it different ways and keep coming back to the trafficking storyline from last season. The storyline was so highly received, and because of that, they knew they had to continue to explore it. They saw an opportunity to tell a beautiful story that highlighted human trafficking and for DeLuca to go down as a hero and make this really noble act to stop this perpetrator but would unfortunately cost him his life. I've been on the show for seven seasons thought it was a great way to exit. Krista running Station 19 as well had the idea to make it a crossover so we could tell it over two episodes and spend time with DeLuca. I'm a storyteller and the best story always wins and I thought this was the best story.

What was the larger point you wanted to make with DeLuca's storyline? He dies a hero, which is a bit of the ultimate for a Grey's death.

Vernoff: I was processing [grief] myself when this story came. As we were going through this shared trauma of covid together and quarantine and being away from the people we loved, I wanted all the other tragedies in the world to just stop. It didn't seem fair. The Alexandria House, a charity I support in L.A. that shelters battered women and their children — so people who have already been traumatized — the first week of the shutdown, the Alexandria House caught on fire. It was like, What?! Isn't covid enough? But everything else didn't stop because of covid and we were all having to process other things, too, and horrible tragedies that come with life. That's part of where this story was born. All these people are going to die of covid but also sometimes other people just die. And it's f—ing awful. Part of DeLuca dying in this way … watching this episode, watching his mom greet him on the beach and feeling that grief, I cried harder watching this episode than I cried since George O'Malley died. I thank Giacomo for playing this character so beautifully and powerfully that through the death of DeLuca I believe there is an opportunity for us all to release our collective grief.

Will DeLuca re-appear on that beach again this season?

Vernoff: No. I thought him walking away with his mom was the most powerful closure for that character. But you will see him again, just not on the beach.

Gianniotti: Even though his life has come to an end, there's many ways to show our characters who have passed. I look forward to tell some other stories in those ways. Maybe there's flashbacks or other scenarios where we can see DeLuca. That's about all I can say. But it's not a drill; he's definitely died.

What was filming on that beach like given how much those scenes have meant to viewers?

Gianniotti: Ellen and I kept pinching ourselves. To be able to shoot on a beach was amazing. It was nice to be a part of that and have DeLuca have his moment and say his piece with Meredith. There was a lot of unfinished business between them. Maybe if Meredith hadn't gotten covid, the first part of this season could have been them picking up the pieces of where they left off in their romances. But circumstances didn't allow for that. It was nice that DeLuca got to at least thank her for everything she'd given him.

How do you think Meredith will respond to DeLuca's death?

Gianniotti: It's tough to say because you think of the dream and what happened at the end of the episode and wonder if Meredith would correlate that with the metaphor: if he's joining his mother that must mean he's leaving me and passing on. Maybe that would translate to her waking up? Who knows? Or it will be a massive surprise when she wakes up. There is a very obvious, glaring comparison with reality in that so many health care professionals have lost their own due to covid. It's a direct representation and reflection of that. It's helping people in the industry feel seen as well. It hits different and it's going to send a shockwave through all the characters at the hospital — and maybe Meredith the most.

Knowing Meredith is battling covid, it feels like there's one of two outcomes there. How does the covid story that you're telling impact the different finales that you're crafting considering the show's uncertain future?

Vernoff: More will be revealed as you watch the show. (Laughs)

Without spoiling anything, how would you describe who else will visit Meredith on that magical beach?

Vernoff: There are some really fun surprises coming up. It's one of the things that I have enjoyed as rays of light in the darkness of the storytelling necessitated by covid. That beach is a ray of light and the surprises of who you see there are rays of light. And I don't want to take that away.

Can you confirm there will be others who appear on that beach who viewers haven't seen there yet this season?

Vernoff: Yes.

Giacomo, you got to make your directorial debut on Grey's this season. After seven seasons, was there anything you wanted to do on the show but never had the chance?

Gianniotti: This felt like a gift. They rolled everything I wanted to do into two episodes, they wrote my dream exit storyline. I got to have an action movie told on Station 19 chasing a perpetrator and not wearing scrubs. That was fun and not something I'd gotten to do on Grey's for obvious reasons. All the scenes where we got to take our time and be together with Ellen and Meredith on the beach was a good way to tie up the loose ends. As far as the mental health storyline, it was an honor and privilege to tell that story. Ultimately, it's about representation and for people to see someone who is bipolar can be an attending and command a whole department at a hospital is huge.

Did you keep anything from set?

Gianniotti: I didn't! Maybe I'll go steal my stethoscope next time I'm there!

What's next for you? Any plans on returning to Grey's as a director?

Gianniotti: Definitely investing a ton of time in directing and hoping to continue to do that here and abroad. I'm seeking a lot of opportunities in Italy and Canada as a director and actor and have a few things coming on the horizon that I'm excited to share

[stardusttrashed]

Go With the Flow

Requested by @marli-senpai​ Thank you again for this request, it was hands down my favorite so far

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Aizawa volunteers to help you gain control over your water bending quirk

Pairing: Aizawa x fem!reader, Class 1-A x fem!reader (all platonic)

Your leg bounced rapidly as you impatiently watched the clock. Aiziwa’s lecture went in one in and out the other. Not that it was boring or anything, he was one of your favorite teachers in fact. The simple fact was that every second he spent talking to the class was a second longer away from your after school training. 

You could barely get yourself to sleep a wink last night. Every minute of sleep felt like an hour too long for your excited mind. The sun couldn’t come up fast enough. 

“Oi idiot, cut that out! You’re making it hard to focus,” Bakugo’s sharp tone sliced through your thoughts, stopping them in their tracks. You halted your movements like a deer in headlights, your mouth gaping as you tried to think of something witty. 

You were quite literally saved by the bell as the school bells rang, signaling the end of the day. “Guess that solves your problem,” you smiled apologetically. You hurriedly stuffed your books into your bag, ignoring the annoyed click of his tongue. You waited until everyone had cleared the room before you finally stood from your seat. 

There was finally nothing holding you back from beginning your first day of training! And yet you could barely pick up your feet to walk the few steps towards him. “What’re we working on today,” you asked with forced enthusiasm. You hoped Aizawa hadn’t noticed.

He nodded his head towards the door, quietly indicating for you to follow him. Aizawa walked at his own pace- fast enough to feel normal yet slow enough so you could stay a few paces behind. Yeah, he spent all night thinking of ways to help you train, but he still hadn’t the slightest clue of what to do. You had a strong quirk that you refused to use. Perhaps if he found a way to get you to build your trust in yourself…

“Aizawa sensei isn’t the training room back that way?” You glanced over your shoulder at the building that was slowly getting further and further away. Your mind was gradually slipping into panic mode. He did intend to help you, right? You didn’t think of yourself as a lost cause. Your steps faltered, what if he did. What if this was a ruse to get you out of UA? 

“It is,” he answered curtly, derailing your chaotic train of thought. “But we’re going to work our way up to there.” He glanced behind him to catch you nod confusedly. He stopped once the two of you reached an open field. “Make me walk.”

You stared at Aizawa’s back in confusion at his blatant request. Your bag slid off your shoulder before plopping down on the ground by your feet. 

“Well?” He continued to stare at the trees in front of him. 

“But if you can’t see me then you can’t-.” You quickly shut your mouth, realizing this must be the first part of your training. He really did have faith in you. And it wasn’t like he was asking an impossible task. Well, maybe a little. You had never used your quirk on someone, only on your surroundings, but how hard could it be. “Right,” you said more to yourself than anything. 

Though he couldn’t see your movements he could feel you focusing on the task. He knew your nerves would be getting to you, but he hoped by showing you he trusted you enough not to even worry about his quirk they could be settled. 

You stared at him for what felt like ages. No matter what you tried you couldn’t push away the thoughts of what might go wrong. What if you moved him the wrong way and he couldn’t stop you? You balled up your fist in frustration, a small lump forming in your throat. You wanted to be the best, but you couldn’t even get yourself to do this task. How pathetic. “I- I can’t. I’m sorry. I just can’t.” Your shoulders dropped in defeat as you shut your eyes, desperately trying to will the overwhelming feeling to cry away. 

Aizawa quickly turned around, your fragile voice immediately awakening a protective side of him. “Hey, don’t apologize… just do better,” he added the last bit to avoid sounding too mushy. He desperately racked his brain for ideas, your defeated form adding desperation to the matter. “Follow me.” He slowed his pace down this time, allowing you to walk beside him in silence. “I-,” he finally spoke up as the training grounds came into view. “You have a powerful quirk, but a quirk is only as powerful as you let it be. You won’t get the hang of it until you begin to trust yourself and learn your limits.” He chose to avoid explaining the reason he kept his back to you. “Meet me out here in five minutes,” Aizawa quickly added before walking off, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

You mulled over his words as you changed into your training uniform. Maybe he was right. How could you expect to be number one if you didn’t believe in yourself? You didn’t have to be cocky like Bakugo, but you had to start somewhere. The thought scared you if you were being honest. You knew your confidence was going to be harder to build than your skills with your quirk, but what other choice did you have. “I’ve got to trust myself,” you whispered with determination. 

The door slammed awkwardly loud behind you as you stormed out of the locker room with newfound enthusiasm. It was a lot quieter than you were used to. Normally the room would be filled with Midoriya’s rambling or Bakugo’s sudden outbursts. But all that could be heard was the sound of your footsteps as you strolled over to where Aizawa stood. 

“Stop right there,” he instructed you as he plucked a water balloon out of the bucket by his feet. Hopefully, this would work the way he thought it would otherwise he’d be back to the drawing board again. “I figured we use these until you become comfortable enough with your quirk to use on people.” He carefully tossed the water balloon in the air before catching it again. “For now, I want you to stand in that spot as I throw these your way. All you have to do is stop them before they hit you, got it?” You nodded timidly in response. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll ease up my tosses for now.”

His words from earlier passed through your mind once again. Trust. Your expression hardened with determination, “Let’s do it.”

His first toss was as though he were trying to toss to a baby. You doubted it’d even have enough impact to burst if you failed to stop it. No. You couldn’t think that way. The task was simple. And the worse that could happen would be the balloon pops. You were going to stop every balloon he threw your way. 

You tried to recall some quirk advice Midoriya gave you earlier when you told him you’d be training with Aizawa. All you could remember was something about an egg and a microwave, but the correlation between the two was unclear. 

Taking a deep breath to still yourself, you focused on the balloon. More specifically you focused on the water inside of it as you channeled your quirk. Mid-air the balloon burst, sending water sprinkling everywhere. You smiled sheepishly at Aizawa, who was clearly trying to hold back a smirk, “Technically it stopped.”

“Next time try without bursting it,” he chuckled lowly. 

It took you three days of training by yourself in the mornings and again with Aizawa in the afternoons and two completely soaked outfits before you had figured out how much of your quirk you needed to simply stop the balloon at any time. Then he handed you books on human anatomy and biology to, and you quote, “know the basics of all your enemies.” Sure it was a lot to wrap your brain around considering you still had all of your other homework to do, but the more you learned the more you could feel a shift in your mind. Where it was shifting to you weren’t quite sure, but you could feel it was in a good direction. Before you knew it you were spending your afternoons integrating your fighting style into your water balloon dodging training- which you were thankfully able to move from your spot in now. 

Sure, there were days when you’d walk back to your dorm soaked in a mixture of sweat and water from exploding water balloons. There were even days when you felt yourself slip back into your insecure and worrisome ways. But every time you managed to send a water balloon back to Aizawa using nothing but your quirk you could feel a surge of empowerment. It was only a week and a half that had gone by before he started throwing more challenges your way like having you do it blindfolded. Or inviting someone else to come so they both could throw water balloons at you.

Soon enough you found yourself laughing more than you found yourself indulging in your worries and fears. It was like being gifted freedom after years of denial. Everyday tasks involving water became simple exercises for your abilities. You had even messed with Aizawa a handful of times, altering his movements a barely noticeable amount, though he would always send you his death glare. He couldn’t ever really bring himself to be upset at you though. You were thriving. Your newfound confidence in your quirk overflowed into your everyday confidence. It filled him with a sense of pride, knowing he helped you grow.

“Bakugo and Y/L/N, you’re team captains in today’s capture the flag.” 

You looked at him in surprise. Really? You? Sure, you were getting better but were you really good enough to be a captain of the team? He looked at you expectantly. 

“Hurry up idiot we don’t have all day. I’m ready to kick some ass,” Bakugo barked as he stepped up from the line. 

You tried your best to suppress your anxious thoughts as you followed suit. Your team was comprised of Mina, Tsuyu, Tenya, Ochaco, Midoriya, Kirishima, Todoroki, Hagakure, and Momo. “Feel free to have grape,” you whispered to Bakugo, trying to muster up some cocky confidence. “And no hard feelings when my team wins.”

It was a total free for all once Aizawa released the class into the city training environment. Your team had decided to split into pairs of those whos quirks best complemented each other. Which meant you were unanimously voted to be paired with Todoroki, seeing as his ice quirk related to your water quirk. You chose not to tell your team that when it came down to it your partner didn’t really matter. Your water quirk also meant you could control others, not that they’ve ever seen you do it.

It was a double objective game. Not only were you trying to protect your own flags hooked onto your uniforms, but you were also in charge of capturing the enemy’s flag. All while being on a thirty-minute time limit. Because of this, you decided to assign two teams to the direct attack- you and Todoroki and Tenya and Tsuyu. Meanwhile, Ochaco, Mina, and Momo were left guarding the base flag while the others spread out through the area. 

The first ten minutes passed with seemingly no action, neither team able to find the other in the vacant city. 

“Mina, Yuga, and Rikido are out,” Aizawa’s voice boomed through the intercom, startling you slightly. 

Todoroki nudged your side gently before sending a sheet of ice along the ground, capturing Jiro and Kaminari by the ankles. With a quick nod and a flick of your wrist, you transformed his ice into water, dragging the flags down with a wave. A look of surprise momentarily crossed all three of their expressions, you were actually using your quirk.

“Denki, Kyoka, Tsuyu, Tenya, and Koji are out.”

“Hey,” you whispered, dragging Todoroki out of his state of shock. “We still have the challenge to win.” Without another word you continued to scour the area, your mind focused on one thing- proving to yourself you could do this. 

“We still have the advantage in numbers,” Todoroki spoke up, taking authority. “It’s probably best to trust our other teammates to guard the flag and take out the other team while we go after the flag.” You couldn’t tell if he was looking at you for confirmation or if he was simply trying to see if you understood. Either way, you nodded in response. 

The quietness between you two as you both walked through the streets was intense. In all your time together in class, you’ve never really spoken to each other much. Not on purpose though. He was just quiet and you normally had your own things to work on. 

A shadow along the ground ripped you from your thought. “Shoto!” Without fully thinking you used your quirk to force him out of the way just as Tokoyami’s dark shadow attempted to rip his flag. Going with the flow you transferred your focus to Tokoyami, stopping him in his tracks as you charged towards him. You slid along the ground by his feet, wiping his flag from his hip easily. 

“Fumikage, Mezo, Momo, Toru, Ochaco and Minoru are out.”

You scampered back over to Todoroki who was still trying to process what you did earlier. “Water,” he muttered to himself with a quiet chuckle. 

“Eijiro is out.”

“That means it’s down to us and Midoriya. I’ll go after the flag, Katsuki is most likely there. You go help Midoriya,” Todoroki spouted out. He could see the hesitation in your eyes, but this was the best plan he could think of. He had a better chance in a one on one against Katsuki than you did. 

You chewed on your lip nervously, trying to steal your nerves so your words could find their way past your throat. “You help Midoriya, I’ve got Bakugo. You’ve got distance on your side, he’ll need that.” The nerves began to overcome you as Todoroki stood there staring at you. 

“Okay.” 

It was that easy. You’d be lying if you told yourself you weren’t surprised by his reply. He trusted you with this. You shot him a grateful yet relieved smile before sprinting off to the edge of the city. Your legs burned as you ran with full force towards the unguarded flag. Before you could even see where it was coming from an explosive blast knocked you off your feet. Your jacket barely managed to provide a shield against the rough gravel as you skidded across the street. 

“For someone who was all talk that seemed pretty easy,” Katsuki boasted despite still keeping his guard up. He made no movements towards you to rip your flag as you scrambled back to your feet. 

You regained your footing, squaring off against him. “I’m not done until that flag,” you nodded towards his, “is in my hands.” Your talk was tough, but you couldn’t seem to shake the bubbling fear building inside of you. You had to be smart about every step you took. 

Shaking your head, you rushed at him, preparing an offensive attack. Katsuki scoffed at your movements before sending another blast your way. You rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding getting hit. Behind you, the building groaned from the impact of the blast. 

“Think. He won’t let me close enough for hand to hand. So it’s down to quirks.” You dodged another blast. He was trying to keep you at a distance. Sweat dripped down from your chin.

“Izuku, Mashirao, and Hanta are out.”

That’s it! You gathered the sweat off your body, forming a puddle in your hands. 

Todoroki rushed to the edge of the city, desperate to see what was going on. It was down to you, him and Bakugo. Another blast rang through the now quiet city. Yet neither name had been called yet which meant you were really holding your own.

Using your quirk you allowed your sweat to discreetly form a thin sheet on the ground, similar to how you’ve seen Todoroki use his ice. You pulled Bakugo towards you, using your sheet of sweat to make him practically glide.

Todoroki could barely through the clearing smoke, but he could make out a very clear ‘what the hell’. He watched as Bakugo took staggering steps towards you. It was like he was taking steps he didn’t want to. Todoroki’s mind flashed back to earlier when you had made him move out of the way. 

“Come on blasty,” you mumbled to yourself. Any moment now he’d try to hit you. You glanced at the unstable building he hit earlier. The smell of caramel filled your senses. Now! Unsure of which arm he would use you used you directed both of his arms at the building’s weak point.  

One final groan escaped from the building as it began to tumble down. Ignoring his flag you began to sprint to the unguarded team flag. You ran through the falling debris, pushing Katsuki back into safety. All around you debris rained as the building crumbled to the ground, but you couldn’t care less. You could see the flag straight ahead. Your legs felt weightless. Behind you, the building fell with one final crash that sent dust everywhere. You glanced over your shoulder to see Katsuki fuming, using his blasts to help him fly across the debris. 

Todoroki couldn’t believe what he saw. He knew you were quirk on your feet in a fight, but he never thought you’d do something so bold. So reckless. So crazy. So awe-inspiring. You weren’t the same Y/n that used to be too scared to use her quirk on even a puddle. Before he could think of what he was doing his legs began to move towards the scene. 

“I don’t know what you pulled back there, but I’m not done,” Bakugo barked behind you as he landed in front of the debris. 

“But I am,” you called back, though you were speaking of something else. You stopped his every movement as you took the last few steps towards the flag. You plucked it from its place on the pole, but the room remained quiet. Even as everyone followed Aizawa onto the training center. 

There were no congratulations as you expected. Or team cheering because of the win. There was just silence and stares. All of your previous confidence was slowly disintegrating under their stares. 

“That’s a scary quirk to have,” you heard Mineta whisper to Kaminari. 

“I wonder what else she can control,” Iida thought aloud. 

“Has she been holding back this whole time?” Even Mina joined the whispering among the class. 

“That stunt could’ve seriously harmed her and Bakugo,” Momo spoke with a worried expression. 

“Y/n’s team is the winner,” Aizawa spoke plainly. You noticed a conflicting look in his eyes. Like he was proud yet, well you couldn’t quite place a finger on what it was 

Katsuki scoffed and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t see the big deal,” he addressed everyone aloud. “We both fought.” He shrugged and walked past you. “Just don’t expect it to be as easy next time. You just caught me off guard today that’s all.” He glanced at you, the determination in his eyes setting ablaze a new desire to continue to train. 

You opened your mouth to say something but got drowned out by Kirishima’s exclamation. “That was badass! I volunteer to help you train, I have to see more of your quirk.”

A small blush crept onto your cheeks at the sudden positive attention. You nodded shyly in acknowledgment. 

“Me too,” Midoriya pipped in with just as much enthusiasm. 

“Awesome! I’ve been reading some books Aizawa sensei gave me and I think I could help recovery girl with healing you.” Your eyes sparkled as you rambled off excitedly. You thought growing confident with your quirk was exhilarating, but this was even better. It felt amazing to be able to talk about your quirk freely and you had Aizawa to thank for it. 

Bonus: 

“Aizawa Sensei!” You picked your pace up to a jog until you got ahead of him. “What’d you think,” you asked eagerly as you spun to face him. 

Aizawa shrugged and suppressed a smile. “You went a little overboard if you ask me.”

“I was caught in the moment- Woah!” You lost your footing, sending you tumbling backward. Aizawa caught one of your flailing arms and helped to sturdy you. “I-.” You looked down at your feet shyly. “Thanks,” you spoke as you wrapped your arms around his waist tightly. “Not just for the fall but for helping me be confident too.” Your emotions were becoming overwhelming. Every worry, anxious thoughts, embarrassment, joy, anything you’ve been trying to suppress these past few weeks was beginning to explode out of you. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Aizawa stood frozen in your embrace, unsure of what to do. In all these weeks that have passed, he found himself growing fond of you. You were already one of his favorite students- not that he played favorites- but now he almost thought of you as a daughter. “You could’ve.” That was all he could bring himself to say. Slowly he reciprocated your hug, resting his hand on the back of your head. 

He thought of pulling away in case anyone were to come, but decided against it. Instead, he held you as long as he felt you needed, waiting until he felt your arms slacken before he let go. “I’m proud of you if that’s what you wanted to know,” he chuckled. “And as reckless as it looked… It did have an action movie badass look to it.”

Your eyes glistened with tears and for once you weren’t sure if it was from sadness or joy. “Right?! I felt really cool and the adrenaline-.”

You were cut off by Kirishima’s voice across the lawn, “Hey y/n, you ready yet?” 

“Yeah one sec,” you yelled out. You turned back to Aizawa with an apologetic look, “sorry, Kirishima wanted to see if anyone could beat me at swimming. But, I’ll see you in class and training on Monday. Bye sensei,” you rambled quickly with a small wave before taking off towards Kirishima, Katsuki, Midoriya, and Todoroki. 

Aizawa watched with a small smile playing on his lips knowing you were going to do great things. 

[disaster-bay-leaf]

Ok so these were the cutest~ (ㆁωㆁ)

4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 19, 22, 23, 28, 33, 34, 46, 47, 52, 59, 60, 63, 66, 83, 87, 88, 93, 99

I kno I listed like....all of them lmao but feel free to answer whichever you want and ofc you can ask me in return Baybe ( ◜‿◝ )♡

uHUHUHUHU much content for me to answer, im happy bebe 💜💜💜✨

4 - how do you take your coffee/tea?

hm coffee either Very Black No Sugar (for the sleep deprived me) or iced latte three sugars and theres no in between

and as for tea its All Black Teas That Exist, cinnamon-flavoured especially (but basically all teas that come to mind when u think “autumn”), and rooibos!!! okay basically the only oke i dont like is any type of green tea (which is sad because they look cool but my tastebuds said ✨no✨)

6 - do you keep plants?

honestly id l o v e too because i love plants but,,, im kinda horrible at taking care of them though still way better than the majority of my family (research helps) so the only plant i own is kinda a small-palm-tree-looking thing in a bigass glass jar that i saved from my mother’s plant-destructing hands and its mostly doing well (the ends of its leaves are starting to be yellow tho and im worried:((( )

7 - do you name your plants?

yes!!! though the current one was named by my sister and its called “pickett” after fantastic beasts shsjjsj

9 - do you like singing/humming to yourself?

oh god oh dude you have n o idea

i have absolutely n o singing voice but its something i do constantly to give my brain the right amount of stimuli so basically i listen to music 24/7 and hum to myself 99% of that time

12 - whats your favourite planet?

oh i actually didnt think about this for so long but either pluto (hes a planet screw nasa) or saturn (RINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) or venus (girls,,,and libra,,,)

19 - do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw in it?

okay im gonna be completely honest with yall and say that my every single try at keeping a journal failed spectacularly and i lost motivation after like a few months so my only journals rn are my fancy fake-leather-bound calendar to note tests and assessments into, a kinda roughed up notebook that i uses for noting down poems or scribbling or passing notes in class, and a kinda fancy bullet journal notebook that i used as a book of shadows for a while but since my fountain pen died i didnt touch it

22 - are you a morning person?

n o

i am so not a morning person but i wish i could be because honestly dawns are beautiful

but as it is rn im either sleep deprived all the time and loathe every second of being in an awake state or (if i have a few days of schoolbreak) my biological clock moves forward a few hours and i sleep 2am-10am

23 - whats your favourite thing to do on lazy days with zero obligations?

except for the fact that i dont remember the last time it happened, i would probably spend it drawing outside, watching anime with my sister and riding a bike around the forest

28 - sunrise or sunset?

i love sunrises because its so peaceful and everyone is asleep but also i subconsciously immediately correlate them with waiting for a train to take me to school (because thats basically the only time i see them) so its a bittersweet love especially with my fucked up biological clock

but sunsets are really really pretty too and i see them more often so i cant choose

33 - whats your fave pastry?

and isnt that a millior-dollar question dhsjjsjsj

either cinnamon rolls (i absolutely adore them) or that one specific type of cupcake-shaped-thing made out of shortcrust/bread/whatever its called and filled with vanilla pudding

34 - tell us about a stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

awwww this is cute

okay so basically my two favourite stuffed animals (i still have them, they sit in my wardrobe) were two teddy bears (like maybe 20cm high each of them) and one was pure brown and the other was silver-brown and they had stereotypical polish male names “Waldek” (read. Valdek) and Stefan (i think tho im not sure if i remember correctly, my memory is a feeble thing sometimes

46 - tell us the worst pun you can think of

what dog would never bite you? a hot dog *badumtss*

47 - what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

huh a year ago id say pineapple pizza but i guess i dont hate pineapples that much anymore (tho putting them on pizza is still an abomination) but i think that if id ever want to get rid of anything it would be parsley, i hate that freakin herb (does it count as food tho)

52 - what are your favourite memes of the year so far?

the ever given for sure shsjshjsjsjsjjsj

but bullying tramp stamps is gold and pure tumblr energy too

as for fandom memes: im in love with all keeping-up-with-the-todorokis variations and the fact that the entire bsd fandom looked at fukuchi and said “biTCH” and thats one of the only things we’re unanimous about

59 - whats your favourite myth?

i always liked the kora/persephone myth (though demeter is an overbearing parent to the nth power), loki and thor crossdressing at a party to get mjolnir back, atalanta because shes a queen and id politely ask her to kick my ass, and cassandra because she deserved better, and theres a l o t more because alas i was a mythology nerd but this post is long enough for me not to make this section 20 times longer sjjsjsjsjsjks

but there are a lot of slavic myths that are very cool too, though we dont know that much about them as about the greeks for example

60 - do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

o o o o h yeah i do like poetry because to create such a beautifully sounding thing with only words someone has to be a genius

some of my favs are: some works of nakahara chuuya (thank u bsd for introducing me to this man’s beautiful imagery in his works i swear to god the descriptions do it for me) (also his poem about having hangovers is a mood like i feel you buddy), the raven by ea poe (i know everyone likes it but hOLY DAMN THE INTER/INTRAVERSE RHYMES ARE LIKE,,, BREATHTAKING) (and aso im a slut for gothic horror), and many more but also That One Poem From Welcome To Nightvale about reaching the island in the west,,, only perfect vibes from it

63 - are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organised or kinda leave them be?

okay heres the thing. for anyone else both my playlist library and my bookshelf would be considered pure chaos of a mad man b u t they actually have a highly focused system which means that i sort them based on their vibes, lovability and (in case of books) their age and whether or not theyre a part of a series so i would say my bookshelf is rather organised (when a quarter of it isnt occupying my desk that is) and my music is more organised than not but sometimes it gets out of control and i have to sort it entirely again

66 - what would your ideal flower crown look like?

either entirely constructed of simple white daisies, entirely constructed of only white roses, or something that probably would win a “how many different coloured flowers can one fit in a flower crown” competition

or something purple (maybe not belladonna)

83 - whats some of your favourite album art?

god i dont know if it counts but hozier’s wasteland baby is probably one of my absolute favourites and no one shall beat that

“thrifted youth” (dalynn) and “standard deviation” (danny schmidt) have very aesthetic covers too

also the iconic p!atd too weird to live, too rare to die! album cover,,, its just iconic what can i say

and last but not least matt meason’s pink-and-black album covers (though bank on the funeral is really pretty too but like,,, “who killed matt meason” d o e s it for me and so does the 2017 tribulation single)

87 - what are some movies that you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

this is such a hard question because im not a really cinematography-oriented gal but i suppose that (at the risk of not going deep enough into the cinema world):

- the princess bride

- inception

- night at the museum

- SPIRITED AWAY

- forrest gump

- truman show

- E.T. (i cried okay)

- the lord of the rings (because damn me if this isnt one impressive adaptation)

- parasite

and one more personal recommendation: “ready or not” with samara weaving because goddamn i dont usually watch this genre but holy s h i t is it good

93 - whats the hairstyle you wear the most?

honestly just plain hair down (because having curly hair is a menace), split in the middle when i have longer hair and split on one side when its short

also low ponytails or half-up-half-down when im exercising, or double french braids when my hair doesnt cooperate enough to look presentable in any other form

99 - list some songs that resonate with your soul whenever you hear them

this is difficult because my music taste is a goddamn rollercoaster on a good day, but heres some:

- me and the sky from “come from away” musical (this is sort of a test song for my mental stability, if i cry i aint stable)

- dancing after death by matt meason (okay most songs by matt meason except for like,,, hallucinogenics maybe)

- tears and rain by james blunt

- i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie

- almost home by mxmtoon

- anything by hozier really but shrike especially

- payphone, the cover by alex g (i cried to this song so many times)

- burning pile by mother mother (can i roast all my problems please)

- long way from home and cleopatra by the lumineers

- autoclave by the mountain goats

oooh that was c o o o o o o o l as fuck thank you sm so much bebe (and sorry for the long post @everyone else)

[fatgirlsguidetodating]

Blog: Almost 40.

I’ve never been one for posting particularly introspective blog entries publicly. It’s not that I don’t contemplate things, or even write about them, but for the most part those meandering musings are confined only to my phone’s notes app- my most used app behind Facebook. And on those rare occasions that I *do* publicly blog about them I usually keep it on a relatively superficial level as I don’t necessarily like opening up my mind (and insecurities) to strangers.

But I’m turning 40 in less than a month and I think this is the catalyst that’s prompted a lot more thought about things than I’d ordinarily give them. I’d always considered 40 old but, as I approach it, I don’t *feel* old. And my family and friends would be rather quick to point out I don’t act it either. I always thought by 40 I would be much further along in life than I am. That I’d have a good job, a nice husband, a nice house, kids, that whole suburban dream. But... I haven’t.

And I started thinking if I’m a ball of mixed emotions about turning 40 maybe there’s other women- and men for that matter- who are feeling the exact same way so perhaps if I’m to break my self imposed cocoon of privacy around my innermost thoughts now might be the perfect time to give it a shot. So, with that being said, here goes nothing...

Here’s the thing: I remember my Mum’s 40th. I had just turned 10. I was sitting outside with my cousins, all of similar ages, and we were making fun of what we considered to be the appalling music taste our respective parents had. I even remember the leather pants Mum was wearing. She claims to have forgotten them but I think she’s faking that despite her bad memory. It didn’t even occur to me for a millisecond that my 40th wouldn’t be spent in a similar fashion. I just assumed life would follow the same path most women’s lives had followed for generations (with one caveat- I was planning to be the first one to go to uni): I’d find a job, I’d find a husband, we’d buy a house with a white picket fence, and we’d have 2.5 kids and a dog. And that all of that would be well and truly achieved by the time I turned 40. Just like it had been for my mum, and her mum before her, and hers before her. It was just the way things went, you know?

And then life happened. There’s a line in “Beautiful Boy” one of the John Lennon songs that I love that says “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” and it couldn’t be any truer in the 21st century than It was when it was written in 1980. (It’s a cruel twist of fate that it was written not long before he died and released after his death.)

For me “life” was all about my health, or lack thereof. I’ve mentioned the back issues before and the many hospital visits, and the 70 plus back ops. In essence this put things on hold: work, getting a home of my own, finding a guy (hard when you are always in and out of hospital and have problems losing weight) and having kids. So as I approach 40 without those things I’m not necessarily looking forward to it the way many do. (Plus if I get one “over the hill” card the person giving it to me shall be in a body bag.)

One thing I noticed when researching this blog post was Google searches about turning 40 seemed to concentrate on two things: what your health would be like post 40 and life as a Mum. Well what about those of us who are single and childless? Are we invisible? This didn’t particularly help with my mixed emotions about this supposed great milestone.

And it seems I’m not alone. Dr. Nancy Oreilly wrote about women’s aging anxiety that regardless of how you feel towards turning 40 you’ll still do what everyone does at this juncture and take stock of your life thus far. Things like “what have you done with your life? Are you the person you intended to be and are you living the life you want?” (1.)

In Lisa Bono’s interview with author Glynnis MacNicol about her book “No one tells you this” for the Sydney Morning Herald about life as a single 40 year old woman MacNicol admits she approached her 40th with “so much dread and shame" because she didn't have what she was "supposed" to have - a husband and a kid or two.... (because) we don't understand how to talk about women's lives as fulfilling unless we incorporate babies or weddings.” (2.)

Meredith Goldberg, in her article about age being just a number posed the question that if indeed age was just a number why was she feeling so apprehensive? Was it because she felt “like (she) had not accomplished enough in (her) 40 years on earth?” (3.) After all she hadn’t gotten married, hadn’t had kids, didn’t have another advanced degree.

Interestingly studies over the last decade or so have shown that the start of middle age (which, much to my chagrin given my belief I’m still like a much younger woman, is considered to be 40) often correlates with the time when people are the least happy, have the lowest levels of life satisfaction and highest levels of anxiety. A study at the University of Warwick and Dartmouth College attributed this to the facts that at this stage “adults are often faced with the pressures of raising children and looking after aging parents while simultaneously dealing with mounting financial and career pressures.“ (4)

Is it all too late for me- and other women turning 40 without a child- though? This is one of the most common thoughts going round and round in my head as I approach 40. I mean we all know about the whole ticking biological clock right? Even when I was doing my first postrgrad degree at 24, working part time, still single, still living at home, I still thought well there’s plenty of time. At 28 when I was finishing with postgrad, working full time but still single I *still* thought well there’s still a fair bit of time. At 33 it changed to well I guess there’s still time if I get a bit of a hurry on now. And now, at 39, single and childless, I think well maybe it’s too late now.

In her article about turning 40 whilst single and childless Bethany Jenkins wrote that it’s not only common but practically universal for a woman to expect and long for children, “to bring new life into the world; to put her hand on her belly as her baby grows; to wonder whether the newborn will have her or her beloved’s eyes; to hear “mom” not as a word uttered by her own voice to her own mother but as a call from her child’s voice for her.” (5) MacNicol in her book echoes that saying “as women, we’re taught to expect our stories to turn to marriage and children at a certain point in time (namely, before 40.)” (6)

Robin Deutsch, a psychologist and associate professor at William James College in Newton also points out that women reaching 40 tend to be more confident, have more wisdom and make better choices. (4) (Does she even know me?) But when you really think about it the whole “life begins at 40” theory has some merit. Julia Child didn’t publish her first cookbook until she was almost 50. Vera Wang didn’t start her fashion career until 40.

The fact that these women have the same feelings surrounding turning 40 whilst single and childless gives me some comfort. There’s a quote from Jung that I remember from philosophy at uni. He said that life begins at 40 and until then you’re just doing research. And maybe I’ve got to look at the positives in my current circumstances? One big upside I see is freedom. I plan to travel and return to uni to study something I’m passionate about and it’s doubtful I could do this had my life taken that path I was so sure it would.

So does this mean that the formula that my mum and all my ancestors followed, that unsaid life plan of when to get married, buy a home and have kids, is a thing of the past? We know women have children later these days. In fact the median age for a first kid these days is 30.6 as per the ABS reports

From the 1950s to mid 1970s, the fertility rates of women aged 20–24 and 25–29 were patently higher than that of all other age groups. Since then, the fertility rates for women in their 20s have been steadily declining whilst rates of those aged in their 30s have mostly increased since the early 1980s. Since 2000, the fertility rate of women in their early 30s has been higher than all other groups. It’s not just that women are having babies later but also the birth rate has declined. In 1950 the birth rate was 23.124. Its predicted 2020 will be at 12.561. (ABS yearly reports.)

We know women have children later these days, preferring to be settled and to have done the things they thought they’d not be able to do after before becoming a parent. Compared to our mothers, our grandmothers and so on we have more choices and not every woman’s first goal in life is having a child. (8)

The differences between say baby boomers and millennials are striking. It’s not just the fact that they settle down later but there are also other factors that mean by the time we turn 40 we may not have all the things our ancestors have but there are other priorities we have. For instance more women go to university now than they did when my Mum was turning 40. And after spending the time, work and money to get a degree it’s only natural that it follows that they want to get more out of their careers. Whilst baby boomers are more driven by loyalty, often staying at the same company for years, millennials are more interested in achieving more, whether that’s at the same company or not. (9) My father, for example, worked for the same company his entire life. He could have gone to many others with the knowledge he’d accumulated but he liked his job and he was happy there so it didn’t even really occur to him in more than a passing thought.

Then you look at things like buying a home. It’s ironic given that pay has increased that millennials are putting home ownership off longer than previous generations. Whilst people of my parents generation were content with a “starter home” these days more and more first home buyers want a bigger home, with bigger and better appliances, closer to the city than the suburbs etc. Research has found that rather than jump straight into a mortgage millennials look at travel, and spending their pay on things like Ubers and Lyfts, coffee, gadgets, clothes, and live entertainment and sports. (9)

Marriage is also something we do later. Consider the fact that whilst almost “50% of baby boomers were married between the ages of 18 to 32... a mere 26% of millennials are married in the same age range.” (9)

The fact that so many other women have the same feelings surrounding turning 40 whilst single and childless gives me some comfort. There’s a quote from Jung that I remember from philosophy at uni. He said that life begins at 40 and until then you’re just doing research. And maybe I’ve got to look at the positives in my current circumstances? One big upside I see is freedom. In the next 12 months I plan to travel and return to uni to study something I’m passionate about and it’s doubtful I could do this had my life taken that path I was so sure it would.

In an article published on mindbodygreen.com the writer spoke about how well-meaning friends had been asking her did she not want to have kids, did she not want to get married, etc, and she was quick to say that this can actually be the “most celebrated time of your life (and to) consider yourself blessed and enjoy the freedom.” (10) She listed some of the things to celebrate about turning 40 whilst single and childless. Like me travel was up there on her list as was the time to Perdue your passions. She also mentioned “(the) opportunity to nurture your friendships and relationships with family...(and that) the dating pool is large in your 40’s (given) a large majority of our population is divorced... there are so many

social media dating sites and social events in every major city... (and) you know what you're looking for.” (10)

So maybe instead of worrying about why I’m not where I wanted to be turning 40, worrying that it’s too late, worrying that my friends are further along than I am, I should be embracing it. The future is mine. I’ve just got to find a way to embrace it.

Fatgirl.

Sources:

1.) https://www.drnancyoreilly.com/40-2/

2.) https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/no-one-tells-you-life-as-a-40-year-old-single-woman-can-be-like-this-20180717-p4zs16.html

3.) https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.sheknows.com/health-and-wellness/articles/1140197/anxious-about-turning-40/amp/

4.) https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.bostonglobe.com/magazine/2017/06/01/seriously-now-what-traumatic-about-turning/UVnbdmxVvLSzwoB8Yo4wGP/story.html%3foutputType=amp

5.) https://ifstudies.org/blog/reflections-on-turning-40-while-single-and-childless

6.) https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.wellandgood.com/good-advice/single-at-40-glynnis-macnicol-interview/amp/

7.) https://aifs.gov.au/facts-and-figures/births-in-australia

8.) https://www.mamamia.com.au/average-age-to-have-kids/

9.) https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.businessinsider.com/difference-millennials-baby-boomers-2019-4%3famp

10.) https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.mindbodygreen.com/articles/so-im-single-40-and-childless-now-what--10631

[nikikikiko]

Goya no Machiawase

 This song is not just the opening for Noragami, it could have predicted/foreshadowed a certain character’s downfall, and it was so well hidden as an opening, nobody wanted to look into it. (p.s. I will be using translations from animelyrics. if the source is not a good source, please tell me!)

That certain character is Yukine, the angel of a 14 year old who’s emotionally messed up right now. and Here’s how I saw this,

I'm carrying a loaded rifle in one hand. I'm heading for you with quickened steps, knowing you're shaking and shivering

Yukine is carrying a ‘loaded rifle’ or rather, his very own powers as a shinki. Shinki’s are known to be able to do spells (Kazuma) if they are powerful enough. Hafuri’s outrank usual Shinkis by default, but if the shinki (Kaguha) is well-versed and gifted for spells, then the shinki is going to outrank the Hafuri. But so far, Yukine has only been outranked by Kazuma, who’s seemed to have fallen to our favorite blondie besides Bisha, after pissing off said blondie.

This could also reference to the fact he’s willing to die for someone he loves (be it Yato, Hiyori, Kazuma, Bishamon, Daikoku, Kofuku, Tenjin, etc. He’s willing to die, or just Yato. Just yato would do probably.) because of the second chance at life they have given him, he doesn’t want them to lose that (if they are a shinki, if they are a God, then to cause the shinki they have pain, especially himself.) life. (I.e. He quite literally risked his life over and over for Yato, he gave up a personal bit of info to Kazuma because trust). Tick tock, tick tock go the hands of the clock. They just spurred my flustered heart on. Tick tock, tick tock go the hands of the clock. They keep moving forward with no sign of stopping.

The God’s Secret is unstoppable. There is no sign of stopping it besides the Shinki accepting the way they died, or the shinki having no fear of death (Nana’s case). Yukine’s name was chipped by Chiki, and therefore he had a time limit before he reached an emotional part of the god’s secret where he can’t trust anything, but Yato. and then Yato breaks this trust by using Kazuma, spurring the fall even faster. (As you could see, Tsuguha spent time with only Bishamon, even if Bishamon didn’t let her shinki see Tsuguha, Tsuguha still saw Bishamon as a sign of trust and help. So it could be that the shinki starts to zero in on the god as a line of trust. Especially since Yukine’s trust was broken 5 or more chapters by Kazuma before breaking.) Sealed in in a room devoid of others' warmth, I'm stretching my cold hand forward. No one else knows where I am. Take a wild guess what this correlates too. Did you think ‘Yukine’s death’? Then ding ding ding! This could possibly mean Yukine remembering his death, since he was beginning to anyway. When he died, only his father knew where he was, after all. He was being suffocated alive in a dark place, and nobody else knew where he was. He died alone with the man he probably both loved and hated most.  “Tick tock, tick tock go the hands of the clock.It's the border-time, the time between end and beginning.Tick tock, tick tock went the hands of the clock. They've all aligned!” Back to what I was saying about time, time is up.  “It’s the border-time” He drew a line against Yato. A line. A border. This is the showing that his time as Yukine is finally coming to a close, and that he’s going to break soon.  I was waiting there speechless for a sorrow so deep it would make me laugh. I was waiting there speechless for a joy so great it would bring me to tears.

Yukine wanted a family that wasn’t dysfunctional, even if he didn’t remember he did, that desire still stayed. So his birthday present was a ‘sorrow so deep it would make me laugh’ because it reminded him of the thing he hated, he was dead. He’d be 14 forever, and there was nothing he could do. But it was also a ‘joy so great it would bring me to tears’ because it was so sweet they all gathered together and gave him a birthday present, and he was so thankful to have Yato and Hiyori in his afterlife.  Sealed in in a room devoid of others' warmth I'm stretching my cold hand forward. No one else knows where I am.

A repeat of what I said earlier, he’s remembering how he died most likely.  Tick tock, tick tock went the hands of the clock. As if to hound me Tick tock, tick tock went the hands of the clock. for not wanting to spend my days Tick tock , tick tock went the hands of the clock. desperately trying to weather the coming storm. Tick tock, tick tock went the hands of the clock. They've all aligned! A probable descent into madness. This could pertain back to Yukine’s time being up .  Also, back to the conversation in the latest chapter, he realized that he was not Yato’s son. He was a tool. Even if Yato doesn’t see it that way, Yukine does. And he regrets thinking that way possibly.

This could also mean his ablutions. “As if to hound me... for not wanting to spend my days... desperately trying to weather the storm... they’ve all aligned” 3 Shinki must be present for an ablution because they’re the one performing the ablution. They make align in a triangle, and desperately try to stop the infected shinki from turning into an ayakashi, in some cases. In Yukine’s case, he didn’t want to spend his days with Yato, so he stung the god, and then his ablution was desperate. I had been waiting speechless, all alone in a dimly lit room. I had been waiting there speechless for the sound of someone kicking the door in. I had been waiting speechless, all alone in a dimly lit room. I had been waiting there speechless.

Remembering his own past. He was alone, possibly, with his abusive and drunk dad. And it’s more than possible, he was waiting for someone, maybe the person he was mailing (letters + mailbox, he was definitely mailing someone), to come save him from his dad. Since he felt trapped possibly.

"You have nothing to fear now. I promise."

This is Yato’s promise to Yukine. That he is safe. Yukine remembers that promise, and tries to do the same for Yato. As said before, the only person he probably trusted more than himself was Yato, so Yato getting another shinki (WITHOUT HIS KNOWLEDGE, mind you. It was done behind his back and he ran into Yato using Rekki, so ofc he’s gonna be sad and confused. The exact same emotions Nora felt.) He possibly feels as if that promise was broken. That’s why it’s here possibly, he’s remembering it and, 

I held my loaded rifle toward the firmly shut door and I kicked it in. The barrel jerked up and pierced the person I was yesterday. "Nighty night." Shouldering his despair, the person I would be tomorrow walked away. Let's meet again tomorrow night.

This could mean he finally let the original Yukine, the Yukine before being a shinki go to rest. He was the original one day, and the shinki the next. And he’s bidding goodbye to his past, instead choosing his second life over his last. Choosing his given name, rather than his original name.

The Blonde 14 year old spirit of a boy who was abused, chooses the name Yukine. 

[akela-nakamura]

I’m gonna rant into the void here. 

Someone’s probably already said this but I have Feelings about Steven Universe and I’m gonna say ‘em. 

They mourned for Pink Diamond--for SIX THOUSAND YEARS. For as long as the Diamonds have probably been around, that’s probably not a SUPER long time for them, but I imagine it’s not a weekend either. 

They had no idea that PD was Rose Quartz, had no idea that she’d gone full renegade because they wouldn’t LISTEN to her. You would think her “shattering”  would’ve changed something. You’d think her shattering would’ve made them realize they should’ve paid more attention. The story we're told was that she BEGGED them to reconsider. She tried everything she could think of, through the channels she had, to get them to spare the lives of Earth. It was HER colony, technically she could do what she wanted to it. But she still had expectations and the older Diamonds would not allow her to deviate from that. 

So she started the Rebellion as the only way she could think of to get them to STOP. To listen. To reconsider. It did nothing. It made her life as PD worse. Now she was expected to crush this rebellion, to shut the leader up, shatter her and get the hell over it. Now she had more pressure--why isn’t the Rebellion over Pink? Why haven’t you brought in that defective Quartz, Pink? Why are you allowing her to sabotage the Kindergarten, Pink? Why aren’t you Perfect, Pink? You’re a Diamond, Pink, act like it. 

I bet she started spending more and more time as Rose. More and more time destroying everything she thought she ever wanted. I bet it felt good.  

They never saw her spiraling. They never cared to do more than send her on her way. They were disappointed. BD is canonically on Earth before PD’s “Shattering.” She’s there to impose “structure” and “oversee progress.” No, she’s there to keep Pink in line, to take care of it herself and talk to PD in private about how they expected better and she knows it’s your first colony, Pink, but really, this is ridiculous. 

So PD says FUCK it. The only attention she’s getting right now, the only time the other Diamonds are FOCUSED on her, is when she’s NOT HER. It’s when she’s Rose Quartz, Leader of the Rebellion, that they do ANYTHING other than wave her away and tell her to do BETTER. So she stages her own Shattering. How long had she been thinking of doing so? How long had she’d been preparing for this? We’ve seen her Room now, on Homeworld. We’ve seen how she hid away from that blank room, how she made herself friends. 

And the Diamonds NEVER SEE THIS. They NEVER see how frustrated she is just being the “funny” one. Just being the one will weird ideas that they laugh off and tell her it’s cute. While at the same time telling her what she HAS to live up to. What she HAS to be. 

And then she’s gone. In an instant, everything Homeworld stands for, has built upon it gone. There’s war on Earth, PD’s been SHATTERED, which I’m guessing, most Gems thought was SOLIDLY impossible. The Diamonds grieve, BD makes a Human Zoo and keeps PD’s Soldiers. YD keeps moving, has locked away her pain and continued conquering planets. They leave Earth, thinking they destroyed all Gem life left and leave it to rot. (Or, well, implode from the Cluster but same diff)

The world moves on. 

But this--it should’ve changed something. It should have made echoes and had consequences beyond Earth. PD’s shattering at the hands of RQ seems to be common knowledge. There’s no Gem we meet that doesn’t know. (Save for Lapis and Bismuth, both of whom have been out of the loop for the last six thousand years). 

We’ve seen how fast Gems can go from being loyal to being renegades. Sapphire and Ruby, both firmly entrenched in their roles, thinking nothing of their statuses and one moment--one SINGLE moment, changed everything. They fused, on accident, and decided that they would rather have THIS future than the one they were supposed to have. Pink, who wanted nothing more than to have her own Colony, turned around and fought with everything she had to protect the lives she was so willing to destroy. 

So how did this story, this impossible truth, a Diamond shattered, a rebellion that would not be quelled--whispers, from Gem returning from the battlefield, of Fusions between different types of Gems--not started another Rebellion, this one closer to home? 

I think it did. I think Rose’s choice affected a lot more than Earth, she just didn’t realize it. Maybe they weren’t as loud. Maybe they didn’t have the means, the guts to fight. I think the Diamonds saw the writing on the wall and cracked down on Gem Roles. I think the start of Era Two had more consequences than Homeworld not having the resources to make Gems like they used to. I think it made things a whole hell of a lot harder for those who were different. Homeworld had no tolerance for it before, as far as we can tell, but those who might’ve scraped by--a Ruby that wasn’t QUITE the right color, a Quartz just a bit shorter than she should be--were suddenly culled out. 

Peridot mentions Harvesting--we don’t know for sure what this is, what it does, but we can guess it’s not good. BD mentions height requirements and using limb enhancers to adjust for it. Did they realize that they can’t destroy every gem that not QUITE right so they hid it instead? What pieces are we missing here?

And why haven’t the Diamonds LEARNED? PD’s back, but she’s not. It’s Steven, who has no idea what is going on, the etiquette, the culture. But it’s PD, so it’s okay, right? Yet after six thousand years of grieving and wondering what they could have, should have done, did it never occur to them that they should’ve treated PD differently? She’s back and it’s like nothing has changed. Awww, she calls herself Steven now, how funny! Awwww, she wants to host a ball, how that brings us back! 

They act like she went behind a curtain, changed forms, and is just being silly for the sake of being silly. I wonder how long they would’ve tolerated it before they demanded Steven change back. How long it would’ve taken for them to expect Steven to perfectly emulate PD, to get annoyed when he says he doesn’t remember. They're still running off the high of getting PD back and haven’t thought about the consequences of what’s happened. 

Why haven’t either of them thought about the fact that PD FAKED HER OWN FUCKING DEATH? That she cared enough, wanted to save Earth enough to forsake EVERYTHING? She had NO plans on coming back, of ever explaining herself. She subverted everything to save one measly colony and its unimpressive meat bags. Now she’s created a child, half-Gem, half Human. Who does not care about Homeworld’s Rules. 

I wonder what’s going through their minds right now. They let Steven have a ball, probably thinking nothing of it, except annoyance at having to help him out with that too. But now Steven FUSED, in front of the entirety of their courts. In front of White Pearl, which is nearly the same as doing it in front of WD herself. 

Then ALL OF THE GEMS HE BROUGHT WITH HIM FUSED. A Sapphire allowed a Ruby to FUSE WITH HER. An underdeveloped, overcooked Amethyst fused with a PEARL. And then, from their own Courts, a new fusion appeared, saying, damningly--I KNEW I COULDN’T BE THE ONLY ONE. 

No, she’s not the only one. We know from the last time Steven was on Homeworld that you can’t SPIT without coming across defective Gems and fusions. How many more Gems at that ball are thinking the same thing? How many Gems will go through their days, wondering? Do the Diamonds now realize what’s CHANGED. Do the Diamonds realize that a new Rebellion is going to build, under their feet, down in the crust, under their opulent buildings and sneaking through their rules? 

What I find interesting is the new fusion--the one I’ve seen the fandom call Jade--fused in the middle of a ball, in front of two Diamonds, simply because she saw PD and other Gems do it. Simply because she saw her chance for validation, saw that she wasn’t alone and couldn’t stand there and not say or do anything. 

The Battle of the Heart and Mind will probably boil down to YD and BD against WD. But I think they're going to have to battle themselves first. BD and YD are also correlations of the heart and mind. Blue expresses herself often, she cries, she shows her anger and her powers are emotion based. Yellow seems to go for logic, for critical thinking and reserved emotions. I think that’s going to clash. I think we’re going to have a bigger showdown than we think. 

I don’t think we’re ready for what’s in store. But I can’t wait to see what’s coming next. 

[thrandilf]

So Distracting Ch 4

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000896/chapters/35060810

Anders didn't see Fenris for several days and counting after being walked in on the morning after by resident chantry brother Sebastian, who was more gracious about it than he imagined most chaste clergy would be. He tried not to fret, knowing Fenris was likely busy or needed time to himself. He tried not to imagine he'd scared him or somehow hurt him- he hadn't, right? Fenris certainly hadn't seemed pissed off and yet he kept himself isolated.

"Anders."

He groaned. He was grinding and mixing healing poultices with a mortar and pestle, trying to have some peace and quiet without the spirit in his head thinking at him. "Yes, Justice?"

"I don't understand how humans are so conditional day to day."

"Huh? How so?"

"Why do you write with more eloquence and work harder when the elf has recently used you for gymnastics?" Anders burst into laughter and Justice pressed on. "I don't see the correlation!"

"It's- oh Maker! Justice. This is too good- don't you inhabit my body too?"

"Yes, but the sensations between your legs shouldn't affect your mage manifesto. Explain it to me."

Anders giggled, reminded of the countless times the dwarf Oghren tried to ask Justice about his views on the horizontal hokey-pokies without ever outright calling it sex. "It's healthy, Justice. It's exercise and pleasure in one, and that's not even touching on how soothing it can be to be held and kissed. People have more energy when they're warm, well fed, relaxed, happy, and perhaps been to bed with someone. My head is clearer, although you might disagree."

Justice considered it seriously. "It isn't anger but well being that affects your energy? Your devotion and drive?"

"Well- it's both. Can't believe you Fade beings don't understand sleep and food and touch. Quality of life affects quality of everything. You do know you've been backseat driving in a HEALER'S head and learned absolutely nothing about my physical and emotional needs?"

Justice seemed to be thinking very hard. Spirits generally didn't like considering their point of view in need of change, even with such simple things as "sleep is medically NECESSARY TO LIVE". Anders realized that Justice only read his righteous anger as useful up to that second, and never other feelings of joy or mirth as anything but passing distractions.

"I apologize for misjudging your needs. I make it a point to not misjudge. I've only ever been one thing. I am blind to anything beyond morality and action."

"Well, I guess when you're a spirit who can opt out of sharing my taste buds delicious spices and hot meals don't mean much."

Justice shifted in Anders's mind, like he was about to make a profound declaration. "If your physical desires affect your mind and quality of health in this way, then I approve of Fenris and request you allow him access to you at least twice weekly."

Anders's hand slipped and his mortar and pestle clattered to the table and dumped his herbal mix everywhere. Anders pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and spluttered. "WHAT?! Did you just- oh my GOD-"

"I fully approve of the elf. His physical routines regarding your body's libido have drawn out a much more effective and persuasive vocabulary in your writings. Perhaps not only his physique but his resistance against his own oppression is inspiring."

"Noooo no no no! Even /I/ don't fully approve of the elf! Fenris-"

"Judging by your efficiency levels and mood, he's most beneficial to you approximately every few days, although there were no negative side effects for having sessions closer than that. Perhaps he has need for more frequent bouts with you and would be agreeable to you servicing him thrice weekly. Why is your face so noticeably heated?"

"We're done. We're so done. First I was and still am the center of hot gossip in all of Hawke's friend circle, and now YOU'RE trying to PRESCRIBE me sex at routine intervals each week!"

Justice was confused again. "Schedules are good, are they not? They are a constant."

"Not for this! It isn't how it works!"

"Isabela sees an elf woman every Thursday at 8pm. Humans do well to schedule appointments."

"Fenris would be ghastly offended if I acted like he was a sex worker to schedule times with. I'll try to spend more time with him when he's sociable again, okay? I'll send something over to cheer the broody bastard up."

"Agreed."

"Then are you done?"

"No." Maker, Justice really was bluntly honest all the blasted time. "I inhabit you, yet you're reluctant to discuss this development with me. Why? Openness is key to our existence."

Anders sighed heavily. "Aren't there perhaps spirits of Embarrassment in the Fade for you to understand this?"

A rare laugh emerged from Justice's consciousness. "They never appear to anyone."

-~-

Fenris didn't remember painting his floor wine bottle green, but upon focusing his eyes he realized that it was simply more of the floor was covered in bottles where he was slumped against the bed than there was visible floor. He groaned and leaned his pounding head back against the bed frame with a sigh.

What was the use of blacking out drunk if he didn't wake up with any new insights? He'd made a hasty retreat, frightened of how Anders possibly felt for him. He lay low and tried to reason out his emotions, drinking and working out and sleeping the rest of the days away, frustrated and desperate to stay hidden away. Even despite his impressive fortitude, the idea of another drop of wine made his head spin.

He wanted Anders- a mage.

It couldn't be.

Fenris wasn't one to cry, even in physical agony he focused more on wrath than the pure spiritual pain. He bent his head forward against his knees, curled into his chest. A soft sob escaped him and he burst into tears, hiding his face. All he wanted was to try and be happy, and the horrors of the only life he'd known followed him all the way to Anders's arms. He didn't know anything about love. Fenris only knew having agency and power taken from him- an ability Anders undoubtedly had. A fucking mage who in heated moments, bragged about how wonderful it must be to be a magister in Tevinter.

Was he so stupid as to care for someone only out to hurt him or was it paranoia and fear that kept him alone? Fenris didn't know. Neither option led to happiness.

A familiar knock rang out on the door and Fenris tensed for a split second and immediately relaxed as his ears twitched from the footsteps. Hawke.

"Fenris? Hello?" Hawke opened the door to Fenris's room and in with him was the heavenly aroma of apples and cinnamon. "Oh, Fenris."

With anyone else, Fenris would consider attacking them until they left, but Hawke he could trust. Especially with a tray of something smelling so enticing. He lifted his head and Hawke set the glass pan down on the bed and slid next to Fenris, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Who do I need to kill?"

Fenris sniffled. "No one I couldn't kill myself."

"Is this about Anders? Can you talk about it?"

Fenris hadn't seen anyone in days and Hawke's warm presence at his side calmed him. He closed his eyes. "I'm scared of Anders." His voice was barely a deep scraping croak. "Not that I couldn't rip his body to shreds, but of what he's doing to me. If- if I give myself to a mage, or to anyone at this point, I'm terrified I'll do the wrong thing or let myself be owned. I don't want to enslave myself to someone or let him get too close and- and I don't know."

"Being in a vulnerable position is frightening."

"Hawke, what do I do?!" Fenris wiped his eyes. "Anders confessed wanting to be mine and how he wants me to feel cherished. When I'm holding him I feel protective and I want to touch him and see him smile. It feels unreal. I can't help feeling I'm being set up. Manipulated. Why- why do I care about him?! Is it even real?"

Hawke squeezed Fenris's shoulder. "There's a lot going on here, and I understand how overwhelming it can be. I've fucked up a lot of relationships back in Ferelden. I have regrets, but I'd never want to take back caring for someone. I'm pretty sure Anders doesn't have any ill intentions towards you, Fenris. If anything he's worried he drove you away. Anders, Merrill, and Sebastian baked that apple crisp because Anders wanted to do something nice for you and Sebastian was trying to teach Merrill about human food."

"Anders did?" Fenris inhaled deeply and his stomach gnawed with hunger. "But he sent you here with it?"

"Well, he didn't know what kind of mood you were in. What if you never wanted to see him again? He thought he must've upset you. The man doesn't have a death wish."

"Oh." Fenris shrugged. "I should've just talked to him."

"It's alright."

"I don't think any of this is alright."

Hawke leaned over close so their heads were together, still holding Fenris's shoulders. "You're one of my best friends, Fenris. I love you. I love you and I swear on my life I'll never let someone abuse you ever again."

Fenris wilted. "Because I can't tell if I'm being used or mistreated. Because you're a mage and I have to trust one of you will be decent."

"No. It's because people need their friends to care about them and watch their backs no matter where they came from or who they are." Hawke stood up and held out the warm pan of apple crisp. "Now, our lovers were very sweet in almost setting my house on fire. Merrill didn't get cinnamon on her nose for us to not eat this."

The apples made Fenris's mouth water and he wiped his eyes for the final time, sitting next to Hawke on the bed and the two of them diving into the most divine thing Fenris had ever tasted. The dessert was gone in under a minute and Fenris smiled, sighing with contentment and pure bliss as he licked his lips. "Good. Good yes good."

"Same." Hawke finished his bite and they sat together in comfortable silence. "How're your reading lessons going?"

"I don't have to pause as much, but it's still slow going," admitted Fenris. "My penmanship is even worse."

"I've got time."

-~-

Anders was relieved to see Fenris again the next day. Fenris nodded at him and their hands brushed together as they walked side by side. They traveled through Lowtown with Hawke, running errands and adding more tasks to their endless roster. Isabela and Merrill trailed behind them and Anders couldn't keep quiet.

"Isabela, why on earth did you place a bet on Fenris and I?"

Isabela grinned. "I wanted to sleep with him, so I decided any outcome he had would be to my advantage. To always winning!"

"Wait you- but why would you bet on ME versus yourself?!"

"It's simple- if I slept with Fenris, that's a win. If he slept with Hawke, I have endless teasing ammunition to throw at Hawke. So then to make you sleeping with him beneficial, I put a small bet on it so tada! I'm pleased with any choice Fenris makes."

Anders expected Fenris to be mortified, offended at the very least, but he just huffed with a smile. "I'm flattered- why did you want to sleep with me? Anders has given me a taste for hearing compliments about myself."

Hawke snorted and Anders blushed as Isabela spoke. "Lanky, pretty eyes, elfy, magical fisting, angsty haircut, enjoys a strong drink- need I go on? Anders is unfairly lucky."

Merrill had a curious look that filled Anders with anxiety. "What about Anders? Why not sleep with him? He's cute."

"Hello?????" squeaked Hawke with mock alarm.

Isabela playfully smacked Anders's butt. He grinned at her and then realized he should probably have protested until he saw the amusement in Fenris's eyes. Bratty elf had a soft spot for Isabela. "Been there, done that. The electricity trick was nice and Anders is- oh I'll let him have some privacy. Very good, but not my type. I prefer real gold to the stuff on your head."

"Um, thank you? I guess?"

Merrill thought for a moment. "Why not bet Fenris would sleep with me?" Fenris turned and gave Merrill such a withering look she giggled. "Oh yes, sorry. We get along very poorly."

Isabela flung an arm around Merrill. "9 AM on a Tuesday, care to go drinking after Hawke's done showing his junk to every shopkeep in Kirkwall?"

Merrill's giggles were infectious and Anders couldn't help laughing. Fenris tried to keep a straight face but a low chuckle escaped him. Hawke turned around with an attempt at a scathing glare. "I can't take any of you lot ANYWHERE!"

In the midst of the group's laughter, Fenris leaned to whisper to Anders, "My place, tonight."

[almostviki]

Loop

Pairings: None Genre: Is this angst? Idk if it is or not Warnings: Death mentions, non-graphic mentions of violence/gore (descriptions of injury), spooky ghost talk  Summary: Logan hasn’t seen another human being in three years. Then Virgil moves in next door, and Logan is forced to confront his loneliness head-on, whether he likes it or not.  Notes: I know Halloween isn’t for a few days but I go back to school next week so happy Halloween everyone! This AU is so elaborate and I’m so invested now lmao. This is like 7.4k, jsyk so like, super long

Read on Ao3 Here

10 Logan steps out of the elevator. He lives alone on this floor; nobody else has been willing to live up here since the “hauntings” began. The statistical probability of ghosts is so low that Logan refuses to let himself be caught up in the hysteria. The flickering lights and shaking walls don’t deter him. The building has faulty lighting after all, and a weak foundation besides, and this apartment is centrally located to everywhere he needs to go in the city. As far as he’s concerned it’s just a normal apartment building with normal rooms, and the whereabouts of its other tenants are unimportant to him.    He walks towards his apartment and notices another person. He stops short. He’s about average size, wearing an oversized hoodie and large headphones. Maybe a student trying to find cheap rent. This place is less expensive than the dorms the city university provides. The guy looks in his direction, but his eyes completely skip over Logan, which is fine. He doesn’t want to make conversation anyway. They disappear into their respective apartments with a creak and a click of the lock, and the hallway is empty once more.

9 Logan is in the elevator. There are two people in it with him, a bubbly guy with a cardigan and a pompous-looking man with too much styling gel in his hair. They don’t pay him any mind, which is fine with Logan. He’s always been bad at small talk. The doors open and Logan is back on his floor. The other two follow him down the hall.    "This place looks like a haunted house,“ says the one with the cardigan, and the other groans as if the statement is an old and tired gag.    "You say that about every place we go,” he bemoans, and the one with the cardigan shrugs.

   "Actually, there is a persistent rumor that this area is inhabited by some sort of sentient supernatural phenomenon,“ Logan interjects. "That’s why the population of this floor is meager, to say the least.”    They both jump and turn to look at him as if realizing for the first time he’s there.    "I- how did-“    "I’m Logan. I live on this floor. Would I be correct in saying you are here to visit this hall’s only other inhabitant, my neighbor?”    "Virgil?“    "We have not yet been acquainted.”    "Oh, well, we moved in here a few days ago. With Virgil. I’m Patton and this is my friend Roman.“ Patton looks unsure how to carry on the conversation as if he hasn’t had to introduce himself to people in a long time. "We all moved in together. It’s strange we haven’t seen you yet.”    "I’m away at work most of the day. I’m also busy with classes.“    They lapse into silence. Logan reaches his own door and Roman and Patton stop in front of Virgil’s.    "I guess we’ll be seeing you around, Logan,” Roman said, sounding somehow harsh even though Logan was sure he hadn’t done anything to offend them. They’d barely had a conversation.    "I suppose,“ he said and turned the key in his apartment. Three neighbors? What a hassle. He far preferred being alone.    "You should stop by sometime,” Patton says. “It gets lonely around here.”    "I hadn’t noticed,“ Logan says, voice a bit tighter than he intended. The walls of the apartment building groan. Patton’s eyes widen and he looks around nervously. Roman opens his mouth to speak but Logan turns away and goes into his own apartment.    He isn’t lonely. He isn’t. He’s busy, that’s all.    The walls stop groaning.

8 Logan stands at the door to Virgil’s apartment. He promised Patton he’d come by today. They discovered a few weeks ago that they both have a love of classics and Patton had insisted he come over to see his collection. He takes the detour across the hall and knocks on the door of what he still thinks of as Virgil’s apartment, and Patton answers, big smile in place.    Their apartment is the same size as his, but their apartment feels homier, more lived in. Patton has a bookshelf on the far wall of the living room, and they spend hours going over the books in it. Patton pulls out Ulysses and starts flipping through it.    "You’ve read Ulysses? It’s the height of literary pretention.”    "Oh, trust me,“ Virgil says, appearing out of nowhere to flop down next to Patton. "We have a lot of free time.”    "Do you?“ Logan eyes them suspiciously. "Virgil, I thought you were a student at the university.”    Virgil blinks. “I was. I…dropped out. I wasn’t that great at it.”    There’s more to this story than Virgil is saying, but Logan isn’t one for prying. Instead, he fixes his gaze on Patton.    "And what do you do?“    "Me? Oh…a bit of this and that.”    "Hmm.“ He drops the subject.    Logan browses through the shelves, running over titles hoping to find one he hadn’t read before. His fingers stop on The Kraus Project and pull it out, turning it over in his hands.    "That’s mine, actually,” Virgil says when Logan shows him the cover. “Roman recommended it.”    "Roman did?“ Roman reads? he didn’t say and started flipping through the pages. "I read this a while ago. The narrative style is dense but not unreadable.”    "Really?“ Virgil perks up. "What did you think of it?”    "Well, I thought that-“ Logan’s brain stops. He stumbles over his own words, tries again. "I think his criticism of digital culture, particularly in-” Like a computer unable to find a file, his thoughts freeze, and rewind.    "Logan, are you okay?“ Patton’s eyebrows are knit in concern, and he tries to say he’s fine but his mouth freezes around the words. Did he ever finish The Kraus Project? Of course he did. It never takes him more than a week to finish a book even at his absolute busiest, and he’d bought it…when had he bought it? Randomly, he starts flipping pages, speeding through the essays until he reaches somewhere in the middle when the words stop looking familiar. But he had to have read past this part, right? He remembers reading it, remembers buying it on a Tuesday, he was coming home from work at the bookstore, he was holding his page with his right hand and shifted the book to his left to open the door of his apartment and when he got inside-    "Logan!” Virgil calls, sounding panicked. The walls of the apartment groan. The lights flicker. The book falls from Logan’s hand and he is dissolving, dissolving, dissolving-

7 Logan is sitting on Patton’s couch. It is Patton’s couch, Logan’s been informed, as he’s the one who insists they bring it everywhere. They move around a lot, but they’re hoping to stay here because they like this part of the city.    "It’s very central,“ Virgil said once. "Easy know where you are.”    "Exactly,“ Logan agreed.    Virgil is sitting next to him now, and they’re sharing earbuds as Virgil thumbs through his phone and Logan skims through documents on his computer, searching for a particular article he needs for a reference. It’s easiest to exist like this with Virgil, simply taking up the same space but not speaking. He’s spent a lot of time at their apartment lately-more than he’s spent at his own.    It could be hours or minutes that pass, but after a while, Virgil sits up and removes his earbud from his ear.    "Do you believe in ghosts, Logan?”    "No.“ The answer is easy. "It’s highly unlikely.”    "Why do you say that?“ Virgil’s voice is careful, although Logan can’t imagine why. The statistical probability of ghosts is so low there’s no point wasting the thought. The idea that the spirit of something could be tethered to a physical artifact, the implication that living things even have souls, is too metaphysical to fully be determined through any degrees of natural science. Logan tells Virgil this, and Virgil’s mouth presses into a line. At first, Logan thinks he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. He just shrugs and puts his earbud back in.    "Okay. I was just wondering.”    Something in his voice is tearing at Logan’s very existence but he says nothing and turns back to his computer. The heat of the laptop is less tangible, the air much thinner.    "Do you believe in ghosts, Virgil?“    Virgil lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been building for a hundred years. "I wish I didn’t.”

6 Logan steps out of the elevator. He’s increasingly tired these days and he can’t figure out why. He doesn’t think he’s working more than usual, but sometimes the stress gets to him. The increasingly frequent power outages aren’t helping on that front.    Roman knocks on his door a while later, shuffling awkwardly. He doesn’t talk to Roman much; he gets the feeling Roman doesn’t like him. Every time they’re in the same room Roman’s jaw sets in distaste. Logan almost peers around him to see if Patton is behind Roman egging him on, but he manages to refrain.    "Yes?“ he asks, not opening the door wider to let him inside.    Roman holds out a book. The Kraus Project. "Virgil said you’d mentioned this book before, but that you never finished it. A pity, it seems like something someone of your…sort would enjoy.”    "My sort?“ Logan takes the book and flips through it. The book is familiar, tugging at something in the corner of his mind, but it isn’t pressing enough for him to mind it.    "You know…” Roman waves his hand dismissively. “English teacher types.”    Logan resists the urge to immediately tell Roman to leave. “I’ll have you know I teach European history, not English of any kind.”    "Don’t you work in a bookstore?“    "Yes, that is correct, although there is little correlation between my chosen profession and my part-time job.”    "I- okay.“ Roman takes a steadying breath as if to stop himself from continuing. He looks almost pained. "Do you like working there?”    "Yes. I do. I appreciate the effort of my coworkers and the compendium of knowledge that surrounds me. Why?“    "No reason. I was just…wondering.” Roman seems to bite back more words, and he turns to leave. “Finish that book, alright?”    "Alright,“ Logan says by way of goodbye and closes the door. He puts the book on his counter and ignores the shiver that climbs up his spine. He’ll try to start on it tonight. If only he could remember where he’d stopped.

5 Logan is sitting at his desk, typing an essay. It’s habit to have the television on in the background while he works if only so he can glance at it every once in a while to feign interest in current events. Even better, when the sun sets, the TV provides enough illumination so as to eliminate the need to turn on a lamp. Logan is only absently paying attention to it, but the morning discussions on news and politics shift to daily reports, one of them being the baseball game the previous day. Logan looks up at the TV just as they show a clip of the game’s winning home run. The crack of the bat hitting the baseball echoes in his ears like a gunshot. Logan’s vision goes white. He shoots out of his desk and turns the TV off, the image of the bat swinging wildly still looping before his eyes.    He hates baseball.    It takes him until he’d calmed down to realize that the power has gone out. Wearily, he walked back to his desk to grab his phone and uses the flashlight to rummage around for candles.    There’s a knock at his door. He keeps his flashlight on when he goes to open the door and finds Virgil standing there, covering Logan’s phone with his hand and hissing angrily at him.    ”-Trying to blind me?“ Virgil winces and blinks hard, trying to extinguish the lights in his eyes. Logan fumbles to turn the light off.    "Apologies, Virgil. Do you need something?”    Virgil sticks his hands in his pockets and angles around Logan to see into his apartment. “I was gonna check if you were okay, but based on your miniature Yankee Candle over there I’d say you’re fine.”    "I am. Are you three alright?“ Logan is surprised to find that he cares. It’s been so long since he’s had neighbors, so long since he’s had friends.    "Oh, yeah. We’re doing just great. I personally love the dark,” Virgil says and smiles. In the candlelight, Virgil’s face changes slightly, morphing and twisting just out of Logan’s focus. It feels a bit like water filling Logan’s lungs.    With a jolt, Logan realizes Virgil is still speaking.    "-and invite you to wait at our place until the power comes back on.“ Virgil rolls his eyes. "I told him you’ve lived here a long time and you’re used to it, but if you don’t want to upset him I’ll make up some excuse.”    Logan weighs his options. He could stay here in his own apartment and wait until the power comes on, which wouldn’t take more than an hour. Or he could go across to hall to Virgil’s apartment, which is somehow more lived-in than any room he’s ever been in, despite the fact they’ve only lived here for a few weeks. His laptop still had charge; he has essays to write, papers to grade. Yet Patton’s words twist in his chest, pulling him to the door across the hall: It gets lonely around here. But Logan isn’t lonely. He’s…he’s…    "No, it’s alright. I’ll come over. It’s more efficient for us to share light sources anyway. I’d rather not waste candles.“    Virgil’s eyebrow raises, and his lips quirk in a small smile. "Alright. Come on then. Patton was trying to bake something when I left and if I’m not there we won’t have an apartment by the time he’s done.”    Logan follows him, closing his apartment behind him. He starts to walk away without locking it, but a burst of fear shoots through him and he yanks the key from his pocket. Rationally, he knows no one would get in. No one ever comes to this floor except the four of them. He can’t be too careful, though. There are some risks he just isn’t willing to take.

4 Logan steps out of the elevator. He’s never been so tired. His whole body aches as if he’s been running nonstop for days.   His own thoughts have started to twist on themselves, unraveling at the seams. It occurs to him to go to Virgil’s apartment, but he doesn’t want to bother any of them. The hallways groan sickeningly as if the building itself is sliding on its foundation. The sound of small animals and bugs line the halls. A door opens down the hall and Virgil’s voice calls, “Logan?”    "Go away,“ he hisses, but he has to walk toward Virgil to get into his own apartment. Halfway there, he stumbles, and Virgil catches him, lifting up his head to examine his face.    "You’re not well,” he declares, and slings Logan’s arm over his shoulder. They end up in Virgil’s apartment and Logan doesn’t even have the energy to complain. He collapses on the couch and cradles his head in his hands.    Voices whisper just out of earshot, and Logan can barely pay enough attention to make out snippets of what they’re saying. Roman’s voice is insistent, growing increasingly upset, and Patton’s tone is more serious than Logan has ever heard it. He catches his name somewhere in the hush of whispers and his heart leaps into his throat. He hopes they’re not fighting over him. He’d rather suffer alone than cause fights.    "Hey,“ Virgil says, his voice nearby. Logan opens his eyes and glances up to see Virgil offering him a glass of water. "Drink this.”    Logan accepts the water gratefully and takes small sips. Virgil sits down near him on the couch, but not close enough to suffocate him.    "I told Patton and Roman to be quieter,“ Virgil tells him. "It didn’t seem like the noise was helping.”    "I’m sorry,“ Logan feels the need to say. "I didn’t mean to incite conflict.”    "You didn’t incite anything. This was a long time coming.“    "Oh. If I may ask, what is the argument about?”    "Honesty,“ Virgil says, and that’s all he volunteers. Logan sips his water and doesn’t ask any more questions.    A few minutes later, Roman storms down the hallway and out the door of the apartment. Patton follows behind him, looking similarly irate, but he manages to collect himself when he sees Logan wan and exhausted on the couch.    "Hey, Logan. Virgil told us you were feeling a bit under the weather.”    "I’m feeling better now,“ Logan assures him, and he is. Now that he isn’t standing on his feet he feels more centered, and his thoughts are quieting. "It’s probably best I return to my own apartment now.”    “No.” Virgil and Patton speak at the same time, their voices similarly insistent. They make eye contact, and Patton clears his throat nervously.    "At least spend the night here to make sure you’re alright. You still look pale, and I’d feel terrible if we sent you back to your apartment alone when you were sick.“    "I don’t want to impose.”    "It’s not imposing if we’re offering, sport!“    Logan looks between Patton, whose encouraging smile is a thousand times brighter than the apartment’s cheap lighting, and Virgil, who’s nervously chewing his lip next to him on the couch, and tells himself that he’s doing this for them, not himself.    "Alright,” he says. “I’ll stay.”    Patton claps his hands together excitedly. “Terrific! I’ll get the spare blankets out of the closet!” And in an instant, he’s gone. Virgil rises from the couch and slips his phone into his pocket.    "I’d better go after Roman.“    "Will you be alright going alone?” Logan asks.    Virgil raises an eyebrow in challenge. “It’s broad daylight.”    "I’m aware of the time,“ Logan snaps, then takes a breath, steadies himself. "It’s just…things happen.”    Virgil’s expression softens a bit. “Trust me. Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”    Logan, for some reason, believes him.

3 Logan steps out of the elevator and wants to collapse on the floor of the hallway. He’s gotten worse over the past few days, much worse, but he hasn’t let the others notice. He doesn’t answer when they knock, he doesn’t stop at their apartment after work. Thinking of them seems to make the pain in his chest grow, and so he cuts them out. He’s eliminating variables, is all. He was alone once. He could do it again.    He drags himself to his apartment and fumbles with the key. It falls to the ground and Logan almost wants to give up and fall on his knees in the hallway. But he can’t do that. He can’t let his weakness overcome him like this. He summons the strength to pick up his key and make his way into his apartment, dumping his bag and books by the door as he stumbles in.    Logan doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he comes back to himself he’s standing in his bedroom, and walls careening sickeningly around him. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and makes his way toward the kitchen, passing by the open bathroom door as he goes, then pauses, backpedals, finds his face in the mirror.    He’s pale. And not an ordinary pale. A sickly, unnatural pale, as if all the blood’s been sucked from his body. It reminds him of a skull, and that thought is so disturbing he actually stumbles back, averting his eyes from his own image. The sound of a baseball bat echoes in his head again, the hard crack! of a metal bat hitting not a ball but something more solid, something that hurts. Logan’s headache intensifies. His body feels less and less like his own.    Do you believe in ghosts? Virgil had asked him, and of course he said no because he didn’t. There was no evidence of ghosts, no proof, even considering it was asinine…    Bile rises in the back of Logan’s throat and he swallows it back down, continuing his trek to the kitchen. His eyes land on the book Roman handed him weeks again, The Kraus Project. Funny, he’d totally forgotten about it. Maybe that’s why he’d never finished it: the book is completely forgettable. He picks it up and thumbs through it, ignoring the shaking of his fingers, trying to find a starting point. A piece of paper slides out from one of the pages and lands on the ground. Maybe an old receipt, or a bookmark, Logan figures, and bends down to pick it up.    When he sees the words, his brain freezes, rewinds. It doesn’t make sense. On the paper, printed in full color, is a picture of him. Below it, in bold, is his name, and below that, a headline: ‘Third Victim in a String of Violent Break-Ins Found Dead Thursday’. Logan goes cold.    The article rattles off details in an orderly fashion, from the time the body was found to the suspected nature of the wounds. “Blunt force trauma to the head,” the article reads. “Found in the entryway of his apartment after he missed a day of classes”. Logan reads the article over and over, scans the picture, looks for anything that can prove this fake, make it seem like someone has tried to play a cruel trick on him. But he can’t find it. He sees the words but the information is cycled out of his head. He has to be misreading it. This has to be a mistake. The person in the photograph isn’t him, the article can’t be about him, none of it can be real because Logan is standing here reading this, he isn’t dead.

2 Logan barges into Virgil’s apartment without knocking. The piece of paper is clenched in his hands, which are shaking so hard he can hardly maintain his grip. No one seems surprised to see him. Virgil is staring at his knees, his face blank. Patton’s face is wracked with guilt as he looks at Logan standing there, breathless. Roman stands to the side, arms crossed, impatient. Logan turns to him now, and with more anger than he can remember feeling in his entire life, spits his accusation.    "Do you think this is a joke?“ Roman doesn’t react, which only makes Logan angrier. "Do you think this is funny?”    The apartment is dead silent. It’s stifling, oppressive. How had he ever lived so long in this quiet?    "I didn’t want to tell you,“ Virgil says, not meeting his eyes. "But Roman insisted wasn’t fair to you.”    "What’s not fair to me?“ Again, there is silence. Logan wants to rip his own hair out. "What are you all hiding from me?”    "Logan,“ Patton starts, voice soft and calm and all wrong. "You’ve been living here a long time, haven’t you?”    "I can hardly see how that’s relevant.“ His words are sharp and poisonous but Patton doesn’t bat an eye.    "How long have you been in this building?”    Logan bristles at the fact that he’s being ignored, but he’s far too tense for riddles and games. “Three years, maybe four. Why does it matter?”    "That newspaper is from about three years ago.“    "I’m aware. I can read.”    "Can you?“ Roman speaks up, and his voice is so emotionally heavy that Logan isn’t sure where to begin picking it apart. "What’s the date on that paper?”    Logan answers through gritted teeth. “November 20, 2014.”    "And what’s today’s date?“    "November 19, 20-” Logan stops, catches himself before he finishes the year. He does the math in his head. He’s lived in this building for three years, so it isn’t 2014 anymore. It can’t be. But that’s today’s date. That’s the date he’s been writing at the top of his papers for weeks, months.    Years.    "Sometimes, um, when a person goes through trauma, they can forget parts of their life.“ Patton is still talking far too slow. Virgil still isn’t looking at him, still picking at threads on his sweatshirt and Logan wishes he would please look up because Virgil is calm, objective. Virgil would stop Patton before he said anything too crazy, anything Logan couldn’t handle. But Virgil doesn’t look up.    "Yes, I’m familiar,” Logan says, even though it didn’t require a response. “Post-traumatic amnesia is particularly common with head wounds.” The phrase 'head wounds’ bounces around his head right next to the words 'blunt-force trauma’.    "And I’m sure it doesn’t escape your knowledge that death would be, generally, very traumatic.“    "I don’t know what you’re implying, but-”    "What’s the last thing you remember?“    Logan swallows and clenches his fists to stop them from shaking. "I don’t see why this information is relevant”    "Logan.“    "No! I don’t know what you’re trying to prove but I’m not the one being interrogated here!” Logan thrust the book in Roman’s direction, trying to turn his helplessness into anger before it completely overwhelmed him. “I know you’re the one who planted that false article and I’ll have you know that it’s as needless as it is sickening, and it’s beyond me what on Earth I did to you that made you feel the need to-”    "What did you do at work today?“    Logan’s brain short circuits. His mouth opens to say something, anything, but the words stick in his mouth and die before they reach his lips. Logan’s thoughts wind backward, unable to find answers to questions that should be simple. Still, Roman persists.    "You’re always grading papers, but for what assignment? Why don’t you ever finish grading those papers, Logan? How many people could possibly be in advanced European history?”    "Roman,“ Patton says quietly. "I think it’s best if you-”    "When was the last time you left this building, Logan? When was the last time you went further than the elevator?“ Roman’s face is red now, too, almost righteous in his stance as he stares Logan down, and Logan isn’t afraid of him but he shrinks from the onslaught of words. He squeezes his eyes shut but he can still see Roman’s eyes burning into him, his voice grating on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He’s willing himself to stay together, for his atoms to quiet and leave him whole because he needs to work through this, needs to prove to himself that his fears aren’t true, that this is all a mean-spirited trick because there’s no way that-    "Roman, stop,” Patton says, more forceful now. “This isn’t right.”    Roman turns to him, eyes still alight, and Patton winces slightly at the harshness of his gaze. “What isn’t right is leaving someone to suffer alone when I have the power to save them!”    "Not everyone needs saving, Roman. Sometimes it’s better to just leave things alone.“    "Oh, just like I should’ve left you alone when-”    "Both of you, stop.“ Virgil’s voice is quiet but it echoes through the apartment that seems both bigger and smaller than it did when Logan walked in. Objects flicker around them, like images on a television with bad reception. Logan stands frozen, hardly even daring to breathe. Virgil sighs and pushes his bangs out of his face, then looks over at Patton and Roman with disdain.    "This isn’t helping anything. You’re only going to freak him out more.”    Logan thinks about responding that he isn’t freaked out but Virgil fixes him with a hard stare and the words die in his mouth.    "Logan, you told me you don’t believe in ghosts?“    He knows he’s being walked into a trap but he swallows and nods.    "Would you believe me if I said I had proof?”    "It…it would have to be fairly convincing.“    Virgil gets off the couch and walks further into the apartment and returns with a box. He pulls off two more newspaper pages from under a stack, folded so precisely and delicately it appeared as though they hadn’t been touched in years, and sets them on the coffee table. Patton sucks in a breath and Logan opens his mouth to speak but Virgil, as if he could hear Roman’s mouth opening, shoots him a glare.    "You know there’s a right and a wrong way to do this,” Virgil says, admonishment clear in his tone. “Cruelty doesn’t suit you, Roman, nor you, Patton.”    Patton whimpers and steps back and Roman crosses his arms and turns away.    "Here,“ Virgil says.    Logan leans down to inspect the now unfolded pages, and again, it feels as though his brain is short-circuiting. Instead of his own face, it’s Virgil and Patton’s faces staring up at him from the wrinkled pages. Virgil’s name is printed in block letters under a picture of a smoking car wreck, the date on the picture over a decade past. Patton’s face is marred from the yellowed and cracked pages but Logan can still read the heavy sentiment of the obituary, how he was beloved by his family and classmates, how he’d returned glory to his soccer team, all of it written in the past tense, the date printed in the corner reads 1981 but the face in the picture looks the same as the one in front of him, as if he hasn’t aged, as if he is…    "Why would we keep fake articles of ourselves?” Virgil prompted, lacing his fingers in Logan’s shaking hands and squeezing hard. They were as cold as a corpse. “And you know these aren’t fakes.” Virgil’s face does that twisting thing again when it looks like him but also not at the same time. His skin seems paler, more sallow, the edges of his jacket are stained so so dark and getting darker by the second, the stain spreading as if from an unseen wound. The newspaper clipping in Logan’s hand feels heavy, so heavy, heavy enough to rip his arm from his socket. He’s holding a report of Virgil’s death, he’s holding his own obituary, but he could only be holding his own obituary if-    The statistical probability of ghosts is infinitesimally small. It’s useless to fear monsters that don’t exist, and ghosts don’t exist. Ghostsdon'texistghostsdon'texistghostsdon'texist-

2 Logan steps out of the elevator. Patton and Roman are in there with him. They are partially transparent, their faces blending into the steel doors. Logan looks down at his own hand. It’s also transparent, his skin sallow and pale. His fingers still tingle from Virgil’s handshake. It’s been a long time since he touched anyone.

2 Logan steps out of the elevator. The cobwebs in the corner of the halls are getting bigger. He opens the door to his apartment and dust billows out. The apartment is barren, dark, and dank. He wonders idly where all his stuff has gone, but it’s irrelevant. He has everything he needs.

2 Logan steps out of the elevator. He doesn’t have any work to do. He doesn’t have any time to waste. Time lost all meaning three years ago.

2 Logan steps out of the elevator. The elevator never went anywhere at all. It doesn’t come up this high anymore. Yet still, he returns to it, day after day, with the same blankness, the same meaningless drive.

2 Logan steps out of the elevator. It was a busy day at work. A customer came in demanding a book that wouldn’t be released until the following week, and the coffee shop was running behind, so all the office workers were testy. Logan had tried his best, but there was only so much he could so when no one wanted to listen to his suggestions. Exhausted, he walks towards his apartment, waving an absent hello to the man down the hall leaving for his night shift. He tries to be conscientious, even if the sentiment is empty. He may not be a good friend, but he’s an amicable neighbor. He sticks the key in the lock and finds that the door was already unlocked. Irrelevant, he told himself. I must’ve forgotten this morning. He opens the door.    Everything happens very fast, then.    There’s a man on the other side of the door, tall, hard-faced, remorseless. Logan enters and drops his books in shock. The man turns. Logan is frozen. He can’t reach for his phone. He can’t back out into the hallways.    "Hey kid,“ the man says, his voice like a car engine- rough and mechanical. "Maybe pretend you didn’t see a thing, huh?”    "I- what are you doing in my apartment?“ Logan says dumbly, thoughts whirring like a broken CD player.    And those are his last words. The man grabs him by the shirt and throws him into the wall. His head slams against the drywall and he slumps to the ground, stars popping in front of his eyes. The intruder lifts something long and metal-a baseball bat-high above his head. Before Logan can speak, think, dodge, it comes down. His head explodes in pain. He thinks he screams. His eyes never see the blood because they are already closed, he’s already falling sideways, Logan stands above his body, watching the blood color the walls, the floor, the pages of The Kraus Project, his ringing-phone…

1 He wakes in his apartment, in his bedroom, and he registers that this is the first time he’s truly woken up anywhere in the past three years. His head hurts, but compared to before, this subtle ache is nothing. Even before he opens his eyes he knows he is being watched. He sits up and sees Virgil sitting at his desk in the corner of the room, scrolling through some feed on his phone.    Virgil’s eyes flicker up at the movement, but his expression doesn’t change when he sees Logan is awake.    "How are you feeling?” Virgil asks as if he’s recovering from a cold and not the crushing memory of his own demise.    "I don’t know,“ Logan says, and he doesn’t. He honestly has no idea how he feels. He only knows he can’t think his way out of this one, not this time.    "You’re taking this surprisingly well. At least, apart from your whole freak out last night, but that was warranted.”    "What happened?“    "You destabilized.”    "I don’t-I don’t know what that means.“    Virgil sets his phone down on his knees and leans forward. "It takes a lot of energy to maintain a form like this, to affect objects in the real world. Up until now, your denial has kept you in a partially physical form, but when you realized the truth, you went into shock, and the reality you’d built around yourself dissolved. All the ghost activity, the lights, the noises? Every time something triggers, or almost triggers, the memory of your death, it conflicts with your conviction that you’re alive, and your energy can’t handle that.”    Logan wants so badly to say that that doesn’t make sense, but he doesn’t have the right to question the legitimacy of anything anymore. He feels smaller and weaker than he’s ever felt. Death is the only thing he can’t think his way out of.    "Are you also dead? All three of you?“    "Yeah. That’s why we were so surprised you could see us. I honestly thought you were alive for a while. You’re very corporeal.”    "I- I’m sorry, I don’t follow. How could I die and then not remember it? How can I have no memory of time passing but still talk to you three every day? I don’t-“ Frustration boils in him, but a wave of nausea pushes it back down.    "Easy,” Virgil says. “You’re not ready to manifest anything else right now. But to answer your question, you were caught in a loop.”    "A loop?“    Virgil tsk’s. "Roman is better at explaining this than I am,” he mumbles, then louder adds, “Okay. So if a ghost is a collection of a person’s energy, we can imagine that like a CD. It should play through with no interruptions. So, a ghost on loop is a scratched disk. It’ll reach one part right near the end where it’s scratched, and just keep repeating that part over and over as it tries to figure out how to process a scratched readout. Your death is the scratch. You went into shock and couldn’t process it, so you just repeated the previous day over and over, so you wouldn’t have to deal with it.” He stops suddenly and glances at Logan hesitantly. “Does that make sense?”    "Yes, actually, it does.“ Virgil sags with relief.    "Good. As for the talking to us part: ghosts can enter the loops of other ghosts, but only as much as they’re allowed. That’s why we never went into your apartment. Roman giving you the book, which was deleted from your memory, led to your rising instability which was probably his goal.”    "Is that why he never liked me?“ Logan asks, unsure of what he means by that. Virgil seems to understand because his face becomes impossibly even more serious. He chews his lip, as if debating how to start, or if he should start.    "Patton died in 1981 and looped for seven years. Roman was the one who pulled him out. It was…bad. Really bad. I don’t know the full story but..Patton didn’t take well to being dead. He almost corrupted completely when Roman pulled him out, and Roman blames that on the seven years Patton spent in his delusion. Roman still tries to pull everyone he can out of their loops, but Patton thought you were…happy enough. But when we realized it was you causing the power outages and the shaking in the walls, Roman was afraid you’d become corrupt, so we pulled you out by force.” Virgil is silent for a while before continuing quieter. “I’m sorry about that by the way. Feeling your soul leave your body isn’t great.”    Logan stares at the wall above Virgil’s head. A thousand emotions flutter through him at once and he doesn’t have the knowledge or energy to identify and deal with them all. He wants to lie back down and go to sleep, and never wake up, and be dead if he was going to be dead. Was that all this had been? Three altruistic ghosts making him their pet project? Would they move out once they decided he wasn’t going to go feral? Would he have to keep living in this apartment, in the apartment he’d died in, and keep being irrevocably and undeniably lonely? An ache in his chest starts up to match the one in his head, and he considers ignoring it, but he’s tired of being in pain.    "Was that all this was?“ he asks. "You pulled me out because of Roman’s hero complex?” As he says it, he braces himself for the answer, prepares to hold himself together until Virgil leaves. But Virgil’s eyes widen, and his eyebrows disappear into his hair.    "No! No, that’s not it at all. I would- we would- loop or not, we care about you. Even Patton would’ve given in eventually. Every day you appeared over again in the elevator…hurt. I wasn’t sure how much more of it I could take.“    It wasn’t much, but it was declaration he could believe.        "Alright,” Logan says, brushing his hair from his face.    "Alright?“ Virgil asks, voice an octave higher than normal.    "I don’t know what else to say. This is so far beyond me.” The crack! of the baseball bat plays again, like a video on repeat, and Logan finds he is milliseconds away from hysterics. “This is so far beyond me.”    "Well, look at the bright side,“ Virgil says, his voice even and low. "You’ve got as much time as you need to figure it out.”

0    Logan sat on Patton’s couch, surfing articles on his laptop while Patton and Virgil tried to bake something in the kitchen. The mechanics of both activities were lost on him, but he learned not to question how things work.    "I no longer even own this laptop. The intruder stole all my valuables,“ Logan insisted, staring at the laptop that miraculously had not vanished with the rest of his illusion. His apartment had reverted back to the dusty, dank, abandoned hole that it was, along with the rest of the hall, and the rest of the building, which, as it turned out, did have faulty wiring and a bad foundation and was scheduled for demolition within the next six months. What Logan couldn’t figure out is why his laptop wasn’t dying with his denial.    "I mean, it’s not your real laptop,” Roman pointed out. “It’s a psychic manifestation of your laptop.”    "Then how is it connected to the internet? How am I getting real news?“    "Psychic wifi?” Virgil suggested. Logan glared at him and he grinned.    "Don’t question it, Logan,“ Roman said exasperatedly. "I have no idea how you, a ghost, sitting on a ghost couch in a ghost room, is using a ghost laptop. I don’t want to know. I can’t have an existential crisis when I no longer exist, Logan.”    So Logan cut back on his questions, Roman worked on his temper, and Patton was very excited that things were finally settling into place.    "Roman hasn’t had to deal with a newbie since 2006,“ Patton said once, nearly vibrating with excitement. "I’d forgotten how entertaining it was. You should’ve seen him when we met Virgil.”    "Virgil was too nonchalant about being dead,“ Roman complained. "He didn’t care at all about the gravity of the situation.”    "What gravity?“ Virgil asked, muted old resentment burning in his eyes. "I’m already dead. What could possibly be more distressing than that?”    Not much, Logan was finding out. He didn’t appear daily in the elevator anymore, which raised quite a few more questions, all of which Virgil denied looking into.    "I know you’re like, a smart guy,“ Virgil told him. "But trust me. It’s better if you don’t think about it too much. Move forward.”    "Until when?“ Logan asked, not even bothering to hide his upset.    "Until there’s nowhere else to go.”    So they went, the four of them, slowly, carefully.    Logan never finished The Kraus Project. It wasn’t worth the read anyway. He was still overly-conscientious of locking doors, despite the fact that the building was condemned and they were ghosts who could neither die nor accumulate material possessions. The others never said anything about his locks and keys, and even though they could easily bypass them they all went through the effort of unlocking and re-locking every single one. He still couldn’t stand baseball, still couldn’t deal with the sound of metal slamming against a heavy object, but soon he wasn’t shaking apart, literally or metaphorically. Soon, dying seemed like the past, rather than the constantly-looming present.    Five months later, the building went down. Logan watched from the sidewalk as the wrecking ball laid the building to waste.    "Where to now?“ Virgil asked, pulling up a map of the US.    "How about Nevada? We’ve never been to Nevada,” Patton suggested    "You hate the heat,“ Roman reminded him, looking at the decimated apartment building with mild distaste.    "Well, what about New Mexico?”    Roman made a disapproving sound. “You’re getting even worse.”   Virgil, hiding his smile behind his notes, looked up at Logan. “What do you think? Where do you wanna go?”    Logan tried and failed to hide his shock. “Me?”    "Who else?“ Virgil said at the same time Patton said, "Of course! Did you think we’d leave you here? Don’t be ridiculous, Logan.”    Against his will, a warm swirl started forming in Logan’s chest. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I see. Well then, if you’re looking to escape the heat, I’d suggest going to Montana.”    "Montana?“ Roman looked as if his heart was about to burst.    "Small population sparsely spread out, plenty of older and unused buildings- it’s the perfect hiding spot.”    "Also a lot of ghost bears,“ Patton piped in.    "There’s no such thing as ghost bears, Patton.” Logan admonished.    Virgil choked on his gum. “Are you actually kidding me right now?”    "No, I’m with Encyclopedia Brown,“ Roman said, voice wavering in misery. "I think I have the authority to say I’ll believe it when I see it.”

[the-desolated-quill]

Vincent And The Doctor - Doctor Who blog (People Like This Episode?)

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Oh I hate talking about these kinds of stories! The ones that receive critical acclaim and are adored by fans because of how deep and meaningful they supposedly are, and then I have to come along and explain why those episodes are nothing but pretentious, patronising bollocks.

Okay. Two disclaimers. I’m not very fond of Doctor Who’s celebrity historical episodes because they’re usually just an excuse for the writers to wank themselves silly to a famous historical person as opposed to telling a compelling story (see The Unicorn And The Wasp and Victory of The Daleks), and I’m not a big fan of Richard Curtis. I do like Blackadder for the most part, but his other stuff I just don’t care for. (I don’t even like The Vicar of Dibley very much, which is positively sacrilegious I know). If you’re into either, fair enough. They’re just not to my taste. But the thing to bear in mind is my hatred for Vincent And The Doctor goes beyond personal taste issues. Not only do I think this episode is monumentally crap, I also found it to be extremely insulting, and I’ll explain why in a bit.

In the previous episode Rory was erased from existence, which means Amy can no longer remember him, although she still feels occasionally sad without knowing why. To cheer Amy up, the Doctor takes her to an art gallery to look at Vincent Van Gogh’s painting. This surprised me ever so slightly. I honestly didn’t think Amy would be the type to be into all this artsy fartsy stuff, but that’s only because we’re 10 episodes in and I still don’t actually know anything about her. Think about it. What have we actually learned about her? How has she grown since the first episode? First person to come up with a satisfactory answer wins a fiver. 

It’s almost as if she’s suddenly obsessed with Vincent Van Gogh not because that’s part of her character but because the plot requires her to be. Also, since Rory was erased by the light shining out of Moffat’s crack (teehee), Amy seems to have been reduced to a wide-eyed, innocent little bunny rabbit in this episode. I can’t help but feel sorry for Karen Gillan. She’s a good actor, but Moffat rarely gives her any good material to work with.

Anyway the Doctor spots some weird creature in one of the paintings and decides to travel back to 1890 to meet Vincent Van Gogh, played by Tony Curran who admittedly does a marvellous job with the material he’s been given, although the less said about his awful pantomime-esque performance when he’s required to fight the invisible monster, the better. Here’s the problem with celebrity historicals, and I mentioned this in my review of The Unicorn And The Wasp. Usually these episodes are only entertaining to those who are interested in the historical celebrity. To everyone else, it’s just monumentally dull. I’ve never been that interested in Agatha Christie, so having to listen to the Doctor constantly talk about what a great writer she is made me feel a little bit nauseous. I’ve seen Van Gogh’s paintings. They’re okay. I’m not that much of an art lover, so I can’t really comment further, but to listen to the Doctor and Amy talking, you’d think Van Gogh was the reincarnation of Christ. It all feels utterly self indulgent. Like with Agatha Christie and Winston Churchill in their respective episodes, there’s no effort to actually explore what his life was like or anything. Instead we’re given this romanticised version of him that Richard Curtis can spend 45 minutes pouring his admiration over. It’s fine if you like Van Gogh, but spare a thought for the uncultured swines like myself who have to suffer through this too.

‘Oh look! There’s all his famous paintings! And they’re still wet! Oh no! Don’t put the coffee pot down on them! You’ll leave a stain! How can you not see how utterly perfect and amazing you are Van Gogh?! OMG! Look at his bedroom! Just like the painting! (Even though the bedroom wasn’t actually in that town. Also have you noticed that they built the bedroom to look exactly like the painting to the point where the proportions look really weird when the Doctor walks around in it?). Oh did you hear that? He doesn’t like sunflowers! How hilarious! And he fancies Amy! How sweet! Go PondGogh!’ And so on for another 40 excruciating minutes.

For the record, I don’t buy Van Gogh and Amy’s feelings for each other even for a second considering that they’ve only known each other for a day. Plus the whole thing feels less romantic when you remember that Van Gogh most probably had syphilis at the time.

But wait. This is Doctor Who, isn’t it? Better shove a monster in for no reason. What do we have this week? The Krafayis. An invisible monster that only Van Gogh can see and resembles a giant, mutant CGI turkey. Not exactly one of Doctor Who’s best monsters, now is it? So how’s the Doctor planning to see it? With some tech of course. But not something sensible like a pair of goggles or something. No. Instead he uses this awkward looking harness thing with a rear view mirror attached so that the only chance you can see the Krafayis is if it’s standing right behind you. What a stupid idea!

But as I said, this is all a taste issue. If you like it, good for you. I’m glad someone does. Where I absolutely draw the line however is when Richard Curtis starts giving us his patronising views on the blind and the mentally ill.

Yes the big twist is that the Krafayis is blind, and in one fell swoop it goes from being a savage creature of hate to being a cuddly little bundle of joy in its condescending death scene. They also perpetuate the age old myth that blind people have excellent hearing (which is not true by the way. it’s a lie created by the sighted to make themselves feel better). Oh and the reason why only Van Gogh can see him? Because he’s mentally ill and therefore can see things other people can’t. 

How anyone can find this episode to be anything other than insufferable I don’t know.

There’s been a lot of debate as to what kind of mental illness Van Gogh may have had, but Curtis decides to go for bipolar with a touch of synesthesia. This is very dark and sensitive territory for Doctor Who, but with careful handling it could potentially be emotionally rewarding, spreading awareness to important issues surrounding mental health. This is not the case here. Curtis’ portrayal of mentally ill people consists of nothing but patronising and insulting cliches. He’s bipolar, which means he’s fine now even though he was sad a few minutes ago. Being mentally ill makes you a genius. Being manic makes you a loveable eccentric. Having mental health problems allows you to see the wonders of the world in a way ‘normal’ people can only dream of.

For those of you who don’t know, I suffer from manic depression. Do you see now why I might have a bit of a problem with this? Yes there’s a correlation between those with mental health problems and those who enter creative fields like art and writing, often because art and writing are an excellent way to express ourselves and to make sense of the world around us. I myself am a writer and have had a lot of time to refine my craft. Spending nearly three years stuck at home whilst recovering from alcohol addiction gives you a lot of free time to do such things. But I absolutely resent the idea that artists, writers and other creative people are good at what they do because of their mental illnesses, as though it’s some special gift bestowed upon us by the Art Gods. People who think that are either ignorant, pretentious or stupid, and I would be more than happy to give those pricks my mental illness so they can see what it’s fucking like to be me. I can assure you it isn’t pleasant.

But wait! It gets worse!

It’s tragic that Van Gogh never knew just how successful he would become, right? if only we could tell him or show him how famous and well regarded he would be. That in my opinion is all the more reason not to do it here, but Curtis just can’t help himself at this point. The Doctor and Amy take Van Gogh to the art gallery in the future, they all stand on this turntable thing as Van Gogh cries while Bill Nighy talks about how not only is Van Gogh the greatest artist who ever lived, but is also the greatest, most awesomest person ever born in the entire universe, all while some awful pop ballad plays in the background to drown us in slush.

Good God, this is fucking awful! Who the hell thought this would be a good idea?! Talk about over-egging the pudding.

And then, big shock, Van Gogh kills himself. Amy is surprised because she thought showing him the future might inspire him to keep working. Me? I’m not in the least bit surprised. He gets taken into a blue box that’s bigger on the inside than the outside and travels to the future where he sees all the success and fame he will never get to experience in his lifetime. That’s more likely to cause his suicide than prevent it, if you think about it. And I HATE the Doctor’s speech about how life is split into good things and bad things. What is he, a fucking primary school teacher now? Depression is a little bit more complicated than that. But then again this is written by the same fucking moron who believes being mentally ill makes you a badass painter, so I guess I shouldn’t be too shocked.

Richard Curtis clearly thinks he’s written a sensitive and sympathetic tribute to a renowned artist who tragically took his own life due to mental health problems. I think Curtis royally fucked up with a paper-thin story that’s both patronising and insulting. And remember I have mental health problems, so according to Richard Curtis, I’m a genius. So basically if you disagree with me... you’re wrong :)

[zzzoloft]

Ink Reflux

Do you ever feel like you must act a certain way? Maybe you think about how you’re acting sometimes, and realize you do it most of the day. “They” say it’s important to keep plans when you’re feeling bad. I feel as though I’m speaking one sentence while thinking another. Small-talking while I choke down a thick, gelatinous black ink that won’t stop rising up my throat. Another gross bodily function to pretend isn’t happening. Doesn’t it correlate with our words? We hide our humanity to make ourselves tolerable to other humans. Smile when I’m frowning. “Good, how are you?” when I’m thinking death might be easier than telling my loved ones to just give up on me. Sometimes it feels the greatest apology would be to get rid of myself. I feel poison, but some people still want to keep consuming me. Does alcohol feel sad when you binge on it and then try to cheat your way out of a hangover? I tell you I’m bad, you say I’m good and fun. But when it’s time to pay my toll you just accept it and forget it next time you decide to associate with me. 

Eventually most people get better. They distance themselves or leave. They pick the parts of me they want to keep. The part of me that congratulates them or lifts them up or tells them jokes. The part of me that feels inferior and will always look at them as something greater unless they’re currently pissing me off. Because I really do want you all to feel empowered to live your lives authentically. With or without me. They may keep the parts of me that serve as a means to make them feel better about their appearance, career, their level of knowledge, their desirability, their popularity or their lack of friends. And when I write shit like this, their better judgment. Maybe they keep me around to give a fuck, so they can say things to see a look of pain flash over my face before I say something supportive. So they can do things and know that it hits my heart like a knife. And when I care it’s really there. I try to pull it out of me but I wake up with a shortness of breath and a tightness in my chest when I lose someone. I frantically apologize and try to make it better. I ruin it again. Remember that scene in Edward Scissorhands where he saves the kid from getting hit by a car but then frantically tears him up with his hands trying to comfort him? I do sometimes feel like fleeing back to my old black castle, far from the colorful cookie-cutter town. Because the damage is more important than the intention. It’s tangible. And you can see the pattern.

I’ve ruined friendships since I was a kid. My mom once yelled at me for playing in her room with our neighbors. She said we could never do that again. I told my neighbors we couldn’t be friends. Was I evil at 7? I like to think I just didn’t know better, but maybe I already had a knack for making things worse. Keeping things black or white because I couldn’t process grey, couldn’t emotionally handle it. Maybe in my mind, setting boundaries was the same as being useless as a friend.

My next best friend was spending the night, and started playing with my sister and I felt excluded. She and my sister were staying up playing NeoPets into the night and I wanted to go to sleep on the foldout couch with my friend and make weird faces in the dark and talk about random stuff. My friend wanted to stay up with my sister. I woke up my mom and told her, and my mom yelled at them. I was embarrassed but grateful my mom stood up for me, or so I thought. That friend never came over again. This was the Summer before 6th grade. My mom helped me make my friend an apology gift. A little paper box that had once held my mom’s business cards, I cut up pictures of me and my friend and glued them around the box. My mom gave me a necklace with a gold-dipped seashell on the end. My mom didn’t like jewelry much, and my friend seemed to like the beach. Her mom took us there a few times, at least. I’m sure I packed in a long apology note written in a sparkly Jelly Roll pen. I had a new acquaintance deliver the gift to my old best friend since they were in a class together. My new acquaintance said that my friend made a scene and threw it all away in front of everyone. I remember walking up to my old friend at some point either before or after this at middle school. I was alone and she had a new friend on each side. The message was clear. I wasn’t going to fit the mold of the new friend group she had in mind.  

As a teen I was used by friends. A house where there were no rules and adults never checked on us. A ride to a gas station or drug dealer’s house if “we” needed it. A friend to make fun of and exclude when you weren’t feeling as popular or desirable as you wanted to. A friend whose stepdad had drugs to sell them. Those “friends” always needed to be high or have access to dick to have a good time. My company was never enough. I cut off contact with Friend B when Friend A told me that friend B molested her own nephew when Friend A was spending the night. I kept Friend A around until my mid-twenties when she betrayed me for about the 20th time and I realized, I was her life-line and she was the fucking disaster waiting to strike any time I built some semblance of a life. Who knew if what she said about Friend B was even true. 

As I got older I found some friends that seemed to actually have things in common with me. They were funny and creative and loved music the way that I did. I lived my life in a free-love type way back then and made myself more enemies. The mirage of fitting in was just that, an illusion. There never was a real place for me. I was always too sad, too fat, too slutty. I’m sure there’s more I did wrong. I felt aloof. I felt hungry. I felt seen for the first time in so many ways. I tried to take it all in. I hurt people in my ambitions for love and attention. 

I spent the next 5 years or so weaving in and out of old close friendships and chasing men who mostly didn’t want me. I would meet people I admired and be way too scared to approach them or be near them. They were too smart, too composed, always too “something”. 

I learned that people didn’t like the artistic and reckless version of me. I became too ashamed to ever talk about my belief in myself again.  That was for perfectly talented people who deserved it. Or, that was for naive people. That was for people who spend their life dreaming and amounting to nothing. I “got my shit together”. I learned to hide things. I changed my goals to boring and safe. 

My next group of friends was inherited and I realized the first thing people wanted to know was what I went to school for and where, or what advanced literature did I want to discuss over craft beers? I spent about a year or two shutting the fuck up in case somebody found out how dumb and uneducated I was/am. Slowly I discovered there were a few people in the group who didn’t care or accidentally overlooked my shortcomings, liked artsy things and dancing and getting drunk and embarrassing. These are my favorites. 

I still feel there’s a part of me that isn’t home anywhere. A part of me that comes out in the worst ways at the worst times. I feel like flashes of my worst thoughts, the ones that scare me, are the first I let out at people when I lose control. I don’t try too hard to justify them because that could reveal even more of my struggles or flaws. I just pretend they never happened. People want to read into the way you explain things or don’t. Some people just accept you either way, knowing that the ghouls in your mind get along with some of theirs. Most people won’t say it out loud or validate you about that, they’ll share a few years later that they related to that thing you posted. That thing that you thought nobody read and since writing is the way you try to express yourself, made you feel rejected and lonely again. I guess I hoped that if I shared only neutral or positive thoughts with people that I would suddenly be likable or popular. But it remains that I usually have 2-3 people willing to tolerate my shit, or maybe they really do understand.

It’s taken me until 30 to realize I can’t swing back into a special place with people of the past. It might feel like it for a day or a week. Other people move on. I can’t expect that I can just suddenly be important and vulnerable with old friends. This took far too long to click with me, I was always expecting more from people than I deserved. It was more painful not seeing that there was something between enemies and best friends, and wondering why I couldn’t get the latter to click into place like it used to. It’s liberating to know we can just exist in mutual support and peace. 

I see those quotes that say the beautiful souls are the ones that are broken and choose to be soft instead. I became bitter and hard. Those quotes make me feel fucking useless. 

[cooperjones2020]

Second City, chp. 2

Betty is a basic bitch and I’m not sorry. 

This fic is quickly spiralling into a love letter to my favorite city. I’m not sorry about that either.

Also, let’s pretend Jughead and Jellybean are slightly more than six years apart, like eight, or even ten. That would make my underachieving ass feel better.

(ao3-->http://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/25619850)

(part one)

In which Betty Cooper is a stereotypical millennial who can’t make a phone call

It has been three weeks since Jughead drove her home, stroked her arm, and called her Betts.

She is on her third re-read of The Final Fissure. Her airport copy is now nearly as worn and marked as her hardcover from the first print run.

She could never read it through just once. Each time she picked it up, she went through at least three re-reads. Pencil sketched out her initial thoughts. Blue pen compared Betty’s memories, her knowledge of the case notes, to Jughead’s narration. Green pen underlined the phrases and passages that made her want to weep and shake Jughead. To ask him how he strung together phrases that swept through her like fire, that absolved like the sea. Green pen underlined the places that laid bare the relationship between the man who’d written the words and the boy who’d lived them. The green pen underlined the places where he’d laid her bare.

She is reading on her lunch break, green pen tucked behind her ear, when Cynthia walks in.

“Aren’t you kind of behind the times? That came out over two years ago.”

“Oh I’ve read it before.” She sets the book down and moves the pen to the spine to mark her place. Cynthia sees her annotations. “Jeez, you in a book club or something?”

“What? Oh no, I just went to high school with him.”

“Him. You went to high school with FP Jones III.” She picks up the book and holds the back cover, with Jughead’s headshot and author blurb, up next to her face. Her eyes slide to the picture on Betty’s desk of her and Archie with their parents at their high school graduation. “What is in the water in your town?”

It’s a joke people have made about Sweetwater River before. For years in fact. But, since Betty was in high school, those jokes have centered on murder and corruption and cover ups. They have come perilously close to touching her family.

Cynthia does not know about that. Or, if her background checks have turned up anything tangential to Jason Blossom’s death more than ten years ago, she has been kind enough not to mention it. So Betty just shrugs and gives her a smile that turns down at the corners.

“And how are you settling in?”

“Good, I think! I’m putting the finishing touches on the profile of the independent bookstores in different parts of the city.”

“Great, you can send it to me to look over when you’re done. But I meant how are you settling in in general? Are you getting around okay? Do you need suggestions? A brunch date? A social life?”

Betty swallows the grin she can feel pulling on her face. She loves Cynthia—had missed her when she left New York a year ago—loved that she’d personally reached out to Betty and wooed her to the Tribune right when she was ready for it. But sometimes the woman acted like an overbearing aunt.

“The answer is, still, good. The rest of my boxes finally arrived and I got a Divvy Bike subscription for the summer. And you’re not the only person I know here, Cynth. I had dinner with my ex’s mom a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I’m glad for that, but I don’t think it counts.”

“Hey, it so does! And we have plans to go to a farmer’s market and her boyfriend is getting us tickets for a Cubs game. And I ran into Jughead — FP — while I was there.”

“Again, all good things, but that sounds more like her social life and — Jughead? FP Jones goes by Jughead?”

“It’s a childhood nickname thing.”

“Wait, Betty—you know FP Jones. Like, nickname-level know him.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“You need to interview him!”

“What? Why?” Her heart kickstarts into a merengue.

“Well for one, he has a new book coming out soon so someone from the paper needs to interview him. For two, I hired you specifically for Printers Row.”

Cynthia gives her an appraising look, then continues: “Look, I know this job is downsizing for you. I know it’s less money and I know New York is the center of the writing world. It’s not investigative journalism. You’ll probably have to write more puff pieces than longform for a while. I practically had to promise you my left kidney to get you out here. But I meant it when I said I thought this move would be good for you, that an Arts beat would be good or you. You write better interviews than anyone I know. FP Jones is a rising star. It would be a great opportunity. For both of you.”

“Okay, we’ll blow past the drama queen antics for now. No bodily organs were exchanged in the making of this job contract. Jughead and I…aren’t on the best of terms. We haven’t even talked since high school. We just both happen to come from the same small town is all. We know the same people.”

“Well that could be better! You know—you’ll be able to be more objective about him while breathing life into the background, really telling the story. You can give us another lens on what makes Riverdale tick — that whole seedy underbelly of small town America schtick he’s working with.”

Betty capitulates with a groan. She could see she wouldn’t get out of this without a fight she isn’t ready have while this new on the job.

“Look, I don’t have a way to contact him. But I’ll try. I can call Archie’s mom.”

“Perfect.” Cynthia folds her hands over her crossed leg and cocks her head at Betty.

“You want me to try now?”

“Why not?”

“Okay, fine,” she grumbles. She prays Mary is in court.

Her prayers are not answered.

“Hey Mar! No, yeah I’m good…You?…No sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to ask if you had Jughead’s email address. I had a—a work question.” Her eyes bulge when Mary offers her his number instead, and she quickly looks down to the hand picking at her skirt hem. Cynthia knows her tells. “No, no, his email’s good for now. Thanks. Talk to you soon. Love you too. Bye.”

When Cynthia waltzes out ten minutes later, Betty’s inbox already contains an email from Mary with Jughead’s contact info, so she leaves with a Cheshire Cat grin on her perfectly made-up face.

Betty sighs. She really doesn’t want to do this. It feels like taking advantage of an old relationship. An old friendship. She doesn’t want to make Jughead uncomfortable. But she also doesn’t want to make herself uncomfortable.

She looks at the book on her desk, moving her thumb to trace the curve of his mouth, the slope of his jaw.

It takes her four hours to write the email. Not that she just sits there and stares at the computer screen for four hours. She’s still Betty Cooper. She sends other emails, sets up meetings, finishes proofreading her article. She takes a power walk around the block with the running shoes she keeps stashed in her purse. She does a ruthless purge until she hits inbox zero. She multitasks.

But always in the back of her mind: Dear Jughead? Dear Jug? Dear J?…Dear Jones?…Would ‘Hi’ be better than ‘Dear’? Ugh I hate myself.

Finally, at quarter to five, she shuts her eyes and hits send, then immediately begins packing up for the day.

When she goes to log off her computer, he’s already responded. Fuck.

“Hi Betty,

Of course we can set up an interview. Unfortunately all that stuff has to go through my agent and I’m sitting at a gate at O’Hare at the moment on my way back to Riverdale. If you don’t mind waiting, we can set something up next week. But if you’re up for it, I have a Skype call with him on Thursday and we’re due to talk about my promotional schedule anyway.

Let me know whatever works.

Best,

J.”

He certainly didn’t spend hours stewing and overthinking every damn syllable.

She agrees to set up the call for Thursday afternoon. Cynthia is so pleased with her she gives her permission to work from home for the day.

In Betty’s lexicon, ‘work from home’ means go on a really long run to burn off excess adrenaline and come home with a sugar coma-inducing drink from Starbucks.

So, she stands on the edge of Promontory Point, still shivering a little in her gym shorts in the early morning breeze off the lake. She forces herself through some Ujjayi breaths. One of the biggest differences she’s noticed thus far from New York is the sheer variety of scents in the air. No one leaves their trash on the curb here. There’s a chocolate factory downtown and its aromas waft over the city with the afternoon heat. In the mornings, the lake exhales a melange of algae and minerals as it laps against the rocks.

Today is the first time she’s felt panicky since moving to Chicago. Moving debacles aside, the whole experience had been pretty damn empowering. She found a sublet for her old apartment and a gorgeous new one. She hired a moving van. She made the calls to end and start her utilities. She told Alice Cooper where to stuff it when she tried to make Betty feel guilty. And she ended a relationship that wasn’t making her happy anymore, appearances her damned.

She takes a picture of the skyline across the lake and instragrams it with the skyscraper emoji and the caption “Sweet Home #Chicago.” Then, she tightens her laces and takes back off.

Sometimes she worries that by moving here she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but then she remembers the other things her younger self used to want and shakes those anxieties off. Maybe people don’t decide whether their lives will be large or small. Maybe life decides for them. Maybe the correlation between size and value is smaller than she’s been led to believe.

And that is okay. She is learning that that is okay.

A few hours later, she sits on the floor in front of the coffee table, her laptop propped on a stack of books, and waits for Jughead’s call. This she can handle. This is business. There will be a chaperone, for god’s sake. She’s purposely made sure she’s in the latter part of their agenda, so there’s no chance Jughead can call her before adding his agent to the call.

So she might be a little bit of a coward. She’s okay with that too.

She almost misses the call thanks to the inanity of her inner monologue. When she answers, she sees a split screen of Jughead and an iron-haired man with wire frame glasses, and hears Janis Joplin’s cover of “To Love Somebody” pulsing in the background.

“Hey Betty — this is David. David—Betty Cooper, Chicago Tribune. She…ugh, give me a second. Those speakers carry farther than I thought.”

He disappears from the frame and the music grows softer, though it doesn’t disappear.

When he returns, they talk through some of the preliminaries — she gives them an idea of some of the questions she’s brainstormed over the past few days, of the pitch she and Cynthia have crafted. “We’re thinking a two-parter — the interview, and then I’ll review the ARC, and color it all with my own background in Riverdale. You know, add some human interest.”

Jughead opens his mouth to speak, but David jumps in before he can.

“That sounds perfect, Betty. In fact, Jughead mentioned you gave him his first writing job in high school — that the character of Betsy Coleman might in part have been inspired by you.” Jughead is clenching his jaw, looking as uncomfortable as Betty feels, so she averts her eyes.

“We’re thinking we’ll run extracts of the interview on J’s blog and the publisher’s website — maybe take out an ad in the Times when the publication date draws closer. We’d love to get some official photos.”

“No.”  She looks up, startled at the vehemence in his voice. He runs a hand through his un-beanie-ed hair. A move that apparently still signals his exasperation. “Jesus, Dave. She just moved here. Give her a chance to build her own life before we start plastering her face all over buses.”

David’s face tells her they’ve already discussed the photos. That he is well-aware of Jughead’s opinion on the matter and is attempting to go over his head. She fights — and fails at — suppressing her urge to help, to fix, to placate.

“Maybe we can revisit that idea if the interview is well-received.”

“As you say. Well, I think that’s all on my end then. Betty, make sure your office contacts mine with the small print stuff. I’ll leave you two to set up the details. J, call me when you’ve looked over the new copy for the book jacket.”

“It’s not a surprise, Jughead,” she says softly when David has left the call. “I have read the book.”

“I know—I know. And I didn’t try very hard to mask the details. But you haven’t read the second one yet.”

“Well, I will soon.” She shoots for light, casual. She probably misses, if Jughead’s face is anything to go by. He’s still grinding his teeth.

The music has been getting steadily louder. “Here, I’m gonna take you with me and go outside. Jelly’s graduation is tomorrow and she’s started celebrating early.”

Of course. The music. Jellybean would be 18 now. When he settles the iPad on what she assumes is a patio table, she realizes that, though he’s in Riverdale, she actually has no idea where he is. It seems like his patio overlooks the woods.

He still knows how to read her face. “It’s—uh—a little house off Pine.  For Dad and JB. The down payment seemed like a good use of my first advance.”

She feels her expression soften. It’s exactly the kind of thing he would do.

He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lights one up. “Look — I’ll be back on Monday night but I have some things to take care of. Would Wednesday be okay for you? Say around 8?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great.”

“Thanks. I’ll think of a good place and get in touch.” Then he looks up at something beyond the screen. “Jesus Christ. Her friends have arrived. They’re heading for the fire pit.

“I’ll talk to you soon Betty.” He’s gone before she can say goodbye. She makes a half-hearted attempt to wipe the sappy grin from her face before she calls Cynthia.

[enderoftheend]

5 Things Thing

Tagged by the one and only @five-foot-a-b1tch​! (I’m stealing your number symbols, they look fancy.)

5 things I keep in my bag ① Laptop: Windows 10 Acer laptop in prime breaking down condition! This thing is a few years old. I hope it lasts until I get a new one, lol. I’m a bit attached to it, though... I have fond memories of me playing games in class when I’m supposed to be working. (I’m a high school student, okay? It’s what we all do.) ② 3DS XL: Okay, not ALL the time, but... I do bring it a lot. I take my Pokemon very seriously. All I need to do to have caught ‘em all is to finish the Alolan Dex and then gotten a Diancie. One day, I’ll be a real Pokemon master... ③  Sketchbook: I try not to think about the fact that it has my sister’s ex boyfriend’s name on it. I’m pretty sure it was his when he was in year 9 art, but... he left it here, so yoink. ④ Books: Lots of books. My bag is heavy... ⑤ Laptop charger: The battery on my laptop is warped, so the charger is like a lifeline for it. Well, it has crappy battery life, basically.

5 things I keep in my room ① Birb statues: My dad bought them for me. One of them is a macaw that’s drilled into my wall. The other is a bald eagle that’s sat on my shelf... my bird sits on the eagle, sometimes. He has no fear. ② Plush animals: Most of them are different types of birds... I have an elephant, cheetah and Fennekin one as well though. I also have a really old robotic cat toy, which has been out of battery since forever. It’s furry, though... and again, my bird likes to sit on it. I’m still a kid, so I have a bald eagle plush that I still sleep with. I love bald eagles, y’know? They’re my favourite animal. ③ Assassin’s Creed Special Edition boxes: More specifically, the Notre Dame edition of Unity and the Buccaneer edition of Black Flag. I used to be obsessed with Assassin’s Creed, but now my love for it is more nostalgia for how much I used to enjoy it. I still stand by my opinion that Connor’s the best character, though. ④ Merchandise: Of the Attack on Titan and Undertale variety. I have a Survey Corps uniform, and though... poorly made, I still very much so enjoy it, because I’m a freakin’ nerd. The Undertale merch I got a few days ago from Fangamer. It came with two shirts, one of which is too big for me, but that’s not gonna stop me from wearing it. ⑤ Feather box: I collect feathers. Most of the feathers I have in there are from my bird, since he’s... usually the bird at closest proximity to me in most hours of the day.

5 things I’ve always wanted to do with my life (oh god) ① Concept Art: Getting the obvious stuff out of the way. I enjoy digital painting moreso than doing lined art. It’s just fun to work with colours and lighting and shapes more freely. ② Animate: Probably not gonna happen... especially compared to my art skills, my animation skills are subpar (I know because I tried, I have a YouTube channel with crappy WMM animations in it), and I’m not patient enough to spend days upon days animating a 5-minute video. I have immense respect for animators. Not to mention, every good animation program costs like $500??? What the hell???? ③ YouTube personality: Again, probably never gonna happen, but I want to feel important to a wide range of people. ④ Make a game: It’s not just Undertale that makes me like Toby... Everything he says and does inspires me in some way. He’s my biggest role model at the moment, and I’ve had an idea for an original story for quite a bit. What made me sure that I wanted to do this eventually was a quote he had on his (inactive) Tumblr, when Undertale had its first Birthday. ⑤ Cosplay: Yes. 5 things I’m into  ① Attack on Titan: AoT AoT AoT AoT AoT (it’s always been my most favourite thing ever. I have a place in my heart specially dedicated to it.) ② Undertale: Coming second only to Attack on Titan. I love this game so, so much. I joined the fandom a little late but was immediately charmed by the game the moment I met Flowey. It didn’t take me long to start obsessing over it... by the time I stepped out of the Ruins, I already lost myself to this world. Look at me now. Haha. Ha. ③ osu!: osu! is an Australian-made rhythm game where you click the circles... to the beat. (No, it’s not Japanese, like I initially thought it was. It was actually made by some guy in Perth.) I’ve only been playing for about 9 months and I’m ranked 46k globally out of over 9 million players. Something about seeing you grow out your skill in such a short amount of time is so rewarding. It’s great for improving stamina in my arms (which I’ve always had trouble with, thanks to a certain disability that I was born with) and perhaps the greatest thing about this game is the culture surrounding it. There’s kind of a poetic balance between beauty and elegance, intenseness and frustration, and just... utter weirdness. I love it. ④ Touhou Project: I only recently got into it, but boy, did I get sucked into it. It’s just so damn difficult that it’s impossible not to play it over and over. And, I’ve watched Memories of Phantasm, the fanmade anime... the only good thing about it is the animation quality. And that’s not just me complaining like a hipster... it actually sucks so badly it’s funny. My favourite character is Cirno, in case anyone’s curious. ⑤ Warriors: The one and only book series that I actively follow. The writing’s horrendous in some books, but I love the ideas in it anyway. Plus, Jayfeather is to live for. My favourite book would be either Bluestar’s Prophecy, which was the first book I’ve ever read, Tallstar’s Revenge, which made me shed a manly tear at the end, or Path of Stars, which ACTUALLY made me cry, because that death scene was so emotional. I loved Gray Wing, man...

5 things on my to-do list ① Improve my art: ok. ② Get on top of my schedule: I swear I love my comics... ③ Catch ‘em all: You don’t get it... I take my Pokemon VERY seriously. ④ Actually beat Touhou 6: IT’S. HARD. ⑤ Become a 4-digit player on osu!: Because the community gives 5-digit players like me enough smack for being mediocre... 5 things you may not know about me ① Well, I guess you know NOW, but I was born with a disability. Low muscle tone, AKA Hypotonia. It’s not actually that bad, I think... it does get in the way, but it’s liveable with. ② My earliest memories involved me being a selective mute. This was when I was 4 years old. I only felt comfortable talking at home, and even then I didn’t do it much. I also had OCD, apparently, which I think I can remember a little bit of at the back of my mind. Not too sure, though. ③ I like flowers. For symbolism, partly. But picking flowers has a sort of childish innocence that appeals to me, as well. I don’t think I have a favourite flower. ④ I interacted with Markiplier before I knew who he was... Everyone else on the server at the time knew, though. I was one of the few people on who was very confused. My exact thoughts were, “Who the Hell is this loser?” I was like... 12 or 13, maybe? It was back when he still played Minecraft. And I’m preetty damn sure it wasn’t a fake, seeming as I recall him typing in the chat with words that correlated exactly to what he recorded on his first episode of Drunk Minecraft. I didn’t say anything until after he finished recording and hung out for a bit because I practically just got on the server. ⑤ I’m half Italian. Have you ever been to an Italian Christmas family reunion at midnight? Because I have. It’s loud.