#it kind of colours my idea of religion to this day. whenever i think about god or praying or anything like that i get this wave of

[throughdarkeningskies]

I wish I had more concrete reasons to reject the Catholic faith like a journey of spirituality or something but honestly I was ready to get out of there from as soon as I was conscious. not for any deep moral reasons but because mass was just so fucking boring

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Undertale/ISaT crossover thoughts 2

Been thinking more about this despite trying to vent out all my thoughts in this previous post and now I have something of a plot I figured I'd share (in case anyone else would like a stab at it/some ideas for their own Undertale/ISaT crossover fanworks).

Story opens with a time looping Chara in the void hitting their breaking point. The wish for freedom from generations of monsters + their own alternating wishes to free their family and hurt the humans who hurt them equals a loop that begins with their incredibly painful death to buttercup induced internal blistering, and ends whenever Asriel (post absorbing Chara's soul) is killed or they 'fail to punish' Chara's human family and well. Chara doesn't know the rules so the two have them have been looping so long that now when they reach the village of humans by Mt Ebott, instead of the friendliness they were shown in early loops (before getting murdered by the official authorities who 'already have orders on how to treat monsters') the villagers now attack them on sight in terror (sobbing monster thing? Sadness!), and they keep dying over and over and over-

Basically full 'Start Again a prologue' vibes, and so Chara in full please just make it stop mode wishes to the Universe...

For everything that hurt them and monsters to be forgotten like a bad dream! (cue The Island, Sif and Chara's homeland, as well as certain nasty individuals like Chara's human 'family' being erased from memory)

For someone kinder, stronger, and untainted by hate to 'be the angel' to free the monsters in their place.

To feed the golden flower seeds stuck in Azzy's fur with their corpse.

To atone in any way for all the pain they've caused.

(To one day be able to sit and stargaze on top of Mt Ebott together with those they love, just like they promised Asriel they'd be able to do)

Cue time skip to after the end of Undertale and Flowey's 'please don't reset and ruin their happy ending' speech, to show Chara's ghost flopping on top of their flowerbed grave wondering how long they'll be able to last before they give in and ruin Frisk's happy ending once more (with heavy implication that Chara is once more stuck in a time loop with no idea how to get out).

Then a cut to Toriel and Frisk making their way down Mt Ebott and spying a shooting star, Toriel remembering her religion (goodness, how could she have forgotten the Universe?) and praying/wishing to the Universe to 'have one of its stars watch over her fallen children, and give them the happiness she could not'. Cue Chara being shocked out of their non existent skin by a person with the head of a star crashing down right through them onto their grave out of seemingly nowhere.

(Aka, Plot line 1: Chara is trapped in time loop hell and Loop has been sent to help them and possibly Flowey? out of it. ... That's literally all I've got for them right now because I have NO idea how to actually have them interact XD)

---

Next section of story cuts over to the northern coast line of Vauguard: Sif and family (including Nille) are on their way back to Bambooche after their most recent travels when basically the world explodes into colours, Sif suddenly remembers a LOT more than they used to and they can all now see the large landmass to the north.

Much eye boggling, confusion, wonder and tears are had before everyone kind of parties and passes out but next day, things are being taken much more seriously:

Why is Sif's forgotten homeland, the Isle of Chara, suddenly back? Why are colours? How is this going to effect all of Vauguard (the fashion industry alone..)? And... What happened to the people of the island? Are they ok or..? And how will the rest of the world react to them being the epicenter of so much very unexpected change?

Cue brief discussion on whether or not to go (mostly just double checking with Sif if he's actually up for it despite the many potential horrors they could find there that are sure to be extra traumatising to them in particular), the group checking in with the House in Bambooche to have word sent to the rest of Vauguard (and hopefully the world at large) that the Saviors of Vauguard are on the case, and well. They could catch a boat or they could try walking along that MASSIVE steel and concrete bridge with its weird black road stretching out over the ocean (which was apparently there the entire time and ok, now everyone is getting really freaked out because it seems there was a fair bit more forgotten than 'just' the Island and the Stars. What else did everyone have stolen from their heads?).

(Aka, Plot line 2: The Saviors of Vauguard heading for The Island, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst, and also the plot line I've done by far the most work on, to the point that it probably needs it's own post)

---

And last section, Frisk leads their monster friends down Mt Ebott back to 'the village of the humans' they came from and the monsters are stunned by the sight of... Well, wailing and sobbing adults who barely give the monsters a second glance, curious and 'just as silent as Frisk' children who smile and wave, and an old man Frisk introduces as 'Elder' who despite being very wobbly and also in tears, does his best to greet the monsters, thanks them for returning Frisk and very politely asks if Asgore is their king and here to kill them all as the stars foretold.

Cue a bit of awkward 'Um. Yes and no?' with a request to open talks with the 'leaders of humankind' only for the old man to laugh and cry as he explains that he's the closest thing this settlement's had to a leader for years now by virtue of being one of the few adults here with enough presence of mind to actually function through The Forgetting (he thanks his younger years of being an avid traveller) and that since the monsters breaking the Barrier seems to have made The Forgetting stop and they seem to have some form of government then honestly, they're the ones in charge now since stars know there's probably not much left of the Island's government still remaining all this time, and it's doubtful the people of other countries even remember they exist.

Cue everyone other than Frisk who knew all this being very surprised (Frisk's follow up 'explainations' don't really help a lot since The Forgetting is all they've ever known, and Toriel is so messed up when she realises Frisk and a good number of other kids literally can't talk or read without 'Communication Craft' due to the memory wipe effects they suffered under while growing up) and well. Monster kind move out of Mt Ebott at a breakneck pace while Toriel, Asgore, Alphys and everyone frantically try to get everyone settled, help all the very damaged Islanders into as much stability as they can (some recover better than others but there's a lot of grief over lost family, missing people, etc going around and monsters end up stopping more than a few suicides), and get things organised enough they know everyone will be fine before they can move onto working out WTF happened here. Also in the process of all this they end up working out that some things (like who was in charge before The Forgetting) are still being 'auto deleted' from memory (though the effect is fading as time goes on) and also the Island's capital is a space warped nightmare filled with Sadnesses right now and probably everyone should avoid it.

Lots and lots of world building regarding what Monsters vs Sadnesses are, my headcanons for the Universe religion (going with the Monsters also traditionally being Universe worshippers and much talk is had on the differences between 'the old ways' Toriel and Asgore remember vs the traditions and beliefs of the Islanders), and... yeah.

(That's Plot line 3: Frisk leads the monsters to the one semi stable human adult they know of and the monsters realise that not only are they free to live on the Surface now but the local humans both see them as saviors and desperately need their help after going through something that arguably makes the Underground look wonderful in comparison.)

---

Eventually I'm going to have to tie all three of these ideas together and I think I've got some ideas for Plot lines 2 and 3 such as:

Sif's family and/or Undyne bumping into each other catching all the trains to search for survivors across the Island

Mirabelle and to a lesser extent the whole party finding themselves the official Vauguardian ambassadors to the newly formed human/monster Island/Isle of Chara alliance who are very much in need of aid and more info about the rest of the world.

Papyrus and Frisk also being ambassadors, making all the friendships.

Sif realising 'the Elder' is their grandfather on their mother's side and trying to wrap their head around having any family around at all (and also trying not to think to hard about all the family still missing).

Isabeau and Odile uncovering just how much stuff countries outside the Island forgot (airports, train stations, cars, all that juicey science stuff).

The Saviors of Vauguard and various Undertale folks investigating the capital together (learning some of the less pleasant aspects of the Island's politics and culture while there including stuff about Sif's dad's side of the family and why the name Chara matter so much). But well. So far have NO CLUE how to get Chara, Loop and Flowey involved with the rest of the cast since well, they're reluctant to leave and no one else knows they're there. So. Yeah. That's what I have planned out mostly. Will list a bunch of stuff I've thought of regarding Sif's group going through the Island and their hometown (totally gonna bring up the 'Euphrasie Islander and possibly Sif's mom' theory in story but not actually confirm or deny it since well, Euphrasie is out of focus and most likely going through a major 'my memories have returned, how could I have forgotten-' breakdown her beloved Claude is going to have to help her through <3) but that's for another post and er. Yeah. Please feel free to share any feedback, ideas or thoughts you might have on this, and to take a stab writing/scribbling up some of this yourself as well as I think it cold be a lot of fun and I'd LOVE the help XD

[filmmakerdreamst]

Xena: Warrior Princess Review

During Pride Month 2020, I finally got around to watch ‘Xena’. A show that had been in my to-watch list for years, but never got around to start. And when I finally did, I was pleasantly surprised. It was not what I expected and it was everything I think my 11 year old self would have loved.

The one thing that surprised me about the show, was the lack of packaging. Even though it was a fantasy, it also played with different kinds of genres too. I’ve talked about this before in my other review - ‘Xena’ was made at a time when TV had very few rules/rarely had a set audience, since there were parts of the show that were clearly for kids and there were other parts that were clearly for adults (therefore had much more flexibility). I admired how they weren’t afraid to break barriers and touch on deep themes such as religion, morality, redemption, spirituality, motherhood, forgiveness etc - even more than shows of today are able. I also loved how they played into the idea of ‘murder’ and how much it can damage a person - not just the person who commits the act, but the many people affected afterwards. I wasn’t expecting it to be that extreme. It made me think that this must of been the inspiration for ‘Game of Thrones’. 

I see a lot of comments here and there, saying how ‘cheesy and terrible’ it was but to just accept it because its part of the fun. And while like any show it does suffer from the occasional spell of bad writing (the whole of season 5) but it was also shown to be very aware of that fact and never took itself too seriously - unlike some shows I could mention. 

And regarding the ‘cheese’ factor (what 90s show wasn’t) It definitely can be, but I would call it ‘camp’ and ‘experimental’ more than anything else. (Don’t diss the poor use of CGI - I’m personally sympathetic to what was avaliable to them at the time) The style of humour reminded me of Taika Waititi’s filmmaking. If you’ve watched any of his films such as ‘Hunt for The Wilderpeople’ or ‘Jojo Rabbit’, then you know what I’m talking about. I liked how little they cared about being accurate or logical, which added to the ‘bonkers’ element in the show - which you can see in all of Taika Waititi’s films.

In all seriousness, a show centered around two women in their late twenties, who are realistic sizes (not trying to play teenagers). One of whom is a reformed mass murderer, who has lived a life experience, trying to do good in the world for the first time, picking the other one up who has no life experience prior (after they bugged them until they said ‘ok fine’) in their path to redemption. Just two women who become friends travelling the world together, fighting crime, having a laff, learning from one another without any toxicity - when suddenly when the stakes are raised - they realise ‘oh I'm actually falling in love with this person’ I have watched a lot of badly written shows in my childhood enough to know that, that’s not ‘cheesy’. I’ve never seen a story like that in my entire life. I’m not at all surprised that Russel T Davis was inspired by it while writing the Doctor and Rose’s relationship in ‘Doctor Who’ since he’s gay himself.

What’s more amazing about their love story is how they’re both develop as separate people as well. There was this video essay explaining ‘Why you should watch Angel’ the spin off series to Buffy; how ‘Buffy The Vampire Slayer ‘was all about growing up and ‘Angel’ was all about being an adult. With Xena: Warrior Princess, you have both of those stories at the same time. 

Xena’s character was such a multifaceted experience to watch. And I can’t imagine anyone else who could play her as well as Lucy Lawless. What planet did they get that actress from? She's flawless! The amount of skill she has to put herself into a very physical role is astonishing. I personally had a love/hate relationship with her character all series long. Not in the way that I hated her, just that I couldn’t trust if she was all good or bad, which I know was intentional on the writers part. I haven’t seen a character quite like her before. She felt very much like a fallen angel; almost like the villain of her own story. Some of my favourite episodes come from fleshing out her character and dark past (‘Locked up and Tied Down’ is one of them) which reminds the audience that's she's not the stereotypical hero everyone expects. I loved her transformation from being this incredibly stoic warrior to being content and happy with who she is in season six, all because of a woman she fell in love with along the way. 

I’ve always thought of Gabrielle as the real hero and narrator of ‘Xena’. She’s the prime example of ‘a normal person becoming extrodinary’. Gabrielle’s coming of age story starting out as an innocent girl from a poor village dreaming of adventure, and ending as this vicious warrior who realises the ‘adventure’ wasn’t how she made it out to be is honestly the best character arc that I’ve ever seen. I loved how travelling with Xena made her realise her passion for writing (which was never going to happen in her home town, given the ‘sexist’ and ‘heteronormative’ ideas) and that she became a amazon princess like Xena. In regards to her sexuality, which is more up for debate than Xena’s (which I think we can all agree is bisexual) I personally interpret her as gay, just in terms of how she was written. Theres this moment in season 4 where she's being held up her hair, and Xena “symbolically” cuts it off ‘freeing her’. And she never really gets with a man afterwards, unless she’s being ‘possessed. It reminded me of a moment in one of Hayao Miyasaki’s films ‘Laputa, Castle in the Sky’ where the bad guy Moska shoots Sheeta’s ‘princess hair off’ which symbolises her transition from child to adult.

The cinematography was breathtaking. There was some great utilisation of New Zealand as the scenery. So was the soundtrack. You could tell it was made by experienced filmmakers. One of my favourite things about the show was the domestic elements - moments in the show where time seemed to stop - which made the world around the characters seem very real and magical. Even though it was a show that featured a lot of action/adventure, there was also this gentleness to it as well. For example, you could feel the wetness of the rain, the warmth of the sun and the clashing of the waves. This technique is used in Hayao Miayasaki’s work a lot .

The technique is referred to as ‘MA’ 空虚 meaning emptiness in Japanese. ‘Miyasaki describes this as the time between a clap’

“If you just have non stop action, with no breathing space at all, its just busyness. But if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension” - Hayao Miyasaki

The episode ‘A Day in the Life’ in season two is a really good example of this technique being used.

To my understanding, they used a lot of the local actors in New Zealand, which according to Lucy Lawless, consisted of ‘African immigrants and other different ethnicites’. It was so refreshing to see such a diverse show (despite some slip ups) especially in the 90s. I appreciated the idea that if the actors or extras couldn’t do an ‘american accent’ people could just talk in their natural speech which was also very refreshing. 

The LGBT representation was surprisingly amazing. I never expected so many queer characters in one show - especially under the censors. There was this one episode where they had a trans woman - played by an actual trans actress - win a beauty contest. It made me cry. Not to mention the actress was an aids activist. It was actually Lucy Lawless’ idea to kiss her which was incredibly controversial at that time considering how everyone thought you could catch aids just by kissing. I can definitey see how it validated people back in the 90s.

When people told me that Xena: Warrior Princess was one of the greatest love stories, I thought they were exaggerating a little. But no, watching the show in context, I found out that it really is. Despite its obvious restrictions, It made me realise (regarding token gay couples today) how often television writers rely on physicality and drama to convey a ‘love story’ and how much of it is actually pandering the audience. One of the reasons why Xena and Gabrielle’s relationship felt so genuine is because it was built on mutual respect/compassion and they were also best friends. I felt like I was witnessing something very real and private. It didn’t need kissing scenes or drama to make it interesting. 

It really helped that most of the writers were queer also. There’s this opening scene in season 4, panning over to Gabrielle giving Xena a massage (metaphor for sex - because they weren’t able to show that on screen) which I consider to be one of the most iconic scenes in media - considering how I wanted to sick up my supper when I watched the 10 minute ‘empty’ explicit sex scene in ‘Blue in the Warmest Colour’. The difference when something is written by a queer women vs a straight man.

Because the creators weren’t allowed to write their love story in the normal way, due to the studio forbidding them to, they found creative ways to showcase that love on screen - which made for a very magical/sensual experience. And I can safely say, if anyone has doubts about watching ‘Xena’, whenever I expected to be queer baited at a few points in the show, I was proved wrong time and time again. It’s the most romantical show I’ve ever seen in my life!

[unprofessional-bard]

Chapter 3 - To Have and to Hold

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Warnings: Depressive episodes + some suicidal thoughts... mostly angst but some fluff?? :")

Summary: The reader gets better and better each day, fitting better into her new life in Jackson, while Joel and Ellie continue their journey. The reader, after over five months, is greeted by unexpected visitors during patrol one day.

Word Count: 6.034. Grab a snack maybe?

Author's Note: As I mentioned in the previous chapter, I don't have PTSD or depression, but I do a lot of research about these mental illnesses before I write; once more, my last wish is to offend any of you, so my deepest apologies if I do! ! I do hope you like it!

Enjoy!

"(Y/N), you up?" You heard Tommy's voice as he and Maria peeked into the room.

"Thanks to you, yes." The edges of your lips turned up, eyes still closed.

"You've been asleep for almost five hours, we got worried." Maria said. "Tommy wanted to talk to you."

You opened your eyes, watched Maria leave and Tommy sit on a chair beside your bed: "How you doin'?"

"No nightmares," You sighed and pulled yourself up and leaned your back on the wall. "The bed was pretty comfortable, I'd say my body's rested at least. You found Ellie?"

"Yeah, about that," Tommy scratched the back of his head. "We found her, she's alright but..."

It turned out that Ellie and Joel had been on the road for awhile and that Joel and Tess were tasked with carrying her across the country because she was a potential cure, a way to save humankind. Joel apparently wanted Tommy to take her to the Fireflies and convinced him to do so too, but just after they found Ellie and brought her back to town, Joel had a change of mind and took off with Ellie to Salt Lake City. You felt sick again, finding out that Ellie was immune and she was gone now, without saying a goodbye. You zoned out and stared at your hands resting on your lap.

"But uh, Maria arranged a house for you," Tommy smiled softly.

You nodded, still feeling numb and shocked: "Appreciate it..."

Tommy reached out and gave a firm squeeze to your shoulder: "They're going to be okay, (Y/N)... Now Maria told me what kind of a bond you shared with Ellie and I know you're upset, but she's capable of taking care of herself. Now Joel, much of an asshole he is- he's going to protect Ellie and they're gonna be just fine. They'll be back, don't you worry."

You nodded again and looked at him when he told you to get up so he can show you around and to your new house.

It had been so long since you'd seen lights and so many people together, people who didn't attack or yell orders at each other. They were just happy, minding their own businesses and, according to Tommy, headed to the 'theatre'. But for some reason you couldn't truly feel happy about it- getting a random headache instead. You could really use another nap right now.

"Here you go," Tommy led you to a small, cabin-like house. There was a salon and a kitchen to the left, and a bathroom and small living room to the right and right across the hallway, a bedroom; there was also a small balcony and garden connected to the bedroom. You couldn't have asked for anything more from neither Maria nor Tommy. "Take a bath and get rid of your clothes - Maria got you some new ones. We're going to have dinner in an hour or so, I'll send a guy to pick you up. That okay?"

"Yeah," you sucked your lips in and sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Thank you Tommy. Really-"

"Don't mention it," Tommy patted your arm. "Think of this as a repayment from that last time, or just... humanly behaviour, you choose."

You sighed and felt your eyes water again, quickly wiping it with your palm.

"I'll leave you to it," Tommy said and walked away. You gulped and let out a shaky breath, entering your new house and closing the door. You walked around slowly, taking short looks at the rooms as you approached your new bedroom. Maria had left a pair of jeans, which at first looked too small for you, a black undershirt with black, normal panties along with a dark red, turtleneck sweater. They smelled as if they were fresh out of a washing machine. You dropped your backpack on the floor next to your bed, then lurked back to the bathroom to start the water.

You came back to the bedroom to take out some stuff from your backpack when you noticed a note left on the bed next to the sweater:

Hey! I hope these clothes are okay. Neither of us knew what size you wear, so I took a few guesses and, if they don't fit you or if they're too warm/cold, just let me or Tommy know and I'll try to find something else for you. You can put your dirty clothes in the bin outside the entrance, someone will come and pick them up. I hope you like it here :)

Maria

You smiled briefly, then picked up the gas lamp on your nightstand (which worked with a candle) and put the note under it. Your fingertips lingered on the lamp as you felt a great amount of guilt and grief settle in you. I don't deserve this, you thought to yourself and bit your bottom lip to stop it from quivering.

Too much to think about...

Too many people to grieve...

You almost forgot about the bathtub and went back to the bathroom, to find it almost completely filled. You saw a pink soap at the edge of the bathtub which you didn't notice- or forgot? Whatever, there was a goddamn soap you could clean yourself with.

You took off your clothes and threw them into a pile and slowly dipped yourself in the warm water, sighing at the contact. Dry blood immediately changed the colour of the water a little but you couldn't bring yourself to wash your body just yet. Instead, you pulled your legs to your chest, wrapped your arms around them and placed your chin on your knees. This gave you a moment to think: To think about everything you've done, everything you've seen, everything you've been through; Why me? I don't deserve this. were the only words echoing through your mind, convinced that you truly didn't deserve to be alive. Your chest felt really tight all of a sudden and you forced yourself to calm down again, only to remember that you can cry, sob, whine and grieve your loved ones now. You were safe and sound, no one was around and you didn't have to stay strong for anyone anymore. You could put your guard down and be fragile, like a porcelain doll.

Tears began streaming down your face.

You closed your eyes tightly, pulled your knees closer and held your arms tighter as you bewailed; like you'd simply die if you dared hold it in any longer.

Felicity... Kurt... Maxim... Amanda... Robin and Cole...

They deserve this- they deserve a good life, I don't.

I let them down, get them all killed and get a fucking reward for it? Unbelievable.

Your fingers brushed your hair back as you cried and whined, leaning back on the wall to your right. You covered your face with both of your hands, dry blood around your body dissolving into the water in the meanwhile.

You had no idea how long you'd been crying, but you immediately stopped when there was a knock on the door.

"(Y/N), sorry to bother you," It was Maria. "I brought you some shoes, socks and some other stuff I thought you might need."

Your chin trembled as you panicked in the tub, water now cold: "I- I'm in the bath right now!"

"Okay, I'll just-" You heard the door open after you noticed how your voice cracked. "I'm leaving these here... are you alright?"

"Yeah," you nodded, wiping your tears aimlessly. "Is someone gonna come grab me for dinner or are you it?"

"Oh, no, there's still less than half an hour. I'll send someone when the time comes, don't worry."

"Okay- erm, thank you," You replied and she left with a sincere not a problem.

You started washing yourself with the soap, which felt really nice. You were actually going to smell nice for a change. It took you around ten minutes to wash yourself whole. Although you were still hurt and sad, Maria's brief presence had unintentionally calmed you down and you convinced yourself that it was enough for one day. You now had the rest of your life set in front of you, you could practically grieve whenever you wanted, right?

You dried yourself with the towels beside the sink, wrapping your head with one of them as you got dressed. Your wrists were healed for the most part, leaving behind marks which would be the reminder of your survival, but they didn't sting anymore. Now you had to worry about your waist which surprisingly didn't hurt as much. Probably because of the proper treatment and medicine you were provided with.

The weather was cold and the day was going darker by the minute. You put on every piece of clothing that were given to you, grabbing the stuff Maria left for you off the ground and finally dropping on the bed, laying down on your back, arms spread across the mattress. You suddenly had this terrible feeling that you were going to have trouble sleeping alone at night: Back in your FEDRA days, you always shared a bunk or a room with your teammates, always slept around a fire together when you were out of the base. There was always someone with you, which made you sleep better even in your worst days. Before you came here, you didn't have your friends but you had Ellie... and Joel.

Oh how you had missed them already.

The worst part was, you almost didn't know anybody here. Tommy was the closest person you could call a friend and you didn't even want to talk about Maria. As sincere as she was, you got to know her just today. You felt uncomfortable sharing your story with her, you knew you'd feel even more uncomfortable when it came to sharing your emotions.

You didn't realise a few tears had forced their way out of your closed eyelids and down your face until there was a knock on your door.

"Uh, hello? Maria sent me to come and get you..." You heard a deep voice laced with a southern accent, which reminded you of Joel's a little but it wasn't as heavy as his.

"Yup, coming," you huffed and got up, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hands.

You were really torn between wanting to be alone and wanting company, so you decided to let other people take over.

You also grabbed Kurt's knife before you went to the door, just in case.

"Uh, hi there," The man greeted you. You felt like you'd seen him before but you weren't sure. He was tall and slender, a lot taller than you were; he had dark red, wavy hair and green eyes, freckles splattered around his face and forearms. Looking into more detail, he had a tall, turn-up nose, light facial hair and lips which reminded you of a model's - they weren't chapped and they were quite plump. His cheeks and nose were reddened, probably because of the cold but his lips had a natural redness to them.

"Hi," you sighed, taken aback. "I'm, uh, (Y/N)."

"I know. I'm Walt," He smiled softly and handed a piece of cloth over to you. "Maria told me she didn't have a jacket with a hood, that I should bring this so you could cover your hair."

It was a slouch beanie with a pompom attached to it. Your face scrunched up, you never thought you'd be wearing these and you didn't want to, but your hair was wet and you really weren't in the mood to add more to your headache.

"Uh, thank you." You muttered awkwardly and put the beanie on.

"Here," Walt reached out for the beanie, making you flinch. "It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you..." He smiled sincerely and adjusted the beanie. "Better. Shall we?"

"Let's," you sighed, not really knowing what to say to him. He was quite handsome, you were expecting someone old and grumpy to come get you, not a cute guy with-

Cute?!

Goddammit.

"It's nice to see a new face," Walt commented, putting his hands in his jean's pockets. "Maria told me you were spec ops- I never thought I'd meet another outside a QZ."

You halted and looked at him: "You're spec ops too?"

"Yup, that's why she sent me, thought maybe you'd need someone who relates to you?" Walt explained. He visibly tensed when you didn't respond: "I'm sorry, was I too forward?"

"Oh- not at all, I'm just surprised is all. Where did you come from?" You asked as you two kept walking.

"I was born in Denver, grew up and enlisted there too. I served under FEDRA in Denver for a few years before being sent to Boston... What a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, I was in Boston for- ever. I knew I'd seen you somewhere." You sniffed and tried to smile.

"Boston was hell," He groaned. "We were new and there was this team, they were looking for new recruits and I wanted to sign up, I don't know what I was thinking but..."

"Oh," you sighed loudly, looking at the ground. "I know, some stupid sonofabitch named Gabe 'bought' his way in."

"You were at the training too?" Walt asked, surprised.

"I..." You tried to speak and get over with it, but decided to take your time. "I was uh, I was the team's leader."

This time Walt stopped: "Get outta town."

"I'm serious," you gave him an apologetic smile, reaching for your knife in your pocket slowly.

"I'm- I'm sorry," he let out an awkward laugh. "I thought you were the person who picked the new recruit, I might have cursed a little too much behind your back."

This time you laughed too, relaxing: "Oh it's fine. They never really liked me at the Boston QZ, I do have a fair share of curses on my behalf."

Just when the both of you chuckled, Maria opened the door. When did you even arrive?

"Perfect timing!" She smiled. "We were just about to eat, come in."

"After you," Walt took a step behind and motioned for you to go in. You smiled and walked in, Maria sending a quick wink your way before Walt could see and you just rolled your eyes.

There was a big table and three men sat around it, Tommy across them. They were filling their plates with, by god, delicious looking food. Tommy waved at you and you smiled as the three of you sat down around the table, Maria at your right and Walt on your left.

"This is (Y/N)," Tommy introduced you. "(Y/N), these men are the leads of our patrol. I wanted you to meet them because I reckoned you might wanna do patrols, is that okay?"

"Well," you sighed. "I know a couple of more things other than how to shoot a gun, y'know."

"That so?" Tommy grinned. "If you wanna do something else, that's fine. But I still want you to get to know them. You already met Walt, but not sure if you remember him..."

Eugene Linden. Of course you remembered him.

"Eugene?" Your eyes widened.

"Hi there, commander," he tipped an invisible hat your way and smiled.

"Goddamn," you sighed with a grin and chuckled. Then, simultaneously: "Still not dead, huh?"

Eugene and Tommy were absolutely despised and were the talk of the base when you were sent to Denver for duty. You had mixed feelings toward them at first -well, you were sent to kill them after all- but not because you followed orders blindly, because of the attacks and the terror caused by them. They were reckless and they killed civilians, you weren't sure if they were the promise keeping type.

You were outnumbered and genuinely scared that you may not get to see another day (not that you wanted to anyway) so you changed tactics and surrendered. You promised them that you'd help them escape FEDRA in return of your team's and civilian safety. They kept their promise but a few months later, both of them left the Fireflies and you were sent back to Boston. You never saw either again until now.

A night went by with no stressing out over when or how you were going to be attacked. You already made 'friends' with the lead patrol men: All of them were army men, Walt being the only spec ops. You already knew Eugene and Tommy and were now acquainted with Walt and Maria. The other men, Robert and Bruce seemed to like you too; Robert was around Eugene's age, you assumed as he looked a little old but Bruce was around your age, maybe younger.

Tommy walked you back home, as much as Maria secretly tried to make Walt your escort, you didn't mind him.

"How are you liking it so far?" Tommy started as soon as you were outside and on the way back to your house.

"I- I absolutely have no words, Tommy. I can't thank you both enough, I guess I owe you one?"

"Stop with that nonsense," Tommy chuckled. "Those days are over, you're not a FEDRA puppet and I'm not a 'terrorist' anymore... Those days are behind us. Let's focus on what we have now."

"You're right," you nodded, stuffing your hands in your pockets. "It's just- I want you to know how grateful I am for the both of you... I don't deserve this, you know?"

Tommy gave you a worried look when your voice wavered a little: "'Course you do, don't say that stuff now..."

Tommy turned to you under a streetlight and held your shoulders: "You deserve this more than anyone, (Y/N). Joel told me about what happened to your team and I am truly sorry for that-" You sniffed and tried to hold back your tears to no avail. "Hey, hey, it's alright... Look, even without after everything you've gone through, you deserve this. Everyone stuck in this world survivin' does."

"But I'm the reason they're dead!" You sobbed: "If I was faster, none of them would've been captured! If I had been more careful-!"

"(Y/N)!" Tommy shook you. "None of that was your fault, you hear me? I know you think it is but it ain't. I'm sure that if they could, they'd be the ones to give you this life. You were a good leader, you treated them kindly and helped everyone out- even your enemies. I know that as much as you want to trade places with them... what's happened, happened. It's gonna take some time, but you're gonna have to come to terms with it and move on. One way or another."

"I know," you whimpered. "I know but, I never had the time to... I didn't even get to bury them. They're out there, rotting in an old building and I'm here, eating actual food and taking a bath. With a soap."

"Well, if that's what you're worrying about," Tommy dropped his hands to his sides and began walking with a grin. "I can assure you they're in a far better place right now than you could ever be, alive."

You stared at him walk away slowly and let his words sink in. He was right, they no longer had to deal with the bullshit this world had to offer anymore. They were properly resting now.

Although it was a nice first night you spent there and as much as Tommy's words left an impression on you, the moment he said goodnight and you closed your door, a feeling of uneasiness settled in you. Sitting at the table with your new neighbours itself pained you at first, reminding you of your team... Your family...

You still struggled to believe this place was real. There was actually a place for you, a place amongst lovely people who had no bad intentions toward you. There was a new life for you here, you knew you had to move on from your past one, but you also knew it wasn't just going to happen over night. There was still so much guilt in you. And, well, the attack today didn't really help your hopes for this place, you knew better than anyone that all good things come to an end.

But that didn't mean that you wouldn't fight to keep this place going as far as it could.

----

"Aw man," Ellie sighed as Joel finished explaining the basics of baseball to her. "I wonder if (Y/N) ever played it."

Joel's expression relaxed and turned into a thoughtful one. He thought about you, wondered if you were okay and how you were getting along with his brother and the others in Jackson. He was mad at himself for getting angry at you for no reason and he knew, if he ever went back to Jackson, he'd have to make it up to you.

----

Your first few weeks went by resting and helping everyone with everything as much as your wounds allowed. You were fatigued and didn't really want to talk to anyone but Tommy and Maria, who checked up on you almost twice a day when you didn't show up for too long. You were mostly in bed, either doing nothing or sleeping. You had constant headaches and refused to take medications because you didn't want them to think there was something wrong, but sometimes you'd get sick to your stomach from not eating. You lost weight in your first week and a half which didn't escape Maria. You kept complaining about how you couldn't get used to sitting in bed and doing little to nothing for hours, your sleep schedule was absolutely fucked but you also didn't have the energy to get up. You were alone by yourself most of the time which didn't help and by your second week, Maria and the lady from the nursery, Katherine, who was apparently a medic, insisted she did a check up on you.

"I'm no psychologist, but I think she's depressed." Katherine had said when you had fainted because you got up too fast after your examination. "I read a book on it some time ago and she has most of the symptoms... Someone needs to keep an eye on her- she can't stay alone. She's grieving and she's going to need help going through it."

Maria had nodded with sad eyes, uncertain about what to do and Tommy held his wife as they looked at your sleeping form. Your face was way skinnier comparing to when you first arrived in Jackson.

"She doesn't just need a companion per se," Katherine had whispered. "We, as a community have to look after each other and will look after her too, but she barely talks to anyone other than you two. She needs to be more involved with us."

Maria's brows raised: "We can sign her up to patrols with the boys for a start. I'll pair her up with Walt, they seemed to be getting along."

"Well," Tommy had sighed, hands on his hips. "We could try the school? She always had a soft spot for children, maybe it'll help distract her for the most part."

"Offer her whatever you want, but just do it." Katherine nodded worriedly. "And make her eat, for god's sake. She won't survive like this any longer."

----

"You gotta tell me what to do!" Ellie panicked as Joel's vision began fading. "Come on, you gotta get up! Joel?"

Shit, what would (Y/N) do? Joel finally heard Ellie ask herself before he let the darkness take over his pale body. Really though, what would've you done if you were with them right now?

Joel thought back to the time where he was wrapping up your wrists in that house where you all took a shower. How you didn't even flinch when he applied the alcohol and just kept calm through every situation for the whole month you all travelled together. He thought about that one time where you treated a wound on his leg. It was just a bullet which whizzed through the side of his calf, not doing much damage but it still hurt a little. You had attended to it without any complaints.

"This won't take a minute, just sit down and let me handle it," You insisted. Ellie was already passed out on the couch in the next room. "If it gets infected you're never gonna stop bitching about it. Sit. Down."

"Yes ma'am," Joel's brows furrowed at your demanding tone. He sat on the ground and extended his leg on the floor. You carefully rolled the sleeve of his pants up and cleaned the wound.

"Come now, it's over, see?" You smiled gently when he hissed, then wrapped a bandage around his calf. Joel just nodded with an almost displeased look as you got up and moved to go to the other room to check on Ellie.

"Uh, (Y/N)?" Joel turned around before you disappeared into the next room. You gave him a quizzical look by the door: "Thank you."

You just smiled at him genuinely and somewhat shyly, then walked away.

----

You got more used to your new life each day, a full month had passed but you still struggled to come to terms with yourself; but there were some improvements too. You began eating more (by your own will) and you were just a little confused at why you were surrounded by people all the time, except for when you were in your house or at the makeshift gym with a lack of tools. You had only fainted once, it had to be about that, otherwise you were way past the welcoming phase. You still thought often of Ellie... and Joel. And Felicity and others. You found yourself crying some nights, but most nights you felt numb. You missed all your companions dearly - you knew you'd be with them sooner or later.

Walt had turned out to be excellent company, although you were sure his old patrol partner Bruce wasn't entirely fond of you anymore, with you made into Walt's new partner. You usually didn't go outside the walls as there weren't too many infected in the area, but now with you guarding the walls with them, the raids started to take less of a toll on the residents of Jackson. You were liked and your presence was appreciated, something you couldn't really bring yourself to believe.

Tommy and Maria were understanding of your condition and, as much as you had insisted otherwise, they urged you to stay at their place from time to time when you weren't feeling too well. You were grateful for them and for everything they had done to make you feel better while adapting to life in Jackson.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months as Jackson developed further into an actual town. Although winter was harsh on the people, a true sense of community had settled into everyone living there. Diners and schools were built by the end of January and more shops like tailors were being built every day.

Walt and you, on the other hand, were a different story. He was so calm and cool and you couldn't help but get flustered whenever he was around. He treated you nicely, with a more welcoming manner and he was an outright gentleman. The small compliments he'd give you, the way he'd make you laugh... You weren't sure how he'd react if you opened up to him though, so you kept it to yourself.

A better developed relationship comparing to yours and Joel's, you thought. You wondered then how he was doing, if he was even alive and all that.

----

"It's okay, it's me- it's me." Joel turned Ellie around as she tried to get out of his grip. "It's me, look..."

Ellie gasped, taking in a shaky breath as Joel held her face between his hands, like that time you had an attack before reaching Jackson.

"He tried to-" Ellie sobbed, struggling to speak, then Joel pulled and pressed her shaking body against his chest.

"Oh, baby girl..." Joel whispered as he held her close, heart breaking over and over again at her state; the situation they were in reminding him of Sarah over and over again but there was nothing he could do. He had already lost one daughter and he knew, then and there, that he wasn't going to lose Ellie too.

----

With April's arrival, many pretty flowers you had never seen before (or didn't remember seeing pre-outbreak) blossomed throughout the town. Your garden was quite colourful, which brought joy to you. After the cloudy, gray winter days, you greatly appreciated the sun with occasional showers. The weather was mostly chill and windy but not like it was back in January. You had made amazing process with your health conditions - it wasn't perfect but process was still process. Walt had been of great help, talking about your past experiences and venting to each other from time to time had brought you two even closer. He was requested to look after you by Maria and Tommy, but he didn't mind and gladly did so.

Speaking of Tommy: One night while the three of you had dinner, you helped Tommy clean the dishes while Maria went out to give the leftovers to some newborn puppies. Joel was made the topic of your conversation all of a sudden and he revealed a very upsetting detail about Joel's past.

"He," Tommy began, gulping. "He used to have a daughter. Sarah."

You stopped washing the plate in your hands and gave him a look, his movements slowing down as a great set of dark clouds settled over him: "On the outbreak day, the three of us were in a car and it crashed. Sarah broke her leg, so Joel carried her. We ran but Joel and I got separated, when I reached them..."

Tommy sighed through his nose: "Sarah passed away in his arms... I'm thinking, maybe that's why he changed his mind about Ellie? He's- he won't tell you this, but I just thought you should now."

You just nodded with a worried look on your face. After finishing the dishes, Tommy went to their room while you waited on the couch in their living room. He came back with a small frame in his hands: "That's her..."

It was a picture of Joel and Sarah which appeared to be taken after a football match. They both looked so happy, your expression softened immediately and your heart broke: "How old was she?"

"Twelve, I think," Tommy nodded as you examined the picture. "She would've been a whole grownup by now."

Your eyes widened at Joel and Sarah's age gap: "He was so young when he had her..."

"High-school sweethearts," Tommy shook his head and smiled bitterly. "I had no idea what was goin' on. I was around her age when I found out my brother was gonna get married and that I was gonna be an uncle. I don't really remember those times but, Joel managed fine on his own after Sarah's mother left."

You never could've imagined this was the brothers' story before the outbreak: "You miss him, don't you?"

"Me? Miss Joel?" Tommy mocked offence as you handed the frame back to him. "Nah, never... Anyways, he could be back any day, might as well enjoy it before he becomes a pain in my ass again."

You had both laughed about it, but you knew he was worried about Joel and that he missed him. They were pretty close, although worldviews separated them, they were still brothers who cared for each other.

You had also built up the nerve to confess your feelings to Walt. Maria was great at encouragement, so with a deep breath, one night after a patrol in the woods, you knocked on his door:

"Oh, hi there Dolly," Walt smiled. He was looking rather handsome today - as if he put in extra effort to his looks. He looked like as if he was about to go out.

"Oh stop calling me that," You smiled shyly. "I sing once and suddenly I have a new name..."

"It suits you though," he smiled charmingly. "Hey, you'll never guess where I'm about to go right now."

"I'd say on a date, but-"

"Ding ding ding!" He chuckled excitedly. "You know Bonnie, right? She invited me over to her place for dinner."

You just stared, utterly dumbfounded.

"It's a little awkward, I should've been the one to ask her out, but I guess she got tired of waiting!"

She got tired of waiting and shot her shot... and succeeded.

"Oh," you nodded, quickly regaining your composure. "Uh, that's nice- when did you two even get that close?"

"Well," he closed the door to his house, making you take a step back. "You should pull your head out of work from time to time. You've been working so much, you may have missed it."

He smiled genuinely: "Anyways, I have to go now. I'm afraid I can't escort you back this time, I'm running late. You're okay though, right? I hope you didn't come all this way for something important?"

You nodded, words stuck at your throat, then he gave you a brief hug: "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight!"

You just stood there and watched him leave, mouth agape, hopeless and disappointed.

"So?" Maria asked as you rested your chin on your hand, frowning at your plate. The both of you were having breakfast on your back yard: "How did it go?"

"He's seeing someone else," You sighed after an unnerving moment of silence and put your fork through your food.

"Oh," Maria's excited expression dropped. "Are you sure?"

"He said he was on his way to Bonnie's when I went over to his place."

You both sat in silence, your expression was soft but as much as you tried to hide it, there was a hint of sadness in your eyes. I got everything I didn't deserve after moving here, maybe I pushed my luck too much. You weren't angry, just disappointed.

"He said it himself," You chuckled. "Bonnie apparently got too tired of waiting for him to make a move, so she took matters into her own hands. I was too slow."

"Don't say that," Maria reached for your hand but didn't touch it. "How could've you known? Even I didn't notice they had a thing going on."

"It's okay," you forced a smile and took her hand in yours. "Maybe it wasn't the right time."

Maria was happy that you weren't taking it too heavily - you knew you'd have another chance. After breakfast, you both went your separate ways. Walt greeted you at the stairs which led up to the walls, your heart skipping a beat when you saw him - it was anxious skip however, you were not excited to see him.

"So," You forced a smile as you approached him. "How was your night?"

"Pretty good, thank you," he smirked as you two climbed up.

"Just pretty good? Tell me more!" You laughed. The situation was odd, but he didn't have to know.

"Well," he smiled like a teenage boy after his first ever date with his date. "We began with dinner. She had cooked the most amazing meal- You should definitely eat some too, I suggested that the three of us should have dinner sometime and she's totally down."

You flinched as you approached the notebook on the counter then wrote down your names, your back to him as you felt like jumping off the side of the wall and into a hole where the ground would swallow you whole rather than having dinner with them.

"Yeah, we'll see, I don't wanna be a burden on your new girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend, Dolly, she's-"

"Stay where you are!" You suddenly heard Cedric, one of the patrolman who's shift was over, shout.

"Hold it!" You yelled at Cedric from where you were, then immediately ran out to where he was, Walt behind you. Your heart dropped when you saw the duo who were stood by Jackson's doors.

No way.

[silenceofthecookies]

Heyyy can I please have a fluff scenario with a d’email reader x Spartos where the reader is very good at singing and she sings at every festival? Thank you so much !!!!!

Hi cyaniderainfall! Sorry you had to wait so long, but here it is! Honestly, Spartos is such a sweety. I love the idea of him falling in love with a singer. I hope you enjoy it! 

You had noticed him at every festival you performed at in Sindria. Even at some festivals in other countries. As a famous singer you saw a lot of faces, but he caught your eye every time. It started when you noticed his unusual hair colour, and his armour. Always looking nervous just before you came on stage. Always happy to see you come on. Always relaxing when listening to you sing. But never looking you in the eye. It confused you in the beginning, didn’t most fans want to look their favourite singers in the eye? It all made sense once you found out who he was though.

He was Spartos, one of the eight generals of Sindria.

You were surprised you managed to catch his interest at all. Even though you were no Sindrian yourself, you performed there often enough to know some things about the people and the country. And you know everyone loved the generals. They were strong, most of them were good looking as well, and most important of all: they were kind, and they protected everyone. Knowing that, you knew Spartos could have his pick from many men and women, and yet you were the one who caught his interest.

As you saw him more often at your performances, you began to enjoy watching him while you sang. He always seemed to relaxed and at peace when he listened to you. You’d almost forget he was a general. After watching his reactions closely for a few performances, you found out which were his favourite songs and you always sneaked them into your performances when you noticed he was there. Whenever there was a fitting lyric, you sang it while looking directly at him. You made your flirtations plenty clear to him, and he didn’t leave you hanging. It didn’t take long for presents to be delivered to you the moment you left the stage. Never something big or expensive that made you uncomfortable to accept it. A box of chocolates, a bouquet of flowers, a small bracelet, a scarf,… All from your ‘secret’ admirer.

Your little game of subtly flirting with each other from a distance continued for a good while, until one day Spartos had other plans. After a performance, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you finally stood face to face with him. He was still not looking you in the eye, something you now knew was because of his religion.

“I… I just wanted to give you my compliments on your performance. You have the voice of an angel.” His words and his red cheeks made you smile, and blush a little yourself. “Thank you! I really appreciate your kind words! I’ve seen you more often at my performances, haven’t I?” you asked innocently. “Ah… yes, you have. I hope you don’t think it’s weird or creepy.” “No, not at all! If anything, it warms my heart to have such a devoted fan. And you’ve done nothing to make me uncomfortable, quite the contrary, if I can be honest.” “I’m glad… In that case, I… euhm… I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me?” Spartos mumbled, looking at his feet. “I would love to.”

Lifting his head from his feet, yet still not looking you in the eye, he smiled at you and suggested a time and place. He knew just the place, a little restaurant not too far from the palace. Apparently the food was divine, though even if he had taken you to a fast food restaurant, you still would’ve agreed.

---

That’s how you and Spartos met. Your first date was a big success, and so were the other dates that followed after it. Usually, the two of you would meet up whenever you were in the same place, either you performing in Sindria, or him coming to a festival to see you. In between, the two of you sent each other letters. This continued for about a year, until neither of you could take the distance anymore. Spartos mentioned a house being vacant near the palace, and not long after you loved to Sindria. The proximity made you grow even closer, and Spartos finally got over his nerves around you. He still avoided your eyes at all times though. It made you a bit sad, but you respected his religion and didn’t push him about it.

Today, a year after moving to Sindria, you had another performance. It was the anniversary of the founding day of Sindria, and king Sinbad had organised a big feast to celebrate it. Spartos was there too, of course. This time he was no longer a face in the crowd, but he was the one sending you up on stage and waiting for you as you came off the stage. Giving him a kiss, you smiled at him, knowing he usually focussed on your lips to judge your facial expression since he couldn’t look you in the eyes, and headed up on stage. Since the festival was so big, and for such a special occasion, you went all out with your costume and your setlist, making his a show for everyone to remember.

After finishing up your performance you walked off the stage. Next to the stairs stood your boyfriend, waiting for you with open arms. You ran straight into them and relaxed as his strong arms closed around you, holding you tight. Letting out a sigh of contentment, you laid your head down on his shoulder.

“Y/N?” “Yes?” you answered, not lifting your head off his shoulder. “I’ve got something for you.” “Really? Is my ‘secret admirer’ back?” you giggled. Spartos chuckled before answering. “Nothing secret about this gift. If anything, it’s something a lot of people will know about. That is, if all goes well…”

Slipping out of his arms, you took a step back to judge his face, confused at his words. Your eyes widened as he pulled a little square box out of his pocket. No way. He wouldn’t right? As he opened the box, you saw a beautiful ring which sparkled in the light of the torches around the two of you.

“Y/N, will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?” Spartos asked, smiling.

You stood frozen in pure shock, staring at your boyfriend of now almost two years. Wasn’t this a bit too soon? Then again, it had already been two years. Did his religion even allow dating? Had he been going against his principles? But what if you’d think differently in a year? What if he thought differently in a year? As you stood there in silence for a few seconds, Spartos’s smile began to fall. Seeing that happen made it feel like you had a brick in your stomach, and that feeling alone was the final push you needed to give the answer you knew you wanted to give from the start.

“Yes, Spartos, I will.”

Spartos blinked after he heard your words and finally, for the first time ever, looked you in the eyes. It made butterflies appear in your stomach. Spartos smiled brighter than you had ever seen him do and slipped the ring on your finger, still not breaking eye contact with you. Once the ring was on he leaned in, gave you a kiss and then pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, and to look you in the eye again.

“The voice of an angel, and the eyes of one, too.”

[hibenjibye]

Apocalypse Dog

The first red flag in my relationship with God came in 2000 when Sega released Poo-Chi, a robotic toy dog.

I was 11 and had recently become obsessed with a kid's magazine called K-Zine or Kid-Zone or K-Hole or something, which was comprised of ads for toys and clearly fake interviews with teen idols.

K-Hole: You did a great job in Titanic! Thanks got sitting down with us, Leo! What's your favourite colour?

Leo: Definitely brown! I asked the director of Titanic to give my character lots of brown clothes! I think that's a cool colour!

To this day my compulsive cover-to-cover digestion of this magazine, full of people and things I cared nothing about, remains a mystery that gives me a sense of curious unease whenever I consider it. Probably because it serves as a reminder of the ultimately transient nature of personality and the fundamental unknowability of the self. When I, a phlegmatic child who enjoyed novels about family sagas and drinking coffee with the emotionally incestuous adults in my life, pinned a free poster of Nikki Webster wearing a bubblegum pink tube top and body glitter on my bedroom wall, who was I in that moment? What invisible audience was I performing for? Who did I believe I might become via this strange action?

It is for a similar reason, I suppose, that 20 years later I still think about a competition the magazine ran which offered readers the chance to win a Poo-Chi.

I had no idea what this dog did, other than represent the spirit of the new millennium with its sleek metallic body and tense stance. As the child of Jehovah's Witnesses I entered this century with the suspicion that a long-predicted apocalypse might be fulfilled at midnight, January 1st 2000, and with every day that fiery hail did not fall from the sky that year I developed an exhilarating sense that I was living in an unpromised and unpredictable cyber-future too advanced and impressive for God himself to interrupt. Maybe this was what I saw in Poo-Chi's dead red LED eyes: a sleek defiance of our Lord's bipolar love and threats.

Either way, I knew when I saw the ad for the competition that I must win the dog. I had never wanted anything so singularly in my life, suddenly. This is odd because I had never wanted a toy from any ad before -- The closest I came was shaking my mother awake one morning a year earlier when I uncharacteristically woke up at dawn and discovered a TV show where a woman was showcasing gorgeous pieces of statement jewellery that were marked down and disappearing fast. The woman rued the fact that there weren't enough topaz necklaces for her to buy one herself and I cried into my cereal when my desperation to procure one of these treasures, which I would have kept in my bottom bureau drawer and looked at every day, was unfairly dismissed.

A similar chasm opened up in me as I wrote my submission to the magazine explaining why I deserved the dog most. I tried to funnel my absolute need for it into my words, which did not seem to convey the urgency of the situation. I had a vague sense that if I received the Poo-Chi, which surely I would, it would be my best friend and possibly learn to perform tricks that a lesser child would not know to teach it. It seemed like the kind of magic robot whose arrival might catalyse the beginning of a child's adventure in a movie, and I had been waiting my whole life for my movie to begin. I'm not sure I managed to articulate any of this in the letter.

*

This memory becomes its strangest when, on a grey Sunday morning, I interrupt my mother’s vacuuming to ask if Jehovah would be insulted if I were to ask for his assistance in winning the dog. I've always prayed, at this point, and never asked for any selfish favours so it feels very likely that my good karma is ready to be cashed in. But first I want to make sure that God won't be offended and potentially even stop me from winning the dog to teach me some sort of rude lesson. I feel so close to winning by now and I don't want to let anything fuck up my plan.

My mother says there's no harm in asking but I should make it clear in my prayer that I know I don't necessarily deserve the robot dog, I'm just asking in case God is open to making my dreams come true and was waiting for the right opportunity. She reminds me of children suffering and dying in the world and I feel a stab of compulsive grief for them but I also feel that our situations are apples and oranges.

I pay an awkward amount of attention to my posture when I pray that night, not wanting to look like an entitled slob as I kneel over my bed asking for a handout. I keep my back straight and my fingers lightly laced. I confirm that I'm just asking, no worries if not, but this wish does represent everything I've ever wanted and I will be sad for a long time if I don't get it.

I do not mention the fact that the last time I requested something via prayer it was for a drunken brawl between my parents to come to a quick end but it indeed lasted all night, rattling my heart through the wall as I lay in bed. It seemed tacky to bring up this overlooked request however I felt hopeful that God would remember it and feel guilty, and this would compound my chances of getting my wish.

*

I forgot all about the competition but received a velcro wallet in the mail months later, one of three runner-up prizes. I was elated to have won something and showed it to everyone, even though it was ugly as shit with a picture of the weird dog and his robot cat friend on the front. I used it for years.

There was no doubt in my mind that the wallet was a message from God. It was both an acknowledgement of my prayer and a rebuke of my hubris in making such a lofty request. The wallet was a spiky little joke, meant to comfort and humble me. It was haloed in an odd dissonance which felt connected to my broader feelings about the unpredictable man in the sky.

In my teens when I began to pick apart all my ties to religion and to my family's unique version of reality, I didn't consider the awkward prayer about Poo-Chi to share any throughline with the uncanny path of spiritual emancipation and disconnection I ended up on. But in retrospect all of those strange feelings swam in the same pond. The wide-eyed waiting for a punctuating sound through the wall or from the sky. The rickety hope of walking out into a still-standing world every day, with its dubious promises and nonsensical lessons.

I continue to look for easy adventures and strange friendship through electronic devices. I am still mesmerised by statement jewellery and emotionally derailed by other people's conflicts.

If this story had an ending, which it doesn't because it isn't really a story, I would imagine it to be the above two sentences appearing during end credits over a freeze frame of me smiling and giving a goofy thumbs-up.

There would be a tricky post-credit scene as everyone stepped out of the theatre, of a Poo-Chi standing on a cloud in Heaven. A sandalled God walks over and leans down to pet the little friend, whose LED eyes light up red and beam out zooming rays. God shouts once as he takes the death ray right in his solar plexus and explodes into a dozen pieces. His still-sandalled foot is dragged to a quiet corner of the clouds to be chewed. The volume of a pop-rock song playing in the background returns in full. The end.

[ill-skillsgard]

Against the Rules - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Warning: 18+ overall. Mentions of sex/cheating/spousal conflict/mature themes. Please read at your own discretion.

Note: Thank you all for the asks and for following me on this ridiculous journey. Hope you enjoy this part. Let me know your thoughts. Any and allreblogs/comments are very much appreciated!

Read more Henry x Mistress here >   Masterpost

Everything was changing so fast. One day you were pouring coffee, wiping down tables and getting stiffed on tips in a hotel cafe and the next you were taking the elevator to the top floor standing next to Henry who looked great in his new suit.

It took some restraint not to tell him how good he looked in the slim-fitting ensemble. You had approved the look during a shopping trip he had taken you on a few days prior. It stood out in his wardrobe but wasn't flashy enough to attract too much attention. There was just something different about him. A bubbliness, a lilt, a brightness that erased the exhaustion from under his bi-coloured eyes. His employees and colleagues complimented him, unsure of what it was about him that seemed different. All they knew was that Henry Deaver looked great.

You knew what was different. Henry was happy.

His office was in the Easternmost corner of the top floor of a building that dwarfed many other prestigious surrounding businesses. Half the office was floor-to-ceiling windows and the rest of it was painted starch white. He had a comfortable desk and chair, all recent modern design, functionality and no compromise on style. The artwork on the walls were soulful glimpses of foreign lands festooned with lights, cobblestone, rolling hills and squat brown, red, yellow and orange structures.

"Wow," your voice echoed in the office.

"You can see why I try to spend as little time here as possible," he gestured around the wide room.

"I don't see why... This is a beautiful office."

"Really? Feels like a prison to me."

"A five-star prison," you laughed.

Henry shrugged his shoulders, shelving his large hands on his hips with a soliciting smile. "It's basically you and I in here occasionally. You met the receptionist out front but the desk just outside is yours whenever we're here. Nobody walks through these doors unless authorized."

"Unless they have an appointment," you recalled.

"That's right," he nodded. "See? Told you this was going to be easy."

"Except when somebody asks me a question about what to do or where to go."

"It's not your job to know. Your job is simply to take my calls if I'm busy, pencil in meetings, schedule my flights, book hotels and reservations. You know... Anything that has to do with me while I'm occupied. You are an extension of me. And don't look so worried, you'll get to know my clients quickly. My phone isn't ringing off the hook like some of the other guys in here."

"That's good to know," you completed your walk around his office and stopped a few feet from him.

His eyes climbed down your body and then back up. The pleasant smile softened, taking on a tinge of lust. "God, you look so good in that skirt."

"Mr. Deaver... I won't be needing to file a harassment claim so soon, will I?"

Henry snapped his fingers, remembering an important piece of information that trumped any kind of romantic exchange that may have continued. "That reminds me... You'll have to go talk to Helen in HR to go over some things. Sign some papers. Probably a whole lot of other Human Resource-related things. So, why don't we do that before heading to lunch?"

"Sure," you smiled.

Henry walked you through the office and brought you to a contrite little woman with a tight bun and grandmotherly features. Helen took you aside and had you sign a few documents, read a few pages and then handed you a page about workplace relationships and harassment.

"Now, we don't scrutinize what you do in your personal life, but it is against company policy for any employee to engage in romantic relationships with any performance-appraising figure. Now, since the only person you answer to is Mr. Deaver, that narrows it down a bit," the woman chuckled.

Your skin flared as a nervous breath left you in the form of a strained laugh. "Yes, of course."

"He's married, anyway. I don't think we have much to worry about. Nevertheless, you must sign to state you understand and accept the policy. You'll also have to complete a one-hour workplace harassment course. It's nothing really. Just an old, out-dated video with a multiple-choice test that you can't fail."

"Right," you nodded cooperatively.

Helen had you sit down and watch the workplace harassment video right then and there while she input all your information into a computer. The video was on a DVD and you couldn't remember the last time you had heard the crack of a plastic movie case being opened. The media format was youthful compared to the age of the video and you snickered at some of the campiness of a low-budget sexual harassment training video. Some parts made you cringe, and others made you sweat.

"If you ever feel assailed by your boss, you can speak up! If your employer withholds raises and promotions from you because of your refusal to accept romantic advances, you CAN speak up! If a co-worker makes inappropriate comments about your race, gender, sexual orientation or religion, you CAN speak up! There are laws in place to protect employees from unwanted advances. Remember... You CAN speak up! Your Human Resources officer will assist you and provide you with the proper steps..."

You lost yourself in daydreams and hardly paid attention to the video after a while. Henry had been strolling by the HR office every few minutes to flash you a look. It was cute to see how eager he was to get the ball rolling. The formalities were more painful to him than they were to you. When you were finally released from Helen's charge, Henry met you outside of the office and sighed.

"Jesus, what did you do in there? Watch all of her home movies?"

You laughed at the hint of a pout that tugged at his bottom lip, making the dimple on his chin appear and fade. "I had to watch a video on harassment in the workplace and I have to tell you... I learned some very interesting information watching all those poor, shoulder-pad-wearing employees being assailed by their bosses."

Henry clamped down on the inside of his cheek for a moment, shoulders rising with a silent laugh. "Right. Assailed."

You followed Henry back to his office where a laptop had appeared on his desk. He sat down in the desk chair and motioned for you to approach. You looked down at the screen he had up and didn't recognize even a square inch of what you saw.

"I have a bit of a database on my clients that you can use. It might be useful for when you get those phone calls. They won't assume that you don't know them, so you can use this to get a better idea of who they are, where they come from and our roles. Might make you sound better on the phone... not that you don't sound good on the phone."

You bit back a smirk, but it showed anyway. "Sure thing, Mr. Deaver."

He used his long legs to push himself out from under the desk. "Since it's getting kind of late, I figured we could order lunch in and just sit around. You know... Go over some stuff. I'll have to brief you on the current project. We'll be heading to Prague next week, so I'll have to get you the company card and all of that."

The day matured, the sun started to go down and five o'clock had come and gone along with nearly every person on the floor. Nobody came by to bother Henry, so you had several uninterrupted hours of learning. And he maintained his professionalism even during the times you tested him. When it came down to work, he was a tough man to distract. It was only the first day but you couldn’t resist trying to irk him a little bit.

Henry got up, shrugged out of his suit jacket and took a few stretching steps around the office. The skyline was starting to melt into purple that would then turn navy blue as a bruise, swivelled toward the door and went to peer out.

"Guess everyone's gone for the day," he said under the distinct locking of the door.

"I suppose so. We stayed late."

"It's necessary. We need to get you up to speed as soon as possible. We fly next week. How are you feeling about everything? Is there anything that still confuses you?"

You thought about all he had taught you in those hours and shrugged. "If I think of a question, I'll ask you, sir."

Henry flashed a sage smile that soon faded as he looked out over the darkening city line. "You hungry?"

"Only for your cock."

"Babe... Come on. It's our first day."

"Not my first day wanting every inch of that--"

"I'm serious!" He turned from the windows and approached the desk.

His lack of playfulness was disconcerting, but you respectfully shut your mouth and waited for him to circle the desk. Henry pushed the chair you were in to make some space between you and the desk. Sidestepping, he came up close, peering down with that same humourless expression.

"Get up," he muttered.

"Why?"

"You're questioning me already? Get. Up." He hammered out the last two words.

"Okay," you murmured, rising from the chair.

"Bend over the desk," he then whispered.

When you were resting your weight on the flat surface, Henry took a step behind you. No contact was made, and you turned your head to see what the reflections in the windows told of. He let his palm slide flat against the back of your skirt before it pulled back in a flash and clapped you.

Henry had never done that to you before. Jaw distended and eyes wide, you looked back at him and couldn't tell if you should make light of it or entertain the perversity by playing along.

"When you're in my office," he began. "You follow my rules. Out there you get to be whomever you want. Mistress, sex kitten, the innocent-looking girl from the cafe... But in here... You're fucking mine. And you listen to me. And you never ever question my authority. Do you understand?"

Had Henry been capable of this the whole time or had he picked up this trick from hanging around with you too much? Either way, it sent excitement trilling all over your body, manifesting between your legs as pure arousal. Hearing his voice darken and those domineering words sliding down the back of your neck as his hand squeezed your ass made you shiver.

"I said... Do you understand?" His groin pressed into you from behind.

"Yes, sir."

"That's right." He undid his belt and sat down in the desk chair that you had previously occupied. "Oh, I love having my own naughty little office slut."

A trickle of his usual pleasant tone returned, and you smiled at him. The jangling of his belt falling away caught your attention and you watched him pull his cock out of the pants you had been admiring all day.

"Come sit on your boss' cock."

"Sir... Isn't that against the rules?"

"Do I look like I give a shit? Go ahead and run to HR and tell them about how your pussy got so wet from the thought of fucking your boss that you simply couldn't help but..." He reached out to hike up your skirt and wrench down your panties. "Slide your panties off and have a seat on his lap."

You indulged him. Of course. Because indulging him meant indulging yourself and the thought of Henry fucking you in the middle of his office, after hours, in front of a mammoth pane of glass while the city twinkled below was not a fulfillment you could take off the shelf any another day but today. It had to happen right then and there. So much of your time had been spent fantasizing about how delectable it would be to fuck Henry in his office. But this was even better. Henry was playing conductor this time.

"Come on, don't worry," his words rang sweetly. "Door's locked. Everyone's gone home. You and I can have a little more private time, right? I could have fucked you twenty times already today and nobody would have known."

"Why didn't you?"

"Oh," Henry chortled, not so easily derailed by your challenge. "Trust me, sweetheart... Daddy was thinking about it."

Your mouth opened but a quip could not follow how he had addressed himself. Shit, Henry had it in him. It was you who normally initiated the depravity. You wanted to be proud of him, but you could do that later.

Cashing in on that fulfillment, you relaxed against him like he was but part of the chair. He hissed when he spotted the right angle and slid every inch of himself into you dreadfully slow. He breathed next to your ear and hummed with delight when you sat flush against him, thighs spread out over his. The cold metal of his belt poked you too, but you didn't care. It was filthy and evocative of the spit in the face of professionalism that Henry seemed to hold so high.

Dark reflections in the window became an extradimensional porno playing on a crystal projector screen in the foreground of the city you had grown up in. Henry wasn't the quiet, apprehensive man-in-black that you met at your old job. And you weren't the girl with a simplified life of frugality and the less-than-average sex life. You had joined together at the right moment to cause this.

"Oh my god, Mr. Deaver... That’s so much. You’re so big," you whimpered.

The depth of the chair didn't allow for much leverage, even if he scooted himself and you down to prop himself on planted feet. You rose up suddenly, afraid you might fall forward until he encircled you, holding you to him so he could then splay you out over the desk. From his new standing position behind you, he used both hands to yank you down to meet his pelvis. Your skirt inched up your waist as the slapping of skin kept time with your pulse.

Four long fingers stroked your throat, squeezing gently to guide you up. He needed to tell you something, but he couldn't bear to stop the assault on your pussy from behind. You were glistening wet and the sounds of him slipping in and out of you made his balls tighten.

"Who's the boss of you?"

"You are sir," you choked beneath the grip on your neck.

"Yes, little lady. That's correct. You answer to me. You do as I say."

"Yes," he shook a gasp out of you.

Henry nipped the side of your neck and you jolted from the sting. "My nasty little assistant. What would I do without you? What would I do without that tight, tight pussy to shoot my fucking cum inside?"

"I don't know, I don't know!"

"Well, now I don't ever have to go without. I can have you any time I want. Oh, yes... You're mine all mine."

"I'm yours, daddy."

[fletcherbarnes]

is that [ASHTON IRWIN]? no, that’s just [FLETCHER BARNES]. [HE/HIM] is [TWENTY FIVE] years old and is a [PHOTOGRAPHER]. rumor has it they’ve been in town for [ONE MONTH]. on a good day, they’re [CREATIVE & EFFICANT]. but watch out! they can also be [AGGRESSIVE & IRRITABLE ]. [OFTEN BY THE WEEKND ] plays in my head whenever I think of them. can’t wait to see them around Springhill! 

iii everyone!! my name is Lana, and this is my son. under the cut are his bio and everything <3 

**TW: self-harm scars, death, drinking, car accident. 

Full Name: Fletcher James Barnes

Nickname(s): Fletch

Age: 25

Date of Birth: June 22nd, 1995

Species: Human

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation:Bisexual, Biromantic.

Religion: Agnostic

Occupation: Professional Photographer.

Family

Parents: Blair Buchanan(Biological Mother)  Neil Buchanan (Step-Father),  Bernard Barnes (Biological Father, Deceased)

Siblings: Junip Buchanan (Half-Sister), Marina Barnes (Sister, Deceased)

Uncles: Brandon Barnes, James Barnes. Harold Hanes, Gage Hanes. 

Aunts: Tina Barnes. Jessie Hanes.

Grandparents: Grant Buchanan & Greta Buchanan (Step-Grandparents), Norene & James Barnes (Father’s Parents), Jackson & Dawn Hanes (Mother’s Parents)

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Ashton Irwin

Hair Colour: Natural is Dirty Blonde. 

Eye Colour: Hazel

Height: 6′

Weight: 190 lbs

Build Muscular.

Tattoos: Moon Phase on both of his forearms, star on his bicep, a rose on the back of his upper right arm, snake on his shoulder, hear on the side of his right wrist, and a California condor on the back of his neck. 

Piercings: None

Distinguishing Characteristics: Self harm scars on his arms, deep scar on his chest from a car accident. 

Health

Mental Illness: IED ( Intermittent explosive disorder ), Depression, PTSD, BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder)

Sleeping Habits: At times, he usually sleeps very well, but he has spells where he’s up for days and is productive but also incredibly irritable due to lack of sleep. 

Eating Habits: He eats anything. His favorite is any kind of pasta. 

Exercise Habits: works out a lot. He likes to keep himself busy physically so his thoughts stray away from overthinking.

Emotional Stability: Fletcher is usually a calm person when he takes his medicine. If he skips his meds for a few days, he becomes irritable and angry and easily snaps at others. Never mention his dad or his sister. That’s a quick way to get him to explode. And it isn’t pretty.

Sociability: His job as a professional photographer means that he has to be social in order to communicate with his clients. Outside of work he’s just as sociable and enjoys talking to people. He does have his moments where he is quiet and doesn't want anyone talking to him. 

Body Temperature: Average body temp.

Addictions: None

Drug Use: Marijuana. 

Alcohol Use: Frequent.

Personality

Positive Traits: Creative, Efficient, Sociable, Handy, Funny.

Negative Traits: Hot-Headed, Sleazy, Aggressive, Irritable.

Hobbies: Playing drums, painting, driving his cars, running with his dog Ritz.

Habits: Binge drinks, chews his nails.

Favorites

Weather: Rainy

Colour: Red

Beverage: Any strong Liquor, Sweet Tea, Water.

Food: Eggplant Parmesan.

Animal: Dogs and Horses.

BIOGRAPHY:

Fletcher Barnes was born and raised in Brisbane, Australia. His mother Blair was a psychiatrist, his father a famous painter. He had a fantastic childhood and was very blessed with the life that he had. They lived in a huge house, went on vacations often, and he had everything he could ever imagine. His sister was born when he was two, the pair were inseparable. Due to his father being home all the time since his studio was in his house, they were homeschooled by him. 

One thing that Fletcher loved about his father was his creativity and his willingness to let his children explore their creative side. Fletcher couldn’t quite get into painting like his sister did, but he found love for photography. When he was eight, his father bought him a nice camera and was given lessons by his uncle James who was a professional photographer. As he grew, he learned how to take perfect photos, edit just the right way, and position things just how he wanted. 

Another memory he has of his father was always going with him to his art shows, helping him set up, taking photos of all of his artwork, and helping him pick out a suitable outfit. The Barnes family more often than not coordinated their outfits with each other at each show they did. He remembers the excitement of all the people flooding in, the snacks him and his sister would snag, and talking to lots of different people. Happiness radiated in the family, and it showed. 

But that happiness wouldn’t last long. 

When Fletcher was thirteen, he was helping his dad load up their car for his art show that was coming up. His father wasn’t his usual self; he was quiet, reserved, and short with Fletcher and his sister. He wasn’t himself, and Fletcher knew it. But, he still went with him and so did his sister, despite his mother’s plea for them not to go with him. Why did she insist on them not going? He didn’t know, but they went along with him. As they were going down the highway, Fletcher tried talking to his father, but he was stone silent. The car picked up speed, and he felt his father grab his hand tightly. The last thing he remembered was him saying he loved him, then everything went dark. 

He woke up in a hospital with his mom by his side, and that’s when she delivered the news to him. Both his father and his sister were dead, and he wrecked the car on purpose to take his life. Fletcher was numb, at first he thought it was a joke, but she was serious. The two most important people, dead. He didn’t cry, he didn’t scream. He just sat there and was numb to the whole situation. He was unable to attend the funeral since both of his legs were broken and he had to do physical therapy. 

After spending two months in the hospital, he made a full recovery and went back home. It didn’t feel like home anymore though; it felt like a prison. His mother was in a very dark spot with her depression, she lost her job, and when she was awake, she was drinking. More often than not, he stayed at his grandparents. They had a hold of the will, and it wasn’t to be opened until Fletcher turned eighteen. 

He went to public school and graduated with amazing grades, and on his eighteenth birthday, it was time to open the will. He spent his day with his mother who was now a functioning human, and they spent the day opening presents, getting ice cream and going out to eat, then ending the day at his grandparents house where they would open the will. His mother opened the will, and she was shocked and angry. Confused, his grandma took the will from her and she gasped. Fletcher had no idea what was happening until it was then handed to him.

Everything was his. The house, his paintings, his cars, his bank account. He left everything to his son. He sold everything except for two of his dad’s camaros and a painting of him and his sister, and ended up with a very large amount of money. He was hated by his mother and everyone else, so he packed up and left Australia and headed to America. He became a citizen and lived in LA, building up his reputation as a photographer and eventually becoming the most sought out photographer in LA by the time he was twenty three. 

He’s photographed fashion shows in Milan, Paris, New York, and London, for magazines like Time, Vogue, Elle, and has even worked on movie sets. Fletcher wanted to get away from LA life, and he decided it was time for a change of pace. He moved to Springhill, New Jersey where he would continue his photography career. He’s lived there for a month, and loves it. 

[giireyes]

hello hello hello, i’m mini from the 6ix ! im a plant based, broke af media student that gets into one too many bus accidents when eating oranges and it’s been a hot minute since i’ve joined an rp this big, so - bare with me. also bare with my shitty gifs since i make them all from scratch. this ended up being a new muse for me so - bare with that too. i’m asking for a lot ! i’m sORRY DKFJGHDFKJGHD

emilia mernes. cis-female. she/her.  ／  angel giselle reyes just pulled up blasting nada by tainy, lauren jauregui & c. tangana — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty three year old influencer/vocalist, i’ve heard they’re really -sarcastic, but that they make up for it by being so +humble. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say karaoke nights with friends, watching the sunrise, and dancing in the middle of the street. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! 

BASICS !

Full Name: angel giselle reyes

Nickname(s): gigi, angie, gi

Age: 23

Height: 5′2 ft

Place of Birth: cordoba, argentina

Date of Birth: january 15th 1997

Zodiac sign: capricorn

Ethnicity: hispanic

Nationality: argentinian

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she/her

Orientation: bisexual

Religion: agnostic

Tattoos: a black outlined heart tattoo behind her ear

Language(s) Spoken: broken english, spanish

Accent: spanish is her first language, so speaking in english she has an accent.

Family: francisco camilo herrera de luna ( half brother ! )

FAVOURITES !

Weather: summer

Colour: orange

Music: bad bunny, vincente fernandez, camilo sesto, celia cruz, jbalvin

Movies: the princess diaries

Sport: volleyball

Beverage: moscato, or rum

Food: alfajores

Animal: sloths

BIOGRAPHY !

*** . FIRST . tw : abandonment, alcohol, drugs

angel was born in cordoba - no not in spain, but in argentina ! her parents were two teens that weren’t ready for a child, so what did they do ? they gave her away, and they decided to call her angel because she was born in a church. her relatives found this a good thing, maybe it would give her some kind of spiritual help - and in some way, maybe it did ?

through the years, she was passed between relatives, living in different parts of cordoba, until she got into her pre-teens, hitting different parts of south america. at some point she was living in mexico with her tio - and then returned back to argentina, but in buenos aires to live with her paternal abuelito. it’s funny because she knows her relatives, but she never actually ended up having a relationship with her mom and dad. they just sent money, some clothes, but never bothered to call and text. bouncing between places distracted her, but of course it always felt like something was missing. 

living in buenos aires, angel started going by gigi - it was a much less masculine name than her original name, and people have already been calling her angie. gigi just fit the cake ! 

hennyways, she started a youtube channel, posting dancing videos of herself, that eventually led to vine, that went to youtube ---- that eventually led to tiktok. that’s right, she’s a tiktok-er, and she got really famous for being so, not just in argentina, but all around latin america.  

at 21, she joined a latin american tiktok group, where they’d post videos of themselves doing dumb isht - not just that, she started posting cover videos onto YouTube as well, so while she was famous on TikTok, she was earning notice for her vocal ability that she got recognized by sony music latin and w.k. entertainment. she was signed and asked to move to miami, florida. this was a step into the american market !!

now, her lito was COMPLETELY against it. he didn’t want her to be americanized. it sounded ridiculous to him since she barely spoke english, and everything she had was in argentina. except gigi had money in the bank - so what did she do ? have this big fight with her lito, and family. she’s ambitious and she’s gonna go whether anyone said yes or no. 

because of this fight - her entire family ended up disowning her. literally, she left her home after the fight, and came back to all her stuff tossed on the street. whenever she tried to go to anyone in her family, they all shut the door on her. there was no turning back, and gigi really ... didn’t have a choice at that point. she knew she was never wanted, but it hurt to know it was a reality from those you made a home with.

from that point on, gigi doesn’t talk about her family. 

she did go to miami. the first flight out with whatever she could stuff in a couple bags. gigi lived in miami for about a year, staying in the united states on a work visa - so yeah, she’s not a citizen. during her time in miami, she learned a bit more english - though her accent is still very much present and a lot of things are very surprising to her in comparison to back home. 

so far she has released one song with ana mena and nio garcia called el chisme. gigi still works hard on all her social media accounts while working in the studio, and constantly networking with those in the same industry as herself - even outside of it !

she moved to LA just before she turned 22, deciding she wanted to know a different place. staying in a place for too long was never her thing, but her manager thinks it’s a good idea anyway. 

PERSONALITY / WHO SHE IS !

what you’ll notice when first meeting gigi is that she always smiles - she has this thing about her where even if her life really does suck - some parts of it - she tries her ABSOLUTE best to be positive, and just giving off positive vibes. i mean of course if you piss her off, different story. 

if you annoy her, she’s passive aggressive - not even that, she’ll just straight up tell you you’re being annoying or something. it’d take a lot for her not to like someone - actually i lied, if you give off a bad vibe, she’d give you a look, pretend to be nice and walk away DKFJHGJDKFGH

sarcastic brat. nuff said. 

gigi isn’t really aware of her “fame” which is so funny. she’ll be out, and if there are people taking photos of her, she’d be very confused, telling them something like “guys im not famous, stop.” even tho ?? sis u r thriving what do u mean ???? 

she gets brain farts a lot - mainly because she thinks in spanish, and has to speak in english. catch her speaking in spanish randomly forgetting the other doesn’t understand. it’s just in her personality to forget sometimes, especially if she gets super excited. 

clumsy ass bitch. NUFF SAID x 100. she is the type to be talking to someone, and then find herself crashing into a door, or almost walking into a busy street. 

she’s your go to if you want spontaneous fun - not just partying, but even just to hang out. you’re bored ? gigi will take you to a painting class. 

she’s clumsy, not stupid ! which a lot of ppl will confuse. especially in clubs, where people will try to take advantage of her, and gi will play dumb up until she’s the one playing the game on them. a devil in an angel’s costume to pit it plainly.

she has issues, like many people ! especially because of her family. it’s a sore spot, and the only way to really forget is when she’s out in the club at night - and well, you know, all the bad things come out to play during those times. she looks to alcohol and drugs to keep her sane sometimes, even when it shouldn’t. it’s not something she talks about either, and prefers it to stay as hidden as possible due to her image being the sweet girl kinda type. 

i really hate that she falls in love 14987348957439 times a day. its cos she tries to see the best in people, and then gets hurt and DKFGHJFDKJGHDF GIRL NO, UR BETTER THAN THIS. it gets her into a lot of drama, i want to push her into a door. 

her happy place is by the beach when it’s quiet with a bonfire and maybe strumming an acoustic guitar. that’s where she’d go to get away from everything. 

she’s never seen snow, and doesn’t know if she’d like it. so that’s something. 

gigi has a fear of seagulls. they’re demons with wings. prove her wrong. i dare you.

she doesn’t like being called by her real name - not even angie. only close friends call her angie since it’s more personal. her brand is gigi, therefore prefers to be called that.

if you call her anything besides that, she may actually just punch you - doesn’t matter if she’s small !! 

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW FOLKS ! 

i’d add a connections part, but im a hoe for everything you got. let’s brainstorm together !

[eldritchsurveys]

1038.

For those who wear jeans, do you have a favourite kind of fit or wash? For those who don’t wear jeans, what other kinds of pants do you wear? >> Technically I do wear jeans, by which I mean this one pair of Old Navy skinny jeans because I don’t have money for clothes right now and therefore my wardrobe is pretty limited these days. But I don’t like jeans and if I had the option I wouldn’t wear them at all, and would only wear loose-fitting, comfortable bottom garments (preferably with good pockets!).

For those who have Facebook, how often do you check it? For those who don’t have Facebook, is there a reason why you don’t? >> I check it every couple of days or so, just to see if I have messages or notifications or whatever.

For those who listen to metal, do you pay attention to all the subgenres like power metal and metalcore and thrash metal? For those who don’t listen to metal, are there any specific metal songs you do like? >> I pay a cursory amount of attention, just enough to get a vague idea of how certain bands or sounds would be categorised.

For those who have a job, what do you have to do at your job? For those who don’t have a job, is there a reason you currently don’t have a job? >> I don’t have a job because I am functionally disabled from a mental-health standpoint. Employing me would involve a lot of accommodations and a compassionate employer, and in this capitalist hellscape, that’s not going to happen. Not to mention that even in that situation, my brain could still decide to act the fuck up and ruin my chances at keeping even the best job. So, you know.

For those who wear makeup, are there any specific brands you have to use? For those who don’t wear makeup, does wearing makeup make you feel uncomfortable in any way? >> Technically I do wear makeup, but I wear it so infrequently that I’m not too sure which side to take on this question. I’ll just answer both -- yes, there are specific brands I prefer (and plenty of brands I can’t use because they have nothing for my skin colour, ofc), and no, there’s really no reason for me to feel uncomfortable about wearing makeup because it’s 100% optional. If I’m not comfortable with it, I just don’t wear it.

For those who have gauged ears, what size are they? For those who don’t have gauged ears, would you ever stretch them? >> I used to have stretched ears, way back when. I think I got up to about 2ga before I had a blowout trying to stretch to 0.

For those who like dreadlocks, do you think one sex looks better with them than the other? For those who don’t like dreadlocks, is it specifically because you think people with them can’t and don’t wash their hair? >> No, I don’t care about the sex of the person??? Dreads are just cool, period. I don’t see why sex has to matter. I’ll tell you what does matter -- the hair texture of the person. While the cultural appropriation aspect of white people wearing “dreadlocks” is a subject I’m not going to touch right now, the plain old “this really... doesn’t work for your hair texture...” angle is very clear. White people usually just end up damaging their hair when they try to loc it, because they have to employ crazy methods to get it to do the thing, and I don’t see why you’d go through that struggle. You’ve got so many other options! 

For those who own band t-shirts, which band t-shirt is your favourite? For those who don’t own band t-shirts, do you think they’re stupid/lame? >> If we go by how often it gets worn, it’d seem like my Blaqk Audio shirt is my favourite, but I just wear it a lot because it’s the perfect size for just relaxing in and the material is soft. Design-wise, I really like my Trans-Siberian Orchestra shirts and my Behemoth shirt. Oh, and the one Amon Amarth shirt that I cut the sides out of.

For those who have done a hard drug before, do you do any hard drugs regularly? For those who have never done a hard drug before, do you think you ever will? >> Aside from the occasional edible, I don’t do drugs anymore. Which works out, because it’s not like I can even access them like I could when I was in the City.

For those who are still in high school, what are some things you love about it? For those who have graduated high school, what are some great memories from school? >> Great memories??? from school???? Ha.... haha. Ha.

For those who suffer with a mental illness/disorder, which do you suffer with and what are some things that frustrate you most about it? For those who don’t suffer from a mental illness/disorder, what would you do if you were diagnosed with one such as anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder? >> The one thing I’m clear about is that I definitely, without a doubt, have CPTSD. There’s no getting around that. Whether I am also on the ASD spectrum or not is debatable, and without the prodigious funds required to get formally tested, I guess I’ll never know. But I find resources for autistic people to be very applicable to my own needs, whether or not my symptoms are from the CPTSD or from another neurodivergence. Anyway, I could go on and on about the intricacies of my particular flavour of badbrains, but, like. Why. I’m sure some of my survey answers over time have shined enough of a light on it.

For those who make surveys, have you ever made more than five surveys in a day? For those who don’t make surveys, is there any specific reason you don’t make them? >> I used to make surveys, but I don’t do it anymore. I’m just not interested or invested in putting in that much effort. I prefer to take them.

For those who text often, who all do you text on a regular basis? For those who rarely text, do you hate texting or do you just not really feel the need to? >> I don’t hate texting, I just don’t have anyone to text.

For those who have more than one Xanga, how many do you have and what are the usernames? For those who only have one Xanga, are you signed up to any other social networking sites? >> Damn, what a throwback.

For those who post pictures before each survey, where do you find all your pictures? For those who don’t post pictures before their surveys, is there a reason why you don’t, like because you just don’t feel like putting in the extra effort to do so? >> Yeah, I just don’t want to put in that effort. I don’t see the point for me personally.

For those who number their surveys, are you shocked by how many surveys you’ve done? For those who don’t number their surveys, are you ever curious to know how many you’ve actually taken? >> Of course I’m not shocked. I’ve been doing these for almost 15 years, I’ve taken thousands upon thousands of surveys by now. 1,038 surveys on this one tumblr account is just a drop in the bucket.

For those who have a specific religion, do you follow every single thing you’re supposed to with said religion? For those who don’t have a specific religion, how do you describe your beliefs? >> I don’t have any religious beliefs, per se. I just... have a lot going on in the non-materialistic arena, is what I’ll say.

For those who have went to college or university, if there was a best and worst part of the experience, what were they? For those who haven’t went to college or university, do you plan on doing so? >> I do not plan on doing so.

For those who smoke marijuana, who do you normally smoke with? For those who don’t smoke marijuana, if you’re curious, what is making you so curious and if you aren’t, why are you against it? >> Technically I don’t smoke it, I eat it, but you know. I don’t have a social circle that I do it with or anything, I kind of just pop an edible whenever I feel like I’m in a good enough space for it.

For those who drink alcohol, what is the most drunk you’ve ever been, if you’ve been drunk? For those who don’t drink alcohol, do you feel drinking socially sounds more appropriate than drinking just to get smashed? >> The most drunk I’ve ever been is to the point of being sick for the rest of the night. I was absolutely fine when I woke up the next day, though, lol. As would continue to be the trend to this day.

[innalterable]

[ park chaeyoung, 22 ] did you hear? there’s a new addition to the hypehens family! [ innalterable ] was starting to get known for [ speed paints, tutorials & supplies reviews ] and i think they will hit it big this time around as a part of the [ expresso ] squad at hypehens. [ kwang inna ] is known to be [ friendly & impulsive ] and enjoys [ collecting polaroids ]. with their vibes of [ singing horribly while taking a shower & enamel pins all over a denim jacket ] and a style that is unique, i think they are going to take the internet by storm!

hello everyone! i’m glad to introduce you to my daughter inna / danna! she’s a bit of a mess that only wants to spend the whole day in her home painting if possible. you can find her basics here, personality here, background here. if you're interested in plotting, you can find me in discord at internebula#6982!

without furher ado, here’s more about her: 

basic information

― full name: kwang inna ― nickname: nana ― age: twenty two ― date of birth: february 11th, 1998 ― birthplace: los angeles, california. ― current location: seoul, south korea ― ethnicity: asian ― nationality: (dual nationality) korean-american ― gender: cisfemale ― pronouns: she/her ― orientation: bisexual, demiromantic. ― religion: atheist ― occupation: content creator, freelance artist ― language(s) spoken: korean (fluent), english (fluent)

physical appearance

― faceclaim: park chaeyoung (rosé) of blackpink ― hair: naturally brown, currently dyed blonde. often put in messy buns, ponytails, french braids but also let loose with casual curls she gets from sleeping with her hair braided. ― eye colour: coffee brown ― height: 168cm ― weight: 45kg ― tattoos: four; the great wave off kanagawa on her right arm, flowery half sleeve on her left arm, moon arrow behind right ear and a matching triangle tattoo with her brother on her right inner forearm. ― piercings: lobe and upper lobe in both ears, anti-tragus on the left one, double helix on the right one. ― clothing style: high-waisted skirts, dresses that flow nicely with the wind, mom jeans that are a bit too long for her, graphic t-shirts she’s gotten from garage sales and thrift shops, oversized jackets she’s customized with either paint or enamel pins or patches, long coats that resemble those of classic detectives, her good ol’ dr. marteens in a variety of colors, knee and thigh high socks, athleisure outfits (consisting mainly of leggins and big sweatshirts), crop-tops, sling bags, whatever pair of sneakers she finds and matching bag or backpack.

headcanons

― born and raised in los angeles, her parents moved to usa right after they got married in their mid twenties only because of the feeling of adventure. they both got stable jobs there and even though her mom was the one that struggled the most with the different language, with the help of her husband she was able to improve steadily.

― ever since she was young, inna has showcased exceptional skills when it came to drawing and painting (if you consider the crayon scattered all over the walls of their apartment back in los angeles as art). always restless, she got easily bored with the common toys and games, only truly finding joy in the coloring books her parents always got her instead of dolls and an easy bake oven.

― she has always been heavily spoiled by every member of their family and inna grew used to this. it was no surprise that she always got what she wanted with a simple smile and her trademark grabby hands (she still does this till now and it’s absolutely gross). the one that spoiled her the most was her brother.

― inna holds dear every member of her family and despite being the ultimate spoiled princess, she always offered help around the house when she became older and realized that everyone had to do something for their household. she hated washing dishes though and always traded that task with her brother to the point that it became a natural thing for him to wash them and for her to mop and take the trash out. to this day, she will avoid washing dishes at any cost and her apartment often has a pile of dirty dishes which only makes it worse when she runs out of clean ones.

― the divorce of her parents hit her hard (spoiler alert: her father was awful when no one was seeing and cheated a lot on her mom, which she forgave every damn time until he crossed the line and brought another girl to their place) mainly because she didn’t understand what was happening at the moment and no one took their time to explain it to her. it was difficult to deal with her behaviour back then, she threw really loud tantrums and demanded to see her father almost daily and, whenever this didn’t happen, she’d go on a silent protest by not doing anything they asked her to. it’s years later that she understands everything (thanks to an argument she had with her brother for defending her dad and he just exploded). this, of course, greatly disappointed her and made her feel bad for still standing by her dad’s side.

― after that, inna just like her brother, closed a little to their father even though he was still as kind, loving and caring as ever with them despite everything. his attitude made her doubt her mother and brother several times, but then came the first girlfriend he ever introduced to them, and then the second… and so on.

― it was obvious that her mother drastically changed after the divorce and this scared inna a lot: letting someone in and become vulnerable with them only to have your heart broken sounded absolutely painful. and she didn’t want that. plus, her mom’s constant reminders of how she can’t trust anyone that its not her or her brother stayed deeply engraved within her.

― she’s never had a stable relationship, if anything, the longer she’s “gone out” with someone is a couple of weeks and after that, she ghosted them with no remorse. inna has had crushes in the past, but rarely ever actively pursues someone unless she’s really curious or interested to know more about them. nonetheless, she's a bit of a flirt and tends to get clingy and touchy when she's comfortable/close enough with someone.

― school is difficult in every stage for her, always getting rather mediocre grades in most of her classes except those that required a more creative and practical approach. simply put: she was bad at theoric classes and anything related to math and physics. though, inna was always close to failing but never did so. this was just one of the many reasons she didn’t want to pursue a college education.

― the creation of her channel is all thanks to her brother, her self-proclaimed number one fan and the one person that’s always encouraged her to keep going with her art. he suggested the idea and told her that they could do a testing video to see how comfortable she felt with it before uploading it. turns out, inna was more than okay with the camera for it focused on her hands and process the whole time. voice over was not necessary back then but as her channel evolved, so did the quality and content of her videos. steadily, she introduced different aspects of herself, starting with her voice by doing easy-to-follow tutorials and later on, her face was revealed when doing an art haul video. this helped her become more comfortable with the camera and now, every couple of weeks she posts vlogs of her visits to museums or events or just updates for her community.

― despite her popularity and some people even recognising her on the streets, inna has never considered herself to be a celebrity. in fact, she feels awkward with the title for she considers her channel to be just another one. she appreciates though whenever her prints get sold out or when someone asks for her autograph and a photo or even when she is invited to events as a special guest.

― the kind to get really excited when talking about things she likes. don’t get her started on her favorite medium or her favorite painting because she might go on for twenty seven minutes straight about how watercolors are the superior medium to work with.

― she likes experimenting with any and every medium out there, particularly enjoying art subscription boxes that always surprised her and push her out of her comfort zone. her specialization is landscapes and character design, though she’s recently learning to draw more animals and plants.

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

The Beautiful & Damned (6/7)

Female Reader x Young!Remus Lupin | Female Reader x Young!Sirius Black

Chapter 6: Selflessness and Camaraderie, That Know No Bounds

A/N: And we are nearing the end, my loves. The thought kind of saddens me, but I am also beyond happy for the warm reception this story got. Thank you very much, it’s you who kept me writing into the night these past weeks! 

Also, I know that maybe Minnie’s a tad too merciful in this part. Let’s just say she loves them boys as much as we do, ‘kay? :) 

As always, please enjoy!

New to the series? - Accio Chapter 1: The Golden Couple - Accio Chapter 2: No, Definitely - Accio Chapter 3: Misread - Accio Chapter 4: Bravado Falls - Accio Chapter 5: Marauders to the Rescue

Not to brag, but you were always considered quite an accomplished speaker. 

Everyone who knew you - even superficially - were quick to realize: that pretty little face of yours came with a tongue so sharp it cut like a Sectumsempra charm. 

Almost never rude (only if the situation really called for it), usually calm & always very clear, you could be very persuasive, be it with the girls that you shared your dorm room with, or with your professors when they made mistakes, correcting your essays. 

You nearly always managed to talk Sirius Let’s-Throw-A-Bloody-Tantrum Black out of whatever adventure he had decided to go on, for Godric’s Sake, - that should have meant something, right?…

Right?… 

Yet despite your gift of the gab, all the hints and nearly blatant dismissal, this blockhead of a Slytherin Penn Parkinson just didn’t seem to get the message. 

“Hey Y/N,” he came all the way to where you were sitting at the Gryffindor Table - and judging from his expression, for that strenuous effort on his part alone, you should have jumped his bones. “Lookin’ good, poppet, as usual”. 

The chatter and the laughter, echoing across the Great Hall, watered down significantly as Parkinson pushed his way onto the seat just across from you, nearly knocking your interlocutor, Xenophilius Lovegood, on the floor. 

“Get the fuck out of my way, you freak!” Parkinson barked, before turning back to you with a self-adoring smirk.  

Narrowing your eyes at the Slytherin, you exhaled slowly, trying to keep your composure with every bit of self-control that was left in you. After the emotional rollercoaster that Remus Lupin had put you through last week, your patience were wearing real thin. The amount of anger and bitterness you were able to take on up to this very moment was truly sensational in its proportions; it would have sufficed a minor failure in one of your classes for your self-composure to burst at the seams. 

Luckily, Penn Parkinson and his gigantic ego happened first. 

You didn’t want anyone to get wrong ideas - some of the most brilliant and sharp-witted wizards whose company you truly enjoyed were proud Slytherins. It’s the odd specimen like Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy, to name a few, that were responsible for the not-so-likeable reputation of the house. None of the dignities common to human behaviour seemed to cross the skies of those four, clouded thick with judgmental exclamations and selfishness, that in truth, you knew, were the manifestations of the inferiority complex. 

Remus is nothing like that. The thought electrocuted your brain like a bolt of lightening, coming out of nowhere. 

Focus, you scolded yourself, staring at Parkinson, unblinking. 

“I strongly suggest that you apologize, Penn,” your voice came out smooth and levelled, and you mentally patted yourself on the back. “And then feel free to get the hell out of my sight”. 

Woahs and Ohs resonated in the air all around you, as the three of you instantly became the center of everyone’s attention. Staring daggers at Parkinson, from the corner of your eye you saw Lovegood give the people around you an awkward smile, as if apologising for the commotion that he thought he caused. That look on his face, the fact that he thought that he was the one that had to apologise, made you see red. 

“Oh come on, poppet, don’t be such a prude, that’s a major turn-off”, the second the words left Parkinson’s lips, you knew where you were going to spend the rest of your evenings - scratching those nasty cauldrons in Slughorn’s class clean during eternal detention - yet nothing could stop you now. “‘sides, you better learn how to choose friends properly - first that gutless Lupin, now this loony Lovegood…”

Parkinson didn’t know what hit him. The thump with which his body landed on the ground was ear-splitting, the echo of the Petrificus Totalus curse whispering to the walls of the Great Hall until it was interrupted by a reverberating exclamation. 

“Bloody hell, that was hot!…” 

Standing over the table and Parkinson’s stupefied form behind it, you instantly reacted to the Potter’s outburst, turning your head. The pang of pain pierced your heart so deep you almost sat back down. 

Peter, James and Sirius were staring at you with their eyes alight; but the way Remus looked at you, standing in between long tables, several feet away!… The way every woman wanted to be looked at by a man. Admiration, awe and you could swear on it, deep affection coloured his eyes vivid greenish-brown, soft yet burning, it almost hurt to watch. 

Remus had always been a huge mystery to you, that you would kill to spend your life unraveling. He always looked sleepy, soft and innocent, but Merlin knows more than half of the legendary Marauder pranks were based on his ideas. He had always been the shy non-talkative one in the crowd of people, but whenever he told a joke or shot a witty comment at them, the entire room burst out laughing. Too self-conscious, Remus refused to acknowledge just how many girls and boys were secretly pining for him and his melancholic kind of vibe, his smile that held a sort of surprise in it, like a warm day in the middle of December. 

From the moment you first laid your eyes on him you wanted nothing more than to become his friend. When he first shared his chocolate with you during one of your study sessions, Sirius couldn’t hear the end of it till the day Remus allowed you to steal food from his plate. You honestly thought Sirius would kill you for your constant blabber, or rat you out to Moony at the very least, but he never did such a thing. 

Then at the end of last year, Padfoot told you that young Lupin might fancy you. You laughed out loud in his face, thinking he was doing the best friend’s job of trying to comfort you in the time of need. Over the days, he insisted, again and again that Remus carried a torch for you, and that “the signs were obvious”. You begged him not to probe, because Sirius was just about as subtle as a mandrake root pulled out of its pot in a library, and as amused as he’d been, he agreed. 

Then you both went to that Ravenclaw party when he whispered the fateful words in your ear: “I told you so”. From that moment on, you couldn’t think of anything but of that young Gryffindor student that carried his scars like flowers, blooming in the sun. 

When you finally worked up the courage to tell him about your feelings, as expected, it turned out a colossal disaster. Everything that could go wrong, went nuclear, and not wanting to reject you in front of everybody, Remus fled, and nipped in the bud every attempt of yours to talk to him afterwards. 

You were confused, angry and disappointed, not only because Sirius turned out to be wrong all along, but also because Remus thought you’d be too of a wimp to take his rejection like a strong, powerful witch that you were. 

And now he just stood there, thunderstruck, looking at you like you were his religion. What the hell was wrong with him?!… The wave of anger rose in your chest again. 

“This is for “the loony Lovegood”, you, revolting parody of a wizard!” you spit in Parkinson’s face, finding an outlet for your exasperation. “This - Locomotor Mortis! - is for the “gutless Lupin”, you bitch”, you watched with a chuckle as Slytherin’s legs locked together, “And this! - Levicorpus! - is for the “poppet”, imbecile!”

“That’s my girl”, you heard Sirius snicker, before the sound of it drowned in the row of applause, cheering and whooping. 

You’d only got a second to admire your handiwork - Parkinson’s numb body hang head-down high above the ground - before the Marauders nearly jumped you, their grins encircling you. 

Peter chirped compliments like a little bird, Sirius and James, with their heads thrown back, laughed rowdily, with pretty wrinkles in the corners of their eyes…

Everything around you disappeared the moment Remus’ captivating eyes caught yours.

“Merlin’s beard, Y/N, you are… out of this world,” he spoke softly, his face inches away, chocolate on his breath making your mouth water.

It took you a minute to deal with your hormones, as you gazed at him blankly, your face unreadable. With the ability to speak, came the desire to shout, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

“Oh, so now you want to talk to me?!” you flared up, anger eating at you like fire at a piece of parchment paper. “Enough people for you here, Moony?”

“Y/N…” Remus face fell, his big beautiful eyes full of repentance. “Please, let me explain…”

“I don’t need your explanations,” your voice was dripping with almost tangible hurt. “I’m not an idiot, you know, I actually have a brain!” Remus made you lose control, and while you could deal with the outbursts of hurt, affection or lust in the past, you’d seemed to have reached your limit. “You could have told me! You could have just told me you didn’t like me in that way, it would have been okay. I respect your feelings, Remus, you shouldn’t have to love me back! We could have….”

The rest of your thoughts died on Moony’s mouth as it captured yours. Your body reacted to him instantly and naturally: you found the bitterness of coffee dozing on his lips, as if they’d never been away. Your entire body seemed to reconnect to every inch of his, your fingertips relishing every long, lean line of his back, the broad expanse of his shoulders… In his arms, you were home.  

“I know we have a lot to discuss,” he murmured against your lips, his silk eyelashes caressing your skin. “I want you to know that I loved you since I met you, and…”

You didn’t let him finish, resuming the kiss - you already knew what he had to say, because you felt the exact same way. At this point, words were superfluous. 

What you didn’t know however, was that Remus had finally realised what made you so special. What made people want to be around you, talk to you, hear your laugh.  It was, indeed, your dazzling beauty. Beauty, that came from within. 

“…Is that…. Is that Mr. Parkinson?!” the crowd of students who hated the Slytherin and his idiotic gang started to quickly thin out the moment they spotted Professor McGonagall making her way to the place of public hanging. She now stood side by side with James and Sirius, their eyes still glued to Penn. 

“Why yes, professor,” Prongs agreed proudly. “In the flesh. Or should I say in the air?…”

Potter and Black exchanged glances, grinning wide. Unfazed by their antics, McGonagall raised both of her hands and slapped them both lightly on the back of their heads.

“I am very disappointed in you, Mr. Potter!” she announced, producing the wand from her robes and slowly bringing Parkinson’s numb body to the ground. Sirius opened his mouth in order to ask why the hell wasn’t she disappointed in him, when she cut him a stern look from the corner of her eye. 

“Don’t even get me started on you, Mr. Black. I suggest you move your possessions to Professor Slughorn’s bureau, with your troublemaking habits you might as well start living there!” Sirius bit his bottom lip hard and turned away. 

“Professor McGonnagal!” upon hearing Minerva’s voice, you untangled yourself from Remus (with great effort!), and hurried to where she stood, Remus hot in your tracks. “They didn’t curse Penn, Ma’am… I tried to get him to apologize… It was…”

“Me, Professor,” with his chest puffed out, Remus stepped in front of you readily, facing Minerva. You couldn’t help but gasp at his boldness, grabbing his arm instinctively in an attempt to pull him back. 

“Rubbish!…” you exclaimed, trying to attract McGonnagal’s attention, and for a brief moment you did. She lowered her stare, studying you scrupulously. Just when you were about to elaborate, James bloody Potter had to intervene: 

“Oh come on, Remus, Y/N’s right. Quit showing off,” you half expected him to stick his tongue out at Lupin, but luckily, he must have had a change of heart under Minerva’s piercing stare. “I was the one who Petrificus Total’ed the Slytherin baboon, Professor. The evidence is there!” he shook frantically the wand he produced from his robes. When James Potter set his mind on something, it was a losing game to try and fight him on whatever it was. “Had you heard the way he talked to Y/N and Xenophilius, you would have done much worse! I had to simply content myself with a difficult numbing spell...” In order to appear more convincing, Prongs took on a serious expression and motioned towards the unmoving body. 

“Now, don’t get too excited, Potter,” Sirius huffed. “It was yours truly who locked the legs together… And that my friend, was a far more sophisticated charm!…”

From the scandalised expression on Minerva’s face, you realized you weren’t going to be the only one to be expelled or to spend the rest of your life in detention, and however paradoxical that might have sounded, the thought made you want to smile. Pursuing your lips in order to suppress a laugh, from that moment on, you decided to lay back, relax and watch the show. 

“That is exactly what happened, professor,” Moony nodded, biting his bottom lip, and taking an air of a man who didn’t regret a thing he did and was ready to pay the price for his actions. “And after Sirius finished with him, I Levicorpse’d him for a good measure… But that shouldn’t come as a surprise of course… Since it was my idea to hang the Ravenclaw prefect from the Astronomy Tower”. 

The confession produced such a spectacular effect that James, Sirius, Peter and you gasped collectively this time, both impressed and shocked at Moony’s audacity in the face of the only professor you ever truly respected and, truth be told, feared. 

“I was the one who…” James wanted to soften the blow (or to add to it, with him you never knew), when McGonagall raised one of her hands, effectively shutting him up. 

“Please spare me the details of your heroisms, Mr. Potter. The same goes for the four of you,” she eyed each and every one of you with a very admonishing look. When her gaze rested on you, she continued: 

“Sixty points will be taken from Gryffindor for the dangerous barbarity one of you has committed!” she paused, waving her wand and thus sending the Parkinson’s body to Madame Pomfrey, you presumed. “Whoever it is, he, or she,” she gave you a pointed look, “should consider themselves extremely lucky, for I could have sent them packing. I will be writing to all of your parents tonight!” you bit your lip so hard it hurt, and instantly felt a warm, calloused hand squeeze your own. 

Without even looking to your right, you knew it was Remus. 

“Also, five points will be awarded to Gryffindor,” when all four of you raised your eyes in surprise, you could swear you saw a mischievous glint in Professor’s stare. “For the selflessness and camaraderie, that know no bounds. The four of you will fulfil seven consecutive weeks of evening detentions, which will surely only reinforce the bond you share.” 

And just like that, with the rustle of her robes, McGonnagal walked off, with a barely-there smile on her thin, righteous mouth, that she thought no one would notice. 

But you did, watching her with a bright smile of your own, relishing the warmth’s of Moony’s hand.

Last chapter’s coming soon!

My Beautiful Taglist (please, hit me up should you want to be tagged or untagged): @youkn0wn0thingjonsnow, @yuukiahim, @xapham, @spunkypatterns,  @jackie-houston, @justducky0423, @zakthedrak, @marauder–harder, @davros2004, @firefurr, @heyjess-marie, @kapolisradomthoughts

[katesturtlestories]

World Building #1

Note: this is not intended as a how to guide, this is simply my process (so far), but it may help you with your own projects.

Whenever I start a world building project, I always start with a basic map first. There’s no right or wrong way to start, this is just how I do mine. It makes it much easier for me to figure out how everything works together (weather, environment, currents, travel, mountain ranges etc) when I have a basic idea of how the land looks. The following example is my current project and subject to many changes as things evolve.

I’m not going to go into how I figure out shapes and all that, it’s not particularly interesting, but importantly (for me), I line in where the equator and tropics would be. From this, we can see where things would logically sit, and I need my world to be logical, let’s blame my years of geographical and geological studies. These areas are the hottest and wettest parts of this world and where you’ll find monsoons and rainforests. Knowing where the rainforests are is a particularly important thing for me with the story involved with this project. I may expand on this in a later post.

Next thing I do is I make lists of things that I would like to figure out about my world. I normally start with the environment, but all I’ve figured out so far is rainforest, and only on the southern continent where the story will be set; that’s all I really need right now. I already have a story idea, and I want to move forward with the people, culture, customs, religion etc. I can figure the rest out later. Without further ado, here is my list of things to consider and build on.

Note: there is a lot of crossover between these sections, I’ve tried to keep to the main subject at hand with the questions asked so it’s not quite as confusing.

Culture

naming conventions (for both people and places) - how do the names work? are children named after their fathers or mothers? other family members? the alignment of the stars? a physical characteristic?

societal structure including hierarchy of class systems and distinctions between them - how different is a poor person from a rich person?

government type and structure - this will have it’s own section further down

housing (architecture, building materials etc) - where and how does this society live? family groups/tribes/cities?

celebrations - which events are celebrated and how (eg births, deaths & marriages)?

festivals and rituals

music, dance & art - what kind of music is listened to? do they dance? what kind of artwork exists in this world/society? are there paintings/sculptures/poetry/songs/musical instruments?

cultural relations - how does this culture think of itself in relation to other cultures? are they better than the next country/town over? are they proud of their achievements or jealous of those of others?

marriage/partnerships - do people get married? is there a ritual involved?

gender roles and sexuality - are there distinctions between genders? will one be shunned from society for not fitting the social norm?

clothing - what do people wear? what is their clothing made of? does it reflect their job or class?

jobs and employment - which jobs are required for this society to function? which are the best and worst jobs?

monetary system/trade - does this society have money? how much is it worth? is it a bartering society? both?

education - are there schools? are there class requirements to attend? how much do they learn? is this a literate society? what is the age range of students?

games, sports and recreation - what do people do for fun? what games do they play? how do children entertain themselves? is there a professional sports league?

food - what food do they eat? are they a predominantly vegetarian society? are they cannibals? do they only eat fish every second weekday? what is the standard fare? are meals eaten in public? with family only?

communal projects - when a house or temple needs to be built, does the community come together? are there monuments? who builds these things? who is in charge of organising them?

military/police force - are there either in this society? is it voluntary? is there a draft? how exactly do they use/abuse their power within this society?

Religion

importance - how important is religion to this society? to what extent does the population share beliefs?

origin story - is there one? how does this society believe the world/universe/god/s came to be?

end of times - what does society believe will happen? is there fire? does the sun explode? a meteor land on a god’s head who then takes his rage out on the planet? does society even care or think about it? will it really happen?

mythology - what are the myths prevalent in this society? do they have any religious beliefs at all?

deity - which god/s does this society worship/believe in?

astrology - do the stars have any power over events in this world? does society believe they do?

afterlife - is there an afterlife? what does this society believe happens when they die? is there a heaven/hell? are there any funerary rites/rituals? do they bury, burn or send their dead off to sea? are there cemeteries?

soul - what does society think the soul is? do they even think about these things? do they believe in soul damage? do their actions affect their souls? are souls reincarnated?

temples/places of worship - how big/important are they? are they any at all? is religion practiced in the privacy of one’s own home? is it compulsory to attend services? are there certain trees which are revered? which gods do they worship? does each deity have their own separate place of worship?

hierarchy - who is running the temples or places of worship? who maintains the properties? how important are priests or their equivalent? who are they in charge of?

festivals - are there any religious festivals practiced in this society? what are the rules? is there a costume or dress-code?

religious texts - is there a bible/koran/book of the dead-type volume? how available is it? does every follower have a copy? do they only know the parts that have been read to them?

prophesies - is there a person who has visions? are they seen as a madman, prophet, or just gifted? do these prophesies come true? are they believed to come true? are they written down, inscribed on temple walls or just passed on through word of mouth?

food - is there any religious influence on what food is forbidden or encouraged? what are the restrictions? when can certain foods be eaten?

magic - is there any magic that is received only from a deity? what kind of magic do deities have? what kind of magic do/can they bestow on their subjects?

Science, Magic & Technology

technology - what kind of technology is available to this society? do they have electricity? is everything steam/wind/water/kinetic powered? does magic make the world go round? are there machines? what are they capable of?

astronomy - does society think their planet is the centre of the universe? what do they know about the stars? do they believe the stars are souls of the dead? the gods looking down on them? do they have telescopes?

calendars/clocks - how is time measured? is it just a block of seasons? do they measure days/weeks/months? do they measure years scientifically through various measures such as astronomy or just at the end of each winter/summer? do they have clocks? sundials? does magic tell them how much time has passed? do the gods?

medicine - what medicine is available? which diseases can be cured and which are incurable? or is it just magic? are doctors/healers trained on the job or in a university-type situation? do they serve an apprenticeship to someone experienced? are there hospitals or medicine women? both?

healthcare (tying back into medicine) - is there a healthcare system? do people pay for healing? are the poor excluded from it? are there doctors/healers who work on a pro bono system? is it free for anyone to receive healthcare?

writing - does this society have a written language? is it hard to learn? how many people are able to read/write? is their written language different from their spoken language? ie English scholars who wrote in Latin.

messages/communication - how are messages transmitted between two people with distance between them? do they write letters? use a mirror? carrier pigeons? is there a postal service? are messages written on paper/slate/stone/leaves? what do they use to write letters with? do they simply send messages via telepathy?

metals - which metals are available? what are these metals used for? how skilled are the metal workers? where is this material mined from? does it just lie on the ground around the place? is it only found in streams on a sunny day? how is this metal transported from it’s resting place to the smithy? who mines it? are there surveyors? do you need to be specially trained to find/work it?

weapons - are weapons commonplace? what kind of weapons are available? how expensive are they? are they only available to the military or the wealthy?

paper - is it available? how common is it? is some other substance used for writing? is it a different colour? is it only available to the wealthy?

glass - is it available? is it common/luxury? is it only available to the wealthy? is it used in windows? are there skilled glaziers? can you see through it? is it full of bubbles?

architecture - what do the buildings look like? do people live in houses/tents/communal spaces? do they have flat/pointed roofs? do they have chimneys? fireplaces? stairs/ladders? are the windows arrow slits? do houses have inside bathrooms? plumbing? how much space is between buildings? how tall are they? do people have separate bedrooms? is one house a series of separate buildings/tents? how is a city/community laid out?

transportation - is there a public transportation system? are there taxis? does everyone have a horse/car/bike/donkey? how are the roads? is it safe to travel alone? is it possible to travel far? are there ships/planes?

Agriculture

produce - what can grow in this world? can it grow all year round? or is it a season-specific plant? is it easy to grow? does it require constant rain? is there a specific fruit/vegetable in high demand?

animals - which animals are farmed on this world? do they provide a variety of resources? ie eggs, meat, leather, fur , labour etc.

fishing - how common is fishing? is it the main source of food? what can be done with fish? what kind of food can be prepared? is this area known for good fishing? are they small/big fish?

farming - how common is farming? is it the main source of food? how big are farms? can a farmer have many different types of produce and animals or just a few? how many farmers are specialised in a specific plant/animal? ie grapes for wine

foraging - what can be foraged? mushrooms/berries/coconuts? does everyone have to forage? how far away from their homes do the have to go to do so?

hunting - is society allowed to hunt the local wildlife or is it prohibited? is it sport for the wealthy? which animals are nearby? do they make good eating? are they only hunted on special occasions? during a specific season?

preservation - which kinds of food can be preserved? are there any highly desired preserved goods? what are the problems that can arise from food preservation?

food stores - which food is able to be stored? can meat be cured? where is food stored? does food need to be stored at all? are there any bugs/beetles/mice that can ruin food stores?

grains - which kinds of grains are available? what can be made from these grains? bread/beer/rice?

irrigation - what kinds of irrigation practices are available? do farmers rely on rainfall/flooding to survive? do they build canals? a sprinkler system?

manufacturing - what kind of products are able to be manufactured from the goods provided from the agriculture industry? do farmers/fisherman/foragers/hunters manufacture their own goods or pass on the raw materials?

trade - does a farmer trade or sell his goods? where do they go to do so? do the buyers come to them? is there a marketplace? how does the farmer transport their goods? horse and cart/train/truck/goat/magic carpet?

Government

government type - democracy, theocracy, monarchy, theocratic monarchy, republic, autocracy etc

succession - how is a new leader chosen? are they voted in? selected from a lottery at random?

hierarchy - who has more power? who is second in command? how equal are the advisors? is the king only a figurehead? are the nobility able to influence government decisions? if society objects to a decision/law made, are they able to petition it effectively?

laws - what are the laws of the land? what is the worst possible crime someone could commit? what can they get away with?

legal system - how does someone refute a claim against them? are there lawyers? is there a courthouse? do they have to petition the king? who makes the final decision? judge/king/priest/god/public?

criminal punishment - what punishments can be expected for those proven guilty of their crimes? prison/death/excommunication/a fine/banishment?

taxes - how much does each person pay in tax? how is this amount decided? who collects the taxes? can the tax be paid in goods? does it have to be paid in goods/money? can someone get an extension/exemption from payment if they don’t have enough?

distribution - how are city funds distributed? are they distributed at all? what percentage of taxes go back into repairing the roads and erecting new town halls/temples?

This is far from a complete list, there are countless things I’ve missed and a hundred questions I haven’t asked, but this is basically how I do it. I find the things that need to be known and then ask questions. And this, my friend, is how I world build.

If there’s interest, I may do a series of posts of my actual answers to these questions, they’ll be much more bite-sized though, I promise.

[bonemarroww]

Fantasio - Part 2

Clyde Logan x OC

Summary : Meredith knew crashing on FBI agent Sarah Grayson’s couch after losing her job was a bad idea. What she didn’t expect, however, was being sent to West Virginia with order to seduce the number one suspect of this heist investigation her housemate was denied.

Warning : Be responsible when you drink, guys

Word Count : ~2700

A/N : I personally don’t like this part, ‘cause I don’t feel like it’s flowing or even really interesting. If someone has an insight about what’s wrong, don’t be shy !

Tags : @joeybelle

For her first week in West Virginia –happily crossed off the calendar as soon as Friday night came–, Meredith mostly stayed at home. First, because she desperately needed to put her shit together around this new house –she couldn’t remember the last time she had a house to herself. After the third day, she had quickly realised that the laws of the dust still applied there whether she was prostrated in her bedroom or not; and after the fourth, that dust bunnies were called that for a reason. God, she had never seen a place make itself dusty as quickly.

Her second reason for staying at home was that, for the first time in three months, two weeks and four days, she actually had a job. At the very least, Sarah wasn’t joking when she said she had found a great work for her. Not that she would admit it to her, but Meredith had been quite afraid that the FBI agent might give her a secretary’s job. Instead, she was now back on her feet as an analyst, something she was secretly quite grateful for.

However, it meant long days, coming home and having to cook, clean and try to keep sane by closing the window shutters. If she didn’t see the grass of her garden or her neighbour’s trees, she could pretend she was still in the city. Her laptop was officially full of graphs and Excel tabs, and her employer would soon be able to note that he had never had such a hard working employee.

“Working is coping” used to say her father when she was younger, always giving her more homework to do whenever something didn’t work out for her.

And after so much time just hanging around in Sarah’s apartment, Meredith realised maybe she had put his advice off for too long. She had missed her numbers; they came back now as instinctively as they used to when she had started her career.

Just walking around in her house made them rush back. Nine windows, seventeen steps to the second floor, forty-seven paces from her front door to her bed, five hundred eighty-three seconds until her pastas were cooked.

All in all, if Meredith tried not to think about anything related to her past life in the city, her “seduction mission”, her new colleagues who probably had their first beer at 11 a.m., or what her father would think if he knew she was stuck in Boone County, West Virginia… everything worked quite fine.

Meredith only met Clyde Logan at the end of her third -long- week in Boone County. Now that she had more or less managed to come up with a routine that allowed her to live in a correct, mostly-clean house without having to storm out for emergency errands, she didn’t really dare interrupt it to go to the bar. Not that she really wanted to go there anyway. Sarah had all but forced her to settle here, with the ridiculous mission to seduce an ex-convict, possibly guilty of so many charges she had forgotten how many years in prison he was risking. No thanks, she would sooner extend her contract to a year than willingly meet the guy –let alone try and seduce him.

However, it seemed fate had a different plan, seeing as bad luck came knocking at her door in various ways on the few weeks following her moving in; and Meredith quickly found herself in desperate need of something strong.

It was, then, only natural that she would be in such a terrible mood when she opened the door of the Duck Tape. At her first step inside, her mind was already going wild about how this wasn’t a name for a bar, how the place’s lighting was too yellow, how the tables looked old and dirty, and mostly, how it stank of alcohol.

Eyeing warily the nearest table, she quickly opted for the counter. Behind it, among the shelves of various alcohols, a screen was playing a rerun of the latest NASCAR race; too-coloured people in too-coloured cars trying not to crash on the first wall coming. What kind of sport was that? Meredith didn’t comment on it –to whom would she have talked anyway? NASCAR was some kind of religion around here, or so she had heard.

The second thing that caught her attention, behind the counter, was the man currently cleaning glasses, observing her discreetly.

And, god, did he catch her attention. The eight paces it took her to go and sit on what would now be her stool –around the center of the bar, slightly on the left– were spent eyeing him closely. How his long dark hair –she had always liked dark haired men– nearly fell on his shoulders, how his deep brown eyes shined with… was it prudence? Or curiosity? How his straight face was adorned with some facial hair –only a goatee. Good thing for her, she hated big beards ever since her father had opted for this look, after the divorce.

The bartender was wearing green shirt, which highlighted the broadness of his shoulders. When the analyst sat, he nodded to her and left the now-clean glass near the sink to come to her.

“What can I do for you, miss?” he simply asked, seemingly casually, but Meredith was an observer before all.

She didn’t miss the way he had tensed while walking towards her, and how he now stood with his left arm slightly behind him. However, with his intense gaze set on her, she didn’t dare to try and peek at it in such an obvious manner.

“I’ll have a whiskey, please.” She managed to smile at him despite her terrible mood.

The man before her nodded and turned his back on her to grab a bottle on a shelf. Meredith turned her head, hoping to catch a glance of what he seemed to be trying his best to hide. She wasn’t being intrusive; just curious. At least, that’s what she told herself as she managed to catch a glimpse of something black and sleek, before straightening quickly. If the bartender saw her peeking, he didn’t say anything.

“On the rocks?”

The new client shook her head, brows furrowed.

“As classy as it sounds, I prefer it’s natural taste.”

Meredith got a hum of appreciation in response, and she could swear she saw his lips tremble, as if he hesitated between commenting and smiling and ended up not doing any. Shoot. Maybe she should have smiled again; but she was currently too bitter to do it.

The burning of alcohol in her throat felt like a good cure to her misfortunes.

Too busy nursing her drink, her curiosity regarding the bartender’s secret long forgotten, Meredith barely saw him leaving the counter to tend to other patrons.

Five months, one week and two days until freedom.

Possibly five months, one week and two days until she crawled back to her father’s. She sure as hell would never crash on Sarah again; definitely too dangerous. Even facing her parent’s sarcasm and ‘Finally coming back?’ wouldn’t be as hard as risking another undercover mission.

To this new resolution, Meredith took her glass and downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. She then searched the bartender’s gaze, and when she found it, lifted her glass and mouthed, “Another please”.

Waiting for her new glass, she looked at the bar. The place was quite spacious, three round tables, seven booths, about twenty stools around the square counter. One pool table, and what seemed to be a table football. Sure thing, this place must be quite popular on the right nights. For a Friday night, it seemed a bit empty; but then again, she had come early.

Maybe she would find a pool partner. She used to play in college, with her friends, when they were waiting for their next class. She had such a great time in college; friends, flings, almost no responsibilities…

Speaking of responsibilities, did Sarah count on paying her bills, seeing as she booked the house? Wouldn’t it only be fair?

Damn, she should’ve asked.

“So, you’re a whiskey kind of gal.”

The deep voice of the bartender startled Meredith, almost making her drink go down the wrong way. When she looked up, she could barely believe it was him who had just talked; busy drying the previously cleansed glasses, his eyes were focused on his task, with such an apparent concentration that Meredith only dared to answer when his eyes hesitantly looked up, a few seconds later.

“Well,” she started. What did Sarah tell her about learning info? Oh, yes, ask the same thing. “You too look like a whiskey kind of guy.”

At the sight of her conversation partner shrugging, she wondered if it was too personal. What had she done wrong again?

“True enough.” He simply stated. “Do you have a favourite?”

The analyst almost snorted at his curiosity.

“Port Charlotte, ten years of age, 61%. But only when it’s Christmas or my birthday.”

One of his eyebrows shot up, and he eyed her cautiously, before nodding towards what little remained in her glass.

“That’s quite far from a good old bourbon.” He commented before adverting his eyes once more.

What was this guy’s problem with eye contact? He did have nice eyes; the kind Meredith would gladly see more of.

Sensing the awkward moment coming, the analyst nervously shrugged and downed the rest of her drink, smiling just in time for him to see it before he focused on his task.

“I never said it was the best when I’m looking for a good antidepressant.”

The end of her sentence was, unintentionally, quite dripping with bitterness. He seemed to hear it –obviously–, but Meredith was too busy looking at the last drop of whiskey rolling at the bottom of her glass to pay attention to the look he gave her.

“Hard day?”

To this, she did snort.

“Hard weeks. It’s not even the end of my first month here and I’ve already had enough. My neighbour wants me to have dinner with him, my employer is already speaking of extending my contract, and I’ve quite painfully discovered that I’m very allergic to wasp stings. Among other things, which may or may not include a wild boar and my host.”

The bartender –it was about time she stopped pretending she didn’t know his name yet, Sarah had almost talked her ears off about the Logan case– stared at her in silence, before turning around and pushing another full glass of whiskey towards her.

“This one’s on the house. You look like you need it.” He dared a small smile, barely a corner of his lips rising upwards, tentatively, as if he wasn’t sure if her short tone was due to her misfortunes or if she just didn’t want to talk to him.

His offer and tiny smile did little to comfort Meredith, but seeing him apparently walk on eggshells to talk to her somehow softened her.

With a small smile of her own, she accepted the drink, bringing it to her lips. And just by this gesture, it seemed the man in front of her relaxed a little, his smile a bit less shy.

When the glass hit the counter, with less force than its sibling, she held her hand out for him to shake.

“My name’s Meredith. Meredith Pryce.”

Bad move. The man just stared at her left hand blankly for a few seconds before adverting his eyes again. It was only then the analyst noticed the black prosthetic covering his left forearm and hand.

Shit. For a person who’s always been proud of her sense of observation, this was a hard blow to her self-esteem. And the poor guy, he was probably embarrassed. Why was she so stupid? Sarah hadn’t considered the possibility of mission’s failure by Meredith being too awkward to actually seduce the man.

But then, something just happened. As she was already starting to withdraw her arm, muttering an apology about her being left-handed, the bartender took a long inspiration, gathering his courage, and grabbed her hand. His eyes lit by this unsure look, oddly mixed with some kind of determination, he looked straight at her and shook her trembling hand.

“Clyde Logan.”

[deconstructionofworkforpayot]

My positionality: Why should my child unlearn the same things I did?

Is it ignorant or fear of change that every generation has to fall trap into the same oppressing system? from our great grandmothers, who we identify as heroes of the society, our mothers, the cornerstones? Are we really going to be that generation that carries the silence of oppression passing it on to our children? Fortunately, I became a mum at what I call an ‘awakening age’ and aspired to be a different mum since then. I’m not saying other mums out there are not enough or that my mum is bad, but I have seen so many unlearned practices from her life.

Growing up in a ‘broken family’ without a father and having uncles play the father figure role had me yearning to covet the rights women have neglected for years and derange the patriarchal system. I mean, I identified my mother as mum and dad, although I hate calling her dad. Yes, she took on both roles, trying so much to not have me feel the gap of his absence. Trust me, I don’t hate my dad and never did, even when he was still alive. I hate the choices he made of neglecting me, not that I want to pin his actions with unjust things happening in my life, but somehow his behavioural choices were distorted. Growing up with my mum had me realize that I had to do better than the woman dad left in my mum who could not fully be my role model. I identify myself not as a strong woman but as resilient. One who has been down several times and still woke up.

I’ve seen how my male cousins were treated better than anyone else, how they would be part of family gatherings and have a say while we were only involved for refreshments. I don’t hate my upbringing, maybe had I had a different one, I wouldn’t have learnt. But who am I kidding? This patriarchal system doesn’t only affect us within our families; it’s a societal norm. Crazy right? But we can’t shy from the reality that this social system is used by males to control females (Yifei, 2011). I grew up angry at how I had no voice, how everything was dictated to me, how the behavioural choices imposed on me by society were to their benefits and not what I want but, in the name of teaching and grooming me to become a submissive wife.

It’s sad how I have witnessed this in my community, where these ‘happily’ married women were victims of gender-based violence and had no one to run to. It's frustrating how some of these women in marriages taught submission raised children who were victims of domestic violence and how everybody else knew, but none took a step to intervene. This has led me to not give childish advice to my clients in terms of marriage and relationships. It has redefined how I relate to people regarding their religion, gender identity, spirituality, etc.

Funny how as we grow, we’re encouraged to not think of anything else besides marriage. Don’t get me wrong, I respect such a communion, especially when it's consensual. But what angers me is how we cannot choose who we want to marry, how, and when. We actually not even asked if we want to get married. But does it matter? We’re merely a land that should be fertile to these undeserving males we call men in our societies. What kind of men would do such to a woman? What kind of mothers would allow this to their daughters?

The yoke we carry of thinking about your family names whenever we have to do something, I’m not saying drag your family on the mud. But why must it always be women who should take that responsibility? When I fell pregnant, I was such an outcast. Mind you this is my body. Funny how I had no feelings, their main concern was how what I’ve ‘done’ ruined the family’s reputation. I felt like such a possession. Or am I? you know when everyone can say something about you?

I had gone against religious ethics, and dogma. I had become such a sinner that deserved to be in hell, well no one saw me as a woman, not even as a person. I remember how I was oppressed for actions I could not undo. For a child I could not abort. For a child I loved at the very moment I realized I have conceived.

Google (2021) this image shows how accepting to say nothing is actually a choice favoring the opposition.

Hence, I learned how much I could not have my child go through the same treatment. I fought to break the silence and to take a stand for myself and wellbeing. I had to find my identity, in a place that seemed like a war zone I was tired of being deprived of my thinking, and entitlement to my behavioural choices and decisions.

Social constructs that made other women so proud of being numb, satisfied with mediocre, revoked feelings of strength and preparedness for war in me. I had to fight for the many women coming after me, before me, my mother, my daughter but mostly myself. I had to fight and still fighting the logic of being okay with not questioning, being okay with acceptance in the name of ethnicity, language, geographical location, family status, religion, race, gender and even culture. I’m still fighting the idea of how in a romantic heterosexual relationship the man has to be taller than the girl, darker than the female, be more educated and earn more money than the female. I’m still fighting the “okayness” with polygamy but stereotypes with polyandry. The okayness with men having many sexual partners and the labelling over women who do the same. The okayness of men using the services of sex workers and how sex workers are immoral. I’m fighting the okayness of a brother sleeping for 10+ hours and sisters waking up at dawn, preparing food for the entire family menders.

Positionality is a term used to explain how a person sees life, sees the world and position themselves in a situation, political and or social context (Darwin Holmes, 2020). Although ones understanding of life is everchanging, it is also important to recognize and understand how the change affects people around us.

Google (2021) the emphasis is on acknowledging that as people we learn and change, hence ones positionality is dynamic.

 My positionality has been impacted upon by personal experiences with regards to gender, from the idea of what gender is, and how as soon as a child is born there is confinement of who and how they should behave and think. Such experiences have taught me to see a person as a person without labels, so what if treat a transgender? So, what if I treat a sex worker? Why should my ideas control my therapy? Its of very importance that I look at the person holistically and consider their positionality’s in everything. At the end of the day, I should be concerned with how the client’s occupations have been affected and what can be done to assist not analysing the persons preferences, gender identity, and behaviour. Assuming a person’s positionality is so important because it allows me as a therapist to get the clients holistic overview of self and life.

Google (2021) these are the factors affecting ones positionality.

 Hence at Kenville community, we look beyond the client’s family status and treat everyone as equals. Be it a doctor, one of our own OTs and a child from a disadvantaged family. We understand that quality of life is impacted by health, environment, race, gender, and social status. We have also looked at programmes we can use to educate our community through the maternal health programme. Which has included individuals who are from South Africa with an attempt to alert our communities that outside of skin colour lives people. Its actually not important which gender you assign with, which race you identify yourself as. We are people. We are women.

I have this great urge to have my daughter, sisters not having to unlearn social injustices. how about you?

Reference

References

1.    Darwin Holmes, A. (2020). Researcher Positionality - A Consideration of Its Influence and Place in Qualitative Research - A New Researcher Guide. Shanlax International Journal Of Education, 8(4), 1-10. https://doi.org/10.34293/education.v8i4.3232

2.    https://www.dictionary.com/e/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/positionality-300x156.jpg

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[howyoutalktostrangers]

So,

One of the stories in my novel manuscript is called “Doubting Thomas”.

I wrote this piece back while I was still an undergrad at UVic, and named the main character Spencer after my best friend and roommate. It was ultimately published in Island Writer, complete with illustrations. 

Spencer is one of the most important people in my life, and he’s known me since I was a Bible-toting high school Christian. While many of us Tsawwassen kids were teenage evangelicals, he never bought into our religion — and he then watched, amused, as one-by-one we fell away from the church.

He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known, and I love him forever.

This story has changed a bit over the years, and the main character is now named Eddie Bishop (father of Joel Bishop from “Post-funeral”), but the main thrust of the narrative is completely intact. It follows an isolated widower as he contemplates suicide following the death of his wife.

I’ve published the new version below. I hope you like it.

The Literary Goon

*

Doubting Thomas

by Will Johnson

EDDIE BISHOP watches the frozen lake beyond the trees. He listens to the quiet moan of the wind while he sucks on a skinny brown cigar. He barely tastes it. It’s a bright afternoon and sunlight reflects off the snow. Every now and then he spots a cross-country skier in the distance, a tiny dark figure carving a line through the slush, just to prove he’s not quite alone.

Every day for the last month he’s spent the afternoon sitting in his deck chair, sometimes shin-deep in snow. The cold prickles his cheeks and bits of frost get stuck in his thin grey beard. Each time he tries to last a little bit longer before retreating back to the fireplace. He sees how long he can sit still without flinching or moving. He suppresses the urge to wipe the back of his hand across his face, to itch behind his knee or scratch his neck. It’s not quite punishment. He likes to think of it as self-discipline.

This is just sensation.

Most mornings he chops wood behind the cabin. He’s surprised by how quickly it disappears once he tosses it in the fireplace. Back in the city he never thought about heat, never worried about the temperature of his house. He likes shovelling the walk, filling the birdfeeder, making sure to turn off the water pipes each night. Without these chores he’s not sure how he would fill each day. He dreads the half-hour trips to the grocery store each week, the sudden rush of music and excited conversation whenever he walks through the sliding glass doors. There are so many colours. Children run up and down the aisles, people brush by him to reach for the cereal, the checkout girls always want to talk to him. Sometimes he idles in the parking lot for twenty minutes before he heads inside. Often he drives back to the cabin without even getting out of the car.

While he sits on the deck, his cigar smouldering close to his ungloved fingers, a small squirrel scampers along the railing and tentatively approaches the birdfeeder. Seeds are scattered around it, pock-marking the snow. Eddie loves to watch the birds swoop down and peck at the cracked corn, at the sunflower seeds and the dried up bits of fruit. He wishes he knew how to tell them apart, how to tell whether he’s looking at a chickadee or a sparrow or a cardinal, but he doesn’t. He’s got a rifle resting against the arm of his chair, and as the squirrel slowly nudges closer to the feeder he stubs out his cigar, lifts it out of the snow and raises it to his shoulder. The tiny animal is only three, maybe four feet away. He looks down the long barrel, through the scope, and aims the gun at its neck. He rests his finger on the trigger, but doesn’t apply any pressure yet. The squirrel begins to nibble.

He’s never taken time to look at a squirrel before. Not this closely. To examine the delicate hairs on its tiny grey face, to look at the way its glazed black eyes blink. He thinks about the cartoons he used to watch as a kid. As it begins to eat he tries to see what kind of teeth it has, whether or not they’re over-sized buckteeth like he remembers from TV. It has a long, curled tail with a white blemish at the tip. Eddie wonders how many years it’s been alive, wonders if it’s an old squirrel or a young squirrel. Does it live far away? Or maybe it has a home in his yard. He has no way to know.

Just be here.

Eddie knows that every moment is inexplicably linked to the next, that there’s no way to stop or even slow time. If he pulls the trigger the squirrel will burst into a cloud of singed fur and leave nothing but spatters of blood. There would be no way to take that back. In this moment he has the power to end this creature’s life. It has no idea what he’s thinking, no idea that he could evaporate it at any moment. All it knows is the taste of sunflower seed, the satisfying crack as it chews. All it knows is this moment, right now. Eddie watches the crumbs spill from the squirrel’s mouth, watches it cup its food in its small grey paws. It is so beautiful that for a moment he forgets where he is, what he’s doing. He just watches.

***

Not long after his wife Jolene was diagnosed with leukemia, Eddie took a month-long leave of absence from his company, Solomon Development Ltd., and renovated their living room. He punched out one wall, stripped the carpet and sold their furniture. He put in laminate flooring and an enormous window overlooking their backyard. He mounted speakers in the corners and bought all the yoga paraphernalia he could find—mats and blocks and incense and little figurines. By the time he wheeled her into the house, after her first round of chemotherapy, her yoga studio was done.

When she first saw it, Jolene sat with her wrinkled hands in her lap for a long moment. Then she began to cry. Eddie kneeled in front of her and looked into her eyes. He stroked her arms and held her bald head and kissed the moist trails running down her cheeks.

***

Eddie is hauling a load of firewood around the side of the cabin when he spots a man tromping down his driveway. He drops the wood beside the door and watches as the figure slogs through the snow. The guy is broad-shouldered, with a curly brown beard and a toque pulled low over his eyes. His winter jacket makes him look like a husky bear walking upright.

“Mornin’,” the guy says.

Eddie mumbles a response under his breath. He has to fight the urge to retreat, to slam the door in this guy’s face and refuse to come outside. It’s been weeks since he’s spoken to anyone.

Remember to breathe.

“Is this a bad time?” the guy asks.

Eddie shrugs.

“Listen, I don’t mean to bother you. I just got a call from Cody and he asked me if I’d swing by.”

Eddie can see the guys’ breath. He watches the cloud swirl then dissipate in the air. After a moment he realizes he has to say something, that they’ve been standing there silent. He pulls out his cigar pack, knocks one into his hand, and raises it to his lips. He holds out the pack, but his visitor shakes his head.

“Listen, I’m Tom. We live just up the road and we’ve known Cody for probably fifteen years. He says you two work together?”

Eddie nods. “One of my partners.”

“Well, I know it’s not my business. But he told me about what happened, told me you were going to be up here for a while, and I thought maybe you’d like to come over for dinner sometime.”

Eddie exhales. “Okay.”

Tom rustles around in his coat for a moment, then pulls out a piece of paper. “I wrote down a few numbers there. That’s my office number down in Kamloops. I also put down our home number and my cell phone. You need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

Eddie pulls off his glove and takes the piece of paper.

“It’s Eddie, right?”

He nods.

“Well, I’ve got to get my daughter off to school here, but we’d love to hear from you anytime. We’re just about five minutes away, whatever you need.”

Eddie watches Tom slog away. He blinks at the creaking trees and the soft mist drifting down from their branches. For a moment he wonders if he just imagined the whole interaction, if maybe he’s starting to invent things. But then he looks down at the note in his hand, and there it is. He folds it twice and tucks it carefully into his wallet.

***

Each morning while Eddie drank his coffee in the kitchen, Jolene would sit meditating in her yoga studio. He could hear the otherworldly music through the wall. Sometimes he would creep into the hallway and watch her silhouetted against the window, her long shadow cast along the floor by the rising sun. She sat with her hands open on her legs, her eyes closed, facing the ceiling.

One day he unrolled a mat beside her, and she talked him through her process. It was like learning a new language. He wasn’t used to feeling the throb of blood in his neck, of listening to each breath. It made him uncomfortable. When Jolene wasn’t paying attention he would open his eyes and watch her chest rise and fall. He wanted to touch her, to gather her up in his arms.

“The divine in me recognizes the divine in you,” Jolene said. “And bows to it.”

***

Eddie’s small car is struggling up the hill from town, spraying a tidal wave of grey water in either direction, when he spots a teenage girl sitting on a stump on the side of the road. He notices her bare, pink-splotchy legs. It’s drizzling rain and she’s lifted her flimsy rain jacket over her head. When she sees him approaching she jumps up and waves her arms.

All you have is this moment.

“Shit,” he whispers.

He knows he can’t leave her there, so before he’s had time to really think about it he’s pulled over. She grabs a backpack from the ground and excitedly tiptoes through the snow towards him.

“Omigod, thank you for stopping,” she says, the door pinging as she holds it open. “I thought I was going to die.”

She sinks into the passenger seat, relieved. Eddie studies her face from the rearview mirror as she settles, stuffing her bag down at her feet. There’s a swath of irritated looking pimples along her hairline, and she’s wearing neon blue eye shadow.

“You’re that guy up the road,” she says. “You live in Mr. Solomon’s cabin.”

Eddie nods.

“My Dad told me about you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m like two minutes up the road. Like I was almost there but then my boyfriend was being a fucking dick and yeah, you can just take a left at Peak.”

Eddie shifts into drive.

“I’m Evelyn,” she says.

“Eddie.”

Eddie notices how far her skirt has bunched up on her legs as she leans over and starts fiddling with the radio. Her legs are goose-pimply. She looks Korean, or maybe Japanese. He cracks the window to get some air.

“I don’t know why my parents can’t just live in town like normal people,” she says in a sing-song whine. “The radio stations are all crackly. What do you listen to, like what type of music?”

He shrugs.

Eddie is relieved, a few moments later, when he pulls into Evelyn’s driveway. They pass under a wrought-iron gate, follow a long curve along an impressively landscaped rock wall, and then reach a small turn-around with overhanging cedar trees. The entranceway to the house, after a steep stone staircase, boasts a giant oak door framed by imposing pillars. On the second floor is a wrap-around verandah that faces the snowy forest.

“Thanks,” Evelyn chirps, but before Eddie can pull away Tom has appeared at the top of the steps. He’s wearing sweatpants and slippers, but he comes running down the steps to greet him. Spencer reluctantly rolls down his window.

“You can make it up and down the hill in this little thing?” Tom says. “Now how could I guess you’re from the big city, huh?”

He leans into the window a little too close, then clasps his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie holds his breath. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”

“Yup.”

“I’m glad you swung by, actually. I was going to come by and invite you to church on Sunday. Have you seen St. Luke’s Anglican, down in town? It’s kitty-corner to the Superstore there?”

Evelyn stands behind her father expectantly. She rolls her eyes.

“I’m not really…”

“Listen, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything. I just think, in a time like this, faith can be a real healing and positive force in your life. And it would be a nice way to meet some of the folks from around town. I’m the Rector and Evelyn here, she volunteers with the youth group. We’d really love to see you there.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say.

“How about this? It’s at 9:30 but I need to be there a little early to set up. Why don’t we swing by and pick you up around 8:45?”

Eddie looks at Evelyn, then back at Tom. He really wants to swat away the hand on his shoulder, but he forces a smile. “Sure, okay,” he says.

“Super,” Tom says. “We’ll see you on Sunday.”

***

Whenever the nurses came to visit Jolene, Eddie hated how helpless he felt. His wife was getting thinner, the skin around her ears and along her fingers was starting to crust and flake off, and her eyes were always bloodshot and half-closed. But he savoured the times he could run her a bath, undress her carefully, then carry her to the tub and sink her into the steaming water. Most days he kneeled down beside the tub and softly massaged her arms, her shoulders, her legs. Every now and then he would climb in with her.

One day, while he sat with her slumped in his arms, he felt her start to lose consciousness. He trailed his finger along the soft, wet flesh of her skull down to her ear, and then he began to cry. Just a few tears at first, but then full sobs until he choked for air. Jolene woke up and twisted in his arms. She looked into his eyes.

“Don’t think about it,” she whispered. “We have this moment, and that’s all we need.”

Eddie couldn’t speak.

“Just be here with me,” she said. “Just be here.”

***

Eddie lifts the Common Book of Prayer, a small green hymnal, out of the pew in front of him. Everyone around him is standing up, so he rises too. He can’t believe he’s here. Evelyn has wedged herself beside him, and beside that her mother Miriam sits in a puffy purple dress. Miriam is an enormous white woman with a swath of black hair elaborately ornamented with flowers. Her face is doughy and bulges out in strange places, so her eyes almost seem like they’ll sink down and disappear behind her cheekbones. She reeks like lavender.

At the front of the church, Tom is standing in front of the congregation in flowing white robes.

“The Lord be with you,” he bellows.

“And also with you,” the congregation responds.

“Lift up your hearts.”

“We lift them to the Lord.”

Evelyn keeps glancing in his direction. She helps him flip to the right page in the hymnal, then smiles mischievously at him. Miriam taps her on the shoulder and Evelyn quickly straightens up.

“Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.”

“It is right to give our thanks and praise.”

Eddie decides to stay behind while the rest of the sanctuary empties into the aisle. They line up before the altar for Communion and take turns sinking to their knees at the railing. Tom swishes across the stage, plunking a small tuft of bread into each pair of cupped hands. Volunteer women follow him and offer a sip of red wine from bright golden chalices.

Later in the service Evelyn searches through her purse for an eyeliner pencil, and when Miriam isn’t looking she quickly jots down a note in the church bulletin and slips it into his lap.

Don’t need to be forgiven for your sins? it says.

Eddie folds the bulletin and tucks it into the inside pocket of his coat. Evelyn huffs theatrically, then starts kicking the pew in front of her. At the front of the church Tom is strutting from one side of the pulpit to the other, sweeping his long robed arms through the air. Miriam pokes Evelyn again, and she stops.

At the end of the service Eddie stands in the cold parking lot, watching well-dressed families head back to their minivans and trucks. They’re not far from the highway, and he watches people rumble by from Vancouver on their way to the ski hills. He takes long drags from his cigar and tries to stop his hands from shaking. He feels like he might vomit.

***

Jolene passed away less than six months after her diagnosis, and suddenly Eddie found himself inundated with strangers asking him questions. There were funeral arrangements, life insurance policies, paperwork he had to sign and places he needed to be. Her family swept into town and moved into his house for a few weeks and they wouldn’t leave him alone. Every morning he was ushered out of bed, encouraged to shower, shuttled around from place to place.

“So a traditional Catholic funeral, then?” the funeral director asked. Jolene’s sisters and her mother sat on either side of him.

Jolene had been a Buddhist for nearly a decade, though she never attended a temple or declared her faith to anyone. She just stockpiled on books and attended meetings with her yoga friends. Eddie didn’t understand her religion, but he knew she wasn’t Catholic.

“I think Jolene wanted to be cremated,” he mumbled.

Her family started to chatter angrily, but he couldn’t listen. It was always the same with them. Jolene was gone and nothing they could do would make any difference to her. Their moment was dead. Her mother started crying, and while one sister hugged her the other one shot Eddie a dirty look.

Eddie sighed. “I can just wait outside.”

***

Eddie is struggling down the driveway with two bags of groceries when he spots Evelyn sitting beside his front door like a lost animal, and as he gets closer he realizes she is crying. Her jeans are soaked and she’s pulled the strings of her hoodie until it’s tight around her face.

“Hi,” he says.

“Oh hi, sorry. I like, didn’t know if it would be okay but I don’t want to go home and I thought maybe I could crash here for a couple hours?”

Eddie hesitates. For nearly two weeks he’s successfully avoided Tom and his family. A few times he hid in his bedroom and pretended he wasn’t home while someone pounded on the front door. At the grocery store he spotted Miriam across the produce section, and he simply left his basket on top of a pile of apples and jogged out to his car.

“You look cold,” he says.

Once inside Evelyn tosses off her coat and drapes it over the back of the couch. She skips around the room, spinning in circles to check everything out. She opens and closes the doors to both the bedrooms. She leans down to inspect his wood stove. She laughs.

“This place is tiny,” she says.

“My partner just uses it as a summer cabin.”

Eddie starts loading the groceries into the fridge, and hears Evelyn rattling around. When he turns around she’s loading firewood into the stove and searching around for newspaper, kindling and a lighter. The fire had died while he was at the store.

“It’s fucking freezing in here,” she says.

For half an hour Eddie finds different ways to put a locked door between himself and the teenage girl lounging in his living room, first sitting on the toilet of his bathroom to have a smoke and then sitting on his bed and looking out the window. But finally he can’t come up with any more excuses, so he pads into the living room and sits down across from her. She’s reading an entertainment magazine.

“Do you like movies?” she asks.

“Not really.”

“I heard your wife died.”

“Yes, she did.”

Evelyn puts down her magazine on the coffee table and looks him in the eyes until he glances away. She scratches a large red blemish by her nose, searches for a distraction, then dances across the room to the large window overlooking the lake.

“That’s a pretty view,” she says.

Eddie shrugs.

“Do you want to smoke a joint with me?”

All you have is now.

Eddie sighs and picks absentmindedly at some fluff on his pants. He hasn’t smoked cannabis for nearly twenty-five years; probably not since before he met Jolene. He thinks about his younger self, and feels like he doesn’t even know that person anymore. He looks up at Evelyn.

“Sure,” he says. “Okay.”

***

Once the funeral was over Eddie had the house to himself again, but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in the bedroom. Instead he set up a cot in the yoga studio and went to sleep listening to Jolene’s music. For years he had been skeptical of her new religion—her obsession with mindfulness, the moment, meditation. He hadn’t necessarily doubted her, but he wondered if her new faith was just a phase. Now that she was gone he found himself obsessing over her books. He watched her yoga DVDs and tried unsuccessfully to do the poses. He could hear Jolene’s voice in his head.

All you have is this moment.

He extended his leave of absence from work, and pretty soon he barely left the house. He couldn’t escape from his mind. One day Cody came by and they drank coffee at the island in his kitchen. They shrugged a lot and couldn’t find much to say. He brought a casserole his wife Melissa made, and it sat covered in Saran Wrap between them.

“Eddie,” Cody said, after a moment of silence. “I’ve been thinking. I got this cabin up in Kamloops. It’s out of the way. We thought you might like to stay there for a while, clear your head, you know. We’re all concerned about you.”

“Right,” he said.

Cody pushed some keys across the counter, along with a map. “Take some time, okay? And take care of yourself.”

***

Eddie listens to the rhythmic crunch of the snow as he tromps into the grey evening mist. In the distance a seemingly endless forest of evergreens reaches up the mountainside, but for kilometres in front of them there is nothing but ice and a thin layer of fresh snow. He drags the barrel of his rifle along the ground, leaving a meandering trail behind him. The setting sun casts long shadows in front of them—his silhouette enormous compared to Evelyn’s. She skips beside him, humming under her breath.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

He shrugs.

Eddie thinks about things that haven’t crossed his mind in years. He thinks about his parents, who have been dead for decades. He thinks about his first car, and the time he crashed it as a teenager. He vaguely thinks he can hear music, and long-forgotten lyrics are suddenly right there. But mostly he thinks about Jolene, about the way her hair used to get caught in her sunglasses, the way she bit her lip when she cried, and the vacation they took to Mexico a few years after they were married. He thinks about their five sons and feels warm.

“Did you know I’m from Burma?” Evelyn asks.

Eddie stops and looks at her. For a moment he’d forgotten she was even there.

“I was in an orphanage until I was three, and then my parents adopted me while they worked as missionaries. Sometimes I try really hard to remember what it’s like, but all I can remember are certain smells or certain songs. Like this one lullaby the nannies used to sing to me.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. The whistling silence around them is epic.

“I’m going back there one day,” she says. “Once I graduate from high school I’m going to go visit, and maybe even live there. I mean, I’m grateful for everything my parents have done for me, but most of the time I feel like I don’t belong here.”

The darkness creeps in around them.

“I think you belong here,” Eddie says.

Evelyn gapes at him for a moment, then looks at her feet. They start walking again. Eddie reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flashlight. When he shines it directly ahead it catches the flakes of snow and makes them momentarily glow.

“What do you think of my Dad?” Evelyn asks after a few minutes.

Eddie thinks about it. “He seems like a good person.”

“But you’re not a Christian?” she asks.

“No,” he says. “I don’t think so.”

“Me neither,” she says. “I made the decision like months ago.”

Evelyn sighs. She kicks up tufts of snow with each step. Then she breaks into a jog and screams. She flails her arms and spins around and laughs until she falls in a heap. Eddie watches her, bemused, then catches up and shines his flashlight down at her prone body.

All you have is now.

“I’m really high,” she says.

Eddie struggles to sit, huffing a little, then sinks down beside her. There’s a series of sharp cracks, and he instinctively shifts to one side, but the ice is solid beneath them. He laughs to himself.

“The ice is crazy thick,” Evelyn says. “Don’t even worry.”

They sit there without speaking and night descends. Mournful loons sing to the darkness, their voices echoing across the ice. The breeze layers frost on their jackets, in their hair, and on their faces. He can’t understand what’s changed in his mind, but suddenly everything around him seems exactly as it should be. Just be here. Evelyn’s breathing slows until she’s whistling gently by his side. Eddie stands up and looks at the stars. He raises his gun to his shoulder and looks through his scope at each one. They’re magical. He thinks about the distance between him and the universe. He swoops the barrel down until he can see the lights coming from his cabin’s windows, bright spots in the blackness. He points the gun at the shadowy silhouettes of the mountains, and then finally back into the black eternity above his head. Evelyn sits up, startled with the first bang. Then she walks up behind him and watches as he fires shot after shot into the night sky.