#ive spent so many hours trying to make guardians do things

[genius11rare]

'My names Wild and welcome to Jackass' number 9373

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part VII

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It took me far too long to recover from the discovery I’d made deep beneath the foundation of the Sheikah estate. Who knew how many more had been forced to suffer at the hands of the Yiga over the course of that period? It was high time to end this era of tyranny and grief, and to have anyone but myself take the lead was not an option. Whatever truth was waiting for me at the end of all this, so be it. I had to see it with my own two eyes. I had to see her.

To help set my plan into motion, the only person I had left to turn to was Prosecutor Sigatur, and though she had once held my mother in the utmost respect, she had benevolently volunteered to present my findings to the courts in my stead. As confident as I was in my argument and as desperately as I desired to be there for Link, I couldn’t quite stomach the thought of taking the stand and exposing myself to the discrimination of the public eye again.

And so, as the proceedings went on for the following few days, I spent my time back at the apartment, making myself useful by poring through my mountainous collection of data on the eighteen-year-old incident that I’d amassed over the years and had been keeping in my office until now. Now that I had been let go, my flat was practically overflowing with newspaper clippings, copies of investigation reports, and whatever else not. Every time I would open the door upon arriving home, I’d get hit in the face with the musty stench of dust and old magazines that I had nowhere to properly put away.

Though my collection was indeed vast, it was far more so in physical volume than in information. Most of the documents in it were no more than different accounts of the same basic facts. All the useful info I could glean was that the fire at City Hall had taken the lives of most, if not all, administrative officials who had been there working at the time, and those members of council who may or may not have been killed had never been seen nor heard from again, their bodies left for ash. And according to my sources, Mayor Hyrule had been amongst them.

There was a certain line in her letter to Auntie Impa that had tipped me off to her current whereabouts. “...I have been keeping watch over you from the ashes of the afterlife...” The imagery laced so intricately into those words had struck a nerve. There was only one place in this town that both would’ve been of any significance to her and was covered in ash: the crumbling ruins where the former City Hall had once stood.

Having reached the point of culmination in my plotting, I invited the newly reinstated Constable Fyori over for tea. The two of us meeting in my office would have been preferable, but we’d just have to make do with this for the time being.

“If my hypothesis is correct, then I am about to enter the belly of the beast,” I deliberated. Seated on my settee and restlessly tapping the floor with his heel, Link listened with both eyes and ears as I paced about the room. “Ideally, I’d have some sort of backup at my disposal. Maybe I could phone Urbosa and ask her to lend me a hand, just once more...”

“If I may,” he butted in, “why are you speaking as though you’ll be on your own?”

I hadn’t been nearly as prepared as I probably should have been for such a question. “Well...” I stammered, forcing the shame of admitting that I was too afraid to confront my own mother alone down my throat, “would you happen to know someone who’d be willing to accompany me?”

His mouth gaped at my answer. Then jutting his neck out and laying his palms across his chest, he stood up. “Me!”

I took a step back. “Link, what are you talking about?” If something happened to him as a result of this, which was more likely to occur than not, then his last moments would surely be filled with nothing but fear and regret. Not to mention, I would never forgive myself. “I really shouldn’t have to remind you. She’s the reason your family—”

“I know,” he snapped. His eyes were burning a hole straight through me. It was almost frightening. “Believe me, I’m not about to go forgetting it again any time soon.”

“Then why...?” I half-whispered in the most deathly serious tone I could muster.

“Because I’m tired of hiding.”

A harsh breeze rattled the blinds against the window frame. It took me by surprise, but he wasn’t phased by it in the least.

“I’m tired of turning a blind eye and acting like none of the horrible things she’s done ever happened.” I tried to think of a snappy rebuttal, but none came to mind. He’d said these words as though they’d been burning on the tip of his tongue for an untold number of days. He’d had a lot of time to reflect between his false conviction and his acquittal, so it seemed. He and I were of the same mind, of course, but... “And, because...” He stopped himself. Some of the fire in his gaze had gone out in smoke. I got my hopes up when he broke eye contact for a moment or two, and I could all but sense the resolve in him dying, just a little bit.

But then, emitting a slight sound of frustration, he stepped closer. His hands gripped my shoulders, and he pulled me in with the force of a hurricane.

When his lips made impact with mine, my eyes flew open.

He kissed me with what could only be described as reckless abandon. His mouth scraped across my own, and I could feel every ounce of his aggravation in the way his fingertips bit down on my skin alone. It was rough and clumsy and pressed, as if this were sincerely the last and only chance he would ever have.

All of a sudden, we were seventeen again, and standing in the middle of our secondary school’s greenhouse. The scent of dust was replaced with that of lush flora on all sides of us, and sunlight shining in from above caressed the top of my head with its warmth. This was the very scene that I’d used to daydream about time and time again, wasting more hours of each day than I’d have liked to admit at the time.

Now his fingers clung to the corners of my face like I was made of paper, his lips brushing mine almost imperceptibly as his bated breath fanned out against them. When my eyes opened and met with his, his complexion had turned a delicate rouge, and his faultless aquamarines had been clouded over by doubt. In that moment, all I could think to do was to make that doubt vanish. So I ignored the distant sense of guilt that yet lingered and seized the navy blue tie around his neck. Our forms collided, and a sigh like trees swaying at the mercy of a light breeze in summer grazed my cheek.

With Ms. Sigatur’s aid, the constabulary had been more than willing to cooperate and construct a perimeter of officers around the old City Hall’s charred skeleton. Just the fact that the vicinity wasn’t littered in tarps and rubbish and other evidence of homelessness was proof enough of my theory. And yet, the way the wind howled and that the only signs of life were the crows circling up above filled the pit of my stomach with an unease that I could not ignore.

“You know what to do as soon as you sense any sign of danger, I trust?” Urbosa had both her hands planted firmly on my shoulders, bending down to meet my gaze with that same, old look of worry.

I gave a firm nod, never breaking eye contact. “Of course.”

“And you have Fyori and the others looking out for you, so don’t be afraid to call for them if—”

“I’ll be fine, Urbosa. I—”

“No, you will not.”

All I wanted was to get this over with, but she just had to go and remind me of the risks. No matter what I wished for, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was, in all likelihood, a suicide mission. Which was why I’d been so adamant in refusing to allow Link to come along initially.

Said constable was watching the two of us out of the corner of his eye, ever the vigilante as he stood facing the stronghold a mere half dozen paces away.

I heaved a constricted sigh and looked the prosecutor earnestly in the eye. With a deep breath, “I understand how worried you are for me, but please, don’t try to stop me. I’m aware of the risk and I’m prepared to face the consequences. I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t confident in my ability to succeed.”

Her stance softened, if only just slightly. “If Hilda weren’t still alive, her spirit would haunt me for letting any harm come to you.”

“But that won’t happen, because she is alive and she would never try to hurt me.” This much I was certain of, for if she had harboured any such intentions, she would have acted on them already, with how the Organization typically operated.

Urbosa’s lips tightened, and the out of place worry lines permeating her expression faded incrementally. She cast her gaze toward my stubborn guardian in silence, and he offered her a calm, yet resolute, nod of the head.

After a quiet embrace that seemed to go on endlessly, she sent me on my way. I looked over my shoulder as she grew smaller and smaller, then turned my focus ahead of me.

Staring up at the towering columns before me, I fell into an unnatural combination of wonder, nostalgia, and loss. (For whom or what was I still mourning? At this point, I didn’t even know the answer to that.) For the most part, the only parts of the building left standing were those invulnerable to fire, and even a great portion of that had fallen victim to weathering and decay over the years. Many of the brick walls had crumbled, leaving little in the way of places to hide a single person, let alone an entire crime syndicate.

The wind was unrelenting as it whipped and thrashed my hair about my face. Yet somehow, even as we drew nearer, the air remained as deathly still as ever.

As we finally came upon the scorched remnants of the main entrance, a gust from the north sent a whirlwind of ash in my direction. My arms rose to shield my face in the nick of time.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I took my first step since childhood into the domain of my mother’s workplace. Surely when I crossed that threshold, I’d thought, surely that was when havoc would finally be wrought upon us. But I was met yet again with stillness. Was nothing but my own breathing able to break this seemingly impenetrable silence?

Just then, my question was answered.

I felt my soul jump out of the confines of my body when the caw of a crow reverberated throughout the government building. If my heart hadn’t been pounding hard enough already...

I jumped again seconds later, though not nearly to the extent at which I just had, when Link’s hand came to weave itself between my fingers. We locked eyes, and he gave me the kindest of smiles. It made me want to melt right into his arms and to never let go, lest I lose him a third, and very likely final, time.

But a clearing of the throat from one of the other nearby constables reminded me of the ever present need to stay alert.

I elected to have the group split into two: one to search the ground floor of the ruins and one to search the upper floor. It was hard to say for certain how stable they were, but the stairways connecting the two stories were still almost fully intact. The upper floor itself, however, was another matter. Though its foundation hadn’t been constructed from any organic material, much of its structural integrity seemed to have been lost. About a third of it had broken off and landed square in the middle of the ground floor, leaving a vast chasm between the two sections of the upper floor that remained. The police had come prepared and equipped for the traversal of rough and uneven terrain, though there was still the danger of stray pieces of rubble raining down onto our heads from above.

I adjusted the strap of my helmet, which was beginning to chafe at the skin underneath my chin, before making my way around the monstrous hunk of brick flooring lying along the length of the grand foyer. Beyond that, as I’d remembered correctly, was the hallway leading to where her office had once been. But the scene I would discover there was a far cry from what I recalled.

What I found there wasn’t unlike what we’d found in the other offices up until now. Any furniture that had once filled the space had been destroyed. I could only just make out the contorted pieces of an old, blackened writing desk, its legs collapsed and the only thing relaying the tale of its former shape being the lamp lying shattered beside it. This I’d only noticed after hearing the crackling of shattered glass underfoot.

A clipped, nasal exhale sounded from behind me, where Link was taking in the scene with an expression similar to my own set into his face. He’d been clinging to my side since we’d begun searching, whether out of a desire to protect or to be protected, I did not know. A question rang in my ears that he’d posed to me during our meeting at my flat. “What will you do once you find her?” It was a simple question, one that I reasonably should have been able to answer, but the only one that came to mind would have sounded beyond foolish if said aloud. In the midst of such an era of power, what crime boss in their right mind would be swayed by a meagre plea to stop? But if not try to reason with her, there wouldn’t be many other options at my disposal.

This supposition only applied given that my mother would be found. My inspections so far had yielded no signs of Yiga activity, or for that matter, any activity whatsoever. Everything here seemed to have been here since the very incident that had levelled the place. In a way, this only added onto my already existing restlessness. The longer this search went on in vain, the less likely we were to find anything of worth, and the more likely it was for this endeavour to end in yet another failure. The moment I would finally give into my fear and call off the mission was steadily approaching.

A shadow flickered in my peripheral vision, followed by auditory pandemonium.

I just barely withheld my yelp. Link had turned toward the source of the sound with his hand on his holster.

But it had only been a piece of debris coming down from the floor above. I sighed furtively.

Between how Link’s shoulders had tensed up to meet his ears and the way his hand twitched as he lowered it from his hip, it was plain to see that I wasn’t the only one who was shaken up.

There was one more area of the ground floor that I had left to search: the conference hall. If the Yiga were anywhere to be found across these vast burial grounds, it was there.

What was left of the wood flooring creaked underfoot at a much greater volume than I’d been expecting. The ceiling, though just as high as that of the rest of this floor, somehow felt even loftier. Out of all the rooms we’d visited, this one was the most intact. Half of the risers, though scorched, were otherwise undamaged, and even the podium was still standing tall. But of course, being more intact meant giving sharpshooters more places to hide. One misstep and—

Crack

The floor fell out from beneath me. I let out a shriek, feeling the realm of death open its big, black maw and swallow me whole.

Then I landed with a calamitus crash.

If I hadn’t managed to curl my limbs around myself in time, the concrete flooring I seemed to have landed on surely would’ve cracked my head open, or given me a severe concussion at the very least. My whole body ached from the impact, and it felt as though I may have sprained my ankle, for when I tried to stand, it throbbed in the most violent pain I had ever experienced. I fell to my hands and knees, reeling.

The spot in the floor that I’d placed my weight on must have lost much of its hardiness to the fire. In all the times I’d been here as a little girl, it had never once occurred to me that this place had housed a basement.

“Zelda...!”

I looked up to see Link peering down from the hole in the ceiling that I’d made, his expression poised with worry. My body, covered in scrapes and bruises, cringed when I realized he had borne witness to that pathetic spectacle, making the pain tenfold.

“I’m fine,” I whisper-shouted up toward the only source of light in the room, and some of the fear in his face relaxed. He glanced around him, then looked back down in my direction before standing up and disappearing.

I could only hope he’d find his way down sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I shifted into a position I hoped I’d have more luck rising back to standing from, and I did. Though, maimed as I was, I’d still have to find some way to take some of the weight off my right foot.

The first thing I latched onto was rusty and sharp. I winced and pulled my hand back, looking blindly to see if my palm was bleeding or not.

As my eyes adjusted, I was relieved to see that the cut had only just grazed the surface of my skin. I scanned the room, seeing that the thing I’d touched was a piece of an old oil drum. In fact, the room was full of metal scraps resembling it.

A vision flashed before my eyes. Of City Hall being engulfed in flame within seconds, and the criminal mastermind hiding the evidence in a cellar, where no one would ever find it until the better part of two decades later.

The rest of the basement was still a cluttered mess, but somehow it felt a great deal more lived-in than what I’d seen up until this point. There wasn’t a soul to be found in any of the windowless rooms I came across, but the few things I found lying around with the help of my pocket torch, like an unopened pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards left strewn across a small table, gave me the distinct impression that I wasn’t alone. The numerous corners provided by old, metal bookshelves and file cabinets did little to slow my racing heart.

Eventually, I came upon an open doorway, beside which a small sign on the wall read, “Archive A.” Beyond the barrier, unlike the pitch darkness I’d been wandering through for I’d long lost count of just how long, a few threads of light were trickling in from above, presumably through a crack in the flooring above that I’d failed to notice before.

I stepped through the doorway, turned to face the yawning expanse of the former archive, and saw her. Dressed in pale white and standing radiantly in the center of the room.

My mother. The very image of my ever vivid memory of her was right there.

My feet carried me, with newfound purpose and with minds of their own, toward her. I wanted to reach out and feel her next to me. I wanted to ascertain that she was truly there and that I hadn’t actually hit my head and wasn’t now seeing things. I wanted to run at her, arms outstretched, more than anything in the world.

But then my ankle throbbed violently in protest, and my reason for being here came back to me at full force. I swallowed down my longing and stopped in my tracks. Her smile—that warm, glowing, congratulatory smile that held all the hope and light of the sun within its corners—wasn’t making this any less difficult, however. I was reminded of the simpler times, when at the end of each day, there was someone back at home waiting to hold me close and make all my worries melt away.

She held her arms out to me in a gesture that made my eyes well up with the tears of a child. It felt unspeakably wrong, but for what reason I could no longer place. Why shouldn’t I? What harm could it possibly do? It was only natural to want to wrap my arms around her as tightly as I was able, and to never let go again, wasn’t it?

A gunshot ripped through the peace.

Her face turned still as stone. Square between her harmless eyes had appeared an inky black-red orifice—an exit wound—from which a spray of crimson had decorated her visage.

Time slowed almost to a stop as Mother careened forward and fell flat onto the cold, hard floor. A hollow thump echoed throughout the empty space.

Before I’d had time to react, I looked up and met eyes with a painfully familiar pair of icy azures, which thawed in an instant as the owner lowered his weapon. I glanced down at the body, which had landed just two or three paces in front of me, then back at him. Then my own body started to shake.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t control the violent tremors that had taken hold of me. My knees hit the floor, my bad ankle being wrenched one way in the process. This tore a scream from the depths of my lungs as the tears began waterfalling down in spiteful defiance against my will. I couldn’t bare to look at her—lithe arms strewn out limply at her sides and golden hair scattered in every direction—so I hid like the coward I was behind my stinging palms.

A metallic clack, followed by footsteps pounding the cement one after another as they neared. When his arms cradled my head into the shelter of his chest, I didn’t stop him. Nor did I when his hand began its gentle stroking up and down the curve of my back. He could have said something, anything, but he refrained. Instead, the silence surrounding my cries did nothing but amplify them.

A resounding clatter broke the air.

My vision was fogged up like a window pane in the dead of winter, but as I blinked away the tears, I began to make out the shape of an assault rifle lying on the concrete, at the feet of a person who hadn’t been there before and whose face I was unable to make out from this distance. In the figure’s hand was a bone-white mask, which they turned over in their grasp before dropping it onto the floor as well. It shattered upon landing.

In every corner, assassins were emerging from the shadows, each one of them laying down their weapons and turning to face the cooling corpse resting at the axis point of it all. Somehow, the room seemed even more devoid of daylight than ever before.

[24-guy]

I spent 2 hours on writing notes from the prison podcast stream.

Now I don’t know what to do with them, so I’m putting them here. 

No need to read them, there is just some interesting stuff I noticed, things like tones and how many times somethings are brought up. 

if you do, though, I apologize  for spelling errors. 

start stream

techno "did the calculations" on how long it would take to mine obsidian with the amount of mining fatigue they had. we knoe this is true.

dream has been writing, it is the only thing hes been able to do with the limited items he has. its his "diary"

techno teases over fanfics on wattpad

"the only thing ive written is my diary" do the revive books not count, then? or what is in the revive books that isnt writing?

techno focuses on that nobody is watching - dream doesnt comment on it - dream doesnt know about the voices?

techno is supposed to break dream out, but he hasnt got many ideas "ill get to it later"

techno enjoys prison - sees it as a vacation

techno has an optimistic outlook.

go with the flow

dream sees harming himself as exhillerating techno disaprooves

dream tells techno quackity has been torturing him everyday. techno is only surprised by the every day part

dream mentions the revive book techno remembers being told about that asks "yeah you can bring people back from the dead. yeah so how do you do that" - curious tone, seems genuinely interested for innocent meanings dream responds " i have.. the knowledge and then i get a book and then i burn it" - hesitant at first, then vague but seemingly honest reponse

techno asks what the knowledge is, incantation/password/expelliarmus dream says "something like that" slowly, then quickly says he doesnt know and that he "doesnt know how schlatt had it" - going away from the topic original book - there are more than one it is a book is what youre saying - t well... i mean, it was a book that i memorised and that now i can recreate - d techno tries again to get the knowledge he wants to revive people dream doesnt want to tell techno because he wouldnt be the only one who knew techno tries to bargain saying that if dream died, techno coulld bring him bacl dream knows they wont kill him because he can revive people

dream says no, techno says "you forgot how to write it down didnt you dream says he didnt, that he did it recently, techno repeats again that dream forgot brings up wattpad again. dream says he wrote it down for tommy. he doesnt mention wilbur to techno. bring up the homeless situaation prison is dreams house cell is boiling apparently makes a joke about cali rent prices

nobody visited the cell "we stopped anarcy" "when we get out of here" no though ahead going into this situation (techno) "just as far as i need to" dream doesnt know what techno means by stream schedule, techno jokes about dream's lack of schedual techno usually trains always looking for new combat, reasearching constant arms race no idea when a government will arise or opressing people is always prepared has a good amount of gear he also plays golf somewhere offers a game with dream no way to describe it somewhere farther than his house

dream asks about tommy techno hasnt seen him canonically, only knows he stole acouple months ago - as far as he tells dream

dream asks about carl carl is doing well

dream asks about the family its doing good, apparently, new foxes, got steve who will break him out dream writes about steve "i will write evrrything down because its hard to remember" another fanfic joke

dream asks whos feeding them they feed themselves its probably fine

milld break for 4 wall break

gist or jist

prison podcast offers, agrees that is all this is

technical difficulties

podcast bros

eating potato

dream offers his thoughts on what would happen of he tried to revive somebody who is alive two technoblades human meat sheild

dream wants to try no death first what could go wrong nothing else to do

techno house is man vs nature conflict floor has ants floof brings ants spilled pet food dream has a revivebook techno tries to read it first hit with book a small wait throw into lava DreamXD joins broke the table fixed table a god dream "cloned himsef" god looks exactly like dream feels like a question to ask earlier dream summoned dreamxd ask for wish ask for bell dream gets mad because no escape dreamxd leaves sellout timer goes off techno makes money as dream questions his life dream sits in corner hole techno aims to be annoying we count channel members for a bit

dream and techno friend bonding time?

summons dreamxd for reviving nobody dream writes this in his diary as techno rings bell tries again, it doesnt work creative mode is a known thing by mortals they know how deadly it is

warden on vacation

techno hasnt written anything he has at least 4 books in his inventory, going from the top 2nd space to the top 5th space. the fourth book is called information and is signed by dream. dream throws a potato in the lava techno asks for the revive book again, this time to see of dreamxd will come back because it is a different person summoning him dream says no

techno needs a bell to sell out for the *brand*, ritual and tradition dream put the bell in church prime no twitch primes for dream - hes a heratic (no contract) dream makes no profit dream has lots of raw potatos for 5-6 months

techno asks if dream has any friends dream says not really, they turned against him techno knows the feeling being betrayed by closest friend happens every tuesday for techno

dream mentions being visited by a few people techno asks if any tried not to torture or kill him dream says yeah like he wasnt expecting the question/(as techno put it) "he hesitated"

sapnap - didnt torture or kill him - but he said if dream got out of there, then he would - techno says hes gotta raise his standards

bad - was the best - treated dream the best - techno says hes a cult leader - dream is surprised so techno tells him about the egg - techno wasnt clear - bad hasnt viseted since 4-5 months ago - techno says even he has friends - egg was attacked - big crossover episode not clear what is going on

techno - last time they saw each other was dooms day - been a while - lot has happened - techno doesnt now whats going on currently on the server - he knows nothing - "people" tell him who died and who came back

tubbo - asks about tubbo - tubbo is chillng - snowchester named - commune - a little sus - dictator - no rushing to conclusions - tubbo has nukes - big crater - a hoby - could be meteor

ranboo - asks about ranboo - ranboo is also chilling - brings up tubo's nukes now

dream points out that techno said he didnt know anyting and then said about a new place, nukes, and a lot more dream doesnt know anything - less than techno

ranboo (again) - dream says he used to visit a while ago and then stopped coming - techno asks "ranboo used to visit?" - ranboo visited "a bit" - probably visited the most - sapnap visited - tommy visited a couple of times - bad visited - and quackity - quackity visited the most, only because hes visited daily

more potatos pog potatos

ranboo (x3) - techno asks how dream knows ranboo - "um... its just a.. long story" - techno replies sarcastically about how they dont have any time to go through it, theyre so busy with the bell - dream "i dont know him very well. he just visited a few times and that was it." - techno just repeats alright, its either bored or thinking - dream "and then i havent seen him since then so thats why i was wondering where hes been, if hes been around" - techno " ah... im not sure. i havent been around fpr like the past couple of months, honestly."

techno went on  atraining montage, played golf

dream asks about the plan to get out mining fatigue 3 doesnt mean they cant break blocks, its just approximately 370 times longer breaking obsidian takes a bit over 4 minutes math = obsidian block gone in 25.7 hours. an alarm break in the right spot break block in toilet elder guardian below the cell techno can take him if techno somehow dies dream brings him back could be out in 2 weeks havent been visited for 2 weeks nothing to lose dream has to break obsidian techno wants to end stream techno came up with idea so dream has to do it dream starts bell ringing for cheerng him on techno sounds happy that dream is doing it voices are mentioned - theyre laughing techno has perfect track of time techno is gonna annoy dream the entire time techno is a lookout there are only 4 books we only see the 4th name floof interrupts momentarily tommy killed a cat because dream liked it 300 dogs in the cell joke

channel member bell dream regrets his life again techo's plan? bell was a better investment dream has 10 bells in e chest techno doesnt techno wanted to go for more so techno could ring bell again

end of stream

[adverb-slut]

Poison Apple Crêpes (Fanfiction) Part 1/2

I wrote this little oneshot initially on AO3, but I decided to post it on Tumblr, as well, since I am trying to write more fanfic on here!

Title:

Poison Apple Crêpes (Part 1/2)

Summary: 

An incensed Mammon recalls a fond memory he has of Lucifer from when they were younger. 

(Essentially just a fluffy oneshot about Luci doing his best and Mammon just realizing it because he is a dumbass.)

Genre:

Fluff

Rating:

G

Word Count:

2011

-

Mammon clutched the sheet of paper even more tightly in his fists, his knuckles curled so fast that his shapely white fingernails dug deep into his palms.  

The paper—his fifth Chemistry III test with a score of less than 10%—was a crumpled mess and, unlike his usual treatment of schoolwork, couldn’t be thrown away.  Because it was his fifth F- in a row, his professor had stapled an angry pink notice to the front of the exam, biding Mammon to have it signed by his guardian and returned to the professor so that he knew that someone other than Mammon was aware of his failing grades and was helping him get through the course.

However, since Mammon had no actual guardian, the role of signing permission slips, detention notices, release forms and the like for all the brothers fell upon Lucifer.  And as far as Lucifer was concerned, he had signed far too many test-failure notifications for Mammon and was already livid with his younger brother for another one he had brought home yesterday for his Statistics IV class; he had confiscated Mammon’s beloved Goldie the second he had seen the telltale pink sheet stapled to the front of Mammon’s test the day before.

Of course, Mammon had thought to forge Lucifer’s signature on all his failed tests, but unfortunately, during the past year, much of the R.A.D.’s grading system had become computerized and Lucifer could see his siblings’ grades whenever he pleased.  Mammon figured it would be worse for his brother to find out about his grades over the computer than for him to realize it in person—that gave him less time to plan out his punishment agenda. 

Mammon shuddered at the thought of what his penalty would be this time and cursed Lucifer a thousand times over.  A boiling ire snaked its way through his bones as he thought of the firstborn demon’s cruel sense of justice, but even more so at the fact that his preliminary punishment had already been granted the day before: his precious Goldie had been impounded.

He absolutely despised knowing that the few thousand Grimm coins that rattled around in his jacket pocket were all the money he had on him, period.  The thought only caused his frown to deepen as he wrung his test even tighter and made his way to Lucifer’s private study.  

The eldest demon’s study had always been a bit of a puzzle to his siblings, as rather than being locked by a key, it was kept shut through a voice command phrase.  Belphegor and Satan had always reveled in guessing goofy phrases about Lucifer’s relationship with Diavolo as the code, but none of those phrases opened the door. Even when Leviathan, Beelzebub, or Asmodeus made any kind of attempt to speak the right phrase, the door still wouldn’t budge.

The five of them had always assumed that the code was some kind of personal anecdote, something that only those closest to Lucifer would know.  This baffled them, as who would be closer to Lucifer than his brothers?

Mammon, on the other hand, never understood what was so hard about guessing the code—as far as he was concerned, any low-level demon could figure it out easy enough—not that he’d ever tell his other siblings what it was.

He walked up to the door to Lucifer’s study and muttered, “Eine klein Nachtmusik.”

It was common sense for that to be Lucifer’s super-secret code phrase.  Back in the Celestial Realm, when Lucifer had been the Archangel of Music, "Eine klein Nachtmusik" had been his first and most beloved composition.  He had written a great multitude of pieces for every instrument ever to be in existence, but there was no composition that he was more proud of than that one.  Or, he had been, until his prized work had been released into the Human World and the credit for it had been taken by some Austrian mook by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Mammon shook his head as the door to the study slid open smoothly without so much as a hiss.  

Too easy.

He stomped in, his displeasure evident on his face as he turned toward his brother’s desk, hoping to see a dumbfounded Lucifer, irritated that someone had been able to outsmart his voice command security.

Instead, Lucifer was hunched over his desk, his head down and only propped up by a gloved hand that was sprawled delicately on his face.

Mammon raised an eyebrow and walked closer to the firstborn demon.  His eyebrows raised; Lucifer was … sleeping? He paused, realizing that he hadn’t seen his brother at breakfast this morning, either.  Had he been here in his study all night?  

Mammon couldn’t even begin to wonder what kind of work would prompt his brother to slave at such odd hours.  However, this didn’t bother him as he clasped his hand around Lucifer’s shoulder, poised and ready to shake the exhausted demon awake.  

“Yo, Lucifer,” he began, but before he could finish his thought, his eyes wandered to the disarray that was Lucifer’s desk. 

He cocked his head.  His brother was renowned for being an incredibly immaculate demon; there never was a hair to be found out of place on his head, and even the clutter on his desk was always neatly arranged and tidy.  

Mammon looked behind the desk and noticed that Lucifer had propped a window open and realized that the wind must have scattered the items on his desk. 

Dozens of sheets of paper were strewn about and various pens and knickknacks littered the floor.  In fact, Mammon noticed that the only thing that seemed to have survived the wind was the file folder that was directly in front of Lucifer.  He found that strange and wondered why that was the sole object not privy to the elements.  

He moved his hand off of Lucifer and stepped back when he noticed that the item that acted as a paperweight and held the file down was a small tabletop photo frame.  Mammon raised an eyebrow as he picked the frame up and nearly dropped it when he saw the photo that was inside.  

It was an older photograph, taken maybe five hundred years ago or so.  He smiled, realizing that in the picture, he was only perhaps nine hundred years old.  Lucifer, the other demon in the photo, was about thirteen hundred. The two of them were huddled under an umbrellaed patio table at one of the small cafés on the outskirts of the Devildom, grinning widely for the camera.  Mammon had an arm wrapped chummily around his older brother’s shoulders, while the latter leaned into the touch with a carefree beam bigger than Mammon had ever seen it before.

Mammon smiled fondly; he recollected the café well.  When the seven brothers had first moved to the Devildom, they had reveled in exploring the many restaurants that the realm offered, before finally settling on Ristorante Six as their favorite.  However, Mammon reminisced, the particular café featured in the photograph remained a favorite of both him and Lucifer. On days that they weren’t busy with their own responsibilities, the pair used to would make the long trips to the fringes of the Devildom to the café and enjoy its specialty—crêpes.  

He recalled that at first, he had kicked his legs stubbornly and pouted because none of the crêpe fillings were foods that he liked until Lucifer had persuaded him to try the dried blackbelly newt legs macerated in vanilla simple syrup as a filling.  Mammon had fallen in love that day, and ever since then, he couldn’t get enough of the coarse, wiry stuff and considered dried blackbelly newt legs to be one of his favorite foods.

Lucifer, on the other hand, always ordered his crêpes brimming with several extra portions of poison apples.  The sticky fruit was always slick with thick, purple glaze, and Mammon laughed when he remembered that by the end of every meal, Lucifer would woefully find his lips a very unbecoming shade of lavender.  

His laughter stopped when he realized that it had been a very long time since he and Lucifer had been to that café.  In fact, for the past several years, Mammon had spent most of his time meandering about in the exclusive and expensive shopping districts in the heart of the Devildom, never venturing to the dingy outskirts of the realm.  

But still, he wondered, why he and Lucifer hadn’t at least made one trip to the café in all the years since.

Mammon’s heart dropped as he racked his brain and remembered Lucifer asking him, year after year—in an underhanded way, of course—if he wanted to accompany him on various outings, all of which were located in the very fringes of the Devildom and dangerously close to their café.

“Mammon, I’m going to drop Baby Satan at his Little Bookworms Club at the edge of town.  Care to join me? We can find something to eat while we wait for him to finish.”

“Mammon, Levi stayed up late playing zombie games again, and he wants me to walk him to the Akuzon Delivery Center; he’s afraid something will creep up from the shadows and attack him.  It’s at the far end of the realm, but we can buy some lunch in one of the cafés nearby if we get hungry. That is—if you’d like to come.”

“Mammon, do you recall that Beel received those three passes for two free meals apiece at any café in the Devildom?  It was a prize for when he won the Devildom Junior High Pie-Eating Contest, I believe.  Yesterday, he gave me one as penance for eating everything in the refrigerator, again. Would you care to use it with me?”

“Mammon, Diavolo said that it’s imperative that I deliver this bowl of warm chicken heart soup to his grandmother.  She’s sick and lives in the Hellfire Retirement Community. You know where that is, correct? It’s on the outskirts of town, and we can get brunch afterward.  Will you join me?”

He cringed as he remembered that he had turned down every invitation, too deep in one of his many get-rich-quick schemes once he had gotten settled in his life in the Devildom to take a moment to spend time with his brother.  He realized now that Lucifer, his pride having taken too many hits from being snubbed a multitude of times, must have just decided to stop inviting him altogether.

Mammon sighed and put the photo frame back on the file in front of Lucifer.  He decided to let him sleep—with all he did for his younger brothers, Mammon wagered Lucifer sure needed it.  He uncrumpled his test and with one of the pens scattered about, scrawled Mammon already signed up for tutoring ); on the back, and left it on the desk, making a mental note to do just that—even though he despised the idea of spending his much-needed cashflow-planning time with the pretentious tutors at R.A.D.

He stared at Lucifer’s peaceful form for a moment before reaching down to pick up the windblown papers and place them neatly on his desk.  He even rearranged all the other office supplies that were scattered about in a fashion that he was sure that even the tidy Lucifer would approve of.

“Stupid Lucifer,” Mammon muttered as he quietly closed the door to his brother’s study.  “No wonder you were Father’s favorite.”

As he walked down the halls of the House of Lamentation, Mammon fingered the Grimm coins in his pocket.  Now that he thought about it, he had just the right amount of money to buy a stack of crêpes to-go at that little café. 

He nodded when he realized that in the glove compartment of his Demonio 666 Lexura, he’d also left at least six thousand Grimm worth of change for roadside emergencies.

… The perfect amount of money to add an extra helping of poison apples to said crêpes.

THE END

Read Part 2/2 here!

[destination-despairing]

Sierra and I saw this piece of art by @ktokei and I ended up writing a whole drabble set in the Butterfly Effect au inspired by the picture and an idea Sierra had, and I debated posting it cause it was just something quick I wrote for fun (and cause Sierra asked me to) but there’s some parts I’m pretty proud of so here ya go why not:

Nagito was no stranger to hospitals, and neither was Izuru. Neither of them liked hospitals, which was understandable given their associations with doctors and lab coats. This is why Nagito was so grateful that Izuru had come to visit him.

“They keep asking for my guardian,” Nagito sighed. “That would be upsetting if I were under eighteen, but now? It’s upsetting and annoying. I wish they would just tell me, it’s not like I haven’t heard all these terms before.”

Izuru nodded with a ‘hm’ sound. He was checking Nagito’s chart, which made Nagito raise an eyebrow at him.

Izuru noticed this after awhile and cleared his throat, setting the chart back. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine… you worry in your own way…” Nagito sighed. 

Izuru looked around the room, his frown deepening. He went to the window and examined the lock. 

“Worried about intruders now?” Nagito chuckled.

“No.” Izuru slowly closed the door, then moved back to the window. “You want to leave?”

“I mean… yes? But I can’t.”

“Temporarily.”

“You mean like… sneak out for a date?” Nagito asked, suddenly growing more interested. 

Izuru nodded. Nagito had been locked up in here for weeks, and each time Izuru came to visit his partner’s eyes had looked duller and duller. Izuru was of the opinion that no one should spend such a long time in the same room, sitting and staring into nothing. 

Nagito stood shakily, and Izuru moved quickly around him removing the IV and helping him find his balance. He’d brought a backpack with some of Nagito’s clothes amongst other items he thought might come in handy, so he helped Nagito change out of the hospital gown before throwing the backpack over one shoulder and lifting Nagito. 

Nagito took a sharp breath and clung tight to Izuru, and Izuru honestly couldn’t tell if he was scared of the drop from the window or if he was excited by it. Either way, Izuru held him safely as he made a controlled descent to the ground below. 

“What did you have planned?” Nagito asked as he slipped out of Izuru’s grasp. 

Izuru shrugged, then held out his hand. Nagito happily took it, swinging their joined hands as they walked. 

Izuru took Nagito to the library where he tried to grab a dangerous pile of books. Izuru took them before Nagito either collapsed under their weight or tripped from bad luck and dropped them everywhere. They spent the better part of two hours in a darkened corner of the library, Nagito deep in a book and Izuru subtly using cuddling as a way to keep track of Nagito’s temperature and pulse.

Then Izuru decided Nagito should eat, and managed to convince him of this only after they’d checked out all the books he hadn’t gotten to. They went to a hole in the wall neither of them had heard of before that day, where the food was both greasy and amazing. Nagito kept smiling and laughing as he talked incessantly. He paused only whenever Izuru nudged his hand, which was still holding a fork with a forgotten bite of food, towards his mouth. Nagito was so busy praising the food and comparing it to what they served him at the hospital that he kept forgetting to actually eat. 

Nagito insisted they go visit his old school, and Izuru spent a few uncomfortable minutes on the campus where he was born while Nagito reminisced and tried to teach Izuru about all the great parts of the school.

Eventually, Izuru gave Nagito a piggy back ride as they ventured out of town. Izuru could feel Nagito drifting off slightly, head resting on his shoulder, and it made him worry that he’d exhausted him, overestimated how much he could handle. But when they reached their destination, Nagito was quick to wake up.

“Where’s this?” he asked curiously, looking around the empty field. 

Izuru didn’t answer, he was busy pulling the small tent from his bag and assembling it. Nagito clapped his hands together excitedly and hovered around him until he was done. The sun started to set and all across the field dozens of fireflies started to do their thing. 

“It’s… beautiful,” Nagito said, lips twitching into a smile.

Izuru nodded. Nagito liked beautiful things. He’d debated between this, an art gallery, and a greenhouse. His final decision was, as always, the best one.

“Don’t trip.” Izuru steadied Nagito with a hand at his elbow, trying to keep his boyfriend upright as he chased fireflies. “Careful. Don’t over exert yourself.”

“Use your talents to keep me safe,” Nagito challenged him playfully, running off with a laugh. 

Izuru followed after Nagito as they filled a jar with fireflies, and even though he maintained a look of neutral annoyance at Nagito’s antics, it made his heart lighter to see him laughing and enjoying himself again. There were still dark circles under his eyes, but in his eyes the light was back. 

They ended up laying on their stomachs, peeking out of the tent at their jar of fireflies and all the others who they’d mercifully allowed to remain free. 

“Think you can sneak this back into the hospital for me?” Nagito asked, finger tracing against the glass. 

“Yes,” Izuru promised.

“I’ve missed things like this,” Nagito said, smiling sadly. Izuru lay his head on Nagito’s shoulder with a frown as he kept talking. “Everytime I get sick, it’s like… everything gets caught behind glass.” he stared at the jar, and a firefly came to land right where his finger was resting. “I can’t touch the light, but I can still see it shining without me. Nothing pauses, it keeps going. But I pause. One day I might stop.”

“You won’t stop,” Izuru said.

“I might.” Nagito looked at him. “Maybe your talent could save me, or maybe I’ll die and you’ll remember me. If I do, use my memory to help other people? Let me be the stepping stone that raises them higher.”

“Stop…” Izuru huffed, and Nagito chuckled at his pouting. 

“I thought you said I shouldn’t!” he teased.

“Not funny.”

“You don’t think anything’s funny.”

Izuru watched the fireflies, and tried to stay confident in his abilities. Emotions muddled things, made it hard to think. Sometimes he reached for a talent and it simply wasn’t there. It happened more and more these days, and he wasn’t sure if it was something he could train himself to endure or if one day he would simply lose everything that made him special. Everything that had made him… worth it. 

He didn’t know if he would be able to create miracle cures with the inspiration of Nagito’s death. 

He’d had enough trouble understanding his chart with the concern clawing at his heart like an enraged beast. 

Nagito shivered, and considering it was seventy degrees out, Izuru felt that concern return, and pressed a hand to his forehead. He was starting to feel warm, and he looked pale. 

“We should get you back.” he crawled out of the tent and offered Nagito a hand up. Nagito looked reluctant, but he stood anyway. As soon as he was standing straight he felt a dizziness come over him, one he recognized.

“I’m sorry to worry you,” he mumbled, stumbling against Izuru. 

Izuru would remember the feeling of Nagito’s body falling against him and then immediately to the ground forever. 

“Nagito!” he dropped to his knees, shaking hands lifting the figure lying prone in the grass. 

It was a blur after that. Running to the hospital, doctors taking Nagito away from him. 

He heard things like ‘irresponsible’ and ‘he’s seizing’ and ‘your parents?’ and ‘get him out of here!’

He saw things like Nagito convulsing, his chest going still, his head falling limp to the side as doctors placed an oxygen mask over his mouth. 

Then he was sitting in a waiting room, all the sounds in the world assaulting his ears and all the sights in the world assaulting his eyes until all he could do was pull his legs up onto the chair, hold them tight to his chest and close his eyes, cover his ears with his hands and-

“Izuru?”

There was so much of it all, he couldn’t process so many things at once-

“Izuru, sweetie.”

He opened his eyes. 

Chisa had a hand on his shoulder, another on his cheek. She was looking at him with concern.

“How… did you-” words were getting hard so he trailed off there knowing she’d grasp his meaning.

“You gave them my number, you don’t remember?” she asked. “Izuru, what happened. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Did something happen with Nagito?”

He nodded. 

She rubbed his arm softly. “Okay, sweetie. I’m gonna go ask the nurses about it, alright? Then we’re gonna go somewhere quiet.”

Next thing Izuru knew he was sitting in the backseat of a car. He could feel the vibrations from the engine, and after a moment he turned his head to see Sakakura in the driver’s seat and Chisa beside him. 

“I thought he’d be okay,” he said quietly, immediately getting both of their attention. “I thought… I thought. I should have known. It gets hard, and people pay…” his head fell to one side, hair falling in loose tangles all about him. “I just wanted him to feel happy. We talked about how he might stop. He told me if he died I had to use his death and my talent to help others… but my talent turns off when I think about him dying.”

“You just get distracted,” Sakakura said. “It’s not turning off, it’s just harder to focus when you have emotions.”

“Yeah.” Chisa reached over and squeezed his hand. “You’ll get better at it. Until then, it’s okay to ask for help and it’s okay to make mistakes. It sounds like you did something really nice for him.”

Izuru pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and pushed hard. 

“They said we can see him tomorrow,” Chisa said. “He needs rest for now.”

Izuru put his hand on the door handle and Sakakura made a sharp disapproving noise.

“You’ve done enough of that for one day,” he said warningly, and Chisa, seeing Izuru fall back into guilt, gave Sakakura a kick for it. 

“First thing tomorrow, okay?” Chisa said.

“... can I wait here?” Izuru asked.

“You should come home and get some rest.”

“Can I wait here?”

“Izuru…” 

He stared at her with his intense red eyes.

Chisa sighed, sometimes to take care of someone you had to tell them no. Telling Izuru Kamukura no was near impossible, as he could just do whatever he wanted and no one could stop him. However, he’d shown on many occasions that he respected her wishes and guidance. 

“Home. So you can rest,” she said.

Izuru looked like he might argue again, but then he sighed and nodded.

Sakakura drove them home, and Chisa battled with Izuru over every bit of self care she could get him to accomplish from eating dinner to changing into pajamas. She caught him pretending to sleep and in the end invited him to come watch movies with her all night. 

His single minded nervous energy was almost too much, but after awhile she managed to distract him with movies and snacks until he fell victim to the human weakness of fatigue and drifted off to sleep curled up and resting on the arm of the couch. 

But he was awake bright and early at five am. 

Nagito looked frail, like a ghost of himself, laying in the hospital bed. 

Izuru had the urge to shake him awake to make sure he was still alive, but then again he also had the urge to turn around and leave to guard the door so he could continue resting. Nagito ended up deciding for him by waking, as if sensing him nearby.

“... your face looks kinda scary,” he said hoarsely, with a quiet chuckle.

Izuru glared and took Nagito’s hand. 

“Ooh, scarier now,” Nagito teased.

“Why are you laughing at me?” Izuru huffed. 

“Because you’re making me laugh,” Nagito said helpfully. “Hey, our fireflies, did you go back for them?”

Izuru’s face grew surprised and sad as he remembered their abandoned campsite.

“That’s okay. Just go back for them later, alright? And my books?” 

“I will. How are you feeling?”

Nagito sighed, looking a bit exasperated and yet sad. “I can’t seem to get away from that question.”

“Have you been answering it?” Izuru raised a critical eyebrow and Nagito smiled sheepishly.

“I feel… bad,” he sat up with a wince, and Izuru immediately made him lay back down. “I won’t break.”

“You might stop,” Izuru said, voice shaking.

“Oh…” Nagito took Izuru’s hand again. “That’s why you look so upset. I scared you with that, didn’t I? Talking about death and stuff.”

Izuru didn’t answer. 

“Hey. Big guy, look at me. I’m alright.”

Izuru didn’t look at him. 

“Okay. Come here.” Nagito slid over a bit, ignoring Izuru’s protests at his moving. He patted the bed next to him. Izuru was ashamed of how quickly he slid into the empty space, still clutching Nagito’s hand like a lifeline. Nagito pressed their foreheads together and pulled Izuru’s hand over to rest on the pulseline on his neck. “Let’s just get you reassured, okay? I need a nap after that nap I just took, and you need to look less scary.”

Izuru didn’t say anything, but Nagito saw his facial expression change ever so slightly, saw the emotions stirring under the surface of his calm face. Gratitude, awe, love, relief, happiness, and yet still worry, guilt, fear. 

Careful, Izuru, you’re becoming one of us, Nagito thought idly to himself. Should I be flattered or feel guilty for laying him so low?

“Sleep,” Izuru ordered him, seeing the wheels turning in his head.

“Yes sir,” Nagito sighed, cuddling as close as he could without disrupting Izuru’s hand on his pulse. He slept easily, his body exhausted and dosed with painkillers. Izuru slept just as easily, feeling calmed by Nagito’s steady heartbeat and tired from a night of worry.

[bubblellop]

26 for literally any of your characters, as many as you want just give me the goods

26: What is your favorite headcanon for your character?

My god ive already said so many of them im running out of the interesting ones, so pardon if i repeat myself lol. Anyway have a BUNCH of them. Have fun

Adalia:

Has set the forest on fire before, a lot of times actually, still does it.

First time she met Rhett and Olivers family, she just....decided to sit in the fireplace. Just, chill in the fire, in front of their family. A lot of explaining had to be done.

Never showered in her life.

Likes singing! Its a GREAT and healthy alternative to screaming and setting things on fire!

Canonly says fuck. This isnt a headcanon its just a fact-

Lilyana:

This one is already known, but Lily likes sleeping in the bath. She really likes the bathroom in fact, even tho for her it serves no purpose. Just a small water room, she loves it.

Once said fuck infront of Rhett, leaned next to him and said "Go on. No one will believe you."

Knows sign language.

Likes dissapearing every once in a while. As a treat. (This really stresses Adalia and Oliver tho Lily please :(((( dont do that, even if its for a couple hours) (also by disapearing i mean she just takes long walks unanounced like the rebel she is)

Oliver:

Stole a spoon once and felt really bad about it.

He plays the ukelele uwu

Has anxiety, things just stress him out alot sometimes, but he's gotten better at controlling it :)

As he knows Adalia and Lily's diet is...weird, he takes it as a challenge to make dishes they like AND is healthy for them!!! (If all fails tho, just give them hot sauce and ice cream am i right)

Him and Adalia have their own weird adventures sometimes!!! They come back home all scratched up and no one even questions it after a while. Their dinamic may not appear much but their both great together adfh

Rhett:

*swears in spanish* *swears in spanish* *swears in sp

The hoodie he wears is for comfort and emotional support :) even tho he will never admit to it but its okay hes a coward and a b-

Jams to old p!atd song along with Stef. Ah they both hate to admit they are scene kids at heart.....

Canonly punched Lilyana in the face. Man chapter 5 is wilding lol

Stephanie:

I like to think there are times she forgets to take off her glasses, hides it when shes with the others, and just be legally blind for an entire day.

"Sophie i cant read that" "oh well then you could just get your-" chokes Sophie with a pillow

When shes not with the twins, she spends time in a smoothie shop she likes :) the girl just tries to avoid going home huh

Is more of a bi mess if were being honest. She straight up looked at her two most bitter friends and went "hey how about i just try to flirt with them to see their reaction lol" but they both dont realize it/ignore it.

Has a shit ton of sketchbooks!!! If u dont know shes really into fashion and wants to persue that as a career :)

When shes bored with Sophie, she will try to annoy the hell outta her, shake her, hug her, play with her notes, moan and grunt, you name it.

This girl has so many talents such as piano, violin, ballet, art, singing, designing, writing and much more!!!

Ansskdks stef will paint rhetts nail black because emo rights skdkdksf

Sophie:

She and her older brother are really cool!!! They both just VIBE with eachother and id say they have the best sibling bond!!! I live for their foolery!!!

Very composed and serious, but when shes excited you WILL know, she acts like a child its adorableee.

Canonly the shortest, shes shapped like a friend and i wanna hug her okay-

She insisted on having a laboratory for her "research", so they just keep giving her the basement skddksc (both in the twins house and sophs home)

OH YOU DIDNT EXPECT T H E S E ONES HUH!

Liv:

She has a garden :) where may you ask? The entire forest is her garden if you think about it.

Liv is actually older than the twins. (I dont know why the idea seems cursed, shes too baby)

Literally has the best dinamics with everyone, shes just so nice and patient no one can hate her...

Skyle:

She hisses at humans, this is normal to the rest.

I like to think they all went and stole their clothes, and id say skyle just went to a costume shop and picked the coolest thing she saw (a pirate costume).

She sleeps in a tree branch

The strongest of the guardians, she likes training, she almost never has to fight anything tho, so she will go and find a bear or smth and just go feral ya know (there are no bears in that forest, sam probably summons a fake one so Skyle doesnt go mad)

Jamie:

Has read EVERY BOOK about bugs Samantha has.

Have i mentioned they loves bugs. They likes ladybugs the most.

"GUYSS IM ALMOST 10 I CAN HANDLE THIS" - them every time. Doing anything. The rest care alot about her okay.

If all the guardians (adalia, lily, liv, skyle, sam and themself if your wondering) were to be left alone, they would be most likely to survive, just sayin

Samantha:

Only lets Jamie in her library, the rest are allowed ONCE a week. Get out of her sight.

Goth

Very tall, pale and skinny, shes a vampire is2g-

May not show it but she doesnt like humans either, just finds them a bit gross. Doesnt say anything out of courtesy tho.

Doesnt like cutting her hair, she will SCREAM if you try to.

Aaaand im tired its 12 ive spent half an hour in this and im DEAD. God i hope at least 2 of them are interesting.

[toumakibangs]

This is my family: I found it all on my own. [Part IV. Trip]

Prompt: “I could kill you right now!”

Jules’ Notes: Sorry, I had to switch prompts because I really really didn’t manage to finish this one yesterday! Anyway, second to last installment of our SingleDads!AU. I swore I wasn’t going to give you the Hakone trip and here I am, giving you the Hakone trip!

You just can’t keep these guys away from the mountains…

[sidenote: there was a scene in the first draft featuring the kids discovering bikes. It got cut out in the end, but who knows what will happen in the future…]

At long last, they manage to free themselves from their busy schedule to organize a proper trip to Hakone: Toudou insists on having them as guests at his family’s ryokan, and although at first Makishima attempts to protest and offer proper payment for his and Sakamichi’s stay, at some point he decides he isn’t really in the position to turn down an offer of free accommodation into a traditional inn with renowned hot springs.

The day before they leave for the weekend, he gets Sakamichi a Love!Hime mini-trolley that matches his kindergarten backpack and pencil case, and shows him how grown-ups pack their things before travelling. Hakone is just a couple of hours away, by train, but it’s still the longest journey that Sakamichi has ever taken, and he has never spent a night in a place that is not his bedroom since Makishima brought him home, so it deserves some preparation. Reassurances about potty breaks and futons, but also promises about food and baths and beautiful scenery: Sakamichi dozes off with a smile, dreaming about sweet mochi in beautiful shapes, and Makishima takes off his glasses and tucks the covers around him.

The child alternates excitement and worry, and it’s the most adorable thing Makishima has ever seen. They avoid an unpleasant accident on the shinkansen, a small victory that grants Sakamichi a proud high-five from his guardian, along with a loud kiss on his plump cheek that makes him laugh and a big hug, just because. They have a light snack before arriving, and step off the train chuckling at a silly joke Sakamichi heard from the tv the previous day.

Toudou is waiting for them on the platform, holding Sangaku’s hand: the child looks around with a dreamy expression, but lights up immediately the moment he spots his friend and starts running in his direction, tugging Toudou along. They exchange cordialities as the kids greet each other enthusiastically. They haven’t talked about the text from a few nights before, the one that Makishima has left unanswered out of sheer panic, but he doesn’t feel any sort of awkward vibe stemming from Toudou, which puts his mind a little more at ease. Or would put it at ease, if it wasn’t that now he feels hyper aware of Toudou, always: had his hair always looked so shiny? Was his skin always that flawless? Why hadn’t Makishima ever noticed his built before? Was it because Toudou’s casual wear hugged his body in ways his more formal attire didn’t? Had he whitened his teeth in the past days?!

- Sorry for making the two of you come on your own: my parents needed help and we came here several days ago.

- I hope we are not intruding, is it okay for us to stay?

Toudou waves off his concerns.

- Sure. Nothing serious, just ordinary maintenance and family reunions. When they know I’m on vacation, they take advantage of me as much as they can. Plus, Grandma likes to spoil Sangaku a little, doesn’t she, Sangaku?

The kid looks up puzzled, like he doesn’t really understand what the word means, and he hugs Toudou’s leg in answer, earning himself a pat on the head. Makishima smiles at Sangaku, but evidently the only effect it has is to scare him enough to hide behind Toudou’s knees. Sakamichi takes it as a game and does the same, peeking and waving at Sangaku from the space between Makishima’s legs. Sangaku giggles and answers in kind. Toudou grins at the toddlers and fishes keys out of a pocket.

- Let’s go, I took one of the inn’s vans!

*

- Are you sure this is alright?

Makishima asks again while they’re putting his and Sakamichi’s trolley away and buckling up the kids in the car seats, and again Toudou reassures him.

- I’ve told you to not worry: we have already scheduled today’s trips for all the guests and we’re free to use the van as we please. We might need to stop by one of our suppliers on the way back, though. We almost ran out of sake at the inn and our trusted distillery is on the way back. I promised I would have stocked up in exchange of the van.

The boys squeal at nothing in particular, maybe just at the prospect of their trip including another, surprise stop. Makishima raises a brow at Toudou, who checks Sangaku’s belts one last time and then scratches his head.

- They have child-friendly snacks there too, I promise.

Toudou starts the engine while Makishima closes his own door and holds the small backpack on his knees.

- We took the liberty of bringing a double dessert. Chocolate.

- I love chocolate!

Manami pipes up from behind Toudou, who winks at him and also rolls his eyes theatrically.

- Who doesn’t! But that’s very nice of you: we actually have extra watermelon ourselves, don’t we, Sangaku?

- I can spit the seeds very far!

Toudou groans and apologizes for his son’s loose tongue, but Makishima can already feel Sakamichi vibrating in excitement.

- So cool, Manami-kun!

Makishima resigns himself to having to teach his son how to spit watermelon seeds like an automatic rifle.

*

The Hakone mountains are beautiful. More beautiful than Makishima remembered and more beautiful than he expected. They pick an easy path, one appropriate for the children and that leads to a clearing where they can have a picnic. The scenery is breath-taking, so much that for a while, Makishima forgets to speak. Sakamichi turns on himself while he walks, starstruck and with his mouth wide open. For a moment, Makishima thinks the new environment has broken his kid, but then something blue zooms in his peripheral vision and he spots Sangaku running ahead, looking more focused and determined that Makishima has ever seen him. The kid sprints like he has wings, fast and unstoppable and gaining advantage on them after every second. Makishima makes to call after him, but Toudou puts a hand on his arm and signals him that it’s alright.

- The path is clear and safe, and Sangaku knows he has to stay where I can see him. I know it may seem irresponsible of me, but… sometimes he needs to be let free. We have an agreement that climbing trees and playing near the river is only to be done under my supervision, but he loves these places, and he likes running around so much… it does him a lot of good, honestly. He’s the happiest up here, I can’t really bring myself to ground him with too many rules.

Makishima nods, still a little apprehensive at the sight of Sangaku distancing himself from them. He didn’t think he would have been that kind of parent, with how much he values his own freedom, but here he is. And Sakamichi, at his side, has his eyes glued to Manami but throws furtive glances up at him while his legs shake in the effort of staying still. Makishima puts two and two together.

- Sakamichi, do you want to go, too?

Sakamichi’s eyes go wide and he gasps, a little overwhelmed by the mere chance of knowing the possibility to follow Manami exists, of being given a choice on the matter. His voice is high-pitched. Higher than usual at least, and squeaky.

- C-Can I???

Makishima is at a loss, because on one hand he would really really prefer that Sakamichi, being inexperienced and a little clumsy, stayed a little closer – but on the other he knows he’d feel just as bad if he were to deny Sakamichi the chance to have fun. It is one thing to put up rules and boundaries to educate a child and make him learn to eat his vegetables and stay safe, but it is another to actually prevent him from enjoying a trip into what is basically a big, organic playground. Plus, Sakamichi is unawarely making the face that Makishima can’t resist, therefore it’s an already lost battle. Trying to not think about all the ways a child can hurt himself in the open and mentally recalling the dates of every single vaccine shot Sakamichi has taken (the booster one for tetanus was one of the last, and Makishima was present for that, so he’s covered), he adjusts his son’s cap and takes his small backpack to make him lighter.

- Go. But don’t go where I can’t see you.

Sakamichi’s face breaks up in the most dazzling smile Makishima has ever received and the kid shouts a ‘thank you’ before running after Sangaku, who is waiting for him. Makishima has brought Sakamichi to their neighbourhood’s park often, he knows his kid loves to play and doesn’t shy away from hide-and-seek or tag, but being smaller and not very fast or strong, he does shy away from his peers, a little, which always makes him look a bit withdrawn in the crowd of children. He’s different with Shunsuke, and Shoukichi, more relaxed and more prone to participate in whatever activity they come up with, even if it usually ends up with him running after and keeping up with the other two as they butt head and compete over every little thing. This is another thing entirely, and Makishima has a hard time acknowledging that the resolute boy running fast in front of him is his son: Sakamichi’s legs move fast, and although it should tire him to keep up such a speed, it really doesn’t, and Sakamichi calls for Sangaku while he catches up (he always does that) and doesn’t even slow down when the two of them sprint together in another direction, heading towards a big stone first, a bunch of lilac flowers later, and then towards a weirdly shaped log that Sangaku swears it’s full of lizards they can chase.

They laugh loudly as the quick reptiles escape swiftly through their fingers and Makishima is torn between wanting to cry of joy at such a healthy display of ease and well-being, and the urge to sanitize every single blade of grass and kill every potentially dangerous insect in a two-meters-radius from Sakamichi. He hears Toudou chuckle at his right.

- Yeah, it’s really hard the first time.

- Shut up. I could kill you right now.

Toudou laughs and shifts his own backpack more so it rests more comfortably on his shoulders.

- Let’s go, Maki-chan! We have to keep up with our sons and show them who they’re dealing with!

He walks past him and flows into a higher rhythm without missing a beat. Before Makishima knows, Toudou is several steps ahead of him and he has to run to catch him again and settle on his speed. It’s a very comfortable one.

*

- You come here often?

A little more than an hour later, they’re sprawled on their respective quilts on the grass and setting up the food and cutlery for their pic-nic. There are dedicated resting areas on the track, with proper tables and facilities, but Toudou recommended a more classic experience, for their first trip. Makishima admits that the atmosphere is more bucolic this way.

- As often as I can. Yeas, Sangaku does indeed love it up here, but there are also steep paths that are meant for adults, not children, that I enjoy walking alone. The view is really striking up there.

Toudou points at the different mountains and the woods as he speak, with the confident air of someone who know very well what he’s talking about and that is in his element. It’s striking in a completely different way from the scenery. Makishima clears his throat, feeling the collar of his shirt suddenly too constricting, and he takes out of Sakamichi’s Love!Hime backpack a matching lunchbox.

- He’s really into it, isn’t he? The show.

Makishima looks up and follows Toudou’s line of sight, noticing the little backpack, the lunchbox, the ball Sakamichi and Sangaku are playing with and the mini trolley they have left in the van. He shrugs.

- I believe cartoons are Sakamichi’s biggest passion, as a whole, but he really got into this one, he’s totally in love. He made me watch it with him more than once and… I admit I can see why he likes it so much. It’s the story of a very average girl, with no talent whatsoever, who gets chosen to be a magical girl because of her kindness, but being her an unskilled person, she has to learn how to be a magical girl and improve her magical abilities. She has to overcome several trials in every episode and gets discouraged easily, but she makes good friends along the way. Plus, she has the help of a very weird looking mentor and her love interest is a very gifted apprentice from another magical academy.

- Are you sure you’re not into it as well?

Makishima chuckles and runs his thumb over the lunchbox, from where Kotori is making a peace sign at him.

- I think it’s a good show, for kids. No wonder it’s so popular. And it’s hard to explain, but while he enjoys pretty much every tv show meant for his age, this is different. This Love!Hime thing… inspires him. Does it make sense? I don’t know, maybe a child psychologist would hold a different opinion, but… it gives him courage, to think about what these characters would do if they were in his place. I’ve also been able to explain him bigger concepts, using them and their adventures, and he grasps them easily in those terms. So, yeah, Love!Hime is a very big deal in our household, and we really like our merchandise. One would say I spoil him too much, but… it doesn’t really feels that way? I mean… he never asks for anything. At all. And, I mean… if he needs something new, like his backpack when he started attending kindergarten, why shouldn’t I get him one with his favourite hero printed on? I can afford it.

Toudou lets him talk, guessing there’s a little more history behind his words.

- I’m not a spendthrift, nor a squanderer, but when Sakamichi came home with me all his possessions could fit into a small suitcase and were old hand-me-downs that made me feel sad just by looking at them. And his most treasured toy was the plush hippo I had got for him when we met at the zoo. He hasn’t owned pretty much anything until now, and he’s not a capricious child. He likes a cartoon with a magical girl and stuffed animals, why shouldn’t I get him these things, when I have the chance? Geez, he doesn’t even take me for granted, I still have a hard time making him understand that the things he has belong to him…

Toudou offers him rice balls with a tender expression.

- I know the feeling. I just wish Sangaku loved this way something else, apart from the mountains.

Makishima takes the lid off his box of takoyaki and puts it in the middle of the quilt, to share. Toudou calls the boys and, as they come, Makishima can’t believe Sakamichi still has the energy to chatter. At his left, Toudou wrestles sanitizer into Sangaku hands before allowing him near the food, but he’s doing so with a fond smile that turns even brighter when the child start eating in earnest, even looking for this or that snack they brought. Sakamichi does the same, trying dishes without even asking what’s in there. Toudou helps Sangaku with a water bottle.

- He’s a little picky with his food, but I think we’re getting better.

Makishima thinks about Sakamichi’s quiet acceptance of everything he puts in his plate, even when it’s clear that he’s not fond of some tastes, and watches him munch happily on Toudou’s salads. He kisses the top of his child’s head and asks Toudou for some recipes.

*

Predictably, the kids take a nap during the ride back to Toudou-an, but they’re wide awake for the traditional bath.

- The main pool is too hot for children, but we have an indoor bath where we keep the water’s temperature to a lower degree, if you’d like to let Sakamichi soak. He can enter the hot springs too, but he should sit outside of the water. Manami usually does that.

- I think we’ll make do with the indoor one, for now. Are you coming with us?

The words are out before Makishima can think about their implications. Toudou scratches his head.

- I would like to sort things out with my parents, first: you know, the sake order and everything, but if you feel comfortable enough to handle Sangaku, I could leave him in your care. I admit I like the hot springs better, so I wouldn’t mind postponing the bath a little and go soak while he’s asleep.

Makishima nods and goes to retrieve a change of clothes for him and Sakamichi, only to find a couple of yukatas on their futons. Already imagining Sakamichi’s face once he’ll tell him he has to wear such a garment, he goes back and gathers the kids, leading them inside the bath. On an empty bench there’s another tiny yukata waiting for Sangaku. Who luckily is an expert in terms of bathing and turns out to be very helpful in teaching Sakamichi all the ways of a communal pool and of a traditional ryokan.

*

Dinner is a light affair and the kids are asleep before they swallow the last bite of their dessert. They agree on letting them sleep close to each other for the time being, even if Makishima and Sakamichi’s futons are actually on the other side of the paper panel that divides the reasonably sized room that Toudou and Sangaku usually occupy when they visit.

- Sorry I couldn’t manage to get you another one. High season.

- Exactly because it’s high season it’s already very generous of you to host us for free. Do not worry about such trivial things.

- Maki-chan.

- Mh?

- Go enjoy the hot springs. The real thing, I mean. I can watch over the kids for a while.

- I already bathed, I wouldn’t want to im-

- I insist. They’re the pride of our inn: my grandmother will chase me with a broomstick if she finds out I let you go without a proper soak.

Toudou’s grandmother is a formidable looking ancient woman who could probably outlive her whole progeny and wouldn’t do so out of sheer pity and spirit of adventure. The image of her running after her rude nephew brandishing a broomstick is as comical as it is plausible, and Makishima laughs.

- Alright, I’ll go. Thank you.

*

The problem is, after the thirty minutes that they agreed on, Toudou goes too.

And Makishima would have left on time, and given him the change with the kids, if he hadn’t dozed off in the bath, but of course he did, and of course now he gets to wake up to the very sight he tried so hard to avoid: that of a very naked Toudou sitting dangerously close to him in a deserted hot spring. And shaking him into consciousness, which is a bonus that didn’t belong to the fantasy.

- Maki-chan! That’s why you should never bathe alone! Wake up! Are you alright?!

Makishima has enough presence of mind and coordination to stand up on his own and pull a towel around his waist in the meantime, grateful to the deities that Toudou has had the decency to never take his own off in the first place. He doesn’t know if he feels more embarrassed (and is therefore more red) for having being caught dead asleep in a public hot spring he’s been invited to, for the hot water or for standing in his birthday suit in front of his equally unclothed crush. Because yes, in the past half-hour he’s finally come to terms with the fact that he most likely has a crush on Toudou. Talk about mineral-rich waters and their power to clear minds and, contextually, complicate things.

- I… I think I should go.

- I’m coming with you.

- You’ve barely put foot in the bath.

- I’ve grown up here. I can live with missing a night. Besides, there’s still tomorrow morning. The sun comes up from that side. It’s beautiful.

Why is everything about you and your family absolutely breath-taking!?

Makishima nods, because there’s nothing else he can do, and stumbles into the changing rooms, Toudou in tow. They get dressed in silence, turned in opposite directions, but in their hast to finish before each other they end up tying their yukatas and moving to the exit at the same moment. The walk back to the room they share it’s an awkward one, and Makishima tries to find an excuse to pull that paper door close on his side of the accommodation without sounding too rude. Because what if he has completely misunderstood the situation and ends up ruining this, whatever it is, and also Sakamichi’s first friendship?

Toudou catches the sleeve of his yukata in front of their door. True to his nature, he’s staring straight into Makishima’s eyes.

- You are troubled. What is it?

Makishima swallows and looks away, touching his neck and grimacing at the naked skin he finds there. He hasn’t let his hair down. How could he forget to let his hair down!?

- It’s because of what I said, isn’t it? About the text I sent you the night I came back from the hospital.

Makishima wouldn’t be able to speak even if he wanted to. And he’s not sure he wants to, because he doesn’t trust his tongue, his mouth, his eyes, his body, anything about him. And Toudou makes of his silence what he wants…

- I’m sorry, I… I shouldn’t have sent it, I… I never meant to make things awkward. I… – he sighs, running fingers through his hair, and does Makishima have to notice right now that Toudou is not wearing a headband and is probably the one person in the whole world that looks good with bangs?! – I was vulnerable, that day. I had just put Sangaku to sleep with stitches on his eyebrow. I was exhausted and I felt so grateful towards you, you have no idea how much. I overstepped and overshared, and I’m sorry if my words came out wrong. They were true though: I was thinking about you when Sangaku got hurt, and maybe I felt the need to say it out loud because it helped me ease the guilt a little. I’ve… It’s been a while, since I have… built something with a person. Connected to someone new. And you are – you’re a force of nature, but an approachable one. I know it’s not easy for you, either, but you make it seem easier, being a parent, and I… I really needed it, right now. Someone like you.

Makishima kisses first, and neither he or Toudou expected that. In fact, Toudou stills under his hands and lips and Makishima pulls back enough to look at his slightly horrified face and his stomach drops to the ground. But Toudou has stopped talking.

- I just ruined everything, didn’t I? I… I got it all wrong, and you were merely referring to my presence in your life as a fellow single parent with a troubled child and a peculiar history, didn’t you?! Geez, of course you did, I don’t even know where you swin-

Toudou kisses second, and he kisses hard. Makishima understands now why Toudou might have not responded to his assault, he doesn’t feel able to either, he’s too stunned by the absurdity of the whole situation to even lift a hand. Toudou steps back but leaves his hands on Makishima’s neck.

- I swing in any way you need me to. And no, you didn’t misunderstand anything.

They kiss again, and this time it’s a mutual thing, which makes everything more interesting and less awkward. Toudou feels and tastes exactly like Makishima imagined (because now he can admit to himself he has been imagining this for quite some time). Makishima fits into his arms as perfectly has Toudou hoped he would. Makishima leans on the thin wall and pulls Toudou along, hands growing bolder and roaming over bodies and loose yukatas. They pull apart only when it’s absolutely necessary to do so, panting.

- It’s been…

- A while? Yeah, me too. You know, with a kid and everything…

Toudou laughs and rests his head on his shoulders. Makishima hugs him. It feels good. He had forgotten how good it could feel. He dives for another kiss. Sakamichi’s scream stops him before their lips can touch again and he pushes Toudou off of himself. He doesn’t take offense and doesn’t miss a bit. Makishima thinks he could fall in love with this man.

- What is it? – he asks as Makishima pulls open the door and kneels at his child’s side.

- Nightmare. Sakamichi. Sakamichi!

Sakamichi wakes up, startled and scared and in an environment that he doesn’t recognize. Predictably, he falls into an hysterical cry, but while Toudou is close to panic, Makishima seems to know what he’s doing. Therefore, Toudou focuses on his own kid, jolted awake by Sakamichi’s cries and close to a fear-induced tantrum himself.

Makishima disappears behind the inner paper door and turns on a lamp to give the room a warm glow of orange light. Toudou watches his silhouette from the other side of the light panel and hushes Sangaku, who hiccups sleepily into his arms. Makishima comes out several minutes later, cradling Sakamichi to his chest. Toudou notices that the child is still wide awake and slightly unsettled, and hugged tight to the hippo plush that Toudou imagines is the one Makishima told him about.

- Jinpachi, can you do me a favour?

Toudou nods.

- Would it be possible to warm up some milk, with a drop of honey? I have the sippy cup in my bag.

Toudou stands up, Sangaku on his hip.

- I’m on it, don’t worry. There’s an extra blanket in the wardrobe, should you need it, and spare futons as well: I don’t think he’s had any accident, but it’s better if you know, just in case.

Makishima mouths a ‘thank you’ and watches him leave the room with a light pang of loss. Then Sakamichi shudders again, and his attention is diverted to something much more important.

*

An hour or so later, the kids are asleep again, but the four of them are huddled on a single double futon, since it has proven impossible to separate Sangaku from Sakamichi without either of them fussing, and Sakamichi wouldn’t have let Makishima go if his life depended on it.

- Does it happen often?

- The nightmares? Not anymore. It was worse, at the beginning, but every now and then he has one.

- Sangaku did too, but in a sense it was worse, because he’s always been a silent kid, so I wouldn’t know there was a problem until it was bad enough that he came crawling into my bed. Which, in my opinion, was already too late.

- How did you deal with it?

- I put a monitor on his nightstand and developed a sixth sense.

- I know what you mean.

Sakamichi mumbles something into his sleep and Makishima cuddles him closer.

- About earlier. Perhaps we should… ah…

- …take things slow?

- Yeah. Don’t… don’t get me wrong, Jinpachi, it’s not like I want out, I just…

- …have a kid. So do I. And it’s been a while. Same here.

Makishima looks at him with longing, mixed with guilt. It’s a look Toudou knows well, and he can’t help himself: he tucks a stray lock of curly green hair behind Makishima’s ear and leaves his hand on Makishima’s cheek.

- I’m okay with slow, Maki-chan.

Makishima closes his eyes and they both lean over for a last kiss. A slow one.

[lacquerware]

2017 Recap Part 1: LTTPs

::UPDATE:: Added DARIUSBURST: Chronicle Saviours! 

It’s time we acknowledged there are too damned many games, and too many of them are spectacular. If nuclear war breaks out tomorrow and all video game production ceases permanently, I’ve still got a mountain of unplayed masterpieces high enough to keep me entertained until death, even if I manage to immigrate to an underground survival vault and only die of natural causes many decades later.

Unless that happens, I fear I’ll never even come close to playing ‘em all. I certainly didn’t play all of 2017’s must-plays in 2017. I did, however, catch up on a few greats from years past. Here are my favorite non-2017 games I played in 2017. 

The Last Guardian

Despite spending the better part of a decade acting like an absentee father, The Last Guardian so splendidly averted disappointing me—and on the heels of a year whose running theme was disappointment—that it almost mended some deep, long-broken thing inside my soul—the part that is always whispering, “Expect the worst.” My 2016 sure could’ve used TLG at the end of it, but as it stands, it made for a strong start to 2017. I could follow that sentence with a lot of cynical things about how 2017 turned out, but as far as gaming is concerned, 2017 was one of the most triumphant years in recorded history.

I already wrote at length about my experience with The Last Guardian, but I’ll just reiterate the main takeaway: the game made me feel a personal connection with an in-game character. This is something almost all modern games attempt and fail at (for me). In TLG, connecting with Trico is the game. You achieve the connection through doing and experiencing—not through watching conversations unfold or making superficial dialogue selections. In this way, it demonstrates a base understanding of the merits of the video game medium that I feel many modern games miss. Fumito Ueda’s oft-noted influence from Another World is clear to see here; the action is the story, and Trico and the Boy’s evolving relationship is almost a wholesale recreation of that between Another World’s protagonist and alien buddy (Ico of course did this as well, right down to the hanging cage escape). The Last Guardian and Another World should both be required playing for aspiring designers or anyone who wants to better understand the medium.

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Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag

Ubisoft, to me, is the headquarters of Western game design. I can’t believe how big and feature-rich and user-friendly their games are. They are less “games,” more comprehensive simulations of specific identity fantasies, like “assassin” or “hacker” or “Italian.” They want to let you do everything. 

But also, they want to be the user’s best friend. They will betray their own painstakingly achieved immersion if it means letting the player cram a little more fun into the two hours a week they have to dedicate to gaming between work, parenting, studying, and such. 

That is why in Ghost Recon: Wildlands—ostensibly a game about US grunts gittin’ ‘er done and surviving the Bolivian wilderness—still lets you teleport anywhere at will, or change your loadout or upgrade your arsenal at any time, from anywhere, with no explanation. The explanation is understood: “It’s supposed to be fun.” I respect these decisions. Games are fun when they’re fun.

The problem is that many of their games are peppered with shallow activities which employ the cheap but powerful thrill of checklist psychology, and after awhile all their different franchises start to feel like one ongoing subscription to Highlights Magazine. How many Ubi games are going to challenge me to climb a tower that was designed only to be climbed? Is this any more a challenge than connecting a series of numbered dots in the order they’re numbered?

And yet, part of me still loves climbing those damn towers.

Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag is very much a Ubisoft Highlights Magazine game, but it’s also gaming’s quintessential pirate simulator and as such, one of gaming’s most distinct and necessary sandboxes. Pirates, like cowboys and ninjas and sneaker hedgehogs, were just meant to be a video game premise, and just as Red Dead Redemption did for cowboys, Black Flag lets you live out just about any pirate fantasy Hollywood might have planted in your childhood brain. Until Ubi makes a sequel, that makes Black Flag THE pirate game, as well as Assassin’s Creed’s most deviant installment (full disclosure: it’s the only one I’ve spent significant time with, but I am pretty sure I’m right). Your being an assassin feels like merely a convenient side effect of being a bloodthirsty pirate, leaving you free to focus on more thrilling pursuits like sieging island fortresses and rope-swinging onto enemy ships to singlehandedly thin out their crew to the point of surrender. What a joyous fantasy they have created here.

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Yakuza 5 (and 4)

I bought Yakuza 5 in Japan in 2014 after hearing part of the game takes place in my beloved Nagoya. (Go Dragons!) Well, I sat on that copy of Yakuza 5 until PlayStation Plus subscribers received both Yakuza 4 and 5 for free, and then I sat on it some more. At the start of 2017, as Yakuza 0 released and the series finally started to get the praise it probably deserved in the West, I suddenly remembered that these games were supposed to be good, and that part of 5 takes place in Nagoya, and finally I vowed to play through 5 before the end of 2017. 2017 is ending now, and I still haven’t done that. If I were a yakuza, I guess I’d have to like, lose a pinky joint or something.

I did try. But I figured I should start with Yakuza 4 to minimize my knowledge gap, and then it turned out that these games are tremendously long. Yakuza 4 was pretty fun sometimes, and also malevolently tedious at others. I found myself annoyed with the things I expected to like and quite taken with the things I expected to find insipid. Though the combat had its charms, it also had lots of annoying shit that made it feel bad. Lots of things knock you down, and getting up takes one thousand real-life years. Grappling is almost completely useless after the first couple hours. Critical elements which shouldn’t be locked behind an upgrade wall, are.

On the other hand, the hostess club minigame, which I fully expected to be an embarrassing blemish on the experience which ensured I would never be able to play the game with my wife in the room, turned out to be weirdly tasteful and compelling. I started the tutorial mission with my eyes rolling, and five minutes later my wife and I were having an earnest, spirited discussion about how we should do so-and-so’s makeup.  

Unfortunately, Yakuza 4 suffers from some pretty severe obtuseness. By the time I took control of the third protagonist, I was more interested in pursuing the hostess club subplot than the main storyline (which was surprisingly engaging but simply too long and twisty). But early on in the hostess club questline, a colleague sends you to the streets to hustle for new customers, giving you only the vaguest hints about where to go and what to do. After a full hour of fruitlessly patrolling points A, B, and C in search of anything worthwhile, I just gave up on the whole thing and ended up rushing through the rest of the game. When I finished, I was bewildered to learn that I had only completed “2%” of the game. Two percent?! Welllll fuck it.

Anyway, I did start Yakuza 5 and was delighted at how immediately better it looked and felt than its predecessor. I’m still in the first area with the first protagonist (of freaking FIVE), but the fighting is already more fun, and the dumb side stuff more readily accessible. And above all else, it does something I’ve never seen in a video game: it gives you a car, but demands that you follow the rules of the road. I don’t understand the science or the psychology here--but it’s fun.

Maybe in 2018 I’ll see Nagoya.

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(Image courtesy of Mobygames)

Castlevania Chronicles

I distinctly remember this game reviewing kind of poorly in certain publications, for the crimes of being too hard and too old-fashioned. The reviews also mentioned it was a port and a reworking of a remake of the original Castlevania which had first appeared on something called the X68000, and that was all convoluted enough to scare me away for the next sixteen years, despite very good box art.

I finally checked it out this year after grabbing it on a PSN sale for between one and two bucks, and now it seems to me that the “Arrange Mode” version of the game is actually one of the more fair and visually attractive moments in Classic Castlevania. A nice way to fill the ongoing Castlevania void (though I’m pretty sure that void is permanent).

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DARIUSBURST: Chronicle Saviours

Shoot-‘em-ups are the jazz of video game genres. Without ‘em, none of the other stuff that followed would’ve happened, but you still sound like a boring old dinosaur when you start name-dropping the old hits, and to be any good at them you have to be some kind of crazed savant with a mechanical brain and clockwork fingers. Or at least that’s the image.

Like jazz, shoot-‘em-ups still occupy a tiny, neglected corner of the party like obligatory chaperones. Most of the time they cost too much to convert anyone who isn’t already a fan of the genre, or even secure a sale from anyone with less than a hardcore personal investment in saving them from extinction. At least jazz has public-funded radio to work with. Shmups come out about once per decade per franchise, but the new ones still slip onto shelves at a full $59.99 price point as though they’re just like any other modern gaming franchise. To borrow a jazz lyric, something’s gotta give something’s gotta give something’s gotta give.

DARIUSBURST first came out on PSP, where I guess it was just a standard Darius, meaning you were a spaceship that shot exclusively at flying robot sea creatures. The Vita/PS4/PC upgrade, Chronicle Saviours, is by far the most justified shmup I’ve played of the last couple generations. It is fun, visually slick, digestible, and brimming with fan service for your shmuploving grampa.

I’ve only bothered with the Chronicle Saviours version of the game, which divides everything into little bite-sized branching missions on a progression tree, and every attempt you make awards points which can be used to buy ships, each of which changes the core gameplay mechanics in some way.

I like that the missions are so tiny and boss-centric. Many of them are just bosses, and although you repeat the same bosses over and over, they are such awesome sights to behold and so challenging to master that I am game for the repetition. The bosses also all seem to have variant types similar to Monster Hunter, and come to think of it, this is sort of the Monster Hunter of shmups. Lots of games are now the Monster Hunter of something.

Chronicle Saviours also introduces the “Burst Counter,” a risk-reward mechanic which challenges you to time a beam shot in sync with the enemy’s beam shot. When you succeed, your reward is a clash of beams that makes you feel like a ninja dueling atop a tightrope.

The thing that first sold me on the game—and I’ve never said this before ever—was the DLC. What Taito has done is just released a bunch of content packs which pay homage to beloved shmups of old, divided by publisher. There’s a Sega pack, a Capcom pack—even a Taito pack. Each one gives you access to old ships inspired by all the games that made me a shmuploving dinosaur in the first place—Layer Section, Space Harrier, Section Z, and on and on. And when I say “inspired,” I mean they use the actual names of the games and ships and stick those other games’ shooting mechanics into DARIUSBURST. It’s an unexpectedly explicit and thorough ode to some decades-old classics. Something about seeing a Layer Section logo in HD in 2017 (though Chronicle Saviours came out in 2015) feels like a triumph over the odds, like hearing your favorite unknown band on the soundtrack to a summer blockbuster or hit TV series.

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Earth’s Dawn

In a year in which I failed to play several of the most lauded games which released, including several that I already owned, it is downright silly that I made any time for Earth’s Dawn, which is an indie Japanese niche action title, but on second thought, I’m exactly the person who should’ve made time for Earth’s Dawn. That said, I only played it for a single session. Still, it’s weird and cool enough to deserve mention here, especially since it has been completely invisible since its release to PSN in 2016.

Earth’s Dawn is a 2D action game with bite-sized, quest-based progression and a loot and crafting system, all of which echo games like Monster Hunter. I keep seeing it compared to Metroidvanias, but this is a superficial comparison based solely on its being 2D and having a map. Metroidvanias are about exploration of unknown terrain. Earth’s Dawn is about fighting different enemy types and formations on a series of quickly learnable, compact boards, and getting resources for your trouble. It’s Monster Hunter. More accurately still, it's Mercenary Kings. It's really not Metroid at all. 

The combat feels like many of the recent wave of 2D “jugglers” like Odin Sphere or Shank or The Dishwasher. Honestly, I don’t ask for much more than that, but the game also has some pretty slick, colorful art, and a compelling cherry-on-top twist on its familiar structure: a countdown timer sits at the top of your mission and upgrade hub (just a set of menus), clicking down as you attempt to upgrade your character through missions and crafting. Once the timer expires, you must attempt a “Counter-Offensive” mission, which is a little meatier than your standard missions and culminates with a boss fight. So the game becomes a race to strengthen yourself enough to take on the boss before the timer runs out. This is reminiscent of one of my all-time favorites, Valkyrie Profile, and a clever way to give the entire experience a greater sense of importance and purpose, and also help prevent endless grinding.

Earth’s Dawn is just pretty enough, slick enough, and weird enough. Decidedly Lacquerware.

-------------------------- 

Mitsurugi Kamui Hikae

Two things are true of all my favorite combat-driven action games: 1) they give me an actual, literal adrenaline boost, and 2) they would be just as fun in a blank chamber with no such thing as level design.

MKH tests and supports this claim. It makes me wonder if games like Devil May Cry are actually any better for all their exposition and exploration and platforming. MKH is much like other "stylish action" or "character action" games, but dispenses entirely with the levels. All you do is cut suckas on a flat circle of terrain. But the combat is so fun and satisfying, the minimalism just means a faster track to that adrenaline kick. I played through MKH in one sitting and immediately began another. 

2017 was a great comeback year for flashy melee action, but MKH may well have been the only respectable installment in the genre in 2016 (PS4 release). Any fans of the genre would be remiss not to play it.

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Lost Planet 2

I’ve been a vocal LP2 fan since shortly after its release in 2010, so I'm technically not late to this party at all, but I need to toot its horn again. It is one of Capcom’s more misunderstood titles and came right at the brink of Capcom’s several-year-long identity crisis, which caused shit like Operation Raccoon City and DmC to happen (for the record: I love DmC). But I maintain an assertion that much of the game’s criticism was the result of misplaced expectations; people thought they were getting a space marine shooter—instead they got Monster Hunter with rad future shit, but in 2010 everybody here still hated Monster Hunter. I suspect the world is a lot more ready for LP2’s wild ride now than they were then, and the about-to-be-massive-success of Monster Hunter: World is all the proof you need.

I replayed LP2 in its entirety this year. Twice. I’m still unlocking new stuff, and most of it is cool: most recently, I got some grenades that let you open portals where you throw them (kind of like the portal gun in Portal), a shotgun that shoots confetti (and does more damage than any other shotgun), and a whole bunch of goofy dance emotes. I could (and eventually will) gush at great length about LP2, but for now I’ll just say that, yet again, it was one of the most enjoyable gaming experiences of the year. The Lost Planet games are the only internally-developed Capcom games of the previous generation that haven’t been rereleased, so, uh, we can probably expect an eventual rerelease. Yay! If I'm right, this time don’t miss it.

Next up: Bests of 2017!

[theseviolentdelightss]

Counting Paths VI

Series Summary: After a lifetime on the run from the Empire, Reader makes a move that could have drastic impacts for both friend and foe. A Reader insert/fanfic. Gifs belong to their respective owners.

Word Count:2490

Author’s Note: I love filling my stories with lots of character development. It feels so pivotal when writing an original character. Hope ya don’t mind! As always thanks for the likes a reblogs. Feel free to send feed back my way. I’d love to hear what all of you wonderful readers think of my little endeavor. 

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Cassian kept ahead of you as you exited the council room.  Your feet struggling to keep up while you traversed the various hallways that lead towards the room the two of you shared. Allowing your mind to wander you found yourself mulling over everything that had transpired only moments before. It would be a lie to say you weren't surprised by the outcome. Mostly you had expected the others to meet your words with various accusations and distrust. Never once had you truly allowed yourself to hope that they would honestly believe you. None the less, they had. To an extent at least...

After a short debate it was decided that you would be allowed to remain on base until the certainty of what you had told them could be proven. It wasn't easy handing over those data files. You had spent an entire year trying to decipher them. Constantly on the run, always holding them close; yet, you had nothing to show for it.

Removing the small file from you jacket's breast pocket felt as if you were handing over a part of yourself. As much as it pained you to place the thin black and silver object in one of Mon Mothma's technical officer's hands you couldn't deny the sensation of hope that began to swell inside your chest. The Empire had gone to great lengths to mass whatever information lay hidden within the vast network of codes and encryptions.  If the Rebellion could discover whatever it was than perhaps it would shift the balance in their favor. It may even save lives.

Even so, being grounded with a constant guardian had thrown you for a bit of a loop. A part of you had wished they would simply turn you lose. Allow you to return to whatever semblance of life you saw fit. Signing yourself back into the Rebellion had never been a part the plan. Truth be told it was the last thing you wanted, but here you were. Stuck on a Rebel base, surrounded by people who didn't trust you, tasked with proving yourself yet again. Not to mention glued to the hip of a man who was equally if not more annoyed by your current predicament than yourself.  As Cassian huffed you did your best to ignore him and instead focus of the possibility of finding away to keep yourself busy.  

“I'm not a damn baby sitter.” He repeated for the dozenth time as the two of you entered the small room you were doomed to share for who knows how long.

“Nor am I a baby.” You retorted. “But shit happens.”  

You watched as he removed his jacket and tossed it angrily across the room. Rolling your eyes you simply walked towards the trunk that had been moved from your ship and placed against the base of your bed. Rummaging through your belongings to assure that nothing was missing. Pulling out your old data pad you began entering in the coordinates for the various systems you hoped you would one day be allowed travel to. Calculating which to begin with and the whatever prospects may arise once you arrived.

“How do we even know that the Empire has anything worth while on those files?” He asked, his feet beginning to pace back and fourth within the small room. Boots thumping loudly with the weight of his frustration.

“No one goes to that much trouble burying files under mountains of encryptions just for giggles.” Sighing you retrieved a small pen and paper and settled atop the edge of your bed. Far too immersed with the task at hand to be bothered with the angry man in front of you. Sitting the data pad at your side you began tracing a map. Trying to determine the best course and the probability of success.  

“How can you be so sure?” He countered, his accent even heavier now that he was angry.

“Optimism.” You replied calmly. “It helps in situations like these.”

“I can't just stay here.” Reaching down he retrieved the jacket he had only moments ago discarded and headed towards the door.

“Where are you going?” You called out, raising quickly to your feet.

“I have work to do, real work.” His voice was cold as he spoke. The softness from the day before entirely gone. It was as if the moment that he had been appointed your guardian all fondness and gratitude had turned to resentment.  

“Well wait up!” You shouted, hurrying to follow him out of the door before it closed in your face.

His steps never slowed as you rushed to keep up with him, bobbing and weaving to avoid running into the countless rebels that filled the hallways. All hurrying to reach their own assignments. When you finally arrived at what you assumed was your destination you again had to squeeze through the sliding door as it attempted to shut on you. The room was much larger than you had expected. Various tables cluttered with tools and discarded parts made it nearly impossible to move without risking knocking something over. Tip toeing you tried to keep your eyes on Cassian as he moved easily a head of you. When you finally caught up you found him shuffling through drawers as he sat atop a stool. As you moved closer you felt your legs freeze in place. The object that sat before him finally coming into view.

“What the hell is that doing here?” You stammered.

“He's an imperial droid.”

“Yea I can see that, my question is why is it here?” You gulped, remembering how many security droids you had come into contact with in your time as a captive of the Empire. All to aware of what they were capable of.

“I'm trying to reprogram him.” Cassian glanced over his shoulder at you as he spoke. Bemused by the shock that was prevalent on your face.

“What about his transponder?” You asked, forcing yourself to slowly move closer. Still afraid that at any moment the droid would power on and savagely attack the two of you.

“Don't worry, I did away with it long ago.”

The anger was slowly fading from Cassian's voice as he became engrossed in his work. Not even taking notice of the fact that you had pulled another stool beside him until you began handing him the tools he need before he could ask. You couldn't help but smile at the look on his face when he realized that you hadn't simply slumped into a corner or found something else to keep yourself busy with.

Hours passed with the two of you sitting there, working together to pull apart various wires and undo countless screws. It still wasn't safe to power the droid on completely but Cassian had managed to bypass a few of his basic functions. A success that delighted you both. You even went as far as to clap happily as you beamed back at him. Eyes filled with a childlike joy.

“You hungry?” He asked as the two of you began putting back tools and whipping the grease from off your hands.

“Starving.” You chuckled, relieved that he had finally realized that you had yet to eat.

Twenty minutes later and the two of you made your way into the mess hall. It was mostly empty but you were still relieved when Cassian offered to retrieve both of your meals while you searched for spot to sit. Finding one quickly at the far end of the last row of tables. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched as you slid into your seat and waited. Other than Theodren, you had yet to see a single face on the Rebel base that you recognized. It was a sobering revelation, knowing that all of your friends from years ago were most likely dead and gone. The alliance had a disturbingly large turn over rate. The average life span among its fighters was painfully short. It would do you no good to dwell on it. Instead focusing on the hope that you could find a way to pass the time until your judgment was decided.

When Cassian returned with two trays of food you politely thanked him as he sat down across from you. The food was sub par but you didn't care. It was warm and you hadn't eaten hardly anything in the last two days.

“So, you were a rebel?” He asked as he gulped down a large swig of his drink.

“I was.” You replied, covering your mouth as you ate. Never forgetting your manners.  

“How is it we never crossed paths?”

It was then you noticed he had stopped paying attention to his food. His eyes instead searching your face. Awaiting an answer.

“I suppose we weren't meant to.” You muttered, taking a small swig from your own glass while returning his gaze. “Not yet at least.”

“When'd you join?” The edge to his voice from before was now entirely gone. It was a relief. The last thing you needed was anymore confrontation. Especially with the man who you were going to be stuck with indefinitely.

“I had just turned fifteen so roughly ten years ago.”

“Pretty young.” He noted, a touch of surprise to his tone. “What made you join?”

“Well I never really had a home world per say.” You began, sitting down your fork atop your tray. “As a child my family moved around a lot so I sort of considered the entire galaxy as my home. The Empire made it bleed and I couldn't stand for that.”

“As good a reason as any.” Cassian agreed, nodding as he scooped up another mouthful.

“How about you?” You asked, happy to continue the conversation. It was the longest you two had spoken since you had met.

From there the words began to flow slowly as you each began opening up ever so slightly. He told you of how he had thrown rocks at troopers as a child which eventually gave way to him singing up for the Rebellion. You discussing your previous rank as a rebel sargent and the various missions you had completed before your capture.  Hours passed with the both of you sitting across from each other. Talking long after your trays had emptied about the lives you lived before the Rebellion and some of the crazier moments you had experienced after joining.

Before you knew it the sun had set and the large room had filled and emptied multiple times. It wasn't until you began to yawn that you noticed how late it was. Odd how the hours flew by without you taking note of it. Normally it was nearly impossible to allow yourself to talk to someone so freely but when it came to Cassian you couldn't seem to stop yourself.

“We better get going.” Cassian announced as he gathered his empty tray and glass. Nodding you did as you had been instructed. You followed his lead, dumping your tray and glass in the cleaning bin as you made your way out of the now empty mess hall.

The two of you fell silent on the walk back, hands in pockets, eyes ahead. Truth be told you weren't entirely at ease with having to share your living space with the rebel captain. Even if the waters had stilled between the two of you. When it came down to it you were a private person. You always had been. Preferring the company of silence and books to that of other people. Not that you hadn't been social when you were younger but after years of losing the people closest to you something inside you had changed.

“You can take the first shower.” Cassian offered as you stepped into the dimly lit room.  Settling into his desk chair as you dug through your trunk for a set of clean sleep clothes. Eventually pulling out a pair of dark cloth shorts and an old over sized shirt that had once belonged to your father.

It wasn't easy to keep your mind from wandering as you stepped into the shower. The warm water making its way through your thick hair and down your back. Every scar that marked your body shone like silver under the florescent lights. Reminding you of the pain that had created them and the lessons they had taught. By the time you dried off and walked back into the room Cassian was gone. Sighing you brushed it off. Instead burying yourself in a book as you pulled the thin covers of your bed around you. Hoping to doze off before your room mate returned.

Sure enough you were sound asleep by the time the dark haired rebel made his way back. Stepping softly Cassian cleaned himself up before crawling into his own bed. He was on the verge of falling asleep himself when he heard you speak. Soft mumbles that slowly rose to a weak cry. Your still form suddenly tossing and turning against your sheets.

This time he couldn't simply ignore it. As swiftly as possible he hurried to your bed side, sitting down on the edge  and trying to decide what to do. Before he could stop himself his hand found its way to yours. Gripping tightly as the tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Don't do this to me.” You pleaded though your eyes were still shut tightly. The desperation in your voice causing knots to form in his stomach. “Please don't do this, please...”

They were the same words he had heard you mutter the morning he caught you sleeping in the cockpit of your ship. Reaching forward he placed his other hand atop yours, pulling it close to his chest. Hoping it would offer you some comfort. As much as he hated to admit it, he too fought his own demons each night in his sleep. The tighter he held your hand the less you kicked about. Eventually even the tears ceased and your whimpers came to a blessed end.

An hour passed with him sitting there, holding onto you. For some reason afraid to let go. He wasn't sure why he felt so responsible for your well being but some part of him had decided that it was his job to pull you through moments such as this. With a gasp your eyes shot open, meeting his own immediately. The way you looked at him caused his breath to catch inside his throat. The fear subsiding from your glazed eyes as you curled your fingers tightly against the back of his hand. It was unlike anything he had experienced before. Though he tried, he could never recall anyone ever looking at him that way.

[neubauje]

BEGT ch. 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (AO3 Mirror)

"Recovery Girl, are you very busy, or can I come in?" All Might knocks lightly on the door frame to the nurse's office, and at her beckoning, ducks in and closes the door behind himself before releasing his powered-up form out of sight of prying students. "Thanks, I... needed to come vent a little. You don't mind playing therapist once more, do you?" It's the end of the day after resuming classes, and while Aizawa was able to stand long enough to inform the class of the upcoming UA Sports Festival, he'd returned back here almost immediately afterwards, and sunk back into bed from exhaustion, this time in the one against the window. He's hooked up to another IV, and All Might nods curtly at him in greeting, though Eraserhead appears to have dozed off, halfway propped up against the wall after his last bout of exhaustion-inducing metabolic healing. Feeling like a bit of an intruder now, All Might perches on the edge of the spare mattress with his hands dangling off his knees. "I pulled young Midoriya out from lunch today to talk."

"Oh?" Recovery Girl glances over with a gentle smile before turning back to the supplies ordering form she'd been filling out. "What did you tell him?"

"I tested my endurance over the weekend, Chiyo. I'm down to fifty minutes a day. Ninety if I'm not doing anything. It's..." All Might glances over his shoulder, ensuring the other teacher is still asleep, but treads carefully all the same. "It's leaving me. I don't have much time left. I had to make sure he understood..."

"That's pretty bad all right. What's your plan?" Recovery Girl sends out her order and pushes away from the desk before wheeling over to face All Might. She takes one of his bony hands and plants a little kiss there, polishing off the rest of his bruises and scabs in return for just a bit more energy. He sighs and nods a silent thanks before pulling his hand back.

"Well, that's just the thing. I can plan and plan all I like, but there's so many different ways this could go down. On one end of the spectrum, the ideal outcome-" He sits up a little straighter and holds up one palm, "Let's say there are no further incidents. I don't get pulled into any more unexpected fights. I manage my time and appearances carefully, and don't overextend what's left of my abilities. I figure I'd get what, maybe a year? Two if I'm lucky? I have to use that time to start moving the spotlight from me to Midoriya. Take him under my wing in the public eye, maybe as a sidekick. Never had one of those before. Start to make that association between the Symbol of Peace and him. And, when he's ready, I get to retire, and the world at large is none the wiser. They'll look to him instead of me. But with the rate things are going, I think we all know that's nothing more than a pipe dream anymore."

"There isn't exactly a history of your predecessors having happy endings, no," Recovery girl agrees, lips twisting into a bit of a pout, "But you knew that when you took up the mantle."

"Yeah, exactly. Then there's the other end of the spectrum... the worst possible outcome." All Might lowers his hand and raises the other, fingers curled into a bit of a claw-shape. "That league of villains actually accomplishes their goal, or somebody else beats them to it. They wear me out in battle, I lose my strength, they slaughter me like an old mule. Midoriya tries to save me, and maybe they get him too, maybe they don't. Maybe it's even televised, if they can have their way, I bet. Either way, word gets out that the Symbol of Peace is gone, with no viable replacement. Endeavor may be a powerhouse, but he stands for law and order, not hope and security. Not peace. Without someone to fill this role right now? The world, with the fragile state that it's in, falls to panic, villainy, and anarchy."

"You must really think a lot of yourself." Eraserhead, from his corner, scoffs a little, and the other two turn to look over at him, surprised that he'd been alert enough to listen in.

"Aizawa! You... well. You're right and you're wrong." All Might scoots back onto the bed and leans back against the headrest, propping his knees up in the air and ignoring the little scowl from Recovery Girl at his shoes on the bare plastic mattress. "I'm nothing. A farce. I'm a shadow of what I used to be, and I can hardly even call myself a hero anymore. But this ... confident caricature of a hero that the rest of the world sees? Even you have to admit, Aizawa, even just this omnipresent IDEA of 'All Might' that's been built up can be enough to deter a lot of crime preemptively. Until now, anyway. Before this league of villains, there hadn't been an attempt at an organized takeover since I made my debut."

Eraserhead looks away and contemplates silently for a few moments. While he'd always derided or looked down on the large portion of time that the Number One Hero spent in the spotlight and cavorting with the media, he supposes that on some unconscious level, he had in fact noticed the correlation. The streets had been a lot scarier before All Might became their celebrity guardian. Perhaps all that flashy showmanship served a vital purpose after all. "So you have to find a middle ground," he concedes, "Somewhere between the seamless transition you don't have time for, and a premature ending."

"Exactly." All Might closes his eyes and leans his head all the way back against the wall, the harsh office light above him casting even harsher shadows into the gaunt hollows of his cheeks and brows. He already looks halfway defeated, exhausted, and sure of his own demise. Seeing him in this state, Aizawa can hardly believe that this is the same man who plasters on a brave smile and reckless laugh to stand for the forces of good. "I was telling Midoriya earlier today about the Sports Festival, how he can use it to make a name for himself, even without being directly tied to me. It's a good start."

Recovery Girl hops down off her chair and toddles around to Aizawa's bedside, fussing with his bandaging and changing out the IV for a different fluid. "Speaking of the Sports Festival, the students tend to train pretty hard in preparation for it. They may need to come in here over the course of the next two weeks, and may even end up needing these beds. I doubt you'll want to go back to the hospital, Shota, do you have someone at home who will look after you while you finish healing there?"

Even with the casts and bandages hiding his movements, Aizawa visibly stiffens. "No, I don't," he admits, hoping she won't press the issue. All Might frowns and sits up, peering over with concern.

"Hmm, well I wouldn't want you to-"

"He can come stay at my place." Recovery Girl, cut off from trying to find alternatives, turns to stare as All Might juts his pointed chin over toward Eraserhead, "I've just got a bachelor pad across town, I can sleep on the pull-out couch. It's fine." Eraserhead is frowning slightly under his bandages, too surprised at the sudden offer to really have a response. At least this would prevent it from getting out that-

"All Might, if I could have a word with you?" The kindly old school nurse seems suddenly more stern than usual as she rounds her way out from between the beds and drags the man three times her height out to the hallway, where he hurriedly strains back into his hero form just in case. "Toshinori do you have ANY idea what you just offered? What you'd be getting yourself into?" Speaking in firm but hushed tones, she tugs on the muscle-bound hero's necktie until he bends to meet her gaze, a nervous grin creasing his chiseled face. "The man's hands are fractured, he'll have to stay in those casts for at least eight days, MORE if he's not able to handle additional metabolic boosts periodically. He will need assistance with almost every daily task, and you are NOT a home care specialist. Not to mention, he is in NO shape to be leaping across the city with you, and you don't have a car to drive him in."

"Er..." All Might freezes for a second, his mind racing through old memories from five years ago, when he'd gone through a surgery what seemed like every other day, bed-ridden and in pain for months... "I picked up on a lot when it was me in the hospital, you know," his own voice has dropped to a whisper by now, desperate to keep his injury secret, "I can change an IV, or whatever else he needs. If I'm stumped, I can call you. And we can take the subway. Please, Chiyo, I barely have anything else to do, now that I'm down to an hour a day. You have the whole student body to take care of. Let me do this."

Recovery Girl sighs and glances back in at Eraserhead, who has either dozed off or is trying not to look like he's eavesdropping, then she lets go of All Might's tie, allowing him to stand up properly again. "Fine. I'll make you a check list. Just make sure it gets done nightly, or he could get an infection or worse. I hope you realize this won't be easy." The silent but determined stare back at her seems to be answer enough. "Do NOT feel obligated to see this through if it's not working out. I'll make a call to a nursing friend of mine just in case. But you two had better get going if you're going to get any sleep, public transportation can take a while."

All Might nods and follows her back into the nurse's office with his thumbs in his pockets, maintaining his form a little while longer for simplicity's sake. "Aizawa, how far away is your place, I can run and grab your toiletries and a few changes of clothes, anything else you-"

"No need for that. I have supplies in the locker closest to the teacher's lounge." Eraserhead is carefully sitting up to move off the bed, shifting one leg at a time to keep his balance without the use of his arms. He provides the locker combination, and All Might dashes to go fetch the large duffel bag from the specified location while Recovery Girl types up and prints out the home care checklist, complete with her office and cell numbers. She tucks it into the pocket on the side of the duffel once All Might comes rushing back in, casually wiping away a trickle of blood on the sleeve of his dark blue suit jacket.

"Thanks, Recovery Girl. We'll be back after class tomorrow." All Might slings the bag over his shoulder, and hovers near the bed while Aizawa gets to his feet, ready to offer a stabilizing arm if needed. "Alright, if you're ready, let's head out."

Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 (rated M) - Chapter 11 (rated M) - Chapter 12

[learningtobushmechanic]

Cash is King.

Sunday 9 July 8:02pm

Today I drove through Zims countryside to Bulawayo for 70kms by mistake. It was beautiful. Dry and deserty with rocks and heaps and heaps of goats everywhere. Many donkeys too and whole dirt road shoulders for donkey carts.

When I returned back to to Beitbridge town after my detour I remembered that I needed to get more cash - having spent most of it on the border already.

I filled up with petrol and asked for an ATM. The attendant directed me to a petrol station further back- the guy there said there is no cash but to go to the shop further back. Same thing - no cash. I asked the nearby guard where else I could go and he just simply said it’s Sunday- there won’t be anywhere. He told me to try do a ‘cash-back’ from the Spar. So I went inside and the cashier tells me that I have to buy at least 20$ worth of groceries to get 20$ cash back. And I said if I wanted more - say 50$? Then I had to get 50$ worth of groceries. And I asked her if she’s serious and people in the queue were laughing at how fucked up it was but it was all true.

By the way I have ascertained that the dollar in question is Zimbabwean dollar- but new bond notes that were recently brought into circulation.

So I now cannot get cash out of an ATM. And I can get cash out of a supermarket supposing my card works when swiped- but I’d need to buy groceries. I could also offer to buy someone their groceries and receive their cash payment. I counted my cash. R500 Definitely enough for petrol to masvingo- the halfway point to Harare. And if I slept over there I might hopefully be able to get an open bank with cash in it the next day. I literally don’t know if I’ll be okay. I’ll let you know.

Ps I found four donkey carcasses along the road. Is there an epidemic? Or are they being driven over- they look well fed enough all over. Donkeys are such wonderful big soft lovely things. Seeing one of their limp bodies up close and then being devoured by maggots from the inside is raw. When driving past one you can smell it long before seeing it. With their legs stiff in the air, bellies swollen. I am disconcerted strangely by how they are not being used. They just lie there legs out. Surely then it must be disease? If people are not taking their skins or the meat? Why aren’t they being burnt then or something?

http://m.news24.com/news24/Africa/Zimbabwe/donkey-reflectors-vets-bright-bid-to-stop-zimbabwes-donkey-road-carnage-20170117

According to this article in the guardian they’re literally just run over by drivers at night

Monday 10 July Visa doesn’t work anywhere It’s two PM ive been to three banks stood in queues for hours and hours Everyone says go to Barclays. They don’t take visa either. Petrol stations let me swipe and I get declined every time.

When I came out from the bank I saw my motorcycle was leaking. It was leaking fuel from the tank. It must have been bumped over and put back on its feet by someone. By now I was feeling hot and sweaty and in a big big panic and now this. I took out my tools and tried to clamp the hole down closed. It seemed better. I decided to just put all my cash into fuel tanks and drive to Harare where my friend Liberty would help me sort out this cash crisis. I filled up with my last r200 cash in my fuel bottles. Then liberty messaged me but isn’t it dangerous. And I stopped in my tracks! Yes! Of course it’s dangerous why wasn’t I thinking about how I wanted to drive with a leaking tank that drops fuel over my hot engine- am I a crazy face?

Luckily I have a friend in Harare. I used one of my last dollar coins to buy airtime and called him.

I asked him if there isn’t a way for him to send me money. By cellphone or something. I’ve been seeing a lot of cellphone cash adverts and even saw a news headline about how sex workers accept money transfers on their phones. He thought about it for a bit and said I would have to go get myself registered for eco cash. But all I needed was a copy of my passport and I had this. A tiny smidgeon of hope grew inside me.

I went in search of an ecocash store. I was sent around quite a bit but eventually found one. I luckily had premade copies of ID and everything I needed luckily but they said the number was already registered to someone- so I needed to buy a new one. I gave them a dollar and got 50c in return. Now upon closer inspection I realize someone gave me ten Rand instead of a 2dollar note. So I have less than a dollar, ten Rand note and fifty cents left. I please called me my friend Liberty and I am now sitting on the sidewalk next to my bike reeking of petrol, waiting for him to send me cash. I am planning to head back with my bike to where I stayed last night so I can empty my tank and try plug the tank with steel putty. Hopefully this will work

6:18 pm this was at around two pm Since then my very wonderful partner Sonya had tirelessly been looking into ways of sending me money via money share and western union and all sorts of things- we almost just managed to get cash through western union but they were closing for the day. Sonya googled around and found me a hotel in masvingo that accepts visa and eft and sent me the address. I arrived here feeling half dead having had only a cup of yoghurt for breakfast this morning and this massively crazy day. It’s quite an expensive place even though there isn’t hot water in our communal bathroom. But my card worked and they are giving me supper and breakfast and what can a cashless hobo want more in life than to hold a key to a room where I can put down my things I’ve been guarding on a bike all day, take off my shoes and have kind people find me a bucket to put my fuel into(having stupidly filled my jerry cans earlier). I have sort of managed to look at the tank with my head torch an it seems like it is rusty in those corners and might actually not have been bumped but simply have said a final no-thank-you to life and let the fuel through. There is also when the paint started peeling what seems to be an old brazing weld in a copper color underneath the paintwork. It must have been fixed professionally. I am worried that simply playing with steel putty won’t work because it is such an awkward shape I won’t be able to get it in there properly even

So I think I will leave the can empty for the night and if I have more hope for plugging it tomorrow, do it-else I will attempt to find a radiator fixing place who will be able to do the job. If I cannot find a place I will probably have to plug it best I can and make my way to Harare I’m reading online about all sorts of temporary fixes like plugging it with soap. I have wifi now but could not read about any solutions earlier.

And earlier me would have liked to read this here article: http://m.news24.com/news24/Africa/Zimbabwe/travellers-beware-visa-cards-not-working-in-zimbabwe-20161223

Going to research more money transfer ways. A man who works at the hotel said that Mukuru is a really good way to get cash from South Africa. So I’m looking into it. Didn’t expect that not researching zim properly would leave me so stranded so quickly. I really really wish I knew about this before. Can someone just smack earlier me for me please? Thanks.

[sserpente]

Condolescence (Chapter IV)

Pairing: Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive) x OFC Language: English Rating: M

Read it on AO3!

Nothing had changed since the last time Tal had been in his big and ancient house in the suburbs. He had led her to his car, an impressive white Jaguar XJ-S from 1986 and, after assuring her that he hadn’t drunk a single drop of alcohol, she had allowed him to open the door for her. They set off, away into the night on the lonely streets until they reached their destination.

“Adam, I can’t stay long. My landlord is cross with me already. If I’m absent tomorrow morning...” Telling him about the fact that with losing her job, she wasn’t able to pay her rent anymore, seemed inappropriate, for last time, the mysterious stranger had slipped her a twenty dollar bill just for her to get home by bus. The ticket had cost her mere five bucks, leaving her with fifteen dollars she had spent on a warm meal the day after. It had been the first one in a long while, minus the delicious pizza Adam had ordered for her.

“There is no way I will let you be on your own tonight. Have you contacted the police about your ex-boyfriend?”

Tal shook her head, unsure of whether she should feel guilty about her confession and making Adam sigh as he offered her to sit down on his couch. He quickly removed the expensive e-guitar from it to place it next to a pair of speakers before he joined her, minding to create enough space between the two of them.

“I didn’t think they would believe me… I have no evidence, after all.” She continued, eyeing the spot he had placed his guitar at. Curiously, she noticed the equipment he used to produce his own music with before she looked him in the eye again, fighting to keep her composure as they tarnished her perception.

“How old are you?” Adam didn’t know where all those questions were coming from. He found himself interested in the human girl, more so than during their first encounter, where she had spent hours sleeping in his bed.

“Twenty-two.”

“And you live in Detroit all on your own?” She had told him she had moved here only few months ago. But there had to be family she could go to, acquaintances she could hide at. She didn’t know yet that she still had to be saved. That the monster she would regret to trust was sitting right next to her in this very moment.

Tal nodded again. “Work has been really exhausting. I haven’t had time to meet new people yet. And then I met Chris. He’d been so nice and… helpful and then…” Quickly, she blinked her tears away.

“You certainly have chosen the wrong place to be at tonight.” The vampire frowned. There were so many tremendous spots she could have gone to, to meet people who shared her intellectuality and her intelligence she obviously seemed to have but instead, she had chosen to join the drunks who had unlearned to appreciate the true meaning of music.

“Isn’t there someone else you could find accommodation at? What about your parents? Do they still live in Massachusetts?”

Instantly, Tal’s face darkened at the mention of her mother and father. Adam frowned once more and he knew before she opened her mouth and explained to him. She had no parents left.

“My… my mum and dad died only a year ago… there… there has been a shooting near where my father worked and my mum had gone to visit him to bring him lunch but… but neither of them returned home that day.” So that was why she carried all that painful grief with her at all times. Adam could feel it, it was almost tangible. This girl had lost her vitality. Very similar to himself.

Her eyes were watering once more as she spoke, with salty tears soon running down her cheeks and wetting her beautiful face. Adam said nothing. He knew what it was like to see someone one held dear die, probably more than anyone else was able to. Battling himself, he resisted placing his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

“I… I was an only child.” She continued, sobbing heavily in the process. “My parents had no siblings either and my grandparents died when I was a kid. I… I had no-one left in Massachusetts, so I decided to start anew and come here.”

Tal didn’t quite understand why she would unburden herself to this intimidating man who, technically, was still a stranger to her. Tonight, she had once more watched him defying strong men without even blinking and she had willingly let him bring her to his house again, whereby she was sure that he wouldn’t have accepted any contradiction.

Somehow, albeit it felt right to open up to him. He wouldn’t tell anyone.

“It’s fucking painful to be alone. To feel lonely.” The vampire finally said, his voice only so loud. Tal had to listen closely to comprehend his words. “A long time ago, I lost what I loved the most. The one thing that kept me going in this decayed world full of greed and spitefulness.” He looked up, locking eyes with her once more. “The only reason I still live is to not disappoint her.”

“I am so sorry.” Tal sniffed, the back of her hands reaching up to her cheeks to wipe away her tears and rub her eyes. “That is terrible. You must have been very close then.”

This time it was Adam who nodded mutely, pressing his lips together as images of his dead wife flashed before his eyes. She was dancing in between stacks of her beloved books, enjoying his music as he silently watched her. She turned around, a pleasant smile on her lips when she took his hands into hers and pressed her body against his, appreciating his presence.

The vampire blinked, banning the sorrowful thoughts from his mind. It had merely been a decade since her passing. Eve would have wanted him to move on and now, there was this strange human girl he seemed not to be able to get rid of. Maybe she had sent her to him. Maybe she wanted him to feel luck again, to remember what it was like to love and to be loved. Or maybe in the end, his disgusting hunger would get the better of him. Speaking of which.

“Are you hungry?” Adam himself had had breakfast before he decided to leave for the one club he had occasionally visited with his now dead wife; and the more he pondered over it, the more he believed that she had indeed sent him there tonight. To give him a new purpose in life; becoming the guardian angel to a girl who had lost everything. A girl who was as lonely as he was.

Somehow, there was a connection between them. A connection Adam couldn’t quite explain, a connection he had never felt before, not even when he had first met Eve those thousands of years ago.

“No… no, thank you. I just… could I get a glass of water? That would be great.”

“Of course. Wait here.” He left the room, having Tal look around in awe in the meanwhile. The many instruments and music equipment in the room didn’t fail to impress her once more, having her wonder whether he produced his own. The reason she had gone to this club in particular was that she liked the kind of music they played there. The dark sounds of e-guitars were thoroughly bewitching and now Adam seemed to like this kind of music too. Maybe they had something in common. Maybe he did produce his own music.

Tal mentally made a note to herself to ask him about it later.

It was then the vampire returned with a glass of water, handing it to her without a word.

“Thank you.”

She forced herself to smile as she took it from his hands, cupping it with her palms and taking a few sips. Adam kept forgetting how water was as essential for humans to survive as blood was to him.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She suddenly asked. “You don’t even know me.”

“It is a matter of course to aid a young woman in adversity.” He choked on his whether they are zombies or not. “You are right, I don’t know you. But I want to get to know you.” Startled, he sat down again as she emptied the glass. It was true. He did want to get to know her. See where it would take him. If she happened to endanger his existence at some point, he could still get rid of her. His heart ached the very thought of it.

“You are my guardian angel.” She murmured with a shy smile on her lips.

Adam snorted mutely. She’d said it exactly like he had put it before. He inched closer to her, a severe expression on his face. Resisting her was impossible. There was a craving lust burning deep inside of him, a hunger that, when defeated and given in to, wouldn’t only satisfy his aching fangs.

How could he possibly feel this way towards a human girl? A zombie? How could his heart begin to pound in his chest like a steam hammer, every cell of him wanting to be close to her?

“I was trying so hard to stay away from you. But I can’t.” He admitted quietly, his gaze never leaving hers.

Unable to look away, the fascinating sparkling in her beige eyes confused Adam. His heart softened when he looked into them and he felt the sudden urge to touch her, to connect his cold skin with hers. And so he did. Slowly, he brought up his right arm to cup her cheek with his palm, his cool fingertips brushing against her skin.

For a zombie, she felt incredibly soft. So pure and untouched, not only on the outside but more so on the inside. She must have been a virgin as well.

“Then don’t.” She whispered equally quiet as her lips parted, allowing Adam to lean in even closer to her. Way closer than he should have.

His hot breath brushed against her lips, their faces only mere inches from each other.

With a mute sigh, he pressed his mouth onto hers, holding back a relished moan as he finally tasted her. So sweet, like honey or the fruitiest strawberry. Her lips were smooth, soft and so innocent, her movements inexperienced, he noticed, when she hesitantly moved her mouth against his, trapping his upper lip between hers.

Adam stifled another moan. Carefully taking the breakable glass out of her hands and putting it on the small table next to the couch, he placed his hands on her waist to pull her closer. She felt incredible. Ravishing, even. He didn’t want to let go ever again, for she tasted like a drug he was addicted to now, so perhaps he just wouldn’t.

Perhaps, he would keep her with him to seek for her touches, to press her close whenever he longed for it. He wanted her. It was the only thing he could muster in this very moment.

➡️ Find all chapters on my masterlist!

[computerguideworld-blog]

I fall asleep on my computer: six people on their relationship with the web

New Post has been published on https://computerguideto.com/must-see/i-fall-asleep-on-my-computer-six-people-on-their-relationship-with-the-web/

I fall asleep on my computer: six people on their relationship with the web

As a study shows many people feel unable to switch off from the internet, we ask our readers how much time a week they spend online

Do you spend too much time online? Its a question that may unearth some uncomfortable truths, and if you are worried about how much you use Facebook/Google et al, youre not alone.

The annual communications market report from media and telecoms regulator Ofcom looks at how people cope with spending so much time connected, and this year it found that more than a third of UK internet users are taking digital detox breaks from the web. It found an increasing amount of time we spend online is leading to lost sleep and less time spent with friends and family.

Six people talk about their relationship with the web, and whether they have the balance right. Share your thoughts below the line.

Cary, 61: My friendships have fallen apart and I am gaining weight by being in all the time

Time spent online: 10 to 12 hours a day

At first I used the internet just for responding to emails. Then for reading news online, shopping and chats. Forums were a totally new experience for me I remember finding it amazing that you could talk to someone through a computer. I have tried various discussion forums, even met with few people out of curiosity. I thought the web was so great because of such vast opportunities for meeting people from beyond my immediate circle, of learning from each other, and doing stuff together.

But that hasnt really happened. My friendships have fallen apart and I am gaining weight by being in all the time. The internet affects my ability to sleep too. My day is turned upside down I go to bed very late because I often get carried away reading something. Time flies when I am doing that! I imposed a regime on myself to do things at home but I drag my feet when it comes to going out.

Whatever I need is now on the web: I can do online banking, shop online and find recipes there too. Information is much easier to get, but I do miss that personal contact with people.

Jenny, 27, Kent: I use the internet at work and go straight online when I get home

Time spent online: 10 hours a day I grew up with the internet I remember the whirling beep-boop of dial-up. I use the internet at work, and go straight online when I get home. Im always logging into apps to play games or check my Facebook messages. I have mostly used the internet to stay connected, though, with friends from across the world. In my teens I used MSN to talk to people these days I go on Facebook and join online chats. Having said this, I can happily spend hours away from the net playing with friends, but the habit of checking for updates online is always there.

The internet has always been a way to stay connected for me. I have made amazing friends in the US and elsewhere. It has helped me feel connected, and talk to people about a variety of topics. Seeing a US perspective of the current elections online, for example, has been refreshing.

I dont feel like there are any drawbacks to the internet. I can go without it, but I dont ever feel the need to switch off. I often go camping and never think of my phone because Im with the friends. I suppose you might need some sort of balance but I dont feel like it negatively affects my life at all.

In the early 2000s, MSN was widely used for chatting online, via messages or webcams. Photograph: Alamy

Mel, 24, London: The internet has made my anxiety worse

Time spent online: one to five hours a day

Some days I trawl through the internet looking for inspiration or to help with my work, but over the long summer months this happens less. I started my BA just last year and a lot of my friends have already graduated, have exciting jobs and are generally having more fun (or so Instagram tells me).

Although I feel Im right where Im supposed to be, seeing their carefully curated lives as they appear on social media exacerbates my anxiety. The web is also very addictive. Ive now deleted social media apps and use the sites on my browser for a fraction of the time I used to, but I often feel rubbish after using them.

Ive battled with mental health issues for a long time. Even though at times of deep depression I actually found sites like Reddit strangely helpful, overall I think the internet has definitely made my anxiety worse.

Reddit was particularly helpful after coming out theres a huge queer community on Reddit and the kind of stories and advice there is really helpful.

But even though its made it easier to connect with others, the internet can also turn feelings my of unsettlement into a full-blown meltdown (whether its a post making me think a friend is avoiding me or Ive Googled my symptoms and think Im dying).

Having said that my partner and I wouldnt have met if it wasnt for the ultimate nerve-racking experience of online dating. I guess being shy and anxious and having no clue how to navigate life as a queer woman, it has allowed me to meet new people that I wouldnt have approached in real life.

Ive had to put a ban on phones when my partner and I spend quality time together because although Ive made an effort to use mine a lot less, she will be fiddling around online. I avoid looking at her Instagram and Facebook feeds sometimes. I get Fomo [fear of missing out] and read too much into things, I guess.

Mike, 67, Brittany: The internet lets us keep in touch with family and friends

Time spent online: two to five hours a day

Its made our relocation to France much easier and smoother. The internet lets us keep in touch with family and friends, even while theyre travelling and/or very busy. It also allows us to keep better informed and pursue personal interests and research.

Its a massive help in solving practical quotidian problems (DIY, health, transport, holidays etc). Im more positive about the net and spend more time online than my partner, but it rarely causes tension. We still talk to each other as much as we always did.

Im more positive about the net, and spend more time online than my partner, but it rarely causes tension. Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

I dont think it affects my ability to get jobs done either; if anything researching online helps me tackle jobs I might have been daunted by in the past.

JP, 65, Bristol: I am online during my first cup of coffee, breakfast, lunch and dinner

Time spent online: eight to 10 hours a day

Before the arrival of internet I used to spend a lot of hours a week researching in the library, reading the news and also writing letters to friends and family so it was easy for me to migrate online. Actually, the internet made everything I enjoy much easier to do. I do, however, consider myself dependent on it, as I am online during my first cup of coffee, breakfast, lunch and dinner (except when I go out to see friends). I usually fall asleep on my computer.

I doubt that it has benefited my life, as all the hours spent online could have been better spent outdoors. The web does, however, satisfy lots of my curiosities, and I can read an endless number of articles from around the world.

Dining al desko: do you eat your lunch by your computer? Photograph: Alamy

It would be hard to see the world without the internet, but I do think we all waste far too much time online. If the internet didnt exist, I would have spent the same amount of time reading, so I dont believe it really affects my relationships. Sometimes it can be a huge distraction, however. I often think, just 15 more minutes, 10 more minutes, and so on, as the hours go by.

Matthew, 30, Northamptonshire: I deleted my Facebook a few years ago and life has been better since

Time spent online: 12 hours a day

I have to use the internet as part of my job in IT support and obviously the web contributes to me earning a decent living so I cant be too negative about it.

Being online all day can get a little tiring at times, however, and about six years ago I deleted my Facebook and my life has been better without it. I have tried Twitter and Instagram too but have since deleted the accounts because I dont feel I need the gratification of a like or a retweet in my life. Sometimes I feel like Im missing out but then again some of the things online are really not beneficial to me or worth keeping up with.

From an educational perspective the internet has allowed me to expand my knowledge across a broad range of subjects. At the end of the day we all have a choice about what we consume online and its all about being sensible.

Due to my thirst for knowledge the internet sometimes does affect my sleep: I have been known to be on my phone until the early hours reading Wikipedia or watching YouTube videos. It could be worse I guess, I could be on Facebook trying to promote my perfect existence like the rest of them.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us

[stopsubstanceabuse1-blog]

Realistic Cisco CCNP Security 300-209 Dump Exam Dumps & Free Download 300-209 Dump Vce In Pdf Format Now

New Post has been published on https://www.substanceabuseprevention.net/realistic-cisco-ccnp-security-300-209-dump-exam-dumps-amp-free-download-300-209-dump-vce-in-pdf-format-now/

Realistic Cisco CCNP Security 300-209 Dump Exam Dumps & Free Download 300-209 Dump Vce In Pdf Format Now

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[adambstingus]

A sobering alternative? Prohibition party back on the ticket this election

The oldest third party in the US, with Jim Hedges as its candidate, is hoping to re-energize the movement that faded with Prohibitions repeal in 1933

Zero. None whatsoever.

Jim Hedges is the 2016 presidential candidate for the Prohibition party. He isnt optimistic about his chances of winning.

Nor should he be. The Prohibition party got 270,000 votes in one presidential election, but that was in 1892. In 2012, the party made it on to the ballot in only one state and only 518 people voted for it.

But this time will be different, Hedges says. The Prohibition party is hoping to be on the ballot in six states.

If I get a thousand votes in each of these six states Ill be happy, Hedges says. Itll make us look like a going concern again.

The Prohibition party was founded in 1879 and is the oldest third party in the US. For 137 years the core aim has been to ban the production and sale of alcohol in the US. Members got their wish in 1919, but prohibition was repealed in 1933, and there seems little hope of it returning. None of the contenders for the Republican or Democratic candidacy have prohibition as part of their platform.

Ive arranged to meet Hedges, who served for 20 years in the United States Marine Band,at the Fulton County courthouse in McConnellsburg, Pennsylvania. McConnellsburg is an hours drive south-west of Harrisburg, about 20 miles north of the Maryland border.

Jim Hedges and Adam Gabbatt in McConnellsburg, Pennsylvania. Photograph: Adam Gabbatt for the Guardian

We sit on a wooden bench outside the courthouse and Hedges, who turned 78 on 10 May, tells me about his campaign. He was selected as the Prohibition partys candidate last July. He admits to having had some trepidation about running for president Im too old and too infirm. And I stutter but is confident in his attributes.

Experience in a variety of different things, he says when I ask him about his strengths. Organisational experience. Not in a big organisation, but community groups. I was in the recycling committee and the friends of the library. And Ive been an officer in some of the town bands. Its not much compared to the party candidates, but its what Ive done.

And you were town assessor, that was for the Prohibition party, says Carolyn Hedges, Hedges wife (who has come along because she wanted to chat to an English person).

Oh yes, in my township, Hedges says. I was elected twice two four-year terms as the township tax assessor. But there were no other candidates.

Hedges spell as a tax assessor in the Thompson Township population 1,098 represents the only time a member of Prohibition party has held elected office since the 1920s.

The party has been dwindling in size ever since the early 20th century essentially ever since prohibition was passed. Hedges tells me there are currently about three dozen fee-paying members, who each contribute $10 a year. I originally heard him say as 3,000, which made him burst into laughter.

A barrel of confiscated illegal beer being poured down a drain during prohibition. Photograph: Rex/Shutterstock

An annual income of $360 is quite small for a national political party, but a trust set up in the 1930s helps to boost the coffers. Most of the money released for the 2016 election will be spent on gaining ballot access theyre already down for Arkansas, Colorado and Mississippi, and are hopeful of making the ballot in Iowa, Louisiana and New Jersey.

Hedges wont be on the ballot in Pennsylvania third parties have a real tough time here so he wont be able to vote for himself, but Prohibition partys 2016 campaign is headquartered here nonetheless. The nerve-centre is in McConnellsburg, specifically, in Hedges wifes house.

In her dining room, he says. Or in my basement office. The current prohibition files and records are down there.

From the dining room Hedges writes a monthly newsletter, which is posted to members homes and online. This is the main campaigning effort, along with hoping that news organisations will cover his bid.

Apart from attracting those 6,000 voters, Hedges aim is to attract new members by modernizing the party. All the current members are over 50, many in their 70s and 80s, and many are ultra-conservative. Its not exactly a path to growth.

Hedges newsletter. Photograph: Prohibition party

After prohibition was repealed, in 33, most of the support for the party came from religious conservative denominations, which had doctrinal positions against drinking, so we got a conservative reputation at that time, Hedges says.

Ive been trying to pull it back a little bit the other way. I cant do it all at once politics is the art of the possible but Ive got some progressive planks in this years platform.

The progressive planks include free college education and increased funding to combat climate change Hedges is a committed environmentalist who built his own eco-friendly house and which could potentially attract a younger crowd.

The main pledge remains the banning of alcohol, however. Hedges comes from a family that didnt drink for religious reasons, and although he is a non-believer, he got involved with the Prohibition party in high school and has stuck with the lessons of his upbringing.

Ive never so much as drunk a beer in my life, Hedges says. Ive seen the damage it can cause.

While he hasnt drunk a beer, alcohol has passed his lips. Via an unorthodox method.

If Im out socially with people who have a mixed drink Ill take a spoon and dip in it. And then lick the spoon to see what it tastes like. In that way I may have had an ounce of alcohol, Hedges says, in a revelation that I hope wont damage his election bid.

I sort of like champagne. Ive never picked up a glass and drunk it, but Ive licked the spoon.

If Hedges succeeds in winning 6,000 votes come November, maybe hell have his spoon at the ready.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/a-sobering-alternative-prohibition-party-back-on-the-ticket-this-election/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/174553002007

[sassyshortstack]

I had a random flashback again today. It came out of nowhere. They got better - or rather fewer - this fall, and now it feels like they’re seeping back. They don’t last as long as they used to, but they’re just as real and even more jarring. When they come, my breath stops and I don’t realize it until my brain lands back in the present and I remember to breathe.

So, I’m going to sift through the memories in the hopes that writing about them will help keep the disturbing flashbacks at bay more. TW: cancer, death, grief, suicidal thoughts.

My sister Rebecca died on August 25, 2016. I watched it happen. But in many ways, I still don’t believe it.

On New Year’s Eve 2015, she was diagnosed with Stage IV cervical carcinoma and metastatic lung nodules. Which basically means she had a giant tumor in her uterus, and it had spread enough to cause damage to her lungs before we knew. She underwent chemotherapy and radiation for the following eight months. In the summer of 2016, she had to use an oxygen tank way too fucking often. Then one night in August, a week before she died, she started having sudden chest pain. My mom and I drove her to the ER. When they took her back to one of those terrible half-open ER rooms, with mattresses that are way worse than even the ones in my college dorms, I was with her. The nurse asked what pain level she was feeling on a scale of 1 to 10, and she managed to get out “Eight.” Somebody told my mother that Rebecca had a pulmonary embolism (a blood clot in the lung). Later that night, I asked my mom what that meant, and she told me just that - “it’s a blood clot in the lung” - but I didn’t really understand what it meant until days later.

My dad came to the hospital from the meeting he’d been at when we first brought my sister to the ER. He called my brother, who was several states away, to book a flight to come home right now, and in the back of the mind I realized that wasn’t a good thing. But I wasn’t scared. I knew my sister was stronger than this disease. I knew she’d make it. I just knew.

I wasn’t really scared until three nights later, when Dad, Andrew, and I were asleep (sort of) at home and Mom was at the hospital overnight. She called my dad at three in the morning to say Rebecca was having trouble breathing and being admitted to the ICU, and we needed to come right away. We all threw on clothes, jumped into the car, and sped off. I could feel my heart thumping so hard it was trying to escape my chest, as if my system beating harder and faster would help keep her alive too. We half ran into the ICU, and I was so afraid. I’ve never been afraid like that. I was standing on a sheer cliff of terror, ringing in my ears, my head spinning, so scared that she would be gone and I wouldn’t be there for her. My sister, my best friend in the whole world, my soulmate and guardian and inspiration and dearest love.

When we finally made it through security and all the fluorescent, sterile-smelling hallways and arrived in her room, I was relieved to see my sister alive - and then I saw our pastor standing there. Anger like I had never known pumped through me. Why the hell is she here? Rebecca isn’t dead. She shouldn’t be here, we don’t need her. I tried to push the fury aside. I played the part when she asked us to pray together, when she blessed my sister, when she read from the Bible. But inside, I was full of rage. Stop treating my sister like she’s dead. She’s right here, and she’s going to be fine. Fuck off.

And in some ways, I was right. Rebecca made it through the night. The scariest night of my life. I hated seeing her with that stupid bag under her oxygen mask, to help her breathe better. Seeing her with the oxygen tube so often earlier in the summer had been bad enough, but the mask was somehow so much worse. But she made it through the night. And the sun rose through the big glass windows by her bed, where I was perched in a chair. It was a stunningly beautiful sunrise - the sky morphed from a deep slate blue to all hues of pink and orange. I was the one sitting in the room with her when the sun came up - we were holding hands and not talking much. She nodded outside the window. “Look.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

At some point, one of the doctors came in to talk about their next steps, and although I don’t remember what exactly he said, he was basically telling us she’d be able to do outpatient radiation again in a couple days. My family kept saying that was good news, but I was confused and had this inexplicable bad, twisted feeling in my gut. I don’t know how I knew, but I just knew that he was wrong. If she was going to be better so soon, why did she still have to use that stupid oxygen mask? Why were we still in the ICU? I still knew deep down she’d make it, but I also knew that it wasn’t going to go the way he said it was. I felt totally spaced out. Looking back, that day - her first day in the ICU - was when the deep shock really started to settle in. We’d had tons of visitors every day she’d been in the hospital, and there were even more that day, including cousins, old teachers, church friends, work friends, and some people I hadn’t seen in years. In retrospect, that really should have been a warning to me. That night, our family friends made my mom leave the hospital instead of spending the night with her, which my brother, dad, and I were incredibly grateful for. They also made my brother and me leave to do something fun that evening.

I still just felt so wrong. I knew my sister would survive this, but I also knew the radiologist was wrong. I was moving and talking and hearing other people talk to me, but I was totally not in my own skin. We’d had tickets to see the Royals game that night, and I didn’t really want to go, but our family friends kept saying we needed to get out and do something, so Andrew, my Aunt Deb, Amanda (my cousin closest to my age, and who I’m closest with in my extended family), and I all went to the game. I was in the backseat behind Andrew, who was driving, and he and Aunt Deb were mainly the ones talking on the long drive to the stadium. I kept hearing their words float by me without totally connecting them. But then my aunt started talking in a way that suggested she was worried, that she was on the verge of tears, that she was scared for my sister. She said she wanted her to sign a fabric square for a quilt she was making my parents just in case. Dimly, I felt annoyed and angry again. Why did people keep doubting my sister? She already battled and overcame so much. She already made it through depression, and she was going to kick cancer in the ass. Why did no one seem to have faith in her but me?

And then one phrase in particular stuck out to me. “If indeed Rebecca does pass away.”

My breath seized up. It felt like iron weights were crashing around my ears and weighing down my chest, creating a racket and suppressing my airstream all at once. The world was disappearing. All that existed was the terrible noise and the horrible weight and the sickeningly blurred trees and buildings outside my window.

No one had told me.

No one had told me my sister was in danger of dying.

And that’s how I found out. Through an aside, in a car, on the way to a fucking baseball game.

And I still haven’t been able to forgive my parents for that.

The next day, everything got worse - but I somehow didn’t feel worse. I just felt empty. Dazed. I remember my aunt and uncle making my brother and me gluten free funfetti pancakes (my aunt had amusingly but very unintentionally bought the funfetti rather than regular box at the store without realizing) with big, ripe blueberries. I remember my sister’s regular doctor coming to talk to us. I couldn’t process what she was saying. It was like I could see her mouth moving, hear that there were words spilling out, but I couldn’t understand her. Like she was speaking another language I used to know, but I just couldn’t remember a lot of the words anymore. She sounded almost angry. I was confused. I think she was pissed at the radiologist who had been there the day before and told us a plan that would never come to fruition. My mother looked scared, but I was just lost. I had known, I had felt yesterday, that the other doctor was wrong, and it seemed like that was what Rebecca’s primary doctor was saying now. But I still knew she’d be fine.

Then the word “hospice” made it through the fog in my brain.

I didn’t understand at first, but gradually I realized. She was going to be transferred to a hospice house. Later that day, at home, I asked my mom what that meant. She said with tears in her eyes that they take people there who they think have less than a week to live. I think I cried a little with her, but deep down, I was still hopeful. I still knew she’d make it. She always had, after all. The hospice house was for old people who have lived their lives, not twenty-five-year-olds with so much left. She still had a chance.

That night, my other aunt - the one who got the funfetti pancakes - was taking her daughter Amanda and my brother and me to their house for the night. On the way there, it was suggested we get ice cream, so we stopped at a Freddy’s Frozen Custard. We all ordered ice cream, and laughed together about how this was the most productive feelings-eating session there had ever been. It’s amazing what good food and good family can do for the soul. I didn’t feel so alone all of a sudden. About two bites into our ice cream, Amanda started making a big production of wanting fries too to really complete the whole eat-our-feelings thing. She was being her funniest, Amanda-est best, standing up and running to the counter to get a large order of fries. The half hour or so we spent there, laughing and talking over the saddest fries and ice cream in the world, was oddly perfect. It was the most I’d felt like me all week.

The next morning, they moved her to the hospice house. It was a Wednesday. And since it was August in Kansas City, it was hot and humid and disgusting. I’ve never liked summer, but the summer of 2016 has given me eternal fuel for hatred for the season.

The hospice house was cozy and filled with love and prayers from many volunteers and former visitors. And I hated it. I hated the word “hospice,” which I hadn’t really heard or read since my grandpa died years ago. I hated the butterfly logo, the ornate carpet, the dimly lit rooms. More than anything in the world, I hated the smell. I can’t describe it, but it still fills my nostrils whenever I have panic attacks or flashbacks. It was totally different from the terrible sterility of the hospital, and different from any smell of any other house or home I’ve ever set foot in. It was all wrong, and strange.

Rebecca had so many visitors that day. We gave her a quilt square and a Sharpie to write her name, or to draw something. She was such a good artist. But she kept falling asleep. Why is she falling asleep? She kept starting to write something, and managed to get out a block letter A and little else. A? Why A? She kept falling asleep trying to write even one word. And I still don’t know what it was going to be.

Not long after that, she started to sleep. And not long after that, she was slipping out of consciousness. Visitor after visitor came to sit by her, talk to her, but she was fast asleep. At some point, I took a break to walk around the hospice house garden. My aunt gently suggested calling a friend from St. Olaf. So I asked Ellen if we could talk, and she was happy to help. I paced around the garden, restlessly going by flower after flower, for once not scared of the bees. It was sunny and bright, and thanks to a breeze, not excessively warm in the shade of the trees. There were spinning wind sculptures amidst all the plants. I paused in front of a clump of yellow roses. Ellen had given me a yellow rose when my grandfather died. I stared at them as I told her what was happening. She just kept saying how sorry she was, and how it sucked, and how she wanted to help me any way she could. I told her, truthfully, that she was helping. (Side note: And she still does, every day. We are roommates. On the one year anniversary of my sister’s death, she kept me company half the night when I couldn’t sleep.)

I went back inside. I talked with people. Lots of them. They all looked at me like it was hard to face me. I couldn’t fully understand why. If anyone could make it through this, it was my sister. And no one seemed to know it but me. One of the hospice house nurses came to tell us they thought it would be soon now. But I just didn’t understand.

Evening came, and so did a storm. Rain started pattering against the windows at about the same time darkness fell. Late in the evening, at around nine o’clock, it turned into a real thunderstorm. Lightning was crashing outside, and inside, dozens of our friends and family - at least thirty people - were crowded inside the room. I don’t remember who first suggested it, but somehow, it came up that we should sing. My family - and many of our friends - are very musical, especially my parents, brother, sister, and me, and many of us were raised in the Lutheran church. So somehow, someone suggested we sing a hymn, and my brother started us off. A few of us looked up the lyrics on our phones, and within a few bars, the singing was full and strong. And then someone suggested another song. And another. And another. Sometimes, there would be a pause in between, and other times someone would just start singing a new hymn right away after the last one. I preferred no silence, because my sister was having more and more trouble breathing, and it was agonizing listening to her. So I was singing and singing, full and rich, not even having to hold back tears, overflowing with the music, helping lead the song. After a while, in the back of my mind, I wished we could do a Christmas song, but I was worried people would think it odd if I brought it up. But not a minute after this wish popped into my head, one of my little cousins asked my brother if we could sing “Silent Night.” It made me really and truly happy - and not just because I have the mind of an eight-year-old. We kept singing and singing (including a couple more Christmas carols, but mostly other hymns), and strange as it seems now, it felt totally natural. 

All in all, we sang for two hours. And we only really stopped because a nurse came by shortly after eleven to tell us that there was going to be a tornado warning in the county, and now might be a good time for visitors who needed to return home to do so before the storm got worse. So, most people left. Only my aunt and uncle, and three of our really close friends who might as well be related to us by now, stayed. They all went with the nurses to a chapel inside the hospice house, which had more cover from a potential tornado than my sister’s room. The nurses told my parents, Andrew, and me that we were welcome to stay with Rebecca unless there was a tornado coming our way, at which point they would come get us.

So we stayed. We decided each of us would be by her side in shifts while the others slept still in the room. My parents were with her first; I planted myself on the couch and Andrew took the rollaway cot. I couldn’t sleep anyway - not that he really could either. When my parents were ready to trade, he told me quietly to try and sleep. I nodded. I rummaged through my bag to see if I had brought my iPod, and was hugely relieved to see I had. With a blanket wrapped around me in a chair near Andrew, I put the headphones in my ears and sifted through songs to make a playlist, trying to bring some semblance of comfort or sleep. I was looking through music for quite a while, partially because I was half listening to Andrew reading my sister books - Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. She was a preschool teacher, and those were two of her favorite books in the whole wide world. I loved and hated seeing him read to her like that. Then he told me he was going to try and find our family friends. I said okay, and moved into the chair beside her. My parents were asleep. It was just her and me.

I moved the chair closer, so that I could hold her hand. We held hands all the time, so I knew the shape and warmth of her hands well. So it frightened me out of my wits when I took her hand and this time, it was icy cold. I felt a shock of panic course its way through me, but shook it off. I had to be with her. She needed me. I swallowed and took a deep breath. Then I took out my phone and started to read. An Awesome Book of Love.

The words fell from my mouth, staggering a little at first, but gradually with a rhythm.

...But we aren’t all of those things - you’re you and I’m me. And we’re as together as together can be. And you know I’m aglow with a smile on my face When I wonder what magic you’ll make of this place - Of this town, of this world. You’ll transform your surroundings! That spirit inside you is truly astounding...

I started to crumble a little. The words came slower and slower. But I had to keep going. I squeezed her hand tighter, willing warmth to flow it, willing her breathing to ease. Her breaths were coming too slowly, and it terrified me to my core. I’d never heard anyone breathe like that. I wanted her to feel better. I continued on.

...I love you! I love you! In so many ways - Over thousands of years, over billions of days...

Tears were falling rapidly. This book meant so much to me, and the words were so perfect for how I felt about her, Rebecca, my sister, my sunshine. Dimly, I realized a nurse had quietly walked in. I kept reading. It was one o’clock in the morning, and I was tired and scared and confused and crying a little, but I kept reading. I glanced at the words, but mostly I looked at her face, her long eyelashes - which had managed to grown back even longer than they had been before all that chemo - resting on her cheek.

...I love you! When I’m holding your hand, When you’re making a plan, When you’re thinking a thought, When you’re dancing a dance.

And then...I stopped. Because the world had stopped.

She was gone.

I had watched her last breath. I had held her hand for the last time. I was the last one to see her alive. I saw her die.

I fell apart.

I started crying like I’d never cried before. My parents woke up, realizing what had happened. My brother came back, and I remember us all hugging. I couldn’t stop crying. I was splitting at the seams. I was going to die. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to be in a world that my sister wasn’t a tangible, living part of. Andrew took me out to the living room, guided me to a surprisingly comfortable couch. I curled up on one end of it, just like I do at home, while he went to get the rest of our family. I cried like I’d never cried before.

After a few moments, I pulled out my phone and texted my St. Olaf friends. It was the middle of the night, so I was surprised to get a reply from my close friend Brenna. She had been sending me links to songs throughout the week as I updated her on everything going on. That night, she sent me “No One is Alone” from Into the Woods. It was beautiful and sad and perfect.

A little while later - I have only some dim memories of my family friends coming back from the chapel - Andrew and I ended up on the couch together, with all the adults in the room. We talked. And it occurred to me that this was the last day the three of us would ever be together. Now it would just be Andrew and me. We hugged for a long, long time, and I cried and got snot all over his shirt. Eventually, he got up gently to make us both green tea and get out a box of gluten free crackers. I hadn’t even realized I was hungry or thirsty until he did that. It was still raining outside, but it wasn’t storming so hard anymore.

At around half past three, we all left. Andrew and I went back to my aunt and uncle’s once more, and although I tried to be quiet, I woke up my cousin when I climbed into her bed. She looked at her phone, saw the texts from her parents, and wrapped me in a warm, comforting hug. So many people held me while I cried that night, but she was the one who made me laugh. The storm had picked back up by the time we got to their house, and when a huge streak of lightning, followed quickly by a loud crack of thunder, split the air, we both laughed a little.

“Rebecca must be throwing a party up there,” she said hoarsely.

I laughed. “Yeah.”

That week, and especially the night Rebecca died, has changed me forever, but I’ve grown enough to know now that this shitty experience hasn’t ruined me. It’s not the ending of my story, even though I still sometimes wish it was - and it’s sure as hell not the end of her story either. She lives on in me, and in so many other people - our family and friends, her music, even her preschool students. And even though I still find myself, like that night, sobbing in agony, or feeling empty and lonely and totally wrung out, or wishing the world would end or at least go away...I also find myself, like that night, surrounded by love more times than I can count.

She was always so full of love. Overbrimming. And I have been, too.

I still am.

- - -

I’d still love you no matter what sense it would make. I’d love you whenever, whatever it takes. I’d love you no matter, cause you’re you and I’m me - Together forever, in love as can be. - An Awesome Book of Love, Dallas Clayton