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writing-for-marvel · 2 years ago

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Triage

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist | PART 2 > >

Summary: A slightly reckless and exceedingly charming paramedic carries a young girl into your ER, proving that not all superheroes wear capes.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, set in an emergency room, I am not a healthcare worker and my medical knowledge is limited to what I’ve seen in Greys Anatomy lol, incident where people are injured from a derailed train, mentions of wounds & surgery & loss of life, injuries to a young child, needles & stitching, my terrible attempt at writing flirty banter

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: based off the winner of this poll, we say hello to paramedic!Bucky ❤️ this is my first entry for the Connect 4: Into an Alternate June-iverse Event by @buckybarnesevents, fulfilling the prompt ‘First Responder AU’. Thank you to @rookthorne who looked this over for me and gave me the confidence to keep writing it 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

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“Incoming trauma. Train collided with a car and derailed. First wave ETA three minutes.”

At the moment your director of emergency medicine announces the tragedy and flood of imminently arriving patients, the televisions in the emergency room switch to breaking news - a presenter, wearing a solemn expression, speaks as a split screen shows what you can only describe as a colossal catastrophe.

The ER becomes silent as all eyes focus on the screens, only the rhythmic beeping of the pulse oximeters cut through the silence, a heavy weight blanketing the room as the realisation of what you’re seeing sets in.

You can’t hear what precisely he’s saying, but you can’t bring yourself to look away whilst watching the live chopper vision of smoke billowing from the train laying unnaturally on its side, barely any movement from the scene makes you wonder if anyone could have survived the incident.

The three minutes before the ambulances arrive go by in a flash, feeling like you hardly have time to mentally prepare for the extent of injuries and potential loss of life you will be facing. Then, almost in an instant, as if flicking a switch, chaos in its purest form descends upon the emergency room.

You watch on as paramedics and firefighters wheel patients in on gurneys, one by one filling up the limited trauma beds in the ER. Dr Stephen Strange directs medical personnel, making sure each case is assigned to an appropriate physician, the more serious injuries bypassing trauma intake all together and heading straight towards surgery.

Your eyes land on one man in particular between the sensory overload of people - tall, broad shoulders with long chestnut hair, carrying a young girl with one strong arm as he pushes a gurney with the other. Who you can only assume is the girl's mother, is unconscious and has blood staining the roots of her long blonde hair. Your heart aches for them as she’s handed over to the surgery team in wait, and even though the ER is filled with many conflicting loud voices, you hear the high pitched cry of the young girl for her mommy. The paramedic, now with his second arm free, pulls her into his chest before making his way to one of the trauma beds.

“You!” Dr Strange’s voice pulls your attention back to the fray and you find he’s pointing directly to you - you’ll forgive him for forgetting the name of a new resident during this moment of crisis. “The young girl with Barnes, she’s your responsibility.” That’s all the instruction he has time for before moving onto the next resident.

As you make your way through the maze of people towards the young girl, your mind flashes back to the footage of the wreckage and how grim it appeared. It seems like a miracle that this young girl is conscious and looks relatively unharmed with the exception of a few abrasions.

“I’m the one who brought her in, she’ll be all alone while her mother is in surgery, all I’m asking is to stay with her while she gets examined.” The well-built paramedic, Barnes, argues with your head nurse, pride and admiration swelling warm in your chest - he’s standing up for a scared, young girl who can’t voice what she needs right now.

“That’s perfectly fine.” You cut in, knowing Christine is a stickler for protocol and would never allow non-family members to stay with patients, even in dire circumstances. If there is a time to bend the rules slightly, you figure this is it. “I think she feels a lot more comfortable with you here anyway, isn’t that right sweetie?” The young girl nods her head, little hands reaching out to grab hold of the paramedics’ large one, eyes brimming with frightened tears.

“Thank you.” He mouths as Christine storms off to deal with the many other patients that require her attention. Your focus now switches to the precious girl in front of you - no matter how hectic the ER gets, how devastating the incident is, your thoughts need to be directed solely on her care, and not ogling at the attractive EMT who is currently soothing her.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” You ask the scared, little girl, but not before offering your own as a sign of good faith. She looks up to Barnes for reassurance before answering.

“Sasha.” She confesses with a small voice, partially hiding her face in the broad paramedic’s arm as she does so.

“Okay Sasha, I’m here to check you over, help patch up these cuts and make sure you have no other injuries so we can get you up to see your mommy as soon as possible. Can I do that for you?” She nods her head, sitting up a little straighter in the bed all the while maintaining a tight hold on Barnes’ hand.

“Can you tell me who your friend here is, Sasha?” You ask as you start your examination, feeling the medics’ pair of eyes watching you intently, something more than just concern for your patient's well-being has heat creeping up your chest to the tips of your ears in silent attraction.

“Bucky. He pulled me from the train.”

“All by himself? Wow, he must be super strong to do that.” You glance up at Bucky to find him staring at you with what you hope is a mixture of captivation and endearment. He offers an enchanting smile, making butterflies, which have no right to exist in an emergency room, flutter in your stomach.

“He also got my mommy too.” Sasha adds, you suspect with the youthful intent to impress you even more.

“As well!” You say in a dramatic tone which makes her beam a proud smile that she did in fact amaze you. “Sasha, I think you got rescued by a real life superhero.” You continue in a staged whisper that not only has Sasha giggling, but brings a flush to Bucky’s cheeks. The bashful blush only makes him more attractive in your eyes.

As you continue your examination, cleaning and bandaging all lacerations, keeping Sasha distracted by asking about her favourite activities and animals, you can progressively feel her opening up and trusting you more. From your experience, it can be difficult to earn a child’s trust when they are in such a foreign place, surrounded by strangers, and in particular in this scenario, when a parent isn’t around. Having Bucky, whom she formed a bond with as soon as he rescued her from the train, stay by her side through the ordeal, has been to both your benefit.

Once you cleaned all her cuts, making sure Bucky held her hands so Sasha could squeeze when the disinfectant caused a sharp, stinging sensation, you begin examining her stomach, prodding her abdomen for any signs of tenderness.

“Does that hurt, Sasha?” You enquire when she flinches and whines at your touch.

“Yes, right there.” You're proud she trusts you enough to admit that, though now concerned about potential internal bleeding. You need to act fast, but you don’t want to instil more fear in her given she’s already had a large dose today.

“Okay, it’s nothing to worry about yet, but I’m going to order you a scan so we can see what’s going on in your tummy.” Your eyes flick instinctively to Bucky, to provide some consolation in a time where you’re both worried about the young girl you’ve both become attached to in such a short time. You see the considerable concern furrowed in his brow soften when his eyes meet yours.

“Will it hurt?” Sasha’s frightened voice breaks your heart - she’s had to endure enough pain and suffering for the day, watching her mother cling to life in an ambulance, you’re desperate not to add to it.

“Not at all, it’s as painless as having your picture taken!” You explain, watching the alarm melt from her features, and feeling the tension in Bucky’s shoulders relax simultaneously. “All you have to do is stay really, really still, can you do that for Bucky and I?” The notion that there is a Bucky and you makes something in your chest buoyant.

“Yes!” She promises without missing a beat and Bucky squeezes her small hands with a relieved smile.

When Sasha’s attention turns to the nurse whose job it is to take her up for the scan, you notice Bucky discretely wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He says a sweet goodbye before she’s wheeled away, knowing this is where a paramedic and hospital patient part ways. Sasha enthusiastically waves back to both of you as the nurses wheels her away, not stopping until they turn a corner and she’s completely out of sight.

Bucky clears the lump in his throat before stating, “I think it’s my turn to leave now.”

“Don’t think I can’t see you wincing every time you move. Sit your cute butt down, you aren’t going anywhere till I check you over too.” You say as you finish completing the form to refer Sasha for the CT scan, missing the downright cheeky smirk plastered on Bucky's face.

“You think I have a cute butt, huh?” You can hear the smugness in his voice and you have to fight the corners of your mouth from upturning in a smile. He does have a cute butt - not that you’ve been staring - but you’re certainly not admitting that to his gorgeous face.

“Not the point - now, shirt off so I can take a look.” Finishing your paperwork, you finally look up to notice his cocked head and flirty smile. Having studied long hours in med school and worked even longer hours all last year as an intern, you recognise it’s been a while since a stranger has looked at you with this level of desire.

“At least buy me dinner before you ask to see me naked.”

“I’m a doctor, I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” You challenge, even though you’re positive his strapping frame, which fills out his uniform completely, will be even more impressive without a shirt. You have to swallow the saliva forming in your mouth so you quite literally don’t drool at the thought of his unclad body.

“Why don’t we find an on-call room and I can prove to you it’s not.” He teases in a low, alluring voice and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself smiling like an idiot - it, however, does not stop your face from warming like a heating pad. It’s infuriating how beautiful he is, and it’s definitely criminal to act as cocky as he is right now.

“Only if you let me patch you up first.” You bargain.

Bucky finally concedes, unbuttoning and shrugging off his uniform shirt to reveal a wound in his side about the length of a teaspoon which is still trickling blood. The tightening concern which overwhelms your body at the sight of the gash, which is much worse than you predicted he’d be concealing and will require stitches, distracts you from the allure of seeing his shirtless chest.

You shake your head, knowing he would have been fully aware he was injured since pulling Sasha and her mom from the train, and in an incredible amount of pain, but waited until others received treatment before allowing himself to be tended to.

“You should have told me about this.” Tentatively you place gauze over the cut, gently applying pressure to stop the oozing but not firm enough where he’s in pain. You can feel his attentive eyes following your every careful move, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but you swear you can hear his breath hitch in his throat and feel his thumping heartbeat quicken as your hands graze his bare skin.

“There are many people in need of more urgent care than me.”

You look up at him from your position tending to his abdomen to find his face intimately close to yours. You can’t help yourself, being this close to him, but your eyes flicker to his lips, noticing a faint scar along his top lip you could only perceive by being this close.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it at all.”

Bucky gazes deeply into your eyes with a vulnerability which makes you doubt whether anyone has ever appraised him that he is worth taking care of. The thought feels like a punch to your gut.

“It’s relatively superficial, I can look after it myself.” He attempts to brush you off. If this weren’t your first time meeting the guy, and you didn’t feel like you were overstepping by protesting, you wouldn’t let him dismiss you so easily. “Can’t you overlook protocol this one time and give me the okay to get back out in the field? We are still looking through the wreckage for survivors, need all hands on deck” He flashes you wide, puppy dog eyes which have you melting at the knees. You suspect this isn’t the first time he’s used this ploy to get what he wants.

As if he can sense your resolve dissolving the longer you look in his mesmerising eyes, he starts to stand. But no, you aren’t going to let those ocean blues and infectious smile stop you from doing your job, and showing Bucky that his well-being is just as important as anyone else who came into the ER today. Placing your hands on his bare, broad shoulders, you push him back down onto the bed.

“You won’t be able to help anyone when you’re back in here with sepsis because this wound got infected.” You comment as you prepare the suture kit and implements you’ll need to first clean out the wound.

“At least that way I’d be able to see you again.” He jests, before sharp intake of breath as you begin disinfecting and debriding the laceration.

Even though you realise he’s joking, hopefully only about not taking care of his wound properly and not about wanting to see you again, you suspect there’s a small sliver of truth he’s hiding. There typically is a grain of truth in every joke - he seriously would have returned to the scene without receiving treatment if you hadn’t stopped him, twice.

“You don’t need the excuse of a life threatening illness to see me again. In fact, I would prefer it that way.”

Bucky eyes you with fondness as you finish up washing out his wound, even through the sharp sting and you expressing your disapproval of his careless actions. You’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve the warmth in his gaze, but you enjoy it nonetheless.

Once the area is numbed, you can instantly sense the ease which overcomes Bucky at no longer being in discomfort. Though the grunts and groans that slipped past his lips were rather sexy, you much rather seeing him in an absence of pain.

The two of you stay in comfortable silence as you lend all your attention to the placement and execution of each stitch, knowing that if you do a good enough job, a wound this size will heal to an almost imperceptible scar. Though it’s difficult, you restrain your focus from how the taut muscles of his stomach flex as you're working.

“Alright, almost good as new.” Is what you comment once you’ve thrown the last stitch and placed a bandage over the area. “You’re ready to get back to being a real life superhero.” You tease, knowing the effect the word had on him last time. You’re pleased to see that same blush bloom lightly over his high cheekbones.

“Thanks for lookin’ after me, doc.” Bucky shows his gratitude with a lopsided smile you could get so used to basking in. As he buttons up his shirt, you allow your eyes to linger on his clearly defined abs for a second before they’re covered over. He really has no right to be as gorgeous and charming as he is. “And for being such a bright light in what has otherwise been a very dark day.”

“Same to you, Bucky.” Guilt eats away at a small part of you that during what is for a lot of people in this hospital such a tragic day, you’ve instead actually enjoyed the company of a cheeky paramedic.

“Take care of Sasha for me, won’t you?”

“She’s in the best hands.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute.” He says with a tone which makes you think he’s only referring to you, when you were in fact meaning the entire hospital staff. Your heart flutters at the implication.

When neither of you say anything more, silence lingering for an almost awkward length, Bucky turns to leave. Even though you know you eventually must part ways, your heart aches that the end has seemingly come so soon. Luckily, you have a reason to call him back and spend an extra moment together.

“Hang on, you need to sign a release form before you’re allowed to go.” You say, hand brushing his as you provide a clipboard and pen, a shiver running up your arm which you hope Bucky doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t mention it as instead he quickly surveils the document and chuckles.

“If you wanted my phone number, all you had to do was ask.” Damn him and that cheeky, smug grin you’re already falling for.

“This is purely protocol.” You counter, wanting to take his cocky persona down a peg. Bucky simply smirks, as if he can easily see through your half-truth like glass.

“So you’re telling me you don’t want my number?” He challenges, and though you don’t want to admit he’s won this back and forth between the two of you, you’ll consider yourself a winner as long as you come away with a means of contacting him after today.

“I didn’t say that.”

He hands you back the clipboard, a corner of the sheet torn off with his number scribbled specifically for you to take. You try not to look too desperate by taking the note immediately and putting it in your pocket as you plan on doing as soon as he isn’t watching you.

“The next time I see you, I hope we won’t be in an emergency room.” The suggestion there will be a next time makes giddiness rise in your chest as if you’re a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Don’t count your luck, James.” You tease, having spied his true first name on his patient form. “I haven’t called yet.” You try to sound calm, even though you can feel your heartbeat quickening the longer those captivating blue eyes regard your every move.

“I have a feeling you will, even if it is just to tell me Sasha’s pulled through alright,” Bucky pauses, slowly leaning in so you have a perfect view of his exquisite eyes, and his dilated pupils, as he lowers his voice. “Or for a rain check on that on-call room rendezvous.” He calls your bluff before flashing what you’re now sure is his signature smirk, leaving you with a fluttering heart and butterflies in your stomach.

As you watch Bucky walk out the exit of the ER, turning to shoot you a wink before the door closes behind him, you know three things for certain: firstly, you’ll definitely call him tomorrow, secondly, this man is going to utterly ruin you, and finally, you’re going to let him.

Part 2 > >

Be added to the series taglist here

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ambulancevsambulance · 11 days ago

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This is my Essay from the MCR Swarm Zine. I kept hesitating to put it up here, as I feel pretty tender about it. But after everything that happened yesterday, today. I feel like I have to put it out here. It's necessary. Needed. For myself, at the very least.

"'Cause you only live forever in the lights you make”

It’s June 2022, and I’m watching My Chemical Romance perform songs of anger, community, and defiance in one of my favorite cities- Prague.

The city of my father’s family. A city that has repeatedly stared tyranny in the face and decided to rise up despite the odds.

It’s 1945 and the citizens have rebelled to take back the city from the Nazis, street by street.

It’s the spring of 1968, and citizens fight against another oppressive regime. They are supposed to be crushed in four days.

They last eight. Months.

It’s 1989, another uprising, one that comes to be known as the Velvet Revolution. The city is finally free, a culmination of every revolution and rebellion that has come before.

In each instance citizens clawed towards freedom by any means necessary, fighting in the open to stop jackbooted goons from holding onto power. To save friends, family, and complete strangers from suffering for one more moment. Each time they lost, they made sure to make it hurt, and to make the oppressor remember how hard the fight had been.

They didn’t always win the battle,

–The good guys die and the bad guys win–

but they won the war.

These people keenly knew that institutions will not save you. Only your fellow comrades will.

It’s June 2022. My friends and I are facing calls of discrimination, for extermination. It can be a miserable time, but I find strength in watching one of my favorite bands. I join the hundreds on livestream, watching the thousands in the stadium. Our eyes fixed on the five on stage.

As Gerard starts crooning out the notes of Heaven Help Us for the first time in fourteen years, again I’m reminded:

They will not save you.

What is this song but a scream to be saved by outside forces? That in the midst of a cruel martyrdom, the Heavens will be silent to pleas for help. It’s the punchline to the joke, right? No higher power is coming to save you, no matter how much you cry.

Best they can offer is to watch you burn.

Heaven Help Us has never been a hopeful song–and it’s a struggle to feel hopeful, some days.

But the world is an echo of the past as much as it is a march towards an uncertain future. I feel those ghosts whispering to remember this city’s history while watching MCR on stage. To remember that the only solidarity that can be found is in mutual aid–in the community of our fellow freaks and queers and fags. That without intersectionality between it all we will fucking fail. It’s hard work, and we won’t always win.

That doesn’t mean we– I – should give up. And MCR agrees. In contrast to the despair of Heaven Help Us, there is Danger Days– which speaks more to me now than any other MCR album. Songs of radical love and resistance against fascist conglomerates and an uncaring apocalyptic world…that doesn’t feel as fictional as it did before.

In Prague, MCR plays six songs from that album (Boy Division counts, damn it). Seeing Gerard, Frank, and Ray all screaming into their microphones about an apocalypse that is crashing down around our ears lights a fire inside of me. Reminding me that changing the world might mean dying, but hell yeah lets try anyways. Your sacrifice might light the path of victory for others. You get to be the fucking detonator–and isn’t that a privlege? To have your acts of resistance inspire the next in line.

It’s in direct contrast to the lament of Heaven. Stop asking who, what will save us, and realize we have to save ourselves. By any means possible.

The concert ends with Kids from Yesterday, and I finish the night listening to Gerard sing that the only people we can truly count on are each other. That fighting for your friends is the purest form of love alive.

So in the face of extermination, say fuck you.

And make damn sure your friends want to leave graffiti on your grave.

#mcr #my chemical romance #mcr zine #music zine #resistance #the resistance #queer resistance #queer community #if we dont fight for us then who will

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naturallyadventured · 2 months ago

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cacatua_93

The final sunrise on the best month of my life ☀️

May 2023- very few words except holy fuck.

I started the month atop Knocknarea naked under the Scorpio Full Moon- a full moon linked to rebirth and sacral energy! Queen Maeve has definitely walked beside me throughout May. It’s been the wildest, most sexual month of my 30 years and I’ve never felt more alive 🔥 it’s a testament to the power of a pilgrimage up a mountain with an intention set, the way our ancestors would have climbed these sacred places.

Then climbing Mama Errigal, such a healing feminine place. If you look at the side of the mountain there is a very distinctive vulva down the side of her. And surrounded by the Seven Sisters- it’s my favourite area in Ireland.

2023 was the first year I have ever intentionally followed the Celtic Wheel, and bejaysus when you go inward in the winter months, you come out at Beltane with an energy that seems almost supernatural.

From the fires and Aries of the Uisneach flames, to bring Bish Boshed with tribe around Bellurgan Park, to the most spectacular weekend celebrating love in its purest form at Kilronan Castle- I am ready for a quiet June. Wishful thinking eh?

📸 photo credit from the Pisces supremo himself Mr Kevin Penrose @wildirishwanderer

We climbed this mountain twice in the space of 10 hours to get to see the sunrise and the sunset (when Pisces get together it’s like a big vortex where time ceases to exist)

Its so amazing to witness Kevin in action creating content- I can confirm he is very fond of clouds 🤣☁️🌥️🌥️🌩️🌨️

I’m hoping KP will start a side hustle called Wild Irish Woman and photograph naked woman in various locations across Ireland!

He has an eye not only for mountains 🍑

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inuhalfdemon · 8 months ago

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Dirty Dealings (14/21)

Word Count = 7,096 Words

Rating = Mature (SMUT)

Chapter 14: The Revelation

To him. It was the purest form of entertainment. The world was a stage, after all... - Alastor

June 25th, 2001

New Orleans, Louisiana

Having just finished with the disemboweling of a large gator in the New Orleans swamp; Alastor took his time heading back to Adeline. He drifted and slithered easily through the darkness – barely more than shadow himself. It was a trip prematurely made; he really hadn’t needed the excursion quite so soon but he thought it never really hurt to “blow of some steam”. Adeline had been tossing and turning restlessly in her sleep all night; he didn’t need the rest himself but her agitation had been building in him and it began to become quite irritating. The distance from her wasn’t great; but it did help and the activities he usually partook in whilst roaming the muck and shores of the bayou never failed to lift his mood.

It was still fairly early; the sun now only just suggesting its arrival to a new day. Alastor made a mental note to initiate intercourse with Adeline this morning before things got too busy for them; it might just release some of the tension she had building between them and it might help prevent any…arousing mishaps…during this event she was so focused on them attending.

Funny enough; he was delighted at the thought of getting to go to an art gallery with her tonight. However; the connection they shared was becoming stronger and Adeline’s feelings and emotions were coming to him – sharper and sharper – by the day. This, of course, was made worse by whatever anxiety she was holding onto with tonight. Her mood was swinging from one feeling to the next so erratically: excitement, apprehension, fulfillment, insecurity…that familiar and deepening passion…an equally deepening sense of dread, a feeling of expectation… Nervousness, hesitation, genuine fear… It was such a mess for him to receive that he was incredibly impressed with how well she was functioning. If not for their unique situation; he wasn’t certain he’d have caught very many of the signs to her internal war.

Sighing; Alastor smoothly shifted himself into his radio demon form. He was still committed to his new domesticated role and was dressed in the jeans he had fashioned to accommodate his tail and a loose black T-shirt. The T-shirt didn’t hide the crisscrossing of scars he had marking his neck and upper chest but it was comfortable enough. Waving a hand; he produced a shimmering, green portal and stepped through with swaggering strides.

He materialized in Adeline’s kitchen; finding her already awake and just in the beginnings of making her own coffee.

“Oh! You’re back already!” She greeted him, smiling. Her hair was a complete mess from her restless night and she looked exhausted.

“Just a quick trip.” He said, smiling back at her; his radio filter coating his words. He went to her; leaning over, he kissed her forehead softly.

“You in the mood for yours or mine, this morning?” He nodded to the coffee pot she had been getting ready to fill with water.

“Yours, please.” She sighed; putting the pot back in it’s place. “I had a Hell of a night.” She groaned.

He chuckled; reaching into the cupboard and pulling out a mug for her. Snapping his fingers, he filled her cup and produced his own – the red “Oh Deer” mug she had gifted to him on a whim. It brought him great amusement and he found that he was quite fond of it.

“Refills included.” He smiled, lifting his own mug and sipping at the steaming beverage.

“Thank God.” She said, taking the cup with her to head into the bathroom and get ready for the day.

He watched her walk away; disappearing into the restroom.

Even as a hot-early-morning-mess, she was…beautiful, he admitted to himself. He felt the beginnings of a…stirring…in his jeans. Yep, he would be getting her into bed at some point this morning. He was having none of that nonsense on another Anniversary night; not if he could help it.

He rubbed his face with his hand; thinking about the fantasies. They normally weren’t common; especially if he and her kept with their regular routine they had established for themselves. Every once in a while though…one would creep up and invade his thoughts. He tried not to give them much consideration; he was sure they were…normal…in some twisted way. Recently, they were drifting into his thoughts more and more frequently; catching him even in moments they had just collapsed into that post-coital bliss. What’s more, they were becoming more vivid; more macabre. He had even had a fucking wet dream in his sleep: of him cannibalizing her. He assured himself they held no merit but…they disturbed him; and he didn’t care much for the feeling.

Coming out of the bathroom; Adeline was brushing her hair.

“So, what do you want to do this morning?” She asked him; he could feel a touch of the jitters coming from her.

“Well, I thought I might get my trip to the cemetery out of the way before –“ He began.

“Oh, shit.” She said; pulling the brush from her hair. “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry…I completely forgot. I never got the sunflowers.”

He tilted his head; a long ear drawing back at her reaction.

“It’s really just fine, Adeline.” He assured her.

“I can go get some right now.” She told him. “I’ll get dressed and-“

“Adeline.” He tweaked his ear. “It’s still early…I’m fine going without them or if you’d like to join me; I’ll take you wherever it is you normally get them before we go. It doesn’t have to be right now.”

“You-“ She starred at him. “You want me to go with you?” She asked. “I mean, I know you invited me before but…” She had always meant to respect his privacy; not wanting to intrude on his personal commitments.

“It would be my pleasure.” He told her; going over to her, he touched her face, tilting it to look down at her with warm, soft eyes. He wanted to know what she was thinking…what swirling thoughts were driving her mad.

“Then, yes.” She smiled; touching her hand to his and holding it to her. “I’d like to join you – and I would very much like for us to get the flowers before we leave.” She clarified.

“Splendid.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb, then dropping his hand; hers falling away with his - he took it – briefly squeezing it before letting go. “Now, you finish up. I’ll go make us some breakfast.”

Adeline finished getting ready for the day. They both had breakfast; the radio playing : a series of classic rock songs - one of the few moments Alastor was choosing not to listen to jazz.

Alastor was cleaning dishes to AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds” while Adeline considered the dresses he had bought for her, years ago. He had offered for her to find and pick out whatever dress she’d like but she insisted on wearing one of the three he had sent her previously. She decided she would wear the green dress. It was formed to be less revealing than the red dress had been but like the red dress; it was trimmed in black. It hugged her body nicely and cascaded in soft, flowing ripples – the coloration of the fabric throwing varying shades of green depending on the lighting that struck it.

Alastor was just finishing in the kitchen when Adeline came back. She was dressed to do their errands; casually – wearing jeans and a colorful T-shirt. She had a thought, entering the dining room though and sat herself onto the edge of the long table.

Alastor – drinking his next cup of coffee – sipped from his mug, watching her. “What are you doing, Adeline?” He asked her.

“Well, you did say it was early…” She told him, suggestively.

“Yes. I’d say it still is.” He allowed.

“We could find some way to pass the time.” She offered.

“On your dining room table?” He asked her, un-amusedly. His ears sweeping back at the thought.

She shrugged.

He placed his coffee down; walking over to her.

“This table is meant for eating on.” He told her, disgusted.

She gave him a coy smile.

“No.” He told her, stopping in front of her; his arms crossed.

“I’ll make you a deal…” She teased him.

“Your terms?” He grumbled.

“You have your way with me, here.” She told him. “And, I’ll do whatever it is you would – might - like.” She finished, hoping to encourage some new sexual fantasy he might be hiding.

“Hm…” He unfolded his arms; leaning in. “Deal.” He growled.

In one smooth motion, he stepped between her legs. She spread them readily; wrapping them around his waist as he pulled her close. She was ready for him to dip her back; when instead he hiked her higher onto his waist and pulled her from table; carrying her out of the kitchen.

“The fuck!?” She yelled at him.

“You offered very vague terms, Adeline. “Here” could mean anywhere in this apartment; I’m taking you to the bedroom.” Alastor told her. “I am not averse to taking my meals there.” He chuckled. “You’d make a very poor profession out of your deal-making, dearest Adeline.”

“You’re such a bastard.” She told him.

He carried her through the doorway, into the bedroom.

“You like it.” He growled at her; tossing her easily onto the bed.

He crawled on it with her; over her. He kissed her sweetly as he hurriedly helped her out of her clothing. Tugging at her pants; he was pulling them off her as she worked his shirt off; each of them taking turns to pause and orient themselves throughout the process to get the job done.

When they both were fully naked, Alastor stepped from off of the bed, gripped her thighs and pulled her roughly to the edge of the mattress; his claws not cutting her but leaving sharp lines in her skin. She gasped; excited by his enthusiasm.

Winding his arms around her legs; he spread them open and dived right in. Adeline’s back arched and she threw her head back; normally he was more restrained with her than this – his movements much more slow and teasing.

Freeing one arm; he firmly pushed her down onto the bed with his hand; claws spread across her abdomen; digging into – but not piercing – her skin. She shuddered; her heart rate racing. His other arm still wrapped around her leg; he tightened his hold with it and pulled her into him; enjoying his feast. He had his face buried into her; his lips, teeth, mouth and tongue all in – licking, biting, kissing, sucking… Her head was absolutely swimming at the rapidity of the amount of stimulation she was already feeling.

Kneeling how he was; she had no good access to his needs and like her; he was quickly reaching his point of climax. His antlers had branched out in twisting points; curling upwards. Desperate for relief; he pressed his hand holding her down further into her firmly, his claws creating more marks in her skin; giving her a non-verbal cue to stay…before releasing her. Finding himself with his free hand now; he palmed and pumped himself.

Adeline could feel her climax rushing in. Alastor had stopped his biting and sucking frenzy only to slide his tongue into her – deeply – before firmly curling and dragging it so that when it came out; it was licking her firmly from entrance to clit; back in again and starting all over.

A gush of her wetness filled his mouth at his next pass and he knew she was about to fall apart. Her thighs quivered and tightened around him; he bore himself deeper into her sex – his tongue twisting and writhing into her with such a penetrating force that when she came she screamed.

The sound of it sent him over the edge.

“Ah, fffffuck.” He growled; his hips jutted into the side of the bed; spraying cum onto the fabric and into the carpet.

They stayed where they were; her lying on the bed and him knelt on the floor – both trying to process what just happened in the last 180 – or so – seconds. They both were panting; shaking and sweating from the heightened urgency of the whole event.

Recovering, Alastor pulled himself up onto the bed. Angling himself so that his feet were facing opposite from hers; he laid beside her – both of them breathing heavily – shoulder to shoulder in opposing directions.

“That was….” Adeline breathed; unable to find the words.

“…hm, quite so.” He agreed; sighing. If there was anything from sex he truly enjoyed; it was this – the feeling of soaking in all the endorphins and chemicals the body released following a moment of intimacy. It wasn’t enough of a reward for him to want to continue anymore of these sorts of activities than he absolutely must; but right now – it didn’t suck.

Adeline shuddered beside him; still feeling prickling jolts of post-climaxing energy strike through her body.

“So…what do I get to do for you now? A deal’s a deal.” She asked him, nearly lost in a haze.

“Ah, yes…” He had drifted off; remembering. “A deal is a deal.” He laughed, lightly. Breathing in deeply; Alastor sat up and turned himself so that he was leaning over Adeline; his body still facing the opposite direction from hers.

“What I want, dear Adeline…” He breathed. “Is for you to tell me what’s got you so wound up this morning.”

“What?” Adeline asked him; completely caught of guard. “That’s not a sexual favor!”

“I don’t deal in sexual favors, darling. I’ve told you before, I find them distasteful.”

Adeline groaned.

“Again; you need to work on the specificity to your contractual terms. You said, -“

“I KNOW WHAT I FUCKING SAID!” She tantrum-ed.

He watched her, waiting - amused by her moody antics.

She groaned, exasperated. "The art gallery... there's something more to it than just that. There's a reason why I want you there with me..." She said; not sure how much she wanted to tell him yet.

"Would you prefer to tell me what this reason is now; save us both this...suspense?"

"...no."

"Then, I will wait." He told her, kissing her. “I am quite curious…”

“I’m more afraid of-“ She bit her lip; nervous. “Of how you might react.”

“Hm…make that incredibly curious.” His ears twitched; his interest piqued.

He could have done some digging - looking into what all this event was supposed to be but a part of him liked the idea of...delayed gratification. If anything; it brought entertainment.

"Sorry." She said. "That wasn't a very equally rewarding deal."

"Vague terms, vague answers." He shrugged; honestly, many deals he himself had made resulted in a similar fashion.

"Might I offer..." She turned over so she was faced toward him now; she scooted and leaning over she trailed a hand down his back. His tail waved at her, wagging briefly before she threaded her fingers through the soft strands. "Reciprocation."

He groaned; melting into the bed.

"You're such a little minx..." He hissed.

"You like it." She purred back at him.

He chuckled into the covers, pleasure engulfing him as she played and teased with his tail.

It wasn't long before he was hard again. He - reluctantly - shifted, changing positions to elevate the pressure he was placing on his erect penis. Adeline smoothly pushed him, crawling on top of him; facing away.

This was something new.

She slid herself over him; sinking herself low against his hips. He groaned at the sensation of finding a novel angle. His hips jerked. She arched her back, grinding into him firmly as she steadied herself by tightly gripping his thighs; sharply digging her own nails into his skin.

He gasped at the stimulation; his clawed hands finding her hips and guiding her into just the right rhythm and rotation he wanted. When she found it and maintained it for them, he slid a clawed hand across her back; the sharp points tracing stark red patterns across her delicate skin.

How beautiful she would be...cut open and bleeding; he imagined her reaction to the shock and pain of him slashing deeply into the muscles that ran along her back - she would have a moment of panic; a moment where she'd find herself in a state of flight - adrenaline and epinephrine flooding her system. He'd hear her lovely scream again and he'd surely come into her as he proceeded to rip her apart...

He stiffened; flinching, he pulled his hand away from her back. She had felt his response; interpreting it as meaning something very different, she ground herself harder into him; lifting and kneeling herself so that she was detrimenting his entire length with her tortuous movements.

He pushed the bloodlust aside; his fucked-up fantasy only bringing him closer to another glorious climax. He bent himself backward, pressing himself into the bed and arching his hips into her.

His tip and length had tightened and curved, with the arching of his hips he was pushing and rubbing against her in just the right place each time she lifted and dropped herself along his shaft. He felt her tightening around him; gripping his engorged and seeping member in her walls - pushing him into coming undone at the seams beneath her - with her.

She gripped his thigh tightly, gouging light red marks into his scarred skin. He bucked, feeling himself release; filling her with his seed. She cried out at the sharp jut; it shattering her completely. Climaxing, she shuddered; her body arching back. Her head was bent back, exposing the soft, delicate skin of her neck where it dipped to meet her shoulders to him. He imagined biting into her just there; lacerating vital vessels and tearing ligaments.

Again; he pushed the thought away, reaching for her and pulling her to him. He slid himself out as they collapsed together back onto the bed; drifting off together into a moment of serenity.

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Awhile later they were leaving the apartment together. The sky was overcast, a pleasantly warm June day in New Orleans. As promised; Alastor followed Adeline to whatever floral shop she wished to visit – he was dressed in jeans and T-shirt that now suited him in human form. When Adeline stepped out from the shop, holding the bouquet of sunflowers; he took her hand and they walked to the outskirts of town.

He kept her hand - entwined in his - the entire way to the cemetery; releasing her only when they approached the gate and he swung it open for her. She was surprised to find that thirty-one years really hadn’t changed the gravesite much; many of the headstones were left forgotten and neglected even then and hadn’t seen much attention since.

The old oak tree; still standing sentinel – stretched its branches further out, its crisp green leaves fluttering softly in the early summer breeze. Alastor stopped beside the headstone; he surprised Adeline by lowering himself down into the grass beside the grave; stretching out and sitting comfortably beneath wavering shadows filtering through branches that wound overhead.

She paused; still holding the flowers. Smiling, he nodded his head to the headstone. Remembering how he had placed his rose atop the arch of the stone years before; she placed the bouquet of sunflowers there. She stepped back and he reached for her; pulling her down beside him. Taking her hand in his again; he rubbed soothing circles into her skin at the back of her hand with his thumb. Closing his eyes; he breathed in the smells of a New Orlean summer; enjoying the pleasantness of the weather and the day. He hummed softly; Adeline did not recognize the melody.

Is this what he did? Every year when he came here? He just took the time to be….here…with her – with his memory of her. She must have meant more to him than…anything. Adeline felt hot tears spilling over; suddenly realizing she was crying. He really would stop bringing her if this is what she did every time she came here.

Adeline wanted to ask him, wanted to know: not just her name but what he called her, how she died, what she was like, what his father was like – or if he even knew… All questions she knew she would never be brave enough to ask.

Alastor opened his eyes; Adeline awkwardly wiping at her face with her free hand- embarrassed and feeling guilty that she was the one who was being sentimental. Still humming; he pulled her into him. Touching her gently, he brushed the tears from her cheek. Then taking her face in both of his hands, he turned her so that he might kiss her. His lips pressed against hers so…softly; nothing in it demanding anything more from her than what she was now…there with him. Her chest clenched painfully and he froze; almost flinching from her as he broke the kiss. Adeline starred at him.

“Excuse me,” He looked away from her; clearing his throat. “That was…very out of character of me…”

“S’okay…” She said, watching him. “It was very sweet of you.”

They were both quiet for a moment; an awkward silence settling between them.

“Did you want to be…alone?” She offered after some time.

“No. That is quite alright.” He said; looking back to the headstone; a small but soft smile on his face.

“Do you think we could-“ Adeline started to say then, “I mean, I know we’ve got plans tonight and everything but would you mind if we went somewhere for lunch? There’s a courtyard bar and kitchen in town I think you might like.” She suggested.

“I would be happy to.” He told her; standing up now. Then, as if he had remembered something, “Would you mind terribly if I…well, if I got more comfortable?”

“You know, you really don’t have to ask.” She told him.

“Manners…my dear.” Alastor shifted easily back into his radio demon form; dressed now in his traditional pinstripe suit, monocle and bowtie. He produced his microphone staff for good measure. Feeling more like himself; he twirled the staff with a flourish and led Adeline away from the cemetery.

Once they had worked their way back into town, Adeline took the lead. She had decided something after that…kiss…and she was now on the look-out for any hint of an opportunity. When they were only about 10 minutes away from the courtyard; Adeline found the perfect one. A girl she had volunteered with at a few events was sitting against the trunk of a tree in one of the small downtown parks, reading a novel.

Sighing, Adeline took a deep breath in. She could do this.

“Hey-um, Luc…” She stopped. “Do you mind waiting just one moment?” She asked him.

He had stopped with her; watching her – very curiously. His long ears were perked forward. “Not at all, darling.” His voice crackling radio.

“Ok.” She breathed again. “Just-just give me one second.” Checking to see that the girl was still absorbed in her reading and not observing Adeline having a conversation with what would look like to her to be…no one…Adeline purposefully crossed into the park and approached her.

“Hey, sorry-“ Adeline caught the girl’s attention. “Uh-Venessa, right?” She greeted.

“Oh um…” The girl closed the novel she was reading; clearly caught off guard by the stranger approaching her - who somehow knew her name. “Yeah…hi. Can I help you?” She asked; nervously.

“I’m sorry; you wouldn’t remember me. I volunteer with the local organizations sometimes and you and I helped with the tree planting for the nature reserve trail south of town. That was ages ago…but I recognized you and thought I might say ‘hi’! Those volunteer groups get so muddled, it’s hard to remember everyone.” Adeline explained.

“Oh…yeah.” Venessa recalled the activity she had described. “Yeah, I’m sorry I don’t remember you…but, you’re right; there gets to be a lot of people doing those sort of things.” She said; feeling much less nervous now.

“Yes, well, I saw you – remembered you – and I remembered talking to you about a courtyard kitchen that’s not far from here that you thought you might like.”

“Really? Huh…” Venessa racked her brain; trying to find any hint of memory to this supposed conversation.

“Anyway,” Adeline continued “It’s actually not too far from here: French Quarter, next to the old market. They have a pretty amazing lunch menu.”

“I might just have to check it out.” Venessa told her, obviously interested in the idea.

“You definitely should!” Adeline drove at the idea harder. “Hey, listen- I gotta go. It was nice seeing you again, let me know what you think of the place next time I see you. I’m sure I’ll bump into you again at another event!”

“Yeah, you too.” Venessa made a face at the awkward retort. “See ya.”

Adeline walked away; heading back to where Alastor stood – unashamedly starring at the whole interaction.

“Ok.” She told him. “We can keep going.”

Tweaking one ear off to the side; Alastor watched Adeline with a simmering interest.

“Well, that was rather…odd, of you.” He commented.

“Yes, well…either it will turn into something or it won’t.” Adeline said; talking to herself as much as him as she turned and led them away.

Alastor glanced back at Venessa – who had gone back to reading her novel beneath the tree – before turning and following Adeline.

Arriving to the establishment; Alastor excused himself for a visit to the restroom while Adeline found them a place to sit. Going into a stall; he shifted smoothly back into human form. He stepped out again; straightening and swiping at this T-shirt and jeans. He felt…agitated. The kiss he had shared with Adeline earlier – the kaleidoscope of emotions she was forcing on him was really becoming too much. He felt more disturbed by what had come over him - there in the graveyard - than any morbid fucking fantasy he might have…

Convulsively, Alastor washed his hands. Spending time in his demon form – though briefly – had helped. He felt things much more…intensely…in this form; felt much more vulnerable to Adeline’s influence. Today; he wouldn’t have much choice, but to endure the onslaught. He promised himself a good deal of hunting in the bayou – of blowing off more steam – once this evening was through.

Leaving the bathroom; Alastor found Adeline.

“I ordered you a Sazerac.” She told him, perusing her menu. “Though, I’m sure you’ll make it into whatever you’d like.”

“Actually, a Sazerac sounds just right. Not theirs, but mine, of course.” He confirmed.

Adeline looked up from her menu and her heart leapt.

Venessa was stepping into the open area of the courtyard; finding a seat to lunch alone.

It…worked.

Adeline hardly dared to believe it. She thought for sure she would have to make several attempts before something came of her efforts.

Alastor caught Adeline’s attentiveness; turning he looked and saw what held it.

…interesting.

Holding a menu, Venessa spent some time becoming acquainted with the offered choices. A waitress stopped briefly where she was sitting. Alastor’s incredible sense of hearing – even while in his human form - easily caught the conversation:

“Have you eaten here before?” The waitress asked, pleasantly.

“Actually, no. This is my first time.” Venessa told her honestly.

“Well, we’ve got-“ The waitress went on.

…very interesting.

Adeline had been watching Alastor but then she realized, sitting just tables away from them was another person she knew; another girl she knew – Jessica. Suddenly, everything fell into place.

Alastor was still watching Venessa with interest when Adeline left the table. Turning; he watched her approach another woman that was out to eat alone. Leaning back; he sipped at his Sazerac – sharply tuned in.

Adeline knew Jessica from other volunteer events they had spent time together doing. Knowing both girls; what Adeline knew collectively was this: both women were interested in pursuing careers involving work with animals. They both were in school studying Animal Sciences. Jessica was a secretary for the local club that participated in the rehabilitation of raptors - birds of prey - and she oversaw the orientation activities meant to find and recruit new members. Adeline was sure this was something Venessa would have a strong interest in.

“Hey.” Adeline gave a small wave as she approached Jessica’s table. “I’m Adeline. You probably don’t remember me…”

“Oh, hello.” Jessica said. “No, I’m sorry I don’t think so...”

“It’s ok. We’ve done some volunteer stuff…and well, you meet a lot of people at those things and it’s easy to forget names, faces.”

Jessica laughed. “Well, that’s the truth.”

“Sorry to bother you.” Adeline told her. “But, my friend over there – the girl who’s also sitting alone – I know that she’s in the same Animal Science program you mentioned at our last activity. You said something about your…raptor club. Not really my thing but I know that she’d be super interested! Her name is Venessa, if you wanted to mention something to her. I actually have to get out of here, otherwise I would introduce you but I promise; she’d love to know more about all of that.”

“Really?” Jessica asked her, glancing over to were Venessa was.

Adeline nodded. “Yeah, you should go say ‘hi’, tell her I sent you over.”

“Alright! Adeline, right? Hey, thanks!” Having not yet ordered; Jessica gathered her things and moved to head toward Venessa’s table.

Adeline turned away and worked her way back over to Alastor.

Alastor watched intently as Jessica made a purposeful approach to Venessa’s table. He expected her to stop – maybe midway – and suddenly forget what she was doing. But, Jessica walked right up to Venessa’s table.

“Hey. Sorry, you don’t know me…” Jessica faltered. “But, I think…I know you from somewhere? Are in the Animal Science program here in New Orleans?” She asked, suddenly unsure as to why she might know that.

“Hey, and yeah.” Venessa said. “Third year.”

“Me too.” Jessica said happily. “I do volunteer work for the local birds of prey organization; we’ve got a meeting later tonight if you have any interest in that sort of thing.” Jessica shrugged; really not knowing why she thought this girl would care.

“Seriously? Yeah, I’d love to check it out-“

Adeline was studying Alastor who was studying the entire interaction. Her palms were sweaty; her chest tight. She had no idea how he might react to this…development. Everything fell into place…perfectly. She couldn’t have orchestrated anything better if she had tried. Better she find out what his response was to this before she took him with her to the art gallery tonight.

“Oh, Adeline…” He sung her name to her, darkly. “Well, that certainly was…enlightening.” He grinned wickedly at her; turning around to face her now.

He realized what she was showing to him was something truly…incredible. She had managed to do it. She had found a way to influence others; make an impression, an impact…all things he had meant to keep from her; to keep her from ever obtaining on her own. She found a way to do it…and all without being remembered.

Alastor listened to Adeline as she explained. He had known about her participation in various volunteering activities; it was something she could regularly do with others without having to maintain constant recognition and she had hoped it would bring some balance to her own personal moral-dilemma in having to steal from others in order to create a living for herself...She told him how she had only truly just discovered the possibilities of what she could do just prior to the New Year...

"I can't influence everyone of course..." She told him. "I've definitely flubbed some interactions...but sometimes,” she glanced over to where Jessica and Venessa were now both spending their lunch together, happily chatting. "Sometimes things fall into place...and I never really know how much will result from an interaction I influence. Those two might never see each other again, they could become friends...Hell, they could become lovers, I don't know."

"Hmmm," Alastor saw what she meant. The two women were obviously connecting on some meaningful level with each other; what they would eventually become - if anything -was anyone's guess...

"Well, I suppose you've found yourself a cute little talent in some match-making." He commented with a smirk.

It...stung...but Adeline was relieved to find that he was choosing to be petty about the whole thing rather than choosing to be...disruptive.

She had had absolutely no idea to what his reaction to all this might be. She felt like she knew him better now...felt like she might have a guess...but in the actual, real scheme of things: she did not know. She only knew a very small part about him, of him...she knew he was something far more, beyond this earthly realm…: knowing he possessed and commanded a fair amount of power. What she didn't know was what lengths he might go to ensure he kept the upper hand in their...deal; in ensuring he kept that power he felt was owed to him. It was made very clear to her that she was never meant to have quite this much...potential.

The companionship he had offered to her...it was nice; and it had kept her sane but she knew very well that in the end...they were where they were now because of the choices she had made that night in the swamps. She promised him her soul: in exchange he gave her more time...bound by a contract; her soul currently in his possession to take once she was ready to give it up to him fully and completely. How long was he willing to play this game with her? She had found something more to what was already an unimaginable - unattainable- opportunity. She found something she had been searching for, seeking – desperately - this whole time...and now, having found it, she wouldn't relinquish her soul...not yet...and quite possibly - not ever. Not willingly at least…

She hadn't replied to his scathing comment; choosing to ignore it she watched the two girls - now sharing a laugh about something they were discussing - before returning her attention back to themselves and what the rest of the day may bring.

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Alastor had treated her to another remarkable Anniversary dinner before the event of the art gallery. Dressed in his brown pinstripe suit – in human form – he led her by the arm; her dressed in the fine green dress she had chosen earlier that day. Feeling nostalgic; he brought her back to the high-end restaurant they had spent their Anniversary the year before: dining finely and finding a chance to dance together through a few of the lively jazz numbers before it was time to attend the exhibition.

Adeline was feeling nervous again; she felt the sweat making her hands clammy, a persistent tightness in her throat. Alastor noted the spike in her anxiety as they entered the spacious setting and he remained sharply attentive to her. He guessed that there was something...more... she wanted to show him now. What that was, he hadn't the faintest idea. How irritating intriguing...

They had only just stepped into a room holding a large part to the collection when a sharply dressed gentleman paused momentarily, staring at Adeline.

Alastor, initially- thought little of the man's response. Adeline was exquisitely adorned in the lovely green dress he had provided her. Her long, beautiful brown hair was styled in an intricate fashion, strands curling and twisting - accenting her face and all of her natural beauty. Alastor - if anything - wondered at how she didn't get more of a gawking response. If he, himself, couldn't help the thought of pulling her away into some unholy moment of privacy...heaven help the poor souls that surrounded them.

The man, still looking at Adeline, excused himself from the group he had been conversing with and approached them, a look of....recognition...on his face.

Alastor stiffened; every part of him at full attention now as the man politely introduced himself to he and Adeline; asking her if he by chance...if he might know her from somewhere....? Alastor felt Adeline flinch beside him, her apprehension obvious.

"I'm sorry." She told him, "I don't believe so...but, I do have one of those faces." She laughed, lightly-shakily.

The gentleman; having the utmost manners, discussed with them briefly regarding the art surrounding the studio; conversing with them naturally before seeing himself away and back to his original group.

Alastor watched the man walking away; he felt Adeline fidgeting beside him.

"Oh...Adeline..." He hummed, softly to her. "What are you up to my dear?" His eyes, sharply on her.

"Let's go..." She told him, leading him further into the gallery.

There were more...looks. All kinds and all types of people pausing and stopping to give Adeline a glance of....familiarity. Alastor saw and noted each and every single one...his interest entirely piqued. No one else was so bold at to approach them – however - and soon, turning a corner they both stepped into a large and spacious room; holding the most prized and sought out works to be placed on display for the collection. Dead center -taking up an entire wall - was a beautifully crafted acrylic-and-oil French painting of...Adeline.

The painting was more than a little…suggestive. Adeline was painted – naked – in a breathtaking series of paintbrush strokes; an abstract done in a remarkable fashion. The lines of paint swept and hinted at the curvature and details to her elegant, and rather nude, body but what stood out vibrantly; in carefully placed details was her face – and the distinct series of seven freckles, forming a constellation across her skin.

Alastor had gone stock-still again, his back straight as a rod as he assessed the artwork; smiling. Adeline wasn't looking at the painting but at him...picking apart each minute detail, each sharp dart of the eyes, each quick and subtle movement of his hands or fingers, a very brief but notable twitch just below the lens of his spectacles on the right side.

Her tension was building. When it became too much she started talking.

"I found out it was coming here last month…A stranger recognized my face from it and told me it would be exhibited here. It's called Revenir and it’s painted by Monsieur Alro Miret". She explained. "He's a French artist that I met… while traveling. We were...". She gestured toward the painting; it was more than enough to imply the level of intimacy there had been.

"He...was struggling. He had a lot of barriers with...mental health. Insecurities, negativity, depression...He told me I was his "muse"... He stayed up one night: all night painting....this. When it was done...he had forgotten me but remembered the work he had had in completing the art. It brought him a sense of...fulfillment. He found his creativity – his positivity - again and he began to expound on his abilities. He's a very successful artist and this painting, is considered to be one of his very best works."

Alastor did not move; his eyes still locked on the painting.

"This...this is what I wanted to show you, Luc." She breathed. "This is my....potential."

Finally, his eyes found her; regarded her.

A smirking smile stretched across his face. "Our little miss Adeline LaRue..." He said softly. "Finding her way to make her mark on the world; playing with tortured artists to make her...impact. I'm impressed."

"That's not it." She told him. "That is not the reason."

Turning, he looked at her more directly now, giving him her full and undivided attention.

"This is my purpose." She told him. "My passion. I finally found it."

She was looking back at him with such strong conviction; he couldn't look away.

"I can help people. I can help others." She continued. "I can help people form interactions - connections that otherwise would never have existed. I can make an impression...I can help others find their purpose." She looked back to the painting; feeling the truth of it.

He startled her by erupting into a loud and raucous fit of laughter; others within the studio were stopping and turning toward them.

Adeline felt her face heating up; whether it was from embarrassment, anger or both...she couldn't decide. He was absolutely doubled over and cackling; unable to contain his mirth at realizing the full implications of what she was showing to him...realizing the true and absolute irony of it in everything.

She had found her passion; her true purpose in helping others find theirs - in finding their own ways of feeling like they've made an impact, an impression in their own lives - by finding their own truest possibilities and potentials - all while she remained alone and forgotten... To him. It was the purest form of entertainment. The world was a stage, after all...

"Oh....Adeline...dearest." He gasped between cackles, tapering down now. "You've impressed me - no, you’ve astounded me." He actually was gripping his chest; his laughter still shuddering through him. "Why, never before have I been so thoroughly entertained!"

"You're not...upset, are you?" She asked him, really wanting to know.

"Heaven's no." He chuckled. "It throws a rather nasty wrench into the mix for me, certainly. But, to see all of this...potential." His mouth was watering at the thought of it now...

"And... you're not jealous?" She decided to ask him, truly curious.

"Of what?" He asked her. He had collected himself entirely now - and wasn't understanding her question.

"Of..." She nodded to the suggestive artwork.

"Why would I be?" He asked her, perfectly honest. "I am well aware that you've had previous...relations, Adeline. Unless he was anything less than a gentleman toward you, I have absolutely no issue with it." He paused. "He...was a gentleman... wasn't he?" He asked her, serious now - a rather dark look passing across his face.

"Yes. He was." She said, assuring him.

"Then it's no matter to me, whatsoever." He shrugged.

"I wasn't sure...I was careful to make sure he wouldn't be attending this particular event.” She admitted.

"I'm sorry that you felt the need, my dear." Alastor told her.

"You never really gave me...a reason...to be worried." She explained. "I just didn't know how you would react to, well, to any of this."

"Hm, well, I suppose my next move does remain to be seen." He told her. "How I do enjoy a good game of chess, though." He laughed.

"You're not...mad?" She asked him, checking again.

"No, Adeline." He told her, looking at her through a heated gaze.

He was absolutely furious...

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Chapter 15

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kitsuga · 1 month ago

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In the mirror. {June - The Ssum}

Description:

A fic in which June struggles to paint a self-portrait.

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Tags: angst, suicidal ideation, panic attack, of sorts; i didnt want to paint too heavy of a picture of one, not betad, not edited, the ssum, the ssum june, june the ssum

Word Count: 2,197

A/N: Written on: June 8, 2024

I love june i promise you i swear i can be trusted with june please if you just give me one chance just put him in my pocket just one chance i can be trusted i can be--

(i love june but i just couldnt not go angsty first i mean its *right* there) (i also wrote this before his last season i havent played yet shhhhh)

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Monet’s brush brings landscapes to life, lighting capturing the purest of emotions. Colour, composition, breathtaking stories—all of which June had spent most of his life admiring, studying, mimicking.

June had taken it all-- his knowledge, his studies—made it his own. To be like Monet, he thought, would be one of the best feelings in the world. The release of emotions, the longing for connection, the deep-rooted need to be perceived just to make his life mean something—they all flowed through him, through his brush, through the paint on the canvas. However, June knew he’d never be Monet, nor would his life hold any real meaning to the world around him.

That wouldn’t stop the brushstrokes.

A self-portrait, he thought, something new. Monet made a few of his own—he didn’t like them, though. Monet thought them to be limitations, pieces that refused to work with the level of talent he knew he could produce. What could he do, though? There was no time left in his life to do them any justice, to truly show how his talent could grow; time that June also didn’t have.

He knew his life wouldn’t be very long, with this sick body of his. All he could do is tough it out, do as he was told, and hope for the best—he didn’t even know if he wanted to fight anymore. So today, he will simply paint.

A self-portrait, he thought, something to leave behind. A mirror sat at the table beside the easel, a layer of paint freshly dried on the canvas, filling the room with a nostalgic smell. To paint his face, he thought, shouldn’t be too hard. He thought he were good looking, it shouldn’t be too difficult of a task—a nice learning curve, he thought. Expand his repertoire, get a change of pace to further develop the skills needed for pieces he liked doing. He’d have to leave something behind, after all. Might as well make it beautiful; might as well give it all he’s got.

The mirror sat there, waiting for his eyes to fall within it. His gaze travelled over mundane parts of his appearance; the drab hospital wear, loose around his neck. The sharpness of his jaw, the sickly flush of his skin. He swept his gaze over his lips, nose, the lack of luster in his hair and no life in his eyes. He stared at himself, tried to look for the missing sparkle in his eye—staring too long as the rest of his appearance in the corners of his vision were starting to twist and distort. Snapping his eyes shut, shaking his head, he rid himself of the sensation and turned his attention back to the canvas his wrist rested upon.

He could do it; it was fine—don't overthink it, don’t get hung up on it. The brush dipped into the paint, mixing colours among the palate. Start slow, start easy. The loose collar of his shirt started to take form on the canvas—drab, monotone, familiar. A break, a breath. Carefully, the shape of his neck, head, face started to appear—no details, no features. Then, the individual strands of his hair, all messy and unkempt, no matter how hard he had tried to smooth them out in the mirror. Blonde, bright—not like the sun, encompassing others and providing light and happiness, but gentle, muted—like a distant star, far away and long gone by the time it reaches your eyes. Perhaps that meant his whole life should be considered a star—maybe his paintings would take to the sky and paint their own constellation of his life for someone else to see, since he had nothing else to offer.

A person with no face, the canvas housed. The details were going to be the hardest part, he thought. Might as well take his time, study hard, give it his best shot. His eyes drifted over to the mirror once again, following the lines of his features while the sound of the scratching of a pencil followed along. A curve here, his beauty mark there, he was a little afraid to look at the penciled results and closed his eyes before turning back to his work. Sitting back, peeking just slightly, he took a look at the level of his skills. Not bad, June thought to himself, it could just be... better. It was fine, he thought, not that it would matter; he wasn’t going to make waves in the world that required a good representation.

Another break, another breath. His health was starting to slow him down; he’d fight it until he couldn’t. He’d rather finish this portrait, toss it to the back, and try not to think of it again. Slowly, carefully, the brush danced across the surface, his face taking shape. The curve of his nose, the lines of his lips, the dark circles beneath his eyes. Hours had passed, the sun had set, but the eyes made of paint were as lifeless as the ones that looked back at them. June sat back with a sigh, wiped the stray paint from his face, and took a long look at the acrylic mirror in front of him.

What had happened? His hair seemed far too grey compared to his blonde, his eyes seemed to curve differently; his features seemed too sharp, too sunken, aged. His beauty mark had still been there—maybe he was getting tired and simply made mistakes. June took another look, staring so hard that the paint version of him started to morph further, seemingly looking more and more like his father rather than a portrait of his own likeness.

Is that who he was? His father? Longing for the freedom of the wind and the sea, wanting a simple life with simple means. A life with a more holistic approach to his illness, a life with less dollar signs attached to material means. Was he his father? Maybe he was meant to be; the need to hate and distance himself from wealth or those who have it, the need to be so organic he couldn’t tell himself from the soil he would be buried in. It was a scary sight, to see his father in place of his own presence; who truly was June? Was this him?

His heart started to race, a slow panic starting to bubble up. He rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to wipe away whatever fatigue must have been doing to him. The image of his father kept staring back at him, no matter how many times June had tried to rub his eyes, blink it away. He brought his brush back to the canvas, slightly shaking; he started again, painting quickly, a little rougher, over previous lines to attempt his own image again. He worked quickly, his heart starting a slow crescendo into his ears as the world around him began to muffle. The corners of his eyes started to grow a bit blurry, tunnel vision focusing on the acrylic sitting in front of him that fueled an impeding pit in his stomach. A little paint here, a shadow there; a new colour here, a messy line there. June tried to fix his image in record time, not worrying about the sloppiness or potential of drop in his skill. His body temperature started to rise, a bead of sweat dripping down his face; he wiped it away and sat back with a sigh of relief, hoping his work would be correct this time. He turned to look out of the window, a break full of unease. The moon was now shining down on him, reminding him just how small he was in the dark. He turned back to the painting.

What had happened? His heart truly started to race now, the rapid thumping echoing heavy in his chest and all throughout his veins. His body shook as his eyes darted around the person staring back at him. Dark, longer hair, feminine features, eyes holding no lust for life—a broken image of stage lights and nightlife. June’s panic started to rise, the image in front of him morphing further into his mother, no hint of his own likeness left.

Is that who he was? His mother? Simply falling into line with what is told to him, what is expected of him. A life full of longing for luxury and status; a demand for respect. A life with a price for everything, without bothering to look at the bill. Was he his mother? Maybe he was meant to be; the need to indebt himself to others, to fight tooth and nail in a harsh world to look good but never be truly happy; the need to be known, recognized, safe in a small box like a puppet on strings. It was a scary sight, to see his mother in place of his own presence; who truly was June? Was this him?

The air felt far too heavy, a weight on his chest. June started to feel like he couldn’t breathe, taking in and letting out heavy breaths, all rapid to match the speed of his heartbeat. It was a downward spiral, the world had felt like. His body had gotten far too hot—or maybe it was cold? He broke out in a cold sweat, shaking profusely, leading to him dropping his paintbrush onto the floor. What was going on? Why couldn’t he get his portrait to look like him—why was it looking like one parent or the other? The painted mother had seemed to move, turning to look June in the eye and call out to him.

“June?” He could hear her voice echo in his head, as the painted lips did not move. “Who truly is June?”

His limbs felt heavy, stiff, tied up in string in a neat little bow. He would dance, nod, open the jaw strings to answer with an unfought agreeance. Who truly was June? Was June anyone? Was June anything? Was June truly real?

What would June leave behind in this world? Nothing, nothing at all—for he was not June. He was a puppet, a doll, an empty shell for his parents to place pieces of themselves in and silence any portion they didn’t agree with. Any original thoughts, wants, needs, desires—nothing of June’s would be respected or acknowledged. He took up quickly, knocking the stool he sat upon over with a loud bang. He threw his hands into his hair, tugging at it slightly while he tried to hold the pain in his head—to keep the thoughts from spilling out. He could hear his mother, his father, swirling around him and reminding him that he was not his; his life would never be his own, for he was sick, weak, needed to be taken care of and indebted to the world. He was nothing extraordinary or special, let alone something unique—let alone someone free.

The room started to spin, June’s body in a full-blown reaction. He started crying out, strangled noises, anything that might stop the pain of realization—anything that might stop the pain of subjugation. The painting in front of him mocked him, teased him, berated him—shut it up, shut it up!

June dipped his fingers into black paint and swiped. He swiped, scratched, carved, lines across the faces in the canvas; covered eyes could no longer scrutinize, covered mouths could no longer command. His chest hurt, his body hurt, his soul hurt. Why? Why had a simple portrait turned out this way? Why had a peaceful night turned out like this? Why did he ever think he could leave a mark behind in this sea of stars?

Who truly was June? He knocked the easel over, splattered paint creating the portrait’s crime scene. He had never been particularly emotional, certainly never to the point of a spontaneous melt-down; why did it hurt? Why did it hurt so bad to see his parents in place of himself? Why did he only see them in the first place? He held his face in his hands and broke out into a sob, standing in place as the room spun around him. He sobbed, cried, trying to expel the pain from his heart and his head and return to a point where he didn’t reflect on his life, he simply lived as he was told—as he was expected. It was a mistake to try, to even think about following Monet’s footsteps—even worse to create a portrait after Monet himself would shy away from his own.

Something beside him called out softly, vile. Slowly, cautiously, he let his tears hit the floor as he removed his hands, looking towards the voice that called out to him.

In the mirror held June—was it June? With black paint smeared across his eyes and teardrops staining his face further, making him unrecognizable. The person in the mirror gave him a wicked smile, putting a finger to their lips and hushing him—telling him to be a good boy and listen, though June himself had not moved.

Who truly was June?

#june the ssum #the ssum june #tw: suicidal ideation #tw: panic attack #kitsu.writes #kitsu.the ssum #kitsu.the ssum june #the ssum

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ladyjuquia · 10 months ago

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!! Yumeshipping/OC x Canon Post !!

Tristan & Juquia - Their Flowers and their Meaning (in their relationship)

Tristan and Juquias Flowers are pretty basic with Tristan having the red Rose and Juquia the Daisy. But besides that it fits for both of them, not only in meaning but appearance, I also think the way how humble and „basic“ it is, it reflect their relationship very well.

Tristans Flower - A Red Rose, who is more dark and has slight dark tips

Tristan, a man marked by passion and love from his past, is actually someone so beautiful you don’t want to just approach him. You maybe even simply can’t. The thorns symbolise his own isolation on that as well. He is a dark red rose as he is not only known for love and passion, but the dark red rose stands for itself for Loyalty and eternal Beauty. While Fate goes more with the depiction that Tristan betrayed one Isolde, I think it signalised more that he was loyal in another way - Thought the Tristan of my Story is more Gottfried von Straßburg based which works more with the theme of Loyalty, especially for Tristan. The black tips here stand rather for Tristans condition being trapped in insecurities, anxiety and depression. Something that might make his beauty faint a bit.

This paired with the fact roses start blooming in Mai, a reference to the Maifest where his parents met each other and fell in love, the start of their romance and the very core beginning of Tristans existence with them making love later which leads to pregnancy with roses also having their main blooming time during June and July, with June being also the release month of the Tristan and Isolde Opera. Also Juquia has her Birthday in July, once could say he blooms the strongest for her.

Also a fun fact, in my language I often say „Tristannuss“ meaning „Tristan-Nut“ coming from Drystanus/Drustanus - Funnily the Rose fruits, the Hagebutte, belong to the family of nuts haha.

Juquias Flower - The Daisy, one with pink/bright red tips

Juquia is the Daisy. Nothing special. At least at first. Daisies are one of the most seen flowers, people often call it „the Persistent/the Persevering“ with Juquia being always there, even with the curse, no especially because of the curse that won’t let her just die. She stays alive for as long as possible. Juquia is someone who gained a strong healing power, funnily the Daisies are also said to be having strong regeneration powers and being used for healing.

While Daisies also can stand for innocence and being pure, which would fit to Juquias core, it also can stand for being humble and trust. Coming to Juquias Wish of just having one person on her life she can trust and who likes her for who she is and who can stay at her side, plus the trust she did put in the world especially the clock tower it makes sense, even if she seems pessimistic at core. In some terms the Daisy can also stand for beauty. A persistent beauty. This is something rather how Tristan is perceiving her. Juquia sees herself rather as small, not special and not noticeable and easily replaceable. When a daisy is used as Fortune Teller, for the petal Game, Juquia sees herself as always the bad outcome with her curse bringing bad luck to the people around her. But it also contains her inner fear of in the end being just used, when bringing good fortune, being robbed of everything that makes her whole to be thrown away afterwards. So she is alright with not being noticeable.

The pink tips stand for Juquia still being a romantic person who yearns for companionship, who daydreams about happiness and love in its purest form. And especially with Tristan she let this love in her life.

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

In the core, both are more seen as basic flower. Nothing special. And probably that is what TrisQuia is. Nothing special at core but them embracing this normality makes it beautiful, like the flowers they represent. Tristan and Juquia are both tied together trough a very humble wish - to find someone who found completely understand them. They didn’t even wished for a Lover, but for someone to trust. For someone where they can be themselves without worrying to lose this happiness in an instant.

And while both flowers represent their „ugly“ parts it also shows their simple beauty. Especially for each other.

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kayleightarot · 1 year ago

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Wednesday, June 21, 2023 Good morning! Feeling Divinely Inspired to Create? Seeking Truth & Justice? Sensing a need for Change? Tarot of the Day: Ace of Swords

The Aces represent their suit’s elements in their highest and purest form. For the Ace of Swords, some of these are objectivity, achievement, reasoning, and creative thinking. It represents a change or turning point that will reveal many truths. It cuts away the artifice and the confusion to show you the 'bottom line' so you can take the next steps.

With this type of clarity, comes a need to apply the ‘blade’ responsibly. Don’t cut too deep or too quickly, as that could damage aspects you wish to maintain – people’s feelings, beneficial processes, etc. This Ace may show itself as a brilliant idea or, perhaps some sort of divine inspiration toward creativity. Regardless of how/where it appears for you today, bravery is what's called for because, you already have a sense of what you need to do next- trust yourself.

💚 At work, the Ace indicates the need to take a different tactic or even, possibly, consider a different job. Be generous with your creativity and ideas today; you may not appear to be getting the credit for the new outlook but you will in the end; and to your benefit.

💙 If love is on your mind, truth is key. If you are in a committed relationship, the Ace speaks to ending a pattern that is not positive for you. It's time to speak up and speak truth to your partner. You are being guided to build the relationship that is better for you.

🧡 The Universe rewards us for the risks we take on our own behalf. Know that there is good, beneficial energy that is getting you where you want to go. Excise the extra weight and take the leap – the Universe will catch you. Gun a-màireach (until tomorrow), Lovelies Peace out

#KayleighTarot #GoDoBe #PeaceOut #Tarot #TarotReader #TorontoTarot #Mystic

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7grandmel · 1 year ago

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Todays rips: 30/09/2023

Fly High, No Lies ~Genocide Ending~ and Nice, Slick, Blackness

Season 2 Part of: SiIvaGunner: Rebooted

Ripper Unknown

youtube

Season 2 Part of: SiIvaGunner: Rebooted

Ripper Unknown

youtube

Just yesterday, in I Saw a Brainwasher Today, I did my best to summarize the context and premise of SiIvaGunner's first true story event - SiIvaGunner Rebooted. It was an absolutely fascinating event to be part of, and for me it was what cemented SiIvaGunner as an experience worth taking seriously, as a narrative we were all part of and one that would continue to grow and evolve over time. Eventually, though, the event wrapped up, things were resolved, and SiIva moved on to different, more "organic" stories - not at all worse or less interesting ones, of course, but...the fate of the SiIvaGunner channel itself wouldn't exactly be tested in the same way as it was in The Reboot ever again.

That was, at least, until Season 2 reached The Reboot's first anniversary.

A key part of the original Reboot event that I forgot to mention was the ARG that played out alongside it - a fetchquest across the internet that proved to be the way to truly "save" SiIva and uncover the true resolution to The Reboot. The event thus had two endings - one where Chad Warden succumbs to The Voice Inside Your Head's demands and allows SiIvaGunner to keep existing without a trace of Snow Halation left, and a true ending where Chad uses the power of the fanbase's support to defeat The Voice and bring SiIva back to the way he once was. On June 17th 2017, though, we were suddenly shown a secret, far-removed third ending - the Genocide Ending. Fly High, No Lies ~Genocide Ending~ depicts a route where, rather than acting out of the wish to save SiIvaGunner and act in service of what's right, Chad Warden acts out of his own selfish wishes and ego. Here, Chad Warden kills both Snow Halation and The Voice Inside Your Head - he rejects acceptance of what the fanbase seemed to so vocally hate, yet also rejects conforming to their wishes altogether. Instead, Chad Warden seeks out his own wishes, and takes full control of the channel altogether.

And so began one of the most memorable events in SiIvaGunner's entire history - if nothing else just for how purely vapid and empty it all was. Chad Warden had one joke he aimed to cover the entire channel in, as he otherwise kicked back and did whatever else he so liked. Thus, our feeds became filled with nothing but "Chicken and Chips" from hit band "Lego Pornstars" - a joke on so many levels of irony and so-bad-its-good that I still can't decide if I find it funny or not. Though a lot of the rips made during the event were of course genuinely well-made whilst using that joke, the essence of what it was like to follow the channel during this one-day takeover is distilled to its purest form in Nice, Slick, Blackness - the rip that concluded the event. It is ten minutes straight of nothing but cold, empty, desolate ambiance, as Chicken and Chips plays faintly in the background. Its absolutely unbearable, and yet in a way its the natural outcome of what so many people wished for SiIvaGunner to be - the outcome of what would happen if SiIvaGunner was ran purely by knee-jerk reacting to which jokes were and weren't allowed. Eventually, as jokes would be phased out from obnoxiousness, recency, association with bad media, and general redundancy...there would be nothing left but Chicken and Chips.

There's so many layers to everything that transpired during this event, and its conclusion only adds even more to consider on top of all of that. By the ten minute mark of Nice, Slick, Blackness, a voice begins speaking directly to us using on-screen text. Through just a few sentences, its revealed to us that the entire event was set up for us by Wood Man, a character from the main storyline now confirmed to have the power to move between different timelines and history. The Genocide ending, as he explains, was not just a random timeline in particular - its the one where Chad Warden himself acts "more like he actually is in the real world." This whole event was, in the end, nothing but smoke and mirrors for the canon of our SiIvaGunner, and Wood Man eventually brings us back safely to the main universe, clarifying he only really showed us this alternate time "for funsies". Thus, the Reboot was fully put behind us, and the channel went back to its prior state.

Yet...something's always really stuck with me in Wood Man's wording there. In SiIvaGunner canon, Chad Warden is depicted and understood to be somewhat of a hero, an everyman on the side of creatives who know what real quality is born from. Yet as Wood Man infers, this isn't how the actual character of Chad Warden is depicted as - the "real" Chad Warden is, truthfully, one who WOULD take over SiIvaGunner just to play to his own childish whims and brag about his own glory. We as SiIvaGunner fans, and in shitposts in general, create these imaginary interpretations of fictional characters - twist and bend them to fit the molds that reflect the jokes we make out of them rather than how they actually are in real life. Figments, as understood in SiIvaGunner lore, exist by how people remember them, or in other words how they're understood as memes: Wood Man isn't known to us as one of eight robot masters created by Dr. Wily to wreak havoc unto the world, but as a silly Ms Paint drawing inspired a sloppily made Mega Man MIDI file of the character's theme.

In understanding SiIvaGunner as something far more imaginary and lucid than it truly is, we've been able to go on some of the most fascinating story beats yet told on YouTube across SiIvaGunner's seven seasons. Even as the people behind the channel's activity are becoming more known and recognizable by the minute, we keep the kayfabe around the channel - because its that fantasy that lets us be part of its evergrowing story. Nice, Slick, Blackness and The Reboot anniversary event as a whole were, in a bizarre way, our peek into SiIvaGunner's hell - the world where fantasy no longer exists. And speaking personally, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget what I saw in there.

#todays siivagunner #season 2 #siivagunner #siiva #rip visuals #rip bundle #ripper unknown #Youtube #Bandcamp #siivagunner rebooted #siivagunner ccc #christmas comeback crisis #wood man #woodman #the voice inside your head #chad warden

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theegreenmuse · 4 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐱 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐝

☞ How my 90-day social media cleanse opened my eyes to the beauty of the unplugged world:

🪷 Taking a step back from social media from November 2023-February 2024 was my way of escaping the cycle of comparing my life to the curated perfection of others online. In doing so, I discovered a profound reconnection with the world around me. Without the constant pull of curated feeds and perfectly staged posts, I began to see the genuine beauty of life in its purest form. Conversations became more meaningful, my surroundings felt more vibrant, and my self-awareness deepened.

This detox was a journey toward finding authenticity in the simplicity of everyday moments. It taught me the incredible value of living fully in the present, savoring the real connections and experiences that life offers beyond the screen. This revelation showed me that true contentment and joy come from engaging with the world directly, rather than through the lens of social media.

🪷 Currently, I have embarked on another social media detox, starting on June 17th. This ongoing break is once again reinforcing the lessons I learned during my previous cleanse. I am finding peace in the present moment and fostering deeper connections without the distraction of constant notifications and scrolling.

Embracing this time away from social media has been empowering and uplifting, and I want to share this journey with you. Here are my tips to help you achieve a successful social media detox:

☞ Pressing Pause for Peace of Mind

🪷 In today's whirlwind of endless scrolling and notifications, it's easy to feel lost in the digital shuffle. If you've noticed that opening your social media apps feels more obligatory than enjoyable, it might be the universe nudging you to press pause. Trust me, stepping back to breathe and recharge offline isn't just beneficial; it's necessary. Your mental health deserves that kindness.

☞ Reviving My Creative Spirit

🪷 Outside the confines of those apps lies a vast, vibrant world waiting to spark your creativity and uplift your mood. Imagine treating your mind to a reset, as you would your phone after it glitches. That's what a break from social media can offer—a chance to reboot and refresh.

☞ Beyond the Screen: A Journey of Self-Discovery

🪷 Ever been haunted by FOMO? That fear of missing out can feel all-consuming, but it's fleeting. What's enduring is the opportunity to reconnect with your true self and unearth the hobbies and passions that have been buried under a pile of notifications.

☞ Choosing Reality Over Comparison

🪷 Embarking on a social media detox isn't about escaping reality; it's about enhancing it. It's a journey towards breaking free from the relentless cycle of comparison, reigniting the flames of your offline life, and regaining control over your digital consumption. This journey is about finding balance and remembering that life's most precious moments don't require a Wi-Fi connection.

☞ Returning to Social Media With a Fresh Perspective

🪷 One of the greatest revelations comes when you realize social media will still be there after your break, unchanged. But you? You'll return transformed—with fresher eyes, a lighter heart, and a newfound sense of clarity and calm.

☞ Embracing the Real World: My Social Media Detox Story

🪷 So, consider this your personal sign, from someone who's walked this path: Dive into the detox. Allow yourself to explore and embrace the joys that exist beyond your screen. The real, meaningful connections you'll forge offline will remind you of what it truly means to live—fully, deeply, authentically. Your mind, body, and soul will not only thank you but flourish because of it.

With love and support,

- 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞

#social media detox #digital detox #mindfullness #self care #self growth #self love #self improvement #health and wellness #wellnessjourney #authenticity #inner peace #inner thoughts #simplicity #balance #healthyhabits

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c0wboylik3m3 · 1 year ago

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Well loved books.

I am in firm belief that books should be well loved. they should be written in, the spine should be cracked, the pages should be folded, things you find during the adventures you take squished between the pages. The more damage done to a book, the more memories and love are in it and there's something so beautiful about a well loved book. it tells a story. it's like a scrapbook of that time in your life whilst you've read it and when you pick it up again after a while of finishing it you can look back at the life you lived while the book traveled with you.

I've started packing my things to put into storage while i'm away at college and I picked up my very well loved copy of Red, White And Royal blue that I read last summer and was flipping through it. it had water damage from me accidently dropping it in my pool and writing in it and different keepsakes from things I did that summer. it has things that I wrote that i never spoke to another living soul, thoughts of love, insecurity that the ink on the pages written by the author reminded me of.

"I don't think I ever thought I would have proper true friends until gr. 12 and now with september almost here and half of my friends going to college it's definitely gone. I hope to feel this truly happy again soon" is messly written on page 201 in pink glitter pen. I wrote that at 18 about the loss of my huge friend group leaving while I stayed and went back to school for another year, needing a missing credit to get into college. I was already feeling like I failed having to go back for another year and losing my friends and reading about Henry, Alex, Nora, and June partying and Alex having that moment of realization of found family made me realise that I most likely won't have that comfort again. Looking back at it now being on the cusp of 20, that friend group was the farthest from friendship, I had just romaticided it. We had moments where it was friendship, in its purest form but overall it turned into something toxic and by the end most of us hated each other and we split into two groups, but the girl who left the scribbled note in the pool water damaged book didn't know that yet. She didn't know what came from that friend group. The friendships that truly blossomed from it, the trips and adventures she'd have with the few friends that made it out of that friend group. She got so, so much closer to her favorite people. She has never been happier then she has now starting the new chapter of her life in a big city, and having the best friends she could ever ask for.

The seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, the well loved book i've brought on my most recent adventures. Lies sand in the crevices of a few pages where I had been reading it on the beach with my friends this summer, the ones that made it out of my Red, White and royal blue adventures.

damaged books are well loved books,

well loved books keep memories,

and well loved books are scrapbooks.

#books #damaged books tell a story #just thinking about this while I was looking through my collection of books #red white and royal blue #evelyn hugo #this post sorta helped with my existential crisis i've been having #books and reading

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steelbluehome · 5 months ago

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Make The Switch

A DIFFERENT MAN ★★★★

SEBASTIAN STAN TRANSFORMS

SYDNEY FILM FESTIVAL REVIEW

By Chris Dos Santos

10th June 2024

"A Different Man' is an extremely engaging and funny watch. Stan is fantastic, and this is sure to mark a turning point in his career."

NEUROFIBROMATOSIS is a genetic condition where non-cancerous tumours grow in the nervous system. This can either be inherited or occur spontaneously in early development. It can happen anywhere in the body, but the most identifiable location is on the face, with the most famous example being Joseph Merrick, whose life was portrayed in 'The Elephant Man'. There is no cure for it, but 'A Different Man' poses the question of what could happen to someone if there was.

The film follows Edward (Sebastian Stan, 'I, Tonya', 'Captain America: The Winter Soldier'), who has neurofibromatosis. He lives alone and is very reserved due to his condition. He signs up for an experimental drug that can fix his face. It works but he keeps it a secret, leaving his old life behind, starting a new one under the name Guy. Before his transformation he formed a bond with his neighbour Ingrid (Renate Reinsve, 'The Worst Person in the World'), who has now written a play based on their interactions, and Guy auditions for the role. Oswald (Adam Pearson, 'Under the Skin'), a man living with the same condition, also auditions for the role and Guy becomes jealous as Oswald oozes the confidence he never had before his transformation.

In the purest sense, this is a dark comedy. There is something uncomfortable about laughing at someone with a physical disability, but that is the purpose of the film - to make you feel uncomfortable and question your own ideas of self-image. It really juggles the serious and lighter tones of the story in a brilliant way. Edward is a man whose self-image is important to him, and when he gets to look "normal" expects everything to work out, but when compared to Oswald, a man who doesn't let his looks dictate his world view, Edward's world view comes crumbling down.

Sebastian Stan, the man that you are, is a knockout here. He is so riveting to watch, and no matter what strange turn Edward takes, you understand every beat. The juxtaposition between his and Adam Pearson's performance is truly genius, and it's delightful to watch the two play off each other.

'A Different Man' is an extremely engaging and funny watch. Stan is fantastic, and this is sure to mark a turning point in his career. Its journey of self-image is sure to be relatable for many viewers, and it's one of 2024's most surprising films.

#sebastian stan #a different man #adam pearson #renate reinsve #aaron schimberg

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akallia · 2 years ago

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the fluidity of concrete, part 1

Hello, all! I'm back. Nothing much here but there will be important notes at the end. This is a cross-post from AO3, and there will be a link to it at the end if you want to read it there. Happy reading!

Pairing: Albedo x Fem!Reader, Kaeya x Fem!Reader if you squint

Word count: 4k

Concept: Albedo, son of a renowned German architect, finds himself in small-town America as his mother slips into a coma. You, an employee of your local library and resident architecture nerd, form an unlikely relationship with the foreigner with the platinum blonde hair.

CW: smoking, language, substance abuse, death, abusive parents

Most people would never get to see true stasis. Stasis, a state or period of inactivity or equilibrium. The best place to find stasis is a home owned by someone important which was turned into a museum after their passing. That is where stasis is in its purest form. Where else would you experience a state of such stillness? It feels so wrong - either the original owners should come back and inhabit their home, or the tourists should occupy it. Regardless, the stasis of an empty, culturally significant home possesses an arresting emptiness to it. It is… stasis. Stasis implies that there will be change, soon. It is a home. Homes are for living. Where are all the people?

The home in question: mid century modern, hidden away behind rows of thick symmetrical hedges, a sprawling lawn behind it stamped with a checkered mowing pattern, dotted with willow trees. A bright conversation pit in the center of the living room with a baby grand Steinway adjacent, immaculately dusted and wanting. Low, flat ceilings, floor to ceiling built in bookshelves decorated in antique clocks and obscure coffee table books on art. A wall of glass behind the conversation pit that faded into a short concrete porch.

Gold stood there with her hands clasped thoughtfully behind her back, a large, ugly hat on her head as she surveyed the lifeless lawn and its perfectly cut grass. Just her, and her “translator” on the phone in the kitchen, making sure she didn’t wander off. She tended to use her old age to her advantage these days, meandering wherever she pleased in the name of “allowing an old woman her pleasures.”

—

Again, Gold and her omnipresent companion, now at one of the churches and preschools downtown. Mona, her translator, always on the phone, balancing herself on one hip with all her weight on a dangerous-looking black stiletto heel and impeccably dressed with her innate balance of tasteful and expensive. She jabbered on in German…

“Was du gesagt hast, klingt für mich so, als ob…” She gave a quick glance at Gold, who had picked up one of their discarded umbrellas and was meandering. “Ach nee!” She said rudely.

The courtyard of the church was a strange one. The church itself was large and imposing, a compound occupying an entire city block. A large L-shaped rectangle formed the main structure, and in the crook of the L it sank down to an open courtyard an entire story into the ground, a sort of hamster tunnel up above from the preschool to the church proper providing the only shelter from the elements. White concrete contrasted against the green summer grass that housed a small fenced-in playground. The concrete proudly exhibited its popularity with wheel tracks from skateboards and roller skates.

Gold collapsed in a heap on the concrete as the clouds opened and rain fell on her old body.

Mona dropped her bag and flung her heels off and ran, dialing 911 as she went.

It was your mid-afternoon smoke break. You wished books weren’t so delicate. If they weren’t, you might be able to smoke in the library instead of outside. It was so fucking hot outside, in the June midwestern heat. You hated it. But the view of downtown was nice, and you got to stare at the church, the library, and the Ragnvindr house. You didn’t mind that much. It might have been a less miserable smoke break if Kaeya was there to keep you company. He was good at distracting you with intellectual bullshit.

You stared thoughtfully at the large gray-green sculpture that the kids aptly called Dinosaur Bone. The architect had designed it such that when you looked through it from the right angle, the clocktower of the L-shaped church across the street was framed perfectly inside of it. You leaned against the wrought-iron fence of the Ragnvindr house that bordered the library, observing the clocktower, which was in desperate need of renovation. It was interesting that something only a few decades old could rot like that. But it didn’t surprise you. Rot was everywhere, no matter the age.

While you pondered, you ran over the script in your head, rattling off lines about the church. You hoped the historical society would accept your job application for a tour guide. You knew your stuff, but the thought of staring at strangers, with their expectant eyes intently gazing back at you, and having to recite something from memory gave you heart palpitations. Another drag from your cigarette. You clenched the clear red gas station Bic lighter for dear life.

“Fuck,” you whispered. You stepped on your cigarette, and went back inside to clock in for the rest of your shift at the library.

Inside, you were in the zone as you called it. It was easy to get lost in yourself working here. The library was always occupied, but never busy. The ceilings were impossibly high and waffled with concrete, lights inset in every adjacent square like checkers. The rows and rows of wood shelves complemented the red brick walls and dated blue carpet, and the lazy midsummer light pouring in from the monstrously large sections of glass between the brick pillars made you feel cozy.

A half hour of stocking the shelves with returned books came and went, and you had made it to the back of the adult fiction section. There, on the floor leaning against the stacks, was your coworker Kaeya. His thick raven hair was pulled back in a signature low bun, and he wore the same vans, black jeans, and button-down that he wore almost every day, a getup which you affectionately dubbed The Kaeya. He was holding a book open in his tanned hands, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Reading anything good?” You took a seat on the floor next to him. It was getting close to closing, and you were sure that nobody desperately needed a third copy of Crime and Punishment at this hour.

“Not sure,” he responded, not looking up at you. “Might just be grad school gibberish.”

“If you need help with something, let me know,” you offered.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, still engrossed. He suddenly shut the book with one hand and met your eyes thoughtfully. “Do you wanna… see a movie tonight?”

You were taken aback. Kaeya was your work best friend and nothing more. You bit your lip, wondering how to handle the situation, though you couldn’t deny you found him attractive. In all honesty, it was a bit shocking he wasn’t taken. The two of you did live in the middle of nowhere, after all. Specimens like Kaeya were snatched up fast.

You kept your expression guarded so you could gauge the situation. “I… can’t. I’m getting dinner with a friend tonight," you lied.

“Like a date?” He looked a bit disheartened, but maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Kaeya wasn’t the type to mope about stuff like that, you didn’t think. He was a bit of a ladies’ man.

“No, no, just a school friend.” You tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear, messing with the hem of your shirt. “Nothing like that.”

He met your avoidant eyes with an even, contemplative look. You could almost fall for him like this, you think. His eyes were deep, dark pools of blue. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” He opened the book again. You wished he would tease you. Normally he would’ve teased you over something like that.

“Do you have your master’s?” You asked, changing the subject. This was getting uncomfortable. If Kaeya really was interested in you, you certainly had a lot to think about.

Thankfully, Kaeya was a smart guy, and he seemed to catch your drift. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

“Was it hard to get?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘hard.’ Why do you ask?” He flipped through the book, his long, dark fingers occasionally grazing over something. The movements of his arm turning the pages constantly messed with his nametag, and it bothered the living hell out of you.

You paused. “I was just talking to Lisa, and she told me that as a rule they only give full time positions to Masters of Library Science grads.”

Kaeya didn’t miss a beat. “That’s not completely true. Rosaria doesn’t have one.”

“She doesn’t?” A flicker of hope blazed in your chest. If there was a possibility that you could land a decent-paying job without the burden of paying for school - which you most definitely could not afford - then there was hope.

“She has a Ph.D. in Lit.”

“Great.” Your heart sank and you thought you might burst into tears.

Kaeya chuckled lightly to himself in self-pity. “Yeah, whatever you do, don’t get a masters in library science. It was recently declared the worst master’s degree for a job.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he replied, still not making eye contact. He was honestly starting to bother you a bit.

“And yet you have a job,” you jabbed, irritated.

“I’m an exception.” Another page turn, his nametag flipping around again. “Anyway,” he said, finally looking at you. “You don’t want to be a librarian.”

“I might.” You weren’t sure if his words were laced with condescension or not. Regardless, a small thorn of spite lodged itself in your heart at his tone.

Kaeya sighed dramatically. “No, you don’t. What about Deborah Berke? You’d be crazy to pass that up.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” you laughed softly. Would your future never stop haunting you? You wished you could shut your brain off and never think ever again.

“Why not?” Kaeya challenged, an indignant look crossing over his face before melting into something less severe. The book in his lap, opened again as he shifted his attention away from you once again, ruffled with the breeze of the AC unit above.

“It’s just not,” you replied, a bit of a bite to it. “You wouldn’t understand.” You leaned back on your wrists to stare at the waffled ceilings again.

“Yes, I would.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

–

It was cloudy again. Summers in the midwest were always hot and humid, but this particular June was stifling. The humidity soared with every inch of rainwater that threatened to flood the river.

You internally bemoaned these facts as you scooped vegetables into a tupperware container to save for later. Your mother still wasn’t home from work yet, and you wanted the vegetables for dinner to be at least semi-fresh for the meal. You checked your watch - 5:30 and she still wasn’t home. Her shift ended at four.

You felt a tightness in your chest. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know how you were feeling. But at the same time, she had to understand how hard this was. How hard it was to pretend. The sporadic absences, the overworking, the lack of communication, the trying–God, the trying. It weighed on you. Your house felt so empty without another person in it.

–

You were back at the bank again. Your beat-up Civic rattled to a halt in front of the building you’d visited a thousand times in the past six years. You got out of your relic of a car and sat on the hood, staring at the four squares of greenish fluorescent lights that covered the concrete overhang for the drive-thru teller stations.

It was nighttime, and the temperature had dropped to a bearable 85 degrees despite the ever-rising humidity. You deemed this appropriate weather for crying. You stared and stared and stared at the lights and let the paradox of your existence consume you inside and out, silently crying as you always ended up doing when you went to this unremarkable bank that had become something so meaningful to you.

Most teenagers had a “spot.” For some people, it was the watertower on the west side of town with its suspiciously unlocked ladder. For others, it was the roof of the highschool on the north side. Another group might frequent the soccer fields with its soft grass and border of blue firs. For you, it had been this old mid century drive-thru bank downtown. You hadn’t had many friends in school, so nobody minded that your go-to hangout spot was a fucking bank.

9:30. Your mom wasn’t picking up her phone.

–

10:30. You were crying, this time in front of the hospital. The second shift was leaving while a well-dressed man with platinum hair dressed smartly in a navy and tan suit was exiting a taxi. He gave you a passing glance as he pulled an expensive looking matching suitcase and duffel bag behind him before disappearing into the lobby. You gave him a small smile for moral support, wondering why he was there. Maybe he was a doctor or something. If he was, you felt stupid for smiling. Doctors know what they’re doing.

There she was. Your mom, the last of the group of cleaners leaving. You walked back to the car in awkward silence as you shot down each of her attempts at conversation. You both resigned yourselves to an uncomfortable quiet on the ride home with only the rumble of the engine to fill the void of words.

–

Albedo found his way to the third floor of the hospital with no difficulties save for the obnoxious distraction of one squeaky wheel of his suitcase. Mona was waiting in the hallway for him, arms crossed and tapping her foot like a cartoon character. Her dark hair was wound in a low, tight bun that made her soft facial features look more severe than they actually were. Albedo didn’t like it on her. It made her look older. He missed the days when she was younger and happier. But then again he hardly remembered those days anymore.

The receptionist gave him a barely perceptible nod and Mona finally saw him. Her anxious body relaxed a bit at the sight of him, and he let go of his suitcase to catch her as she barreled into his arms, squeezing more tightly than he would have liked.

After what felt like forever, she finally pulled away. “Come on. Let’s go see her first,” she muttered. Albedo really didn’t want to.

–

Albedo checked into his room at the Ragnvindr house, a stately old home which had at some point been converted into a bed and breakfast. It was regal, meticulously maintained, and blessedly empty. His suite was large and tastefully decorated with rich oak walls, double hung windows, and heavy velvet curtains. His room boasted a small sitting room of eclectic vintage furniture; a massive, ancient-looking wardrobe, a beat-up desk, and a sumptuous king-sized bed on an ornately carved mahogany frame.

He dropped his expensive luggage unceremoniously on the floor and took a turn about the room he had found himself in. As he rifled through the many scraps of paper and open books still on the desk, he realized he would most likely be staying here for an undetermined amount of time.

He felt sick remembering that this was his mother’s room.

Albedo picked up one of the empty notebooks. It was black with a red fabric binding. He flipped through it, pacing the room as he looked at her scribblings and half-legible German. When he felt truly sick to his stomach reading her notes, he threw the notebook on the bed and opened the wardrobe, looking for something more tangible than the abstract, half-cooked drawings.

Inside the behemoth wardrobe was a singular cropped vest and an ugly green hat. Thankfully, his phone rang and broke him from the reverie of his mother’s hideous fashion sense.

“Ja?” He picked up. “...Nein. Rufen Sie mich später an, bitte…. Ja. Tschuss.”

He sighed heavily and laid down on the bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.

–

“I can’t believe how old you are. You look just the same,” Mona said, crossing her legs delicately at the ankle. She daintily took a sip of her wine, a small, faraway smile crossing over her lips.

Albedo sat next to her at the bar nursing a beer. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his suit despite feeling disgusting from traveling for so long. “That’s not true, but thank you.”

“You do!” Mona insisted, attempting to inject some energy into the clearly-deflated Albedo.

A beat passed before he scrounged up the mental capacity to grind out, “You’re sweet.”

They both took another drink before Mona kept the conversation going, her body angling towards him. “So,” she drew out the ‘o’ for too long. Albedo never understood her. She was far too friendly to be German. Did she talk to strangers like this? “How do you like being in Berlin?”

“It’s okay,” Albedo replied softly. He looked anywhere but at her, somewhat unsettled by her undivided attention. He observed the dim bronze lights hanging from the curved ceiling, and glanced at the other patrons. It was a nice, refined place, reminiscent of a chic subway tunnel. Mona certainly had good taste.

“What are you doing there?” She asked, her accent hardening the ‘w’ a bit.

“I got a job at a lab there. Science… stuff.” Albedo felt absolutely sick to his stomach thinking about work.

“That sounds interesting.” Her voice was encouraging, like she wanted him to talk. He did not want to talk.

“It is… not.” For a brief moment he considered whether or not to dump all his troubles onto her, but then decided against it. He kept a lid on it, intentionally air-tight, just for that reason. “It’s pretty painful, actually. Um, I’ve got projects still ongoing. I just got off the phone with them before we met here.”

Mona looked offended. “They don’t expect you to work while you’re here, do they?”

“I think they do. You know,” Albedo began, taking another sip for courage, “it’s that… that thing: ‘We’re sorry, family is important… but really work is the most important… so you’d better fucking finish your project or we’ll lose the grant…’” He trailed off, eyes glazed over.

“That can’t be true.”

“We’ll see.” His words held a finality to them. “I wish you were staying another day.” He didn’t wish that at all, but he felt like he should humor her and perhaps honor their history.

“I know… but I was supposed to be in Chicago a few days ago with your mother. And I have my work…” She trailed off dejectedly, tapping her fingers on the counter.

“I know,” he almost whispered. “You’ve already done so much.” He stared at the wall of wine bottles.

“I can’t believe this happened…” Mona had a haunted look in her pretty blue-gray eyes. “She was doing fine and then just… I’m sorry.” Albedo was taken aback at her change in demeanor. She hiccuped a bit and placed the back of her hand on her mouth to force back the tears. “I just… I owe her so much. Your mother means everything to me.”

The bartender tactlessly interrupted the obviously intimate moment. “Is there anything else I can get you guys?”

Mona beat Albedo to the punch. “No, I think we’re ready for the…”

“Can I get another beer?” Albedo interjected.

“Definitely. Another glass of wine for the lady?” He smiled a picture-perfect customer service smile that Albedo knew all too well.

“No thanks.”

A moment of unsure silence passed before Albedo spoke up. “She didn’t even tell me she was coming on this trip. Did she tell you that?”

“No…”

“That’s about right. Did she mention me at all?” He asked, somewhat desperate. Normally he could keep it under control, lock them away, keep them hidden, but Mona’s presence and the stress of traveling internationally and seeing his mother’s failing body and being in a foreign country was just too much. The lid was slowly popping off and he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to get it back on.

“We talked a little,” Mona said defensively, eyes darting around like a cornered animal.

He pressed her further, heart pumping. The rage, God, the rage! He gritted his teeth, spitting out the words, “What did she say?”

“Albedo…” Mona was on the verge of tears again. Albedo felt a small pang of guilt for it, but she couldn’t pretend to be blind to Gold’s problems forever, no matter how much Mona owed her. He wondered how she would feel when she found out the truth about Gold.

“Did she tell you that we haven’t spoken in over a year?” His voice lowered dangerously. The lid was slipping.

Mona looked absolutely devastated. “You’re all she has.”

“That has never been the case,” Albedo said in a deadly calm. His hands tightened under the bar counter, small crescent moons forming in his palms. He knew his mother didn’t care for him. She raised him, if you could call her parenting raising a child, and cast him aside like he was some sort of creature. Like a pet she didn’t have use for anymore. “She has her students… her work,” Albedo spat. His tone was so venomous he was sure the acidity of them could've bled through the bar.

“You’re her son!” Her voice was pleading. It revolted him to his stone cold core.

“You’ve been watching too much TV” is all he said. The lid was safely back in place.

Mona peeked at him out of the corner of her eye before waving down the bartender, clearly done with the conversation. “Can we get the check?” She sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and pointer finger. “I have to leave early in the morning. I should go to bed.”

Albedo tried to salvage the situation, adrenaline petering out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.” And he really was sorry. It was so painfully awkward he wished he hadn’t brought her up.

“The Ragnvindr Inn knows about the situation,” Mona explained, disregarding him. She did this sometimes. Business as usual. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised by the quick construction of the facade; she was practically raised by Gold as well. “You should be able to stay in her room as long as you need.”

They parted ways.

–

Back in the suite, Albedo stood in the ensuite bathroom wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants, arms braced on either side of the mirror. He glared at himself. The gravity of the situation weighed on him. In that moment he believed he might just be Atlas.

“Shit.”

You were peeling vegetables again. This time, a daikon root from the backyard. You’d decided to take on gardening to pass the time, and your mother needed good healthy foods to recover. You dedicated yourself completely to your task, rinsing the root in the sink. You absentmindedly stared out the window as you grabbed the next one, watching your mother smoking under the carport. She was too young to look this old; she was truly 45 going on 60. Your heart twisted violently.

You ate your meal together in comfortable silence this time, your mother commenting on how much better your cooking had gotten. After you cleaned up, you sat together on the couch and watched Jeopardy, the blue glow of the board and Alex Trebek’s familiar voice enveloping the otherwise black darkness and silence of your tired living room.

“Do you know what you’re doing on Sunday?” She asked suddenly.

“No, I’ll just drop you off in the morning and then take it over to Wagner’s,” you replied with a mouthful of ice cream.

“It’ll cost us more if it breaks down on us…” she said with a twinge of worry. Her long, skinny arm reached across you to take a sip of water.

“Ugh, I hate cars,” you complained.

“Me too.”

--------

Author's Note

Heyyyyy! Not sure if anyone will read this but I am back from my little hiatus. I am planning on writing some other pics, maybe Link or Scaramouche, not too sure yet (and maybe even some Levi depending on when the fuck season 4 part 3 is dropped).

Housekeeping stuff:

this is not my original work. this is from a movie called Columbus. I thought the story was really interesting and I wanted to stretch my writing ability and see if I could adapt a really complex, visually-heavy, story-light screenplay into text

I am part German, though my German isn't perfect. sorry if there are mistakes, I'd say I'm only about half fluent, and it's mostly German/English I speak with my family. as such, grammar isn't very strong

reader is about 25 here, albedo is around 27 or 28

for clarity again, this movie takes place in a real town called Columbus, Indiana. for reference, it is in the middle of nowhere, but it is considered a bit of an architectural hub. so if it seems weird that there are important architects with buildings here, that is why

this is already finished on AO3 if you want to read it completed there, but it is NOT edited. it needs a lot more fleshing out, so if you want a better story and a better representation of my writing ability, I'd recommend waiting it out here

this is a 7 chapter story, but I will be narrowing it down to 3-5 on Tumblr. I think longform works better with this story since the "chapters" are so fragmented

Thanks for reading! Have a lovely day <3

#albedo kreideprinz #albedo genshin #genshin impact #albedo fanfic #albedo x reader #albedo x fem!reader #German albedo #mona genshin #gold genshin #rhinedottir #rosaria genshin #albedo x oc #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya x fem!reader #kaeya fanfic #kaeya genshin #kaeya genshin x reader

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jzontheazarian · 1 year ago

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Self Care Sunday - June 4th, 2023

Even though self care should be practiced daily from emotional, physical and spiritual standpoints, Sundays should be days you give yourself added grace and extra tender care for the week you’ve had. With “Self Care Picks,” we select songs from the previous week to help give you that refresh that your mind, body and soul deserve. Also included are three additional songs that accent the forms of self care needed for an additional boost to provide you with all you may require for what lies ahead in the week to come.

‘Get Out Your Way’ - Sometimes the grandest battles are the ones that we place against ourselves and with his latest track, ASHOKA reminds of that. Jumping out windows and trying to protect his ego, the Brooklyn emcee tries to find happiness in everything that he does music and beyond. Making each day count, the replay ability of this builds as each playthrough uncovers a new way to get out of your way and get to the things that matter most.

‘Warm’ - Like a sunset you run to, Kelly Moonstone attracts the warmth of love and craves it more each and every day. In reference to life being cold, this musical offering from the Queens native is necessary and is just a glimpse of what her latest project “I Digress” contains. With a tone so welcoming as if she hailed from the South, it provides hospitality for the soul ten times over.

‘Moon’ - Seeking a love to keep him grounded, Jaylon Ashaun is falling but hopes it lands him closer to his one love. Taking you on a journey like an asteroid, the song is short and sweet but gives you the ultimate reward… quality. Talent can be heard from beginning to end, and it makes it a shame that the song only lasts a mer minute and thirty seven seconds. Possibly the next TikTok trending song, it gives instant satisfaction and that alone is a positive for today’s audience.

‘Free Will’ - Doing what she wants to get to the next stage in life, Lordkez is putting pen to paper and giving it all to the universe. With an energized and educated assist from Tyler Linkman, the duo deliver a force to push those to embrace individuality and believe in the power that is free will. With no restraints, this assembles well with her overall project “Testament,” that was recently released and is sure to be full of teachable moments to digest.

‘Too Good Alone’ - Soothing but satisfying in every way, Sidibe rises to the occasion once more with a song to put your soul at ease. A clear indication that R&B is in a wonderful place, the Louisanan and Senegal singer radiates across the track bringing it to life in ways that only special voices can. Taking her time to help you unwind with the sound of her voice, Sidibe is gold in the purest form and will only get better with time. A timeless classic was created.

Songs we also enjoyed:

‘Level Up’ - Ciara

‘S-Class’ - Stray Kids

‘Soulful’ GiftedByGifted

‘My Oh My’ - Phillip Michael Scales

Self-Care Spotlight: ‘Say It Like’ - Sarina

youtube

Listen to this week's "Self Care Picks" on Audiomack and YouTube Music.

#Youtube

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redwineconversation · 2 years ago

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Your hand was the one I reached for (all throughout the Great War)

I do love a messy and complicated love story, and Amandine Henry versus Lyon is turning out to be just that. As a child of divorce, let me tell you how the signs are almost comforting.

But in order to get to the now let's start at the beginning. I've said before that it is a really interesting question: did Lyon mold Amandine Henry into their own image, or did Amandine Henry mold Lyon into hers? Monsters recognize monsters, after all.

Anyway, this breakup is messy because the relationship has been going on for so long. Amandine Henry walked into Lyon's life in 2007. This club and this player, they've been together for a really long time, for better and for worse. They've seen each other in their purest form, and I mean that in the mythical sense. (c.f. one of my favorite lines of all time: "Demons possess. Angels abandon.")

Point is, they've been together for a really long time. Lyon can, will, and has argued that Amandine Henry wasn't a household name until they made her one. I think that's why it's personal for them. They made her into the player she is, put her center stage on the world's stage. Of course they're going to get prissy about how this story is ending. Anyone would, in this case.

When Henry hit rock bottom when she was starting out, Lyon stayed by her side, believed in her, and didn't abandon her. They could have and I think it's really important people understand that. Because Amandine Henry wasn't yet Amandine Henry at the time. But she could be, and Lyon saw that, and so they stayed. They kept her on the payroll and waited for her to return from injury and let her take out her grief in extremely unhealthy ways and even buried bodies for her. They did all that because even monsters care in their own way, you know?

And she stood by them and then people started throwing around the word "fate" and L'Equipe argued maybe Lyon and Henry were predestined. Because they brought a lot out in each other.

Anyway, flash forward to June 2016, and Henry pokes off to Portland. Lyon sulks a little because it hurts when someone you care about leaves you just because they want to experience something else, but they bounced back because, well, I guess monsters grieve in their own ways too.

Monsters always come back to haunt us, too. So then it's January 2018 and the World Cup is coming up in France and so Henry comes in from the cold. She doesn't exactly talk about fate, but she does say that returning to Lyon was like coming home. About a tether, if you will.

Lyon and Henry continue to bring out their true colors and they're comfortable in their own skin together. Yes, nothing is perfect, but sometimes bloodlust can be comforting. It just helps if you're with someone who also finds the sight of someone's jugular comforting.

Then Lyon becomes just, well, tired. There's COVID and exhaustion and injuries to important players and they were just burnt out. And then for the first time in a really long time Lyon went trophy less for an entire season. No one was used to that.

And then it's the 2021 - 2022 season and Lyon comes in from the cold and they start to look like themselves again. Sometimes, though, Henry finds herself playing CB, a position she admittedly loathes. "Sorry sorry," Lyon promises, "it's just a crisis period, it's not permanent. We know you're the best No. 6 in the world, it's just we don't really have another choice. Sorry, sorry. Please believe us."

She still throws a temper tantrum and tries to force a move to Chelsea, Lyon says no, her temper tantrum grows, Lyon starts to actually get pissed off and for the first time Henry understands what it is like to be on the receiving end of Lyon's wrath. Both parties come to a compromise.

Henry moves back to midfield, everyone is happy, then Lyon pisses off a bunch of witches again because they become crippled by injury to an extent never seen before. Henry finds herself back in the CB position, hits the roof despite Lyon shrieking "name what other option we have?!!"

Gilles comes in, everyone and their mother looks at Gilles a little skeptically, but we all are promptly humbled and now happily kneel to our beloved creator of chaos. People are moving forward.

Henry's contract is up in June, Lyon approaches her with an extension in January. There are other options. Angel City is one of them, Henry says she's tempted, and Bompastor says "okay, I get it" even though she acknowledges that Lyon is better with Henry than without her.

February, Henry comes to Bompastor and says that Angel City want her immediately, at which point Bompastor gives a response along the lines of "cool story bro but no". Henry gets injured beginning of March, comes to Bompastor again who is like "well the answer is still no but we'll talk more about this after the Champions League."

Lyon gets knocked out by a #fuckingdisgrace, Henry immediately comes crying to Bompastor about how Angel City still want her immediately, please please her go. Bompastor points to the upcoming games, particularly the two against PSG (May 13 and May 21), and is basically like "you are fucking INSANE if you think I am letting one of the best players in the world wander off simply because they want to get a head start on their tan."

Henry then says, whatever. I'll just take sick leave and refuse to play because I don't want to risk getting injured.

Now this is where it gets messy and complicated: there is no scenario where Henry doesn't come across as an ungrateful dick. Lyon has four weeks left before the end of their season (final game is on May 27). What kind of unprofessional can't wait four weeks? It's not like Lyon is going to chain Henry in their basement until June 30. They're just asking her to please honor the remaining games. There are literally five games left.

Her excuse of wanting to avoid injury is flimsy at best. As I have said privately, where is the guarantee she won't blow her knee out in the first game of the season with Angel City? Injuries can happen to anyone at any point. Acting like a sniper is following her around while she is under contract with Lyon is truthfully a bit much.

Refusing to play also involves a huge risk for the World Cup. Not playing will result in a lack of match fitness. Why should Herve Renard take a player who hasn't played a competitive match since March 4? More importantly, why should he take a player who has now shown she is willing to blow something up if she doesn't get her way? What will she do if he takes her but isn't a starter? Or she is a starter but gets substituted?

"She's been there for so long and wants to leave, the club should just honor her wishes and let her go!" No. She is under contract. She can surely find it in herself to play five games. Furthermore, what kind of precedent does it set for the club? You're moving on to another club, no more games for you! That is the definition of unprofessional, and it is particularly striking because it comes from a player who has always prided herself on her professionalism.

By pissing off Lyon, Henry is also inadvertently giving the upper hand to Bompastor. Let's say Henry comes back and is like, "sorry, sorry. it was the heat of the moment. Obviously I will play for you, obviously I will honor my contract." Does Bompastor believe her? Does Bompastor trust her? Will Henry go into a tackle or will she decide against it due to "fear of injury"? What is stronger, Henry's desire to win or her fear of injury, and why should Bompastor have to take that gamble? Bompastor is perfectly within her rights of fucking with Henry as well by keeping her there but having her sit on the bench the entire time.

And it's frustrating as a Lyon fan to see this actually pretty cool love story end like this. At the end of the day, I do think it could have been avoided. If Lyon had recruited better then there would have been cover for M'Bock as CB while Sombath covered at RB during Carpenter's absence and Henry wouldn't have been forced to play in a position she loathes. Lyon is not blameless in this situation. Let's not pretend they are 100 percent innocent.

But let's not give Henry a pass, either. It's mindblowingly unprofessional to torpedo your relationship with the club you have been with for over 15 years, the one who literally made you into the player you are, because you want to have a fling in the sunshine. It's not as if we are in November and Lyon is threatening to hold her hostage in their basement for six months.

There are five games left. Lyon is basically saying, it's fine, I know what we had was supposed to engraved in stone, but even stones can shatter. But she pushes back and makes unreasonable demands and so Lyon feels like they have no choice but to drop the facade and say, That's quite the monster you have inside you. Do you want to see ours?

#all good love stories start in the rain #amandine henry #every good love story has a villain

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