#nostalgia but sadder than i signed up for

[scientistswishingwell]

the way we loved each other was ancient and unchanging and new and impossible

there was absolutely nothing special about the fact that we loved each other except that it was us, and there were so many people in the world and in our world that we shouldn't have met, we shouldn't have been together, but we did, and we were

there was absolutely nothing more amazing than us being friends except that we were maybe more than friends and never talked about it, we just were, and even so, there was nothing special about that except that every day, again and again, we chose to love one another.

there was nothing special about us, except that it was us

there was nothing to love about us in particular, except that we loved each other

i knew nothing but loving you, and that made you special to me

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 01

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language, I guess?  Word Count: ~4.253

— Just hold my hand. If you are afraid, you can hold my hand.

And it was so cold, my hand froze when I pulled it out from under the covers to extend it towards him. Carlos was on the bed across from mine, his hand stretched out toward me. The beds were far enough apart that I could barely reach him with my fingers. We both got as close as possible to the edge of the bed, the whisper of sheets spreading through the room. I grabbed two of his fingers. He smiled at me. And we fell asleep like that, with our fingers intertwined, hovering over the face of my brother, lying on a mattress between the beds. Eventually, after I had fallen asleep, I let go of his hand and hid it under the blankets. When I woke up, I had both hands on the pillow, but his was down on the side of the bed, his fingers still outstretched—not towards me, but pointed at the floor. And there was no longer a storm and I was no longer afraid.

Chapter 01

Looking back, it warms my heart to remember moments like those.

We are so much older now; Our lives took a major turn and we barely speak anymore. I don’t even know if he remembers that episode, but I think about it a lot.

The idea of him appears in my mind in moments I don’t expect, like when it’s raining, and, in the search for comfort and warmth in my pockets, I remember how warm his hands always were and that’s when I realize how much I’ve missed him.

How much I’ve missed having him around.

And the fact that I couldn’t just text him and ask him to hang out made everything worse. I knew I shouldn’t dwell on the past, but sometimes it was hard not to.

Especially when the present was so lonely.

We gradually stopped talking when he signed for McLaren. He had a lot of responsibility on his shoulder and he would spend a lot of time in the factory, or London with his teammate. He had to train more, learn more, read more, help more. He was a mentor, now. At least, that was what he told me — always the same excuse, no matter the occasion.

“I’ve been so busy”, he would say. “I’m sorry, but I know you understand.”

And I would nod.

I went to the Spanish GP in 2019. We didn’t get to talk. He was busy, it was a busy weekend. A lot to do and a lot of people to meet.  I know you understand. The same happened in Monaco and Silverstone. He promised me then he would show up for my birthday party, happening some days after the Grand Prix. And just hours before the dinner, a text.

“I can’t make it. I’ll send you something over the mail.”

I stopped caring. Or, at least, I pretended I did.

That’s just how it is with some people.

You grow apart and move on. That’s fine. That’s life.

But I couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought about that stormy night and how we fell asleep holding hands. Or if that also disappeared in time.

I resented him for a lot of reasons and, to be honest, looking back I was quite happy about the separation the universe forced upon us. I resented him more than Rio, my brother, ever did. Their friendship only grew stronger. But Rio was a better person than me. He welcomed the uncertainties and he was grateful for them. He found wonder where I just found pain. I was more melancholic, driven by nostalgia and memories.

Thinking about what would have happened if we had gotten a place for Rio in GP3 consumed my days. Not enough money and not good enough sponsors shortened his chase for the dream.

Carlos, on the other end? We all know how it went for him.

He used to call Rio and tell him about what he was doing, the simulators he got to try and the drivers he worked with. My brother was so happy for his friend that I think he forgot to be sad for himself.

So I was sad for both; Each year sadder, because distance grew with time until Carlos stretched it to a point that nothing seemed capable to make us fall back into place.

There came a point in my life where I accepted that things were going to stay like that.

I would see him once or twice a year if he bothered to show up to the occasions, and we would be civil. And we were. Always civil. Polite. He would talk to me as one would talk to a stranger. I would do the same.

Didn’t take long for us to become strangers. And suddenly, I became the one that didn’t bother to show up to family dinners when he was in the city. He stopped going on our annual ski trip to the Alps.

That being said, I absolutely didn’t expect to meet him that way, around midnight, in the dark cold garage, with his hand outstretched towards me, frozen in the air, to assist me in getting out of the car.

It felt like an eternity before I could come back to myself again after seeing him. I was still seated in the driver's seat, my helmet covering my head and the visor blurring the lines of his face. My eyes were desperately attempting to draw new lines across his features, but it was a tough task to make sense of the chaos. I kept looking at him, trying to find something that I could recognise, something that would make me feel at ease. But nothing seemed to be familiar.

It was like looking at a stranger, a stranger with a face that I once knew.

Rejecting his assistance, I got out of the car and, from the corner of my eye I saw him sliding his hand back into his pocket. I couldn’t find myself saying or doing anything. I stood there, taking him in, rejecting the idea of taking out my helmet and seeing him clearly.

A year had passed. Of course, I had seen him on television, on social media, on posters and photographs around the circuits and streets, but—

“It’s been a while,” he broke the silence.

“Yeah,” I wanked off my helmet and balaclava. “It has.”

Arms slightly apart, a silent invitation for a hug I knew I didn’t want to give him. I turned my back on him, closed the door of the car and left my belongings on one of the counters of the garage. On the chrome of one of the cabinets, the reflection of his face.

Different, but the same. Older, but his eyes had the light he had as a boy. But he was a man, now, not the boy I once really liked, the boy I thought I was not capable of living without.

Anyways, he was still Carlos.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my body tensing up, twisting around itself, turning back to him.

“I came to see you,” he replied, a hint of a smile in his voice. His hands were still in his pockets, his eyes drifting from me to the car. “I heard you’re doing well in the championship, so I wanted to see how you’re really doing.”

I nodded my head in a polite gesture, though my mind was still reeling from the surprise of seeing him again. I muttered a simple “I’m fine, as you might have heard, too.”

“Glad to hear that.”

The bright red of his team polo shone through his black puffer jacket. He was probably there on behalf of his team, for some PR duties, most likely. I reached up to my neck to undo the velcro of my suit and unzip it slightly.

Despite being the middle of July, when summer is normally at its hottest, the evening air was chilly. I could feel the cold breeze of the night, making my skin feel clammy and sticky with sweat. My hair was plastered to my face and neck, and I shivered as the chill settled in my bones.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked, my fingers undoing the band that hold my braid together. After that, I passed my fingers between the strands of hair.

“Well… I saw the schedule online,” he finally moved. Walking towards the car, a black, red and yellow Ferrari 488 EVO. “Rio just confirmed you were here.”

My mechanics were still inside, packing up tools in the carts and cleaning the oil-stained floor, that the too-bright lights did nothing to hide. The smell of rubber and oil lingered inside the garage, perhaps even in my hair.

“Why didn’t you come to see me before?”

“I don’t know,” he said. His voice carried some kind of serenity and tranquillity that was making me as mad as nauseous. He turned back to me. “I was waiting for the right moment, I guess.”

"And what made tonight the right moment?" My eyes didn’t leave the red of his polo, peaking through the jacket.

Convenience made it the right moment.

"I don't know," was his response. The cadence of it rang hollow, underwhelming some expectations I didn’t know I still harboured.

Suddenly, I felt the attention of some mechanics fall on us, curious eyes discreetly lurking at us, or better, at Carlos. The Ferrari driver standing in my small team’s garage. The newest Formula One race winner. Carlos Sainz.

I started walking out, to the pit lane, and he, circling around the car, but not lifting his eyes from it, followed me closely.

“Just felt like it was time.”

“Time for what, exactly?”

He caught my arm and I stepped outside, turning me around and making me look at him. I don’t know if it was the breeze or the piercing gaze he held, but something shifted inside the second my eyes met his.

“To talk to you,” he answered to the question I had honestly forgotten I’d asked. “Can we do that without you running away?”

His hair was longer and slicked back. The beard was not too long, but not clean shaved either. At this hour, with only the garage lights brightening half of his face and the heavy shadows of the night weighing down the other, he looked even more handsome than I remembered.

I felt my heart skip a beat. That feeling I recognized too well. His effect. His aura, his gaze, his perfectly drawn face and his fucking voice—so deep, so earthy. Something about him, only him.

“We’ve nothing to talk about,” I finally said, looking down at his hand; long fingers wrapped around the black sleeve of my suit. He let go. “We’ve moved on, we’re both doing great. Congrats on that win, by the way.”

“Eva.” I always loved the way my name sounded when he was the one who voiced it. “Come one. I just want to talk to you.”

“Why?”´

“I don’t know,” again. A pause. “I just missed you, I guess.”

You guess.

Almost three years apart, one year without being in the same room. I don’t know why it didn’t make me happy to hear that. After all, I had spent the last few years waiting for him to say it. At the same time, the realisation that if he missed me, it was only his fault and he could survive another day away from me, from us.

But, surprised by my own words, I let out an "I missed you too.”

And he smiled.

God, that smile. That same smile he had as a teen. That same smile I kept seeing on every video, in every interview. That same smile that once made me fall for him. I liked him. I really did. I used to confess, only to myself, that I loved him.

I loved him in the way children do, in a way so genuine and pure that it actually seems and feels like a fairytale. I loved him in the way little girls do, in the blushed cheeks, weird sentences, poor jokes and a lot of giggles way.

My heart would explode each time I laid my eyes on him, which happened a lot because we basically grew up together.

And that hasn’t changed.

My heart was racing. Its sound muffled any thoughts in my head and soothed the rage boiling inside. He had grown up and become a man and, at that moment, looking at him and his smile, being hypnotised by his gaze, I went back to being that little girl.

I had never stopped caring. I’d never stopped loving him.

One thing had changed, though. I had grown past that middle-school crush and I knew that no matter how much I’d missed him we would never come back to that pure, simple, naive version of ourselves. The memories I had were nothing more than fragments of the past and I could not let myself fall into the traps of my hopelessly romantic patterns in an attempt to find them.

I took a deep breath.

The smell of burnt tires and the noise of the rattle guns woke me up from my trance.

Over Carlos’ shoulder, Rio’s silhouette grew bigger as he sprinted down the pit lane. Fast-paced with a big smile on his face and holding his iPad in his hands, he positioned himself beside Carlos, not before patting him on the back.

“So, you found her,” Carlos nodded at my brother’s words, his hands back in his pockets. “Is everything okay?”

Carlos and I exchanged looks. He was still smiling and, for some reason, I felt defeated. Through the silence, Rio could probably hear my thoughts. He fixed his gaze on me, those deep green eyes, forcing an answer out of me.

“Yeah,” I finally burst. “Everything’s fine.”

“Nice,” he took my side and extended the iPad out to me.

Tiny notes in red and blue were written across the outline of the circuit, with numbers and words coupled around the corners. Graphics and reports on the following pages, just the distraction I needed.

“It’s looking good, Evita,” my brother said, excited. “Seems like winning tomorrow won’t be too difficult.”

My pace in the race simulations during the morning testing was great and we had gathered enough data to not be too worried about the next day's race. Besides, the small issues I’d found with the wheel were quickly fixed by the team. Nothing to worry about.

“I’ll be going now,” my eyes moved up from the screen, finding Carlos’. His gaze seemed to be waiting for something, and after a beat, he said, “Unless you need any help.” His words held an almost pleading quality.

I looked back down at the screen, trying to kill the tug of sympathy he’d awoken just then. “We don’t,” I said; from the corner of my eye, I saw Rio looking at his friend, an apologetic look on his face. “I’ll see you around, Sainz.”

And then, he was gone and Rio didn’t even try to confront my attitude. Carlos stopped walking when he was just a black shadow against the strong light of a spotlight positioned at the end of the pit lane.

“If you have plans, you can go,” I said.

“Wait for me for breakfast, tomorrow,” Rio slid up the zipper of his jacket. “Try to get some good rest, tonight.”

Some kind of weight forced my head down, until I was more than sure they wouldn’t be there when I looked up.  Alone in the pit lane, I looked at the iPad, trying to find a distraction to avoid processing what had just happened—just like he used to do before, he inebriated me with his presence and stripped me from any shield I had held against him.

For a brief moment, I hoped to win the next day’s race, not just to win it, but to see him under the podium. Show him I was doing good, in fact, showing him that I was doing great. But then, like the universe was punishing me for my thoughts,  it all came crashing down. I was not there as he celebrated his maiden win. He didn’t deserve to the there tomorrow. He didn’t deserve to be here today.

That night, when I lay down to sleep, nostalgia was running in my blood. My skin burning like his presence had started a fever that was taking me whole. Fingers tingling. Soul aching.

I tried so hard to convince myself it would have been better if he hadn’t shown up but at the same time, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he had taken some time for me, and that was everything I had desired for a long time.

Just some time. Some attention. To feel that I mattered to him.

And I finally got it and, having it, relief came accompanied by a whirlwind of doubt. That encounter wasn’t nearly enough to fix anything. He shouldn’t be there. He didn’t deserve to be there, to be around. He had to do more for me if he wanted to mend something.

And that sparked another idea: if that’s all I needed— everything I'd done for him to be repaid, then I'd never loved him. Because this wasn't the love, in its purest form, that I’d once thought I felt.

That was not caring. That was not love.

Love is not selfish. Is not needy. Is not asking for too much attention or being content with a small fraction of someone else's time. Love is about commitment, and not about expecting the same in return.

I was not okay with being an option, I was not okay with a fraction of his time. I was not okay with being a past-time for when he finds the time, but I was also not okay with the idea of losing him, again. Not that I ever had him, not that I had him just because he came back, but at least, I had a bit of him. And I was not okay with the idea of losing him completely. To disappear from his world. To be forgotten by him. Again.

I was not okay with the idea of moving on without him.

I was not okay with the idea of him moving on without me.

I was not okay with any of this, but I did not know what to do. Too quickly, I failed my own promise. I was too deep in the memories and my mind was already finding ways to chase them. I felt lost.

That night I dreamed about the stormy night. I pictured his adult form on the bed in front of me. The adult me was still scared of thunderstorms. Our hands were extended towards each other, but this time the beds were too apart, and I couldn’t reach him.

He made no effort to reach me.

__________________________________

Of course, he was not there.

Rio pushed me into a thigh hug as I got off the car, muttering words of praise in my ear. “So proud, so proud, you’re amazing.” Fucking hell, it felt amazing. There wasn’t a moment when we thought we weren’t gonna win that race, but each corner was an opportunity to take risks and increase the lead. The gap to the second car stretched with every lap, the machine roared around me in an amazing symphony. The track was amazing. The light rain only helped. The team was ecstatic. Hugs, victory songs, a lot of laughter.

Another win. Three in a row.

Mugello had an incredible public and an incredible atmosphere. Red and yellow all over the place, prancing horses in every hat or flag. I stood on the podium, watery eyes when the crowd joined the Italian anthem that played on full volume. I looked for him—I should know better, but of course, I looked for him—and he was not there. The champagne washed away any pain the disappointment had caused and my brother's smile, celebrating on the pit lane floor alongside the entire team, made me forget about anything other than the race I had just won.

After that, a long shower followed. Half drunk on champagne, we rummaged into the town, finding rivals and friends amongst Italian teens in the nightclubs.

Another podium and I had my championship. Two races left. It could not escape.

And after three wins in a row, a podium seemed an easy task.

And those were enough reasons to celebrate like tomorrow would not exist. We danced the night away, flirting my way through the bottles on display in the club’s bar. We stepped outside well before 6 am, the sun already peaking between the old beautiful buildings.

“Not that you really care, but I won.”

In my defence, I was pretty drunk when I sent that to Carlos, drunk enough to think into it but apparently sharp enough to escape any typing mistakes.

Rio was trying to find us a uber to take us back to the RV, but he was taking his time and I was bored and drunk and with a loose tongue. The alcohol was siding with my anger, the rage making my stomach twist. Very quickly, the status of the message changed from “sent” to “read”, but there was no sign of a response.

He read the message. He was awake.

Impatient as always, I called him. He picked up right away.

“Hey,” he said. Hoarse, deep voice. I can’t lie and say it didn’t make my stomach twist even more.

“Hi,” my brother looked back confused, likely trying to figure out who I was talking to. As quickly as he had turned around to me, I turned his attention back to his phone. “I’m drunk.”

“I can tell.”

“I want to talk to you,” I heard a sigh on the other end and the ruffle of sheets. “Maybe later?”

“No, no,” he rushed to say. I heard him breathe, and then his sleepy voice spoke again. “Talk about what?”

“The past.” A pause. “How it hurts to know you’ve always had time for Rio.  You go out every. time. you’re in Madrid.” Another pause. My gaze fell on a pigeon walking around in front of me. “Why were you sooooo busy to see me but always had time for him?”

“I was an idiot. That’s how.”

“You were.” I was nodding, although he could not see me. “Oh, God, you are. And I am too. And I was because you were so… shitty to me sometimes, and I always forgave you because I understood your life and because I understood your work and I loved you. Oh my God, I loved you. And you were a fucking idiot. You didn’t even s—”

“Eva… I’m sorry. I—”

“No, I don’t want your apology.” The pigeon took flight, as my voice burst out to stop him from talking. “I just want you to know it hurts. And coming were on the night before a race? For real?” I paused. “Also, think about all the conversations we had on the phone when you moved to the UK and you were feeling homesick. All that time, I used to think I reminded you of home.” I chortled at my own stupidity. “And I was so fucking stupid,” a short laugh erupted through my lips again, “so so stupid because it took me months to realize you only called me because I was the only person that would pick up the phone at any time. You knew that, you used that, you used me.”

“That's not tru—”

“Don’t! Don’t interrupt me, please.” He mumbled a fast apology. “Until today, I felt like you owed me something. But… “ I took my hand to my stomach, feeling sick all of a sudden. “It’s not your fault I had all these expectations.”

I said too much, too fast, and my stomach was aching, my mind was rushing and the world was spinning around me. Carlos then started talking but I couldn’t hear his voice clearly. I put the phone down on the step I was sitting on and leaned forward. The only thing I could see, besides the cobblestones and the pigeon that had come back, was Rio’s feet, rushing back to me.

“You okay?”

“Drunk as fuck,” I replied and, as an answer, I got a small chuckle from him.

I lay down my head on his shoulder, my eyes closing for mere seconds; the soft sensation of his lips against my hair made me open them again.

“Just please,” he paused and stroked my back gently, “please, don’t throw up in the uber.”

A tired chuckle managed to drag itself from my lips, an antithesis to my watery eyes and sick stomach. A car stopped in front of us and my brother’s firm embrace accompanied me there. Settling down on the too-hot and too-smelly car, I opened my eyes to collect the last image from that weekend: the first rays of sunshine dropping over the Santa Maria del Fiore Cathedral, its dome painted across the periwinkle sky, the lines of it experimental and incoherent due to the layer of tears that blurred my vision.

Next Chapter: 02.

_______

Hello there, soooo I hope you enjoy this. I’ve been writing Tightrope for like 5/6 months, now? It’s been a while, I know. I have a few chapters ready and I’m loving to write Eva and Carlos so much that I feel it’s time to share them with the world.  I’m thinking about doing weekly updates, maybe sunday nights? If I’m not talking to the void, you can give me your opinions on that.  Also, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for eventual mistakes. 

All the love, Bru 🤍

[sistercara]

Sometimes I listen to dungeon synth dark ambient and it'll hit really good on the nostalgia from the 16 bit wars, but then there are other times where I am like, "Whoa, these are sadder sine waves than I signed up for," and I need to forcibly remove myself from the dungeon.

nothing to add to this its already perfect

[temporoom]

Hi! I'm a big TPN fan who's dying to read A Letter from Norman. I read your spoiler post about it. As a big Ray fan, what you wrote about him having a crush on a older girl really got me curious. What kind of interest did he have in her? How did he show it? What's their story?! It's hard to imagine since he acts different with only Emma. I'm so itching to get all the juicy details. Maybe even my RayEmma ship will sink, but I don't care! I need to know!! Would you kindly enlighten me? Thanks! QuQ

Thank you so much for trusting me with this ! Sadly, i am far from being unbiased, and that post is kinda old, so I need to rectify something :

No, Ray doesn’t have a crush on Susan. 

It’s just me and my own weird tastes in ships (I also like to see them as being actual siblings). But he indeed treated her differently from other children at the orphanage, mostly because SHE was treating him differentely as well. I’ll try to summarize, while giving as much detail as possible, the chapter.

(It’s a detailed summary of  it, so very long)

The beginning of the chapter starts with Norman talking about Ray for 4 pages (without mentioning Emma individually, take it as you will), he explains that he has never seen Ray’s tears in his entire life, but thinks that he may have seen him cry once. And he then goes on to explain in which circumstances it was. (The flash-backs part aren’t from Norman’s point of view, but from an omniscient narrator.)

It starts some time after Emma’s 9th birthday and the shipment of one of their younger sibling (called Jimmy but this is irrelevant). Most children go on with their life, looked after by their eldest sibling, Susan, the only one of her age left at the house. After proposing a game of hide-and-seek, she convinces Ray (with the help of Emma) to come and play with them instead of sulking in his corner. She tells Ray that she knows he is sad, and wants him to get better, to Ray’s annoyance, since he expected Jimmy to be shipped anyway. (She ruffles his hair by the way, he probably took that habit from her).

During the game, they explain that Susan is their elder, and the smartest in the house, even giving Norman a hard time during tag, so if they want to win they have to do better than follow Ray’s laziness. She is extremely attentive, noticing any changes in her siblings. Even Ray, who thinks he has mastered his poker face, couldn’t tell if she noticed those within him, as each time a sibling leaves she comes to him and forces him to play with them to lift his spirit. Ray observed her enough to know she didn’t discover the truth, and finds her pity towards him annoying. (And we all know Ray is a tsundere)

When he is about to give up on finding a better hiding spot, Ray finds a wounded bird. Emma suggests they take care of it, but Norman and Ray explains that if they were to touch the bird, then its family would never come to get him back again. Since the birds’s mother don’t seem to come, and Emma starts to feel sorry for the bird (being an orphan herself). She wants to take him home.

Ray scolds her, asking if she really thinks it would be happy in a cage, and that maybe it was the bird’s destiny to die here. To which Emma replies that maybe it was Ray’s fate to meet that bird and he shouldn’t leave it here. Emma wins the argument thanks to Norman, and they catch the bird. Susan joins them, and after getting Isabella’s approval, their older sister tells that the three of them are the one who will take care of the bird, to Ray’s annoyance again.

Norman names it Ner, and they get a cage with a little sign with its name written on it. The bird is a robin. To feed Ner, Emma goes to search for worms, and brings back a ton, making Susan squeal in disgust and hides behind Ray, only trusting him to protect her from them.

As time pass, the robin gets better, and everyone got attached to it. Then, Isabella announces to Ray that she received a sudden call from the center, asking for an extra shipment this month, and this shipment is Susan. (it mentions that it was very sudden, and considering the time... it’s most likely for the Tifari). Isabella asks Ray if he expected her to live until her 12th birthday, he doesn’t reply to that, but it’s what he thought. She then asks him to look after Susan to make sure she doesn’t escape. 

Ray suddenly realizes how much he would miss her if she leaves, how no one would speak to him like she does... No one would comfort him like she does. Of course he cares about Emma and Norman, but Susan was the only one capable of seeing those changes he couldn’t even notice himself. Her stubborness “saved him” (I quote). He considers finding a replacement to Susan, but knows it would mean sacrifying Emma or Norman. There is nothing to do about it, and he knows he can’t save everyone. He considers making his plan earlier, but it’s not ready to do so yet.

As he walks into the corridor, he wakes Ner up, who thinks the boy is here to bring him food. Ray mocks the bird for trusting him so much, and for being dependant of humans, comfortably locked in its cage. (You know what parralels he makes here, I hope I don’t have to explain) As Ray tries to free the bird and opens the cage’s door, Susan spots him and starts to scold him. Telling him that everyone takes good care of the bird, and he shouldn’t let it escape. (french translation here, idk about how it is in japanese)

It only reminds him of how she is going to die. Susan scolds him each time he is too harsh or refuses to play with the other kids, he thinks for a moment that a real sister, linked by blood to him, would have done that.

“I don’t think... It is happy to live in this cage...” He blurts out, almost revealing the truth. Did I just gave a link to my own art? Yes. And then ran away to his bedroom, leaving Susan confused.

The next day Isabella’s announces Susan’s “adoption”. While everyone congratulates her, Ray has been avoiding her during the whole day, even skipping his duties to the bird. Susan talked to Emma and Norman about what happened the night before, but they were as confused as her. She starts to doubt her own conviction and if keeping the bird is truly a good idea. She admits that she finds Ray always sad whenever one of their siblings leave, to which Emma replies what everyone had seen of him until now :

“But... Ray is never happy...”

No one had noticed Ray’s feelings. Everyone believed that he was just always like that, and even the idea of a Ray walking around smiling happily disturbs the red head. Susan dismisses it, and tells that Ray would be happier anyway without her, since she was annoying him so much. Emma and Norman reassures her, and tell her that she will be very missed. Susan thinks about those three’s friendship, envying it over her own loneliness as the last of their older siblings and without any news of how they are. But also happy they can count on each other, if one of them gets separated from the others, she was sure they would find each other again. 

The day of her depart, a sudden wave of nostalgia hits her as she walks through the hallway of the house, she looks at the bird, its cardboard with the initial of her three favorite people written on it. When she bumps into Ray, while he looks at her sullen (making her even sadder), she asks him if she can take Ner with her. Saying that since Ray doesn’t seem to like the bird, it would be fine if she kept it. Before Ray could reply, Isabella agrees. But the boy knows that if she takes the bird with her, it’s most likely to end up just like she will.

While the kids are sad to see both their older sister and the bird leave, most are okay with it. But Ray raises his voice to refuse. And despite Isabella’s stare, he insists on keeping Ner. Susan snaps and yell at Ray, asking him why he is acting like this and what he wants. She continues by saying that if she lets the bird here, Ray would try to free it again, denouncing him in front of everyone.

Ray seems taken aback as the other children looks at him. But Susan doesn’t want to back down. She wants the bird with her, she had hoped it would solve everyone’s problem, and especially Ray’s one with the bird... Seeing him refuse was beyong her comprehension. Ray stops himself, before it’s too late, from telling her that if she takes the bird with her, they will both die. He yells back at her that in the end, she’ll just do whatever she wants to and take the bird with him, whether he wants it or not, and then finishs preparing the table for breakfast.

The other kids are angry at him for ruining their last breakfast with Susan, and trying to free Ner. But Emma and Norman notices that there’s something wrong with him, he seems to react too strongly when it comes to the robin. Emma proposes to Norman to prepare a gift for Susan, to leave a memento of them to her. The boy, immediately understanding her intention, agrees. Despite Susan being able to see the changes in Ray more easily, they were the ones who understood him the best after all. 

Ray stays in the library during that time, thinking about solutions to save the bird, but Susan always stays near the cage, so Ray would not free it. No matter what possibilities come to his mind, Ray always come to same conclusion : it will be killed. He concludes that Isabella is testing his loyalty by checking how far he would go to save his sister and the bird, or if he would only save one of them. He doesn’t even know why he is so bothered by that bird, thinking that he just has to let it be killed like he had let all his other siblings die until now. Even if he can’t save Susan, he desesperately wants to save the bird... yet Susan doesn’t let him. (Do I really need to point out the metaphor again?)

As Susan is changing into her new uniform, Emma takes the cage, pretexting that she is going to clean it up one last time before she leaves. While Susan shows her clothes proudly to her mother, Ray comes and tells her that she can take the bird with her in the end, as well as to apologize for his behavior earlier. He looks like he is making amends for his actions, in the most natural way possible, and yet Susan sees that something is not going right. But she can’t ask what it is as she is overflowed by gifts from her younger siblings.

When she is about to get the cage back, Emma and Norman ran up to her, and apologize. They let the bird fly away. Everyone is shocked, and despite that Susan let a sad smile form on her lips. 

“I see... But if it managed to fly, then it means that it got better.”

Then Emma gives to Susan a bracelet with one of Ner’s feathers attached to it. (The one that naturally falls don’t think they took it directly from the bird). She shows to her similar bracelets to the one she is giving on her wrist and Norman’s one, and pulls Ray closer to she can attach one last bracelet to his wrist. She tells Susan that like that, they are still together even if she leaves.

Susan bursts into tears, thankful for the gift. And apologize for yelling at Ray in front of everyone, recognizing that it was selfish of her to want to keep Ner to herself because she was sad of leaving Grace Field alone. She explains to him that because the bird was named after them, she wanted it to keep them close to her, just like how Ray perceived himself in the bird, she saw them in it as well.

Before leaving one last time, she pats Ray’s head (he definitely took this habit from her) and asks him to never stay alone again. She ruffles his hair, as he voice breaks when he nods. He apologizes to her one last time, so quietly that only her, Emma and Norman can hear him. Either for being angry at her... or for being unable to save her. (it’s left to interpretation) She leaves with a smile on her face.

When Ray is alone with Norman and Emma, he asks them what they did with the bird. Norman replies without any hesitation that it seemed to be important to Ray, so they deliberately freed it. Emma follows up by telling him that she thought thoroughly about what he told her about the bird being unhappy in its cage, and she concluded that she wouldn’t a life like that either, dying alone in a cage. Even if she was protected and feed, if she was a bird, she would still prefer flying in the sky.

Ray knew at that moment that whatever may happen, Emma and Norman would choose to fly free. He is glad that he has them. He thanks them for doing it, Norman replies that when he is ready, Ray can tell them why he wanted to free the bird. Emma smiles and asks him to, play with them tomorrow. Susan is not here to drag him into their games after all. Ray misses her, but thinks that with Emma and Norman by his side, everything will be alright.

Then we end the flash back and go back to Norman’s narration but I won’t extend myself on it, this ask was about Susan. 

In conclusion: their relationship is the one of “blood-related” siblings, in the sense that they find each other annoying and yet stays close and attached to one another. But no matter how close Susan was of Ray, his closest friends are still Emma and Norman. 

It’s a very beautiful chapter, and I love it. I hope you found some kind of answer in this very long post ! As for me, I prefer to leave it at that, so everyone can have their own interpretations of Ray’s and Susan’s relationship.

But to be honest there’s only like... two Noremma’s moment in this whole book, and the rest of the time it’s Norman thinking about Ray. And since you are a Rayemma shipper, there’s an entire chapter where Emma and Ray shares one braincell and are cute.

[collecting-stories]

Invisible Strings - John B Routledge

Request: Hi welcome back!!! I hope you are doing well ❤️ I am literally so obsessed with Folklore I would die for anything John B/Folklore. Maybe invisible string or peace?❤️

A/N: Okay so I had this finished and then re-wrote it this afternoon so hopefully it’s good...god I actually haven’t written Outer Banks in like a month. 

The TS Anthology Series | Outer Banks Masterlist

✰...one single thread of gold tied me to you✰

_ . ◦ ⭐︎:*.☾.*:⭐︎◦∙._

“I always forget that this is still here.” You mused, running your fingers over the carved part of the baseboard. 

John B looked over from the box he was packing, old dishware that had been given to his mom and dad when they were first married, stashed away in the house for a time that never came. It would go to the thrift shop tomorrow morning along with other, now useless items that littered the small house. On Monday you would call the realty office on the island and inquire about putting the place up for sale. John B had seen an apartment for rent, beach side, closer to Figure Eight, nicer than the Chateau and he’d suggested it as a starter apartment, something small that you both could afford.  

“Where was it going to go?” He teased, walking over to you. He pressed his legs against your back and you leaned your head to look up at him.  

“You could’ve painted over it.”

❖

The year that you turned ten your mom got re-married and your step-father decided to relocate the family to Tennessee where his new job would be. You cried for days over the prospect of leaving the Outer Banks but it wasn’t your decision, all you could do in the end was pack your belongings and move. In what little defiance you were awarded as a ten-year-old you climbed underneath the bed and carved your name into the baseboard. You thought about including some ominous request, perhaps a clumsily drawn ‘help me’ but decided against it at the last moment. Your mom was much more excited to be moving into what she claimed was a nice, big, house in Tennessee with your soon to be ‘new dad’. A step-up from the shoebox shack that you’d been getting by in. 

The house was sold almost immediately to a man and his young son, downsizing after his wife left them with next to nothing. Two bedrooms was all he needed and the view of the marsh was better than he expected to get in his financial state. His son was unbothered either way, sure they were moving but that only meant they were in a new house. He would still go to the same school and see the same people. Though he rode his bike passed his old house often that first year, wishing he could walk up the front steps and go through the door and everything would be the same.  

The carving remained unseen until he was thirteen. His best friend JJ was trying to flip off the bed when he fell against it, pushing it away from the wall. His head landed next to the baseboard. While most kids might’ve cried from the possible concussion JJ just rolled onto his stomach to get a better look at the wall and the writing engraved in it.

“Look.” He reached up to smack John B’s arm and pointed at the name carved into the wood, “you got a ghost.”

“It’s not a ghost you moron,” John B laughed once he’d seen the carving for himself, “probably the girl who used to live here.” He’d lived with pink walls, stenciled with butterflies for a year and a half before Big John finally caved and spent some of his money on paint instead of alcohol.  

After that John B found an odd sense of comfort in the carving. Sometimes he did his homework laying on the ground with your name staring back at him. A sort of imaginary friend he was too old to have. And when Big John disappeared at sea John B pulled the blankets off the bed and laid with his head at the baseboard, crying alone in his room while his uncle watched TV, oblivious to his nephew’s heartache.  

That same year, while they were still combing the shoreline for any sign of Big John’s boat, you and your mom arrived back in North Carolina. You were 16 and she was heartbroken, disillusioned with love and taking every opportunity to caution you against it too. You ignored most of her bitterness, concerned only with the new house and the new life that you were expected to settle into. The cottage style home was so close to the Outer Banks that you could see the island in the distance on the other side of the bay. Your mom talked about fresh starts and got a job working for the Department of Child Services. 

It was the year you heard John B Routledge’s name for the first time. She’d come in from work every day that summer and curse about the delinquent teen. It was her greatest source of reassurance that you didn’t hang around wayward teenagers who, though still grieving the loss of their father, unsure of their place in the world now that they were alone, were expected to move on from that. 

“Placing him with a family is going to be hell. No one is going to want to put out the effort for two years...I’m sure he’ll skip town the second he turns 18.” She would bitch over a bottle of white wine. 

“He could stay here?” It was a pointless suggestion. Your mother would likely strangle him in his sleep if he lived with you. 

“Absolutely not! I’m not a charity.” She had taken up social work only so her psychology degree wouldn’t be wasted but you thought maybe some people did belong behind a desk, in a cubicle, somewhere. Certainly not caring for children.  

Either way you weren’t too bothered to listen to those stories. You liked the thought of John B Routledge. He was like some character in a book, too good to be true. His story sounded sad but he didn’t. His life wasn’t a boring repetition of school and work and friends you didn’t particularly like. He was above all that. Like a Jesse Tuck, young forever, stuck on some magical island that you could see but never be a part of again.  

After graduation that all changed, just as life was starting to change. You got a job working in a beach front surf shop on the island. It was your first big strike out into the unknown and your mom was less than thrilled that you would be living in the Outer Banks until college started in the fall. But you’d saved enough to rent space and someone had listed a room available online. The ad boasted lots of outdoor area and featured a picture of a hammock and a VW bus behind it.  

“How do you know that it’s not some ploy to traffic young women and take them overseas or down to Mexico?” Your mom had pestered you as you dragged your suitcase out of the house to meet the Uber that would take you to the ferry. Away from boring hopefully. At least for a summer.  

“I‘ll let you know if I end up overseas.”  

“This isn’t funny!”  

“You’re being ridiculous mom, I already texted with the kid who owns the house, he’s like my age.” You replied. Someone named John had texted you after you emailed about the room. He seemed nice, he was funny, no red flags had gone up in your mind. The name hadn’t even occurred to you. It’d been a few months since you’d heard any mention of your mother’s tormentor.  

It was JJ’s idea to lease the room. The two needed extra money and working the docks or waiting tables or mowing lawns hadn’t cut it. JJ had two jobs to support his half of the rent and John B was working all kinds of hours when JJ suggested that they split it three ways.  

“Get a renter in here, it’s perfect.”  

“Yeah okay,” John B agreed because he wanted to keep his dad’s house and that seemed like the most logical way to go about it.  

You weren’t what he was expecting when you arrived. Having never rented before he’d spent more time making sure you could afford payments than he had finding out any details about you at all. But you stepped out of the car regardless and the immediate sense of nostalgia hit you like a wave. You didn’t mention that you used to live here and John B was too focused on getting through the tour of the shack that he didn’t even register the name you gave him.  

“This’ll be your room.”  

And just like that you were in each other’s space. Like two timelines fusing together, one of you had swerved and tangled your lives into a mess of summer and shameless flirting and parties on the beach. You realized early on that this John was your infamous John B Routledge, teenage outlaw, sadder in real life than you ever gave him the range for. You liked talking to him late at night when JJ was already passed out or lingering close to him at parties. Everyone, his friends and your new, adopted friends, knew that there was something there but none of them realized how deep it ran. Even you didn’t.  

It wasn’t until August of that summer, when John B was out and you were left in the Chateau by yourself, that you had wandered into his bedroom and pushed the bed away from the wall. There on the baseboard was the first of a million signs, the first place in your parallel timelines where your stories overlapped. The bed had knicked the wall enough times that the writing almost blended in with the other scratches but you could see your name clearly when you knelt down.

“What’re you doing in my room?” John B’s voice caught you by surprise and you turned too quickly, falling over, killing whatever tension might’ve arose from finding you supposedly snooping in his space. He cracked a smile and went to offer you a hand up.  

“Sorry, I-” you let him pull you to your feet, his skin warm against yours, “I wanted to see if it was still here.”

“What?” He looked rightfully confused.  

“I...carved that.”

“That was you?”

And somehow it was just a question of who had vandalized his bedroom but who had been there when he was fourteen and got so angry at his dad that he had slammed the door and jammed the lock. When he was sixteen, crying for days because his dad was missing and no one could tell him anything. When he was eighteen and all his friends were graduating from high school but he had failed out so terribly that his only options were repeat or get a GED. When you pulled up outside for the first time that summer and something in him just seemed to make sense, like all those loose puzzle pieces had figured out their pattern.  

❖

“What’s the matter?” John B asked, fitting the last box of donations into the Twinkie. You had followed him outside but you were just standing on the steps, staring out toward the jetty.  

It’d been four years of moving you in and out of dorm rooms, returning each time to this house. Four years of navigating dating when you already lived together, kicking JJ out when he interrupted nights you were supposed to have alone, avoiding every visit your mom ever made after she realized that the boy you were living with was the same one who’d caused her so much trouble years earlier. It was every argument, every holiday, every movie marathon, every stupid party, every lazy sunday...You’d spent ten years in that house without a friend in the world and John B had spent another eight trying to keep his head above water only to realize that what you had both needed all along was each other.

“Let’s not sell.”

“You wanna live here?” John B asked, sounding a little more surprised than he should’ve been. The apartment was everything he knew he was supposed to want but really he just wanted to stay in the Chateau with you.  

“We already live here.”

“Yeah but...Heyward said there are a lot of repairs that need to be done. Electrical stuff, plumbing, new water heater, new windows, the floor needs to be-”

“John B.” You stopped him short, walking the rest of the way down the steps to meet him in the yard.

“What?”

“Live in our house with me? Forever?” You asked, watching the smile that blossomed at your words.

“Okay.”

-

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[lilylilie001]

“Old Friends Not Forgotten” Review and Analysis

Spoilers for Star Wars: The Clone Wars S07E09

If you are interested in my reactions while watching the episode click here

If you want to read my rant about the thing that made my cry the most in this episode click here (disclaimer: I was still crying while writing this and that may have clouded my opinion about the scene. In this review I will go into more detail about that)

So then let’s get started! I have calmed down and feel now emotionally ready to actually interpret and analyse the scenes and not just bring across my emotions. But this still is only my personal opinion! So if you disagree that is fine, just please don’t be mean about it.

So the first scene we get is a parallel to the movie (aka the first arc of TCW) which I think is a pretty amazing idea. It shows how Anakin and Obi-Wans relationship has changed and how it has stayed the same. Anakin is as cocky and arrogant as ever. But this time he is not Obi-Wans student anymore. He leads his own men with his own plan and is just coming from his own solo-mission. Yes he wasn’t Obi-Wans Padawan in the movie and Rex was under his command back the too but their dynamic was still different. He still sees Obi-Wan as his former Teacher and as a Jedi Master and part of the counsel he is technically still above Anakin, but they act more on an eye-to-eye dynamic. More like brothers than father and son.

Anakin uses a smiliar trick as Obi-Wan did back in the movie. (I don’t know how the Republic and the Separatists handle that but it is considered a war crime in our world... Since Obi-Wan did it and never got called out for it I guess it is okay in their world...) But of course Anakin puts his own spin on it. That is I think a pretty good way to show how Anakin learned from his master. He did watch and listen but he is not like Obi-Wan. He likes to do things his way. And as long as it works he won’t stop.

Their friendly banter in this scene is also really in tune with the way they act with each other in the beginning of ROTS (especially in the deleted scenes). So it is not hard to believe that this takes place only days before. 

Before Anakin does his own thing Obi-Wan says: “I know better than to try and stop you.” I really liked this line. Not only because it was funny but also because for me it had a bit of an bitter aftertaste. He does not approve of Anakin’s actions (or methods to be exact) but he doesn’t do anything about them. Anakin is an adult and Obi-Wan is done with his education but his former padawan is far away from being a Jedi Master.

Then we have the first moment with Rex. Again a beautiful example of their dynamic. The other clones do what Anakin say (they have to) but they also are a bit annoyed by their general and his plan. Rex on the other had has Anakin’s back, as usual. And he motivates his men to follow Anakin. The trust these two have in each other is just beautiful! Rex trust that Anakin knows what he is doing and Anakin trust that Rex is taking care that everything works. I am pretty sure Rex wasn’t given more than a few instructions haha 

Anakins plan works and he learns nothing except that he was right. Again. I am not gonna go into to much detail about Obi-Wan and Cody but I will say this. As usual they care about and trust each other. Cody is like a friend and not just some clone to Obi-Wan and knowing that makes Cody picking up Obi-Wans lightsaber in a few weeks so logical. Also it makes Order 66 as usual even sadder.

I can’t help but feel that is episode feels like part of a movie. The opening battle. Very Star Wars. That would also explain the new intro and outro. A very nice ending to the show. Staring with a bad movie, finishing with good one. All in all this episode really played on nostalgia about the TCW Movie and I love it!  

Okay back to the episode.

Ahsoka used the name Fulcrum for her transmission. It is a nice callback to Rebels and to the Ahsoka Novel. But with the republic (for example Yularen who becomes a impirial officer) knowing that she uses that name it feels like a bit risky to me to use it in the rebelion as a code name... Maybe I am thinking to much about that but yeah I had to write that thought down. Also Anakin first thinks it is Saw Gerrera, so that means he came up with that name? This just confused me... 

So now I going to try to fangirl not to much about Anakins reaction to Ahsoka, which is hard. But I am going to talk about it because it is very important for his character. I personally don’t remember the last time I saw Anakin this happy. Ahsoka coming back into his life is for him obviously a thing he had wanted and hoped for for a long time. But at the same time he is so surprised that it happened.

The next feeling he goes through is concern. He is just immediately concerned about her and the reason she is contacting him. Perfect Anakin moment. He loves his adoptive daughter and of course he is scared about her wellbeing. He is Anakin! He always scared about the women in his life. So having this poking out under his happiness was a good call.

Obi-Wan on the other hand is just surprised. And Ahsoka herself is very distant. (gonna go into detail about that in a second)

The talk Obi-Wan and Anakin have while walking to Ahsoka’s ship is also very interesting. You can see Anakin trying to find a reason for her leaving. Like it is the will of the force. Meanwhile Obi-Wan has a mixture of quilt and anger. He was partly responsible for Ahsoka being kicked out of the order and therefor also for her not returning. But it also feels like he is mad at her for not retuning. Maybe (that thought had just crossed my mind) he is angry at her for breaking Anakin’s heart. After all Obi-Wan had to piece him together again. (There is an unfinished scene form the original 7th season were they talk about Ahsoka.) And now he feels like she should not be let off the hook just like that. 

Or he really just angry that she left the order that he believes in.

Again we have a nice callback to the movie. I really love those. They feel fitting.

R2D2 is just amazing as usual and greets his masters daughter like a good boy. 

Ahsokas face goes through so much in a matter of seconds. She looks at R2: happy. She looks up at her former masters: scared and unsure. She takes a step: confident. That is genius! I especially love that little moment of fear in her eyes. It makes so much sense when you look at her in the rest of the episode! And I personally think that it is Obi-Wan that she is cold towards. I think she has not forgiven him at all for his part in her trial. And she is not at all ready to face him. But she puts on a brave face because she has a mission bigger than her. 

At first when she stopped Anakin I was a bit upset but i get it now. She does not want to have this in front of Obi-Wan and Bo-Katan. Anakin staying behind for a second and putting himself together again is also really fitting I think. He was so excited to see her and she is cold towards him. He either does not see that it is not about him or he feels the tension between her and Obi-Wan.

Anakin again becomes worried dad when she mentions Oba Diah. And it feels like she would want to tell Anakin but she has Bo-Katan next to her and Obi-Wan in front of her so she doesn’t. She also seems surprised that he still cares so much about her. I think she expected him to be a upset with her and not as open and happy as he is. (Maybe that was why she looked scared in the scene before...) 

“What is one more?” This sentence is big. I mean yes Bo-Katan is not a friend of the Jedi and not a friend of Obi-Wan. But it also kinda shows the overall frustration with the Republic and the Jedi in the galaxy. 

Anakin lighting the mood with a joke...that is just pre-Vader Ani at his finest!

Bo-Katan is not wrong in this scene but after everything she had done to sabotage Satine she should really get down form her high horse here! 

You can just feel the tension leaving the room when Anakin and Ahsoka are alone. They start to banter and she immediately smiles. These two have still so much love for each other and truly enjoy each others company. But after that there is this small moment of silence. Again perfect moment. It just shows that regardless of that there is baggage here.

While walking down that corridor Anakin acts like a worried dad again. “It doesn’t matter to them. It is a sign of respect. They know what you went trough for them day after day. Battle after battle.” I choose to believe that he is also talking about him self when saying that. It is his way of telling her that he is proud of her. I don’t think she picks it up but the way he talks about it...that is his opinion of her for sure!

The Helmets...I just love them. I am not going to talk about them much. Their meaning is obvious and this is getting really long. I will also skip Rex for now (don’t worry he will get his paragraphs) same with the lightsabers.

Ahsokas face...she just feels proven right about the Jedi...

So I am not sure if Anakin’s worry is about Padme or the Chancelor. I mean they talk about the chancelor and he is close to him. But he looks really worried so maybe Padme? 

Ahsokas and Obi-Wan argument. The scene is amazing! I have to say that. It showed their morals pretty perfectly and both are kinda right. Again the tension between them makes sense. It still hurts to watch it.

But also Anakin standing between them awkwardly is kinda fitting with his arc. He is so happy this whole episode that it is hard to see ROTS Ani but I think it still ads up. He knows they are both right. The war has to be won but also Mandalore needs help.

“Unfortunately Ahsoka is no longer a part of the grand army of the republic.” That one sentence made so mad at Obi-Wan. Yeah, he is technically just saying a fact but his attitude. He is partly responsible for that he takes no blame! Even Ahsokas reaction is just like: Are you kidding me right now? She just looks at him for a second and she looks so disappointed and hurt. 

And Obi-Wan, he continues to look at her after she looked away and I don’t know but I see a bit of regret in eyes.

So apparently Anakin can promote Rex just like that. Don’t know why he never did it before. I mean we all know Rex would deserve it. But better later than never, right?

Interestingly enough the tension between Ahsoka and Obi-Wan is gone so quickly. It is fare away from their friendship in previous seasons but still. There is respect there again.

Of course Obi-Wan has to make a Kenobi joke before leaving. That really made me forgive him, at least a bit.

“Thanks for the support, as always.” I have not nothing to add to this sentence. Ahsoka’s words nailed the point I want to make about Anakin in this scene.

Okay now on to the lightsabers. Two things. First, he must have had them with him on the whole siege! So that means that Anakin Skywalker kept her lightsabers with him at all time to either remind him of her or just in case she came back to him! Yeah, attachment is problem with this boy...

Secondly...they are blue. All of Ahsokas lightsabers are green up to this point. So he either got her knew crystals or he played with them so much that the took on his lightsaber color. I don’t know what to say about that. 

Ahsoka rolling her eyes at his braging is just wholesome. Nothing more to add there.

I really love their dynamic when they are alone. It is so pure and happy and loving...

“Good thing I taught you otherwise.” So again a sentence with so much meaning. Filoni just loves throwing these in there, right? Let’s analyse it (bc that is the purpose of the post after all). With this sentence he basically tells her that it is okay to disagree with Obi-Wan and that he is not holding it against her in any way. He himself does it. Especially with the scene from before in mind that is so powerful. 

We have heard a multiple of Jedis saying that luck doesn’t exist so Anakin saying that shows he does not care about what the order thinks is right. He has his own right and wrong. For now that is not problematic but we all know who that ends...

And that means he tells her he raised a good person and not necessarily a good Jedi in her. (it is really late, my english is no longer working properly) Hopefully I got my point across.

The way Ahsokas stands in this shot... She is not a little girl anymore. She is a fighter. A warrior. 

“Anakin! Good luck.” 

I really have to take all my strength to stay calm while writing this. I don’t want this to be too emotional. 

So. Okay. *takes a deep breath* Ahsokas last words she ever says to Anakin Skywalker. The next time she talks to him he is Vader. Good words. Less than I personally wanted but good words. 

After what he told her before it is just so poetic. She wants the best for him. She wants him to be lucky. To succeed. But after what he said it is more. So much more. It is a rejection of the Jedi and an embrace of the light force. And... Damn with everything that is going to happen in ROTS having Ahsoka telling him words that the Jedi reject is just... 

Moving on before I lose my mind. We still have Rex to cover. 

Anakin and Ahsoka think they will see each other again. They think that they will win and be together again and then they can figure out what to do about everything. About them. About the Jedi. About Obi-Wan.They have no idea what the future has in store for them. And it is perfect. I aligns perfectly with other star wars media. ROTS, Rebels, Ahsoka Novel. They don’t hug. They don’t say goodbye. I hate it but it is perfect.

I love that Rex got promoted but he is gonna be Captain Rex for me forever. Captain or Sir. But he really does deserve his promotion!

Because this is really long already I will not talk about Bo-Katan and the Mandalorians but focus on Ahsoka and the Clones. 

We get an amazing banter between Rex and Ahsoka were Ahsoka proves that she is Anakins Padawan after all and that she has Skywalker energy. It is really amazing to see her in her element again. She can use the force whenever she wants and kicks ass! This really was her childhood.

And then she saves a Clones because that is what Ahsoka Tano does. She knows casualties are a part of war but she saves who she can.

Rex is so happy to have her back! He smiles and smiles just like Anakin. And just like with Anakin Ahsoka is so relaxed with Rex. They are her home! 

I just love the cinematography of her fighting. It really is just watching a Star Wars movie. I can’t wait to watch the whole arc in one go!

“Beat you.” “Some things never change.” Wholesome. This is just wholesome.

Okay so that is it for me. I know there is still Maul and Bo-Katan to cover but I will talk about them after next episode!

But I will say this in conclusion: This is episode was stunning! Like everything was beautiful and meaningfull and thought out and detailed! I truly love this episode! I already watched it three times today. And I am so amazed by the animations! The characters facial expressions were on point! I had so much fun analysing them!

I hope that was interesting to read and honestly I am surprised if anyone got this far. Anyway I really loved watching the episode again frame by frame and note my thoughts (this took me 6h btw)

[storyteller-inn]

Ok, so. This is just an example on how to use the Inn's Hosts, dear Wanderers. Let's try and ask something to Caratra, shall we? Like, for example, how would the original Avengers team react when meeting a new person that they, somehow, find themselves fancying straight away?

And if that is your request, then I, Caratra, shall answer in the best of my knowledge. You see, I have noticed, throughout the years, that by sitting aside and let life unravel before your own eyes, you begin to see people for who they really are. So let’s throw away all the masks and the prejudices, and see to the matter at hand.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

PART I

The relationship that Tony had with conferences was, to be honest, mixed. Especially when they were masked as a cocktail party. A part of him did enjoy the mingling, the chatting, the chance to talk to that particular big shot long enough to get on his nerves... The other, however, could definitely do without it all, as he found very difficult for the people in those big rooms to fully understand him and his work. Nothing was different in this particular occasion and, at the mercy of the rising boredom and impatience, he was sure about to find a way to sneak out of the place, when something caught his attention. A voice, strong and confident, the kind that does not accept “no” as an answer. Your voice. That was the first time he ever laid eye on you and, for Tony Stark, seeing someone barking orders right left and centre was positively a valid reason to get more interested. And so his eyes never really stopped following you around the room, watching with honest interest as he absent-mindedly carried on the conversation with one journalist or the next. He had plenty of time to notice how strict you were – clearly, you were a part of the team that organized this event – but, at the same time, how you were also trying to help your subordinates, always saving an encouraging smile for each one of them. Strength, compassion, kindness … definitely a kind of mix he was not used to find in these places. «In case you are wondering,» Happy chimed in, suddenly appearing at his side «that person you’ve been staring at, is today’s event coordinator. This is her first big soiree, but I’d dare say she’s doing a brilliant job». «And, tell me, Happy…» Tony replied not missing a beat, «…do you also happen to know her name?». «I’m afraid not, sir» the bodyguard noted apologetically. However, Tony’s spirit was everything but damped, as a grin slowly stretched on his face. «Then, my friend, I suggest I go and find out immediately» he said confidently, not even waiting for Happy to reply as he started making his way towards you.

Steve was worried. It didn't really matter how many times he tried to repeat to himself that it was probably nothing serious, or that he did everything he could. There was something wrong, and the doubt of what it could actually be was slowly gnawing away his confidence. Swallowing hard, he mustered up all of his courage and looked down at the little ball curled up on his lap. Roscoe was only a couple of months old and in Steve’s care since Bucky and Sam decided to surprise him with a German Shepherd’s puppy for his birthday. And despite his initial complaints – where could he find the time to take care of a dog? – he soon fell in love with the little fluffy critter. Hence his extreme worries when Roscoe started to lack his usual energy and enthusiasm, all of a sudden. «Mister Rogers?» a voice shook him from his thoughts. A young woman was standing in front of him, wearing a white coat and a radiant smile. That is, at least, the first two details he noticed and that, somehow, made him feel slightly less anxious. Was it the fact that the vet was finally going to take a look at Roscoe, or that warm smile would have worked even without her professional attire? «Yes» he muttered shoving those thoughts aside and scooping up the puppy in his arms as he got on his feet. «This way, please» you invited, showing him to the nearest available examination room. Reluctantly, Steve laid down Roscoe on the metal table. «So, mister Rogers,» you started, visually assessing the dog as you were putting on a pair of gloves, «I see you are pretty worried. What does it seem to be the problem with the little one here?». Did he look indeed that worried? «Well, this is Roscoe. I got him about a week ago and everything was fine, until one day he started to act… strange. Sadder, less energetic» he explained, scratching the back of his head. You simply nodded, answering with a quick hu-uh as you started to examine the puppy. «I don’t know what happened» Steve continued, «I honestly don’t think he ate anything odd, I was with him at all times. And it’s not like he stopped eating, or drinking, or sleeping». He noticed the careful and gentle way you were passing your hands on Roscoe’s body, the extreme care you took when testing his legs, tummy and back. Something about it put him at ease, and helped stopping the flow of words that threatened to flood out of his mouth. But he still found himself holding his breath as you finally straightened up and looked at him. «Mister Rogers…» you said, contemplating your next words, «…there is no external sign that would suggest Roscoe is not well. Apart from one». Steve’s heart sank at those words, but before he could utter anything at all, a swift movement of your hand unbuckled the collar on the dog’s neck. And, as if by magic, the puppy perked up with a joyful bark and started to jump on the examination table. Saying that Steve was gobsmacked would be an understatement. «But… How…» he barely managed to whisper. «He is still not used to the collar» you laughed, playfully stroking the now very active Roscoe on the head, «And he’s probably been a bit overdramatic about it. It happens more often than you would think, don’t worry». Only then, Steve finally lifted his gaze and, with all of his fears gone, he finally noticed your glittering eyes and your cheerful expression… and that warm, reassuring smile. It did take him a while. A lot of overthinking to do, doubts to dispel and courage to muster. And a couple of nervous walks in and out the clinic. But he finally did asked you out, on that same day, as a way too happy puppy barked his consent and jumped all around the two of you.

The Warbling Bard could be considered somewhat of a rarity here on Midgard, especially for the God of Thunder. The medieval-inspired furniture, the authentic two meters long fireplace, the catchy tavern-like music... He would never admit it out loud, but Thor did miss Asgard when forced to remain on Earth to help the Avengers, and this this cozy pub in the suburbs was the only place where he could try and breathe an atmosphere similar to home. The beer, also, was pretty fantastic. «Are you actually looking for an opponent, or that cue in your hands serves more like a cane?» a voice suddenly brought him back from his nostalgia-filled thoughts. But he did not act as if he was caught unaware: he simply took another gulp from his beer, put down the tankard on the green felt table and turned... only to find a woman, with a knowing grin painted on her face and another cue gripped in her hand. Thor raised his eyebrows, surprised by how the stranger approached him, but he would have lied if he said that the first impression she made was a bad one. Quite on the contrary, to be honest. «Oh, if you're too drunk, forget playing» you continued, sarcastically hinting at his lack of verbal response, «I do not pick on people that cannot defend themselves». The Asgardian erupted in a booming laugh. «Drunk? My lady, it will take way more than a couple of beers to render me useless» he replied confidently, «And even then, I could easily crush my adversary». You smirked. «Is that a challenge?». Thor mimicked your expression, the spark of competition glittering in his eyes. He was certainly not expecting to meet someone like you that evening, but there was something... fresh about you, and fiery, like a spring gale swinging the windows open and flooding the room. An invigorating and well-welcomed change of pace, compared to what the God of Thunder had been used to in the past few days. He quickly turned around, slid two fingers in his mouth and whistled to the barman. «Jeffrey, I need two tankards here!» he called out to the friend, «Large ones, please». By the end of the evening - and after countless drinks - Thor was very much surprised to see that you had managed to keep up with both his playful banter and the game. You might have also won, if a gentleman that had one too many did not trip and spill half of his beer on you, forcing you to take your leave a bit too early - for Thor's taste, at least. But even if he thought that that had been the best evening he had had in a long while, none of his cheerful expressions could have matched his smile when, repositioning the balls in the centre of the table, he found a quickly scribbled note... with your name and the date and time for a rematch.

The gym was quiet that day. Most of the agents were probably out anyway, trying to sort the mess that was New York City after the Chitauri's attack. Natasha had already done her part, when it came to that particular problem. Teaming up with a group of incredibly gifted people – and super humans. And gods – was not exactly part of her initial plan. She always preferred to work alone after all. But she did find something in that group of people, something she had missed for so long that she was not even certain she was still capable of experiencing. Opening up to others, trusting others was always something that exposed her to risks, and that was definitely not part of her job. That feeling, however… Natasha sprang forward, twirling on herself to deliver a powerful kick to the sand bag. She didn’t want to think about it now. Not when she basically had this S.H.I.E.L.D. facility’s gym all to herself. Or at least, so she thought. The agent felt you entering the room even without turning around. And either you failed to recognize her or you were keeping to yourself, avoiding congratulating her or expressing your admiration for her – like at least ten other operatives did on her way to the gym. That, in Natasha’s eyes, was definitely worth points. She returned to her training, but instinctively kept an eye on your movements - after all, the two of you were the only people in the room. And it was exactly by monitoring you that, ten minutes after, Natasha noticed that you were watching her. She shrugged, returning to hit the bag in front of her. But even after another few moments, she still couldn’t help but feel your eyes on her. You were not even trying to hide it: you were staring at her, plain and simple. The agent finally stopped her array of kicks, sighed loudly and turned towards you. «May I help you?» she asked, letting a tinge of irritation color her question. «Uh, sorry» you quickly apologized, realizing your gaze might actually have been slightly intrusive, «It’s just… your form. It’s very peculiar». «Peculiar? It’s simple combat training. Like the one you probably went through yourself» she merely commented, stretching one leg. You shook your head. «Not really. The way you fight is definitely more accurate and lethal than what I normally see around here. It’s also more… angry». Natasha quirked an eyebrow. «Angry, as if there is something troubling you, deep down» you clarified. The red-haired spy was confused, but she recovered quickly enough to object. «This pretty psychological analysis is interesting, but I can assure you are only seeing what you want to see». With a confidence that surprised both Natasha and yourself, you stood up from the bench you had been sitting on and approached the other woman. «I can prove it to you». And just like that, without any sort of warning, you lunged at her, throwing a turning kick that she readily parried with a gesture of her arm. Natasha would have probably complained, but you did not give her the time to voice her thoughts, so she simply focused her frustration and retaliated. But time after time, kick after kick, her disciplined form started to change and, despite being precise and deadly, the spy began to resembled more of a storm than the precise, lethal weapon she had been trained to be. A tempestuous sea of wild waves, that seemed to have little to no effect against the calm and precise technique her opponent was using. Until the spy had enough, and managed to catch you by surprise with a low kick that made you fall flat on the floor. She was Natasha Romanoff, after all. The two of you looked at each other for a couple of moment, panting from the intense sparring. And before you could say anything, Natasha extended a hand towards you, helping you back on your feet. «That was fun» you smiled, combing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. «Yeah» the other woman simply replied, her shoulders not so tense as before. Satisfied, you went back to collect the gym bag you left by the bench and made your way towards the door. «Hey» you called out, turning towards her one last

time. «It's ok to be angry. Or confused. But we don't always have to deal with it on our own». And just like that, you flipped the bag back on your shoulder and flashed Natasha a kind smile before leaving the room. The spy stood there for a few more minutes, unmoving, still focused on that spot in front of the door where you had been just a moment before. Somehow, she felt lighter, as if the weight of those storming doubts was lifted, giving her the space to breathe more freely. And, somehow, a smile began to stretch on her face. Maybe, after all, she could be ready to start letting some people in.

[bb8sworld]

this is less of angsty thoughts and more like one long ouch. almost 700 words of hurting, to be precise. this one’s for you, @hellotherekenobi, thanks for the inspiration, my love. (lmao is this the kind of thing you put a "keep reading” for?)

You’re walking down the halls of the Jedi Temple absolutely exhausted and ready to get into your room and sleep for the next year. You’re about to punch in your code and open the door to your room when you hear something coming from inside. Aside from your droid, you’re the only one who knows the code to get into your room... so what or who could’ve possibly have gotten in? With your hand hovering above your lightsaber on your waist, you put your ear up against the door to try and hear what’s going on in there. It’s a bit muffled at first, but you’re able to piece together that it’s a voice speaking. You aren’t able to place who it is before the voice stops and silence fills the room.

You’re about to open the door to see what’s going on when the voice picks up again and you stop in your movements because your realization hits you in a rush. You know that voice. It’s the voice that has haunted your thoughts and dreams for the past few years. That’s Obi-wan speaking. You haven’t heard from the prince since the day you left Stewjon when your mission ended and your heart aches at the sound of his voice. For a moment you’re confused because last you checked he wasn’t on Coruscant (not that you frequently check to see which senators and royal guests are on-planet… okay maybe you do but that’s beside the point), but then you actually pay attention to what he’s saying.

“Hello, my son. I hope you’re staying safe and making sure our jedi isn’t getting into too much trouble.” A slight laugh followed by a pause. “The palace is rather quiet without either of you around so you better finish up your mission and get back here soon, alright? Good. Now you better get to bed so you can be recharged and ready to keep protecting our jedi like I know you do so well.” Another pause. “I’m proud of you, G6.”

And that’s when the singing starts. It’s the lullaby Obi-wan used to sing to G6 before he powered down for the night, and you haven’t heard it since you were last on Stewjon. Hearing it again stirs all kinds of nostalgia, yearning, and regret in your stomach, not that you’d ever say this aloud. The song ends and Obi-wan signs off with a quiet “goodnight, sweet dreams.” And then the room is silent. You decide to give it a couple more beats to see if G6 will play anything else, but nothing happens, so you punch in your code and step inside.

G6 notices you enter the room and quietly tells you that he is going to recharge for the night, but his beeping is sadder than you’ve ever heard them before. (Well... almost. Your heart still clenches every time you think of your first night back on Coruscant after your mission on Stewjon ended and G6 asked you when you both were going to go back home because he had so many stories he couldn’t wait to tell his dad and oh could you get him some paper and paints? He wants to draw something for his dad to show him how much he missed him while you two were gone and he can’t wait to get back home... yeah, telling G6 that you didn’t know when you’d see the prince again and that the mission really was over is a conversation you didn’t wish to repeat anytime soon) You can barely get out a goodnight before he all but zooms to his charging station, and your heart breaks at the sight of your sad droid. The hurt only worsens when you realize that there’s nothing you can do to help him. It’s not like you can just bring Obi-wan here to be with his son again. The regret and longing settles deeper in your stomach, and you can’t help but spend the rest of the night thinking about the prince of Stewjon. And if you happen to shed a few tears, well, at least no one’s around to see you.

[miafic]

Fall AU (Part 12)

first ~ prev

“I’m leaving for work now,” the man says in the morning, “but someone’s coming over to stay with you today.”

“One of your friends?” Lucas asks.

“Yes.”

“The one who brought pizza?”

“No, this is a new friend.”

“Okay.”

“He should be here any minute. His name is Ted, and he’s wearing a light blue shirt. I wrote it down for you, okay? Right here. Lucas. Lucas.”

Lucas looks up from the bird he’d been watching hop around in the grass. 

“Did you hear me?”

“Um… What are we talking about?”

The man sighs, and Lucas frowns and then makes an angry face.

“Yeah, me, too,” the man mutters. “I said, my friend’s name is Ted, and he’s wearing a light blue shirt. I wrote it on and note and stuck in on the door so if you forget what I’m saying now, you’ll still know to let him in. Okay?”

As the man finishes his spiel, a car pulls up to the curb. “Oh, good,” the man says, and he opens the door.

Lucas goes back to watching the bird.

“Hi,” the man calls, and he walks several feet out of the house. Lucas wanders after him but heads a different direction - toward the bird. It’s poking at the grass now. Lucas wonders if it’s trying to get a worm. He slowly crouches down to watch it, but it notices him and flutters away. Lucas feels his sadness in his stomach.

“Lucas,” the man calls.

He stands up, turns. He blinks in surprise.

“Lucas, this is-”

“Daddy,” Lucas interrupts happily, and he hurries forward to hug his father. His dad hugs him tightly for a long, long time.

“I have to go,” the man says eventually, and he kisses the side of Lucas’ head without breaking up the embrace. “Be good.” To Lucas’ dad, the man says, “Text me if you need anything. I can’t always answer the phone, but I can always glance at a text.”

“Thank you, Zakk.”

Zakk, that’s right. That’s the man’s name. Lucas loves Zakk. “I love you, Zakk!” he calls after him.

Zakk musters a small smile. Lucas watches him go back into the house and drive away a minute later with a car from the garage.

“We should probably go inside,” Lucas’ dad decides, so they do.

“Want to see my room?” Lucas asks hopefully, and his dad gives him a smile even sadder than the one that the man wears most of the time.

Lucas’ dad motions to the staircase. “Lead the way.”

---

“Will you tell me,” Lucas asks as he and his father sit on the sofa, “about my little brother?”

“Little brother? You have an older brother.”

“He died.”

“What?”

“My little brother,” Lucas says, beginning to get frustrated. “He died.”

“Are you talking about Chance?”

Chance! That’s right. Lucas nods. “He likes… sea turtles.”

“Sea turtles, and football, and rap music,” Lucas’ dad sighs. “And those long, messy hairstyles.”

Lucas leans into his dad’s chest, and he smiles when his dad’s arm wraps around his shoulders.

“And you. That kid loved you. I’d never seen friendships like you and Chance had outside of movies.”

“He was my best friend,” Lucas recites. He remembers that the man had told him that. 

"He certainly was.” His dad is quiet for a moment, but then he confesses, “When we lost him, we thought we would lose you too.”

“Who thought that?”

“Well, everyone, I think. Isabel, Chance’s parents, your football coaches, the school counselor. Me.”

“Do I have a mother?”

Lucas’ dad looks down at him. “Yes.”

“I don’t remember.” He feels guilty; his mom is probably awesome, and he can’t even picture what she looks like. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. Zakk didn’t think you’d remember me, but you did. So I’m still over the moon, PJ.”

“PJ!”

Lucas’ dad chuckles. “Yeah.”

“PJ! That’s me!” Lucas is delighted. He closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of nostalgia, of memory. His dad kisses his hair, and he smiles. “I didn’t know you, but I think I missed you. Or at least, now I miss you before.”

“I don’t know if I followed that,” Lucas’ dad hums, “but I missed you, too.”

“Hey, Daddy?”

“Yeah, bud.”

“Wanna help me with something?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m trying to figure out what happened to make me forget things.”

His dad hesitates.

“Come on,” Lucas says, and he stands and pulls on his dad’s hand.

“I don’t know if Zakk would be-”

“Zakk wants me to remember everything, and he doesn’t kiss me because I can’t. I have to figure out what happened so I can fix it.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea. You need to talk to Zakk first.”

A hot surge of anger flashes through Lucas.

“Let’s talk about something else, yeah?” his dad asks placatingly.

Flopping back onto the couch, Lucas signs. “Fine.”

“Do you want to talk about Chance?”

Something tugs at his heart, so he nods.

“What do you remember about him? Just what we said earlier?”

“I saw a picture of him.”

“Okay, good. Good. He was a good-looking kid.”

Lucas nods. “His hair was weird.”

“You never liked it when he grew it out,” his dad laughs. “You complained that he was flipping his head around all the time, and I remember one time in our kitchen, you told him that he needed to have a ponytail for football so his hair wouldn’t get in his eyes and stop him from catching the ball.” His dad chuckles again. “And look who needs a ponytail now, huh?” he asks, lifting up a few locks of Lucas’ hair before letting go of them. “Yours looks nothing like his, though.”

“You knew him, too?”

“Oh, yeah, I knew him. He practically lived with us. And then once he got with that foster family, you practically lived with him. He was like a son to me, like you were like a son to his parents.”

“His foster family,” Lucas whispers, feeling horribly sad all of a sudden. “He had - he had a plaid comforter. Navy and white, and bumpy.”

“That’s right.”

“I slept on it.”

“Yes. Before and after he died.”

Lucas looks at his dad. “How did he die?”

There’s a silence, and then his dad says, “I think the way you asked us to phrase it is, ‘He died by suicide.’”

Lucas’ eyes sting with tears. It’s not new information, but it hurts even more coming from his dad. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, honey, no,” Lucas’ dad whispers, and he rubs his hand up and down Lucas’ arm. “He was really scared - too scared to keep going. So he didn’t.”

“I was too tired,” Lucas states before he realizes what he’s saying.

Lucas’ dad looks at him in confusion. “After Chance died?”

Lucas isn’t sure how to respond, so he nods. His dad nods, too.

“Isabel or I slept with you every night for months.” He kisses Lucas’ head the way that the man had that morning. “You were a wreck. Weeks and weeks of crying and screaming and asking about Heaven and Hell. You stopped showering, stopped eating. And then you packed up and went off to college, and it just got worse and worse… They called us, told us to come take you to a hospital to have you assessed because they thought you were a suicide risk.”

“And what happened?”

“Mom and I came and got you, and we took you home, and in less than twelve hours, you went to Chance’s house. Slept in his room all day. His parents stayed with you, and after a while, they called me to tell me where you were, and I came to pick you up, but we didn’t leave for a while.” He sighs softly. “All three of us sat with you, Chance’s parents and me. You just laid there, and we all sat around you, and I remember feeling like it was some kind of ritual. Like we were praying over you.” He rubs Lucas’ arm again, slower this time. “You know I’m not religious like you are. But if God is real, he was listening to how much we loved you. And he let us keep you.”

“I don’t know if that’s how that works,” Lucas whispers. Then, “Can you talk about Chance dying again and being scared? It makes me feel better.”

His dad’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “That’s a first,” he comments. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

---

“I’ll come to bed in a little bit,” the man promises late that night when he gets home from work. “You take Baby and get comfy and close your eyes, okay? I wanna spend some time with your dad.”

“Why?”

“Because I left as soon as he got here. I barely even got to say hello.” He smiles. “You got all day with him; I got thirty seconds. My turn.”

Lucas nods. 

“Night, PJ,” Lucas’ dad murmurs. He gives Lucas another hug. 

“Night, Daddy.” He turns to the man. “Night.” 

“Goodnight.” The man gives Lucas a kiss on the cheek, and Lucas’ insides start to feel like they’re glowing. He suppresses a giggle. 

“Go get in bed and try to sleep,” the man says, and Lucas does, because he wants to make the man happy. 

But after a while, he gets up...

---

Part 13

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #307

“you lie so much, you believe yourself”

How long has it been since you kissed someone? Like, two years or so. What level are you on Farmville? Never played it. What are you looking forward to in the next year? I hope Covid just withers away, dammit. I truly, truly hope this vaccine is effective. And that people start wearing their GODDAMN masks. Do you use a lot of emoticons? Not really nowadays. Would you ever climb a mountain? No. Even if my legs were capable of handling that, I'd be too afraid of an avalanche. Colons or equal signs for your smiley face’s eyes? Colons. When was the last time you swam in a lake? A looooong time ago. If you could have anything right now, what would you want? It'd be great to chill at Sara's house honestly, I miss that. What’s your relationship status? Single and I think finally starting to truly accept I need to be right now. I wouldn't want to date myself in my current position, so I shouldn't expect anyone else to. When was the last time someone asked you your age? On my birthday when I mentioned in group therapy that I was trying to make it an especially good day about myself. When was the last time you danced? Very, very poorly with Sara years ago lmao. Has anyone ever tried to physically fight you? Someone snatched my arm and yanked me down to look her in the eyes in HS because she was a jealous bitch back then telling lies, but idk if her intention was to actually try to start a physical fight. Are you avoiding someone? No. What’s your favorite primary color? Red. What do you have pierced? Just my ears and bottom lip now. :/ I want morrrreeee. I'm forever tilted that so many of my piercings closed when I was hospitalized. What is your favorite dog breed? I find pugs to be very cute, but I do not support their breeding whatsoever so would never buy one. Besides them, I have a definite bias towards beagles. In your honest opinion, what is the scariest sea creature you know? Fucking Christ, giant squids. Terrifying. Do you believe there is just one love for everyone, or…? No. There are way, way, WAY too many people on this planet for that. What natural disaster scares you the most? Tornados. What outrageous career could you see yourself wanting to do? Define an "outrageous" career... but I can't visualize myself doing anything very unordinary. In what way would you want to help change the world? I truly hope I can make some considerable amount of contributions to natural conservation and animal education. When driving down the road looking for an address do you turn the radio low? I don't drive, but I know I would, considering I can't concentrate on driving if the radio is on anyway. What do you think of when you look at the stars? How little I and my problems really are. It gives me perspective. If you could say ONE THING to the president, what would it be? Well, Biden just got into office, so I can't really say yet. We'll see what he does. What Disney princess are you most like? Personality wise, I mean. Uh. I'unno. Maybe Snow White because animals? haha Do you believe in astrology? Not in the slightest. Do you look into people’s eyes when you talk to them? I try to, anyway, but I tend to find it very uncomfortable, and I never know if I'm offering too little or too much. So I have trouble maintaining it, especially with people I don't know. You can have one of the following two things: trust or love. Pick one. Trust. What do you think is the most important thing in this life is? Hm, that's a deep one. Perhaps the understanding that you are just as important as the next person and that we should work as one to make this one life that we know of worthwhile. Make the world better than when you entered it. What is your favorite shade of blue? Pastel blue. I just like pastels in general. When's the last time you bought something just because? I don't buy things "just because." If I actually have money to spend, I use it with motivation behind it. What Ozzy lyric describes you best? WHOA NOW HUNNY you are asking the WRONG person because I can just about name his entire discography so there are waaaay too many song lyrics to dig through and pick one for myself. Probably something from "Dreamer," after a short moment's consideration. When was the last time you went for a walk without a specific destination in mind? Not since Sara and I walked down the path near her house. We didn't plan on when we would turn around to go back. Do you daydream? Only all the time. What was your last daydream about? Ha, thanks to that other question, visiting Sara again. It'd be nice, but yeah, financial limitations and corona. Ever won the lottery? Bitch I wish. What was the most important decision you made that screwed up your life the most? Ugh... I'd say putting all my self-worth, happiness, and source of peace into one person was pretty big but also fucking stupid. What is love really about? Don't ask a romantic this and expect a non-essay, haha. But to keep it as short as possible, it's about mutual care, the desire to grow together, trust, openness, the peace to be vulnerable with the other... It's about a lot. It's such a deep, beautiful feeling. What's the most you ever made in a year? lol Do you have an online diary? Only through surveys, really. What's the biggest pot you've won in poker? I haven't played poker since I was a kiddo, so idr. What Metallica lyric most describes your life? Who wrote this and knows my favorite bands????? Like damn. There's a good handful of the sadder songs I relate to; I did some brief digging through ones I know I relate to, and perhaps the one I feel closest is within "The Unforgiven II": "The door is locked now, but it's open if you're true. If you can understand the me, then I can understand the you." Aaaand now I'm gonna go binge Metallica 'cuz it's been too long, thanks. How many concerts have you been to? Just one. :/ Which one was your favorite? I've only seen Alice Cooper, and it was great. What's the most illegal thing you've done? Pirated stuff, oops. Ever get busted by the cops? What for? No. How many pairs of rollerblades do/did you own? I doubt I have any anymore. Ever wear out a CD? What was it? Ahaha... There is some scratching on my mom's copy of Ozzmosis thanks to me playing it so much on my old CD player. Ever have a tornado in your town? Well my city is pretty damn big, so yes, in some spots. I don't think my immediate proximity has ever seen one, though. If you HAD to pick ONE song to listen to for the rest of your life, and that would be the only song you ever heard, what would it be? I would absolutely need something motivating if that was the case, so most likely "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne. That song touches me so deeply and gives me the courage to do what I can to tackle life and try not to waste it. I know, I'm doing a great job at that. Ever heard of Shinedown? Hell yeah; I was actually listening to them in the car earlier. What does your lawn furniture consist of? We have nothing out there. Ever live off of canned soup and ramen noodles for weeks at a time? Er, no. But when I got my tongue pierced, I had to survive off of popsicles and... I somehow forgot the main thing I ate???? How?????? But anyway it was something that didn't involve much or any chewing, either. I actually lost a little bit of weight in that week or so because eating solids was impossible, and I didn't enjoy "eating" liquids either. That piercing (snake eyes, btw) was soooo so cute tho. I really wish it hadn't started to damage my teeth, or else I'd still have it. What musical group/artist do you love, but hide from other people? I used to be kinda embarrassed by artists like Melanie Martinez when you compare her music to my adoration of metal, but at my age now, I don't give a damn. I like what I like and won't hide it. What is the first meal you remember eating? ... Does anyone actually remember this??? What's in your keepsake box/scrapbook? Good God, a lot. I haven't looked in it in a very, very long time though. It brings a usually painful nostalgia. What did you score on your SATs? I don't even remember if I took them. I THINK I took the ACT instead? I don't even know the difference. When was the last time you saw a rainbow? Hm. Been a while. It's not like I'm out of the house a lot, especially nowadays with quarantine. What colors is your lava lamp? I wish I had a lava lamp, they're rad and really relaxing. What's the strangest thing you've ever hung on the wall? Nothing, really. Can you name every place you've ever had sex? I mean I can but I'm not going to. What's the most important thing you ever lost and never found again? My favorite childhood cat Charcoal. He was an outdoor and intact male, so it was very normal for him to eventually vanish to rove. Please keep your cats indoors. What forms of birth control have you used? The pill and, uh, having "barriers." How many webpages have you created, and can you still find them all? I made Wetpaint sites for my two RP mobs back in the day, but the site has since been completely revised, so no, they don't exist anymore. I checked outta curiosity I think last year. How many people are in your family portrait? We don't even have a proper family portrait. Ever punched a wall? No. When's the last time you really lost your temper? In some argument with Mom I don't remember. Ever thought you (or a girlfriend) were pregnant, but it was a false alarm? I had massive anxiety over it once, but it was irrational and even I knew that. Not that anxiety cares. If 97 is yes, were you glad or sad? I was very glad when my period came lmao. What was the last conversation you had with someone before they died? When I saw my grandma for the last time, I just let her know that I loved her and that she was so, so strong, and she was. No one could believe how long she warded death off when she finally stopped chemo. What do your drinking glasses look like? We have some more unique cups and mugs, but the majority of them are just plain, slightly angular glasses, some short, some tall. How many bottles/containers are in your medicine cabinet? Oh wow, a lot. We're covered for most potential problems. How many funerals have you been to? Uhhh I think one. Maybe even none, just wakes. What was the last bug you killed and what did you use? An ant, I think? I just used my fingers. How many computers in your household? There are three laptops, but no desktop computers. Ever help to solve a crime? There was one occasion years ago when our neighbor's window was busted overnight and cops came to us to ask for any evidence we might have had, but we didn't have any. Idk what came of it. Ever get pulled over by the cops and get away without a ticket? I've never been pulled over. What was your first legal alcoholic drink? I think it was a margarita, but possibly a daquiri. Ever get published by one of those poetry groups? I fucking wish. I've tried, but to no avail. What's the furthest distance you've moved? Not very far at all. Just to the neighboring town. How many friends from high school/college do you still talk to? Only a few now and then. Girt is the only one I have real conversations with, though. What's the most expensive things your parents ever bought you? Probably the laptop I have right now, but idk. I've never asked how much things they've bought me cost, it seems rude somehow. What's the most expensive thing you've bought? The upcoming revamp of my tattoo. Deposit was $100, and then it's probably going to be another $300-400. I can't afford it all myself; as my birthday gift, Mom is helping me pay for it, but I've got most of it covered thanks to Christmas and birthday money. How many times did you intentionally start to commit suicide? Start to do it? Well, I was trying to run for sharp objects to do it twice, but on each occasion, someone held me back 'cuz they knew I was about to do something rash, so I didn't get very far, thankfully. The only time I fully went through with an attempt was my OD. Ever spent the night in the "loony bin?" How fucking disrespectful to call it that, but whatever. If you put all the instances together, I've been in psych hospitals for around a couple months, maybe more. What is your favorite cover song? Disturbed's cover of "Sound of Silence" is absolutely unbeatable. I'd just about call it a cold hard fact. What's your inspiration? Other's success stories, music, art in general, etc. What's the longest relationship you've been in? Over 3 1/2 years. Did you ever drop out of school? I dropped out of college three times, yikes. Three times is enough; even if I think I want to, I'm never going back. That is just way too much money to keep throwing down the drain, and there's clearly a pattern. Ever raise a child that wasn't your own for more than 3 months? I've never raised a kid period. Strangest medical procedure ever performed on you? Look up what a pilonidal cyst is and know I had one surgically removed. Pretty strange and uncomf. Song that has changed your attitude recently? None, really. What's something that you say a lot to be mean? ... Why would I try to be mean??? Who told you they loved you last? Me mum. Ever had a pet frog? Not technically, no, but as kids, my sister, neighbor, and I saved hundreds, maybe thousands of tadpole eggs from a ditch that was inevitably going to dry out. We transferred them all to a kiddie pool and let them grow naturally, hopping out and into the world whenever they were ready. I wouldn't call them "pets." Your worst enemy? IT'S NO SURPRIIIISE TO MEEEE I AAAAMMM MY OWN WORST ENEMYYYYY Do you believe in karma? No, but I wish it was a thing. What was the last hurtful thing you said to someone? I'm not sure. I certainly try to avoid doing so. Do you love someone enough you'd die for them? There's multiple people. The last song you listened to? I wasn't joking when I said I was gonna go on a Metallica spree, haha. "Of Wolf and Man" is on rn. Your most favorite memory as a kid? Too many, man. If you had the choice to work or not, would you work? Yes. I need something to do that benefits others in one way or another. Ever TRULY wanted to kill someone? I can't say for sure, if I'm being totally transparent. When I found out about Jason's gf after me, I can say with certainty I wanted her dead beyond dead, but I don't know if I wanted to kill her, per se. Just to clarify, no, I don't wish any negativity upon her now. I was certifiably insane before and certainly don't think I am anymore, so... Marvel or DC? I don't care. Do you watch anime subbed or dubbed? Both. I prefer dubbed, BUT only if the voice acting isn't insufferable. I like dubbed just because for me, it's very distracting to have to keep looking down at subtitles. How often do you exercise? I don't... I'm still waiting for Mom to move into her actual room versus the living room couch so I can do WiiFit with some privacy. I'm too uncomfortable to exercise in front of anyone. What is your favorite book series? Warriors will forever have a very special place in my heart. What is your favorite OTP? I will probably ship Rhett and Link for my entire life. Their friendship is truly incredible and so so SOOOOOOO cute. Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? I've never seen the series, actually.

[obliviouskind]

7 PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER.

rules:  fill this up and then tag people you’d like to know better !

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Tagged by: @harmonicrecord​ <3

Tagging: @saffronseer​, @mercenaryrocket​, @magonumberfive​

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one / ( alias / name ): Platinum, but really you can just call me Erik.

two / ( date of birth ): 20th of March, 99.

three / ( zodiac sign ): Pisces.

four / ( height ): 170cm (5’6?)

five / ( hobbies ): Reading, writing, games… Recently been drawing a lot more, so that as well. Y’know, your typical internet nerd stuff.

six / ( favorite color ): Green.

seven / ( favorite books ): Awakening and Blaze by Stephen King are defiantly my most recent of favorites. My younger self quite enjoyed The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, as silly as it may sound… Then, of course, Oyasumi Punpun – though that’s a manga.

eight / ( last song listened to ): How Could You Leave US - NF

nine / ( last film or show watched ): I believe… The Secret World of Arrietty?

ten / ( story behind url ): Starting with Hikari (X) as I made her first… It was really as simple as googling ‘different names for platinum’ and I was told that it’s at times referred to as ‘little silver’. So, LittlesilverPlatinum just became the thing.

As for Cyrus here; I wanted to give a little nod towards the fact that Cyrus is, and always will be, nothing but simply human. He’s faulty, he’s wrong, despite his attempts to be anything but. He’s oblivious to his humanity, until it comes crashing down on him. --So, he’s an Oblivious Kind of man.

eleven / ( inspiration for muse ):

There’s a longwinded answer down below (what else is new from me, though), not really edited or the like but the faster and more simple answer is that I really don’t have but one easy place I can pinpoint my inspiration for either Cyrus or Hikari from.

Hikari is truly a mixture of a lot of media that I have consumed over the years, a mismatch of character faults, personalities and designs that I have found myself enjoying; taking inspiration from places like the source of her face claim, to simply art depicting the average life of a schoolgirl in japan. There… Isn’t exactly one point where I draw inspiration from with her – there are traits within past muses of mine that filter into her mannerisms and ‘otherness’ in some regards, while also keeping in mind what I personally find interesting within people and stories I consume. Oftentimes, it’s the little things that inspire me for her – be it simply the way she could sit with an umbrella upon her shoulder on the side of the road, or how she flickers from emotion to emotion within seconds as her thoughts wander. I take more inspiration from feelings and nostalgia, rather than new media.

Cyrus is similarly a mismatch of media I have enjoyed throughout the years, as well as having been birthed from new interests. I will admit that I never have written antagonist characters before, merely morally grey or… Wrong ones, in many different lights. Perhaps it shines through with the fact that I don’t think Cyrus truly is an antagonist at heart, and had the chance in life to be a good man had certain things not falling into place the way they did. He’s a play of how circumstances can change your outcome in life; he’s a try for myself to build something bigger, though I’m not really managing it as well as I would’ve hoped to I suppose. I never grew up religious, so hes a challenge in that regard; but I find the stories of faith to be interesting like no other. --When I ready myself to write him, oftentimes for longer threats or drabbles that touch upon the faith he comes from… I often listen to retellings of biblical stories, and simply lectures that attempt to dissect them and find the meaning behind each word. It’s fascinating, despite the fact that I have no regard for ever involving myself in believing in God or anything of the like. I find inspiration in the stories of people desperately wanting to do what, in their mind, was the right thing to do… Yet everything fell through right before their eyes because of it.

Really, I suppose, for both of them; I take inspiration from the sadder parts of real life. There’s a melancholy to my writing that I never truly understand where it comes from, but it brings me nostalgia to depict the world in such a way that I simply can’t help myself but to. I take inspiration from the parts of life that you perhaps never talk about, like how one might think they walk funny and suddenly find it hard to walk normal – or the feeling of scratching your arm too many times and wondering if you would be viewed as odd if you did so again. I take inspiration from the moments where you think you’re right to have done something, and later see the side you refused to acknowledge because your own pride was more important.

[randomoranges]

again, when your friend is like hey i might wanna do a pseudo collab on a thing and you’re like hmm this reminds me of a previous convo we had at some point during the summer with another friend so you go ye i got an idea for this why not. and then you write said thing because it’s been playing in your mind for like almost 2 months.

lol.

Tasty

 Edward ends up dozing on the métro and misses his stop. He considers backtracking for a moment, but then thinks against it. It’s not a very big detour and he can get to his destination from here. Plus, the walk might do him good and help clear up his mind a bit. He let’s his feet guide him, lost in his fuzzy thoughts and whether from forgotten habit or out of curiosity, he finds himself going down a street he knows won’t take him to where he’s meant to be heading, but he has time for the detour and he feels a little curious – figures he might find something interesting along the way.

 It’s a nice day out – summer has finally arrived and it’s not too hot out yet. He doesn’t know how he’s managed this infernal heat for all these years and he’s not sure he’s fully adapted, but somehow or other, he’s survived summers in Montreal for the most part. It’s also nice to be out on his own, to know that his mother is finally back in Edmonton and that he can breathe a little and that he’s finally out of the hospital. He still has many questions, his thoughts are still a mess on a good day, but – this is an improvement. He feels a little more like himself and that’s a good start.

 It feels like he’s taking one side street after another before he stops in front of a shop. He frowns, unsure as to why he’s here, but it feels familiar and that in itself is frustrating enough. Sometimes, he wishes he would have forgotten everything or at the very least, not have this eternal feeling of familiarity with a myriad of things that he can’t fully recognise or grasp. If at least he could place why things feel familiar it would at least be that much more progress. But it never is. And he’s left confused, angry and discouraged.

 Yet, this place is an ice cream shop upon further inspection and for some reason; he pushes the door open, hears a bell tingle and ring, and steps in. It’s nice and cool inside and that’s a pleasant change from the heat. He takes a moment to look around, hoping some clue will jump at him, but the place is bare, this early in the day, and nothing screams, “Hey remember me? I was your favourite shop!” He sighs and has a look around. There are Formica tables, chairs, a retro type decor, neon signs on the walls, dozens and dozens of photos on a wall by the door, plants here and there, and the ice cream display. There’s a few hard options, but it seems like mostly a soft serve place. Music plays and just as he’s about to head out and go on about his day, a young-ish person walks out into the room and greets him with a very enthusiastic “bonjour-hi”, before they falter and then their face splits into a wide grin, “Monsieur Édouard!” They exclaim, “Ça faisait un bout!”

 Edward doesn’t know how to react – he can’t say he recognises the attendant, can’t say their face looks familiar, even though anyone would pastel-pink hair would obviously be memorable, and can’t say a name comes to mind either. He tries a smile, but it mustn’t reach his eyes, or something on his face must betray him, for the person frowns ever so and he fears he’s fucked this up as well, “Et puis – le marriage? Comment va Monsieur Étienne?”

 Oh.

 That’s why.

 Edward knows they mean well, but that name sends his mind spinning. He should have known this place is associated with Étienne. He should have known the moment he stepped into this ice cream parlour with confusion as his partner that this has to be from before. It’s obvious now and he feels rather stupid for not figuring it out before. He tries to think of something to say – tries to find the right words to say, “Yeah, that didn’t happen – see, we were in a car accident and then I forgot all about him – all about us. Now I don’t know what I feel for him, I’m sort of seeing this other guy and whenever I see Étienne I feel like either throttling him or slapping him hard across the face. Also, I don’t blame him. Also, I really want to scream at Étienne and I blame him. Also, it feels like there’s a hole in my life. Also, I kind of hate my life. Also, I’m so fucking confused. On a good day. I don’t know what to feel anymore. I might be hiding in another man’s arms just to avoid Étienne. Also, you’ve never seen anything sadder than Étienne’s eyes when he doesn’t think you’re looking at him. Also, sometimes I walk Jacques-Cartier and I think it’s a shame there’s such a high fence.”

 He doesn’t say that, obviously. He doesn’t have enough French words to convey all of that.

 “On n’est plus ensemble.” He says instead and it sounds so official – so final and it’s slightly over the top and dramatic – he could have broken the news in so many other ways, but he doesn’t want to bother. He doesn’t even know this stranger, but this stranger clearly knows enough about him – enough about them, to gasp and look genuinely saddened by the news.

 “Oh... Monsieur Édouard... je suis vraiment désolé…”

 Edward shrugs. Shit happens. Life goes on. (But does it? Does it? Will it ever go on? Will it ever pick up from where it left off? Will he ever wake up in the morning feeling self-assured that he’s doing the right thing? Will it ever feel a hundred percent right when Christopher spends the night? Will he ever stop dreaming of curly brown hair and loving green-brown eyes? Will he? Will he?)

 He can tell there’s a million questions running through this poor store clerk’s mind and he feels like he should comfort them – let them know it’s okay – that he’s fine, but he’s in a mood and he doesn’t want to share. He figures if he gets an ice cream it might get them to leave him alone.

 “J’vais prendre deux saveurs – mangue et chocolat noir,” He says, his tone final, trying to convey that he means business. That he’s not here to discuss his fucked up life. It seems to do the trick. The clerk straightens themselves, takes a moment to compose themselves and then nods, a sad, little smile playing on their face.

 “Et pourtant c’était la sorte préférée de Monsieur Étienne,” They look up to him for a moment, before they busy themselves with the order. Edward blinks, taking in a short breath and feels as though he’s been punched in the stomach. A conversation, from long ago, replays in his mind and he wonders when this hell will ever end.

 “Jeez, what does a guy have to do in order to get some decent mango ice cream in this city, honestly?” Étienne complained as they walked by yet another ice cream parlour that didn’t serve his favourite. He linked back his arm with Edward and continued on his little rant, Edward chuckling to himself. It was a nice summer day, it wasn’t too hot – yet, but Étienne wanted ice cream and Edward was never one to say no to ice cream or to Étienne’s requests.

 They’d gone by a few places, but the first two were already out, the other didn’t have that flavour and the last one was still closed (and Étienne had gone on another rant, since Google had said the place opened at 11, it was currently 11h15 and why were they closed and why had Google lied.)

 “Apparently there’s a parlour two street corners from here, we can try?” Edward suggested, looking away from his phone. Étienne sighed, pout present on his lips, but he agreed, saying that at this point, it would be a miracle if he ever even found decent mango ice cream ever again and at this point, he was probably going to starve before that happened. Edward shook his head, far too used to Étienne’s melodramatic tendencies at this point, and instead guided them to the ice cream shop.

 It turned out the place was new, it was its grand opening and Étienne’s mood immediately brightened when he saw the retro decor, the Formica tables, the neon signs on the walls, and the abundance of plants.

 It was mostly a soft serve place, but they had a nice variety, a few hard options, and Étienne gasped and clutched his arm tightly when he spotted a title card with “mangue” written on it.

 “Édouard, I love this place!” He had declared. And Edward had laughed at his antics and stepped forward to wait in line, place their orders and hopefully get to his wallet before Étienne beat him to it.

 “Vous savez... vous veniez souvent avec Monsieur Étienne... vous étiez même parmi nos premiers clients, quand on a ouvert… On a même une photo de vous sur notre mur…” They point at the wall by the door, where the photos are, and Edward walks over. The photos are old, some are new, some are frayed, and others have writing on them with date stamps. He looks and searches, ready to give up, until his own much younger face smiles back at him, happy and delighted, and he looks slightly to the side, to find Étienne’s own much younger face looking back – and he can’t help it, can’t ever help the pang in his chest and the sense of utter loss that hits him every time he sees a photo of Étienne – every time he finds a reminder of his previous happiness.

 There’s a caption underneath, written in what must be Étienne’s scrawl that reads “Meilleure crème glacée à la mangue!,” And Edward nearly steps out of the place. Nearly walks away, too much of a coward to face his past head on. Instead, he wordlessly walks back to the counter where his ice cream waits for him. He goes to reach for his wallet but the clerk shakes their head, let’s him know it’s on the house (and isn’t that ironic – even now he can’t pay for his damned ice cream) and offers him another sad smile as he heads out.

 Edward takes the cup of ice cream and tries to put as much physical distance between himself and the shop – himself and the reminder of Étienne’s happy face – himself and his past. He tries to occupy his time with the ice cream, takes a spoonful and has to stop in his tracks, hit again by a strong wave of nostalgia from a long ago forgotten time.

 The ice cream is creamy, delicious, tasty, and flavourful, yet Edward feels physically ill to his stomach.

 He nearly doubles over as his mind reminds him, in its own way, of how it was before, and Edward wants it to stop – wants to bash his head against the closest lamppost and also never wants it to end.

 There’s Étienne’s laughter, the sensation of him clinging to his arm, a spoon brought to his lips with soft yellow-orange ice cream, a kiss to his cheek, another later, that still tastes faintly of mango and chocolate, and Edward feels like he’s about to throw up.

 He gasps, he heaves, and takes hold of the closest wall for support in trembling, shaky hands. He takes deep breaths, tries to blink through tears and make sense of what is the past and what is the present (and he wishes he was in the past – wishes it didn’t hurt – wishes Étienne were here) and once he has everything under control, once he feels he can take three steps without keeling over, he straightens himself out, takes a deep breath and finds the nearest trashcan to throw the cup of ice cream away.

 He turns the corner and makes his way to where he is meant to go.

FIN

[fantastical-birb]

Day 3

The muted whine in his mind escalated as the scenery became familiar, falling into the patterns and landmarks he had known his entire life. They passed the convenience store that Allen and dragged Dustin to daily for almost a month when they started selling fr’eals. They got close enough to the park where they had met and spent so much time and Allen found himself feeling homesick for it, or something close. There was nostalgia or love or loneliness or something that ached deep in his belly when he thought about it and it’s gravel paths and stone benches and the groundhog that was somehow there every time he was.

The place absolutely stank of demonic possession when they turned onto the street the practice was on. The whine became a scream and Allen had to put his head in his hands to keep it in one piece. Dustin put an arm around him and tugged Allen until he was under his shoulder, and Allen was reminded that even when he and Dustin weren’t on good terms, Dustin was still there for him. This somehow made him both happier and sadder but it definitely made him feel less like he was about to fall apart.

After some agonizing consideration last night and this morning, Allen had brought his knife, despite what he had said to Fay about not wanting to learn how to use it. Any weapon was better than no weapon and he was going up against demons, after all. The moment he slipped it into his boot as they pulled up beside the sign that read [whatever the fuck it reads] his heart kicked into high gear. His throat closed up and he fisted a hand into Dustin’s sweater blindly, trying to ground himself in the moment as his mind and body insisted that the worst was about to happen.

It only took a moment for Dustin to reach down and take the knife out of his boot. “Put it somewhere else,” he murmured, and Allen nodded blankly, taking it with shaking hands and tucking it instead inside his jacket. “Allen.” Dustin gripped Allen’s shoulders and turned them so that they faced each other. It was a testament of trust that Allen met his eyes instead of fighting to look at the ground. “You’re okay. All of us are here together and we’ll all take care of each other. You’re not doing anything alone, and neither is anyone else.”

He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alone. He realized all at once that although on a logical level he had known that he wasn’t alone, emotionally it didn’t hit him until that moment that he wasn’t alone. He had always been alone going into possessions; he had always been alone coming out. He had Dustin, but Dustin was always outside of that window of time in which everything went to absolute shit.

Char got up from the backseat and ruffled Allen’s hair on her way out of the van. Allen flinched, from surprise rather than dislike of the touch. “He’s right, you know. We all have our strengths and weaknesses and we all fill in the holes of each other. We’re a team and a family. It’s fucking fabulous. And, not to boast, but we’re the strongest goddamn team I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing.”

“Not to boast my ass,” Fay said. “Your pride is worse than mine. But you’re right.”

Char gave Fay a shit-eating grin, and Allen let out a breath.

He got out of the car.

[sweetwatersound-blog1]

Broken Snowglobe: A Christmas in Riverdale (Part 1)

Hey guys! So I’m going to try posting this story first on Tumblr...it’s meant to be fairly short but if it goes for longer I’ll use AO3.

What I’m intending to do here is snippets of Christmas in Riverdale. This first part is seen through Betty’s eyes. It takes place right after events of Season 2′s premiere.

THE BROKEN SNOWGLOBE

Some places are ghost towns in December. Quiet as a whisper, with buildings sandwiched between layers of packed snow, while wisps of ice swirl from the sky like chips in a white kaleidoscope. This scene of desolate beauty haunts with its untold story of a Christmas buried and resting.

Other places know a different story. These cities awaken to the holidays as if a special jolt has been added to the coffee. With vibrant electric lights winking along to the seasonal street music, the holidays burn their brightest here.

But what Betty had always loved about Christmas in Riverdale fell in between these two cards. From the town sign, greeting tourists and delivery trucks alike frosted in white glitter, to the crystal teeth lining the underbelly of Sweetwater River’s bridge, Christmas held the last surviving magic of Betty’s childhood.

Remarkably, this year Pop Tate still had a tree cut to a perfect fit for inside his Chocolate Shoppe. His diner’s hot cocoa recipe remained a consistency of chocolate milk and marshmallow foam, and he’d switched the cable lighting from standard fluorescent halos to vibrant reds and greens.

Sitting alone in her booth, Betty sighed, taking it all in. Someday soon, she’d no longer be witnessing the season on a middle platform. Riverdale in its Thomas Kinkade splendor would be replaced with what Elizabeth Cooper saw. Elizabeth Cooper saw her neighborhood, years ago a contender on Christmas Light Fight! barely flickering in the bottom half of December. She saw volunteers from St. Lucy’s Parish collecting food, clothes, and toys for donation drives, only to lose a third of their inventory after their cars were broken into. It was like watching an alchemical process in reverse: the tiny stars floating under the street lamps became frozen rain drops.

A merry set of bells chimed at the entrance to announce Veronica Lodge’s arrival. Nostalgia blurred Betty’s senses - her best friend was wearing the same black cape as the one she’d worn on the night the girls had first met. A friendship between them had seemed unlikely at that time, with Veronica turning Archie Andrews’s head in a way that Betty never could. And now, here she was, shedding snow clumps while making a beeline towards Betty, tsking loudly, “Am I late for it, or did just no one show up?”

Betty frowned, suddenly wondering if a memory of herself mailing invitations for anything was lost in the wind. Rolling her eyes, Veronica slid into the seat across from her. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since moving to this snowglobe of despair, it’s that Betty Cooper never turns up at Pop’s without an idea of how to make it all better.”

“Make it…Riverdale better, you mean? As in, a place that isn’t throwing Jughead in with the snakes?” After Forsythe Pendleton Jones II went to jail for charges related to being mixed up with the worst of people, his son Forsythe III – more endearingly known as Betty’s boyfriend Jughead – had been circling closer and nearer to the notorious Serpent gang for help.

Even though Betty had already gotten Jughead his Christmas gift, she felt this pull, this driving need to do even more for him. Yet here she was at Pop’s, drinking hot cocoa as Veronica reminded her what her normal goals would be. Nothing made Betty sadder than hearing what she should be doing from someone else.

“Mm, Jughead,” agreed Veronica, adding, “Meanwhile, I’m conscience-wrestling over a father who hasn’t realized yet that he’s still playing real-life Monopoly when everyone else has stepped off the board.”

Betty’s family had never much been into high-stakes competitive board games. Being headed by a pair of journalists, they’d usually played charades, or word games, like Scrabble. Although, there had been one Friday night several winters back – Hal Cooper had brought out a standard deck of cards and dealt a Texas Hold Em game, the winner making the call on where they’d host Christmas that year. He’d coached Betty a bit before, so she’d had an edge over her older sister Polly. However, Alice Cooper had surprised them all by gambling to obtain her hand of queens and keep them home for the holidays that year. And now, in spite of being able to see more cracks through the window these days than actual window, Betty found the image of Hiram Lodge jumping around his desk bellowing in her mother’s voice, “Bow to your Yuletide Goddess!” slightly uplifting.

“You’d better not be laughing at me,” warned Veronica, sounding only a tad menacing. Betty threw her hands halfway in the air, surrendering. “The point is that my friend, Betty Cooper, never accepts crap the way it is just because it is.”

“Maybe Elizabeth Cooper does, though,” muttered Betty, fishing the last marshmallow out of her drink.

Even if she didn’t wholly understand Betty’s third-person reference, Veronica’s raven head tilting in her direction indicated rapt attentiveness. “Well, maybe Elizabeth Cooper wouldn’t mind doing some last-minute holiday shopping with me. Pretty please with a shiny red Christmas bauble on top?”

Betty couldn’t stop a smile from curling her lips, so she decided, “Alright. But we’re going traditional, V. Stores, not phones.”

An exaggeration of scandal and horror befell Veronica “Too Posh to Even Own a Purse Dog” Lodge, evaporating moments later with the wink of a rich coffee-brown eye. “Girl, why do you think I found you here to begin with? As fun as the other way would have been, I do Amazon better solo.”

Rising out of the booth, Betty zipped her rose-white snowboarding jacket to her chin – the large public thermometer pinned outside Pop’s entrance had read 32 degrees Fahrenheit when she’d first come in, and had likely dropped since. She eyed Veronica’s glistening cape as the other girl flipped its damp hood over her head. As dear as this cloak was to her, the more Elizabeth part of Betty saw the potential trouble its impracticality could present them on their shopping trip.

“Veronica? How would you feel about making a pit stop at Zumiez?”

“Who-miez?”

Now it was Betty’s turn to roll her eyes. “C’mon,” she said, wrapping an arm around her friend, “I need to get something for you anyhow.”

[bookloversreviewer]

“Combining sweet nostalgia with the important issues Kennedy never shies away from, Queen Move is nothing less than wonderful.

I couldn’t put it down and never wanted it to end!”

-- Alexa Martin, Author of Intercepted

Queen Move, an all-new powerful second chance standalone from Wall Street Journal bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author Kennedy Ryan, is coming May 26th and we have your FIRST LOOK!

Make sure to enter on Kennedy’s site to win a QUEEN BOX, stuffed with a signed paperback and all the things you’ll need to

treat yourself like a queen!

Prologue

Kimba

Two Years Before Present

Is there anything sadder than a daddy’s girl at her father’s funeral?

My mother’s quiet sniffs a few seats down give me the answer.

A grieving widow.

“He was a good man,” someone in the long line of mourners offering condolences whispers to her.

Mama’s head bobs with a tearful nod. In this day and age, she still wears a pillbox hat and veil. It’s black and chic like Mama, channeling tragic Jackie Kennedy or Coretta Scott King. My father was not just a good man. He was a great man, and everyone should know he leaves behind a widow, grieving deeply, but ever-fly. I squeeze the funeral program between my fingers, glaring at the printed words.

Joseph Allen leaves behind a wife, Janetta, three children, Kayla, Keith and Kimba, and six grandchildren.

He leaves behind.

Daddy’s gone, and I don’t know how to live in a world my father does not inhabit. The casket is draped with sweet-smelling flowers in the center of the funeral tent. When we leave the cemetery, it…he will be lowered into the ground with unfathomable finality, separated from us by white satin lining, six feet of dirt and eternity.

Kayla, my older sister, sobs softly at the end of our family’s row. Her four children watch her carefully, probably unused to seeing their unshakeable mother shaken and reduced to tears. Even I’d forgotten how she looks when she cries—like she’s mad at the wetness streaking her cheeks, resentful of any sign of weakness.

It’s not weak to cry, Daddy used to say. It’s human.

“But doesn’t the Bible say even the rocks will cry out?” I’d challenged him when I was young, loving that something from Sunday school took. “So maybe tears aren’t just for humans.”

“You’re getting too smart for your britches, little girl,” he’d said, but the deep affection in his eyes when he kissed me told me he was pleased. He liked that I asked questions and taught me to never accept bullshit at face value.

I miss you, Daddy.

Not even a week since his heart attack, and I already miss him so much.

Humanity blurs my vision, wet and hot and stinging my eyes. I want this to be over. The flowers, the well-dressed mourners, the news cameras stationed at a distance they probably deem respectful. I just want to go to the house where my parents raised us, retreat to Daddy’s study and find the stash of cigars that only he and I knew about.

Don’t tell your mother, he used to whisper conspiratorially. This will be our little secret.

Mama hated the smell of cigars in the house.

“Tru.”

Who would call me by that name? Now, when the only people who use it, my family, are all preoccupied with their own pain? A tall man stands in front of me, his thick, dark brows bunched with sympathy. I don’t know him. I would remember a man like this, who stands strong like an oak tree. A well-tailored suit molds his powerful shoulders. Dark brown, not quite black, hair is cut ruthlessly short, but hints at waves if given the chance to grow. His prominent nose makes itself known above the full, finely sculpted lips below. His eyes are shockingly vivid—so deep a blue they’re almost the color of African violets against skin like bronze bathed in sunlight. No, a man like him you’d never forget. Something niggles at my memory, tugs at my senses. I’d never forget a man who looked like this, a man with eyes like that…but what about a boy?

“Ezra?” I croak, disbelief and uncertainty mingling in the name I haven’t uttered in years.

It can’t be.

But it is.

Keep Going!

Read the REST of the prologue and enter the QUEEN BOX giveaway on Kennedy’s website:→ https://bit.ly/35U65FL

**QUEEN MOVE will have the special pre-order and release week price of $3.99. After that, the price will increase.**

Pre-order your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2V4HLvZ

Apple Books: https://apple.co/2JGiqD7

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/queenmove

Nook: https://bit.ly/2UIueeE

Kobo: https://bit.ly/2JFJ7YM

Google Play: https://bit.ly/2yrPZ9E

Add QUEEN MOVE to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3apG1E1

Be notified FIRST when Queen Move is live: http://bit.ly/2oRuDhf

Synopsis

The boy who always felt like mine is now the man I can't have…

Dig a little and you'll find photos of me in the bathtub with Ezra Stern.

Get your mind out of the gutter. We were six months old.

Pry and one of us might confess we saved our first kiss for each other.

The most clumsy, wet, sloppy . . . spectacular thirty seconds of my adolescence.

Get into our business and you'll see two families, closer than blood, torn apart in an instant.

Twenty years later, my "awkward duckling" best friend from childhood,

the boy no one noticed, is a man no one can ignore.

Finer. Fiercer. Smarter.

Taken.

Tell me it's wrong.

Tell me the boy who always felt like mine is now the man I can’t have.

When we find each other again, everything stands in our way--secrets, lies, promises.

But we didn't come this far to give up now.

And I know just the move to make if I want to make him mine.

About Kennedy Ryan

A RITA® Award Winner, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling Author, Kennedy Ryan writes for women from all walks of life, empowering them and placing them firmly at the center of each story and in charge of their own destinies. Her heroes respect, cherish and lose their minds for the women who capture their hearts.

Kennedy and her writings have been featured in Chicken Soup for the Soul, USA Today, Entertainment Weekly, Glamour and many others. She has always leveraged her journalism background to write for charity and non-profit organizations, but has a special passion for raising Autism awareness.The co-founder of LIFT 4 Autism, an annual charitable book auction, she has appeared on Headline News, The Montel Williams Show, NPR and other media outlets as an advocate for ASD families. She is a wife to her lifetime lover and mother to an extraordinary son.

Connect with Kennedy

Instagram: http://bit.ly/2TaYiAi

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2GUq0uF

Facebook Reader Group: http://bit.ly/2GY6eyb

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2Fvhqiz

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2NE0cU0

Book+Main: http://bit.ly/2GVByO7

Website: http://kennedyryanwrites.com

Never Miss A New Release!

Follow Kennedy on BookBub: http://bit.ly/2HcRuee

New Release Alerts: Text Kennedy Ryan 797979

Subscribe to Mailing List: https://bit.ly/KennedySubscribe

Connect with

Blue Box Press

https://theblueboxpress.com/

[anitabyars]

“Combining sweet nostalgia with the important issues Kennedy never shies away from, Queen Move is nothing less than wonderful.

I couldn’t put it down and never wanted it to end!”

-- Alexa Martin, Author of Intercepted

Queen Move, an all-new powerful second chance standalone from Wall Street Journal bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author Kennedy Ryan, is coming May 26th and we have your FIRST LOOK!

Make sure to enter on Kennedy’s site to win a QUEEN BOX, stuffed with a signed paperback and all the things you’ll need to

treat yourself like a queen!

Prologue

Kimba

Two Years Before Present

Is there anything sadder than a daddy’s girl at her father’s funeral?

My mother’s quiet sniffs a few seats down give me the answer.

A grieving widow.

“He was a good man,” someone in the long line of mourners offering condolences whispers to her.

Mama’s head bobs with a tearful nod. In this day and age, she still wears a pillbox hat and veil. It’s black and chic like Mama, channeling tragic Jackie Kennedy or Coretta Scott King. My father was not just a good man. He was a great man, and everyone should know he leaves behind a widow, grieving deeply, but ever-fly. I squeeze the funeral program between my fingers, glaring at the printed words.

Joseph Allen leaves behind a wife, Janetta, three children, Kayla, Keith and Kimba, and six grandchildren.

He leaves behind.

Daddy’s gone, and I don’t know how to live in a world my father does not inhabit. The casket is draped with sweet-smelling flowers in the center of the funeral tent. When we leave the cemetery, it…he will be lowered into the ground with unfathomable finality, separated from us by white satin lining, six feet of dirt and eternity.

Kayla, my older sister, sobs softly at the end of our family’s row. Her four children watch her carefully, probably unused to seeing their unshakeable mother shaken and reduced to tears. Even I’d forgotten how she looks when she cries—like she’s mad at the wetness streaking her cheeks, resentful of any sign of weakness.

It’s not weak to cry, Daddy used to say. It’s human.

“But doesn’t the Bible say even the rocks will cry out?” I’d challenged him when I was young, loving that something from Sunday school took. “So maybe tears aren’t just for humans.”

“You’re getting too smart for your britches, little girl,” he’d said, but the deep affection in his eyes when he kissed me told me he was pleased. He liked that I asked questions and taught me to never accept bullshit at face value.

I miss you, Daddy.

Not even a week since his heart attack, and I already miss him so much.

Humanity blurs my vision, wet and hot and stinging my eyes. I want this to be over. The flowers, the well-dressed mourners, the news cameras stationed at a distance they probably deem respectful. I just want to go to the house where my parents raised us, retreat to Daddy’s study and find the stash of cigars that only he and I knew about.

Don’t tell your mother, he used to whisper conspiratorially. This will be our little secret.

Mama hated the smell of cigars in the house.

“Tru.”

Who would call me by that name? Now, when the only people who use it, my family, are all preoccupied with their own pain? A tall man stands in front of me, his thick, dark brows bunched with sympathy. I don’t know him. I would remember a man like this, who stands strong like an oak tree. A well-tailored suit molds his powerful shoulders. Dark brown, not quite black, hair is cut ruthlessly short, but hints at waves if given the chance to grow. His prominent nose makes itself known above the full, finely sculpted lips below. His eyes are shockingly vivid—so deep a blue they’re almost the color of African violets against skin like bronze bathed in sunlight. No, a man like him you’d never forget. Something niggles at my memory, tugs at my senses. I’d never forget a man who looked like this, a man with eyes like that…but what about a boy?

“Ezra?” I croak, disbelief and uncertainty mingling in the name I haven’t uttered in years.

It can’t be.

But it is.

Keep Going!

Read the REST of the prologue and enter the QUEEN BOX giveaway on Kennedy’s website:→ https://bit.ly/35U65FL

**QUEEN MOVE will have the special pre-order and release week price of $3.99. After that, the price will increase.**

Pre-order your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2V4HLvZ

Apple Books: https://apple.co/2JGiqD7

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/queenmove

Nook: https://bit.ly/2UIueeE

Kobo: https://bit.ly/2JFJ7YM

Google Play: https://bit.ly/2yrPZ9E

Add QUEEN MOVE to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3apG1E1

Be notified FIRST when Queen Move is live: http://bit.ly/2oRuDhf

Synopsis

The boy who always felt like mine is now the man I can't have…

Dig a little and you'll find photos of me in the bathtub with Ezra Stern.

Get your mind out of the gutter. We were six months old.

Pry and one of us might confess we saved our first kiss for each other.

The most clumsy, wet, sloppy . . . spectacular thirty seconds of my adolescence.

Get into our business and you'll see two families, closer than blood, torn apart in an instant.

Twenty years later, my "awkward duckling" best friend from childhood,

the boy no one noticed, is a man no one can ignore.

Finer. Fiercer. Smarter.

Taken.

Tell me it's wrong.

Tell me the boy who always felt like mine is now the man I can’t have.

When we find each other again, everything stands in our way--secrets, lies, promises.

But we didn't come this far to give up now.

And I know just the move to make if I want to make him mine.

About Kennedy Ryan

A RITA® Award Winner, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling Author, Kennedy Ryan writes for women from all walks of life, empowering them and placing them firmly at the center of each story and in charge of their own destinies. Her heroes respect, cherish and lose their minds for the women who capture their hearts.

Kennedy and her writings have been featured in Chicken Soup for the Soul, USA Today, Entertainment Weekly, Glamour and many others. She has always leveraged her journalism background to write for charity and non-profit organizations, but has a special passion for raising Autism awareness.The co-founder of LIFT 4 Autism, an annual charitable book auction, she has appeared on Headline News, The Montel Williams Show, NPR and other media outlets as an advocate for ASD families. She is a wife to her lifetime lover and mother to an extraordinary son.

Connect with Kennedy

Instagram: http://bit.ly/2TaYiAi

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2GUq0uF

Facebook Reader Group: http://bit.ly/2GY6eyb

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2Fvhqiz

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2NE0cU0

Book+Main: http://bit.ly/2GVByO7

Website: http://kennedyryanwrites.com

Never Miss A New Release!

Follow Kennedy on BookBub: http://bit.ly/2HcRuee

New Release Alerts: Text Kennedy Ryan 797979

Subscribe to Mailing List: https://bit.ly/KennedySubscribe

Connect with

Blue Box Press

https://theblueboxpress.com/