#that last line hit like a freight train actually

[wildskissed]

HOW ARE YOU RUINED?

ruined by loneliness

you are so lonely. you are miserable in your solitude. you hate that you cannot bring yourself to reach out, to ask for help. you will be forgotten by all who never knew you. your biggest fear is that you will die alone, and you know this fear will be seen to fruition. you refuse to extend yourself beyond the box that others put you in. and it is a box that no one dare come near. you are lonely because you are afraid of yourself.

tagged by: @galefcrce & @alittlebitofmuse tagging: @emeraldruid, @shadovan, @miidnighters, @arcanecast, @dxnse-macabre, @luposcainus, @fereldensheroes, @altrxisme, @wolf-eyes-wolf-soul, @lunespariah, @taleswritten, & YOU. Consider yourself tagged if you wanna do it.

[eveningepiphany]

far from sober | H.S, part II

my masterlist

part I

summary: the morning after harry taking a very drunk y/n back to his room— you hardly remember anything and harry has to remind you.

warnings: hangover, painkillers, fluff, kissing, sexual tension, swearing… licking?

a/n: I just hit 1k followers… I’m in denial. but I can’t wait for you guys to see what I have in store <3 stay tuned, because something is in the works.

———

Your head was pounding.

That was the first thing you noticed, it was a painful dull ache. The second thing was the light glaring over the thin of your eyelids.

A groan tore its way out of your throat without prompt, and you rolled over, head turning on the pillow.

And that’s when your brain clicked it. The pillow. Not your pillow.

The cogs started turning and your self awareness hit you like a freight train, your eyes flew open out of fear— where the fuck were you?

You were met with the celling of the hotel. And calmness came over you for a moment.

But, a hangover like this leaves no peace. Memories sort of flashback into your mind, in tiny grains, little bits and feelings coming back to you.

The feeling of a warm hand over your calf, or the dress you’re pretty sure was pooled at your feet?

Of course, the memories leave too much room for imagination.

You felt the presence beside you just as you heard the rumble of their voice, “Morning, lovie. Y’okay?”

You turned your head to the source of the sound, of course it was Harry, laying without a shirt next to you.

“Oh my god—“ you gasped, mentally tripping over the amount of things that were flying into your mind.

He’s laying next to you, shirtless. And you don’t remember any big chunks of last night, just little snippets.

And there’s, at the moment, a large gap between what you can only assume is being down at the bar and then ending up in his bed in his hotel room.

You push up on your elbows, wincing at the pounding of your head.

Harry’s hair is tousled, either from sleep, sex, or both and you’re scrambling to put the last two out as an option entirely.

You push the covers from your body, seeing his shirt and your entirely bare lower half aside from your underwear.

Denial is running through you a million miles an hour, and you stumble out of his bed.

“Woahwoahwoah, slow down Y/N!” He sits up as well, covers pooling at his waist.

“What am I doing in your bed? And in your room?”

You don’t give him time to answer as you continue, “Tell me… please please tell me I didn’t— that we did not have… not do anything… last night?”

He is silent a moment, “you don’t remember? Thought I’d be a bit more memorable?”

“No… no fucking WAY— ARE YOU SERIOUS— I CANT BELIEVE I-“

“Y/N!” He’s chuckling, like this is some kind of joke.

“Oh… oh Jesus, shut up!” You could cry. The first time you’ve had sex with him, probably kissed him and you don’t even remember the lead up, let alone actually doing it.

“Breathe, love— we did not have sex. Contrary to what you’re thinking, i have self control and you were clearly not in the mind frame to consent to literally anything last night.” He says, looking amused.

Your shoulders sag with relief, yet you scoff out, “I cannot believe you would joke about that!”

“Well if you’d had it your way last night, that would not be the case.”

Your hands flew over your eyes, another little crumb of your memory coming back.

You saying something along the lines of taking more than just your shoes off. God. You’re going to hell.

“I- what? Please for the love of god tell me I wasn’t like…” you trailed off, still looking for the right words.

This is foreign territory, and especially with Harry. You don’t talk about sex around him— let alone talk about sex with him.

“…forcing myself onto you?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any bett—“

“Nope! Do not keep talking.” You walked away, straight into the bathroom to the sink, running some cool water to splash over your face.

You turn the tap off, grabbing a face towel and holding it over your face to dry it— groaning into it.

He practically appears in the doorway after you take the cloth away from your eyes. He’s leaning against it. Still shirtless.

“Really, it wasn’t that bad!” He laughs, stepping into the bathroom.

You raise your brows at him.

“You really don’t remember anything?” He asks again.

“No!” You sigh.

“Well,” he begins, now leaning his lower back against the bathroom counter, “too start off, you were absolutely plastered down in the bar. So we’re most of the other girls.”

That’s right, you’d gone to the bar with all of them. That was still relatively clear.

“Then, all of us came back, and collected all of y’chaos causers. You left your wallet with y’key card in Molly’s bag, so I bought you back here.”

“Ok…” you nodded.

“You tried to word me up in the elevator if I say so myself, and then we got back— I took your shoes off—“

You kissed him. You’re now like 85% sure you did.

Because the memory slapped you in the face now that he’s relaying the timeline.

All you remember is pressing your lips down onto his. Which you’re pretty sure is real, and not a dream.

“Did I uhm…” your eyes appear hazy as you recall the memory again, “kiss you.”

It was whispered out of your lips, “or was that like— did I imagine that? Or dream it? Because I-“

“That er, yea that actually happened.” He blinked, and you flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry.” You sighed, cheeks burning as you recall chasing his lips last night, forcing him into a kiss.

“It’s fine, baby. Was nice. Then we took y’dress off, and I put you in my shirt,” he gestures to it, “which y’look good in may I add— and then we went to bed.”

“You’re leaving bits out, I’m assuming. Embarrassing bits.” You ask, even though you don’t really want to know.

“Well, I guess you could say that? You were just drunk, nothin’ t’be ashamed of. But you probably don’t want to know all the ins and outs.”

“I kissed you.” You repeat.

“Y’wanted more than that.” He says seriously.

“Did you kiss me back?” Your throat bobs after you ask, and you’re almost convinced you’re still tipsy considering how ballsy it was to ask that question.

You’re quiet a moment.

“Took a lot not to. That’s fuckin’ for sure.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Y’we’re drunk. Couldn’t 100% guarantee you wouldn’t end up regrettin’ it.”

You nod. Slowly. Processing what this means.

He has to have some kind of romantic feelings for you if he’s saying this shit. Your heart twists.

You rub at your temples, which are hurting and he noticed.

“Let’s get you some water.” He states, turning to go out the door, and you can’t help but follow him out.

He pours you out a glass, not handing it to you, just bringing it to your lips and guiding it into your mouth.

He watches you swallow.

“Thank you…”

He smiles a little at your profuse blushing, placing the cup on the bench.

But your redness only deepens as you continue.

“Thank you. For taking care of me. And uh, not taking advantage of me… that too.”

“Darling. Do not thank me for basic human decency.” He scolds gently.

“And you know your brother would have my head. Probably would just knowing I bought you back here.”

“He’d hate it.” You mumble, “if something were to happen… between us.”

You’re almost trying to convince the both of you it’s not a good idea, yet you’re unaware just how far gone you both actually are.

“Mm, he probably would. At first anyway.” Harry smiles, “makes it a little fun though, you can’t lie.”

“Make what fun?” Now you’re seeing how far you can push this.

“What between us?” He mocks your own insinuation.

“Do you have any pain killers?” You avoid the question.

“I do. I’ll get you some.” He walks over to his suitcase, rummaging through the front pockets, pulling out a small packet.

He ignores your bypass of the question, just popping two out of the foil.

His hand pauses, something ticks in his mind.

“Tongue out.”

“What?” You think you may have misheard.

“Put your tongue out.” He’s dead serious. And he’s not asking you, he’s telling you.

You do as he asks, sticking it out, allowing him to place the two little pills on it.

He picks the glass up again, just bringing it to your lips and letting you swallow it back.

“Good.” He mutters.

“Thanks.” You say, cautiously, suddenly hyper aware you’re just in your underwear.

You wipe the back of your hand over your mouth.

“So…” you begin carefully, “you’ve thought about it before.”

He brings his eyes up to you, “not exactly certain what it is you’re referring too, but I’m going to say the answer would be a yes.”

“Hm. Ok.” You state.

“Ok.” He agrees, furrowing his brows a little, waiting for more.

You step back, walking back over to the bed to lay back in it. Half because you were still exhausted, but also because you missed the smell. It smelt like him.

He followed you though, and you watched as he laid back next to you.

“You cuddled me last night.” You recalled.

“I did.” He nodded, and his own face had a blush to it.

It’s quiet another few beats, filled with the two of you just thinking.

“Do you regret it?” He asks, without prompt, and you’re not sure what he’s talking about.

“Regret what?”

“The kiss.”

“No.”

“Would you have regretted it if I’d kissed you back?”

Again, you don’t think as you answer, “No.”

His eyes find yours from where he’s laying, he’s not that far away.

“I just want to be on the same page. We’ve known eachother for a long time. And it’s not just us it would impact if I don’t know— something didn’t work out.” He says quietly.

You reach a hand out to trace his jaw, “I know. But just as you said, we’ve known eachother for a long time, and you always tend to put other people above yourself. What do you want?”

He leans into the touch with a steady inhale as he thinks for a moment, “Honestly, right now I want to kiss you.”

“Well then do it.” You say.

He leans forward now, fed up with beating around the bush.

He pushes his lips over yours, capturing them in a soft yet passionate kiss.

It’s a kiss that speaks worlds. It’s a hundred times more powerful than words ever could be. it’s almost a promise.

You kiss back, cherishing the feeling of it, and how he moved against your mouth.

“Fuck me,” he sighs into your mouth when you part it for him.

“Tongue out.” He asks again, but hearing it while he’s got his lips on you is out of this world.

It sends heat straight to your core, and you do again as he asks.

His hands are threaded in your hair and he gently kitten licks over your tongue.

It’s sensual in a way you can’t describe it, but what really sends you over the edge is when he whispers, “Is it way too early to be asking if I can suck on your tongue…?”

You laugh a little, tongue going back into your mouth as you talk, “I would’ve said yes if you asked me years ago. Is that weird?”

“Hot more than weird.”

You stick it back out and he sucks it into his mouth, swirling his own around it. It quickly turns into a French kiss though, and you start to move and explore his mouth.

“You’re beautiful. Always thought that Y/N.” He says, skating his teeth over your bottom lip.

You whimper at the sensation, “You make me feel so fucking loved.”

“Thats exactly how you should feel, darling. All the time.”

You kiss back and forth for a while, touching eachother gently over thin layers of fabric, but nothing more.

You’re in no rush.

And you’re just grateful that when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll be able to remember it with ease.

———

thank you to all who requested a part 2, I hope you enjoyed it! there is plenty more to come.

taglist:

@holholliday @jackiehollanderr @itsmytimetoodream @cherrycolas-things @buckybarnessimpp @crybabyddl @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[wannaeatramyeon]

Vin Jin x Reader: Confessing to you

Friends to lovers. In his own unique way.

"Who the hell would even date you? Duke Pyeon?!" Vin laughs uproariously at his own joke.

Fuck him. Seething, you stand to leave.

"Actually. It's that guy you hate in the fashion department."

That stops his laughter completely.

"What the FUCK!" Vin shouts at your retreating back. He turns to Mary, "Did you hear what they said?!"

"Vin." is all Mary says, levelling him with a look.

.

.

The lack of notifications on Vin's phone is deafening. He stares at it, willing it to buzz.

So what if you're on your 'date' right now. So what if you've been with that dipshit for the past 47, no wait- 48 minutes now. So what if you might be holding hands, and he's kissing-

Fuck. No. That's fucking gross.

Ok. He has a plan. You probably wouldn't be texting Vin, but Vin can text you. Something to remind you of him. To distract you a little. To derail whatever is going on.

His fingers hover, ready to compose a message. But then the words from your last few exchanges catches his eyes. They taunt him.

Y/N: this song reminds me of you! [link]

Vin: Cool

Y/N: Coffee?

Vin: Nah

Y/N: Hey the new blockbuster is out! Cinema this weekend?

Vin: Busy

Goddamn. It hits him like a freight train.

.

.

"Forget that loser, go out with me."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

Vin hands you a piece of paper, looking immensely impressed with himself.

You take it with caution, furrowing your brows at him before finally reading. Great, some more cringe from this idiot:

Yo I like your melons

It gets me in my feelings (Did he seriously rhyme melons with feelings?)

Fuck that fashion fool

Not literally, ho- (... the fuck?)

He's a massive tool

Without a massive tool (Ok, that line did make you snigger.)

Fuck Architecture

Fuck Comics, we're better

Fuck that Beauty guy

I fucking hate them all (This is taking a turn...)

I can smash them all to pieces, I'll break their legs

I'll make them puke blood, they think they're stronger than me?

CHEONLIANG ANSWERS TO NO ONE- (Wow. Okay. It devolves into absolute gibberish from here on out-)

"That's a yeah?" Vin grins at you expectantly.

You peer down again at... Whatever the hell this is, you don't even know.

You still grip it like a love letter.

Guess you're the actual fool.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Brother's Keeper: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, feeling broken and utterly helpless to the point of depression

Summary: The repercussions of every bad thing you did while being soulless hit you like a freight train at full speed. There are no words that can describe how broken you feel. Sam and Dean manage to break the spell and lift the curse but what did you let out in return?

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

"So, does this mean no more adventure?"

"I think we have all the adventure we can handle right here."

"What about Dark!Charlie?"

"She's quiet. I just have to keep moving forward. We all do." She looks once more at you and Dean before walking into the library to deal with the after-effect of her almost dying at both your hands. "We are going to fix this. I'm not letting what happened to me happen to you two."

"What if I like being this way?" you ask and everyone looks at you. "Have you thought of that?"

"I refuse to accept that."

"You can't fix what already happened," Dean sighs.

"Cain found a way to live with it."

"After centuries of murder," you say.

"Yeah, well, there's one thing that you two have that he didn't. You're a Winchester. I forgive you, Dean."

"Yeah, well, I don't."

"I know. That's kind of your move." She turns to you and smiles sweetly. "I forgive you, too."

You set your drink down and stand up. Everyone is on edge just from that single move, and you walk closer to her in intimidation. It seems to work since she backs away slightly but she is a brave one. Sam goes to stop her but you hold out your hand as if to say, "Don't worry, I won't hurt her."

"Let me get one thing clear. The only reason you are still alive is because of them. Had they not been there, I would have killed you. I do not feel guilty for what I did. I actually liked it. Whatever part of me found you tolerable is gone. You better hope that you don't see me without them by my side."

You're not you. You're not this person. Charlie has to remind herself of that before she allows herself to get hurt because of you. She knows you're only saying this to hurt her so she doesn't let you know that your words do affect her.

"I'm gonna get you back."

"Let the games begin," you smirk and back away from her.

Sam and Dean look at each other before lunging at you. You see their moves coming from a mile away. While Sam and Dean are fighting to subdue you, you're fighting to kill. You have nothing to lose. They have everything to lose.

Sam swings his hand to punch you but you grab it at the last second and twist it behind him. Dean comes running at you two so you kick his ass and they go crashing into each other. Dean is the first one up and runs at you. He grabs you from behind thinking he got you but you're two steps ahead of him. You let them believe he got you so when Sam comes over, you kick off his chest and swing over Dean. You land on the floor and punch Dean to the ground, almost breaking his jaw.

The problem with the Winchesters is you're too damn flexible for them. You roundhouse kick Sam in the face, and he sprays a line of blood as he goes down. They start to think you might win this so they have to pick up their game or you will kill them. Dean ignores the pain in his jaw as he grabs one of the chairs and smacks you in the back.

You crumble to the ground in a grunt of pain. He and Sam grab you on either side and refuse to let you go. You struggle as hard as you can to get away from them but it's looking like you might lose this fight. The more you struggle, the more you get angry. The more you get angry, the more your Mark flares and burns. The metaphorical pot inside your body is bubbling over, and the only thing fueling it is the Mark.

"Let me go!" you yell.

"Admit it! You lost this one!" Dean grunts.

"Let go of me!"

"You lost, Y/N, just give it up!" Sam yells.

"I said. LET. GO!"

Bright red magic explodes out from all sides of you, causing Sam and Dean to go flying into the walls behind them. The entire war room is covered in a red hue, and you look down at your hands to see red magic flow out of them. The power you feel right now is so... exhilarating. Your Mark is burning so much but it's the good kind of pain. The kind of pain you crave. The kind of power you crave.

You look at the brothers with an evil smirk. They're too scared to do anything. They know you've fallen over the edge. There is no coming back from this. You lift the brothers with your magic and fling them so hard into the wall again that it cracks from the pressure. Both of them are too weak to do anything which is exactly what you want.

You reach up and peel off the device from your neck like it's a goddamn sticker.

"You don't control me anymore. I win. I'm leaving. If you want to try and stop me, well, you can't. No one can," you laugh.

You grab your bag and head to the metal stairs.

"This isn't you!" Sam yells loudly. You pause by the stairs but don't face him. "You're the Sapphire Witch! You help people!"

"Honey, the Sapphire Witch is dead."

"Yeah? Then what are you?"

You face the brothers with a smirk and bright red eyes.

"I'm the Scarlet Witch."

"Come on, Dean. What did you expect of me?" you chuckle.

"I don't know, Y/N. I don't know who you are anymore. In fact, I don't want you in my life until you're back to normal. What you did today was out of control. You are becoming what we hunt!"

You can't help but laugh at him. His bravery amuses you. You step closer to him so that your toes are touching, and you lose your smile to show him how serious you are.

"What are you going to do about it? What power do you have over me?"

Dean leans closer to you.

"I'm gonna find that cure and shove it down your throat."

"You do that and I'll still be soulless. I'll find those children of ours and skin them alive in front of you. Stop looking for the cure. I don't want it. It's you or them. Pick one."

"Okay, I'm going to ask one more time." Everyone but Claire looks at you. "Cas, where are my kids? I know you know where they are." Sam and Dean look at each other with fear but Cas won't back down so easily. Still, no one answers you. "No one wants to answer me? Fine." You grab Claire by her hair and yank her up to her feet. You pin her to your front and wrap your hand around her throat. The other arm is wrapped over her chest and gripping the opposite shoulder. All three men immediately move toward you but you flash your eyes red. "Take one more step and I'll snap her neck."

"Castiel," she whimpers but you tighten your grip on her throat.

"Where. Are. My. Kids."

"I don't know."

"I don't believe you. I have been looking for them for the past two weeks, and they have not shown up on any camera across the country. They are children. They go outside and play. Tell me how they are able to do that and not get picked up by a single camera. I know you had something to do with that."

"Please, just let her go and we'll talk," Cas begs.

"I gave you the chance to tell me and you lied. Now I'm forcing your hand. Tell me who is more important to you. Your wannabe fake daughter or my kids?"

"Don't tell her," Dean says. "I don't care what she does but don't tell her where they are."

"It's kind of hard to talk without a mouth, Dean, isn't it?" Immediately, Dean's mouth is gone and he panics as he touches his face. Sam watches with wide eyes, too scared to say anything. "Tick-tock, Castiel. I'm waiting."

"Please, don't do this."

"Please don't do this? That doesn't sound like a location to me."

"Castiel, please," Claire whimpers.

You pull her in tighter and put your mouth next to her ear.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Mommy and Daddy are waiting for you in Heaven. Or is it Hell? I'm not sure where they ended up." You look at Cas. "You have three seconds to tell me or she's dead. Three."

"Please, Y/N, don't do this. Let her go and we'll talk."

"That's not a location. Two."

Castiel looks at Sam and Dean with sad and guilty eyes. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out of it. He doesn't know what to do. Guess I'll have to make the decision for him.

"One." You immediately snap Claire's neck and she falls to the ground, dead. Castiel yells out in anger and lunges for you but you blast him and the brothers backward. "I told you what would happen. Consider this a lesson learned."

The bathroom door opens and you stand there with a smile on your face.

"Hi, Charlie." You use your magic and fling her phone into the wall, shattering it and ending the call to the Winchesters. "You've been a pain in my ass, haven't you?"

"You're not going to win this one."

"Maybe not but you're sure as hell not going to be around to see it, will you?"

She grabs a knife and holds it out to you but you don't make a move against her. You walk over to the toilet and sit down while keeping an eye on her.

"It's not here, Y/N!" Eldon says.

"Keep looking for it! It's here somewhere," you lie. "Nice knife you got there. Do you know what I want you to do with it? I want you to stab yourself in the leg." Your eyes shine red as does hers. "Now."

Charlie cries but she has no choice in the matter. She turns the knife slowly on herself as she tries to resist your mind compulsion. She stabs the knife into her right thigh and cries out in pain. She falls into the shower, taking the damn curtains down with her.

"Do it again," you say and cross your legs.

She does and she cries more from the pain. "I forgive you, Y/N. Just know I don't blame you."

"That's a nice sentiment. Really. Again."

She brings the knife down on her a third time. Snot comes out of her nose this time and she tries sniffling it back up but to no avail.

"When the Winchesters find your body, I want them to know just how hard you didn't fight me. You're pathetic, Charlie. This time, I want you to stab yourself in the gut. Really go slow so you can feel every inch of the blade."

Charlie yanks the blade out of her leg and positions it at her stomach. She drives the blade in slowly, and you smile at her screams. Blood is everywhere in the bathroom, all of it Charlie's. She isn't going to last long if you continue this so you stand up and walk over to the tub.

"Now I want you to take that blade and run it across your throat. Ear to ear, and as you're dying, I want you to know how much of a failure you are. Hell's gonna be pretty hot when you get there so make sure to bundle up nice and tight. Say hi to Mommy and Daddy for me, yeah?"

Charlie looks at you dead in the eyes as she slices her neck from ear to ear. She's dead within seconds. 

Charlie's screams are what cause you to shoot up in bed, panting and heart racing. You look around the room and recognize it to be the one you shared with Dean. Your head hurts, your entire body aches, and you're racked with guilt. There is such a heavy pressure on your chest that brings tears to your eyes. To say you're guilty is an understatement. To say you're sorry is beyond words. It hurts to breathe. You shouldn't be alive. You shouldn't be able to live after what you've done. How can I face Dean after what I've done to him? Sam? Castiel? How can they look at me and still love me? I don't even love me anymore. You pull your knees up and wrap your arms around them to hold them close to your chest.

"What have I done?" you mutter to yourself.

x

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[tzigone]

Headcanon reboot - super tech for the masses

So one of the aspects of my headcanon reboot is that it kinds ends - people age and retire, we don't have to keep villains in play (the reformed ones stay reformed) and so on. And one thing I started playing with is that this world doesn't have to stay like our world. I completely understand why it does in the comics, and I do think it a good business decision, but this is just for fun, not money, so I can make characters do logical things.

So, when someone invents a potentially world-changing and fortune-making technology, it can actually be mass-produced, used by ordinary people, and change the world. Instead of being confined to heroes and villains with no proper reason given (because it would make the world our heroes operate in unrecognizable and be a barrier to entry for new readers).

Please do forgive me if I've misremembered the details on how these techs work. Or if they've been given multiple explanations, chime in with others.

Chronologically, the first one I have on my list is Ray Palmer/The Atom's tech (shrinking things or people and with the ability to alter mass while in shrunken state). This would be circa 2001. Originally he was thinking about how, with everything shrunk, farmers could grow more and freight trains transport more. But the tech only worked on him, so he wasn't ready to publish. But later, he did manage to get it work on others...and still never published or put it out in the world. At least, he unshrunk the Hawks. It's been a long time since I read it. Hope I'm not misremembering the details and that wasn't another "it only works this one time" sort of thing.

In this universe, he will. He's still a graduate student, so I guess we know what his thesis is. I'm undecided on whether to make the lens still made from white dwarf star (which makes no sense) or make it regular lens inspired by the idea of a white dwarf star (which also makes no sense, but lends itself to the mass use he was thinking about, since material for the lens would be available). A lens (that he crafted himself, so the precision shouldn't be an issue), a control panel, and an ultraviolet light - doesn't like it should be too expensive to manufacture (though end-user price may still be very high at first depending on supply and demand). I was modeling IP treatment after Yale's for compensation, but I don't really know how universities deal with tech patents like that - sell or license the patent and would licenses be exclusive? Anyway, he'll have a hell of thesis. But the rest of the comments on him are only relevant if the tech goes mainstream. Then he started traveling through phone lines. That has even more massive implications for goods transport (I haven't really put any thought into the agriculture, I admit - just transport). But it's not going to happen overnight. I would expect massive regulatory hurdles. Safety tests (both on goods shrunk and people). And if they use phone travel, there's other safety issues to be addressed. Do they use the same phone network? What about infrastructure improvement? Obviously some countries will move more quickly than others and some will be more likely to respect the patent than others. The mid and long-term effects as the tech actually goes mainstream - takes time for factories to be built or modified but it will happen. I could still see lots of loading and unloading jobs, of course. Eventually expect your Walmart's to have their own and get things shipped to them that way. Businesses like gas stations may still be getting last mile delivery of chips, but the number of truckers should go down a lot, so there's unemployment in that field. Not mention trains and shipping companies and ports. Recession time? Some countries even heavily hit. Job rearrangement from things it's more profitable to outsource now that shipping is so quick and cheap. This could really impact commuting. Many people love cities for the entertainment, etc. But then you have the folks with hour and half commutes from the suburbs. It may not be affordable to the average person to own their own for a long time (so they can dial a phone, shrink, then their desk phone auto-answers and they unshrink and thus have a 30-second commute), but bus-depot like places could allow someone in Lawrence, KS to park their car (pay a parking fee), shrink and transport the location a 5-minute walk from their work in Manhattan instead of having a more expensive home closer by. I find decoupling employment location from living location interesting (and often discussed in regards to remote work), but I'm not sure how much it'd happen. More useful for long trips than short ones, of course. We have to think about security implications (especially if used internationally). Gotta check passports, go through customs, etc. Could someone send a bomb via phone line? This is pretty fantastical tech to start with, but with the ability to not decrease mass, would it still have full explosive power - I really don't know how various bombs work.

Next up is Karen Beecher/Bumblebee in 2003. I am not using her shrinking, as I think it makes to much like Wasp. But from one of the guides, it was said the antennae of her costume were solar panels and that's what allowed her to user her mechanical wings and fly. That kind of solar panel and battery would make massive, massive impacts (I'm assuming it's easy to scale up/down). And quite likely move though regulation way more quickly than Ray's tech. Solar panels and batteries already exist. Now, like so many comic heroes (and villains), she's a genius, but she's still just a teenager (and not a wealthy one) when she builds it, so it should be very affordable to produce (possibly only a couple thousand dollars retail for car-size setup once competition is in place). She was on the Teen Titans with Roy, and Ollie is all for the environment, so Queen will be the first company introduced to her tech, and the first to license it. Non-exclusive licenses all the way (which Ollie is happy with and spreading the news himself, as it suits his personality). The solar panels are great for houses and cars and factories, but the batteries should end up all over the place - cell phones, children's toys, remote controls, etc. It'll take to time to get production chains in place, but she's going to be a billionaire very quickly. Geolpolitical consequnces are again rampant - based on who produces oil, who refines oil, who has the contracts for mining the material, where production factories are, etc.

Flash has some genuisy rogues who reformed (fora while) and they come later. As this universe doesn't have to keep them in play, I'm not flip-flopping them - if they reform, they reform. So I may have Captain Cold and The Trickster in play. The Trickster has anti-grav tech. I'm not sure how much planes are still in play, but it's a thought. Might be moving furniture around. Finally have flying cars (with regulations/mechanical restrictions that people will try to get around)? Now, Cold had freeze gun. A nice safe one that has no negative consequences. Good for home protection, since it doesn't really matter if you accidentally shoot your kid. And could you just have the ambulance arrive, freeze the patient and transport them to a hospital? That would effect EMT jobs. I'm not going to have the gun do some the wackier stuff (like de-aging someone - wow what a tech to to introduce).

[dee-writes-angst]

BURNING HOUSE

FEATURING Steve Harrington x fem!reader

CONTENT WARNING mentions of possible character death, actual shit writing (like its really bad), loads of angst, sadness

SUMMARY Even a burning house couldn't touch your love.

AUTHORS NOTE I hate this so much, like it is so bad, but I wanted to post something for you all because it has been WAY too long.

TAGLIST @livsters

You jolted awake, the acrid scent of smoke assaulting your senses. It wasn't the familiar aroma of your laid-back indulgence; no, it was the ominous scent of something much more sinister—a house engulfed in flames. Disbelief washed over you as you lay there, momentarily frozen in a haze of confusion and shock, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation unfolding around you.

Steve was due to arrive in just an hour, an evening planned to be a pivotal moment when you finally confessed your feelings for him—those three words, so heavy yet so long overdue: "I love you." The anticipation had infused every action as you meticulously prepared a lavish dinner of two succulent steaks paired with creamy mashed potatoes and tender asparagus spears.

Yet, exhaustion from a day spent tirelessly working with the children had taken its toll. Unbeknownst to you, fatigue had lured you into an unintended slumber while the food simmered on the stove. Now, the reality of your situation hit you like a freight train as you sat perched on a barstool, head heavy against the countertop, witnessing the inferno that had consumed your kitchen. Flames danced greedily from the pan, hungrily devouring your countertops like a ravenous beast unleashed upon a feast.

The acrid smoke filled your lungs, searing with each breath, while the scorching heat of the flames licked at your skin. Panic surged as you realized the dire truth—you were trapped in a rapidly escalating inferno, the feeble extinguisher in the coat closet down the hall a futile defense against the voracious blaze.

In a moment of stark clarity, the gravity of your predicament spurred you into action. With a surge of adrenaline, you propelled yourself from the chair, the urgency to survive propelling you forward into the chaos that now threatened to consume everything you held dear.

Coughs wracked your body, each one a painful reminder of the toxic haze that enveloped you. Progress down the hallway to your bedroom, where a window offered a slim chance of escape, was agonizingly slow. Every step felt like wading through thick molasses, your lungs struggling against the suffocating smoke that blurred your vision and stung your eyes.

With each labored breath, the world around you seemed to shrink, collapsing into a tunnel of darkness edged with fiery tendrils. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other became an insurmountable task, your once steady gait reduced to a feeble shuffle.

As the noxious fumes tightened their grip, your body rebelled, betraying you as muscles weakened and limbs trembled. A wave of dizziness swept over you, sending you crashing to the floor just beyond the threshold of your bedroom, a heap of limbs entangled in desperation.

You didn't want to surrender to the engulfing darkness, to succumb to the relentless assault on your senses, but the overwhelming exhaustion and the crushing weight of the smoke rendered you immobile. Each breath became a Herculean effort, a battle you were losing with every passing moment. In the suffocating grip of the inferno, the line between survival and surrender blurred, leaving you teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

With Steve's image haunting your thoughts, the anguish of imagining his devastation at your untimely demise propelled you to summon the last vestiges of your dwindling strength. Dragging yourself across the threshold of your bedroom, you managed to seal the door behind you, hoping to stall the relentless advance of the flames, if only for a fleeting moment.

But deep down, in the recesses of your consciousness, you knew the bitter truth—you were trapped, a prisoner within your own infernal tomb. The window, a beacon of salvation mere feet away, might as well have been miles distant, for in your weakened state, the prospect of reaching it was as futile as grasping at shadows.

Resigned to your fate, you surrendered to the inevitability of your demise, seeking solace in the feeble comfort of knowing you had tried, however futilely, to defy the merciless grip of fate.

As you lay upon your bed, eyes closed against the encroaching flames, a sense of grim acceptance settled over you. The searing heat, once a torment, now enveloped you in a macabre embrace, consuming you in a maelstrom of agony. Each lick of flame was a cruel reminder of your mortality, each scorching caress a testament to the merciless whims of destiny.

And then, in a cruel twist of fate, the pain ceased, leaving behind a deafening silence that reverberated through the void of your consciousness. In that final moment of clarity, as the flames claimed you as their own, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air—an eternal lament for the love never declared, for the life never lived to its fullest potential.

Steve's frantic steps echoed through the sterile halls of the hospital as he raced towards the receptionist's desk, his heart pounding a frenetic rhythm of panic. Tears blurred his vision, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he approached the woman behind the desk, his voice trembling with desperation.

His cry of your name reverberated off the walls, laced with a raw intensity that spoke of his deep-seated fear. He reached out as if to grasp onto something solid in the tumult of his emotions. "Where is she?!"

The receptionist, a bastion of composure amidst the chaos, rose from her seat with practiced grace, her movements slow and deliberate. With gentle hands, she attempted to steady Steve, her touch a fleeting anchor in the storm of his anguish.

"Sir, please, try to calm down," she implored, her voice a soothing melody amidst the cacophony of distress. She met his gaze with unwavering empathy, understanding the depth of his anguish.

But Steve was beyond consolation, his anguish too potent to be assuaged by mere words. "No! You don't understand!" His voice cracked with emotion as he pushed away from her gentle touch, his desperation palpable. "I need to know she's okay. Where is she?!"

The receptionist's expression softened, a silent acknowledgment of his pain. "She's in surgery," she replied, her tone gentle yet resolute. "The doctors are doing everything they can."

Though her words offered a glimmer of hope, Steve's heart still clenched with fear. He hung onto her every word, his breaths shallow and uneven as he waited for reassurance.

"But for now," she continued, her voice a soothing lullaby in the midst of his turmoil, "she needs you to take a deep breath and stay calm."

As Nancy stood on Steve's doorstep, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her words seemed to echo in slow motion, each syllable weighted with a gravity that threatened to crush him. He listened in stunned silence, the world around him blurring into a haze of uncertainty and dread as he hastily grabbed his keys, his mind a whirlwind of fear and hope.

Driving to the hospital felt like navigating through a thick fog, his thoughts consumed by one singular prayer echoing in the recesses of his mind: "She needs to live." The words tumbled from his lips in a broken sob, a desperate mantra repeated over and over again like a lifeline in the darkness.

The hospital waiting room became his temporary sanctuary, a silent witness to the agony etched upon his features as he sat vigil, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of unbearable suspense. Visitors came and went, their concerned faces a blur as he mechanically recited the same refrain: "I don't know."

Hours stretched into an endless expanse of time, the rhythmic ticking of the clock a cruel reminder of the minutes slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Exhaustion threatened to claim him, pulling at his eyelids like weighted anchors, but still, he remained, unwilling to abandon his post until he knew her fate.

And then, just as weariness threatened to engulf him, a voice pierced the silence, jolting him from the edge of sleep and back into the harsh reality of his uncertainty.

It was a nurse who had called your name out into the waiting room, waiting patiently by the door with a clipboard in hand.

Steve's heart leaped at the sound of those words, a surge of relief flooding through him as he declared himself her husband, a title that felt both surreal and achingly real all at once. The weight of those two words—her husband—pressed against his chest, filling him with a sense of purpose and belonging that he had never known before.

As the doctor delivered the news of her condition, Steve's mind struggled to comprehend the gravity of her injuries, each word landing like a heavy blow against his fragile hope. Severe third-degree burns, a long and painful rehabilitation process—the reality of her suffering threatened to overwhelm him. But amid the flood of information, one fact remained steadfast: she was alive.

Clutching onto that lifeline with all his might, Steve's trembling voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, a desperate plea to be near her, to see with his own eyes that she had indeed survived the ordeal.

"Can you take me to her?" His voice wavered, betraying the tumult of emotions raging within him.

"Of course, right this way," the doctor responded, his tone a beacon of reassurance amidst the chaos. With a nod of gratitude, Steve followed the doctor, his steps heavy with anticipation and trepidation.

As he approached her room in the ICU, anxiety gripped Steve like a vice, his heart hammering in his chest as he prepared to face the sight of her injuries. But in that moment, as he stood on the threshold of her room, the enormity of their love washed over him, a beacon of strength in the face of adversity. For even in the wake of tragedy, their bond remained unbreakable, a testament to the enduring power of love. And as Steve stepped into her room, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew with unwavering certainty that together, they could overcome anything.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Nick Anderson

* * * *

SOTU DEBRIEF - DARK BRANDON BRINGS IT!

TCINLA

MAR 8, 2024

The Party of Class and Integrity celebrates another ass whipping - look at all those around the Dumbest Congressional Bimbo Ever as they realize how bad they got their asses kicked

Last night’s State of the Union was a punch in the face not only of the heckling MAGAT Morons, but the Otherwise-Unemployables of the DC Press Corpse. As well, the Democrat’s Professional Pearl Clutcher’s Caucus can join the others in officially retiring “He’s too old” once and for damn all. The Press Corpse stands today beside their MAGAt buddies, trying not to admit to the exact nature of the material covering their faces.

Over.

Done.

Finished.

The official Democratic response to this collection of clucks from now to November is, “You saw that State of the Union speech. Joe Biden is sharper than Donald Trump will ever be and is ready for the fight.”

You can tell November’s Losers saw their coming loss clearly when their majority criticism of President Biden was “He was too mean and talked too fast!” You know he left a mark. That was the most perfectly tuned-in SOTU speech I have ever seen, delivered with fire and energy by a man as far from the Press Corpse’s concept of a doddering old man, diminished in drive and energy as possible. The New York Times Opinion Section got hit in the face by a freight train of ideas and energy.

Joe was Old Man Strong. Dark Brandon. Killer Joe.

Biden delivered.

It was the best center-left populist presidential speech ever. Less technocratic than Obama; less curated than Clinton - a solid knock-it-over-the-outfield-fence.

As many Republicans feared, Biden was more than able to “spar with the disruptors,” as one observer reported, using their jeers to make his own policy points. (“Sparring with MAGAts” is also known as “shooting fish in a barrel”). It’s hard to believe the GOP could be so stupid with their heckling that they walked straight in to a second SOTU trap, that went off when Biden maneuvered them perfectly into taking their proposed $2 trillion dollar tax cut off the table. But then again, they are Republicans, and it’s well-known you have to score an IQ lower than ambient room temperature to get your party card there nowadays.

Biden’s speech was combative and sharp, the solid punch in MAGA’s face they’ve been asking for every day for so long. The “senile” narrative went flying into the dumpster fire. Once again, Republicans set the bar too low, and got knocked on their collective fat ass.

Joe argued forcefully from the strong side about America’s destiny, security, and purpose, laying down a fierce bright line against Putin and the forces of autocracy.

He more than made it through the SOTU address. That moment his supporters always fear never came. Politico, demonstrating that most real political knowledge is 20/20 hindsight, called the speech the “turn-the-tables SOTU.” They go on to report that the Biden campaign had their best two hours of fundraising so far in this cycle from 9 to 11 p.m. last night. A CNN flash poll finds that 62 percent of viewers thought the policies Biden laid out would move the country in the right direction.

The New Republic’s Osita Nwanevu wrote: “That overall impression—of a vigorous president, strong enough to take the fight to his detractors —will linger more deeply in the minds of most who watched than the substance of anything he said.”

But what was really interesting to me was watching the political midget behind Biden’s left shoulder. Mike Johnson’s histrionic facial expressions demonstrated everything wrong, idiotic, dangerous and treasonous about MAGA Republicans.

Johnson was both ridiculous and politically smaller than he actually is. He did applaud Biden’s call for aid to Ukraine early in the speech, which he does seem to support personally, even though doing so demonstrated how he’s too afraid of his crazy caucus to allow a straight-up vote. He is likely to go down in history as the one person who more than any other handed Ukraine to Vladimir Putin.

His mugging for the camera was more obviously overdone than what passed for “emoting” in silent movies. He nodded that solemn “more in anger than in sorrow” nod. He rolled his eyes more than a teenage girl listening to her elders.

What was really sad was noting what he rolled his eyes at! The most important was January 6 (of which he is a noted participant in the attempted coup). When Biden said: “We must be honest. The threat to democracy must be defended. My predecessor and some of you here seek to bury the truth about Jan. 6. I will not do that.” MAGAMike gave his most sustained eye roll. Close runner-ups were his responses to abortion rights and freedom, and the border bill that he killed when told to by Dear Leader. And he did that last one while Senator James Lankford - the chief GOP negotiator on the bill - listened to Biden lay out its provisions and nodded on camera, clearly mouthing “That’s true.” Mikey even shook his head at “buy American”!

His eye roll over “The very idea of America is that we are all created equal, deserve to be treated equally throughout our lives. We’ve never fully lived up to that idea, but we’ve never walked away from it either,” was the real demonstration of just how dangerous he really is.

The MAGA Republican Party doesn’t believe we’re all equal. MAGA, and MAGA Mike, knows that if you’re not a right-wing Christian, you are not a good American.

Of course, there was also Marjorie Traitor Goon, whose ridiculous getup and MAGA hat elicited a “WTF?” look from Biden when he first saw her - and which was in apparent violation of House rules (but then, she IS a violation of House rules). Lindsey Graham’s pasted-on embarrassed smile at least demonstrates he has more self-awareness than his fellow MAGA cockroaches, as he considers how far he has fallen. Watching the MAGA screamer in the gallery get arrested was nice. It came down to just how dumbstruck the Republicans were as this man who - according to the Volkischer Beobachter, er, I mean Faux Snooze - can’t remember his own middle name or string two sentences together, zingered them repeatedly as he publicly exposed their un-American extremism.

Overall, Biden’s speech showed how he can win, and how MAGA, being on the wrong side of history, will lose.

And then, savoing the speech, just when I had forgotten there was going to be an Official Response, there was “America’s Mom,” sitting on a stool in her kitchen, there in East Buttfuck, Alabam-bam. Katie Britt had the most scenery-chewing response to a SOTU speech I’ve ever seen, and given that her competition was the ever-thirsty Marco Rubio and the ever-hapless Bobby Jindal, that was quite a win. Just another example of The Rising Young GOP Star, Cursed Forever by the SOTU Response.

The kitchen setting was the perfect metaphor for what MAGA intends for women: put them back in their place - “Kinder Kirche Kuche,” as their wonderboy Adolf put it.

I’ve spent enough time in Hollywood to be completely conversant with serious failure in public, and Britt’s performance didn’t even rise to the local-dinner-theater overacting you see from those who never had talent to begin with. With a Republican candidate for governor in her state of Alabambam campaigning on revoking women’s right to vote, and all the other MAGA moves to make the Handmaid’s Tale a documentary, delivering her speech in a kitchen was…

A choice. One of those tiny moments that completely illuminate the larger reality.

And then…

Appropos of nothing other than I love it when a Real Asshole gets punched really hard in the face, the news this morning that Doctor Feelgood Ronny Jackson has “Gotten His” brings a smile to my face that might last the weekend:

After the Defense Department Inspector General report on the White House Medical Unit found “Doctor Feelgood” had engaged in “inappropriate conduct” when he was the top White House physician for Presidents Obama and Trump, the Navy removed him from the Rear Admiral list last June. Yes, Jackson, who was a rear admiral when he retired in 2019, is now listed as a captain.

A spokesperson for the Navy stated that the “substantiated allegations in the DoDIG investigation of Rear Adm Ronny Jackson are not in keeping with the standards the Navy requires of its leaders and, as such, the Secretary of the Navy took administrative action in July 2022.”

Hurrah!

The losers just keep on losing. It’s what losers do.

[looselipssinkships-x]

please ramble some more about the lyrics in campagne for my real friends

I didn't proofread this. It is roughly 1700 words. I have a lot of feelings. Buckle up.

Okay let’s take it from the top:

You are a getaway car, rush of blood to the head – okay so this isn’t a huge one for me but like, it sets the scene, sets the tone, starts painting a picture of this person. They are chaos, they are energy, and this song is sung directly to them while being about them. 

I’m just the covers on top of your bed – I am waiting patiently for you to come home. I am warm, I am safe. I am an afterthought, I am no one, I am invisible until I am gone.

I keep you warm and not ask you where you’ve been – this line comes and goes so quick and the first time I actually heard the lyrics they hit me like a freight train. This line is the kind of shit I read and write stories about. It speaks to care, to compassion, the kind of gentle acceptance that we all crave (or maybe it’s just me and my emotional damage but I feel like it’s a smidge universal). You know I’m flawed and messy and sometimes the choices I make aren’t the best but you’re not leaving. You’re there when I am ready to return.

With your backless, black dress, soaked to the skin – the imagery and the syncopation of this line just, does things to me. I need to be in a club somewhere (preferably gingers in nyc ily) in something tight, black, and backless. This person is clearly the center of the singer’s attention, and the way I choose to interpret the song, they appreciate the attention of the masses but the only person whose attention really matters to them is the singer (y’know that feeling when there’s a whole crowd of people but it feels like it’s just you and that one other person? yeah. those kinda vibes.)

And when it’s said and done, they’re all scramblin – okay so I misheard this line for like, a while. I heard “we’ll all straggle in,” like the way everyone crawls into bed in the early hours of the morning after the bars close up. It continued painting the picture of the dichotomy between recklessness and security, with the imagery of the singer as the warm bed you return to for quiet comfort. ‘They’re all scramblin” paints a bit of a different picture, maybe this person’s energy is a little more reckless, sends people running. They’re someone you can’t tear your eyes away from until it all starts to crash and burn and then it flips and you can’t bear to look. The singer says “they’re all,” not including themself. They will stay when it all falls apart. 

And we’re friends, we’re friends – The repetition of this line feels sooo intentional, like this person needs to be reminded, reassured. Especially with the first ‘we’re friends’ being a little more drawn out and melodic and the repeat being shorter and percussive, it’s firm, it’s no nonsense, it’s “this is not up for debate.”

Just because we move units – I don’t have a lot to say about this line, because I have no idea what it means, but I thought it said “just because we know you dance,” which feels like it fits the song, and seems like a allusion to the focal person supporting the singer/band. It expands the picture to this focal person coming to shows and maybe that’s how they met, because their energy has to be eye catching, intoxicating.

Strike us like matches, ‘cause everyone deserves the flames – I think every time I think about this line I debate how it can be interpreted. Are we keeping everybody warm? Are we putting everyone on display and shining a light on them? Are we lighting them on fire? Regardless of the interpretation of why everyone deserves the flames, the imagery of “us” being what initiates the fire is so vivid, especially the way striking a match creates a tiny little explosive reaction, such  a significant spike in energy made through the strike.

We only do it for the scars and stories – We do it for the future, we do it to keep on living, we do it all to squeeze every last bit from this short little life we have. This is from the era where at least half of fall out boy still felt like they were living with a deadline. Do you know what it is to feel like the sand in your hourglass is falling faster and faster and you are desperate to make the most before that time runs out? You know it will hurt, by now it doesn’t cross your mind for things not to hurt, but this is what feels real right now. This person with their frenetic energy makes you feel alive, and you sink into that. 

The sounds of this small town make my ears hurt – All you want is to get out. Small towns can be so suffocating, and the dynamic between two people desperate to make it out can be…fraught. It’s so hard. The context of this song in a small town?? Everyone is trying/everyone is shining?? God do you know what it is to love someone who shines so bright in such a dull town and have to watch as the dullness threatens and eats away at their bright? Maybe this is just me because goddamn everything feels like a fight, like pulling teeth, like i will never ever be free from that small town no matter how far I move, no matter how much I change, it will always eat at me.

They say, you want a war, you’ve got a war but who are you fighting for? – The desperation in this line, the angst, the way you can feel your heart rasping up your throat in this line, begging an answer “what are you fighting for?” and until you know what you are fighting for how can you do anything but lose?

Tide’s out, the ships run aground, we drown, traitors in shallow waters – syncopation bay-beee!! When i started thinking about all of fall out boy’s boat mentions I was like wow, kinda weird for a bunch of kids from the midwest, then I remembered Chicago is on a big ol fucking lake. (I am from the very landlocked midwest. The first time we had a flood warning after I moved to the east coast I almost threw up because I couldn’t figure out what was going to flood. Was the ocean going to flood? Is the Charles going to come into my apartment? I was unwell). ANYWAYS. This line always makes me think of that thing about like, drowning is still drowning whether it’s 3 feet or 3 miles of water, though the specific “traitors in shallow water” feels like someone is making an example of them, this was intentional. When did we go from car to boat though? Are we fleeing? Are we drowning upon departure or arrival? My personal heartache is upon arrival. We finally believe we might have made it, only to not have made it at all. That feeling of your dreams being just barely out of reach. The reference as “traitors” feels like a call back to the small town. Small towns feel like they can go either way? Depending on who you are I guess, and why you’re leaving, small towns are either “you can always come back home” or “once you leave you’re not welcome back.” But it could an accusation from either side, really. That awful in between feeling of feeling trapped in the small town but you have decades of small town instilled in you that you stick out like a sore thumb when you get to the big city. It takes trial and error to learn to assimilate yourself into this new place, and there’s a lot of time spent feeling like you don’t belong in either. (If you’ve stuck it out this far, I understand if you think i should go to therapy. You would be correct). 

Everyone is trying, everyone is shining, everyone deserves the flames, but it’s such a shame – what!! an!! ending!! I know I already threw a bit of this line in earlier but I’m obsessed with both the lyrics and the way it’s sang almost as a call and response. Everyone is shining is fighting to be heard, the repetition of such a shame during previous choruses and the emphasis on each word as the song ends. What is such a shame? The way they’re shining? The way they burned out? It feels very much the way people from my town react when they find out someone they used to think highly of is now tattooed and queer. They’ve fallen from the path of the righteous, what a shame. It’s also the energy of like, how people react after people, especially young people, die from something like suicide or overdose after being bullied/demonized/what have you and left with no support system but everyone’s supposedly sad after they’re gone. 

Conclusions: Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends feels very much like a tale of best friends/lovers escaping a small town. (Backless black dress feels like a manic pixie dream girl, but also I saw a post the other day about pete being patrick’s manic pixie dream girl, and it doesn’t not fit). The person the singer is talking about is such a bright light in their dead end town and the singer just feels hollow and empty and angst ridden, they’re both a little too jaded by life already. They try and make it out but it’s hard, it’s so hard, it eats at them and they wear on each other, but by god they’re going somewhere, they’re going to make it out. Only they don’t. They crash and burn. Their ending burns as bright as their beginning did, as bright as anything. They had a good run. They gave it their all. Look at how those good kids ended up, isn’t it sad? Champagne is for all the small town kids fighting for a life bigger than what they were told they had to grow into.

[sentientsky]

thank you so much, @fearandhatred for tagging me! <3

For as many as you want of your published works, pick your favourite line/paragraph and post it up here. Let yourself feel proud of your creations (not always proud of my work, but gritting my teeth and adding these 'cause my therapist would want me to, lol)

Until the Bitter End [40,760 words] Context: Crowley comes face-to-face with God

Dreadful memories of falling from a great height flashed through his mind. The taste of sulphur coated the back of his teeth, noxious and terrible. “You let me fall. You pushed me—for asking questions ,” he had hissed, all venom, all jagged teeth. So many eons of abandonment, of sheer loss…Well, it does something to a not-person, to a beating, not-human heart. You learn to go cold, to slow your breathing and keep yourself boarded up and hidden. Your body learns to react to affection like a rejected organ transplant. You carry on through life scared and spitting and backing against the wall like a cornered animal. You believe you don’t deserve tenderness. You believe it will ruin you. Because to love, to let yourself be loved, is to turn all vulnerable and underbellied—to show your hand in a game of cards with everything on the table. And yet…a very young, hands-shaking part of you yearns for it—begs, desperate and hungry and aching, for love. Like a starved dog with all its ribs showing. Like Sisyphus pushing that damn rock, knowing full well which way the hill slopes.

Confession Box Revelations [2,406 words]

Though Crowley himself couldn’t sense love, he knew what he felt for Aziraphale was far larger than anything a human was capable of experiencing. It was cosmic; it was ever-expanding, touching every corner of the universe and saturating every last quark in all of reality. The first time he’d become aware of it, it had hit him like a freight train and left him reeling. Even now, he heard a whistle in the back of his mind. It had never left.

Innocence Died Screaming [2,341 words] Context: Crowley encounters the Starmaker

Crowley doesn’t really think about it. In some inherent, axiomatic desperation for what-could-have-been, what-should-have-been, he strides forward (as much as anyone can stride in the vacuum of space) and pulls his younger self into an embrace. The angel’s hands grip the back of his blazer, fingers trembling, the scroll long since forgotten.  “I know, I know. And I’m sorry.” I wish I could save you . And he means it. His chest aches with it. “It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I’m so sorry for what She did—what She will do—to you. To me,” he draws in a shaky breath. “To us .”  And so they stand, shimmering, in that impossible place—the place where centuries compress themselves into the vibrations between atoms and fracture like glass, where millennia tilt sideways, fall into slipstream and dissolve into empty air. The world rips into being, collapses, and begins again a hundred thousand times in the hollow of his chest. He lets the tears—angry and hot and eons-old—fall with abandon, and a quiet, ragged part of him begins to slowly knit itself back together.

no pressure tags: @actual-changeling (ik leanne tagged u already, but i'm doing it too bc i enjoy yelling in your notifs hehe). @foolishlovers

[justimagineitblog]

KEEPER OF MY HEART - THOMAS SHELBY

CHAPTER 3

Here’s what I’ve learned in the 3 weeks that I’ve been working for the Shelby Family.

John is my closest friend in Small Heath. He warmed up to me the fastest, and I swear sometimes I have to remind myself that he’s not my actual brother. He laughs with me and tries his best to not make me feel like a complete outsider in Shelby Limited.

Arthur is a massive softie. He is by far the roughest looking of the Shelby boys, but he has the softest heart. He drinks a lot, sometimes too much, and I always know to look for the signs that its time to start watering down his Vodka’s with water. He’s usually too drunk to notice. Sometimes he stays so late that I walk him most of the way home just to be sure he doesn’t get himself into any trouble. 

Polly, the most fierce and strong woman I have ever met, took a little longer to warm up to me. But one day when she caught me making sure Arthur got home safely, and invited me in fora cup of tea. Since then, she has been insisting that I start joining them occasionally for dinner. I’ve been declining because of one person.

That is Thomas Shelby.

Where do I start. If Thomas Shelby wants something, everyone around him will jump to make it happen. He instills fear wherever he goes. I’ve never known him to smile or laugh like the others do. He drinks a lot, I’m always bringing him a fresh glass to their private room in the Garrison, but he doesn’t lose his head like Arthur does. Tommy has a tight grip on everyone and everything, including himself. 

On my rounds, making sure that everyone has been taken care of during their family meetings, he refuses to join in on any jokes and playful moments that I have with the others. In fact, when he sees me getting closer with the Shelby’s, his face grows even more sour. If that’s even possible. 

And those eyes. He stares. A lot. Not longingly. Not anything. Just a thousand mile stare, straight through to my core. As much as I try to ignore that he’s there, I can always feel his eyes on me. Like I’m being watched. My every move being picked apart and analysed in his mind. 

Today was different. Initially it was the same old. Bring them drinks, laugh with the boys, try to help them pick which horses are going to win in their races. And pretend that Tommy doesn’t despise every second of it. 

After rushing around for an hour tending to the lunch time rush, I realise their drinks must be getting low. 

“Alright boys, this rounds on the house” I joke as I walk into their private room. For the Shelby’s everything is on the house. Suits. Guns. Drugs. Drinks. Women. 

“These drinks will be on you if I lose this bet Z” John teases back, listening to the radio intently to find out whether the Horse I told him to bet on has one its races. 

“And I’ve never lost one yet have I!” I retort, topping up his Whisky and setting down a plate of bread and butter for them to snack on. Something to soak up all the alcohol. 

I dare to glance over at Tommy, who unsurprisingly is already watching me with an extra disapproving look. 

“Can I get you another drink Tommy?” I ask, pretending to not notice the daggers he’s shooting my way.

He nods in response, and I pour him a whiskey “I could make you that drink from a few weeks back…” I offer, trying my luck. Maybe today he will entertain me. 

“Can I see you outside?” He snaps suddenly, and I swallow hard.

Fuck. 

The last few weeks have felt like I was walking on a fine line with Tommy. I have proved myself time and time again. But he still despises the air that I breathe. Maybe I was getting too comfortable with the boys. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to manipulate and trick them all. God knows what he thinks I’m doing. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. 

I follow him out of the room and into a quiet area of the Pub. 

Without any warning, or lead up, he turns to me and looks me dead in the eye. “I know the boys like you. Trust you even. But I do not” 

The words hit me like a freight train. 

I knew he seemed different today. Like he was extra disgusted with everyone and everything. These words, he had been sitting on for a while. Keeping them inside as he watched me and scrutinised my every move for weeks. I could tell by the venom that he said them with. 

I want to fight back.

I want to remind him of everything I’ve been doing for this place. The business I’ve been bringing in. The countless times I’ve looked out for Arthur and his alcoholic tendencies. Making sure he got home safe. And that no one took advantage of a drunken Shelby brother. The business I’ve heard them discussing that I’ve turned a blind eye to. That I’ve never uttered a word of to anyone. The things I’ve heard and seen, that have slowly been revealed to me about Shelby Limited that I’ve never questioned. 

But instead I draw in a deep breath.

“Okay Tommy” I sigh. My brain goes back and forth frantically as I decide to let go of what I’ve been holding onto for weeks. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Or what I have to do. And to be honest I don’t care anymore. If you never trust me, then so be it. But you don’t have to be so cruel. I’m just here to pour the beer, remember?”

“Then how about you just stick to doing that, hey?” He spits back.

“I feel for you Tommy” I narrow my eyes, staring him down the same way he has been doing to me for weeks. 

“You don’t know me” 

“I’ve tried. But you won’t let me. And I’m starting to think I don’t want to anymore” I shake my head “But I see you. I’ve been watching you too, Tommy. You want to know what I see? I see a man who has everything, and a man who has nothing. You have everything and nothing”

He freezes. And there it is. The first time I’ve seen something in his eyes besides hatred. It’s still shrouded. Still unclear. But it’s something. Like he’s been exposed. Cut open. Like someone just dared to say the first real thing he has heard in a very long time. Someone made him feel. 

“But hey, I’ll get back to pouring the beer, shall I?” I finish, brushing past him to continue serving customers. 

I start taking orders and pouring drinks with a racing heart and trembling hands. I couldn’t believe what had just come out of my mouth. I don’t know everything about the Shelby’s, but I’ve seen and heard enough to know that people who speak to them like that do not last very long in Small Heath. 

I dare to take a quick glance at him, to find him still frozen in place. Staring at the spot I had just been standing. As if he’s still reliving the moment. Reliving what I had said. 

Fuck. 

I expect him to turn around and fire me on the spot. Maybe even part of me hoped he would, so I wouldn’t have to face the wrath that I know is coming after I dared to peak back to Thomas Shelby. If I thought he hated me already, I could only imagine the hell he would rain down on me after that. I was prepared for him to make my life a living hell. 

But instead, he adjusts the hat on his head, straightens his shoulders, and leaves the Garrison. 

[fruitynancywheeler]

Title: All I Wanted Rating: E Pairing: Caitlyn/Vi Words: 3,128 Summary: As Caitlyn descended down the halls of Stillwater to meet with the prisoner who caused her only lead to have their jaw wired shut, she didn’t really know what to expect. She imagined a myriad of burly, lumbering men to be the ones pounding against the concrete wall, but the last thing she expected was to see the first and only person she has ever loved.

AU in which Caitlyn and Vi knew each other before everything went down with Silco. Caitlyn, under the assumption Vi died in the explosion, works tirelessly to end the corruption that Piltover inflicts on the Undercity in honor of her lost love.

Violet’s last punch landed on the wall, her body going rigid at the sound of her name. She stood there sucking in deep, haggard breaths, sweat dripping down her body from the exertion of her workout. Caitlyn watched her like a hawk, not believing that Vi was actually in front of her. Seven years hadn’t changed the way her heart still fluttered in her chest at the sight of the woman she loved so deeply. She noticed the pink-haired woman squeeze her eyes tightly shut, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath that Cait couldn’t quite hear.

“You’re not real, go away,” Vi growled louder, taking Caitlyn aback with the hostility in her tone.

“W-what?” Cait stammered, wanting so badly to reach out for her love but uncertain of the reaction she’d receive if she tried.

“You’re not real!” Vi shouted now, moving swiftly towards the bars that separated them to glare at Caitlyn. Her bloody hands gripped the bars, and her face pressed in between them. “You’re just in my head, a ghost. You’re not really here.”

Even though her eyes hadn’t left Vi for a single moment, only now did Cait finally see Violet fully. She noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the pain that was written all over her face, and seeing Vi like this had her heart splitting in two. Vi had been in this horrible place the entire time, all alone, dealing with God knows what.

As if on autopilot, Caitlyn placed her notebook on the floor and stepped over the red line, the urge to reach out, to feel Vi again to prove to herself and to Vi that this was actually real, overpowering the fear of being rejected. She slowly lifted her arm out toward the bars, gauging Violet’s reaction to Cait intruding on her personal space. Vi flinched but made no effort to pull away, so Cait slid her hand between the bar and placed it against the woman’s chest, feeling the rapidly beating heart beneath her fingertips like she had all those years ago when they first kissed. With her other hand, she took one of Vi’s, prying it away from the bars to place it against her own thundering heart.

“It’s me, darling,” Cait whispered, feeling as if she spoke too loudly, it would cause Vi to pull away from her. She couldn’t stop the tears brimming in her eyes even if she tried; the years of pain she had felt hit her like a freight train as she gazed upon the woman she thought she had lost. Her own inner turmoil probably did not even come close to what Vi had dealt with being trapped in this dreaded place.

“I’m really here. With you.”

She watched as Vi’s eyes scanned her from head to toe as if trying to process that what she was seeing wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Cait squeezed Vi’s hand that was still resting atop her chest, hoping to convey that this wasn’t a dream.

Suddenly, the hand that Caitlyn had cradled gently against her was wrenched away. Vi put distance between them, a look of betrayal and anger on her face. The delicate features Cait knew and loved were now stone cold as Vi glared at her.

“You’re one of them,” Vi snarled, her fists clenched at her sides and shoulders hunched like a wild animal, trapped but ready to defend itself from a predator.

“Violet, let me explain. It’s not what it looks like!” Cait tried to reach out again– to get Vi to understand what she’s missed, being locked in here for the last seven years, but the woman she loved took another step back.

“Not what it looks like? How can you walk in here dressed like that and tell me, ‘it’s not what it looks like’?” Vi chuckled bitterly, her voice cracked and sounded slightly hysteric. Her eyes were like daggers cutting into Cait’s heart, but they were so hollow. It was as if all the life that once sparkled in those grey eyes had been completely snuffed out. “Do me a favor and stay the hell away from me, Cupcake.”

The nickname that had once been a fond memory of Caitlyn’s felt like a slap in the face, but she wasn’t ready to give up so quickly. She knew that Vi had to have an extreme amount of trauma to deal with from what had happened all those years ago, and adding whatever horrors she’d had to suffer through here in Stillwater wouldn’t be going to make that any easier. There was also Powder, Silco, and all this madness in the Undercity that Caitlyn knew Vi would dive into as soon as she learned about it because that’s just who Vi was. And Cait would be damned if she let the love of her life go through all of this alone, whether she wanted Cait there for her or not.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Caitlyn said determinedly, ignoring the anger radiating from the other woman. “I’m going to get you out, and I just ask that you please let me explain myself, and if afterward, you still want me gone, then I will respect that.”

She held Vi’s gaze, trying to see beyond the walls that Vi had constructed to try to find her Violet still in there somewhere. All she needed was a little crack in the impenetrable stone, and she could wriggle herself in and pull Vi back to her, breaking down the fortress that had been constructed within the seven years of complete isolation. Caitlyn waited for any type of reaction, and when she’d almost started to give up, she saw an almost imperceptible nod. If she hadn’t been looking so closely, she would have missed it.

“I will be back, I promise you,” Cait said before gathering her things and quickly making her way toward the elevator. She already had a plan set in motion in her head, and it may get her into some trouble, but quite frankly, she didn’t give a damn. The only thing that mattered to her at that moment was getting Vi out of this awful place.

Once she was back on the boat heading into Piltover, her adrenaline wore off, and tears finally started to fall. The pain of knowing that the love of her life had been alive all this time, and she hadn’t had a clue about it, made her feel like her heart was shattering all over again. All the time that they had lost that could have possibly been avoided if she had just stayed all those years ago instead of returning home made her want to scream. She was grateful for the rushing water to drown out the sounds of her sobs so as not to alert the man steering the boat. When they reached shore, she wiped her tear-stained cheeks and quickly made her way home. Cait arranged another boat to bring her back within the hour, not wanting Vi to be in there any longer than she had to.

As she entered her house, she made a quick stop at her mother’s office before heading to her own room, glad that it was late and her parents were already in bed for the night. She’d been in here enough times over the years to know where her mother kept her important paperwork, easily finding the inmate release forms in the top left drawer of the desk. She grabbed a pen and quickly filled out the form, forging Jayce’s signature at the bottom. There was a chance this wouldn’t work, but the Warden hadn’t seemed to care enough to look into the fact that she wasn’t actually an enforcer anymore, so she hoped that he wouldn’t dig deeper now that she was requesting the release of an inmate. All she knew was that Violet was worth the risk of getting caught.

A couple of hours and a very unpleasant chat with the Warden that left her feeling sick to her stomach and anger boiling in her veins later, she was unlocking the cell that had caged Vi for the last seven years. When their eyes locked, it knocked all the air out of Caitlyn’s lungs, seeing that small spark of life in those grey orbs again. It was just for a short moment, but it was enough to give Cait hope that this could work, that they could work.

“What’s happening?” Vi asked, seemingly not believing that Cait had actually pulled this little stunt off.

“I told you I’d get you out of here,” Cait simply said, holding their eye contact so Vi would understand that this was really happening. It wasn’t some twisted joke being played on her. “Come on, before they start getting suspicious.”

“Why would they get suspicious of another enforcer?”

“I told you I’ll tell you everything, but not here. It’s not safe,” Cait quickly promised, trying to stay calm even though her anxiety felt like it was gnawing at her heart.

They quickly made their way out of the prison that had kept her lover locked away from her for years, and it wasn’t until they were back on the boat heading towards the Undercity that either of them released the air that had been trapped in their lungs from the anticipation of potentially getting caught. Caitlyn had very low expectations that her plan to speak to the tattooed man would even work. She really didn’t think she’d successfully aid an inmate to get out of Stillwater, but miraculously, her shoddy plan had worked out better than she could have imagined.

Once they were off the boat, they found a quiet location away from prying eyes near the bridge to get into Zaun to discuss everything. It was nearing sunrise now. Cait had been up all night breaking Vi out of that prison, and exhaustion was starting to hit her. But this was it for her– if she couldn’t convince Vi to trust her, she would end up losing the love of her life again, and she’d be damned if she let that happen.

“You have about five seconds to start explaining what’s going on and why you’re an enforcer, or else I’m heading off on my own,” Vi demanded, her tone still cold and detached.

“I’m not– I mean, I was, but not anymore. It’s complicated,” Caitlyn sighed, feeling frustrated that her brain wasn’t cooperating with her mouth to properly explain.

“Then how are you wearing that?” Vi snarled, a grimace on her face from just looking at Caitlyn. It broke her heart all over again that Violet couldn’t even look at her without obvious disdain. “Seems pretty straightforward to me, princess. I should have known not to trust a Piltie. I should have known you’d be just like every other Topsider–”

“I went back for you!” Caitlyn shouted, not being able to hear another dig aimed at her anymore. Her outburst made Vi’s mouth snap shut, shock evident on her face from what Caitlyn had said. “That day, when everything fell apart– I saw the explosion from my bedroom. I ran as fast as I could, but I was too late. I saw what happened to Benzo and Sheriff Grayson. I followed to where all the smoke was coming from, and I–”

She choked on her words, feeling all the emotions that she had spent so long trying to shove down into neat little boxes so she could continue to move forward. Tears were gliding down her cheeks, but she didn’t care to wipe them away. Caitlyn longed to reach out for Vi, finally seeing some semblance of emotion from the other woman aside from resentment. But she knew it was too soon. She knew that the trust they once had wasn’t there anymore, and it would take a long time to get it back, if they could ever get it back. But the tears that were brimming in those grey eyes that she loved so dearly gave her hope that maybe there was a chance.

“I found Ekko in front of Vander’s body. Saw Claggor’s bloody goggles clutched in his hands. And he said all of you were dead. I thought you were dead,” Caitlyn cried, taking a step forward into Vi’s personal space. If she hadn’t been so tormented by the memories of the past, she would’ve been pleased that Vi didn’t back away. “I mourned for you. Every day for the last seven years, I have mourned for you. I became an enforcer to try to figure out what enforcers were on Silco’s payroll. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly, and god knows Ekko wasn’t pleased with my decision either, but he saw the importance behind it.”

“You’re still in contact with Ekko?” Vi croaked, the first words she was able to speak since Caitlyn had started to rehash the events of the past. Cait nodded in response and saw a soft smile form on Vi’s face. “How is he?”

“He’s so good, Vi,” she whispered. “As good as he can be considering the downfall of the Lanes. He formed his own group. He has a place for orphans or anyone looking for an escape from Silco’s grasp. He’s become quite the leader.”

“You’ve helped him?”

“As much as I can,” she confirmed. “Not nearly enough as I’d like, but that’s why I decided to join the enforcers until my mother got me laid off after an injury.”

“How did you get injured?” Vi asked, almost sounding a little concerned for the ex-enforcer’s well-being.

The momentum of Caitlyn’s explanation died on her tongue with the realization that she was about to break Violet’s heart all over again. She knew the information that she had on Powder would create an enormous amount of pain for her refound love, and she hated that she had to be the one to break the news to Vi. Cait licked her suddenly dry lips as she tried to formulate a way to say what she needed as painless as possible, but deep down she knew that trying to sugarcoat the truth wouldn’t help in this situation.

“After– that day, I thought all of you had died, but…” Cait stammered, choking on the words she so desperately needed to get out. “Silco, he got–”

“He has Powder,” Vi interrupted, a sad, knowing look in her gaze. “I saw him approach her after everything went down. After I blamed her for what happened.”

Cait watched as Vi started pacing, a calloused hand rubbing the back of her neck as she got lost in her own memories of what happened all those years ago. The turmoil Vi was experiencing made Caitlyn want to reach out to her again, but she knew that she shouldn’t, so she stood by and waited for the other woman to process her feelings.

“I tried to get to her when I saw him approach, but then Marcus knocked me out and dragged me to Stillwater.”

“It’s Marcus,” Cait whispered, not surprised but angry she hadn’t found evidence on him sooner. “He’s the one on Silco’s payroll.”

“Yup,” Vi scoffed, hatred for the coward dripping from her tone. “That poor excuse of a man is why Silco has gotten away with destroying the Undercity. Why Silco has Powder. I need to get her back.”

“Vi, you have to understand… she’s different now,” Cait tentatively said, stepping forward to finally reach out against her better judgment to stop the pacing. Her hand gently rested on Vi’s shoulder, feeling her initially stiffen at the touch but relaxing shortly after.

“Different, how?”

“You asked about my injury before, and– it was due to an explosion that she caused. It killed four other enforcers,” Cait explained, hoping the gravity of the circumstances was properly conveyed to the woman who had not seen the outside world in years. “She… goes by the name Jinx now.”

Vi stumbled back from Cait’s touch as if she had been burned, tears immediately threatening to spill from those hauntingly beautiful grey eyes that Caitlyn had longed to look into again since the day she had lost Vi. Vi’s breathing became labored as the words washed over her as if she was fighting off a panic attack.

“This is my fault,” she cried, a tear falling that she angrily swiped away. She looked as if she was about to collapse, and Caitlyn quickly reached back out to catch her. They both crumpled to the ground, Cait’s arm wrapped tightly around Vi’s shoulders as the other girl sobbed into her chest. “This is all my fault.”

“No, darling,” Caitlyn soothed, stroking her free hand through pink hair. “The only one to blame is Silco.”

“I told her she was a jinx. I blamed her for all of them dying. She only wanted to help,” Vi continued to sob, clutching onto Caitlyn’s uniform. “She only wanted to help.”

All Caitlyn could do was hold Violet until her tears stopped falling and her breathing was back under control. There were no reassuring words that Caitlyn could provide the other woman because she didn’t know where this road was going to lead them. She didn’t know if Vi would even want her to be by her side through all of this, so she just held onto Vi while she still had the chance to. The ex-enforcer didn’t know how much time had passed as they sat there together, but when Vi finally pulled back, the sun had fully risen, and the rest of the city seemed to be waking up.

“I have to get her back. I have to get through to her,” Vi sniffled, a look of determination reflected in her eyes. She slowly stood from their seated position, and Cait suddenly felt cold from the loss of contact with her former girlfriend.

“I know you do, but Vi, it isn’t going to be easy. Silco has done a number on her over the years,” Caitlyn warned.

“I have to try anyway. I can’t give up on her again,” Vi said. Her grey eyes scanned Caitlyn’s face as if weighing the decision of whether or not she could trust the ex-enforcer. After a moment, a wrapped, calloused hand reached down towards Caitlyn. “Are you with me?”

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation. Caitlyn immediately grasped the hand extended to her. She wouldn’t allow Vi to slip away from her again after years apart. She was more determined than she ever had been to rebuild the relationship they once shared, even if it only ever led to friendship. Violet was far too important to her to let the other woman do this on her own.

“Always.”

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Just gonna talk about my current WIP

... and life. Because this is a nice cozy place where I can do that and only one of you knows me IRL.

So, in July, I was laid off. Well, my team was laid off. One of the many casualties in the "who needs DEI" wave. I can't even be particularly mad about it because that job was horrible. I dreaded work every day and I'm pretty sure that had I stayed, my health would have suffered more than it already had.

Then came the burnout. That shit hit me like a freight train. I've spent the majority of the last 2.5 months trying to give myself space to rest as much as possible (while also job hunting because I'm not exactly in a position that I can just BE unemployed). And y'all, rest is hard. Like really hard. But we're working on it.

While I 100% view this as a time I can and must rest, it also feels like an opportunity to actually focus on writing.

Hell, if I'm being honest, it feels like the universe went, "You said you would do this if you only had time to dedicate to it. Here you go." Now I've just gotta do the thing. Which... is also hard.

I've had several WIPs bubbling away for years now. Ones I've shared with folks, ones people ask me about. But the one I'm focusing on right now I haven't shared with anyone.

It's too personal, but not in a way that folks would assume. It's not autobiographical (though it is set just outside of Boston, where I'm now calling home) or anything of that sort. It's simply that I'm so in love with the two main characters I'm nervous to say anything about the story to folks close to me until it's finished.

But no one is likely to see this so I'm gonna share a bit here:

Toni. Bless Toni. She's a little me and probably a little you too. The definition of someone running toward something even though far too many people think she's running away. She is a woman who refuses to accept good enough and deals with the repercussions of that--especially as a fat woman (a through line in most of my femme MCs). In her case, she chose to end a relationship with a man most people considered a catch--ya know a catch who thought he could convince her to have a baby she said she didn't want--and move across the country rather than allow herself to stay in a situation that made her miserable. Now, alone--save for her best friend a few towns over--she's rebuilding her life and unpacking the baggage that says she's unreasonable and unreliable for choosing her happiness.

And y'all... Cillian. Lord. He's a local boy--complete with that Bahston accent--and built like a tank. Everyone around him can see how golden his heart is, not because he wears it on his sleeve but because he has an aura of goodness that is almost impossible to miss. Were you to tell him that, he'd tell you you're full of shit. The thing about Cillian is that he's the kind of good that comes from going through hell. In his case, hell was literal war. Now, 10 years out of the military and 8 sober, he's still reconciling with parts of himself he'd rather bury. Think a little Bucky Barnes with a dash of Frank Castle and then the rest, well the rest is just Cillian: The boy who should have been a musician, not a soldier. The man who runs his family's bar and escapes to his property in New Hampshire when the world is too much. The 6'2" 275lb brick of muscle that collects floral robes and buys expensive sheets and falls so in love with a gorgeous plus size powerhouse of a woman that it undoes him a little.

I love them. I love how they're going to open up with one another, to allow the other to see the parts of them that are still bleeding and know that it will be ok.

(They also fuck like rockstars so there's that.)

I'm still working on the first draft, but I think I can have it done in the next couple of weeks. From there, revisions and then MAYBE eyes that aren't mine.

Hopefully, someone other than me cares about their slow conversations, the softness of their fall, the low stakes but high emotion of it all.

-sigh-

Anyway. That's been my world of late. Thanks for being the void tumblr.

Love ya.

[xaospoiesis]

Year 29 

this is a projet I started about experiencing the last year of my twenties, trying to cope with it I suppose. I had it go up to my 30th birthday (then started a new one for the first year of my thirties because I'll only be thirty once). It's a bit long, almost a year after all, but here goes, I guess. I tried to keep it the way I wrote it in the first place (up to the little explicative text in the beginning that I wrote when I started it)

(Writing a line a day about my feelings until I turn 30, yeah I’m late (April 27th) bc I just thought about it fuck it), I will forget days so it won’t be like a full year but doing each day without missing would be inauthentic wouldn’t it?

2023

April.  

2704 - 29 years old, 1 month, 7 days and I still cannot fathom that I’m alive. 

2804 - I could run through a wall and it would have a hole shaped like me, that’s how insane I feel today.  

2904 - I feel incapable of doing anything and that is a problem because I have many things to do.

May.

0405 - forgot this existed, wish I forgot I existed too. 

0505 - I feel nothing good yet nothing bad, it’s not nothing at all yet but it’s close. 

0705 - technically I am a mermaid. no I shall not elaborate. 

0805 - I want to do the things I am supposed to, but I cannot bring myself to do them, so I am here, eternally in limbo, eternally distressed by my own lack of movement.

0905 - sometimes, being alive right here, right now surprises me, not in a good way, just in a way. Earlier today, I felt real, that’s gone now. I’m floating again. 

1005 - I am sleepier than ever yet I cannot go to sleep at night, ironic. 

1105 - it irritates me that I need something to regulate my life so I can just function, why can’t I just free rein it without crashing and burning? 

1205 - I can’t tell the passing of time so it feels like i’ve been unsure of my feelings for days and forcing my thoughts out when I’m not sure I have any. 

1305 - I am overwhelmed by life, by the people in it, by my incapacity to cope with it all and most of all by the crushing weight of existing in a capitalistic society. 

1405 - I am stressed out and hating it.

1505 - I am trying (or maybe I am not) and I am so not succeeding. 

1605 - I forget sometimes, that it isn’t about win or lose when it comes to mental health issues. It’s a matter of compromise, of fluctuations, of resilience too. 

1705 - I do not know, things are stable and stable is scary sometimes.

1805 - I think I caught a cold and I’ve done some work but I feel it isn’t quite enough.

2105 - I’m not sure anything is happening but things should be happening right now. 

2505 - In moments of quiet, there are no words, no movement and that’s it. Almost peaceful I’d say. 

June.

1406 - There’s a disconnect between me and reality, and now, and here, and I’m not sure I want to write anymore.

1606 - time just seems to not move anymore. 

1806 - it’s okay, it’s all chill. 

2106 - ripped the skin off my finger by accident and this is honestly (insert saying about being at your limit).

2506 - I don’t know, I just feel sour. Annoyed. Annoying. 

2906 - feelings are fluctuating and yet nothing is actually felt. 

July.

0507 - I was well and then I wasn’t, just like that, feelings hit me like a freight train and I want to cry, I’m not sure why. 

1007 - so for a while I felt that maybe there was no point writing anymore, I don’t know if I’m out of it yet but hey, doesn’t matter. 

1107 - there it is, the weight in my chest I don’t have a name for, that I have to feel and can never explain or else it isn’t real.

1807 - I tell myself “this too shall pass” but this has not once passed, years of it, maybe born with it, dull, incomprehensible sadness.

2107 - again the feeling that I won’t last very long in this life. 

2307 - I sort of don’t see the point of talking anymore, responding, giving opinions, existing loudly. 

2907 - it feels insignificant, to live, to move, to laugh. 

August.

0408 - one of my most repetitive thoughts is “and I’m sad again”, often after days and weeks of the same exact state of mind.

0708 - I’m just sad about being a little sister whose big brother doesn’t feel like one, and it isn’t his fault nor is it mine, life just happened that way, but I hate that I can’t call someone older and confide in them and trust them. 

1008 - the loneliness is godawful sometime, but familiar, a daily occurrence, something regular. 

1208 - what a strange yet gripping feeling, the one of knowing that the end is nearer than one would expect.

1308 - there’s just such a slowness in summer, and it isn’t enjoyable, I wish I was doing something because I feel like I should, not because I want to. 

1808 - I’m kind of baffled that I have to hide about 85 to 90% of myself from people who call themselves my family. 

2208 - I tell myself to be happy so often, yet can never obey, it’s a weird, weird life this one. 

2708 - the thing with being so alert all the time, is that I forget that sometimes nothing is going on, sometimes, it is okay to not be worried.

September.

0109 - it is absolutely unfathomable that this is the last year of my twenties. And what have I done with them? Not much. I’m scared. 

0509 - it’s too hot to even think coherently.

0609 - my whole soul is shaky, with sadness, with unshed tears and maybe the anxiety is trying to choke me down, I don’t know.

1309 - and all I want is to quiet down into oblivion so that I can’t say something stupid.

1409 - I grasp at air, hoping it’ll be meaning that I’ll catch instead, for life and all the things a person has to go through that can make them a person, and maybe when I do, I can stop fretting.

1809 - yes, everyone has their own things, but I do feel like others’ things seem to be heavier, more important than mine and sometimes, it hurts just a little.

2509 - I don’t know about wanting to share my writing anymore, if I want to or what it makes me feel, I don’t know anything at all.

2709 - I know my body is here, real, but the rest of me, the invisible, is floating, rooted nowhere and it isn’t nausea I feel, not in my body at least, it’s my soul that’s nauseous and I don’t know how to explain it in any other way.

October.

0310 - I spent all day internally screaming at myself to get my assignment done, and yet I don’t move. 

0510 - perhaps I should stop thinking about death this much, but I have no control over those thoughts, they present, then impose themselves and then, swift as the wind, they leave me but their shadows remain. 

0710 - I just remembered one of the times I had to talk myself down from a panic attack and it kind of sucked, because I had to be the calm and the panic all at once. 

0910 - It’s one of these days where the energy outside of my body is as tainted with absolute chaos as my inside, and I realize I find some sort of joy in it.

1510 - this is a week that makes me look at some people with disgust and fear, because the cruelty of their words and their beliefs is beyond my comprehension.

2210 - there’s this feeling sitting in my chest and I think it’s anxiety and it just won’t pass, yet my brain knows it shouldn’t be here.

2410 - today’s a good day, I think, am I terrified still? Yes. Is it as overwhelming as usual? No, it’s a good day. 

November.

0611 - isn’t strange? The rot I feel in my veins from existing in this moment and having no way to do anything about it.

1211 - I feel fairly gloom today, had a small reprieve last night, and now we’re back on schedule I suppose. 

1411 - it’s weird to be so aware of my disconnect to reality,  not all of reality, mostly my direct surrounding reality, but still, as aware as I am, I still am widely unable to reconnect to it, even if I painfully need to, want to even. 

1711 - I don’t know, I don’t know if it’s the cold I caught or the existential dread that’s making my chest tighten today

2011 - felt like my eyes were too heavy for my head today and there was no way to alleviate it.

2411 - they’re giving Palestinians in Gaza four days of truce and acting like it’s an act of mercy after 48 days of genocide, I can’t fucking comprehend it.

2511 - I hate that the idea of going to class on Monday squeezes the life out of my chest and makes me want to drown.

2611 - I don’t feel alive today, not dead either, just in between two negative states.

2811 - I have this feeling I’m going to crash and burn because I’ve left all the things I need to do to the last minute.

2911 - it is ridiculously easy to distract me from important and pressing matters, I fear myself when I cannot prioritize, important matters can’t seem to be of importance for me.

December.

0512 - the sky is depression grey now, which only announces weeks of my thoughts fist fighting one another.

0612 - I have the irrepressible rage in my chest yelling a little loud today.

1012 - day to day life has been mind numbing, the past four days have been a blur, I am tired. 

1512 - the sun is setting and the sky is a pink hue, for just a few minutes, all is well, all is beautiful, I wish it was always this way. 

1612 - there’s simply such ease in being quieter, less pain there.

1812 - it is kind of funny that I am more invested in socially isolating myself than other more important things, and it’s not even fully intentional. 

2512 - it’s Christmas, I feel nothing at all, the world is on fire, nothing makes sense.

2024

January.

0201 - so I forgot I existed and I could write for a short while, and I can’t seem to want to do a thing.

0601 - I am tired but today I am not worried, it’s a tired that solely rests in my flesh, that doesn’t creep into my mind. 

1501 - time is passing and I don’t perceive it, all I feel is this dullness in my chest.

1801 - I just want a little bit of peace, I’ve abandoned the idea of grandeur. 

2301 - I just feel gloom, and yes I do feel that a lot, it’s true, I guess being alive these past few days, weeks even, feels a little harder. 

2401 - I do not care, or I can’t bring myself to do so, not sure. 

2601 - I do not know what I feel, but it is something shaking, something unsettled, something screaming. 

2701 - and so I feel like I am not acting truly like myself, or that who I am is someone I do not like.

2801 - at some point today I was worried, it isn’t the case anymore, and I can’t recall where the weight on my chest was coming from.  

2901 - sometimes hearing mind numbing nonsense doesn’t feel worth it, I guess that’s what it’s like to simply be alive these days. 

February.

0302 - I wish I was just done with it, whatever it is I have sitting in my chest right now. 

0502 - I’m not rushing to reconnect with my intellect because there’s nothing to grasp, I feel a little stupid.

0702 - I still feel disconnected from everything and maybe I am partially sabotaging myself.

0902 - Last night was so confusing, because I wanted to jump out of my skin and couldn’t figure out why, and today none of that is left, nothing is felt at all, actually. 

1202 - everything is so overwhelming right now, change is everywhere and I simply struggle to adjust to it all. 

1502 - I think maybe I’m feeling under stimulated and it’s a little too hard to stay anchored because of it. 

1802 - I do a whole lot of nothing in a day and end up exhausted and unable to think straight. 

2102 - less than a month before the end of this, what a strange thing. 

2402 - I cried today because my uncle is dead but I can’t pinpoint the exact reason, I was just sad I suppose.

2602 - I’m overwhelmed and hopeless about it, I wish I could just not give up but giving up is easier. 

2802 - I am honestly not seeing the end of this semester, but I also know that it’s just the stress making my vision tunnel.

2902 - It is quite funny that the shortest month of the year feels like the longest.

March. 

0103 - Just because I want it, doesn’t mean all will be well and that’s a bit tragic. 

0803 - Life’s a blur and I think the amount of stress I’m under is definitely messing with my system.

0903 - my stomach, my heart, something fell in my chest and reached the bottom of my feet and I can’t pick it up. 

1103 - this is going to sound ridiculous, but I just want to genuinely laugh and smile, just be happy.  I want to be happy.

1503 - I wish I was just shamelessly myself, but I don’t know how to be that. 

1803 - there really isn’t any reprieve to the big feelings, they shake me, decide for me, act for me.

2003 - so this is thirty. 

[diarrheaofthekeyboard]

More on Influences (Moron Influences)

Yesterday I wrote about Allen Woody. Today I've been wrangling with myself about influence.

This all started yesterday morning when I took the dog for a walk. I listened to "Out Louder" by Medeski, Scofield, Martin, and Wood for about 30 seconds before I decided to listen to the first Gov't Mule record instead. Warren Haynes opens the record with "Grinnin' in Your Face" and the bass and drums come in for "Mother Earth". It's a crushing sound. I felt like I was back in college hearing it for the first time.

So I went on a mini tour of influences, talking myself through it for the past day. I only listened to about half of the first Mule record yesterday so I finished it today. Then I moved onto the self titled God Street Wine album. This evening, I listened to Mule's "Dose" record and then "A Go Go" by John Scofield with Medeski, Martin, and Wood.

The Mule records are mind-numbingly good. I've always held them in high esteem, but listening now with "bass ears" has really elevated them. Woody has more of a flatwound tone on the first album and is much brighter on the second. He's a freight train and the song is always moving and developing because he's making it go. This gives Warren and Matt (Abts, drums) the opportunity to take chances and play more freely. And as a guitarist, you don't get a bigger tone than Warren Haynes. He's up there with Jeff Beck and Slash.

God Street Wine's self titled album from 1997 is the best recorded document of the band. And yet, it's a very different GSW than the one that had become my primary influence. Being a quintet, and one where yes there's a lot of jams but it's also intricate music written by very schooled jazz head musicians, each person has a role to play. Then there's this record which falls more in line with The Black Crowes and late Beatles than it does the Steely Dan/Frank Zappa/Grateful Dead roots of the band.

So Dan Pifer's playing really hits more like Marc Perlman, bassist in The Jayhawks. He might not always play the exciting part like Woody does, and he certainly doesn't have that giant tone. Instead, it's a clinic in playing the right part, having the right tone, and serving the song.

The last album tonight was "A Go Go". I've written before about Chris Wood and how I think he's my primary influence on bass. I actually think he fits in very neatly between Woody and Dan. Even though he's playing jazz, and Scofield's guitar fills in the space of a vocalist, there's a lot of ground to cover. He finds that right tone and groove and lays it out for Medeski and Scofield to fill the space.

Next up is to mine some more influences. I've had a lot of anxiety thinking about this tonight and I think it'll be good for me to do some deep dives. Besides, May is going to be a helluva month for new records anyway. I won't have to look for them.

[rcmclachlan]

You may be tiptoeing away from this but I am RUNNING AT IT FULL TILT LIKE A BULL

I know I yelled at you for the snippet you sent me last night, so please allow me to scream about everything else.

Okay FIRST OF ALL I'm positively gagging with joy. This story is SUCH a beautiful portrait of intimacy, and the look you give us into Tommy's head is sheer poetry. I'm rolling around, giggling and kicking my feet, twirling my hair, cutting bits of this story out to stick on my walls like I used to do with pictures of the Backstreet Boys and Devon Sawa.

All right, strap in. The ride's about to start.

No one has ever seen a flower facing towards the sun, reaching, grasping, drinking in the sunlight, gorging itself until it’s stalk barely holds its head up, and thought of Tommy.

OOPS I LIED I'M STILL GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS. This is such a banger of a line. It hits like a freight train, especially since it follows the absolutely beautiful paragraph that comes before it.

New, in the way he still doesn’t know Evan’s favorite color but he knows the way he sounds when Tommy angles just right and hits that spot deep inside, a broken little noise that Tommy has swallowed with his tongue just to see if it tastes as good as it sounds.

Oh my GOD, I want to burrow into this whole section for the winter, because I love me a rational man trying to rationalize his utterly irrational feelings and failing, but that line angled just right and hit me deep inside. The dichotomy is so delicious. 'I don't know this simple fact about him but I do know the places inside his actual body that light him up like a supernova'.

“Are we —?”

This is the moment I almost flung my phone out the window.

“I love the flowers. They’re perfect. You’re perfect. I love —.” Tommy grimaces. Ten dates. Ten dozen kisses. Two — no three meet-the-family events. A grand total of just a few months, where they’ve barely given themselves time to breathe, to spend a night apart where one of them isn’t kipping in a bunk at their respective stations. “I’ve been trying to find a single thing I don’t love about you for as long as I’ve known you.”

And this is the moment I started howling at the moon. Because YES. YES. THE TIGER IS OUT.

The problem with talking so much is that it has given Tommy ample fuel to feed the little fire inside his chest that Tommy has been offering a single log at a time over struggling coals for a few decades, and it’s burning through kindling rapidly now.

This line and I are in love. I've introduced it to my family and we're having a fall wedding. God, but the IMAGERY. It's so good and it feels so true to his character.

“I’m cashing in on the whole week,” Evan tells him, and Tommy’s breath stutters on the exhale.

Whoa, that's so crazy, my breath did the exact same thing.

“.... we haven’t even really fought, so I don’t know if you’re a yeller or if you’re just gonna give me the silent treatment for a week until you feel like you’re ready to talk. I just know...” The pressure on his little finger squeezes tight. “I just know I wanna figure it all out with you.”

This. This right here. THIS is the crux of the whole 'we barely know anything about each other but we've never had any chill because our motto is 'who cares'' thing. Knowing someone's favorite color or movie or the name of their childhood dog is all well and good, but it's top of the funnel stuff. Knowing who they are and what they do when they're angry, when they're suffering, when they're at the end of their rope—that's what it is to know someone.

And they aren't there yet, but they also are, and it kills me that Buck doesn't think he's close to that point but he wants to be. Like, baby boy, my guy, my dude, you're there. You're within the lines. The princess is not in another castle. Just keep walking toward the center until you hit pay dirt.

Tommy is eleven, Tommy is fifteen, Tommy is twenty-three, Tommy is thirty-one, Tommy is thirty-seven, Tommy is forty-one, Tommy is five

This whole thing carved out a space between my intercostals. God, what a way to give us a glimpse of an entire life lived so far, and though each age was limited to only a sentence it was so easy to see how each shaped Tommy into the man he is today. Speedrunning memoirs, baybeeeee!

“I don’t want you to slow down,” Tommy tells him, and finally, finally, the weight that has settled into the floor, rooted him in place, seems to ease. “I just wanna catch up to where we’ve already marked the finish line.” Evan scoffs. “Weren’t you listening? There — there’s no finish line.”

This whole story was undeniable proof that the pen really is mightier than the sword, because a sword can only kill you once. This fic killed me like 6 times.

Absolutely phenomenal, 29/10, no notes

want you more than a melody | bucktommy 1/1

For @rcmclachlan whose humor cures fevers and who eagerly encourages me poking at the insides of Tommy's brain

“What are you looking for?” Tommy asks, and doesn’t linger at all on how at home Evan looks, just rifling through his things. He’d caught him sorting Tommy’s mail, last weekend, nothing overly curious, just piles of junk mail sorted away from the bills and the single postcard from his nephew, fingers drifting over the stocky block letters of Tommy’s name before he realized he’d been caught out, lips squeezing in like a kid tasting his first lemon. “The key to your china cabinet,” Evan tells him, still sorting, keys chiming merrily against each other. “Second drawer to the left of the fridge, little brass thing. It’s where I keep my ring cutter,” Tommy tells him, expanding heart and weak joints and all, as Evan grins at the joke and stalks halfway across the room in two wide, long-legged steps.

read on ao3

“Evan,” Tommy says, eyeing the bouquet in Evan’s hand and the grin on his face. “These are unnecessary,” he tells him, even as he’s reaching for them, wrapped up in brown paper and tied with twine to keep the stems in place. He curls his pinkie over Evan’s fingers just to watch him bite his lip and duck his head to hide the blush.

“I saw them and they made me think of you,” Evan says, without a hint of a flirt, sunflowers and baby’s breath and black susans all pouring loose from the bundle as Tommy shifts his weight to let Even through his door.

And Tommy is... Tommy is the dull edge of a blade, blunting itself over the years so that it can’t open skin by accident when it lashes out. Tommy is the sprinkle of rain after a storm has washed away the shoreline. Tommy is the weed that grows through the cracks in the pavement no matter how many times it’s sprayed and plucked.

No one has ever seen a flower facing towards the sun, reaching, grasping, drinking in the sunlight, gorging itself until it’s stalk barely holds its head up, and thought of Tommy.

Tommy takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to the swirl of Evan’s cheekbone.

He once again reminds himself, as Evan shucks off his shoes and wanders off towards the kitchen without so much as a backward glance, that this is new. New territory for Evan, a new way of dating for Tommy, everything is new new new and bright: splashes of light cutting through the trees, dappling across his face in flashes, twenty miles over the speed limit on his way out of dodge. New, in that he’s been on ten solid dates with the man, never mind the way they keep inviting each other over for quiet nights in four, five times a week. New, in the way he still doesn’t know Evan’s favorite color but he knows the way he sounds when Tommy angles just right and hits that spot deep inside, a broken little noise that Tommy has swallowed with his tongue just to see if it tastes as good as it sounds. New, in that Evan can navigate his kitchen with ease, but he’s still learning the planes of Tommy’s skin beneath his tongue.

Evan is rattling through the keys hooked next to the garage door when Tommy clears the hallway with his bouquet in hand. “What are you looking for?” Tommy asks, and doesn’t linger at all on how at home Evan looks, just rifling through his things. He’d caught him sorting Tommy’s mail, last weekend, nothing overly curious, just piles of junk mail sorted away from the bills and the single postcard from his nephew, fingers drifting over the stocky block letters of Tommy’s name before he realized he’d been caught out, lips squeezing in like a kid tasting his first lemon.

“The key to your china cabinet,” Evan tells him, still sorting, keys chiming merrily against each other.

“Second drawer to the left of the fridge, little brass thing. It’s where I keep my ring cutter,” Tommy tells him, expanding heart and weak joints and all, as Evan grins at the joke and clears half the kitchen in two wide, long-legged steps.

“You’d be glad I had it, in a pinch,” Evan tells him, tongue pressed to the backs of his teeth as he pulls open the drawer and finds the key.

“The pinching is what concerns me.”

Evan is... adventurous. He’s only seen flashes of it, really — kinks laid out in cagey flirtations, implications of the things he’s never tried before, and the many, many things he has, and Tommy isn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s certainly finding himself open to trying a lot more things than he’d ever considered, every time Evan hints at them.

Evan returns from his journey into the dining room with one of his grandmothers glass vases in his hands, cradled carefully, even though Tommy is fairly certain it had cost her two dollars at an estate sale the year before she passed. It’s the only bright one in the bunch, yellow browning a bit with age but still brighter than all the subdued jars and knick-knacks that fill the rest of the cabinet. He’s got it in the sink, a sponge already in his hand swiping away accumulated dust from the crevices while he runs water over it, and before Tommy has really made it past the feeling bubbling under his skin that he’s never going to catch lightning in a bottle like this again, he’s presenting a vase filled halfway with water, the packet he’s apparently had in his back pocket since he saw the bouquet in Trader Joe’s already dumped in to preserve the flowers.

Tommy almost doesn’t want to hand them over, when Evan reaches for them. He does, and doesn’t make a noise even though he sort of wants to hold on to them for an eternity, regardless of whether or not that leaves his hands unavailable for other things.

“Are we —?” Tommy feels all of five, all of the sudden, half a question escaping his lips before he can stop himself, not enough sharp, bitter words cutting across his curiosity to silence him, quite yet.

Evan looks up from rearranging two stems with the precision of an engineer. No. He knows too many engineers. This is the work of a particularly skilled sculptor taking the measure of a block of stone before taking a tool to it.

Tommy leans forward and presses both hands to his kitchen island and sinks all of his weight into those anchor points. “Sometimes I’m worried we’re moving too fast,” he admits, the breath leaving him in a whoosh at the confession. Evan blinks. Stares down at the flowers, the twine already tossed in the trash can, the bouquet already stretched out across the other side of the island where Evan is remaking his gift into something Tommy will see every day for weeks when he gets home after a long day.

“Do you... not like the flowers?” Evan looks — lost. Concerned. A little wounded, and Tommy had known the moment he opened his mouth that that was a possibility but the concern on his part runs deep enough to wear at the grooves under his skin that tell him he’s not meant for something like this.

“I love the flowers. They’re perfect. You’re perfect. I love —.” Tommy grimaces. Ten dates. Ten dozen kisses. Two — no three meet-the-family events. A grand total of just a few months, where they’ve barely given themselves time to breathe, to spend a night apart where one of them isn’t kipping in a bunk at their respective stations. “I’ve been trying to find a single thing I don’t love about you for as long as I’ve known you.”

Evan snorts, his grin a little stunted, now, trying to hide the way his breathing isn’t quite as even as it usually is with Tommy right there in the room with him. “There’s plenty of things. Ask anyone. I’m - I’m needy, and I’m a perfectionist, and a real terror with a clipboard, according to everyone who’s ever known me. I — I jump into things, headfirst, and I don’t think about where I’m going until I’m too far out to turn back.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Tommy presses, feeling like he’d rather his bones went supernova and steamed him from the inside out than hear the answer to that question.

Evan looks upset, unsure, for half a second before something settles in his expression. “I’m not doing that. Not — I’m not doing that with you. I — you said set the pace. And this is... I want this. I want this with you. Are you — are you with me on that?”

Tommy swallows. He’s always been — there’s always been a reason, before now, to settle in at a slower pace. Something sedate, something smart, something that doesn’t make Tommy feel like he’s leaking out all the shit from his past that’s always tempered him, before.

When Tommy was eleven, he’d spent an afternoon wandering the culvert behind his parents trailer, rooting through weeds and swampy little pockets of silt, uprooting dandelions and chickweed, yarrow and Queen Anne’s lace, chickory and henbit until his hands were stained green and his jeans were caked in mud. He’d sat on an overturned bucket along the fence line with a pair of his moms good scissors and snipped the ends off his flowers until he had a nice, clean bundle to bring to his mother.

His dad’d smacked him upside the head when he tumbled in through the front door, rattling something loose inside Tommy that he’s not sure he ever recovered, and then he’d taken the bouquet and dumped it out back by the burn can before his ma ever got home.

“I’m with you,” Tommy says, and blinks with watery eyes. “I just want to make sure I’m not taking this somewhere in my mind you weren’t planning on leading me to.”

Tommy is aware that what Evan has spent the last five or so years looking for isn’t just a fuller understanding of his sexuality. He is aware that within that time frame he’s been looking for more than just a label. Abstractly, Tommy is aware that Evan had fully understood the ramifications of inviting Tommy to his sisters wedding with half a failed date under their belts. No matter what he’d implied to Hen and Karen, all those weeks ago, a medal around his neck and a decently large piece of cake in his hand just in case Evan caved to the temptation and wanted a bite of his own, the pace Evan has set has been brutal not just in his seemingly insatiable libido. He wants to talk, constantly, about dumb shit that happened throughout the day, and interesting facts he’s discovered on his way down a research hole, he wants to talk about their deepest fears and darkest desires and the most vanilla thing Tommy loves during sex, he wants to talk about their families and their friends and the strangers they saw in the park on their after-dinner walk.

The problem with talking so much is that it has given Tommy ample fuel to feed the little fire inside his chest that Tommy has been offering a single log at a time over struggling coals for a few decades, and it’s burning through kindling rapidly now.

Evan seems to decipher something in Tommy’s expression. He rounds the edge of the island, curves a hand over one of Tommy’s, where he still has half of his weight pressed in. The other hand he raises towards Tommy’s face, pinky extended. “We get one too-much-too-soon a day, right?” Evan asks, because — God this is not the first conversation they’ve had where one of them has spiraled, a bit.

Tommy nods, shifting his weight so that he’s not digging his palm into the countertop with a couple hundred pounds of pressure when he raises his own hand to link their pinkies.

“I’m cashing in on the whole week,” Evan tells him, and Tommy’s breath stutters on the exhale.

“Last week, or the coming week, because you’ve definitely already used at least three.”

Evan scowls. “Put me in the red in your books, if you have to.”

Tommy uses his pinky to tug at Evan’s.

“I’m — you know I’m still figuring things out. There’s — there’s a lot of context I was missing for a really long time that I’m trying to — but the point is that I’m not... every single thing I do and say to you is on purpose. When I tell you I wanna spend the whole weekend with you and I’m a little jealous that you’ve already planned something with Eddie in the middle, I — I mean I want to spend my free time with you. When I text you at random hours of the night about the history of circumcision I’m only thinking about your dick a little bit, I’m mostly just... thinking about you, and wanting to talk to you even if you won’t see it until you wake up. When I buy you flowers I’m — I’m thinking about which vase in your grandma’s china cabinet they’re gonna look best in, and I’m — I’m thinking about the fact that you never stop me from snooping in your cabinets and letting me feel like I belong here. When I talk to you about my parents I’m not needling you for information on yours, I’m just — I just want you to know every stupid thing about me that I’m still worried might be too much.”

“It’s not,” Tommy murmurs, and watches the way Evan’s Adams apple bobs when he swallows.

“I know we — I know there’s still a whole lot of things we don’t know about each other. I know. I know that we both have trauma we haven’t hashed out, and — and we haven’t even really fought, so I don’t know if you’re a yeller or if you’re just gonna give me the silent treatment for a week until you feel like you’re ready to talk. I just know...” The pressure on his little finger squeezes tight. “I just know I wanna figure it all out with you.”

Tommy is eleven, nursing the sting of his father rapping his knuckles across his forehead and tossing the fist of weeds next to the burn can. Tommy is fifteen, staring at the star quarterback chugging a beer in the firelight reflecting off the water at the bottom of the quarry. Tommy is twenty-three and staring at the empty bunk beside his while his fellow soldiers murmur about a dishonorable discharge. Tommy is thirty-one, wishing Sal wouldn’t be so obvious about his disdain for whatever latest bullshit Gerrard is spewing. Tommy is thirty-seven and holding a mans hand in a crowded room and no one is looking, no one cares.

Tommy is forty-one and shaking the hand of a man who doesn’t seem to know how to introduce himself, eyes darting across Tommy’s face like he’s seeing something he wasn’t aware he was looking for.

Tommy is five, his mothers soft voice bleeding into the space between his fathers friends smashing bottles against the fence line out back, and her hand is in his hair and her eyes are sparkling and dark in the dusky light hitting her at an angle through the window.

“All of it?” Tommy asks, just to be sure. Evan ducks his head to catch Tommy’s gaze.

“Every last bit. Also, if I need to slow down, you — you gotta tell me.”

“I don’t want you to slow down,” Tommy tells him, and finally, finally, the weight that has settled into the floor, rooted him in place, seems to ease. “I just wanna catch up to where we’ve already marked the finish line.”

Evan scoffs. “Weren’t you listening? There — there’s no finish line.”

Tommy is forty-one, and there is a bouquet of bright, loud flowers that remind someone of him splashed across his kitchen island, and a beautiful man doing an absolutely terrible job at pretending they’re not both gliding their littlest fingers over the adjacent digit.

“Too-much-too-soon?” Tommy asks, ready to cash in his own, and Evan grins.

[panzerkatzee]

NaNoWriMo Journal Day VI

Soooo new day, new me…

At least, that's what I had to tell myself, when falling asleep last night. There was a mean thought spiral wanting to drag me down… but it kinda worked. I am feeling better again after waking up. So that's nice~

After the tub, I didn't write too much, which isn't really surprising. Hot baths tend to take my energy, yet they are important for me to relax and loosen my too tight muslcles.

Todays To-Do list, will be some house cleaning, to cut down on my efforts during editing. But luckily thanks to two insanely productive two days behind me, I don't have to hit a super high word goal any more~

But First… Daily Challenge. After writing a lot of dialogue yesterday, which is usually the part I feel almost as uncomfortable with as with action scenes, I decided, to go for some action again~ This time a chase ;)

Four hours later…

I am a bit drained, managed to write 1757 words today… but I wasn't expecting stellar numbers. My mind is a bit preoccupied and I stumbled a lot, when I had to research stuff, which tore me out of the flow… sighs

Soo… time for a break… good thing is, I still hit my daily goal, which has sunk to a bit below 1100 words a day… so I am confident, I will last through this challenge and definitely hit the 50.000 words within a month…

What I am more worried about, is that I won't be able to wrap the story up nice an neat in that amount of writing… so it's very likely I will surpass this number while working on the project…

The goal, in the end, is to write a book, that can stand on its own, to increase the chances of actually getting a book deal… but we'll see… For now, I wanna continue writing and fleshing out this story..

I forgot to post this yesterday….which is why I do this now… had a huge dip in motivation last night and drew a bit on a picture for a friend..

Sooo Song of the Day (yesterday) Taylor Swift - …Ready for it?

Why is it on the playlist? First and foremost… it has an ellipsis… And I personally love to use the … interchangeable with a comma too just place emphasis. Also the aesthetic of the music video is just EVERYTHING… I mean the cgi is a biiit cringe by now. Still when it came out it hit me with the weight of a freight train, because the way captured Taylor is swirled by all the lights at one point… I sweat that's an image I daydreamt of for at least a year or so before the video came out… and it is also a huge part of what inspired me to write sci fi in the first place… So yeah… Taylor Swift… she's awesome!

Pic by TheMotionStudios

Rika realised she was fucked, apporximately two seconds later. One second after the womans eyes had locked on her, half a second after she had recognised the Japanese dragon tattooed to the left side of her face, winding down from her forehead over the cheek and scar. She didn't even look for the eyes mods, indicated by inset power lines powerlines across the cheekbones, she admired at the bar. Nope, she just turned and ran. Legs pumping beneath her, skirts pulled up so they wouldn't tangle up and trip her. Pushing aside hapless pedestrians and evading automatic rickshaws, the redhead wound her way back through the crowded Kyoto streets, hoping to escape the pursuing enforcer. She hadn't even seen the enhance body move or make any sign of pursuit. But the prickling in her neck, the second wave of irritated shouts behind her, was indication enough. At a crossing, Rika took a sharp turn left, already feeling the burn of exhaustion creep down her legs and up into her chest. Her throat and lungs burned like fire and she could feel a metallic taste on her tongue. The fear kept her going, running, escaping. No telling what would happen, if she caught up. Maybe she'd be just shot, or pushed down somewhere, making it seem like an accident. She had seen something not for her eyes. And even if she wasn't going to say anything, all kids growing up around these parts of Nihon knew, the Shogunate wasn't trifled with. The fear of disappearing, of vanishing into the jaws of the dragon, of the world turning on, like she had never even existed in the first place, it let her push trough the pain, let her run, even in an unpractical gown, not minding the delicate hairstyle and the insanely expensive adornments, of which half had already been lost to the chase. Only when she recognised the street she was on, the familiar sign of Kamara's tea parlour, she allowed herself to slow. Enough to not crash right into the counter, when she bounded inside and evade the older woman in the process of serving tea to a group of customers, but not enough to pause and explain. "Rika? What th-" But Rika couldn't explain, she didn't even hear the last of the sentence, instead rushed on, up the narrow stairs, through the bedroom and out the narrow balcony door. Only when reaching the roof, hidden on the slope towards the backyard, she allowed herself to stop, lying down, feeling like her lungs had been exised with a blunt spoon.