#this is just 1 possible view in a myriad of views

[theotherrichardpapen]

okay, so anyone who knows me knows well enough by now that i'm more than willing to talk your ear off regarding the relationships both Nigel and Alex have with their fathers. however i've been more or less avoiding taking too much of a deep-dive into the relationship between Nigel and Helen (largely because 1. it means addressing the events at the end of the film which are, less than savoury, shall we say; and 2. because i'm still a firm believer that Greg only threw that ending in there because he needed to drum up some sort of conflict between Nigel and Alex that led to their final confrontation - essentially standing drunk in front of a dart board - and that in terms of narrative, Nigel should have been Alex's maraclea in the end. but i digress). my parents may have raised an idiot but they sure didn't raise a quitter so here i go anyway

moving on from those two issues, the thing that had always bothered me in the beginning was the fact the film has Nigel claim Helen as his maraclea, a title which carries with it an implication of love. and that is a crucial point here; a huge part of the myth rests upon the fact that the girl was loved by the great lord. and we know how important that story is to Nigel! it forms a crucial part of his belief system; it underpins his entire worldview. he wouldn't just hand out that title to anyone who he bore no emotional attachment to, or else it would lose all significance. So Nigel must love his mother in some form or another (whether it be familial or something more; there's enough in the film to imply something else may have been going on between the two but that's up to individual interpretations). how then, if he loves Helen so much, could he be willing to orchestrate her death at the hands of his father?

the answer to that question essentially boiled down to the fact that Nigel simply does not view death the way other people do. It's not a finality to him. Nigel very much so sees death as transformative - what is dead may never die, only through death can one achieve immortality. You can see it with his interest in taxidermy, the idea that something can be preserved forever, and with Alex's admission that Nigel 'got what he wanted' (i.e. eternity) only by taking his own life.

So you have this notion developing that in a way, Nigel sees this as the highest honor he can bestow upon his mother; the greatest gift he can give her. Through death, she'll live forever, and she'll become a part of something much bigger than either of them. A part of something more important to Nigel than anything else.

[dare-to-dm]

One thing that bothers me and always has is how much work there is to do that simply isn't being done. Not because there's no one to do it, but because no one wants to pay for it.

Everywhere I go I see understaffed work forces and messes that no one has time to clean. I go to a store with a dozen checkout counters, but only 1 cashier. Every business I call, I always get put on hold. I just made an appointment with one of the few doctors accepting new patients in my city and their soonest availability is 8 months out. Every road has potholes. Every classroom and daycare center is crowded with too many kids and not enough teachers and care staff.

When I was young, I viewed this as a challenge of administration. I would daydream about a system that would collect information about work needing to be done and automatically provide matching services to people able to do it. Not for specific kinds of jobs, but for anything. And honestly, this is something I think is basically possible with our technological advancements.

But now I know that the problem is actually one of profitability. There are plenty of people who could be doing this work, but if it's a private business, they're trying to keep staffing costs as low as possible. And if it's a public institution, they're generally trying to squeeze as much as they can out of their budgets, but it's very much limited by how much taxes are coming in from the community.

I know lots of people who want to work, but can't for a myriad of reasons. Disabled people, people working to raise kids or care for their elders, teenagers, people without access to reliable transportation, etc. I think ideally a lot more people would be working, but they would be working less. If you could work for less than 40 hours a week and still have access to reliable healthcare and other basic needs met, that would open up employment for so many people. And that would then lighten the load for everyone.

[bloggingboutburgers]

Something that really ought to be said more... it's ok not to understand. To never understand even. (In the case of the reblog, understanding sex / peoples' fixation on both it and romance, but it can apply to anything.)

People can give all myriad of reasons they do or like something, but that doesn't have to change your mind about how you personally engage with it.

I think the only case where understanding matters is insofar having a greater understanding helps limit how much people hate something out of ignorance, but that isn't foolproof (people can understand and still double down, which I've seen happen a lot towards every hated group under the sun).

Aspec or not, your cultural upbringing and how you physically perceive intimacy of all kinds is going to affect both if you enjoy it and how you understand it.

For many, sex and romance isn't an important goal but a thing that just happens. The uniquity of it with "life" is worth questioning, especially in cases where people feel pressured to perform and participate in sex and romance. But for many it isn't something they plan for at all. They may include it in fanfiction or fanart (and yeah it absolutely is prevalent in that space the same way edgy ms paint furry art was prevalent in the early 2010s) but that inclusion is not a message to onlookers that they must themselves aspire to a relationship like the one depicted.

Thank you so much for this, it feels sincerely validating and... Yeah, like you said, it ought to be said more.

I gotta admit it's hard sometimes not to want to understand, when (as an aro/ace person, that is) you're pretty much incentivized to do so at every turn. Even if you're lucky enough to not have been treated as a prudish freak for expressing you're aro or ace, and finger-pointed with a "You should try to understand people's point of view better" (sic: very few people try to do the same for you)... Society is portrayed as just working that way, putting romance and sex as #1 priority is portrayed as "the normal thing to do", and in my own experience and a fair amount of aros and aces around me, it seems, it's not just "included" in fanfiction or fanart, it's... Aggressively prevalent. Like, 95% to be generous, possibly more. And it's not just fanwork either. Fiction and art in general are loaded with it. So... Yeah, it's kinda hard sometimes NOT to take all of this as a message that this is what we should aspire to and the way we are isn't valid.

But then even if you're lucky enough, like I am, to FEEL valid despite all that, it's still... Lonely. I wanna understand because some days, a lot of days, it seems it's the only thing people actually connect over, and even if I'll never feel the appeal, I wanna understand the logic behind it, at least that much, so I'm not made to feel like such an alien for wanting to focus on other things. I wanna know the reasons.

Another more personal thing is that when I was growing up as an aro-ace, before I figured myself out, I thought everyone else was blowing things out of proportion to an abnormal degree without realizing I was the "abnormal" one, and that lead me to see breakups with a very "well, duh, that's what people do, they break up" outlook and not understanding the devastation behind it. I've gotten better at it, but there's still a lot I just find myself smiling and nodding to without really getting it, and that hurt too, to a degree. I feel cold to my friends and to other people.

I know I shouldn't, because I am who I am and I don't love them any less or am any more unfeeling than them, and I know I guess I shouldn't feel too guilty for not understanding allo people because allo people in general, exceptions aside, will make little to no effort to understand me back, but... Yeah, it's hard not to, a lot of the time. So being told it's OK is definitely valuable and a relief, even if it won't make that feeling go away in me, it's still a relief. Thank you.

[mywitchyblog]

Interviewing Hekate About Reality Shifting Part 2

The Awaited second part of the interview with hekate abour shifting i will ask her 6 Questions regarding Shifting.

The third part will be done by you ! As in, you ask her questions (in the comments of this post) and i will select 5 to 8 of yours to ask her !

To Celebrate my 300 followers i offer for the next two weeks 50% off on all my readings so the price written on the post divide it by 2 and you have the price you will have to pay to purchase them.

Booking me :

Masterlist :

Part 1 of the Interview :

The Interview :

"Hekate, what advice do you have for someone who is new to the practice of reality shifting?" (page of cups reversed, knight of cups, strength reversed)

"Ah, newcomers to reality shifting. They often arrive with hearts full of excitement but must navigate some challenges. Let me share some insights for those just beginning this journey.

First, be prepared for some initial emotional turbulence. As a beginner, you might find your feelings about shifting are somewhat immature or unrealistic. There's often a tendency to romanticize the process or expect immediate, dramatic results. It's important to temper these expectations and approach shifting with a more grounded perspective.

That said, don't let this dampen your enthusiasm entirely. Embrace the idealism and passion you bring to this practice. Like a knight embarking on a quest, allow your imagination and sense of adventure to guide you. This emotional engagement is a powerful tool in shifting, so nurture it, but balance it with realism.

Now, here's a crucial point: don't be discouraged if you feel you lack the inner strength or confidence at first. Many newcomers struggle with self-doubt or fear. This is normal. Reality shifting can be intimidating, and it's okay to feel vulnerable or uncertain.

My advice? Start small. Don't push yourself too hard too fast. Begin with simple visualization exercises or meditation practices to build your mental focus. Be patient with yourself and celebrate small victories.

Also, seek support from experienced shifters or supportive communities. Their guidance can be invaluable, especially when you're feeling unsure.

Remember, shifting is as much about the journey as it is about the destination. Embrace the learning process, be kind to yourself when facing obstacles, and allow your passion to fuel your progress.

Lastly, trust in your own unique path. Everyone's experience with shifting is different. What works for others may not work for you, and that's perfectly fine. Stay open, stay curious, and most importantly, enjoy the journey of discovery that lies ahead."

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"Hekate, how does one's belief system influence their ability to shift realities?" (lovers reversed, hanged man, seven of cups reversed, queen of cups reversed)

"Ah, the interplay between belief and shifting… it's a complex dance, filled with both challenges and profound insights.

First, understand that conflicting beliefs can significantly hinder one's ability to shift. Many find themselves torn between their desire to shift and their ingrained beliefs about what's possible or 'real'. This internal conflict can create a formidable barrier.

However, here's where it gets interesting: sometimes, the key to breakthrough lies in suspending your current belief system entirely. Like the Hanged Man, you must be willing to view the world from a completely different perspective. This isn't about replacing one rigid belief with another, but about cultivating a state of openness and surrender.

Now, it's crucial to address the role of fantasies and illusions in this process. A strong belief system can help ground you, preventing you from getting lost in unrealistic expectations or scattered visions of what shifting should be. It's about finding clarity amidst the myriad possibilities.

But be cautious. There's a risk of becoming emotionally detached or overly analytical about the whole process. Your beliefs shouldn't create an emotional barrier between you and the experience of shifting. Remember, shifting often involves deeply personal, emotional journeys.

So, how do you navigate this? Start by examining your core beliefs about reality, consciousness, and possibility. Be honest with yourself about what you truly believe, not just what you want to believe. Then, practice flexibility in your thinking. Cultivate a belief system that allows for expansion and new experiences, rather than one that limits you.

Importantly, understand that belief is not just intellectual assent. It's a deep, often subconscious acceptance that permeates your entire being. Work on aligning your conscious thoughts, subconscious beliefs, and emotional responses.

Ultimately, the most conducive belief system for shifting is one that acknowledges the vastness of possibility while remaining grounded in personal truth. It's a delicate balance of openness, discernment, and trust in your own experience.

Remember, shifting isn't about forcing yourself to believe something. It's about expanding your understanding of what's possible and allowing yourself to explore beyond the boundaries of your current perception."

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"Hekate, what are the most common challenges people face when attempting to shift realities?" (three of wands, page of cups reversed, ace of swords reversed)

"Ah, the challenges of reality shifting. It's a journey filled with both promise and pitfalls. Let me illuminate some of the most common obstacles seekers encounter.

First and foremost, many approach shifting with grand expectations and eagerness for immediate results. Like an adventurer gazing at distant horizons, they're filled with anticipation. This enthusiasm is beautiful, but it can also be a double-edged sword. The excitement often leads to impatience, causing frustration when results don't manifest as quickly as hoped.

Another significant challenge lies in the emotional realm. Many, especially those new to shifting, struggle with immature or unrealistic emotional responses to the process. They might become easily discouraged, overly attached to specific outcomes, or have difficulty processing the intense emotions that can arise during shifting attempts. It's like a young artist facing their first critique - the emotional vulnerability can be overwhelming.

Perhaps one of the most pervasive challenges is mental clarity, or rather, the lack thereof. Many find it difficult to maintain a clear, focused mindset during their attempts. Doubts creep in, clouding their thoughts. They might struggle to visualize their desired reality clearly or battle with intrusive thoughts that undermine their efforts. It's as if they're trying to cut through a fog with a dull blade - the intention is there, but the execution is hindered.

Additionally, many face the challenge of integrating their shifting experiences with their everyday lives. They might have difficulty reconciling what they experience during shifts with their normal reality, leading to confusion or cognitive dissonance.

Lastly, there's the challenge of consistency and persistence. Shifting often requires regular practice and unwavering commitment, even in the face of seeming failure. Many give up too soon, not realizing that progress in shifting can be subtle and cumulative.

To overcome these challenges, I advise cultivating patience, emotional maturity, and mental discipline. Approach shifting as a long-term journey of self-discovery rather than a quick fix. Work on developing a clear, focused mind through meditation or other mindfulness practices. And above all, be gentle with yourself. Every attempt, every 'failure', is a step forward in your understanding and ability.

Remember, the path of shifting is as much about personal growth as it is about experiencing alternate realities. Embrace the challenges as opportunities for deeper self-knowledge and spiritual development."

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"Hekate, what role does intention play in successful reality shifting?" (three of wands reversed, seven of pentacles, page of pentacles reversed)

"Intention in reality shifting… ah, it's a crucial element, but its role might surprise you.

First, let's address a common misconception. Many believe that strong intention alone is enough to propel them into their desired reality. They set their sights on a distant goal, expecting their sheer will to make it happen. However, this approach often leads to frustration and disappointment. Intention is important, yes, but it's not a magic wand.

The true power of intention in shifting lies in its ability to guide your focus and efforts over time. Think of it like tending a garden. You plant the seeds of your intention, but then comes the patient work of nurturing and waiting. Results don't manifest overnight, but with consistent care and attention, your efforts will bear fruit.

Now, here's where many stumble: they approach intention with an immature or unrealistic mindset. They might set intentions that are too vague, too grandiose, or disconnected from their true desires. It's like a novice gardener dreaming of an instant orchard without understanding the intricacies of cultivation.

So, how can you harness intention effectively for shifting?

Start by grounding your intentions in reality. Be specific about what you want to experience, but also be open to how it might manifest. Your intention should be a guiding star, not a rigid demand.

Next, align your actions with your intentions. Shifting isn't just about what you want, but about who you become in the process. Let your intention influence your daily choices and habits. This alignment creates a powerful resonance that supports your shifting practice.

Also, be patient and observant. Like a farmer watching for the first sprouts, pay attention to subtle changes and small successes. These are signs that your intention is taking root.

Remember, the most powerful intentions come from a place of inner knowing and authenticity. They're not about escaping your current reality, but about expanding into new possibilities.

Lastly, hold your intentions with a balance of focus and flexibility. Be clear about what you want, but open to how the universe might deliver it. Sometimes, the reality you shift to might not look exactly as you imagined, but it could be exactly what you need.

In essence, intention in shifting is like a compass on a journey. It points the way, but you still need to walk the path. Use it to guide your efforts, maintain your focus, and stay connected to your deepest desires. With time and practice, you'll find that your ability to shift realities grows alongside your skill in setting and holding powerful intentions."

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"Hekate, how can someone prepare themselves mentally and spiritually for reality shifting?" (five of pentacles reversed, page of pentacles, queen of wands reversed)

"Preparing oneself for reality shifting is a journey of both inner and outer work. Let me share some insights on this process.

Firstly, it's crucial to address any lingering feelings of lack or unworthiness. Many approach shifting from a place of desperation, feeling that their current reality is somehow insufficient. This mindset can be a significant obstacle. Instead, work on healing these wounds and recognizing the abundance already present in your life. This shift in perspective can open doors you didn't even know existed.

Now, here's an interesting aspect: while you're working on your inner state, it's equally important to engage in practical, grounded learning about shifting. Approach it with the curiosity and openness of a student. Read, research, and practice basic techniques. This combination of inner healing and outer learning creates a solid foundation for your shifting journey.

However, be cautious of falling into the trap of overconfidence or impatience. Many, especially those with a naturally bold or fiery temperament, might rush into advanced techniques before they're ready. This can lead to frustration or burnout. Remember, preparation is a process, not a race.

So, how can you effectively prepare?

Start with self-reflection. Understand your motivations for shifting. Are they coming from a place of curiosity and growth, or from a desire to escape? Addressing this can help align your intentions more powerfully.

Practice mindfulness and meditation. These skills are invaluable in shifting, as they help you maintain focus and awareness during the process.

Work on your visualization skills. Start with simple exercises and gradually build up to more complex scenarios. This trains your mind to hold and manipulate detailed images, which is crucial in shifting.

Explore energy work or other spiritual practices that resonate with you. This can help you become more attuned to subtle energies and states of consciousness.

Cultivate a balanced lifestyle. A healthy body and mind create a more conducive environment for shifting. This includes proper sleep, nutrition, and stress management.

Build a supportive community or find a mentor. Having others to share experiences with can provide encouragement and valuable insights.

Lastly, cultivate patience and self-compassion. Preparation is an ongoing process, and everyone's journey is unique. Celebrate small progress and be kind to yourself during challenges.

Remember, preparing for shifting is as much about personal growth as it is about achieving a specific goal. Embrace the journey of self-discovery that comes with it. As you prepare, you may find that you're not just getting ready to shift realities – you're already shifting your current reality in profound ways."

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"Hekate, can people shift to any reality they desire, or are there limitations?" (ten of swords reversed, seven of swords, four of wands)

"Ah, the boundaries of shifting… it's a topic that sparks much debate and contemplation. Let me share some insights on this complex matter.

First, it's important to understand that the concept of 'limitation' in shifting isn't as clear-cut as many might think. There's a tendency to believe that all limitations are simply mental constructs that can be overcome with enough will or skill. While there's some truth to this, it's not the whole picture.

The good news is that many perceived limitations are indeed self-imposed. Often, what holds people back isn't an actual barrier, but their own fears, doubts, or subconscious beliefs. Recognizing and working through these internal obstacles can significantly expand one's shifting capabilities.

However, here's where it gets tricky: there's an element of unpredictability and mystery in the shifting process. Sometimes, the realities we access aren't exactly what we intended or expected. It's as if there's a hidden hand guiding the process, leading us to realities that may be more aligned with our deeper needs or overall growth, rather than our surface desires.

This doesn't mean deception or failure, though. In fact, many shifters find joy and fulfillment in realities they hadn't initially aimed for. It's like planning a journey to a specific destination but discovering an even more beautiful place along the way.

So, can people shift to any reality they desire? In theory, the possibilities are vast, perhaps limitless. But in practice, it's more nuanced. Your ability to shift is influenced by various factors: your belief systems, your energetic alignment, your spiritual development, and even factors we might not fully understand yet.

My advice? Approach shifting with an open mind and heart. Set your intentions for the realities you wish to experience, but also remain open to unexpected possibilities. Sometimes, the universe (or your higher self) might have plans that surpass your current understanding or desires.

Remember, the joy of shifting isn't just in reaching a specific reality, but in the growth and discoveries you make along the way. Each attempt, each experience, contributes to your overall journey.

Ultimately, while the potential for shifting seems boundless, it's wise to approach it with a balance of ambition and humility. Push your boundaries, explore new possibilities, but also respect the mystery and wisdom inherent in the process. The most rewarding shifts often come when we're open to both our desires and the greater flow of existence."

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[backjustforberena]

I'm so tired of people criticizing Rhaenys just because they can't grasp a nuanced conversation. I keep rolling my eyes when they bring up Jaehaerys or Luke taking Aemond's eye—it wasn't that hard to understand her point.

By the way, I'd like to know your opinion on Corlys when he said, "then we must hope to see our way forward in time." Some people think he was hinting at having a son, especially since he was holding Rhaenys's hips. However, in my opinion, he was already considering his bastards.

I'm on my mobile phone right now, so apologies for any mistakes or autocorrect mishaps that I fail to spot.

It is frustrating to see the criticism of Rhaenys but, as things have gone on, it's become fairly unsurprising to me. Sad, though. I think there are a myriad of reasons why Rhaenys as a character particularly seems to suffer from woeful interpretation from some viewers. This can range simply from her not behaving like however the watcher might have envisioned her character in the book, to having a certain negative opinion of her to be applied every time she speaks or acts, no matter what.

I think a lot is to do with Rhaenys's positioning. You need to engage with Rhaenys to fully appreciate her point of view. Her perspective is not an easy one to come by unless you make the effort to understand some fundamental truths about her. And, on screen, she is a character who is ambiguous, certainly in the first season. She is deliberately cautious and her speech reflects that.

We very rarely see her vulnerable and very rarely see her being inconsiderate of context. We have an idea of her backstory but we have not seen everything she has been through or how major events have shaped her, personally, on an emotional level. We are denied seeing unguarded responses or aftermaths.

She is frequently a vehicle for uncomfortable truths. She mainly shines in 1 vs 1 scenes, and they often include some judgement or passing of information or confrontation. When the scene partner is a favourite character or a character who has had more prominent screentime, it's very easy to discredit Rhaenys because to credit her would be to admit some flaw or ugliness about the other player. So much that I've seen is about what Rhaenys's words mean for that person or that issue rather than what it tells us about Rhaenys. What Rhaenys is thinking of considering. What her perspective is. And to also admit that an audience's perspective on something is different to Rhaenys's, either by proximity (our sense of time between things is different due to the storytelling) or by information (us being aware of things or details Rhaenys isn't - or IS, as as may be the case with various relationships and her past and her claim).

So I think a lot of hate comes from a lack of willingness to engage with what and who Rhaenys is. Rhaenys is usually, frankly, an onion.

On to your question about Rhaenys and Corlys and Corlys's intentions... He is not hinting at having a son with Rhaenys. Rhaenys is in her 50s at least and is a menopausal woman, if we take Eve Best's word for it. She is NOT having a baby. Corlys is just putting his hands on her hip for the same reason she puts her hand in his hair: they want to be close and love one another and they're also always one good reason away from having sex.

Do I think he's considering Alyn and Addam? Actually... no, I don't. Certainly NOT consciously. It's not an option right now, not with Rhaenys living and, and I cannot stress this enough, Corlys is not expecting to lose his wife. Nothing about that conversation suggests that, nor have any of their others. The possibility of HIM dying has come up. Her? No.

I think it's a general feeling of wanting to avoid the issue for the sake of peace with his wife. He just doesn't want to have the conversation. I think he is also still grappling with his own mortality, having nearly died and having had Luke die. He may simply not want to move on from that space yet. He's asking for time. He's still including her with "we", but it's a tricky conversation and not one he's up to having. Nor one that he wants to admit to have to have.

In short: dumbass is trying to deflect.

[solarsleepless]

hello all

basically, i'm going to be watching bsc episodes and listing down the autistic traits i see in kristy. i may have a bonus part for the other girls but i'm mainly going to be focusing on kristy as she is my favourite.

without further ado, let's do this

Episode 1

right off the bat we get the line "I was doing the most talking, as per usual." autistic people have a tendency to dominate conversations or to "monologue"

also, mary anne is kristy's only friend at the very beginning. most autistic people find it challenging to make any new friends, both due to any communicative issues and because they don't want to change up their routine. kristy is clearly just fine with having only mary anne as a friend, which is shown in later episodes

"it was boiling in there, like surface of venus levels hot and he just kept droning on and on" autistic people are wayyy more prone to sensory issues than most other people, and that can include temperature, especially if they start sweating, which for many people causes sensory distress. autistic people also find it hard to concentrate for a myriad of possible reasons, including filtering out information our brains deem 'irrelevant' even if they're not

"If he was such a genius, why didn't he say all people?" autistic people tend to have a strong sense of justice and a black and white view of things, having very clear ideas of what is right and wrong in their head. yes, kristy's a feminist, but her willingness to correct him without a care for manners reads as autistic to me

"except apparently, i raised my voice, and didn't raise my hand." manners, even well remembered ones like raising your hand, can sometimes be forgotten by autistic people if it's something they're passionate about: in this case, kristy's need for correction and fairness overrode that

"[the boys in the back are] wiping sweat on each other, but somehow, i'm the disruptive one" autism in AFABs is often seen as being rude or disruptive despite them often just being passionate about the subject. also, sensory issues again?

"claudia and mary anne and i used to hang out all the time. but that was before claudia decided she was more into boys and clothes than us." another example of how kristy has had very few people in life she considers friends and has stuck with them for most of her life. also, possible rejection sensitive dysphoria made kristy see it as bigger than it actually is, because they seem to be fine when they interact, like nothing happened

in the next scene, we see kristy helping david michael with a puzzle. puzzles are often enjoyed by autistic people due to being structured, logical, visual and with a clear end, all of which are treasured aspects of things for autistic people.

stimming!!! lots of stimming. when explaining her new concept which she has clearly quickly hyperfixated on, we see her pacing and fidgeting with her hands as well as gesturing. also, having a strong moral code and wanting to put in effort for kids to be happy

she seems pretty startled when stacey appears, and is a little upset when it's obvious claudia has told her about the club idea: autistic people find it hard to find their footing after their expectations of how something would go are thrown off, but kristy's new hyperfixation overrules this change of plans

even though her need to infodump and talk about this new idea made her not lose her cool, she's visibly still unsure when stacey suggests things. even afterwards, she tries to... "villainize" feels to strong a word, but tries to make reasons for why she disliked her even though it's obvious she was just taken off guard

"maybe new people weren't an invading force to be repelled at all costs" here we get to see how much kristy detests change—even when it's beneficial, she'd rather stick with one or two friends. pay special attention to the wording: "at all costs". kristy will always try and evade change

another sign of her intolerance for change is how much she just dislikes watson, even though he seems like a nice guy. she doesn't want to accept that he is going to a fixture in their lives because it will mean that her family will change a lot, at least in her view (though i will say she has a lot of abandonment issues and trauma from her dad leaving her which shifts her perception on any guy her mom dates)

also from here on out i think we can see a clear hyperfixation on business and law, judging by her attitude and comments later on about the club

this whole dinner scene just feels very autistic to me: she takes what her mother says about "feeling okay about it" very literally and bulldozes any attempt of conversation. she is not okay about the idea of her mother marrying watson and she doesn't understand the social cue of her being more gentle about it. she genuinely doesn't understand why her mom would ask about it if she, in kristy's perspective, was not going to listen to her, when kristy is the one not listening to her over a misunderstanding.

this might be more of a me thing, but kristy trying to send her mom an email to apologize just feels really autistic to me, as it resonates hard with me and what i've done in the past. i used to leave messages in google translate for my parents to apologize. idk but its worth looking at

"i'm bossy, get used to it" shows that not only is she fairly controlling, but she's also aware of this fact. i couldn't find much research on this, but many autistic people are bossy or controlling so they know what to expect and so that things go exactly to plan.

kristy's lack of tact and sense with the phone. just. that.

claudia remarks that she's starting to remember why she stopped hanging out with kristy so much—because she's controlling and "bossy". this is partially due to feeling like everything that happened with her dad was out of her control and so it intensified the shittier he became, combined with that, autistic people can tend to come off as too much. also, rejection sensitive dysphoria—stares off into the distance and doesn't talk.

autistic people tend to be very trusting of others, taking lots of what they say at face value, and struggling to comprehend why someone would lie to them. despite only knowing stacey for a short amount of time and not even completely liking her, she's devastated when it turns out stacey was lying to them.

"this whole situation has spiralled out of my control, and that's a feeling i really, really hate." same points that have been made above—absolute control over what happens when they're involved is a big thing for autistics so they know completely what's going on. add on her trauma about her absent father, and it makes sense why she acts the way she does.

more about the trust!! she trusts stacey to not only know about her hyperfixation but also to be directly involved in it—that's a really big deal for us autistics!! it means we Trust you!!

more hammering in about kristy's control issues. i'm glad i've only seen One (1) fic demonizing her for it but at the same time that's one too many

kristy being just. so blunt. i love her. "you're controlling my THOUGHTS now?" "yes." a lot of autistic people don't see any reason to not be honest most of the time.

is just. dead serious about the "i should resign before i'm impeached".

more bluntness!! "when mary anne gets scared at something you think is silly, do you make fun of her and call her a baby?" "yeah, sometimes." "oh. but you're still her best friend, right?" "yes." but also, bluntness isn't always a bad thing. kristy just casually throws in the "i love you" because she thinks it at that moment and means it, so she sees no reason not to say it because it's true.

more finding it easier to say stuff like "thank you" over text than in person, just like the "i'm sorry" earlier

additional notes:

mary anne is autistic too!! we see her stimming, though, stroking the end of her braid during her convo abt the club with stacey, kristy and claudia. also her just letting kristy speak a lot feels autistic but idk how to explain it. also, she's good with visual organization, such as keeping things orderly in a google docs and writing minutes. i feel like she'd rather her do it than anyone else, that way she can help the club and make it easier for her to concentrate on the club itself. also, stacey and even claudia, her childhood best friend, both remark that she doesn't speak a lot. she definitely isn't nonverbal, but she absolutely lets people talk over hers and seems to find it more comfortable to not speak, at least early on. i could only find stuff for nonspeaking and nonverbal autistics, but i've had several periods where it wasn't uncomfortable to speak, but i was much more comfortable not speaking, which i think might be the case for mary anne, though it could be a mark of her simply not knowing what to add.

claudia CLEARLY has adhd!! she doodles and fidgets a lot, and many adhders turn out to be artists due to their creativity and excess energy that they expel via doodling. she draws on her shoes, and the teacher remarks that she "wouldn't want another failed quiz on your average", indicating her struggle with school, which we see even more of in the coming episodes, and people with adhd tend to have poor academic perfomance, mainly for their struggle with executive dysfunction skills.

claudia also spells "prety grate" instead of "pretty great" in her email to kristy. judging by this and later scenes in the series, it's possible she has dyslexia and/or dyscalculia, which has been reported to more or less have a 25% comorbidity with adhd

janine is also pretty obviously autistic-coded; her room is very dimly lit, she hardly ever leaves it, has flat affect, doesn't pick up much on claudia's social cues, has a special interest in computer and tech and whatnot, has a very extensive vocabulary, and butts in on conversations with her advice without asking before leaving after they get what she's saying

and that's it for episode 1 !!!! tell me what you think, and i'll see you all with part 2 very soon :)

[dragonbma]

I’ve had a few questions regarding how I made custom shaker charms so here’s a basic guide. For starters, I used Vograce for my production. (There are a myriad of other custom product websites, but I only have experience with this one so that’ll be what I detail here.)

What I learned from my first shaker charm purchase:

Before you start drawing, make sure your canvas color profile is in CMYK. (If you don’t know how, I recommend Googling color profile settings for whichever drawing app you use.) In Procreate, once you create a canvas, you cannot alter its color profile. Guess who had to create an entirely new canvas and move over every. layer. for. every. trio. frame. layer. And then recolor everything. CMYK does not have as vibrant a range of colors as the typical color profile. Your designs may look slightly off-color.

Speaking of canvases, the recommended resolution for Vograce charms is at LEAST 1000x1000 pixels. I did 1360x1360 for all mine. Leave a decent portion of rim around the images as every piece of the shaker charm will have a 2mm border. Your design may be cut off if you do not leave sufficient room for the border. (For my 1300x1300 canvas, I added +30 pixels to each side before saving anything as PNGs just in case.)

Artworks Needed:

Layers/Frames: When designing shakers, you will design a front, middle, and back frame to your charm. The front layer will include a transparent section (where you see your charm inside.) The middle layer will ALWAYS have a hollow area, but does not have to be the same as layer 1. (Can have a larger/smaller hollow area depending on what you want to make.) The background can either be solid and provide an image behind where the charms shake around or have a transparent area. For Vos’ charm, the background is solid and details the cage backdrop; Romeo’s frames on the other hand, are all see-though (reflecting an actual blender.) Something to note, thick edges around hollow areas are preferred. Vograce has a short video detailing these frames. To make things as clear as possible, it’s important you add “Layer 1/2/3” to the name of the frame. (See image below)

Charm Pieces: You can have up to six charms that shake around in your keychain. These can all be different designs or the same charm duplicated multiple times. On average, the more pieces you add, the smaller they have to be to all fit and still have room to shake around.

Save each frame and charm as a separate PNG. Here’s a little peek at what made up Vos’ charm: (apologies for the messiness; it’s late here rn-)

I cannot stress enough how important a mock-up design is. These are essentially previews that show your manufacturer exactly what you want the finished product to look like. This includes a view of all the layers together, what sizes you want each charm to be, and I would recommend it be animated if possible:

Once you have your layers and charm pieces saved, it’s time to buy your shaker! In order to submit multiple images at once, you’ll want a Zip File. The way I turn my files into Zips is by saving all PNGs into a Google Drive folder (above) and then downloading the folder to my computer. (This will automatically turn it to a Zip file.) Then when you click to submit images, click the downloaded Zip File and it will link all the needed PNGs!

The minimum number of a single keychain/shaker charm order you can buy at once is 3. (You cannot just buy 1 or 2 of a design using Vograce.) If you buy more than 5 of a product at a time, Vograce will send you a proofing email you need to confirm before they start making your charms. This email is basically their way of saying “Hey, here’s what we have for your design pieces. Does everything look alright?” If yes, you can confirm the proofing and they will begin manufacturing your order. If something is wrong/ needs something tweaked, simply reply to the email with your concerns/suggestions. Some important things to keep in mind when looking at the proofing for shaker charms is the dimensions and borderlines of everything, how big the charms look in comparison to the inside of the hollow area, etc. The first time I bought stickers I forgot to check for the proofing email. DON’T FORGET TO CHECK FOR THE EMAIL. It usually comes within 2-5 days after the order.

The proofing for Vos’ keychain looked like this. It’s color-coded with the layers above for reference. ^

Things I wish I knew beforehand:

You can add an “X” on the mock-up to mark where you want the hole for the chain. Otherwise, it is assumed the chain will attach to the middle of the top.

Be sure to give your charms lots of room to shake around. I probably should have made the Sammy charms a larger area-

When choosing a charm’s size, the length will be the longest side. For the cage charm below, this was its height (3in tall.) For the map, this was its width (2.5in wide.) For whatever reason, I thought size always referred to height. It does not-

4. Somehow the map flipped, but idk how to explain that so I won’t. I am currently asking Vograce about it though- (it doesn’t really affect my design so I don’t mind)

There’s probably a LOT I forgot, but this is essentially everything I needed when I was designing my charms. Feel free to ask a Q if something sounds confusing- I hope this helped ^^

@woofmochi @planetsofmarz *places this in your hands*

[akariamai]

Back

Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Word Count: 1202

The discolored snow began to melt away, transforming into water and seeping into the Earth below, as the blossoms of spring sprouts from the dead. It was the calling of a new chapter for Jackson. Another day of surviving and wondering if the end will come shortly. The community thrived throughout the harsh winter nights till the chirping of birds awoke the land before dawn.

The hunters arrived at the gates with fresh game. A few rabbits, caught by the snares placed before the beginning of winter, still donning their winter coats, and a large deer. The rabbits would be used for a stew and the deer would be turned into jerky. You began to prep the deer before stuffing it into the freezer, where it would be kept for a minimum of 30 days (about 4 and a half weeks), killing off any potential parasite and their eggs. You made a note to steam them before placing them into your dehydrator. It was a necessary precaution.

You placed several empty barrels around your place, in attempts to capture as much rainwater as possible, for yourself and the greenhouses. Tommy, despite your persistence, decided he owed you a favor. Maria had to get it through his thick head that he owed you nothing. You were just supplying the community, Joel and Ellie, some items for their journey. It was nothing fantastical or revolutionary. You were just trying to be a good person.

Maria offered you a trade: a bag of almonds for a bag of fruit chips. You accepted the trade and thanked her. You pondered over what to do with the almonds before coming up with a decision. Almond milk and almond flour would do. You soaked the almonds in cool water and placed them in the fridge before continuing with your day.

As the sun began to set, the dimming colors faded as the darkness approached. The moon resurfacing as the sun dwindles away. The myriad of stars, shining brightly in the distance, encapsulate the night sky. The time before the outbreak diminished the beauty of the world outside of Earth. Smearing away the perfection nature had gifted so generously.

You laid down, piercing into the staggering brilliance of the starry night sky, on the top of your bus as you appreciated the little life had to offer. Unfortunately, you’ve only begun to cherish such beauty since after the outbreak had occurred. It was a regret that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Enjoying the view?” Tommy walked up towards your home. It was no surprise to anyone from Jackson that you usually stargazed on top of your bus.

“It’s breathtaking.” It was more colorful than you could ever imagine. Not as much as you would like because of the constant use of lights from Jackson but enough for you to see most of the radiance. “What are you doing here?”

Tommy never visits you at night or alone. He’s always accompanied by his wife. He laughs, “Maria finished the bag of fruit chips you traded with her. She sent me out to get another.”

He laughs, “Maria wanted more fruit chips. She finished the bag you’ve gave her and sent me to get some more. I brought a bag of strawberries. They’re fresh.” Strawberry jam or syrup sounds delicious.

“Deal.” She climbed down onto the second floor of the bus and searched for the bag of fruit chips. Once she found one, she rushed down to give it to Tommy. “Here you go. Hope Maria likes it.”

Tommy gave a grateful look, “Thank you.” Handing her the strawberries, he offered her a good night.

~~~

You didn’t think they would come back to Jackson. Joel and Ellie surprised you the next morning as you tended to your garden. You saw a glimpse of the girl walking around town with Joel strolling behind her. They were exploring, getting to know their new home, if they decided to stay permanently.

“[Reader], right?” You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at Ellie. She was standing around your garden, eyeing the plants you’ve decided to grow on your own. The sun was blaring in your face as you looked up at her.

“Good to see you again.” You sent her a smile.

“You do know there are greenhouses here.” It was more of a statement rather than a question. It sparked a genuine laugh from you.

“I’m used to doing things on my own.” You stated, “Almost reminds me of the days before the outbreak.” You loved to garden whenever the time arose. It was your coping mechanism and the food tasted divine coming straight from your garden rather than the store. Farmers markets were also expensive, so you’d rather spend your energy growing fruits, herbs and vegetables in the backyard you once owned.

“Where did you get the beef jerky?” Ellie fidgeted slightly, “I asked Maria... she just sent me to you.”

“I make them.”

“Really?”

You nodded before preparing yourself to stand up, “I was thinking of making almond milk. Would you like a cup?” It had been 24 hours since you’ve left the almonds soaking in the water. It was time to take them out.

“Almond milk?”

“Come on kid,” You gestured for her to go inside, “I’ll teach ya.” Ellie watched you clean your hands before walking towards the fridge. “You must soak them in cool water overnight and drain them afterwards. There are only two ingredients: almonds and water. Really simple.” She watched closely as you placed the almonds into the blender with several cups of water. You let the mixture blend for a minute or two before grabbing a nut milk bag. “This will make sure no pulp will get through with the milk.”

“What do you do with the pulp?” She watched you squeeze the milk out.

“You can turn it into almond flour.” Once you were done, you poured a glass of milk for her and yourself. “Enjoy.” You both took a sip out of your cups simultaneously.

“This is delicious.” Ellie exclaimed as she most likely never had milk made from almonds. “And it’s so easy to make. Never would have thought.”

“Not many people thought to make their own milk. It was too much work and most bought it in-store if they had extra money to spend.” You explained. Almond milk cost a lot and homemade milk had to be consumed fast. It didn’t last very long in the fridge.

“What else do you know how to make?” Ellie questioned. She thought of you as a reservoir of knowledge. Seeing as you’ve made milk out of water and almonds. It tasted amazing and didn’t need a cow.

“I know how to make a lot of things: jam, flour, beef jerky, dehydrated fruit chips. There’s a lot of people can make in the apocalypse. If they have the space, the environment, the know-how., and the equipment.”

“Wow.” Her eyes lit up in amazement, “Can you show me how? Or can I bring you the ingredients and we can work together?”

“I’d like that.”

“I can’t wait to tell Joel about what you showed me.” She uttered, “It’ll blow his fucking mind.”

Masterlist

[songsofbloodandwater]

Hey! 1,10 and 11 for the ask game?

Hello ! Sorry if it took me a while to answer, life got in the way 😅

1) As a witch, somebody caught between two worlds- not fully belonging to either one, what anchors you to the physical world?

It really depends on what I'm up to. Sometimes is loved ones and mundane responsibilities dragging me back to the human side. During seasons of deep growth it feels more like an ebb and flow, like sinking deep into the water and coming back out just at the right time to breathe again. Lately, it's my own craft, in it's little rituals. Admiring the golden morning light coming through the window into the altar, making tea. While I still have those deep dives every so often, my daily work is very nature and hearth focused and so part of it is appreciating both nature and the little things of day-to-day life, and what they can teach us about life.

10) Is breath or voice of particular importance?

Yes! both of them. The breath of life, and also our breath as an extension of the wind. Voice is interesting because it's a combination of that sacredness of breath-wind with music and rhythm. Our own human rhythms being a reflection of the rhythms we experience from nature and also part of Nature's bigger symphony.

11) Are paradoxes or opposing opposites important to you? I.e. Fire and Water.

Yes to opposites, but not so much as a paradox. I tend to focus on their opposite but complementary aspect. The fact that I call them Blood and Water instead of Fire and Water or Fire in Water even though it's clear to me that we're talking about similar concepts, it's perhaps the easiest way to gaze into some of the differences I perceive. Most of my ramblings about Blood and Water are somewhere deep in the tag #My Notes.

I put more focus on how the same essence can take a myriad of forms and remain true to itself, even beyond the practitioner (not only the fire of the witch, but the fire of the forge, the fire of the stars, the fire of the woods, and so forth) including all their opposing forms and opposite forces. One of the core beliefs of my tradition is how All will eventually go back to The One, and that is perceived as a good thing, at least in my case. So I study the many forces and shapes not so much to use them for individual gain but rather to understand how we're part of something bigger, and our place in it, in relation to it's other forms. It's from a place of earnest appreciation, curiosity and raw awe for all that exists.

I know not everyone understands that to be a desirable outcome, Oneness. And so I guess there's two possible ways to move about it. Follow the flow, and study it's shapes, or use the shapes to go against the current in whatever capacity you find. That's a personal choice... to a degree. It's also not a black-or-white, exclusively this-or-that choice. Any healthy practitioner will experience a combination of both, in different ways. Nature has destructive forces and always had, always will have. It's not surprising that some people choose to follow more closely that destructive path and in fact, I still view it as part of Creation. It's still an important part of the opposite shapes and forces that life can take along the way, and that are necessary for it to be experienced fully (you could say "it was all part of the plan from the start"!)

Thank you for asking, dear!

[amoebaforce]

Cat/Mouse

Part 3 of 4 (Part 1) (Part 2)

After a string of bold thefts rocks the Edenite art scene, veteran hunter Nadine picks up the bounty of a lifetime. Fifty thousand credits, just to capture the elusive thief and bring her in alive. It should be an easy job... but one look at her mark tells Nadine she might have bitten off more than she can chew. On a space station full of secret dealings, dirty money, and luxurious lies, it seems even the simplest contracts are prone to complication. tags: minor violence, mentions of death

Stepping past the security guards that flanked the auction house doors, a frowning Nadine tugged on her shirt collar for what felt like the hundredth time. Despite the beads of sweat pooling uncomfortably at the base of her spine, heat was not the issue. It wasn’t even her clothes, really. Sure, the sharply pressed, snugly cut silk-blend suit was a far cry from her normal leather jacket and jeans. But it fit well, boasted enough pockets to hide all her necessities, and, according to Xerxes, cost enough to assimilate her with all the rich people milling about. 

No, tonight Nadine had nothing to blame but her nerves. After a week of planning, colluding, and gearing, the wait was finally over. It was time to perform. Nadine steeled herself, trying not to think of all the ways that her and Xerxes’ plot could go awry. Reminding herself of all the contingencies, back-up plans, and emergency exit protocols. Her frown deepened. 

Then, as if on cue, the tiny communicator nestled in Nadine’s ear crackled to life. 

“Don’t look so constipated,” Xerxes scolded, voice tinny and thin through the line. “You’re supposed to be a dapper art collector, not a scowling brute.”

Nadine fought the urge to roll her eyes. Her boss broke through the auction house’s firewalls almost an hour ago, commandeering the cameras so he could be her eyes for the evening — and already he was abusing the privilege. A snarky reply sizzled on Nadine’s tongue, but she knew it was worse than pointless. The earpiece only worked one way. That was certainly by design; Xerxes simply loved a captive audience.

A quick upward glance showed Nadine his vantage points. One tiny surveillance camera over the door she’d entered, and a pair of larger models at the top of the lobby’s central staircase, angled for a sweeping view of the red-carpeted floor and white marble columns. With that set-up, Xerxes could scan the faces of every single guest the moment they arrived.

And boy, were the guests arriving. There must have been a hundred people in the lobby alone, hailing from a half-dozen different planets. All were dressed to the nines, covered in silks and velvets and furs, dripping finery from every place it could drip. In the last five steps, Nadine had passed a cluster of laughing Federation delegates, three different CEOs, and a pair of Edenite celebrities — not to mention the myriad socialites, collectors, and art dealers hanging around, too. And any one of them might be in cahoots with the thieves.

The bounty hunter wove her way through the crowds, dodging hors d’oeuvres-toting waiters in black tuxedos, until she reached the foot of the staircase.

“Go up, then hang a left,” Xerxes instructed. “Take the third door on the right.”

Nadine took her time climbing the steps. Rushing would only draw attention to herself, and besides, a little piece of her wanted to savor the moment. Despite all the films and stories insisting otherwise, her line of work was rarely glamorous. Most of Nadine’s time was spent reading files, researching marks, renewing certifications — and waiting. So much waiting. Waiting for things to happen, people to arrive, crimes to be committed, businesses to close or open…

Nadine couldn’t possibly tally the hours.

So when presented with a moment like this, Nadine always languished in them. She let her eyes sweep over every head, admiring each decadent outfit and glittering accessory. Snippets of conversations lapped over her like waves:

“–had quite an impressive return, sir.”

“My assistant will send a note to your assistant, ambassador–”

“–and you simply must holiday on Caxal! The beaches are lovely this season.”

“Three million starting bid? That’s all?”

Nadine paused on the landing, a familiar ache gathering in the pit of her stomach. Her knuckles turned white around the railing. 

For one fleeting season of Nadine’s life, she had labored under the delusion that she could fit in with people like this. That she might wear their opulent dresses and speak their money-rich jargon, comparing achievements and accolades in their lavish places. That she could have a beautiful, fabulous life, just like them. But that season ended a long time ago, and Nadine had a job to do.

With the fluid grace of a jaguar, a passing waiter slid to a stop behind her.

“Crudité, ma’am?” he offered, extending his tray.

The bounty hunter shook her head. She could hardly even look at him.

“No, thank you,” Nadine replied softly.

The waiter nodded and breezed away. With a stuttering sigh, Nadine jammed her hands in her pockets and carried on toward her destination. Third door on the right. When she got there, she found a partition that was double her height, three times her width, and meticulously carved from one solid length of wood. Exquisite. Expensive. The door was open, swung wide on its brass hinges to invite prospective buyers inside. Nadine’s earpiece crackled again.

“Damn,” Xerxes muttered. “Looks like the early birds are here for their worms.”

Nadine frowned, spotting the same problem as she strode into the auction hall. Though there were still twenty minutes until the first item hit the podium, a handful of bidders had already taken their seats. Mostly older folk, she noticed, or otherwise serious-looking characters whose fidgeting was wearing anticipatory grooves into their paddle handles. The atmosphere in here was tenser than the air of carefree schmoozing permeating the lobby. These people were here to win — and really, Nadine couldn’t blame them. After seeing some of the pieces up for auction tonight, she wished she had a few million credits to throw around, too.

“You’ll have to distract these snobs if you want to get into the passageway,” Xerxes said, as if Nadine hadn’t figured that out herself.

But how? Any help Xerxes could provide would definitely draw too much attention. Anything too drastic risked spooking the target back into the shadows, but something too ordinary wouldn’t give Nadine enough time to enter the back hallways.

Be logical, Nadine, the bounty hunter chided herself. Stack the deck in your favor.

She rubbed her fingers together, callouses scraping against the soft lining of her pockets, and set off sauntering up the middle aisle. Her unscuffed rubber soles snapped brightly on the marble flooring, dragging a few sets of eyes up from their auction catalogs as she passed. Only one pair lingered. They belonged to another Terran female, tall and lithe, with an ice-blonde bob that shimmered along her jaw as Nadine caught her attention.

Her vibrant green irises traced Nadine from head to toe, burning hot with intrigue, but the shiver her gaze incited was decidedly cold. Normally, Nadine would unequivocally appreciate the interest of a beautiful female, but right now, being ogled was entirely against her needs. The hunter paused at the front row, pretending to survey the empty seats as she racked her brain for ideas.

But before any ideas revealed themselves, the luxurious female was rising from her seat, expression growing more and more hawkish by the microsecond. Nadine swore under her breath. How the hell was she supposed to access a hidden door under these conditions? Her admirer slinked into the aisle, hips swaying through her column gown. Nadine’s eyes darted about the room. She was swiftly running out of ways to avoid a conversation — until, by the grace of some unknowable entity, a tiny black shape came skittering in through the door.

It was… a Terran dog. A poodle. Someone’s treasured pet, miniscule in size, fur shaved into patterns and bedecked with pink bows, and it was barking like a rabid beast. The creature sprinted down the aisle, dragging along a sparkly leash with no owner attached. Every head in the room snapped toward the racket — including the beautiful female’s. 

She and several others let out cries of surprise. From the hallway echoed a shrill scream. The dog barrelled blissfully on, right down the center of the aisle, like the galaxy’s most annoying heat-seeking missile.  

Nadine’s admirer was the first to move. She made to dodge; so did the poodle. And to Nadine’s benefit, and no one else’s, the two opponents dodged in the same direction.

The collision was exquisite. The dog wove half-way through the female’s ankles, knocking her slim frame immediately off balance. As she careened toward the floor, her stiletto heel came crashing down upon the poor little poodle’s perfectly manicured paw. The creature screeched. The female let out a foul expletive, and with a sickening thud, each of their bodies hit the hard marble ground.

The room exploded into noise. Every onlooker moved at once; chair legs squeaked as people rushed to help the poor unfortunate female, or the poor unfortunate dog. Nadine clapped her hand over her mouth, a laugh trapped in her trachea. When she forcibly tore her eyes from the chaos, her legs were already carrying her backward. The end of a laugh sparked through her earpiece.

“Holy shit,” Xerxes howled. “You’re the luckiest bastard in the quadrant.”

Nadine couldn’t help but agree. 

With no time to spare, she booked it to the left-hand side of the podium, where a rich tapestry covered the length of the wall. The hunter ducked behind the fabric sheath and found precisely what she needed: a thick metal door. A numbered keypad was perched above its handle.

“Two-seven-three-six-nine-four-one-nine,” Xerxes recited.

The numbers flashed green as the combination was accepted. A knot unwound itself in Nadine’s gut, and she pushed her way through with a sigh of relief. The door closed behind her, silencing all the chaos.

“There are fewer cameras down here,” her boss said. “Only at the main junctions. I’ll watch your back as best I can, but keep a low profile. Head to the right, then go down the first set of stairs.”

Nadine took a breath and obeyed. Every second she wasted was a second Ulu’zah gained. She had to get to the basement, to the vault, where all of tonight’s pieces were waiting. They’d been in there for four weeks straight — save for a few days ago, when they enjoyed an eighteen-hour stint of final appraisals and buyer previews. A luxurious span of time. Any two-bit thief might think to swap the fake in then, rather than opt for tonight’s shorter, riskier window.

But Ulu’zah was no two-bit thief. She knew better than to strike when her target was expecting to be robbed. Yes, the piece she wanted had been out in the open on preview night, but there were twice as many security personnel and staffers to dodge. If Ulu’zah posed as a buyer, she’d be expected to ask questions and shmooze the brokers, which might give someone a reason to remember her face. Plus, the auction house never moved things back to the vault until every guest was gone, so slipping away from such a controlled crowd would be nigh impossible. 

Yes, pulling the job tonight was the right move. And it made Nadine’s job easier, too. She’d have to thank the thief later.

Distant footsteps and muffled laughter sent Nadine diving for the nearest doorway. As she tucked herself out of sight, Xerxes spoke softly in her ear.

“Two security guards,” he reported. “They’re crossing at the next junction up. Be still until they pass.”

Obediently, Nadine waited for the sounds to fade before slipping back out. She kept her head clear the rest of the way, listening for any more patrols, but she didn’t hear so much as a peep before she reached the basement.

“Just as we suspected,” Xerxes chimed as she neared the goal. “Both vault cameras just had their feeds spoofed. The virus has been deployed.”

Nadine blew a slow, silent breath from her nose, reaching out for the handle. The plan ran through her head all over again. When she stepped through this door, Xerxes would lock it behind her. Deactivating the hyper-targeted virus would give away his presence in the system, so he wouldn’t see anything from here on out. No matter what happened in the vault, Nadine would have to handle it on her own.

Just like old times, she thought.

The door swung open at the push of a finger, gliding silently on its hinges. She made to take a step, but a memory danced through her head: a dark alley; a spray of lilac and gold. Nadine stooped down and untied her shoes. Tucking the polished leather derbies under her arm, she slinked through the doorway in her socks, slow and quiet.

The vault beyond was cavernous. Fifty feet wide with a forty-foot ceiling, and occupied almost completely by the biggest safe she’d ever seen. Nadine had studied the manufacturer’s blueprints — chromium alloy walls over eighteen inches thick, two computerized combination locks, a spinning door so large it took two people to turn the handle, linings that protected against fire and water and bullets — and still the real thing was larger than she expected. It could’ve been a bomb shelter, if it weren’t stuffed full of priceless art. 

But Nadine wasn’t really looking at the safe. All she could see was the tiny female standing beside it, her purple face peeking out of a blue coverall as she tinkered with a strange cube-shaped machine. The device had a set of buttons and switches on one side, while branching cyan grooves covered the other five. Nadine felt her heart seize in her chest, then kick back up into a thunderous rhythm.

There she is, her mind screamed. Just a few strides away. You could grab her, you could stop this. Right here, right now.

But she wouldn’t. Not yet.

The door sealed itself with a gentle click. As if shaken from a trance, Ulu’zah started and  whirled her head toward the noise. As her eyes met Nadine’s, the thief’s face flushed violet. The tendrils framing her cheeks shivered.

“You,” she hissed.

Ulu’zah sidled backward a half-step, but there was no fear in her voice. Only urgency, and a strange hint of anxiety that Nadine knew was meant for another. The thief’s gaze flickered between the box in her hands and the hunter blocking her exit.

“Me,” Nadine agreed. She could practically see the questions and insults running through the Diralith’s mind. The hunter lifted her open palms. “Before you start punchin’ — just hear me out, would ya?”

Ulu’zah stole a glance at the locked door, then scowled at Nadine as if to say, What choice do I have? She checked her watch.

“I need to be out of here in three hundred seconds.”

“Hey, don’t let me stop you.”

A baneful pause. Ulu’zah let out a sigh and turned back to her machine. “Fine. Talk.”

Nadine’s heart skipped a handful of beats. If she kept up this lucky streak, she might just buy a lottery ticket on the way back to her hotel. She skirted a little nearer to Ulu’zah, careful not to come on too strong.

“You don’t have to do this, Ulu’zah,” Nadine started. The Diralith rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on — we’ve been over this.”

“There are other ways to settle a debt.”

“You don’t think I tried a few before I settled on stealing?” she countered. 

But Nadine expected that. “Actually, I know you did.”

Ulu’zah glared over her shoulder.

“Like I said before, Terran,” she spat, “you might’ve read some stupid file, but you don’t know shit about me.”

With that, Ulu’zah pressed a button on her little machine and slapped it to the side of the safe. It stuck there as if magnetized, grooves glowing with bright blue light. Nadine watched in subtle shock as the cube split into quadrants with an electric zap. As the corners expanded away from one another, the section of wall it encompassed began to fizz and distort, and Nadine realized precisely what this was.

A portable space-time distorter. Manufactured by the W’althiri and illegal to possess on every Federation planet, it worked like hypertuned teleporters, converting a carefully calibrated amount of matter into base atoms and beaming them elsewhere to carve passage through walls of nearly any thickness. Distorters were unobtrusive enough to bypass most security alarms and triggers, making them the favored toy of traffickers and private armies galaxy-wide. This was the first one Nadine had ever seen in person.

When the quadrants reached their maximum spread, the energy stretched between them sparked and sizzled, and suddenly Nadine was staring at a yawning gap in the metal. She whistled to herself.

“Yer boss really brought out the big guns, huh?”

“Shut up,” Ulu’zah replied, and walked right through the wall.

Nadine sighed. “Okay, ouch. I’m here to help, y’know.”

“Oh? And how do you plan to do that?”

Nadine sucked her teeth and hurried after the thief, but Ulu’zah was taking her time — hard out be damned. Nadine didn’t blame her. There was a whole museum’s worth of art in here: paintings, statues, textiles, mosaics, jewelry, manuscripts, triptychs… But tonight, they were only here to see one little piece.

“Well, there’s an easy way and a hard way,” Nadine finally answered. “Easy way goes like this: you surrender to the Feds, accept a plea deal in exchange for intel on your posse, they arrest his ass, and I come visit you in prison for the next five to ten.”

Ulu’zah barked out a laugh as she made her way deeper. “You’re making a lot of assumptions there, hunter. The Feds won’t let me off that easy — and they definitely won’t catch Rock.”

“Right. Rock. I did some diggin’ on him, and wouldn’t you know it, the Fed’s have got a case against him goin’ back years. And not just for theft, Ulu. For fraud, embezzling, kidnapping, trafficking, assault, murder. Did he ever tell ya that, Ulu? That he shot a man on Eden II?”

The thief bristled and stopped, and for a moment Nadine thought her words might have gotten through. But then, she glanced at the dais beside them, and that thought was forgotten. 

Sitting below a cloche of glass was Ulu’zah’s prize: a cracked clay pitcher with an angular spout, decorated with faded white fish swimming atop a sea of amber and taupe stripes. The females blew out identical breaths, their annoyances fading to background noise.

“There it is,” Ulu’zah whispered.

“It’s beautiful,” Nadine said. “The auctioneers claim it’s Mycenaean, but you and I know it’s really Early Minoan, eh?”

The Diralith shot her a baffled look, then started rooting around inside her waist-pack. “I know that, sure — but how do you?”

She produced a little parcel and unwrapped the paper to reveal another pitcher, identical in every way to the first. A little twang of wonder struck Nadine in the gut; Ulu’zah’s work was impressive through a screen, but in person it was downright astounding. Every detail was exactingly crafted, down to the chip in the rim and the wear patterns in the varnish. It wasn’t just a fake. It was a masterpiece. 

Ulu’zah reached for the cloche, but Nadine’s fingers were already on the handle, lifting the glass dome from its resting place. The hunter smiled. 

“You ain’t the only gal who’s been to art school.”

If Ulu’zah had balked any harder, she might’ve dropped her fake. “What?”

“Yup. Matter of fact, me and you got the same alma mater. Well, technically I never graduated, but you know what I mean.”

The Diralith swapped the pitchers with gentle fingers, shaking her head in disbelief, then wrapped the real one up and tucked it in her bag.

“You’re telling me you went to ECAD?” she jabbed.

Nadine was almost offended as she lowered the cloche. 

“What, you think I came out the womb with my bounty license? I’ve been doin’ this a long time, darlin’, but not that long.”

The females turned on their heels and rushed back to the distorted wall. Nadine’s earpiece squeaked into her skull.

“Running out of time,” Xerxes hissed. Nadine rolled her eyes and ignored him. As if she wasn’t checking Ulu’zah’s watch over her shoulder.

Ninety-eight seconds left.

“So,” Nadine tried again, “any thoughts on the easy way?”

Ulu’zah shot her a look. “Yeah, here’s a thought — you can either piss off and let me finish my job, or you can cuff me and leave me here for the guards.”

The hunter sighed.

“I was hopin’ you’d make a different choice.”

They stepped back out of the safe, and Ulu’zah deactivated the distorter. With a quiet whirr, its corners retracted and the wall was teleported back into place, seamless as the hunk of clay she’d placed inside.

“Well, Nadine,” the thief snipped, rolling the device in her open palm, “hoping only gets you so far.”

“You’re right, Ulu. That’s why us gals gotta have plans. Like this one.”

And in a flash, Nadine snatched the distorter from Ulu’zah’s hand and smashed it right onto the cold metal floor. The thief let out a strangled wail, lunging to stop her, but Nadine was already crunching the thing under her boot, strewing chunks of circuitry across the room. Ulu’zah’s eyes glazed with panic.

“No!” she cried. “Why the hell– You have no idea what you just did to me!”

Nadine dodged a wild slap, then caught Ulu’zah by the forearm and held her still. “I think I got a pretty good idea.”

Behind her, a sudden rush of energy proved her theory correct. Nadine turned, and there, standing amid the still-fading light particles of an unregistered teleporter, was none other than Web. Ulu’zah’s sleazeball Terran middle manager. He smiled under his sunglasses. 

“Ah, look who we have here,” he hummed, decidedly less frantic than his subordinate. He even had his hands in his pockets. 

How convenient. 

“Hey, Web,” Nadine said coolly. “How’s your thumb?”

He grinned and parted his lips around some snappy reply, but alas, Nadine didn’t let him finish. Once more her body acted mindlessly, sliding into martial form as she closed the distance between them. Web scrambled to defend himself, to pull his arms from the confines of his jacket — but Nadine had been thinking of this moment for seven long, long days, and no rushed defense could spare him her ire. She twisted, coiled, released.

And his jaw crunched spectacularly against her knuckles. Web spun on his heels and slumped heavily onto the floor, clutching his bleeding mouth. Ulu’zah gasped behind her hands. Nadine shook out her wrist and gritted her teeth at the way it smarted.

“Great skies,” Ulu’zah murmured.

“Right then,” Nadine said. “Time to do things the hard way.”

[pisupsala]

One for The History Books [Chapter 16] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top-secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words] 4k

[Index] All Chapters | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Epilogue

[Library]

Chapter 16 - Waterlogged

For Bradley, the notification that pops up on his screen as he’s getting ready for bed is an interesting one. Interesting enough to divert his thoughts from his aching body after a long day of drills and flying.

DW.in.DC shared a story for the first time in a while.

You are still not in any way an active user of the app, never posting and just liking or reacting to whatever he shares. You send most of your pictures directly to him in your emails or when possible over chat. He likes that fine—he sends you far more pictures than he actually posts online too.

But that’s why his interest is now piqued all the more. It’s the day before Christmas and you’ve been sending him a ton of pictures of your trip up the mountains. Some scenery, some selfies, and a video of the view as you skied down a slope.

You look at home in winter weather. And damn cute with those red cheeks from the cold.

Bradley is about four hours ahead of you, and while it’s not that late where you are, he’s exhausted. His heart clenches when he thinks of you curling up in bed alone, rolled up in your blanket in the cold night looking at your phone, without him there to warm you up. Just a few weeks more—you won’t have to wait for messages at strange hours anymore, or time regulated calls. He’ll be curled up right next to you, kissing you goodnight.

In hindsight, he’s an idiot for volunteering for this deployment—it’s a completely routine run. His days are filled with drills and training, and while the monotony of it would usually at least stop him from thinking of how he has nowhere to go for the holidays, now it’s just… boring.

It's for the first time in forever he is considering there might be an alternative.

From time to time he has sudden thoughts. Bradley would call them intrusive if he didn’t quietly enjoy them so much. They are almost always about completely mundane, white picket fence, things he wants with you. Wouldn’t it be nice to get a bigger apartment together, so he can have a piano? He could play and sing for you, and you would laugh and sing along, and it would be like… home. The way he remembers home. The way he wants to remember it.

Home. Where his most painful memories live.

Distracting himself from the uncomfortable train of thought, he clicks the story open, chuckling quietly: it’s a throwback picture spliced with a new version. In the old version, you are no more than 10 years old, standing tall next to your younger sister and holding hands with what he assumes is your toddler little brother in between you. You are all dressed in garish 90s snowsuits with loud color schemes and designs, grinning broadly at the camera.

In the new picture, at least you’re dressed in a lot more dark and muted colors. Except for your ski helmet, which is covered in a myriad of colorful stickers.

Your sister, who is still a good head shorter than you, is dressed stylishly in white and cream while holding a baby that is dressed to match. Your younger brother towers over you both, wearing a black and neon get-up, holding your hands with a silly look on his face. You are all laughing.

If he thinks hard enough, he can remember how your laughter sounds in real life, instead of over a choppy video connection.

He hearts your story.

He should not notice you reshared the story from what looks to be your sister's profile. And he should not be curious to see if she has posted more pictures of you. He should really go to sleep.

Is there much harm in just taking a quick look?

Beth’s profile clearly has a carefully crafted aesthetic with a ton of followers. When you said your sister is pretty different from you, Bradley realizes you weren’t kidding. He cannot imagine going through the endless posing Beth’s husband seems to put up with.

There’s a selection of photos she posted from today’s trip—most of them are of her little family, but when suddenly there’s a picture of you. You are holding your baby cousin, pulling a dramatically surprised face at the as she pulls one of the braids peeking out from under your ski helmet.

Bradley’s heart skips a beat.

It’s not even that you are holding a baby, and the first thing on his mind is: wouldn’t it be nice if…? He cuts that thought off quickly enough. It’s your helmet, patched in old and fading stickers from your favorite bands and college.

Except one.

Right above your temple sits a clearly new and bright red sticker, placed deliberately over the other ones.

A rooster.

Bradley’s heart is suddenly beating loudly in his chest. He doesn’t even know why it touches him so deeply. That almost can not be a coincidence. You have an incredible eye for detail, and your small gestures of affection somehow always manage to completely bowl him over. Like how you have him on your mind, literally, even when he's halfway across the ocean.

He should really go to sleep now. But Beth has also been posting stories. She has so many followers, surely she’ll not notice one more person taking a quick peek?

He just wants to see you.

Fuck it. Might as well. It’s not like he can go sleep with his head brimming with so many thoughts of you.

Skipping through all the family photos, Bradley lands on a video. It’s taken from the passenger's seat of a car driving up a winding snowy mountain road, maneuvering around oncoming traffic smoothly. Taylor Swifts blasts from the radio.

As the camera pans around the driver, it’s you. Bradley didn’t think having butterflies in his stomach could ever hurt, but seeing you in sharper contrast than he has in almost two months, your voice so clear, it’s like he is seeing you for the first time again.

You look completely at ease behind the wheel, handling the car with more than practiced ease. With your sunglasses on, hair loose around your shoulders, and sleeves of your plaid shirt rolled up, you move your upper body to the music as you steer and belt along to the song together with your sister.

“You were alllllll I wanted!” You sing to the camera, using one hand to shift gears, while the other drums out the rhythm on the steering wheel. The engine roars in the background.

Finally, the camera pans to Beth’s husband in the back seat, who is clutching onto the door for dear life and looking decidedly green as you continue singing. “Darcy, please watch the road.” He forces out. The video cuts off with you and your sister laughing raucously.

Bradley smiles to himself—he’s only ever heard you softly hum, promptly stopping when you think he is listening, too embarrassed to continue. But seeing you through the eyes of your sister, essentially, he realizes there are still so many sides to you he hasn’t discovered yet. He watches the video several times over. More thoughts are forming: he should take you on a road trip. If you can belt out tunes like that while driving, he wants to hear you at the piano with him. How nice would you sound singing a lullaby…

Bradley lets out a loud groan. Sleep is elusive now.

It didn’t escape his notice either, the car interior looked… familiar. Did you rent a Bronco? It shouldn’t be turning him on, but by god, he can’t stop himself. Although, if you drove his car like that, he would probably be telling you to watch the road too. Or just make you pull over and fuck you against the car right then and there, traffic be damned. He can practically hear your sweet moans, feel your nails digging into his shoulder as your tits bounce up against his face.

Fuck.

Grasping his rock hard shaft and starts slowly pumping, as his mind fills with his favorite filthy memories of you. You on your hand and knees, back arched and calling out his name, lace thong pushed to the side as he drives into you from behind.

You in that sundress, leaning against his car at sunset, looking up at him longingly, hair mussed and lips swollen from his kiss.

The first time he made you cum in your barracks room, skirt pushed up past your hips as you shamelessly rode his fingers.

Your mouth around his cock in the hallway of your apartment, your large eyes looking up at him as he fists your hair, setting the pace.

God, he aches for you.

His phone buzzes. Shit, not now. Catching sight of the notification from the corner of his eye, Bradley decides might start believing in Christmas miracles.

DW.in.DC sent You up?

You had been reading in bed when you saw Bradley liked your story. Never wanting to miss an opportunity to talk to him, you don’t even think twice about sending him a message. Bradley’s responses start coming in quick succession.

“i need you”

“badly”

Maybe you drank too much wine at dinner. But your brain immediately jumps from: if his Wi-Fi is strong enough now to look at stories, you can send a picture. Kicking your covers down, you pull up Bradley’s Navy shirt just so that the underside of your breasts is visible. Angling your phone so your face is mostly obscured but Navy print visible, you snap the picture and send it off with uncharacteristically little hesitation.

“Like this, babe?”

Bradley swears out loud as the image pops up on his screen. He was half-joking when he said he wanted a picture of you in just his shirt, not wanting to push you into something you were uncomfortable with. But fuck, now that he has it…

“you are so beautiful”

“show me more sweetheart”

“please”

Exhilarated, you push the shirt up further, nipples puckering in the cold air. Ghosting the tips of your fingers over your breast, you bite your lip and snap another picture, hitting send right away. Fuck. You were getting more hot and bothered by the second, thinking of Bradley jerking off to your pictures.

“good girl”

God, you love it when he says that to you. Screwing your eyes shut, you imagine how he bent you over your dinner table the last time you saw him before he went on deployment.

It was intense, it was rough, and for days after you had deliciously painful marks over your chest and shoulders. But he never stopped encouraging you, telling you what a good girl you are and how well you take his cock.

Bradley absolutely wrecked you that night, whispering in your ear how he’s going to make sure you are ruined for anyone else as you’ve ruined him, and how his name will be the only one on your lips every time you cum.

You squirm uncomfortably, rubbing your thighs together. You can feel how wet that memory made you. Shit. You are craving to release the pent-up pressure.

Dipping your fingers in your panties and going straight for your clit, you leave your shirt hiked up. God, it still smells like him. You are so horny and wet, you start rubbing your clit fast and hard—no need to build it up.

Half blinded by desire, you fire off a message.

“Let me see you.”

Bradley is so close, dreaming of your soft tits pressed up against him, your warm hands wrapped around his cock. When he notices your message, he comes undone almost instantly.

He can’t get enough of how you match him beat for beat, every step of the way, every time. With a grunt, Bradley cums, spilling his semen over his stomach. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to cum before sending you a picture, but your bold message pushed him past the point of no return.

Breathing heavily, still dazed, he summons the energy to flex his abs as he takes a picture.

“thats all you darlin’”

You whimper as you catch sight of Bradley’s cum covered abs. Jesus Christ, he is unreal. In the best kind of way.

“Fuck you look so good”

You miss his warm skin against yours, how his muscles move and twitch under your touch, that light trail of hair on his stomach… you want his cum to be dripping down your stomach. Your fingers move faster as you quietly gasp his name.

You are close now.

Oh, what you would give to have his mouth against you now.

“Bradley - ah- please Bradley…” His name is falling from your lips like a prayer, and your breath gets shallower. Dropping your phone, you clamp a hand over your mouth as your body starts shaking in the throes of your orgasm. Your fingers are slick with your cum as you stretch out, riding out your high.

Holding up your glistening fingers to your lips, tongue darting out, face flushed, you send the picture with the simple message: “Merry Christmas, babe.”

“you are fucking amazing”

“merry christmas darlin’”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Year’s is fast approaching, and the weather in your state has taken a turn for the worse. Heavy snow storms keep you locked in the house, so you kill the time watching movies with your dad or curled up on your bed reading a book.

Sometimes you look after little Emma so your sister and her husband can take a much-needed nap. Without telling your sister, you sometimes read out loud to Emma from the book on operational art you’ve been reading and ask her questions, as she happily babbles back. You might as well try to multitask. Besides, it puts her to sleep pretty quickly.

Today, your mind starts to wander from your book as the baby is soundly asleep against your chest. Tired and bored, you let it. Bradley is due back in 8 days. He’ll have time off before he has to report back for duty on base, which means he could stay in Arlington with you. A comfortable warmth fills you. That means you’ll be waking up next to him every day, and he’ll be there when you come back from work.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to daydream about Bradley picking you up from work. Slow dancing in your living room. Cuddling before your alarm clock goes off. Bradley in those low slung Navy sweatpants in your kitchen making you coffee as you get dressed.

Your minds’ eye decided to improve on that image.

Now it's Bradley in those low slung sweatpants holding a baby with a very familiar head of caramel curls.

Holy shit.

Your eyes fly open. Looking at Emma, you swallow dryly. This baby is giving you ideas. Very not good ideas to have in a fresh relationship where one of you is gone on the regular. Fuck. The last thing you need now is a head of full of ideas about a future that may never come to pass.

You have no idea if Bradley even wants kids. With a pit in your stomach, you reason he keeps so mum about his family because he’s probably not be very family oriented at all. And why would he be? He’s an elite pilot, which took years of work. He probably won’t give up his globetrotting lifestyle for playing house in suburbia.

It comes down to the age-old adage: if the Navy wanted you to have a wife, they would have issued you one.

A small voice in the back of your head pipes up—Penny said Bradley needs an anchor. Maybe you could be that for him.

Ugh.

This is really not something you want to be thinking about now. You should be happy Bradley is almost back home, rather than thinking about eventualities, maybes and could bes.

Be happy with what you have, which is already so much more than you dared to dream last summer. It could have ended with a quick fuck in your barracks room, you chastise yourself.

Can you really ask for more?

The weather puts you in another predicament. You can’t go outside to have a call with Bradley—and you absolutely don’t want to tell him you’re not available. It’s probably his last chance to call you before New Year’s Eve and before he comes back.

Not wanting to go so far as locking yourself in the bathroom, you set up camp in your bedroom. Beth’s Gatling gun style interrogation is still fresh in your mind. You are not ready for this yet.

Not right now.

Sitting on the floor with your back to the door, you prop up your phone on a stack of books and put in your headphones. You nervously try to fix your hair in the reflection of your screen, until the phone rings.

“Hey” You greet Bradley softly, unable to keep the smile off your face. He smiles back, the image a lot clearer and a lot less laggy than it’s been in weeks. “How are you, babe?”

“Hey sweetheart.” To your relief, Bradley doesn’t look so tired anymore. “I’m good—glad to be on the way back soon.”

“I can’t wait for you to be back.” You admit, blush creeping on your cheeks. “Do you want me to drive down to Virginia Beach? I can take the afternoon off.”

“No darlin’, save your PTO for better things. I’ll come straight up after disembarking—I can pick you up from work if you want.”

Your heart sinks a little, but you keep the smile on your face. Why doesn’t he want you to welcome him back on the pier with everyone else?

“Are you sure?” You try. “I really don’t mind…”

“It’s just a lot of waiting around outside in the cold until the ship docks, sweetheart,” Bradley counters easily. “And then we’d still have to drive back up to Arlington.”

No, you don’t? A little voice in the back of your head rings out. You could stay in Virginia Beach for the night. Even if it’s on base. But you rather keep your mouth shut.

“Then I’m counting on that pick up, lieutenant.” You tease instead. “Or I’ll have to wait on the bus in the dark.”

“Don’t you worry, Miss Williams.” Bradley laughs. “I might even let you drive.”

“Really?” You ask, chuckling incredulously.

“I have faith in your driving skills.”

“My brother-in-law would vehemently disagree with you.” You shrug. “Wait, I’ll show you. My sister is obsessed with social media, and she made this video.”

You scroll through the videos on your phone before sending the clip.

“Ignore the singing, though.” You cringe slightly. Hearing your own voice is less than pleasant. Also, you dance in a really dorky way. Actually, he should ignore your whole presence in the video.

You watch Bradley’s reaction closely. He laughs in the way that makes your heart soar. Bradley doesn’t tell you he already saw the video when he dug around your sister’s profile—but he is happy to see it again, since it disappeared from the stories after 24 hours.

“I happen to like your singing.”

“You’re teasing me.” You say a little bashfully.

“I’m not.” Bradley says truthfully. “But tell me, sweetheart—is that a Bronco you’re driving?”

Fuck. He has you totally figured out. You probably look borderline obsessed—when you sent him a picture of the rooster on your helmet, it was just cute and Bradley loved it. But you had to go rent the same brand car too. Your neck is prickling.

“Yeah, what of it?” You try to play it off coolly.

“Just think you happen to have good taste.” He shrugs with a devilish smirk on his face. You scoff, blushing.

You burst out in giggles, Bradley laughing too. It’s so stupid you're kind of mortified, but Bradley seems to take everything in stride. You never remember why are nervous before he calls you—Bradley makes all conversations so easy. He entertains you with every silly story from the ship, from the disgusting food, sea sick rookies to mishaps on deck until you are nearly crying from laughter. He lives for the dramatic storytelling, and he does it so well.

You use the heel of your hand to dry your eyes, and your shoulders still shake from laughter.

“God, I love hearing you laugh.” Bradley’s voice suddenly sounds soft. The earnestness in his voice sobers you.

“I don’t think anyone makes me laugh a much as you.” You say affectionately.

“I better make sure to keep it that way.” He replies in that same soft tone with a small smile gracing his lips.

“There’s no competition, babe.”

Bradley’s face breaks into a cocky grin.

“Tell me more, darlin’.” His voice taking on a deep, velvety timbre that sends shivers down your spine.

“About how you are absolutely unparalleled in every way?” You deadpan in response.

“You flatter me, sweetheart.” His eyes are shining with mirth, and his cocky grin only grows.

You are so caught up in the call you don’t hear the hurried patter of feet up the stairs to your bedroom door. You only notice when Bradley suddenly looks surprised, and you turn around just in time to see Beth waltz into your room.

“Beth, one more step—so help me god, I will make Erik a widower.” You say with absolute seriousness. Through your headphones you hear Bradley guffaw. Beth stops dead in her tracks and her eyes grow wide. Not because you just threatened to murder her, but because she caught a glimpse of your phone and has already put one and one together.

She opens her mouth—without a doubt, to say something completely embarrassing, way too loud.

“Seriously, fuck off.” Your voice sharp, cutting her off.

But she’s already almost climbing over you, head next to yours, looking at the camera. Bradley is watching the scene unfold with growing interest.

“It’s his shirt, isn’t it?” She asks you while staring at Bradley, not missing a beat.

You know Bradley heard it because he has a hand clasped over his mouth, shoulders shaking uncontrollably from laughter. Slowly closing your eyes in a futile attempt to stave off the blush creeping onto your face, you will your voice not shake from anger or embarrassment.

“Ignore my sister, she was dropped on her head as a baby. A lot.” You grind out.

“Yeah, but that was all Darcy’s doing anyway.” She cuts in, grinning. Why is she talking to Bradley through your headphone mic?

“So, it’s your Navy shirt.” Beth doesn’t even bother asking anymore, simply stating it as a fact.

To your mortification, Bradley nods affirmative.

“Happy? Now kindly get the fuck out of here?” Gracelessly, you put your hand over Beth’s face like a claw and shove her away. “These calls are strictly timed.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beth shrugs, laughing, still sitting next to you. Why is she laughing.

“OK, bye! Take care of my dork sister!” Her voice rings out so loud the neighbors must hear her, as she waves at the camera over your shoulder. Bradley simply salutes with two fingers in response. Beth starts cackling as she walks out.

You cover your face in your hands. Why.

“I’m sorry about that.” Is all you can bring out. “She has… no filter.”

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’,” Bradley replies with barely contained laughter. “Watching you threaten murder like that is actually kind of hot.”

“You are making it worse!” You chuckle softly, looking back up at him. He looks so relaxed and bright. A small silence falls between the two of you, as you just regard each other for a moment. Sometimes it’s not needed to speak, and it’s enough to just feel in a moment of comfort together.

‘My time is almost up, sweetheart.” Bradley’s voice is soft. You nod.

“Stay safe, babe.” Your voice cracks a little despite your best attempts.

“I’ll be back soon.” He assures you. “I’ll make it up to you for leaving you by yourself over the holidays.”

“You don’t have to.” You chastise him gently. “Just come back safe.”

Bradley smiles. It makes your heart skip a beat. He has a talent for making you feel like the absolute most important person in the world, worthy of every bit of attention that he bestows on you. Sometimes he overwhelms you so much you can barely think straight.

“Speak to you soon, sweetheart.” His voice is full of affection again.

“Bye babe, and happy early new year." You blow a kiss at the camera just as the screen cuts out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[note] I'm a having a very productive weekend, as you can tell. And I always forget to mention: my taglist is still open! There are still a bunch of chapters to go and I still have several side stories I also want to write, so if you want to be updated on that, let me know!

[taglist] @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15

[insideyourminddddddd]

inside your mind | xavier thorpe x wednesday addams

read here

pairings: xavier thorpe x wednesday addams

about: “the back of your head is at the front of my mind, soon i’ll crack it open and see what’s inside.” xavier thorpe returns to nevermore after the events of last semester with an obsession that runs deeper than ever. he’s going to do anything for her.

warnings: jealous!xavier, eventually more (#smut), SLOWBURNNNNNNNNN af

part 0 , part 1 , part 2

3.

Xavier was laying in bed, watching the trails of smoke wallowing from his joint as they rose to the ceiling. He was rewarding himself for cleaning Miles’ side of the room, largely by shoving whatever had occupied the space deep into his closet. Miles was supposed to arrive any minute now, but Xavier knew he would have time even after the fact. He was sure Principal Bell would have a long-winded speech to give both him and the parental Atwaters that boasted about the opportunities that awaited Miles at Nevermore. Maybe a tour, too.

Bullshit.

It’s not that Xavier cared if Miles caught him smoking anyway. He had every intention of continuing to smoke in the room regardless of how Miles felt about it. What’s the worst that could happen, expulsion? Xavier had nothing to lose.

Prior to this semester, he hadn’t been into smoking. Ajax had offered in the past, and it wasn’t until recently that Xavier had accepted. By now, he was buying from Ajax and using daily, viewing it as a quarter dose of the antidote he’d yet to find. It took the edge off, even if it was temporary.

Xavier rarely saw Ajax these days, but it was one of the rare friendships that he found to have reciprocal negligence. Ajax seemed to appreciate Xavier’s low expectations and desires, as it gave him more time to spend with Enid. Xavier and Ajax saw each other in the hallways and every other week when Xavier would buy, but aside from that, they largely kept to themselves. Xavier knew Ajax was happy, and Ajax knew Xavier was not - but little could be done to resolve that.

A cold front was beginning to come through, which wasn’t uncommon for March. Xavier had worn his favorite sweater to try to improve his mood in the face of a new roommate, but it didn't work. In fact, he was beginning to feel worse when noticing how loose the sweater had become. He knew he’d lost weight, but was surprised to see how different the sweater felt compared to last semester. He kept pulling the sleeves over his hands and balling them in fists, squeezing as hard as he could.

Smoking didn’t improve his appetite, which had been a goal. Smoking did get rid of his dreams, which hadn’t been a goal but was a much-appreciated benefit if not the newfound driving force for smoking at all. On behalf of his abilities, Xavier had suffered vivid dreams and visions for as long as he could recall. He didn’t want to know what he would be dreaming about without this vice, and assumed it would make reality even more difficult to accept.

Xavier was just beginning to imagine the things he would choose to dream about if he could possibly handle it when his door swung open. Xavier instinctively moved his blunt out of view, only to be met with a laugh.

“You smoke?” Miles raised an eyebrow as he dragged his bags into the room. Xavier noticed that he only had three, and that he was also alone.

“Yeah.”

Miles gave the room a quick once over, looking judgmental. His eyes lingered on Xavier’s myriad of drawings haphazardly taped to the wall. “An artist, I presume.”

“Yeah.”

“And a man of so many words.”

Xavier sat up, quickly gaining the impression that Miles viewed himself as superior. He looked exactly as cocky as he had in his picture. “I’m Xavier.”

“I’m Miles.”

“Where’s Bell?” Xavier asked, reluctance in his tone. His blunt was still lit, and the smell of weed wafted through the dorm.

“Chill, he’s not coming up here. My parents aren’t here either.”

“Why not?” Xavier couldn’t remember the last time a new student had arrived without a band of family members, each one eager to view the prestigious campus that Nevermore advertised.

“They went here. They’ve seen it more than enough.”

Xavier had forgotten that Miles was a legacy, which he also found strange. Before he met Wednesday, he hadn’t known of a legacy who wasn’t enrolled in Nevermore the second they were of age. Nevermore alumni seemed like they would die for the school, and being a second generation student was an honorable distinction. “Fair.”

“Can I get a hit?” Miles moved his bags from the floor to his bed and began to stride over. He was tall, taller than he’d appeared in the Polaroid, but Xavier still had him beat in that department.

“Sure.”

Miles grabbed the blunt and immediately inhaled harshly, gritting his teeth and sucking in as though it was trying to escape. “Not as bad as I expected.”

“Thanks, I guess. I bought it from a kid on our hall.”

“You’ll have to give me his number,” Miles went in for another hit, his eyes fluttering back to Xavier’s wall of art once more. “You got a girlfriend?”

The question took Xavier by surprise. “No, no, yeah, no. I have an ex-girlfriend, Bianca, but, I don’t know, it hardly really counts to me, if that makes sense.”

Miles’ stare flashed back to Xavier quizzically, handing the blunt back to Xavier. “Really?”

“Why would I lie about that?” Xavier looked down, taking a hit himself.

“You think I didn’t notice that photo you drew of Wednesday?”

Xavier turned his head so quickly he felt as though he could’ve broken his neck. “What?”

Miles’ back was already turned to Xavier as he walked back to his luggage. “You have a drawing of Wednesday hanging on your wall.” He said this plainly, which made Xavier feel like his entire body was on fire.

“You know Wednesday?” Xavier internally cursed himself for how small his voice sounded. He should’ve taken that drawing down.

“Childhood friends. Our parents went to school together.”

Friends. Xavier mentally sized himself up next to Miles. He knew that he certainly couldn’t refer to Wednesday as his friend in the current state of their relationship, which was nauseating. Miles seemed much harsher of a person than Xavier, which also seemed to be exactly the type of person Wednesday would desire. Xavier thought back to the mental comparison he’d made between Miles and Tyler, which felt much worse now. He bet when Wednesday met Miles, she’d noticed him before he noticed her. With Xavier and Wednesday, it’d been the opposite.

Miles noticed Xavier’s silence and turned around. “I’m not going to fuck her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Xavier instinctively stood up, stepping closer to Miles. “Who the fuck said anything along those lines?”

Miles didn’t move. “Calm down.”

“Don’t talk about fucking her.”

“Did you fuck her?”

Xavier could have killed him. This level of anger, this loss of control that he felt, he hadn’t experienced anything of the sort before he met Wednesday. Now, it was a common feeling. His head was spinning at the question, and he found himself unable to answer, which in turn made the answer obvious.

Miles chucked, shaking his head in ridicule. “As I expected.”

Xavier’s cheeks were on fire, and he threw the blunt to the floor before putting it out with his shoe. He didn’t care that it burned through the wood floor, leaving a small black stain. “Look, I just, I just-”

Miles made contact with Xavier in one stride, punching him in the shoulder in a playful way. “Chill out man, I know not to upset the beast now.”

Xavier felt shunned by Miles’ confidence and embarrassed at how little autonomy he held over his reactions. He moved his shoulder away from Miles and retreated towards his bed. Although he hadn’t expected the roommate assimilation to be easy, this was much worse than he’d envisioned.

“Okay,” Miles elongated the word with a sigh. “Speaking of, I’m going to go give her a hello now. Parental obligations, you know?”

Xavier continued his pact of silence, violent thoughts coursing through his mind. He didn’t say goodbye when Miles bounded out of the room, nor did he want to think about how Miles already knew where Wednesday lived. His hands shook as he rattled through his drawer for another piece of rolling paper, wanting to think of nothing, thinking of everything anyway.

authors note: because we all know xavier is jealous x1000000. also yay for an oc moment !

[tolkien-feels]

Did Tolkien specifically state that elves were heterosexual or is it just some people?

(Like, I'm in no way trying to be rude, I just wanted confirmation since one of my friends ships Russingon, and the other said that elves were heterosexual)

Oh that's a minefield. I'll try to answer this as unbiasedly as I can, but keep in mind I am both 1) queer myself and 2) not interested in shipping as much as I am interested in other aspects of fandom. If either of these things makes me lean towards one side or the other, I will leave to your discretion as you read this.

I'll try to be as succinct as possible but we'll see if this doesn't end up long.

Also this is such a minefield, like I've said, that I will disable reblogs because I really don't want to deal with discourse at best and actual queerphobia at worst.

The first thing is that traditionally, shipping has never relied on whether an author would approve of it or not. So "You can't ship this because the author says you can't" is not an opinion that would have been given much weight for much of fandom history. "Could this theoretically be canon?" is an incredibly recent development, especially when it comes to queer relationships. So your friend could and should ship whatever they want!

In terms of authorial intent, better read people than I could point you in the direction of a small library of literary scholarship debating how Tolkien portrays gender and sexuality. It's a complicated, nuanced topic.

As for what he's actually said... That's difficult to answer. I don't believe there's a sentence out there that says "Elves are exclusively heterosexual." Does that mean that they aren't? Well, not quite.

Maybe Tolkien didn't think anyone would assume anything but that they were heterosexual, and didn't particularly think he had to clarify that point. Or, alternatively, he did not think they were in fact exclusively heterosexual but was not comfortable with exploring that due to a myriad of factors, so he chose not to address it at all. There's no real way of knowing this, especially not without dedicating a lot of time to studying it, which I have not.

In terms of "Has he ever portrayed a queer relationship?" Eh. Also difficult to tell. There is a lot of ambiguity in how Tolkien portrays a lot of relationships, including heterosexual ones. I could make a case why a lot of his canonical, heterosexual couples are purely platonic, and a case why a lot of his commonly-read-as-friendship, same-gender relationships are romantic.

Also, just because Tolkien did not portray something "on screen", it does not mean it doesn't exist in his world. The Hobbit has no female characters, but presumably, there should be women in the world. So that's also not the way to go about it.

There are a few texts where Tolkien discusses how elves view marriage and sex, but 1) their role in canon is debatable; 2) they contradict each other and also other canonical or semi-canonical sources; 3) they tend to be framed in terms of customs (=what was socially expected among elves) rather than unbiased worldbuilding (=what Tolkien knew to be true.)

This distinction would not usually matter, except many people have proved Tolkien often enjoyed playing with the gap between reality and tradition. The most important texts about elves and love also tend to have a frame narrative of having been compiled or translated, so that's also another layer.

This isn't an intellectual exercise. This is actually important. In general, when Tolkien lays down a custom, you can immediately think of something in direct contradiction to it, and he often draws attention to these contradictions in the text itself. So it's actually very important, when reading these texts, to remember they are fallible by design.

This may all seem like I'm trying to rule lawyer. I promise you that is not what I'm doing.

Here's what I'm doing: I'm showing that to get to an answer, you have to dig so deep that I find it extremely unlikely that this is an important, unchangeable aspect of canon.

Tolkien did change canon over the course of his life - making dwarves more heroic, for example, and working on fleshing out female characters. If he lived forever, and came to think actually he wanted to have openly queer elves, he wouldn't have to break canon nearly as much as he had to in order to revise other things that he did revise.

Honestly? Sexuality in Tolkien's worldbuilding is almost a non-issue. The etymology of the name Maedhros probably bothered Tolkien much more than his love life. You need to break canon much harder to have bearded Aragorn than to have queer elves. If we're sticking to strict, strict, strict canon, we are going to run into contradictions all over the place (ask someone about how nonsensical Tolkien's math is), and I tend to take cues from the text to see what is important to pay attention to.

This is of course subjective, but like, I find Russingon much more canon-compliant (although I don't ship them) than if you were to tell me Fingolfin, who was married in Aman, married someone else in Beleriand. That is enough of a taboo among elves that it comes up, explicitly and implicitly, at several key points.

Now, I still wouldn't care, because I don't need Tolkien's permission to do what I want, but I would say that breaks canon much more definitely than the mere idea of queer elves.

(If anything, Maedhros and Fingon might run into a different taboo - they're too close kin to be in a relationship. But that's a rule Tolkien can't seem to make up his mind on. Which kind of proves my point.)

Having said all this... I would tentatively say Tolkien did not mean for any elves to be queer. But that understanding is informed more by my understanding of him as a person than by my understanding of canon, because again, this simply isn't something that comes up in a clear way. Or if it does and I'm just forgetting something, it's obscure enough that I don't think it really matters as much as issues people routinely ignore in the fandom at large (eg linguistics, or elements drawn from medieval literature.)

So while I do think people are justified in assuming no, there aren't queer relationships in Tolkien, I also think that's got to be the weirdest hill to die on unless you are bringing your biases to the text.

EDIT: Adding @pearlescentpearl‘s reply because it belongs here

Weighing in with a supporting thought! IIRC the clearest thing Tolkien ever said about elven marriage is that it’s *for the sake of children*, which is incredibly congruent with many of the histories Tolkien liked to study. Whether you were straight or queer, having children was incredibly important for a number of reasons and having children within some kind of formal acknowledgement of a union was useful for a. the pooling of resources, and b. the allotment of resources to descendants (inheritance). so for elves, if the purpose of marriage is ultimately for children, and the making of children involves both parents pouring in the strength of their spirits to nurture the baby, a marriage didn’t have to mean ‘I am romantically and sexually attracted to this person’, although undoubtedly common. it could also mean ‘this is the person I’ve chosen to procreate with and no other reason’, which still leaves plenty of room for one or both to have queer relationships outside the formal union they make children with, which is also congruent with a lot of historic practices

[thegreatcaptainusopp]

The Seer

Ao3 link

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 3: The Vulgar Eye Will See Nothing

CONTENT WARNING: violence, pinning down, permanent injury, eyes.

In the end, they head towards the Red Line after all.

It’s odd, Robin muses. They’d been sailing there anyway, got turned around in multiple directions, and are back on track like nothing had happened. Except, well. With one fewer crew member.

The atmosphere on board is markedly different, too. Their first attempt at this crossing had been lively, noisy, excited, looking ahead together for the coming adventure. Take two is…not that. The past two weeks have been much quieter, darker, and subdued. The feeling only seems to increase with time, desperation growing as time passes.

Robin knows the old conventional wisdom. If someone’s been missing for more than twenty four hours, their chance at being found alive decreases dramatically. At this point, they are at about hour 330.

And she’s worried. Of course she’s worried. She knows better than anyone what kind of evil is out there, the myriad of ways that people can be hurt, and the myriad of people that take pleasure from hurting others. She knows for a fact that wherever Usopp is, whatever is happening, he is probably suffering to a degree.

However, joining this crew has stamped her with an optimism she didn’t think was possible. If she believes in anything, it’s this crew. If there is anyone who can encounter conventional wisdom and the true evils of the world and laugh in its face, it’s Luffy. He’s performed miracles before, why wouldn’t he be able to do that now?

And, of course, she believes in Usopp too.

They all do. The only one who doesn’t is probably Usopp himself, which is just baffling to her on every level. In all her years on the run, and all the people she’d ever encountered, she has never seen such raw sniping talent as this teenager from a tiny village in the east blue.

Robin’s never seen anyone with as much reserves of courage, ones she knows he reaches into every day to deal with the life that terrifies him on a daily basis. And yet, on he goes, hour by hour, practically never faltering.

Not to mention heart. And kindness.

Yes, Robin misses Usopp dearly. They all do, and the effect that his absence has on them all feels like a physical thing.

This is particularly evident as the wall of the Red Line appears on the horizon, drawing all available crew members to the railing to witness their approach.

Nami is at the helm, reliable as always, and Brooke is in the crow’s nest (although probably staring out at the same direction), but everyone else eventually gathers, bunched together, watching the Red Line approach in almost total silence.

Luffy leans on the railing, dangerously close, hand on his hat to protect it from the strong winds coming in from the choppy crossing. He stares out at the sea, uncharacteristically blank-faced. Chopper stands next to him, clicking his hooves together with clear nerves, eyes flitting back and forth between his captain and the upcoming Red Line. Zoro is on the other side, mouth pulled into a thin line, hands on his swords. It seems to make him feel better, although Robin can understand after their latest experience why Zoro is even more ready to fight at a moment’s notice these days.

Sanji stands right behind Chopper, positioned expertly to face the strong sea breeze. He smokes furiously, clutching onto his pack like a lifeline. Franky stands even further back, unwilling to block everyone’s view, stock-still and concerningly silent.

Robin stands between Sanji and Franky, arms crossed against the breeze. She waits, taking her cue from her Captain.

Luffy stays put. The sun starts to set, dying the water orange-red, turning the Red Line wall into a dark silhouette. The temperature drops as the sky darkens, a chill descending onto the deck as a result.

Luffy still doesn’t move.

The Sunny dips as the waves grow stronger, rises again, Robin’s stomach dropping with the sudden, increased movement. Once the ship stabilizes, they are right in front of the Red Line, and Robin feels her breath stutter in her chest and the vast majesty of the sight, and what it means for their journey.

Luffy’s head follows the wall as they move out the other side and complete the crossing. Here, he moves, levering himself into a standing position and turning around to face them all.

“Here we are,” He says, “The New World. No looking back.”

His face screws up, conflicted. “I promise,” He says, “That we’ll make it to the One Piece together. All of us. I’ll get Usopp back for you. You have my word.”

Robin remembers what they told her about their first crossing into the Grand Line. Five young people with their futures and dreams ahead, feet planted on a barrel, screaming their freedom out into the open air.

She wishes they could’ve had that for this. Instead, she watches Luffy nod at them all before making his way back to deck, patting his arm as he passes her.

They head on into the future.

-

The next day with the Vance pirates is, in fact, different.

Nobody comes to bring Usopp out of his cell that morning. Instead, he’s left there alone, stewing in his thoughts, trying to sleep while he can. It doesn’t work.

At some point, (by Usopp’s estimation, close to noon) he hears the familiar tap-tap of footsteps approaching his cell. He’s become attuned to the sounds of the footsteps, and knows that when he looks up, he’ll see Katherine in front of him.

And sure enough, there she stands, staring down at him. But instead of her usual disinterested glare, she looks halfway between concerned and nervous. “Hello, Usopp.”

“Katherine,” Usopp acknowledges. He feels his palms start to sweat. “What’s going on?”

She hesitates. “Did you have any dreams?” She asks, and this, at least, is familiar. “Any visions? Stories?”

Usopp almost bites his tongue in frustration. “No,” He says shortly, then: “Do you know what’s going to happen to me?”

Katherine looks…cagey. Nervous. She fidgets, jumping at every noise, eyeing every shadow.

That’s when Usopp realizes: she’s not supposed to be here.

She looks back at him, gaze pleading. “Just cooperate,” She says. “Tell him you’ll try, at least. And then make the effort. Get involved in the search. Something.”

And if that doesn’t terrify him, well…“Why?” He asks. “What’s coming? Please tell me.”

“I can’t,” She replies. “But believe me. You’ll want to go through with this. If not for actually believing in it, then for your own good.”

“You know this is all bullshit, right?” He tells her, hoping that someone, anyone, will believe him when he says this. “I’ve been here all this time and nothing. If I could’ve helped you, you would’ve known about it by now.”

She shakes her head sadly. “Your denial is only gonna hurt you,” She says. “This is your actual last chance. I mean it. After this, we’re not going to be able to help you.”

“Why not?” Usopp demands. “Whatever this is, you know it’s wrong. Why won’t you help me?”

“It’s the Captain,” She says helplessly, and Usopp hates the itching feeling that he can relate. “I believe in him completely. I have to.”

“No you don’t,” He says. “You can let me leave. I won’t bother any of you ever again.”

Katherine shoots him a sad, actual smile. “You know I can’t,” She says. “I understand, you know. You have your Captain. But I have mine. I tried to do what I could. But it’s up to you now.”

With a final sigh, she turns, about to exit the small hallway, before loud whoops echo outside.

They both freeze.

“What is it?” Usopp asks in a whisper. Katherine stands stock-still, listening to the noise outside.

After a moment, she relaxes. “We’re entering the New World,” She says. “The Red Line crossing.”

Usopp feels his heart drop to his stomach. “Oh.”

Katherine continues walking towards the exit. He hears the tap-tap of her feet, and, before she exits the room entirely, he hears a barely-whispered “Sorry.”

That can’t be good. At all.

Usopp stands up, backing up to the bars until he feels them at his back. He jumps, trying to see out the small window, to catch a glimpse of the Red Line.

I miss you, He thinks. He can’t reach the view, can’t see the crossing, I miss you. I miss you.

-

Running into the mermaid has been an unexpected but welcome surprise.

Having someone who had knowledge of the islands in the vicinity is extremely helpful, moreso that after hearing their story, she had solemnly proposed a deal. “We have someone we’d like to save,” She had said. “And so do you. Let’s help each other.”

Luffy had been more than amendable to the deal. Robin had agreed: as it was, looking for Usopp in the largeness of the sea felt like an impossible task. Any way to make that smaller was welcome.

Not everyone had felt that way, though. Zoro in particular had scowled his way through the entire process. He hadn’t dared voice his opposition, fully dedicated to Luffy’s decisions as he was. It probably didn’t help that the friend of Camie’s they’d be saving was an old enemy of theirs, and of Nami’s specifically.

She could relate, in a way. Once upon a time, that had been her too.

In the end, Luffy had kept his promises, as he always did. And after being waylaid by the Flying Fish Riders, and Sanji and Duval’s fight, they were finally ready to continue on to Sabaody and, hopefully, the path to Usopp.

The Sunny is alight with activity when Robin, making her way to see if they needed any assistance, hears Sanji have a whispered conversation with Franky.

“…already took too long,” She hears him mutter as she approaches. “We’ve gone through too many distractions, we really can’t afford to-”

“I know it’s frustrating, bro,” Franky replies gently. “But we need all the help we can get. If we hadn’t run into these people, it probably would’ve taken us longer to even find Sabaody, not to mention asking around for information.”

Sanji doesn’t seem too mollified by this. “We’re not even at Sabaody yet,” He snaps. “And that’s just a guess! Who knows if anyone there would even know-”

And that’s when Robin knows she’s appeared in his view, as Sanji swallows his words instantly. “Robin-Chan,” He says, getting to his feet, Franky following in confusion. “Are you all right?”

All the worry, the rage, from seconds earlier seems to have been wiped completely. At least, that what she would’ve thought, had she not known him so well by now. She sees the tension in his shoulders, the furrow of his brows, the way his hands tightly clench at nothing.

She shares a fond, amused look with Franky. That Sanji, nine years her junior, is trying to protect her feelings from his doubts and worries is as adorable as it is laughable. “I’m well, Sanji,” She says, giving him a smile. “I’m ready to go get Usopp back, aren’t you?”

Sanji breaks out into a wide grin. “Of course!” He says. “With you lovely ladies, I’m sure we can achieve anything! Including getting Usopp back as soon as possible!”

“Yes,” She says, suddenly distracted by a speck of pink close by. “Now, I’m going to see if my assistance is needed out front.”

She speeds off, hearing Sanji shower compliments at her back, until she reaches the reverse-hiding Chopper. “I can see you, you know,” She says knowingly. Chopper squeaks, instantly correcting his stance.

She kneels down in front of him. “Did you hear Sanji, just now?”

Chopper pauses, then inches his way out of his hiding spot. “Yes,” He says, voice thick with tears. “He’s scared. I’m scared too. The world out there is so big. How are we going to find Usopp? When we do, will I even be able to fix him?”

Robin holds out an arm, waits for Chopper to run into it. “This is how these things go,” She tells him. “It feels slow, I know. But this is how it works with information-gathering. You know what? I think we got lucky with Camie and her friends. Any allies we find will help us cut down the time to finding Usopp. As for Usopp himself,” he moves her hand to the top of his hat. “No matter what happens to him, I know you’ll do whatever you can to make it better, however you can. And that’s all anyone could ever ask of you.”

Chopper sniffles, nods.

“With Luffy on our side,” Robin continues, trying to cheer him up. “Those Vance pirates don’t-”

“Excuse me.”

Robin, surprised at the interruption, looks up to see the Fishman Hatchan. “Did you say the Vance Pirates?”

Robin nods. “Yes,” She says cautiously. “They’re the ones who took our friend. Usopp.”

Hatchan rocks back as if struck. “Surely not,” He mutters, seemingly to himself. “When I got word from some friends in the East Blue, I wondered…well. That was about you?”

“What is it?” Robin says, hope rising in her chest. “Do you know something?”

“I’ve been hearing talk,” Hatchan says. “From former members of the Arlong Pirates. They’ve been followed, interrogated by the Vance Pirates. About your crew. And specifically, about your sniper.”

“Do you know where they are?” Robin asks, springing to her feet.

“Not exactly,” He says, “But I know what they’re looking for. I know what they want.”

-

Usopp worries and worries until he sees the red light of evening peek its way into his cell.

Suddenly, he’s exhausted. He’s tired of worrying. He’s tired of fear. He’s tired of boredom. He’s tired of waiting, for the terrible things that are implied to happen but still never come.

And so, there’s only one thing to do.

He’s been like this many times before: alone, bored, worried, sad. Not since he’s joined the Straw Hats, not really, but instead during the many years between the death of his mother and when the pirates finally came. When it was just him and the ghost of his mother in the empty house, when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer and needed to fill it with something, anything.

That’s where the stories started.

That’s where he first got the itch in his head that grew and changed into worlds and adventures and people, where he was loved and not alone. He had whispered them like a secret, just between him and the creaky walls, until he fell asleep, having gotten through another day. He doesn’t really remember much of what he had actually said, only that it had been good.

The itch is here now, and godammit, Usopp is not letting them take this away from him too. The stories might mean something more to them, but they are still his.

And so, for the first time in what feels like forever, Usopp lets the story take over.

“Once upon a time,” He begins, keeping his whisper as low as he can make it. “There lived a brave pirate. A captain who commanded a crew that was not only the best in the world, but the closest. They were more family than crew. And the captain had a dream: to be the king of the pirates. But the dream has obstacles, and monsters, and people who got in his way. But he promised himself, and everyone he loved, that he was going to achieve it.”

Usopp traces patterns into the dark, cold wood. “One day,” He continues. “The Captain had to face his most difficult challenge yet. To advance his dream and to save the ones he loved, he had to fight the strongest creature in the world. It was so strong that, even if it tried to die by its own hand, it would return. How could the captain fight something like that?”

“He tried and he tried and he tried again. He died and came back. But it wouldn’t work. He did everything he could, but it wasn’t enough. He had to be stronger. His friends were relying on him. The world was relying on him.”

“And so, he reaches within and activates the truest power he’d ever seen. The power of gods and monsters. The Captain couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And, with his new abilities, he was able to defeat the strongest creature the world had ever known, and saved the day.”

“He looked upon what he was, what he could do. And, impossibly. He laughed.”

The story whispers its goodbyes before departing and Usopp, somehow, feels better.

-

The crew takes in the news in shocked silence.

“And that’s what they said?” Brook asks, a frown in his voice. “They said that the Vance pirates think that Usopp-San is a seer?”

Hatchan shrugs. “That’s what they said.”

“As you can see,” Robin informs the group. “We now have motive. They took him because they wanted to use him. And,” She pauses for a moment. “I suppose we finally have to address the elephant in the room. We had all…noticed this about Usopp already, correct?”

Brook’s jaw literally drops open. “What?”

The crew looks at each other, before:

“Well,” Nami says, hesitant. “I thought. I don’t know. I thought it was just the Thing that we never talked about. Nobody brought it up ever, so I didn’t either.”

“Oh, no way!” Franky slaps a fist in his palm. “So you’re telling me this wasn’t something you had all decided to just. Never talk about? You just never mentioned it?”

“It was pretty clear from Little Garden,” Zoro says, eyeing the ground thoughtfully. “He never said anything about it. So why would we? Doesn’t make a difference, not really.”

Chopper shrugs. “You’d know right away if you listened to his stories,” He tells Brook. “If you pay attention, they just…I don’t know. They happened. Eventually.”

“To be fair,” Sanji says. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know. Or, if he did, he never mentioned it. I don’t think he listens to himself, most of the time. So, I don’t know. How do you even start that conversation with somebody?”

Brook shakes his head. “Incredible,” He breathes. “A true Seer. That is a rare thing. A very rare thing.”

Luffy sneezes, wiping his nose on his bare arm. “So how does that help us get him back?”

Nami looks at him, askance. “Did you know, Luffy?”

Luffy shrugs. “About Usopp knowing stuff? Yeah. That’s why I asked him to be on my crew.”

Nami’s jaw drops. “Huh? From then? How did you know?”

“I mean,” Luffy says. “He said pirates were coming and we came. He told Kaya lies that she would get better, and she did.” He shrugs. “There was more stuff too but I forgot. It’s so cool though! His stories are so much fun and they’re real!”

Robin steps in before Nami can explode further. “The Captain brings up a good point,” She says. “Its true that this is a valuable piece of information. We still need to find Usopp, so please continue what you were telling me before, Hatchan.”

“Yes,” Hatchan says, clearing his throat. “It was also made quite clear that they, too, are heading in this direction. So, if Camie,” he points to her, and she waves cheerfully. “Were to summon fish to do a sweep of the nearby sea, we may be able to locate them. If they’ve made it here, that is.”

Luffy breaks out into a big grin. “Yes!” He says. “Let’s do it! And when he find them, we’ll go!”

“Or,” Robin steps in. “Luffy. If we know where they are, and they’re behind us, we can wait for them here. At the Flying Fish Riders base. That way, we can continue to Sabaody right after, and continue on the journey we planned.”

“Okay!” Luffy acquiesces instantly. “Camie, do your thing! And who knows…maybe by tomorrow, we’ll have Usopp back!”

-

The sky has turned inky black by the time they come for him.

He hears multiple footsteps enter, echo down the hall, and he just knows. Here we go. He braces himself, feels the tension hit every part of his body.

Three people file in, stand in front of his cell. Captain Vance stands in the middle, eyes glittering, a somber Lark to his left and to his right was Ranger, who refused to look him in the eye.

Vance crosses his arms, staring at Usopp. “Do you know,” He asks, breaking the silence. “Why we’re doing this?”

Usopp lips pinch together. They’re trembling.

“When I was a child,” Vance says. “My village was the center of a battle between pirates and marines. They razed it to the ground. Most people died, and I was one of the few survivors. But they didn’t notice, they didn’t care. They just fought, each side deploying their devil fruits to cause more harm to us than to each other.”

Vance puts his hands on the bars.

“We’re doing this,” He says. “Because those that seek power don’t deserve to have it. And we have to do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

His hands move lower, unlocking the door. It’s now or never.

Usopp gets up and lunges, getting under Vance’s arm, pushing his way out, sensing the cool sea breeze in his air….

An hand grabs his arm and yanks, and he tumbles back into the cell, landing on his back with an oomph. Wind knocked out of him, he wheezed, trying to get his breath back.

A shadow falls over him. He looks up, still gasping, to Vance’s hulking figure.

“Wrong move,” He says.

Quick as lightning, Lark grabs his arms, pinning them to the floor. Ranger grabs his legs, finally making eye contact. His eyes look sad.

Vance steps over them, hovering directly over Usopp. He reaches slowly into his pocket, pulling out two long, thin, knives.

“Please,” Usopp gasps out, fighting, kicking, with all his might. “Please, please, please…”

“You know why it’s called the Second Sight?”

Vance holds the knives right over Usopp’s face.

“Because it should replace the first.”

The knives descend. Usopp passes out as they fall.

Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

[foxcassius]

sorry about maybe intruding but did you break up with jiwon. why did we never heard about the little guy again ..? we love hearing about jake tho keep going. just curious. if u don't mind

omg people notice my posts...yeah jiwon and i broke up for a myriad of reasons. 1) it hurted my feelings a lot that he essentially cancelled the wedding we were meant to have and had me go back to the us instead of stay with him in korea. 2) when i got back to the us ppl started they/themming me immediately and i was like whoa this rules actually. i forgot how much this rules wow korea truly is a Different Place in this regard. and when i mentioned to jiwon the possibility of me coming out/transitioning more masculinely again he was like ehhh i wouldnt want to date you if you did that. and that was sort of the big thing we broke up over. i kinda forgot how nice the daily freedom of expression is in the us whilst living in korea and HAVING to perform femininity to keep my jobs yknow so it was a conversation i had only sparingly w jiwon. which really just means its a good thing we ended up not getting married if our views are this opposed...i wouldnt wanna be in a marriage where i felt like i couldnt tell my partner everything about me.

but jake is very supportive!! honestly jake is very gnc himself. i wont pressure him to take on any label or anything but i just love and accept him however he chooses to be <3 he's my creepy

[elizaviento]

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 1 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane x Female Farmer/OC)

Notes: This is my first attempt at Stardew fic. Shane is my beloved and I want so much to do him proper justice. Please enjoy.

P.S. Stardew Valley is a lovely game with rich lore. However, I'm using it as a framework for this tale. Sticking strictly to game canon just isn't possible, but I shall sprinkle in various Easter eggs along the way.

Summary: Stardew Valley beckoned Kristen Wynand. The mountains, the ridges, the cliffs, the beaches. A simple existence — a soothing balm to blur the myriad of mistakes etched upon her soul. A place to slow down, reflect, take pride in something other than a corner office with a view of concrete pillars piercing the horizon. A place to finally belong without the pressure of perfection and the expectation of more, more, more.

Shane Davis despised the Valley. Because the Valley despised him. Work, sleep, drink — such was life for a man thrust into the responsibility of fatherhood completely unprepared. He'd learned long ago that trust was fragile, shattered far too easily. If kindness was considered weakness, he was indestructible.

Amid the monotony of small town life, the two forge an unlikely friendship. But is friendship all they desire?

This chapter is rated NSFW lite — 2942 words. Mentions of animal death, blood, and injury.

*****

It was 5:32 pm on a random Wednesday during the dead of summer when Shane pulled open the door of the Stardrop Saloon, his feet propelling him toward the same spot he'd frequented for the last three years. The path from the Joja Mart to that exact spot at the end of the bar was well-worn, and each step was etched in his muscle memory, not unlike riding a bike.

"Hi, Shane!"

Emily's bubbly demeanor instantly assaulted him, and he weakly threw a hand up in greeting, as usual. The routine was comfortable.

Taking a cursory glance at his surroundings, he noticed one extra body hunched over the bar directly in front of the cash register. At the far left, Pam tipped her half-empty mug toward him, color already rising in her cheeks, before she shrugged, just as shocked to see this early patron as he was.

Annoyingly, worry settled in his gut as he narrowed his eyes at the filthy woman before him and forced his legs to take a slight detour from their intended destination.

"What are you doing here," he asked lightheartedly, taking a seat next to the farmer. The perspective from this area of the bar seemed somewhat warped, and he felt oddly vulnerable with his back facing the door.

"One of my hens died," she replied, voice thick and raspy. It was only then that Shane noticed a ting of pink coated under and around her fingernails, mixed with the dark hue of what he assumed to be soil.

"What?"

He'd heard exactly what she'd said, but his brain struggled to catch up as the aroma of sweat filtered through his nostrils. Thick and cloying but not unpleasant.

"The peppers were ready to harvest, so I was late checking on them. I made it over to the coop after noon, but I could hear them clucking and scratching. It felt… off ."

Shane already knew the ending before she exhaled a shaky breath in pause. The white-knuckled grip she had on the mug in her calloused hands made him anxious for some reason as if it would shatter in her palms.

"All I found was a pile of blood-soaked feathers toward the far end of the enclosure. I don't know what happened, Shane. I thought I'd counted them all before I shut the coop door for the night."

It was a fox, of course. He'd witnessed the same scenario at least twice on the ranch.

"Hole in the fence?" he asked, staring awkwardly at his own hands. Several weeks prior, he'd pointed out a weak spot when he'd been by the farm to drop off some extra fodder at Marnie's request.

"Yes."

Her reply came out as an exaggerated hiss, and he could practically taste its venom. He knew better than to casually toss an 'I told you so' at a moment like this, even if it sat at the tip of his tongue like a well-rehearsed mantra.

Behind the bar, Emily feigned busyness, but Shane knew her ears were well in tune with the conversation. Gus had strolled in from the back just in time to catch Shane's stern eye and furrowed his brow in question. Tactful and discreet, Emily swiftly pulled the chef aside and whispered to him earnestly.

"It was Sassy," the farmer spoke up again, swiping a grimy finger across her already dirt-caked face, leaving a moist streak in its wake.

"Oh."

Shane wasn't exactly at a loss for words. He had plenty threatening to spew from his chest like sour vomit. His first instinct was to berate her for being so careless. The subsequent was to ask if she'd bothered to repair the breach in the fence before she came to the Saloon to sulk. But he held back, knowing these reactionary responses would earn him a swift slap to the face. He didn't even want to be an asshole, but old habits die hard, and the phrase 'defense mechanism' buzzed brightly in his mind's eye like an antique neon sign — a handy revelation from his therapist.

"Sassafras was the first chick I got from Marine that first Spring, remember?"

Of course, he remembered, but he only nodded in response. In his peripheral vision, Gus had fired up the grill and tossed a 12-ounce sirloin on the sizzling surface. Pops and cracks of searing flesh and fat became the backdrop to sparse sniffles from the woeful farmer.

"You waved at me from the counter when I was in the kitchen, and I flipped you off."

"Ah, the good old days," the farmer quipped, her sudden shift from weepy to snickering catching Shane off guard.

Over two years had passed since that day. It wasn't the first time they'd interacted, but it was among several that Shane regretted the most. Initially, his interest in Pelican Town's newest inhabitant was zero. Even with the buzz of gossip surrounding her arrival, he couldn't be bothered, and he was even less impressed when he'd finally laid eyes on her. Cute — yes. He'd begrudgingly admitted that to himself, but otherwise, she was entirely unremarkable, just like everyone else.

She'll fit right in , he'd thought as he scowled over the rim of his rapidly emptying mug of ale the first time she'd entered the Stardrop on a Friday night carrying a basket of fresh vegetables. He'd been right.

"Hey there, Krissy," Gus said, pulling Shane from his brooding memories. The farmer shifted her pitiful gaze toward Gus' smiling face as he held out a styrofoam to-go box toward her. "Made your favorite. Medium rare."

"Gus, I didn't order —"

"Hush now," the chef retorted. "It's on the house. Consider it a little kickback for all the top-quality produce you've supplied." The man's mustached smile grew wider as the farmer took the to-go box from his large hands and thanked him.

"I think you might know me too well," she supplied as she rose from the wobbly stool in preparation to depart. Several of the town's residents had begun to filter in through the front door, and the clamor of chatter slowly filled the atmosphere of the Saloon. Wednesdays were never known to be busy, but the few regulars would puzzle over the farmer's disheveled state in the form of not-so-subtle whispers and sidelong glances.

"Go on," Gus replied, playfully shooing her away. "We'll see you on Friday night, as usual."

Emily was already bustling around the occupied tables, taking orders from Willy and Clint before crossing the room to take care of Leah. As she passed, she placed a reassuring hand on the farmer's shoulder and smiled.

Unconsciously, Shane turned on his own worn stool, his eyes following Kristen as she grinned back at the blue-haired waitress, the weariness already lifting and the worry lines in her forehead smoothing in turn. Catching his gaze briefly, she mumbled, "See ya, Shane." And then she was gone.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Sweat-soaked strands of auburn hair plastered themselves to the farmer's neck and forehead as she struggled with the rusted wire cutters. She'd gotten up at 5 am — an hour earlier than usual — to avoid such sweltering heat. She should have known better.

Glancing at her watch, she cursed under her breath. It was just shy of 7 am, and she knew Shane would be leaving the ranch soon to make it to his shift on time. The urge to call him was overwhelming, but her pride burned hotter, flushing up from her chest when she recalled his expression at the Saloon the previous day. It must have taken every ounce of willpower to keep his mouth shut after confessing to her stupidity. She wasn't sure what she'd expected at the time. An ounce of sympathy? A tiny scrap of comfort from a friend?

He told you to repair the fence weeks ago. This is your own damn fault.

Plump tears of self-pity and mourning for her beloved hen welled behind her eyes and rolled down her sunburnt cheeks at the first blink. There was no use attempting to hold them back. She'd lost the will to fight them long ago.

Instead, she transferred the wire cutters to the opposite hand, flexing her right to work out the kinks. She'd placed an order for hardwood fencing with Robin over the phone the day prior before she began her walk of shame to the Saloon. In the meantime, chicken wire would have to suffice.

Crouching low, she balanced on her haunches as she molded the wire around the hole, snipping along the edges awkwardly with her non-dominant hand. The steadily rising sun kissed the dew-covered grass, sparkling across the droplets like brilliant diamonds. The sight would have been serene to witness while sipping a cup of black coffee on her front porch. But now, it only obscured her vision further as a bead of salty sweat rolled from her scalp and stung her swollen eyes.

The subsequent chain of events remained hazy in the farmer's memory when she was asked about them, even years later. What she could recall, with some semblance of clarity, was squinting against blinding rays just as her sweat-slicked palm slid down the grip of the wire cutters, shoving the business end directly into the center of the palm of her opposite hand. Her bottom made contact with the ground next as she lost balance, sprawling comically across the dirt like a top-heavy toddler.

The pain didn't register for quite a while. Instead, pressure and overwhelming nausea flooded her senses as her breaths came in short, rapid gasps, and her vision wavered. Sweat continued to sting her eyes as she mentally processed the situation in a matter of seconds.

Something's wrong. Look at it. Look.

NO DON'T NO NO —

Her chest heaved, and she involuntarily flexed her right hand. More pressure, and her stomach rolled violently, causing her to retch. What felt like hours passed as unadulterated panic seized the farmer, her mind frantically screaming for her to take action while she stared directly at a wisp of cloud floating lazily by on the lightest of breezes. Cold sweat coated every inch of her body, causing her to shiver as shock began to sit in. 

Eventually, the swimmy sensation faded enough for her to turn her head to the side. The motion was sloppy as if she were 4 glasses deep into a bottle of aged strawberry wine, and her cheek made contact with the warm dirt below. Gritty, it smelled like pure earth as her breath fanned the fine particles across her outstretched shoulder where it clung.

The hilt of the wire cutters was tilted at an angle, jutting awkwardly from her palm. She flexed her right hand again, and they jumped, the snipping end scraping jaggedly through the inner meat of her palm. This time, she retched and vomited, the sick pooling near her head as she coughed and gasped, her body once again betraying her.

Your phone's in your pocket. Call someone. Call anyone.

Self-preservation is a powerful thing. The farmer recalled the story of a teenager who had survived a plane crash and practically crawled her way through the jungle with a festering leg. Yet here she was, with technology at her fingertips — a literal lifeline to summon help — and she was too busy barfing over the sight of her injured hand.

You wore overalls today. The pocket is loose. Just reach in with your left hand and grab it.

It took a few deep, measured breaths to wrangle the nausea long enough to will herself to move, and even then, it felt as if she were wading through viscous sludge. The effort was intense and maddening, and the pain that had, so far, remained at bay thanks to a heady dose of adrenaline began to lick at her nerve endings like tiny fork-tongued demons straight from the depths of hell.

A strangled moan escaped her lips as her fingers closed around the smooth rectangle stuffed deep in her pocket. The sun continued to rise, unforgiving rays showering her face and blinding her once again as she turned it back toward the shy.

You're being dramatic. It can't be that bad.

That was probably true, but it wasn't the wound that sent a chill down her spine and panic to constrict her throat as if she'd swallowed a handful of bees. It was the blood. The looming threat of it clouded her senses and coated her tongue in ash. As soon as the tool was removed from her palm, all hell would break loose. 

Trembling, the farmer hovered the cell phone in front of her face, blocking the sun enough for her pupils to adjust. Facial recognition unlocked the device, and she shakily tapped the phone icon, followed by the most recent number in her call history.

"Hello?" a gruff voice asked after several static-laden rings. It sounded small and miles away, and the farmer flushed as she fumbled to put the call on speaker.

"Shane —" Her voice came out as a raspy croak, and she coughed once, spittle speckling across the contact photo — an adorably round hen in mid-stride.

"What is it, Kriss?" His tone was clipped and soaked with annoyance. She had the urge to laugh, as she always did when his frustration with her was evident. "I'm running late for work. Jas turned my alarm off because she wanted me to take her to the park instead."

This time she did laugh, dry and breathy. And, for a split second, she considered lying. The last thing she wanted was to place another burden on this man's already sagging shoulders. 

"Yeah, yeah. Ha, ha," Shane mocked. He sounded slightly winded, and the farmer wondered if he'd actually been running before he answered her call. "You sound funny. What's wrong?"

Something clutched her heart just then and twisted her stomach into a knot. Coupled with the nausea, it caused her to sigh deeply and cough again, dry and fruitless. Briefly, she recalled the days when she hardly knew this man. His exoskeleton so rough and impenetrable, disdain coloring every expression he gave her when she dared to approach him. Now, though, he could tell just by her voice that something was amiss. 

"I need help," she finally relented. "Can you stop by the clinic on your way to Joja and ask Harvey to come to the farm?"

"What — why?" He sounded concerned now, and the knot twisted tighter in her belly. It stole her breath, and she closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself. "Kriss, what the hell?"

"Sorry," she replied, turning her face to take another look at the rusted tool protruding from her right palm. "I don't want to make you late. Maybe you can just call Harvey instead?"

"Why the fuck are you like this?" he asked. "Just tell me what's wrong."

Again, she laughed. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on her. She wasn't a teenage girl crawling through a dense jungle in search of rescue after a plane crash. She was a grown woman, too afraid to inconvenience those around her. Even the thought of asking Harvey to travel all the way to the farm made her cringe.

"I stabbed myself in the hand with wire cutters. It's — I think I need stitches or something."

The effort to keep her tone nonchalant was immense. Openly admitting to another moronic act in less than 24 hours was nothing short of humiliating.

"Fuck me," Shane groaned. His breathing had suddenly sped up, and she could faintly hear the soles of his shoes thumping pavement. He'd made it to the town square. "Okay, just… I dunno, wrap it up as best you can."

"Yeah, sure," she said, forcing herself upright. The tool jostled with her movements, and she doubled over to prevent a fresh wave of vomit. 

"I'm almost at the clinic now, but I gotta call Morris."

"Shane, no —"

But he cut off her pathetic attempt to protest with, "Shut up. We'll be there soon."

Three beeps blared from the speaker, signifying he'd ended the call. She stared blankly at the phone's screen for several seconds, her mind performing a hard reboot in preparation for what would come next.

❦❧🍓❦❧

The rash decision of yanking the wire cutters from the meat of her palm before she'd reached the farmhouse was the third moronic thing Kristen had done in such a short snippet of time. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to torture herself, but the fleeting glimpse of a pearly white strand embedded within the wound left her breathless. Less than a second later, blood welled and pooled into her palm, obscuring it from her view forever, but not nearly enough for the screeching in her mind to reach a devastating crescendo.

Fat droplets of crimson dripped down her forearm, slicing through the grime like an errant river. More fell to the dirt with nearly audible plops , leaving a macabre trail for Shane and Harvey to come upon later.

Studying the human body's inner workings in an academic setting was child's play compared to laying eyes on one's own tendon, no matter how brief. That sight — stark and bright in contrast with the muddy hue of mangled flesh surrounding it — would haunt her periodically throughout life, making her shiver in disgust. But now, it only served to spike the panic she'd held at bay to an unsustainable degree, smudging her vision around the edges like charcoal on construction paper.

The farmhouse's front porch came into view, along with the silhouette of her mangy cat — a blessed oasis she shuffled toward before it was swallowed whole by the gaping maw of oblivion.

*****

Feedback is always appreciated. Although I'm well versed in writing fic, I always feel apprehensive when diving into a new fandom. ♥️