#upside is that it's my last second year requirement

[autumnoakes]

i just got asked if i was job seeking for the fall (for co-op) like boi.... slow down..... we haven't even gotten past finals in spring yet......

[jilyydoe]

Harry shifted slightly before groaning out loud.

His voice barley coming out strangled and hoarse. His throat scratchy and dry.

It took a few delayed seconds before he could pry his eyes open before quickly screwing them closed against the assaulting bright light of his sitting room.

He attempted sitting up a bit too quickly before his vision swam, and a wave of nausea turned his stomach violently.

He slouched back against the sofa, the heel of his palm digging into his eye socket while his other hand danced around for his glasses.

"Kreature.." Harry croaked out

"Master Harry called for Kreature sir?" A blurry blob appeared before him

"My glasses Kreature..have you seen them?" Harry reached out with one arms waving in front of him in the general direction of what he now assumed was his house elf.

When he felt the cool metal frames press into his hand he shuddered a sigh of relief. "Some water as well please"

Harry's head hung limply between his knees, glasses dangling from his fingers until Kreature came back handing him a tall glass.

Harry gulped the drink down in three swallows, the chilled liquid cooling his burning throat.

Shoving his glasses back on his face helped only in that things became less blurry but with each sudden movement his world spun slowly In front of him making him clutch the sofa tightly to keep from keeling over.

He opened his eyes wearily and glanced around the place.

His cloak was thrown haphazardly in the entrance to them room. One shoe sat turned upside-down next to the couch, the other near the fireplace. His wand lay nestled on the plush carpet by his feet. His clothes were rumpled and there was a pink smudged stain on his shoulder.

Harry frowned at the swipe of lipstick on his shirt until suddenly the memories from last night came crashing back in place.

He was going to kill George.

Harry and Ron had just come back from assignment. A rather rough mission that hadn't gone well. 2 weeks in a cold damp climate only to lose half their supplies and 1 of the 2 suspects they were trailing to the mountains. It had reminded Harry so much of the horcrux hunt that it brought back nightmares enough to lose sleep.

So when they came back to England they jumped at George's offer to meet at the pub.

Snippets of memories flashed before his eyes making him groan in despair.

A table full of shots.

The celebratory sound of the Harpies winning a match against the wasps on an amplified wireless in the background

George's loud laugh.

Ron's hand thumping against his back.

The scratchy nails of a blonde woman gripping his biceps as she leaned up to his face.

Harry jerked sideways both in the memory and in the present. Bringing his attention back into focus and resting on the low coffee table in front of him.

That explained the lipstick stain.

So what explains the mess of parchment and ink before him?

Another wave of nausea hit for an entirely different reason than the alcohol he undoubtedly consumed last night.

He was going to kill Hermione.

It had been her idea. All those years ago. When they were camped in the forest on the hunt for horcruxes.

His mind, his body his whole being had been at war with his heart. He was having trouble focusing. Losing sleep. All because he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Ginny.

He longed to hold her. Kiss her. Talk to her. Just be near her.

He hadn't pursued a relationship with her because he had a job to do. One that required his full focus and attention, but sitting there in the cold, he could only think of her. And that was dangerous. Because if Voldemort could get into his head, then he would see how much she meant to him and he would use her, and Harry couldn't let that happen.

And that's when Hermiones bright idea came into play.

"Write her a letter. Tell her how you feel. Get it all out. Out of your heart and out of your head."

"And then burn it."

And it worked. Back then. It worked well enough for Harry to be able to push forward and defeat Voldemort.

It worked when the war was over and they had to greive their lost loved ones.

It worked when Ginny had to go back to school and Harry had to start training.

It worked when Ginny had been recruited to the Holyhead Harpies and dedicated all her time and energy on quidditch.

It worked in Harry's mind enough to allow her the life she deserved without the burden of his unrequited feelings weighing her down.

His heart still longed for her, though.

And maybe it was the conditions of the mission. Maybe it was the flirty blonde, maybe it was definitely the alcohol, but last night Harry was sure he wrote another letter.

His eyes widened at the ink stains on his hand and leapt toward the table frantically looking for the letter but coming up quite literally blank.

The parchments were all blank, but Harry could see the words burned into the inside of his eyelids.

"Ginny. Gin. Ginevra.

You're as beautiful as a golden snitch

You're the keeper of my heart

I wish you were mine

All of the time

I love you more than treacle tart."

No.no.no.no.no.no

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't possibly be happening.

The fireplace stood as cold and empty as the creeping feeling, making its way up his chest.

Surely he didn't send the letter...he couldn't have.

That's when Hedwig appeared swooping in through the window.

An invitation to dinner at the burrow written in Ginnys neat handwriting clutched in her claws.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Author’s Note: this is the second part of mer-Joth’s fic!

Previous.

Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel

Warnings: magical ritual, imprisonment, ask me to tag something if it bothers you

Summary: Joth wakes up post deamon-stabbing. Things go… Strangely from there.

Joth woke up to the sound of smug sorcerer chanting, and the worst headache he's had in over three hundred years. The Thousand Son who made off with Joth's own rightful sacrifice has tied him upside down to some sort of stone. Fucker left his mouth unbound, so the irritated World Eater planned on making it the damned blue badtard's problem. “HEY FUCKER! LET ME OUT OF THIS AND GIVE ME BACK MY SACRIFICE!” He also starTed to struggle against the chains binding him in place, hoping that either the links in the chain or the stone to which he'd been pinned to would give way, thrashing as much as his bindings would allow him to.

“Hmm… No. I had been stalking after that rare specimen for months in preparation for this Ritual. Then you showed up at the last moment and messily ripped it apart. Luckily for me, you kept intact the organs and bones I required for this. I and dozens of my brothers are collaborating together on this Great Work, and should we succeed, it will allow those of us who are blessed by Chaos to work with the Warp much more similarly like it is back home, rather than the ash-fired clay effort it takes to do anything more than minor tricks here and now.” The Thousand son sniffed, glaring naughtily down at Joth for a couple of moments before returning to his chanting.

The World Eater thought about that for several seconds - the greater blessings of Khorne he had earned couldn't be used in this time, on Ancient Terra for reasons Joth could only begin to guess at. The ability to go on sustained Rampages… To ensure the Blood Flowing and the collected Skulls given to the Throne…

It was almost enough to get him to purr and settle into his bonds. “... and if I promise not to interfere with your… Ritual? Will you let me free then?” He could respect another's irritation at a kill being stolen from him. Stuffy blue fuck could have led with that hours ago and saved them both the trouble. But no, stubborn bastard sorcerers refused to communicate in more than smug smirks and annoying as fuck riddles a good ninety percent of the time, trying to prove that they were so much smarter than everyone else.

At least his Primarch survived the Heresy, and had led them to greater powers, as well as the endless glory of fighting for Khorne. Away from the false light and moneyed lies of the corpse-Emperor and his throne of lies and two-faced duplicity.

The thousand son continued to chant for several minutes, the brilliant blue glow of Warpcraft steadily shining through the other's eyes, mouth and hands as he continued the task he had set himself. Fucker didn't even look in his direction in order to acknowledge that Joth had spoken.

One of his oldest and most familiar companions - Wrath - charged to the forefront of his mind, made his dual hearts sing for the preparation of battle, in spite of the deamon-poison stings that caused his body to ache fiercely all over. Joth struggled against his bindings again, feeling some of the metal begin to stretch and give way beneath his bulk and strength.

The thousand son continued to ignore him completely, his chanting in the partially air-filled cave bouncing off of the walls, creating an echo that made it seem as if dozens or even hundreds of fellow Sorcerers were chanting with him, just a beat or two off of his own chanting. The blue of warp use continued to intensity- and started to color and light the water where the other Mer sat tall, hands weaving complicated symbols over the sacrificial bones and meat laid out on the altar the fucker was sitting in front of.

The bones and meat had begun to glow as well. Moments after that, they began to move, slowly at first before gaining speed. They started to spin around and around the room, with each revolution getting faster and faster. Along with the chanting, Joth could swear that he could hear the last pained and frightened calls that the large aquatic mammal had made - had they been a warning call, to chase others away, or a desperate plea for help?

As the glowing and chanting continued to intensify, one of the larger organs suddenly splattered against a sharp rock, causing the color of the warp-crafted light to change from blue to magenta.

Oh fuck no.

Whichever of the dark powers the thousand son had been seeking to strengthen, the plea had just shifted to another, and Joth was not going to participate in a Slaaneshi ritual while tied to a big, fuck-off boulder. He could be interpreted as part of the sacrifice and that was not happening.

Joth continued to thrash and struggle against his binings, feeling the Metal continue to give way…

But the warp-light was intensifying, and the distinctive crunch of bone on stone intensified the magenta hue, prompting the Khornate Chaos Marine to triple his efforts in an attempt to escape.

The light, chanting and spinning of flesh and bone continued to intensify, weĺl-past blinking and deafening to Joth at this point, even as he'd shut his eyes, to try and preserve them.

The sound of his chains breaking was the sweetest down Joth could ever remember hearing, and he shot out of the water - feeling the electrifying buzz of active warp-energy coating his scales… Which may or may not have consequences he'll need to deal with and/or adjust to. But that was Later Joth's problem. Right now he needed to get the fuck out of here before the ritual either ended successfully.

Or… Considering this was a project led and done by The Thousand Sons… Blow up spectacularly horribly in their faces, leading to a widespread and devastating curse affliction them. But Joth had no interest in Being Cursed by an overconfident sorcerer coven.

He swum as swiftly as the twisting tunnels and partially filled watery caverns would allow him, following the scent of fresh air.

About half-way through he battled into something small, soft and warm. His deepest instincts howled Mine! Protect! Defend! As different kinds of chains began to wind around his soul, leading into your small and delicate psychic fingertips.

Having no desire nor time to explain what he was fleeing, Joth scoops you, his newly bonded human up and continues to swim at his top speed, keeping you tucked into his chest, both so that you’re as safe as he can make you be at the moment, and so that you don’t slow him down.

He does not stop when he carries you up and out of the underwater cave system that you’d been exploring. Nor does he slow down as you flail and scream - nor heed much to the confused yelling of your friends.

But since those yelling humans are important to you, they are also picked up as he continues swimming through the air as fast as he can. He air-swims for hours before gently setting you and your friends down on the soft candy beach. He curls around you protectively as a wave of magenta-tinted exhaustion hits him “Danger… in the caves.. Do not return… Little Bonded…” He croon, making sure to use the same language that you and your friends have been yelling at him the most in, his eyes closing, even as he keeps curled protectively around you.

[thought-42]

Somebody has to leave first

Star Wars, 1400 words,Ezra Bridger Something something growing up something something ded parent something something Ezra Bridger in the Chiss Ascendancy. I've never heard of canon in my life.

Ezra Bridger talks to dead people.

They do not, it should be noted, talk back.

He knows all things are possible within the Force, so he's always gotta keep in mind that his monologues run the very real risk of becoming dialogues, probably at the most embarrassing or inconvenient times, but honestly if a ghost has nothing better to do than listen in on his diary entries to the beyond that says more about them than it does about him.

He doesn't talk to Kanan. It seems like the obvious assumption, follow in the shuffling footsteps of Obi-Wan Kenobi and claw out frantically for a point of stability to serve as compass in a world gone upside down. And there was a time where a smile or a few words of pride from Kanan was all Ezra needed to reinforce his foundations and stand tall and ready. But the truth of it is, he doesn't know if Kanan would be proud of him, which would be less of a problem if Ezra himself had any uncertainty about his life choices.

Besides, even ten years on every time he thinks about that last glimpse of Kanan, wreathed in flames, he wants to dig his fingers into his skin and deeper and pull and pull until the memory and the sick feeling in his stomach are gone. He cannot think about it. It is an impossibility, it is not something his mind is capable of bearing, the idea of another living person who he loves burning and burning and burning is not something that can live inside of him sustainably. He thinks of Kanan and he feels sick and sad and selfish for not being able to focus on all the good memories.

No, Ezra doesn't talk to Kanan. Ezra talks to people he has only ever known in death.

He talks to  Master Mace Windu and tells him he wishes he knew how to see shatterpoints. Ezra is good at building connections, building bridges, yeah yeah yeah, but every web has one thread at risk, one point where a quick pull will unravel the whole thing. Ezra's had his entire life shattered twice before with no warning, he would really love to know how to prevent the inevitable third round. . Shouldn't this skill just come free with the lineage?

He talks to Thrass-- "can I call you Thrass?" Everybody says Thrawn needed a brother, and yeah, ok, his older brother died and Thrawn went off the rails there for a hot eighteen years, but Ezra's here now, reporting for little brother duty twenty years late with caccoleaf; but better late than never, right? It feels right, picking up Thrass's flag in the relay of Sky Walker investigation and running hard and fast with it as far as he can go. Feels kinda like when Zeb would start a repair project on the Ghost and then leave the second half for Ezra to finish off with no need for explanation or request, just the trust that Ezra knows what to do. ...Thrawn kinda feels like one of those handed off projects, too, but Ezra doesn't even say that part to the dead, just in case they really are listening and decide to tell on him. Ezra never had an older sibling by blood, but they seem to adopt him everywhere he goes. He figures it's his turn to adopt one back, even if it is posthumous.

He talks to Master Depa, because, as his grandmaster, she's legally required to think he's doing a great job. He talks to her about being a teacher on a warship, asks how she delt with knowing every time she ruffled Caleb's hair over breakfast it could be the last.

He tells her every time he wonders if he permanently stained his soul with the dark he remembers that she came back as strong a Jedi as anybody could ask, and it really does make him trust in himself.

He thanks her for raising Caleb, although would it have killed her to teach him just a biiiit of Vaapad?

He tells her he understands, fundamentally, like a burning cole lodged in his ribcage, her desperate need to protect her student, to die so that he could live.

He tells her she would be proud of the man Caleb became, but that it probably wasn't what she expected. Caleb didn't grow up into Caleb. Caleb grew up into Kanan, and secretly Ezra always wonders if Kanan would have been someone who would have fit back in with the Jedi of his childhood.

Ezra's cabinet of entirely metaphorical ghosts all roll their eyes at this transparent attempt at obfuscation, because all the ghosts Ezra has made up to talk to are assholes.

Ok, fine. So maybe Ezra's pretty sure that the found family who gave Ezra Bridger, Jedi Padawan a home might not know what to do with Stybla'ezra'bridger, Jedi Navigator.

It had taken Ezra and sacher actual months, long nights  of sitting at Ezra's kitchen table with big sheets of paper and cheap wine, tossing potential names for their brand new program back and forth. They settled on Jedi Navigator mostly because Thrawn told them they had three days before the official paperwork had to be filed, and they hadn't come up with anything better that they could both agree on. Ezra hit submit on his part of the project proposal and that night he'd laid awake imagining a scenario where he got to tell Hera and Kanan-- "See? Jedi Navigator. Something from each of you."

He's heard the war is over. The Rebellion won and turned right back around to build another Republic. He's heard there's another Jedi --not Kanan, miraculously returned like Ezra dreams at least once a month-- and he's going to start a new order. And he's tried to imagine himself somewhere in all of that and it doesn't fit. He fit on a bunk bed in the Ghost with his family around him, doing their part to beat back the constant press of fascism. But there's no more Empire, no more family all squished together in one little ship. Even if he wanted to climb back into that bunk he knows his head would bump the top now.

The space between eighteen and twenty-eight feels like a lifetime. At eighteen Ezra had just gotten all his clay together and ready to be moulded into a person, and then he'd flung himself half way across the galaxy and wound up being moulded and fired in a different kilmn entirely. There's an Ezra somewhere out there who grew and changed right alongside that cramped little family, who moved forward in their orbit, chose his path and his place on the same game board. He probably knows how to fit in. He's probably working at the Jedi school or part of the reconstruction efforts on Lothal or a commander on a Republic ship stamping out the last remnants of the Empire.

Ezra's not jealous of this other version of himself, this what-if world he built in his own imagination specifically to hurt himself. He expected to be struck by the longing for home, by the bitterness of lost possibility. He isn't.

He can't tell Thrawn this because Thrawn spent eighteen years becoming something monstrous, shredding himself and everyone around him in an increasingly desperate dancing of 'I can fix this I can fix this I can fix this' and when he’d come back the hole his departure had left had long since healed over.

He can't tell Kanan this because--- the force of the explosion, maybe, was enough to make it quick--

Hera's a General now, apparently, and Ezra's certain it suits her just as he's certain even in a world where he'd stayed he wouldn't be asking a General for existential advice at 3:00 AM. Every thing he learns about what's happening in Lesser Space is a double-edged blade.

They aren't really supposed to know much at all-- not relevant, but Theliva keeps offering Ezra little nuggets of info about the Spectors like an awkward stepparent offering candy to win affection from a recalcitrant child. To which Ezra says, 'did you know it was actually just so easy not to join the Empire?' If Ezra's parents had been alive and he could have carried on their family legacy-- well. Isn't that what his whole life's been about, at the end of the day? Hauling around other people's legacies, trying to build something new out of the scattered pieces.

He offers himself up, everything he is on open palms to the gallery of ghosts, living and dead:

This is all I have to offer. It is enough.

[mendelpalace]

Answering Some Asks

I recently sent some questions over to @thirtytwoelvismovies - who requested that I answer them myself in turn. So here we are:

What's a recent piece of media you've connected with?

Probably the most recent media that I connected with is the "Anthology of the Killer" series of games by thecatamites. I played through most of them in two days last year and they quickly became an all-time fave. Inspired by everything from Richard Sala's comics, to 80s new wave design, to surrealist art, to zine culture, to the endless repetition of long-running detective and horror fiction. They're also short and have a lot of fun writing.

2. What's something you'd LIKE to collect, but don't currently have?

I don't have a ton of room or disposable income at the moment, so there's lots of things I'd like to collect if circumstances were different. The first thing that comes to mind for some reason would be the 1981 pinball table Black Hole, which has a hidden second playfield that's upside down. Expensive and requires a lot of upkeep, but it'd be so cool.

3. What's the last album that you listened to?

TEETH OF GLASS - La sonagliera della morte (2024). Gloomy minimal synth/ambient inspired by giallo cinema and Italian gothic horror. Courtesy of the Heimat Der Katastrophe label, who publish a lot of dungeon synth, minimal synth, etc.

4. How are you doing?

So-so, truth be told. My depression has been getting to me lately and I've had a lot of anxiety about the future. I've been feeling very stagnant for a while now and I think I need some change.

[thebeckster]

Ben again with a second prompt for that reverse trope game: Forte/Frey and the soulmates fated to kill each other? (;w;)

HI BEN GUESS WHAT WAS SO PERFECTLY UP MY ALLEY FOR A COMPLETELY TRAGIC STORY INSTEAD OF MAKING THIS A SHORT PROMPT FILL LIKE I INTENDED IT BECAME A 7.3K WORD MONSTER!

As soon as I saw the prompt and the ship I just immediately went "Well, that's perfect for a Dark!Empress Frey AU!" And then I went into an ADHD fueled fugue state for 4 hours and came out with this!

I am not going to post the whole story here, even under a cut, I won't do that to y'all. So you can read the whole thing on AO3!

I'll put the juciest parts here. it will still be quite long under the cut, be warned.

CW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, generally Mature content in the back half.

Forte only ever had her fortune told once. She had been a young girl, just about a year into her training – old enough to be concerned about the future, but young enough to believe in soothsayers. She went with a group of girlfriends, all giggling and nervous and excited to know what exactly fate had in store for them Would they find love? Glory? Power? One by one the girls stepped into the witch’s parlor, paid her the required coin, and asked their questions. Forte waited to go last. She didn’t know what she wanted to ask the seer. Before she made up her mind, the witch was calling her in. The parlor was dark, the air heavy with smokey incense. Candles flickered all around, they were the only source of light, aside from the faintly glowing milky crystal ball in the center of a small round table. The witch smiled kindly at her and held out her hand for Forte’s coin. “Take a seat, dear, and ask me what you would like to know.” Forte sat across from her at the table, trying to think of any question that was worth the seer’s time. Her mind was blank. “I… I suppose… I’m going to be a knight. I guess… what should my steed be? Horses are nice but…” What kind of question was that? It was so stupid! “A knight’s steed must match their nature. A bold knight can harness a mighty steed. A cunning knight knows to blend in as simple horse and rider. When were you born, my dear?” “No wait! Sorry, can I ask another. That was a stupid question.” Forte’s eyes had caught something when the witch set her cards aside. She’d set the deck upside down and the bottom card showed two figures holding hands, looking at each other. “Of course, dear.” The witch offered kindly, setting the star chart aside. Forte drew a breath. “I want to know if I’ll ever meet my soulmate.”

The witch’s smile widened. “Give me your hands.”

Forte held out her hands and the seer began carefully examining them, gently tracing her finger tip over the lines on Forte’s palm. “Your right hand is strong, the love line is long. When you fight for love, you will rarely lose. But your left hand,” she clicked her tongue softly in disappointment, “The hand with which you would hold your loves close… I’m afraid that love line has been cut short. This scar here, how long have you had it?”

“About a year.” It had been an accident in her early training, her hand had slipped while she was sharpening a blade.

The witch released Forte’s hands and placed the deck of cards in them. “Shuffle them however you please. When you are done, draw five cards.”

Forte shuffled a few times and drew her cards. She laid out a card with a woman on a throne, a card with a chariot, a card with a crumbling tower, a card with balanced scales, and a card with a man hanging upside down.

The witch spent a long moment studying the cards. The longer she studied, the more sorrowful she looked. Eventually she drew in a long breath and one by one pointed to the cards Forte had drawn. “The Empress, the Chariot, the Tower, Justice, and the Hanged Man. I am sorry, my dear, your future does not look to be a happy one.”

“What do you mean?” Forte asked. The cards didn’t look all that bad.

The witch closed her eyes, and when she spoke it was in a rougher voice, as if she was channeling some other spirit. “Your soulmate will come into your life most unexpectedly. She will be a force of nature, and a lover of it. Your time together will be short, but meaningful. Duty and ambition will drive you apart, set you upon different paths. Destruction will bring you together again, opposing forces upon a battlefield. She will be great and terrible, and you will be the mighty hand of justice. You reunion will bring death. Each falling to the hand of the other. So it is written. So it shall be.”

“Is this some kind of a joke?!” Forte jumped to her feet angrily. She expected some fluffy drivel about the right person coming into her life at a certain time, and a happily ever after to follow. Fortune tellers were just supposed to be good at telling people what they wanted to hear. Not go telling young girls of their death. “You’re just an old fraud, what do you know!”

The witch offered no counter. She merely watched Forte with a deeply piteous look.

Forte turned and stormed out of her parlor. The witch did not chase her.

Her friends were waiting by the door, ready to go, discussing their fortunes. They asked Forte about hers, but she wasn’t ready to answer, not until they were back in the street and free from the cloying stink of the fortune house, and those stupid cards were far behind her.

“Come on, Forte,” her friend asked, hooking her arm through hers to make her slow down a bit. “What did you ask her? What did she say?”

“Nothing,” Forte grumbled. “Nothing important. I asked her if I would ever meet my soulmate and she went on some crazy rant about how I’d end up killing her instead.” She kicked at a loose stone and sent it skittering off down the street.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. If you ask me, I think she was a fraud and just wanted to turn up the dramatics. You know what she told me? She said I’d marry some fat, bald, old baker and have eight of his kids.” She scoffed derisively. “As if!”

Her other friends joined in, weighing the validity of the seer’s prophecies. Half of them seemed to find hope, but the other half seemed to find their fortunes more than a little far-fetched. It didn’t take long at all for Forte to put the whole affair out of her mind entirely.

So when an amazing young woman, with the strongest powers Forte had ever seen, and an uncanny affinity for nature fell into her life, Forte didn’t think about a spread of cards from a decade past. All she thought about was the powerful connection the two of them shared, the way the air seemed charged with electricity whenever they spoke, the way her heart fluttered and her palms grew sweaty when Frey was around.

It didn’t take long for Forte to fall in love with Frey. She would stay up all night thinking about the future they could have together. The Earthmate Princess and the Dragon Knight – it could only ever be a fairytale romance. From the moment Frey entered her life, Forte couldn’t imagine a future without her in it. What they had together went beyond attraction and infatuation. She wouldn’t dare confess it yet, it was still too soon, but when she thought about Frey, Forte thought she understood what it meant to have a soulmate.

She didn’t work up the nerve to say anything before Ventuswill got sick. And Dragon Knight had to do her job and protect her charge. And Earthmate Princess had to play her role and go off and fix the problem.

In her waking and lucid moments, Ventuswill would tease Forte about how she loved Frey. Sometimes she would offer encouragement to the knight, telling her to tell Frey how she felt before it was too late. Once, she even fondly looked forward to seeing the two of them spend a happy lifetime together. They were meant for each other. Divine dragons know these things.

And Forte suddenly remembered a witch and a spread of cards and an ill-omened prophecy. And she wanted to ask Ventuswill if it could possibly be true. But the dragon had slipped back to sleep, and she was never lucid enough again to answer Forte’s questions about fate.

It couldn’t possibly come true. There could be no future where Forte ever saw Frey as an enemy. She loved her. The witch had been a fraud.

When this was over, the two of them would be together forever.

Except Frey ended up leaving Forte. She returned from battle victorious. She returned Empress. And Frey left Selphia, left Forte.

As suddenly and unexpectedly as she had come into her life, she left it.

The years passed. Forte dedicated herself to her knighthood. She never loved again, not in the same way she had loved Frey. She tried once or twice to fill the void, let other lovers heal her, but they were never quite right.

Eventually she stopped trying. She turned away potential interest and dismissed any who were bold enough to confess a desire to love her. She preferred it that way. She was a better knight without distractions pulling her from her duty.

Forte proved her place as a knight, time and time again. When she was challenged, she rose up to face it, and when she inevitably was victorious, she rose through the ranks. No longer a Dragon Knight, for there was no dragon these days in need of protection, she became a captain, a commander, a general. By the time she was the same age her father had been when he died, she had far surpassed his station.

In her time, Forte learned how to lead soldiers and command armies. Her troops quickly gained a reputation for their discipline, their efficiency, their prowess, their loyalty. General Forte’s command was built of people like her, people doubted every step of their journey, people who had to work twice as hard to get half as far as their peers. She knew promise and potential when she saw it. She loved a challenge, accepted the risks, bargained on the sure losers. And she was rarely disappointed. Forte was the best general among the best soldiers. When war broke, they would be the force to end it.

The war was brutal, and short.

Armies broke against each other. War machines slaughtered mindlessly.

But where the Empress thought that this war would be a show of her prowess, she was met with more resistance than she expected. Norad was no longer at the technological disadvantage as it had been in the last war. Their tacticians knew the enemy’s playbook well. Their generals were relentless.

Quickly the tide turned against the Empress. Steadily Norad pushed into the Empire, until the final battle was upon them.

The scattered remnants of the Empress’ armies had rallied around their beloved leader, and they were making a valiant final stand.

And the best of the King’s army was on the front line to meet her.

The Empire was beautiful. For everything the Empress had done, that had to be granted to her. She had inherited a land that had been nearly bled dry of all resources. Rivers ran poisoned, the skies choked with pollution, anything and everything was taken without thought. Her predecessor had so thoroughly ruined his own lands, even the famed most fertile valleys struggled to raise a crop. She had cured the lands; replanted forests, cleaned the rivers, cleared the skies.

Forte plucked a small yellow flower by her feet and twisted it thoughtfully between her fingers. Moondrops had been Frey’s favorite. She wondered if the Empress even had a favorite flower anymore. She tossed it aside.

It didn’t matter.

The Empress had long ago deviated far from anything or anyone Forte recognized. The young woman she’d fallen in love with decades ago was no more. Forte was hardly the same woman. Change came with the passage of time.

The girls of decades past no longer existed. The Frey that Forte had held onto since their parting, was not there. She had slipped away, piece by piece with every despicable act and crime against humanity she committed.

Forte watched carefully for signs of the Empress. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon she would have to come out and fight for herself. The signs would be subtle, a flash of gold, or destruction caused by something other than a war machine.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end just moments before massive spiked of rock erupted in the middle of the battlefield, sending Norad soldiers flying. Hurricane force gusts sliced against lines of attackers. Solid walls of water slammed against machines. Tornadoes of fire burnt through the ranks.

Forte traced the attacks back to their source. The only Earthmate to be found in the Empire. The only Earthmate powerful enough to cause such death and destruction with little more than a wave of her hand. There! Riding her golden hunter wolf was the Empress.

Forte called for her own steed – a silver wolf she’d tamed after a long-lost love had encouraged and inspired her to do so – and leapt into the saddle. With a curt command, they were streaking across the battlefield. Her wolf was small and fast, perfect for moving unnoticed across the chaotic battlefield. Speed was of the essence. The longer it took her to get to the Empress, the more death she would deal upon the battlefield. If she was focused on a single target, her magic would not be turned against Forte’s soldiers, who had little defense against it.

The second before impact, before fangs pierced and claws tore, she leapt from the saddle, diving at the Empress, tackling her off the golden wolf’s back. They hit the ground together, separating on the roll. Both were quick to regain their feet.

The wolves clashed. Tearing, biting, snarling, grappling, rolling away down the hill. They had to be ignored.

Close enough for a proper look, Forte could size up her opponent. She wore minimal armor, a breastplate, sturdy leathers, some bracers on her arms. But she was dressed for ease of movement, as her magic required. She wasn’t even wearing a helmet, just a dark iron circlet on her brow.

Forte stared, her breath catching, her heart leaping into her throat. She hadn’t been this close to the Empress in decades. So much had changed. She was aged, as Forte was, there were lines and wrinkles and scars that had not been there before, her hair was faded with silver, styled in a practical manner for battle, her eyes were hard and cold and hateful, but they had not lost their sparkle. In that way, nothing had changed. She was still so beautiful.

Forte hated herself for thinking that.

Monsters, like the Empress had come to be, were not supposed to be beautiful.

The Empress tilted her head and smiled. “Finally, it’s you, Forte. I was beginning to think you’d never come to me. Pity it’s like this.” She readied her blade and shifted into a fighting stance. Quick as a flash, she threw a spell at her.

Forte was ready, dodging the fireball easily. “I’ll give you one chance to surrender.”

“Surrender? Not really my style.” She parried Forte’s sword. “What kind of empress would I be if I was not willing to make the same sacrifices as my own loyal subjects?”

Their swords met again. “You confuse fear and submission with loyalty.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” the Empress shrugged, moving gracefully away and lifting a hand to whip at her opponent with a blade of air. Forte didn’t get a chance to dodge, but the air broke harmlessly over her armor. “Peace is peace; however it’s maintained.”

“I don’t think the thousands you slaughtered to make that peace would agree.”

A wicked grin and a cruel laugh. “Tell me the famous General Forte is not trying to take the moral high ground when it comes to slain enemies. How many have you killed over the years, my dear?”

“I do not revel in war. I find no glory in the loss of life.” They traded several blows, their swords ringing off each other. Every other attack or so, the Empress would throw another magic strike at Forte. “But your killing started long before the war.” She tripped up the Empress, sending her sprawling to the ground. “I didn’t want to believe it when I first heard the rumors. But when rumor proved true –” the Empress rolled away from her strike and regained her feet “—I knew you had changed into something I no longer recognized.”

“What have I done? I have brought peace and security to my Empire. You don’t understand. You couldn’t. You’ve never held the power I have.” Another flurry of magical attacks while Forte kept her distance.

It was risky, leaving herself open to attacks like this, but Forte knew that unless the Empress was drained of her magical reserves, she would be unbeatable. She remembered well her days of fighting alongside Frey, those moments when she drew beyond her magical limits and weakened herself terribly. She doubted the Empress was so inexperienced as to ignore her limits, and she knew time had only made her stronger magically. So Forte had to drain the reserves, make her spend and spend until there was nothing left, and the playing field was evened.

Forte saw an opening. She darted in, driving her sword into the Empress’ side. It cut deep; her blade came away red with blood. The Empress fell to her knee with a pained cry, clutching her wound. But when she met Forte’s eyes, she almost looked disappointed.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten everything about me, dear Forte.” Her fingers made the necessary signs, light flashed around them, she got to her feet as if nothing had happened. Only the blood on her shirt and the hole in the cloth showed there might have been an injury.

Forte was not daunted. A healing spell like that took a lot of energy. If she had to bleed the Empress dry with a thousand cuts, she would. This was what she had spent all her life training for. This fight was her destiny.

Forte got close enough to strike again, aiming for her neck. The Empress did a clever little twirl and transportation spell, appearing some yards away. “I will not be made a villain for using the tools I was given! The Empire gave me my position, gave me the authority to change laws, to be justice, to eliminate threats. Fate gave me the powers to bloom and wither, to create and destroy, to build and to burn.” She summoned another fireball and held it in her palm for a moment, examining it, almost enjoying the burn as it increased in size. “What do you think your king will do, if he wins this war and takes control of my empire? Surely you don’t’ expect my people to roll over like dogs? How many more deaths will your king order for peace?”

She threw the large fireball. Forte charged through it, ignoring how the flames licked at her exposed skin. She landed another hit against the Empress. With a frustrated snarl, the Empress leapt away, healing her injury as she ran.

“Well, you’re certainly still persistent and just as determined as you used to be,” the Empress laughed coolly, “Your courage seems to have grown. Pity you weren’t so bold back then as you are now.” She threw up a wall of rock just as Forte charged at her again. The knight collided with it with an unpleasant crunch.

The Empress made a series of lightning-quick slashes. Forte blocked and parried all of them, except the last one, which found a gap in her leg armor. The cut was shallow, but painful, and a new point of weakness for the Empress to exploit.

But Forte had noticed something. Her magic attacks were slowing down. Perhaps for dramatic effect while she taunted Forte, but instead of several attacks one after the other, she was only throwing one at her at a time. One fireball. One rock wall. She was using her sword for more than defense. Given how much magic she’d spent on the larger battlefield, and then again against Forte, she had to be reaching the end of her reserves. She was rationing now.

As if to prove her wrong, the Empress summoned two small blocks of stone right on either side of Forte’s injured leg. In the split second the knight was caught off balance from the injury, she slammed the blocks together around the leg.

Forte couldn’t help but scream as her armor buckled under the pressure. Joints and seams broke, jagged metal dug into her leg, and deep inside she felt something inside her break.

“Why are you really here, Forte? Why did you work so hard to orchestrate everything perfectly so that when it came down to it, it would be me and you alone? Guilt? Regret?”

Forte bowed her head, breathing slowly and deeply. She knew why she was here. She muttered it lowly.

“Come now, speak up. Don’t be shy.” She stepped close, close enough to get within inches of Forte’s face, so she could hear. Their eyes locked. There was… something like hope hiding in them. “Tell me.”

Forte’s hand wrapped around the handle of the dagger she had at her waist. She held the Empress’ gaze and she said slowly, and with much conviction. “I am here to end your tyranny.” She plunged the knife into the Empress’ gut and twisted it for good measure.

The Empress stepped back, pulling the knife out, closing up the wound. It healed completely. But Forte saw what she was looking for. That minute wince of pain, that heavy breath of exhaustion as the magic drained her strength.

The rocks around her leg crumbled to dust. Forte moved the instant she was free, bearing the excruciating pain in her injured leg, diving for her sword. She rearmed herself and got back to her unsteady feet just in time. She blocked one blow from the Empress. The second broke past her guard and cut deeply into her arm.

The Empress was no longer using the gracefully lethal techniques she’d used earlier. She was ready for this fight to be over. Now was the time for power. With a surprising show of strength, the Empress grabbed Forte and threw her to the ground.

She realized with a calm certainty that Frey would outmatch her. Her magical reserves may be exhausted, but physically she was faring far better than Forte. If this fight went on, Forte would be killed, and Frey would unleash her reign of terror upon the world.

The Empress knew this as well. She approached languidly like a cat playing with its food. She kicked Forte firmly in the chest to send her sprawling back, gasping for breath. Then she stepped onto Forte, grinding her boot into her injured leg, pinning her to the ground. Forte didn’t have the strength to throw her off, she couldn’t free herself. She stopped her struggling entirely when the Empress put the sharp point of her sword just under Forte’s chin.

Frey paused, looking at her with a mixture of pity and loathing. “I gave you the chance to follow me, do you remember? I asked you to come with me, and you refused.” She lifted her blade; the wet redness of Forte’s fresh blood caught the light. “Imagine what we could have been together. You would have been my right hand, my knight, my queen. Together we could have been unstoppable.”

Forte made a useless effort to throw her off. “Perhaps I should have. I could have stopped you when the darkness took you. I would have made it painless and saved countless lives.”

“Would you have even noticed? At that point, after so long together, would you have doubted me enough to raise a blade against me? I wouldn’t think so… but perhaps you have always hated me.” A look of regret crossed Frey’s face. “Do you know I loved you from the moment I met you? I never found the courage to tell you. But I always felt we were meant for each other. I’ve thought about you so much, my Forte.” She smiled, almost tenderly. “I was always so proud every time I heard you’d been promoted. I would have made you a general much faster than that fool of a king. I’d always hoped we would meet again.” Then that wicked, calculating look returned. “I waited until I was certain it would be you coming after me.”

Then the Empress surprised Forte. She moved her sword, and stepped off her, just for a moment. Just to reposition her feet, and lower down until she was straddling Forte’s hips. The Empress kept the General pinned with a heavy hand on her breastplate. She leaned over her and looked down. Her free hand cupped Forte’s face and tenderly wiped some of the blood and grime from her cheek and lips.

“You’re as beautiful now as you were the day we parted. I don’t want to kill you, Forte. And I know you don’t want to kill me. Join me, like you should have all those years ago. We may be much older now, but it’s not too late for us. With you next to me, all will finally be right. I know you still love me.”

Forte shook her head. Tears brimmed in her eyes, because for a brief moment, with the way the Empress looked at her, strands of hair fallen loose and framing her face, she looked like Frey again. “It isn’t you I was in love with. I was not meant to be with the Empress. It was always Frey who held my heart.”

The Empress’ face hardened. “Pity. You’ve made your choice then.” Her grip on Forte’s face tightened, squeezing her hard by the jaw. She leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to Forte’s lips. “I’m sorry my love,” she said as she got back to her feet. “Your death cannot be painless, but I will make it fast.” She raised her blade over her head and swung down swiftly with all her might.

Forte just got her own blade up in time to catch the blow. Steel screeched against steel until the blade caught against each other. Forte struggled to push the blade away, but she did not have the strength to fight for long, and the Empress had the advantage.

She leaned over Forte, putting her weight into the blade as well as her strength. Inch by hard fought inch, the point of her sword neared Forte’s chest. She took the time to angle the blade just so, to aim for the gap in the general’s armor.

Forte fought with every piece of her, until she realized, again with calm clarity, what she must do. Her mission was to end the Empress. Her survival was not necessary. So she dropped her blade, letting the Empress to fall the last several inches and plunge her sword into Forte. But that move would spell her doom. For Forte angled her own blade up and it slipped under the Empress’ breastplate and into her chest.

The Empress gasped, pulling away in shock, pulling her blade free only to drop it at her side. Her hands flew up to cup her chest, her fingers twitched instinctively to cast the magic to heal the wound, but there was nothing left inside her. Not even strength to sap and turn into magical energy. Her legs gave out. She struggled to breathe. Her hands vainly tried to stem the flow of blood.

Forte’s strike against the Empress had done much more damage than her strike against Forte. She was fading fast. She was dying.

“F-Forte?” Her voice sounded small, frightened. She reached for the knight with bloodied hands. They fell numbly against her armor, leaving red streaks on the steel.

Forte found the strength to sit up, to gather the Empress into her arms, to rest her head in her lap. The wound in her chest was fatal too, but not as immediately so. She might have an extra minute.

The Empress trembled as her body began to fail. A wry smile pulled at her mouth. “We might not have gotten a life together, but at least we’ll die together, my love.” Her eyes drifted to the grass they lay in, where, against all odds, Moondrops grew, untrampled by the battle, unmarred by war.

Her eyes slid closed. Her breaths were becoming more ragged, shallower. With great effort, she opened her eyes one last time. “I’m sorry for… In another life I would’ve…”

And then she was gone.

Forte let her tears run freely. She bent down and planted kisses on Frey’s forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “I’m sorry too, my love.” Her vision was dimming. She lost the strength to sit up. Air had no effect on her lungs. She was dying. With her last shreds of strength, she made her clumsy hands find Frey’s and she held them. With her last breath she whispered an apology.

[jerzwriter]

No One Else... Part 1 of 2

Book:                   Open Heart (Book 3 Timeline)

Pairing:                Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey)

Featuring: Ethan Ramsey, Sienna Trinh, etc.

Rating:                 Teen +

Category:            Fluffish

Warnings: Maybe some cursing

Summary:   Misunderstandings, changes in plans, a blast from the past, and secret admirers threaten to turn Tobias & Caseye's first second Valentine's Day upside down.

Part One: An unexpected message disrupts Tobias & Casey's blissful morning together. But just when Tobias assumes all is well, there's another surprise... and then another.

Words: 2,092

A/N: I'm not sure where this came from - but it did. It seems angsty at first, but it really won't be, it's going to erupt into chaos - but that can be comical. lol Part one centers mostly around Tobias & Casey, but others (namely Ethan and Sienna) will be getting pulled in toward the end and will show up more in Part 2. I hope you enjoy this! @choices-february2023 - Day 14 - Valentine's Day / @choicesficwriterscreations Valentine Event / @choicesmonthlychallenge To Be... Trust Me" "I'm Yrs Or... Call me Not to Be... Not Happening - @choicesholidays Prompt #1 This isn't what I imagined a relationship would be...

Tobias & Casey Masterlist My Full Masterlist

Tobias hurried into his office, quickly shutting the door behind him. Alone at last, he wasn’t giving anyone the opportunity to sneak in. Collapsing into his soft leather chair, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This had not been the morning he ordered.

He and his beautiful in every way girlfriend had been official for nearly a year now, and, to the amazement of everyone who knew him before, the man had never been happier. But this morning, their normally unflappable relationship was… well… not “flapped”… but experiencing more tension than they were accustomed to.

The day started well, nothing out of the ordinary. Tobias groggily hit snooze when his alarm went off. But instead of cursing it like he used to, he rolled over with a satisfied smile. Waking up to Casey was something he never took for granted. So even when the alarm went off the second time, he didn't fret. After kissing her on the forehead he shuffled into the bathroom.

A stretch and a long yawn got his system stirring, then his morning routine began. Ever the multitasker, he hit play on his voicemail before brushing his teeth in the bathroom mirror. Message number one:

….Hello, Dr. Tanaka here. I was hoping we could move our 2 PM consult on Alex Porter up a bit in light of his test results. Let me know when you arrive at the hospital, and we’ll take it from there…

That’s when he caught a glimpse of Casey creeping toward him in the mirror. Her eyes still half-shut, she lovingly wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled her sleepy head on his shoulder. He rinsed quickly, eager to properly kiss her good morning. Their lips were just inches away when the next message began to play.

…Tobias Carrick?....

Just two words were all it took. Casey felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and Tobias wasn't far behind.

 …It is so good to hear your voice! Even if it’s just your message. It’s Beverly, love, it’s been so long you have probably forgotten what I sound like….

The voice had a playful, seductive quality that was impossible to miss.  Casey, who typically required at least two hours and twice that amount of coffee to be fully conscious, woke up in a flash.

… It was so hard to track you down! When I think of you and hard in the same sentence, it's not usually about finding your phone number...

As Beverly giggled, Casey reached over to shut off the phone, but Tobias grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“No,” he insisted. “I am not hiding anything from you; so let's listen together.”

… I’m offended that you didn’t give your new number to me! Luckily, I can think of a dozen things you can do to make it up to me. I’m going to the convention at the Cleveland Clinic, and I'm hoping you'll be there this year, too. If so, I have a luxury suite… hot tub, an enormous bed, and a beautiful view… you can certainly bunk up with me and help me put them to good use. I miss you, Tobias. Call me!...

Casey stared quietly at the floor when the message ended, and Tobias reached over to shut off his phone.

“Casey, I didn’t reach out to her," he started, his voice both calming and filled with concern. "I’m only going to contact her to let her know I’m happily off the market…”

“I know,” she mumbled, still looking away. Tobias gently lifted her chin to face him again.

“I don’t know how she got my new number….”

“I know,” Casey muttered. “I know… and I’m not… I’m not mad at you.”

Tobias knew her too well; she may not be mad… but she was something, and he hated being part of anything that brought her even the smallest bit of worry.

“Talk to me, baby. What are you feeling?"

“It’s just…” she let out a deep sigh. “It’s been a while since we’ve had something like this happen. Your Boston following knows you're with me now, so it's leveled off. But your national… or is it international?”

“Casey….” he trailed.

“Who was she? You’ve told me about a lot of your former dalliances, but  I don’t recall a Beverly….”

“Because she wasn’t significant. We met at a conference… a long time ago, and… on occasion,” he stumbled. “If we found ourselves in the same place, at the same time….”

Casey held up her hand, signaling for him to stop. “I get it… and you don’t owe me an explanation. Look,” She said, taking his face in her hands, “No one enjoys hearing a partner's former lover attempting to seduce them. But, T… we’re both adults, and we have histories."

“You’re not upset?” he asked. “I know in the past, things like this bothered you...."

“Mmm-hmm,” she interrupted. “In the past. I know what we are, and I trust you. Just take care of letting her know you'll be in Boston... and you're all mine!"

“And then I’m blocking her number,” he smiled.

“Good…” Casey half-smiled. “I’m not going to let this ruin our first Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s our second!” He insisted.

“No, it’s not,” she grinned. “It'll be fine, but baby... I hope there are no more calls!”

“If there are, I’ll toss my phone into the fireplace.”

“That might be a bit extreme,” she chuckeled, placing a peck on his cheek. Then she was off to get ready for work.

~~~~~

Everything was fine. That's what Tobias told himself as they drove to work. At least it seemed fine. He didn’t let go of her hand the entire trip, which wasn’t uncommon, but the lingering silence was. His mind raced back to the early days of their relationship. Back then, Casey was coping with a lot. Her insecurities and dealing with his … rep… weren't the easiest things for her to deal with. But they moved beyond that, and now,  they were titanium. Right? That wouldn’t happen again. So why was his heart racing a little faster?

It didn’t matter, he convinced himself. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, their second… though she insisted it was their first. Whatever the number, he already planned on making his girl feel extra special, but now? Now he was really going to go all out.

He parked in his spot and proceeded to stare out the windshield.  

“Tobias?” Casey asked waving her hand in front of his face “We’re here.”

He startled a bit, breaking out of the fog he was lost in. 

“Sorry, I was a little….”

“You were driving me to work in this condition?” She laughed.

“I knew exactly what I was doing. Come on,” he said, taking her hand, “Let’s get to our meeting before Ramsey has our heads.”

~~~~~

Like the morning, the meeting started off well. Harper brought coffee… good coffee, even better than that stuff Ethan liked to brag about so much. And Ethan was in a good mood, much better than usual. Tobias made a mental note to get an answer about why out of him after when they were alone. Cases were discussed, and they were about to leave when…

“Just one more item before we adjourn,” Ethan stated. “Tobias, I’m going to need you to fill in for me at the conference in Cleveland.”

“OK, boss,” he started, then a realization struck him, and he furrowed his brow. “Wait.. the Cleveland conference? Aren't you presenting on the Alton research?”

“Yes,” Ethan smiled, almost smugly. “But no need to tailspin, Carrick. You’re up to the task or I wouldn’t have asked you.”

Tobias sneered in his friend's direction. “I can handle it with my eyes closed, wiseass! But it's tomorrow!”

“I know it’s last minute, but it can’t be avoided. The Board is holding an emergency meeting, and I’ve been told my presence is not optional. It’s only three days, Tobias, you can manage….”

“But it’s Valentine’s Day,” Tobias blurted, earning a little snort from Harper.

“I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “It’s just Tobias Carrick caring about Valentine’s Day? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”

“He has had a personal growth metamorphosis within the past few years,” Ethan teased.

Tobias looked across the way at Casey. She smiled supportively, but once again, her eyes didn’t mirror that smile. Then he heard Beverly’s voice in his head:

I’m going to the convention at the Cleveland Clinic, and I was wondering if you’d be there this year?

Aw, fuck! He thought, in fact, he may have said it out loud; he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was he was on Ethan the second Harper and Casey left the room. He spent the next fifteen minutes unsuccessfully attempting to convince Ethan to send Harper in his stead.

“Harper wasn’t involved in the Alton case!” Ethan reiterated, his voice now bordering on shouting. “What’s with you? In the past, you would have been salivating at the chance to take this opportunity away from me. Now, you’re letting a Hallmark holiday do this to you?”

“I know,” Tobias rolled his eyes, “It’s just that it’s our first, and….”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, “According to Casey, it’s your first. According to you, it’s your second.”

Tobias didn’t appreciate the cocky look on his friend's face, even though he knew he was right. 

“Come on, Tobias. Casey is a grown woman and a professional. I’m sure she’ll be fine pushing your celebration off a few days.”

“You’re right,” Tobias sighed, walking toward the door. “Oh, and Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kick ass in that presentation. You’ll never be invited to speak there again!”

“Keep dreaming, Carrick," Ethan yelled as Tobias made his way down the hall.

~~~~~

Feeling a bit better, the familiar smile on his face and spring in his step were back. They were present as he greeted every passerby as he made his way to his office. But they weren't there for long. Passing a patient's room, he heard Casey and Sienna’s voices.

“I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything,” Sienna fretted. “Don’t let your mind wander.”

“I know that, Sienna,” Casey replied. “It’s just… after all the progress, I don’t want to go back to….”

“And, chances are you won’t,” Sienna assured. “You just need to be patient… let this play out.”

“I know….” Casey bemoaned. “But if it happens again, I just don’t think could take it. I'd have to move on from this."

“Look!” Sienna ordered. “You’re putting the cart before the horse. I know how much this means to you, but… so far, there is no indication that you have anything to worry about. Don’t break your heart if you don’t have to, Case. OK?”

Tobias’s blood went cold. Heartbreak? Can’t do this anymore? Was she this upset? And if so, why was she withholding this from him?

“Damn it!” He muttered, making haste to get to his office. What could he do to convince Casey that she had nothing to worry about? She was the love of his life and his heart sank at the thought of her going through this again. He thought they were past this. He thought she was secure in their love, and if she wasn’t… after all this time…. where did this leave them?

He slammed the door behind him, then sunk into his chair. It had been a hell of a morning, and he was taking a moment to relish the solitude and calm.

He would have to talk to her… to make her understand. But his mind was also on the holiday that he'd now be missing. He thought of ways to shower her with gifts, even if he wasn't there. He'd leave her notes… everywhere… text her all day… FaceTime at night… he'd make sure it was still special… as long as no more bullshit occurred.

That’s when it caught his eye. It looked benign enough, a little red envelope with a heart on his desk. A smile tugged at his lips. She must have dropped it off after their meeting; they had been together until then. Maybe he was blowing this out of proportion; perhaps this was all in his mind. If she was dropping off an early Valentine, things couldn't be that bad. He slid his fingers under the envelope flap and removed the note inside.

 “Roses are red, violets are blue, and on Valentine’s Day, the only thing I’m going to do … is you.”

A puff of air escaped his nose, and his hands fell to his side. Adorable. Cute. Sexy. At least it would have been… if it was Casey’s handwriting, but it wasn't.

A loud knock on the door startled him.

“Hey, Tobias, open up. I need to talk to you.”

His eyes screwed shut. The day had to get better.

Perma tags: @a-crepusculo @animesuck3r @annoyingmillenialnewbie @crazy-loca-blog @differenttyphoonwerewolf @doriopenheart @fayeswiftie @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @inlocusmads @jamespotterthefirst @jennieausten @kingliam2019 @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @onikalover @openheartforeverinmyheart @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @secretaryunpaid @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Additional tags will be sent separately.

[blacknwhitemood]

I took some photos yet in the Summer from my vinyl dealer's German book. I've already posted this and I have some pics from the very beggining of 1980s, posters, demo tapes ect. He only showed me this thick, beautiful book with thousends of photos when we met once, I didn't have enought time to realize what I'm seeing, but this one caught my eyes: Hebrew script and kippahs.

I can read and write in Hebrew. On this poster I like the style of "ש" (shin, "sh") in דפש מוד [depeʃ mod] which resembles Corbijn's upside down "m". This concert was in Ramat Gan (רמת גן), Tel Aviv in 2009:

But this tour brings problems that were expected. The first concert in Tel Aviv/Israel on May 10, 2009 is not off to a good start: Andy Fletcher's father died the day before, and the gig is therefore in jeopardy. But the band had to cancel their first gig in Israel at short notice in 2006. Andy stays, and the show goes ahead. / Google translate from German

In 2006, the last concert of Touring The Angel (3 August) was canceled due to the Lebanon War which had started 3 weeks earlier. The band was very disappointed, but it was not safe to hold the show for the crew or the 50,000 fans either.

At the bottom of my cellphone's quickly made photo:

Just two days later in Athens, the next disaster struck: a few minutes before the show began, Dave became acutely ill. The concert had to be cancelled at the last minute. / Google Translate from German

Fletch about the tragedy in 2013:

[My father's death] was a huge shock to me; it's really bizarre to perform when you know your father just died. Throughout the show, flashbacks from my father's life were running by. I did not think about canceling the show, especially after we had canceled the show in 2006, but it certainly was strange to go onstage. I could have shattered to pieces. Fortunately, my wife and my mother arranged everything. Paradoxically [the delay of the tour after Dave Gahan got diagnosed with cancer two days later] gave me the opportunity to attend my father's funeral, which was nice. The whole spectacle was all very surreal. / dmlive.wiki

Between the text's 2 parts this photo:

Special merchandise for a special concert: The Peace Kippah was available specially and exclusively at the concert in Tel Aviv. A kippah is the head covering commonly worn by male Jews during their religious practices. In ancient Israel, this head covering was not a religious requirement for men; it was actually only customary on special occasions. And the concert at the Ramat Gan Stadium in Tel Aviv was also a special occasion. / Google Translate from German

I love Tel Aviv. I was there three times, recently exactly one year ago, in 7th October 2023 during the first attack. This was the first and hopefully the last time in my life when I stucked in a war zone. I remember I was wearing my new Enjoy The Silence shirt first time on that Saturday (photo), that was a silence day after early morning's rocket attack and air raid sirens. Than we spent the whole evening in the shelter together with neighbours reason of additional attack. On the next day every flight was cancelled, in the last minute we got a chance to go home by Hungarian Air Force. I had no idea that a year later this nightmare is still going on and becoming worse.

That time (and still, haha) I was searching and found Depeche Mode everywhere because I was only 2-months-old DM fan. I was walking around in the Yemenite Quarter on 6th of October when I found a small, cute vinyl shop: Gloria Record Shop (Nachalat Binyamin, Tel Aviv, Rambam St 8). I asked about Depeche Mode, the first LP that came into my eyes was a new edition of 101. Don't laught, please, but I didn't know too much about DM albums 1 year ago. In a second I've just started to remember it from my childhood, when I was 11 in 1988, as my sister explained to me about the number: 101 concerts of the tour, this was the last and the biggest one ect. I felt warmth and I almost bought it for 170 shekel (fortunately I didn't have enought money). Since then I bought 2 different kinds of 101 (West GER and British) and DVDs, I don't spend my money for re-printed vinyls. I need to feel the time that has passed. I want to touch and own objects from my childhood. I want to go back.

(Pictures are from the Google)

[geometricalien]

Between Akashi & Furihata, if one of them died, who do you think is more likely to heal from the pain of loss sooner & moves on with his life?

When has Akashi Seijuurou gotten over anything in his fucking life? This rhetorical jest is an oversimplification of one of Akashi's character flaws which is his need for control. This is all to say, simply based on that, Furihata is the more emotionally intelligent of the two, the one more open and accepting to change. I think they both would require years to fully heal but I think Furihata would be the one to move on sooner.

I've tried to keep it short and direct above for those without brainrot but I AM going to go apeshit below the cut

Oh my god oh my god oh my GOD I'm so glad someone wants to hear me talk about THIS, THIS EXACT CONCEPT- ACCEPTING THE LOVE OF THEIR LIVES DEATH FASCINATES ME ENDLESSLY FUCK

Okay for reference there has been 2 fanfics involving this concept that I read when I first got into akafuri and they have HEAVILY influenced my perception of this question:

- The Truth About Reality; which is literally about Furihata not accepting Akashi's death and through mysticism goes to 4/5 different parallel realities to get him back. It's a favorite of mine and I read it once a year. It has themes of sacrifice and second chances which make it so crucial to the thematic elements of akafuri. Read it please

- Through the Air by Maiokoe; I love the first chapter, literally Kuroko Kagami Takao and Midorima come to Akashi while he is at work and inform him that Furihata's flight just crashed. It is so so so good. The way it plays out, Akashi's mounting fear, his resistance, the way his fear turns to anger then to despair- sometimes I cry when I reread it. And the last lines of the chapter---

What was a world without his lover? What was this life without his easy nature and smiles? What was this life without his affection? What was this world without Furihata Kouki? What did this world mean to him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What was Akashi Seijuuro without him? He didn’t want to find out.

Those lines have colored my opinion of what Akashi would be like if his husband died so fucking much that it really was eventual that I started my Greek fic where Akashi is Achilles and Furihata is Patroclus. So if you know the Iliad then you know how my fic will play out and exactly where I take a stance on Akashi’s terrible all consuming love.

To talk about the dissolution of happily in love akafuri by the cruel hands of death is to examine how their relationship evolved them and what being torn from their other half would do to them. To be haunted by their after image, to look at their favorite mug, to wear their favorite sweater- who would wear grief better. Who would welcome it, accept its presence. Who would repress it.

Please do not mistake what I'm saying to mean Furihata would move on quickly. Where Furihata is Akashi's light, Akashi is his gravity. He would be adrift and untethered without Akashi. The world would turn upside down. He would feel the expanse of their house, the emptiness of their bed. Furihata would be lost. It would take years to come down back to earth by himself.

Furihata would eventually move out of that house/apartment too full of memories, at the prodding of well meaning friends he would download dating apps, eventually he would go on dates and try his best to not compare them to his late husband because how could a man compare to a god. And then years and years down the line, when his heart only half aches when he sees a hair of red, when he only wears that old ratty sweater on the occasion bad day, he can look up into the sky and smile, thankful for the memories. I think he could even fall in love again, begin a new chapter.

A large chunk of Furihata is lost the day Akashi dies but he grows around the pain and walks on. Accepting the scars, accepting the love and pain, accepting it all.

As I said though, Furihata is Akashi's light. His metric on good and bad. The saving grace that redeemed him and inspired him to become worthy of such love.

Imagine if the sun was stolen from the sky and we were pitched into utter darkness. Until our eyes adjust and we can make out some shapes, you are surrounded in black black. Complete emptiness. Alone more than ever before and for a moment you think it will consume you. That is how Akashi feels for the first year until his eyes adjust to the darkness. He would continue in this shadow life indefinitely, watching everyone else patch themselves together and move on, while he.is.stuck. And he won't admit it and only those brave enough would say it to his face, but he is absolutely wallowing, sulking, in this darkness as self-punishment. that in some twisted sense, this is what he deserves. he digs his feet in, refusing to move. And if out of the corner of his eye a flicker of light dances, he would refuse to follow it. The dark is where he belongs.

He would bury himself in work. He would refuse to move out of their house. Refusing to touch any of the things that Kouki last left them, his toothbrush bone dry in the holder, the book he was reading on his bedside table.

And when his friends compare him to his father- he becomes furious, alight with indignation. He is not cold and cruel like his father had been. "No... you're empty."

It would take him so so long to accept that Furihata would want him to be happy even if its not with him. That he deserves to be happy. Only then would he take tiny half steps out of the cave he buried himself in, the cave that he would have made his grave.

As a side note, I mentioned Furihata falling in love with someone else afterwards... my personal interpretation is that Akashi could not. He would try if only just because he knows Furihata wants him to be happy and knew that Akashi is the most happy when he is in love- but The Akashi heart is a fearsome terrible all consuming thing.

Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who celebrated the anniversary of each milestone of their relationship. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who is head over heels in love and worships the ground his beloved walks on. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who calls their partner love- because they are the manifestation of their love. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who would go to the far corners of the world to see if there was some way to still communicate with their partner if said partner was turned into a worm and would build a terrarium of utmost luxury for said partner and talk to the worm as if it was them, take the worm to see the sun meet the ocean, because they have to hope that their partner still has some consciousness. And if not, then he needs to do that for himself. To fool himself. And once that worm passes, he would be extra compassionate to earthworms because they remind him of them.

The Akashi heart is a blessing to the receiver for there is nothing stronger or purer. The Akashi heart is a curse to the creator if only because they have that one single heart and they are physically unable to take it back.

[quotablefanfiction]

“There was a ton of screaming during your programs. I don’t think that was emphasized enough the last time we talked,” he says, still grinning widely. “Have you taken a look online at all?” “I’m almost afraid to.”

Yuuri knows better than to read the coments (chp. 5)

On My Love by RikoJasmine (AO3) Yuri!!! on Ice – Teen – Katsuki Yuuri/Viktor Nikiforov #Alternate Universe #Time Travel #Past Relationships #Friends to Lovers #POV Alternating #Confident Katsuki Yuuri #Minor Orignal Characters #Fluff #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Friendship #Mutual Pining #Incomplete

For the second time, the Sochi Grand Prix Finals arrive, and with it a reborn Yuuri Katsuki. “Viktor,” Yuuri thinks over the pounding of his heart, the crowd going silent as the music begins. “I’ll show the world what you meant to me.”

Yuuri often thinks of his life as Before and After Viktor Nikiforov, the marking point being the day Viktor swept into his life and turned his world upside-down. After many years together, an accident leads to Yuuri suddenly waking up in the Before—back in Detroit, before the GPF, before he ever knew Viktor as anything other than his childhood idol.

As if it had all been just a dream.

Note: This is a restricted story and requires an AO3 account in order to read

[cozymochi]

🌻 >:)

IM FOUND ONE OF THESE MEMES IN MY DRAFts! Im gonna rank my experiences in the major fandoms i’ve engaged with.

🩵 YUGIOH! - Second longest running fascination. Upside!! Made life long friends. DOWNSIDE!! Was my first go at online engagement and in those 10 years so much happened that I still can’t help but feel a little sour. …Though ygo back in the day wasn’t good at tag comments, so I didn’t even know those were a thing for years until I branched out. 5/10. But grows to a 7/10 because i’ve settled into a niche area with so few people that it’s now a silly little club. 💕

🧡 Dragon Ball/Z - GENUINE CHAOS. Started off slow but intensified hard cuz get who got involved while Super was airing??? (I didn’t watch it lol), so the discourse and fighting was at an all time high. I have no idea how I even survived this in retrospect. My slight association with people netted me troll asks and my liking of Yamcha also set me up for those. …and frequent art reposting, and quite a few bizarre interactions. Pretty sure my art and edits have circulated more in latin america than I even know. This was also pre-tumblr purge so the amount of nsfw that got thrown my way is… something. That said!! Made also really good friends 💕 and DB/Z probably desensitized me to longer form discussions. 5/10 for insanity, but 8/10 for good reception and VERY PEAK and generous humans.

I think dbz hardened me.

💚 Invader Zim- started off fun (mostly irl with my friendo from days of YGO), but quickly devolved into territory that tested my patience. WHY ON EARTH THIS SERIES’ CONSUMERS had such a huge morality high ground base is beyond me. It’s this fandoms fault I learned about certain modern day online discourse terms and what instilled an irrational posting fear for a year lol. Fun at first and there’s super creative and receptive folk (then those people got kicked out) and left the most insufferable beings imaginable. There’s no in between. Shoutout to all 3 friends made who are still peak. 3/10, if I ever finish any remaining projects or decide to bite the bullet and show completed work, i’m not engaging again. The base just skews somewhere I can’t handle. Which is crazy given the ABOVE contenders have, on paper, done so much more.

dbz hardened me but iz weakened me. Which is probably why i need the formers bootcamp back. Don’t think I’m as fearful now, but i’ll still be salty.

💜 Twisted Wonderland - this is a work in progress experience. Will require further evaluation if all of the above experiences haven’t set my standards. Will stay in my corner. So far it’s 6/10 in vibes (they’re much calmer than the last one), tho I question how much of the interest is from what i do vs. what I did for others. Haven’t shared a ton of opinions yet and god knows lol we don’t want that /s. Still recovering from the former making me wanna just not do much. Baby steps I suppose.

💙 - Sonic The Hedgehog: This is a cheat, I have never interacted with the fandom directly (purely by happenstance, so thankfully no traces exist), but I have been into this since I was a child with no issues. So by default this is the best one. 10/10, didn’t engage, but I do lurk. Though all the stuff I see on tweeter isn’t exactly anything out of the norm for fandoms in general to do, so it weirds me out that people rag on this one for just kinda talking amongst themselves about innocuous things.

“omg this fandom is arguing over QUILL length ughhh can they never be pleased [30 yt videos about this drop]” ngl, this just feels like par for the course junk fandoms do. It really feels no different from DBZ where people go ham about the art style changes and which one is better. Or stupid shit in IZ where they fight about comics vs movie vs show. Like??? The only major difference here is that StH has more people in it (by the millions).

So literally nothing these folk do or say strikes me as anything more serious than what other fandoms already do??? Its just more outsiders see it then churn out content and perpetuate something worse from what’s honestly….pretty tame stuff. Maybe it’s just twitter’s setup given that’s all folk talk about.

[curse-maniac]

(OOC: the following "post" appears to be a video call, that stasia managed to accidentally livestream on rotomblr through sheer tech illiteracy.)

On one side of the video, professor kukui appears with a reasonably tidy lab, and a rockruff running about in circles, with professor kukui himself appearing... a bit confused. The other side of the video explains why, as its filmed with a cracked, smudged lens, is upside down, and not even filming stasia, but rather just the wall of a wooden shack. "...Er... hello? I can't see your face." kukui opens with. "Oh uh. Do you not? and do you need to?" A raspy voice responds. "That's the whole point of a video call cousin!" "Ohhhh alright alright uh.... yeah haven't done this before... gimme a second." Stasia replies, before turning the phone to its side. "Flip- flip the phone again. Like how you normally use it." The phone FINALLY flips around to someones face, which is... not stasia? At least not what you could probably surmise she looked like from her blurry selfies. "Sorry, I'm not used to technology. Only found out what a phone is two years ago." Stasia responds. "Right! anyway, you're CM anna, right?" "Thats what im choosing to be called, yeah." "...Right! Alright cousin, as intriguing as what you've shown already is, I have to ask. You know I study pokemon moves, right? Why did you come to me about your research on pokemon language?" "Oh uh, some guy on rotomblr recommended you, so you were my first choice." At this point, stasia was walking in circles outside. "...Right, okay! so you're saying that pokemon don't use words, but rather patterns in their sp- stop. stop chewing on your phone please." "Ohhhh okay sorry. Is that like, required for this, or-" At this point, kukui sighs, and reaches towards his computer, seemingly to turn it off and end the call, but is stopped when stasia takes the phone out of her mouth, turning it to pokemon that just started fighting as she said-" "zorrr zo zor ororar! rark!" Causing the pokemon to instantly stop fighting, and kukui to pause what he was doing for a moment, and take his hand back. "...What did you just do?" "Huh? I just told them to stop, or i wouldn't be making them dessert tonight."

"...With those sounds cousin?" "...Yeah, I was speaking their language. Its much easier than trying to get them to understand certain english phrases." "Hookay! you really are the real deal then. Hard to deny that after seeing that. Now look cousin, I respect what you're doing, but I can't publish your research myself. Most I can do is use my credibility to tell others you aren't some kid playing a prank, like I thought you were at first..." "What was that last part?" "Nothing! But do we have an understanding here? I'll finish reading through your little guide after the call. But... how did you learn all this again? people have been trying to do this for centuries." "I've just noticed the patterns over time. Learned skill like anything else. And yeah, sounds good." Stasia replied, chewing on the phone case again, just causing kukui to laugh a little.

"Alright, i'll hang up now, anything else?" "Yeah, what kinda baked goods do you like? I'm gonna make you a gift basket as thanks." "...Uhhh... anything is good." Kukui responds, clearly a bit wary of stasia's baking skills, before ending the call, and the stream. (ooc: You CAN interact with this, because its a videocall stasia accidentally livestreamed on here, but she doesn't know she livestreamed it.)

[palakdreamsfantasy]

The Untitled [Chapter I]

Sounds of a window shattering echoed through the then silent garden.

"Who is it?" And that's when me and Dani made a run for it. A middle aged man running down the stairs searching for the person who broke his window.

"It wasn't that big was it?" I asked Dani while we are sprinting towards the street that leads us downtown.

"Honey just run for now" I love Dani, she can't multi think or task whatever applies to this situation. And somehow I'm dragged behind a truck and now we are in hiding.

"Quickly, put down your hair and dispose off these jackets" Is she a criminal. My babe can scheme.

We change our looks, throw our jackets under a random car and walk out of our hiding as if nothing happened.

"Girls, do you happen to see two notorious boys running down the street wearing oversized jacket?" Where in the world did the houseowner came from, was the only thought I had for a couple of seconds.

"I don't reminisce any such moment on our way uphill sir. Do these boys happen to be your relatives? We can assist you in your search if you require our help." Damn honey, that look of innocence always gives through a way. The way you can lie.

A quick goodbye and we were out of trouble. Picked up our now dusty jackets and made our way down to our secret hideout.

"We need to dig this up. This can not be real, I'm sure it's something" I am terrified now, all those moments from the morning till now, everything is sinking in. "I am honestly loosing my senses now"

"Calm down honey, we need to-"

"What are you girls doing here?" Andy is handing upside down on this sewage pipe. You might ask why? I mean honestly, sewage pipe out of all the things. Well that's our secret hideout. This part of the town was supposed to turn into a sewage dump or something, but the owner of the land was against the thought of selling this land. So it ended up becoming a controversial land a few decades back and now everyone just thinks of it as a waste land. The court is case is still on, no one knows why though. We discovered this perfectly fit pipe a few years ago and have been using this as our hideout.

Andy, Dani and I, Ezrela along with another close fiend of ours and Andys' love Marquees. We have been sharing this pipe as ours, Dani even decorated it from inside (The crafty lady she is).

"It happened again, and this time BIG" Dani was so easy to read for the first time, she was scared. At that moment I knew, something was off, it was not okay.

"How big?" Andy and Dani are talking now all serious, why am I feeling anxious. These guys are scaring me, I need to stop them, I can not think.

"She broke a window, 10 feet-" That's is.

A cracking sound was heard from above our head, a small crack in the pipeline. And we ran, that's the last thing I remember before we watched our hideout crumble down into pieces of dust.

"I caused this" was the only statement that echoed.

[drhu0806]

17 - “"I never said it would be easy."

Fandom: When The Night Comes (fanfiction) Characters: August, Hunter player character Rating: G Warnings: general game spoilers

“And—that’s the last one.”

Tethys practically slams the sheet of paper atop the sizable stack that sits on her desk. Throwing her arms up in the air, she gives a loud sigh of relief as she reclines back into her chair, enjoying the respite from looking at tiny text.

“I better not be catching you slacking on the job already, General.”

August slides into the room, closing the door behind them with a quiet click. There’s no true admonishment behind their tone in spite of their words; Tethys only answers with a grin as she slowly rises from her seat.

“What might be slacking for me would still count as a regular, decent day for other Hunters, you know,” she playfully argues back. From a cupboard she pulls out a kettle and two cups, filling the former with tea leaves and setting water to boil. August slides into the couch sitting in the office with comfortable familiarity as they wait.

“True, but you’re not one of the other Hunters. I have high hopes and expectations for you, you know,” they chuckle.

“Oh, and don’t I know it,” she sighs with a smile. When the water is hot enough, she lets the leaves simmer for the required amount of time before pouring out two cups worth. Offering them one cup, she plops into the couch next to them, enjoying her brew.

“I don’t know how you do it, or how you did it before, August,” she exhales. “And here I thought it would be the fights that kill my back, but I’m beginning to feel it might be my awful sitting posture.”

“Now you understand why I go out of my way to be out in the field,” they laugh in response, taking a sip.

“Now who’s the one slacking? It’s your job to give information to your Hunters of potential threats.”

“I never said it would be easy!”

They really didn’t, not that she had needed them to anyway. Hunters are primarily trained to pursue dangerous creatures of the night; what a strange, upside down turn it is to now be pursuing her own kind. A steady stream of Enforcers and other officials to vet, systems and rules to amend, all on top of the threat of monsters they already face.

But it’s a quiet moment for them at last, rare in the shadow of Harry’s conspiracy. Tethys allows herself to close her eyes, if only for a few seconds.

“Do you regret it, Tethys?” August asks, quiet.

She doesn’t open her eyes immediately, the corner of her lips turning up ever so slightly. She thinks of a once sunny pier, its waters full of lotus flowers before war swept them away. Of the churning sea she crossed to come to these lands, of the roughshod, bloody path she’s left behind as any other Hunter has. A lonely journey, for so many years. But one that brought her here.

When she opens her eyes, they’re peaceful. “No. Not a single thing.”

[goldflowercapital]

Respecting price action

Respecting price action has been the True North in this spectacular market reversal that occurred against all fundamentals. My thesis of the previous post “... that slowly slowly we are getting the answers and if the market shakes off a pull back or keeps scoring new highs then risk is all on. USD and 10yr are as well pointing into the same direction and selling USD volatility on the upside is the best possible hedge against either a regime change towards risk off , or energy and inflation persisting throughout a second bout into the summer (as energy prices pick up from all the consumption and wealth effect).”

Markets have been persisting higher despite the 10year climbing again above 4% and USD reverting almost 2% from the recent lows (which is all yield driven), and this persistency of risk-on, even with the mini regime shift towards higher yields/stronger dollars is a high confidence indicator that in the calm of this summer markets will most likely test new ATHs and oil could keep pacing towards 100$ again. The scenario of higher energy prices will start pushing CPI/yields and consequentially a continued USD reversal, sustaining the paradox of higher rates with higher energy prices, and potentially ATHs for the S&P propelled by energy and tech sector beats. In this framework price action remains the True North and its relative move with regards to the 10Y and USD will reinforce the bias of the move. Hence selling longer duration volatility on the USD and buying the short term remains a compelling hedge for complementing market exposure. The thesis of USD de throning due to debasement and money printing is in contradiction to the narrative of prolonged higher rates and persistent inflation due to the current energy outlook and wealth effect from the market reversal, but remains reversely correlated with oil and commodities. Hence we continue steering into this summer with risk-on, oil and USD longs via volatility sales, and with price action as the True North. The only signal that can trigger a reversal of this policy would be a softer oil and USD movement, accompanied by risk off in the equities, as this would be an indication that the market is pivoting from the Fed pause narrative to a growth slowdown mindset, and would be one of the first incidents in the last years where lower yields and a softer USD and are decoupling from risk-on. In this narrative gold would be back into the scene.

And a small side note: I am getting bullish on China energy. On the one hand China is slowly coming back on the investment radar due to the fundamentals of companies and lagging of price action, and on the other hand it is shifting its production towards electric vehicles, EV batteries and solar panels, with companies moving towards new energy sectors where China is already leading manufacturing. Due its central planning it can pivot much faster to decarbonisation as well as becoming the leading supplier of the materials and technologies required, and in combination with the fundamentals it makes it really worth taking a contrarian stance. 

[cesiousblue]

LINOCUT!!

looked up some info on this guy and he has a lot of phenomenal work and also a blog where he goes through the process of his prints.

(He also has a storefront where you can get prints, reprints and phone cases and such)

copying over the blog from this piece shared above:

HELLO AND WELCOME FRIENDS, I think long and hard about each of my prints since it takes many hours to execute the various stages of the process. In the case of this print, I thought about it for twelve years. In 2011 I did a (now sold out) print called “Ice Dawn”. I always liked it very much. I thought I could do better though. It percolated until the end of last year when I thought I’d give it a go. Here's the source of my inspiration:

[This is "Ice Dawn" by Hays]

I looked through my cache of reference images. I found a picture that had what I was looking for. The file name had just had a file number to identify it so I thought it was one of my pictures. But it was not! My partner remembered sending it to me some time ago and I had forgotten about it. The picture was taken by a local woman (Elizabeth Denny). I asked her permission to use the photo and I'll look forward to her reactions when she sees the finished print! Here's her photo:

But, as I said, my inspiration was "Ice Dawn," with the morning sky reflecting on the water. So I cropped the image and added a few things then got underway. I began with the sky reflected in the water, an upside down sky. Then I laid down the snow on the ground followed by the beginnings of the forest. Here are the first three impressions:

It is quite a dark print, right from the beginning. I have to admit to being influenced in my choice of colors from my studies of some of the 20th century Japanese printmakers. It is still a little surprising to me how dark one can mix a color and still have it be far from black. In this case, the really dark colors are all purple/grays. The layering over other colors changes what I mix from the palette to the print. I often have to do several test prints to adjust the color to achieve and effect and anticipate what is to come. As you'll see, there are foreground branches which will appear in the lower left foreground. I wanted to show you a detail that is difficult to see in the digital images. These branches were the last thing printed. It required some pretty precise carving to have these thin elements in two tones. On the left is the second to last impression. The branches are essentially black. Then I printed the last purple/gray on top of them after carving away what I wanted to be a quiet shadow and outline:

I know, I know... a detail that perhaps only I will see. But I just had to do it! And here is the final print, "Dawn."

"Dawn", linocut print, 9" x 12" (23.5 x 31cm) I think that what I like best about this print is the very low key (dark) color combinations. In particular I was very pleased with the way one can look back into the forest, extending the space from the foreground branches all the way into the murky, more distant light of the forest at dawn. Needless to say, this project kept me busy for some weeks. But this is my work and I love it! I do hope you enjoyed seeing this process. I find it very interesting and I hope that you do too. Of course, this print is available for purchase on this website. Should you find you're passing through Western Massachusetts, get in touch. I have been receiving visitors from time to time at my studio and I'll be very happy to show you what I'm working on these days.  The galleries which represent me are open regular hours these days. So if you're near one of them, do drop in to see my work in person. Take care of each other and take care of yourselves. Don't hesitate to drop me an email. I enjoy hearing from you.

Really interesting to see the process! If you like it consider going and buying a print!

Dawn  -   William H. Hays , n/d.

American,b. 1956 -

Color linocut print on paper, 9 x 12 in. 23.5 x 31 cm. Ed. 95