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#glass mat
itmightrain · 6 months
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The killing gas in Burrow's End reminded me so much of a 1993 movie called Once Upon a Forest where a truck containing hazardous chemicals crashes near a forest and the fumes make the baby animal characters who live there sick and they have to go on a quest to find a cure. The scenes where you watch the slow, inexorable movement of the poisonous air into the forest towards the animal characters who didn't and couldn't understand what was happening was so so horrifying to me as a child
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dailywillbond · 4 months
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17/11
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Suede, 1996
📸: Pen K
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g-cedillo · 1 year
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Kick me down, mess me up a little more than last timе
Citizen
San Francisco, CA
10/9/2022
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writtenonreceipts · 7 months
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Rowaelin Month Day One: Song Fic @rowaelinscourt
Back by no one’s demands but my own: a part two and conclusion to “Annie” the song fic I wrote for last year.  This one does end happier, I pinky promise.  Inspired by Mat Kearney’s song “New York to California.”  If you’ve been around for a while, you know Mat is one of those artists that I adore and his music means so much to me.  I also just really wanted to conclude “Annie” and NYtCA just hits different…anyways, I hope you enjoy?  You technically don’t need to read Annie if you don’t want to.
Rowaelin Month 2023 Masterlist Main Masterlist Annie—Part One
Warnings: she’s a touch angsty, nothing worse than how I usually go.  ~3k words
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New York to California
Before
She doesn’t know if it’s late or early when sleep takes her.  For weeks now she’s been trapped behind a gray haze.  It falls over her mind and tries to convince her that nothing really matters anymore.  It’s far too easy to fall victim to that mindset, and usually she does better at chasing the demons away.  Usually it’s easier.
So as she drifts off, she’s just glad for a taste of some relief from the day.  It’s been hard lately, too hard.  And she doesn’t know how she’ll break free from it.
Maybe, for that reason alone, it’s better that she falls asleep.  It can be the reprieve from her foster father and the ways the world has a way of crashing down around her.
The problem is, she forgets how easily the dreams find her.   They invade this quiet space she’s tried to carve out for herself so easily that sometimes she doubts her sanity.  Because the dreams are full of shadows and screams, pain and panic.  She wants to escape them.  More than anything if she could fade away into the gray haze of dawn and linger there—she would.
She’s in the middle of one of those terrors when a gentle hand glides down her cheek and she can hear his voice calling to her.
Fireheart.  Fireheart.
When her eyes open it’s to find him staring down at her, green eyes flickering with the light of the TV, his hoodie drenched with rain.  She can see the worry reflecting in his eyes as he brings his hand back to her cheek.  His thumb runs in soothing circles along her skin.
“I had one of those dreams again,” she whispers.  She doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to cause him more pain.  But it’s Rowan.  And he’s always been a part of her. “I thought I lost you.”
“It’s alright,” he says, easing onto the couch beside her. “Everything’s alright, I’m here.”
Aelin knows she shouldn’t, but she snuggles into his side nonetheless.  He smells like pine and rain and earth and it’s the most comforting thing she can imagine.  So she leans into him and wraps her arms tight around him so he won’t disappear on her again.
She knows they shouldn’t do this.  Knows he shouldn’t even be here.  If Arobynn finds out Rowan showed up at the house Aelin knows there will be hell to pay.  The only thing that gives her hope is that her foster father is gone on a work trip.  He won’t be back until Thursday.  But Aelin lives in a constant state of fear as her mind lingers on the “what-ifs” of it all.
“It’s alright, baby,” Rowan says.  He presses his lips into her forehead and pulls the fleece blanket over them.  “I’m right here with you.”
She lets his words wash over her and soothe her own worries.  He’s never steered her wrong before, never left her unless he had to.  And even than he lingers still.  Because that Rowan, her Rowan, can temper any storm raging in her mind.
As he holds her close, she can make out the scent of cheap beer and cigarettes.  She knows he was singing at the bar again tonight, trying to earn some cash for the two of them to finally breakaway from this damned town.
“Don’t leave,” she says, slurred with sleep and exhaustion. His warmth is all she needs to drift back off to sleep, missing what he whispers to her next.
After
The coffee shop is the same as it always is: loud and hot. 
No matter when Aelin comes, there is always line out the door and every table is occupied by no one that actually has to be there.  She has decided it is a ruse designed by society in general to make coffee shops more appealing.  Supposedly they can offer you a sense of peace and comfort and delude you into thinking that you’re right where you belong—mixed up in a mess of people just as desperate for connection as you.
So yes, the coffee shop is always full.  Single patrons take up tables for just themselves and their selfies and little cookies that they won’t actually eat.  And straw liners are somehow strewn about the floor even though straws have been banned in the city for almost a year now.  And somehow the heater is always going even in the middle of summer but no one ever comments because it is a coffee shop so therefore everything is perfect.
But it’s not.  Everything is so far from perfect that Aelin has more than once found herself stumbling through life.  She’s lost in a world that has passed her by all because her foster father beat her down.  All because she stayed behind and let the one good thing in her life leave.
She doesn’t blame him, of course.  She can’t.  He was always too good for this place anyways.  He always had a way about him that said he wouldn’t step back from a fight.
It’s what she loves most about him.
Because of course she still loves him.
Rowan Whitethorn was, and still is, the best thing to ever happen to her.  From the time they were kinds to the inevitable night that finally pulled them apart—Rowan had been all she ever needed.
He left the city the second he could after his music managed to get him free.  He’d tried to take her with him, tried to say that he’d take care of her and that everything would be alright with just the two of them.
But Aelin knew then that it wasn’t that simple.  It never would be.
Except now, Arobynn is dead.  Dead and no longer tormenting her daily.  Instead, he’s just another terror in her dreams.
They’ve gotten better though, the nightmares.  They don’t come every night and even when they do, it’s easier to chase them away now.  Because she’s free.
And sometimes, if she’s lucky, Rowan will be there.  He’s always had a way of climbing into her dreams and staying right where he’s needed.  Even though he’s not physically here he’s still the greatest source of comfort to her.
She tries to shake the thoughts of him away.  They won’t do her any good.  No matter how badly she wishes they could, that he was there with her.  Instead, any and all thoughts of him haunt her and remind her of what could have been.
So she opens her laptop, navigating to the article she’s supposed to be editing. 
Somewhere along the way, she managed to pave a small road for herself.  She was even the lead editor on this new addition of Kingsflame, an up and coming magazine.  It took her a while to find her way here, to find something she liked and was just for her.  But she was good at writing, she was good at picking up on details, she was good and weaving a story together.
Just not her own.
Aelin works for a little, trying to give all her attention to the document.  The intern that wrote it is promising and Aelin wants to make sure to nourish a love of writing for her.  Aelin knows first hand what just a taste of approval can do for someone and she wants the girl to grow in her love of words.  Writing is what saved Aelin herself after all.
Sitting back in her seat, Aelin sighs and sips at her coffee.  It’s something dark and bitter—not at all what she usually likes.  She prefers sweet and sugar and all the extra bits but the poor barista behind the counter looked one pumpkin spiced latte away from quitting so Aelin got a simple black coffee.  She added extra packets of sugar herself.  
It’s disgusting.
But she has to admit the caffeine is definitely going straight to her brain.
She takes another long sip when it happens.  The song on the radio changes and she hears a voice that has only been a part of her dreams.  It’s low with the barest hint of his accent.  He’s accompanied by a piano which is different—he’s always preferred the guitar, saying that he’ll leave the piano to her.
Only…she never got the chance to play with him.
And now he’s singing a ballad of love and hope over the speakers of her coffee shop.  And no one notices.  And no one realizes what it means to hear him now.
He’d always promised he’d find his way back to her.  She just thought it was going to be different.
Before
There’s a storm billowing through the trees and lashing the windows with rain.  The gray sky is endless as it grows darker with each passing second.  This isn’t any regular storm.  It’s been raging on for over an hour now, bringing in a few rounds of thunder and lightning with it. 
Aelin finds she doesn’t mind it.  Not at all.
Because beside her on the couch is Rowan.  He has an arm wrapped around her as he drifts in and out of sleep.  It’s been a long day of sneaking about, hiding, and worrying.  Now, they just have an hour.  One hour of just the two of them before she has to go back home.
“I miss you,” Rowan says, quiet. 
Aelin isn’t sure she’s heard him properly.  Or maybe he’s talking in his sleep, he does that sometimes.  She runs her fingers through his hair, brushing the silvery locks back from his forehead.
“What did you say?”
Rowan twists, his chin resting on her stomach.  Green eyes stare up at her, dark with longing.
“I miss you,” he repeats, just as quiet.
“I’m right here,” she says.  She doesn’t stop running her fingers through his hair, can’t stop more like it.  It’s grown longer recently and she loves it. 
He doesn’t say anything.  All he does is watch her.  A flash of lightning snaps from outside illuminates his face, turning the shadows beneath his eyes lighter for once.  They’re just kids but it feels like they’ve fought wars already.
Tightening his hold on her, Rowan lets out a small sigh.
“I know,” he says, “but it never feels close enough, does it?”
“You’re just talking,” she says with a low chuckle.  Sometimes, words take on more meaning.  Sometimes, words mean more than they usually do.  And sometimes words are promises that bind you to more than a moment.
He grunts. “No I’m not.”
Her heart thuds at his words, at the feel of him as he sits up slowly, still pressed close to her; only now they’re chest to chest.  He’s so much bigger than Aelin that his frame practically engulfs her.  His broad chest and thick arms are enough to keep her from fidgeting too much though.  Because where else would she rather be?
“No matter what happen, I’ll be here, you know?” he says.  It’s the closest they’ve gotten to talking about the Arobynn situation and how Aelin can’t leave.  No matter what hopes and dreams she might have and share with Rowan.
She’s trapped.
“Rowan,” Aelin begins, she can’t let him say things he doesn’t mean or make promises he can’t keep.
“I’ll never be far enough away that I can’t find you again,” he says.  One finger curls beneath her chin, causing her to look up. “I’d crawl back to you if I had to.”
“I guess I could get used to you being on your knees for me,” she replies.  She wants to ease the moment, to find some levity that doesn’t make her feel like her heart is about be cut open and left to bleed out.
Rowan leans forward until his nose touches hers, until they’re so close that it would be so easy, so easy, to kiss him.  To taste him.  To have a small part of him that she’s wanted for so long.
“Only for you, Fireheart.”
After
California bleeds neon lights and smoke on the horizon.
At first, Aelin can only stare at the skyline and bustling streets and the myriad of people passing by like they’ve got all the time in the world.  At first, Aelin can only breathe in the smog that coats the air like a second skin and the underlying musk of sea water. 
She flew into Los Angeles on nothing but a whim and her last paycheck.  Elide told her not to go.  Aedion insisted she at least wait for him to come with her.  Lysandra gave her an extra hundred dollars for an emergency.
Now, she’s wandering the old boardwalks by the ocean, watching waves crash and crowds swarm various popular spots.  She doesn’t know where she is exactly.  All she knows is that she’s nowhere near Hollywood or all the fancy places that she’d always imagined California to have.  But that’s alright.  She’s always found her way in the unknown and unpredictable.  Even if it has been hell.
It's getting late and all she has guiding her is an old news letter she found online.  There’s supposed to be an old grunge bar around here along the downtown scene.  A place that supports those small artists with dreams bigger than reality.
The late fall light fades into the horizon, bringing a chill to the air.  Aelin hadn’t expected it—cool air and gentle breezes.  But she doesn’t mind it.  She’s full or energy and worry, which may as well be a good thing as the combination has kept her from spiraling out of control.
When she enters the bar she already things she’s in the wrong place.  The low lights and heady scent of cigarettes is enough to tell her so.  But she pays a cover fee for the musicians playing and works her way to the front. 
A part of her mind screams that she should have gotten here sooner, that it’s nearing the final acts and she’s missed her opportunity.  Another part of her is convinced that she shouldn’t even be here to begin with.  Afterall, it’s been five years. 
But Aelin knows she would wait for any length of time; she’d always find a way back to his side.  She got out of her own nightmares even if it did take her years.  Maybe she should have called.  She even has his number and has listened to every voicemail he’s left on repeat as if its her own lullaby for the darkest nights.
It takes some effort, but Aelin makes it closer to the stage.  She’s still two rows back, but it’s close enough, she thinks. 
On stage a woman finishes a ballad with her guitar.  The music’s simple and her scratchy voice doesn’t hold the song together—at least in Aelin’s opinion, but she’s so far detached from this world, maybe she doesn’t know anything.
As the woman exits, a young college kid steps up to the microphone.  His hair falls in his face and he’s trying to layer flannel and an old-style t-shirt that doesn’t quite work for him.
“Next up we’ve got our regular,” the kid announces, already pulling away to make room for the final act. “Rowan Whitethorn.”
All around Aelin, the audience erupts into cheers.  They’ve all come for him, she realizes.  All eagerly awaiting the one person Aelin’s been waiting her entire life for.  She wants to cheer, wants to clap, wants to do anything but stand there and stare.  She can’t.
Because walking across the stage to the electric piano set up in the corner is Rowan.  Rowan with his hair too long.  Rowan with an unlit cigarette behind one ear.  Rowan with his da’s guitar case by his side, even now.  Rowan with tan skin and tattoos reflecting in the pale light of the bar.  Her Rowan that she’s loved for longer than she can say.
He doesn’t look up as he adjusts the settings of the piano and strikes a few keys.  He messes with the microphone next, making sure it’s lined up the way he likes it. 
When he does look up, it’s as though he’s always expected to find her there.  It doesn’t take long at all for their gazes to meet, for his green eyes to burn under the yellow bar lights.  His lips part in silent surprise and Aelin feels her skin heat when he cocks his head to one side before finally, a small smile kicks up one corner of his mouth.
He leans in to the microphone—eyes never leaving hers.
“Fireheart,” he says. “I promised we’d find each other again.”
After
She’s lost again.
But not in the way she once was.
Because instead of being surrounded by her nightmares, she’s tangled up in strong arms that haven’t let her go in hours.  She’s lost in him like never before.
She doesn’t mind of course.  Because she’s lost in him this time.  Skin to skin, soul to soul.  And there’s no place she’d rather be.
Aelin sighs and burrows in closer to his side.  He smells of pine and snow just like always.  It’s better than her memories, being so close to him.  Better than anything she could have hoped for.  She never thought it would come to this. 
For so long she’d wandered through her life trying like hell to find her ways.  Too often it felt like she was drowning, scrambling for air, for salvation.
And then she’d met Rowan. 
She doesn’t blame him for leaving.  She told him as much when he tried to apologized.  Silenced him with her kisses, in fact. 
Somehow they made it back to his apartment—small and tucked above a Thai restaurant.  It didn’t take them long to rediscover each other.  For Rowan to find the new scars along her back, for Aelin to learn the paths of his new tattoos. It didn’t take long at all to fall together into bed and spend the night whispering promises into the neon lights that filtered through the bedroom drapes.
“Fireheart,” Rowan whispers, his soft voice enough to pull Aelin from her thoughts.
She looks up into his eyes, already smiling. “Buzzard.”
Rolling his eyes, Rowan runs a hand up her bare side, the calluses on his fingers catching her skin.  It’s enough to cause her to shiver which lights a new fire in Rowan’s gaze.
Whatever he was going to say is lost as he leans in and kisses her.  She reacts instantly, not that she can help it.  Everything about Rowan draws her in.  His mouth is insistent and teasing and his hands leave hot trails against her skin as he pulls her on top of him.
It’s only when they’re both gasping for air that they break apart.  Rowan brushes Aelin’s hair from her face, his large hand running across her cheek.
“What are you doing to me?” he asks.
Their next kiss is slow and languid and sends sparks shooting through Aelin’s entire body.
They don’t speak again until morning when dawn breaks and scatters sunshine across the bed.  But when they wake it’s with the knowledge that never again are they going to come apart.  They’ll be together across every mile, side-by-side.
end.
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taglist is a joke will reblog soon
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gabelandeskog · 2 years
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pregame warmups | canucks @ wild | 04.21.22
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skeeverboy · 22 days
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what of my favorite (non-tfb) album you should listen to based on ur fav tfb album. or i guess it could work the other way around too
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leonsliga · 10 months
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Mats Hummels’ appearance on World Wide Wohnzimmer
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inspectorseb · 1 month
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dracolizardlars · 1 month
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I always love noticing little personality quirks in my snails, since they're not an animal you'd particularly expect to have individual personalities (and in all fairness, they barely do compared to things like cats and dogs). Ever since I got the big heating mat and stuck it onto the back wall of their tank Nautilus is the only one I've seen sitting on that wall directly over the heat mat. (The mat is on the OUTSIDE of the tank). He does it all the time and I get a bit concerned because in order to heat the whole tank to their preferred 20-23° I have that mat turned up REALLY high and the glass right there next to it gets pretty hot... I'm like, bro, are you cooking yourself? What are you doing? But nah, he apparently doesn't care and is absolutely fine.
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18kgold · 4 months
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The worst thing about buying art is spending literally three times as much to frame it.
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lickithrice · 1 year
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Did you stretch today?
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dailywillbond · 7 months
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13/09
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manufavs · 6 months
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Mats with glasses >>>>>
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cantankerouscatfish · 1 month
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truly, the long day is over. one 13 hour shift is enough for me, thanks.
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wild-cosmias · 7 months
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Workshop of… my most amazing art teacher!
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