#hold out on the lore stream for one week though i beg you

[crystallizedkingdoms]

The Twins pt. 2

It’s the end of their world and Johann, for a brief moment, does not care. A flame dies into ash.

wc: 1,062

The Birds for this fic are the same as yesterday’s.

day 2 of @johann-appreciation-week! this can also be read on ao3 (I added some commentary in the chapter notes on my thought process for these two fics). art by @avijohann

The bard of lore and the researcher of space think of death as they come to their senses.

There are no words. When the chase is gone and they are out of those black tendrils reach, neither Johann nor Kravitz say anything. Though they both run towards the window they had originally watched through, looking down at their world being devoured under that black mass, they say nothing to each other.

They don’t even hold each other’s hands when Keats screams as loud as he can beside them. They cannot bear to listen to those cries for his siblings, siblings, siblings. They can’t listen to Sloane and Hurley’s panicked hurrying around the ship for any sort of plan of what to do next. When Maureen and Hurley, kind as they are, beg them to step away from the window, please, boys, it won’t do you good, they don’t move an inch. Johann and Kravitz stand there, beside each other, as they always have. Looking for a world that lives only in memory.

Memory. Johann clings to memories as he stares at the wobbly in between space of the planes they now traverse through. He remembers practice room introductions, drunken conversations, café pleas, conference interview questions. Memory is a space not unlike the area in which they travel through, a space that Johann has longed to reside within. Legacy depends on memory, a constant state of remembering. Johann always thought, always prayed, he would be the one remembered.

What does it mean to be the one to remember?

Johann hates that the first lucid thought he has as he stands there is about death. That topic is one that he and Kravitz still refuse to touch upon, even when Kravitz moved in and brought all his death with him. Music filled that gap, a common interest between them, one that didn’t bring so much pain to one and discomfort to the other. But the music is gone now. There is nothing to face. Nothing but the agonizing, bitter death that they watched not too long ago.

Johann hates even more that he wonders what Kravitz thinks of this death. Except no, not really. He doesn’t hate it that much because it eats at him like necrosis. What about this death was factual? he demands only in his head. What fascination can bring you joy here? 

I bet there isn’t. I bet you see the cold, hard, “factual” reality of death and recognize it isn’t so fucking easy to look at. We are best friends, Kravitz, you know this as well as I do. We’re practically siblings— (Keats cries for his siblings behind them, crying Edwards and Lydias that ring across the Starblaster) —but this is not something I have ever let go. How can I? How can anyone ever let go of this devastation?

It is not productive to go searching into Kravitz’s heart at this moment. He knows this, Johann knows this. What use is this? What vindication can he possibly achieve from looking at Kravitz and asking, is this what you imagine death to be? It’s how I’ve imagined it. In a billion, tiny different ways that will all be inevitably forgotten if you aren’t great enough. His eyes glance over to Kravitz anyway. Any answer to cling to and rip into to make the pain inside his chest go away.

Johann quickly realizes that what hurts more than death is seeing Kravitz cry.

What else is he expecting? Some evil grin on his face like some Machiavellian death machine? Kravitz stares out of the Starblaster’s window with tears streaming down his red, puffy eyes, and Johann is struck with the obvious reality that of course he feels bad. Of course Kravitz is crying! The world they lived and shared and breathed in is gone. The crew and the Starblaster are all that they have left.

Kravitz shifts, and Johann tries to look away before he has seen him staring (how can he look at him after thinking such things?), but it is too late. Kravitz’s eyes meet Johann’s, same as they always have. His mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Johann’s mouth is similarly dry. Any words of comfort or agony can not grasp the feelings bubbling in Johann right now: the devastation of a world ending and the guilt for immediately assuming the worst to eat him up on the inside. So Johann does not try.

Kravitz’s hand reaches out towards Johann’s. It stops just before his fingers. A question awaiting an answer. Johann’s fingers twitch, searching for something to fidget with, anything to avoid touching Kravitz’s hand— did he deserve to after such doubt? But when he looks at his friend and sees watery eyes and trembling lips, Johann breaks. His fingers reach to intertwine with Kravitz’s. Silently, gently. Kravitz feels his hand and cracks. One small sob escapes his lips. 

And Johann falls apart. 

He throws himself onto Kravitz, wrapping his other arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer. Johann keens, and fuck, when was the last time he’s cried so hard? Johann sobs, full of guilt and memories and every other disgusting thing in between, and just holds Kravitz tight. There’s nothing else to do, Johann cries. There’s no one else but you. The world has ended and Johann only cares about Kravitz.

Kravitz clings to Johann with thoughts that hang on him like a plague. To watch his world disappear (this is no death, this is not a song with an end, this is cruel and unnatural, against everything we know, it would be wrong to categorize this as death), everything comes crashing down on the both of them. Forced to watch and forced to persevere. The thought makes Kravitz sick.

Neither Kravitz or Johann think about letting go. Even when Captain Boyland landed them in the plane they were just staring at, they didn’t let go. Even when they took their first step outside the ship, onto the soft, verdant grass beneath their feet, and it became achingly apparent that this really wasn’t their home, they never let go. The rest of the team embrace each other for comfort. When Johann feels Kravitz’s hand inch forward, he tugs him back. Kravitz does not fight it. They just watch together,

Wordlessly, they both agree to never let go. No matter what.

#taz #taz balance #johann appreciation week #taz johann #taz kravitz #the adventure zone

[laguera25]

An Open Letter to Richard Z. Kruspe on the Occasion of His 54th Birthday

When I was born, ten weeks prematurely and weighing a scant two-and-a-half pounds, the doctors told my parents not to bother naming me, as I would likely die very quickly, and even if I were to survive, I would likely be blind and helpless and profoundly retarded, unaware of, and unable to engage with, the world around me. Best to leave me be and let nature take its course. A few days of benign neglect, and it would all be over. If they were fortunate, there would be other, better children.

Fortunately for me, my parents gave the double-fingered salute to that bit of medical advice and took me home to do the best they could with very little money and no one to guide them through the strange and terrible country of life with a disabled child. I survived because my very country grandmother chucked out the baby formula that I wasn't digesting and fed me the cow's milk the doctors so solemnly swore would kill me.

There was so many milestones I missed, and of which my parents were deprived. I didn't sit up by myself until I was two. I never walked, never ran, though there are a few faded photos of me gamely pulling myself upright on chairs and the edges of coffee tables, trying to do what my brain said I ought, but my body too weak and miswired too obey. No play with other children, who were stronger and more rambunctious and would have bowled me over in all innocence. And as I grew older, no first dates or driving tests or prom dresses. No thought of an independent life.

What there was was endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy. Hours and hours on a brown vinyl mat, trying to lift my leg or raise my ass off the ground or make my hand write the words in my head. Hours and hours putting change into a slot or trying to tie shoelaces or forcing my hands into uncomfortable plastic splints for a chance at a fraction of more bodily control. While my school friends were out playing in the sun, I was inside beneath fluorescent lights, learning to button my shirt and comb my hair and brush my teeth. To hold a pencil. No time for joy, for peace, for figuring out who I was beyond this collection of aches and pains and deficiencies, just the endless tedium of learning to "be normal" and less of an imposition on the world around me.

And I did go to school. Despite the doctors' dire predictions, I was neither blind nor idiot. I was perfectly aware of the world around me, and smart. So much so that when I was nine, the school ordered an intelligence test. The score was so high that they thought it an error and made me take it again in front of witnesses. When the same score came back the second time, they wanted to move me two years ahead, but my mother, afraid it would both isolate me further and give me airs, refused. So, I stayed, face in the mat and hands in splints, learning advanced history and English, yet forced to put blocks into holes and put colored rings on a stick.

And so I lived this strange paradox for my entire childhood, the genius child that my mother crowed about to all her friends and anyone who would listen, and terrible burden who still had the coordination of a toddler, and who had ruined her dreams of ribbons and curls. When I was nine, she was convinced I could be made "normal"--or closer to it--any road, with a surgery. And so, the surgeons detached the muscles and ligaments in my legs from the bones and stretched them in an effort to relieve the spasticity. The surgeons were doing a kindness to relieve pain; by then, the muscles were so tight that when I was stood on my feet and held up, my feet rolled onto the instep and my knees pointed at each other. It was a measure of dignity.

To my mother, it was supposed to be a miracle, the cure that gave her the daughter she deserved.

I woke up screaming. The muscles and ligaments were unhappy with their new positions and weren't afraid to register their protest about this new state of affairs. They tried to administer morphine, but the levels needed to control the pain were dangerously high for a child, and so I was left to ride it out. I screamed and screamed and screamed. For thirteen hours.

My mother. who was so sure she had found her miracle, was taken into another room by an exhausted surgeon who had done the best he could, and told that at most, I might be able to walk across the room on a walker and take myself to the toilet. She screamed, too, then, at this man who had been on his feet for nine hours, trying to undo the mistakes of the hands that had formed me from the dust of the ground, and who would try to make me laugh every day when he came to check my progress. She called him a liar and a bastard and a son of a bitch, and family lore has it that she would have hit him had my father not intervened.

They tried to tell her. Kindly and patiently and incessantly, but she would not listen. God had told her I would be cured, and dammit, I would be. The day they cut my casts off and sent me home, they told her not to push me too hard, that my muscles needed time to adjust and build endurance. She said she understood, but when we got home, she ordered me to walk uphill to the house. I tried, I truly did, but it wasn't long before I hit muscle fatigue and started to cry. I want to stop, wanted my wheelchair.

And my mother, this woman who had once told the doctors who would have let me die to go fuck themselves, picked up a stick and started to beat me. "Be normal! Be normal!" Screaming and sobbing and flailing with this stick, and me screaming and begging and trying to stay upright. I don't know how long she would've kept going, but eventually, my stepfather appeared, wrested the stick away and threatened to beat her with it, and carried me into the house.

Here I must give my mother a sliver of credit even if I will carry the memory of that beating for the rest of my days. She was right, after a fashion. I did do more than walk across the room with a walker and take myself to the toilet. For a while, I even graduated to forearm crutches and quad canes, which might not sound like much, but when you were expected to do nothing, that's like climbing Everest in your underpants. My wheelchair gathered dust for years, but soon I had to choose between the demands of my education and the demands of my body. The latter simply lacked the energy to fuel both my mind and my muscles to the best of my their abilities, and since school was the only area of life in which I had ever excelled, there was no choice at all. Back into the chair I went. By the time I graduated high school, I could no longer use crutches, and by my third year at uni, even the walker was too much. These days, I cannot move myself without help, and arthritis has set in. I made my choice, and now I pay its price.

I tell you all of this to illustrate that whatever the fool doctors might have said as they clucked and tutted over my incubator, I was keenly aware of the world. Of everything I was missing while my mother insisted I just bootstrap myself out of my disability and be normal. Of her seething resentment of all that I was not. Of her wish that I was someone else.

There were two bands that got me through, kept me sane and kept me moving when all I wanted to do was just lie down and not get up. The first was Metallica, whom I discovered at thirteen, and who told me it was all right to be angry about my circumstances, to kick and scream and argue with God and call him a rotten bastard--as long as I kept living, kept getting up in the morning and trying to inch down the road. I didn't have to swallow my anger for fear of upsetting God and hurting my mother's chances of getting into heaven(my mother believes that I am a test she must pass in order to get into heaven; therefore, my suffering is irrelevant and should never be questioned, lest it anger Him. Don't ask; I don't get it.)

If Metallica was the band that gave me permission to be angry as long as I kept trying, it was Rammstein that told me it was okay to want more from life than an endless regimen of therapy and prayer and gratitude to a God that had, or so it seemed to me, sent me into the world with a ramshackle body and precious little armor or defense against the assholery of my fellow human beings and yet still expected me to praise His holy name allelu. To want joy and friends and human contact. To have a libido and ogle whatever flipped my switches. To, in short, be human, and more than just a symbol of all my mother's broken hopes.

I discovered the band through a book, believe it not. I found a copy of Tom Reynolds' <i>Touch Me, I'm Sick</i> in a Barnes and Noble I had gone into to browse and hide from a cataclysmic thunderstorm, and in it, he began to talk about a band called Rammstein and a song called "Heirate Mich." The more I read, the more gloriously improbable it all seemed, and the harder I laughed. By the time I got to the line, "As the music pounds like a collapsing factory...", there were tears streaming down my face, and I was having trouble breathing. The saleslady must've worried I was having a stroke.

And so it was that I found the key to everything that would come after. From the book to my creaking dial-up Internet(don't laugh, it was what I could afford as a broke-ass cripple on the government dole) to the CD shop, where I blew my food budget on Rammstein CDs and lived on Hamburger Helper for weeks. This is a terrible dietary choice, by the way, but at least I had Rammstein music in my ears all day, every day. A few weeks later, I put another dent in my food budget buying all the DVDs. Ah, the vigor and stupidity of youth. If I tried that foolery now, I'd be semiconscious on the floor in a day and a half. Back then, I had a more stalwart constitution.

I knew by the second song I heard that Rammstein was going to be special to me. My German, which consisted of a year of study in high school and a disastrous two years in college, was pretty poor, but thanks to snooping around Internet forums and squinting at grainy videos, I knew much of your catalogue dealt with taboo subjects. I didn't care. For all its dark subject matter, the music made me want to dance. It made me feel something other than apathy and a persistent wish for this whole mess to be over and my soul to be recycled into a body that didn't make me want to scream until I was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And I did dance. Constantly. Seldom in public because dancing in a wheelchair often looks like the Devil is trying to stick his finger up your ass, but often at home, just shimmying away until the chair developed some alarming creaks and the bolts needed adjustment. Rammstein made me happy. It made me curious. It made me want to see just how much was out there.

And, if I am honest, it made me want to see those silver MC Hammer pants for myself. The combination of those pants and the diaper rash cream in your hair was a striking look for you, if I may say so, though perhaps not so grand as the black spikes and the lion pants you wore with such swaggering panache on the Reise, Reise tour. Alas, this was not to be, as I suppose you had wearied of slathering ass cream for infants in your hair. I can't blame you, though I suppose it must've been a sad day, indeed, for the ointment companies. Still, those Hammer pants and their Reynolds Wrap, space-age splendor will always hold a special place in my heart.

Stymied in my hope to witness for myself the wonders of those Hammer pants--and those lion pants as well, as it turned out, oh, unhappy hour, long may they reign in the storage closet--I nonetheless wanted to see a Rammstein show. Not much chance of that, the morose American fans assured me. The band hadn't come here since they foolishly took the American commitment to freedom of expression at face value and Till and Flake landed in the Puritan pokey for playing Loose the Dachshund into the Badger Burrow in front of delighted fans. Besides, the band's management had scant interest in repeating that little experiment.

Even so, I held out hope. I hung out on message boards and kept me ear to the ground. You can imagine my delight when the MSG show was announced. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could attend, mind you; New York might as well have been the moon for someone who cannot safely fly, but it was fun to indulge in a bit of wistful what-if? What if I could find a way to get there that wouldn't give me a lethal clot? What if I could score tickets? What if I could afford a hotel in Manhattan where the rats and roaches wouldn't kill me in my sleep or carry me off to be devoured in the sewer system? These were all very big ifs for someone who lived in the boonies and was only supposed to spend money on medical expenses and basic bills. Besides, MSG was going to sell out before I could gimp my way to the phone.

Knowing all of this, I took to my blog to whine and moan and feel sorry for myself. It wasn't fair, I whinged to the ether. I had wanted to see Rammstein for so long, but it just wasn't possible. It was too expensive and too far and too haaaaard. And woe is me.

And then...

And then...

And then a bossy German lady dropped a punk alarm in my inbox.

I don't remember now how or why she came to my blog. Maybe she was drawn by an unconventional perspective on life and fandom and moving through the world, or maybe she just wanted to snortle at my friend and I's discussions of your sartorial splendor and the ridiculous dramas going on in the Rammstein fandom at the time. Either way, she'd been been watching my sulking and stropping for a few days, until she'd reached her limit and this woman, who had never said an unkind word to me in years, called me a coward. Just straight up said that I could either find my spine, stop pissing and moaning, and try my hardest to see Rammstein in New York, or I could keep being a coward and making excuses. But make my choice and stop sniveling because she was tired of hearing about it.

At first, I was stunned. Of all the things I had ever been called, a coward was not one of them. Then I was mad. How DARE she call me a coward when she had no idea how much pain I was in most of the time or how difficult it was to move around a world that had never been designed for me and been but grudgingly retrofitted by handymen who thought that grab bars fixed everything!

So I stewed and pouted for a few hours, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I hadn't tried very hard to research my options. I hadn't checked hotels or called the venue or gotten my finances in order. I had claimed Rammstein was so important and meaningful to me, but I hadn't shown it. I had assumed defeat before I'd even started the charge up the the hill and wallowed in self-pity. Sure, maybe I was right and I wouldn't be able to go, but I'd never know if I didn't square up and try.

Before I proceed, a word about the tried-and-true deutscher Fuss zum Arsch(not another aside in a letter full of them, I hear you cry as your eyes begin to glaze. I know, Mr. Kruspe, believe me, but if you speak to the world through your guitar strings, I speak through my keystrokes, and so I beg your patience. We're almost there.). If a German you have gotten to know puts their foot up your ass and calls you on your bullshit, they are not doing it to be a prick, and it's not done with the intent to create hard feelings or demolish your self-esteem. It's harsh, man, is it harsh when you're used to American doublespeak and soft-pedaling, but they're doing it because they see something in you and are trying to stop you from making a dumbass or a jackwagon of yourself. They're doing it because they want to keep being your friend.

So.

Punk alarm duly dropped and head dislodged from ass, I started making phone calls. To the banks do get my money in order. To bean counters to make sure I would have access to it. To Amtrak to discuss their booking options. I went to disability websites and forums to discuss precautions to take in case my health or my equipment gave out on the road. The best hospital for the broke-ass should I get mown down by a taxi while trying to cross the road. Emergency numbers and insurance forms and blah blah blah. A raft of bureaucracy and safeguards and double-checking, all for a concert I might not get tickets for.

But I did, because for once, my disability worked in my favor. MSG sold out in twenty-five minutes, but that venue, bless its heart, doesn't put disabled seating up for general sale. You have to call the disabled patron assistance line, and they don't release unsold disabled seats for general sale until three days before a show. So I called the magic line, and a very amiable fellow talked me through the process. Two weeks later, the tickets were in my mailbox.

I am not ashamed to tell you that when I opened the envelope and held the tickets in my hand, I screamed like a debutante that sat on an upturned spoon. It was really happening.

And yes, my German friend gave me a giant "I told you so!" But she was right, and she'd earned it. Besides, she was happy for me, too.

So I did it. I got on a train(where I soon learned that accessible or not, I couldn't use the toilet because the train swayed too much for me to keep my balance), and I went without eating, drinking, or urinating for twenty-two hours(I do not recommend this to anyone, by the by. It hurt, and it was dangerous)to get to New York. And when I got there, I stood in Penn Station and simply stared because I was somewhere I never thought I'd be. It was simultaneously everything I thought it would be and nothing like I'd expected.

There were still obstacles, of course. There always are when you have two hands and four wheels and see the world through asses and elbows. Clutching my luggage while my trusty and ever-present companion pushed me over the cracked sidewalk with one hand and dragged the rest of the luggage behind him. Finding out that the "accessible" hotel room was, in fact, not all that accessible and wrenching my knee every time I used the toilet. Being accosted by my first sidewalk screamer within ten minutes of being in the city. Meeting my first hustler.

Freezing my ass off outside the venue for four hours before the show and called not fan enough by other fans because I didn't do it for fourteen, because hey, if you were really a fan, you'd risk pneumonia to see the show, even if it would kill you. Being shunted and shuffled to four different doors by event staff because no one could agree on where the disabled fans were supposed to enter. Being let into the building to warm up by an MSG employee, only to be booted out by event staff three minutes later. Whee! Aren't the logistics of being disabled fun?

But Mr. Kruspe, it was all worth it. I've never felt an energy like that before. Whatever snitty elitism some of the fans might have been nursing outside, inside MSG, we were all fans, all people who had waited and wished for this for a very long time. The primal roar from the crowd when the band began to break through the wall raised the hairs on my nape, and you'd better believe that I joined them with all of my energy.

From the first note, I forgot my pain. It was still there, mind, waiting for me, black-toothed and patient as the grave, but I was beyond it, in a state of suspended euphoria. No pain, just joy. I watched everything as best I could despite my near-sightedmess and my rather distant seat. I soaked it all in--the music and the unapologetic bombast, and the pageantry of the fire. It was all so starkly, darkly beautiful, and according to my companion, who has all the sentimentality of pavement, when he looked over at me during "Ich Will", I was "radiant." He, who had known me for thirteen years by then, said he'd never seen me like that before, and that he would never forget it.

It was not without price. These things never are. There was another train journey and another twenty-two hours without access to a toilet, and by the time I got home, I was so strung out from lack of food, water, and sleep(because trufax, it is hard to sleep when your bladder is trying to pop out of your skin from the pressure)that I cried like a toddler on the drive home. And then I went home, peed forever, drank, ate, and collapsed for seventeen hours.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it that on the band's next go-round, I took a cross-country roadtrip to Vegas, during which I peed much more often, thank God, but I also fought ants and roaches in a hotel room in Texas and stayed in a room so gross I slept in my clothes and threw them out when I got home. But it, too, was worth it, just as it was worth it to get in the car and drive to Florida and Atlanta on the next tour after that.

I told you ALL of these things, Mr. Kruspe, to tell you this. I saw your interview in that documentary about depression in 2010. I heard you say you felt worthless unless you were creating.

I don't know what you're worth to anyone else, but to me, you are priceless, and always will be. Without you, there would be no Rammstein, and for me, there would have been no reason to try, to spread my wings and take a run at that hill. Without you, I might have given up, might have let my mother win, and maybe now, I'd be sitting in some care home, stewing in my own yellowing stink and getting a bath once a week and a monthly outing and rotting from the inside out. Without you, I might never have taken the chance, never pushed myself.

But you were, and are, and because of that, I did. Because of that, I saw New York, and moved, however briefly, among that anonymous throng. Because of that, I met the sidewalk doomsayer and the exasperated hustler. Because of that, I tried New York Pizza(and yes, I saw a rat, but he minded his business, and I minded mine). Because of you, I heard a Cajun patois in Louisiana and watched out the window of the car as the Texas plains unwound around us. Because of you, I saw the night sky on the outskirts of Vegas and was escorted back to the Strip after the show by two Native dudes who walked far out of their way and called me little sister. These are gifts I got from you because you were, and are, and they have sustained me ever since. They sustain me now that my world has been reduced to the four walls of my house as I ride out the pandemic in a country that believes people like me are an acceptable sacrifice.

I know this won't change things for you, won't quiet that awful voice in your head. Depression doesn't work like that, and even if it did, I am just a stranger you will never meet. But maybe it will give you something to hang on to, something to think about on the bad days. Christ knows you kept my head above the water when all I wanted to do was let it go under.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Kruspe. May it bring you joy and all that you need.

Guera

#rammstein #richard z. kruspe #emigrate

[chaoticspacefam]

6.  “How do you think this will all end?” for D'leah, please <3

Pinky once again picking THE juiciest possible combo of prompt + characters, everybody go thank her bc I had a blast with this 👀 I’ve been wanting to write a oneshot for this part of the story for a while and this is the perfect excuse mwahaha 

@palepinkycat here you go! Sorry this one took a little while, I haven’t had time to sit and write it out till now, but hopefully it’s a decent enough length to make it up to you! 👀

I have more to say about the body language I described in here (namely the significance of the “under chin” snuggles & also why D’leah Yelled At Abe When He Tried To Do It To Her At The End), but I have a Worldbuilding tag somewhere in my mentions so I’mma save it for that basically. More Tomato Lore gonna drop sometime in the next week or two once I’m done with the drawings skshsks I tried to do one for this one too but it was not coming out right so maybe some other time XD

I’ve seen a lot of fics explore what it’s like to have a Force bond and communicate with it but I’ve seen very few that deal with the “what if it breaks when one of them dies” side of it, so this is my take on what happens and how it probably feels for the “surviving” party; I usually describe my Force bonds as a sort of ethereal “thread” type thing that then connects their emotions/souls/however you want to see it and yadda yadda, so...you can’t tell me that snapping that thread wouldn’t fucking hurt ;-; For extra heart hurty, the song quotes were the main two songs I listened to while working on each “part” of this fic, so you can use them for ambience if you want ;)

As always I use the Coruscant Translator for (most of) my High Sith, translations are included on the bottom however :) (since the quote from the prompt is said in Sith, they’re gonna talk in High Sith sometimes being well...Sith :3)

Abaron is the best brother-in-law, I do not make the rules. D’leah you need to apologise to this man immediately 😂 she does, immediately after this (not shown) dw, I swear

Timeline/Setting: 3729 BBY (roughly/according to the still-holey timeline I’ve been working on since the “canon” one was released) Immediately post-Valkoriate takeover. As in, literally just happened slash is happening as this occurs.

Warnings: Character Death mention (Kissai), Breaking Force Bonds, Plenty of angst (it was from an “angsty” prompt list, after all! 😬) , possible slight gore (?) in the form of description of a former  injury from a concussion grenade (just to be safe lol), and ofc some Cuss Words (™) 

^^ these are ur warnings, click past this cut at ur own risk and I am not responsible for how you react bc you chose to pass the warning k thanks ^^

“Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not. He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got. Oh lord, oh lord, I’m begging you please...don’t take that sinner from me -” ~ The Civil Wars, “Devil’s Backbone”

It all happened so fast, they had to react fast if they were going to save the twins, and D’leah knew that. She’d tried so desperately to help her husband, pouring as much of her Force energy as she could through the bond they shared. It had always worked before, why wasn’t it working NOW?! D’leah didn’t know, but she could feel him growing weaker and weaker by the second. 

D’leah - his voice was so distant and faint, she almost didn’t want to acknowledge the reality of it. No, no no, he wasn’t dying he couldn’t be dying, no no no…. D-Don’t do this. Sai… her grip on the control cluster tightened until her knuckles turned pale, they were already in the air. It would be easy to do what she knew he was about to ask...but it would mean leaving him to his fate. Could she do that?

Dimly, D’leah could hear Abaron chattering to the girls behind her as he made sure they stayed in their seats, but she couldn’t hear the words any of them were saying, there was just him and that horrible, ominous weakness bleeding from her husband’s end of the bond. 

You need to run… Kissai urged her. PROMISE me. The girls-

I can’t...not without you! her mind-voice caught as if the words were difficult to form, she felt him slip further away and frantically tried to bolster his strength up again, but somehow, she couldn’t put her finger on how, it only seemed to make the other Pureblood weaker. Sai, snichi… she pleaded, and she could feel the barest attempt at a smile from her husband as he gave her his final farewell, 

Nu aki j’us, D’leah. RUN. For me...

His words were far weaker now, more forced, as if even Kissai knew he was running out of time to convey his plea. D’leah realised with a growing sense of horror that they really didn’t have another option, she had to protect their daughters. She reached towards the navcomputer to punch in the quickest hyperspace code she could think of that would get them as far away from Imperial Space as possible, but never managed to get there. 

The pain hit her so fast that D’leah had no time to prepare for it even if in reality, she’d known it was coming. First, came the white-hot metal rod of pain that jammed right down the center of her spine. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire and it was this that was enough to cause her to cry out in pain and lose her grip on the ship’s controls as the Pureblood was thrown sideways in her seat. She managed to fall with just enough grace to get herself out of Abaron’s way and as she hit the floor and the pain kept coming, she faintly heard the man curse in High Sith as he lunged across to take her place in the pilot’s seat before they nose-dived into Force-only-knows what, out here in open space like they were. 

Then she felt the thread of Force energy between herself and her husband straining, threatening to snap, and before long, it did. D’leah knew logically there was nothing she could do to stop it, and that trying would make it hurt more, but she was desperate and on reflex she could not help but try. Frantically, she reached out with her own Force energy and clasped for each thread as it tore away from her, bit by bit, as if clutching at the strings would somehow, futilely, keep him here. Would let him live. But still, the pain came again, and again, and she fancied that the sinews of flesh being ripped from bone when she lost part of her face to that concussion grenade had been less painful than this. “No...no no no no please...please! NO!!!” Everything else was so faint and far-away in comparison that D’leah didn’t realise that her scream had been out loud this time, her fingers fumbling for her heart, though she couldn’t rightly tell if that was where the pain was truly coming from and it was simply a reflexive reaction. 

For a long while she clenched her teeth through wave after wave of pain, and while it didn’t stop, it became easier with every breath for D’leah to push it into the background. Slowly, the Pureblood’s blurry vision cleared and she realised the twins were staring down at her, wide-eyed in horror. 

She needed to get up. She needed to go to them, she needed to be strong. For them.

Saarai reached for her first, but she scooped both of them up into her arms as best as she was able, all but falling into the seat where the twins had been huddled moments before. The girls both clamored to settle themselves as close to her as they could without pushing the other out of her grasp too. D’leah held onto them as tightly as she could, only vaguely aware of Saarai’s voice as she chattered a question up at her, catching every second word or so. “Moooom!” as she reached up towards her again, and “Dad...gonna find us...right?” 

Their mother shushed them softly, adjusting her grip to fit both of the twins, as best she was able, beneath her chin. Safe. They were safe there.

“Shhh, shh-shh, my little one.” she croaked shakily, a tremor passing through her frame as she tried to keep her voice steady and convincing through the lie. “He’ll catch up later, don’t you worry.” 

They sat in silence, D’leah clutching them against her chest as if they, too, might disappear if she let them go for even one second, and Abaron took over piloting the ship so that she didn’t have to. He’d practically done all the work already, anyway. She risked a glance down at her daughters, and caught the wary glint in Saarai’s golden eyes, the sideward glance at her sister, and she knew that they knew it was a lie. But she had not the heart to tell them that yet. Not now, through the tears that had begun to stream from her eyes despite her attempts to hold them at bay. She did not mean to cry, but what else could she do??

Saarai’s tiny fingers reached up shakily, when she realised what they were, to brush the liquid tracks from her chin and the spurs on her jaw. It only made her cry more and hold them tighter.

“Nunchi woiunoks, oi ai utja…” she breathed soothingly, hoping it was convincing enough for the twins. “Mom’s got you...nothing is ever going to hurt you while I’m here.” She held them like that right until they landed.

“The daughter of a lawyer, told the fallen priest “it’s a cold, cold place in the arms of a thief”, And tapping at the arrow in her heel, she said “LEAVE ME ALONE! ...but just don’t leave me here, alright?” Alright..” ~ Iron & Wine, “Arms of a Thief” 

By the time they arrived at their destination, some planet called “Rishii” that she doesn’t ever recall knowing of before - but perhaps that’s a good thing - and Abaron managed to find them a place to stay, the pain she had felt had dulled to more of a phantom throbbing than anything else. But her consciousness felt vulnerable and empty without Kissai’s own Force presence winding around hers, she felt alone, even though physically she was not. D’leah had sung and rocked the twins to sleep, with some effort, and glanced down at them as they slept, Ni’kasi’s arms curled around her sister as she burrowed under her chin for comfort beneath the blanket their mother had tucked around them.

The pain was gone, and in its wake came the FURY. It bubbled to the surface all too quickly, and D’leah began to tremble again, a growl rumbling deep in her throat as she realised that first, the girls were theoretically out of danger, and secondly, she still had a ship. She could go back. 

“I’m going to kill that fucker.” the Pureblood wheeled for the door, only to find it blocked by Abaron, who seemed to have pre-empted her outburst. She stopped short, a hiss slipping past her teeth as her lip curled back to show her fangs briefly. “Abe. Move.” she snarled, resisting the urge to shout so as to not wake Saarai and Ni’kasi from their slumber. The tips of Abaron’s jaw spurs shook as, for once in his life, he declined to follow her order. 

“No. My Lord, I can’t let you do that.”

It took every ounce of her self control not to do worse, but as it was, D’leah tried to lunge for him so she could force her way past, he might not have been taller than her but he was stronger, and heavier too. The man reacted just as quickly, his own hands closing around her wrists to push back and keep her in place, his own feet firmly rooted in the doorway as he grunted. “D’leah! Listen to me, please!” 

The tears threatened to come to the surface again, her eyes burning hot, though this time the matriarch forced them down, though her voice still quivered as she spat, each word punctuated with a quiver in her voice.

“You have no idea how I am feeling right now!”

“Not wholly, no.” Abaron argued, releasing her arms as she dropped them back to her sides, her remaining spurs still rattling softly in agitation. “But I know that going back there now is foolish, my Lord!” 

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way!” D’leah hissed, though she didn’t have the strength left after the manic dash away from Kaas to call the lightning to her fingertips and lend to the threat she was trying to punctuate. “H-He is sitting there, on our homeworld, w-with our people’s blood on his hands!” she tried to shove him again, but her fist connected dully with the plated armour on the other Pureblood’s chest and didn’t make much of an impact on him. “They’re all dead and y-you just want me to -!!” 

“I’m trying to protect you, my Lord!” his teeth flashed back at her, yet another thing she would not have stood for if she was half as lucid as usual. He continued on further, his voice a low, agitated growl as he lowered his face to hers as if to punctuate his point. “That is my charge, it’s what you bid me to do and I will not have you risking your life for such a foolish venture, you’re not thinking straight! We are the only ones left! It’s my duty to make sure that all three of you stay alive!” 

She flinched at the reminder. Them, and Vowrawn, perhaps...if he was sneaky enough. But Abaron was right, going back would put him at risk, too. His eyes searched hers frantically, and his hands remained raised as if Abaron wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t need to hold her back again. D’leah was in half a mind about it herself, she wasn’t sure how to react now. And what her brother-in-law said next put the nail in the coffin, so to speak: 

“Dias dari j'us minti pa saû iki wisa qorit?” he urged, the words a muttered whisper.

The Pureblood matriarch felt her anger fizzle out almost instantly as the realization sank in. The girls....they were only children. They were far too young for this. Too young, they were too young for this talk of death and loss and grief; too young to have to understand if she left them here and did not come back either. Their father’s passing would weigh heavily on them for the rest of their lives, they didn’t deserve to have to lose their mother, and on the same day, too...

She deflated, her shoulders sagging in defeat, and another tremor wracked her frame as she dropped her own gaze to the floor for the moment. “Abe...I-” 

“I know.” he sighed, relaxing as he stepped up to draw her against his chest sympathetically. She almost didn’t react, until she felt his chin brush the top of her head and she realized what he was trying to do. Despite his attempt at the gesture being comforting, D’leah jerked herself away from him to growl warningly. “Dari nindz.”

He looked momentarily taken aback, holding his hands up amicably as he apologised. “I was just...I thought you needed-” “Nu sûa nindz zo ardira!” she snapped at him, but mercifully, turned away from the door and stalked further inside once more.

____________________________________________________

Sith translations, in order:

Snichi... - please... 

Nu aki j’us. - I (romantic) love you.

Nunchi woiunoks, oi ai utja. - Sweet little one, it’s alright.

Dias dari j'us minti pa saû iki wisa qorit? - How do you think this will all end? 

Dari nindz - Don’t.

Nu sûa nindz zo ardira! - I’m not a child!

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #hoooo the angst #tw: character death #swtor oc: d'leah ahaszaai #swtor ''oc'': abaron ahaszaai #sith pureblood #swtor oc: saarai ahaszaai #swtor oc: ni'kasi ahaszaai #the ahaszaai twins #by brief/honorable mention #i mean they're asleep but they're there skhskhskdn #i *do* have a much shorter oneshot that was basically just before this during the whole ''shit we gotta RUN'' phase #but from baby saarai's point of view #i just originally wrote it for zephyrverse lore so i will prob have to do some editing b4 i can post it too but maybe one day LMAO #and i do have an idea for a oneshot some fluffy mother-daughter bonding #that i might work on next once i've worked on some owed art stuff next week #as a counter-balance to this angst-hammer bc it really is one #i'm sorry #i got carried away lmao #i want u all to know that writing this hurt me just as much as it's prolly gonna hurt u to read ;-; #but at the same time i also...am v proud of it?? i like this one a lot o.o

[67-chevy-baby]

I’ll Show You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY!!!!

Tags: Angst, Arguments, Bondage, BDSM, Praise Kink, Fingering (female receiving), Oral (male receiving), Throat-fucking, Unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP KIDS!), Begging (obviously), Fluffy ending, Language, and I think that’s it. HEED THE WARNINGS PLEASE!

Betas: @winecatsandpizza

Word Count: 3.6k

Fic Aesthetic: Yours Truly

Written for: @thehoneybeecastielfollows Elliana’s 400 Followers Fanciful Fluff Challenge and it also fills my Begging Square for @spnkinkbingo​ 2018

Prompt - #7: “You couldn’t handle me if I came with a user manual!”

From the moment you met Sam and Dean Winchester, you’d known your life was about to change. Be it bad or good was hard to determine, mainly because of what they did for a living, but a little part of it had to do with the fact that the elder of the two brothers didn’t seem to like you. You couldn’t put your finger on it. Anytime he exchanged words with you, it was always cold and dismissive. Sam assured you that his brother would come around, but you weren’t born yesterday. Dean had something against you, and you, being the stubborn woman you were, aimed to figure it out.

The three of you were sitting in the library sifting through lore for a case. There had apparently been reports of a Djinn hybrid in the midwest, and you knew it had to be the work of Michael. Dean had his feet propped up on the table, a rather large dusty book in his hands. Sam was typing away on his laptop, the clicking of the keys being the only audible sound other than the occasional page turn. You knew that finding a way to kill the latest and greatest monster of the week was what you should be doing, but you couldn’t focus. Not when this whole thing with Dean was eating at you.

“I can’t do this anymore!” The book you’d been holding was thrown carelessly onto the table, the sound reverberating off the walls making both brothers jump.

Dean removed his boot-covered feet off the tabletop and planted them on the floor. You didn’t miss how his eyebrows knitted into a scowl or his signature eyeroll. “Giving up already, Y/N? You know, if the huntin’ life isn’t cut out for you, then you can see yourself out anytime.”

Sam sighed and gave Dean his best bitch face. “Dean! Whatever is going on with Y/N, I can assure you that you’re not helping!” He turned his gaze to you, his hazel eyes looking at you sympathetically. You’d normally just keep your anger bottled up inside, but something inside you snapped. Being a hunter meant everything to you after a demon killed your kid sister, and for Dean to question your loyalty like that had crossed a line. Your anger started to rise within you, like a sea of molten lava until you were no longer in control of your emotions.

Instead of storming off to your room and slamming the door for good measure like you normally would do, you stood and yanked the book Dean was reading out of his hand. You were gnashing your teeth together in such a snarl that it was a miracle they didn’t break. “You think you’re so fucking smug, don’t you Winchester? You think you’re this big badass and that nothing can touch you. Well, let me tell you something.” Your small hand grabbed onto the front of his shirt, bunching it up between your fingers as you got dangerously close to his face. “You don’t fucking scare me in the least bit!” The venom in your tone was palpable and with a hard push of your free hand, he and the chair went crashing to the floor.

Without giving him a chance to fire an insult back, you headed into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. You could hear Dean’s muffled voice as he spat angrily in response to his brother’s laughs. It only made the smirk on your face wider. Maybe now Dean will show you some respect.

The rest of the night was pretty quiet. You stayed in your room, scouring the internet for a way to kill the monster in question, and munched on some popcorn. The research came easily to you, your eyes scanning effortlessly through article after article. Even though you still hadn’t found a weapon to kill this Djinn on steroids, you knew your efforts would make Sam proud.

You felt his presence before he knew you did. He loomed in the doorway, leaning against it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling. “Can I help you, Dean?” You didn’t even bother to stop reading the article you’d found. He was probably just here to start something with you, and you had neither the time nor the energy to fight. Instead of replying, he pushed off the doorframe and stalked towards you, his shadow spreading across you and your keyboard.

You knew he was waiting for you to look at him, but you honestly didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction. Why should you? He’d been nothing but an ass to you since you moved in. So instead of giving him what he wanted, you continued to read.

Apparently, Dean got tired of not having your attention because the next thing you knew, he’d taken your laptop and tossed it on your pile of dirty laundry in the corner. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clenching as he looked down at you. “What the hell do you want, Dean? I’m trying to find a way to kill that fucking Djinn. You’re not still pissed about me putting you on your ass, are you? I mean, you kind o-HEY! LET ME GO!”

In one swift motion, he’d pulled you to your feet and shoved you against the wall. Dean’s chest heaved and his nostrils flared as he towered over you with his full height. “You don’t fucking get it, do you Y/N?” His forearm pressed into your chest, not hard enough to hurt you, but firmly enough to hold you in place.

Even at your disadvantage you still stood your ground. Your eyes narrowed perilously, certain that if looks could kill then Dean would have been done for. “Oh, you think I don’t get it?! Trust me, Dean. I think I get exactly what you’re doing. Ever since I came here, you’ve been nothing but hostile to me! It’s because I’m a woman, isn’t it? You think just because I’m a woman that I can’t hold my own. Well, I’ve got news for you, Dean Winchester. I can do the job just as good as you any day of the fucking year!”

You were so caught up in getting your point across that you hadn’t noticed the amused look on his face. His laugh filled the small room as he let go of you. Tears streamed down his face as he hunched over, and it pissed you off that he thought this was amusing.

Finally, he swiped his sleeve over his eyes and took a few deep breaths to regain his composure. “Is that what you think? You really think I’m a dick to you because you’re a woman? Oh my God… I thought you of all people would at least get it.” He sighed and ran a hand across his face. “Look, Y/N, It’s not because you’re a woman. Hell, some of the greatest hunters I know are women. I’m trying to protect you! I don’t want you to go through what Sammy and I have gone through. You’ve already lost one family member, and I’ll be damned if you lose your life, too. Just… Let Sammy and I handle the hunts okay? You can hold down the fort here in the Bunker and be our research guru. That I know you can handle.”

It was your turn to laugh. “What do you know about handling anything? You could barely handle that case with the nest of nearly invincible vampires. What makes you think you can just walk in here and tell me what I can and can’t deal with? I mean, as long as we are on the topic, Let’s just be honest with ourselves, shall we? You couldn’t handle me if I came with a user manual!”

The look on Dean’s face darkened. It sent heat straight to your core, something that you could almost always control when it came to the elder brother. Normally, his asshole demeanor outweighed him being the sexiest man you’d ever laid eyes on. You swallowed thickly as he invaded your space again. His once sparkling green eyes now clouded with something new, something you’d only seen him offer to the occasional stripper or hooker that he brought back to the hotel. “Are you challenging me, Y/N?”

You tried to hide the fact that he was having an effect on you, but your flushed skin and rapid heartbeat betrayed you. Your answer came easily, and the submissive part of you that lay dormant for so long surfaced like a rekindled flame. “Yes.”

Dean brought one of his hands up to your face and cradled your cheek in it, the touch alone sent sparks through your veins. His freckles were so easy to see this close. Constellations mapped the entirety of his cheeks, and you briefly wondered if he had them elsewhere. Your eyes flicked from his intense gaze down to his lips, silently willing him to close the small gap between you and devour your mouth. “Now now, Y/N, is that any way to talk to me? I think you know better. Yes what, sweetheart?”

You looked down at your bare feet, Y/E/C eyes focusing on the remnants of the chipped polish on some of your toenails. Your mind contemplated what was about to happen. You could still back out of this, push him out of the way and run. That wouldn’t solve anything though. Running from your deepest desires, from Dean, was what you’d essentially been doing for months. It was now or never and quite frankly you wanted to give in. You wanted him to have full control over you, and you’d dreamed about it more than you’d like to admit. “Y-Yes, Sir.”

Two of his fingers rested underneath your chin, raising it so you were looking up at him. “Good girl.” His praise was the first nice thing he’d ever said to you, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make your heart sing. His lips closed the distance and pressed against your own hungrily. His tongue slid into your awaiting mouth and you moaned sinfully. He tasted of cinnamon and whiskey, just like you’d always imagined. Dean broke the kiss and touched his forehead against yours, his hands coming to rest in the curvature of your waist. “Go to my room, Y/N. I want you to be stripped and kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed before I get back. Do you understand?” Your response was immediate. Almost like a reflex, as it left your lips in a whisper. “Yes, Sir.”

He watched you leave the confines of your room before heading the opposite way. Your feet padded down the hallway and came to a stop outside the closed door of Dean’s room. It had been years since you’d been a sub, and even then they hadn’t exuded as much dominance as Dean had just moments ago. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you entered his room and closed the door behind you. The smell of his cologne wrapped itself around you like a hug. The familiar scent calmed your nerves instantly and soon you found yourself naked and kneeling at the foot of the bed just as you had been told to do.

Dean came in a few minutes later and set what sounded like something heavy on top of his dresser. You didn’t dare look up though. He hadn’t given you permission, and you wanted to show him that you could be good and obey him. “Look at you, doing what you’re told like a good little girl. See? I knew you could do this. I bet you’re soaking wet already, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Once again his fingers came to rest under your chin, tilting your head so you were looking up at him through your lashes. “Get on the bed.” He wasn’t mean about it, but his tone was firm and laced with an underlying warning of consequence if you disobeyed. Swifty and quietly you climbed onto the comforter and resumed your kneeling position. Dean walked around to the other side of you and sat down. He was still fully clothed, but you could clearly see his erection tenting his slacks. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s talk about the rules. You are to address me as sir, and only sir. Don’t cum until I tell you to, and if you ever feel uncomfortable with something that I am doing, then please use the safeword ‘cake’. Do you understand?

Hearing that your safeword was cake confused you at first, but when you thought about it for a moment it made sense. Dean was a pie fanatic. Especially if it was pecan pie, but you’d never seen him eat cake. Let alone mention it. So you could see how he’d come up with it in the end. “Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” Dean seemed convinced by your response so you stayed still and waited for his next command. You could hear him pick whatever he had brought with him off the dresser, and your pulse quickened at the thought of what he was about to do to you.

The bed dipped behind you, his hot breath fanned across the back of your neck making you shiver. “Clasp your hands behind your back for me, baby. I’m going to restrain you now so you stay still for me.” You brought your hands behind your back, interlacing your fingers together so your wrists rested against your tailbone. The feeling of the nylon rope being looped around your wrists made you impossibly wetter. The thought of being restrained and letting none other than Dean Winchester worship your body was enough to make you cum, but you couldn’t do that. Not when he’d specifically told you not to.

Dean made quick work of the black rope. He maneuvered around your torso, wrapping it around each elbow and tying a knot in the middle to lock your arms in place. The rest of it was placed expertly around your chest and tied off, the final knot resting against your shoulder blades. He let you fall headfirst into the mattress, your head turning to the side so you could breathe. He stepped back to admire his work. “A damn good job if I do say so myself. It’s not too tight, is it, darlin’?

You took a moment to tug at your binds and unclasp and reclasp your fingers. Everything still had circulation, but you still couldn’t break free if you tried. “No, everything feels fine, sir.” You heard him walk behind you, no doubt enjoying the view of you on display to him. “God, you look so fucking beautiful like this. Look at you… showing me that perfect round ass and that tight little pussy of yours.” He ran one of his fingers through your folds, and it took everything in you not to moan.

Your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from making any noise. “Mmmm just as I thought, soaking wet just for me.” The thick digit left you and you looked into his lust-blown eyes as his lips closed around it. “So good, Y/N. Now, are you ready for me to test you? Gonna show me what a good girl you are?” You shook your ass at him for good measure and replied without hesitation. “I’m ready, sir.”

Dean grabbed onto your hips and pulled you to the edge of the bed, his clothed erection applying slight friction to your needy cunt. He ran his middle and index fingers through your juices a few times before sliding them into you. “Be as loud as you want, Princess. Sam isn’t here to hear you scream. It’s just you and me.” Ever so slowly, he moved his fingers in and out of you, making you moan loudly. “F-Fuck!”

His pace increased, and you felt the coil of heat tighten. You were so close already and he’d barely gotten started. You felt your walls tighten slightly and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to control yourself. Dean knew how hard you were trying and you also knew he was competing with you. Using his skills to his advantage to see how much you could take. “Oh shit… shit shit shit… I don’t know if I can…. FUCK!” Dean curled his fingers so they hit that spot inside you with each thrust. Soon you couldn’t hold back any longer. With a cry of his name, you came hard, squirting all over his hand and the bed.

The white-hot orgasm nearly made you pass out, and by the time your climax was over you knew you were in trouble. You couldn’t see his face, but you were sure Dean wasn’t happy. “Tsk tsk tsk … Y/N/N, you knew the rules. I seem to remember you agreeing to them, and look what you’ve done. You’ve made a mess, sweetheart.” Just as you were about to apologize, he picked you up and set you gracefully on your knees. “Are you ready to show me how sorry you are?”

Balancing on your knees while you were tied up like this was difficult, but being this close to Dean’s cock made your mouth water. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry for disobeying you, sir. May I make it up to you by having you fuck my throat?” The groan that left his lips was downright the most sinful thing you’d ever heard, and you definitely wanted to hear him make that noise again. “Fuck… you read my mind, sweetheart.”

Dean began to circle you, watching you like a hawk would its prey. His tie was the first thing to go. Seeing him reach his right hand up and rip it off shouldn’t be as sexy as it was, but at this moment anything Dean did was sexy. He stopped in front of you and undid his belt and the top button on his pants, letting them pool carelessly at his ankles. Finally, he freed his cock and you watched as he pumped it a few times. A bead of precum seeped from the tip, and you leaned forward to catch it on your tongue. Your mouth closed around the head and Dean let you set the pace at first, more praises flying from his mouth as you took him in as deep as you could.

“That’s it, Princess… suck that cock. Mmmmm, you’re so fucking good at that. Taking my cock so well.”  His hand fisted in your hair and you let him take over. You relaxed your throat as he took what he wanted from you, your eyes watering more and more every time he hit the back of your throat. “Jesus… you have one helluva mouth, Y/N.” He began to pant and his thrusts began to falter. His grip loosened on your hair and you whined as he pulled himself from your mouth. “Now, Princess, don’t you want me to cum in that pretty pussy of yours?” As much as you wanted to make him come apart with your mouth, having him buried inside you was more appealing at the moment. “Please, sir. Please fuck me.”

Once again he picked you up, moving you back onto the bed with ease. Dean crawled behind you again, placing a hand on each of your hips. Without warning, he sheathed himself all the way to hilt, both of you crying out in pleasure. Dean set a harsh pace, his fingertips surely leaving bruises on your skin. You knew you would be sore. He was not, by any means, lacking in size. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t allow you to adjust to him.

His thrusts began to falter, and you felt that familiar feeling come back. You tightened yourself around him, and he growled, fucking you harder into the bed. “S-Sir!… please sir!!! Please, may I cum? … F-Fuck!” You were so close to the peak of pure bliss that you could almost taste it. You just needed a little more. Dean grabbed onto the knotted rope in the middle of your back and pulled you so your back was to his chest. His other hand snaked around your body and circled your clit vigorously. “Fuck, Y/N… C’mon, Princess… Cum all over my cock. Let go, baby.”

A few more seconds of him fucking up into you and you fell over the edge taking him with you. Your walls milking Dean for all he was worth. He held you there for a few minutes, your heavy breathing in sync as you both came down from your high. Dean placed a chaste kiss to your back and pulled out of you. He took his time untying you, being careful not to irritate your skin further. Once you were free you stretched your arms and popped your knuckles.

Dean sat with his back to the headboard and pulled you into his lap, his hands rubbing your back gingerly. “You did so well, Y/N. I’m so proud of you. You’re amazing.” He kissed you sweetly and you melted against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion.

You listened to the steady beat of his heart and somehow made your brain form a coherent thought. “I’m glad we were able to settle things, Dean. I was beginning to think you really did hate me. I understand everything now.” He kissed the top of your head and held you protectively. “I could never hate you, Y/N. Not when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, Princess.” His words shocked you, but you were too tired to respond. Sleep came easy for you in Dean’s arms, and you couldn’t wait to wake up tomorrow to see what this new life with Dean brought you.

‘Pala’s Taglist - @maddiepants @kittenofdoomage @giraffe1994

#spnkinkbingo #elliana’s 400 followers fanciful fluff challenge #'pala writes #dean x reader #18+ only #supernatural

[thisisthebratpack]

I wrote a little short story after watching the ‘Let It Be’ movie this morning.

“I don’t understand” I said softly, not once looking up from my tea. “I don’t either, that’s the point.” He stirred his coffee gently, trying hard not to make any noise. “These last three weeks have been insane Lorelai; I just can’t live like this.” “That’s not fair.” I mumbled. “What’s not fair? That I never know how you’re going to act when you come home? That you change your mood and your mind every twenty minutes? Is it fair that some days you’ll come home and be all over me, and other days you won’t let me touch you at all, and there’s absolutely no warning at all?”

 I knew this was coming. It had been coming for a while. What I didn’t realise was today would be the day. I was buzzing, really excited, when James called me at the office and asked if I’d like to meet him at a little café on Savile Row in our lunch break, but as soon as I saw his face when I walked in, my stomach dropped and my throat turned to cold stone. It was his eyes that gave it away.

 “It’s not fair James. I can’t control it. I don’t even know what’s going on half the time. It’s exhausting! I’m not in control of this!” “How long have you been seeing that therapist for?” “Does it matter?” I finally look up from my cup, a single tear rolling down my flustered cheek. “Yes it does. You really should have a hold of it by now.” His eyes met mine. They flamed with frustration. “Have you deliberately stopped taking the medication or something?” “You know I haven’t.” I crossed my arms, the anger in my chest rising and bubbling in my throat. “You know I take the damn things every day even though they make me ill.” “Don’t make a scene.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “Make a scene? Jesus, James. Did you really think you could drop this bombshell on me in a public place and expect me not to react?” “Any other person would be able to hold themselves together” I sat back in my chair and wiped my cheek, biting my lip so hard I started to taste that familiar metallic tang. “Where am I supposed to go?” “I don’t know Lore. Go back to your parents. They’ll take you back in.” “Oh great, so you’ve really thought this through. What about work? How am I supposed to work in the middle of London and live with my parents in Aberdeen?” “Well maybe you’ll have to find your own place then?” “With what money? James, the last pay check I got, I spent mostly on fixing up our kitchen!” “My kitchen.” “Sorry?” “Well it’s my kitchen isn’t it? It’s my apartment.” He shrugged.

 My arms fell limply by my side, I just stared at him. There were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to scream at him, to explain that he didn’t understand how hard things were for me. He could never understand what its like to not be in control of yourself, to be so aware of your every move, every breath, wondering if you’re talking and acting normally, if you’re thinking is logical and reasonable, never being sure. Not knowing the difference between happy and manic. Not being able to tell if the sadness you’re feeling is proportionate to the situation. People constantly telling you ‘you’re overreacting’ but not being able to moderate your own behaviour. The years and years of therapy, the countless medications, the hospital visits. The literal blood, sweat and tears. I also wanted to beg. To promise that I would change and that I would try harder. Anything to stay with him. Anything to not be alone.

 “James, please.” My voice was smaller than I remember it ever being. “Please don’t give up on me.” He closed his eyes and his eyebrows furrowed. “Please, James. You know I’m trying to be better.” I placed my hand out open on the table top. “I’m trying, please don’t give up on me now.” After a silent eternity, he dug his hand into his pocket, pulled out a £5 note and put it on the table next to my open hand. “I’m staying at a friends place for the next few days. Don’t call me.”

 I watched, wide eyed and breathless as he stood up, put his coat on and walked out into the busy street. I was to in shock to cry, to confused to breathe, all I could do was sit and stare at the lunchtime crowd outside the café door. Eventually I stood up, still numb and in a daze. I wiped my eyes, pulled down my skirt and put on my coat. It was only when I opened the door and the cold January air hit my face that I took a breath. People swarmed around me as I spun around trying to find James in the crowd. I was a rock in the stream, being pushed and knocked by the flood of people around me. I quickly forced myself against the wall and stood there, trying to fade into the stonework.

 Suddenly from above, a distant guitar chord rang out, followed by another. It seemed to get louder and louder, and sounded somewhat familiar. I looked around, trying to see where the noise was coming from. An upbeat song started playing on the distant breeze. Other people on the street were also looking around confused, trying to locate the source of the noise. A businessman with glasses and a briefcase on the other side of the road shaded his eyes as he looked up towards the rooftops, the smiled and nudged his friend next to him. They both squinted up at the roof of the building and started smiling and tapping their feet. A group of three fashionably dressed girls also stopped and looked up, then dissolved into frantic whispers and gasps. “Could it be?” “Surely not.” “It sounds like them though, doesn’t it?” “Yes, I suppose so, it could be. I thought they broke up though! That’s what it said in the magazines.”

 I crossed the street and stood next to the slowly but steadily forming cluster of people, all looking and pointing at the skyline with a mixture of joy and confusion. “Do you think maybe it’s a new album?” “Maybe! How groovy would that be! A brand-new Beatles album!” My eyes widened and I stood on my toes, desperately wishing I was taller, or that I had access to a rooftop. I’d been a fan of The Beatles ever since my mother bought me the ‘With The Beatles’ album for Christmas in 1964 when I was 17. Actually, to call myself a fan would be a lie; to call me a Beatlemanic was probably more accurate. I had spent my late teenage years and my early adulthood listening to them, buying all the albums, plastering my walls with posters and memorabilia; much to my father’s disgust. Their music had been the soundtrack to my early adult life. James and I had danced to ‘Rock And Roll Music’ at one of the first dance halls that we went to together, I had cried to ‘Yesterday’ when my beloved terrier passed away, I had begged my parents for money to go and see the ‘Help’ movie when it finally came out in theatres in my hometown, ‘Norwegian Wood’ was playing softly in the background when James and I had our first drink after moving in together, my best friend Lillian and I drunkenly sung along with Ringo to ‘Yellow Submarine’ in the back of my father’s car on the way home from a party; The Beatles and their music was interwoven with some of the most important events of my life. They seemed to be able to express the emotions that I couldn’t, say the words that I couldn’t bring myself to say, they were a joy and a comfort in good times and bad.

 Only when the music stopped did I realise I was smiling. For the length of one song I had forgotten that my life felt like it was falling apart. For the briefest of moments, I was snapped back in a wave of happy nostalgia, and everything seemed okay. The crowd was spilling out onto the road now causing motorists to sound their horns in frustration and peer out of their windows trying to see what all the fuss was about. People seemed bewildered, but clapped and smiled, looked up to the rooftop and tapped their feet when the music started up once more. I didn’t know what the future held for me. I didn’t know what I was going to do. My life was up in the air and made no sense. There was only one thing I did know. I knew that whatever happened, I had my music to turn to. This impromptu jam session atop a roof in London didn’t change anything, but it altered everything.

 The police started ushering everyone away and dispersing the crowd. I looked at my watch and realised that my lunch break was all but over and I’d need to run to get back to my office on time, but the small glowing ball of excitement inside of me didn’t extinguish. I had witnessed history, and I knew that with a little help from my friends, I could make it through.

#The Beatles #Rooftop Concert #1969 #Let It Be #Get Back #Paul McCartney #John Lennon #George Harrison #Ringo Starr #Fanfic #Maybe? #Short Story #tw bipolar #bipolar #tw breakup #imagine

[sailor-cresselia]

Zi-O 37: Gotta go fast!

I’m gonna sprinkle in some chat segments from the live watch that @miyukomatsuda and I did of the episode as it aired, but this is mostly my watch of the RiderTime sub.

(I’m also hoping to do a watch of some of the recent episodes again, but with the O-T subs, so that I can get a more… well phrased translation.)

As always, spoilers for Zi-O episode 37 below the cut.

~~~~~

So, a giant meteorite just hit. It doesn’t have a Rider inside this time, though! No, it has Worms! Shapeshifters! Who are basically the Zygons!

(I don’t go to Doctor Who anymore, but that’s what I’ve been told, and the impression I got from Marcosatsu’s History of Kabuto vid.)

Team 9-to-5 are watching a news broadcast at breakfast about the meteorite – aaaand nope, newscaster’s a Worm, much to the poor cameraman’s surprise.

Cressy: Woz: Welp! Found out who we’ve got this week!

Miyuko: “My turn to do things.”

Miyuko: “Also, we dealt with the gas leak.”

Miyuko: “We should all be sane again.”

(The idiot ball was in full force during the Kiva Arc. We will never let it rest.)

~~~~~

Sougo, Tsukuyomi, and Geiz are headed off to see where that second meteorite hit, the one with the worms on it, when a third one shoots down, in the other direction. So, off they go, splitting the party. Again.

Poor Geiz, he’s with Woz again. Who, by the way, is nowhere to be seen, having ditched the team to go do his recap.

At… the Hachiko statue.

Huh.

And the key player for this fortnight’s worth of episodes… Kamen Rider Gatack – Arata Kagami.

Who is clearly in a state of “Not this again...” as another meteorite streaks by. Or it could be that one that split the party, it’s a little hard to say.

~~~~~

They used part of the Kabuto opening – with the beetle wings – to cut into the OP this time! Nice touch!

I was host for the stream Miyuko and I did when we watched the Raw, and I BLINKED AND MISSED THE FORM RUN THROUGH that time! And here I pride myself on noticing differences in the OPs!

But Kamen Rider Woz’s base form has been replaced by his Ginga form, with the ‘base’ version, Ginga Finaly shown in full, and the Planet and Sun forms shown in bust form.

~~~~~

And FINALLY, they notice that the Another Rider’s aren’t erasing the previous Riders from history anymore! They haven’t been doing that for a while, guys. I mean, if they were still doing it, you wouldn’t have been able to have all of your senpai help you out in the movie last December… you know, shortly before you moved into having Future Riders for a while, and then back into the older Legend Riders.

You might write it off as ‘odd’, or ‘paradoxes have messed with space-time nearly beyond repair’, but I still say that time travel doesn’t work like you think it does.

I will hold my ‘they have been faking it’ theory until absolutely proven otherwise, folks.

…and I’m still going to be using it in ReUnited, anyway. ~Fanfiction land says I can do what I want.~

Besides, Sougo’s having fun! He’s getting to meet all of these Kamen Riders, after all!

…Sougo, kitty, I’m pretty sure you still don’t quite get how serious some of this is, but you get a solid B for effort.

~~~~~

Cressy: THEY FINALLY REALIZE THAT THEY AREN’T ERASING PEOPLE ANYMORE

Miyuko: YOU DUMBASSES

Miyuko: Mouri: DAMNIT SHIMOMIYA STOP MAKING ME HANDLE LORE

~~~~~

At the third landing site…

Woz. Woz you are so unbelievably petty. “I will be giving the orders around here, let’s go.” For crying out loud, Woz, just work as a team with Geiz, please.

So, off they go, into battle against a swarm of Worms using Faiz and Kikai!

~~~~~

Miyuko: if sougo goes to space i’m gonna yell that I called it

~~~~~

SOUGO IS SO DUMB.

SOUGO. You already knew that they could copy people. You SAW one do it on tv. So why would you assume that the people working at the crash site, where that broadcast came from, were normal humans?

Sougo, PLEASE.

Also, it looks like the Worms agree with me: right before they drop their disquises, they’re giving him this look like “Wow, this kid is dumb.”

And before Sougo bothers to transform, shots fly from off screen~!

Hey there, Gatack! Nice to see you’re doing okay!

~~~~~

Meanwhile, over with Woz and Geiz, we’ve got them landing finishers on a pair of Worms… but there’s still more of them. And, as Woz finally bothers to mention…

Worms can go faster than you can see when they get stronger.

(I agree with Geiz’s frustration at not having been told this sooner! WOZ!!)

Good thing they’ve got Revive Typhoon and Shinobi~~!

~~~~~

Back with Sougo and Kagami… They finish off a mass of Worms, but something red knocks them down.

Something – sorry, someone – that Kagami calls ‘Kageyama’.

Enter PunchHopper.

And with his entrance, Kagami goes into Gatack’s cast off Rider form – and right into Clock Up.

~~~~~

Cressy: “Hey, new kid, how fast can you go?”

Cressy: Actually, super speed is a problem for Sougo!

Miyuko: Sougo: UHHHHHHH

Miyuko: He has to hide

Cressy: Because he couldn’t keep up with Revive so

~~~~~

The battle starts to deal some collateral damage to the infrastructure, leading to rubble starting to fall towards a mother and child.

Tsukuyomi says no.

A stopwatch ticks.

The rubble freezes in midair, letting the civilians escape.

Tsukuyomi sees something.

Herself, younger, and three people facing away from the cameras viewpoint. At least one is an adult – presumably male, in an outfit that looks an awful lot like the one Swartz wore in 2009. The other two… I think the one to the left of the screen is a young girl, with pigtails. The one on the right looks to be an adult male… and it’s very grainy, but that style of dress looks like a black and white version of what Sougo’s uncle wears.

Of course, she only focuses in on young her and almost-definitely-Swartz.

Please, Toei, Shimomiya, I am begging you, do not let anyone be related. We’ve got both time travel and amnesia going on in here already, we do not want you to go that route!

~~~~~

Swartz sees this from a nearby roof, and notes that her powers are getting stronger, and soon they’ll completely awaken.

Someone asks what will happen when they do.

~~~~~

Miyuko: **YELLS**

Miyuko: TSUKASA

Cressy: Tsukasa: Sup.

Miyuko: WERE YOU OFF GETTING LAID TSUKASA

Cressy: Look at that posture

Cressy: Daiki showed up.

Cressy: he def was.

~~~~~

Tsukasa: “So… you’re connected to that girl somehow. I’ve been doing some investigating…”

Swartz: “Oh, yeah, sure. Do what you want… If you can.” (he says in an ominous tone, ominously.)

Tsukasa: “Thanks. I’ll do just that.”

~~~~~

Back on the ground, Sougo… is getting his ass handed to him. But! He does have the realization that the speed PunchHopper and Gatack are moving at is similar to Geiz Revive Typhoon… and he’s figured out a way to counter that.

It used to be that he was only looking one move ahead when he used Zi-O II’s precog abilities.

He’s looking ahead three here.

Sougo knows he won’t be able to react in time for the first two strikes, but the third…

On the third he can time a strike of his own.

And he knocks PunchHopper down.

Gatack tries to finish him off – but a red blur takes the hit.

Another Kabuto has made his appearance, and it looks like he’s Sou Yaguruma, former alias KickHopper. He grabs PunchHopper, and nyooms right on out of there.

~~~~~

Miyuko: OH FUCK IT’S ONE FO THE HOPPER BROS

Cressy: OH MY GOD ANOTHER KABUTO IS ONE OF THE HOPPER BROS

Miyuko: KAGAMIII

Cressy: OR A WORM OF ONE OF THEM

Miyuko: IS IT TIME FOR HIM TO SUFFER (We saw one was a worm

Miyuko: (shame we uh

Miyuko: (remember the rider sona

~~~~~

(Miyuko’s at least watched some Kabuto, but not very far. I, on the other hand, have seen exactly none, and would have no idea which one we saw in the cold open.)

~~~~~

Now then, we jump to Kagami explaining the situation to Woz and Sougo at the shop, giving them a basic run down of who the Hell Brothers are, along with showing them pictures. Pictures of the terribly dated late ‘00’s Hot Topic discount bin wardrobes that those two wore.

Kagami: So, the PunchHopper is definitely a Worm mimicking the original.

Woz: How can you know?

~~~~~

Miyuko: Woz intensifies

Miyuko: “Pretty sure he’s dead.”

Cressy: “So, yeah, he’s dead, but. uh. Apparently not anymore.”

Miyuko: “Fuck if I know, guys.”

Miyuko: Shibuya!

Miyuko: FLASHBACK TO KABUTO

Cressy: “Also, it’s really weird that Shibuya exists again.”

Miyuko: “Wait what”

Miyuko: Sougo: :)

Miyuko: Woz: “THE FUCK?!”

~~~~~

So, yeah, the timelines are a mess here. In 1999, in Kabuto, Shibuya was destroyed by a meteorite – one carrying the Worms. It’s … incredibly intact here.

OH. DUUUHHHH. That’s why Woz was at the Hachiko Statue!

It’s at Shibuya station.

WOW, I feel dumb. I remembered who Hachiko was, but didn’t catch the link as to why Woz would be there until just now.

Also, Sougo, I get that you were born in 2000, but. Like. That was only one year later. I thought your only decent subject was history! If this happened in the current timeline, you ought to know about it!

~~~~~

At an overlook, Geiz finds Tsukuyomi, having been told about her using her time powers again, and she tells him that she remembered something. Her mother and father, and ‘another man’.

… wait SHIT I said that the seated man’s outfit looked a lot like Junichiro’s, didn’t I? ABORT MISSION! NO, NO, NO! CALL IT OFF! STOP THE RIDE, I WANNA GET OFF!

Tsukasa appears on the scene. “Hey, so. Do you want to take a look and see what was going on back there? I’m trying to find the source of why the fabric of space and time is getting holes poked in it, so if you want to come along…”

… Okay, so he says ‘distorted,’ according to the RT subs, but it amounts to the same thing.

Geiz thinks this is a terrible idea, but Tsukuyomi wants to know who she is. So she goes with him.

Er, Tsuka- Tsukasa? I think you are a poster child for ‘sometimes you are better off not knowing who you used to be’, just as much as you are for ‘don’t lean too hard into the world-destruction prophecies.’ You may want to rethink your stance on this.

Mind you, you’re also a shining example of ‘there’s no escaping destiny’ and ‘you can’t thwart stage one’, so I guess that ship has already sailed.

~~~~~

Miyuko: TSUKASA’S UP TO THINGS

Cressy: Tsukasa: “GUYS, QUIT FUCKING WITH THE TIMELINE. YOU’RE MAKING MY JOB AND THE DENLINER CREW’S JOBS THAT MUCH HARDER”

~~~~~

So, a quick call between Geiz and Sougo, and we switch back to the Sougo and Woz team. (Man, we’re really getting the groups together this week, aren’t we?)

They’re confronted by Kageyama – who, yes, is a Worm. And he admits it. But he still has the original Kageyama’s memories as a human, and he wants them to help his brother. Worm or human, he can’t stand to see Yaguruma as an Another Rider – as a monster. They’ve seen too much hell for him to want any more.

Woz: My lord, this is clearly a trap.

Sougo: You need to start trusting people, Woz. Besides, we want to help save Yaguruma, too, don’t we? :)

Except that that is not his usual ‘This is going fine!’ smile. That is a smile of ‘he knows what’s going on.’

… You know, So Okuno’s really grown into his role, here. I think he’ll be able to do pretty well once he graduates from Sougo.

(He’s grown into his role, if not his clothing. Seriously, wardrobe department, could you let him wear clothes that fit properly? Why was this whole ‘everything is minimum a size and a half too big’ thing a decision?)

ANYWAY. THIS is a good scene for the instrumental of Toki no Ouja.

Also, you can hear the belts and chains Kageyama’s wearing well before you see them.

~~~~~

A quick interlude to Junichiro, back at the shop, having just fixed a radio. He goes to make sure it’s actually fixed, and turns it to the news.

There’s a large meteor headed for the center of Tokyo. And it’s much larger than the previous ones that have hit.

…

WAIT WHAT

(cue shot of said meteor in space)

~~~~~

Miyuko: OH MY GOD THEY ARE GOING TO SPACE

~~~~~

And now, to a totally-not-suspicious definitely-not-a-trap perfectly-harmless warehouse.

Sougo: So, Yaguruma’s supposed to be in here, right? (proceeds to walk in, with his back towards the guy who literally calls himself one of the Hell Brothers, like an idiot)

KAGEYAMA GOES TO STRANGLE HIM FROM BEHIND. BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DOES.

But he doesn’t get to – because Kagami bodychecks him away.

Kagami: “Kid, NO! You’re too naive! Walking into a trap like this!”

Kageyama: “Ahahaha… I mean, yeah, it’s a trap, but it’s not for the brat.”

Another Kabuto SLAMS into Kagami.

Kageyama: “We’re after you.”

Kagami and Kageyama both transform.

~~~~~

Cressy: THANK YOU KAGAMI

Miyuko: Aw yiss

Miyuko: Shoutout to Mouri USING THE RETURNING LADS

Cressy: STRAIGHT INTO CAST OFF

Cressy: UNLIKE INOUE

~~~~~

PunchHopper LUNGES at Sougo, who is just standing there – there’s a clicking sound – and a massive surge of gravity slams PunchHopper to the ground. (cue Miyuko and I basically just shouting WHAT into the chat)

Oh my god. Turns out Woz’s attack is even more ridiculous than I’d thought. He’s allegedly channeling the gravity of 10,000 black holes, because that’s totally a thing that’s possible. … Meh, he’s got reinforcements from the armor, he’ll be fine.

Woz: Ah, yes, as expected of my overlord. Taking advantage of the enemies trap-

Sougo: Er, actually, I just wanted him to take me to Yaguruma. Now we just have to defeat the two of them. (goes to transform)

Everything starts to shake.

Oh, there’s that giant meteor!

Rider Time!

Zi-O! Fourze!

3! 2! 1! Fourze!

~~~~~

Miyuko: HE’S GOING TO

Miyuko: OH MY GOOOOD

Cressy: UCHUUU KITAAAAAAAAA

Miyuko: UCHUU IKUUUUU

Miyuko: Sougo pls

Cressy: FINE I’LL TAKE THE MESS UP

~~~~~

I mean, if it stops a GIANT METEOR FROM HITTING TOKYO? I don’t CARE if he gets the catchphrase wrong!

And it’s pretty close, anyway. Way better than his attempts at Ex-Aid’s and especially Build’s catchphrases.

~~~~~

Back to Gatack versus the Hell Brothers, who are soon joined by Woz.

Turns out, Yaguruma doesn’t care that Kageyama’s a Worm, since he’s the only one willing to be his partner.

After being tremendously outsped, and taking a few good blows, Woz unleashes an incredibly over-the-top finisher in the form of his Planetary Explosion. Yes, I know that’s not the actual name, but my computer’s autocorrect is a pain, and I’m not going to try typing out any of the forms that attacks real name can take. I don’t want to teach my computer that.

And there’s a huge explosion of flame, flames spreading across the floor… Woz gives a grandiose pair of quotes in a very Tendou style, down to the pointing. But a sound comes from ground zero of the attack.

A green suit drags itself into a standing position.

KickHopper: I don’t believe in the power of the universe… I only believe in the power of hell…

He lands a Rider Kick that Woz just manages to get a guard up in time to block. When Woz can look up… nobody’s there.

Geiz comes in… but none of the three returning characters are around anymore.

There is, however, a ‘message’. Someone’s left a package of instant bowl ramen, and a note, with one word.

“Hell.”

SO THAT’S NOT OMINOUS AS FUCK AT ALL.

~~~~~

Miyuko: “Wait, I’ve had this form one ep why am I being worfed”

Cressy: WELCOME TO BAD TIMES

Cressy: ON BOTH ENDS OF THE TIMELINE

~~~~~

A portal appears in the air, in 2058. Tsukuyomi and Tsukasa step out, to when she would have been 8 years old, into a ruined city.

With an incredibly ominous looking cloud front and thunderstorm off in the distance.

~~~~~

Back to 2019… Geiz… is in no position to do anything but leave the whole meteor thing to Sougo. A man in black, with copious chains, drags himself through the river below. “Did… someone laugh at me?”

Yaguruma, what are you doing there?

~~~~~

IT’S SPACE TIME!

Sougo’s ready! He can do this! He -

Did not realize how big that was actually going to be!

But he drills through the meteor with a Limit Time Break, shattering it… and also releasing a bunch of Worms that were in there into the vacuum of space.

Oh well.

Except that one wasn’t the real problem.

No, the real problem is that the grey meteor?

Is a pebble in comparison to the giant red one behind it.

Everything is very red in 2068.

~~~~~

Miyuko: THISISFINE

Miyuko: oh shit

Miyuko: IS THIS WHY THE EARTH IS FUCKED UP

Miyuko: SPAAACE

Miyuko: oh boy SOUGO PLS

Cressy: SOUGO BABBY

Miyuko: GEN WOULD BE SO PROUD

Cressy: DID YOU NOT REALIZE FROM HOW BIG IT SEEMED

Cressy: OBJECTS IN MIRROR-

Miyuko: HOLY SHIT

Miyuko: POSE

(He was pretty close, with the pose! It’s… probably easier in 0G, given Gens whole thing.)

Cressy: OH MY GOD HE DRILLED THROUGH A METEOR

Miyuko: OH NOOOOOOOO FUCK

Cressy: OH MY GOD THAT WAS A PEBBLE

Miyuko: OH NO OH NO OH NOOOOOOO

Miyuko: THIS IS WHY THE EARTH IS FUCKED IN 2068 ISN’T IT

Cressy: OH MY GOD THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED TO FUCK UP THE PLANET

Cressy: IT’S REMNANTS ALL OVER AGAIN. I AM HAVING K.A. APPLEGATE FLASHBACKS HERE

Miyuko: WELL BOY FUCKING HOWDY WHAT A ZI O. -oh god PLEASE LET THE KABUTO WATCH GO TO KAGAMI. PLEASE

Miyuko: But Damn that was toei making it up to us from last week huh

Cressy: OH YES

Miyuko: GOOD USE OF RETURNING ACTORS.

DRAMA

STAKES

SOUGO DRILLING A METEOR.

TSUKASA CAME BACK.

Cressy: Tsukasa: “It’s not technically spoilers if it’s your own past, right? Right. I could have used this sort of heads up.”

~~~~~

So! Yeah! We were! Basically just completely screaming after that!

This is a much better episode than the last two. Thank you, Mouri-san! THANK YOU!

#kamen rider zi o #sailorcressy says

[poetnumber17]

XVII: The Corpses Pile

Another year gone by and Silence on

Those once here now long gone

As time went by and healers failed

When magic of the kansen quailed

And physicians work brought no more peace

Their knives and blades and balance cease

And still the Silent illness pulls

Infects, corrupts, destroys in full

Trystin know that it not be him

But darkness holds leg and limb

To fault him for all he could not do

The Prince work day to save all reck through

And night he walked veiled all in black

A mercy to those not survive attack

No sleep for him this latest year

Though every morning waketh near

And tred to wall, the place last saw

Ali, beloved, a woman without flaw

Her face he had not seen in many year

His memory of her was precious dear

“Day eighteen thousand six hundred five

“Ali, without you, I’m barely alive

“I know your voice, it soothes my dreams

This is not what I’d thought us seem

I don’t know what became of you

If in the world, in Nanter too

Did you go on, fight the wall of make

Did you use your wit to down them take

Or did you - my spare fo glass

Have you forgotten me as time hath pass

I wonder still, hand pressed to stone

If I will always been alone

If this wall stands long for thousand days

I’m the oldest of the jaya ways

None recall before this wall

Some not born before this scrawl

Ali I want to come home

To where I walked and just wrote my tome

Barefoot, you are gardened there

And at night I could just comb your hair

I miss this, beauty, and said it not enough

I love you like one borne too tough.”

He took his hand from the stony wall

A thing unclimbed, or dug, or crossed to tall

Arosha spoke less and less

Though not much to say, under deress

She still stood by and next and near

A comfort with emotions sheer

Often time need magic, little of

There, reliable, his heart’s soul love

So too did kansen Prince did go

With knife in hand and call below

Too let the life out by the blade

To those who couldn’t give them aid

Out they struck from wallward way

To head North, to do all he could

A day a healer, a physician too

With patients laid out that he still knew

Along to the stream he paced

And here he had to pause and brace

The bodies strewn and piled high

The corpses nearly reach the sky

The dead from disease had no rest place

Instead gathered at least single space

On top the fresh onf death

Below the bones of older heth

This was no new thing for Prince to see

But growing still not casing free

All jaya are in their stave

In older times, given grave

For some reason he noticed this

The stream that kept them well remiss

Was drier still than yesterday?

Was water short and not to say?

So true this turned that within a week

It was water everyone turned to seek

As those left needed thirst

This thing they need was growing worse

The food some grew was less made

Then through the mass was afraid

“What do we do?” the jaya asked

They gathered in a council mass

From perhaps the several thousand trapped

Down to just two thousand in time overlapped

It took young and old, and precious weak

So jaya had decided not to children seek

None old enough to remember life

Before Nanter, before kingdom strife

They met as one, despite the pain

If water ceased, they all would strain

A handful of kansen too did come

None had died in the time of wall was plumb

Trystin sat as the ‘elders’ spoke

None older than perhaps fifty two or so

“The water must be rationed out

A final way to push in doubt”

Though most iin voice was once agreed

Some still had words to saite their greed

“The sick, like I, need more than you.”

“Please don’t, my sister, she need it too.”

They tumbled still about all that’s fair

Till Trystin coughed and stood to stare

“Whatever conjure I still can make

Gladly will I water make

But if I do, like all the rest

We cannot heal, the magic test.”

The crowd did not like this slow thing

And resigned the Kansen to magic bring

Trystin left for hours yet

They debate until an answer met

The water would be set a guard

So all in equal though they be charred

Trystin knelt outside the build

His bones felt weak, like age had filled

His cot lay empty but not for long

His tools, lore, and book were strong

Another afternoon to stave disease

Well it ripped life from others with simple ease

Not far from him, the bodies lay

Be strong Prince, this is your way

The day drew past and Trustin drew

A little magic for food and dew

So they might eat quiet in the eve

Not use what little the others thieve

Hunger makes the kindest need

And desperate before they fall to bleed

Some drank that night and others fed

But those whom sick were left for dead

That night against, like all before

Trystin tied his black cloak, his thing of lore

To walk the city far from his home

So others might not known his roam

To offer those who suffered kinfe

“Please, I beg you, take my life,

So my family feel they do not need

To prop me up, to thirst or feed

When I’ll just die anyway

So bring your knife here to slay…”

Their cough still throbbed inside their throat

If indeed this was last quote

The Prince leaned in with cutting blade

Pulled to the neck it’s biting made

Swift was the cut that took the life

To end what disease had caused the strife

So Prince and one dragged the corpse

To the far side of the road to warp

It joined the rest, like all before

To the dead from disease or kills afore

So the corpses piled  another year

The strench of death one all did fear

As numbers dwindled in Nanter North

No end in sight for the kansen forth

Still imprisonment known better yet

Had done letter for the jayan get

What had happened out in wilder way?

Where war was brewing in his younger day?

Their world so small by magic dealt

And none to shy to throw him a welt

So Prince decide a gentle way

To give his all every single day

The healer and the doctor stay

#poem #poet #poetry #poetess #poetnumber17 #poet17 #poets of tumblr #poets on tumblr #writing #creative writing #spilled ink #spilled words #spilled thoughts

[artificialqueens]

Beyond the Sea (Jadore) Chapter 2 - Eevee

Hieee, Eevee here again! Glad you guys are enjoying my mermaid story. Uh, not a ton to say about this chapter, but here’s my current plan with this fic: publish 2 or 3 chapters a week (this is the second of 13 I have ready) and then after I finish this semester of college, write more. There might be a gap between the end of what I have and when I can write again, sorry loves. I have research papers to do, ya see.

Minor tw for blood in this chapter, but it’s really not too bad. Here’s an important note though: I could not find ANY coherent mermaid lore online, so I made all this shit up myself. Is this how mermaids work in other stories? Probably not, but this is what’s happening here. Bits and pieces of it are things I’ve seen other places, but the collective mermaid lore here is of my own making. (Eevee’s mermaid lore…. we’ll call this the Vaporeon Lore I think, ahaha!)

Without further ado, would you kindly read the next chapter?

Jinkx paid little attention in classes the next day, thinking of Adore. She had put the scale into a locket, safely around her neck. Her hand was around the charm most of the day. When night finally fell, Jinkx wandered off to the beach again. She had a swimsuit on, and had a towel in her bag. She had sweats on over the bikini, and she had goggles tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. She kept her hand around her locket, smiling. Adore was in the shallows, singing quietly to herself. She was excited to see Jinkx again. “We’re not supposed to be meeting like this, but when we get close I know we’re gonna kiss.” Jinkx heard Adore before she saw her. Her singing voice was even more magical than her laugh. And the words made her shiver, did Adore know she was there? No, she determined, as Adore stopped singing as soon as she spotted Jinkx. “You came back!” Adore called happily, hoping Jinkx hadn’t heard much. “Of course! You promise you won’t let me sink, right?” Jinkx asked, pulling off her sweats and putting her goggles on. She fiddled with the locket, and kept it on. “You’ll be safe with me.” Adore could see Jinkx’ necklace, and looked at it curiously. “What’s that?” Jinkx smiled. “Oh, it’s a locket. I put your scale in it so I won’t lose it.” She opened the clasp and showed Adore the shimmering blue scale, tucked into the heart shaped pendant. She closed the charm, making sure it was secure. Adore beamed at the human. A heart, maybe this girl was hers. “That’s so cool! Come on, let’s swim.” Jinkx bit her lip and waded into the water. Adore beckoned her forward. “I’m coming, I am. I just, the closest I’ve ever come to swimming was when my uncle pushed me off a log into a river.” She admitted, not fond of the memory. Adore swam up to her. “Take my hand, you’re safe with me, I promise.” She offered her hand to the girl, who took it without hesitation. “I trust you.” Jinkx assured. “I just need a minute, okay?” Adore nodded, squeezing her hand lightly. After a minute, Jinkx smiled. “I think I’m ready.” Adore gently pulled Jinkx into the water with her, and made sure she kept afloat. Jinkx was a quick learner, and managed to get the hang of swimming rather easily. The two danced in the water, splashed each other on the surface, and enjoyed the night. Jinkx returned to the beach every night, and she and Adore would swim or sing or talk, just to spend time together. The nights got colder, and the girls spoke of what winter was like for them. Then one night, Jinkx didn’t come. Two nights. Five. Ten. Adore was frantic. She hadn’t minded being alone, she really hadn’t, but she couldn’t stand it now. She couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing Jinkx again. Where was she? “This is how it ends, never meant to hurt you. I’m a pretty mess, and I don’t deserve you.” Her songs were sad now. “I adore you. I adore you. I adore you.” ~*~*~*~*~ Jinkx hadn’t expected her mom to come pick her up for winter break, and she was happy to go home, but she hadn’t told Adore, she didn’t have a chance. Days passed, and though Jinkx was happy to see her family, she was afraid Adore would think she had left her. After a week and a half at home, she packed her things back up. She kissed her mom goodbye, making up some story about having an appointment she couldn’t miss. Her mom didn’t seem to buy it, but she let her go anyway. Jinkx hoped Adore would understand. Her heart ached while she was away from the mermaid. ~*~*~*~*~ Adore was manic, where was Jinkx? Had she left her? Or did something happen to her? Where was her mate? It surprised her for a moment, to realize she thought of Jinkx as her mate, but it only made her sadder. She had found her mate, and she was gone. ~*~*~*~*~ Jinkx could swear she heard Adore wailing as soon as she stepped off the train. She got back to her dorm as quickly as she could and unceremoniously dumped her stuff on her bed. She dug out the gifts she had for Adore, did mermaids have Chanukah? Or Christmas? She didn’t care. She crammed the stuff into a backpack and sprinted to the beach. The closer she got, the louder the wailing got. It was Adore, she knew it. But why didn’t anyone else seem to hear her? When she could see the water in the distance, the words became clear. “When you turn it back, do you ever wonder? If we could have tomorrow in technicolor. And I’ve got so much left to say…” Adore’s words broke her heart. “Adore!” She yelled, but it was no use, she was still far from the beach. “‘Cause every time I see you, it’s like all I am is see-through, we were everything, I know it, don’t wanna miss it, record it. I adore you, I adore you…” Jinkx ran faster. “The falling out was easy, but I hate that you don’t need me, and it gets so hard to speak, every time you get to me, 'cause I adore you, I adore you, I adore you.” Jinkx was crying, running faster than she ever had. Almost there! “Oooooooh, can’t you see that I adore you? No, nooooooooo, you’re miiiiiiiiiiine. I adore you.” Jinkx leapt onto the beach, running to the edge of the water. “ADORE!!!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. Adore’s voice abruptly stopped. Her eyes widened. “Jinkx?” It was a whisper, but it was almost deafening to the human. “Yes! I’m here!” Adore didn’t need to be told twice. She shot through the water, leaping out of the lagoon to land on the beach beside Jinkx. The ginger crushed her in a hug, sobbing. Adore held her as tightly. “You were GONE, I thought… I thought you left me.” The mermaid choked out, body shaking. “No, never. My mom picked me up for the holidays, I was at home. I could have stayed longer but I missed you. I would have told you I was going, but mom surprised me.” Jinkx laughed. “God, I would never leave you. I missed you so much, Dory.” Adore sniffled, looking Jinkx in the eyes. “You did?” Jinkx nodded. “And you really wouldn’t leave me?” “Of course I won’t! I love you, Adore.” Jinkx’ eyes sparkled, and she smiled at Adore. Adore felt something primal take hold of her. She pulled a scale off her arm, another, until she had a handful of them. Jinkx stared in confusion, then yelped as Adore started jabbing them into her skin. “Adore, what are you doing?!” Jinkx begged, but Adore just snarled, ripping off the girl’s jacket to expose more skin. “Adore, please, stop!” Jinkx tried to pull away, but Adore’s grip was like a vice. Adore couldn’t stop. She couldn’t lose Jinkx. She had jabbed dozens of her scales into Jinkx’ skin, but there was more she had to do. She yanked the human into a kiss, biting her own lip and letting her blood fall into Jinkx’ mouth. Jinkx swallowed it, too shocked to do anything else. “Mine.” Adore declared, the ritual complete. Jinkx blinked at her, she felt funny. “Adore? What did you do?” She asked, then collapsed on the sand. 

#jadore #jinkx monsoon #adore delano #beyond the sea #mermaid au #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #tw blood #eevee art #rpdr fanfiction #lesbian au

[siltfr]

Part 1 - Part 2

first lore post since february /toots horn

@jollyroger-fr @fusefr @majestyrising @hellkite-fr @archaic-fr @shadowdrac-rising @jadedragons @deadlanddisciple @clockworktophat-fr

The markets used to terrify him. Shouting, swearing, dragons forcing their way through the crowd with no consideration of others. He used to feel like he was drowning, like he was going to be whisked away by the stream and drown. Lyall had always scoffed at him.

Now, though, he loves the markets. He loves how easy it is to disappear in the crowd, and how careless dragons are with their money, and their belongings too, once they become angry and distracted enough. It is like stealing toys from a hatchling.

His own satchel is stuffed with others’ belongings, there is enough stuff in there to feed Lyall and him for a week at least, and he slinks past a large brute of a ridgeback as he lets his newest loot slip into his pocket. It should be enough for now; it’s best not to take too many risks.

Another wildclaw around his age is looking at one of the stands, filled with cheap garbage. He is wearing clothing that looks expensive, clean and shining; he’s practically begging to be scammed. One more couldn’t hurt. Varg sneaks past a skydancer and picks up something from the stand next to the wildclaw, pretending to look at it. The wildclaw eyes a small pocket watch painted gold with clear curiosity.

“I’ll give you a good deal for that,” says the nocturne behind the stand, “50 silver sounds good to you?”

“That’s very expensive,” says the wildclaw, but his hesitance is obvious. It’ll take nothing to convince him, and both Varg and the seller can see it clear as day.

“Not for that one. It’s worth twice as much, actually.”

“No, it isn’t,” says Varg before he can stop himself. “It’s garbage.”

The swindler bares his teeth in a sneer. “Keep your nose out of other people’s business, boy,” he growls. The wildclaw looks taken aback, and Varg puts down whatever he’s holding and steps closer.

“Look,” he says, as if the nocturne hasn’t said anything at all. “Look around the screw here. The gold’s just paint. You can scratch it off.”

“Oh!” The wildclaw lets his nail scrape off some of the paint and turns the watch over in his hands, watching the flaking colour. “I’ll say no thank you, then.” He smiles politely as he puts the clock back down, but the nocturne is too busy glaring at Varg to notice him. Varg keeps his eyes at the wildclaw.

“You little--”

“I can show you a stand with real wares, if you’d like,” says Varg. The other wildclaw breaks into a huge grin, his bright orange eyes disappear into crinkles and something in Varg’s chest becomes warm.

“You would?” he says. “That would be amazing! I’m not familiar around here.”

“I can tell.” It comes out harsher than intended; for a brief second he feels the warmth in his chest be replaced with hard, cold ice, but the wildclaw just laughs.

“I suppose it is fairly obvious,” he says. “Where do you suggest we go, then?”

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Varg to realise someone is following them. Not that she’s hiding; a guardian, tall and muscular, and with small, brown eyes, latches onto them like a second shadow. When he meets her eyes, her face grows hard, her grip around the sword at her hip tightens. She’s wearing full armour, and he recognises the mark on her chest plate as the village symbol. A royal guard. Varg feels his body grow cold.

“Don’t worry,” says his newfound friend cheerily. Arvakr, he’d said his name was. He’s bouncing down the street with an energy unlike anything Varg has ever seen before. Everyone around them looks tired and lifeless next to him. “That’s just Raent. She’s my bodyguard.”

“Your…”

“Bodyguard. Assigned by the Castle, my family back home wouldn’t be too happy if anything were to happen to me.” Varg looks back at the guardian, and Raent glares back. It had been obvious that Arvakr was well off, but to be assigned a bodyguard by the Castle… Varg swallows hard.

“You’re sure it’s okay to be with me, then?” he asks, and almost walks into Arvakr when he stops dead in his tracks and turns to look at him. His eyebrows pulls together and he stares, wide-eyed and expectant. “They probably wouldn’t like you spending time with someone like me.” The words taste bitter on his tongue.

“Oh, definitely not,” says Arvakr, and then his face breaks up into a grin. “But they’re not here, are they? And Raent won’t tell on me, she’s cool. Right, Raent?” He looks back at his guard, who sighs and looks anything but cool. Varg can’t quite shake the feeling she is going to grab the first and best opportunity she gets to jump him.

Arvakr bumps into his shoulder and and laughs. “Come on,” he says, and Varg shakes any thought about Raent out of his head and takes the lead.

#clan lore #ch: arvakr #ch: varg #ch: raent

[madartspot-blog]

Dirty 30

I suppose most people think of Fall as the season for Pumpkin Chai Lattes but I think of it as the season for introspection and new beginnings. It is my personal new year on October 30th and this year I have finally reached the ‘Dirty 30’ which I have longed for for many years now. Don’t ask me why, I just somehow thought that it was going to be my magical number and that life would slow down, I’d stop moving around so much and I could take a moment to breathe without feeling the pressure of my 20’s forcing me to go be young and wild when I really want to be 30 and calm. This year I've decided to go with my significant other and friends to Cloudland Canyon for a birthday weekend camping and hiking trip. To celebrate the season I play my favorite movies in my studio while I work or clean up. Hocus Pocus, Practical Magic, Sleepy Hollow, The Addams Family are among my favorites. I am not ashamed to say that I have watched Hocus Pocus three times and it’s not even October yet. When I say that I watch these movies it’s more about listening. I wouldn’t get anything done if I were actually watching them. They keep me company while I’m spending hours alone working. I know them so well that I don’t have to watch the scene anyway.

I also enjoy my podcasts like “Serial Killers,” "Serial,"  "S-Town," “Locked Up Abroad,” “Ear Hustle,” which is quite personal for me as I have had a brother in San Quentin State Prison for several months now. “Criminal,” “Unsolved Murders: True Crime Stories,” “Lore,” “Homecoming” and occasionally “Strangers.” When I’m not listening to podcasts I listen to music. I'm hooked on Celtic Radio right now. It's powerful! Any music that makes me want to dance or get excited is not what I need to hear when doing tedious work. I hammer, grind, solder, etc. and these actions can be loud, dirty and messy so anything that slows me down or that I feel detracts from my concentration doesn’t have a place in the studio. Oftentimes, though, I work in silence. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I do work faster and better when there is no other distraction. I usually go many hours in silence and towards the end of the day when I’m starting to kick it into overdrive, have my second round of caffeine or take a break to let the dog out again, then I allow myself to listen to something because I’m going on over 8 hours anyway. The next several hours to all night will have sound because there is a threshold for focus and introspection! I learned how to sit in silence in Peace Corps. I learned the power of it and how easy it is to meditate while working. My brain isn’t turned off but my thoughts often are. I’m just working. My brain is telling my hands how to move and what to do next but I’m not thinking about anything else and often I don’t have to think much about what I’m doing, I just have to do it.

Because I spend so much time alone I do have to make sure that I get the social events in where I can fit them. I do love an excuse to let my hair down and laugh with good people. This includes weekend trips and yoga classes. One place in Atlanta where I can always count on a good time is Blind Willies. This month I went to visit a friend in Dallas, Texas. We went to Fort Worth for an afternoon and ran into Trey from “Trey’s Chow Down.” He’s a food critic among other things. I learned more about steer from he and his friend in thirty minutes than I’ve learned in a lifetime! I got to enjoy drinks at Filthy McNasty’s Saloon, Lil’ Red’s Longhorn Saloon where we watched swing and country dancers get their groove on while sitting in wonderfully created aluminum bar stools. The stools were shaped like a voluptuous woman’s butt and thighs wearing underwear, cowgirl boots and a garter (the chair was wearing these items, not me). We also made our way over to Love Shack for a refreshing beer outside under a misting fan. Texas would die without their misting fans, I’m convinced.  We enjoyed some awesome food around Dallas like Hattie’s,  Jonathon’s Oak Cliff and the Goat Rodeo. I would certainly weigh a solid twenty pounds more if I had stayed there a week. Everything I ate and drank in Dallas and Fort Worth was so tasty and so worth every calorie that I just didn’t care about the nutritional value of any of it. It made me smile, it made me happy. But the happiest that I felt all weekend was in Adobe Western Art Gallery where the owner showed my friend and I his favorite pieces. I fell in love with Western Art in this gallery because he had some of the best pieces of Western Art I’ve ever seen. From contemporary to traditional he had all of it covered. Sculpture, paintings, photographs and my personal favorite was the furniture. It was to die for, I thought so anyway. I would fill my home with it in a heartbeat. My favorite artist was a woman named Dawn Swepston and I fell in love with “One Night with Barb.” I want a print so badly I can already envision it over my bed. Oh, I could just stare at it for hours. I can only imagine how lovely the original must be. Sigh. When art moves me like that I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t feel moved by art regularly. It’s like finding your new favorite book. You’ll remember it forever and tell everyone to read it.  Dawn, I’m getting married soon. Can we strike a deal? I want to be you when I grow up!

I have also found myself a great place to practice Ashtanga Yoga here in my small town of Fayetteville, Georgia. The Yoga Loom is now my yoga home. I am getting reacquainted with a practice that I have taken many breaks from but also with which I have a long relationship. I began practicing yoga the first year I moved off to college. I’ve been practicing ever since. Ashtanga and Acroyoga being my favorite forms of this practice. I’m a monkey. I always have been. I’m athletic but don’t like to compete in any formal way. I do like to push myself but having a ripped up abdomen has never been my goal. I like testing my balance, strength, endurance and emotional self. I have a lot of stressors in my life and family is a big one at times. I have found myself feeling very angry over some changing circumstances with these important relationships. I work very hard to let art, yoga, my positive relationships with people and animals fill my heart with the love and peace that I need to let forgiveness take place. This has been a much bigger challenge lately than usual. After a physically demanding hour and half in yoga several nights ago where I’m begging to lay on the mat at the end of class (too much mat time in a yoga class annoys me, make me earn that mat time or else I feel like I’ve just come to have lunch with the yoga moms!) we finally got there and I closed my eyes, relaxed my body and then felt the emotions come rushing up to the surface like a dam had just broken. I fought to hold back tears but the heat of the tears around my eyes made me even more aware of all that powerful emotion laying just under the surface of my skin. Just when I think I can just show up and not have to connect with anyone else in the room emotionally...

Discipline is everything when you are self-employed and as an artist. I am constantly trying to improve, stream-line and get the most out of the routine that I have created for myself. A new series is in the works, constant website work, marketing and bookkeeping are always floating around in my brain. I also work much of the time on commissioned jewelry pieces and custom lines of jewelry for specific groups of people. I am constantly thinking about the brand of ArtByMAD and what this means to me, the consumer and what I want it to mean to those two parties. Just like all of the various aspects of running the business, I too have to divide my personal time between exercise, nutrition and my fiancé to make my world go ‘round.

I am always excited to partner with other artists. I have commissioned some crocheted jewelry work from Under the C, here in Brooks, Georgia so that I can add my pendants to the chokers. They are beautiful and I can’t wait to offer them to the public. I will be continuing to keep these items updated on my Instagram, Facebook and figuring out how I want to introduce jewelry to my website. I want to make everything as simple as possible for myself and the customer.

Please feel free to contact me anytime for any reason. I am always looking for new artists with which to collaborate, new inspiration and feedback about my existing work. Thank you all for reading and caring. Happy Fall!

#Blues Music #Celtic Music #Art #art blog #fine art #Colorado Series #Denver #Colorado #Georgia #Georgia State Parks #Cloudland Canyon #Ostich #Giraffe #Elephant #Jewelry #Sterling Silver #Sterling Silver Jewelry #Jewelry Designer #Illustrator #Photoraphy #Texas #Fort Worth #Dallas #Atlanta