#ignore the subtle shade towards twilight

[three-possums-playing-human]

Werewolf Steddie au excerpt since this is taking longer to write than I expected

He wasn’t human anymore. He was a fucking werewolf. Under any other circumstances, this might be cool. If Dustin ever learned about this, he’d probably geek the hell out. But all Steve could think about was the fact that he’d been mauled, almost killed, then woke up as something else. Something not even human anymore.

“The good news is that you aren’t alone, Steve,” Eddie said seriously, sitting down. Steve did the same, then looked up questioningly at the fucking vampire sitting across from him.

Seriously, what the fuck. He went from Robin dragging him on a camping trip to being a werewolf and talking to a vampire while eating cheesy bacon omelettes.

“I’m sure you probably won’t want to talk any of the wolves in Hawkins, I know most of them and they’re all dickheads, but there’s more strange creatures in this town than you’d think,” Eddie began, taking a large bite out of his omelette and gesturing for Steve to do the same.

“Now… I’m only telling you this because I know for a fact that they’d both want you to know. I usually don’t go around spewing my friends' secrets!” Eddie assured, “but, uh. A couple of your friends aren’t entirely human. Namely, Buckley and Wheeler. The one you dated, not the kid.”

Steve froze, fork in his mouth. “WHA-?” He choked out, coughing when he inhaled some eggs. “Rob and Nance? Seriously?”

“Yep. Those two are very much not human. Or, Buckley is very much not human. Nancy is kind of human. She’s a witch, Buckley… some kind of fairy thing. She won’t tell me what exactly.”

“How… how the hell. Three of you? And I somehow never noticed?” Steve was, frankly, flabbergasted. All three of the friends he had that were the same age as him were just not even human. Wait…

“Wait, are you even 19?” Steve asked, squinting his eyes like that would help him be able to tell the vampire’s age.

“Wh- yes, Steve. If I was some ancient vampire, do you really think I’d be a three time senior in High School?” Eddie scoffed. And, Steve admitted, that was kind of a stupid question. What ancient vampire would even stay around High School idiots at all, let alone for two years longer than necessary?

“I’m a born vampire, and I am 100% just a dude who sucks at school.”

Steve, unwittingly, was staring at Eddie’s mouth as he talked now. Not… for any weird reasons. Or, okay, maybe mildly weird, but that’s because this whole situation was weird and he just really, really wanted to see Eddie’s fangs. Like, vampires had fangs, right? That was their whole thing. Fangs and blood drinking. He caught glimpses of the tips of the vampire’s fangs as he spoke, but no clear look.

Eddie seemed to catch onto his staring and smirked. He took a bite of his omelette, and definitely very intentionally flashed his fangs. And boy, were they weird looking. They completely took the place of a human’s canine teeth, and were probably twice as long.

“Dude, how has no one ever noticed your fuckin teeth?” Steve asked.

“I can hide ‘em. Like, partially retract them so they just seem a bit sharp, not sharp and unnaturally long,” he demonstrated by opening his mouth wide and retracting them right in front of Steve, who’s mouth formed an O shape in surprise. “Also, Harrington, maybe we should go over your soon to be wolfy stuff, instead of my vampiness?”

“Right. Right, yeah, you’re right. Sorry, this is just all reality weird, very overwhelming, and would be pretty unbelievable if I hadn’t, y’know, seen you take on a fucking bipedal wolf and hardly break a sweat. My brain is still kind of… catching up.”

(Currently 6k words finished. Originally I planned 10k words, but I have no idea anymore, probably gonna be longer) (also was originally planned to be done yesterday but instead I read fanfic all day)

#ignore the subtle shade towards twilight #seriously why does Edward stay in high school when he’s over 100 #high school is full of idiots #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things season four #steddie #steve x eddie #steve the hair harrington #steve the babysitter #eddie my beloved #steddie fanfic #werewolf steve harrington #stranger things au #steve is a werewolf #werewolf au #vampire eddie munson #vampire eddie x steve #eddie is a vampire #eddie the vampire

[avionvadion]

Do you think there’s going to be a tragic end to Time and Aeris’s tale? After all, he’s got to end up as the hero’s shade somehow, and it seems unlikely he’d be filled with regret after living a long happy life with the woman he loves and their children (though he still could, love doesn’t always heal everything). What if Aeris died when they’re children were still young, and that consumes him?

And to the side of that, with Time and Twilight reincarnating as Iliana’s brothers… what if she is Aeris’s reincarnation?? Although that might add unnecessary complications to the whole two souls one body thing, to be reincarnated on top of all that

Yeah, there’s gonna be a sad ending.

I plan on Time dying protecting the Deku sprout, maybe wearing the Fierce Deity mask, and his body is never recovered as he’s swallowed up by the forest to eventually become the Stalfos we know as Hero’s Shade.

And you’re right- love DOESN’T heal everything, especially scars that run as deep as his. Even if he tells her about the past, she’d be the only one to know. Hyrule would still remain utterly ignorant towards the sacrifices he made. Navi is also still missing. He never learned why she left. Aeris can soothe the pain, but it’s still THERE and it HURTS.

He’ll have maybe ten years with Aeris at best before he dies young in his very early thirties. His encounter with Rorran is a huge foreshadow to Time’s own fate. He’ll be protecting someone (Deku Sprout) but at the cost of leaving his family behind. His children.

Thus only adding to the list of regrets he has as the Hero’s Shade, because he’ll never get to see his little ones grow up. 👀 You could say Time meeting Twilight and eventually Iliana is a reflection of that, as it gives him some sense of pride and closure because while he never got to see his kids grow up, he does get to watch his grandkids.

As for the reincarnation thing…

Iliana isn’t really her reincarnation. 🤔 If you look closely, they have some subtle differences between them. She just won the generic lottery in everything lining up just right that she greatly resembles her, as she still has some Time traits. Which definitely probably gives Grandpa Time a bit of a soft spot because it’s been so long since he saw his wife’s face.

If anything, Iliandra is probably a reincarnation of one of Time and Aeris’ children that he never got to see grow up. (Oof, imagine Iliandra, Sarian, and Medkah all being reincarnations of Time’s kiddos. Destiny is cruel indeed.) So she looks exactly how his daughter would if he could have seen her grow up.

I’m just torn if I want Twilight to be first generation grand baby or second generation grand baby, because I have this thought in my mind of him being named Link after his grandfather, but there’s a war or an invasion of monsters (maybe the latter, what with Ganondorf’s curse) and the fam has to evacuate, and eventually the sole parent winds up badly wounded in Ordon forest with baby Twilight.

Tragedy! Tragedy all around! *throws confetti*

#ask #ocarina of time link #ocarina of time #ocarina of time oc #destiny’s call #BotW oc

[givemeonebreath]

A big, messy Linked Universe playlist

Link for Links

Heavy on the angst, because of who I am as a person. (At the same time, don’t take it too seriously, man.)

Influenced by canon, manga (TP Link is really Going Through It™ ), my personal perceptions, and popular fandom canon.

A pretty wide variety of genres, with a bias towards metal and prog rock.

I kept snippets of lyrics for most songs, also because of who I am as a person. (Some were particularly hard to narrow down to just one verse or chorus.) Those - and a little more rambling - are under the cut if you really want, in the order of the playlist. But. It’s long.

I didn’t initially make this with the intent to share, but hey. Throughout my past year+ of listening, I’ve been haphazardly adding songs to a playlist I very creatively named Links. If something reminded me of them, whether through the music or lyrics or both, I threw it on the playlist, so some songs might seem odd or vague. Some are really on the nose, as subtle as a sledgehammer. (Sky for Sky? Dude. Sorry.) Some are there because of a fitting line or two that stuck in my head. Ultimately, music - like any form of creative expression - can be interpreted in a multitude of ways. 

My listening habits and tastes are erratic, which is why this is one big, jumbled playlist and not separated for different Links. Not to mention if I did that, some (Wild, Legend) would have a lot and some (Wind, Four) would have none, both because of my own familiarity with them, and because of the general themes of the music I tend to listen to. Most songs are a general ‘hero’s spirit reborn’ mood, anyway - those are the first part of the playlist. The second half is more nuanced to specific Links, plus a few Ganon vibes.

1. Deep Purple - April (Koji Kondo, composer of the original Legend of Zelda theme, was into Deep Purple as a kid, and it shows.)

2. Kamelot - Regalis Apertura

3. Au4 - So Just Hang On, Beautiful One (I’ve posted this here before. I can’t hear it without thinking of LU now.) So I slipped in through the gate almost unknown. All my border stamps were late. Seven days old. Cold hand griped my shoulder blade, broke the bone. Bloody nose and turned away, all the way home.

4. FC Kahuna - Hayling Don’t think about all those things you fear, just be glad to be here

5. Glass Animals - Youth Boy, when I left you you were young I was gone, but not my love You were clearly meant for more Than a life lost in the war

6. Pain of Salvation - Restless Boy A restless boy in a world too slow A flame born into cinder, ash, and glow I've given everything I gave it all Yet find myself alone

7. Haken - The Endless Knot Our design shifted frame by frame! Across the line our cycle starts to fail. Our design shifted frame by frame! Across the line we die to live again.   We need a story to believe in. We need a hero to prevail. We need a challenge we can overcome, it takes a tragedy to make us one 

8. Kamelot - Memento Mori (I particularly associate this with Time and Twilight) I am the god in my own history The master of the game I may believe if she would come to me And whisper out my name Sometimes I wonder where the wind has gone If life has ever been Sometimes I wonder how belief alone Can cut me free from sin

9. Katatonia - Fighters Look I told you so We never stop If we said that We'll back it up For sure You know We're fighters

10. Megadeth - This Day We Fight! (I mean, all Links, but particularly Warriors) For this I was chosen, because I fear nothing With confidence I tread through the dead of the night Off to another war-torn, faraway battlefield Wherein lies a demonic enemy horde

11. Moon Tooth - Igneous Well, the spirit took me And this old broken body leapt up and danced Settin’ out Settin' out with all my heroes in a bundle at my back Hawk am I More wings span in my shadow than overcast Yeah, you know what they say Always need something to look up to, ha

12. Samael - Moongate Destiny, tomorrow is today Destiny, without boundaries How many nights will we spend together traveling infinity back and forth and again How many times will we go together questioning eternity about us about our wonders...

13. TOOL- Parabola This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality Embrace this moment, remember We are eternal, all this pain is an illusion

14. Lunatic Soul - Blood on the Tightrope No matter how hard you try To shut down your feverish thoughts They hunt you down with no regret Cause you have to fix it all

15. Hybrid - Keep It In The Family

16. Soul Savers - Unbalanced Pieces Gone, now carry on Through violent seasons I call you mother, mother, mother In vain, absent chain The twilight's bleeding And the playing board has two unbalanced pieces

17. Steve Von Till - Valley of the Moon All she gives is a stone facade Like ill-given flowers at a dead man's wake Here we slave for the dreams of another And fight over scraps like wayward dogs

18. Ludovico Einaudi - Experience

19. Lunatic Soul - Summoning Dance Three stones on the right side Three stones on the left My vicious circle of life and death   “Oh you want it” I hear it again “Oh you want it” My burden Curse to break

20. Lunatic Soul - Through Shaded Woods Run through your shaded woods Run through your shaded mind Run through the night Run away Run through the darkness Run

21. Lunatic Soul - Naavie

22. David Bowie - Nature Boy There was a boy A very strange, enchanted boy They say he wandered very far Very far, over land and sea A little shy and sad of eye But very wise was he

23. The Dandy Warhols - Sleep Well, I could sleep forever But it's of her I dream If I could sleep forever I could forget about everything 

24. Au4 - Everyone is Everyone (and Everything is Everything) Tripping and tumbling, Flipping and fumbling. Flowing on the rivers of sadness That have been forever rumbling.   But from dawn until now Of all the paths that I could have gone down Of all the valleys That I could have been flowing through.   In spite of all the chaos And all that has come between us, How is it I still find myself Here with you. 

25. Kingcrow - Everything Goes Your hands again upon the ground Falling rain for hours and hours As you learn the game Time dispels the fog ... Ever been there? Ever felt like prey? Ever thought your mind was feeble? Lot of things that don’t make sense

26. Pain of Salvation - Icon As a child I felt too old And now when I'm grown-up I feel too young A different kind so I've been told Just slightly out of reach and out of time

27. Sophia Loizou - Divine Interference (I got spooky dungeon vibes. Also, the title.)

28. Carpenter Brut - Fab Tool Runnin Gunnin Forward in the phantom shatter so grand Splatter grand, arcanum fuel Wrought iron out of the sky Over me, tells no lie

29. Blue Stahli - Death Will Have to Run All on the open road Where none will ever grow A journey toward the known With countless miles to go

30. Gyroscope - Mistakes & Ladders I am the first? No I can't be the first A continuous nothing, destined for something Tell me who you are and why you trapped me here

31. Queens of the Stone Age - Run, Pig, Run Run, pig, run Here I come

32. Chali 2na & Krafty Kuts - Guard The Fort The swords are drawn and odds are stacked And we clash the impact's a thunderous clap Calm demeanor Even though we are under attack [...my turn to guard the fort ready for combat]

33. The Great Discord - Army of Me (lol)

34. Kongos - Terrified I think I'll start again and change my name You only live once or twice, what a shame Somebody fucked up when designing this game

35. Woodkid - Run Boy Run Run, boy, run! This ride is a journey to Run, boy, run! The secret inside of you Run, boy, run! This race is a prophecy Run, boy, run! And disappear in the trees

36. The Beta Machine - The End A million miles away from you this time I'll do what it takes I'm on my way If lines are in the sand I'll go under If I can make it in time I will bring you back with me

37. Devin Townsend Project - Gump When we last met who was I? I'm sorry we no longer see eye to eye The energy to keep you in while keeping myself out I'm sorry how you'll take this  But I just don't have the patience anymore 

38. Arrested Youth - Riot! I can't get much satisfaction living in this cave It's tough to breathe, I'm in the belly of the beast Can't sleep with all my rage With me and all my generations living in this cage Pick up your guns and tell your sons, tonight we break the cage

39. Led Zeppelin - Friends So anytime somebody needs you Don't let them down, although it grieves you Some day you'll need someone like they do Looking for what you knew

40. Faunts - M4, pt 2 (Wild) Fight your foes you're not alone Holy war is on the phone Asking to please stay on hold Bleeding loss of blood runs cold And I need you to recover   Because I can't make it on my own

41. Faith No More - Ashes to Ashes (Wild) I want them to know it's me, it's on my head I'll point the finger at me, it's on my head Smiling with the mouth of the ocean And I'll wave to you with the arms of the mountain

42. Devin Townsend - Jupiter (Wild) I know you At least I think I do Everything's changed But in the days that are so dark It's wonderful

43. Katatonia - Neon Epitaph (Wild) Shadow of my shadow Cling not to my grief I am long left behind now You are free

44. The Smashing Pumpkins - The Beginning is the End is the Beginning (Wild) Time has stopped before us The sky cannot ignore us No one can separate us For we are all that is left The echo bounces off me The shadow lost beside me There's no more need to pretend Cause now I can begin again 

45. Katatonia - Lacquer (Wild) My voice travelling Soaring bird above your head The house we lived in Ridden with disease ... The levee breaking I can't live to fight once more The road to the grave is straight as an arrow I'm just staying around to sing your song, baby

46. Eskimo Joe - This is Pressure (Wild) There is no romance in suffocation  The walls fall down like your expectations You want to scream  And you want to shout But you've built up steam  And you can't let it out This is pressure 

47. Portugal. The Man - 1000 Years (Wild) We'll wait 1000 years  Until the end of time We'll wait 1000 more Dressed up in gold and white We'll climb the mountain sides  To find what's in the sky We'll dig through mountain sides  To find what's deep inside

48. Au4 - An Ocean’s Measure of Sorrow (Wild) Forgot my name and who I was. Memories of nothing floating up. All of the sorrow we once knew, Colours the ocean's water blue.

49. Band of Skulls - Carnivorous (Twilight) I am corrosive and cohesive Like a chemical bond I'm all together undone I am the broken kingdom I'm just so, so, so  So carnivorous

50. Glass Animals - Flip (Twilight) I wanna go back with a club and attack I wanna take to my guns and break you I gotta make my little foe take his own

51. TV on the Radio - Wolf Like Me (Twilight) My mind has changed my body's frame, but, God, I like it My heart's aflame, my body's strained, but, God, I like it

52. Kamelot - The Spell (Twilight) All my demons cast a spell The souls of dusk rising from the ashes So the book of shadows tell The weak will always obey the master

53. OSI - Radiologue (Legend) I was dreaming I was heading west thirty days faster Had a fever woke up in a sweat bailing out the water  Can't go on Can't go back   Heard your voice coming through the noise wrote it in the radio log Hurt my head, wondering what you said so I threw it overboard  

54. Katatonia - Don’t Tell A Soul (Legend) I have been destroyed by the perfection that is a lie see I'm moving soon see my feet are already on the road and if you know where I’m going don’t tell a soul

55. Haken - The Mind’s Eye (Legend) The shape of things to come are closer than they seem Changing your design every time you disappear I'm planning my escape through portals of your mind Where people seem to drop like flies

56. Pain of Salvation - Species (Legend) Sometimes I hate my fucking species Yet most days I'll do anything to please it  My generation was fooled to pursue our dreams But it is not what it seems You never need what you want And you rarely want what you need

57. Euringer - Do You Kiss Your Mama with That Mouth? (Legend) All my life, misunderstood I'm fuckin' too smart, too smart for my own good The last question, before I go is "Hey motherfucka, do you kiss your mama with that mouth?"  Yes! I kiss your mama with this mouth

58. !!! - Pardon My Freedom (Legend) Like I give a fuck, like I give a shit Like I give a fuck about that shit Like I give a fuck about that motherfucking shit

59. Team Sleep - Ataraxia (Legend) Froze asleep Coma deep I dream I'm out with you Alone at sea

60. Oliver Tank - Embrace (Legend) You're in my dreams The world is torn apart at the seams And I don't wanna leave Wearing my heart on it's sleeve

61. Machine Gun Fellatio - The Girl of My Dreams (Is Giving Me Nightmares) (Legend) The girl of my dreams is giving me nightmares I don't know what it means but she's got multi-coloured hair When she stands in the sand I dream of peaches And I'm not sure what that means either

62. Earl Greyhound - Shotgun (Legend & Hyrule) I am nobody, nobody is who I am I am a traveler on this land And nothing, nothing, nothing in my hands

63. TV on the Radio - Staring at the Sun (Hyrule) You're staring at the sun You're standing in the sea Your mouth is open wide You're trying hard to breathe The water's at your neck There's lightning in your teeth Your body's over me

64. Echo & The Bunnymen - The Killing Moon (Time) Fate Up against your will Through the thick and thin He will wait until You give yourself to him

65. Sufjan Stevens - Sugar (Sky) Don’t break my heart, don’t break my flow now And all this rage has got to go now Let’s take up this lifeline Come on, baby, gimme some sugar Don’t make me wait Don’t make me wait too long Don’t make me sing the sad song Come on, baby, gimme some sugar

66. Obsydians - Ascension (Sky) Rise above the hardships you’ll face I will sign and keep on rising As long as you are giving me your soul and keep me awake Feel like home and spread your light around I will listen and just be there As long as you are giving me your love I’ll give you my soul

67. Sonique - Sky -_-

68. Enter Shikari - The King (Ganon) Watch your back, my friend I'm about to kickstart a cycle Of never ending revenge And this time it's primal, it's tribal

69. Saul Williams - WTF! (Ganon, Hylia) "You've been polluted, uprooted by time You have been muted, computed but I'm A living vessel of the one, of the moon, of the sun" Hey! You ain't as dead as you seem, what the fuck? Hey! But you keep living your lies

70. These New Puritans - We Want War (Ganon/ Dark Link/ any nemesis I guess) Shadows dance back up, it's happening again If you listen carefully you might hear them whisper: "We hold all the secrets, we hold all the words; But they're scrambled and broken so you'll never know" Can't you see them Floating like black ash? Can't you feel them Crawling down your back?

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #listening to music while I stare blankly at nothing is legit my number one hobby #and then shit like this happens #linked universe playlist

[adrrianraines]

how to feel alive • adrian x mc

kisses with meaning—tummy: you will always come back to me. song inspiration: somebody to die for—hurts

disclaimer: i’m still emo about that tapestry fragment where mc died so here ya go another fic nobody asked for

ADRIAN STOOD OVER the edge of raines corporation’s rooftop ledge, eyes dark, jaw clenched and mouth in a thin line. the broken pieces of the metropolitan area were sprawled before him, asking to be fixed but not knowing where to begin. shadows slowly drowned the city buildings as it blazed, the morbid image much like a mirror of his own misfortunes.

harsh winds crashed against skin as he raised a hand towards twilight, staring at the contrast his flesh made against the black canvas. he closed his eyes for a moment, senses swallowing each detail he can taste, absorbing each sensation he can feel. the ashes that floats in the air, the stench of blood coating the breeze, even burning debris above everything else. then, he can feel himself getting dragged far, far away as he closed his eyes.

“adrian!” he immediately knew who it was the moment her voice filled his ears as it pulled him away from a dreamless sleep. his arm shoots out to pull her close, their limbs tangling together under the covers with lips finding its way towards each other.

“mmm... five more minutes, please,” he murmurs as he nuzzles closer, enjoying the sensation of skin against skin—a warmth he’s too familiar to forget.

“come on! we still have work to do!” he felt a light tap against his chest as she laughed and wriggled herself away from his embrace.

his vision welcomed a face so alluring that he produced the warmest of smiles. he loved seeing her on his bed, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and lips a shade of cherry red plumpness. it reminded him of how happy he was and how full his heart had been.

“may i have a kiss?” he asked with a smirk as he laid against the soft sheets with arms wide open. she laughed and climbed on top of him as he pulled her closer, never ever wanting to let go.

adrian thought he couldn’t be greedier than he already was. he kept wanting more than what he can hold, what he can grasp. but he knew it’s all he’d ever been when it came to her. then he succumbed to his desires, hands pinning her down as he showered her with all the love he can give, each touch a searing fire—the heat engulfing and burning. he wanted to feel her flushed against him, her voice crying out his name—like a whimper of bliss, a song of sweet surrender.

but she fades away before his very eyes. then he finds himself in his office, sitting alone with lights dimmed, bathing the room in somber luminescence. he ponders quietly with thoughts scattered about when he heard a soft knock at the door. sooner than later, he saw her again, vivid as day, strutting inside with a steaming cup in hand, lips curved in a saccharine trap.

“coffee? you’ve been working hard since vega’s failed coup.” somehow, somewhere deep within, his heart yearned and ached so badly at the sight of her. adrian motioned her to come closer, her presence providing a temporary lull of escape in a brazen wall of illusions.

“i don’t need anybody else...as long as i have you by my side.” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her waist, head resting against her chest. he planted a tender kiss on a small spot above her tummy, the intimacy stretching his sanity to a thin line. when he felt her fingers brush his hair, it tormented him so much for the sensation felt real enough to warrant goosebumps all over his body.

“what’s gotten into you? you know i won’t leave.” she cooed against the embrace as he tightened his hold, afraid that if he ever dared open his eyes this time, she’ll disappear once more.

but he woke up with a start, vision greeted by a foreboding emptiness as panic bubbled in his system. he jerked his body up in a dumbfounded awestruck when he realized he’s not alone. he wasn’t sure how long he stayed rooted on the spot when finally caught sight of a figure holding him tight.

adrian’s breathing hitched as he slowly laid back down, careful not to wake her up. though she stirs a bit on her sleep but it was only to tighten her arms around his body, making sure he was within what her touch can hold. he turns and it pains him to look at her, each sight his eyes laid on an elaborate torture. for he couldn’t look away, he couldn’t close his eyes and his fingers couldn’t help itself but yearn to caress her inch by inch more and more. the flame within him that’s slow and subtle flickers alive.

in that moment, he realizes as he thinks to himself, that she’d always been too bright for him to desire. he’s suddenly too afraid—afraid of what his reality came into—that everything his hand ever touched only burned. and he’s reminded of the pungent smell of death, a sharp wake up call, all the memories fading away to the wee hours of the night.

foolish, his mind would say. what a foolish, foolish man, his inner demons would argue. it’s easier to ignore the pain. it’s easier to forget, it was never ending—like a broken record, a song on repeat. and he swallows it all—the ache, the longing, the regret, the torture, the loss. because forgetting her would be akin to leaping headfirst into the sun.

his resolve hardens as he finds his answer by stretching his arms wide open without hesitation, like wings spread out for its first flight. his emotions were drowning his logical senses with thoughts of her and only her. his mourning became evident each time reality sinks its teeth to his neck, sucking the life out of him, draining him to the core.

he knew deep inside that he didn’t want to love someone else, that no matter how many times he may wish he can forget, he’ll never get enough of her smile, the sound of her voice and the feeling of her lips against his own.

and he’d remember her in everything—of how the first light of dawn chases away dusk, of how the gentle early morning dew smelled, of how he plays music in his car stereo with her singing along as they drove across the lively city streets and even down to how his coffee tasted like. he’d remember her each time he closes his eyes, her memories staying fresh and alive for more years to come. he’d suffer remembering her but it was the only thing he could do to feel her close, to keep his sanity from teetering away.

he looks up, finally noticing the change that painted vivid colors on his dark, empty canvas. then he leaps from his feet, welcoming the feeling of soaring high and free, the wind whipping his hair, clothes and emotions away. then he perfectly lands to the next building’s awning just in time as the morning sun peeked from the clouds.

then he remembers. he remembers how it felt to live with her right next to him. he remembered how exhilaratingly happy it was, how much of a blood rush it’s been, how happier he became.

she was the wind engulfing him with open arms as he soared in the air like a bird circling the skies.

and he had never felt more alive.

dedicated to: @isabella-choices & @itlivesbeneath suffer with me ladies

#playchoices #bloodbound #adrian raines #playchoices fanfiction #adrian x mc #bloodbound fanfic #writings #ANOTHER FIC NOBODY ASKED FOR HELLA

[grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales]

sooo... maybe something about how feral snow white could be?

There are many expectations place on princesses, from being demure to being elegant. Whether that is an unjust and bizzare code they must follow to detriment of their time and mental functions, or a small price to pay for unjust status and power they wield due to accident of birth, is for some other people to consider.

One of few things Snow White had in common with all (well, most, because always there were strange exceptions) princesses was that her birth, as is to be expected of such process, was anything but graceful. And one thing it was different from all the rest was that she became unparalably ethereal in movement and stride few seconds afterwards.

Her mother, accursed be her name and hounded be her soul by wrathful gods till world stops turning, was a cruel, self-obsessed, paranoid, shallow, lying, controlling  monster, an absolute failure of parent, and more than capable sorceress. She wanted a beautiful girl who would be perfect heiress and puppet, and she knew how to get her by skipping all boring bits. Why waste years and money and nerves on tutors and hopes and growing up when you can just craft yourself a perfect little girl to whom courtsery came as natural as breathing?

Old snow upon ground.  The blizzard that bent old trees. The frost that claimed lives upon lives. The ancient trunk, struck down by unforgiving axe. The wood still wet and covered by pitch. The black forest that was home to worms and eagles. The needle upon her mother’s fingertip. The cut throat of sveen times seven sacrifices, slashed before they could scream. The hot blood hissing as it splashes the white ground.

In moment, she will learn how to dance quiet and sweet. In moment she will know how to bow with great respect towards her elders. In moment she will know how to embroider, and match jewelry, and how to seat nobles by rank. But in those few moments, in those too short seconds, she is still what her mother made her of. And so she rises, wild and free and bestial, and looks upon her mother with eyes pure and hungry in way human’s could never be.

She is not angry, or dangerous, or violent, not yet. But a wild nightingale is no less feral than an angry bear.

***

She waits in shades and bushes, stalking her prey.

Her hair is long and tangled, full of knots, uncombed in years, strands cut unevenly. And yet it is still beautiful and healthy- it will always be such, no matter what she tries, how much she begs, how much she tears it out- and though dull of feathers and leaves, it will never be infested by lice, it never gets stuck, but sways and writhes, slow and subtle, like thin branch on gentle wind. It blends among darkness and bark, providing cover from threat her skin presents, shining like diamond in summer, from how her lips attract predators small and great, wrapping around her like curtain.

She watches deer move, and waits. She has to strain her eyes, for they are not yet as sharp as those of falcon, or or an owl, but someday they will be- she is already halfway there, wolf pack having nuzzled against her yesterday, the boar having bowed to her this morning.

( All tales end in woods, or start there, depending on whom you ask, sooner or later.

The Forest waits on edges of known world, the land of twilight, the kingdom of living memory. It has seen first foundations of first brick of things that came before men be laid down, and it shall see last civilization’s remnants collapse, and there shall be no more wars or art someday, no divisions or discovery, only the long green and gentle autumn. Heroes must pass through it on their quests, and there they encounter risk and wonder and mystery, but she- she ran in, and dared to ask for refuge.

Already she is changing, being bound by roots, by chill of Forest’s strange mornings, by land that has never known blood upon blades, only on teeth. Someday, she will become something wilder and happier, a beast to replace statue her mother desired- but that day is, unfortunately so far away.)

Brown and grey and green she is, the leather and hides and furs dyed with grass and herbs (she will have to learn more, how to make them from flowers, from fruits- she is so tired from white and red and black). It is not much, but it is most a former princess could do, and she think she has right to be proud of ehrself. Dwarves are wise, and kind, but their kind requires neither sustenance, nor sleep, nor comfort. It is upon Snow White to turn their lair, where seven great hollow trees grow one in another, located above chasm and network of tunnels, into home. It is she who has to skin rabbits, and make needles out of bones, using her own hair as thread, she who has to catch fish with her own hands and roast them above flames sparked from stones (it is so much she refuses to give up, to sink her teeth in soft flesh and weak bone like true beast), ignoring oil and fat upon her fingers.

The deer moves. And Snow White lounges.

***

Come.

She was idiot. She a fool, and unrepentant moron, the empty head worthy of biggest scorn. She should have known, that things like her aren’t allowed to rest. She cannot live, for she must be a story, and story always repeats. Always it is same, even if details change. A girl more beautiful than any in the world, and those who blame her for that, desire her, seek to possess her, ruin her.

Come, daughter.

Well, she won’t allow that. Happily ever after is passed, and her love is dead, and her youth is gone forevermore, and her kingdom is forgotten, and her innocence is no more, perhaps it has never been there, but that won’t stop them. Her story is done and rules are oveer and she has no need to follow them.

Welcome home, Snow White.

The Forest rises in twilight, tall and deep and free. The monster runs it,  monster that was once a girl, knowing that line is crossed, that after this she will never deny herself- never spare any other, no matter how their throats tremble, forbidden to scream.

She will live, no matter the price. And it isn’t evil- evil has purpose, and wolf only wants to survive.

#my work #snow white

[jadeender]

Back to the Ranch part 1

The Links soldiered on across Hyrule because they never do anything else. Legend had promised they we're only a few more days walk from reaching Veran's lair. Everyone was in relatively high spirits considering. The morning was nice and cool with clouds providing shade without a promise of rain.

As they walked they talked Four, finally strong enough to walk on his own was near the front keeping Legend company with Time who always stayed in the lead.

"Time." Legend called out the elder who turned his head to face him. "I think we're switching hyrules again. That mountain shouldn't be there."

Legend directed Times attention towards a tall mounting to the north, a ring of smoky clouds hovering over its peak. Immediately Time knew what that meant. In the distance he could see a plateau in the middle of Hyrule field. Somehow they had been taken back into his hyrule.

Time turned around and found the open terrain they had just traversed to be transformed into the lost woods. Now of all times to be forced to change Hyrules. Legend muttered something.

“Huh?” Time asked as his mind began to snap into gear, his thoughts going a million miles a minute. They were so close to his home but he couldn’t trust them around Malon, he was dying to see her but she wouldn’t be safe not while they were like this.

“I said its probably Veran’s doing, she could have used her magic to transport us here. She used it to being the darks to us.” Legend repeated shifting under Time’s gaze.

“Time.” Twilight said approaching his mentor. “We don’t have to go to the ranch. If we get going we should be able to make it to Castletown by night fall right?”

Twilight gave Time a hopeful smile and the elder nodded in response. Everyone else just kept on going. They began trekking through the outer reaches of hyrule field as they watched the sun move lower on the horizon, as dusk approached Time’s heart fell knowing they would never make it in time.

Time just sighed and looked towards the paluatea that held the ranch. “Look. We aren’t going to make it to Castletown before they close the gates. Against my better judgement we’re going to go back to the ranch. Twilight, can you run ahead and warn Malon?”

Twilight just shook his head. “Not in wolf form.”

Time gave his protege a look but didn’t comment. “Legend use your pegasus boots and go let Malon know we’re coming.”

Legend gave Time a sloppy salute before speeded off towards the plateau. Time sighed deeply then began moving.

“I supposed this is how it has to be. Nothing bad has happened in the past days, everything will be fine.” Time attempted to convince himself.

For once he didn’t feel Eternal attempting push against his mental barriers to add some sort of snippy or demeaning comment. Time wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a very bad one.

____________________________________________________________________________

As Malon looked out the window above the sink she saw a familiar form zooming up. It was Legend, he slowed down to approach the house and she quickly put down her washing and ran to open the door.

Legend paused mid action to look her in eyes, immidealty Malon noticed the deep bags under his eyes.

“Honey, not that it isn’t great to see you but are you ok?” She quickly shooed him in and stood back as he shifted nervously.

“I’m fine I promise.” Legend said holding up his hands in resignation. “Time sent me ahead to warn you that everyone’s coming.”

Malon held in a small gasp. They had only been gone a couple months, it was odd for her husband to return so quickly. Something definitely had to be wrong. But no time to worry about that, she had food to prepare, beds to makes.

“Miss Malon?” Legend asked somewhat timidly bringing her attention back onto him.

“I’m sorry sugar cube I didn’t mean to ignore ya. What is it?” She asked.

“There’s something else you need to know before everyone gets here. You may want to sit down for this.” Legend admitted. Malon’s heart fell immediately though she didn’t make it apparent. She moved over to sit on their couch as Legend took the spot beside her and began to explain.

He explained about the darks and Veran, how they were stuck like this for now. Malon held in her shook as he explained, sure Link had told her about the shadow he fought once but she could never have imagined this. The idea of her husband having another voice in his head to deal with was unnerving but she knew he could handle it. And if he couldn’t she was always there.

Forcing those thoughts into the background Malon stood up from the couch. “I’ve got to get everything ready before they get here.”

Legend stood quickly as well. “Let me help too.”

“No honey, you’ve been through enough it sounds like, you just sit down. It won’t take me very long.” Malon reassured pulling a smile on her face.

“Please let me help I need something to do. I can’t just sit around.” Legend said, Malon only now noticing how he had been something since he entered. Shifting feet, scratching his arm, or messing with something.

“Ok, how about you help me get the beds ready.” Malon offered and they set about their chores, getting things ready till they were in the kitchen, Legend cutting up vegetables and Malon preparing meat to put into the pot.

The subtle sound of the door scraping open broke their silence as both Legend and Malon looked towards the door. Time entered the room and immediately he visibly relaxed, whatever circumstances this was home and it always would be. His gaze fell to his wife, his love and joy, and he averted his eyes back to the floor and moved away to let the others enter.

Malon sighed putting on a strong face as she turned to greet her visitors.

#linkeduniverse #merged #time for angst #darks

[caliart]

[Written and drawn for @nakiriknife for @thearrowheadnet DickRoy Secret Valentine Exchange - Happy Valentine’s Day, friend! I hope you enjoyed!]

He often has this glint in his eye.

Sometimes it’s obvious, like when he’s about to really lay into someone for a cheesy one-liner, or just had another gut instinct idea that he knows for sure is insane enough to actually work. But then there are times where that glint is much, much more subtle, like the exact moment when the fletching of an arrow slips through his fingertips, in time with the beat of his heart and the slightest intake of breath, or those times where his sincerity bleeds out on to his sleeve in ways that can leave a man speechless.

A little smirk, a tiny flash of mischief. That telling glint in his eye.

I see it every single time. And how could I not? It’s one of his major tells. One of the subtle changes that gives away his position, his intentions. A disadvantage, if you know how to read him. Lucky for him, most don’t.

Unlucky for him, I do.

It’s quiet in this part of the city, an oddly calming hush that only settles upon certain neighborhoods at the earliest hours of the morning. A time when the whole world feels black and still, humming a haunting lullaby from the depths to the heights that only insomniacs, late night criminals and vigilantes like us can hear. From my higher vantage point, despite the cloak of shadows he’s trying to mask himself in, I can see Arsenal clearly across the street, his steps sure footed and light, careful not to kick a stray stone or startle a nearby rat in search of its next meal, more so not to attract my attention. His arrow is nocked in place, the bowstring pulled slightly, but not taut enough for a full shot. He doesn’t have a target yet.

And yet, I’m so close. C'mon, Roy, you know I’m here.  

He’s being cautious, I can tell. Keen ears listening for anything out of the ordinary. Sharp eyes searching for the slightest shift of motion. He’s patient in only the way an archer can be. He’s waiting. Hunting. I take a risk and grasp for a weapon of my own, holding my breath as my position shifts just a little bit. But he knows. He hears it. The bowstring is tight, aimed to shoot directly towards me, but he doesn’t let it fly. Not yet. He’s not sure. It reads all over his face, close enough now for me to note every twitch of brow, short rise of breath in his chest, the slight shift of his eyes.

He still doesn’t see me. The game continues. Not for much longer.

Arsenal’s hesitation to release at that precise moment opens up my advantage. I toss a sharp-edged wing-ding towards the left, enough of a twist on the throw for the blade to curve midair back towards my target. The direction of the arrow’s point shifts towards the impending attack, and I see that tell-tale glint shimmer in his eyes the way it always does, that he was just about to take the shot, no fear, no reluctance. A second blade springs from my own hand, just before the twitch of his fingers that I know is about to occur to allow his arrow to fly true, and strikes against Roy’s splayed knuckles.

“SHHHH—OWWCH!!”

The silence of the twilight hours in the city is immediately shattered with that shout, followed by the clanging of our thrown weapons against one another and then again as they land on the street, the clanking of his bow to the ground, and the thud of my feet as I land beside my friend. He glares up at me with a grimace, teeth gritted, bright crimson flooded over his fingers. I’m not sure if that face is one of pain, or of him just being upset that he lost. “You okay?” I ask as I approach my friend, shrugging my shoulders in apology.

He grumbles, nursing his injured hand, instinctively lapping his lips and tongue over the wound in a quick attempt to clean it. “You know, when you said ‘to the blood’ I didn’t think you actually meant literally, Nightwing. Damn, you got me friggin’ deep, man.”

I roll my eyes and take his crimson stained hand into both of my own to better inspect it. “You’ll live,” I snap back, glancing up just in time to once again spot that glint of mischief fluttering just behind light lashes, like sunrise at Gotham harbor in both eyes.

“That’s all you have to say? After wounding me so?” Roy laments, his tone taking  a turn for the overdramatic as he lays the back of his other hand over his forehead.

My eyebrow raises in deadpan disbelief before rolling my eyes again. “It’s not so bad, Roy. Only thing that’s actually wounded is your pride.” I give him a smug grin. “Because you know you lost the game.”

He turns his nose up in a huff. “Which means you still wounded me.” I’m pretty sure he’s still being facetious, mostly because he can’t hide his near-cackling grin under this “betrayed” facade he was trying to pull to make me feel guilty. He knows me well enough to succeed if he were actually upset. “You could have ruined my archery and crimefighting career for life in one fell swoop, you know,” he continues mock carrying on. “These hands are my life, my livelihood, and here you are, flinging your wingding things all over the place, all so you would win a dumb game. I mean, look at all this blood! How’re you gonna make this better, huh? I hope you plan to make it better.”

Better, huh? Yeah, I can make it better. Without realizing it, my snark suddenly got the better of me, and I replied by raising my best friend’s injured fingers to my lips and laying a long kiss upon them, the ruddy scent of copper and salt mingling with the faded musk of his sweat filling my nose. I close my eyes, taking in the warmth of his hand and steadying the shivering in my own, my heart pulsing in my throat. I chance a glance up at Roy, not pulling away just yet and the glint in his eye is gone, replaced with shock and utter bewilderment of what was happening. I swear, I had never before seen this man turn the same shade as his hair, and it was glorious.

Finally, I pull away, still with his hand in mine, and smile at him. “How’s that?”

“…better,” he blurts out, dumbfounded, unsure what to even do or say after that.

“Good to hear,” I quickly lay another, quick kiss on the back of his hand. “I win again.”

Roy’s eyes widen again and he stumbles over his words, stammering a little as he tries in vain to regain his composure. “Okay, maybe this time. But you still…I dunno, owe me a coffee or something.”

“Oh do I now?” I smirk, tightening my grip around his calloused fingers and he glances away nervously, seeing the glint in my eyes that I’ve stolen from him. “How about I patch this up, and then you buy me a coffee as my prize for tonight? Sound fair?”

“I guess…you gonna give me my hand back?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” His face turns an even brighter shade of scarlet, his mouth answering faster than his brain could filter, and immediately tries to back pedal. “I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t, you know, mind…”

I can feel the hot flush across my nose, but ignore it, instead squeezing Roy Harper’s hand in my own, admiring the new glint in my dear friend’s eye that I hadn’t seen or noticed before. “Then I suppose I’ll hold onto this.”

#dick grayson #roy harper #dickroy #roydick #valentines day

[dearophelia]

children shouldn’t play with dead things

so I decided to give DAO another shot, and apparently my love of death-affinity ladies hasn’t gone anywhere

Summer is two days gone when he leaves her in the graveyard. Autumn hasn’t yet taken firm hold, but the summer bugs and flowers are gone, replaced by a subtle crunch of leaves and a chill in the air. 

She’s seven, and he finds her annoying.

Alec promises to count to twenty and then start seeking. On nine, he starts walking away. When he gets to fourteen, he’s nearly shouting, trying to throw his voice so it sounds like it’s coming from the tree he’s meant to be closing his eyes behind.  

“Twenty!” he yells, and turns. His feet spin on dew-slick grass as he makes a mad dash out of the creaking cemetery gates to meet his friends by the brook. 

Juliette sits patiently behind a cracked, lichen-covered headstone, its inscription long weathered away. She reaches down into the grass, encouraging a ladybug to crawl onto her hand, and doesn’t notice the sun’s slow creep across the sky.  

Shadows grow long and the bright silent day shifts into a silent twilight, fog settling just above the ground.  

“He’s not coming back, you know.”

She drops the ladybug, letting its now-lifeless shell fall to the grass, beside the corpse of a grasshopper and a cicada. “I know,” she says, looking up at the sheer figure standing before her. “I don’t mind.”

The figure floats backward a bit, perching atop the gravestone across from her. “Most people have the good sense to scream when they see me.”

Juliette pokes at the dead cicada. One of its legs twitches. “Alec says I don’t have much sense.”

“That’s rude of him.”

She shrugs in agreement. “He’s quite rude.” Another poke, another twitch of the leg, and the cicada makes a half-hearted and off-key buzz before it falls still again. She scrunches up her nose at it.  

“Try the ladybug,” the figure suggests.  

“Alec hates cicadas,” Juliette says, ignoring the figure’s advice. “I was going to put it in his bed.”

The sun finally drops below the horizon and the cemetery shifts into dark shades of blue and purple. Shadows deepen, spreading across the grass like spilled ink. Tiny lights dot the valley below, candles and lanterns and fires from the small village that’s going to turn itself upside down looking for her as soon as her father rings the bell.  

Juliette focuses on the cicada, and the figure floats over to her, providing her a small bit of light. “Thank you,” she murmurs, cupping the chitinous shell in her hands.  

The grass rustles, and at first Juliette thinks it’s the wind, but her hair doesn’t move, not even the stubborn bits that won’t ever grow long enough to be held back by her braid.  

At first it’s just something moving, and then it’s many somethings moving, moving so fast she can see the blades of grass waving even in the darkness. The figure floats up a little, casting its glow wider.  

Juliette blinks at the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of cicadas surrounding her. All unmoving, all dead. Still holding the one in her hand, she looks up.

“Most girls have dolls,” is all the wisp says.  

“I have dolls,” she says dully. She looks back down at her toys. Focusing as hard as she can, she stares at the cicada in her palms. Distantly, she hears the village bell ring - they’ll find her soon enough, when Alec finally gives in under threat and tells them where he left her. Her eyes narrow and teeth clench. Sweat breaks out on her brow despite the early autumn air, and suddenly - finally - the cicada twitches.  

Not the reluctant twitch of before, a real, live twitch. With an irritated screech, it flips over onto its legs. It shakes, as if brushing off a bit of dust, and flies off into the night.  

Juliette looks up at the figure, and the moving lanterns in the village below. She pushes herself upward, careful not to crunch any of the husks beneath her feet. “Do you think I can do them all?”

The wisp looks down at the pile of cicadas, then up at her. “I don’t think you can fit them all in his bed.”

She giggles. One by one, the cicadas hum back to life, swarming in a dense, deafening cloud around her. She sends them off, most back to their trees, but a handful into town, toward her house, and in through her brother’s bedroom window. They’ll figure out what to do from there.

“You should go,” she tells the wisp. “They’ll come looking for me soon, and the rest of them have the good sense to scream.”

“Good luck,” it nods. “And there’s plenty more here if you want the practice.” It gestures to the gravestones around them, and then slinks back into the ground.  

Lanterns bob up the hill and through the cemetery gates. Juliette puts her hands on the gravestone behind her, feels a deep warmth in the rough stone, and forgets to look properly scared when the adults finally find her.

#juliette amell: children shouldn’t play with dead things #i gave up for the night after the grey warden ceremony but i'm already in love with my immensely creepy child #bugs cw #s:words #s:da #s:2018 #juliettefic #verse:joy cometh #(she's ari's warden!)

[centerofstupidity]

Fifty Shades of Grey Chapter 1 Snark

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Interested in reading all of the current Fifty Shades of Grey chapter snarks? They can be found here. 

Next E.L. James Book Snark: Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades of Grey # 2). 

Chapter Summary: Just like Bella, Anastasia Steele is a clumsy and cold-hearted bitch who hates blondes. And E.L. James has the subtlety of a seal-clubber.

Our chapter starts with our main character, Anastasia Steele is glaring at herself in the mirror.

You might be thinking “What’s her frustration?”

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair—it just won’t behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal.

Having a bad hair day sucks but you shouldn’t be blaming someone for your problem.  

I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission.

See what E.L. James did? She used the word “submission” in a book about BDSM.  

Clearly, she is so clever and subtle.  

So Anastasia Swan tells herself not to sleep with wet hair and tries to control her messy hair.  

I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi-presentable.

I get it, E.L. James. You are trying to convince me that Ana is a beautiful girl but doesn’t know it.  

This is undermined by the fact that Ana is describing herself in the mirror. 

It makes Ana sound vain. How many people look at themselves in the mirror and describe their hair color and eye color? 

So after breaking “don’t ever describe your character by having them look in a mirror” rule, Ana decides to bitch and moan.  

Kate is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu.

“How dare the bitch get sick without my permission?“

Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-industrialist tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper.

For a guy that she doesn’t know, Anastasia only knows:

The name of his company. 

His time is precious. 

He is a major benefactor for the college. 

He is an exceptional entrepreneur.  

Damn her extracurricular activities.

“It is so annoying that my friend has a social life and likes to do extracurricular activities.“  

Kate apologizes to Ana and explains that it took her nine months to get the interview and it will take six months to reschedule.

Kate also explains that as the school editor, she can’t blow this off.  

How does Ana react to her friend’s plea?  

How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blond hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

Her friend is feeling unwell and she’s acting like a catty little bitch.  

Anastasia agrees and tells Kate to go back to bed and asks her if she wants some meds.

Kate gives Ana the questions and the mini-disc recorder. Kate tells Ana how to record and then asks her to take notes.

Anastasia complains to Kate that she knows nothing about him. Then Kate tells her that the questions will help her with the interview.  

Ana agrees to help her out to which Kate calls her a “lifesaver.“  

Gathering my backpack, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Kate talk me into this. But then Kate can talk anyone into anything.

It is painfully obvious that we are supposed to see Kate as a manipulative bitch.  

But Anastasia has done nothing but bitching and moaning about helping her friend and how it is a terrible inconvenience.  

So the only bitch I’m seeing starts with an “Ana” and ends with a “stasia”.

She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful—and she’s my dearest, dearest friend.

If you were really her friend, you would be helping her out eagerly and willingly and not be complaining and make snide remarks.  

Anastasia is driving down the road in her friend’s Mercedes.  

And just like Bella, Ana has a quirky old vehicle.

Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I hit the pedal to the metal.

Two things, E.L. James.  

It’s either “floor it” or “put the pedal to the metal”.  

And nobody says “put the pedal to the metal” anymore.  

Anastasia is heading towards Grey’s global enterprise. It is a twenty story office building with glass and steel.  

The building has “Grey House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors."

Why is it called "Grey House”? The name of his company is Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

And since it is a company, why would the name be written “discreetly”? A business name should be easily visible.  

Anastasia enters the large “glass, steel, and white sandstone” lobby.  

She sees an attractive blonde at the front desk who is sharply dressed.  

Anastasia tells the woman that she is here to see Mr. Grey.  

The blonde woman raises an eyebrow at Ana.  

I’m beginning to wish I’d borrowed one of Kate’s formal blazers rather than worn my navy-blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length boots, and a blue sweater. For me, this is smart.

Translation: She raided Andrea Sachs’s wardrobe.  

Ana tries to pretend that she is not intimidated by the big bad and evil blonde.  

The blonde tells Ana to sign in and where Christian Grey is located.  

She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

I swear to God, Anastasia is more paranoid than Bella Swan.  

The woman gives Ana a security pass with visitor stamped on it.  

I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Nothing changes. I inwardly sigh.

Just like what I said about Bella, I don’t give a damn a whiny little bitch who complains about everything 24/7.  

Ana walks past two security guards who are “more smartly dressed than I am."

Anastasia gets in the elevator and the door opens to another large lobby that looks identical to the previous one.  

And there is another young blonde woman who greets Anastasia Swan.  

As Ana is waiting, she looks around the room. She is "momentarily paralyzed” by the floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline.  

If only Ana’s mouth could be stitched shut…  

Well, at least she has stopped complaining.

Anastasia then starts to complain again. She looks for the questions and “ inwardly cursing Kate for not providing me with a brief biography.”

Ana is one of those people who will agree or offer to help you but once you are out of earshot, they start to complain about you and how it is such an inconvenience to assist you.  

I know nothing about this man I’m about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty.

Here’s an idea…  

Why don’t you pull out your cellphone and Google Christian Grey’s name?  

Silly me. Since this is a P2P (pulled to publish) Twilight fanfic, cell phones don’t exist and people have computers with a dial-up modem.  

Ana is fidgeting in her chair.  

I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room.

A Bella Swan knockoff being anti-social? Shocking!  

To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library.

“Like Bella, I read 18th century English literature which means I’m smart.”

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Steele. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Realistically, Grey would be in his forties.  

But this is bad porn filled with clusterfuckery so Grey is going to be in his twenties and hung like a horse.  

Another well-dressed blonde shows up and Ana Swan makes a bitchy remark.  

What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s like Stepford here.

What do Stephenie Meyer, E.L. James, and Laurell K. Hamilton have in common?  

They are all shitty writers and hate blondes.  

And the Stepford comment? That’s rich coming from Ana.  

As soon as Ana starts dating a guy, she becomes brainless and submissive.  

A blonde woman asks if she can take Ana’s jacket.

She also asks if anyone has offered Ana something to drink.

“Um—no.” Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Cut the crap, Ana. It’s obvious that you don’t care about the woman.  

If you did, you wouldn’t be calling her "Blonde Number One”.  

And here is some pointless dialogue.  

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.

“A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur.

“Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

“My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Grey will be another five minutes.”

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

“Here you go, Miss Steele.”

“Thank you.”

Let’s do a writing exercise, shall we?

Let’s see if we can take this chunk of pointless dialogue and whittle it down.  

I’ll go first.  

One of the blonde receptionists offered me a glass of water. She gave it to me and I thanked her.

The fact that E.L. James is writing boring dialogue and descriptions that read like a shopping list gives me the impression that she heard the writing rule “show don’t tell” and interpreted it literally.  

“Show don’t tell” DOES NOT mean you give everything a blow-by-blow description.  

In fact, good writing strike a balance between showing and telling.  

Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal.

It’s violating Equal Employment Opportunity Act.  And Grey should be buried under several anti-discrimination class action lawsuits.  

A Black guy walks in the room so we now know that Christian isn’t a goose-stepping Nazi.  

Ana complains again that she has worn the wrong clothes.  

Ana remarks that one of the blondes is more nervous than her.  

One of the blondes tells Ana that Christian Grey is now ready to see her.  

Ana is all nervous and is told that she can go right into his office.

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet and falling headfirst into the office. Double crap—me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Grey’s office, and gentle hands are around me, helping me to stand.

Isn’t E.L. James a master at subtle foreshadowing?  

Ana is surprised that Christian is an attractive young man and not some old curmudgeon surrounded by a gaggle of blondes.  

He’s tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with unruly dark copper-colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly.

In other words, he is Edward Cullen minus the sparkling skin and golden eyes.  

This line “black tie with unruly dark copper colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly” could have been better worded.  

Because right now, it sounds like the tie has auburn hair and gray eyes looking at Ana shrewdly.  

As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static.

It’s bad enough that E.L. James will depict a relationship based on abuse and obsession as being signs of tru luv.  

Now she has the two main characters feeling an instant electric connection.  

What’s next? Will fireworks go off? Will cherubs start to sing?

I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate.

"It is so sexy blinking like a malfunctioning Furby.”

Ana explains that Kate couldn’t come so she is doing the interview instead.  

Christian asks who she is and "He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite."

Ana introduces herself and thinks that she saw Christian smirk. He asks Ana if she would like to sit down.  

After Ana sits down, she looks around the office. She gives a long description of what the office looks like.  

I’ll spare you the details but she thinks it looks gorgeous. Christian tells Ana who the artist is and she tells him that the office looks lovely.

I am so bored. Get on with the story, E.L. James.  

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me.

We get, E.L. James.  

Christian Grey is a hunk and you Anastasia Steele want to bang him.  

After marveling at the beautiful office and the hunky guy, Ana finally retrieves Kate’s questions from her satchel.  

Next, I set up the digital recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently—I hope—as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered.

He’s probably wondering who is the blushing and blithering idiot who is in front of him.  

But Christian finds Ana’s bumblefucking to be amusing.  He tells Ana to take her time and has no problem with her recording his answers.  

It turns out that the interview will appear in the student newspaper and this year Christian Grey will be presenting everyone with their degrees.  

Ana says that he is very young to have a massive empire and asks him what does he attribute to his success.  

Christian is disappointed with the question but replies that he is good at judging people and has a great team that he greatly rewards.  

Christian adds that he makes decisions based on logic and facts.

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Kate’s list—but he’s so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

For a demure wallflower, she has no problem with being rude and insulting.  

Christian tells her that he doesn’t believe in luck and he works very hard. He then quotes Harvey Firestone.

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Keep in mind that Anastasia is representing Kate.  

And Kate’s reputation as the school’s newspaper editor is riding on this interview.  

So every time Ana insults Christian, it jeopardizes Kate’s reputation.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile.

Ana blushes and her heart races.

Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me?

Because he is Edward Cullen and you are Bella Swan. 

And since this is a P2P Twilight fanfic, we must have insta lust disguised as tru luv.  

Ana is drooling over Christian and everything he does gives her a massive ladyboner.  

Since this is only chapter one, Ana’s ladyboner is not dancing the "merengue with some salsa moves”.  

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” he continues, his voice soft.

I’m sure Adolf Hitler and Francisco Franco felt the same way.

Anastasia Swan asks if Christian feels the immense power.  

He replies that it gives him a certain sense of power because if he suddenly decided to sell his business tomorrow, then thousands of people would be out of a job.

“Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, disgusted.

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.”  

That is not how a corporation WORKS!

Every public company must have a board of directors.  

Even some private and non-profit companies that have a board of directors.  

Ana asks Christian if he has any hobbies or interests outside of work.  

He says that he has expensive hobbies.  

Of course, Ana won’t stop talking about how Christian Cullen is so sexy.  

We get more boring dialogue and Christian reveals that he is a private person and doesn’t like to give interviews.  

Ana then asks if that’s the case, then why did he agree to do this interview.

Christian says it is because he is a benefactor of the university and Kate kept badgering him. He claims that “I admire that kind of tenacity."

But considering the fact that Christian is a controlling and manipulative douchebag, he is so full of shit.  

I know how tenacious Kate can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze when I should be studying for my exams.

“We can’t eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.”

I believe E.L. James wrote this so that we think that Christian is a nice guy and marvel at his philanthropic ways.  

But let’s be honest. The only person that he cares about is himself.  

Christian says it is a "shrewd business” while Ana thinks he is disingenuous.  

Ana asks him if he has a philosophy.  

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle—Carnegie’s: ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control—of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak.

It’s funny how Ana seems surprised that he is a controlling bastard.  

It’s like what my grandmother always told me: When people tell you who they are, believe them.

Again, this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m mystified as to what it is.

I’ll give you a big hint, Ana. It starts with “S” and ends with “x”.  

Ana asks Christian questions about him being adopted and if he sacrificed having a family for his job. Of course, it pisses him off.

Christian replies that he never wants to have children and be married. 

“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”

He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified.

E.L. James is implying that being gay is something insulting.

As Johnny Galecki wisely put it:

Like a good friend, Ana blames Kate and “her curiosity”.

Since Christian’s masculinity is fragile like porcelain china, he is quick to say that he isn’t gay.

And Christian is pissed because the question challenged his manhood. So Christian is a psychopath AND homophobic.

Ana apologies for the assault on his manliness and frantically explains that she is only reading off Kate’s questions.  

He asks her if she is on the student paper and she says no and Kate is her roommate.

Christian asks if Ana volunteered to do the interview. Ana gets pissy but when she looks into his eyes she is “compelled to answer the truth.”

“I was drafted. She’s not well.” My voice is weak and apologetic.

Fuck you, Ana.

A blonde woman named Andrea enters and tells Christian that he has another meeting in two minutes. Christian tells her to cancel the meeting.

Andrea is checking him out and Ana is glad that she isn’t the only one who thinks that Christian is handsome.

Andrea leaves and Christian wants to know everything about her.

Double crap. Where’s he going with this?

Serial killers get acquainted with their victims, Ana.

Ana is lusting after him. She tells Christian that “there’s not much to know.”

Christian asks what are her plans after she graduates. Ana replies that she hasn’t made any plans and she is focusing on passing her final exams.

She whines that she should be studying right now instead of sitting in his office.

Christian remarks how his company runs an excellent internship program. Ana wonders if he is offering her a job.

She blurts out that she isn’t sure that she would fit in. Christian asks why does she say that and he smirks.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I’m not blonde.

Christian says "Not to me" because he wants to sleep with Ana.

Ana gets ready to go. Christian offers to show Ana around but she has a long drive ahead of her.

Christian tells Ana to drive carefully because it is raining outside.

His tone is stern, authoritative. Why should he care?

Because he is Edward Cullen.

She thanks Christian for the interview.

“Until we meet again, Miss Steele.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which.

It sounds more like he is two steps away from tracking her down, kidnapping her and putting her in a pit in his basement.

She wonders when they will meet again. She shakes Christian’s hand again and is "astounded that that odd current between us is still there.”

E.L. James, you have the subtlety of a seal-clubber.

He opens the door for Ana. Christian says he is “Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele.”

Ana snaps at him and he grins. She storms out and he follows her.

Olivia gets Ana’s coat and Christian takes the coat from her. Christian holds it up and Ana puts it on.

Christian puts his hands on her shoulders and she gasps. The elevator doors open and Ana muses that Christian is ”really is very, very good-looking.”

They both say goodbye.

And mercifully, the doors close.

Unfortunately for the reader, the story doesn’t end.

We have two more books about Ana Swan and a book from Christian Cullen’s point of view.

#fifty shades of grey #anti el james #anti fifty shades of grey #anti fifty shades #bad fiction #chapter snark #snark #book snark

[smolpocketmonstercoffee]

First Fights

Cullen’s note had been brought to him about an hour after the Dawn Squad had been dismissed for the afternoon, when Hanin’s blood was still rushing in his ears after a good sparring session with one of the other soldiers. Two recruits were being transferred to his squad, the note said, citing impulsiveness and a lack of being capable of following orders as the main issues behind the reassignment.

                He had heard about the last assignment that had returned a few days ago, and about the avoidable injuries that had happened due to insubordination of one particular individual. Apparently that had been the last straw for Cullen and the Commander was putting his faith in Hanin to manage the soldier. Maybe with his talent with people like Cyrus would be enough to make improvements.

                His thoughts had picked across the news when he had been arrived at the training yard all too early with the only light he had being the tones of twilight, frost beneath his feet and his every breath fogging in front of him as he did his own warm ups and a little bit of training. It was about thirty minutes before training would start that he took a small breather, taking a moment to observe the color of the sky, shades of pinks and orange.

                A soft shift of color in his peripheral drew his attention and he looked.

                It was just a Qunari, bundled up against the cold in a cloak, walking past the training yard, focused on wherever they were going and just as quickly as the individual showed, they left.

                That was all.

                After a few moments longer of observation, Hanin shook his head, turning his attention back to the training dummy.

                His squad would be due to arrive in maybe twenty five minutes.

                Twenty five minutes of peace.

                Just him and the yard.

                And it passed peacefully, dwindling calmly as each member showed.

                Connors, Ralon, Lyrene all arrived about the same time, followed not long after by Cyrus.

                Darren hurried into the training yard a bit out of breath, assumedly from waking up a little late.

                As for the two new recruits…

                Well, he could see the dynamic between them when they finally showed up. Just barely on time.

                The modestly dressed grey Qunari wore a look of resignation on his face, striding just ahead of a sullen, tired, and generally pissed off looking bronze-skinned female who was smoothing out the pull-marks from the front of her vibrant scarlet shirt.

                She looked common for their kind, built solid and sturdy but the other was pretty small for a Qunari, long and lean, his movements light and quick. A rogue perhaps.

                As soon as Cyrus noticed them, his lip curled. “Stables are that way,” he said curtly.

                “Stables are that way,” the female mocked, “Real original, did you think of that one yourself, short-shit?”

                And so it began…

                The male, Shanedan, he remembered from the brief mention in the note, showed no real reaction to the jab, simply raising his brows at some inward thought as he continued his approach, finally coming to a stop with the rest of the squad while Cyrus and the female continued to snap and snip at each other.

                Looked like the aggressor finally had some form of a match…

                Letting out a breath, he ignored the banter before announcing, “As you can tell, we have two new recruits assigned to our ranks, Assan and Shanedan. So we are going to do something a little different today, same as when each of you joined.”

                Hanin’s eyes flicked over the two new members, taking in Assan briefly, noting the scars on her face and her exposed arms, the way she held herself. Chances were high that she didn’t block very much. Then there was Shanedan, free of any scars on his exposed skin aside from a small and very old scar just below his right eye, following the bone of his cheek. It was the expression of steadiness and the unwavering focus in those eyes that settled Hanin’s decision though.

                “Connors.”

                The woman’s eyes flicked up as he addressed her. “I’m pairing you with Assan.”

                Assan grumbled, her eyes rolling over to the calm woman who moved to pick up her own training weapons, training mace and shield.

                “Twiggy? Fine,” Assan muttered, making a subtle change of expression show on Shanedan’s face that gave Hanin the impression of inwardly rolling his eyes. So far the small Qunari hadn’t said a word and didn’t seem inclined to comment as his companion picked out a training sword, psyching herself up for the spar.

                Just like Cyrus, Assan was a fighter who would fight with a fury, trying to end a fight quickly, but any fighter who had patience could easily wear them down, wait out their strength until they were easy targets. That was a fact growing more and more certain with every solid strike that Conners blocked. And with each hard blow that was parred, Assan was growing more and more frustrated.

                More and more reckless.

                “Maybe you should fight the kid instead. Might get a hit in that way,” Cyrus shot in as Connors threw aside yet another assault.

                Assan snarled in frustration, breathlessly snapping, “Your mother!”

                “That’s enough,” Hanin called to cease the spar.

                But the order was disregarded as the Qunari made a move to make another strike, Connors raising her battered shield to block before Shanedan’s voice sounded, sharp and loud like a thunderclap.

                “Assan, stand down!”

                Surprisingly, she reacted instantly.

                Freezing mid-blow, training blade just an inch from making contact.

                The Vashoth’s muscles were trembling, chest heaving from all the effort she had put into just that one spar, like she had given it her all and this was the result.

                She was good, but she wasn’t great. She needed to learn to pace herself. To keep herself calm and level-headed, control her recklessness, her impulsiveness because that would ultimately be her downfall on the battlefield. She also needed to learn how to fight against someone who prioritized their work with a shield.

                Assan was alike Cyrus in many ways, maybe physically stronger, but he had more skill, more experience.

                She still had a lot to learn, as did they all.

                “Wow, can’t even think for yourself, can you, huh, Horns?” Cyrus shot in at the female who turned to him with her lips curled in a snarl.

                “Cyrus, I’m pairing you with Shanedan.”

                Assan’s expression turned to a cruel, vicious smile. “He’s gonna kick your ass.”

                And the dark haired human smirked back, “Don’t worry—I’ll go easy on your little master over there, wouldn’t want you to be stuck trying to think for yourself now.”

                “He’s my brother, midget.”

                “Well that’s just even sadder.”

                Shanedan let out a long, quiet sigh in resignation as he picked up the training sword Assan had been using and a second, stepped away from the sideline, gazing back at Cyrus with subtly quirked brows, “Shall we begin or are you going to continue to flirt with my sister?”

                Well, this just got interesting, Hanin thought, amused by the witty remark that had caught Cyrus off guard.

                “Ewww… It was flirting with me?” Assan snickered.

                “She wishes…” Cyrus grumbled under his breath as he picked up his own training blades, determinedly striding out to center field, a safe distance away from the rest of the squad.

                Darren fidgeted where he stood as Assan neatly plopped herself down on the ground not far from him, she muttered when he flinched, “Relax, kid, I’m not going to eat you.”

                The moment Cyrus had put his hand on his blades, Shanedan was set into motion, slow and smooth, his feet bare over the dawn-chilled ground but precise in their movement, wrists moving in slow circles. And those grey eyes of him never left Cyrus’s face as the young man approached, both stalking each other like beasts, Cyrus emanating power while the Qunari was more subtle. More sleek. He wasn’t wasting energy.

                And then, finally, Cyrus charged.

                The sound of training blades meeting was like cracks of lightning with every collide, Shanedan easily blocking or dodging every blow that Cyrus tried to make, just a hair’s breadth quicker than the human. Hanin could see the way the Qunari’s eyes moved, inspecting everything, reading his opponent’s body language to potentially predict where the next attack would be and falling into motion just as fast.

                In a real battle, Shanedan would be dangerous.

                And after several long minutes of the spar being almost entirely one-sided, Shanedan started to push back, not just defending any more but putting Cyrus on the defense, quick and practiced but also…

                Unpredictable.

                He feigned as well as Cyrus did if not better and occasionally the blunted metal would make contact with Cyrus’s armor.

                What changed the dynamic of the fight though was as the blue-eyed male gritted his teeth and struck at Shanedan’s side.

                Hanin saw one of Shanedan’s blades drop towards the ground.

                And the free hand came up to enforce the blade that he blocked the strike with.

                The training sword clattered to the ground at the same moment that the Qunari shoved Cyrus’s blade back, twisting himself to avoid the second blade and slamming his leg into his opponent’s side in a startling kick that sent Cyrus tumbling to the ground.

                Unconventional.

                And not far from Hanin, he heard Assan laugh.

                “Never underestimate runts,” she hummed. “They’ve learned how to make up for what they lack.”

                In the same breath that it took for Cyrus to roll, Shanedan was on him, his training blade against Cyrus’s throat.

                Frozen in time.

                Cyrus was out of breath while Shanedan’s chest rose slow and deep, controlled despite the slight shine of sweat on his brow.

                “Do you yield?”

                And that was all Hanin needed to see to know where they stood. 

#my ocs #dragon age inquisition #qunari oc #shanedan #assan #thereluctantinquisitor #smolpocketmonstercoffee #hanin lavellan #Cyrus #Connors #Darren #Dawn Squad #other peoples ocs #gaaaaaah I hope this looks okay ;v;

[dma-dima]

Faradima part 2

((In which Faraday gets jealous and DiMA struggles with words. Under the cut for length.))

Twilight had blanketed Acadia in soft indigo shadows by the time DiMA and Scarlett returned from their little sojourn around the island. Shaun had been falling asleep on his feet for most of the journey back, so DiMA didn't keep her for long at the door, merely leaning in to kiss her cheek and tell her that he'd be around if she needed anything before waving them on ahead. She glanced up towards the roof briefly and he could see the question in her eyes, so he nodded before she could ask. “I'm sure everything's fine, but I have to make sure.” He offered by way of explanation, lying through his teeth but she seemed to accept it. She wished him luck and left him, probably placing faith in him that DiMA wasn't sure he deserved. Left to his own devices he found himself dreading this encounter. Faraday had been skittish around him lately, which in itself wasn't unusual, but to avoid him for an entire day.. even with the foolish move he'd made that morning, the-kiss-that-almost-was, it shouldn't have been enough to spook him so badly. They'd danced that dance before. They'd always managed to get along just fine so long as they pretended it never happened the next day. He feared that this time he'd crossed a line. Something had altered in their relationship this time that wasn't so easily reversible, and it had started with Scarlett's flirting. She'd only been trying to entice Faraday into making his move seeing as DiMA himself was apparently incapable of doing so himself, but for some reason it had backfired. Somewhere along the ling their dynamic had altered because of her intervention and he wasn't sure whether he could handle that. Of course he'd been aware of Faraday's feelings for some time now and he returned them, but he was starting to think that it meant something different for him. He thought he'd known what it was to love another, but the further he fell for his over protective friend, the more it scared him. Scarlett had pushed them over the line, forced them both to confront their feelings for each other before he was ready for it.. things were happening between them that had been reserved for the realm of fantasy rather than reality and he simply wasn't prepared. To use a vernacular, he'd fucked it up. When push came to shove and he'd been a hairs breadth away from kissing Faraday he'd just.. frozen up, planted his feet, resisted. He'd been making excuses all day for it but the bottom line was that he'd been a coward. He'd ran away from his feelings and left the man he supposedly cared for in a vulnerable position; Faraday having shown his heart for the briefest moment when he'd allowed himself to look at DiMA with longing. He'd almost been brave. Almost wasn't good enough, and now the man was avoiding him. Probably embarrassed to face him after finally wearing his heart on his sleeve and watching DiMA walk out on him for the trouble.   It was time to stop procrastinating and start doing. Make up for his mistake. Yes.. he was going to start walking up the old, worn staircase (his metal feet made such a clang, hopefully Faraday wouldn't run off somewhere else when he heard it), try to seem nonchalant while suggesting to the sentry on duty that they should take a break, force himself not to get distracted by the bats flitting around the domed roof, glowing bronze in the fading light, and apologise to that man who was trying to pretend he hadn't seen DiMA approaching by fixating on a point off in the far distance. He was going to ignore the prickly aura Faraday was giving off to slide into the seat next to him and say.. “It's.. been a nice day hasn't it?” NO that wasn't what was supposed to- The scientist snorted, pulling his lab-coat more tightly around himself to block out the chill. “Maybe for some more than others.” DiMA tried not to wince at the bite he perceived in his friends frosty tone, but it hit him like a harpoon nonetheless. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd spoken to him that way. “Faraday if there's anything I can help you with, you know I'm here for you. I'm.. sorry that I didn't come to check on you sooner, but I assumed you just needed some time alone. To think.” That wasn't the apology he'd meant to give, but it was better than nothing. He was still struggling with an intense desire to beat himself over the head with the broken radio, lying in pieces on the table. For a long time he thought Faraday might not have heard him, because he merely stared out over the forest below in stony silence, his back half turned away. When he hesitantly reached out to touch the younger synths arm however he shrugged him off harshly and shot a poisonous glare his way, making him recoil. “No I could see perfectly well that you were otherwise occupied DiMA, you don't have to make excuses for it. You're free to do whatever you please, with whoever you please and.. and anyway yes I did want to be alone. I do want to be alone.” DiMA almost obeyed the not so subtle dismissal, tensing to stand even as he wished to pull the angry technician into a hug and beg for forgiveness. Not that he was quite sure what he'd be asking forgiveness for. Somehow it didn't seem like he'd been talking about what had happened that morning. Gently.. very gently, handling the situation with kid gloves, he cocked his head and inquired. “What do you mean? I've been here all day, in Acadia, and none of us have been particularly busy. I always have time for you Faraday.” “Except when you're with her.” He snapped, firing the word like a bullet. He seemed ashamed of his outburst, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head before adding. “Forget it, it's not important. I just..” he trailed off, anger slowly seeping out of him to leave him slumped, despondent, the growing darkness throwing his features half into shadow and making it hard to discern just what the man was thinking. Crickets began chirping their night-time song, only serving to emphasise the awkward atmosphere between them. DiMA turned his hands palm up and shrugged lightly, giving Faraday a sympathetic smile as he prompted. “You just what? Please tell me, I want to help.” Faraday let out a frustrated groan, then with a quick wave towards the walls of Acadia down below said. “I saw you two DiMA, before you both skipped off to play happy family. Look I know I don't have any right to care about what you choose to get up to, but could you not.. act like you're a free agent if you're not please? I didn't think I'd need to spell out why that's bothering me.” Even with the chill in the air his cheeks had turned a blotchy shade of red. DiMA's mechanical heart skipped a beat as he realised that was the closest to a confession he was likely to get, but it sank immediately afterwards. He gaped wordlessly, hardly believing his own ears. Had Faraday honestly assumed that he and Scarlett were.. “Dearest Faraday, I don't really know how to word this gently, but you've gotten the wrong idea about her and me. There's nothing happening between us. If what you saw upset you then I'm sorry, I would never.. I.. what happened earlier between us was..” How hard could it be to just say 'it's you that I want?' Faraday turned to face him fully, leaning forward as though he were hanging on every word. DiMA could tell that he wanted to believe, but he needed more proof to go on than these half hints that he felt something more than simple friendship. “It was?” He asked, a hint of desperation in his tone even while he seemed to shrink in on himself, afraid of the answer. Afraid of yet another rejection. DiMA swallowed hard, his hand creeping over to rest on Faraday's knee, a vain attempt to make him stay while he gathered his thoughts. Why was this so difficult? What the hell was stopping him? What did he have to lose?

Except everything. Ashamed of himself even as he did it, DiMA pulled away, moving to stand and going over to the edge of the rooftop so he didn't have to see how much he'd hurt his dearest friend. Standing with his back to Faraday, his voice was barely more than a murmur as he spoke, almost drowned out by the softly whistling wind. “You're the most important person in my life Faraday, whatever that means to you. I want you to know that. I'm.. sorry. You don't understand how long I was alone, before we met. You know how many years, but not what a long, lonely time it was to actually experience. When you found me I was overjoyed to find someone who understands, someone I felt a true kinship with. It's taken me a long time to grow comfortable with having someone around who cares like you do, the way you've been.. allowing yourself to care. What we are to each other, I'm scared of losing. I.. know this isn't much comfort to you, but I don't mean to push you away, and.. I know how it must have seemed earlier, with Scarlett, but nobody could ever replace you. You're.. special to me. I'm sorry if I've made it seem like I don't care Faraday. I do care, a great deal.” Hanging his head in shame, he listens to the sound of cloth rustling behind him. With a deep sigh he prepares for what he's sure will be a crushing tirade or worse.. silence as his most precious friend decides to find some much needed solitude elsewhere. So his breath hitches when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. Panic and excitement mingle in one exhilarating thrill when he's turned around to face the object of his confused feelings. For a brief, insane moment, he thinks he's about to get a fist across the jaw.. instead strong arms encircle him, drawing him close against a warm, yielding form; the smell of butane and warm circuit boards enveloping him, scents he'd come to associate with companionship. The death of loneliness. He only freezes for a moment before melting into the embrace, wrapping his own arms around Faraday's waist and burying his face against his shoulder. This was good, safe, familiar. This was what he'd been so afraid of losing. “I know DiMA, and I'm sorry for assuming things I shouldn't have. I'm sorry for getting angry about it at all. Let's just.. forget about this whole thing, please? Can we start today over?” DiMA chuckles against the fabric of his lab-coat, squeezing just a little tighter. “Of course we can, you don't even need to ask.” There's a twinge of something heavy in his heart though which he refuses to acknowledge. As much as he'd wanted to return to the way things were, the prospect of actually doing so saddens him. He files this away for later, not wanting to ruin this moment when he was just glad to know he still had Faraday as a friend. It was more than he'd assumed when he'd first caught sight of him up here, brooding. The scientist doesn't step away for a while.. lingering perhaps too long for a hug between friends, but DiMA finds himself wishing it had lasted longer still when he finally does so, sweeping a hand through his hair and looking up at DiMA sheepishly. “You didn't happen to save any of those chicken kebabs you had on the grill earlier did you? I'm.. kind of starving.” That made him smile, widely, genuinely. He didn't even notice his fingers twining through Faraday's, it felt so natural to pull him along, back towards the warmth of Acadia. “I knew you would be so I had Naveen make a few spare just for you. Come on, you should be eating more than usual seeing as you were sick yesterday. No work for you until tomorrow afternoon at least, doctors orders.” Two steps forward, one step back. At least he'd brought some time. Time to figure out what the hell his heart was doing when it came to this jealous, prickly, perfect 'friend' of his. Scarlett was going to throw a fit when she found out he'd flaked yet again. It had been a full moon too, what a way to waste it.

#faradima #Faraday #DiMA #jealousy #avoidance tango #two idiots try to express their feels and fail utterly #pining #longing #Scarlett #it's not what it looks like! #Naveen #Acadia #shalalalalala don't be shy

[livebythestarryskies-blog]

Phoenix

Written: Early 2014

She jolts awake to the cacophony of loud voices and the hostility of a blood-red rose wrapped delicately in barbed wire. Clammy hands rub sleep-sticky eyes before realization hits like a trainwreck. She is not where she drifted off into slumber. Instead, she is in a stranger’s house, where she cannot dictate her life by her own rules.

The commanding presence of animosity lingers, yet she cannot command a livid expression to accompany the sensation until she realizes the room, devoid despite minimal furniture, is overcast by gray clouds from the opened, unframed window. As the breeze picks up, slowly rotating, then suddenly morphing into the kind of gale that carries the destruction of a rampant typhoon, she dreads the notion that she must make haste towards the white door, which seems to have blended in with the overcast walls save for a subtle golden doorknob.

She bolts upwards, ignoring the screams of pain her legs elicit while making a break for the dim glow of the knob, but just as she reaches for the object a mere hairsbreadth, she falters.

A voice whispers in her ear, and though the words are incoherent, she knows they are laced with malice.

The whispers grow, louder until they can be heard: “Where are your wings, angel? Where are they?”

In the pending silence, she can feel the presence of razor-sharp nails gripping her arm, imaginary rivulets of blood dressing her limb in crimson-crusted webs. She attempts to open her mouth to fire a vicious retort, but something has stolen the speared words from her guarded mind. Something has ripped her voice box out of her throat, leaving behind hoarse, echoing rasps. her numbed limbs are not functioning properly and she cannot break free of the unspoken words materialized in the form of a sinister voice. She struggles and struggles, willing her mind to fuel the mobility in her arms, her legs, but to no avail.

Finally, she is successful. In a broken, mangled voice, she rasps out, “No! I have my wings. I have my wings!” She screeches the single sentence over and over, growing weaker until only disjointed phrases are audible and finally become a mere thought on replay: I have wings. I have wings.

As if eavesdropping on her mind, the voice whispers tauntingly, “But they’re broken, aren’t they?”

The savage gale, ripping mercilessly around the girl, brutally overturning the meager contents of the room, and violently lacerating her skin, reminds her of the little time she has left to spare. She squeezes her eyes shut, desperately searching, scavenging, mulling over the contents of her scattered mind for an undisguised answer:

She knowsknowsknows this voice. She has heard this voice before, she swears.

She blanches.

As quickly as she had given into the undertones of the insinuations, she proudly reconstructs her mind, body, and spirit. All at once, everything that had her shrouded in mists and heavy fogs of doubt disintegrates and illuminates the firm silhouette of her soul. She yanks her clean arms, free of any blossoming stains of incriminating crimson and bruised maroon, no longer bleeding profusely, away from the grasps of the malevolent figure. It desperately screams, “No!” as she twists the golden knob and flings herself past the square arch of the door and into the darkness.

Before long, she is dashing down the foyer, into a dimly illuminated labyrinth. The still air picks up again, gusts of wind reminding her it follows closely wherever she may go. She wanders further into the maze, taking sharp turns, meeting dead ends, but she has yet to retire any thought to despair or escape because she knew from the moment she woke up she could not escape easily; she will push through. With strengthened resolve, she pauses her steps, closes her eyes, but does not rummage her thoughts for any hints.

This time she lets pure instinct take over. Left here. Keep running straight. Now take the third right. Keep running straight and don’t open your eyes. Don’t look back. She is no longer running in circles and is clearing the pathway to the centerfold point. With her eyes still squeezed shut, she breaks through the barriers of illusion, through the walls of her thoughts, the whirlwind behind her no longer in tow. She runs and runs until she bursts into the midst of it all and finally opens her eyes to the sight of wonder unraveling. Above her, the endless ceiling beholds a bright spiraling circle of light, swirling and sucking in any form of darkness that has engulfed the confinements of the room.

And she knows. She knows that this is her ticket out of this embodied prison of her mind, but she also knows the portal hovering above is completely out of her reach as she stands firmly locked on the ground. She stands stumped, confused as to why she has already made it this far but cannot move forward since there is nowhere to go other than up, and she has no means to get there...

But she does, she suddenly remembers.

I’m not an angel, no. But I have my wings. [insert 2017-me-cringe here]

She closes her eyes, once more, and she thinks, for the last time, because this will be the last time she ever shuts her eyes in doubt.

Calming the torrent of jumbled thoughts and the calamity of her mind until they thin out into nothing but a flame, she then ignites the flame to burn brighter than ever and on her back, she sprouts chained wings. They are not white, but rather a deep shade of red, almost like the blood her soul bleeds. She nurtures the burning of her soul until she herself is almost bursting into the flames of a phoenix, as the feathers of her wings struggle and struggle until they expand and shatter the steel chains of her mind.

They’re not broken.

She finally spreads her wings and flaps them up once, twice, measuring the sturdy strength in her bodily extensions, before she takes flight in an endeavor of reaching the hovering light. Behind her, she leaves a trail of uprooted, obliterated miseries and scarlet feathers from her hard-fought battle, as she breaks through the barricade of the portal.

Outside, she dips and soars in warmth, taking the scenery in stride as she flutters on the air with the delicacy of a butterfly, but the speed of a hummingbird. The horizon stretched across her reach is blended a multitude of shades in roses, maroons, orange marmalades, glittering golds that reflect upon the wide open shimmering lake that happens to be where a line is almost forcefully drawn between the invisible atmosphere and the tangibility of the earth.

Above her, the sky painted is a deep hue of blue, deeper than a royal blue but still as velvety as promised, splattered and flickered by the twinkling lights of the celestial spirits of the night, sprinkling glitters on wings like fairy dust. She pauses, watching as twilight gives way to the comfort of the now-glimmering moon, melting away the warm colors of the day in exchange for the cool colors of the night. 

And it is in this moment she looks below her to find the green trees of the forest rooted firm to the ground, the rivers flowing silkily into the the tranquil undulating waves of the lake, the glorious mountains protruding from the ground, almost like a shield for this haven, all bathed in the ethereal moonlight the Luna sheds upon as a safeguard to the land.

This is no fool’s paradise, she knows. 

And so she hums softly, in a liquid gold voice, her lifted spirits flying her above as a guardian of the land. She continues on her flight, the bloody hues of her wings soaring higher and higher into the atmosphere until she becomes one with the stars. And there, she will remain until-

She jolts awake, this time in the confines of her room, to the cacophony of loud voices and the hostility of a blood-red rose wrapped delicately with barbed wire. In her sleepy haze, she realizes she has yet to break the barriers of the world, but before she can do so, she has just broken the barriers of herself, of her voice. She is cold, as her blanket is thrown off her, but the warmth of the phoenix that burns inside her lulls her back to sleep, her bed littered with remnants of her feathers.

A/N: I think I wrote this as a dream sequence for my English class in high school, so all those symbols meant something to me, even if I don’t remember what they mean to me now. Lol hello nearly-16-year-old me.

This was written over three years ago, so my writing has definitely changed since then. When re-typing (when posting these, I like to type them up instead of copying and pasting because I get to revisit them) this piece, I edited some parts to make them seem less awkward and more coherent for readers, but I generally left the piece as was.

Why?

So I can observe the growth in not only my writing, but myself as a person. I recall this piece as being my catharsis at the time, so it kind of reminds me of how I struggled through that time, but made it through.

Lol think what you want, but I’m just going to leave this here.

#phoenix #angstyteen #srslywtf #symbolism #dreamsequence #celesteleroux

[mediafocus-blog1]

The Incredible Jessica James Life

New Post has been published on https://mediafocus.biz/the-incredible-jessica-james-life/

The Incredible Jessica James Life

or a brand promoted because the last in couch-cuddling enjoyment, Netflix’s authentic films, but considerate and rewarding, don’t have a tendency to be utterly entertainment-orientated or cross that properly with a bucket of home made popcorn. Up on the streaming carrier due to the fact Friday, The Incredible Jessica James is a breezy exception: a candy, spry, Sundance-stamped romantic comedy that rewrites no guidelines of the style, however, gets its blithe freshness from the sparky, self-effacing famous person excellent of one Jessica Williams.

A 27-12 months-antique comedian and Daily Show correspondent gave adequate room to breathe, riff and roar via director Jim Strouse’s script, Williams bounds into the court cases with unfiltered comedian peculiarity as a New York playwright poring over the fragments of her dating lifestyles. We’re in the gangly televisual terrain of Issa Rae and Lena Dunham here, however, Williams’s personality is disarming totally on its own terms. The equally off-piste Chris O’Dowd is her not going love hobby, and their combined skew-whiff charm makes a sunny pride of this loose, lightly plotted ramble.

It’s the week’s most constantly fun film, which isn’t to write off the inconsistent pleasures of Life (Sony, 15), a disastrously nameless identity for an icily crafted Alien knock-off that delivers most effectively while it forgets to feign classiness. The lifestyles in the query are more powerful than it is precious: on the International Space Station, an unearthly, by accident received organism grows and makes its grisly presence felt, placing its attractions at the way the human crew of Jake Gyllenhaal and friends. As long because the movie sticks to this simple suspense system, it rattles ickily along; while it shoots for a greater philosophical justification of its name, the air runs out

Subtle games of uncanny risk are at play in Neither Heaven Nor Earth (Thunderbird, 12), yet some other solemn report from the Afghanistan front line, but given a nippy, teasing spin by French director Clément Cogitore that situates the action very much inside the twilight war zone. The ever-sturdy Jérémie Renier is the navy captain whose men start silently vanishing one by one; solutions aren’t exactly coming near, however, Cogitore nevertheless maintains the anxiety at a cryptic simmer.

Also to be filed underneath eerie oddities: Robin Swicord’s Wakefield (Signature, 15), an intelligently aloof EL Doctorow adaptation that offers Bryan Cranston his maximum exciting movie show off to date. As a properly-heeled suburban drone who makes a decision, pretty inscrutable, to drop out of lifestyles altogether, hiding from his oblivious spouse (a first-rate Jennifer Garner) and youngsters in his personal attic, Cranston’s creased Everyman gravitas have to quietly sketch in much of the literary psychological shading right here. He’s as much as the mission; the film around him frays and tangles to frustrating effect, but it receives in your head and remains there.

That can’t be said for a number of this week’s throw away releases: The Boss Baby (Fox, U), a smarmy, plastic cartoon that deals out its unmarried shaggy dog story within the title, which may additionally nonetheless be sufficient to tackle Elementary preschoolers; The Time of Their Lives (Universal, 12), a low-hire Best Exotic Bungalow that pits Joan Collins in opposition to Pauline Collins, as though that’s a remotely fair combat; or Table 19 (Fox, 12), a strained wedding ceremony-party farce that sputters to lifestyles best whilst we’re seated among Lisa Kudrow and Craig Robinson.

A gentle diversion with some staying power is Handsome Devil (Icon, 15), a kind-hearted, scruffily witty coming-out-and-of-age have a look at set inside the forbidding environs of a rugby-fixated Irish boarding faculty. John Butler’s debut sticks a chunk rigidly to quirky school room components but is limber and sincere wherein it counts, with lovely, supportive-in-all-senses work from Andrew Scott as a sympathetic teacher. Pair it with the glowingly reissued Peppermint Soda (BFI, 12) for an affection-drenched rites-of-passage double bill. Now forty years antique, Diane Kurys’s autobiographical image of French adolescent ladies fumbling towards self-possession inside the early 60s hasn’t misplaced any of its crisp, droll perception or smooth, painful empathy. It’s not as if developing up has got any less difficult in the intervening decades, in the end.

Indian Influences – Origin of Equality

Native Lesson in Democracy: Rarely will one witness an essential scholar stand in the front of his or her classmates and credit score Native American effect inside the founding beliefs of our government or charter. Why must any scholar do such, while our curriculums definitely forget about historic truths of Indian Influences on the way to protect our “comfort” in knowing our white forefathers and their superb imaginative and prescient was born of white experience and training, and actually no longer of observations of Native American societies and ideas. After all, categorization of Indian Peoples inside the Euro-American world become that of inferior and uneducated populations, with nothing greater to provide a younger United States than lands, or so this is what maximum Americans learn today.

And yet, democratic governments have been now not a carryover from Europe, and nothing greater than a Greek hypothetical that our knowledgeable forefathers most effective examine about, in other phrases, a fairy tale. It turned into Native American groups, the maximum well-known being the Iroquois, who certainly provided a working towards a version of democracy for Europeans seeking out the illustration in government, social energy, and equality.

“It could be a very strange aspect if six nations of ignorant savages need to be able t form a scheme for one of these units and be able to execute it in one of these ways because it has subsisted for a long time and appears indissoluble and yet a like union should be impractical for ten or a dozen English colonies (1).” – Benjamin Franklin to James Parker, 1751.

It changed into the Iroquois who exemplified democracy at its greatest: a democracy created before European touch, a democracy with representation and structures of voting, a democracy with exams and balances, a democracy that practiced normal human rights and autonomy for all along with girls, and even adopted captives. Our Forefathers needed to appearance no similarly than their Native neighbors to witness a civilized authority that spoke back the wishes of colonists bored with Monarchy.

“Our smart forefathers hooked up union and amity between the Five Nations.” “We are an effective Confederacy, and by means of your watching the identical techniques our sensible forefathers have taken, you will collect plenty strength and energy; consequently, anything befalls you, do no longer fall out with one another (2).” -Canassatego (Iroquois Spokesman to Colonist Delegates at Lancaster PA, 1744.)

“…The recommendation that becomes given approximately thirty years ago by your wise forefathers, in a remarkable Council that was held at Lancaster, in Pennsylvania, while Canassatego spoke to us, the white humans…” “Brothers, our forefathers rejoiced to listen Canassatego communicate those words. They sank deep into our hearts. The recommendation turned into good. It became kind. They stated to each other: The Six Nations are a sensible human beings. Let us hearken to them, and take they’re recommend, and teach our children to observe it…(three)” -Colonial Commissioner to Iroquois Leaders in Philadelphia, 1775.

[thehollerbox-blog1]

Sleepwriting to Get to Know My Self a Bit Better: a practice in allowing the existence of a collaborative self

Follow up to what may not have been legit in theory but may still be legit nonetheless

1. Sleepwalking can be a genetic or learned trait. I want to say it’s a personality characteristic or that it says or implies that one who is prone to be ambulatory while in a state of subtle REM is one who is prone to movement. Maybe they want to be participating in the productivity that only the woken world grants tangibility. To sleep and walk is to generate just that while simultaneously enacting the subconscious effort to produce without regard for tangibility at all.

I know I have rare events that made somebambulant and apparently spellcheck says Im not using a word that exists tangibly in the daylight of this current point in momentary traverse through other points to follow the light of sun into the glowing light of current threaded through filament in bulbs. The environment that wishes its own dreaming to be a waking sleep just as any wanting creature of consciousness may hope to do.. ironically so vecause it seems a desire that is not considered but exists as wanting as impulse as instince and reaction.

I know of the twilight response that cant gain footing in personal memory. The nights my friend Tiffany would call late or early but really both at the same time just to chat because smart phones were new and texting wasnt natural yet not the learned impulse it became for myself and Tiffany as well. I would normally take the call and only in the trust of Tiffany’s woken ability to retain those conversations was it apparent that I can somehow remain in the mode of natural rest, with that pressure placed to stifle conscious care, and somehow hold a conversation with someone I knew and cared for and wanted to ease any harm the inevitable years of high school brings us. Mostly inconsequential events in that regard but nothing is inconsequential when it is the result, the potential for emotional states of twilight laden strain to speak with the normalcy of every day an event did not bring the light of love into the dimming of it. And i say love with intention. It is unlike the world and an individual when want imposes us to aim for a waking sleep to balance the glow of it all of everything we miss in sleep and equally so in as we miss such an everything when we have woken and remain so as we exist with the tangible form of understanding what we are in the context of, the vision of what is within reach of our senses intention to assist us as we navigate the brighter rooms we may be in or may be able to see through windows and through screens. Because of love I have the capacity of care and I am grateful for that even when i believe my empathy is relentless in expanding as Ive gotten older without yet leaving youth. Because i cared about Tiffany it means I am experiencing love like any form of luminatuon that may aid my vision.

Those calls were given answer because of love. And if that is true as it must be true it must also be true that I had no feigning heart acting as if in obligation. I will reject calls most often during the day even when I have the time to accept them. But because my selr acted in subconcious impule in the shade of a dream that may never have the chance to recover in recall and acted so wanting to give Tiffanys calls anything that would not be labeled rejected by a smart phone which has a sleep we impose with images of buttons on screens that do not want the way we as human as those with love. The kind of unseen force that is the unseen hand. The power behind our pulse and beauty. Because I didnt make the choice in the worlds natural light and my own ability to envision the room the phone ringing– a tangible effort to exert tangibility into my senses while in stasis. Because of everything I answered. It gave truth to my love and want. That i was honest in sleep because i have no tangible in my desire. Answering the phone was how I could objectively evaluate the drive of what may not be love but simply concern and a sense of moral obligation.

2 Tiffany would tell me about those conversations. Some that she said went on for hours without exaggeration. So many hours as if to ignore the sleep or lack of it completely. Inching to a time when the earth is spinning back to give another half the image of another sun that is the same but is always changing into the same sun in its place in that vast nowhere. I cant remember what Tiffany told me about the content of our voices moving in a process unlike that of waves that slowly move to reach shore to allow the other to rise and reach shore. Water will never be a selfish thing.

She often started calling because she knew and I may have been the reason for her onowing that it is believed that those moments of subconscious acting in the stead of the power that holds it in a dim light my eyes can not be gifted even a sliver of any beam falling through their want and impulse to blink. Curtains we do not reach with any stretch of arms ahead and hands in grasping to try and move them from their permanence. Each was a call answered by the self i have consistently been learning in slow steps and always in just the smallest gleaning. The self I want to give tangible voice to and may do with my practice in easing its passage through my writing fingers which do not want but act as each is asked and always without complaint. The self I know is part of my woken self that speaks aloud in rooms and in the safety of an overhang during a storm last week with a friend. We spoke for hours and I forgot the rain until parting ways toward the home that houses the sheets and pillows in a room we make just for those items. Those are the happened moments that exist without the need to use time as concept to structure practical decision necessary in a new world that we began to grow around is. With brick and cables and the hum of electricity move for the lightbulb in the lamp on a single table beside my bed. All part of that growth. A miracle despite the erosion that is happening and beginning to expand as if it wants to act as the substance of what carries planets and stars and things that drift forever without want. This growth is this erosion. The two are not with truth a pair but an un numbered conversation about wanting to be organic and thus chaotic which is beautiful because there is no truth in my reference to a number as some border to divide what isnt meant to know such division.

3 My self may want to show that there is no numbered way to claim division of want of impulse of instince and that of choice anx decision and intention. I want to understand my self and Im listening my want with love. I am writing for hours without realizing that i am no longer present in the the spark that shows my eyes a vision of any resulting flash or shock to catalogue as happened and seen and real.

This want must be much more driven than I thought it was before last night when I wrote from a time I must only be able to estimate as the time it takes for REM to nearly finish its final cycles. Midnight maybe. Ending just about when the sun was about to face the side of a spun globe still spinning us toward that burning change that changes but still we say the sun is the sun every time.

3. I woke up and planned to write this. I didnt really decide that I wouldnt reflect on the time I considered that sleepwriting might be a legitimate occurunce that is unlike somnambulance. The legs are not the physical movement driven by the voice we only know as the painter of each dream. Ive lost so many but have I truly lost them if my self is not a numbered self but in conversation as Ive written this and will vontinue to until it is understood that a parting isnt needed. The conversation with the self I will one day give my version of the sun to as I see it when I leave through a door my hands will open without complaint or wuestion to that which drove them to grasp with an arm in bent extension moving to bridge the gap in the distance. Distance is like time for a reason I believe I know but will not attempt to examine because I imagine that the self has it written down somewhere in shade of curtained sight. There is no curtain. No division. I am not confused because I dont need a definitive. No question is divided from an answer simply because an answer isnt what the presence of this collaborative identity is in need of wanting. I dont even think I had a question to ask myself other than when we should get back to the conversation that wasnt enlightening as much as it was a coversation about light and what light we see defines what want we have for saying the sun rather than the changed sun from day to day. 4. The question: Why dont we have a wanting impulse to stop referring to the sun by the same word when it is a different sun after each ray finds its footing in the sight we share but perceive as if we arent an individual? The follow up question: Why didnt we start this sooner than last night or this morning or both I, and I, suppose? One Very Recent Illumination after asking my self a question: I agree with my self on something and that must mean that to ask your self a question or talking to your self isn’t at all an act we shouls assume to be rhetorical. That also suggests such behavior is a method of self awareness and it self love sounds cliche and annoying to me and my self–my head nod at the thought of it being an annoyance happening without conscious choice to nod a part of my phycical self that is the housing of the brain and that brain houses the self which issued the order to nod. My self without the voice I am learning to give is asserting that we agree and I imagine it probably happens without me choosing to give attention to those involuntary somatic events are worth the effort of observation if I want to get to the root of this goal Im so close to. I need to practice this changed version of me. Right? That was the final question for now and how I can conclude this writing should conclude. It was rhetorical and thus I and all that single pronoun means was not meant to respond but to listen and reenter the time of digitsl clocks on the screen I have used to type this with illusions of buttons as the medium and my thumbs as the willing method by which I may have been writing some of this. I know that I wrote most of it and all of it. Freud was right about this being difficult but I dont believe that he considered what it meant about indinviduality as a plurality when used as a human characteristic I aim for with the full force of all that impulse in not ending a sentence in brevity and the intention to notice that. Next time I may write after parsing this for clear moments when a concise sentence is presented after some noticeably lengthy sentences. I wrote both in any case but I want to know what light was in the room as I wrote them. That was lengthy. These two are concise. I am now saying this is the end of this and it will be after this last use of the word this repeated and followed by punctionation. Like this.