#one of the versions just looks like fact check which is ugly and grey and nothing

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 6

Hope you guys all enjoyed my (almost) cliffhanger last week! This chapter is the longest so far, and I worked very hard on it, so if you get whumperflies please let me know!!! <3

Next chapter might take a bit longer what with uni starting again soon but I will do my best to keep it to once a fortnight at the LATEST. so we’ll see!

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @oceanthesarcasamfox @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk (aka my loves. if you want to be tagged just ask!)

CW: pet whumpee, aftermath of torture, creepy whumper, general violence, panic attacks

-

The door handle turned. Rowe whimpered. He wished it would just fly open, slam against the wall, hurry it up. He’d been curled up in his room ever since Master Tomas had casually mentioned that he was going grocery shopping, and Kasia would be coming over to get some work done. Rowe had felt the blood drain from his face, not him not him not him, I want to be good, I’ve tried so hard to be good for you Master-

“I’ve had a really stressful day at work,” Kasia said as he stepped into the room, in a low voice that made Rowe go cold. “Stand up.”

Rowe didn’t hesitate. “Take your shirt off.” He complied. “Arms behind your back.” He did as he was told.

“Wow, you really are pathetic, you know that?” said Kasia. “And I deal with a lot of Pets.”

Kasia took a few more steps towards Rowe until he could smell the cigarettes on his breath. He took Rowe’s face roughly and stared at him. A calloused thumb ran over his lips, making the hair on the back of Rowe’s neck stand up, and still Kasia just stared. Rowe kept his eyes on the ground, trembling.

“You’re so…,” Kasia laughed, “I can’t believe I gave my mate such an ugly Pet. And he hasn’t even hit you, has he? You must think you can just relax and walk all over him.”

Rowe shook his head, minutely but firmly, blinking away tears. No, no, I won’t relax, I won’t get comfortable. I’m just a Pet, I got tossed out, I’m worthless. Serving my Master is a privilege. I won’t forget.

Rowe was grateful for the discipline. He could get so caught up in why Master Tomas wanted him to do something, when really his place was as an obedient Pet. Not questioning, just accepting. He needed this reminder.

“Even looking at you annoys me. You don’t deserve an owner like Tomas.”

And then the first punch came, hard, sudden, into the side of his ribcage, and Rowe’s vision blinkered as he buckled and fell to the ground.

“Seriously? You’re on the floor after one punch? I thought I could have some fun beating you down.”

Rowe’s arms shook as he tried to push himself back up, his chest throbbing with every shallow breath. Kasia stamped a boot onto his back and he thumped against the ground, gasping as Kasia pressed harder and harder until Rowe was squirming, trying desperately to make his limbs work again, but the thought of being disobedient was enough to make his body limp. He could feel the barely-healed wounds on his back opening up. It was like being whipped all over again. The weight momentarily lifted from his back, only to come down far harder. Rowe’s jaw clacked sickeningly against the floor and he bit his tongue, hard. Pain exploded in his mouth. He moaned weakly and Kasia delivered a savage kick to his ribs, in the same place he’d just been punched.

“How’s your nose, Pet?” Kasia said roughly, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back until Rowe’s eyes met his. “Healed any?”

“I-it’s, agh, p-please, I d-don’t know-”

Kasia lifted Rowe’s head higher, and he suddenly realised with a rush of nausea what was coming. Fear overtook him as he cried out.

“N-no, no, please- don’t! No!”

It felt like a twisted version of déjà vu as Kasia crushed Rowe’s face into the floor, making him howl in pain. His nose was making horrifying crunching noises. Rowe cried desperately, hitting his fists off the floor to force himself not to grapple Kasia’s arm, not to do anything that might anger him further.

All of Master Tomas’s kindness, the ice pack and the painkillers and the gentle towel cleaning blood off his face, all of it was undone in a few seconds. Rowe wept harder at the thought of it. Master had wasted so much on him.

Kasia eventually let go and Rowe choked as he lifted his face, blood streaming into his mouth. The pain was so bad he could hardly think. He pushed himself up, turning to face Kasia and save his back any more pain.

“Please-” he sobbed, “please d-d-don’t-”

“Bit late for that,” laughed Kasia. “You’re fun to mess around with. I feel better already. But I can’t beat you too bad or Tomas will notice.”

“Wh-wh-what if h-he asks about my n-n-nose,” Rowe stammered out.

Kasia smiled at this and casually knelt down over Rowe, straddling him heavily. He grabbed his neck with one hand and pinned him down. With his other hand he slid a thumb over Rowe’s eye socket and held it there. No pressure, yet. Yet. Rowe forced himself to be still, and good, and take it.

“If you tell him,” began Kasia, digging his thumb in slightly. Blobs of grey fuzz appeared in Rowe’s vision. “I’ll not only make you regret the day you were born-” his thumb pushed in harder, “-I’ll also tell him you’re lying and he’ll throw you out-” and harder. Rowe started to whimper in fear, “-and then I’ll make you my Pet full-time. And I won’t hesitate to chop off and rearrange and reshape any part of you I dislike. Like your eyes, for instance. Or your tongue. Or your fingers. Do you understand?”

Rowe could barely breathe with Kasia’s full weight upon him. He couldn’t nod, couldn’t move his face at all while the thumb in Rowe’s eye made his entire head felt like it could burst with pain. He whined pathetically with his last bit of breath. Kasia looked at him solidly and for a second Rowe thought he really would gouge his eye out, but then Kasia took both his hands away and patted Rowe roughly on the cheek as he gasped.

“Good boy. So how did you get these injuries? You clumsy thing. You’ve busted your nose again and, well, you’re gonna have a bruise on your ribs.”

“I-I walked into a door, sir.”

“Yeah, you did. Now get up and clean the blood off your face.”

. . .

Tomas bustled through the front door and nudged it closed with his hip, his hands full of shopping bags. ‘’Kas? You’ve not burnt the place down then?’’

‘’Not for lack of trying,’’ came the reply as Kasia walked over and took a few of the bags. ‘’Let me get some of those. You feeding the five hundred?’’

Tomas smiled sheepishly. ‘’There’s a lot of food I don’t think Rowe’s tried yet… have you seen him at all?’’

‘’Nope. Heard him pattering around upstairs, though. Slammed the door pretty hard at one point. I didn’t go up to check on him, I hope you understand. I just figured, if he’s that nervous around you…’’

‘’Yes, yes, of course. Don’t worry.’’

‘’Well, I’d best be on my way. You know, your house is wonderfully quiet. Don’t hesitate if you need me to watch it again, please. I could get so much more work done in a calm place like this.’’

‘’Thank you so much, mate. I’ll let you know, yeah,’’ Tomas said warmly as Kasia grabbed his jacket and headed off.

He had barely closed the door when he heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. Tomas turned to see Rowe kneeling before him in his usual position, with his forehead to the floor. He still found it unnerving, seeing this frail man, covered in scars and bruises, submitting before him. ‘’Welcome back, Master Tomas.’’

‘’Hey, Rowe,’’ Tomas said, crouching slowly and reaching out a hand to the back of Rowe’s head, watching for a reaction. Rowe didn’t flinch, or stiffen- in fact, he leaned into the touch. Tomas ruffled his hair gently. Before he could invite Rowe back up, he spoke again.

‘’Master, please allow me to handle the cooking tonight, a-and any other chores you need me for.’’

‘’Oh, o-okay,’’ said Tomas. ‘’Um, well you can certainly join me in the cooking. I don’t want you to have to do it all yourself. And here, let me help you up.’’

Rowe began to unfold himself and Tomas held out a hand. After a moment of hesitation, he slipped his fingers between Tomas’s and let him take some of his weight as he stood. Tomas frowned in pity as he saw Rowe’s face- a neat bandage lay across his nose. Small bruises had formed under each eye- which was something a broken nose could cause, according to the internet. They looked deathly against his pallid skin. Rowe saw him frowning and Tomas felt the hand he was holding go stiff.

‘’P-please, Master, let me cook for you. I-It’s the least I c-can do.’’

He looked so… terribly sad. ‘’You can help, Rowe. Um- Kasia said he heard something slamming upstairs? Did you do something to your nose?’’

‘’I- I walked into a door, Master. I was foolish and careless and s-stupid. Please- please punish me for my ugliness.’’

‘’Aw, Rowe,’’ Tomas murmured involuntarily. ‘’You don’t look ugly. I wouldn’t hurt you over something like- I wouldn’t, I mean, I wouldn’t hurt you at all. I’m not going to punish you. Have you been worrying about that?’’

Rowe’s eyes dropped and he slowly nodded.

‘’Thank you for telling the truth. I don’t think you’re ugly at all.’’ It seemed to be something that was concerning him, so Tomas added, ‘’If I do, I’ll tell you, okay?’’

Rowe’s shoulders loosened and looked up at Tomas again. ‘’Yes, Master. Thank you.’’

Crisis averted? Tomas thought. ‘’Okay, great. Let’s start chopping some veg.’’

. . .

Rowe sliced the knife down harder as he hands trembled. He was doing his best, he really was, he was trying to just be fucking useful for once, but he was so on edge with Master Tomas so near to him. Rowe was constantly checking over his shoulder, so he could be ready for the first slap or punch. The knife in his hand reminded him of the times he’d been made to bring his master the tool that would be used to punish him.

Rowe was holding a weapon. An instrument for causing pain. Once again he wished he could be normal, wished he could be a good, blank, Pet, instead of one that couldn’t even chop vegetables without thinking about all the ways the knife could cut and slice and open and chop off- chop off- like Kasia had said-

Rowe’s head spun. He felt sick. Kasia wasn’t here. It was only Master. He was the one Rowe should be worrying about. Master could do as he pleased, Rowe repeated to himself, over and over. If Master wants to use the knife on me, I’ll let him. Of course I’ll let him.

. . .

Tomas stirred the stock cube absent-mindedly, his back to Rowe. He had tried to put enough space between him and Rowe to, hopefully, make Rowe feel a little more at ease. He watched as the hot water swirled around his spoon. The sound of rhythmic chopping behind him told him that Rowe was working diligently.

. . .

The carrot seemed to bend and stretch before him as Rowe tried to gather his thoughts. He was okay, he was okay. He hadn’t angered Master, not yet. So far, he was mercifully being ignored. Rowe looked back down and held the knife firmly.

The little coins of carrot were mostly even. Rowe hoped that would be good enough.

. . .

Tomas gently scraped in the onions and garlic and let them simmer. He rolled up his sleeves as the kitchen warmed up.

. . .

The knife was so sharp. Rowe was staring at it as he worked, not even looking at the vegetables, just watching the blade, waiting for Master to turn around and yank it out of his hand and order Rowe to his knees. Why did Master keep saying he wouldn’t hurt him? Rowe wanted to believe it every time, and every time it took longer for him to snap out of it. He moved his fingers out of the way at the last second as he brought the knife down shakily.

. . .

Tomas turned around. ‘’Rowe-‘’ he began, taking a step towards him. Rowe jerked in surprise and spun to face him.

. . .

The knife was still in his hand. He’d been so startled by Master Tomas suddenly being right there behind him that he had gripped it harder reflexively as he turned. Rowe stared down in horror. A long, thin cut ran along Master’s exposed forearm, all the way to his hand. Tiny drops of blood were beginning to form.

And then Rowe’s mind went blank.

. . .

Tomas easily caught Rowe as he fainted. The knife bounced off the floor and Tomas kicked it out of the way. The cut was superficial, and sure it was a surprise, but it hardly hurt. Still, he knew enough to realise how grave this was. A Pet hurting their owner. His stomach twisted at the thought of the beating that would have earned Rowe in the past. No wonder he passed out.

He gently laid Rowe on the couch, grabbed some kitchen roll, and wrapped it around his arm. Perching on the armrest, Tomas let himself look at the man in his care.

He could see long scars along his thighs, like he’d be belted while kneeling. Deep red scrapes, cuts and sores ran around his wrists, the scars of old restraints. His chest was rising and falling evenly, and his face looked soft. Relaxed. Tomas watched his fingers flick minutely, his lips part as he breathed. He wasn’t screaming. He looked peaceful for the first time since Tomas had got him.

And then… Rowe stirred. A groan rumbled in his chest as he rolled his head, and Tomas quickly put a hand to Rowe’s cheek to stop him grinding his nose. This made Rowe’s eyes finally twitch open, little by little then all at once when he remembered what had happened and saw Tomas sitting over him. He cried out, he hands scrambling to find purchase as he pushed himself away, tumbling off the sofa and ramming his forehead against the floor so hard that Tomas heard the crack.

‘’Oh, God, please!’’ he cried, his voice cracking as sobs and gasps racked through him, ‘’P-please Master I’m so, s-s-so sorry, I’m so sorry, I w-w-would n-never, I, I mean, I d-don’t, I w-was trying so ha-ard to be good-‘’

‘’Rowe, it’s okay,’’ Tomas blurted out, raising his voice. He grabbed his shoulders and lifted his head up off the ground. Rowe’s eyes were bright with fear like Tomas had never seen before. It was so intense that he let go of his shoulders reflexively and Rowe shrank into himself, trembling before his owner.

‘’I swear, I s-swear I c-can be better, Master, I ca-an, please please don’t s-send me back, I-I’ll take any pun-nishment like- like a good Pet, I’ll be g-good-‘’

‘’Rowe-‘’

‘’I-It w-was an accident, please Master p-p-please believe me, I wo-would n-never do some-something like that, I’m begging you-‘’

‘’Rowe, I’m not going t-’’

‘’Please,’’ begged Rowe hoarsely, tears rolling down his cheeks, and something in his voice made Tomas stop and listen. ‘’Please, Master, please, I can’t- I don’t know why you want me to b-b-believe that you wo-won’t hurt me, but I can’t d-do it, I just wa-want to be good s-s-so bad and I ca-an’t, I k-keep messing up a-and you never hurt me and I j-just want to be good, I w-want to be good I don’t want to- to get thr-rown out and I need p-p-punishment, Master, please…’’ he gasped.

‘’I’m not….. you are being good. You’re being really good.’’ Tomas felt his heart breaking.

Rowe’s sobbing was becoming weaker and weaker as he ran out of energy. He stared up at Tomas with eyes that were sparkly and wet. He looked utterly broken.

‘’I just want to get it over with, Master.’’

‘’No, I’m not going to punish you,’’ Tomas said seriously.

‘’I’m begging you,’’ he cried, his voice cracking. ‘’I can’t- I can’t take this waiting a-anymore! Please, Master, please, I want it, l- let me throw myself at your mercy, I w-want to be punished f-for my disobedience, please treat y-your Pet the way I d-d-deserve, I’ll take anything for you Master, please beat me, please cut me, please whip me, pl-‘’

‘’Rowe, stop! Stop it! Stop it, please, stop,’’ Tomas shouted. Rowe fell silent immediately with a whimper. ‘’I know- I can see that’s what you thought I wanted to hear. I understand. But I’m not- this isn’t a test, or a game, okay? You don’t need pain to be good.’’

Rowe kept his mouth shut, flinching as Tomas sank down next to him.

‘’All this time you’ve been waiting for a punishment that never came.’’ Rowe nodded. Tomas exhaled deeply as he thought. Rowe needed order, and he followed rules diligently, and Tomas had fucked up by leaving Rowe in limbo with no idea when he would be punished. At least now, he had let Tomas know what was distressing him. A punishment would give him a bit of comfort, in a twisted way. ‘’Okay, Rowe, I will punish you.’’

Rowe burst into fresh tears, pressing his face to the floor. ‘’Th-thank you, thank you Master, thank you, thank you, thank you.’’

Tomas gently took Rowe’s chin and lifted his head. Was this just putting off the difficult conversations until another day? Or was this an act of mercy, relieving the mental suffering Rowe had been putting himself through? Tomas decided on the latter. Screaming at Rowe that he wouldn’t hurt him while Rowe shook and cried and begged didn’t seem very productive.

‘’Firstly, since you gave me this cut it only seems fair that you bandage it up.’’

‘’Yes, Master,’’ Rowe choked out as he ran upstairs to get the first aid kit. Tomas sat back up on the couch and peeled off the kitchen towels that were now sticky with blood. Rowe returned, discarded them, and got on with dressing the cut. Rowe’s hands were still as he pressed the anti-bacterial wipe against his Master’s skin. The bandage wrapped around his arm was neater than Tomas had ever seen before. He had to bite back the praise he wanted to give Rowe- this was a punishment, he reminded himself. He steeled himself to deliver Rowe’s punishment.

‘’I’m going up to my office. Finish cooking and bring it to me, then wash up and tidy the house. While I’m working tomorrow, stay out of my way and don’t disturb me. The only time I want to see or hear you is if I ask you to do something, which you will do immediately. Understood? You can speak freely again in 24 hours.’’

‘’Yes, Master Tomas,’’ Rowe whispered as he hurried to the kitchen counter. Tomas took himself upstairs and buried his head in his hands. He hated how good he was at sounding stern. He hated how unnatural it felt. He couldn’t shake the fear that he was undoing all of the progress Rowe had made.

#just as a note... tomas has given rowe permission to use any first aid he wants #but i couldnt mention it without it sounding SUPER clunky lol #mine #whump #pet whumpee #pet whump #tomas and rowe #master/pet #whump fic #aftermath of torture

[dappercritter]

She-Ra for the ask meme! (Maybe a bad time with the final season so close, you can save this until after if you like.)

(Based on this meme.)

Well, did I save this for later or what?

The first character I first fell in love with: Entrapta. Aside from her colour scheme—I do love a good purple girl, to say the least—I adore her for her enthusiastic, inquisitive, compassionate, and rather eccentric personality. Not to mention her design is an absolute joy to watch in action; from the goggles to the prehensile hair, is creative and adorable. She steals every scene she’s in with her loveably manic energy. The fact that she’s a scientist, who specializes in advanced technology no less, makes her an important character in a magic-driven fantasy setting—her design helps her stand out among the more traditional looking princesses, too! The fact that she’s some of the most effectively authentic examples of autistic representation in children’s fiction only enhances her likeability, in addition to the most interesting and sympathetic examples of morally grey characters that I’ve seen. Her wonderful chemistry with the rest of the Horde adds both to her charm, and really helped lighten things up on the villain’s side for the first 2-3 seasons, and her relationship with Hordak… Well, I’ll get to that shortly! 😉

The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: Madame Razz. I figured Razz was going to be a fun mentor character, but I could have never suspected she’d be the best mentor I and Adora could ask for! I’m not familiar with her original counterpart, but whatever they had to work with, I applaud the crew for taking the silliest looking character in the original line-up and turning her into this charming little old lady whose equal parts Yoda and Ghibli grandma. (Or at least that’s how I describe her.) Her design gets special mention, too, for just how dang cute she is! The big glasses, the raggedy dress, big fluffy hair with moths flying around, and her witch broom all come together so well. Out of all Adora’s mentors, she’s the best— having no ulterior motives, agendas, or any manipulative or toxic behaviour laced into her teaching style, offers the best life advice she can to someone who clearly needs it out of kindness. And because she bears a certain resemblance to someone she once knew in a similar position.

The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Catra. Shocking right? Look, I know that she had an awful time growing up in the Fright Zone and by the end of the show she became more well-rounded and likeable. Any grief I have with her is pretty much over done with. Problem is though… it is pretty hard to forget everything she did. Now, I know it’s all in the past and a lot of people haven’t forgotten what she did either, and that some of it has to do with the ugliness of the Catradora vs. Entrapdak dynamic discourse and I don’t want to go into that. I really don’t. But put as simply as possible, she was a toxic friend, especially in regards to Adora (the Season 1 and 2/3 finales in particular) and Entrapta (who she betrayed, left to die after lying about her to her lover/best friend, and the offering the bare minimum of an apology), and escalated a war just to get back at Adora. After she tried to destroy REALITY to get back at her. I’m glad she changed but it still feels like too little too late.

The character I love that everyone else hates: Swift Wind. Sure, he’s a talking horse with a design that can wander a good ways into the uncanny valley, and who tries too hard too hard to be funny, but in spite of that I think he’s got a good heart behind that strange face of his. He does his best to be a good friend to Adora, supporting her both as herself and when she’s She-Ra, as well as doing his best to support Adora’s other friends as well (see “Boy’s Night Out”). Chiefly by trying to make light of Adora’s duties as She-Ra by trying help her find the fun and excitement in it. Of course, he doesn’t just try to keep the energy up, he shows genuine concern for Adora and all her friends, not hesitating to rush to their protection or point out when a situation seems especially dire. (see “Beast Island” and “Failsafe”). But I think my favourite example is from “Hero” where he casually reveals that he regularly checks in on Madame Razz because, as he says, “You gotta check up on old ladies alone in the woods.” What a horse!

The character I used to love but don’t any longer: Glimmer. I used to love her personality and her design. A peppy rebel who lived for adventure and a good friend to Adora and Bow. Even if she had her flaws like her impulsiveness and her stubbornness, she was still pretty likeable. But then she called her mom a coward for acting as a strategist and looking after Bright Moon, which ended up convincing her to sacrifice herself to close the rift at the end of S3. Alright, fair enough, some things can’t be avoided. Then she took over as queen, and I can understand there was A LOT of factors that were in play—namely grief and Double Trouble deliberately playing on her strained friendship with Adora and Bow as part of one of Catra’s plots—but boy howdy, did she start showing a pretty unsavory side what with her increasingly ruthless demeanor, trusting Adora’s abuser (hi Shadow Weaver, be with you in minute) over her, choosing to leave Entrapta in very real peril on Beast Island, and willingly using a weapon she knew could destroy all of Etheria to win a war. Perhaps I wouldn’t have minded as much if season 5 didn’t rush through her apologies and redemption so quickly, but the fact remains that Glimmer’s character took an awfully dark turn that’s not quite going to be so easily forgotten.

The character I would totally smooch: In a dark future where Entrapta never found love with Hordak, for one terrible reason or another, I would totally give her a smooch. I’ve said it before and say it again: Mad scientist princess is best princess! The character I’d want to be like: Bow. In some capacity I’m already like him, namely being super emotional and doing his damnedest to be a good friend even when things are tough, as well as being the voice of reason and a tinkerer (what? Tinkering with artsy stuff counts!). But I’d like to follow his example of being more level-headed, softer, optimistic, but also more assertive as opposed to my impulsive, harsher, cynical, and reserved current self.

The character I’d slap: Shadow Weaver. Need I explain? No, and anyway I can’t slap her anyways because she pulled the most manipulative heroic sacrifice I’ve ever seen. Dammit it, Shadow Weaver! (I really wanted to say Horde Prime but I feel like he wasn’t developed quite enough to be as hateable as he could be. Not to say that he isn’t an absolute piece of trash who deserved what he had coming already, but we didn’t get to spend three whole seasons getting to know the depths of his manipulative depravity while simultaneously weaseling his way into a twisted version of a redemption arc, unlike someone else I just talked about.)

A pairing that I love: Entrapdak. In case, it wasn’t already obvious. To summarize, in spite of all the drama that surrounds them and their actions, they honestly have the sweetest, most affectionate, and quite possibly the most healthy and engaging pair of the entire show (next to Spinnerella and Netossa, of course). Shoot, if it weren’t for these two and my hopes to see them reunite again, I would have left the fandom entirely at this point! (No seriously, I’m getting tired, folks.)

A pairing that I despise: Hordak X Horde Prime, but I think that’s the point, since most people use it to explore toxic relationships from a distance. Anyways, I really do not want to talk about abusive alien selfcest.

#spop #she-ra and the princesses of power #entrapta #spop entrapta #hordak #spop hordak #spop madame razz #madame razz #spop catra #catra #spop swift wind #swift wind #spop glimmer #glimmer #spop bow #bow #spop shadow weaver #shadow weaver #spop horde prime #horde prime #critter asks #critter questions #critter answers #ramblings of the critter #afriendlyirin

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 38)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34, Lewis POV 5, Mystery POV 2, Lewis POV 6

Part 39: here

...

VIVI POV

Vivi’s never spent much time in hospital or medical clinics- the perks of having a doctor for a father-and now she’s had the opportunity she can confirm that she hates it. She hates the off white walls, the artificial light, and faint smell of bleach. Hates how claustrophobic and stuffy the corridors feel despite having so little in them. Hates the stupid cheap picture prints of supposedly uplifting scenes spaced along the walls. Mostly, she hates how the nurses and orderlies rush around, always busy, while she’s stuck with only her thoughts for company.

"I just wish you’d told me something was wrong…or that something bad was happening. I would have helped…”

No response. Arthur maintains his silence. With both her friends unconscious, she’s had plenty of time to ruminate on the past few days, trying to fit together a version of events that made sense. Vivi slumps forward, tapping her foot to let out excess energy, leaning towards Arthur. He’s a chalky white colour and his hair is limp, spread across the pillow framing his equally pale face, but his expression is peaceful so that’s something.  It was better than seeing Arthur's face all twisted, grinning at Lewis like he wanted to rip his friend apart. It was better than seeing the panicked defeat  on his face moments before he lost consciousness and she was left sitting in two growing puddles of blood.

No.

She can't think about that. All she could do now is try and understand.  Upset, Vivi fiddles with her phone, flipping through applications, trying to distract herself from the silence and monotony. She deliberately ignores her growing collection of missed calls and texts from her family. The only two people she wants to hear from are in no position to contact her.

“Something was bothering you long before all this…” 

She pauses in her tapping, reaching forward so her hand ends up hovering over Arthur’s, uncertain.  Unfortunately, even when knowing about the body snatcher and Mystery’s kitsune form, she still doesn’t know why Arthur had started acting weird. All this crap and she’s still in the dark. 

“Was that asshole Micky threatening you?”

Lewis had mentioned Arthur getting into an altercation with the guy. Was that Micky’s motivation or had the body snatcher already been targeting Arthur before that? Sure, the creature had said it wasn’t involved in Arthur’s initial behaviour change, but she wasn’t about to just trust it.  

“When did you become such a convincing liar?” Silence follows her question and she switches her phone on and off, mind elsewhere.

‘Don’t you want to know why Arthur’s been acting so out of character?

Like someone’s flipped a switch on his personality

… not quite himself…’

The bastard parasite made it sound like Arthur had been possessed long before the it got involved. She physically shakes her head, trying to dislodge the taunt, resuming her restless tapping. Mystery had confirmed that Arthur was no longer possessed…and Arthur's eyes had been their usual golden colour right up until that night outside the diner.  He couldn’t have been possessed before that. Mystery would have mentioned it…right? 

“Maybe I’m just that gullible...”

Not like she has a great track record. That day,  when the weird behaviour had started, Lewis had picked up on it almost immediately but she’d just dismissed it as a mood swing. Her parents and dog had lied to her all her life and she was only now just figuring it out after having the truth shoved in her face. It stung. 

“I can’t even sniff out the truth when it’s right under my nose,” she mutters, glancing up at the clock hanging over a silent television set. It had been around this time yesterday that a nurse had come past, pressuring her to leave. The first thing she was doing when Arthur awoke was force him to sign her up as a medical proxy so she didn’t have to hang out in the 24/7 emergency waiting room until visiting hours recommenced.  

Disheartened, Vivi stands, making her way out of the room, scooping up the small pile of disposable coffee cups and food wrappers to dump in the trash on her way out. Both Lewis’s parents and been by to check on Arthur several times, bringing her cups of tea and snacks so she wouldn’t accidentally stave.

She hesitates at the door, glancing back at Arthur.

“I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”

She supposes she should be grateful that Arthur has a room all to himself and she doesn’t have to worry about disturbing other patients with her muttering. Lewis is sharing his room with three other people. That fact that those three other people were unconscious and unlikely to wake up didn't make it comfortable. She slinks down the hall, leaving Arthur behind. 

The door to Lewis’s room is dull grey like every other door in the place. It has been left open, allowing her to hover and peek into the room without being spotted by Lewis’s parents. Only his mom and sisters are present. They’re talking in lowered voices, impossible to make out against the general ambience of the hospital in the background. Gingerly, she backs up. He throat tightens. It doesn’t look like Lewis is awake and she didn’t want to bother the family. The small space around the bed was crowded enough.

“Vivi?”

She jumps at the second voice, twisting quickly and almost knocking two styrofoam cups of steaming liquid from Nicholas Pepper’s hands. Luckily, Lewis’s dad has the foresight to draw back a step.

She winces, pulling away from the door to cross her arms.

“Sorry…I’m a bit jumpy.”

Worry floods the older man’s face and she quickly moves to deflect the incoming question about her wellbeing.

“How’s Lewis?”

A long sigh.

“…Still comatose, but his brain activity is steadily increasing, which I’m told is a good sign, so there’s hope that he’ll wake up. We’re waiting for word on a proper recovery time-frame.”

“Oh.” She winces again, “That’s....”

What exactly is she supposed to say to that? She swallows, words suck.

“…better than yesterday…” Nicholas finishes her sentence for her with a reassuring smile.

She clears her throat, “Sorry I haven’t been by to see him sooner…it’s just…” Lewis had his whole family visiting in shifts and Arthur had no one. It definitely wasn't because seeing Lewis unconscious made her unbearably miserable.

“I’m sure Lewis would understand.”

Yeah, he would. Lewis was great like that. Vivi begins to retreat backwards. If she spends too much time thinking about Lewis she’ll get all teary again.

“We’ve decided temporarily rent an apartment not far from here.  It’s small, and a bit crowded, especially with the girls, but there’s always room for one more.”  

Vivi nods stiffly, continuing to shuffle backwards, moving around an unused monitor stand blocking part of the hallway. “Um, thanks but…I’ve got something to do…I need to check on Mystery…”

“I hope you’ve eaten more in the last 12 hours than that role I gave you at lunch.”

She grimaces. “I have…” There were vending machines right next to the emergency centre and a 24-hour coffee shop across the road. Nicholas gives her an evaluative stare, and Vivi is reminded that Lewis had have gotten his people skills from somewhere.

“We’ll probably be eating in about two hours, depending on how helpful the girls are feeling and what the general mood is,” A careful pause,  “I hope you’ll drop by at least.”

“I’ll think about it.”  

She turns in the opposite direction, hurrying away.

“I’ll text you the address…”

The hospital flashes by in a blur of pastel and she rushes past the ugly plastic chairs in the foyer near the reception desk. Outside the temperature is cooling but not uncomfortable. She quickly rubs her eyes, breathing in, focusing on the fresh unscented air. The heat is still radiating from the sun-soaked pavement means she barely needs Lewis’s oversized jacket to keep warm. A quick scan of the slowly emptying street has her spotting the recognisable shape of Mystery. The dog weaves around the scattered pedestrians, trotting in her direction. She stamps down her guilt, melancholy, and frustration to focus on the matter at hand.

/Vivi./ Mystery scans her and gives her a lopsided concerned squint. /You look…./

"Don't start..." She scowls, daring him to comment on her appearance.

/Hmmm…/ Mystery pauses, instead asking, /How are Arthur and Lewis?/

“No change…and Uncle Lance is still in the ICU in case you’re wondering,” she answers stiffly, trying to ignore the odd looks several pedestrians throw her way.  Hastily, she starts walking towards her truck and out of sight, holding her phone up so she doesn’t look like a complete loony talking to Mystery.

Mystery follows behind without prompting. She had parked in almost the same spot as last time so she wouldn’t have to worry about spending a fortune on parking tickets while she waits uselessly for hours on end.

/I see…I suppose the fact that no one is worse off is good news./

“No,” she retorts, spinning to glare at Mystery. “Good news is everyone waking up. Good news is Lewis not in a coma or Lance being released. None of this is good.”

/I only meant it was good that death is no longer imminent./ Mystery adds. In her mind, his sentence sounds carefully worded. He is eyeing her with something akin to care or concern. A couple walking past in business attire give alarmed looks upon the outburst.

“What?” She snaps at them. The busybodies continue past, giving her a wide berth. She watches them go before breathing out in frustration. All that time spent sitting silently in the hospital has given her a lot of restless energy.  

“Come on. We’ll talk in the truck.”

The rest on the short trip is spent in silence.

“What did you find out at the police station,” She asks once they're safely inside the truck cab, isolated from the general public. Mystery jumps in to sit beside her, eyeing her, one part concern one part thoughtful. Vivi leans across the seat to close the door and seal them inside.

/If you agree to rest and eat, I will tell you what I have found./

She scowls, frustration growing, “Are you trying to con me into a deal.”

/No. I am being completely transparent./ Mystery huffs, /As humans are unaffected by such dealings, this is purely a show of my goodwill./

“You’re doing this now?”

/Yes. You still harbour resentment towards me. Understandable. However, I would not form something as significant as an oath if I did not truly care about your wellbeing. Please./

Vivi glares some more but Mystery remains unmoved. Deals consisted of an offer, an amendment from the second party, then acceptance by the original offeror. It was a three-step process that humans weren’t supernaturally bound or required to follow, though it was poor form to break one. So...

“Fine…I’ll try and get a good night’s sleep and maybe eat. Happy?” She amends stubbornly, waiting to see if Mystery will accept the somewhat crappy revision. Mystery just snorts, amused and vaguely approving.

/Very well. I accept./

Mystery’s eyes flash ever so subtly and Vivi feels a tingle run up her arm. She exhales, rubbing her eyes. If there’s one thing she’s learnt over the past few days it’s that someone can both care and lie at the same time so she’ll take Mystery’s ‘goodwill’ with a grain of salt.

“So…What did you find out?” She repeats.

/As instructed, I spent the day, approximately nine hours, shadowing the human called Anderson around his place of work./

“And…”

/He appears busy, most of his time was spent sitting at a desk or in discussion with other humans, with topics ranging from various crimes in the city to social plans. The only mention of Arthur and Lance, referred to as the Kingsman casefile I believe, was a phone call confirming the existence of an abandoned vehicle removed from St Peter’s two-hour parking lot two nights ago. They plan to seize this vehicle as evidence for the case./ Mystery finishes his recount with a curious head tilt like he’s unsure whether the information is relevant. That makes two of them.  

“What does that have to do with anything,” She mutters. It had been two full days since their confrontation with the body snatcher at the Pepper’s diner and Lance’s admittance to the hospital so the vehicle had been abandoned the same day.

“You don’t think it’s Arthur’s van do you…did they mention what sort of vehicle it was?”

/No, that was not mentioned./

“If it is the van, then how did Arthur get to the diner?”

/These parasitic creatures are often limited to the capabilities of their hosts. It would have had to have used a form of human transport./

She crosses her arms, tapping her foot against the break-peddle, trying to fit the mysterious vehicle into her mental timeline of events.

First, the body snatcher arrives in Tempo in possession of Micky who threatens Arthur for some unknown reason, causing Arthur’s odd behaviour. Two weeks later, her, Lewis and Arthur leave Tempo on their road trip and the body snatcher attacks and possesses Lance the same night. Next, Lance is moved to the hospital in an ambulance before contacting Arthur. Arthur leaves her and Lewis, rushing to his Uncle’s side where the body snatcher is waiting to possess him. Once Arthur is possessed, the body snatcher attacks his Uncle and leaves the hospital, heading to the diner. Finally, her and Lewis arrive at the hospital just in time to save Lance.

There are lots of discrepancies in her timeline like: Where had the body snatcher come from? Micky had mentioned the old mines up west, was that related? Why attack Arthur? Surely this wasn’t all because Arthur had insulted his motorcycle? At what point had Micky been possessed? She and Lewis had arrived at the hospital several hours behind Arthur but were still in time to save Lance? 

These discrepances aside, she’s pretty confident that she has the barebones of a usable timeline.  If the vehicle referetd to by the police is Arthur’s van, then she might have to rethink things though.

“There isn’t anything else?” She asks again just to be sure.

/As I said, this human was busy with many activities and most of his work was completed electronically./

“Figures.” Aggravated, she takes a breath and tries to think logically. “Where’s the vehicle now?”

/That was not mentioned./

Well, this place wasn’t huge, how many car impounds could there be near the hospital? She pulls out her phone, connecting to the internet. There are two new missed calls from her dad and one from her mom. She ignores them.

“I got it. There are only two impounds nearish to the town centre. We’ll check the closest one first,” She pulls on her seatbelt, twisting so she can reverse safely out of the park. She’s definitely getting better at handling the small flatbed truck. When compared to driving in pitch black, rain pouring down and tears messing up her vision, this city driving was laughably easy.

/…and then will you rest?/

“Yeah, sure, after this.” At least this is something to occupy her mind. After spending the whole day circling through the same facts and replaying every scenario, it’s good to have something new think about.  

The first car compound is pretty small, with four of its six-car spots occupied and none containing Arthur’s van. A chain-link fence cordons it off from the footpath. It’s nothing special. There’s not even any barbed wire atop the fence.  Vivi makes sure she doesn’t park close enough to appear on any of the visible security cameras near the entrance. The two-story office building adjacent to the yard appears closed and Vivi eyes the darkened windows as she exits the truck, shoving her hands into her jacket pocket. The temperature has dropped in the last hour.

“Hey Mystery, your illusions, they, like, bend light or something right?” In the dim twilight, she doesn’t have to worry as much about appearing crazy when talking to Mystery. Not that there are many people around this area to notice her.

/They act as an intangible layer between myself and others./

She pauses to stare at Mystery, mulling over the description, “Remind me to teach you some real sciencey terminology because you’re explanations are kind of vague.” Arthur would help with that too…when he woke up…if he woke up.

“Do you think they’ll work on cameras?”

/I believe so. I had no problems while spying today and I saw multiple recording devices about the building./

“Good enough for me I guess. Can you stop people from seeing me while I climb over this?”

/Yes, but I will need to be quiet close to you. My range in this form is only five feet./

She picks him up, trying not to feel too uncomfortable. She has made a deliberate effort to keep a physical distance from Mystery and resist any inclination to pat or hold him. It just feels wrong. Weird. 

Awkwardly, she lets Mystery balance between her shoulder blades, freeing her arms to climb. “You’re not going to fall are you?” She’d never have trusted a dog to do this.

He shuffles about and she can feel his paws twitch as he adjusts his position in time with her movements.

/I will not fall./ He confirms. Once Mystery is secure, she heaves herself onto the fence and, when no one comes running out to stop her, scrambles the rest of the way up and over. Mystery hangs close to her legs as they walk across the lot and she has to concentrate so she doesn't accidentally trip over him.

None of the cars stand out, even upon closer inspection. She circles the small space and wonders what she is looking for. If Arthur were here, he’d probably know. Arthur actually paid attention to these sorts of details.

/This one has a familiar scent./ Mystery speaks as she carefully examines each vehicle in turn.

“You recognise the car? From where?” She re-examines it, but can’t find a match. It’s a pretty generic looking car, old, a bit run down. A standard vehicle for a town like Tempo so it could be anyone's.

/I am unsure. The scent is muddied with human chemicals./

If she had access to the police database she’d be able to search up its number plates. Exasperated, she walks forward to try the handle. The car is old enough not to have automated locks so it’s worth a shot.  She hesitates briefly to cover her hand with a sleeve so she doesn’t leave any fingerprints, wondering if she’s being too paranoid.

 It’s locked. What a shock. However, upon circling the car she finds one of the back windows half-open. Peering in, the interior is a mess with several old flannel shirts, take away containers and miscellaneous nik-nacks strewn about.

“Here.” She picks Mystery up from under the armpits, holding him out to the opening, “Can you smell anything else inside.”

The dog spends a moment breathing deeply, head moving around and positioning at different angles. Around them, wind rattles pits of discarded scrap metal, pushing around several empty plastic bags. The street lamps on the main road flicker on as the natural light dims.

/It is recognisable./ Mystery finally confirms, /I believe I may have come across this human at Arthur’s residence./

“…like a customer?”

/No. It is too distinct to be a customer. I would have had to have met this human several times to remember it./

“…But you don’t know who it is?”

/Unfortunately, I am not in the habit of cataloguing the smells of random humans./ Mystery responds, apologetic.

“This has to be the vehicle the police referred to…what are the odds of you recognising it if it isn’t?” Vivi mummers, glaring at the car again before retreating back over the fence. With the night quickly approaching there is not enough light to see any further details without pulling out her phone to use as its flashlight.

Back in the truck, she taps a finger on the dashboard, mulling over what she’s learnt. How many other people frequented Kingsman Mechanics that Mystery would have met more than once? Aside from her and Lewis’s families. 

“Lance had those two mechanic guys help out when Arthur was away or busy. I think their names where…Derrick….no…Darrel and Oliver or something. They’re the only ones who regularly visit the workshop. You think the car belongs to one of them?”

Mystery shrugs.  

They drive to the second car impound to do some more snooping. It’s the same as the first place, only this time Mystery doesn’t recognise any of the vehicles present. Stumped, Vivi finds herself back where she’d started, sitting and thinking, trying to come up within something that made sense. 

It wasn’t impossible that one of Lance’s employees had accompanied and/or driven Lance to the hospital on the day of the body snatcher’s first attack. If only she had their phone numbers, but no, she’d rarely talked to either of them. If Lewis were here, he would have had the numbers saved for sure. Lewis had everyone’s phone number. Lewis wasn’t here though. He was in a coma. Arthur was still unconscious. It was just her and random bits and pieces of information.

This is the same problem she’d run into when chasing after Arthur. Not enough information. She doesn’t know what to do and she doesn’t even have Lewis to distract her. Vivi grips her head, tasselling her hair, trying to hold back a sudden wave of panic. What if she’s too late again. What if she can’t figure this out in time. She’ll be too late to do anything and both Lewis and Arthur would suffer for it.

Why is she always one step behind?

/Vivi?/ A light prodding draws her attention. /You really should rest...It will make this investigation easier./

Mystery had his paw on her arm, eyes shining with more concern and emotion then she’s ever seen the dog openly display.

“I’m fine…” She pulls away and rubs her eyes, leaning back to stare at the roof, trying to regain composure. “It’s just…I’m always a step behind…If I knew more, if people would just tell me things... I’d be able to figure this out….” before something went terribly wrong, she adds silently.

“If I’d known more to begin with, I could have helped from the start.”  That’s what she’ll keep telling herself at least…

/The decision to withhold information would not have come from a place of malice…/ The soft-spoken reassurance only serves to reignite her resentment.

“So, just because they thought they were doing the right thing, it’s okay.” At this point, she’s not sure if she’s referring to her parents, Mystery or Arthur.

Mystery glances away, uncomfortable. Even now, she’s pretty sure Mystery’s holding back despite everything. She exhales again, trying to smother her emotions. She’d already run through this argument with Mystery and the whole thing is pointless. She can’t stop people lying to her. The only thing to do now was to be more aware of possible deception in the future.

“Say the car belonged to either Darrel or Oliver,” She pushes through her upset and back to the issue at hand. The more she thinks about the lies, the muddier her mind becomes, and the worse she feels. It’s better to just stay proactive and not obsess over everything people may or may not be keeping from her.

“Why just abandon it at the hospital? It can’t be a coincidence.”

She starts the engine, flipping on the heating to chase away the growing chill in the air.

/… where are we going?/

“Arthur’s van is still unaccounted for, meaning he probably drove it to the Pepper’s diner. If the cops haven’t found it then it’ll still be there somewhere.” She’s somewhat annoyed at herself  for not thinking to look for the van sooner. 

When Mystery shoots her a look of enquiry she elaborates, “Maybe there’ll be more of a clue regarding what happened in the van. If there is another person involved then that parasite-asshole might have killed or hurt them…It would explain the abandoned car and why the police care about it.”

It’s all speculation, but what else can she do at this point.

‘This is why leaving hosts alive backfires,’

The parasite bastard had said something like that right before getting Arthur shot …There were implications behind a statement like that. She hopes she’s wrong, the last thing she wants is for Arthur to get caught up in a murder investigation.

Mystery’s eyes darken and he lets off a low growl. /It is plausible…these creatures do take pride in spreading chaos. The one inhabiting Arthur was particularly…malicious./

She tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

Part 39: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #Vivi Yukino #Mystery the dog #angst #Vivi angst #coarse language #references to injury #timelines #time travel #hospitals

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld, Conar's Ambition, Chapter 2, Draft 1

[[Thanks to Tumblr updating the post length limit, I can finally put the full draft of Chapter 2 in one big post!]]

Slim was silent in line to Slugbite Motel. The chatter was hopefully decent cover; he didn’t need yet more attention after his outburst. If he kept his head down, he’d be fine, and wouldn’t get any more surplus bruises on top of the regular workday bruises.

He heard chatter all around him, gossip from other Slog Huts, Splinterz, and Flub Fuels.

“Management must be pissed, what with -”

“I can’t believe what Skrag did to me! What got into-”

“- hear about FeeCo?”

“We’re gonna be settin’ some electric fences up tomorrow, anyone know about -”

“ – say Abe’s got to Necrum –“

“ -Sligs must be worried if Abe’s getting’ to their place –“

Any talk of Abe was, of course, in whispers. No one believed him to be a terrorist, really, but everyone knew better than to celebrate. Well, everyone but him, apparently, but still. Slig forces were already pretty antsy right now, and there were cameras everywhere. Besides, it was a long day full of more abuse than normal. Everyone was just ready for bed, so to speak. Sure, it was less a bed and more a closet with a dirt floor and next to no elbow room, but it was a place to sleep, nonetheless.

It was almost his turn in the queue. Slim dug in his pouch for his meal ticket. With any luck, he’d get half a Scrabcake with the somewhat edible slop they served here. He presented the ticket to the Slig clerk Jeandis. Jeandis took one look, rolled his eyes from under his visor, and then slammed the counter to his left, deepening the indentation next to the bell. A Mudokon, wearing a light brown cap with deep red stripes and a similarly-colored loincloth, emerged from the back door, carrying a tray of gruel with him.

The tray had no trace of Scrabcakes, sadly, but it did come with a small can of that drink everyone was talking about – Soulstorm Brew. The green can with that nondescript Glukkon’s face on it was an interesting look, at least, and the somewhat sickly Mudokon in those commercials did look exceedingly happy when Director Phleg gave him a crate of the stuff, as if it was sorely-needed medicine. Slim even saw the server longingly stare at the can he had to give him.

“On the house… buddy,” Jeandis said, his line carefully rehearsed. “You saw the commercials; it’s a freebie!”

“Um, okay, thanks.”

Slim took his dinner tray and a plastic spoon over to find a seat that was open; this was no small feat in a Slugbite Motel. Many Mudokons had long since given up on the prospect, instead sitting on the floor against any given wall. He noticed how everyone was given similar cans of Brew, and a lot of the chatter he came across was already shifting from the recent Abe scare to the Oddsend the new drink was.

He walked through the throngs of fellow Scrubs, the smell of Brew filling the air. It was very strange; a tangy aroma that was also somehow familiar. The chatter grew louder and more animated as time went on, and even Slim was feeling a little less tired from the fumes and infectious cheer.

Still, it was a long day, so he still prepared to just sit down and eat. He found a place next to Ben, and dug in. Well, as much as you could dig in with whatever this was. Some said those were fruit chunks mixed in with the goop, some said they were Elum Chubs, but one thing for certain was they were undercooked. It was well known that this was the least of dinner’s concerns, sadly.

Slim took a few shaky scoops, doing his best to forget the words “gag reflex”. He was able to swallow the muck as usual, but he found himself coughing; it felt like he was eating sawdust under the slimy texture!

“Yeah,” Ben said, sympathetically, “Jeandis’ Special really sucks today, doesn’t it?”

“WHO SAID THAT?!” demanded Jeandis, so loud that everyone on the other side of the cafeteria could clearly hear the greenish-yellow Slig. The din died down as a furious head chef stomped over to the wall where the sound came from. There were at least ten cowering Scrubs under his wrathful glare, and they were all pointing grey or green fingers at each other.

“This is more than you deserve, ya miserable Chippunks! You oughta know I could—Eh?”

He was interrupted by frantic whispers from the server Mudokon, who was quick to rush up to his boss. He lowered his fist, slowly, and his face-tentacles sagged.

“…You oughta know…er…I could getcha another can of Brew to…wash it down…?”

Nine out of ten Mudokons were nodding enthusiastically, and the Scrubs at the surrounding tables cheered.

“Shut up and get in line again if you want another round!”

Almost all the Mudokons immediately shot up and sprinted into line. Some of them trembled excitedly while they waited.

Slim had never seen the cafeteria so alive or enthusiastic before. This Soulstorm Brew stuff must have one hell of a kick. If he drank it now, he’d probably be up all night. Best to save this stuff for when he needed it – no need to come to work tired tomorrow.

Besides, if all else failed, he had a bartering tool now.

With this in mind, he tucked the can he had into his pouch. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to sleep with a dry throat; he knew better than to ask Jeandis for anything else to drink.

His body still ached, and it had been a long day on top of that, so while Jeandis was occupied with his sudden fame, Slim quietly ate up the rest of his “meal” and left. With the “first come, first served” policy of getting a room for the night, he was able to get one right by the cafeteria for once. He might even be able to get breakfast tomorrow!

He dug in his pouch for his ID, and a quick scan gave him the room for the night. As the door closed behind him, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the windowless closet. When he did, he could see all kinds of scratchings on the wall. Short complaints about bosses and a variety of tally marks filled most of it, but there were some other things. There was the occasional crude drawing of a bird, which gave Slim nostalgia over something he never experienced. There were conversations between anonymous Mudokons, about the latest gossip, concerns, and anything else. It was comforting; they watched out for each other and kept each other informed even when they didn’t really know each other.

With his nightly reading done, Slim slumped down to the ground. The dirt here was cool, but nothing he wasn’t used to. With any luck, he wouldn’t wake up to Bolamites crawling over him, but that was a problem for future him. Present him just had to be absorbed by the soft earth, and dream of a better workday, one where Abe saved him from this miserable job and blew up the Slog Hut.

It was all he could do, really.

* * *

It wasn’t even five minutes before he felt a cold breeze, and the light of the hallway made him squeeze his eyes shut more before sitting up. A hand went up to shield his vision, but he was still blinded for a moment while he tried to make out the silhouette. A Slig, for sure, but that hardly narrowed it down. The Pants were pretty basic, being two robotic legs attached to a large ball. However, the giveaway was the mask that obscured this particular guard’s face. It was one of the older visors, like some Sligs still wore, with a single long visor. However, this one covered his scalp, forming an ugly black helmet rather than just a scary red visor. Only Conar had that version, but what was he doing here of all places?

Well, it couldn’t be anything good. Slim shuddered, wondering what he’d have to apologize for to get a manager from work to find him in this motel. But… no beating or gunfire came his way. In fact, Conar looked taken aback. He wasn’t aiming his Blunderbuss anywhere in particular, and his head kept turning either way, as if he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Well, whaddaya know, Slim,” he said, after a moment. “Funny I’d run into you here…”

Slim blinked, lowering his hands, but remaining where he was.

“So, uh... you wanna get outta shoveling Slog crap?”

Slim opened his mouth to answer, but Conar grabbed his arm, so the Scrub’s confused questions were interrupted by his own yelp.

“Time’s up!” Conar said, hearing the chatter die down in the cafeteria. “We’re leavin’!”

“Oh-okay…”

“And you’re gonna shut yer yap! We ain’t supposed to be doing this, you know!”

With that, the two of them silently beat feet away from the hubbub of the mess hall, kicking up a lot of dirt on their way.

The hall separated into two different ways at the end. Conar knew that to the left was the back door he came from, and was going to drag Slim with him. But Slim had other ideas, nearly pulling Conar out of his Pants as he pulled them both to the right.

Conar adjusted his seat so he could run properly again, then struggled to get out of Slim’s grip.

“What the hell?!” he protested, before realization struck, and he quieted down. “The back way’s the otherhall!”

“Where do you think most’f the Sligs are?” Slim harshly whispered. “Seen at least four Mudokons try that, and they never make it to the parking lot!”

“Oh, and the front door’sgonna be much better? Hah!”

“Dunno,” Slim shrugged. “No one’s tried it.”

Conar was about to say something pretty snippy, but he saw they were close to the lobby. The pair stopped just short, and Conar looked ahead. There wasn’t much to see, past the dozens of bored Mudokons waiting in line to be checked in by a very bored Glukkon receptionist, complete with a very bored Slig there to type the guests’ numbers in.

No one was looking their way, so Conar motioned for Slim to follow, and the two of them walked towards the other exit. They made it about halfway through before the Pud looked up.

“Where do ya think you’re goin?!”

“Ah…” Conar started, before regaining his composure. “Y’see, he was volunteered to work overtime tonight! Just came here to pick ‘im up!”

The Glukkon rose to his full height, which would have been impressive if he had shoulder pads or any non-plaid clothing. His assistant also rose, clicking a pen as violently as one could manage. Both Conar and Slim hunched a little, preparing to put their hands over their heads.

The receptionists walked over, sneering. The Mudokons in the queue muttered, some talking about the scene, others complaining about this new delay between them and dinner.

The Glukkon leaned close, so close Conar could almost read the miniscule nametag.

“We have procedures for this, you know! Guests –“ he said the word like most would say “slurg”, “—are to be signed out before leaving the premises!”

Slim blinked. It was hard to tell if Conar did the same.

“Yeah, er…” Conar said, rubbing his head. “Sorry, sir. I thought you wanted ‘im in line, too.”

“And risk the liability?” the receptionist exclaimed. “No, we have registration protocol for a reason!You security and your..your… unprofessionalism!”

His assistant merely gave Conar a look of resignation before marching back to check the Mudokons in.

“If we were to mix the lines like that, our quotas would go kaput! And this is a fine establishment!”

Conar chose not to bring up the dirt floor or the mold-eaten wallpaper. He was already debating whether or not this endeavor was worth it. Zoning out and wondering about that was far easier than listening to this chump.

“…My brothers and I… investors….”

Conar nodded along, thinking about the future, and the riches that would be in store for him. Maybe he could force Zeb to work for him. Of course, something like that would come after a little bit of begging for mercy. But what to spend the well-earned Moolah on? Maybe he’d get himself a nice, classy suit, with premium Slig Pants, armor, and a nice, big gun with all the works…

“…So, I’d really appreciate it if you’d show some class and go to the other desk!”

“Yes, sir!” Conar nodded, moving over to the empty desk. The Glukkon waddled over to the other side, and started controlling some machinery with his shoes.

“Name?”

“Slim.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“…Not found in our records.”

“Can’t you just add ‘im?”

“We just went over this! There are procedures! It will not be as simple as your mind! I can’t just add a Mudokon who is already in the--”

As Conar prepared to sigh, Slim stepped forward.

“Sorry sir,” he said, putting on his best Gluk-pleasing face (that is, a weak smile politely begging for mercy), “He must not’ve read my ID. Do you need my number?”

The receptionist laughed, looking down at Conar while nodding. He kept chuckling at the absurdity of this Slig’s ineptitude as he worked the pedals, searching for Slim by number. He finally stopped adding to Conar’s humiliation, catching his breath while reading what came onto his black-and-white monitor.

“Right, right, you’re all set to leave. Can’t be too careful this day and age, with all those escapees… Anyway, give him a few corporate-approved smacks to keep him in line, would you?”

Connar nodded, a little too hastily. After a moment to ensure no signature or receipt was needed, he turned and poked Slim with his blunderbuss.

“Alright, get movin’. We’re goin’ to work, now!”

Conar couldn’t believe it; he was expecting a tense escape, maybe an amazing shootout. But no; he was walking through the front door, with a Mudokon openly in tow. He even waved at a couple of the guards on his way out. He looked up at Slim, who kept himself hunched and shivering in a clearly practiced manner. The two of them marched in silence for a while, with Conar occasionally tapping the muzzle of his gun against Slim’s back for effect.

“You’re welcome,” Slim finally said, once they were closer to the Slog Huts again, and well out of earshot.

“What, you expectin’ thanks?” Conar asked, laughing at the audacity. “I was the one bustin’ ya out, y’know!”

Slim gave a smug grin, leaning against the wall as he did so.

“Oh, really? You go out the back with a Mudokon like you wanted, they’d be throwing your lead-filled ass into the recycler faster than you can say—”

He tried making that noise he heard many Sligs shout, but it sounded more like his lungs were playing tug-of-war.

“Yeah, well, you seemed pretty comfy in that filthy closet.”

“Ha, yeah, thanks,” Slim laughed, looking around for a moment. “So uh, why didja get me out of there anyway?”

“Right, yeah,” Conar said, clearing his throat. “So, you’re gonna help me take Zeb down a peg. If that Abe guy can take down RuptureFarms, I figure you can help me get his Moolah and ruin ‘im!”

Slim’s smile faded, and he looked at Conar like the Slig grew legs on the spot.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nah,” Conar shook his head. “This should be easy; we go in, hold ‘im at gunpoint, and—”

“And just how,” Slim asked, leaning forward until he was face to face with Conar, “do you expect us to ‘go in’? Do you even know where his office is?”

Conar’s smug grin faltered.

“Eh--? I…”

“To say nothin’ about the security he’s probably got! You got the news just like I did; they’re scared. They probably got security tighter than Jeandis’ skull there! Didja think any of this—”

He was cut off by a blunderbuss muzzle under his chin. So it was going to be certain death or immediate death, he saw.

“…G-got it. So, what’s the plan, boss?”

#oddworld #oddworld conar's ambition #oddworld fic #chapter 2 #draft 1 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter

[rutilation]

I’d comment that Phos’s complaint about the final level of their game being ridiculously hard is a metaphor for how their entire quest gets exponentially more difficult as it approaches its conclusion, but the blurb in the margins already points out that parallel, so I guess my observation is redundant.  The accursed little thing is stealing my thunder.

Click the read more if you want to see me read way too much into the art.

Before I get into gushing over the artwork, I want to go over some of my thoughts on the narrative side of things, so let’s get the most annoying part out of the way first and talk about Aechmea.

I’ve heard that in the original Japanese, it’s clear that he’s referring to Cairngorm.  What’s interesting here is that he said this line when it seemed for a moment that Kongou was about to release the Lunarians.  But now that it’s clear it won’t happen, I wonder whether or not he’ll actually say what was on his mind.  In any case, I can’t wait to see more of his ugly mug next chapter.  Yay.

This chapter has sparked a bit of discourse regarding the earth gems, so I might as well chime in.  While I agree that the earth gems’ reaction isn’t unreasonable given the circumstances and the limited information at their disposal, it’s still not really the best reaction they could have had.  Regardless of their interpretation of Phos, the truth of the matter is that the version of Phos that the other gems feel the need to shatter, tie down, cage, and then shatter again is less of a threat to Kongou than the one they let walk around freely in chapter 58.  Just because what they’re doing is understandable, doesn’t mean that what they’re doing is right, and I don’t think that this pattern of shooting first and asking questions later is a good road for them to collectively go down.

And on the subject of Euclase, to reiterate what I’ve said before: they give me the willies not because I think their actions are totally unreasonable, (though said actions do tend to be on the more militant side of what could be considered reasonable, don’t they?)  Rather, a lot of the bad vibes I get from them are because of the menacing manner with which Ichikawa sometimes frames them, in addition to Padparadscha’s seemingly less-than-charitable opinion of them.

I’ve been curious for a while now about how Rutile would react after Padparadscha outright rejected them.  Looks like they’ve just doubled down on their obsessiveness, to the point of doing a stellar Onryō impression.  Really, the quickest way to ruin a relationship in this story is to either take someone for granted, or to be possessive/controlling.  Phos has some issues with the former, but a number of the other characters have a strong case of the latter, case in point being Rutile here.

I’m guessing that this implicitly confirms that the human particle is indeed in Phos’s eye?  I doubt that Kongou’s human sensors would go off due to Phos being merely metaphorically human.  I’ve also seen people posit that the reason Kongou can’t release the Lunarians is because his one-way ticket to nirvana only works on less sentient life forms.  (@rinboz has a good analysis that touches on this topic, btw.)  I think the chapter confirms this interpretation based on Phos’s mysteriously disappearing cage.  And that dovetails nicely into my thoughts on the art of this chapter…

Because the imagery of the cage coming to life, flowering, and vanishing in a breeze of petals is *chef’s kiss* gorgeous.

The scene starts off in gray and black, and the panels have a cluttered, claustrophobic feeling to them from the grain of the wood and the shadowy, looming architecture.  But once Kongou begins his prayer attempt, the panels start to become more spacious, those grays and blacks giving way to sleek monochrome.  Finally, this changes to stark white with minimal linework and virtually no shading.  The only other time I can recall Ichikawa using this blank, simplified style in hnk was when we saw a brief flashback of Phos as a child.  (For a given value of “child,” we are on arrested development island after all.)  

The way the cage seemingly transformed back into an earlier phase of its existence before vanishing reminds me of how Shiro went back to being a dog for a few moments before he left.  So, it seems that Kongou’s attempt worked just fine on a wooden cage—i.e, a plant—but none of the sentient beings present could actually be affected.  

Once he fails, the shroud of grey once again falls over the scene, black arches closing in.  And yet when the “camera” turns to Phos, their greyscale body is surrounded by white, as if the pure vision they had just seen is still haunting them.

I’m just in awe of how perfectly the environment here mirrors Phos’s emotional state.  Their heavy bondage flies away in a flurry of petals just as they’re getting their hopes up, and in the moment that those hopes are dashed, the rain of blades that shatter them are represented as black bars caging their mangled body.  Have I said before that Ichikawa is an absolute master of visual metaphor?  Because she is.

I was so fond of the art, as a matter of fact, that I reread the chapter several times and kind of.  Stared at it for a couple hours.  Here’s some interesting things I noticed.

In chapter 71, Cinnabar’s mercury globules were gone, but now they’re back.  Were they gone before because Cinnabar had just unloaded a bunch of mercury the previous chapter, or could there be some other reason?  Also in regards to Cinnabar, they’re present while Phos confronts Kongou, just barely visible on the far left—note the floating mercury.

But at no point does Ichikawa let us see their face or what they think of all this—more on this in a moment.

Bort doesn’t seem to be wearing powder on their left leg.  It’s the same leg that Phos shattered, and as far as we know, that’s the only time they’ve ever been broken, so maybe they’re leaving that leg bare as a reminder?  That seems like the sort of samurai-esque thing Bort would do.

Everyone’s started wearing gloves.  Before, the gems with a <9 hardness would only wear gloves if they anticipated having to touch someone or something with a different hardness level, (or in Cinnabar’s case, if they didn’t want to contaminate the things they touch.)  But in this chapter, everyone’s wearing gloves the whole time.  There are two possibilities that come to mind for me.  One is that since the earth gems have to anticipate fighting other gems instead of cloud-people, they have to worry about abrasions to their hands while fighting, and are thus patrolling with gloves.  The other possibility is that since Cinnabar has been fully (?) integrated into the group again, everyone has to be careful of what they touch, and they’ve taken to wearing gloves to lessen the risk of being contaminated by mercury.

Peridot and Sphene aren’t wearing gloves while patrolling in chapter 69, even though the earth gems were definitely counting on fighting the gems on the moon sooner or later, which makes me think it’s more likely that Cinnabar is the reason everyone’s wearing gloves.  Maybe it went something like this: up until the night raid, Cinnabar hadn’t been living with the other gems despite the fact that they must have been engaging with them.  But after the night raid, they start living with the others in the school, thus necessitating the gloves.

Once the sleep deprivation started kicking in I found myself engaging in the potentially meaningless venture of counting swords, gems, and who had swords and who didn’t in the second half of the chapter.  I may have found a couple of interesting things, so get your tinfoil hats ready.

On this page, we see all the earth gems sans Jade and Euclase, and of those gems, Sphene, Cinnabar, Obsidian, and Red Beryl are unarmed.  My first observation is that one of the gems who was unarmed grabbed a sword from somewhere and threw it at Phos.  There are only seven swords on this page, but—not counting Rutile’s scalpels—there are eight swords on the ground on the final page. 

Which begs the question: who threw the mystery sword?  We can rule out Jade or Euclase; they were standing in front of Phos and it’s clear from the positions of the blades on the ground that they were all thrown from behind.  Best-case scenario is that Sphene simply set their sword aside while checking the cage and grabbed it again off-panel.  Worst-case scenario would be if Cinnabar was the one who chucked the eighth sword at Phos.  I’m just gonna hope that they’re too frail to pick up a sword in the first place; please don’t dash my hopes Ichikawa.

Speaking of which, on the penultimate page, there are eight lines piercing Phos—one for each sword on the last page.  This makes me wonder: did Bort not attack Phos here?  Their whip is seemingly unrepresented in the stylized depiction of the weapons that shattered Phos, and it’s not entirely clear from the last page whether they used it or not.  Then again, Rutile’s scalpels are on the ground on the last page but absent from the previous page, so maybe I’m reading too deeply into it.  But the fact that Ichikawa was careful enough to have the number of swords match the number of black lines makes it a possibility worth keeping in mind.

This is what happens when I’m assigned to read The Tedious Misadventures of Tristan and Isolde.  I start procrastinating by going all True Crime over who exactly murdered Phos.  Anyway, see you guys next month when we find out whether the earth gems were nice enough to put Phos back together or if they just chucked the pieces out to sea.

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous

[paganinpurple]

Be Careful What You Wish For - Ch 4

Will write for coffee

This chapter was commissioned by the lovely Simply_Zerah from AO3 who I would totally tag but I’m not yet 100% sure if they have the same Tumblr URL lol

Enjoy!

Adrien and Nino find themselves in an alternate timeline where Hawkmoth never attacked and so the Miraculous heroes were never chosen. Just how much has changed in this universe? And how will they find their way back?

AO3

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7

A shadow sat atop the Parisian rooftops, the Place de Vosges a less than ideal perch for one attempting to stay hidden, but Chat had never been very good at sticking to a low profile.

His baton open in front of him, he was zoomed in on the windows of the Agreste mansion, checking them one by one, vainly attempting to catch sight of the person he hadn’t seen in years. The one he desperately wanted to lay eyes upon again.

He sighed despondently as he desperately tried to merge together the picture he had in his mind’s eye of his mother -warm and sweet with such a lovely youthful face- with the one Marinette had shown him pictures and video clips of. It had been obvious to him that she would look so much older now, that was just to be expected after fourteen years. Although she had aged gracefully, the lines on her face, and the distinguished streaks of grey were still apparent. But that wasn’t what had unsettled him.

From the pictures and videos he had seen, she rarely seemed to smile anymore -or at least not the way he remembered it. In his memory there was a wonderful light to her, a glow which lit up the entire room she was in whenever she graced someone or something with her radiance. In the past, she had always shown warmth with her whole face, expelling pure joy and love when she did. Her photographs now seemed to consist solely of modelling expressions, her head held high and face blank -aloof and unattainable. The video interviews he had watched showed her smiling at reporters and other fashion icons, but the look almost had a calculated and almost wrong look to it. The sweetness seemed false and her face held none of the energy he remembered. The smile never reached her eyes.

She looked almost tired.

There was a soft thud beside him, and it was so recognisable that Chat never even took his eyes from his baton screen as he continued to cycle through the windows. “Thought I’d find you here,” said Carapace as he settled himself on the tiles below, “Any luck?”

“Nope. No sign of her or my dad,” he said with a sigh, “Though if you check out my old bedroom, you’ll see yours truly.”

Carapace’s head lifted abruptly in shock. “Really?” he asked, lifting his finger to tap the side of his goggles as he too zoomed in on the mansion windows. A few seconds of silence passed as Carapace adjusted his focus until he finally spotted the figure slumped over on his front on the white couch, having apparently dozed off while watching TV.

“Wow,” he told Chat with a sarcastic snort, “Attractive.”

One of alternate Adrien’s arms had clearly been thrown over his forehead before he rolled over onto his stomach and was currently lodged between him and the couch awkwardly. His shirt sleeve was sure to leave strange lines on his face when he finally moved. He had also managed to wiggle his knees beneath him so that his butt stuck up in the air and, of course, he was drooling, the light from the television making the moisture glisten so it stood out even from this distance.

Chat sniggered despite his dark mood. It had been unsettling at first -to spot himself- and it had only added to his list of things to freak out about internally. As it turned out, it wasn’t the same as seeing an advertisement or an interview like had often happened years ago, because he was too actively aware that this was another living version of himself. But he had to admit, Marinette was right when she told him he looked utterly ridiculous while he slept. Why did she always have to be right about the embarrassing things?

The picture on his baton screen cut out unexpectedly and a harsh ringing tone sounded on it, startling a yowl from him. It only took a second for him to calm himself, one hand on his chest to try to slow his thumping heartbeat, before he raised an eyebrow at Carapace. He recognised the number showing on the display and he knew there was only one way that number would have known how to contact his baton. “She’s always been better at getting you out of your own head than me, dude,” the other hero said with a small smile he noted was laced with sadness, before he leapt to the edge of the row of buildings in order to afford Chat some privacy.

Taking a deep breath and screwing his green eyes tight shut for a moment, he exhaled deeply before finally pressing the button to answer the incoming call. “Hello?”

“Um, Hi…Adrien?”

His chest ached horribly at her hesitance. She even sounded unsure about a simple phone conversation. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Nino said you might need to talk to someone,” she said, a hint of trepidation in her voice, “He…he seemed to think…that it should be me.” A pregnant pause followed and Chat remained silent for a moment as he considered how to talk to her. Normally he would spill out everything to Marinette -every painful and ugly thought that briefly passed through his mind, but that wasn’t what people did to someone who barely knew them. And this particular Marinette wasn’t likely to know how to deal with his rants, because she was in fact a stranger to him.

“I…miss you,” was what finally fell between the empty ends of the line.

“Well, um, I guess I get that you kind of do, even though I’m right here because actually I’m not. I mean, I might be me but I’m not your me if you know what I mean, and I guess you do ’cause that must be all you’ve had to think about since you got here. I must be so different and after all you love me-”

There was a muffled squeak as she pulled the receiver away from her face and he heard the distant remains of “Ohmygod did I really just say that?!” as she panicked. “Anyway, what I mean is,” she said, returning to her rambling, “how are you- Uh, Adrien are you okay?”

He absolutely wasn’t okay, he was far too busy trying to keep the volume of his laughter at a minimum so that he wouldn’t alert any of the Parisians in the park below to his presence. Tears began to stream down his face as he shook in utter mirth. He sobered up a little when he heard a hum of disapproval from her end of the connection but continued to break out into little giggles as he spoke.

“You’re not that different,” he told her, stopping momentarily to give a snort as he tried to repress another wave of laughter, “you still ramble when you’re flustered.”

“Oh.” She sounded a bit embarrassed and he could almost imagine the blush dusted across the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be.” Her refused to let her spiral into self-doubt right now. Not when he was finally feeling somewhat human again. “I think it’s funny when you do that. It’s…cute.”

“Oh!” Now she really sounded embarrassed.

“Honestly, I think it helped. Things are different here. But…you’re still you.”

She remained quiet and if it wasn’t for the whisper of breath his hearing detected on the other end, he would have thought she’d hung up or left.

He wiped away a remaining tear from the corner of his eye. “Thanks, Mari,” he said, and he couldn’t have held back the affection in his voice if he tried, “I’ll be back soon. I’ll see if I can pick up some peppermint hot chocolate on the way, though I might need to send Nino to get it, so I don’t get recognised.”

It was her favourite drink on chilly nights or when she was in desperate need of extra comfort of some kind and he expected her to comment on that, but she didn’t. “It’s going to be okay, Adrien,” she said, “You’re going to fix things.”

“See you soon, My Lady.” He ended the call a moment later, a hint of a blush on his face from his automatic use of the pet name he’d always used for her. She hadn’t said anything or spluttered at it, and that just made the dusting of pink across his cheeks intensify.

Just as he was moving to depart, Carapace reappeared, landing beside him once again. “Dude,” he said, shaking Chat’s shoulder as he did and pointing at the same window he had been trained on for the past few hours, “There’s something floating above Other-Adrien’s head. Take a look.”

Opening his baton again, he zoomed in on his alternate self’s sleeping form, narrowing his eyes as he tried desperately to focus on the tiny blue blur moving around him rapidly. The thing slowed for a moment to land on the golden tresses beneath it and Chat gasped.

“Is that a Kwami?” he asked.

Will write for coffee

#pip writes #be careful what you wish for #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #nino lahiffe #chat noir #carapace

[devilsknotrp]

Congratulations, Jenn! You have been accepted for the role of Wendy Taylor (FC: Mary Louise Parker). Wow. What can we even say? You have brought Wendy a depth that we truly had not even envisaged. There were glimpses in her biography, but you have enhanced them and exampled how complex and nuanced she really is. The fact that she is a closeted lesbian makes a lot of sense, and I think exploring the notion of compulsive heterosexuality and her late relationship with Charlie will be a fantastic writing challenge - one we have no doubt you’ll pull off with aplomb. Your headcanons are extensive and beautifully written. This is a truly fantastic application. Thank you for writing her! Please have a look at this page prior to sending in your account.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Jenn Age: 27 Pronouns: She/her Timezone: EST Activity estimation: I have a full-time job, but I can be around on weeknights and through the weekend! I can confidently approximate my activity at a few replies per week. Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Wendy Marie Taylor Age (DD/MM/YYY): Fifty years old (09 October 1946) – Libra sun, Cancer moon Gender: Cis female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Lesbian, though she will assert she is Straight Occupation: Regional Manager, Great Lakes Cup Company Connection to Victim: Linda Goode is one of the moms. Even if her own daughter has been grown for a decade plus, Wendy feels connected to the other mothers in Devil’s Knot because motherhood is so important to her. When Linda first moved into town, Wendy was drawn to her bright-eyed enthusiasm. They talk after church about their children, and Wendy gives some gentle advice when she can. They’re friendly, if not friends. Linda’s optimism in the face of a mother’s worst nightmare has only bolstered Wendy’s desire to know her better. She remembers what Sandy was like when Pete disappeared. Linda’s going to need all the help she can get. Alibi: Wendy spent the morning at home, going through her closets for things she could sell at her upcoming yard sale. One of the skirts she’d set aside – an old favorite – had a broken zipper, so she brought it to Aisha around 1pm to see if her sister-in-law could mend it. She got so wrapped up in playing with her nephew and talking to her family that she stayed for dinner, and didn’t come home until 7:30pm, at which point she ran a bath, read a few chapters of her book club book, and fell asleep. Faceclaim: I was approved for Mary Louise Parker! :) Other alternate faceclaim ideas (not proposed to y’all) are Winona Ryder and Marisa Tomei.

WRITING SAMPLE

The waiting really wasn’t so bad. At 11:15, the pie went in; by 11:30, the whole downstairs smelled like peaches and cinnamon, even all the way back in the laundry room where the dryer-sheet scent never left. This was what Heaven smelled like, to her. This was her Heaven, right here in Formica and linoleum. She closed her eyes to take it in. Sense is everything. That’s what Pastor Jeff had told her, last time they spoke one-on-one. She’d been struggling to stay grounded, with all the background noise starting up again: another missing boy, another swing to the slumbering hornets’ nest. She could feel the buzzing in her sleep, she said. Thank God for God. He made the world for us, Pastor Jeff told her, and we take it for granted. There are little blessings everywhere. All we have to do is open to receive.

Wendy pressed her shoulders against the back of the chair, imagining a coat hanger strung through her spine and then straightened just so. The birds were quietly tittering in the trees outside. The sky, she imagined, was blue. She wanted to believe that it was.

Her egg timer ticked. She could hear it better with her eyes closed. Sometimes she thought the insides of her eyelids looked like one of those abstract paintings that’re just colors and drips, chaos on a canvas. Like the blood splatter patterns. The photos Charlie pored over. You weren’t supposed to see that, he always said – but what did he know about supposed to? What did he know about her? He had heavy hands and a weak heart, and he–well, he–

Fuck him, she thought.

She opened her eyes. Some words taste sour on your tongue and some don’t taste like anything at all. By the refrigerator, Buddy flattened out on the floor, his head resting on his paws – Wendy hadn’t even noticed him come in. She reached for him with fingers caked in flour and dough. “C’mere, Bud,” she said, softly. “C’mon.” It took him a few seconds to stand; for those couple of breaths, she was sure he’d heard her curse. Then he was walking over, and exhaling, and nudging against her to make room for himself at her feet. “Hey, baby. How you doin’, huh?” She rubbed her hand through the fur at the top of his scalp. He didn’t react. “Oh, you’re mad at me now, ‘s that it?” Buddy was as much Charlie’s as he was hers or Jenny’s, but that’s what happens when you leave: you don’t get to claim ownership anymore.

Wendy let her breath come out her nose in one long stream. She used the heel of her palm to brush loose hair off her forehead; her hands were a mess. “Fine,” she said. She stood. She had Jenny’s number memorized by now, but she still grabbed her contact notebook and double-checked as she dialed. The answering machine picked it up. “Hey, honey, it’s Mom. I’m gonna be taking a pie over to the Goodes in an hour or so. I’d love some company.” She glanced at the hanging clock. 11:50. ”No pressure,” she added. “Just call me back before 1.” Wendy tightened her grip on the phone, readying herself to hang up – but her hand didn’t move. Her sigh went right into the mouthpiece, loud and clear. “And–maybe… if you haven’t yet, maybe call your dad, too. Just to–just to make sure he’s okay.” Okay. “Okay. I love you. Talk soon.” There were still 20 minutes left in the oven. They couldn’t pass quickly enough.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here is my Pinterest board for Wendy! 

Wendy is a lesbian. Used to be. Wendy used to be a lesbian – and God, even the word is ugly, isn’t it? Lesbian, like the name of another species, something grey-skinned and hairless crawling out of a crater. She outgrew it when she grew up. There were thoughts, and dreams, and wishes and whims, and when she was younger there were girls her age who stopped her breathing just by touching her – but that was frivolity, that’s all. She can be so frivolous sometimes. If it weren’t for her Daddy’s looking out for her, she might’ve lit her life on fire years ago just ‘cause she liked to watch the sparks.

No one’s ever hurt her worse than Charlie Taylor did. Would you believe she really loved that son of a bitch? Being a housewife felt about as natural as waxing her leg hair off, but she did it for him – and, like waxing, it hurt less over time. Sweet, serious Charlie. He’d been impressive to her long before the Sheriff’s badge: just a kid at 20 when they’d first met, and even then there’d been something steady about him. Something safe. And as they got older, they got older together, and they got married together, and they had their daughter together. It didn’t matter who they were in the dark, because they were a family together, a whole of sums, a house united. That’s what kept Wendy from leaving, all those years ago, back when she could’ve left him. They had made something together. Even when things were bad, they were still warm like a burnt-up dinner, bitter but still hearty all the same. She couldn’t spit in the face of a home-cooked home. Guess Charlie wasn’t burdened with the same sense of sacrifice, though, ‘cause he gave it all up to be himself. As if she hadn’t bit her tongue for him. As if she hadn’t swallowed blood.

When she was younger, Wendy’s lifelong dream was to climb the tallest tree in Devil’s Knot. Up by the river, where Ely Street met North State and the water folded over the rocks underneath – right there, that one, the one that stretched bare and empty on top like it was just made for a Christmas tree angel to sit. It didn’t matter that there were taller trees by the Campgrounds; she claimed that one back in elementary school, pointing and shielding her face from the sun. She practiced on the trees in her front yard. Her legs still show the scars where sharp bark and misplaced foot-holds left their marks. Wendy’s mom used to patch her up quietly in the bathroom after she fell off, be it bike or branch, and now when she tries to remember her mother, she thinks of how they’d wince together when the iodine hit her skin. Her mother, watching Wendy’s face and sucking in her own breath through her teeth like she could feel it, too. Like it hurt her to hurt her, no matter how small the pain.

It was never her lifelong dream to work for Great Lakes Cups, that’s for sure – but she really does like it well enough. She’s the franchise’s first female regional manager in Michigan, if you’ll believe that. Her! Wendy Taylor! Sometimes, when she’s feeling particularly scatter-brained and stupid, she’ll remind herself to look at the little name-plate they put on the wall outside her door. If she can run a whole office of a consumer products manufacturing company, then she can do just about anything. And if there’s anything she can’t do – well, she’s got her Daddy to help guide her halfway to home. No one was happier for her than him when she got the promotion. Not even Charlie, who by then was already her ex on barely-speaking terms, divorce papers pending. Her Daddy has been her biggest supporter, coach, and strategist for longer than she cares to remember. She can see that now. No matter how many times she doubts him, it’s only the toughest love that gets people to change. She wouldn’t be who she is without his. 

Wendy always knew she wanted kids. Charlie wanted them too, and when they had Jenny, everything changed all at once. It was like another version of herself had been growing in her, too, right there in the womb next to her daughter. She gave birth to both of them. She saw it. She knows it’s crazy, but she saw it – and it wasn’t a hallucination, either. Pastor Jeff’s on her side. He says that the Creator has His ways of showing people what plans He has in store. After years of fighting and flailing and keeping God out of her heart, Wendy is finally ready to listen.

#dkaccepted #accepted #new rp #original rp #dark rp #wendy taylor

[splendapine]

RE: merch discourse

So everyone probably fully aware of the drama about the RTX exclusive shirts and how goddamn ugly James’ shirt is. The running theory was that they made it last minute with no approval from James on the design, hence the big mistakes in skin tone and the caption. However they did show James a draft, and he said it read ‘Alright, hello!’. Since then he’s commented on the use of the fucked up caption and on the inclusion of bags under his eyes, so it seems he’s not too pleased with the design either.

So my question to the designer and RT is, what the fuck went wrong in the communication line there? Watch literally any James video and you’ll hear just how he says it. It’s not difficult to fact check. It a mistake that could have been cleared up so quickly and effortlessly so the fact that they chose to run with the changed up version really makes me question the care level on the part of the designer. Also why would you make him a sickly corpse grey? He’s Puerto Rican for crying out loud! He’s the lightest of the three, which makes zero sense, and here’s the proof babey;

(image source @ marigoldtears on twitter)

And to quote Trevor; “lol they made you look fucking dead, why are you so pale and have bags under your eyes looking older than Burnie”

Rt continually do CC dirty and it’s not even subtle anymore. Asher is the only one who wanted to participate in the LPL panel, isn’t that pretty telling of the relationship going on here? I am so goddamn sick of the way CC are treated, they are some of the most hardworking, kind and caring individuals currently making content on YouTube. It might not seem like a big deal to some, but pair this disastrous design with the fact that RT don’t even restock the CC merch nor have it available at conventions sometimes really grinds my fucking gears. 

The fans are all ready and willing to support CC in any way we can, this INCLUDES buying merch, so I really do not understand why RT doesn’t fucking pull their part of the relationship.

TLDR; The shirt is ugly, RT did them dirty, and I’m just really fucking tired of CC being the underdogs that can’t catch a break. 

#rant rant rant #i'm going to have a shower and calm down #sorry for going on about it im just fucking floored that this actually happened #merch discourse #long post

[xxbyimm]

The bet - A Thorin x OC series

For anyone who’s interested: here’s a link to my Masterlist OR if you love Enya, check out her story: Enya’s unexpected journey. 

Based on this imagine that I posted on Tumblr that everyone seemed to love. I decided that Thorin needed a strong OC for this series to work, so... Yes. I ended up with Enya. The characters did their own thing, so my first chapter turned out a little bit... different than I anticipated. I hope y’all like it anyway. xoxo

Phase I - The bet

Summary:  Our OC Enya lands in a fierce argument with her king, because she has seen him staring at another dam’s ass. She offers Thorin a challenge: to prove to her he does has, in fact, decent self-control, he has to refrain four weeks from physical contact. He thinks he can make it. Easily. He is a king. But who says the queen is gonna let him win this easily? Let the games begin…

Taglist: @symphony25 @oakenshieldsmizimel, @nelswp, @bellastellaluna, @imagines-for-multiple-fandoms, @leah-halliwell92, @sassytyphoondetective, @jotink78, @armitageadoration, @patanghill17, @sweeticedtea, @evyiione, @fergrigori, @thegreyberet, @maioneill, @mycabin13-blog, @deepestfirefun - Tumblr doesn’t want to tag some of you properly, I’m sorry!!! If you wish to be on this list, please let me know.

Warning: Enya’s swearing. Contains smut. 

All men were the fucking same.

No exceptions. Her mother had told her that once, many years before. Enya remembered the night vividly. There had been a party, hosted by a guy from her math-class she really, really liked. She had spent all day perfecting her look: trying to find the right outfit, adding just another layer of mascara… She had been all fired up; ready to receive that first kiss. Alas it turned out to be a disaster; the object of her affection broke her heart by kissing her best friend. Enya went straight home and sat on the patio for hours as she tried to remember what she had done wrong to deserve something like this. The tears that kept falling down her cheeks ruined her makeup and turned her into a sad panda. It didn’t matter, her life had ended anyway. Looking back, she had to conclude that back then, she had already been quite the drama queen. At some point her mom joined her and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. At first Enya didn’t want to talk to her mother and tried to shove her away as any teenager would do. The two of them fought all the time (and would spend a great deal of their time quarrelling after that day anyway), and Ailva seemed the last person on earth capable of comforting her. But at that moment, Ailva just held her daughter and understood the agonizing feeling of an heartbreak.

‘All men are the same, En.’ She confided. ‘They can’t help it, it’s the weakness in their flesh.’ ‘But we were meant to be!’ Enya had cried out, too hurt to see the boy in question clearly wasn’t. A soft smile appeared on Ailva’s face, only too familiar with puppy love. ‘You’ll find your soulmate, honey. Don’t you worry. And when you do, you’ll know.’ ‘How?’ Enya had sniffed. This wasn’t helping her at all! A faint promise of meeting someone in the future who she didn’t even know yet, how was that supposed to cheer her up? ‘You just know.’ Her mother replied. ‘Trust me.’

Looking back, Enya wished she should have been wise and listened to the warning. But, naive as she was, she didn’t. She broke her heart many times after that night, always being left with the echo of her mother’s promise. She often wondered if she already met her soulmate, and why he hadn't found her yet. Ha, she bet the poor bastard probably took a wrong turn somewhere and was lost, too stubborn to ask for directions.

Turned out that was more true than she ever could imagine. The love of her life often lost his way, but was too proud to admit it. Even to her. A smile crossed her face. Her mother had been right after all. The day she met Thorin… It had been fireworks from the start. The intensity in which she wanted him, the fact that they couldn’t stay away from each other... They were bound to each other, meant to be. Designed by Mahal himself to match. Although their journey to Erebor hadn’t been easy and adjusting to their new roles as king and queen proved to be more of a challenge than both of them had expected, they had each other. She knew she could count on him. She knew the passion never died, because behind closed doors they were still as insatiable as in the beginning of their relationship. They were rock solid.

Or so she thought.

‘All men are the same, En.’ She repeated to herself. She huffed. Just mankind? For a long time she believed that dwarves were different, but right now she wasn’t so sure anymore. All males, every race included, were bastards. She’d never thought that Thorin would be the same, because he was no ordinary male. He was a dwarf lord, for god’s sake. But that obviously didn’t protect him from falling for the oldest trick in the book.

The other woman.

Enya Blueheart heaved a sigh and stood up from the huge boulder she had been sitting on for the last few hours. Since she lived in Thorin’s renewed kingdom, this rocky area on the quiet side of the mountain had been her refuge. She came here to practice her powers and to meditate- a vain attempt to keep herself sane. The mountain slope provided enough cover from prying eyes, allowing her to unleash her rage fully. On top of all that, from this point it only was a twenty minutes’ walk to Dale. She liked to come in Dale. After the BOTFA she had become good friends with Bard, and she couldn’t be more proud of him. The way he handled his position as lord of the city was admirable, and he had managed to transform the town into a thriving center again. The relationship between Erebor and Dale was, thanks to Enya, finally improving. Thorin wasn’t too happy about the bond between his wife and the bowman, but she simply told him to get over it and he did. For some time, things seemed to be right.

Enya slowly began climbing the path towards Erebor again. She had been outside all day, first helping out Bard with his letter to king Thranduil, and after that she spent the remaining afternoon on her hidden spot. The sky was already darkening, but she dreaded to go home. Not now, not when… She clenched her jaw, scolding herself for growing into a weak version of herself. Old Enya would have scorched any female that came near her king; after that she’d probably throw the ashes off the mountain and get away with the murder. But old Enya didn’t know the court, nor the powerful nobles that resided there. This new version of her, the more polished queen, had to change her tactics. She had to proceed with caution, and acting like pre-queen Enya would only lead to disaster. She groaned, wishing she’d paid more attention to Balin. That old goat (as she lovingly called him) knew his way around highborn dwarves, taking advantage of his sweet demeanor and lying in their faces without batting an eye. She still didn’t understand how he did that, and she made a mental note to ask him one day. She passed the soldiers that guarded the entrance of the mighty dwarven kingdom and they bowed before her. Enya smiled at them, resisting the urge to decline her head. She understood why social hierarchy was so important, but on days like this she wanted to disappear behind the walls and be no one. There was no hallway she could cross without having to greet someone. Talking about tiresome. She rolled her eyes.

‘My queen.’ A soft feminine voice spoke behind her. Enya cringed and quickly turned around, ready to put on her haughty face when she saw her lady-in-waiting, Nin, smiling up at her. Her red locks were shining in the light of the torches, her pretty bluish-grey eyes sparkling with humor. Enya was grateful the title of lady-in-waiting had been given to Nin, because it meant she could keep her best friend close. And Nin was a gift from heaven. ‘God damnit, Nin!’ she exclaimed. ‘You scared me.’ ‘What are you wearing?’ Nin sniggered. ‘And where have you been? Thorin tried to find you all day, and he was not… pleased when I told him even I didn’t know where you was.’ Enya shot her friend a glance. ‘I’m your queen, you should bow before me and stop asking difficult questions.’ Nin grinned. ‘Oh, bollocks. You hate such formalities, and I don’t see anyone around here.’ She linked her arm with Enya’s and they strolled through the corridor towards the royal quarters. ‘If I may speak so freely…’ she continued and elegantly dodged Enya’s hand that tried to slap her. ‘You look stunning in those breeches, En. They hug you in all the right places…’ Enya giggled. ‘I think that’s exactly why Thorin insists me wearing a dress in court.’ Nin snorted. ‘Those modest dresses won’t make a difference. Even the noblest dwarves gawk at your pretty physique when you enter a room.’ ‘Oh, please.. tell him that!’ Enya begged. ‘Thorin is unbelievably stubborn about it.’ ‘Talking about that handsome subject…’ Nin began while they turned a corner. ‘Does the fact that you were missing all day having anything to do with a problem that starts with an E and ends with a N?’ ‘Don’t say it.’ Enya grumbled while clenching her fists. ‘I don’t wanna hear it. I. Will. Scorch. The. bitch.’ ‘I’m not stopping you.’ Her best friend confided. ‘She’s a brat and she deserves it for acting like that around Thorin.’

It had only been a few weeks since Enya sensed there was something wrong. A new dwarven family had shown up at court and Thorin allowed them to stay. They already blended in with the other nobles, but Enya didn’t like the way they seemed to change the atmosphere. The dams began to gossip, spreading ugly tales about others wherein no one was spared. To makes matters worse, she felt the distrust against mankind grow with the day. Which of course was completely unfair and unnecessary; Enya did her best to counter these accusations. But so far, it hadn’t been enough. Enya suspected the new noble family of conveying rumors, and especially a young dwarrowdam, called Elmilynn. She caught the filthy girl telling lies one time and kept an wary eye on her since then.

That’s when she noticed other things. She watched that bitch ogling HER husband a little bit too much during important gatherings. Or the dam bended a bit too close towards him when she had the delight of speaking directly with him. She laughed TOO loud at his jokes. That Elmilynn was trying way too hard and Thorin didn’t see it. He was treating her kindly, and Enya even caught him staring at her ass! Oh, she hated it. For all she could tell, he felt flattered and desired by the wench.

FLATTERED. DESIRED?

Motherfucking hell, she was going to kill him. He had no right to like, or watch any other female dwarf in that mountain but his queen. Oh, she could see right through that filthy little smug-faced girl! The little brat had decided to seduce the king, to persuade him in ditching his current queen. No doubt her family was behind her, some old-fashioned fools that liked to see all the old rules restored. Hatred against elves, men. Stricter rules for the women. They wanted back to that life of endless prosperity and power, the life that provoked a dragon to take their home. Enya scoffed. This queen wasn’t going down without a fight. She battled too viciously for all these changes, she loved her king too much to let this happen. She couldn’t fight with her fire this time, but she was ready to take another approach and roast Elmilynn and her whole family on a spit. She could wait, she was capable of keeping her head cool and-

‘GET BACK!’ The air was pushed out of Enya’s lungs when Nin suddenly pulled her back behind a statue. ‘What?!’ she grumbled. ‘Is master Runebelt in sight?’ Nin shook her head and motioned towards the other side of the corridor. Thank god, no master Runebelt. Enya liked the librarian, but the topics he redeemed interesting were enough to put her into sleep on the spot. She frowned and peered in the pointed direction.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

She pricked up her ears, trying to catch the conversation. ‘My king, what a coincidence I ran into you!’ Elmilynn chirped. ‘Yes, it is!’ Thorin replied. ‘I was about to retire to my chambers, but now while you’re here… I was thinking about what you said the other day-’ ‘You’ve got to be joking!’ Enya hissed while turning away. ‘I’m gonna KILL him, both of them! She just doesn’t stop! What did I miss, Nin? Are they involved?’ ‘No, my guess is that he’s being stupid and probably thinks she’s just friendly.’ Her friend tried. ‘Thorin cares too much about you to do this.’ ‘Does he?’ Enya questioned, while gesturing at the pair. ‘I don’t know anymore.’ ‘No, he’s just polite and-’ Nin began, but her face dropped when Enya slipped from their hiding place and walked into the hallway. ‘En, come back! You can’t…’ ‘Watch me.’ Enya groaned. ‘Talk to you later.’

Enya leaned casually against the wall and watched them nearing her, a single flame rising from her palm betraying how furious she actually was. Normally she would have teared them apart, but this situation needed tact. Everyone knew she was by no means an expert at that, but she could give it a try. ‘My queen.’ Thorin said when he noticed her, while giving her the I-have-been-looking-for-you-all-day-where-have-you-been-look. ‘Queen Enya.’ Elmilynn chirruped. ‘It’s so nice to see you again!’

‘Nice? Drop dead bitch.’ Enya’s mind scoffed.

‘Ah, my king. There you are.’ She said, ignoring her female subject. ‘Where have you been?’ Thorin inquired while eyeing her up and down. His pupils were slightly dilated, an clear sign of the fact that her appearance was distracting him. Ah, so far for avoiding the so-called lustful glances of his kin… Had she just found out the real reason why she couldn’t wear revealing clothing anymore? ‘Out.’ Enya replied matter-of-factly while studying her polished fingernails. She loved the bright red color on them. ‘I had things to do.’ Elmilynn shuffled awkwardly on her feet. Enya hoped she felt like a unwanted stranger, someone who didn’t belong here and she directed her gaze towards the young dam. ‘Oh, hi Elmilynn.’ She hummed, faking a smile. ‘I didn’t see you there… You have to forgive me, I had a long and tiresome day.’ ‘It’s nothing, my lady.’ ‘You don’t mind me taking back my husband, don’t you?’ Enya demanded in her queenly voice. ‘I was told he needs me.’ Elmilynn swallowed and bowed her head, but there was an indocile glare in her eyes. ‘Of course, my queen.’ She replied while turning away. ‘Forgive me for intruding, my king.’ ‘It was nothing…’ Thorin told the young dam. ‘We’ll continue our conversation tomorrow.’

‘Nothing? Tomorrow??’ Enya’s mind scolded. ‘You’re in big trouble, Oakenshield!’

‘Oh honey, wait a minute…’ Enya and walked up to the young surprised dam. She faced her directly, her fierce blue eyes boring into grey ones. ‘Nothing is worth my rage, trust me.’ She breathed. ‘Forget it.’ Elmilynn tilted her head, innocence displayed on her face. ‘I don’t what you’re talking about, my queen.’ ‘Oh, I think you do.’ Enya purred. ‘Head my warning. If you don’t back off right away, I’ll make sure you’ll suffer a great deal more than Smaug did. His death will seem merciful compared to your fate.’ Elmilynn scoffed. ‘We’ll see about that... We’ll see…’ Then she curtseyed shortly and disappeared behind the corner.

The door of their bedroom shut with a loud clank. ‘You are cruel.’ Thorin exclaimed. ‘Did you really think it was necessary to threaten that poor girl? She doesn’t deserve to be scolded by you like that!’ ‘Poor?’ Enya shot back. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t kill her on that very spot! I cannot stand there watch you FLIRT with that ignorant, little-’ She couldn’t even finish her sentence and let out an frustrated growl instead while throwing her hands in the air. ‘I don’t flirt with anyone but you.’ Thorin stated. ‘I don’t see what Elmilynn ever did to you for you to hate her so much.’ ‘Don’t you ever say that name.’ Enya hissed and shot him an ominous glare. She just couldn’t bear it, the name of that filthy dam rolling of his tongue like it was sacred. The bitch didn’t deserve something like that.

‘Wait, are you jealous of her?’ Thorin husked, his lips curving into a smile. ‘Is that what this is about?’ ‘As if.’ Enya huffed. ‘I’m a queen. The mere suggestion that I would feel threatened by that obnoxious… thing is repulsive.’ Thorin eyed her suspiciously and she knew he wasn’t buying it. Well, she didn’t even believe herself. The fact that she switched to her queenly voice, as Thorin liked to call it, said enough. ‘It’s a good thing your role as queen helps you to keep everything separated…’ Thorin mused. ‘It would be a shame if your emotions clouded your… judgement.’ ‘Oh, I hate you.’ Enya muttered angrily. ‘You do? I know I’ve been thinking about you all day...’ Thorin purred as his hands pulled her against him. His fingers traveled to her buttocks, kneading the soft flesh. ‘I got word you were looking for me.’ Enya told him, while her body writhed against him. His hands were distracting her from her fury and flared up a deep desire instead. ‘Yes, I was.’ Thorin replied, his lips dangerously close to hers. ‘Where have you been?’ ‘Bard’s.’ Enya whispered in his ear. If he could play the game, so could she. She knew she could make him jealous, if she pushed the right buttons… But Thorin wasn’t taking the bait. Instead he kissed her cheek, the rough facial hair scraping her skin. ‘So he had the pleasure to watch your cute ass move around him all day, while I got…’ he rumbled. ‘Nobles and boredom.’ His hands fumbled on her breeches. ‘And eager dwarrowdams.’ Enya huffed. ‘They all want you.’ ‘But why would I want those when I’ve got a beautiful queen by my side?’ Thorin murmured, his lips brushing over hers. ‘That doesn’t make sense, Blueheart.’ ‘Change of scenery.’ Enya opted. She licked her lips in anticipation when Thorin bent forward. ‘The thrill of…’ she stuttered. ‘Something new.’ ‘I find the thrill of having you a lot more satisfactorily…’ he breathed in her ear. ‘I don’t believe you.’ ‘Oh, mahal!’ Thorin growled. ‘You breathtaking, stubborn shrew!’

He surged forward and pulled her into a bruising kiss, his tongue intertwining with hers. Enya moaned into his mouth, passion swirling through her body and making her mad with desire. Her hands traveled down, struggling with the laces of his breeches. She slipped one hand inside, stroking him along his length. She wanted him, she needed him to show her how much he cared. Thorin groaned in response, his hips buckling forward. He hoisted her up and they crashed against his writing desk. ‘You can’t-’ she began and bit her lip when he wiped the desk clean with one swing of his arm. Inkpots and other writing materials clattered on the floor, the sound of it ringing in her ears. If no one had heard them quarrelling, they were aware of the situation now.

‘Apparently I can.’ He barked. ‘The thrill of something new…’ Before she could move, he pushed her down on the table and tore her pants from her body. The fabric made a protesting ripping sound as it came off and Thorin tossed it carelessly on the floor. ‘Those were expensive!’ she snarled as she shot up. ‘Who do you think you are, Oakenshield?’ Thorin smirked. ‘I’m a king. I’m sure I can persuade the tailor to make a new pair for you.’ ‘Arrogant asshole!’ She bickered. ‘It’s not like you allow me to WEAR THEM!’ Thorin clenched his jaw, his hands moving fast as he loosened his breeches some more, just enough to free his thick shaft from its confinement. Enya had no patience, she wanted him now! She wriggled in an attempt to free herself from her current position, but his strong hands pushed her down once more. A moan escaped from her lips when one of his fingers slipped into her heated core. Thorin groaned as her inner walls twitched around him. ‘Are you going to torture me?’ she quipped, tilting her head lightly. ‘No!’ Thorin snapped and positioned himself before her. Enya couldn’t help but admire his broad chest, the refined muscles on his abdomen, the thick dark trail of hair that grew towards his groin… He was a sight to behold. He managed to take her breath away, every single time. She didn’t even notice his fingers leaving her, but she did cry out as his entire length suddenly entered her in one go. Thorin looked down on her, his gaze burning through hers. His mouth was slightly open, his breathing somewhat unsteady. Enya’s cheeks flushed and a moan escaped her mouth as he started to pick up the pace, his rhythm hard and unforgiving. She wasn’t going to last long and he knew it.

Bastard.

‘You men are all the same!’ she bickered. It was hard to form words or to think while he took her like this, but she really didn’t want him to win this fight by simply fucking her senseless. ‘Are you really going to pick a fight about this?’ Thorin hissed, his hips slamming into hers. ‘Yes.’ She blurted out, biting her lip. Oh, he knew exactly how to drive her insane. She swallowed hard. ‘Damn right.. I am.’ ‘No.’ he rasped, closing his eyes while pleasure took hold of him. ‘Enya… don’t… just…’ ‘I’ve caught you staring at her ass NUMEROUS TIMES!’ Enya snapped, dragging her nails into his chest. ‘It’s HUMILIATING!’ ‘MAHAL, ENYA!’ he shouted. ‘STOP IT!’ ‘NEVER!’ she countered, but forgot what she wanted to say when he bit her collarbone. She threw her head back against the tabletop. Thorin was hovering over her, the heavy scent of his tobacco alluring her senses. He was everything she ever wanted, everything she ever desired. Her breath hitched, her body begging for its release. A fire pooled in her abdomen, flaring up with each stroke against the spot that made her see stars. Her body started to shiver when Thorin’s thumb grazed her clit. ‘Prove it.’ She moaned into his ear. ‘Oh god Thorin, prove it to me!’ ‘Yes!’ Thorin gasped. ‘Anything.’

Middle earth stopped spinning. The ground dissolved and waves of pleasure surged through her, sending her over the edge. Her body exploded, tuning out all senses, expect for the face of her one. Their eyes locked and Thorin growled desperately as her inner walls squeezed around him tightly, forcing him to follow her. ‘Enya!’ he murmured as his release claimed him, spilling his seed deep inside of her. He slumped against her and she listened as their ragged breathing slowed down. She caressed his long dark manes, her fingers traveling over the familiar patterns of his braids. Thorin heaved a sigh and kissed her gently. ‘I propose a bet, lasting four weeks.’ She breathed. ‘You have to last four weeks without any physical contact.’ ‘Any physical contact?’ Thorin asked, placing soft kisses in her neck. ‘Even you?’ ‘Yes. You can’t touch anyone, unless you have to during social occasions.’ Enya murmured. ‘And you can’t be near me either.’ ‘You think I won’t make it.’ Thorin said. ‘I don’t think your self-control is that strong.’ Enya dared. ‘I mean, all men are the same after all and it’s just a matter of time before their eyes start to wonder. Guys just can’t help yourselves, can they?’ Thorin narrowed his eyes. ‘I take the bet, if only to show you that weak flesh doesn’t exist in the line of Durin.’ ‘Think you can handle it?’ Enya inquired. ‘I know I will…’ Thorin rumbled. ‘I just wonder how you will cope, my queen. May I remind you that you’re as insatiable as I am?’ ‘I’ll be fine.’ Enya denied. ‘Then you don’t mind an additional rule…’ Thorin smirked and got up. ‘Surprise me.’ She purred, raising her legs and putting them on his shoulders. Thorin inhaled sharply, his blue eyes watching her intently. ‘You’re as tempting as ever, my queen.’ ‘Is that a problem?’ Enya giggled while tilting her head slightly. ‘It will be, for a few weeks.’ Thorin husked while leaving feather-light kisses on her feet. ‘Which brings me to our additional rule…’ A devious smile appeared on his lips. ‘Either of us are prohibited from pleasuring ourselves without the other being present.’

Gah! Frustrating dwarven king! He had just smashed her secret escape, her plan to survive those 28 days… It meant she had to suffer with him.

‘That surely sounds interesting.’ She replied, unwilling to admit that he cornered her. ‘When will the game begin?’ ‘Hmm…’ Thorin mused. ‘Let’s say midnight.’ Enya cocked a brow. ‘That’s at least five hours from now!’ ‘Exactly.’ He agreed. ‘It will give me plenty of time to ensure we’ll end up both satisfied for at least a few days.’ ‘A few days?’ she teased. ‘Is that even possible?’ ‘Well..’ Thorin told her while lifting her up in his arms again. ‘We can try…’

Let the games begin…

#thorin oakenshield x oc #Thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #Thorin Oakenshield x Enya Blueheart #Thorin imagine #Slow burn #Passionated smut afterwards #sorry about the smut #they did their own thing #while i cried in the corner

[powermetalhag]

Tag Game!                                                        

Thanks so much for tagging me @unexpectedventure !!​

Rules: answer these questions then tag 20 blogs you’d like to know better!

Nickname: I don’t have a nickname, but my name is Maddie

Zodiac: Leo Virgo cusp

Height: 5′4? I think? I haven’t checked in ages

Time: 2:45am

Favourite band/artist: Nsync, Backstreet Boys, M2M, One Direction, Power Quest, Magnetic Fields, Dragonforce, Savage Garden, TLC, Pet Shop Boys, Bambee, Twice, A1, A*Teens, Sonata Arctica, Blind Guardian, Celine Dion, Got 7,

Song stuck in my head: Hummingbird by Smile.dk

Last movie I saw: Captain America: Winter Soldier. I only just now got around to watching it.

Last thing I googled: I was looking to see if there was a movie version of the  Shakespeare play I have to read for uni

Other blogs: @frodoandsam and @oldfandomrelics . I also have a sideblog for art and writing inspiration but I won’t post the username bc it’s really just a place for me to put things I wanna look at later

Do I get asks: Occasionally

Why did I choose this username: I used to be cyberhag but I wanted my name to reflect the fact that post about Frodo/lotr a lot

Following: 682

Average amount of sleep: I generally get enough sleep except on days that I have uni

Lucky number: 77

What am I wearing: An ugly grey shirt and a black A-line skirt with buttons down the front

Dream job: I don’t actually know. I feel like a lot of things that I'm good at or enjoy would probably stop being as enjoyable if I had to do them as a job. I like the idea of getting paid to make creative projects, but more realistically, I just want a low stress, secure job which pays well enough that I can afford to only work part time. Because if you work part time, you can still do all the things you love doing regardless of if you’re paid for it.

Dream trip: I don’t know. Maybe Japan?

Fave food: Pasta

Play any instruments: I’ve attempted to learn the guitar, harmonica, and banjo at various points, I never stuck with any of them.

Eye colour: brown

Hair colour: Dark brown

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: Gosh I don’t know. Old Internet, retro futurism, photo-realistic cloud-print, virtual pets, tacky dragon themed home décor that looks kinda goth but kinda nerdy (you know the sort)... I’m out of ideas

Languages you speak: Just english

Most iconic song: I couldn’t say just one

Random fact: One time I was involved in a story on A Current Affair (a terrible and trashy news-ish show) and I spoke to Tracy Grimshaw on the phone and they hooked me up with hidden microphones and a handbag with a secret camera in it to go undercover. It was a pretty funny experience, but it didn’t go as planned and they didn’t use the footage.

Tag Time!!!: Only if you want to of course @flowerkitten @glitterrum @wooden-duck @hasobitt @lampshroomomg @southernbadgirl10th @southbreak @emaribaby @alexandria-is-also-a-boys-name @viridesse @maryofmagdalene @vinnoel @judeccah​

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Wedding Day

Summary: As requested by: @knfudenski

Here is another edition to my video camera series (Seniors & Making Memories) but for a Reddie wedding! 

Ships: Reddie

Word Count: 1,648 

~REC~

“Richie stop shaking it! The red light is on!” The camera shook as it got a few action shots of Mike and Stan trying to pry it from the other mans hands. 

As Mike caught a steady grip, he focused the shot on himself and gave it a winning smile as he checked himself out. “Bill put me in charge of the camera while it’s in this room so...” Mike glanced up in the flip out screen just in time to see Richie strolling over, swirling a glass of wine. 

“Richie where’d you get that?” Stan’s voice came from the right and Richie smirked. 

“Beverly gave it to me.” He smiled as Stan shook his head and ripped the glass from him, careful to avoid any splashing on his suit. Mike zoomed in on the two of them bickering. 

“Ahhh, nothing’s changed.” Just as he was about to turn the camera off, the door opened and closed. So he whirled the camera around and got Beverly in shot. Half her hair was in curlers and she was in a bathrobe. 

She give a pained look to the camera as it zoomed more tightly on her face. “I though Bill gave that thing away at that garage sale a couple years ago?” 

“Nope!” Mike grinned and zoomed in closer. 

Bev heard the whizzing sound of the buttons and curtseyed. “Yeah, film the parts when I look like this.” She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to just film the wedding?” 

“Yeah but Richie’s nervous, we gotta get that on film.” Stan said as the camera came to face him, capturing his smirk. Richie gasped with offense he most surely hadn’t actually taken off camera. 

And a small appetizer roll came quickly into shot as it thumped Stan on the head. Mike and Beverly laughed from out of shot. “That’s it, Trashmouth I don’t care if you’re getting married-!” 

The camera shook as Stan went to whirl past it, a smirk on his face.

---CUT----

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~REC~

-”I don’t know, Bev said it was too dangerous to have in their room- oh hey, it’s recording.” Ben smiled as he lifted the camera to face his bright smile. Bill unknowingly, walked into the background stuffing a bread roll into his mouth. 

“Bill those are for later!” 

Bill turned his head and let the roll fall out of his mouth and into his palm. “Oh the camera’s on.” He smiled, fixing himself. 

“Primping yourself doesn’t work if you’re just ugly, Bill.” Came an irritable voice from the right. Bill gasped and turned, Ben turned the camera. 

Eddie stepped into view, pulling his suit jacket on. “Sorry to the folks at home, Eddie’s a little irritable today.” Ben chuckled as he moved the shot up and down to capture Eddie’s look. 

“Amazing, iconic, b-e-a-utiful.” Bill happily strolled over to Eddie and waved his hands around him, as Eddie crossed his arms with amusement. “My best friend everyone.” Bill smiled and this time Eddie blushed. 

“Shut up.” Eddie rolled his eyes and smoothed his suit over with his hands. Bill took his hands and steadied them. 

“You look great....come eat a bread roll.” Bill smiled and pulled his hands. 

“Hey! You can’t eat those yet!” Ben cried, camera wobbling as he zoomed in on the boys neglecting to listen to him. 

“Eddie’s nervous! Let him eat.” Bill giggled as Eddie nodded behind him. 

---CUT----

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

~REC~

The camera fuzzed into focus on Mike’s face as he made sure it was steady on the tripod he’d locked it onto. He smiled, pulled at his suit jacket and ran off to take his position again. 

The camera looked over the well decorated hall that was filled with friends and family. Mike could be seen giving his grandpa a high five as he went back out the doors. 

And soon enough, the music began. A soft instrumental version of ‘Here, There and Everywhere’ flowed over the room. 

The losers walked down the aisle in pairs. Bev and Ben first, her long lavender dress glittered in the soft light as she gripped Ben’s arm. Stan and Mike came next, Stan taking his position as best man to Richie.  

And because Eddie spent a long time agonizing over who would walk him down the aisle considering his fathers passing when he was younger, Bill and Eddie walked with linked arms. Bill dropped Eddie off to face Richie as he took his best man position. 

---CUT----

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

~REC~

“We shall proceed to the vows, Eddie?” 

Eddie was handed his small notes from Bill and nervously fumbled with them as he stood. “Richie, we’ve known each other since we were just kids and I thought my nervous reactions to your teasing was just because you annoyed me.” He paused as everyone let out a giggle. 

“I never would have thought that I wouldn’t be able to imagine my future without your dumb jokes or nicknames that even though I say I hate, you have to know that I....” Eddie closed his eyes, thinking how to finish “love them and you so much.” Eddie smiled. 

Richie almost looked like he might faint. “Eds,” he paused as the crowd laughed. “I’ve known that you were the person I was meant to spend the rest of my life with since I was that scraggly hair, buck toothed kid-” 

Everyone laughed once more, the camera seemingly captured the warmth flawlessly. “So I’m gonna make this real short so we can get on with our future together, I love you and any shit we go through is worth it because you’re all I want.” 

The crowd ‘awed’ in perfect harmony and the camera captured their kiss and Stan mouthing a quiet ‘wow’. 

---CUT----

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

~REC~

Beverly squinted as the camera fuzzed to life, Ben and Mike leaning into her as they studied the shot. “It’s recording!” She smiled and gave a thumbs up to someone out of shot before whirling it around to Stan who was standing.

Stan stood, clinking a small utensil to his glass of champagne. Everyone quieted. “Well, As long as I’ve been friends with Richie, I never knew anyone more suited for him then Eddie.” Stan began nervously, Beverly zoomed in shakily. 

“In fact, Eddie is the only person I know who can make Richie shut up in seconds flat. He is totally whipped.” Stan chuckled and the crowd fell into laughter while Richie reached over and pinched him. 

The camera shook a little and fell onto the table. “Shit! wait wait! I dropped the camera in my food.” Beverly chuckled and wiped it down before pointing it back at Stan who was laughing too hard to finish. 

So Bill stood and raised his glass too. “Eddie and I were the original Loser’s club and he was my first real friend.” Bill was already tearing up, which wasn’t great cause Ben and Mike were going to be set off soon too. 

“And-” 

Bev zoomed in as a single tear fell down his cheek, whispering a quiet ‘Dramatic’ to the camera. Ben giggled from next to her. 

“I’m an ugly crier, so let me hurry this up and say I’ve never had better friends in my life then these six people. And seeing this...” Bill gestures to Richie and Eddie. “Makes me so happy because I set them up on their first real date.” He smugly raised his glass and everyone followed. 

“Cheers”

---CUT---

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

~REC~

“Rich, where did you get the camera from?” Eddie’s soft voice asked as the camera focused on Richie’s large grin, Eddie swallowing down the last bit of his champagne on his right. 

“Bev gave it to me.” He grinned and set it down on the table. 

“You have to give it to someone, you can’t record our first dance yourself you idiot.” Eddie rolled his eyes as Richie pouted. 

“I love when you talk sweet with me.” He stuck out his tongue and Eddie did the same. Richie picked up the camera, filming himself as Eddie put his chin on his shoulder. They both sort of stared at the screen that showed their own faces. 

“We’re married now.” Eddie said dumbly and Richie glanced down. 

“Guess that means our relationship’s getting pretty serious, huh?” He chuckled as Eddie shoved him. 

----CUT-----

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

~REC~

“The shots shaky-”

“Sorry my crying interferes with the shot, here you film it.” Ben interrupted Bill and handed the camera over to Bill just as the lights dimmed on the newlyweds. 

“Ooh baby I love your way every day. Want to tell you I love your way every day. Want to be with you night and day-”

“Where’d Richie learn to slow dance-?” Beverly asked.

“Guys I’m crying-?” Mike chipped in. 

“Anyone have tissues-?” came Ben. 

“But don't hesitate 'cause your love won't wait. I can see the sunset in your eyes. Brown and grey and blue besides. Clouds are stalking islands in the sun. Wish I could dry one out of season. But don't hesitate 'cause your love won't wait hey-”  

The camera zoomed closer on the  soft beam of light that warmed the couple. They looked as if they were the only people in the room. 

---CUT----

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

~REC~

The camera shook as it captured whirls of the losers on the dance floor, occasionally switching partners and spinning around like nuts with ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’ playing in the background. 

---CUT----

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

~REC~

The next shot was the losers from the end of a red table as they dug cherry red spoons into ice cream. Bill happily pulled his hand away from the camera once the light turned on and swallowed a spoonful of his ice cream. 

It was the end of the night, Bev’s hair was down, Mike’s tie was loosened and Richie and Eddie were leaning over each other. Mike waved at the camera with his spoon and a lazy grin. 

It was silent for a while as the seven friends ate their Blizzards at Dairy Queen at midnight as they leaned on each other. 

----CUT-----

#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #stan uris #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #stephen king #Stephen kings IT #IT by stephen king #itmovieofficial #the losers club #my fanfiction

[a-mentalhealth-universe-blog]

I Miss The Old Me

In my final year of college, aged 17/18 I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with my life. Going to university is what you’re pushed towards these days, pushed by staff at college and in my case by my family. My parents pushed me not on purpose, but it was clearly the future for me that they wanted, I also felt some pressure coming from the fact my two older siblings had been to large universities and gained top degrees. I applied to a number of universities in the North of England despite home being far away in the South West. I ended up with an unconditional offer for one of the uni’s I had really liked the look of and found myself incredibly excited.

Fresher’s week rolled around and it seemed I’d hit the jackpot, I had six flatmates and they seemed like lovely people and the flat next door where also keen to join in. I’m in my third year now and can confirm that two of the guys from my flat and the flat next door have become my best friends. We all went out for every night of fresher’s week and many nights for the next few weeks after that, I can’t remember specifically if it was at the end of fresher’s week or sometime the week after that things became a little strange. I’ve had what I now know to have been small episodes of depression before, but what hit me in those first few weeks was something very new to me. During college I had self-harmed, not majorly or very often, just small scratches in places usually well hidden. It’s not that I wasn’t happy, I was, I loved my college years and I think back on them as the greatest years of my life so far. This episode that hit me early in first year made me long to hurt myself like nothing else. So I did. I’d go on a night out, have a good time and then return to my room and pull out my pen knife and cut across my wrist. The reason why was quite terrifying for me, it is a fairly long story but I feel the need to explain it all so please bear with it. When I finished secondary school I got my first major taste of how cruel life could be, I’d just finished my year 11 exams and felt positively about how I’d done in them, I was looking forward to the summer ahead in which I was going to a music festival with a huge group of friends and my then girlfriend, I was also going away on holiday with ‘the lads’ and looking forward to many parties followed by the exciting prospect of starting college. It was just a few days before the festival and a day or two after my final exam that my parents broke the news to me that my mum had been diagnosed with breast cancer and would be going to hospital whilst I was away on my lads holiday. I can’t explain the feeling that came over me the evening I found out. I did what I often do when I felt down and went for a walk, I’m lucky to live in the middle of the countryside surrounded by farmland, forests and rivers, it was on this walk that I made the realisation that I believe triggered my first episode of depression and has never quite let me free ever since. My mum’s cancer was my fault. This sounds impossible I know and I am also aware that there is no way that what I’m about to say makes it my fault but I still blame myself. A few months before the news about my mum I liked school very much and had a number of great friends but I just existed in that school, I wanted to stand out, be more noticeable or special in some way, maybe in a way that made me more interesting. Then I considered that if something horrible happened to me, or my family, like it does in many films, there would be a happy ending for me as those people in films always go through something terrible and end up being noticed. I was instantly ashamed by this thought, I wouldn’t dream of seeing anyone I love suffer, having now had therapy I’ve been told passing thoughts like this aren’t unnatural. But anyway, I blamed myself and that’s a lot to carry. Importantly, my mum pulled through and has regular check-ups and passes clear every time but that summer was a lonely time, I wasn’t myself at the festival, lost my girlfriend but managed to hold it together for the holiday with my friends. The rest of the summer I isolated myself, for some reason I couldn’t tell my friends what had happened and rather than pretending to be happy and listening to their petty troubles I kept it all to myself. When I  got back from my holiday and my mum was in hospital I’d sneak out of my house in the middle of the night, walk through fields in pitch black and lie down under the stars, it was my first taste of true loneliness. During that time and throughout college I had some nightmares of myself with cancer, I’d dream about staring at myself in a mirror, just a few strands of hair left on my head, skin grey and clinging to my thin and fragile body, eyes empty and as grey as my skin. This is the image that came to life when I started uni and it drove me mad. Instead it wasn’t just there in my dreams; I could see it, this ghostly image of myself right before my eyes everywhere I went. It brought back the guilt of my mum’s cancer and made me feel even more guilty thinking I was more worried for me than her, and so I hurt myself, several times. One night, when completely drunk, a flat mate of mine noticed my wrist and had a chat with me, as drunk as I was I let her into a few details and so she took my pen knife and I promised I wouldn’t hurt myself again, the second she left my room I put my fist through a photo frame smashing the glass and tearing up my knuckles, I then grabbed a shard and drove it into my wrist. For one of the first times in years I cried properly, scared of what had happened to me, convinced it wouldn’t end and seeing no solution. I had barely cried when I had found out about my mother, my grief was real but crying wasn’t my solution, that night at uni was terrifying. The next night we went out again and someone had heard that there was a great view of the city at the top of a public car park, so after the club we went up there, I strolled around the edge of the roof by myself and leant over the edge and looked at the drop to the solid tarmac below, I don’t think I need to specify the thought that went through my mind at that moment and, admittedly being drunk didn’t help, but I don’t think I’ve even admitted to myself how close I came to doing the last thing I would have ever done in my life that night. That night I cried again, all night, I spent the next few days alone and knew things had to change. Eventually they did, they improved a bit, truthfully I think I’ve just learnt to live with the thoughts I have.

When university itself started it certainly wasn’t what I thought it would be, I find it very difficult to explain this because I didn’t have a specific idea of what uni would be like in the first place. In a way it just felt no different to me than college, work was presented on presentations and the lecturers would talk about it in more detail than was shown on screen. Assignments were just longer versions of essays I’d already written at college and field trips were managed by staff with clip boards and registers like I’d seen through my whole life. What I’m saying is university itself disappointed me; you’re not treated like an adult any more than a college student is. Obviously the living situation is completely different to what most teenagers have ever experienced, living with people your age, buying your own food and doing everything for yourself came as a bit of a shock to me as I’m sure it does to all first year students.

By Christmas time I realised that university wasn’t making me happy and I really didn’t enjoy my course at all, my attendance was incredibly low because my sleeping pattern was completely ruined and my depression kept me locked in my room and in my bed for hours each day. If you’ve had depression you might understand what I’m saying, everyone’s depression is different but it’s more incapacitating than I could ever explain. It appears as pure laziness but it feels like you’re not in control of your own actions, you wake up in the middle of the day and even if you’re in pain from hunger, desperately thirsty and keen to get up and make something of the day it’s the one thing you can’t seem to do. It’s not like I spent this time on my phone or watching TV, I simply lay there, alone with my own thoughts, listening in on the sounds of the city and envying the lives of those who occupy it with me. Depression is draining, you feel tired despite doing nothing and the thoughts that pass through your mind are truly horrible. I can’t remember a day when a thought hasn’t gone through my head telling myself that I’m useless, worthless, ugly, horrible, boring, and selfish or a day I’ve not felt numb, cold, frustrated, despaired, overwhelmed and empty.

I went through the early stages of dropping out of university and by February was almost a signature away from doing so, not that I’d told my parents anything. The day I went in to uni to make the final decision a rainbow shone over my university building and something felt different that day, a positivity I’d almost forgotten was possible and in that moment something made me stay, at least until the end of the year to give me a chance to discuss it with my parents and let myself get into a better state of mind to make a better decision. So I stayed, passed all my assignments and exams (just), spoke to my parents over Easter (who certainly weren’t pleased) and got ready and excited to be home for the summer. Again something had to go wrong.

I was unwell for a few days before I went home at the end of first year, it was getting progressively worse and by the time my parents came to collect me I wasn’t in a good state. The next day, back at home I went to the doctors who, after a few tests, told me I needed to go to hospital very soon as my right kidney simply wasn’t functioning properly. I spent a terrifying five nights in hospital during which many tests were carried out to specify the cause of my problem, they couldn’t find one from the basic tests and so I convinced myself my nightmare had come true, that I had kidney cancer and soon the ghostly image of myself would become a reality. However I improved, and when I was told I was fine and certainly well enough to go home I was delighted. The pain persisted over that summer so my cancer doubts took months to fade. But it was my time in hospital where I had a weird sort of epiphany that I should continue with university, things could be a lot worse clearly, besides I had no backup plan and no job I wanted to dive straight in to.  

Coming out of hospital I had new lease of life, I found enjoyment in so many things that normally go unnoticed, the warmth of the sun, the simple beauty of green fields and blue sky and the sound of birds. I started running and cycling, worked every day I could and I met up with my friends and girlfriend at every opportunity I got. I prayed that things would stay so sweet and I did manage to sustain the optimism into the start of my second year. I arrived at our lovely new house and tried to continue being healthy and happy. I ate well, joined a gym, slept and woke up at regular times and attended almost every lecture and seminar, which was a huge improvement for me. Things were going well and carried on like this for a few months, and although the content of my course still wasn’t exactly lighting my fire I knew that I was getting enough enjoyment out of my life to carry on and get through it successfully. It was then that I was reminded that life could be cruel, not that it was clear how cruel it was being for quite a while, but it turned out that everything was about to change.

I was ten minutes into a lecture and a horrible sensation came over me, light headed, heart pounding, shaking and a feeling of incredibly intense sickness that started in the pit of my stomach and quickly grew, occupying my entire abdomen and then pushed up my throat as if I was going to throw up, I stood up, pushed past people to get to the isle and ran up the steps and out of the lecture doors straight to the toilet where, to my shock I wasn’t actually sick. Being sick has never bothered me at all, apologies for the details but I’ve made myself be sick before when it needed to be done. Confused, still feeling very sick, I stayed in the toilet until the lecture was over, and not wanting to make a scene walking back into the lecture, let alone possibly having to walk out again. Afterwards, my friend brought out my things for me, and I went home, deciding to miss the next lecture and get into bed as clearly I had some kind of bug. I can’t remember specifically what order it happened in, but this feeling of sickness or feelings similar began spreading to other aspects of my life, eating out, the gym, any shop I went to, the cinema, pubs. Everything. This happened over a period of a few months, firstly it occurred in all lectures and by January I practically gave up going, it wasn’t worth putting myself through, I wasn’t paying attention if I managed to stay in the lecture and every time it happened I just felt crap in every way for the rest of the day.

During this time I had another cancer scare, feeling generally unwell for weeks, I’d had a cough for months, I got easily out of breath, felt continually tired and a pain had developed in my shoulder. Rule number one of any illness should be to never search for your symptoms online but stupidly I did and everything I was experiencing seemed to correlate with lung cancer. I was a heavy smoker throughout my first year at uni but had quit shortly into second year so with this history I was only more convinced that once again I was on the path to the ghostly figure of myself I’ve long feared. I went to the doctors and he practically laughed at me when I asked if I may have lung cancer, a response that didn’t fully convince me but certainly made me realise I’m far too hasty to make assumptions. It was then he asked if I had any other issues with my health and I mentioned the sickness feeling I was experiencing in an ever increasing number of situations. It was then I was referred to a mental health professional, deep down I had already figured out this was what was going on with me. The wait to be seen was long as the waiting list to see any mental health worker in this country always seems to be. But to cut a long story short by the time my meeting with her came around I was already aware of what she was going to tell me, I have developed some quite severe form of anxiety and of course there is the depression alongside that. No offence to her but she wasn’t much help, she wasn’t trained for therapy and the waiting list for CBT on the NHS was at least 9 months. Apart from signing me up to an online course there wasn’t a lot that she could do for me, especially with second year only having a few months left.

I slipped back into my old ways, sleep didn’t come easily to me so my sleeping pattern was destroyed I didn’t eat particularly healthily and certainly not regularly. I don’t know if I’m alone in this way but I have an ability to completely hide what I’m going through from others, I could be lying in my room blankly staring at my TV with no hopes of achieving anything that day and then someone could walk into my room and I’d chat enthusiastically and laugh and smile, then they’d leave my room and my face would drop and I’d sink back down into my bed and hide from the world around me. The scary thing is I’m not sure if any of that laughter and smiling was ever real. Near the end of second year I was virtually incapable of eating out, could barely enter any kind of shop without walking out feeling sick, hadn’t been to a lecture or the gym in months or really done anything. There was a month without lectures (not that I was going) at the end of the year where things did improve a little, I forced myself to do a few things like join my friends at the pub and go into shops. I got my assignments done but unfortunately had an exam coming up, I hadn’t tried to get help from university for my problems which was stupid as I could’ve got deadline extensions and possibly a different style of exam. The night before my exam I felt as sick as I ever had and didn’t sleep for one second. Not a problem I’ve ever had before, people used to tell me I was way too relaxed about exams in previous years. I was seated at the very back of the exam hall which helped for some reason as I felt if I had to leave I could do so more inconspicuously. The exam was just an hour long and when writing I was slightly distracted from the feeling I was imminently about to throw up. When the exam was over I had a feeling of pride, I’d done it, if I could get through that surely I can conquer the feeling altogether in all aspects of my life.  

  A week later came the thing I’d been dreading the most, a week long field trip to the Czech Republic. Once again I didn’t sleep at all the night before but in the morning I felt a bit better, I was okay on the day of travelling which included long coach journeys, the airport and being on the plane itself, all things I had assumed would really be a problem for me, the night we arrived I even at some food in the hall with everyone else on my course. I couldn’t believe how well it was going, the next morning I ate breakfast in the hall again along with everyone else and almost felt excited for the next five days. Then we all had to sit and listen to a lecturer walk us through the details of the days excursions, five minutes in the feeling that I was going to be sick came out of nowhere and felt so incredibly real once again I couldn’t resist getting out of that room. Rather than walk you through all the details I can confirm that I didn’t stop feeling sick for a significant amount of time at all for the entire week. I assumed I must surely be genuinely ill; normally I could eventually get comfortable in situations to the point where I could just about manage. However, as soon as we got home and I had a meal in my own house I felt fine. That week in the Czech Republic my anxiety meant I missed out on all of the education each day and all of the fun in the evenings, I barely ate, barely slept and felt utterly miserable. I never knew that it was possible for anxiety to take hold of someone for an entire week, this sent me to the worst point my anxiety has ever been. I couldn’t do anything, I was going home for summer soon and hoped that wouldn’t be so bad as anxiety wasn’t something I associated with life at home but within days it was clear I was wrong. If I was in my girlfriend’s house and one of her parents came to stand in her bedroom door to have a chat I’d feel sick, feel trapped and helpless. We went into town to go shopping and I felt sick before we’d even left the house, I couldn’t go into the smallest shop without feeling sick. I couldn’t eat at my own dinner table if my parents had friends over.

This is what university has done to me, I’m not saying it’s fully universities fault as clearly this isn’t a problem faced by most students but certainly the whole university environment had something to do with it. In school and college I was never the most popular but I was always up for doing anything, especially if it was a laugh, I wasn’t afraid to make a fool of myself in front of people. I could make jokes in class and talk to anyone, go anywhere even if I knew nobody, now I can’t even go to a small and quiet pub with my friends.

As I said, I’m in my third year now, wishing I could go back in time and drop out half way through first year to potentially avoid any of this anxiety rubbish. I haven’t fully enjoyed anything I’ve done for almost an entire year now as I’ve either had a full on anxiety attack, mild panic feeling or I’ve at least had it nagging away in my mind, never letting me be free. It controlled me completely for a little while, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully free. I told my parents about my anxiety early during the summer, they were great and got me to go to a therapist and I made real improvement over the summer, I could go and eat in certain small places, go into shops and pubs and never feel fine but I could usually cope, as great as this is as I’ve missed it so much it’s so far from where I want to be. For the majority of the summer I was quite positive, getting to do things again was great and I got back into routines. I returned to uni in quite high spirits, after everything I’ve started to overcome maybe I can get through this year reasonably well. Lectures have been running almost 2 months and I’m afraid to say I haven’t attended a single one. I really did try, but I’ve never even got past the door. I’m just living with one other person, my best friend, who is very motivated for his course and spends much of his time on his work, I don’t blame him for this at all, it’s just a shame as it leaves me with many hours spent alone each day. I’m feeling very low, thankfully I’ve gained the strength not to hurt myself despite quite a strong longing to do so sometimes. But the scars on my wrist will be a constant reminder throughout my whole life that I didn’t always have this strength and that I do have the ability to hurt myself.  The main reason I refuse to do it again isn’t for me, it’s for others, hardly anyone has spotted my scars as I’m incredibly careful but those who have are more hurt by them than I ever was, and hurting other people only makes me feel worse about myself.

Why do I feel so bad about myself I’ve been asked? I’m spending £9,000 a year on uni fees to stay in my room and do nothing, I’ve received lots of help now and haven’t really made much important progress, so I’ve let the people who have tried helping me down, including my parents who paid for my therapy at home. I feel like somehow I brought all of this upon myself, it took me a while to figure out how, but during my therapy over summer I was subjected to some hypnotherapy where my counsellor tried to make contact with my subconscious thoughts, ultimately she was trying to figure out what caused all of this, when speaking to me there was supposed to be a voice in my head telling me the answers to her questions. No matter what she asked me or said to me all that little voice in my head ever said was “because you deserve this”. Why I subconsciously think I deserve to suffer in this way I’m not entirely sure but I assume it’s punishment for my mums cancer which I hold responsibility for and seeing as I don’t have cancer myself, despite my regular scares, this is the format of punishment I’m getting.

One of the most annoying parts about my anxiety is that I know I’m not going to be sick, of the dozens of times I’ve had the feeling I’ve never been sick, so people have said to me well if you know you’re not going to be sick what’s the problem? Well the problem is they’ll never understand quite how horrible the feeling is and the body and the brains instincts when you feel like you’re imminently about to throw up is to get out of there. Besides it’s not just the sickness, it’s the racing heartbeat, the sweating, the shivering, the light headedness and the ringing in my ears that make it all the more difficult.

Undoubtedly though what scares me most is the thought that I may never get the old me back. I don’t believe I’ll ever completely budge my depression, but right now I would do anything just to be free from my anxiety. When it was just depression I could go out and get some relief from it, escape from it even if just briefly and came in waves meaning there were times I was free. My anxiety hasn’t loosened its hold for one second since it became severe.

#depression #anxiety #mental health #mental illness

[nightblink]

Blink Reads Oathbringer - Chapters 22-30

Chapter Twenty-Two – The Darkness Within

MRAIZE IT'S FUCKING MRAIZE SHIT SHIT ABORT MISSION AB O R T

She's definitely referring to Adolin as the whitespine here, hinting entirely unsubtly that she believes he (or at least a Kholin or one of their army) killed her husband. But does she have information we don't know about? Also, mark 2 for Adolin being associated with whitespines.

Go Adolin, that is exactly what needed to be said. And! Ialai's actually listening! She's treating Shallan like little more than a servant, though, and that is a very deliberate slight to her honor/authority.

!!! So. Ialai has no idea of Mraize's Ghostblood affiliations? Okay, okay, I'm now less on edge regarding this interview.

Oh shit, Shallan, he knows. Did you honestly think he wouldn't have that tidbit of information?

“You killed Jasnah.” Shallan. You just said yourself last chapter that you (a Radiant) could survive a sword through the chest. I'm amazed that you haven't put two and two together yet.

Ooooo. The “wrongness”? Was there some Ancient Evil in a Can that was unleashed when the Alethi came through the Oathgate? Well, no matter that or something else, “securing Urithiru” is a goal you can both get behind.

The little snub with the tea is perfect petty revenge (coupled with a bit of power maneuvering).

AMARAM. Goddamn it, I thought you were discredited! Only among the Kholins, it seems, Damn it. And Shallan still thinks you were the one that Killed Helaran. This is going to be a shitshow.

And Adolin's first thought is 'Kaladin isn't going to like this.' Ahhhhh, bless.

Adolin, you did well, even if you did almost punch her. You may not be good at politics, but you manage.

STORMS ARE BACK.

Chapter Twenty-Three – Storming Strange

Deceiving an honest person, Kaladin? [gasps] But hey, you and the Parshmen will be safe. With any luck, staying out of the storms will also mean they won't be exposed to Odiumspren of any kind.

Everstorm Count: 2 passes

Heh, he's a stubborn old man, Kal – you might not be able to slip this one past him. ...or not, that works too

The spren “have a destination in mind”. That does not bode well. Odium will need an army, not just a Champion, and turning them all in one place might be his plan rather than leaving them in smaller numbers with a better chance of getting overwhelmed by Rosharan forces.

Speaking of things the Parshmen stole from you, have you been checking back with the spanreed to- Ahhh, no, they took that too.

The spren! Stone/earth associations at the moment; perhaps flame, but that's colour alone. Still not entirely sure what kind of spren she is.

...I think she suspects, Kal.

Chapter Twenty-Four – Men of Blood and Sorrow

“Dalinar remembered.” That alone is enough to make me screech and bounce around the room, he remembers, he remembers-!

“not true golden, like the hair of the Iriali” okay Sanderson I will give you this but I'm still set on very subtle metallics, which is quite reasonable given the shared heritage between the Iriali and Rirans

Okay, so not a whole lot of memories returned, but still. INFO ON EVI. AAAAAHHHHHH-

“He didn't remember love” I have the feeling that that's going to change. You don't do something as drastic as going to the Nightwatcher to forget her loss if wasn't a pain that pierced deep.

What was your bargain with the Nightwatcher, We still don'y actually know. Sanderson, this better get explained later. Currently I'm of the opinion that the Nahel bond is interfering with it somehow.

Oh no oh noooooo, it's Taravangian. What are you planning…

“this man had been a friend to Gavilar” - and Gavilar was likely part of the Diagram as well, in that case and considering the political and military power he wielded

Or. Or not. Five years ago must have been when it started, and Gavilar was two years cold by then.

NEW RADIANT NEW RADIANT. Malata. No indication of what Order she is, but to work the Oathgate she has to have a living Shardblade, so there's no question there that she is one.

And here I thought assassinations weren't very Alethi, Dalinar.

What a way to drop the chapter title, ooof. That's something for Dalinar to think on.

Navani with the power dress, awwww yeah.

[winces] And they're underestimating Taravangian immensely, as he probably planned.

DUSTBRINGER. DUSTBRINGER DUSTBRINGER DUSTBRINGER TELL ME WHAT THE OATHS ARE, TELL ME-

I… had not considered that she might have one of the other Honorblades rather than being a Radiant.

“Lore about people dealing with their curses, and seeking any cure for them, is practically its own genre.” And now I want a peek at in-world novels covering this.

Oop, and the Stormfather confirms that it's not the Nahel bond causing the memory resurgence. There goes my theory.

Well. That Tukari “god-king” seems… unhinged. He's not going to roll over anytime soon, and I worry that Dalinar might end up fighting a war on two or more fronts here. Negotiation isn't going to do anything.

No one believes that you won't attack. No one believes that you, in particular, have changed, and what reason would they have to do so? No more than they do to believe that the warring Alethi will do anything else either.

How much of a tyrant will you be, Dalinar Kholin?

Chapter 25 – The Girl Who Looked Up

The sketch-picture page preceding this chapter is really unsettling. Seriously, Shallan, you need a therapist.

The note before the chapter isn't particularly reassuring either.

Perhaps there is information here, and you just haven't delved deep enough to find it.

A theatre! Oh man, yeah, Pattern would love the theatre. THE BEST KIND OF LIES.

Acting out the play with stormlight figures! Excellent practice for moving illusions that are separate from the Radiant.

Bit of an Attack on Titan vibe going on from that wall and the lack of wondering about its origins.

Eyeless crowd? Creepy, Shallan. You'd better save some of that spherelight for your walk back too.

“All but one” WAIT. WHAT. A shadowy figure? Spren or human? Considering Shallan, could be either.

Aaaaaand she's slipping into Radiant's personality again. Again the name changes.

Why the different light-versions of yourself? To confuse the shadow? To light the room? What…? I'm confused.

Oh, shit- Yeah, spren. With extra body horror.

She's changing personalities even easier than before. It seems she's still consciously doing it, but she doesn't have to spend any time getting into the mindset of another personality anymore. It simply flows.

Rock? It attacked Rock? Like Shallan stabbed the Horneater called Ur at the bar. And after Sadeas, that mirror-murder was a soldier. The spren – it has to be this shadow-spren - it's looking for at least some physical commonalities in its choice of victim. It's not just murder it's reenacting either – just. Violence. Maybe there needs to be blood involved? Or an emotion like fear?

“I don't want to be blind anymore.” Oooo, another seeking secrets. This definitely won't be the last we see of you, Ishnah.

Chapter Twenty-Six – Blackthorn Unleashed

MORE EVI MORE EVI-

So the Heralds are still 'worshipped' in Iri, even if the names are changed, and they have a similar practice of burning prayers. The largest difference is the 'god' at the top of the chain – possibly split between Honor and Cultivation, or perhaps the origin of the Iriali's 'One' stretches all the way back to Adonalsium.

Oh, you'll know in a few decades what it takes to earn the ardent's displeasure, and by then you'll care more about it as well.

I love Evi already.

Dalinar “what are hugs” Kholin

AYYYY SEBARIAL~~~ not showing up. [snickers] Trying to play both sides to the end while not fighting himself.

Oh interesting. The Plate belongs to Evi and not her brother? Considering the accusation that they 'stole' it, it's not a question of which one has a more legitimate claim to the Plate, so it was decided that the Plate would go to Evi. Huh.

Ryshadium! And you tell that by that fact that they're followed by musicspren. That's… unexpected. Some connection to the Listeners and their Rhythms, or perhaps the Dawnsingers?

Oooo, Dalinar is not feeling charitable right about now – probably still mulling the possibility of fratricide over in his brain. “Stay out of my way” indeed.

[winces] He revels in the death and destruction and men fall by the dozens with burned-out eyes, so different from the Dalinar we know. This is deadly momentum – something had to change even before the night of Gavilar's death, a decision of some kind, or Dalinar would probably have looked to Herdaz or Jah Keved next and steamrolled onwards until he dropped dead.

…..that redness does not seem normal , even for the Thrill. I'm sensing something else going on.

Kadash? I though you said in the future that you left after the battle at the Rift? ...huh. There must be a second time they fight there, because you're still here.

“He felt sad to have to engage a Shardbearer, instead of continuing his fight against the ordinary men.” That's…. You're not addicted to the fight. You're addicted to the kill.

Slate-grey plate even way back then. Even before the Codes, you were never one for ornamentation.

Oh! That's Elhokar's Shardblade, Sunraiser!

'Bloodstance – a stance for someone who didn't care if he got hit.' No details on what that stance looks like? Come ooooon. Still, if it was an unarmed man against a Shardbearer, that's be one thing. Shards against Shards? This could get ugly.

This fight would be so brutally good animated.

Loving the change in setting when they get to the peak, and then the change in style that the terrain necessitates. The surge of bloodthirst in the Thrill, however...

[winces] That thirst for killing isn't abating, this is not good… and there's Gavilar. Within running distance, in possession of a heart that beats and things that Dalinar wants. This is it, this is when he considers, but it he actually going to go for it, shit shit shit, he is, shit-

And stops at the last second. Stormfather.

You do deserve shamespren.

There's it, that's the decision. 'I must never be king.'

Picture at the end of the chapter: Did we really need to see the oozing horror of that spren? Did we really? [shudders]

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Playing Pretend

Shallan curled up all comfortably is a good sign. The fact that the strange shadow-figure is definitely some kind of Odium-spren, not at all. Also not encouraging is that Shallan refers to “Radiant” as if she were separate.

Something is cutting off their lines of communication. Deliberately. Fuuuuuuuuuck.

I support Aladar in the use of some judicious ass-kicking.

YES GIVE US MORE ON THE NEW MAYBE-RADIANT. 'Spark' is a good name for a spren,  but that bit about destroying things… We need to know what kind of spren the Dustbringers bond to. Now.

Oooo, so she's not on board with uniting the Radiants despite the fact that she is one? That's new – we haven't seen Lift or Szeth since Edgedancer, but this is the first new 'Radiant' to appear that's come and announced her dissatisfaction, even if it's to Shallan and not Dalinar the Bondsmith.

Ialai and Amaram. How are you two going to throw a wrench into proceedings this time…?

Oh shit. Oh shit.

“Everything I've done is for the greater good, Dalinar. Everything.” [Obi-Wan voice echoing in the distance] 'From a certain point of view…' Ugh, Amaram, you slime. Somehow you keep rising in power and authority and you do it all in “““acceptable””” ways. Can we punt your sorry ass to Braize to burn yet.

“Highprince.” “Highprince.” “Bastard.” THANK YOU ADOLIN

It's a good thing Dalinar “suggested” he leave and take a moment or he'd probably punch Amaram right there in front of everyone, then at least once more since Kaladin's not there.

Oh shit, you're telling him you suspect Amaram killed Helaran? Whoa. On one hand, I love that you're opening up and trusting someone, on the other, this could complicate things when it comes up that Kaladin is the actual one who won-

Adolin knows. And he's telling her in return. Ffffffffftttttttt-

And there she goes trying to repress the knowledge. Doesn't seem to be working this time.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck she doesn't remember drawing those pictures. Slipping one personality into the dominant state of mind is one thing, but this is even more worrying.

Ooo, going to bring your men sort-of into the plan? Whatever the plan is? ….please don't intentionally get any of them killed.

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Another Option

Wait, wait, wait. No. Bad idea. Don't destroy (or try to destroy) your Oathgate. That is a terrible idea and have you run this past Gawx and Lift yet? Have you done the right paperwork for this?

At least he has Shallan's report on the murderspren now. It's not comforting that it has peepholes everywhere. Watching. Waiting.

Surge practice! You need it Dal, you're the most unfamiliar of the lot with your abilities.

Adding 'mink' to the list of Rosharan critters. But do we assume for now that it's furry like an Earth mink, or some sort of carapaced version?

“garnet-lit tongue” - probably an equivalent of what we know as silver-tongued

Yeah, everyone still thinks that you're going to use your new Fast Travel to conquer them. Considering your history as well as your country's, I can't blame them for the reluctance.

Bridge Four needs him, but not for a murder- oh. They found the sword. Oh. Stormfather is not happy about you even touching that, much less carrying it around

Oh shit is he taking it back to Ialai?! Yes, yes he is. Makes sense, but handing another Shardblade over to Amaram gives me bad shivers.

Speaking of which, FUCK OFF, AMARAM

[winces] He's not wrong on the point about hypocrisy, I have to give him that much (even if it pains me) and Dalinar needed to hear it. However, it's tying back to Dalinar's realization after his vision of Nohadon, when he found out that he must have written the in-book The Way of Kings once he'd already solidified power. I wonder if he'll realize that…?

Oh goddamn it, not Taravangian

They're talking… religion? And The Way of Kings. Taravangian is going to interpret some of those stories or morals in a vastly different way than Dalinar, I suspect. Either that or he'll confirm Dalinar's, and we the readers will be left screaming in frustration

Dalinar, Dalinar, he's advocating that the ends justify the means, do not follow down this path…

“But sometimes a hypocrite is nothing more than a person who is in the process of changing.” And you have changed so much from the man you once were, Dalinar. You don't deny that.

Wait, what.

The Stormfather confused is hilarious.

I am cackling over the thought of Dalinar storm-projecting to the other monarchs. Not accepting my invitations? Fine, I'll just barge into your head during a Highstorm! CAN'T KEEP ME OUT NOW~

Chapter Twenty-Nine – No Backing Down

Back to Veil again, and worrying about Shallan's mental state.

Her description of the thing she saw, that she knows is watching – the sound of a tunnel extending into darkness, the feel of breath on the back of your neck in a dark room – I'm definitely creeped out. Consider me creeped.

Do your soldiers know you as Veil, or do they only know Shallan? Ahh, just Shallan. So it remains that only the Ghostbloods know about your dual (at least) nature.

A fingering joke, are you kidding me. Well, at least he's taking her rejection with nothing more than an ah well.

Her personalities are delineating themselves, becoming more distinct and real unto themselves. But was it any of these main three – Shallan, Veil, and Radiant – that drew the disturbing pictures? She remembers what she does as those three, so what if there's another personality lurking, submerged, that she doesn't know about….? I am concern.

Yeah, I thought it might be the hanging rather than the bashing. Given the choice, it'll probably go for the more violent of two acts.

Well if that isn't a mouth to the void… [shudders] Shallan, I don't like the thought of you staying here alone, especially since this Hellmouth is somehow in your sketchbook and you don't know how it got there.

I am very concern about your personality shifts, Shallan.

Well, Pattern may have worded it in such a way that he overstated the danger, but still, good to see that Adolin is taking all the precautions he can, even if that means two men in Plate, a second Radiant for backup, and the entirety of Bridge Four.

Renarin is definitely sensing something too – this wrongness that permeates the city. But! B4 accepting him! Needling fun at him and treating him like any other part of Bridge Four! Ahhhh, Renarin, I'm so glad to see people other than your family appreciating you.

I'm with Drehy on this one. Fuckin' nope.

Down into the abyss, which… has colour down below? Mosaics of Honor and Cultivation? Was this once the true center of Urithiru?

Renarin's carrying a Shardblade which must be (is most likely???) Glys, but we get no visual description? Come on, Sanderson!

Truthwatchers and Lightweavers share the Illumination Surge. Perhaps their ability to sense the wrongness - “illuminating” the hiding shadow, if you will – is tied to that.

[winces] Jasnah is not going to be happy at finding the library she sought ruined.

…..oh no.

oh fuck

“One of the Unmade. Re-Shephir… the Midnight Mother.”

Okay, one: ten rubies says that this thing is the origin of the Midnight Essence that Dalinar saw in his vision of the past, back in the first book. Two: Renarin how the fuck do you know what it's called? Are the Unmade part of general Voidbringer lore in Vorinism? Three: time to beat a hasty retreat

Of course Adolin's going to dash right in to cover the retreat, Shallan, what did you expect?

And now we finally get a bit of description of the Glysblade(?) - “long and thin, with a waving pattern to the metal” - still no indication if curved or straight, but my current guesstimate is katana-like

BATTLE CLERIC RENARIN, FUCKYEAH

Shallan. Shallan what are you doing.

Fighting shadow with light. Yessssssss.

Well then. To fight or back down? You noted only moments ago that she could have swept you away with little effort. With light in the hands of a Lightweaver, will that be enough to do… whatever it is you're planning?

(Side note, what else am I a sucker for? Oh yeah, battle couples. Goddamn it.)

“The pain of an Ideal sworn, but not yet overcome.” I'm going to sound like a broken record with the way I keep repeating therapist. You need to face this and talk it out, Shallan, and with another, not-Pattern person.

“She was those women, those girls, every one of them. And none of them were her. They were things she used, manipulated. Illusions.” And Veil is among them as well. I'm. Not sure what to think of this, if she's thinking it in a literal manner or on a deeper level. It could be a sign of self-realization, or it might not.

Whatever it is, everyone is screwed if you don't manage to at least make it retreat.

[yells loudly about safehands as a sign of intimacy and trust and that's the method through which she's letting the thing in – and pressing back in return]

Chapter Thirty – Mother of Lies

That title alone is unsettling.

“not completely aware, not completely cognizant.” So, like pretty much all the other non-bonded spren in the Physical Realm, except this is definitely a Thing Of Odium. And it immediately tries to tear the Nahel bond apart.

!!! She's a true Splinter then?

It's gone all dark and Pattern's physically there in his larger form – I'd lay spheres that they're somehow halfway into (or at least dipping a toe into) the Cognitive Realm.

They bound her. One of the Unmade, and a Lightweaver of the past actially managed to bind her. But with all these shadows coming up into Urithiru… I doubt that's the case right now. She was freed, or broke free. And now she remains close, though deeper in the bowels of the mountain.

….you could hold a lot of stormlight in those gems.

#oathbringer spoilers #blink reads oathbringer

[trashmel]

Hey there! For the bookish questions: 2, 3, 5, 6, 9 (which is in fact OUR country of birth, hehe :D), 12 (even though I'm sure you told me about it), 13, 14, 15, 16, 17 (no, not a TW book, that's not fair ;) ), 19, 22, 25, 26, 27, 39, 40, 43, 44, 45, 47, 48, 49, 50. Have fun with that :D (and no, I won't let you talk about 1 and 23 because I already know the answers and I'm an asshole ♥)

You are crazy. Also : Challenge accepted! See how I can talk about Bottero almost everywhere!

2. What is thelongest book you have ever read? How many pages?

Apparently it's HarryPotter and the Order of the Phoenix (which is pretty cool ;D)with around 800 pages (says wiki, I'm too lazy to move to check. Alsothe French and English versions probably don't have the samepagination... Anyway who cares, you all know this book!)

3. What is the oldestbook you have ever read? (Based on its written date)

Gorgias by Plato, as for the date? I don’t know. Wiki says “around 380 BC”

5. What book or bookseries would you like to see turned into a film/ TV series?

….. OH YES I CAN TALKABOUT BOTTERO AFTER ALL ;D

Ahem. I mean, I would haveto say Ellana (I mean the whole series, Le Pact des Marchombres) by Pierre Botterojust to see a badass woman fighting and writing haiku? I mean Iwould sell my soul to watch this. Please someone just turn this intoa TV show already!

6. What is yourfavourite stand-alone book?

Every book can stand byitself, I can't say (Okay, okay I just couldn't choose one thatseemed to be “the one” because I mainly read series...)

9. What is a book youhave read that is set in your country of birth?

Urgh, the first two thatcame to my mind were The Sun Also Rises byErnest Hemingway and La Bête Humaine byEmile Zola... I despise both books and I hated reading them!

12. What book do youpassionately hate?

Despite what I just said:Robinson Crusoe by DanielDefoe. Okay they're all books from school, so it doesn't help me, butman, this book? I read 100 pages and I couldn't go any furtherbecause it was just so loooong and boriiiing and oh my god he had tostop killing and eating animals. And really, a book to show me how tobe a good Christian? No thanks.

13. What is thebiggest book series you have read? How many books are in it?

… See, I can still talkabout Bottero :D (Oh I'm doing this on purpose, yes.)

Okayactually this is a tie?? I wasn't expecting this. So the first onewas Les Chevaliers d'Emeraude +Les Héritiers d'Enkidiev with 12 books for the former and I don't know how many for the latter. Istopped at 2 for the second, so that's a total of 14 books I actually read.

Thesecond one is Pierre Bottero's series set in Gwendalavir, with 4trilogies, one “stand-alone” (*cries*) and a short story; so 14 books as well,that I consider as a book series because everything is linked and setin the same imaginary world.

14. What book givesyou happy memories?

OH COME ON I'MTRYING... I gotta go with Ellanaby Pierre Bottero because thepoetry touched me, and oh my God I see the next question, but thisbook is probably one of the first that made me cried for acharacter's death (although I don't think it occurs in the firstbook...), and it was just so so goodand it's the one that got me to read Bottero. So kudos and yay!

15. What book madeyou cry?

Just so I do NOT talkabout Bottero again, and stop with the French books, recently Isobbed madly while reading The Sweet Hereafter byRussell Banks. It was great. But yeah, I was ugly crying more thanonce.

16. What book madeyou laugh?

I had to mention that atsome point, but it has to go to Anything Goes byJohn & Carole E. Barrowman because just looking at the book makes me smile and Ilaughed a lot while reading it.

17. What is yourfavourite book that contains an LGBTQ+ character?

La Meute bySlimane-Baptiste Berhoun (OH YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT ONE COMING, DIDYOU?) because I couldn't really find another book with lgbt+characters, sadly, and actually why would I? I loved that book.

19. Have you read abook set on another planet? What is it?

Technically Bottero'sbook must be set on another planet as they travel in our world :D(also I'm not sure I have read one clearly set on another planet soyou gotta accept that)

22. What famousauthor have you not read any books by?

Any recent famous author.The first I thought about was Stephen King, so there you go.

25. How many books doyou own?

Roughly, 40 (I mean, thatare really mine, not generally my family's) because I am pooooorand spent my childhood reading thanks to libraries so never really buying books ;)

26. What is yourfavourite non-fiction book?

Oh God I don't know whydon't you ask someone else?! (I really have no idea my brain won'twork)

27. What is yourfavourite children’s/middle-grade book?

… Les Âmes Croiséesby Pierre Bottero? :D (And I amnot kidding...) but this book is just... so... wonderful. It makes mego through a shit ton of emotions every time I read it, and it's justso wonderfully written and it kinda became a dream to follow. Eitherthe characters, or the fact that I want to write something asbeautiful as this, I don't know, but it helped me a great deal and Ienjoyed it a lot.

39. What bookoffended you?

The Cursed Child byI-don't-know-who-wrote-this-but-they-surely-never-touched-a-HP-book-in-their-lifebecause I read only a few pages and couldn't really go through it.Or, I mean, the mere existence of Fifty Shades of Greyoffends me.

40. What is theweirdest book you have read?

Suddenly Last Summer byTennessee Williams which is a play that I finished thinking “so whathappened??” and realised afterwards that I had understood nothing.When I mean nothing, I mean NOTHING: there was a rape? Really? Thedead guy was gay? I missed that? It was about cannibalism? What theheck people? (I must have been tired when reading...) But even once Iunderstood it, well, it still is a weird one ;)

43. What book did youbuy because of its cover?

Le Chant du Troll byPierre Bottero because it's prettyyyyy pretty very pretty :D

44. What is a bookthat you love, but has a terrible cover?

I don't particularly likethe cover of The Yellow Wallpaper byCharlotte Perkins (although it's a great cover for the book) justbecause it's kinda creepy and I wouldn't buy it.

45. Do you own apoetry anthology? What is your favourite poem from it?

Yup, thanks to school morethan one ;) One of them is Les Fleurs du Mal byBaudelaire, and I'd say the poem L'Albatros butI have no idea why.

47. Do you own anyhistorical fiction?

I'm not sure I actuallyown any...

48. What book madeyou angry?

I think The Catcher inthe Rye by J.D. Salinger pissedme off because I hated the main character and I wanted to shake senseinto him by punching him repeatedly. / Madame Bovary byFlaubert, do I seriously need to explain why???

49. What book hasinspired you?

Actually, Verlaine did,with Romances sans paroles becauseI read it (for school again) while I was going through a hard time,and thought that poetry was quite nice, so I wrote some. And ithelped me, so, thanks Verlaine?

50. What book got youinto reading?

Probablysome book from Jean-Luc Luciani. I remember my school organizedsomething with him when I wasn't reading much, but then I rememberchecking his books and loving them, so it's probably him. (youknow in what book they talked about Jean-Luc Luciani? That's right,baby, Bottero did!)

#mel trashtalking #it was so loooong to do #and i have an exam tomorrow #oops #but thanks xD #books #yes I know I mentioned Bottero a lot. #orphanage-body

[adelearcherwrites]

I was reading an article the other day (probably more like six months ago, but I couldn’t be bothered to write a blog about it at the time), and it was titled, ’14 Style Mistakes That Will Age You’. It was a piece that never really stated who it was aimed at, but without a doubt, it was for ‘women of a certain age’. I’m not sure why I chose to read it, because being a link that came via Facebook, it was never going to be overflowing with journalistic integrity. But I had time to kill. It appears the writer, whoever she was, had just asked a bunch of other fashion stylists and fashion content leads (stylists and leads from what and where, I couldn’t say) for their opinions on clothes. Although some of the advice I secretly and resignedly accepted, (unsurprisingly) some of the tips disgruntled me a bit. First off, who are these people to tell me what to wear? And second…off, these articles are never written for older men. That’s either because a] nobody gives a sh*t what older men wear, or b] we still live in a society with differing gender standards. I’ll leave you to be the judge of that. Anyway, putting the gender rights and wrongs of the article aside just for a bit (and I mean a bit), I thought I might give my two-pennies-worth on the actual fashion content.

1: Fast Fashion Trends

By this, the writer was referring to anything new and hip (just by me even saying ‘new and hip’ shows that I’m not). They suggested you may give a subtle nod to a new trend but no more, or you end up looking ‘clueless’. Well, this is something I don’t really need to worry about. I am very suspicious of all new trends until they are at least two years old, and then I might adapt a watered-down version of it for myself. I secretly think the fashion industry is out to make fools of all of us, and it’s just up to us not to let them.

2: Tights

Me in school uniform…

But I love tights!

You heard it right. Tights. Yeah, this one also staggered me somewhat too. This one particular stylist doesn’t like them. That staple of all our wardrobes – the writer says they ‘age us’. Not only does she not like nude ones (most people don’t, really), she doesn’t like black tights. She says they look like school uniform. I mean, I wear black opaque tights with such regularity throughout the winter, I can’t imagine the season without them. I look forward to the season because of them – at last a time when I can wear skirts! Well, whoever that particular ’fashion content lead’ was, she can sod right off.

3: Baggy Clothes

That is, oversized clothes will make you look bigger and hide your shape. I reluctantly agree with this statement, but only because I am very short and if I don’t emphasise my shape, I resemble a pygmy person. But back in the 80s and 90s I was wearing massive Marks and Spencer men’s cardigans just like everybody else (teamed with Doc Martin’s and high-wasted jeans). And I still ascertain to this day I looked swell. My kids love their oversized t-shirts and jumpers and coats – I just think it is a fashion phase we all can and should go through.

4: Black

It’s okay! I have bronze shoes!

Yep. So, what they’re saying is, black is a bit draining to those with older skin. Never have I heard suck a crock of sh*t. Surely somebody was just trying to pad that article out a bit? Black is…the new black. Black is a timeless standard. Black is as old as time itself when it comes to fashion, and to suddenly lessen its worth now (just to be controversial, probably) is ludicrous. But it’s okay, everyone, they tell us not to panic – bright lipstick is suggested to pick things up a bit – so us old women are allowed to wear black with garish lipstick. Thanks.

5: Maxi Dresses and Skirts

Y’know, the ones that go pretty much down to the floor (I’m explaining this for men). The author says these are unflattering. On the whole, this has been true for me. But I do have one very fitted maxi dress (it has to be fitted due to my small stature), and one maxi skirt – both of which I love. I don’t need any others. I’ve found the best, and I think I look good in them.

6: Over-Accessorising

Y’know, not too much jewellery and that. Agreed, I suppose. I never was one for much jewellery. I wear two sets of small earrings in my ears (a stud and a hoop) and my wedding and engagement ring – all white metal, never gold. Oh, and a watch. And I barely ever diversify. Mainly because I can’t be bothered to put it all on and take it all off again.

7: Athleisurewear

Oh no, I’m in athleisurewear…

That is, wearing athletic clothing when you’re not doing sport or not on the way to the gym. I am often on the way to the gym so I have every right to do so. But on a day-to day basis? I sort of concur (only sort of, sports clothing not worn for sport really doesn’t offend me). But I do like to throw on a hoodie when I can’t be arsed. And I have been known to stay in a pair of trackie-bottoms I’ve been lounging around the house in if I’m just picking up one of the kids by car, and nobody will see me (other than from the house to the car, and vice versa). I don’t know, this fashion advice all sounds a bit prescriptive to me.

8: Mini Skirts

16 inches, I checked.

Midi-style skirts and dresses are much more flattering, apparently. But it really depends what they mean by mini. I’m five-foot-three (and a half, last time I checked) and if I wear anything too long, I look like a librarian (and not a trendy one, a 1950’s one [apologies to my sister-in-law who is a librarian – but she is always the pinnacle of style]). So I like all my skirts to be approximately 15/16 inches long, which I feel is the most flattering length for me (not to look younger, but any longer or shorter just doesn’t do me any favours). Is that length classes as a mini skirt? I don’t know. That’s for the courts to decide (judicial courts, not the type of shoes).

9: Jersey Material

  Crap! I’ve gone bodycon!

It’s the bodycon clinginess the author of this piece has an issue with here. We need to buy jersey material only if it’s ruched, apparently…or with extreme caution. But if you’ve got the figure (or even if you haven’t), so what? Number 9 is extremely sizeist.

10: Not Dressing for Your Shape

  I’m pretty sure the article writer was just recycling and padding out the piece with this one – we’ve already discussed baggy clothing which hides your shape. I know, I know. Wear tailored clothing, yada-yada-yada. C’mon, this is just shoddy journalism.

11: Super-Long Hair

I hate to agree, but I do sort of agree. Hairdressers have been telling me for years that anyone over forty can’t really carry off very long hair. For me anyway, that’s true. My hair got thinner after having two kids, and if I grew it too long I wouldn’t be able to do a thing with it. But if you’ve got thick hair, then you go rock that look until whatever age you like.

12: An Ill-Fitting Bra (no picture required)

Stands to reason, really. Though I do maintain we should have the right to wear whatever the hell we bloody well like (and don’t wear a bra at all if you don’t want to).

13: Platform Heels

The author of this article says they’re ugly, if comfortable. She wants us all to wear pointy stilettos (thereby ruining our feet for life with misshapen toes, bunions, and corns). Well she can **** right off. I happen to like platform heels and chunky boots. Coz I’m small. Obvs. Of course, I do far prefer flats, but on the odd occasion when heels really are required, I’ll be in chunky/wedge ones. So there.

14: Fascinators

Really? How relevant are fascinators to everyday fashion? If you’re not going to Ascot or Epsom, this is a non-issue – a moot point. The writer says we shouldn’t wear them at weddings either, but I think the writer had run out of steam. I certainly had run out of patience after reading the entire article.

Although I begrudgingly admit that some of this advice in this piece I could possibly get on board with, I still couldn’t get past the fact that people really shouldn’t write articles telling women what to wear – just so they don’t look old. If I’m old, why shouldn’t I look it? Yes, I do dye my hair because of the greys (but that’s my choice), and dress in a more fitted and tailored way (because of said pygmy stature), but again, that’s just personal preference. If a woman in the same age bracket attired herself entirely differently, that would be okay too. We’re all built differently and we can all get away with different things. The fact remains an article like this would never have been written for a 40+ man. Since reaching the age of 40, I’ve dressed more flamboyantly than I ever did in my youth. Being this age just means you’re more comfortable in your own skin and care less about what society thinks – so I don’t need articles penned for me telling me what to wear. I already know what to wear. So, to coin a slightly overused phrase; you do you and I’ll do me.

NB: This was not a blatant excuse to post picture of me dressed in various different outfits, but the photos had to come from somewhere!

Age Appropriate I was reading an article the other day (probably more like six months ago, but I couldn’t be bothered to write a blog about it at the time), and it was titled, …

#adelearcher #adelearcherwrites #ageappropriate #blog #clothes #fashionmistakes #humour #overforty #style