#this is so cutesy i made myself a little nauseous

[sephirthoughts]

*Throws golden coin at you like you are a wishing well and I’m a poor country girl waiting for a miracle* Tell us more of your Valenwind thoughts/headcanons PLEASEEE I’m begging you!

OK but remember, you asked for it. *cracks knuckles*

Physical Stuff: -vincent is half chinese or whatever the FF equivalent is. nothing is ever mentioned about his mother so no one can prove he isn't. (just let me have this one SE) -vincent's cloak/cape and headband are not fabric, they are some kind of organic extension of himself, that he has control over. though sometimes the cloak just does things and vincent is unconscious of it, like a cat twitching its tail -because of his circulation issues, due to his heart being replaced with protomateria, vincent has severe orthostatic hypotension (stand-up dizzies). cid is used to just catching him as he pitches over and moving on, without remarking on it -vincent is a mass of scars and mutilations (replaced parts, missing organs, etc.) which is why he covers his body entirely from the neck down with all that leather armor and gloves. -cid is a huge fan of vincent's monster hand because it has claws and he loves back scratches

Sexy stuff below the cut. And more, I got a little carried away.

Sexy Stuff: -vincent is anxious bordering on panicked to show cid his body, at first, because he thinks it's hideous and repulsive, and honestly there's just a lot of shame associated with being the victim of torture and systematic medical abuse -what vincent does not know is how much cid loves scars. like he fucking LOVES them (to the point where it's almost a scar fetish) -the first time they sleep together, cid slowly undresses vincent, little by little, touches and kisses all his scars, sincerely and fervently adores all the parts of him he thinks are ugly and horrifying, and makes him feel beautiful for the first time in his life -when cid sees vincent completely naked, he tears up because he's so beautiful to him, and he can't believe he got this lucky

-HC adopted from @getvalentined: vincent's already impressive dick was lost or removed during hojo's butchering of his body, but much to hojo's chagrin, it grew back even bigger (my own addition is some slightly monstrous characteristics) -cid is well above average in the dick department (note to self, change ask box title to dick department) but he can't help comparing himself to vincent and feeling a little intimidated

-vincent is a temperate and reserved person, but because of something to do with his chaos-induced fuckery, ever so often he goes fucking FERAL (almost like he's in heat), and cid is the lucky beneficiary of this. he winds up with bite wounds and claw scratches all over his body, over which vincent agonizes, while cid calls them battle scars and proudly flaunts them

Because reasons: -sometimes vincent pulls his hair up into a ponytail, removes the cape and headband, and just wears ripped up black jeans and a faded old black tank top. no one has ever seen him like this, aside from cid, because he has never been able to keep this ensemble on his person long enough to leave the house in it

Family Stuff (I don't usually do kids in fic, but i think these two would be cute with one) -shera is the bro of all time and is their surrogate when they have a baby -projected rendering of what the baby will look like, created by the friend group:

-cid and vincent did that thing where they mixed the sperm donations because they didn't want to know who would 'really be the father' cloud: [looking at their black-haired, crimson-eyed baby] uh…

-their daughter is named olivia. vincent calls her olivia. that is her name. -cid settles firmly and immovably on ollie, which everyone else winds up calling her too

-causing several people to lose egregious sums of money in the group betting pool, ollie's first word is not 'fuck'. that is her second word. her first word is papa. well it was 'bapa' but cid insists that counts

-baby ollie doesn't like anyone besides her daddies but cloud, and sticks herself to him like a little leech whenever he's around cid: hey ollie, who am i [points to self] ollie: bapa cid: who's that [points to vincent] ollie: dada cid: who's that [points to cloud] ollie: mama cid: no--

-sephiroth is vincent's biological child and he has just learned from cloud that he has a little half sister sephiroth: [appears, looks down at the crimson-eyed toddler with deep disdain] i'm still the oldest, so don't get any ideas about taking my place. i'll always be the pinnacle of our genetic-- ollie: gege sephiroth: [kneeling in front of the play swing] here is your juice box, is there anything else you want, my princess? say the word and gege will get it for you. is there anywhere you want to go? anyone you want killed? no? well, you can hardly have enemies at your age, but when you acquire some, come to gege and he'll take care of them for you.

-late one night sephiroth: [appears standing over cid and vincent's bed] cid and vincent: GAAAH! sephiroth: my sister has been crying for twelve seconds, unanswered. DO YOU WANT HER TO HAVE NEGLECT TRAUMA? cid: [grumbling as he clambers out of bed] neglect trauma i'm aboutta have sephiroth jump scarin me in my goddamn house trauma vincent: ….sister?

-they put both surnames on her birth certificate, to give ollie a choice whose surname she wants to use -one day, when she's older, she comes home with her newly printed ID documents reading "Olivia Valenwind" -both dads come down with a sudden case of chopping onions

**i just realized some people might not know that "gege" (pronounced like guh-guh) is mandarin affectionate for "big brother"

@a-schrodingers-fox I hope that was worth your gold coin! NO REFUNDS!

#ff7 #valenwind #vincent valentine #cid highwind #cloud strife #sephiroth #ff7 vincent #final fantasy 7 #ff7 rebirth #ff7 remake #head canons #for funsies #kid stuff #shera is a bro #this is so cutesy i made myself a little nauseous

[weirdo-with-a-nametag]

Brain is tv static with random frames interspersed

Think I'm like. Really stressed and jumping between topics to try and find something that helps / feels good

Topics:

Anyone know a good health tracking app for adhd people? I want one that like pops up when you open your phone, maybe? But is unobtrusive. Like maybe you just rate your mood or whatever when you open your phone, and it closes, and you go about your business. I just hate every app and paper method I've tried but really want to track some stuff

Pigeon. ? Pigeon as pet?

Service animals re: cats, pigeons, my cat specifically, and then also ESAs and also what to use as treats while training my cat (he's pretty happy to learn behaviors with praise and pets as reinforcement, but treats would make everything move much faster, but I haven't found something I want to give him so we've just been y'know. Chillin)

Service animals re: what tasks can my pet potentially do that would help me? I don't really know a lot about service animals and there is a Huge range. If anyone has suggestions, or places to read about it, I'd appreciate it! Mostly thinking they may help with anxiety, sensory, and mobility/fatigue related stuff. Not much of a need for medical alerts.

Bioactive enclosures for my snakes, need to research their biomes and make progress on designs and equipment specifications

Also. Hit a seriously hard patch and haven't been handling them much at all this month so that's not great

Casting stuff. Saw jewelry today made of metal casts of claws, skulls, etc, and they were really well done and made me want to do that

Some taxidermy / vulture culture stuff I won't get into right now

Puzzles????

How to organize my room

Need a shower

Need to organize bathroom

So Much Schoolwork

Uhhhhh trying, but not making much headway, to figure out how I want to do my music collection. Also really need to clean my records..

Make?

Food??? Ew.

Dental hygiene ://

Plampts. So many. Houseplants need maintenance, many need repotting. Keep taking in people's problem plants and like, they're doing better, largely, after being trimmed and watered and whatnot, but need repotting. Also need to trim some aquarium plants.

Also need to put water in tanks. And spray nepenthes.

Laundry.

Gotta pick up trash in my room. There's so much. Everywhere. Why.

Schoolwork. I'm so behind. So, so stuck. Kind of feel like I'm dying.

Going on a picnic tomorrow. Have to figure out what still needs doing for that, probably need to go to the store.

Leo needs water. I'm so....ugh, I'm trying so hard, but it feels impossible. I do my best to take good care of my pets, and I think they live pretty good lives most of the time, but sometimes I get like This and completely drop off the face of the earth and then like, wake up or whatever and two weeks have passed by and I have not cleaned a water bowl! That's a serious problem!!!! I do not know how to combat that, really, besides more reminders. Having someone around who is willing to like, help, when things are especially hard, would be great, but I don't live with my partner right now and do not feel like I can ask anyone here for that. But I can't put my animals at risk. I check on them every day, and if their bowls are dirty I do take them out and clean them, but sometimes (like now) i cannot get myself to do it without a pressure like a dirty bowl, or a feeding day. And like, it's really important that they have clean water. I'm talking to myself here but like, if anyone has advice. Please. With the tank redesigns and upgrades, the bowls will be more accessible, which will help because one of them is very heavy at the angle I have to pick it up, and another requires moving a lot of branches and is best to take out while the snake is out (this is Leo) which is fine because I love my boy, but adds time to the process, and makes it harder to start, you know? Maybe if I just got more bowls - I could take the bowl out and immediately replace it, fill the new one, and replace the decor and snake, and then clean the bowl as a separate task? That would be easier for my brain. Currently I have a Specific bowl I prefer to use for each tank, and then everything else is Just In Case, but I mean. Acquiring extras is something I want to do anyway, and it may help with several problems, so. Yeah. I'll try that. But also, any other ideas, guys?

Anxiety: can't stop picking at my face, skin, nails, cuticles, scalp, pretty much everywhere with callouses, also scratched a mole off my face, which is something I've been trying Not to do for a while, so that's...not great. Can't find my earmuffs, and also all of my headphones are painful? Ears are really sensitive lately.

Been playing a lot of Moth Game (flutter: starlight if you wanna be friends say hey I don't know how to do it but would enjoy talking about moths if nothing else. The game is just like, an idle ish collecting game with cutesy versions of different species, and very little actual information, but it's still fun, and if anyone else is on there and also Into Moths like I am, hiiiii) and like it's fun and cute but also greatly impacting my productivity, and raises my stress levels during events, which is most days, so the game has. Not been helping. But I can't stop because then I'll miss Exclusive Moths.

Anyway. Had baklava and two mugs of Thai tea today and the sugar has made me nauseous.

Trying to journal. Hurts to write. Also takes too long. Also my handwriting is very bad. But typing is..not as good

Want to draw. Thinking about drawing cats

Plants again! Want to make seed bombs, have seeds, have most of the other ingredients, just need to put em together, basically.

Really sad :(

Or am I?

Weird noise coming from dining room?

Birds. Spent half an hour at least on the deck tonight listening to a hundred different bird calls (literally) to identify one I was hearing, it was a pine siskin, which I checked early on but the recording was bad and I didn't realize which call was identified. Anyway, cool to put a name to a face, so to speak.

Need to practice for ASL

So much.....to do...

Only had like >3 hours of work this week which was not great because money, but also like I'm really feeling those 3 hours....

My cat is basically refusing to come into my room? Which is very strange and I'm worried something is Off but cannot figure out what. Also means less cuddles which means I'm sad.

It feels strange whenever people follow me, the attention is nice but I have no idea what content y'all are here for. So to everyone: hi, enjoy, hope my random personal posts aren't a surprise to anyone who followed for like. News reblogs and informational stuff.

Do I even have it in me to..be successful in school? Should I drop out of college? I'm struggling really hard and do not feel like I'm building on the skills I need to continue, so like. Uh.

My dad is being. Abrasive.

Mom and grandma are very angry lately

Housemate is also angry, about things i thought we were on good terms about, so I am stressed because like,, are we okay?

Can't find my eye mask :(

Yoga? Like...restorative yoga? Need to track down my PT stuff. And. Do it.

Need to put the stickers on my license plates....oops...

Still haven't found my antidepressants! Yay!

Do I want to store my stuff in open bins, or with lids? Which stuff needs spill protection and stacking capability and which stuff needs easy access?

How to earn money without..chaos

Gotta go to the pet store tomorrow. Have to compile my list of pet store items i need. Uhhhhhhhhhh

Also I have an essay due tomorrow that I've barely started. So. Wooooooo

Kt tape for supporting arches / inner ankles? I keep messing up my ankles, and part of it is walking wrong because I don't have the energy to engage the muscles in my feet/legs right to like, avoid injury, and part of it is I just need new shoes inserts. But i wear slippers a lot and they do not have arch support and it hurts. PT to help with this also but Where Is It

Family can't seem to get dish soap I can use, so I've just been having to avoid washing anything by hand, or being in the general kitchen area while anyone uses the stuff, which has led to more of my dishes sitting out, and more conflict over dishes. Lovely.

How hard is it for parents to learn they have to respect boundaries? Very hard, apparently. And you're supposed to just sort of remind people, and explain, over and over and over but like at this point my self worth is actually pretty good and the lifetime of proof that they do not want to listen? That's making me want to stop trying. Like, if you're not going to respect my boundaries I'm just not going to involve you in my life. I'm not talking to my dad right now because of this. Maybe I'll decide to lay things out to him, again and again and again again, maybe not. And I'm comfortable saying that's on him.

How to drink water

Am I dehydrated or are my hands just completely callous now. My fingertips have such hard skin. Why? It's uncomfortable. This is part of why I've been biting them.

Also testosterone. Been having a lot of trouble doing my shots, because anxiety and physical freakouts, but also not feeling super urgent about it. Which I'm realizing may be a sign i need to look at the effects so far and the possible effects of continuing, and see what they make me feel. It's possible I'm where I want to be as far as T, and don't really want to stay on it. A big thing for me is a deeper voice, so it seems time to take a look at whether I like my voice where it is or want to see if it'll drop any more. Etc etc

Miss my lil sisters

Saw a lot of cool rocks today. Huge (like hand sized) ammonite for $28. May go back and buy one because. Wow.

Want to plant food plants

Also my natives. Whole garden plot standing empty with a bunch of stuff waiting in nursery pots, needing to go in the ground. Because I can't get out of bed. Love that. Stuff is dying out there, I'm dying in here, there's a poetry to it and I do not want to romanticize suffering so I will say this: I brought a Bucket full of moss home a month ago and planted it and now go outside sometimes to drench my moss and it is very rewarding because the stuff is just so green. Incredible. When the rest of my plants are finally in the ground, that feeling will only intensify. But, for now, the moss is very nice.

Made a glow in the dark bead lizard from memory during therapy yesterday, and I love him. Also, still struggling with bringing up autism and psychosis topics with my therapist. Still very worried about. Things. Would like to get a new person? But sometimes she is helpful? And we have a routine. It's very hard to break the routine. Maybe I can set some time aside during the summer, to figure out what to do there.

Term ends in a couple weeks. The task of catching up, of passing, seems impossible. I really need to pass my courses. I'm on academic warning, because my GPA is lower than it should be, and if I can pass all of my classes this term I can get off academic warning but otherwise I'm not sure what will happen to my financial aid.

My phone is playing the same 50-100 songs on shuffle and I don't even particularly like most of them and it is very strange

Got my face wipes! Hooray, i can wash my face again

Been eating too much sugar in general. It's making my joints hurt more, and the nausea

Pet a dog the other day. I miss that. It would be really nice to have a dog in the house again. The exuberance, the cuddles, the tail wagging, the walks... I'd really like that. Maybe once I'm out in my room, tanks and catio built and everyone is situated, I'll look into getting a dog instead of a cat next. Was planning on holding off in case I'm not physically able to take them out on walks and such, but I've been pretty successful at doing this job, and I think that my main hurdle for walking really is motivation. Dog walking is a strong motivator for me. Best to start by fostering, or just do Wag, for a while though. I'm feeling overwhelmed with my current responsibilities, and here I am talking about getting a dog. Good job, me

How do you get wax off of somewhat water soluble rocks? My housemate broke my lava lamp on some of my rock collection and I am not sure how to get some of them clean without damage.

I am...pretty sure there are collared doves nesting over my room but it seems they're less common around here than I thought? But they are..pretty distinctive. Like if I'm wrong, what are those birds. Some very distinctly colored feral pigeons? Who are nesting here, in a tree, without their flock, and who happen to have pretty much the exact same pattern?

Probably should go to the dollar store and get some bins for organizing

Been wanting to keep a bin by the door and stock it with stim/fidget stuff people can just .have ..like extras of some of my favorites and other things i can get ahold of, to offer to my friends who haven't really had the chance to explore the world of stim toys

Hands are really just not doing great the last several weeks. Arthritis type pain cropping up more and more in all the little joints, making it hurt more to write, type, or just use them for whatever. Coordination isn't great because of that distraction, and because my hands/arms are slow to respond and kinda weak. Most people would say I'm not using them enough but I've been doing 15ish hours of manual labor per week, so maybe it's the other direction? More water would help. If only it wasn't so heavy.

I haven't taken a single shower since I started my job. Which was March 29th. That's not great.

Practiced parallel parking today. 10/10 still very bad at it.

Having anxiety that my friends think I'm lying about things, faking, and are watching me to see if I'll slip up. So that sucks. Can either talk about that directly or indirectly, or just shut up about those things until I can get my brain under control again. I'm not sure right now if the reassurance would work as a reality check or make me believe it more, right now, so might hold off on the talking bit for a little while.

Saw, smelled, picked a couple pretty roses. Good times

At this point I'm just trying to list all my thoughts so that maybe I'll be able to sleep and not worry I'll forget

My mom has put her spider plant on the deck, and it has maybe five living leaves. I have no idea how she killed such a well established spider plant, the last time I saw it it was so happy. Did she stick it in a corner and forget to water it? Whatever happened, it is now in the Plant ER, so hopefully I'll be able to...help get it on the up and up again

Leo is such a pretty noodle. He's so pretty. He's posing. Hi, baby boy.

Oh, he saw me moving around and decided to come say hi. Sorry little man, i did not mean to disturb you. Please resume lounging. I can't bring you out right now, I'm trying to sleep.

Also, terrariums. Water features. Need to ask. Someone. The one who was making that super cool garter snake enclosure and blogging the progress? With the lazy river and pool? About maintenance on that kind of setup. My milk snake really enjoys water, and I'd love to put a water feature in his tank. But I'm unclear on how to keep it clean, or honestly where to start. Don't want any huge falls or anything, though it actually may not make the humidity too high if I did maybe a small drip wall into the pool? That seems like something he would enjoy, and a good way to support different types of plants. But like, that's the thing, it's bioactive and I haven't done that before and no amount of research is ever enough.

Oh, Shogun has a dirt hat. How cute. I love when they do that

See, this is the thing. My snakes make me so happy. All three of them are actually hanging out where I can see them from my bed right now, and it's really nice. I want their lives to be the best possible, and I think I have the resources to do that. Which is so exciting. Now if only my brain and body would cooperate. It would hurt quite a lot to have to re-home any of them, but the most important thing is their health and quality of life, you know? If I can't get my act together somewhat, it may be that one or all of them would be better off with another keeper. I don't know. It's just, i talk about all these tank ideas and all this husbandry standards stuff but how much of it actually gets applied to my own animals whose lives are in my hands? How well am I caring for them, really?

Oh!!! My red thread! I thought that was gone forever.

Anyway, please do not worry. My snakes are healthy. I pay attention, and watch for signs of illness, and they're okay. There will always be places to improve, and the water is a big one, but most of the time i change their water out frequently, I'm just worried because of bad depression and fatigue times, you know? I'm working on making the most self sustaining systems i can, in part so that I am sure they'll be okay if I mess up sometimes. Just saying this because I hope you guys don't feel like you need to worry about the welfare of my pets. They're okay, i just always want better for them, is all.

Anyway, the sun is coming up and I should probably go to sleep. So uh, thanks for reading, if you read all of this randomness, and if anyone has thoughts or advice on anything in this post, i would welcome it! Good night!

#mine #long post #snakes #pets #food m #uhhhhhhhhhhhh whatever else needs tagging

[oneweekoneband]

I’m slightly nauseous already with knowing I’m going to say this, but what does “self-awareness”  even mean? In modern parlance, as a descriptive phrase, as a comment on art? I’m asking in earnest, like, I’ve been Googling lately, which for me is basically on par with doctoral study in terms of academic rigor. The self is king, anyway, tyrant, so where is the line of distinction between material that intentionally is nodding at some truth about the artist’s life and what’s just, like, all the rest of the regular navel-gazing bullshit. I mean, I’m all self, I am guilty here. I can’t get it out of my poems or even make it more quiet. This is the tenth time I’ve invoked “I” in the space of six sentences. Processing art has always necessitated a certain amount of grappling with the creator, but the busywork of it lately grows more and more tedious. Joy drains out of my body parsing marks left behind not just in stylistic tendencies and themes, but in literal, intentional tags like graffiti on a water tower. This feels an age old and moth-holed complaint, dull, and I am no historian, or really a serious thinker of any kind. I’ve now complained at some length about self-referential art, but didn’t I love how Martin Scorsese nodded to the famous Goodfellas Copacabana tracking shot with the opening frames of last year’s The Irishman? Didn’t I find that terribly fun and sort of sweet? So there’s distinctions. I’m only saying I don’t know with certainty what they even are. I’m unreliable, and someone smarter than me has likely already solved my quandary about why self-knowledge often transforms into overly precious self-reflexivity in such a way that the knowledge is diminished and obscured, leaving only cutesy Easter eggs behind. Postmodernism has birthed a moralizing culture where art exists to be termed either “self-aware Good” or “self-aware Bad”.  Self-referentiality in media is so commonplace, so much the standard, that what was once credited as metatextual inventiveness often feels lazy now. In 1996, Scream was revitalizing a genre. Today, two thirds of all horror movies spend half their running time making sure that you know that they know they’re a horror movie, which is fine, I guess, except sometimes you just wanna watch someone get butchered with an axe in peace. 

This is all to say that in 2020 Taylor Swift looked long and hard upon her image in the reflecting pool of her heart and has written yet another song about Gone Girl.

“mirrorball” is a very good piece of Gone Girl —feels insane to tell anyone reading a post on a blog what Gone Girl is but, you know, the extremely popular 2012 novel about a woman who pretends to have been murdered and frames her husband for it, and subsequently the 2014 film adaption where you kinda see Ben Affleck’s dick for a second—fanfiction. It would be a fine song, a good song, really, even if it weren’t that, if it were just something normal and not unhinged written by a chill person who behaves in a regular way, but we need to acknowledge the facts for what they are. When Taylor Swift watched Rosamund Pike toss her freshly self-bobbed hair out of her face and hiss, “You think you’d be happy with some nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby. I’m it!” her brain lit up like a Christmas tree, and she’s never been the same. If you Google “taylor swift gone girl” there waiting for you will be a medium sized lake’s worth of articles speculating about how Gone Girl influenced and is referenced in past Swift singles “Blank Space” and “Look What You Made Me Do”. This is not new behavior, and if anything it’s getting a bit troubling to think that it’s been this long since Taylor’s read another book. Still, while the prior offerings were a fair attempt at this particular feat of depravity, “mirrorball” has brought Taylor’s Amy Elliott Dunne deification to stunning new heights. And most importantly, Taylor has done a service to every person alive with more than six brain cells and a Internet connection by putting an end to the “Cool Girl” discourse once and for all. By the power invested in “mirrorball”, it is hereby decreed that the Cool Girl speech from Gone Girl is neither feminist or antifeminist, not ironic nor aspirational. No. It’s something much better than all that. It’s a threat. I ! Can ! Change ! Everything ! About ! Me ! To ! Fit ! In !

Gone Girl (2012) by Gillian Flynn

“mirrorball” (2020) by Taylor Swift

When the twinkly musical stylings of Jack Antonoff, a man I distinctly distrust, but for no one specific reason, whirl to life at the beginning of this song I feel instantly entranced, blurry-brained and pleasure-pickled like an infant beneath a light-up crib mobile or, I guess, myself in the old times, the outside times, three tequila sodas deep under the disco lights at The Short Stop. Under a mirrorball in my head. I know very little about music, as a craft, and I really don’t care to know more. I’m happy in a world of pure, dumb sensation. I’m not even sure what kind of instruments are making these jangly little sounds. I just like it. I am vibing. We may not ever be able to behave badly in a club again, but I can sway to my stupid Taylor Swift-and-the-brother-of-the-lady-who-makes-like-those-sweatshirts-with-little-sayings-or-like-vulvas-which-famous-white-women-wear-on-instagram-you-know-what-I-mean song, pressing up onto my tiptoes on the linoleum tile of our kitchen floor and can feel for a second or two something approaching bliss. “mirrorball” is a lush sound bath that I like a lot and then also it’s about being all things to all people, chameleoning at a second’s notice, doing Oscar worthy work on every Zoom call, performing the you who is good, performing the you who is funny, performing the you who draws a liter of your own blood and throws it around the kitchen then cleans it up badly all to get your husband sent to jail for sleeping with a college student... Too much talk about making and unmaking of the self is way too, like, 2012 Tumblr for me now, and I start hearing the word “praxis” ring threateningly in my head, but I’m not yet so evolved that I don’t feel a pull. Musings on the disorganized self—on how we are new all the time, and not just because of all the fresh skin coming up under the dead, personhood in the end so frighteningly flexible—are always going to compel me, I’m afraid, but that goes double for musings on the disorganized self which posit that Taylor Swift still thinks Amy Dunne made some points.

Because on “mirrorball” Taylor is for once not hamfistedly addressing some “hater”, in the quiet and the lack of embarrassing martyrdom it actually offers an interesting answer to the complaint that Taylor is insufficiently self-aware. This criticism emerges often in tandem with claiming to have discovered some crack in the chassis of Swift’s public self, revealing the sweetness to be insincere. My instinct is to dismiss this more or less out of hand as just a mutation of the school of thought that presumes all work by women must be autobiography. And, regardless, it is made altogether laughable by the fact that anyone actually paying attention has known since at least Speak Now, a delightful record populated by the most appalling, horrible characters imaginable, and all of them written by a twenty year old Taylor Swift, that this woman is a pure weirdo. To accuse Taylor Swift of lacking in self-awareness is a reductive misunderstanding, I think, of artifice. Being a fake bitch takes work. Which is to say, if we agree that her public self is a calculated performance—eliding the fact that all public selves are a performance to avoid getting too in the weeds yadda yadda— why, then, should it be presumed that performance is rooted in ignorance? Would it not make more sense that, in fact, someone able to contort themselves so ably into various shapes for public consumption would have a certain understanding of the basic materials they’re working with and concealing? Taylor Swift, in a decade and a half of fame, has presented herself from inside a number of distinct packages. The gangly teenager draped in long curls like climbing wisteria who wrote lyrics down her arms in glitter paint gave way to red lipstick, a Diet Coke campaign, and bad dancing at awards shows. There was the period where she was surrounded constantly by a gaggle of models, then suddenly wasn’t anymore, and that rough interlude with the bleached hair. The whole Polaroid thing. Last year she boldly revealed she’s a democrat. Now it’s the end of the world and she’s got frizzy bangs and flannels and muted little piano songs. Perhaps this endless shape-shifting contradicts or undermines, for some, the pose of tender authenticity which has remained static through each phase, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been doing it all on purpose the entire time. I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try...

In the Disney+ documentary—which, in order to watch, I had to grudgingly give the vile mouse seven dollars, because the login information that I’d begged off of my little sister didn’t work and I was too embarrassed to bring it up a second time—Taylor referred to “mirrorball” as the first time on the album where she explicitly addressed the pandemic, referring to the lyrics that start, “And they called off the circus, Burned the disco down,” and end with “I’m still on that tightrope, I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me,” which actually did made me laugh, feeling sort of warmly foolish and a little fond, because it never would have occurred to me that she was trying to be literal there. I suppose we really do all contain multitudes. Hate that.

#taylor swift #folklore

[bates--boy]

He set the collection of mice skulls in the tin bowl and stared at them. They looked like tiny, discolored stones carved with holes, more cutesy Halloween decoration than the product of hours of trapping prey in the alley between his flat and the next. And the skinning.

Oh, god, the skinning...

At least his anaconda is set for snacks for the next couple weeks. But there were bits of clarity in his exhaustion and mild panic where he wondered if this would even work with rodent skulls. The only reason he even had them was because he didn't feel right taking ones from the corpses of the primates that passed in the animal center, and he had to save the questionably legally-acquired human ones for later in case this did work.

Because that was what this hesitation came to: the fact that this might not work. The man knew he was being driven by a moment of asphyxiation and an eternity of hallucination, but those souls...their voices...

YOU ARE WRONG

They still crawled over his skin, breathed against the back of his neck, still thundered in his head and made the very little sleep he tried to attain impossible. He still felt that black hole inhaling, trying to swallow his screaming form and those unfortunate, judgemental souls.

What was he wrong about?

He eyed his set-up on the dining room table, checking off the list in his head, and leaned forward to switch on the camera.

"To anyone who may be viewing this: hello. I'm Peter Kirkland, and today, I'm here to answer a question as old as time, itself: what happens after we die?

"As an atheist, my answer was once and always: nothing." He shrugged. "Nothing at all. But, er, there have been some recent developments..."

He thought about the conversation with Matthew, of heads rolling across floors.

He thought about the cycles of regeneration Roderich went through under the unforgiving ocean.

He thought about how he had to carry Roderich back to his hotel room, and wait in a corner until the man came back to life.

He thought about those stories of children claiming memories they were much too young to have, past lives returning to them.

He thought about the black hole, the howling, hungry black hole.

"...that made me wonder if the answer was as simple as emptiness beyond here. Now, don't get me wrong: I'm still an atheist. Truthfully, I don't see how religion would tie into this. Or anything requiring rationality, really. Heh, there goes my angry atheist joke for the day." He tipped an invisible fedora to the camera.

"And now, to make myself absolutely hypocritical, I have here a sort of necromancy equipment." He reached to the camera and turned it at different angles to show the bowl of skulls resting on a trivet, the vials and tubes, the pile of notes, the candles and lighters, and the plasma separator machine.

"But this has less to do with merely communicating with the dead, and more with entering their plane."

He returned the camera back to its place eon the tripod and shrugged. "Now, whether or not that means I may die, I don't know. That does seem like the only outcome of this, doesn't it? 'We all die someday', and hell, today might be my day!" He tried to chuckle, but ended up nibbling on his lip.

He picked up the notes stacked on the corner of the table. "Anyway..."

He gave a brief outline of his theories, some stuff about plasma and energy and stars that sounded more like hopeful sci-fi the longer he spouted it to the camera. After, he wrapped the rubber tourniquet around his upper left arm, struggling to tie it near and tight one handed.

Like the many medical videos he'd watch, he practically doused his inner elbow with rubbing alcohol and pressed his fingers about, looking for that sweet spot. "God damn, it's always so hard to find. Semper Do to my nurses who had to struggle with me." He gave the camera a fleeting, awkward smile.

There. It thumped through his flesh, popping against his fingertips. Okay. Okay. He picked up the needle and flicked off the protective cap. The metal was cool against his skin.

...Okay, he was pushing the syringe in...

...On the count of three, he will push the syringe in... One...two...

...He just needed to take a deep breath, and he'll be able to stick it in.

He inhaled, held it, exhaled. Inhaled, held, exhaled. Inhaled, held, exhaled. Inhaledheldexhaled, inhaledheldexhaled, inhaledexhaled inhaledexhaledinhaledexhaledinhaledexhaledgoddamnitdoitforscienceinhaledexhaledinhaledexhaled

"AAAAAGH!" He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his fist up.

He cracked them open. The needle was stabbed through, with only minor drops of blood bubbling up at the injection site. It'll have to do, so he connected the syringe's tube to the vials' stoppers, one at a time, his body overcome with shakes as he watched his blood run down the sides of his elbow as well as fill the plastic containers.

He gave the vials a shake and set them in the separator machine. While that was at work, Peter bandaged his wound and cleaned up his spills, then downed a half bottle of sports drink, at least whatever he could drink past his quivering lip as he lied down on the couch to recover.

The centrifuging was complete, and Peter returned to the table. He retrieved the tubes and, using the same needle as before, he drew out the plasma from the cells vial by vial, and pushed it out into the bowl. He capped the needle as a precaution and took a moment to lay his hands flat on the table and breathe.

"Next step," he said mostly to himself, reaching for the lighter and a votive candle, "Fire!"

He put the lit candle in its hold under the bowl's trivet, and set the rest of the candles around the vulgar set-up. "Oh, these candles make me feel like I should set some mood music. What music would even be appropriate for this?" He looked off into the distance, grimacing. "Hmm... Death metal? Nah, too cliched."

Still, he was sure that this practice required some silence, so Peter let the joke pass and reviewed his notes one more time, coming to the slips of paper with the procedure he created.

1: Establish a channel.

Wait until the plasma comes to a gentle boil. The steam will be the gas like the ones that make up stars, the candles the fire that make them glow. This will be beacon to you, the skull will be the home for them.

Make sure all distractions are removed; there is no telling what may scare off souls. ("Oh, I guess music was a no-go, anyway," Peter murmured.)

2: Connect

Relax your body to a state of semi-sleep (asphyxiate again?? Give meditation a try)

Place hands as close to the beacon as possible without disturbing it

Mimic the black hole noise

3: Collect information

Invite the sound to take you to their plane

Ask for names and stories

Mingle, I guess

He wished he had thought this through more. Nevertheless, he laid his hands flat between two candles and closed his eyes. He breathed through his nose and out his mouth, gagged at the taste of his own plasma burning in front of him, and tried again. He went back to that place, that void, that place of condemnation and confusion. The bumps returned to his skin as he waded through the screaming of souls, as he faced the ruling entity in his mind, the one that swallowed the dead and existing like smoke from a cigarette.

In the hallucination, when he was right there in front of it, the black hole screeched destruction and vengeance, it howled with an insatiable frenzy, it crackled like the unending fire that it was, making even the frightened cries of the souls it consumed mute and damn near rendered Peter deaf.

But when he recollected that moment of looking the end in its blinding and dark face, when he thought he would lose his voice trying to scream louder than it...

A hum. It was a breathless hum, a droning and tuneless lullaby to soothe the frightened children to sleep.

It had to be wrong. It had to! Nothing so soft could inspire what Peter felt in that place!

Yet Peter leaned back in his chair, and felt the hum reverberate in his chest.

The heat from the candles traveled through his fingertips and up his arms, the warmth crawling up his neck and brushing across his face. The darkness behind his closed kids thickened, almost like time was easing towards night. In the calm, Peter had wished that he used scented candles so the smell of his very essence burning didn't choke him and made him nauseous, but he was slowly getting used to the smell, that the sensation of it clogging up his throat lessened the more he hummed and leaned his head back...

WHOAREWHATDOYOUTHINKYOU'REAREYIUDOINGHERE?!

Peter's head snapped forward, his eyes popping open. He had to stop himself from toppling his chair over as existence flickered around him. He watched as his home, gray with not exactly darkness but still a lightlessness that sucked the life and time out of everything, disappear into that black void. It flickered through the cycle like the flame of a candle, from his flat to the black emptiness to a warping of the two then back to his flat where his bird was so still in his cage but Peter could still hear him go batshit and beating his wings against the bars and above his head in the emptiness was the Black Hole and

He gasped.

Standing before him, phasing in and out of the planes like the planes, themselves, we're switching back and forth, stood the souls. Whether in his flat or in the void, these faceless beings stretched out before him in legions, as far as Peter's watering eyes could see. These beings converged, looming higher, looking down on the heaving young man cowering in his chair. They had no mouths, yet still they screamed

HOWDAREYOUINVADEWHOAREYOUWHERESMYMOMMYDEIDREDEIDREWHEREAREYOUDUMBFUCKRUNBEFORETHEBLACKHOLE

Peter presses his hands to his ears, clawing his nails into the back of his head. Too many...there were too many.

THEBLACKHOLEISHUNGRYRUNWHYAMIHEREWHOAREALLOFISTHISHEAVEN

What were once beads of sweat trickling down his nose and cheeks was now a full layer of sticky sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, drenching the front of his shirt until the collar hung heavy. He swallowed, gasping and blubbering, his lungs searching for fresh, cool air, but only finding the stench of his plasma and heat -- god, the heat of these souls! The candles were pointless! He's being burned alive. These souls drew closer to him and they were nothing but fire and burning energy and they didn't care that this whimpering bastard curled up in his chair was being roasted down to his bones!

THISISWHATIGETFORFIGHTINGINTHEWARYOUAREWRONGYOUAREWRONGDOYOUKNOWMAGNUSYOUAREWRONGYOUAREWRONGYOUAREWRONG

He pressed his hands harder against his face. A droplet ran down the bridge of his nose, and he couldn't tell if it was sweat or a tear.

CANYOUHELPMEFINDMYDADDYTHEVIEWFROMHALFWAYDOWNYIUAEWWROMGYIUAREWRONGYOUAREWRONG

God, make it stop--

Peter?

Peter opened his eyes and lowered his hands. That voice. Through the devastation of these numberless voices that crashed through him like stars and asteroids, he knew that voice. The gentle, loving one, the one that sang him lullabies and told him stories of places afar and promised him a happy home when the war planes stopped flying over his fort. The family he had before he knew what family was.

He whipped his head about, searching these faceless entities. "Marion?!"

Peter!

"Marion!" Peter shot out of his chair, standing on his toes and craning his sweat-soaked neck out as if that would help him seek her out among this cruel, burning mass.

"Marion, I--!"

The flickering worsened, but he found that the flat he lived in stayed longer and time tried to continue. No, no no no, the channel! He had to keep the channel open!

Peter lit more candles, replacing the one under the tin bowl, and grabbed for the needle-- shit, where was it?! He looked for the needle he used-- god damn it, where was it, where was it?! He looked all over the table, under the mess of papers and discarded candles. The souls, the ones he hated and wished was swallowed up by that damn Black Hole flashing in and out of existence above him, started fading. Along with her voice.

"No!" He wailed, his voice hoarse. He looked down at his hands, blinking rapidly to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

And then he bit himself.

His teeth sunk into the tender flesh under his thumb, stabbing deeper until his blood filled his mouth. He spat it into the still heated bowl. The souls' fading stopped, though they still flickered. He bit into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, sucking until he choked on the blood that he had to spit out into the bowl. The mice skulls turned dark.

Peter, what are you doing?!

He chomped down on the opposite palm, and his wrists, and up his arms, sucking, spitting, choking, crying, screaming through his own skin and meat he had between his teeth. The flickering between planes slowed. Everything slowed, except for hi is rapidly blinking eyes Peter tried to maintain consciousness. Her voice stopped fading.

Peter, please stop!

The darkness of sleep and the darkness of the void were indistinguishable as Peter collapsed into it.

#hetalia #droid noodles ( writing ) #animal abuse tw #self harm tw #death tw #blood tw #uuuuuuh i don't know what ekse to tag this as soo #might be good to just ignore it #long post #since read mores don't work on this godforsaken app #rage against the singularity saga

[jasperlucilfer]

One Piece AU

Some character interactions before they reach Loguetown!

Bit of a warning for language from Sanji.

Pt 1

Nami-

“How did you even die? You look so young…”

Jasper paused in coiling the rope to turn an unimpressed look over at the only female crewmate aboard this ship. Her saccharine voice was probably meant to sound cutesy or something but Jasper had met way too many femme fatales for that to have any affect on him. Women were all a bunch of pretty smelling flowers trying to hide their bloodsucking thorns.

“What business is it of yours, huh? Besides, I’m not that young.”

“Tch. You’re so rude,” Nami scoffs, flipping her short hair away from her face. It fell right back into the same spot so Jasper knew it was superfluous. Her hands settled on her hips and her sweet veneer dropped even more. She probably recognized he wasn’t going to be charmed by her. Good. “We’re crewmates now! There’s nothing wrong in asking about each other.”

“Is that so,” he replied dryly.

“Mhm!”

“... I’m sixteen.” It was grudgingly pulled from him after a long expectant silence of her stare drilling into the side of his head. He wasn’t really dead so he couldn’t give her an answer on that (without ruining the running gag they were playing on themselves) without spinning a story- which he wasn’t good at- so he offered a different piece of information as a distraction. Besides, how the hell was he supposed to get his chores done if people kept bothering him? Honestly, this crew was wild, new, dysfunctional and he never should have met Monkey D. Luffy!

He definitely wasn’t already growing fond of them…

There was a small gasp, then a squeal. “A baby!”

His head snapped back over to glare at her. “No!”

“A baby,” she cooed.

“Watch your mouth, fruit hag! I know where your gold is!”

Her entire teasing demeanor dropped into one of an angered devil.

“Don’t you dare threaten my money,” she hissed spitefully.

“You’re not the only thief on this ship,” he growled right back.

There were a few beats of silence, their glares unrelenting.

“We never speak of this again and your gold is safe from me.”

“Deal.”

Sanji-

“You can’t lie to me, you little punk. You’re definitely not a ghost! So get your ass in the kitchen and eat!”

Jasper huffed, dancing away from the wild kicks of the irritated chef. It wouldn’t do much if it hit him considering he was literally made of wind but it was annoying to be constantly ‘dispersed’.

“You’re way too skinny! Why the hell won’t you eat!?”

“You already complained that we’re running low on supplies,” Jasper complained. “We get to Loguetown tomorrow! It’s not a big deal if one person holds off on eating.”

And it really wasn’t. Jasper didn’t get hungry. In fact, he needed constant reminders from his friends (and more recently, himself, though he was still working on it) that eating was actually a thing required of the human body. It could be a nuisance on occasion when he started feeling weak out of nowhere before realizing he hadn’t eaten in a week or two, but for the most part Jasper looked at it as a blessing. If he had to starve due to low supplies he’d rather not feel the hunger. Just because he couldn’t feel it anymore doesn’t mean he didn’t remember that aching gnawing in his stomach that would leave him nauseous and dizzy for days. He was better without it.

Another kick. Why did this bastard keep going for his head?

“Like fuck it’s not! You need to eat!”

“There’s not enough food,” he huffed just before a foot whooshed through his head. His eye twitched as he reformed.

“Then the Captain can suffer for a night! He’s a glutton unlike you! I don’t even know how you ate so much without vomiting on that island when you’re stick thin and starving yourself!”

“I’m not starving myself,” Jasper yelped indignantly. With an annoyed growl, he stepped on a breezy current to propel himself up onto the edge of the crow’s nest. From here he could see the wide expanse of blue ocean around, a nostalgic sight that never failed to make his insides feel like happy goo. His new crewmates were also visible. Well, the ones outside anyway. Long nose apparently like to tinker in the bowels of the ship and the navigator was currently indoors working on a map or something. The swordsman was snoozing at the bottom of the mast, his nap not at all interrupted by the racket that was being made. And the Captain was pretty much the same, but the teen was drooped across the sheep figurehead snoring out large snot bubbles.

… which was as disgusting as it was fascinating.

“I can’t properly call myself a chef if there’s anyone in my presence starving,” the chef yowled, scrambling up the ratlines with a few propelling kicks.

“It’s not like I can feel it! Isn’t it better this way,” he howled back, scrambling further into the sky to perch on top of the mast. It was really too bad it wasn’t very windy right now as he couldn’t rely on those currents to help him escape. This situation wasn’t bad enough to create his own to get away either. It was just annoying.

Sanji, who’d just made it up to the crow’s nest, stopped dead and stared him straight in the eyes, neck craned uncomfortably. It looked almost demonic and made a shiver run down Jasper's spine.

“You don’t feel… hungry?”

“...No?”

“You’re not a ghost.”

It wasn’t a question. He answered anyway. “No.”

“You’re going to get down here and eat. You’re going to eat at every meal even if I have to drag you myself. I don’t care that I can’t touch you. I’ll find a way.”

The manic light paired with the hazy smoke from the lit cigarette and the bared teeth painted a very scary picture. Jasper was a fighter, a survivor, and all of his instincts were telling him to just accept his new lot in life. It didn’t matter that he could overpower any of these people, there was just the deep gut feeling that he’d never get away.

Between his new Captain and this crazy chef…

Jasper was screwed.

#jasperlucilfer #hunterxhunter #one piece #sanji #alternate universe #crossover #nami

[missingverse]

Missing Chapter Ten

One month until:

Helga just about made it to the side of the field before she retched into the bunker. Nothing much came up (she'd been too nauseous to eat that morning) but some acidic fluid that burned her throat. She felt slightly better.

“You okay, Hellbelle?”

Patrick knew she hated cutesy nicknames, and that's probably why he kept using it. Sure enough, as she looked up at him and scowled he had that Robert-Redford-esque cheeky smile pinned to his classically handsome face. Most girls would probably kill to have him give them a nickname.

“I'm fine,” she grumbled, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and leaning on her bat. “Stomach's a bit off today.”

“You're not getting the stomach flu, are you?” Patrick asked. He still had that 'charming' grin but his eyes looked worried.

“I don't think so,” she answered. “It's just my stomach. It's like....burning...”

Now the grin dropped, and she could tell he was half-thinking of calling his mom to get her to the doctor. It wouldn't have been the first time.

“That's not good,” he mused, rocking on his heels and looking out at the rest of the baseball team. He gestured to the other junior coach to take over and took her by the elbow, lead her into the seats in the bunker.

“Sit this round out,” Patrick told her. “How long have you had this pain?”

“I dunno, couple of days....”

“A couple of DAYS?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“It wasn't that bad,” she countered, folding her arms sullenly. “Playoffs are coming up.”

“You don't need the practice like the rest of them, you know that,” he said, shaking his head in that infuriating-but-oh-so-reasonable way he often did. “Anything else not working right? Or just the stomach pains?”

He had his phone out and she just knew he was going to message his mom with every little detail. In a way, Helga was relieved. The pains had been worrying her for a while, and Patrick's mom was always so sensible about this kind of thing.

“I feel really sick in the mornings,” she told him. “And really tired. Kinda dizzy. It passes after a while but...it's making school hard to get through.”

Patrick's face was solemn now. He was only thirteen, but sometimes he felt like a much older teenager.

“I'm gonna ask you something, don't freak out,” he sighed, casting his eyes towards the ceiling. “You haven't been....doing stuff with any guys, have you?”

She knew exactly what he meant, but the urge to mess with him was too strong.

“What kind of stuff?” she asked, blinking innocently.

“You know...” he mumbled, visibly uncomfortable and not looking her in the eye. “Underwear stuff?”

She burst out laughing, and he went red as a tomato.

“No, I can assure you I haven't been doing 'underwear stuff' with anyone,” she chuckled. “Not that I can remember, anyway.”

“I had to ask,” he said, scowling down at her.

“It's probably just some allergy thing,” she sighed, leaning back against the wall with a hand on her still-churning stomach. “Bob's been doing all the cooking lately so who knows what is going in there. If he could feed us nothing but chipotle and beans he would.”

“Sounds like a good excuse to have dinner at my place,” Patrick offered with a carefree shrug. “Stay over tonight, see if you feel better tomorrow.”

“Don't you have to ask your mom first?”

“As if,” he snorted. “Mom loves you. If she had to choose between us she'd probably pick you.”

Helga hesitated for just a moment; she did tend to feel less tired and sore when she stayed out of the house, but the cave was getting drafty in the rainy season and Phoebe wasn't as open to sleepovers anymore. And Patrick's mom had a spare bed made up for her.

People would spread even more rumours about them dating, but who cares?

…..

Arnold didn't want Helga to come with them to see Officer Plaskett.

He also didn't want to tell her why he didn't want her to come with them.

It was bad enough that Phoebe would be there. She was full of self-loathing for blowing Helga off the night she went missing, this would only make things ten times worse.

And there was that little shred of himself, a little patch of meanness that felt she was right to hate herself, if she hadn't been so selfish Helga wouldn't have gone to the cave and wouldn't have vanished in the first place...

...but he couldn't think that way. Helga didn't, and she had more right to be angry at Phoebe than anyone.

“It's half twelve,” Helga informed him, tapping her heel at the door. “Shouldn't we be going now? We're going to be late otherwise....”

There was no easy way to say it. It had to be now, whether he liked it or not.

“I don't think you should come with us.”

Her reaction was predictable; she scowled, crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. It put him in mind of a cobra, for some reason.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Look, there's stuff I'm going to have to discuss with Officer Plaskett that's pretty harsh,” he began, open-palmed and hopefully reasonable-looking. “He might bring up something you can't remember, and if it's really bad....I'm worried for you. What if you fade out again?”

“I'll fade back in here,” she shrugged.

“We don't know that,” he countered. “Maybe you can't remember anything for a good reason.”

The annoyance on her face faded, replaced by something he couldn't quite figure out...fear? Caution?

“This is about the memory stick,” she said, and Arnold's heart sank. “You looked at it.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking hard at the ground.

“And you think I can't handle it.”

“It's not that, I think you could handle just about anything...” he ground out. Some of the images on that stick flickered through his mind, static and hazy. “But I don't want to overload you with this stuff. And I can't talk to you in Plaskett's office, so if you get upset there's nothing I can do about it. I'll tell you myself, when I come back. I swear. If you still want to hear it.”

She sighed, moved away from the door and sank onto her blanket nest, refusing to look at Arnold.

“Fine,” she huffed. But was that a note of relief he detected in her voice?

“I'll be back soon,” he promised.

He felt much lighter leaving the boarding house than he had all morning. It was still a grim task he had to complete, but at least he got to leave the biggest problem at home.

…..

They'd been very excited to have a real police officer come to class, even though just about everyone pretended it was lame. There was some posturing from the class clowns and the wannabe bad boys and some low-level gabbing from the girls about whether or not the officer would be a handsome hero cop.

Officer Plaskett was handsome enough, not movie-star worthy but he had an open, friendly face and a few upturned crow's feet to make him look distinguished. He handled the rudeness from the troublemakers with easy wry humour so in the end even the most dedicated delinquent warmed to him.

And he seemed very eager to assure them all that the police were there for them if they were in trouble.

“The average age for joining a gang is dropping all the time,” he told them. “The best way to keep members in the gang is to get them in young and make them too afraid to leave. You tell them that they'll get in trouble for going to the cops, and they just dig themselves in deeper. Truth is, if you are involved in gang activity and you go to the police, we would take your age into consideration and you wouldn't get in any trouble with the law.”

“You'd get in trouble with the gang, though,” Gerald drawled from the back of the classroom.

Everyone snickered, but Officer Plaskett kept on smiling.

“You'll be in trouble with the gang either way,” he shrugged. “At some point, you'll cross someone you shouldn't have and the consequences will be pretty harsh. Gangs use violence to intimidate the members, they could easily invent a reason to come down hard on you just to keep you in your place.”

“Isn't that just human nature?” Helga said suddenly, having sat in somewhat bored silence for the entire lecture. “I mean, that kind of thing is hardly exclusive to gangs.”

“You would know, slugger,” one of Suzanne Fischer's resentful 'friends' piped up from the back of the room.

“That's pretty astute,” Plaskett answered. “You're right, it's not limited to gangs. This dynamic appears in lots of social groups....school bullies, for example. Or the invading force in times of war. It even pops up in families. The key element is that whoever's in charge makes whoever they're intimidating feel too afraid to ask for help.”

A thoughtful silence descended on the class. The officer had used a lot of long words that went over some heads, but they got the idea, more or less. Plaskett stood and grabbed a piece of chalk.

“I'm going to give you all a direct line to my office,” he said, scrawling a set of numbers on the blackboard. “If you feel, at any point and for any reason, like you're in danger, you can call me and I will help you.”

Everyone took down the number. Everyone.

…..

Officer Plaskett looked older than Arnold remembered. He had more crow's feet now, and grey hairs peppered across his brow. He ushered them into his cluttered office, paper folders stacked on every available surface, and offered them coffee (they refused).

“I have a feeling I know who this is about,” he said, sitting down. He looked tired, and they hadn't even begun.

“Maybe,” Arnold said. “We have new evidence.”

Phoebe squirmed in her seat, whether eagerness to find out what was on the stick or nervous energy Arnold couldn't tell.

“I'd like to see that,” Plaskett said, leaning back lazily in his chair. “We combed every inch of that house, every inch of those woods. We didn't find much. Were you friends of Ms Pataki's?”

“I'm her best friend,” Phoebe blurted out.

Plaskett's eye twitched a little, no doubt from Phoebe speaking in the present tense.

“I spoke to your partner after she went missing,” she continued. “I told him she had a cave in the woods she went to all the time...”

“We searched all the caves. Nothing,” Plaskett said.

“Yesterday we found it,” Arnold told him. “And I think I know how you missed it. It was a runoff tunnel, I think, from an old river. It was dug into the side of the valley, it doesn't appear on the topography maps. All her stuff is there. We found this.”

He handed the stick to Officer Plaskett, who turned it over in his hands curiously.

“Have you looked at this?” he asked.

“I have. She hasn't,” Arnold answered.

Arnold watched the officer's face closely as he put the stick into his hard drive, opened the folders, scrolled down through the pictures. Plaskett was utterly composed, except that as he scrolled further and further the colour drained from his face. Phoebe fidgeted in her seat.

“Well,” Plaskett said at last, closing the folder and sliding away from his computer as though it was infected by something. “It's solid evidence. Though it just confirms something we knew already.”

“You knew?” Arnold ground out.

“We found the cameras,” Plaskett said. “The hard drive was wiped but we found enough evidence for Bob Pataki to get a custodial sentence.”

“Cameras?” Phoebe queried, looking from the officer to Arnold and back. “What cameras?”

“She was going to see you the day after she went missing,” Arnold said, ignoring Phoebe. “She was going to give you the stick. Someone stopped her.”

“We have reason to believe Bob Pataki is not that someone,” Plaskett told him pointedly. “From what we've gathered, Bob's exploitation of his daughter was for financial reasons. His business was doing badly and he needed money. Pictures like the ones on that stick fetch a high price on the dark web.”

It was bad enough just thinking of Helga's father abusing her. To know he had sold her out to strangers was even worse.

Phoebe, it seemed, had finally caught up with the conversation. Her hand was clasped over her mouth. Arnold could feel her shaking beside him.

“I regret not being able to meet with her when she found these pictures,” Plaskett said suddenly. He had been stoic, mostly, up until now. His mask was starting to crumble. “I may have been able to save her. It should never have happened like this. I let her down.”

Phoebe was sobbing beside him, but all Arnold could feel was a sense of cold rage.

Phoebe had let her down. She needed somewhere safe to escape to and Phoebe refused her.

Officer Plaskett had let her down. She had crucial evidence to give to him, and he didn't take it. He wrote his number on their classroom blackboard promising he'd always be there for them, and the first time someone reached out to him he failed to be there.

Bob had let her down. He had options to fix his financial issues but the first thing that occurred to him was to throw his daughter to the wolves.

Miriam had let her down. She couldn't stay aware long enough to protect her, if she could even be bothered.

Teachers, doctors, that therapist she saw for a while, Helga's entire life seemed to be an endless parade of people letting her down.

…..

Helga pounced on him as soon as he came home. Distantly Arnold wondered if she'd been pacing the floor since he left.

“You've been gone for hours,” she said. “It didn't take that long, surely?”

He had dropped Phoebe home in a fug of miserable silence, and then walked around town not wanting to go home. He'd gone to the cafe and bought a churro he could barely eat, went to see a movie he couldn't focus on, and then spent two hours just wandering around. When it got dark he finally had to admit to himself he needed to get this over with.

“Plaskett entered in the new evidence, but he said it just confirmed something he already knew,” Arnold began. “He knows why you left home in the first place. It just never made the papers.”

“Tell me why,” she demanded. “I don't care how bad it is, just spit it out.”

“He thinks your father didn't kill you. But he definitely did drug you and took pictures of you when you were unconscious.”

“What kind of pictures?” she asked, but Arnold could tell by the look on her face she already knew. She was remembering something.

“The kind you sell online to people who like little girls,” he said.

She sank down onto her blanket nest, ashen-faced but otherwise taking it all very well.

“That's what was on the stick, then?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” Arnold sighed. “I'm so sorry.”

“And Bob just got away with it.”

“No, he got a custodial sentence,” he told her. “They found hidden cameras in your room. He would have gotten longer if they'd found the pictures but....”

“But they never got them. I had them when I disappeared.”

“Are you okay?”

She looked up at him and smiled, but it was a watery smile, barely there.

“I'm not going to fade out, don't worry. Is it weird I'm not even surprised? Bob never wanted me around unless he had a use for me....I suppose I got lucky I went away before he found something else to do with me.”

“The new evidence might lead to a breakthrough,” Arnold suggested. “That's what Plaskett said....”

“You know, maybe I didn't go missing because anyone took me,” she said. Her voice sounded almost far away, it was so quiet. “Maybe I just decided it wasn't worth living knowing those pictures were out there. Maybe I just walked out into the forest and found some quiet place to die in peace.”

Tears pricked the back of Arnold's eyes, but he couldn't afford to be the one crying. Helga deserved as many tears as she could shed, but she didn't look like she had a single tear inside of her. Her face was still as a porcelain mask.

She just looked....dead.

“I don't think so,” Arnold said. “I think you'd have wanted to live long enough to see Bob pay for what he did. You had enough sense to copy the evidence and phone Plaskett in the first place, I don't think you would have stopped there. Hell, even dying didn't stop you! You came back!”

She smiled, faintly.

“Maybe,” she whispered, and then drew up her knees under her and lay across the nest. She curled inwards on herself, the way people did when they were badly hurt.

Arnold swallowed, crossed the room and threw back the covers on his bed.

“Sleep over here,” he demanded. “With me.”

“What?” Now she looked startled, and more like herself. “Why?”

“I don't think you should be alone right now,” he told her.

“We're in the same room,” she half-laughed.

“No good,” he said. “You need to be over here with me. I want to be sure you're still here.”

She rolled her eyes and got up, crossed the room and slid into his bed. He slid in beside her. It was cramped, the bed wasn't exactly made for two people, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He put his arms around her and pulled her close, tucking her into his body as if he could shield her from the outside.

They didn't speak. He felt her tears soaking into his t-shirt but he said nothing and just held her as close as he could. It was the least he could do.

#hey arnold #hey arnold fanfiction #tw: crime

[infinitely-kate]

Cuddle

Hey everyone! Sorry this took so long to get out, but I’ve had a hard time writing this, and some stuff came up in my life so I haven’t really had time to sit down and write. But I still hope you enjoy!

Request: Could you possibly make a sister reader where she has a cold or something and the guys take care of her?? I feel like there aren’t enough cutesy, fluffy, things like that on here, lol

“So basically this big bad wolf has a hankering for kids but won’t leave the pier?” Dean summarized, taking a big bite from his burger. You and your brothers were in Chicago on a somewhat easy hunt. You had found the case through local police reports and decided it was worth looking into. There were four victims, all ages 12-18 and found on the same pier with their hearts ripped out. Obviously it was a werewolf. So now, you three were figuring out how to gank the thing.

“Yeah, basically,” Sam started, scrolling down through his laptop. “But the issue is that tonight's the last night of the lunar cycle. We only have one day to kill it before it’s back to being completely human and we don’t know where it is,” Your brothers began to argue over on how to approach the situation, bickering over every little detail.  Meanwhile, you hatched a plan of your own.

“I’ll be the bait,” their eyes shot towards you. “It likes teenagers right? Well I’m sixteen. It works out perfect,”

“(Y/N) that’s stupid. No way we’re putting you in harms way like that,” Dean protested. You rolled your eyes and Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Dean, please. I know how to kill them so I’ll be able to protect myself. Besides you guys won’t be far away. It’ll be fine,”

“Sammy help me out. She can’t honestly think we’re going to use her as bait right?” Sam gave him an apologetic look.

“Sorry, but I’m going to have to side with (Y/N) on this one. We’ve trained her ourselves and she’s been on plenty of hunts involving werewolves before. And she has a point. The thing likes kids her age that aren’t able to fend for themselves, but it won’t expect her to be ready to fight back. I really think she’ll be fine,” Sam reasoned. You shot him a grateful look. At least someone understood where you were coming from. Dean grunted and stood up.

“Fine. Do what you want, see if I care,” He stormed out of the diner, the door swinging shut behind him. You stood up and waited for Sam to pay the bill. No matter what Dean thought, you were going to do this.

You were already regretting volunteering yourself as bait. You stood on the pier alone as Sam and Dean had intermixed themselves with the small crowd that still walked the upper parts of the pier. On the contrary, you had snuck into a small closed off portion, the cold Chicago wind biting at your skin. So far, there was no sign of the wolf and you were freezing and starting to get a little paranoid. Suddenly, a growling came from somewhere to your right and you froze. You pulled out your gun and fired to shots in the direction of the creature. You prayed to Chuck that your brothers  had heard the shots and were coming to help you. A man lunged out from behind an older structure, barring his sharpened teeth. You backed up firing another couple shots, hitting the wolf a few times. He collapsed in front of you and you backed up again to avoid getting blood all over you. But, instead of your foot hitting wood as you expected, it met air. A shriek ripped it’s way from your throat as you plummeted into the water below.

Sam and Dean sprinted towards where the sound of gunshots, only to witness you step backwards in a spot with no railing and plummet into the waters below. “(Y/N)!”

Sam rushes to the edge of the pier, searching frantically for any sign of you. Dean, on the other hand, stood frozen. He knew he shouldn’t have let you try to take this on your own, but he let you. He knew and now look what happened. You were probably hurt.

When the cold water hit your skin, you gasped, taking in a lung full of water. You immediately began to panic, struggling to get to the surface. Lake Michigan’s water bit at your skin, making your limbs feel a little heavy. You somehow managed to pull yourself above the water only to hear your brothers relieved cry.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Sam shouted, and Dean appeared over his shoulder. You began coughing, using your legs and one arm to tread water, coughing and giving a thumbs up with the other. You slowly made your way toward the sand that surrounded the shore. You sat down to catch your breath, your body involuntarily shivering. A warm hand grasped your upper arm and pulled you up and into an embrace.

“(Y/N), you really scared us. That water has to be really cold” Sam looked you in the eye before giving you a once over for injuries. Rolling your eyes you gave him a small girn.

“I-I-I’m fine S-Sammy. J-j-just a l-l-little c-cold is a-all,” you reassured him as Dean pulled closer with Baby. He stepped out a blanket. You and Sammy walked toward him slowly, but when you reached him, he pulled you into a tight hug while wrapping the blanket around your shoulders.

“Shit kid, you had me worried there for a second,” you rolled your eyes with a small grin before sliding into the back of Baby and quickly falling asleep.

You woke up in your room in the bunker, aching all over. When did you get to the bunker? It was a ten hour drive from Chicago. You pulled yourself up out of bed, grasping onto your dresser when you began to sway a little bit. Man, did you feel weird. The air was so cold, but still you were sweating. Every move you made had your body protesting. Your lungs felt twenty times smaller, and you overall just felt nauseous. Gross.

You hobbled your way downstairs, looking around for your brothers. Slowly, you made your way to the kitchen, where you found four men that you couldn’t quite identify. At least you thought it was four men. The room was moving awful fast.

“Look, sleeping beauty has awakened. Good thing, too we were starting to worry,” a small pause. “You okay kid? You don’t look so hot,” A deep, raspy voice spoke. You weren’t exactly sure where it was coming from, the room was echoing so loudly.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Another voice asked, this one softer and less raspy than the first said. You liked this voice better, it was soothing. Suddenly, the room started to tunnel and you lost your balance, only to be scooped up into someone's arms. “Dean she’s burning up. I knew it wasn’t normal that she slept for that long,”

“Just get her back to bed and I’ll call Cas up and see if he can help us out,” the first voice said. It took a second, but you started to move but you weren’t sure how. It sure as hell wasn’t your legs moving. The long gait almost lulled you back to sleep until you were transferred onto cold sheets. You whined, your hand reaching out and grabbing the fabric of Sam’s flannel.

“ ‘tay please,” You whispered, your voice horce. Sam sighed but obliged, laying down in your bed with you. His long arms wrapped around you and pulled you close. That was the last thing you remembered before you returned into a fitful sleep.

When you woke up again, Sam was still with you, his arms wrapped around your waist firmly, as if he was nervous you would disappear. His soft snores made you giggle. A knock came from the doorway, and you looked up. Dean was leaning against the wall, a small smile on his face.

“Hey kiddo, how ya feelin?” he asked softly, moving into your room.

“A lot better,” You admitted, smiling at your oldest brother. “Somehow I’m still tired though,” Dean barked out a laugh at that, seemingly relieved that you were feeling better.

“I was hoping to hear that. We had Cas come and heal you a little bit, but he wasn’t sure how much help it would actually be,” he explained. You stifled a yawn, shifting over.

“Cuddle?” you asked, using the best puppy dog eyes you could. Dean reluctantly agreed, joining his two younger siblings in bed. You quickly fell back asleep as Dean watched with a smile. He silently thanked Cas for helping his sister and thanked Chuck for his family. It was moments like these he wouldn’t trade for the world.  

Tags under cut <3

@simsguruforever2580 @straightasdeanwinchester @sisterwinchesterwriter @zeusmyster @spn67-sister 

#winchester sister #dean x sister!reader #sam x sister!reader #castiel #fluff

[mechanicaldreambot-blog]

Fifty Shades Darker: A Soundtrack Review

Quick Summary if you aren’t bothered to read all of this: Fifty Shades Darker soundtrack, listen to ‘No Running from Me’, ‘The Scientist’, and I guess listen to ‘One Woman Man’ if you have time.  But if you aren’t bothered click on it, it really wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Let’s all just be honest, if you’re like me, then you believe that the whole debacle that was the Fifty Shades of Grey film had one lone saving grace: its’ soundtrack.

I fell absolutely in LOVE with that soundtrack. (minus the one unintelligible Sia song on it) I mean, it created a passionate, burning love in me for the Weeknd, which drove me into the waiting arms of ‘Beauty Behind the Madness’.  That was an amazing album. (Shame about ‘Starboy’, but I’m not bitching about that right now.  Stop going off in a tangent, bad Becks)  So yes.  FSOG: Film? Not my thing.  Soundtrack? Very, very much my thing.

So, my love for THAT soundtrack resulted in me being extremely excited for the follow up.  The sequel, if you will, to what I believe may have been the best album of 2015.  Or at least, I believe it was now as not one other album that was released that year comes to mind.

(Minor tangent: I just googled it, and honestly? Not many good albums came out that year.  Sad year for music, then. Tangent over.)

So, yes, sorry, the sequel soundtrack.  The Fifty Shades Darker soundtrack.  Like anything you’ve ever built yourself up too much for, it was a disappointment.

Don’t get me wrong: I think it was great for the film.  Full of cringey lines, and the overall sound was fairly cliche and tune-outtable.  (I know that’s not a word, but I think you get my drift? Hope so, anyway.  Moving on- ) So, I think it's good for what it’s supposed to be - just extremely disappointing considering what it’s following.  I personally wouldn’t recommend just sitting down and listening to the whole thing through, like I did.  But I would recommend skipping through and listening to a few of the songs - in particular Nick Jonas + Nicki Minaj’s ‘Bom Didi Bom’, John Legend’s ‘One Woman Man’ (If you the embarrassing, over-the-top, trademark lovey-dovey John Legendness of it), and would DEFINITELY suggest you give Toulouse ‘No Running from Me’ a go.  Yeah, I love that one.  It just has a great feel, seriously, it’s the highlight of the soundtrack for me.

Riiiiiiight, so, now it’s time for the more in-depth analysis.  Basically what I’ve done is I’ve broken the whole thing down into four categories: 

1. Yup, I like it, I feel the sexiness, ‘tis good. 

Right, so first up, the two Danny Elfman songs.  I like them, they’re nice.  I really get a Carter Burwell Twilight-style vibe from ‘On his Knees’ which is cute, (Don’t be confused by my describing a song called ‘On his Knees’ as cute, the title DOES NOT match what you’re listening to at all) but ‘Making it Real’ is definitely my favourite of the two. (even if it’s slightly reminiscent of that music that people play when you’re put on hold by phone-business people)  So, both cutesy, but let-downs seen as they’re written by DANNY FRIGGING ELFMAN!

Next, ‘The Scientist’.  Franchement, I debated putting this on number two, but in the end I figured if Elfman’s songs made it to number one, then Connie Bailey Rae gets up here too.  I actually like Coldplay - please don’t click away - and this is one of my fave songs by them.  And her cover is good, not as good as the original in my opinion even if she has a better voice then Chris Martin, but good.  So Connie gets up on the good list.

‘Pray’ makes it up here too.  I kinda tune out most of the lyrics, but it’s fun enough to listen to with headphones and when it’s a bit too loud. 

José James ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’.  Sweet cover, very similar to the original, woudn’t necessarily go seeking it out, but it’s nice.  Same goes for ‘They Can’t Take That Away from Me’, but I think he does a better job of ‘I’ve Got YOu Under my Skin’, personally.

Nicki obvo makes it to the top.  Gotta love me some Nicki Minaj, even if it’s shoved with Nick Jonas, and tbh he isn’t too bad in this one.  I give it 3.5 stars. Which, considering the rest of the soundtrack, is pretty good.

The penultimate song I’m putting in this category is my personal favourite from the whole soundtrack, ‘No Running from Me’ by Toulouse.  I literally don’t even know why.  It’s just got an amazing, sultry feel to it.  I love the lead guys voice, it’s just great, and jazzy, and smooth, and just ugh.  It makes me feel good to listen to it.  Definite favourite song from this soundtrack, hands down.

John Legend ends the coveted (lol) top category by the skin of his teeth.  Some of his more-cringey lines nearly cost him a place.  But in the end, it IS the soundtrack for a rom film released on Valentine’s Day of all days, so he gets a bit of leeway and makes it to the top. 

2. I can stomach it, not too bad.  Kinda cliche, and I forgot what it sounded like instantly, but not too bad.

Halsey is here with ‘Not Afraid Anymore’.  I like Halsey, ‘New Americana’ and ‘Castle’ are my jam.  She let me down with this, not gonna lie.  It’s not BAD per se, just not what I’d expect from her.  Very sad.

Tove Lo ‘Lies in the Dark’, The-Dream ‘Code Blue’, Joseph Angel ‘Empty Pack of Cigarettes’, The Avener ‘I Need a Good One’, and Rita Ora ‘Kiss Me’.  All forgettable.  So much so that I force them to share one paragraph of description, because I can’t remember anything about them to expand anymore.  So that’s them.

Little Charlie and the Nightcats ‘ Living Hand to Mouth’.  I mean, it’s okay, but nothing to write home about.  Generic, really, for it’s style, but easy to listen to.

JP Cooper ‘Birthday’ is here.  It has a promising start, I won’t tell a lie, but the hell are those appalling lyrics????? I wasn’t able to tune them out.  Narrowly, narrowly missed category three.  Still not 100% it shouldn’t be there if I’m being totally honest.

There just isn’t enough accompanying music to distract from the beyond embarrassing lyrics in ‘What Would it Take’ by Anderson East.  It’s playing right now in the background, and I am physically restraining myself from turning away.  It’s awful, but not so awful that - no, no you know what? I can’t.  It’s category three now.

3. Ah Lord, too much, I feel nauseous.  SKIP!

The Sia song.  ‘Helium’.  It is vomit-inducing.  I really, really, hate it.  “Even Superwoman sometimes needed Superman’s Soul” WHAT??? WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??? WHAT??? Ah well.  At least I could actually understand the words that came out of her mouth this time round.  Sorry Sia. If it helps, I liked Chandelier?

‘Cruise’ by Kygo.  I mean, I was gonna put it in the second tier cause it’s poppy and kinda annoying, but pretty meh overall, but then I got to the way he said “Cruuuuuuuise” and that annoyed the shit out of me.  Then the lack bass drop after he said it a few times was frustrating as hell, ‘cause the song is so generic and cliche I was EXPECTING it, and felt cheated when it didn’t deliver.  It actually made me feel something in my stomach it was so frustratingly disappointing, and so, it got pushed into the ‘So bad I felt physically affected’ category.

Frances ‘What is Love’.  Initially was gonna go in category two, okay, but forgetful.  Then I recognised the song and NO.  Just NO.  This? This is BUTCHERY! Of a CLASSIC! I frankly found it offensive.  No.  Move on.

Anderson East ‘What Would it Take’ - see above.

4. THIS SHIT WAS STUCK IN MY HEAD FOR THE REST OF THE DAY FFS PLEASE MAKE IT GO AWAY WHY CAN’T I STOP LISTENING TO IT ON A LOOP?????? Aka, the Taylor Swift Category.

The one Taylor Swift song on the soundtrack.  If you can, save yourself from becoming addicted by burying yourself in a hole, and avoiding any and every form of media.  If you don’t, it will find you.  And it will burn itself into your brain.

#fifty shades of grey #fiftyshadesdarker #Music Review Beyonce theWeeknd NickJonas NickiMinaj RitaOra Halsey DannyElfman Music Songs FilmSoundtrack