#today this is about like. all of hozier's music but for WHATEVER REASON right now it's jackboot jump | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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747.

Hola, hablas espanol? >> No, unfortunately. All the Spanish I learned in high school immediately fell out of my head from disuse once I’d graduated. But I could probably pick it up again relatively quickly if I felt like it, because the pathways have already been forged in my brain and just have to be rewired or whatever. Music is playing right now, isn’t it? What song? >> No, I considered playing some but I think quiet is working out better for me right now. How many cell phones have you gone through in your life? >> Quite a few, I don’t know. Do you have a little sister? What’s her name? >> No.

Who was the last person you screamed at? Why were you screaming? >> I don’t scream at people.

Can you crack your joints? Which ones? >> I crack my finger knuckles, but that’s basically it. What’s your favorite name for a guy? And a girl? >> --- Are you good at answering trick questions? >> Questions like these are just rare enough that the fact that I just answered this on a recent survey makes me wonder if I’m taking the same survey over again and somehow forgot the rest of the questions. Do you need spellcheck in order to spell things correctly? >> No, I have a very good memory for word spellings (and a pretty good grasp of phonics, which helps), for whatever reason. Do you do too many surveys? How many have you done today? >> No, I don’t do “too many” surveys. This is the first one I’ve done today. Have you ever changed yourself to impress someone? Who? >> I’m honestly not too sure how that would work. Even when I voluntarily try to behave differently than I usually do -- not for anyone else’s benefit, particularly, just for the Science of it all -- I always fall back on my “default” self eventually because acting takes energy that I don’t have a great amount of in the first place. So... I think I’d expose myself as a fraud pretty quickly, which would ruin the whole game. Who was the last person you gave up on? Why did you give up on them? >> I don’t know. Mostly I’m preoccupied with trying not to give up on myself. What was the last thing you printed? Is there even ink in your printer? >> --- What’s your favorite number? Is there any reason that’s your favorite? >> My number is 19. It’s not a favourite, per se, it’s just The Number. Also, I do think I’ve taken this survey before, but considering how many surveys I’ve taken since starting this account, that was bound to happen eventually (and might have happened more than once already). What kind of shampoo do you use? Does it smell amazing? >> The brand is Cantu. It smells all right. Do you go to concerts? What was the last one you attended? >> Not anymore, my sensory issues and touch aversion are too much. But I’ve been to a lot of them so at least I got to have good experiences before my brain decided it hated everything about being alive. The last concert I attended was... uh... was it the Hozier one? Yeah, because we didn’t go to Trans-Siberian Orchestra last year. So it was Hozier, and I mostly suffered the whole time, but Sparrow had a great time which is good because I totally ruined her chance to see him in Chicago that time by going todash off one edible like a little bitch. Do you shop online? With your own credit card, or someone else’s? >> I mean, yeah, especially nowadays. And yes, I use my own card. Who’s your best friend? How long have you known each other? >> --- Who was your first boyfriend/girlfriend? Why did you break up? >> --- Have you ever gotten your nails done? Or do you get them done regularly? >> I’ve had them done professionally three times -- twice wasn’t really up to me (I was a teenager and adults decided it for me), and the third time was just before my wedding last year. I don’t really enjoy the experience so I will not be repeating it, lol. I just wanted to have nice nails to go with my very nice outfit. Have you been outside yet today? What were you doing? >> Well, I was on the balcony for about five minutes. The season is taking a long time to get to the kind of weather I enjoy, so. Tell me about the last thing that made you laugh until it hurt. >> I don’t remember. When was the last time you got a new bed? Is your bed comfy? >> I got this bed... a year ago? More or less. It’s very comfortable for me, yeah. What kind of games did you play on the playground when you were younger? >> I don’t really remember.

Have you ever buried a time capsule with a friend? Did you dig it up yet? >> No, I did put one in my closet when I was a child, though. I opened it pretty soon afterward because I couldn’t really conceptualise waiting for a long time to open it. Do you have or want any tattoos? Of what? >> I have some and I want more. Do you remember the first time you ever drove a car? Who were you with? >> Yeah, because it was like two years ago. Sparrow let me drive her car around a school parking lot. Do any of your friends drink excess amounts of alcohol? Do you? >> I don’t think anyone I know drinks excessively. No, I don’t. I used to. What color is your favorite hoodie? When did you get it? >> All my hoodies are black except the Welcome to Night Vale one. How many pairs of shoes do you have? Are they under your bed? >> Two, not counting weather boots. No, they’re on a rack by the front door. What exactly is under your bed? Is it a mess? >> Nothing. Have you ever been in handcuffs? Why, exactly? >> Yes. Because of being put in juvie, because of being taken to the psych ward by cops, and because of being taken in on an unpaid-fine warrant. What’s your favorite thing to do when drunk? Would you do this sober? >> Listen to music, mainly. Or watch something I enjoy. Of course I would do those things sober. When was the last time you bled? What happened? >> I don’t remember. Have you ever had to be put to sleep at a hospital? Why? >> No. Do you actually have a calendar on your wall? What are the pictures of? >> No. When are you planning on moving out of your parents’ house? >> --- Tell me about your day today. :) >> After the initial jubilation at being in the apartment alone for the first time in a month, and playing a little FFXIV, it rapidly devolved into a trauma brain party so I spent the afternoon in bed trying desperately not to spiral too far. Are you a fan of dogs? Do you have any pets? >> Yeah, I love dogs, they’re great. I live with a cat. Who was the last person in your family to graduate high school? Was it you? >> --- Have you ever been on a cruise? How many? Where did they go? >> No, but I’m interested. I’d probably hate it after a day, but I still want to try it for myself and see what happens.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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chromecutie · 5 years

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Not A Ghost - part 20

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst @ra-ra-rasputiin @holamor @empressme-bitch @marvel-is-perfection @hazilyimagine @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash @whitewitchdown @master-sass-blast @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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Piotr figured if he waited long enough, Rhonda would get hungry enough to come to the kitchen for some dinner. His patience was rewarded when she came in with an all too familiar satisfied smile and heavy breathing. She only smiled like that after dancing to some music she was really excited about.

Rhonda filled a glass of water from the dispenser in the fridge, drank almost the whole thing right away, and refilled it before turning and smiling at Piotr over the glass. She leaned against the counter by the fridge, a certain ease in her relaxed slouch.

“Had some fun?” he still couldn’t stop smiling at her green and yellow hair.

She nodded and hummed her affirmative as she drank another half glass of water.

“Are you going to eat tonight?” Piotr crossed the kitchen, leaving the big granite island between them.

Blowing some hair out of her face, she huffed, “Yes, I’m starving.” She angled toward the fridge, but Piotr was already opening it to pull out a few casserole dishes.

“Good answer,” he chided. Holding up two options, he asked, “Spaghetti or stir fry?” She made a face like he had just asked her if she would rather visit London or Paris. He let her struggle with her indecision for all of three seconds before he said, “Some of both, then.” With a little snicker and a wink, he plated almost twice what should be considered a normal portion of food.

“Oh my god,” Rhonda laughed, “You know I can’t eat all that!”

Piotr knew better, but he played along and shrugged, “I will finish whatever you don’t eat, but I don’t want to put all this away just to have you--” he imitated a whiny voice, “Ooh, I’m still hungry, I need more!”

The microwave dinged and they sat at the table for Rhonda to eat -- with her third full glass of water. She ate a few bites of stir fry, then switched to the spaghetti, back and forth. Her husband’s cooking had always been good, but it was even better lately. Maybe he had found better recipes, maybe she had gotten so used to prison food, or maybe she was just ravenous from a few solid hours of dancing.

As she ate, Piotr teased, “So, how was Mr. Hozier?”

Sipping at her water, Rhonda answered between bites, “He made me forget how out of practice I am.” After handling a particularly big bite of spaghetti, she elaborated, “I tried to do some certain jetés, not thinking about it, but I can’t jump as high as I used to, my timing was off, stuff like that.” She sounded mildly disappointed, but mostly analytical.

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Piotr barely resisted the urge to glance at her ankles, remembering all the times she had downplayed injuries like broken toes, bruised knees, or twisted ankles.

She shrugged it off, “Nah, no worse than I ever have.” For the look Piotr shot at her, she insisted, “I’m fine, really. What about you? How’s your evening been?”

Piotr held out his hand for her fork, and he stole a bite or two of stir fry before giving it back. “A lot of paperwork. I’m not on field duty, but I’m curating files, coordinating some things.”

“You miss it?” Rhonda asked softly. “Field work?” She wiped a stray spot of sauce off her mouth.

He hesitated, searching her face. Her shoulders had gone rigid when she asked. It had been a couple months since she had returned home, and he had barely left the house in that time. Of course he missed working on missions -- going out and handling young mutants losing control or adult mutants who had lost their way and turned criminal. Finally, he replied, “Not as much as I missed you.” Piotr took her almost empty glass and got her more water. “There will be more time in the field later. For now, what I want most is to know you are doing well.”

His cheerful smile melted the tension in her shoulders, and she resumed eating, but he could tell she had something she wasn’t saying.

Rhonda looked down at her plate and realized there was only one bite of stir fry left and maybe two bites of spaghetti. Except for the bites Piotr had stolen, however, she’d had a huge dinner. Leaning back in her chair, she nudged her plate away from her. “I told you I couldn’t eat all that, babe.”

He slapped his thigh with a clank as he laughed, “I knew you would eat most of it!” His hearty laugh faded to a chuckle as he finished off the last few bites and pushed the plate aside to take her hand. Piotr let out a soft exhale as he studied her dark eyes and the fine lines around them when she smiled. His own expression faded as he schooled his features to something more neutral. “Sladkaya,” he began delicately, “Earlier today, with Russell.” Rhonda’s smile faltered and her brows started to furrow. “What did he...did he call you...Guestbook?”

She instinctively pulled away from his hand, just a fraction of an inch, but just before she fully broke contact with his steel fingers, Rhonda leaned closer to him and held her husband’s hand with both of hers. “It was,” her voice came out in a raspy whisper before she cleared her throat and started again. “It’s what they called me in the Icebox.” When she raised her eyes to meet his, they had that haunted look she got whenever she shared any details about what happened there. “I don’t want to ever hear or say that name again, if I can help it.”

The chair screeched on the floor as Rhonda suddenly pushed her chair back and made to leave the kitchen, but Piotr gently caught her around the waist. “Of course, sladkaya.” His long fingers spread over her ribs. He eyed the green sleeve that covered her right arm. “If there is anything I can do to help you, please tell me.”

Her throat too tight to speak, Rhonda nodded, and before the tears welling up could fall, she slipped her arms around her husband’s neck. He shifted in the chair to give her space to stand between his legs. Rhonda gave him a few kisses on the cheek before fully pressing herself against him in a tight embrace. He held her as tight as he could without risking some bruised ribs; his steel armor didn’t have the same give as his unarmored form. “[My sweet wife, I love you,]” he murmured in Russian against her ear. When she took a deep breath, he loosened his hold slightly.

“I think I could go for a shower,” she kissed her way from his cheek to his lips again. “I know it’s kinda early, but I’m ready for bed. Would you come sit with me for a while?”

Piotr took another taste of her lips before saying, “Of course,” and following her upstairs.

The next day, Rhonda was so sore she could hardly move. Piotr teased her about getting older and said she couldn’t roll around like the was twenty anymore. All the same, he brought her a protein shake in bed and massaged her feet and calves until she felt good enough to get up and start her day.

Piotr went about his day of handling paperwork and compiling case files while Rhonda continued working with the light bulbs and relearning how to stretch her abilities. To try to ease her soreness, she also did very light dance work, and stretched as much as she could. The sleeve cut from Yukio’s tights stayed in place pretty well while dancing, and Rhonda decided she would have to ask where she could get more. It definitely made it easier to walk around in tank tops without pulling on hoodies or cardigans.

In the afternoon, Rhonda checked in with Hank, who was developing ways to test the strength and control of her electrical charges, and it seemed like she was making a decent recovery, if still slow. “I think you’re ready to start practicing in the Danger Room, if you want to try a low-level simulation,” Hank suggested.

A cold feeling flitted over her as she remembered the echoing emptiness. “No, I can’t go back in there.”

Rhonda’s routine became less predictable over the next week or so. Ororo, Ellie, and Yukio had started insisting Rhonda join them for breakfasts, lunches, and afternoon coffee. Rhonda loosened up a bit and started to enjoy these low-pressure, small setting hangouts, but it was hard to shake off an underlying discomfort. Yukio had been right - maybe Rhonda was spending too much time on her own. Despite this, the feeling nagged at her that an hour for coffee was an hour lost that she should have been practicing dance or rehabilitating her electrical abilities.

Piotr grew worried when he started seeing dark circles return under his wife’s eyes. She was eating enough, she wasn’t waking up from nightmares as often anymore, and she was in bed at a reasonable hour. Despite looking tired, she also looked focused and happy. To his surprise, he realized she also wasn’t constantly looking over her shoulder and actually held her head high when she walked. “You walk like yourself again,” he noted, “Shoulders back, toes turned out, like the dancer I’ve always known.” She smiled at the comment, but the dark circles worried him. While she was busy at lunch or something else Yukio and Ellie had talked her into, he checked the sedatives on her nightstand. It looked like she had stopped taking them, because there were a lot more pills than he expected.

At bedtime, Piotr stayed awake, pretending to sleep. He waited, and after an hour or two, he heard Rhonda stir beside him. He kept still, listening to the sheets rustling as she got up and tiptoed around the room. She hardly made a sound, even taking care to miss the one creaky floorboard near the closet. When the bedroom door clicked shut, Piotr waited another few minutes before sitting up and turning on his bedside lamp.

Rhonda had taken her phone and the speaker from her nightstand, and her pajama shorts were laid out on her side of the bed. Piotr guessed she changed into some leggings, and also noted her old hoodie was gone from its spot on a chair.

After careful consideration, Piotr decided not to get up and go look for her. Instead, he would wait to see how long she was gone. He thought it was possible that she stopped taking the sedatives, but still had trouble sleeping, so maybe she was taking walks in the middle of the night to help her sleep. He turned off his lamp and waited some more. It took a solid three hours before he heard the door open and softly click shut again, and the barely audible sound of her feet ghosting over the floor. There was a rustling of fabric, and Piotr guessed she was changing back into her pajama shorts or putting her hoodie back on the chair where she liked to keep it.

In the morning, he noticed a little dirt caked around her fingers and toes, but said nothing. He let them go about their day, following their respective routines. At night, Rhonda got up again, and again Piotr waited in silence, pretending to sleep. After a waiting a while, bored, he turned on his side toward the window, and saw bright flashes of lightning through the shades. He frowned, thinking it was weird he didn’t hear any rain or thunder. Then he realized there was something rhythmic about the flashes of lightning.

Piotr got out of bed and pulled back the drapes to look out the window, and saw the flashes weren’t coming from the sky, but somewhere on the ground. Another bright flash drew his eye and he saw Rhonda, near the old lamp post and bench.

She was cartwheeling and turning wildly on the grass, the same patch of lawn where she had sprawled after the Danger Room, and arcing brilliant pale green electrical charges from her hands and feet. Piotr watched for a minute, stunned, before noticing she was playing Hozier on her speaker.

The music layered earthy, deep drums and a twangy guitar that sounded like it had wandered in from an old blues song. Piotr was too far away to place the song or the lyrics as he watched Rhonda dance. She dove into a handstand, strong legs waving and wheeling around before throwing them past her head, which arched her back and carried her back to her feet. She leaped high in the air -- and tumbled to the ground, feet over shoulders. For a nerve wracking second, Piotr gasped, and relaxed once he saw her roll smoothly back to her feet, as if it were all one motion. The dramatic fake-fall-and-tumble was one of Rhonda’s signature moves that she loved incorporating into her performances. Piotr shook his head at himself, feeling ridiculous for having forgotten. All the while, Rhonda flashed lightning from all her limbs in time with the claps in the beat, streaking over the grass and high in the air.

As quietly as he could, Piotr climbed down from the balcony and crept closer. She was so beautiful, the way she moved, hair flying and no regard for how much grass and dew and dirt she got on herself. Rhonda didn’t move with the same flexibility and fluidity that she used to; there was something rougher, more raw than Piotr remembered. This was new, and he loved it.

One song ended and another began. Closer, Piotr could finally hear the vocals more clearly, and he was utterly transfixed. He was able to recognize part of the chorus:

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I’ll crawl home to her

A weight settled in Piotr’s heart. He remembered their picnic on her grave and how she had been so quiet, staring at her headstone with a stern brow. It wasn’t just that Rhonda was dancing, she was processing something.

He dared get just a little closer -- an arc of lightning snaked through the grass and Piotr stifled a grunt when it hit his bare feet. The sound was enough to draw her attention.

Rhonda paused and locked eyes with him. Her green hair was a tangled, sweaty mess, and torn pieces of grass were stuck all over her bare arms. Just when Piotr was afraid she would be angry, she smiled. It was an impish grin, like he had come across an actual mythical creature who was about to enthral him with her dance until twenty years went by without his notice.

She went to her phone and tapped a few times, glancing at Piotr as she restarted “Work Song.” For a moment, she stood still, except for the heaving of her chest as she panted. Then she moved. She closed her eyes and let her limbs make slow, lazy lines. Her head rolled, the yellow tips of hair caught the lamp light.

There’s nothing sweeter than my baby

I’d never want once from a cherry tree

Cause my baby’s sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin’ me

Piotr let out a soft gasp when he realized he’d been holding his breath. Every time her eyes found his, her lips pulled in a smile that was sweet and wistful. She still flashed her lightning in a way that artfully meshed with the music, but she was careful to send the bolts upward so they wouldn’t hit her husband, just a few feet away from her with his bare metal feet on the grass.

Weak in the knees, Piotr beamed until the elation and love he felt was overwhelming. He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Rhonda seemed to melt until she was a fluid mess of shoulders and spine and hips on the grass. She rolled and twisted on the ground, adding a sensual edge that made Piotr desperately want to put his hands on her and feel every inch of her curves. He knew better than to interrupt his wife when she was dancing, but the desire was there.

The song ended, and Rhonda sat up on her knees, showing her teeth in an exhausted grin. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” she said just loud enough to be heard over the beginning of the next song.

Piotr rushed to pull her up into his arms and spin around, burying his face in her hair. “You are amazing,” he chuffed breathlessly.

Rhonda circled her arms around his neck, bracing her toes against his legs. She pressed her cheek against his, and with the steel of his back under her fingers, realized he was out on the front lawn in just his underwear. “Did you jump off the balcony?”

He chuckled sheepishly, “I was afraid I would miss it if I took time to use the stairs.” He supported her weight with an arm around her waist, and pulled back to brush her hair away from her face with his free hand. “I have been wondering when you would let me see you dance again!” Piotr’s brows twitched together with concern, “Why sneak out in the middle of the night like this?”

Rhonda pressed a soft kiss to his steel cheek and rested her face against it. “It’s just…” she sighed, “It’s been hard to be around people, and...it feels so good to be outside and moving and touching something that’s not concrete and rebar.” She gave him an extra squeeze. “Does that make sense?”

With a sigh, he returned her warm squeeze and she felt his voice rumble through his chest. “You are not in the Icebox, sladkaya. Do you feel like you must hide from your friends?"

Rhonda tapped his shoulder and he let her slide back down to her feet. She went to turn off the music and grab her phone and speaker. In the quiet dark, she answered softly, "It's not that simple." She took a seat on a little garden bench next to some shrubs. "I'm not in that place anymore, but I still can't dance like I used to, talk to people like I used to... being there has changed how I do everything in my life now."

Shuffling his feet through the damp grass, Piotr came to sit beside her on the bench, listening.

"I'm different now, and I know everyone can tell, but they either ignore it or treat me like glass," she huffed, then added with an edge of surprise as she realized for the first time, "Except Michelle." Resting her head against her husband's shoulder, she continued, "I just think if everyone was paying attention, you'd all treat me with some reservation, like Michelle does."

He slipped an arm around her, as much to pull her closer as to keep her bare arms warm in the night air. "Has it occurred to you," he asked, "that we know you're different, and we love you just as we always have?"

"I am marked as a murderer," her jaw grew tight, clenching her teeth to keep her emotions from spilling too much. "How can anyone trust me in a house full of children?"

The answer was so obvious to him, he was baffled that she didn't see it herself. "The things you did, you haven’t told me much, but from what you have said -- you acted against your values, your nature. And it bothers you.” He shook his head, "If those things bother you, then deep down, you are still the same person we love. I love.” Glancing up at the stars, Piotr rubbed her arm, took a breath and said, “I think it’s important for you to forgive yourself and move forward.”

Nestled against him, she took a minute to let his answer sink in, mull it over. “I’ll try,” she said, “I mean, I’ve been trying, but...it’s hard. Sometimes the only thing that makes sense is music and moving.” Rhonda looked up at her husband, with his square jaw and chiseled cheeks. It had always been easy to talk to him, pour her heart out, but the Icebox had changed that too. She was afraid he just couldn’t understand, and that if he ever did, she wouldn’t be able to handle his disappointment. “And all this?” she flicked a little shot of lightning off into the grass. “This is all flash. Hank read me the volts and amperage and they aren’t anything useful. Not like when I could power an abandoned warehouse or overload the circuit breakers.” She chewed her lip, trying in vain to stave off tears, dreading saying it aloud: “I’m barely even a mutant anymore.” She concluded scornfully, “I’m a human party trick.”

“Rhonda!” he gasped incredulously. Piotr left the bench to kneel in front of her, and made sure she was looking at his face. His brows met in a hard, angry line. For a moment, he just stared into her face as her teardrop tattoos were slicked with actual tears. Her four-fingered right hand clutched her phone and speaker. His furrow softened as he exhaled. Smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks, he said firmly, “Being a mutant has never been about whatever special thing you can do. Being a mutant is about adapting in order to survive.” Piotr paused, then continued slowly, “You were in dire circumstances that you would not have survived, but you adapted. And for that, you are every bit as mutant as the rest of us, even if you never light another spark again. Do you understand?”

Rhonda sniffled. Her face scrunched as she fought to control her tears, deliberately taking the slowest breaths she could manage so they wouldn’t come out as sobs. Eventually, she nodded.

“Okay,” Piotr said in a soft whisper, “okay.” He laid his hands on hers and rubbed them. “[Rhonda, I love you. You deserve better than hurting all the time.]” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “[You must be exhausted. Ready to go back to bed?]”

Smearing away some tears with her knuckles, she replied, “[Yeah...one more dance first?]” Under the lamp and the stars, he saw her muster the slightest smile.

“[Of course, my love. I’ll watch from the bench here.]”

#colossus x oc #piotr rasputin x oc #angst #fluff #longfic #multipart fic #xmen #marvel #colossus #deadpool 2 #im baaaaack y'all

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kplr-radio · 5 years

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Broadcast: Rob Kranken, 01/18/19

[Fire Escape Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness]

Rob: Good evening everyone, this is 103.5 KPLR Radio, that was “Fire Escape” by Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness. I’m your host, Rob Kranken, with you on this Friday night going into Saturday morning. It’s about 30 degrees outside and I am huddled in my studio with my jacket on and a blanket that I found in a storage closet. No one is on the road, and I’m hoping it stays that way ‘cause we got a lotta ice out there after Thursday's storm. In more personal news, I talked to Angelo as someone last week advised. I’ll respect his privacy on-air but I do think you were right. And besides, he’s alright to talk to. Much better than some of the interns. Speaking of which, those kids are so easy to mess with. You’d think a strange town like Kepler would give you immunity to a few scary goofs. Anyways, I’ll stop blabbering, here’s “Daydreamer” by Young The Giant.

[Daydreamer Young the Giant] [Shutdown Joywave] [Train Brick + Mortar] [Way Too Much Wavves]

Rob: That was “Shutdown” by Joywave, and then “Train” by Brick and Mortar, and “Way Too Much” by Wavves. It seems like it’s gonna be a pretty quiet night so I’ll go ahead and fill the silence before I leave you all to more music. So it’s January, right, the start of a new year. And people make those resolutions, and this, maybe two weeks in, is when a lot of people start falling off. First of all, if your goal involves weight loss, I’d recommend not bothering. Unless a medical professional tells you that and means it, and they’re not just being a prick, then you don’t need to lose weight. Second of all, if you drop off now you don’t have to wait ‘til next year to pick it up. Say you’re trying to learn a language. That Duolingo owl is still gonna be there in a month if you get too busy. And besides, languages are not easy and are never gonna make sense, so I’m proud of you for even trying. Now I’m an old man, I’m— I’m 42, so I haven’t made a New Year’s resolution in quite some time. But this year I was… well, I had something in mind. I was thinking this year I should get some hobbies outside radio, something I can do on my own. And I… I haven’t found anything that really sparked my interest yet, but like I said, the year isn’t over. So keep searching, I’ll keep searching, we all gotta keep searching. Then we’ll start over next year, hopefully as better people. I’ve rambled enough. This is “Cringe” by Matt Maeson.

[Cringe Matt Maeson] [I See You MISSIO] [Salt Bad Suns] [So Tied Up Cold War Kids, Bishop Briggs]

Rob: So that was “I See You” by MISSIO, “Salt” by Bad Suns, and “So Tied Up” by Cold War Kids and Bishop Briggs. It looks like someone’s calling in, and now is as good a time as any, so I guess we’ll move into this part of the broadcast. Listeners, feel free to call in with whatever. Questions, comments, messages for other Keplerians. Hello, you’re on the air.

Caller: I was out in the woods the other day and I stumbled upon some mighty weird tracks. They looked a bit like goat prints, but they was looking like each goat was up two legs. I followed 'em for a bit before they turned into normal footprints. Actually, now that I'm thinking 'bout it, I suppose they was just some bored kids out havin' some fun.

Rob: Well, you never know. The woods are a wild place. Who can say? Maybe there’s goat people out there. I don’t know. Just keep an eye out, or better yet leave that area alone. Stay safe. [click] Howdy.

Caller: Hey Karen, I’m really sorry that I pushed you in front of me when that weird thing was coming at us. I was a coward. Please talk to me.

Rob: Karen, if you’re out there, and listening at such a late hour, this person seems sincere, maybe give them a chance. Or don’t, I don’t know what happened. [click] Who’s next?

Caller: Play some bleachers please? I'm feeling angsty.

Rob: Can do, listener. How’s five songs work for you? Great. This first one is “I Wanna Get Better.”

[I Wanna Get Better Bleachers] [Rollercoaster Bleachers] [Wild Heart Bleachers] [I Miss Those Days Bleachers] [Don’t Take The Money Bleachers]

Rob: That was “Rollercoaster” “Wild Heart” “I Miss Those Days” and “Don’t Take the Money” all by Bleachers. Feels kinda fitting for tonight’s mood. I didn’t mean to make it as angsty as it ended up, but you know how it is. Every plan adds to the amount of mistakes possible. Anyways, I’m gonna play this ad for y’all that I’ve been meaning to do.

[Audio advertisement transcript: [haunting orchestral music] Have you ever heard a true story that couldn’t possibly be real? Or maybe seen something you couldn’t believe with your own two eyes? No? [music cuts off] Then you’re not living, my friend! Come on down to the Cryptonomica, we have centuries of hidden knowledge of the arcane and the mystical! Stories beyond suspicion, creatures beyond compare! We’re just off State Route 16055. The Cryptonomica: a museum for the mysterious.]

Rob: Thank so much to the Cryptonomica for sponsoring us this week and every week since I’ve been here. This means that Ned Chicane is directly responsible for every impulse purchase I have made. You did this, Ned, you’re the reason there’s a gold metallic Slinky on my desk right now. I’m gonna talk about my personal life now, because no one is here to stop me. And I’m sure you’re all dying to hear the gossip here at the station. So, of course, station management is on us constantly about our use of the office materials here. We’re on a budget, you can’t be using this many sticky notes, where are all the pens, blah blah blah. Whatever. Now, I can be a little loose with my sticky note usage, but I promise I’m not wild with it. I usually leave them for whoever is next in the studio, usually Angelo, and I’ll mark the settings that need to be adjusted. Believe it or not, Angelo is actually new at radio, despite his wildly successful podcast and powerful voice. Don’t tell him I said any of that. But yeah, I’ll leave notes around. Then, the other day, station management says they won’t keep buying the sticky notes if I keep using them up. Which seems counterintuitive, but I don’t know. I’ve never understood capitalist business models. This is community radio, anyway. But I was starting to cut down on my notes. Only four notes instead of seven. Only one in the kitchen with all the stuff crammed in tiny lettering. Is that what you wanted, supervisor? To try and read my illegible handwriting, extra-small? Well, Angelo was actually using those notes, like I said. And apparently, when I was out today, he got me one of those huge packs of the pink ones, my favorite. I came back and they were sitting on my desk with a green sticky saying they were from Angelo. Now I don’t know about any of you out there, but when the sticky note revolution comes, I know whose side I will be on. There is no greater solidarity than rival coworkers coming together against an oppressive anti-sticky note management. I… it’s late, sorry y’all, I’m not too sure what that was. Anyways, I’m going to cut out a little early tonight, but I’ll leave you some extra tunes to make up for it. Thanks for listening, here’s “I Don’t Wanna Dance” by COIN.

[I Don’t Wanna Dance COIN] [Modern Jesus Portugal. the Man] [Giants Bear Hands] [Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene Hozier]

#broadcast #robkranken #1/18/19

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shambhalala · 6 years

Text

Before the Storm (Cullen Rutherford X Inquisitor Lavellan)

Dragon Age: Inquisition has pretty much consumed my being over the last two weeks, which I’m more than okay with. I couldn’t resist writing this angsty one-shot of my Dalish Inquisitor, Varya, and her love, Cullen Rutherford. Spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition ahead. Enjoy!

Also: big thanks to my lovely friends @historyofamanda, @reservedravens, and @onespoongirl with this, you guys are the best!

Warnings: mild cursing, emotional distress.

Word count: 4,543

Songs that helped me write this:

‘Shrike’ by Hozier

‘Penguin’ by Christina Perri

She had returned to Skyhold through a mirror.

Or so those were the whispers that had swiftly spread throughout the entire castle. No one had expected it, but the unmistakable clash from the seldom used room near Skyhold’s garden was answer enough.

Dorian, Sera, and Blackwall had stumbled back to their quarters like heroes, weary but hopeful. Morrigan and the Inquisitor herself, Varya Lavellan, marched straight to the war room to plan out their next steps with Spymaster Leliana, Ambassador Josephine, and Commander Cullen. With the Well of Sorrows firmly in Morrigan’s grasp, there was no time to waste in preparing for Corypheus’s swift vengeance. Maker knows it would come sooner than any of them desired.

An hour passed, and a plan was formed. Morrigan’s acquired knowledge from the well made formulating their attack much easier; summon Mythal in the Arbor Wilds, and she would grant them the powers necessary to defeat Corypheus and his red lyrium dragon. It sounded so simple, but they all knew this would be no easy victory.

They disbanded shortly after. With the remainder of the day in front of her, Varya intended to spend her time with those dearest to her. All eyes followed her as she walked around Skyhold with utmost poise, though few of the castle’s population feared her anymore. Despite being the Inquisitor, and the alleged Herald of Andraste, Varya brought an air of serenity with her everywhere she went, though she seemed oblivious of the calming effect she had on people. Maybe it was her humble Dalish upbringing, or the company she kept that made her light-hearted and modest. Regardless, she was a formidable warrior to her enemies, but a gentle, noble woman to her friends. Her hair was as fiery and red as the determination that drove her, but her eyes were a crystal grey, capable of easing the weight of one’s burdens with a single glance.

Needless to say, Varya had quickly captured the attention of Commander Cullen. The troubled man was knocked off his feet by the wave of emotions he felt for the Inquisitor. It pained him every time she was sent to fight, despite knowing she was a force to be reckoned with. Her remarkable calming aura stirred in him something that he had never felt before, and he found himself red-faced and flustered whenever she smiled at him, and lost for words when she expressed her gratitude towards him time and time again. When the time came and she returned his feelings, he couldn’t believe his luck. Their relationship blossomed from then on, and it showed in both of them. Despite the endless teasing from their friends and fellow advisors, none of them could deny that they shared in their happiness. With all that was going on in the outside world, to see love prevailing during difficult times was a welcome sight. Skyhold may be their home, but Varya and Cullen found that their true homes were in each other’s hearts all along.

And so, with her mind calm and clear despite all she had yet to face, Varya wandered the castle. She hadn’t failed to notice Cullen’s quick departure from the war room, nor the concerned frown on his face. She decided to give him some time alone before seeking him out, as much as her heart yearned to be in his arms again. Up the winding stairs she went to Skyhold’s library, not without being stopped by Solas, who tore himself away from his studies to thank her and express his admiration for all she had done.

“You make it sound like you’re leaving,” she quipped with a smile, but the thought made her chest sting. She had known Solas since that fateful day when she first sealed the rift at the temple, and he had shared much with her about his studies of The Fade. Was he leaving?

“I suppose I do not know yet, but I will remain here for the time being for my studies. Thank you, Inquisitor.”

His answer was not satisfying, but Varya knew there was no use in asking him for more details. She continued up to the library, finding Dorian sitting in his favourite chair by the window, lost in a book until she wandered up to him.

“Good book?”

Normally, Dorian’s eyes would have lit up in delight when he saw her, and he would have wasted no time in making a remark that, from anyone else, would have been more than a tad inappropriate and personal. But today, Dorian’s face was concentrated and serious.

“What happened at the Elven temple… it’s got me thinking. I should go back, shouldn’t I? To Tevinter, once this is done… if we’re still alive.”

Again, Varya’s chest stung at his words, and her heart hammered. Dorian stood up and she swallowed past the small lump in her throat, following his every move as he paced around with purpose. Dorian had become a dear friend to her as the Inquisition continued to grow, and she felt pride swell inside of her as he stated his intention to return to his home and restore some of his people’s forgotten history. But the same thought lingered in her mind, growing louder and louder; he was leaving. She shook the thought away as best as she could and composed herself.

“Someone with your impeccable taste could transform Tevinter.”

“I hope you’re right. You usually are,” he replied. “It might surprise you to know that you’re the one who inspired me.”

He was right; Varya blinked in disbelief. Dorian continued his noble speech, and the pride swelling in her chest continued to grow. Before this moment, she had barely stopped to consider the true weight of her actions, and how they would affect those around her. Her friend was a proud man, and hearing a confession of such sincerity flow so easily, so readily, from him, was evidence enough of her impact. Underneath her feelings of pride, her mind wandered again.

He was leaving.

“Anyway,” Dorian switched to his normal hearty tone, snapping Varya back to attention. “I thought you’d be rushing into the arms of your dear Commander,” he teased.

Composed as she was, the teasing from her dear Tevinter friend always made Varya’s cheeks grow red, a stark contrast to the blue vallaslin that decorated her forehead. Dorian took great delight in this, chuckling softly as he stepped closer to her.

“Cullen seemed like he needed a moment alone,” Varya replied.

Dorian nodded. “Don’t leave him too long though, or he’ll be wandering round with that lost puppy look on his face. He always does that when you’re gone for too long,” he rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile. “Anyway, was there something you needed?”

Varya shook her head. “No, but thank you, Dorian. For everything.” Her voice was soft, and any cracks that may have shown were quickly covered up by her smile.

Dorian smiled back with a nod. “A pleasure,” he replied, as she turned away and descended the stairs.

Skyhold was always a place of comfort and security for Varya, but now, the stairwell seemed endless, claustrophobic. As soon as she was outside she strode along the battlements to Cullen’s room, only to find he was not there. With a disappointed sigh, she made her way down into the main courtyard, taking slight relief in the gentle afternoon breeze. Her love may still need some space, she thought. She squashed down the growing burdens in her mind, entering Herald’s Rest.

The tavern was filled with chatter and soft music, as its patrons surrounded themselves with drinks, either happy to be drinking or trying to drown out their worries about the upcoming battle. Varya continued her wander, her heart growing lighter at Iron Bull’s encouraging words of solidarity. However, this feeling was diminished when she reached a rather hysterical Sera, who had grown anxious and uncertain about her beliefs. She decided to take out her frustrations by stomping back and forth in the corner room of the tavern that she had decorated as her own, ranting in colourful language.

“There can’t be a bunch of gods and the Maker. Don’t matter how much or little you believe, those don’t fit,” she declared, but she fiddled with her hands, unsure of herself.

Varya sighed. Yet another burden she could not escape; the origins of her faith, and where she stood now. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to believe, but she knew there was at least some morsel of truth in what Abelas and the ancient elves had said, which only complicated matters in her mind. But this confession offered Sera little comfort.

“No, now you’re stupid. You can’t think that because it’s stupid,” Sera whined.

“But everything we saw-”

“Why believe it? Because Abelas looked weird? If that’s all it takes, Coryphy-shitheel is full of lumpy truth,” Sera’s words were cutting, final, and they rendered Varya silent. She didn’t want to lose her friend over something as subjective as faith, but she felt as if she were treading on thin ice. Sera continued her spiel and Varya stood wordlessly, feeling her delicate demeanour starting to crack from within. The breeze flowing into the room was suddenly chilling, and it jostled the curtains and made her shiver.

“Anyway, believe what you want, so long as we kill Coryphy-fish. Whatever,” Sera sighed, turning away to slump on the window ledge, casting a sorrowful gaze upon the outside world.

Varya was still lost for words. Sera was stubborn and scared, so there was little use in trying to reason with her when their future was still hanging by a thread. She took her leave, ascending to the top floor of the tavern where Cole stood alone in a corner. Her movements were slow as she contemplated Sera’s remarks; she’ll probably leave too, or decorate my quarters with arrows, she thought. It made her heart sink further.

Cole sensed her presence without needing to look up. Despite now being more human than spirit, he could still sense her mind’s state. He bore deeper into her head as she stepped closer, seeing past the thin smile that graced her face.

“You are troubled,” he stated.

Varya knew there was little use in trying to hide the worries that were piling up in her mind from Cole. She nodded with a gentle sigh, scratching the back of her head and looking down.

“A chilling wind on a warm summer day. A warning, of what is to come, but not all is bad. Your temperament wavers like a dying flame, but you are strong. Still, you have hope,” Cole’s voice was gentle and whispery as always.

“You’re quite correct, Cole,” Varya responded, smiling at him. Whilst most of the Inquisition feared Cole’s abilities and disliked having their souls looked into by someone, or something, they did not understand, Varya took comfort in knowing that her troubles did not remain entirely unseen.

“How are you feeling? Now that you’re more human?” she asked him.

“I am feeling many things. Some are good, others are bad. Currently I am feeling… gratitude. Hope. Courage. And something…”

Cole’s stomach gurgled, startling them both.

“Ah, yes. Hunger,” he smiled. Varya couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted from her chest, and Cole joined her, his face lighting up in the most animated grin she had ever seen on him.

As their laughter died down, Cole’s expression faded, and he closed his eyes.

“He prays for you,” he whispered.

Varya blinked in surprise, her eyebrows shooting up. She didn’t need to ask to whom he was referring.

“Intense. Chest burning, heart on fire. Love, with fear. Pain. Faith, as much as you can give me,” he continued, his voice growing desperate at the end of his sentence until his eyes snapped open, and he nodded at Varya.

“You should go to him now.”

Varya felt breathless, her mind racing and heart aching. She pictured Cullen, kneeling, praying, alone, and she was overcome with yearning again. She needed his strength and comfort as she felt hers diminishing.

“D-did I help?” Cole asked, an unusual air of vulnerability to his voice. Varya sometimes had to remind herself that he was still so young.

“Yes, you did. Thank you, Cole. I will speak with you later,” she replied with a gentle smile. Her reply came automatically, and she tried to ignore the fleeting thought that there may not be a later.

Cole smiled back, relief washing over his face. Varya left the tavern across the battlements, racing through abandoned rooms back to the grand hall. She was stopped twice on her way by Cassandra and Blackwall, both of them voicing their admiration and loyalty to her once more. Though their words were sincere and she appreciated them, they only added to the circle of thoughts swimming in her mind. Everything was suddenly feeling so… final, and she did not know how to handle it.

Still, she walked, head held high, into Skyhold’s garden. Sure enough, she soon found her love, tucked away in the prayer room. She approached the door, seeing him kneeling before the statue of the Bride of the Maker. Candles burned away on the stone floor, bathing the room in a warm orange light. If circumstances were different, she would have appreciated the room’s tranquillity. For now, she was grateful to see Cullen gaining some comfort in his prayer.

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light, and nothing that he has wrought shall be lost.”

Varya’s chest tightened at his recital.

“A prayer for you?” she asked.

Cullen’s posture relaxed at the gentle sound of her voice.

“For those we have lost. And those I am afraid to lose.”

He wavered on those last words, and Varya’s chest tightened further, a stabbing sensation filling her abdomen.

“You’re afraid?”

“Of course I am!” Cullen’s voice echoed in the small space, but he was not angry. He stood up to face Varya, his features instantly softening at the sight of her grey eyes. Words could not begin to describe how beautiful she was to him. He tore his gaze away in anguish, his voice continuing to waver.

“When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again. Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him.”

Internally, Varya panicked. She knew Cullen well, and knew how doubt and self-hatred consumed him in moments of weakness. She had been a fool, to think she could seek his comfort and wisdom at a moment like this. She felt selfish. It broke her heart to see him like this, but she needed to remain strong, for his sake.

Their journey to Honnleath flashed through her mind. How blissful she felt, standing in his arms by the lakeside. She channelled that memory, allowing herself to revel in that peaceful moment once more. She remembered the coin he had given her for luck, the one given to him by his brother before he left for Templar training.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I have luck on my side, remember?” she smiled at him. Her ability to remain so collected and positive, even at what may be the end of days, melted his heart every time.

“That’s less comforting than I’d hoped,” he chuckled lightly in response.

In a desperate moment of emotion, they threw their arms around each other. Varya sighed in relief into his firm grasp as he buried his head in her shoulder.

“Whatever happens, you will come back.” Cullen whispered, almost pleading.

Varya tightened her grasp on his shoulders and swallowed past the lump that continued to grow in her throat.

“Cullen you don’t have to-”

“Allow me this,” he begged.

“The thought of losing you… I can’t.” The words were mostly to himself more than anyone else. His voice was even more desperate than before.

They remained there for several minutes, silently embracing each other. Although neither of them wanted to let go, they both knew they had important matters to attend to before Varya’s departure tomorrow. Slowly, they ghosted their arms down each other’s forms and looked into each other’s eyes. Cullen placed a feather-light kiss on her forehead and they departed, leaving the warm light of the prayer room behind them.

Cullen returned to his room, and Varya to hers. She kept her gaze firmly ahead of her on her way, her lips pressed into a tight line. She ignored Varric’s excited smile at her presence, knowing now that she would find little comfort in talking any longer. She needed solitude.

In her quarters, she paced back and forth, finding herself unable to lie still on her bed or sit comfortably at her desk. The weight of her situation was crushing her, and she found it harder and harder to remain strong. The fate of Thedas rested in her hands, in the power that had been bestowed upon her left one, the power that she never asked for.

She glanced down at the Anchor. It was not currently glowing, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before it illuminated again. She clenched her hand into a fist, as if it would disappear.

She grumbled in frustration and raked her hands through her hair, yanking out her tight ponytail. She stormed to the balcony and gripped the stone railings, casting out her gaze over Skyhold. The sun was gradually starting to set over the mountains in the distance.

What if she failed? She had never had a moment to entertain the thought until now, though truth be told, she was more terrified of what would happen if she succeeded. She had spent the best part of a year in Skyhold, feeling at home, making new friends, falling in love; the thought that all of this may soon come to an end, when Dorian returned to Tevinter, when Blackwall was submitted to the Grey Wardens, if Cassandra or Leliana became the new Divine, was devastating. All of these people were counting on her, looking up to her, but she was terrified of failing them, or letting them go.

Falling in love. Her mind returned to Cullen. His kind smile, the way his eyes softened whenever they were together. The way he danced with her at the Winter Palace, despite his apprehensiveness. Their shared kisses on the battlements when they could spare a moment, though the time was always too short for their liking. The first time they said they loved each other the morning after their love making. She loved him with all her heart, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him alone.

At last, the floodgates of her mind exploded, and she wept.

Several hours passed. The sun was just disappearing behind the mountains as food was brought into the grand hall. Even as everyone sat to eat what little they could stomach, there was not one trace of Varya. Her seat remained empty. Everyone exchanged worried glances, casting their gaze every so often to the door to her quarters.

Josephine was the first to speak up, with a gentle clear of her throat.

“Has anyone seen Var-Lady Inquisitor?” she asked, perusing the table.

Silence, until Varric spoke up.

“She went back to her quarters, and… I don’t think she’s come out yet,” he sighed.

“I see,” Josephine replied, defeated.

“Most unusual,” Dorian mused, stroking his moustache with one hand.

Silence fell over the table again, everyone’s minds swimming with confusion, concern.

Suddenly, Cullen pushed his chair out from underneath him, standing up from the table.

“You gonna talk to her, curly?” Varric asked.

“Of course. I know Varya appreciates her own company wherever she can spare it, but this… this is… worrying,” he trailed off at the end of his sentence, frowning and casting his gaze to her door.

Looks of adoration were cast to the Commander. Hearing her name roll so naturally off his tongue reminded everyone of his love for her, that he was more than the Inquisition’s hardened Commander.

Cullen walked away, taking purposeful steps towards the door before disappearing behind it. All eyes followed him.

“I don’t suspect we’ll be seeing him again tonight,” Dorian remarked.

Josephine gasped in shock, glaring daggers at him for making such a comment. Dorian merely grinned back with one eyebrow cocked. Sera spluttered on her drink, and Dorian sat back in his seat with a smug laugh, crossing one leg over the other and intertwining his hands on his lap. The rest of the table couldn’t help but smile a little, and even Josephine covered her mouth to supress a small giggle. The mood was significantly less sombre now that they knew their Inquisitor wasn’t alone for the night.

Cullen treaded lightly up the stairs to Varya’s quarters. The room was quiet when he reached the top, the only sound coming from the crackling logs in the fireplace as the flames died down. The last of the sun’s rays shone in through the far balcony, casting long golden shadows along the floor. Her bed was neat, untouched, as was the desk.

“Varya, love?” Cullen called as he stepped further into the room. Silence.

Then, he heard a soft sound from outside, to his right. He snapped his head towards it. Was it… it sounded like… crying?

Cullen’s breath ceased. He stepped silently towards the balcony, almost afraid of the sight that awaited him.

Sure enough, there she was. Varya stood facing away from him, looking out towards the magnificent mountains in the distance. The setting sun illuminated her small figure, giving her an ethereal glow. Her hair hung low, just past her shoulders, and it danced gently in the breeze.

Maker’s breath, Cullen thought. As if she wasn’t stunning enough already. But he knew this was no time for gazing lovingly, not yet.

He removed his gloves and tossed them onto the desk, stepping out onto the balcony. He stood just behind her, and placed a gentle arm across her shoulders. He placed his other hand over one of hers. Her iron grip on the railings softened, and she intertwined her fingers with his, stifling a sniffle.

Finally, Varya looked up at him, and Cullen’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

Her eyes were sore and red, tears staining her cheeks as she bit her lip to suppress its trembling. In all their shared moments of love, affection, and vulnerability, he had never seen her so distraught; no one had.

Without hesitation, Cullen exhaled and pulled her against his chest, wrapping both arms round her protectively. He placed a kiss on the top of her head as she clung to him desperately, shaking as more tears poured from her. It took all of his willpower not to weep with her.

“Forgive me… I am being foolish,” she sighed, trying to steady her quavering voice.

Cullen placed his hands on her face, looking down at her and wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

“I highly doubt that, my love,” he replied, offering a small smile, which she returned. His heart continued to break as more tears welled in her eyes, but he persevered.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

Varya sighed and closed her eyes, turning back to the mountains. Cullen loosened his embrace but still held one of her hands firmly. She opened her eyes again and looked down at their entwined grasp, blinking to stem further tears.

“It’s just…” she began. She glanced back at him with a pained smile. Even as she was at her lowest, most vulnerable moment, she still tried to hold up the illusion that she was okay. It pained Cullen to wonder how long she had been feeling like this. He stayed silent, rubbing circles on her hand with his thumb, until she was ready to speak again.

“I… I find myself thinking that time has passed all too quickly,” she explained.

“How do you mean?” Cullen asked.

“It…” she stopped, a brief smile flashing across her face before she crumpled in sorrow again. “It seems like only yesterday that we were playing chess together in the garden, and now… I must face Corypheus. Cullen, I feel cheated. No time with you has ever felt like enough.”

Cullen exhaled softly, closing his eyes. He knew how she felt, because he felt exactly the same way.

“And Dorian plans to return to Tevinter. Sera will probably leave too. And Solas. Cassandra. Blackwall. And that’s assuming we make it out alive,” the words tumbled out of her, ending in another choked sob.

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut tighter, shifting to hold her once more and willing himself not to cry. He didn’t even want to imagine the devastation he would feel if she didn’t return.

“Varya…” he began, weaving a hand into her hair. He didn’t know if there was anything he could say to truly comfort her, but he had to try.

“I… do not know what this battle will bring,” he confessed. She stood silent in his arms, her breathing steadier as he stroked his hand through her hair again and again.

“But I know that we will do all we can to aid you. Please, love, do not bear this burden alone any longer. Not when you do not have to,” he kissed her head again, swaying them from side to side.

“But…” Varya hesitated. Her voice had grown raspy now after all her tears, and she stopped to clear her throat.

“You are a strong, remarkable fighter, and I have full faith in you, but the Inquisition is not your burden alone. We will all stand ready to aid you, for anything,” Cullen continued before Varya could doubt herself any further.

Varya looked up at her love again. Although her eyes were still red, they appeared much less tortured than before. She smiled at Cullen, and he smiled back at her, his heart still healing from seeing her so distressed.

“Please… forgive me if I have worsened the burdens you feel,” he mumbled, frowning slightly.

Varya shook her head, placing a hand upon his stubbled cheek. “Never,” she insisted, her smile widening. “You give me more strength than you can ever know.”

“And you to me,” Cullen replied. He leaned down and captured her lips with his, a tender gesture that melted away their worries for the time being. Their hearts beat in unison as they savoured each other, their burdens lightening by the second and scattering into the wind.

They pulled apart, faces still mere inches from each other.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” Cullen whispered.

Varya’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing. “When did you-”

“Let’s just say I sought the advice of our Elven mage friend,” Cullen chuckled.

“Well, I could have guessed it wasn’t from Sera,” she laughed.

They kissed once more and turned to gaze at the mountains together as the sky finally darkened. Although there was much turmoil yet to face, Varya no longer felt as if the world rested solely on her shoulders. She sighed and pressed her head against Cullen’s chest, safe, and happy, for now.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #cullen rutherford #inquisitor #inquisitor lavellan #solas #dorian pavus #dragon age: sera #dragon age: cole #josephine montilyet #varric tethras #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #cullen rutherford x inquisitor #shambhalala writes #my oc #oc: varya

28 notes · View notes

moonlights-inkwell · 6 years

Text

There’s Something Tragic About You.

Summary: You find out that Jason’s dead, and slowly but surely learn to cope before a mugging brings a new vigilante to light in your eyes.

Jason Todd x reader

Word Count: 3,018

[part 1] [part 3]

So... I admit I got a little carried away with this. This chapter wound up longer and a hell of a lot angstier than I originally intended but oh well?

Title is from Hozier’s From Eden.

You find out that he's dead at the same time everyone else in your class does when the principal comes in to English class to share the awful news. You hate to admit it to yourself, but as soon as he walks in you know he's there to talk about Jason, but never in a thousand years had you thought that he was going to say that Jason was dead. According to him, Jason had died when a bomb had gone off in the hotel where he had been staying; some freak terror attack. Seemed to come out of nowhere, there was nothing that could have been done, he says in a voice authoritative enough to make you angry but filled with enough condolence for you to wasn't to sob. While everyone else whispers about terrorism and why Jason was all the way in Ethiopia; your head bows, hair falling around your face as you allow the tears to fall. He's gone. No matter how many whispers about him and how weird it was that he was dead would bring him back, no matter how many comments about terrorism, about bombs. He's dead. Jason, your Jason, brilliant Jason. Dead. The only thought that comes to you beyond your comprehension of his death is that whatever deity lives up above you must have a sick sense of humour, as your tear-filled eyes stare down at your copy of The Great Gatsby. Of course. Two dead Jays. The rest of the day is a blur of incomprehensible colours and sounds, while you're caught in a head space somewhere between dazed and haunted. The kids who had once bullied you instead give you a wide berth, even they seem to grasp that right now isn't the right time. No one speaks to you all day, and just the concept of being in the cafeteria makes you want to puke. Eating is a task that seems impossible and besides, there's no one there you want to sit with. Instead, you timidly walk to Jason's locker, unlock it, and stare blankly at the locker, making a mental note of the contents. Your eyes glide across an old red jacket that you hadn't seen in months. You recall making a comment about the jacket and how much you liked it, and in a moment of sudden desperation you grab it and pull it on, revelling in the feeling of being surrounded by something that had once been Jason's. [E/C] Eyes slide across a copy of pride and prejudice, and your fingers gently pick it up before closing the locker quickly. You know theft is wrong, and under normal circumstances you wouldn't have done such a thing, but you can't lose everything of him. You need something to remember him by, and it might be sick, but you need it to cope.

The funeral is unbearable, sitting beside your parents on a hard pew in an icy church in front of the coffin that held the boy who said he'd come home was hell, like a nightmare come true. Before Jason, the only person who you had ever known who had died was your grandmother, and the bracelet she had given you had been passed onto Jason, and like a curse it had taken Jason from you too. You had spent days trying to convince yourself that it was only a fear toxin induced hallucination, that Scarecrow had dropped some sort of bomb of gas over the city, leaving you to deal with the contents of your own mind, but no. Jason is dead. Gone forever, and you're stuck here without him. Your parents hadn't known Jason as anything more than 'that boy who comes over sometimes', but they sit silent besides you, and you're grateful for that. You're sure they don't know what to say beyond useless words of apology, but they're there and that means more than you could ever explain. Other than your family and a few of the teachers who had liked Jason, there is only one person there you even recognise, Bruce Wayne. You'd never said much more than a few words to Bruce while Jason was alive, only his butler who had taken a shine to you, but from the look of utter sadness that Mister Pennyworth had given you onto your way into the church you didn't doubt that Bruce and his butler had felt something like you did. It felt strange to think of Batman as a creature who could mourn, but orphaned Bruce Wayne's son being murdered? That was something you could never comprehend if you lived a hundred lifetimes. There's a boy who looks barely older than 18 or so, surrounded by other people that age, dressed in black with his eyes bloodshot. He looks almost strikingly like an older Jason and you almost call out before it occurs to you after a few seconds that he's Dick Grayson, Bruce's first ward. Jason had once confessed to feeling in the shadow of him, both as a Robin and as Bruce's son, and yet here he is crying for him. You don't approach either after the service or at the grave side. What could you possibly say to them that wouldn't sound trite or all too familiar? What do you say to people who already lost their families and just lost another member of the one they had tried to create for themselves? It feels strange as you stare down at his headstone, fifteen-year-old boys shouldn't be dead and buried. Jason shouldn't be.

The sound of the alarm makes your eyes slip open, arm reaches out almost automatically to grab your phone and turn it off, bones cracking while you roll onto your back and check the screen for any new messages. Eyes squinting from the sudden bright light in the otherwise dimly lit room, you sigh softly and rake your fingers through your hair, a text from your mum hoping that you're safe and happy. You let out a quiet groan before shuffling to your feet, making a mental note for yourself to call her when you're more awake while padding into the kitchen as you crack your back, then turn on the radio as you begin to wake up at the sound of other voices. You curse at the sound of the news, almost sure that you had left it on the music station last night. The news, especially in Gotham was never good; there was a reason you don't read the Gazette (other than the fact that it's a rag). Fingers enclose around a box of cereal as the radio anchor talks about a crime scene in a warehouse near the docks, pouring the brightly coloured pebbles into a bowl while she talks about a duffel bag filled with decapitated heads. Somewhere in your sleep dazed mind reminds you that you should be disgusted by the waste of life, but the rest of you reminds you that this is Gotham. If you weren't willing to be surrounded with murder and crime you should have moved to Metropolis or Coast City for college, but you were still here, and you wonder if that says more about you than the city that you're willing to stay there. Your mum had wanted you to either go to a new city for college or live at home with her, but while you couldn't bring yourself to leave Gotham the prospect of living with your parents sounds hellish. You sit on the counter, eating tiredly as you half listen to an interview with Commissioner Gordon caught somewhere between too hungry to stop eating and too tired to get up and turn it off. Mumbling bitterly under your breath about how Gordon and his cops aren't going to do shit and how they never do shit, because they just leave all the hard work for Batman and each new Robin, you force yourself off the counter and off to get a shower and get dressed for work. The walk to work is short, but Gotham is cold enough even in spring for you to feel uncomfortable during the walk. It's freezing, a hard blow of the wind making your coat billow around your thighs, and the only positive you can think of is that it isn't raining but as if someone above had been listening, a small droplet of water hits the tip of your nose, and then your forehead. Fuck. Of course. You let out a quiet groan and begin jogging, weaving in and out of other pedestrians and then cars as you bolt across the road. There's always a strange sort of discomfort that comes from living in Gotham, probably a result of it's wet and cold environment and the fact that it's close enough to an Asylum for its inmates to break out and live amongst you before attacking, but today's discomfort comes from something different than the usual. You turn your head to try to gage just what it is exactly as it hits you, it feels like being watched. Turning your head back to see what's in front of you, you try to ignore the feeling before turning on your heel to see if you can work out whether that feeling is right, but Gotham streets are so packed you could be stalked all the way from your apartment and have no clue. That thought makes your stomach drop quickly and because of that you can't help but feel relieved at the sight of the familiar red neon lettering on top of the diner. Pauli's has hardly changed since you were in high school, still old looking and homely, with the red and white checked metal tables and peeling vinyl on the seats of the booths, spacious and claustrophobic in a way that makes you sad, but every single time you enter it's with a smile and today is no exception. The fifties aesthetic was one that you understood the appeal of without ever really being into under usual circumstances, but Pauli's was different for you, with the hand-drawn posters and bright colours. Hooking your jacket up on your usual peg by the door, you let yourself smile at one of the other waitresses (an older woman who had taken you happily and willingly under her wing after remembering you coming in near daily during your school days) and tie your apron around your waist. Working in Pauli's while you're in college had seemed almost obvious, like something destined to be: maybe it was a subconscious thing where you felt the need to come back to atone for the date that never happened, or just to return to something familiar in a city that looks more and more alien to you with every other day. The old diner meant more to you than you would have confessed; with its familiar slightly greasy smell and its regular customers and it helps on the long shifts after classes, when people who you see almost daily smile up at you while you fill up their coffee or take their orders, asking to make sure that you're okay. Gotham might have spent a lifetime making you harder than you would have been anywhere else; but the people, hardened in the same ways that you were, had done a pretty good job of reminding you that normal, everyday people were still good... and sometimes, after looking up at the flicking TV over the counter while it showed reports of costumed criminals, you need reminding. You often find your eyes glancing to your old booth, and then to the old black and white tiles around it, when shifts get slow in between intermittent glances to the clock on the wall surrounded by bright red neon letters, COFFEE. You pick up a pot of coffee, and turn around, noticing when a cop lifts a hand to indicate that he either needed a refill or wanted to order, you clench your jaw before sighing and forcing a smile and then walk over. When you finally leave work the rain has stopped but the cold has increased fourfold as if to compensate for it, and your candy-coloured uniform barely does anything to keep you warm even with your jacket. It's almost unbearable, even with your hands shoved into your pockets, and that overwhelming feeling of someone watching you is back full throttle. The bright orange fluorescent lights overhead mean that at least you know that the way home isn't entirely dark, but it feels more like a clinical sort of light, the orange not the same warm colour as the street lights in other cities instead seeming cold. Gotham in daylight is like walking through any big city, but at night the city became something more... something darker. A labyrinth of winding streets, all smog filled and cold, with monsters hiding around every corner. All at once you're struck with an understanding why your mother always said that you shouldn't be out in the city after dark. You try to swallow that insecurity and slip down into an alley, your usual shortcut home, and finally start to relax at the familiarity. It's short-lived. Walking slowing, you hear more than one set of footsteps coming from behind you and you begin cursing under your breath, and before you can even begin to speed up you feel the sharp chill of a blade against your neck. "Give us all you got." The man hisses into your ear, breath hot and predatory against your skin and you can't even begin to disguise the cringe that overcomes you. You know that you should be terrified but all that you can think is that his breath is gross. Two more men walk around the two of you, and leer down at you as your hand slides into the pocket of your coat, but then scowl as you reveal the contents to them; a coffee-shop loyalty card, a dollar fifty in change and four hair ties. You're a poor college student; you don't know why anyone would choose to mug you, there's nothing that you could possibly give to them that they would want. No watch, no jewellery, no phone, no wallet to hand over. You almost smile at the fact that you forgot your phone until it dawns on you that you have no way of calling for help and not getting your throat slashed for the attempt. Shit. Eyes flitting around the alley way, you try to make out if there is a way for you to escape, but to no avail as one of the two men surges closer to make sure that you weren't holding out on them. His hand scrabbles around in the empty pocket before grabbing at your thigh through the thin fabric, causing you to let out a loud yelp of anger while his face leans in closer to yours. Your mouth opens for you to tell him to get his hand off you but all that comes out is a loud scream as a bullet flies through the side of his head, sending a mess of blood and liquefied brain splattering onto the dirty ground. The man who had been holding onto you suddenly throws you to the ground beside the body, your hand barely missing the blood, as he and his one remaining accomplice run off. The orange light from the streetlight makes the blood look almost black, like some sort of tar that was making its way closer and closer to you with every second. You shuffle backwards quickly, slicing your hand open in the scrabble to get away from the gore, only to slam against something warm and hard. Legs, you realise as you turn your head. Leaning over you is a man, tall and broad, clad in leather and a helmet that glints crimson even with the darkness and streetlights. The smell of gunpowder radiates from him; from the still smoking gun at his side. "You always get the attention of dangerous pricks?" The voice that comes from the helmeted man is heavily modulated, sounding more like the sort of robots that you'd find in a Sci-fi B-movie crossed over with static and buzzing and it would be almost funny if it wasn't for the gun clenched in his hand and the fact he had just murdered someone in front of you. You assumed the modulation was there for a reason similar to the reason why Batman deepened his voice on patrol, being a Vigilante in Gotham was dangerous enough: but one who had no problem with killing? That meant that more than one type of person would be looking for him and a voice works as a means of finding a person. But hell, in Gotham it could just mean that the man in front of you actually was some sort of cyborg; like Arnie in Terminator, or like RoboCop. You stare up at him from your place on the floor, silent and scared witless, eyes flitting from the lifeless mask and the gun. "...Well?" "...No?" You ask rather than state while getting to your feet, holding your injured hand awkwardly before shoving it into your pocket."...You just killed-" "Put down." Was the mechanical response, as if talking about a rabid animal rather than a human being (albeit a scummy one), and that makes you step back quickly. "...You're welcome [Y/N]." Blinking rapidly, a droplet of rain hits your jaw, then another on your shoulder, then the top of your head, before the downpour begins once more. Within seconds, your hair is plastered to your forehead, and you let out a shaking sigh. You turn on heel from the helmeted man then run home as fast as your legs can carry you. It's only once you're home-with every door and window locked, sat on your couch in an old t-shirt and sweat pants while drying your hair with a towel, that you're suddenly struck with a question as you place a bandaid onto the palm of your hand.

How did he know your name?

@hyp-oh-critical

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood #red hood x you #batfam x reader

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cedarmoons · 6 years

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Prompt: Saige and Haley take Chester on a walk and Haley takes photos and Saige is Tol and Buff.

didn’t quite fit the prompt but uhhh have lots of haley/fem farmer fluff and smooching!! and tubby doggo! :) sdv fic readers if ur out there… show me a sign

Back in Denver, Chester had been known among your friends as “the fattest, cutest corgi in the world.” You’d taken him for walks whenever possible—which was rather often, since Joja only gave you 39.5 hours a week to avoid giving you the benefits they’d boasted about in orientation. You’d explored most of Denver while walking Chester; it was how you’d learned your way around. So he isn’t fat because of lack of exercise: he is fat because his body is, inexplicably, always prepared for the apparent inevitability of winter hibernation.

Haley calls him tubby.

It’s #16 on the list of reasons you love her with all your heart. Not that you’ve gotten around to telling her that, yet, but, you know. That sort of thing comes with time.

You wake up at 6:00 to a rooster’s crowing, even though you know for a fact that there are no roosters on your farm (or Marnie’s, or in the surrounding wilderness, or even in Stardew Valley). Haley is under the blankets and Chester is a breadloaf, draped over her hip and the middle of the bed, watching you with sad bright eyes.

He wants breakfast. He’ll start flopping around if you don’t feed him soon.

Your words stir Haley; she rolls onto her back, faintly smiling, one of her hands lifting to rub at her blue eyes. Sunshine-blonde hair spreads out over the pillow. “Morning, honey,” she says, and you lean over Chester to kiss her cheek before rolling out of bed to pad toward the bathroom.

Haley comes in too, smiling sleepily at your reflection. Chester toddles in after both of you, panting happily, tongue lolling. He sits down, watching both of you stand in front of the tiny bathroom sink. You’re brushing your teeth, and she bumps her hip against yours, plucking her toothbrush from the neon cup on the sink rim. Before she wets it, though, she nabs your phone and starts scrolling, putting on a song with a wink.

You groan around your toothbrush as the gentle guitar starts playing. It’s Dad’s ringtone for you, and the namesake of your middle name. Haley grins at you.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeene, Dolly Parton croons.

Saige Jolene Holland does have a certain ring to it, you’ve come to realize, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Could’ve been worse, though; it could’ve been Nellie Jolene as Mom wanted. That is way more faux-southern-girl and about a thousand times worse.

“I hate you sometimes,” you gargle, then spit. Haley laughs, unrepentant, and starts humming around her toothbrush to the tune. After she spits, you duck in to kiss her cheek. She catches your chin and kisses you properly, lips wet from the water and breath scented of artificial mint.

“I’m gonna do my makeup,” she says after you part. “And then I think I’m gonna take Chester out, with my camera. It’s so beautiful outside today.”

After you’d shown Haley Instagram, she’d made an account specifically for her selfies and pictures of Chester. Sometimes you’re a cameo, but mostly it’s Haley and Chester, who everyone following her thinks is her corgi, not yours. Her most liked photo is not of herself or of you two or of Stardew Valley’s scenery. It is a picture of Chester’s butt as he was in the process of scrambling onto the shipping crate for whatever reason.

Haley had only taken it because she thought you’d find it hilarious. (She was absolutely 100% right. That same picture is framed on your nightstand.)

You smile at it as you pad back to the bedroom and get dressed. Haley ends Jolene and switches to Defying Gravity. You’d introduced her to your various collection of Broadway musicals, and Wicked is her new favorite.

Chester follows you out of the bathroom and flops onto the floor. “I’m going,” you chide, “be patient.”

He scrambles up at once, bouncing on his front paws, smiling at you as he barks once, twice. You click your tongue and he follows you downstairs as Haley tries to sing both Glinda and Elphaba’s parts. You feed him, kneeling down to run your fingers through his fur. “My beautiful tubby son,” you croon, lowering your head to kiss the top of his silken sand-colored head.

Chester keeps eating. You don’t blame him. You’d keep eating, too.

“So if you care to find me, look to the western skyyy!” Haley belts from the bathroom. She has a beautiful mezzo-soprano, even when she’s not trying. You pop your head inside to see her rubbing in her foundation. She stops at once, flushing in embarrassment, but you only grin and flash her a thumbs-up sign before pulling back to get dressed. The alarm clock that never goes off reads 7:10, even though you feel you’ve only woken up a little while ago.

Time moves differently in Stardew Valley. But it doesn’t seem to go so quickly, now. You think a lot of that has to do with your and Haley’s work, and the Junimos’ help.

You pull on a T-shirt that reads Smooch Your Local Farmer and jeans, and boots. It’d rained last night, and it’s spring, so you’re certain there are still puddles outside. The river will still be beautiful, though.

“And nobody, in all of Oz, no wizard that there is or was—”

Oh, God, you can’t miss the best part.

You rush into the bathroom, only to see Haley leaning against the sink instead of doing her makeup, using her toothbrush as an imaginary mic. She sees you and turns, not missing a beat. You blow her a kiss and flash her two thumbs up, and she grins, closing her eyes, nailing the last note of the verse. You sing Glinda’s part and then the chorus’s, all while Haley holds that final “DOWN!” note, the instruments backing both of you up.

When she finishes, she bows, and you whistle, clapping so hard your hands hurt. Reason #23 you love Haley with all your heart: she has a killer mezzo-soprano.

She grins at you, makeup still limited to foundation and primer, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. You still remember the days she’d locked herself in the bathroom and refused to come out until she had a face full of makeup. Which, not to lie, she looks great while wearing makeup (especially when she wears bright red lipstick, hell yeah)—but she looks great without it, too.

“Shoo,” she says, “I’m naked.”

“I happen to like you naked,” you reply, and she laughs, cheeks dimpling. The music shifts to Hey Soul Sister and she turns back to the mirror, cocking her hip and smirking at you with a sidelong glance.

That doesn’t stop you from walking up to Haley and bending down, wrapping your arms around her and lifting her up onto the sink’s counter. It knocks off some toothpaste, but that’s okay. Haley giggles, wrapping her arms around your neck, pulling you close and kissing you, long and deep. She is soft and warm in your arms, full-figured, not a hard edge to her. You brush back long blonde hair and break the kiss. She looks a little dazed, a blush darkening her cheeks as she looks at you in a way that makes your heart flip.

Reason #2 you love Haley with all your heart: that look.

“I’m gonna walk Chester with you,” you tell her, running your hands up the insides of her bare thighs, stroking her stretch marks. “We can visit Penelope and Leah.”

The whole farm should be ready for harvesting today, but you don’t mind. The crops never die no matter how long you ignore them, except at the end of season. It’d stopped being a concern years ago, because money had stopped being a concern years ago.

“Okay,” Haley agrees, easily. Hozier is singing about Eden when she kisses you again, hands smoothing down your shoulders. When she breaks the kiss, she says, “I love your shirt, by the way.”

You grin at her, and she grins back, dimpling. Reason #4 you love Haley with your whole heart: those dimples. Damn. “Well, I’d hope so, since, you know. You got it for me.”

(Again, another thing she’d thought you’d love. Again, another thing you absolutely love with your whole heart.)

You brush her hair over her shoulder, revealing a stretch of pale, freckle-dotted skin where her neck and shoulder meet quite nicely. Haley breathes out laughter, tilting her head back, and you lean in to kiss each freckle, squeezing the soft skin behind her knees.

Chester barks, and you pull back to see he’s sitting at the door, his leash in his mouth, ears cocked as he watches you both. Haley starts laughing and you pull away, shaking your head. “You’re lucky you’re so cute and also the love of my life,” you tell him. “No offense, Hal.”

“None taken. He’s the love of my life, too.”

“You have excellent taste,” you say.

“I sure do,” she says. Hozier is still singing. Haley turns to the side and fiddles with your phone, turning him off a moment later. Which, honestly, you think is a crime, somewhere. Probably Ireland. She turns back to you and leans forward, resting her palms on the countertop. “Hey, Saige, honey, before we go. Come here.”

Chester flops, the leash still in his mouth. “Be patient,” you tell him. His eyebrow bones lift, making him look impossibly, unfairly sad. You turn back to Haley, going to stand between her splayed legs once more. “What is it?”

Haley smirks again. “I need to smooch my local farmer.”

“God, that’s so corny.”

“You love it.”

“I absolutely do,” you agree, and lean in to kiss her.

#sdv #sdv farmer #stardew valley #stardew haley #buttsonthebeach #still... wrestlin w/ their dynamic #i hope this was cute lmao #i don't know how to write fluff RIP ME #saige holland

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callunawrites · 6 years

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By the grace of the fire and the flames You're the face of the future, the blood in my veins

Heather’s Top 25 38 Songs of 2017!

saturn — sleeping at last // run baby run — the rigs // the brothel (lidolido remix) — susanne sundfør // can’t pretend — tom odell // capsize — frenship // undiscovered first — feist // feeling good (bassnectar remix) — nina simone // kings — tribe society // river — bishop // human — rag’n’bone man // believer — imagine dragons // feel it still — portugal. the man // girl, you’ll be a woman soon — rafferty // wise enough — lamb // say you’ll be there — MØ // holiest — glass animals // the greatest — sia // bogeyman — johnny hollow // to be human — sia // strangers — halsey // cities in dust — everlove // history — monakr // messiah — prides // i shall rise — karen o // in the sea — ingrid michaelson // i put a spell on you — annie lennox // personal yeezus — chambaland // gold — imagine dragons // which witch — florence & the machine // thunder — imagine dragons // take me to church — hozier // trouble — valerie broussard // pure feeling — florence & the machine // battle royale — apashe // i may fall — casey williams // not today — bts // is this love — the governors // sweet dreams — mark hadley ft. dresage

short version | long version

So, the thing is, this mix was originally a whopping 262 songs. That’s 17 hours of delving into my headspace. I know this because the mix in full can be found on spotify, for those adventurous enough. By the end of the year, there may even be more!

The original 200+ can also be found in month format, for those that don’t feel like dealing with... all that. I’m actually a little sad that I don’t get to talk about every single one of them, though I’m sure it would have gotten tedious in the end.

i. saturn || sleeping at last I’d give anything to hear You say it one more time, That the universe was made Just to be seen by my eyes.

This was, according to my last.fm data, my second most played song of 2017. Well, third if we count the song that racked up 10,000 plays because I left it looping on my computer for a week. Whoops. These first four songs on this mix are my Mcshep songs. But also, Sleeping At Last is lovely. There’s several other songs by them on the full mix, but this one is by far my favorite. ii. run baby run || the rigs So wait, keep your heart inside My hands won't keep it safe I'll just feed on dreams & smile as hope slowly dies.

And here we have my most played song of 2017, which I’ve basically been listening to nonstop ever since I discovered @randommindtime‘s Mcshep fanvid. It is absolutely earthshaking, entirely haunting, and just all around a beautiful song that describes John Sheppard and all of his issues to a T.

iii. the brothel (lidolido remix) || susanne sundfør We are ruins within ruins On every corner a gladiator is begging for another century

I’m not sure why this is such a Mcshep song in my mind since I first discovered it as part of a really ridiculously awesome X-Files vid, but my guess is it got thrown into a playlist between two Mcshep songs and was forever that in my head. Fun fact, I only recently, when making the spotify version of this playlist, listened to the original version of the song. iv. can’t pretend || tom odell Oh, feel our bodies grow, And our souls they blend. This song is the only song that has made it onto all three of my year-in-review mixes. I originally found it in 2015 as part of a Bioshock vid and then last year I rediscovered it in the form of @randommindtime‘s other amazing Mcshep vid. And honestly? I haven’t stopped listening to it since. I have no doubt that it’ll be on 2018′s mix as well. v. capsize || frenship Capsize, I'm first in the water Too close to the bottom I'm right back where I started Said I'm fine I found this song through either a Stydia or a Sterek gifset. I’m like... 90% sure that it was Stydia, because it was around the time that season... 6? came out? Whichever one that Stiles is taken in, and thematically it works pretty well for it. But, I’m equally sure I’ve seen a Sterek gifset for the same song. Whatever. It’s pretty and I like it. vi. undiscovered first || feist The height and the breadth, is it wrong to want more?

Gosh. Okay. So, Legion. Mindfuckery of a show that can basically be summed up in words like “acid trip” and “dance numbers?” and “omg aubrey plaza.” It was brilliant and horrifying and really, really cool. But what’s more, it had the best fucking music. The 8tracks version of the mix only has two songs from the show, but the full mix on spotify has six or seven. vii. feeling good (bassnectar remix) || nina simone It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me And I'm feelin' good

This was the second song that I found through Legion. I mean, I’d heard the song before, but holy fucking shit. Like, I knew that I was attracted to Aubrey Plaza, but there’s every other character she’s ever played, and then there’s this role.

viii. kings || tribe society Lost in the world full of nonbelievers Searching for smoke in a stillwater pond A nothing king, they called a dreamer This is my life and I call it a song This and the next song I actually found because I had queued up feeling good on youtube while driving home from my friend’s house after watching that particular episode of legion, and youtube did that thing where it automatically queued up music afterwards? Only I lucked out that night, because the next six or seven songs were absolutely amazing. This was my favorite of those songs and quickly became my Horizon Zero Dawn theme song. ix. river || bishop Can't change the way we are One kiss away from killing

Another of the songs that I found that night! This one also got a lot of play while playing Horizon Zero Dawn. x. human || rag’n’bone man 'Cause I'm no prophet or messiah You should go looking somewhere higher This song I’d originally found through the Mass Effect Andromeda trailer but it quickly became a favorite of mine. xi. believer || imagine dragons By the grace of the fire and the flames You're the face of the future, the blood in my veins Even though this song has been in basically every fanvid since it came out, this was also solidly a Mass Effect Andromeda song for me, since I listened to it a bunch when I was playing the game. It’s one of the songs that I actually don’t mind coming on at work. xii. feel it still || portugal. the man Ooh woo, I'm a rebel just for kicks, now I been feeling it since 1966, now

I actually found this song before it got popular! The first time that it played at work/on the radio I was blown away, but I think the first time I’d heard it was on American Gods? At least I found it when I was watching the show. xiii. girl, you’ll be a woman soon || rafferty Well, I finally found what I've been looking for But if they get a chance they'll end it for sure Okay, so for anyone who is paying attention to this who lives in Columbus, I get my hair done at Virtue Salon, which is basically the best salon in the entire world. Even if you don’t live in Columbus, click on that link. Look at those pictures and tell me that isn’t the most adorable salon in the entire world. They have the best playlists every time I go in, and though I am not super fond of some of the lyrics to this song, I really love the slow croonyness to it. That was a really great day. xiv. wise enough || lamb I had a dream that all of time was running dry And life was like a comet falling from the sky I woke so frightened in the dawning, oh, so clear How precious is the time we have here

I first heard this song on the second season of Sense8 and I was struck by just how damn beautiful it is. It almost didn’t make this final list, but in the end I couldn’t count it out. xv. say you’ll be there || mo Any fool can see they're falling, gotta make you understand I'll give you everything on this I swear Just promise you'll always be there

I don’t actually remember what fanmix I originally found this on, but I remember that I was at the intersection of Clime and Harrisburg-Pike just outside the fire station when I realized that it was a gentle, gorgeous cover of a Spice Girls song and basically fell immediately in love. xvi. holiest || glass animals Yeah, you're the holiest, holiest thing I know This song I found as part of this mix, which is basically a young holy lovers mix and just. has so much quality music. But this song was the first that really made me start looking at Glass Animals. I’d heard some of their stuff before, but never when I was paying attention, not enough for me to decide if I liked them or not. Up until the last month or so, this was my top played track. xvii. the greatest || sia Don't give up, I won't give up Don't give up, no no no

Yeah, there’s no story here. I just really like Sia. xviii. bogeyman || johnny hollow And now I'm dancing for the doomed and the damned And I'm advancing unassumed with dirty hands

Someone I follow on tumblr had reblogged this song back in the spring-summer months when I was feeling very aggressively reylo, and I just. I really like that fairytale where the innocent girl grows up and eats the monster. It’s a favorite of mine and part of the reason that I like pairings like reylo and darklina. xix. to be human || sia And what's the point of knowin' it If you can't change it?

This song came on at the end of Wonder Woman and I made my friend Alex wait until I’d listened to it before I let him leave the theater. I fell pretty rapidly in love with it. xx. strangers || halsey We're not lovers, we're just strangers With the same damn hunger To be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at all I won’t say that this is my favorite song off of Halsey’s new album, because that goes to Mourning, but it is the song that I listened to most. I’ve been toying with the idea of an original novel since around the time the album came out, and this song came on while I was plotting some of it out in my head. I really hope I end up writing it. xxi. cities in dust || everlove Your former glories and all the stories Dragged and washed with eager hands But oh, your city lies in dust, my friend I think the first time that I heard this cover it was when I discovered this mix back in 2015. It was a mix for Holland from the Darker Shade of Magic series, but I ended up going back and listening to the mix again while I was reading the third book in the series. While driving to work one day, I realized how utterly perfect it was for Dishonored, and basically compiled my mix, the salt water sting, over the course of that day.

xxii. history || monakr Oh… when they write of us in history lauded only for our victory They don't never tell, never fail to tell They don't ever tell Oh…. other side in history

So, back in the summer I read Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run, and it was absolutely fantastic. But in my humble opinion, the soundtrack that I discovered was somehow even better. I had to limit myself to only two songs from it on here, but a good half of them are on the spotify version.

xxiii. messiah || prides You don't have to lock the door I don't live there anymore.

This is the second song that I chose from that playlist, mostly because it ended up being the lucky track that had an extra play.

xxiv. i shall rise || karen o They'll know my name When they've forgotten all about you

I found this song well before I actually started regularly listening to it, and it ended up getting played around the time that I was mining for Dishonored songs for that mix, and those lyrics just called to me. Also, y’know, it’s a really great song. xxv. in the sea || ingrid michaelson No no don't rescue me I like the salt water sting

Another Dishonored song, this was obviously the song - and line - that gave me the title for the mix itself. I think I’d originally heard it as part of a Jaspis mix. xxvi. i put a spell on you || annie lennox I put a spell on you Because you're mine Okay, but this song in Annie Lennox’s smokey gorgeous voice just made me think of gay woodland witches and it was one of the best discoveries of 2017. xxvii. personal yeezus || chambaland Baby we livin' in the moment I've been a menace for the longest But I ain't finished, I'm devoted And you know it, and you know it

Okay, so let’s talk about Atomic Blonde. It wasn’t the best movie I’ve seen this year, but it appealed to a very visceral, gay part of me and ever since I saw this trailer I was basically in love. I’m sorry, but if you weren’t at least a little gay before watching Charlize Theron have a torrid love affair with Sofia Boutella while simultaneously kicking ass and taking names... you will be.

xxviii. gold | imagine dragons Statues and empires are all at your hands, Water to wine and the finest of sands. When all that you have's turning stale and it's cold, Oh, you'll no longer feel when your heart's turned to gold. I... don’t remember when I first listened to this. I think it was at work? But I saw some really good fanvids, and honestly? I should probably just admit at this point that I just love everything that Imagine Dragons comes out with.

xxix. which witch | florence & the machine Who's a heretic, child? Can you make it stick, now that I'm on trial

I am like 500% sure that I fell in love with this song because @kaikamahine said something about it, because I first started listening to it around the time that I realized Fantastic Beasts had a fandom.

xxx. thunder | imagine dragons Just a young gun with a quick fuse I was uptight, wanna let loose I was dreaming of bigger things And wanna leave my old life behind

Yeah, I just liked it. Also, there have been some really awesome Thor vids to this since Ragnarok came out.

xxxi. take me to church | hozier Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life

I wasn’t actually sure that I still listened to this often enough to add it, but last.fm tells me that it’s my fourth most played song. I mean, it’s a great song, and you can be damn sure that if in a twist of fate Hozier releases an album next year, every single one of those songs will be on the 2018 mix, but it has been a bit.

xxxii. trouble | valerie broussard Dangerously having the time of our lives These boys are just poisonous thorns in our sides Starting fires wherever we go Watching em gamble everything they own I’m just going to direct you to this animation and wail about Six of Crows a lot. Weirdly enough, I think I actually prefer the unfinished version of it. Some bits hadn’t been added yet, but I really love the grittiness of it.

xxxiii. pure feeling | florence & the machine Those strangers carry me I'm lost; they're finding me I... don’t actually remember where I found this one. It probably has to do with @kaikamahine. Either way, I have listened to it A LOT.

xxxiv. battle royale | apashe Work on 'em put a little work on 'em Trigger finger in the air I put a little dirt on 'em

This song is stupid awesome to blare while driving home from work a little fast at 2 in the morning. Also, y’know, it’s just great in general. See, Steve Rogers agrees. Also, oh my gosh, there’s a new Black Panther one.

xxxv. i may fall | casey williams There's a place where we'll stand outnumbered Where the wolves and the soulless will rise In the time of our final moments Every dream dies

So, sometime in the last few months I let my roommate talk me into watching RWBY. I’ve been less than interested in the past because I’m an animation snob and I just... couldn’t. But I marathoned the whole series in like a week. There were three songs that stood out to me, but this song is actually the one that made me finally break down and give it a chance.

xxxvi. not today | bts All the underdogs in the world A day may come when we lose But it is not today Today we fight!

SCREECHING NOISES. MORE SCREECHING NOISES. I’m sorry, but it has to have become apparent by now that my musical tastes are influenced almost entirely by fandom, but fanvids in particular. This song is the BEST pump up song that I’ve found in years.

xxxvii. is this love | the governors Did you think this was love Is love a future of your kind Don't you think I would mind If I would wasted all my time I can't love if you lie This song. Made my year. It’s dark and sexy and a little fucked up, and came around when I was in the middle of reading the Grisha Trilogy and struggling with just how hard Darklina was hitting on every single one of my kinks.

xxxviii. sweet dreams | mark hadley ft. dresage I travel the world And the seven seas, Everybody's looking for something.

This cover came out as part of the Wrinkle In Time trailer and I fell really, stupidly in love. This was actually a last minute addition, because I couldn’t stand it not being on here.

#fuck yeah fanmixes #2017 #year in music

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silver9mm · 7 years

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I was tagged (months ago?) by my best bat-friend @exaggeratedspecificity to name 15 songs that I love, and I was really inspired by her emotional stories behind her choices so I thought I’d put a little effort into mine, too.

But the thing is, when I start thinking back to songs that mean something to me, like super personally...well, sometimes I just don’t want to remember things. I got really sick when I was 11 and now it’s systemic and chronic, and it turned me schizophrenic starting about age 16 and that lasted for another 15 years. Music, literally, kept me alive. It was my best friend, the one thing I could trust. It was how I found validation for the fucked up things I was seeing and the way I felt. It’s how I spoke to the outside world---anyone who knew me then got at least one mix-tape from me, sometimes dozens. I would take lyrics and write stories about my friends with them. I had to go home and get lyrics down on paper instead of going to parties. When I rode the train cross-country, I lugged my 300 disc CD book the whole way, clutched to my chest. I kind of want to be buried with my headphones in but I’m a little worried I’ll wake up from being dead when the battery runs out.

Anyway, in the last few years...basically since I discovered Supernatural, music has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Life in general has changed. It’s better. It’s more fun, more interesting. I’ve found a creative outlet, and especially concerning music, I’m not slathering my experiences, my insanity, my feelings of loss and isolation and paranoia and confusion all over it. I’ve learned how to step outside my little fear-bubble and enjoy music from a whole new angle. So I thought, instead of going through my 130 gigs of music and forcing myself to think about those songs that I love for personal reasons and thus scratching at emotional scars and scabs of my real life, I’d do something more fun for me and pick my 15 favourite songs that exemplify my 15 long Supernatural fics, because since I’ve been writing, my life has improved by leaps and bounds and there’s not a single traumatic memory attached to the experience.

That was really long-winded.

With You by Matt Simons: This is from the soundtrack to Sense Of Life, which is my first published fic. I’m so glad I wasn’t really ‘in the fandom’ when I wrote this, because I never would have had the guts to write it if I’d known how much most shippers don’t like OFC. I would have worried too much about Mary-Sue’ing or whatever whatever. What I wanted to write about was giving the boys something to love, and then taking it away from them, because if they aren’t hurting, what’s the point? So I gave Sam a separated-at-six-months twin sister, and Dean a sick angel, then I gave them reasons to all get naked in a room together, because little did I know, Plot Productive Porn™ would be my go-to writing device. Anyway, looming over the whole fiasco is John Winchester’s A+ parenting, which sets this story up in the first place, and I was so gleefully fulfilled when I randomly heard this song somewhere while writing the fic. I was like, yesperfect.

My job to control you, darling, though I barely know you, hoping you grow tired and start giving in. Spout of holy water pour it on my only daughter maybe there's a shot she'll begin again. So wrong

Lucky With Disease by Elbow: I think this would be Crowley’s favourite band. That said, this is one of my most favourite wincestiel songs and is perfect for Wash It Away---the first fic I wrote, and it shows. A few OOC things, but I just went with what I picked up from the light smattering of gifs that had crossed my dash---I hadn’t even seen a single episode of the show yet. My least favourite fic, but still...it’s not terrible, and I love the dynamic of hurt-angry!Dean and fixer!Sam and Cas falling somewhere in between, willing to do whatever it takes to help. I definitely stuck to the first two characterisations for the rest of my writing.

Fell like a crippled crow Spinning through and breaking branches I'm in a bad way Call my friends, they'll know what to do

Not as handsome as my brother But I've been lucky with disease

And yes, I'm a better friend Than I've ever been a lover And that's not saying much But I'm not saying much today

Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless: In some different timeline, all I’m doing is writing Megstiel. But Never The Same is all I’ve managed and it’s typical---crazy!Cas and caretaker!Meg, bees, honey. Okay, honey as lube and bees around quivering nethers, but that ‘oh what the fuck okay fine’ sentiment is there that I always loved so much about Meg.

I had everything Opportunities for eternity And I could belong to the night Then your eyes Your eyes I can see in your eyes Your eyes You make me wanna die I'll never be good enough You make me wanna die

Adolescence by Brown Bird: Rise Above It is my goriest fic to-date, and the sort of weird, sinister nature of this song seems perfect for it. Another wincestiel fic in the same vein of WIA but I think I got the characters down a little better. Dean can’t stand himself and thinks he hates Castiel for caring about him, and Cas, par for the course, makes things worse trying to make it better, but Sam knows just where to dig into the bloody mess to get it all right again.

So long adolescence of the frightened soul You're entering the ritual Lay down your every fear upon the altar child Prepare to play the man's role

Stay strong the sound of screaming's just the sacred rite Of death begetting new life

We are here but for the grace of everything divine It's the providence that we must find

If (don’t ever blame yourself) by Last Days of April: People who can write early-season wincest are my heroes, okay. Dean’s a different animal now, isn’t he? I’m not even remotely suggesting he’s better one way or the other, just that he’s harder for me to grasp in the first couple of seasons. Harder for me to find his voice, and I can’t even say I really ‘got it’ with The Dawn Breaks...because I don’t fucking remember writing this fic at all. I have no idea where it came from, but it’s dark and dirty and Sam is toeing the line of making himself into the same monster that hurt Dean in the first place, but in the end, he pulls it off.

If it is hard to bear I'll hold the weight If there are things you ain't I'll compensate But you should never blame yourself Put the blame on everybody else 'cause they don't see what I see If no one understands I'll understand

Lovers’ Eyes by Mumford and Sons: ngl, the entire soundtrack for Becoming Less Defined is my favourite song. I fucking nailed it with these songs: perfect combo, perfect order, perfect atmosphere, but this song in particular showcases my particular obsessive trope here. I’m so fucking proud of this ’verse, and I’m climbing the walls to get back to it and finish it. I can’t leave omega-tainted!Dean and Wall-crumbled!Sam and sweet, insane omega!Jensen in limbo. I mean, there’s actual Purgatory to get to, after all.

Were we too young, our heads too strong To bear the weight of these lovers’ eyes I feel numb beneath your tongue Beneath the curse of these lovers’ eyes But do not ask the price I pay I must live with my quiet rage Tame the ghosts in my head That run wild and wish me dead

Complicated Shadows by Elvis Costello: It’s hard to get Dean alone sometimes, but this song really conjures up that early-season hero that I was talking about before, and writing Turn In Early was supposed to be just a little jerk-off fic, some imaginative Deancest, but because I’m the worst, it’s all slathered in gentle pain.

Well you know your time has come and you're sorry for what you've done You should've never have been playing with a gun In those complicated shadows Well there's a line that you must toe And it'll soon be time to go But it's darker than you know in those complicated shadows

John’s Star by The National: A reminisce fic, Dean’s B.S., 2001 is a rare moment of self-reflection for Dean, but he’ll only go so far back. I love the idea of Stanford-era!Dean, sidelined, a captive audience, listening to music he probably would never on his own terms, and hearing lyrics that just fucking hit home. There’s nothing explicit about this fic, no overt wincest, but it’s there, especially with songs like this.

I don't ever want you to come home again I don't want to hear your call, your voice in my room I am divine, my arms are stronger than rivers And when you feel that way, you want to feel that way again Forever

Once ruined, baby you stay ruined

Evidence by Faith No More: The sleaze that undercurrents all of Mike Patton’s music is perfect for Dress Me Down, a jealous!Jensen J2/Genevieve blackmail fic, because you can just hear Jensen lying to himself through the music.

If you want to open the hole Just put your head down and go Step beside the piece of the circumstance You got to wash away the taste of evidence Wash it away Evidence, evidence, evidence Got to taste evidence I didn't feel a thing It didn't mean a thing Look in the eye and testify I didn't feel a thing Anything you say, you know you're guilty Hands above your head and you won't even feel me You won't feel me

Sedated by Hozier: I would normally pick Great Expectations by Elbow for this, but the dangerous, powerful carelessness of this song fits Something To Share just as well. Schizophrenic, self-destructive and self-harming!Sam and totally out of his depth!Dean make deals and promises to each other and I just really, really love this fic okay leave me alone I’m fine.

You and I nursing on a poison that never stung Our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it Somewhere for this, death and guns We are deaf, we are numb Free and young and we can feel none of it Something isn't right, babe I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin I'm somewhere outside my life, babe I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in So we're slaves to any semblance of touch Lord we should quit but we love it too much

Knock Me Out by Linda Perry: Back to my a/b/o ’verse with Between Two Minds, and we find poor Dean, omega-tainted and feeling like he can’t be loved, finally, finally starting to trust his little brother again.

You knocked me out You bit my lip You held me down and kept me sober Through all this time With no regret I guess that's just the way I liked it Maybe, when I'm free I'll realize all he really wanted To share all the peace Something I never wanted So wait, don't go Seems as though it's getting scary So please, don't you go

Feels Like by Buck 65: A song no one will listen to for a fic that no one reads. Dreamy, plinking piano for a fic that started out as a dream. My favourite artist with my favourite ending I’ve ever written. Give Buck and A Steep Fall a chance.

She found the lost boy, eyes that are crying closes Glad to be unhappy, boy gives her dying roses Ecstatic agony and nights of arousing glories Hungry hearts and hands that tell ten thousand stories Open wounds and the one word that filed under Her endless eyes have known hardship and wild wonder Kisses that cure and moments that cured the kiss Under a spell and maybe there's no words for this

I Drove All Night by Roy Orbison: The Mixtape Thing wasn’t supposed to be a fic, but I had to talk about why the songs were picked for the prompt ‘date night at the MoL Bunker’, and suddenly there was a sweet little wincest fic. Yeah, ‘sweet’. My fans were very surprised too.

What in this world Keeps us from falling apart No matter where I go I hear The beating of our one heart I think about you When the night is cold and dark No one can move me The way that you do Nothing erases this feeling between me and you

Tell Me by Moby ft. Cold Specks: An alternative ending to BLD, But Then Again is the best thing I’ve written so far. J2/wincest/abo and so fucking full of angst and longing and good goddamn is it dirty. I’m so proud of it and myself for pulling it off, and even if I lose two more friends over it (i’m not bitter i’m very bitter), it’s still wonderful in my mind.

Didn't have the heat I gave you memories Come deeper please I got nowhere to stay tonight Won't you make me stay? Keep your clear eyes on the prize And as I'm there Bring me to your knees

Baby Blue by Wolf Parade: Kill The Lights is the one unfinished fic on this list but I’m so close it counts. Fifty-nine songs to choose from. Five playlists. Over 100,000 words, and choosing one song to represent this brutal MCD fic is easy. Since it’s written from Sam’s POV, some of my favourite songs are the ones I imagine from Dean’s, and this is perfect.

You're like a fool on fire To the water so blue I will come undone And I will run to you Sometimes we are an open flower Sometimes we are an open wound Sometimes we are a kind of echo chamber, wherein You're all fire and brimstone And I'm all that, too Burning blue for you

LISTEN

tagging @zmediaoutlet @omgbubblesomg @theboringprincess @chiisana-sukima @hazeldomain @indigoneutrino @dreamsfromthebunker @bruisedmickey and anyone else who wants to do this (and if you’ve already done it, no worries ;)

#ao3 #silver9mm #this is really long #but i really love music #and fic writing #so

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tsuede · 4 years

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Change of shades

Tripunithura is a temple town much obsessed with it's past - a town in perpetual rumination. The place takes on the persona of that old lady who talks about her ancestral home's 'pathayam' full of rice reserves when she was young. The thin, pale, peripheral branches of a kshetreya legacy - the town's favourite residents. Vestiges of this aristocratic legacy are preserved in structures of brick, blood and society.

Towards the end of November is 'vrishchikotsavam,' the temple's anniversary, a week of chaos. The whole temple compound gets a golden glow at night, yellow luminance invading into the privacy of the black night sky. Camphor soot and dust, disperse the yellow light from the sodium vapour lamps propped on bamboo poles. Everything, and everyone, becomes beautiful in that light. I spend the nights near the wooden stairs of the West gate. They're relatively less crowded. It's not easy, you know, existing as the omnipresent like me. It's very distracting, and also, you don't have as much freedom. Everything becomes decided for you, you are restricted by the imagination of the dumb few who made you up - your shape, name, mobility, sexuality, where you exist, who you can see, who can see you - everything. It's hard. On the third day of utsavam I saw him in his favourite black tee and 'kaavi mundu.' His goatee is catching up since the last year I saw him. He knows I don't exist and hence doesn't bother visiting, except for these yearly visits. He's here for the 'panchavadyam' - the orchestral drum music. He stands away from the rush, in a clear patch, looking down at the sand moist with elephant pee, cross-armed, taking in the rhythmic beats of the chenda. But, today he's disturbed - too conscious of his presence. She is the reason. She's there standing by the gallery wall, with an ease which he can only dream of, and she's beautiful. Her sharp nose with a bump at 1/3rd the length, her exotic pale grey eyes, bony fingers with closely cut nails and her lilac chiffon churidar with floral patterned baggy salwaar. She waves at her sister who along with the rest of her family is watching the procession from the gallery reserved for the royal families. Privileges of your ancestors being fucked by some Aryan. Maybe it's these privileges that let her exist at ease in this crowd and maybe the lack of which makes him conscious of his presence in the same crowd. The space itself is new to his ilk. They are strangers, at least in the broader sense of the word. For her, he is just another face illuminated in yellow. But he knows her face a bit more thoroughly, maybe a bit too well, well enough to sketch it on a Monday morning from memory. He used to enjoy his bus rides back home from Palarivattom, after those wretched classes, with a curious sense of achievement. It was his reward for sitting through 8 hours of depressing lessons in cramped classrooms - his way of unwinding. One day she gets on his bus and sits a few seats ahead of him. He observed every curve on her head's silhouette. Next morning he woke up at 4 and started sketching it down so that he wouldn't forget how it looked. This was 5 years ago. He hasn't seen her since, until today. That face he sketched from memory, the only one he could - the bump on her nose, the grey in her eyes, everything was before him again. The chenda beats were muffled. He watched her as she sat down on the moist sand, cross-legged, leaning back on her hand propped on the ground. Then she closed her eyes, raised her head up and tried to read the beats. ..... Day 5, he came early. The panchavadyam wouldn't start in another 2 hours. He went to the koothupura to see the kathakali. 'Baali-vadhanam' is playing today. She is sitting at the back, in a corner. She recognizes his face from a dream she once had. The boy who painted her in the light of a kerosene lamp. Every stroke on the cotton rag canvas gave new colours to her skin. She got maroon hair, grey skin and yellow eyes. She loved how she'd changed, she wished she had maroon hair, grey skin and yellow eyes. She believed it was the light from the soot-covered glass shade of the lamp that gave her her new colours. She saw his face in the flickering glow of the 'aatavillaku,' and she felt the joy of having a chance to get the colours she never had. She relished the possibility in all its absurdity. The handheld curtain is let to fall and the music became louder, a few hurried stomps of the feet, and he looks back over his shoulder. Two beats skipped, two breaths stuck half-way, and two pairs of eyes averted. The first set of sticks fell on the chendas - panchavadyam has started. The Kathakali crowd started shrinking. She stood up, dusted her bottom and walked to the front. She introduced herself, 'Durga.' Two wide-opened eyes met the outstretched hand. 'Hey, I'm Tejus,' he shook the hand. 'You wanna sit?' She sat beside him. He's amused by Ravanan's face patterns, a bit of extra black and red, violent and threatening. This is the part where he abducts Sita to the forest confinement in Lanka. What if Sita wanted to be with Ravanan and the whole Ramayanam is a distorted version of the story - an elope rather than an abduction? The panchavadyam beats were getting intense, but neither of them felt like leaving. 'Do you draw?' Durga asked, noticing the black-bound sketchbook jutting out of his satchel. 'Yes... I like to sketch, yeah.' He was always reluctant to acknowledge his taste in art. I bet he felt noticed and exposed. 'What kinda things do you sketch?' 'I like doing portraits, illustrations, ...that kinda stuff.' 'Can you draw me?' Durga asked. A question that he's heard an umpteen times before, and yet, this time it was different; for both of them, both knew he already had. 'Yes... sometimes,' he replied with a shy nod. Tejus' phone rang, True caller tab popped up red, 'Bsnl telemarketing,' it read. 'Wow, Yumeji's theme? From "In the mood for love?" Are you a Wong Kar Wai fan too? They gushed over their love for Wong Kar Wai movies. They both thought they were the only ones to see all 10 of his features. Tejus' favourite was 'Chungking Express' and Durga's was '2046.' They talked about the omnipresent elements in his movies: the rain, mirrors, unrequited love, stop printing and catchy pop songs. When the nuances of Wong Kar Wai movies were exhausted they bitched about almost everyone who was sitting there - the GoPro techie who had brought the whole product box with him, the aunty with jasmine flowers on her head that had started to rot, the bald guy who ironically had scored most number of mosquitoes circling his head, the butt crack guy with a fluorescent 'Jockey,' the over engrossed mom whose kids they planned to murder, the sorority of princesses with matching blouses, and the oldie, who for some reason kept calling me, only interrupted by the periodic scoffs of disappointment at the mumbling two. They hardly cared anything about the grieving Ram(easily an 8) who just lost his wife to the dark evil Ravanan( a 5, at most a 6). The Kathakali performers bowed and left the makeshift stage. A few of the audience had come with bed-sheets to sleep on, which they spread over the floor and slept. Durga and Tejus left the koothambalam. It was 3 in the morning, the panchavadyam was over long back, and the temple grounds were deserted except for the footprints from the night. They decided to sit and talk for some more time before they went home. They sat at the west gate, on the black rock platforms on which people, and I, usually sit. It'll glisten ever so lightly in the moon, the oil from the lit lamps would mix with the dew and give a greasy coating to it. Durga started, 'Have you seen ''Begin Again?" Yeah? So, there's this scene in which they talk about how you can know so much about a person from their playlists.' Durga looked at Tejus intently, waiting. '...Oh, you wanna know my playlist? Okay cool, how about we play one song each from our playlists, alternatively. How's that?' 'Cool, works. You wanna start?' 'Yeah, sure.' Tejus started with 'Angela' by The Lumineers. They played Angela. I liked that song. Something about tree logging. 'Wasteland baby, by Hozier.' 'Okay,...Hero by Family of the year.' 'Coastline by Hollow Coves.' 'Cherathukal...?' ... Tinges of orange spread in the sky and suddenly there were rays of sunlight creeping in from behind the silhouette of the clock-tower. Savithri had started sweeping the stone pavements. She's a friend. We talk often about her grandkids. Pigeons stirred from under the clay-tiled roofs. Durga rubbed her eyes and took a few deep breaths of the cold morning air. She looked at Tejus sleeping on her calves, waited a moment, and then woke him up. A bit embarrassed by the drool on her salwaar he gave her an awkward smile. He lazily sat up. 'Oh, shit..! We're back in real-time.' 'Do you hear a Harpsichord playing? We can dance maybe,' She asks with an animated face of sarcasm. Tejus spurts out a laugh, 'It's funny you said that. I've always had this fantasy of having a sunrise-esque moment. You know, in some foreign city, walking around the streets - connecting with a person...Oh, and then I want the sequels too. I really love them, Jesse and Celine. They put everything good in those movies, and now, that's my scale, you know what I mean?' 'Yeah, I guess so. Yeah...But, you're gonna be disappointed my child. I don't think it ever works that way. Probably why the movie is special, right? I mean - you'll probably be perpetually disappointed in whatever you'd have - I guess...' 'Yeah...I guess. Anyways it'd be something I'd be looking for I guess.' Durga jumps down from the platform they were sitting on, 'well, this was close, right?' They shared a smile. They and I knew it was; the closest. The sand was cold - pleasant to walk on. They got a morning tea from the stall at the gate and decided to leave for their homes to sleep the day off. As they parted and Durga walked to her home, she looked down at her feet - there was a patch of grey on her skin - like a brushstroke. I watched on as the maroon at the ends of her hair glistened in the sun.

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laurasinele · 6 years

Text

Long tag post

tagged by the amazing @assassinsdragons I still don’t get how I fell under the radar of such an interesting young talented person

RULES:

1. Post the rules.

2. Answer the questions from your tagger.

3. Write 11 questions of your own.

4. Tag on!

1. Do you have a certain belonging that have a special value for you? Like, sentimental value.

Dozens, but I’m trying to stop that. I was on my way to becoming a hoarder, gathering all sorts of things, some of them brand new never opening them, some of them could be considered garbage. I realised that same behaviour came from my dad and for the last five years or so I’ve been getting rid of things that once I kept as sentimental, forcing myself to go through the memories and emotions and see if there is actual sentimental value or just force of habit. Amongst the things I do keep because of their sentimental value there’s a pink teddy bear that was one of my first toys as a baby and a black lace and golden sequins fan that I picked for my grandmother while on holidays when I was seven and she never used because she said she would save it for my wedding (she died when I was sixteen and I married at twenty-nine)

2. How many books are there in your book shelf? (If you can count them)

Well over two hundred between fiction, non fiction, comic books and outdated Warhammer rulebooks. I told you I was a hoarder and I went and married a hoarder. We are getting clean I promise XD

3. Five best movies?

Aaagh I hate these questions about your fave whatever, I never know which ones to pick. I’m going to say five in no particular order but if you asked me tomorrow the answer could be completely different. Hell even if you asked in half an hour haha. Mr. Right, Stranger than Fiction, Howl’s Moving Castle, Brokeback Mountain, Kelly’s Heroes. 4. Favourite clothing article? Why?

The combo T-shirt/long sleeved button down shirt. My shirts are usually hand-me-downs from my dad or my brother, so they look a bit oversized, and my tees are geeky designs from TeeFury or QwerTee. Why? Because I am a very heat sensitive person in a very warm country and this combination allows me to peel off or put on layers quick and easy when entering or exiting buildings or public transportation or simply because during the three quarters of the year that the sun is not blazing the weather is just undecided bollocks.

5. What is/was your favourite subject in school?

Anything but PE. In High School I enjoyed the most Greek and Latin, and I had a decent PE teacher that made me stop hating it.

6. What is your favourite fantasy creature?

I was going to write the sphynx like super fast, then I realised it is only because I’ve been talking about it lately. I don’t think I have one, my attention span is too short to have just one haha

7. What do you think of your name? (If you don’t want to say what your name is you don’t have to, just explain whether you like it or not and possibly why as well)

I love it. It is uncommon and it means beautiful things. It has a nice sound in my language. Because of its rareness, it makes me feel special. I’ve been annoyed because of it but never at it. If you know Spanish you’ll guess it by my user name.

8. Apple or android?

Android for a phone, Apple for a computer. Been around long enough, messed around with almost everything. My choice is made, children.

9. List your three top music bands and your favourite song from them.

See my complaint on question 3. Let’s say that today my three favourite bands are in no particular order: Travis – fave song of all time from them is Flowers in the Window

Rammstein – I can’t not sing Keine Lust (but let’s face it most of the lyrics are stupid, we are there for the adrenaline boost)

Hozier (because I heard he’s coming back soon) – fave song is a tie between In a Week, Work Song and Jackie and Wilson.

10. Are there any movies on the cinema this year that you want to see? (If you’ve already seen one that’s top notch you can tell about that one too)

I’ve already watched Love, Simon and I expected more but it’s a nice movie and very much needed. I think I’m going to miss Deadpool 2 because I can’t seem to find the time to go, and I’m looking forward to the releases here in Spain of The Incredibles 2 and Ocean’s 8. Also, I’m pissed about the marketing of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote (directed by former Monty Python Terry Gilliam, with Adam Driver as the main character), half of the cast are Spanish great actors, it was filmed partly in Spain, it’s about the main figure of the Spanish literature and there are two seasoned actors and an A-lister in the cast AND THERE’S BEEN CLOSE TO NONE ADVERTISING AND ALMOST NO THEATRES ARE FEATURING IT.

11. If you could have a superpower/magic power, what would it be?

Fix anything.

I know this is long, so don’t feel obliged to play along, but I’m curious to know about @pottercrew, @slytherinvalues, @paquim: 1. Why did you first picked up a Harry Potter book? (school assignment, someone recommended it...?) 2. Name a word that you like in any language, be it for its sound, its meaning, its calligraphy or any other reason. 3. What did you want to grow up to be when you were a toddler and what do want to be/are now professionally/academically speaking? 4. Peas. Thoughts? 5. We’ve always heard that saying about fiction building expectations on romantic aspirations. Did that happen for you or have you been able to differentiate? (That you may enjoy reading or viewing super dramatic slow burns and angsty stories but like your love life nice and simple, for example) 6. How did the change of subject and dept from question 4 to 5 felt? I’m sorry I’m an arsehole haha 7. Do you favor comedy or drama when you pick a book, comic, movie, etc? Why? 8. Is there an author/director/creator that you’d like to swap places with as in own their voice, their particular style or signature? (For example, I’d like to be able to tell stories like Terry Pratchett or Taika Waititi do) 9. What are you reading now or did you last read or are you planing to read next? 10. What’s the best and the worst of being on tumblr? 11. What’s a piece of advice that you’ve found actually useful? It can be as mundane or as mystical as you want as long as it was useful for you.

#tag game #question #question game #about me

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