#hand lettering all of that gave me carpal tunnel

[spirallingstarcases]

💔 music or the misery? 💔

#i simply cannot get this song out of my head #went a little feral on this one ngl. it was 3am when i made it ok 👌 #mwahahahah coolloours #the typeface fucking killed me btw #hand lettering all of that gave me carpal tunnel #music or the misery #spi.arts #from under the cork tree #futct #tw eye strain #eye strain #fob #fall out boy #art #fob art #artists on tumblr

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

At long last, my Our Lady of the Passion cosplay is ready for cons!

Based on this picture from Pinterest (google is finding fuck all elsewhere, but if someone knows the source I'll add it.)

The tank top is from Lockedtombmemes' Redbubble store.

The jacket is here, though I've painted the back with some fabric paint. I used the non-heat treating kind and just sort of sketched out the letters with a dark pencil to make sure the placement wasn't too awful.

The dog tags I'm not quite satisfied with because I put too little information on them, and an updated one is still waiting in the mail (I wanted to put the Wing and Cell on it, and had to reread some chapters to verify) There's loads of places to get them, but I used these.

The machetes I don't have many pictures of (I don't have a full length mirror to show them properly strapped to the legs.), but I went a little overbudget to the point it would probably have been cheaper to buy real machetes (but not as welcomed at conventions!) Still, they were from here, in case anyone wants some big ol' 27 inch props instead of the dinky ones from Spirit Halloween.

Gloves were these ones, and they fit my big ol' butch hands just fine. Nothing special there.

For my TACTICAL BLOOD OF EDEN FANNY PACK (which I already wear all the time, but changed colors to match the costume anyways) is this.

The boots are fairly ubiquitous and seem to come from various online sellers, sometimes in men's sizes, sometimes in women's, but this store has them up to a women's size 12, which I needed because I'm lorge.

Now, the mask I'm most proud of! I don't have any experience making costume bits, but I found this one meant for airsoft, which has TWO FUCKING FANS?!?! hidden in the filters to cool my face in the sweltering 80 degree Texas winters.

But! You'll notice the goggles aren't tinted, so I had to figure out how to do them myself to hide my glasses, for REASONS, but this little kit was pretty simple. There's a gluey side, so you just spray the goggles with some water, then slap them down and spend like... a fucking hour or two squeezing out the air bubbles, but aside from a single wrinkle, I think they turned out great! The red also provides some good contrast.

Now, the pants were pretty simple. These come with knee pads, and the black camo looks really nice with the gray coat and black shirt. It did take two attempts to get some that fit (One seller had the XL listed as having a 44 inch waist, equivalent to a women's 18, but labeled elsewhere with the true size of 36 inches, the bastards.), but where I got silly was the straps.

I got this tactical belt, which seems to have tipped the number of tactical things I can search for before search engines decide you're a bootlicker, and intended to use a single bike strap on each leg to hold the other end, which, well... two problems.

The blades were now being bent by my massive fucking quads because I've been doing a shitload of exercise to get fit, because apparently all I needed to get into the gym five times a week was wanting to look like my specialist book blorbo.

I couldn't bend my fucking hips.

So! I ended up ordering a total of SIX STRAPS for my legs, pairing two up high to fit the wider part of my leg, and a single one down near the knee. The upper ones I later looped through the belt to hold them up, which also doubles for making the trousers into a fucking cod piece, which, hey, some people like that. The lower ones were led up by the knee pad, so I had a somewhat stable set of six straps and one belt, which is dangerously close to becoming a Nomura-era Final Fantasy character, but hey, I gave myself carpal tunnel marathoning all the Kingdom Hearts games last year, so that's not a problem.

All in all, it probably cost me... well, more money than it should have, but it's all pretty quality stuff that I'm sure will be very toasty if we ever happen to have another winter down south.

Also, last note... boots of any kind are so much more comfortable with insoles. They don't have to be expensive, but your feet and knees will thank you at conventions when they have a good cushion under your heels.

That's about all I've learned putting this together! I'm 5'9 and around 250 pounds, give or take, so most of this is men's garments, which means the pockets are DEEP AS FUCK. Perfect for collecting small rocks.

Just something to keep in mind.

(See y'all at the conventions. I promise my Yorkshire accent will be less goofy by then, but I can't promise I'll be as nasally as the audiobook.)

#the locked tomb #cosplay #costume #blood of eden #our lady of the passion #our lady of the passion tlt #nona the ninth #halloween

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #437

“you get what you pray for  /  you don’t get anything”

Do you tell your mom and dad everything? No. Who was the last person you talked about something that was bothering you with? Most likely my mom. What’s your favorite musical? I don't like musicals. Who did you last share a taxi with? I've never been in a taxi. If you’ve ever tried drugs or alcohol, what was your reason for first trying it? I've never done drugs, but the first time I drank was actually an accident. I'd come in from a long, hot walk, and I desperately needed water, and Mom offered me what I thought was just pink lemonade. Turns out it was a Mike's Hard Lemonade and I CHUGGED it before everyone around me was like "NOOOO!" because it was alcohol lmaooo. If you were far from home and needed to sleep for the night, would you choose to rent a crappy motel room for $60 or sleep in your car for free? I'm sleeping in my car. I'm afraid of things like bed bugs. Is there a situation where you caved into peer pressure and regretted it? I don't think so? Have you ever rolled off your bed in your sleep? Pretty sure no. What is your favourite planet? Saturn! Do you enjoy Mario games? Not really, honestly. They're just not my style. Mario Kart is fun every now and again, though. What flavor fruity drink is your favorite? Strawberry, in most cases. Ever done a keg stand? No. Who is the last person you lent money to? My mom. Do you have any health problems that are unusual for your age? I have carpal tunnel in my wrists from typing so much, but I'm not sure how "unusual" that is for young adults nowadays... I feel like there's something else, but it's evading me right now. Do you bite your nails? No, I pick/peel at them. :x What’s the longest nap you’ve ever taken? Oh god, hours. To the point it no longer really qualifies as a "nap." When people ask you about school, what is your usual response? Do you enjoy talking about school? Why or why not? I get all awkward and just reply that I gave it numerous shots, but my mental health couldn't handle it. I hate talking about school because I feel like a failure. Do you know how to fill a car’s tire with air? Have you ever had to do it? No to both. Do you like your best friend’s parents? Why or why not? Omg I LOVE them. They are spectacular people with massive hearts. I especially am drawn to her dad, whom I find incredibly inspiring. Both her parents are just great. I miss 'em. What do you like in your hot cocoa - marshmallows, whipped cream, candy canes? Do you even like hot cocoa? I loooove hot chocolate. I really just prefer it plain, but you can toss a few marshmallows in there. Which do you have a problem with: over-eating or under-eating? I'm way more likely to over-eat than under-eat. A girl likes her food lmao. The last boy you kissed, good-looking? He's by no means ugly, but I wasn't physically attracted to him personally. Do you love him? Not romantically, but definitely platonically. Do you like cherry Pepsi? I like cherry Coke. I don't like Pepsi. When was the last time you were given flowers? Ummm... I want to say the last time was many years ago when Tyler visited for the first time when we started dating. What do you want to name your children? I don't want kids. But hypothetically, Alessandra and probably Damien. Would you ever write a letter to someone you haven’t met yet, like your future spouse? No. I'd probably get too emotional anyway. Do you carry a mirror in your purse? No. Do you believe that there is beauty in everything? I've always thought this was such a stupid idea that tries to make reason out of life and its tragedies. Like yeah, cancer, rape, murder, etc. are definitely "beautiful." There is absolutely no beauty in a vast plethora of things. The first time you smoked, did you cough like a fool? I've never smoked before. When you were younger, did you have a Neopets account? Oh, yes. I loooooved Neopets, but not quite as much as Webkinz. I've actually remade a Neopetz account multiple times because I'd forget my info, ha ha... Who was the last person you got in a fist fight with? I've never been in a physical fight. Did you and your mom ever have a big fight that caused you to move out? Not "move out," no. We did, however, have a fight where I stayed with Dad for I want to say a week, maybe a bit less. Do you dislike anyone? Why? Well, yes. I don't know anyone who doesn't dislike somebody. There are a few people, in my case, that I'm not going to spend time going through and pointing out what I don't like. Do you think you will be in a relationship 2 months from now? No. Do you always feel like you’re making mistakes? Like constantly. Does your animal sleep with you? Roman usually does, yeah. Do you have any baby pictures of yourself on your computer? No. Mom has those in photo albums. What kind was the last chip you ate? I want to say traditional Lays? It was at my nephew's bday party. Do you eat onion rings? No, I'm not a fan. What was the last thing to disgust you? I think it was some thumbnail I saw on YouTube, even though it was (weakly) blurred. Where do you see your ex in 5 years? "The" ex, I don't want to think about it. Probably somewhere great for him, but would break my heart if I knew. Do your parents swear? Dad swears big time, while Mom tries to hold it back. You won't hear her say something like "fuck" unless she is SERIOUSLY upset. Do you ever drink warm milk? Warm milk sounds literally disgusting. Would you be really upset if Facebook ceased to exist tomorrow? No. I literally just came back from my break from it, so it'd be more funny than anything. The universe's way of telling me "nah, son." Who do you know that wears the most makeup? My friend Summer, but then again she's a cosmetologist. Have you ever had bronchitis? No, thankfully. Jason had it BAD once and I will neeever forget that cough, good Lord. Do you like to wear makeup? I hate applying it more than anything. Like, I love that it can help me feel prettier, but I pretty much never wear it because it's just a pain to put on, especially by myself because I have bad tremors in my hands. How many times have you been to the ER? Way too many times for being suicidal. How often do you feel lonely? Honestly, pretty much always. When are you most uncomfortable? I dunno, man. I'm always uncomfortable about one thing or another. Has anyone ever revealed a secret about you? Not that I remember... Have you ever revealed anyone else’s secret? No, that is such a shitty thing to do. Have you ever had a family member/friend that was hospitalized? Yes. Have you ever been in trouble with the law? No. Is there anything you want to experiment with? I mean, nothing that quickly comes to mind. There are things I want to try, but nothing major. What do you hope happens to you after you die? Mixed feelings. Sometimes I hope there's some sort of nirvana-like state we experience, I think it'd be wonderful to be reunited with loved ones, but I also sometimes think it'd be best if we just... stopped existing. Consciousness just stops. I dunno. I'll find out eventually. What is the most disgusting thing you have seen in person (not on TV)? Probably a maggot-infested deer corpse that I faintly remember from where I used to live. I thought it was the sickest thing ever lmao, in both senses. What is something others make fun of you for? Always holding some sort of technology. Just don't fucking comment on it. It makes me self-conscious as hell. Is your life turning out like you pictured it would? QUITE THE FUCKING OPPOSITE. Do your initials spell out a word? No. Has anyone ever given you roses? Yeah. Last baby you held? My older sister's youngest daughter. Whose wedding were you in the first time you were a bridesmaid or groomsman? My aforementioned sister's. What is something you would never do to your body? I mean, there's a large number of things. There are certain piercings and tattoos I wouldn't dare to get, I plan on taking care of my hair as best I can to avoid ruining it despite wanting to dye it a lot... *shrug* Stuff like that. How are you planning to decorate your house for Halloween? I don't know if we'll decorate. We haven't really for a few years now... I don't have the motivation to do it myself, and now that it's just me and her and I'm grown up (I know, I'm laughing too), Mom doesn't really bother with doing it. I know I DO want to carve pumpkins this year, though. Dunno what, but I'll figure it out. Ever lived in a trailer park? No. Do you like salsa that has fruit in it? NOOOOOOOOOOO Can you count in binary? No. Do you like hard or soft pretzels better? I'll eat both, but I have a strong preference for soft ones. When was the last time someone kissed you on the cheek? Who was it? I'm sure that was either my niece of nephew when I was leaving their house when I last visited for Ryder's birthday. What kind of ice cream did you eat last? Where’d you get it from? It was chocolate. I had a scoop at the aforementioned birthday party. Do you like flowers? What is your favorite kind to receive? I love flowers. I don't have a favorite to receive, really. Have you ever unblocked someone that you blocked before? Yes. Has anyone slapped you across the face before? If so, why? No. Do you prefer to have more or less in common with your significant other? I like to be pretty similar. Would you take a shot of heroin for a million dollars? No. I don't fuck with that, even for that much money. Why don’t you talk to your ex anymore? He wants nothing to do with me. Do you think it is okay to drive while high? Obviously not...? Do you find Halloween or Valentine’s Day more exciting? Halloween. Has anyone you know ever had serious surgery before? Yeah; my mom immediately comes to mind in both instances she had cancer. When she had kidney cancer, the tumor was larger than the kidney itself, and she lost the entire organ. When she had ovarian cancer, she had to have a complete hysterectomy because the cancer was EVERYWHERE along her reproductive system to an almost fatal degree. My mom's pretty metal. If you had the last person you kissed’s Facebook password, would you go snooping through their stuff? Why or why not? No, because that's a violation of privacy? You don't do that shit. Have you ever fainted? If so, when was the last time? If not, have you ever came close to? Yes. The only time that I remember was maaaany years ago, like, maybe '14. I've nearly fainted plenty of times since then for various reasons, but mostly just from low blood pressure. Ever take a keyboarding class? Do you type using the skills you learned in that class or how you used to before you took the class? Yes; I believe one course was mandatory in middle school. I type the proper way, yeah. Ever cut your hair (the entire thing – not just the bangs or a little part) yourself? Noooo. Would you ever open your own business? If so, what kind of business could you imagine yourself having? Well, I'd like to be a freelance photographer, but to be real, I'm starting to loosen up on that dream. It's been too long, I just don't see it happening anymore. Baby steps are one thing, but I've barely managed any of those in forever. Ever meet and talk to someone from an online dating site? No. Would you date someone you weren’t physically attracted to? Why or why not? Yes; I've done it before. I just care way more about emotional chemistry. Besides, historically, me liking someone for their heart has made each person a lot more attractive to me as a whole. Last person to hang up on you? I dunno. What’s your favorite scary movie? The Blair Witch Project. The second one is great, too, plus The Crazies. Which urban legend is your favourite? Oh man, you can't ask me this. I LOVE cryptids and conspiracies 'n shit. Are any of your fears completely irrational? Yes, like whale sharks. A whale shark ain't gonna hurt u boo but I see that mouth and am like no thnx Where is the light switch in your room? Funnily enough, I don't have a light switch; there isn't a ceiling light in this room. I instead have two table lamps that I can turn on on either side of my bed. Would you make a good lawyer? Hell no, I cry when I argue lmao. It's funny tho because I remember in TWO instances, in-depth surveys recommending jobs for you brought up me being a lawyer, and each time I was just like,,,,, no???????? Why did your family decide to live where you’re living now? It was more necessity than anything. Our old house had a LOT of issues to it, and with Mom's cancer diagnosis, she needed the cleanest environment possible, and that was NOT our old place. The house we live in now is owned by a family friend, and when the previous owner died, the timing just... kinda worked out to where that family friend I mentioned helped us pay our way into here. We really don't like this place because of the location, but it had to work. What was the best pet you've ever had? All things considered, I have to hand it to my boy Teddy. That dog was someone special. Very, very special. If you were allowed one murder without punishment, would you do it? Nah. Name one song you can play on an instrument, any instrument! I can probably still slam out "Hot Cross Buns" on a recorder. \m/ Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle? Noooo, I'm scared to. On the opposite sex, do you prefer muscles, average size, or scrawny bodies? It depends on the person, ig. I can be attracted to any of those. Just not EXTREME muscle. Not my thing at all.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''thoughts & prayers" by motionless in white

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 14)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: With just one day until the wedding, Alisha grapples with sceptical sisters-in-law, procedure and a deepening mystery.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @theshiningc @wonderlander594 @madamquacklemore

The Story So Far

___

“She’s very pretty,” Stasia interrupted Verin’s focus on the doe she had in her sights, “pretty and sweet, like a little piece of cake!”

Verin knew when she was being baited and her sister had been prodding her since they saddled up their horses for the morning hunt.

The previous night’s dinner had been tense yet uneventful, filled with inane pleasantries between the myriad creatures taking residence in their family estate.

“It’s none of our business.” Verin shrugged instead, feigning disinterest.

“Quite right, and I think Ernst approves.”

“He loves music, he found an old violin piece online and she happened to be able to imitate it well enough.”

“More than well, she was very good I thought.”

“She is a daemon.” Verin practically spat the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“That she is, and I believe father forbade us from straying from the Covenant, I doubt he’d be too please with one of his children mating with a daemon...or a witch.”

“If you are going to talk this whole time we should abandon the hunt and return the horses!” Verin snapped and Stasia simply gave her a wide-eyed look of innocence.

“My apologies, I have not seen my sister in so long, I was excited at the prospect of some conversation.”

Verin sighed, doubting her previous assumption and blaming it on her preoccupation with the state of the family.

“You’re right, I am sorry I snapped.”

“Understandable, Baldwin did choose Freyja, of all of us, to house-train the stray.” Stasia grinned.

Verin allowed herself a smile at their sister-in-law’s expense before regaining her propriety.

“You must not let him, or anyone, hear you speak about her in such terms. Whether we like it or not, she is still Madame de Clermont, God help us!”

“Baldwin is not here, it is just you and I.”

“In that case,” Verin shook her head, “I must confess that I believe our brother has contracted whatever madness took the she-wolf’s mongrel.”

“Matthew was never exactly stable Verin, you know that.”

“Then what is Baldwin’s excuse?” Verin asked.

“Love?”

Verin snorted in derision.

“Our brother loves nothing. He appreciates a vanquished battle field, a brutal merger, a good vintage. But, he will do anything he can to protect our family, for whatever reason, it’s why father chose him.”

“Bound by-” Gallowglass started reading the embroidered letters on the piece of light blue ribbon Alisha was working before she turned it over and placed her hands over the words.

“Gallowglass,” she greeted, hoping her face was not as red as it felt, “I thought you were going hunting?”

“With Verin and Stasia?” He asked with incredulity as he took a seat opposite the daemon at the table of the small sitting room.

“They seem nice.”

“They’re not but they’re family.” He corrected.

“And Marcus-“

“He left this morning,” Gallowglass noted her troubled expression, “he’ll be back for the wedding tomorrow.”

“Good,” she nodded with relief, “need all the friendly faces I can get.”

“What is that anyway?”

“My motto.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“We already have one and that is not it.”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Oh, okay, they’re usually in Latin, or French.”

“I cant read or write Latin, or French.”

“I could translate for you if you want?”

She realised that he was honestly trying to help, not poke fun, he’d clearly not managed to read the whole thing.

“No, thank you,” she covered, “I’m almost done and will not have time to make another.”

The last thing she wanted was for her nephew, regardless of his age, to translate words into latin for a wedding night surprise from his aunt to his uncle.

“Shouldn’t you be helping with wedding preparations?” He asked.

“I was,” she shrugged, “Ysabeau banished me for not making decisions quickly enough.” She smiled.

“Best leave her to it.”

“I’m getting that,” she agreed, “oh, and you’re being drafted in tonight, waltzing lessons.”

“I’d love to but if I so much as touch you there’s a good chance Baldwin will actually kill me tomorrow, which would put a dampener on the whole thing.”

“Don’t worry, demonstration purposes only. Nathaniel’s also being subjected to it.”

A beep alert went off on Gallowglass’ phone and he checked it before placing it back in his pocket.

“The groom has arrived.” He smiled.

“Baldwin, he’s here?” She jumped from her chair with excitement.

“Literally have never seen anyone so happy about the prospect of him entering a room!”

“Gallowglass!”

“Of course he’s not at Sept-Tours, he’s twenty miles away at one of his many properties. I told you, you can’t see him until the wedding.”

“Right.” She nodded and sat back down.

“Oh hell,” he swore, “have you talked to him?”

“No!”

“Auntie, you need to know that lying to a vampire is pointless at the best of times but you are one god awful liar, a human could tell.”

“Fine, yes, I spoke to him once, last night.”

“Who gave you his number?”

“Nobody, Nathaniel gave me the new phone and Baldwin called me.”

“He called,” Gallowglass stared at her in disbelief, “Baldwin called you?”

“Fuck,” it was her turn to swear, “I should not have told you that, should I?”

“Relax, my lips are sealed.”

“Thanks but, why is it so surprising?”

“He makes rules but he also follows them, it’s too easy to hold oneself to a different standard, he doesn’t, usually.”

“Usually,” she smiled teasingly, “oh you mean by marrying a daemon”

Gallowglass shook his head in frantic disagreement.

“Wait, no, that’s no what I mean, I-“

“Gallowglass, I’m messing with you!” She assured him.

“And I though Stasia was the family jester.”

Knowing that Baldwin was relatively close-by, twenty miles was not so far as before, somehow made her feel slightly more secure and able to enjoy the more jovial atmosphere of Ysabeau’s waltzing lessons.

Both Verin and Stasia had declined to attend, the former having left the estate and the latter choosing instead to remain in her tower.

The remaining residents had been trying for around an hour, getting progressively less serious and more giddy as the time wore on. Sarah and Em were easily garnering the most praise from Ysabeau, followed closely by Gallowglass and Sophie.

“Hamish,” Gallowglass exclaimed as a Daemon entered the main hall.

“If I’d known there was a party I would have come here first!” He commented, Alisha noting the accent to be Scottish.

“Believe me,” Ysabeau started with pained irritation, “this is pretty far from what I would call a party.”

“Nope,” Hamish gestured to the thickly bound leather folder in his hands, “lot of paperwork, much farther from a party than this.”

His eyes sought out Alisha and gave her a smile as he approached, offering his hand which she shook.

“Hamish Osborne, I come bearing gifts of signature related carpal tunnel.”

“You’re a daemon too,” she stated with surprise, “I’m sorry, it’s just, I’ve literally never met so many daemons in my life.”

“Hamish has been dealing with our legal requirements of late.” Ysabeau explained.

“Might I borrow the bride?”

“I suppose.” Ysabeau agreed, giving him an indulgent smile, she clearly liked this daemon.

“What even is all this?” Alisha asked as Hamish sat opposite her in the sitting room, the table between them and a pen beside the open folder.

“Most of it? Transfer of deeds, property, stock, patent of nobility-“

“Wait, what?”

“Both yourself and Ysabeau hold the title of Madame de Clermont but also Marchioness de Clermont.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Purely ceremonial, it’s the rank of a Marquis’ wife and the de Clermont head is automatically granted the rank of Marquis and those under them Chevalier.”

“I’m no history expert but I thought that France had that whole thing where they like, killed all of the nobility?”

“It’s not French, it’s Papal.”

“They were given the title by the Pope?”
”Yes, for service to the church the de Clermont’s were granted this hereditary title to always be able to defend it. Pretty sure the actual land is in Tuscany, we’ll get to it.”

“Okay, let’s get this started.” She picked up the pen and Hamish opened the page to the signature line. She noticed Baldwin’s name was signed on the line just above.

Hamish picked up on her pause.

“Everything okay?”

“Mm-hm,” she glanced up before signing her name underneath.

Hamish was well organised, having small stickers on the pages that needed to be signed, he made quick work of getting through them all.

“I didn’t know Baldwin had any daemon friends.” Alisha commented after the last signature was complete and balled her fist a few times to stave off hand cramp.

“Baldwin? Hell no! I am a family friend but through Matthew.”

“Oh, that makes more sense.”

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,” he shook his head, “I’m sure he’s very kind to you.”

“But?”

“Matthew’s my best friend and your fiancé is not exactly kind to him.”

“I understand.”

“You do?” He asked doubtfully

“Not about their relationship, he doesn’t really talk about his family. But, I get to see a different side of him than you do, than Matthew does, or his enemies. I know he’s killed and that he can be cold, cruel, violent, he wouldn’t still be alive if he wasn’t.”

Hamish said nothing but the look he gave her was one of understanding. Knowing Matthew’s history and loving him anyway was something he knew not many people would understand.

“I’m not excusing the hurt he’s caused Matthew or anyone else, either in defence or malice, and they have no obligation to believe in a side of him they have never seen or think he is anything other than what he’s shown them he is. But, for the record, he is kind, and attentive, funny and incredibly sweet, surprisingly affectionate and very generous. He’s a good man, I believe that.”

Hamish shook his head with a sigh.

“It’s not easy to love a vampire, even less so a de Clermont I think, and I love Matthew like he’s my own blood...” he trailed off thoughtfully, “despite what he’s done, either in defence or Malice.”

She smiled a little at his repetition of her words.

“More than a few of our kind have shared their opinion on our friendship over the years.” He admitted.

“So you understand?”

“Unfortunately I think I do.”

“How...is he?”

“Baldwin?” Hamish asked and received a nod.

“Honestly, distracted. I don’t know him well, I’ve met him a handful of times but he definitely has something on his mind.”

“About time brother!” Verin called from her place on the reception room sofa as Baldwin returned from his post-hunt shower.

“What do you want Verin?” He asked wearily as he watched her get up from the chair.

“Freyja, really? You don’t say as much as three words to one another one year to the next and you trust her?”

“Her methods are more appropriate for the situation, Alisha is not a vampire!”

“No, she’s a daemon, she-“ she stopped, looking around, “is she here?”

“She’s not here Verin, you just left her at Sept-Tours!”

Verin looked around and located the source of the scent, a small box on the table.

She opened the box and went to touch the silk ribbon inside when Baldwin caught her wrist.

“Do not touch that!” he replaced the lid and stood resolutely in her path until she broke off to retake her seat.

“So that’s how you’ve managed to stay away. I was worried,” she stopped herself, “hoping rather, that the whole mating thing was a mistake, that you could be separated because she’s not your mate.”

Baldwin watched her before taking his own chair.

“She is-“

“A daemon, what would father say?”

“Verin-“ he warned.

“You’ve lived by his rules all your life, why now, why her?”

“A human, you mated with a human, Matthew with a witch,” he shook his head, “why is a daemon the line in the sand?”

“This is about her.”

“Of course it’s about her, it’s who we’re discussing.”

“Not ‘Alisha’, whatever manner of name that is-“

“Verin,” he cut off her meandering, “who are you referring to?”

“Oh, I see how mentioning a daemon musician might give you pause, should I narrow it down for you?”

Baldwin always had a soldier’s posture straight and solid, even seated, but her words made this even more inflexible and she questioned her decision.

“What is it you think you know?” He asked, his voice low and foreboding.

“The little Venetian spy, you were fond of her, I saw you both disappear together before the poor scribe was found dead. What did I hear you call her,” she made a performance of thinking, “Oscine, that’s it!”

“Fond,” he shook his head dismissively, “I had never met her before that night.”

“Oh, I know, but you wanted her, and would have had her, had the crime not been discovered. I would say that she wanted you too but, you know, Venetians, of course she did. Remember who found you both, brother.”

“You prevented nothing more than my hunt for some sport, you know how tedious those treaty negotiations could be!”

“I agree, they were infinitely tedious. For me! You loved them, which is why it was a surprise that you would miss the last one, to dally with a daemon.”

He didn’t respond, simply kept his breath and heartbeat steady, a very effective tactic in back footing an opponent.

“I was also surprised when I found you both in that store room, you left the party some time before I thought you would at least be caught in some kind of compromising position, but you hadn’t even persuaded her to take off that mask yet.”

“Given your particular skill set, sister, surely you would understand the value in taking one’s time.”

The barb was well executed and Verin felt her hackles rise before forcing herself to calm upon seeing the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“To be fair,” Verin continued, “she was just about to take the mask off when I interrupted. I wish I’d been a bit later, so curious about what she looked like, weren’t you?”

Again, no answer.

“Two outcomes. Either she wore the mask because she was unbearably ugly, in which case, brother, you were taking a risk-“

“Sister-“

“Or, and much more likely, she was beautiful and the mask was to protect her from the attentions of unscrupulous admirers, like yourself!”

“Does this have a point?” He asked steadily, giving nothing.

“Yes, I told father about where I found you, and with who.”

“I guessed as much.” He shrugged.

“You’re not angry at being sent away?”

“No, had I not been sent away I would not have found Miyako, nor would I have a daughter, besides, I was distracted by my desire and I deserved my exile.”

“Punishment, that’s why you think you were sent away?”

“Speak plainly sister, my patience is not infinite!”

“Father thought you were developing the mating instinct, for beautiful Oscine.”

“That’s ridiculous, she was-“

“A daemon?”

“Someone I met in person once!”

“In person yes, what about all those letters before that when she was just a spy reporting to you.”

He knew she was fishing, she had nothing and he wasn’t about to confirm anything.

“Alisha is my mate, not some long dead spy whose face I never saw!”

“She was bitten, by Guillermo?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you won’t drink from her heart vein or is there some other reason?”

Baldwin’s eyes darkened and his nostrils flared, giving him the appearance of a bull about to charge.

Verin knew she had pushed too far. The joining in blood was a more intimate act for a vampire than sex could be for a human. Vampires, however, only shared this with their mate and it was not a matter to be discussed with other vampires.

“Go back to Sept-Tours,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “and never, on pain of exile, bring up the spy to me or anyone else ever again, am I clear?”

“Yes Sieur!” She answered with the faintest him of sarcasm before leaving him with her words.

Rest well, it will be a long day tomorrow, and an even longer night!

Alisha, alone in Baldwin’s tower at the time of the message, smiled at his text and punched in a reply.

I look forward to the second more than the first. Can’t wait to kiss you again. Xx.

She realised just how excited she was to see her husband, after just a couple of nights apart. He was definitely mistaken about the effects of the mate bond.

“Alisha,” the knock and voice belonged to Freyja, “can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah,” she quickly slid the phone under her pillow, “come in.”

Freyja opened the door and looked her up and down.

“You‘ve spoken to him again, haven’t you?”

“I have not spoken to Baldwin today.” She answered truthfully.

“Hmm,” the vampire considered the reply, “well I know he doesn’t text...”

The tiniest inhale of breath from Alisha gave her away.

“We really have to teach you to lie better.”

“What, now?”

“No, I’m here to escort you to your ladies in waiting.”

“My-“

“The witches and the daemon, it’s customary for you to be chaperoned the night before the wedding, prevents any romantic rivals from stealing the bride.”

“Okay, besides maybe Count Dracula, who’s going to scale the outside of this fortress, full of creatures, by the way, and essentially kidnap me?”

“Obviously it’s not a problem the de Clermont’s have but it’s tradition, and I believe the group have devised some ‘fun’ activities.”

“You’re coming too, surely?” She asked Freyja.

“If you wish me to?” She sighed with a roll of her eyes.

“Of course. Should we invite your sisters?”

“Stasia has declined the invitation and I have no idea where Verin is.

“Okay, lets go!”

Alisha made it to the door.

“Wait,” Freyja called after Alisha, “I wasn’t snooping but I managed to see a letter on the desk, in father’s writing.”

“You can read it if you want, I don’t mind.”

Alisha wasn’t about to deprive Freyja of unread words from a deceased father as she was sure the daughter had read everything the father had written, probably more than once.

“Thank you but, it’s not that, I wanted to ask if you would like me to translate it for you.”

“What?” Alisha’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Freyja picked up the paper and carried it over to Alisha.

“Latin, but I’m sure you’ve probably translated it yourself using an online translation service already. I doubt it could convey the proper nuance Far intended.”

Alisha shook her head absently and looked at the words.

Not in English, just as Freyja said. The letters she initially studied as though deciphering hand-writing were actually written in an unfamiliar alphabet. However, with concentration she found the meaning became clear although the words themselves did not.

“Yes, I um-“ she started, thinking, “I used Google translate when I got the phone, I know what it says but, thanks.” She managed a smile.

“Alisha, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm,” she shrugged and took the letter, “just tired, distracted probably.”

It wasn’t a lie, she’d barely managed more than a few hours since Baldwin left and she could think of little else. Her sudden ability to read Latin was a mystery that could wait.

___

PART 15

#a discovery of witches #adow #baldwin de clermont #adow fic #adow baldwin fic #baldwin montclair #baldwin’s nightingale

[luv4fandoms]

You belong to me (Pennywise x oc) CH 2

Chapter 2 is here! I'll try to get chapter 3 out as soon as I can, typing on my phone kinda makes my carpal tunnel act up sadly. But let me know what you think! And If you'd like to see more, there will be more Pennywise in the next chapter.

CH 1

Word count: 2,655

Warnings: Cussing

The drive to Derry was long, a two day trip finally coming to an end as the small town came into view. The town was something out of a Hallmark Christmas movie, but in the middle of summer. Mom and Pop shops lined downtown streets that held maybe half of the small population of residents, all of whom stared at me as I drove past.

"Welcoming little town aren't you?" I muttered to myself while glancing at the paper in my hand.

"2235 Kansas St. At the corner where Kansas St meets Route 2...Now where is that?" Sighing I knew I would have to ask for directions, though I wasn't sure if anyone would actually give them to me. I decided to try one of the stores rather than just rolling my window down and shouting to one of the residents, I was already being given dirty looks, no need to make it worse. Parking in front of what looked like a pharmacy, I proceeded to get out, just barely getting to the front of my car and out of the way of a pickup that almost ran me over, the passenger, a teenage boy, glaring at me as they past.

"Starting to see why mom hates this place" I huffed and straightened out my long black skirt, I guess I should have expected the looks, I'm guessing this town didn't get many visitors, much less ones that could be quickly labeled goth. Making my way to the building I smiled and nodded at two elderly men sitting out front, but again just received blank stares, what the fuck was everyone's problem? Opening the door I was greeted with the default bell jingle that every small shop in America seem to have, as well as the overpowering smell of...I'm not entirely sure, you would think a pharmacy would smell like clearer or something, but this just smelled dirty.

'Remind me not to buy anything'

I looked around but didn't see a soul in the building, despite all the elderly people I had passed on the way. Slowly, I made my way to the back, looking around at the small building that seemed to have not moved past the 80's, and following a popping sound that seemed to grow louder the further back I went.

"You're new here" a female voice spoke, my eyes met those of a woman in her mid to late 30's, curly blonde hair, and an expression that said she would rather be anywhere else. The popping sound, I soon discovered, was her bubblegum.

"Yeah... yeah I'm just a bit lost, can you tell me how to get to" I started while I fished the paper out of my purse, having already forgotten the address.

"The corner of Kansas St and Route 2?" She popped her bubble again, and with a sigh, stated.

"The street behind this place is Maine St, follow that" she paused and looked at me dully.

"Left, at the end you'll come to Route 2, take a right, eventually you'll come across Kansas St" she finished, popping her bubble once more.

"Thanks, I appreciate it" I nodded with a small smile, ready to leave this place already.

"No problem" she replied with the fakest smile I had ever seen

"Welcome to Derry" and just like that her expression was back to being so done with everything. Taking my leave I exited the pharmacy, not paying any mind to the two men outside this time as I just quickly got into my car.

"I guess it's true, hospitality is only in the south" I grumbled as I drove down the street, quickly finding a way to Main St, and began following that. The woman was right, as soon as I got into Route 2 it didn't take long for me to reach the corner of Kansas St, and the house. There weren't any houses nearby, and it seemed like the lot went on for a bit, I wondered just how much land Grandma actually owned here. The house was in good condition, the beige walls going well with the dark brown trim of the three story building, I remember Grandma saying that Grandpa and his brothers had built this house by hand back in the day. Parking my car I stared at the house for a moment, so this is where mom grew up? The sides of the house were blocked off by thick trees, and the remnants of a rope hung from a branch, seeming to have been from an old tire swing, why didn't she want to come back? It seemed like a nice enough house. Stepping out of my car I made my way up to the small iron gate, the lock a little rusty, but working nonetheless, pushing it open I walked up the short path to the front door, cobwebs had already begun to collect around the old wood. I grabbed the key from my purse and unlocked the door, pushing it as it gave an eerily creaking noise while opening. Mom had said that the power would still be on thankfully, so I reached to find the switch, clicking it on once located. The warm glow it gave illuminated the Victorian style furniture that my grandmother loved so much, the inside was in pristine condition, as if someone had just cleaned, or maybe that was just how grandma kept it. I closed the door and began looking around, pictures of my mother when she was a child sat atop the fireplace, along with bottles filled with random herbs and things, in fact, bottles sat everywhere, not in a cluttered sort of way...As if each of them were placed there for a purpose, some even hung by strings on the curtain rods.

"Grandma was into witchy stuff" I jokingly stated as I examined one of the bottles, almost dropping it when the grandfather clock began to chime.

"Get ahold of yourself Liz, geeze you write scary stories for a living after all" placing the bottle back down I turned to head for the stairs, the walls up to the second floor were lined with more pictures of my mom, my grandmother and grandfather, aunts and uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins. Most I had never met, but had heard mom and grandma talk about. Like my grandfather and his two brothers, all of whom served in the army, and died in the Vietnam war. My Grandmother had never remarried, saying that we are only truly destined for one person in our whole lives, and for her, it was my grandfather. 

"This was a big house for just you grandma" I stated as I reached the second floor, feeling even more guilty that I had never visited. The second floor held three rooms, now turned into a storage room, a sewing room, and a guest bedroom.  The third floor held two rooms, the master bedroom which still held all of my grandmother's belongings, and another guest bedroom. I noticed though, a door at the end of the hall.

"Wonder where that leads" I spoke as I made my way to the door, opening it revealed a small narrow staircase, four steps led to another door and I already knew just where this led.

"Your attic better not be haunted grandma" I grabbed the handle and turned it, but it didn't budge. Grabbing the house key I tried, but it was nowhere near the same size as the lock.

"Locked attic door...yup, something out of one of my stories" I stated while going back down the stairs.

"Just gonna close that and I'll come back to it another time" I walked back to my grandma's bedroom, taking the time to look around at her stuff, knowing full well it would only be a matter of time before my aunt and uncles came and took what they wanted, no doubt angry that she left me the house. I smiled as I picked up her perfume, the familiar scent reaching my nose.

"Grandma! Grandma! Look what I made!" I exclaimed, tiny hands holding up the very lopsided stuffed rabbit, my first finished sewing project since she had taught me.

"Why I have never seen anything more beautiful in my whole life! You are a natural! Soon you'll be making gowns for celebrities, the first lady, even the queen of England herself!" She smiled, picking me up and sitting me on her lap to examine the rabbit. I giggled at her words, the thought filled me with pride.

"Do you really think I could?"

"I know you could, you're destined for great things Lizzie, things that only you can do"

I placed the perfume back and walked over to the small glass cabinet, more bottles filled the shelves, along with a few crystals.

"Another nightmare sweety?" My grandmother asked as I cried into her nightgown, I nodded weakly while she stroked my hair.

"The same one?" Again I nodded.

"You know, I used to have bad dreams all the time too" she stated after a moment, I sniffled and looked up at her, tiny hands wiping the tears from my eyes.

"What did you do to make them stop?" 

"I started wearing this" she smiled, showing me a small white stone that hung from her neck, the light grey markings on it almost looking like spiderwebs.

"What's that?" 

"It's a crystal, it's called Howlite, and it makes bad dreams go away" she smiled before standing up and going to her jewelry box, she returned and clipped a small chain around my neck, a white stone just like hers now laid against my chest.

"And now this one will keep yours away too" she smiled.

"Heh...Guess you were kind of a witch huh grandma?" I smiled, reaching up to play with the Howlite that still hung around my neck. I looked around the room some more, stopping once I noticed my name written on an envelope atop a chest in the corner. Opening it I quickly read the letter.

"Dear Lizzie

I know right now you are probably feeling guilty for not keeping in contact more, don't try to deny it, I know you sweety. Dont. Don't feel guilty, I knew the day I left how these things would play out. Everything in life happens for a reason,we all have a purpose, a destiny, something we must do. My role was to be in your life physically, for as long as I was. You grew into such an amazing woman Lizzie, and I'm so proud to be your grandmother. But now it's time for you to walk your destined path, this chest contains as much as you'll need, the recipe is in the attic if you choose to make more. I love you dear, with everything I am and was

Love,Grandma"

I wiped the tears away as I stared at the letter.

"You always seemed to have all the answers" I sniffled while I put the letter back in the envelope, I turned to the chest and opened it, two brown bottles sat inside, and upon examination I realized they were filled with the same pills I had taken my whole life.

'this chest contains as much as you'll need, the recipe is in the attic if you choose to make more'

"As much as I need? Wait...the recipe is in the locked attic? Really grandma?" I sighed, putting the bottle back and closing the chest. 

"I need some air" I shook my head and headed back downstairs, locking the door on my way out. I drove back into town, the sun setting as my stomach alerted me to the fact that I had not eaten anything besides a quick McDonalds breakfast this morning, and it was currently almost six.

"Guess dinner is in order" I told my stomach while looking around the town, I spotted a chinese restaurant and the idea of orange chicken made my stomach go into overdrive. Pulling over I hopped out of my car, noticing far less residents out.

'Guess they turn in super early'

The sign read "Jade of the Orient" and upon entering the building I was met with smells that made my stomach growl even more. The line to be seated though, was a bit long, and looking around I could see that the restaurant was quite packed.

'So they don't turn in early, everyone was just here' I sighed as I sat down on one of the benches, smiling at the man who seemed to be around the same age as the girl in the pharmacy, he smiled back before furrowing his brows.

"Excuse me, sorry to bother you I've just, never seen you around" he stated.

"Oh no it's ok, I just got here today" I told him

"Well I'm Mike, Mike Hanlon. It's nice to meet you Miss…"

"Elizabeth Mills, but please, just call me Liz" I smiled and shook his hand.

"So what brings you to Derry Liz?" He asked as we watched a couple get called for a table.

"Actually, my grandmother just passed...she willed me her house" I stated

"I'm so sorry" he spoke, before questioning

"Are you Diana's granddaughter?" 

"You knew my grandmother?" I asked, though I shouldn't have been surprised, what with how small this town was.

"She was pretty much everyone's grandmother" he laughed

"That sounds like grandma" I smiled

"She would visit me at work a lot too, always had something new to teach" he smiled, seemingly remembering spending time with her.

"Where do you work?" I asked

"The library" he replied, before adding

"Not that glamorous"

"I write scary stories for a living, working at a library sounds fun" I laughed 

"Hanlon" the woman at the front called, causing Mike to stand up, he turned towards me and asked.

"Would you like to join me? I'm sure we each have stories to tell about your grandmother, only if you want of course" My stomach growling answered before I could and caused us both to laugh.

"You know what, I think I'll take you up on that" 

That night I learned about how my grandmother often read to children at the library, or made herbal remedies for people in town, or was just there as a listening ear or words of wisdom for anyone who needed it.

"It's good to know she was the same even here" I smiled as we walked out of the restaurant.

"You're a lot like her" he stated

"Oh I don't know about all that" I laughed

"No you are, she would be proud," he told me as we reached our cars.

"Well, thank you, and thank you for dinner, I was fully willing to pay" I laughed

"It's no problem at all, think of it as a welcome to Derry" 

"Well thank you, and I will be taking you up on that offer of the library visit" I smiled.

"I'll see you then, have a good night Liz" he stated as he walked to his car.

"You too Mike" I waved as I watched him drive away, turning to my car but stopping when I felt like I was being watched, the hairs on my neck standing on ends as I quickly scanned my surroundings, sighing when I didn't see anyone. Ghost I could deal with, dangerous people were more frightening. Getting into my car, I cranked it before looking around once more, stopping when my eyes caught sight of something that simply didn't belong, a single red balloon that slightly floated in front of an alleyway beside the restaurant.

"What the hell?" I watched as it floated up a tiny bit more before suddenly popping.

"You know what, I don't even want to know" I stated as I drove back to the house, still feeling like I was being watched until I was far from the restaurant.

To be continued

Let me know what you think! Hope you enjoyed it :)

#bob gray #clown #itmovie #it chapter one #it chapter 2 #pennywise it #pennywise #pennywise x oc #pennywise imagine #pennywise story #bob gray x oc #bob gray imagine #bob gray story #IT imagine #IT x oc #IT story #you belong to me #chapter 2 #bill skarsgard #bill skasgård

[kiliinstinct]

T for my favourite couple

Alphabet Questions: // send me all the letters 

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

NALU HEADCANONS I WILL DIE DEFENDING HERE WE GO! **cracks knuckles**  ow my carpal tunnel. regret- regret-!

You see Happy with Lucy a lot during Jobs/Battles because Natsu told Happy to “Stay close to Lucy” once and Happy took it to heart and as his duty to ensure Lucy stays safe. 

When re-writing the book of END- Lucy still has slight damages done in her arm from the book’s corruption and sometimes when the pain is too much, Natsu comforts her via his own magic. Heated hands do wonders. 

They didn’t officially get “Romantically” together at the end of the Manga but they implied it was definitely their eventuality and are more than happy to take things as slow as they want and to just let things happen as they come. They’re in no hurry to live out the rest of their lives. They want to enjoy their time together with each and every little small moment there is, without putting a title to it. 

Lucy’s first book was about her adventures and she put a lot of secret, romantic implications between the main character and the characters best friend as a way to admit her feelings for Natsu on paper. 

A lot more guys think Lucy is gorgeous and just their type than Lucy thinks, they’re just not hitting on her anymore after Natsu oh so casually put his arm around her shoulders in conversation and gave them the look while acting completely innocent. Lucy doesn’t notice as much anymore because she’s not looking to date other men anymore or even thinking about it. 

The entire guild has known they would eventually get together long before they did and they’re all just waiting for it to happen already so they can FINALLY cash out some bets and move on with their lives. 

Cana especially because she needs to pay off her bar tab already, dammit. 

Lucy complains about Natsu and Happy breaking in out of habit these days, but 75% of the time she’s inviting them over and finding excuses to cuddle with Natsu anyway and they both know her complaints is merely for show at this point. 

Neither one cares if the other goes on a job with someone else for a day- they know they’re always going to be team mates no matter what and are fully secured in that fact.  But they both sulk like big babies the moment that day job turns into a week long excursion. 

Last but not least-  their first kiss happens impulsively with neither of them thinking about it and the moment it does happen, they both sorta just stood frozen for a good few seconds because “Wow why hadn’t we done that sooner?” Followed by Lucy overthinking it and freaking out- which Natsu found fitting to stop via laughing and kissing her again. 

#lovelyluce #Just Mira Answers #Nalu Headcanons #Nalu #NatsuxLucy #honestly i have a million of these #i could have kept going

[yaidenpart-blog]

Handwriting Vs Typing

In this day and age, it’s common practice to write your stories on the computer. Some eccentrics let their 19. century author self-run free by using a typewriter for the Aesthetic, but, in general, most people toe the line. And then, well, we have the rare breed of writers who handwrite. Rumor has it they’re extinct, but daring folks have been known to spot one or two in the wild, building shelters from old notepaper and gnawing at ink cartridges to survive.

….and I used to be one of them.

For years, I swore to handwriting and honestly, I still kind of do. In spite of having switched over to typing, I feel handwriting at one stage in your drafting can be very beneficial to your process. But whether to go through with it completely is a more difficult decision.

And seeing as I’m familiar with both sides of the coin, I’ll aid you in making a personally beneficial choice.

So let’s figure out if handwriting is for you.

Pro’s of Handwriting

Imagine, you’re at your desk and need to write an idea down quickly. You could turn your laptop on, or grab a napkin and scribble in two seconds flat without having to open an app first. Physically move things around when outlining, quickly add arrow and colors, and easily look at several pieces of paper at the same time while writing. It’s simply said a more organic and immediate affair.

And so is revising by hand. There is a reason why many editors still demand printed copies of your manuscripts, I’ve noticed a certain screen blindness overcomes you when you’ve stared at a document for ten hours straight, blurring every paragraph into mush. The distance between the keyboard and the letters appearing on the screen leaves an artificial aftertaste like fake grape juice sticking to the roof of your mouth.

Handwriting not only strikes a more natural connection to your brain but also motivates extremely. Once you filled a notebook up you can hold milestones in your fingers, trace every physical accomplishment you’ve made. Even if the notebook fills up to the brim when you’re only at the half point mark of your story – kind of turning the victory stale as you grope for the next notebook to continue – it still serves as a way to keep track of your project that’s more physical and satisfying than a digital word count.

Speaking of word counts, this brings us to our most crucial point: deleting.

Or more, compulsive deleting and ‘editing’ while in the trenches of writing your first draft, the unspoken bane of all writers. Editing as you go is a terrible life choice for most people, and I thank past me every day for choosing to write by hand so I didn’t have to deal with that burden as a newbie on top of everything else. Basically, editing as you go will prevent you from achieving the peak of your productiveness by trapping you in a vicious cycle of editing and deleting which at the end of the day won’t have gotten you any further along the path of completing your story. However, writing by hand makes it more difficult for this cycle to lure you into its clutches. The only way for you to delete sections in by scratching them out or by drawing crazy mind maps with arrows along the page borders. And this forces you to silence your perfectionist urges and get the draft on paper in one go instead of editing every single line to death and never finishing anything.

Another viable reason to consider switching to handwriting could be your health, many people suffer from carpal tunnel or other issues like eye strain through working on a computer. And there is absolutely no shame in putting your health first.

Cons

Now after waxing poetic about writing by hand for 400 words, it’s time to reveal the big con which prompted me to jump ship after years of dedicated handwriting. It is-

-Dramatic Pause-

Having to write your draft two times when you want it as a digital file.

Which turned into a problem because redoing things unnecessarily like this grew to too much of a strain on my hands, even if it was just writing the story twice. Though I’m aware most people probably won’t encounter this particular problem. So the only thing left to take into consideration for you, my friendo, is the time extensiveness inherited to becoming an ink cartridge gnawer. If you’re especially inpatient having to spend time on retyping your story might not be a compromise you’re willing to make.

One of the pros previously mentioned is actually a con in disguise. The limited line editing capability of handwriting turns into a disadvantage when your issues don’t lie with perfectionism but with underwriting. I like to go back and forth on the page, adding content to paragraphs I’ve written before while simultaneously slapping on new sentences. This method is less accomplishable on paper and leads to underwritten stories being, well, extremely underwritten. At least until they’re through a few edit rounds on the computer, sweat lining your brow as revision evolves into a Herculean effort without your consent.

If you’re an underwriter typing is a blessing preventing you from having to go through hell later on in revision. But does typing have actual cons as well? Probably. Hopefully. Or this post will end on a pretty weak note.

Typing and all that Jazz

The pros of typing are obvious, modern world wouldn’t get by without someone happily tipping away on a keyboard or screen.

I personally changed my process from manual to working on a tablet for several reasons, including the flat screen being the closest to paper I could find while keeping the advantage of not having to transcribe my writing to a digital format.

But for you handwriting might be very well worth it. It does have many benefits, and typing could just annoy you enough to try.

The cons of typing include but are not limited to Enablement of Perfectionism™, as we talked about before in the pros of handwriting. Typing enables by tempting us into editing and editing, backspacing and deleting whole chunks of our work instead of continuing to actually write, giving off the illusion of productivity which later on reveals itself to be hollow when it turns out you only managed to write 50 words in five hours.

So if you struggle with that syndrome, I seriously recommend handwriting, it might sound painful at first not to edit, but constant perfectionism while drafting will be the true fatal foe that’ll stop you from attaining your goals.

Otherwise, pros of typing are the instant gratification of showing someone your work per google docs or other means, as well as the high working speed you’re able to reach. As well as the fact that computers are an all constant, making it easy to sneak a bit of writing in while at work without being forced into rewriting it at home to add it to your original project file. The cons and pros of both methods kind of tangle and interplay with each other, at the end it’s a purely personal decision which you choose, but I hope this post gave you some thought chew about which way is actually best suited to your workflow.

Pretty unsatisfying conclusion, huh? No straightforward answer saying what’s best for everyone. But that’s life folks, everything is all confusing subjectivity and grey areas and then you die.

#writing #writers on tumblr #writing tips #writing advice #handwriting #handwriting vs typing #writerblr

[reflectionsforalostsoul]

Time just slips away...

TRIGGER WARNING

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.

.

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TW Suicide

I’m just not really sure sometimes. Some days I feel okay, and the others I get sad again. My memory loss has affected me greatly. 

I will find a note on my phone or something on a piece of paper that I had deemed important, maybe a moment of inspiration or a message to Ronnie and I no longer have any idea what I am talking about. I found some lovely story notes yesterday that I had written a couple of years ago. I only know the time frame because I like to send myself messages on Facebook so I don’t forget things and happily I stumbled across messages where the names matched up to some of the notes in the notebook. I had been fretting because at the time I wrote the stuff down I had used abbreviations instead of names at times. One I saw repeatedly was MC, which I assumed stood for main character. A logical assumption, right? Yet another I couldn’t figure out. Repeatedly I saw a ™ referenced. Docs keeps correcting this to a trademark symbol (facepalm). 

It has been bothering me a lot. I had done a lot of work and I obviously cared about this character, but couldn’t glean from the notebook what it stood for. I hate writing things by hand, and evidently thought it wasn’t necessary to fully write it out. If I focus really hard I can vaguely recall the inspiration. It is of course mine, there are usually recurring themes in stories that I plan to write. But what did it mean?

Then today in messenger I had typed it out. Swype keyboards are so much faster than writing in pencil, thank god!  Taxi Man. How did I forget that? You obviously don’t know what Taxi Man means, so let me explain it to you, as best my memory can allow. 

My childhood was kind of rough. 

My family was quite poor and my parents didn’t have what you would call a happy marriage. My Father was abusive to everyone in the household. Both mentally and physically. When he was home sometimes it felt like being in a literal nightmare. You know that prickle of terror you feel on the back of your neck in a nightmare sometimes? Or those moments where you were so terrified that when you tried to scream no sound could escape your lips? It was like that sometimes. My Father was prone to mood swings, drank, and abused drugs. He had a myriad of problems, and refused to work. Just to give you some background on my state of mind when I first encountered the Taxi Man. 

So, to say I suffered from depression would be too simple. I was 14 years old and also dealing with normal hormonal changes. Ah..puberty. It will wreck you emotionally. Compound that with irregular periods and you have a recipe for disaster. 

I often thought of suicide. I didn’t really want to die, but I wanted my life as it was currently to end. I was tired of my life. Tired of the abuse. Tired of feeling alone. I cried constantly and did anything I could to avoid going home. My Father and I butted heads frequently. I was the only one in the house who dared stand up to him. 

This wasn’t what you think normal teenage drama is like. I was not rebelling because I wanted a late curfew, this was literally, “How fucking dare you put your hands on my Mother!” I had been terrified of him as a child, but there are only so many times that you can be hurt and pain still work as a fear tactic or parental deterrent. It wasn’t always in defense of my Mother either. Sometimes it was for my little sisters’ sake. 

My Father had quit working when I was about six and a half years old. He was trying to get disability for carpal tunnel, so my Mother got a job full time. My sisters were 2 years and 6 months old, respectively. If you thought my Father was going to change diapers or maintain the house while my Mother worked you’d sadly be mistaken. 

I am not complaining. I was never resentful. I had always been what my Mom called a Mother Hen. I loved my little sisters. So, I changed diapers, gave baths, brushed their hair. I dressed them, tucked them in, and tried to teach them stuff. How many times did I work on ABCs or counting? The situation was a bit confusing for them though. My youngest sister called my Mom frequently, and even the other made that mistake at times. I know it broke my Mother’s heart. She had missed out on the most important time for development in my youngest sister’s life, but there wasn’t anything to do about it. She had no family close by and I think was still trying to maintain appearances about her relationship with my Father. 

My Mother broke my heart. To me she was the most magnificent woman. I knew that I had the prettiest Mom. She had a beautiful singing voice. She was smart. Well read. But so painfully shy. She was that kind of person who couldn’t ever speak up for themselves. I remember being frustrated going to stores with her when I was young because she was too shy to ask an employee for help if she couldn’t find something. We would instead wander for what felt like hours until she managed to find the item she was looking for, or something that would just have to do. I am a protective person, it is just my nature, hence why Mom called me Mother Hen. So eventually I would stop a store employee and ask for her. She never would have asked me to do such a thing, and maybe this embarrassed her at times too. But to watch your parent struggle over such a simple task is heartbreaking. I couldn’t fathom why she had such difficulty speaking. 

But I loved my Mother and would do anything for her, so I decided to be her voice. I was always a rather take charge kind of person. 

So, of course I argued for her sake. I argued for the sisters that I loved in a deeper motherly way. I couldn’t stand how he treated them. It is one thing to pick on someone who can defend themselves, but my Mother and little sisters could not. That was our life. I could go on and on, but it is enough to give you an idea of why I had suicidal ideation. 

So, let me tell you how I met the Taxi Man. It was in a dream. The dream started with me sitting in the front passenger seat of an old fashioned Taxi. From the 1940’s, with pronounced fender flares. 

It was nighttime and we were traveling down a winding road with open fields for as far as the eye could see on either side towards a forest. In the driver seat sat an ancient man wearing a top hat. His shoulder length wispy grey hair was disheveled. A tag hung from the band of his hat, though I don’t know if it said anything at all. It was probably too old to have anything legible on it. His suit was tweed with patches on the elbows. He had a dingy white cravat that I imagine would have fluttered hauntingly if the windows had been cracked. Definitely someone interesting that you would have tried to absorb every detail of, but I was beginning to panic at not knowing how I got there.

“Where are we?” I asked, panic rising in my throat.

That is when he turned and reached towards me. That is when I saw it.

He had no eyeballs. 

His eye sockets were empty aside from small flames. You know that prickle feeling I mentioned earlier? It was happening now. He did not answer me, nor did he touch me. He instead reached past me, opened the glove compartment, and returned his hand to the wheel. I turn from him and look inside and am surprised to see a small television screen. 

It clicks on, and I am unable to look away, for I see myself in my own bedroom. I am sitting on the floor with letters scattered all around me. Mascara courses down my cheeks as I sob uncontrollably. I am unsure. I don’t remember this ever happening. Then the screen darkens again. That is when the Taxi Man spoke. 

“You killed yourself. That is why you are here.”

I quickly glance around and see that we don’t seem to be any closer to the forest, though the car has never stopped moving. The small television blinks back on and I see a funeral. There is a church, my family, and even classmates standing in groups talking quietly. My Mother stands by my casket crying into a scarf. She looks devastated and broken. My sisters are holding her hands, but their heads hang down. They do not lift their gaze even when someone stops to offer condolences. 

Then I see my ex-boyfriend walk in by himself, carrying a white rose. He pauses at the back of the room, the prospect of my casket seeming too much for him to handle. 

“It has not been decided yet.”

“What hasn’t?” I gasped. 

“Where you are going. You’ve killed yourself. I cannot take you to Heaven. So you will have to wait while it is decided. It is going to feel like an eternity.”

Again I noted that the car was not any closer to the forest, though the car kept a steady place. It suddenly made sense.

“Is this purgatory?”

The Taxi Man just nodded, his lips curving slightly. Was it an attempt to smile? I didn’t sense any malice from him. Just eternalness, and maybe… Maybe this was his way of trying to comfort me. The thought of an eternal wait, with your very soul hanging in the balance is quite frightening. 

It was an important dream to me. It felt so real. Like I had been given a warning. I thought of the Taxi Man frequently throughout the years, even sketched him a couple times. I just cannot forget him. I even dreamt of him more recently, though the interaction was not always pleasant. So, how did I not realize what ™ stood for in my notes? It is a frustrating thing. Though I never stay sad for too long. I always forget and move on to some other train of thought. Thanks for listening.

#tw suicide memory loss existential dread abuse top hat man

[labgrownsteaks]

Chapter 9

Guy worked on the loading dock of a local thrift store. It was Friday, and he was looking forward to the weekend. Looking forward to the trip they were all going to take. He had googled about Siri’s “malfunction” and came up with nothing. He also hadn’t ruled out that since the actual unit was a knockoff, that perhaps it was simply defective. That’s what Vitamin’s mom gets for buying him a fake Siri Egg he thought as he lifted up a box of old keyboards onto a flimsy aluminum shelf. 

Joyce came up the dirty steps. She was in her 60s, and supposed had a broken back, carpal tunnel, “neurological issues”, sleep apnea, and every other thing she saw a product advertised for on the shopping channel. If the shopping channel had a way to fix it, she had to have it. She was the floor manager, essentially the person put in charge of keeping all the miscreants that worked there in line. 

“Whadduya doin with that box of keyboards? That’s for recycle!” she yapped while hobbling towards the shelving unit. 

“Oh, these are still good. The MX2000 is actually better than most modern laptop keyboards. If somebody had an old Module Console this would definitely come in handy” Guy stated diplomatically. 

“Crap. Crap Crap. Box full of crap.” She said as she rummaged through the box. “Crap.” she said as she tossed each keyboard in the giant rubbermade container. “Crap” She said as she through an old computer textbook into the “book box” . “Crap” as she threw a shrink wrapped pack of cassette tapes into the garbage. “Throw away the crap! Is it that hard?” The ironic thing was that Joyce probably had more crap than anybody else. She would come on Sundays when nobody was there, and unload boxes of it, and they’d be waiting for me Monday morning. Strange pillows to improve your posture while you sleep, garbage bags full of yarn, and an assortment of pressure plates for your feet. Of course all of this stuff had to go out on the floor , and of course it had to be priced just under what she paid for it, which pretty much meant the store was become a boutique of her discarded items. 

“Throw away the crap!” she stated as she walked down the steps. Guy walked over to the recycling, and the garbage, and got everything out and took it to his car, which was parked just a few steps from the loading dock. It was a pretty common occurrence during his workday. In fact, he couldn’t remember a day where he had come home empty handed, the only problem now of course, was that his stuff was now filling up his house. And his storage unit....and his other storage unit.. As Guy was walking back he saw a jacked up Chevy pulling up, it had a organ tied up in the back. Guy knew the organ would be “crap” and wouldn’t be worth unloading, so he talked the driver into coming over to his place after work. He’d give him 40 bucks for it. He could actually use an organ. 

Around lunchtime Vitamin, and Erin showed up with a bag full of McDonalds. 

“Burger for the working man?” Erin said as we walked down the alley. Guy was actually a pretty big dude, standing 6′ 5″ and coming in at around 250lbs. Even though he was a complete dork, he was built like a barrel and looked like the kind of person who could handle himself on a ranch. 

“What’s up goobers” Guy said as we approached. 

“Chow time” I responded, while stuffing a fry into mouth. 

We sat down together on the loading dock, and it didn’t take long for the subject of Siri to come up. 

“You can’t be serious about this shit bruh” Guy said to me. 

“What’s the alternative? We’ve been given a quest. An actual quest!” Erin said “Siri played Lord of The Rings for fucks sake!” 

“What do you do when you see a fork in the road Guy?” I said. “You take it!”

“You stole that from somewhere! I’ve heard that before” Guy said

“Yeah, probably, have no idea where from though” 

“So when are we dropping tomorrow?” Guy stated while biting into his burger. 

“Around 10, then we’re headed down to the river. It’s supposed to be nice out. We can hang out in the woods by the banks and plot” Erin stated

“Sweet, I’ll meet y’all there then” Guy said

“Tomorrow is the test. It’s going to be a big trip! “ Erin said

“A test for what?” Guy said

“If we can work together” Erin continued. “If we’re really going to pull this off, we’ve got to be able to work together” 

“Look. Even if we did break into Quicksilver. What would we do then? Like, what am I supposed to do? Just push the delete key, and walk back out?! The place is full of cameras. Literally, if I got in, I legit would have no idea of what to do....like...none” 

“How can we ignore this? “ I stated. “Like. Can you imagine getting old and having this chance and not taking it?”

“This isn’t a chance bruh. This is illegal. I’m not breaking in. Nope. Not doing it” Guy looked up at me and  Erin, and I could sense that he could sense our disappointment. “Seriously! No....Fucking.....way! Can you imagine me in prison? And for breaking into Quicksliver!” 

Erin had a sneak attack. “Didn’t Quicksilver basically destroy the entire dream of the world wide web?” 

“Yes. Quicksilver sucks. Yes, they are evil incarnate. Yes. They’re making the world a worse  place. No. No. No am I going to break into their headquarters. No chance!” 

We could hear Joyce coming up the steps. Guy shooed us away “Get out of here!” and we took off down the alley. They weren’t supposed to have lunch breaks, which basically meant the day was an all day snackathon for everyone who worked there. 

“You see that pocket fishing pole set?” Joyce squawked. 

“Nope. I think we put that out a couple weeks ago” Guy responded

“well it’s gone, and Linda doesn’t remember selling it either so.”

“Ok. Well I’ll keep an eye out for it” 

Joyce muttered something as she hobbled back down the steps. Guy could see Erin and me at the end of the alleyway. He watched us as we got onto our “motorcycles” and drove off. 

Another local to the thrift store scene was Ryan, and he pulled up to the Loading Dock in a 1978 Ford Fairmont. It was completely rusted out. The drivers side floor panel was actually gone, so when you rode with him you basically felt like you were in a Flintstone car. He had a bunch of Ham radio gear on the dash, and the sounds of James Brown were blasting as he rolled up. He was also prone to intermittent James Brown impersonations. He opened the door with some swag, and threw his jet black hair back. he had transitions lens in his glasses, and one of those baseball hats on that made him look like a Hollywood film director. 

“Got something for ya buddy!” Ryan stated as he walked up to the dock with a book in his hands. “You still collectin textbooks?” 

“Of course. How could I stop?” Guy responded.

“Super rare. I found it at State Surplus” he said as he handed guy the old textbook. It had a Blue canvas cover, no dustjacket, just the embossed “gold” font on the front. And it simply said ZXBASIC on it in bold letters. Guy began to thumb through the book, seemed pretty standard. Black and white diagrams for outdated programming languages that he loved so dearly. 

“Check the front page” Ryan said, and Guy flipped the pages back and inspected the first page. It read. 

ZXBASIC and Finite State Machines

Hyperdine Systems Inc. 

1967 

“Hyperdine was the first iteration of Quicksilver. Check the logo! It’s still the same. You could definitely get something for it on Ebay. Some fanboy would probably pay a pretty penny!” 

Guy felt annoyed at this point. It was one of those times, like when you stub your toe minutes before you have to take a interview for a job on the phone, and then your toast burns and stinks up the house, and the postman decides that now is a good time to get into a conversation with your neighbor who is restraining their barking dog in the apartment next door. Everything bad happens all at once. In this case, he felt like he was being pushed. And Guy didn’t like to be pushed. He just wanted to sit at home, with his new organ, and learn how to play inagaddavita amongst all of his plastic computer friends. 

“Thanks man!” Guy said. “This is really dope!” . Another car had pulled up, and a nervous middle aged woman with a small dog was waiting. Ryan noticed and popped back into his car. “don’t say I never did anything for ya man!” He said while starting his car up. The radio blared James Brown. 

Get up, (get on up) Get up, (get on up) Stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up)  

Guy looked back down at the beautiful code in the book. “What had Quicksilver become?” He thought. They had been so cool. Why did they have to just turn to crap? The woman pulled up and popped her trunk. She was pulling a dog carrier out of it. “Oh sorry!” Guy stated. “We’ve already got a ton of carriers. Maybe try Goodwill?” The woman, in her 40s gave him an exasperated look, and suddenly the carrier seemed to weigh a million pounds, and it was a major issue to get it back into the car. The rest of the day was pretty slow, and guy chilled out, on a nice fall day outside, and read ZXBASIC. 

#lgs

[teacuphuman09]

Inspired by our Incepti-con trip to Portland. Read it on AO3 here.

The Arthur

When Arthur didn’t take Eames’ intentions seriously, Eames got a little impulsive. What else was he expected to do when the love of his life laughed in his face? And okay, maybe Arthur hadn’t laughed, but a raised eyebrow was nearly the same thing, with a man like that.

So Eames bought a hotel. It wasn’t terribly large, or posh, or anything else that made it a decent investment, really, but Eames felt a kindred spirit in the shabby rooms and crumbling facade of the building. He couldn’t reject it the way a certain cruel, but ridiculously gorgeous point man had rejected him.

When the safety inspector ruled the building unsafe after what was really a very small electrical fire, Eames took out his frustrations on the empty rooms. Lovingly and with a large sledgehammer. He worked day and night, demolishing the interior of the building until it was a blank canvas once again, fresh and primed for greatness.

A year later, after doubling the budget and tripling down on bribing the right people, Eames was left with four stories of crisp white brickwork, Tuscan columns, and terracotta panels decorated with wreaths, cartouches and pineapple motifs. Twenty-one bright and spacious units with the original exposed brickwork, sturdy wood beams, and hardwood floors. It was everything Eames wanted it to be, and more. It had been a difficult and trying process, but it was also rewarding and steadying, bringing him a contentment he hadn’t expected. The building was beautiful and elegant. Sedate, but unforgettable. His named his building The Arthur.

Eames filled the units with people who fascinated him. A preschool teacher who also happened to be a world class axe thrower, a ballet dancer who had lost his leg to childhood cancer, a deaf couple and their delightful daughter Penny, who had the brightest eyes Eames had ever seen and a nose for mischief. But even with every suite full, Eames was lonely.

He bought rubber trees and ferns for the lobby and named them all Arthur. He bought a goldfish, a cat, and a dog, all of whom he called Arthur. His car, his bike, his ill-fated razor scooter, all christened Arthur, and all failing to fill the hole in his heart where the real Arthur belonged.

A boat, his favourite pen, even his left hand, none of them held a candle to the point man of his dreams. His left hand made a valiant effort but carpal tunnel was becoming a real fear and he had to cut back or risk serious injury. He sent pictures and letters to Arthur, showing him his collection and baring his soul, but still, Arthur didn’t want him.

Then one summer day, in the middle of a heat wave that had the occupants of The Arthur hiding inside with their air conditioning units, and Penny was playing amongst the Arthur trees, pretending the Arthur couch was the Arthur boat and that she was discovering the great land of Arthur all on her own, the real Arthur stepped through the door.

“Hello,” Arthur said.

“You’re Arthur,” Penny said, her bright green eyes staring up at him with wonder.

“I am,” Arthur confirmed with a single raised eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

“Everyone knows you.”

“Really?” Arthur smiled, intrigued and a little smug.

“Of course. You’re Real Arthur. The one Eames loves.” Penny told him with more authority than he would have expected from a six-year-old.

“Why would you say that?” Arthur asked, sinking his shaking hands into his pockets and  looking around the lobby for an adult.

Penny scrunched up her face. “Because Eames told me.”

“Eames told you that he loves me?” Arthur choked out.

“Why else would he name everything Arthur? Plus, there’s a picture of you on every floor. And two in the elevator.”

Arthur slumped down to the couch beside her just as a mangy grey dog came trotting in, going straight to Penny so she could scratch behind his ears.

“Who’s that?” Arthur asked, warily.

Penny gave him a funny look and giggled as the dog licked her hand. “This is Arthur, of course.”

Arthur blew out his breath and sank further into the cushions. “So he really did name everything after me? It wasn’t a joke?”

“There’s nothing better than Arthur,” Penny said in a rather good imitation of Eames’ accent. “Arthur’s the only one worth having.”

Arthur ran a shaking hand over his face. “I thought he was kidding. Teasing me, like he always does. Professing his love in the same breath as his coffee order.”

“Maybe he was scared,” Penny said, patting the spot next to her until the Arthur dog jumped up to curl on the pale brocade upholstery. “He acts real brave, but he’s afraid of spiders.”

“I know,” Arthur laughed weakly. “He’s afraid of cows, too.”

“And ostriches,” Penny said wisely.

Arthur smile. “With reason. This one time in Texas we were running from—well, nevermind. His fear of ostriches is warranted, that’s all.”

“He’s afraid of you,” Penny told him.

Arthur let out a shuddery breath. “Why would he be afraid of me?” Arthur ran his fingers over the surprisingly soft, silvery coat of Arthur the dog.

“Because love is terrifying.”

Arthur nodded. “You’re very wise.”

“I know. I can hold my breath for two whole minutes.”

“I am impressed,” Arthur told her seriously, and idea forming in his head as the slid his fingers over the silky-smooth skin of the dog Arthur’s ears. “If I leave will you promise not to tell Eames I was here?”

Penny crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you going to make him sad again?”

Arthur winced. “Not this time. At least not on purpose. I want to go get Eames a present, would that be okay?”

“The only thing he wants is you. And for West Ham to win the Premier League.”

“Naturally,” Arthur agreed. “I can’t do anything about West Ham, but I promise I’ll be back later today and that I will make Eames smile, okay?”

“Okay,” Penny said, clearly not believing him. “But if you don’t come back before bedtime, I’m telling.”

“Deal.” Arthur nodded and hurried out the door.

Two hours later, while Penny was helping Eames water the Arthur trees, Real Arthur threw open the door to the building, dragging a stack of orange Saarinen Eames chairs behind him.

“Arthur?” Eames said, startled.

“Hello, Eames,” Arthur responded, placing the chairs around the lobby. Once they had all been given a home, Arthur sat down in the one directly in front of Eames, crossing his long legs and leaning back, acting much braver than he felt.

Eames stared at him, dumbfounded while Penny giggled behind her hands.

“Arthur, what in world are you doing here?”

“I came to see my building. And my plants. And my dog, of course.”

“Okay,” Eames said slowly. “And the chairs?”

“This is The Arthur, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Eames said, looking nervous.

“Well, you can’t have Arthur without Eames, can you? It just isn’t right. I mean, an Arthur without an Eames is incomplete. Adrift. Lost in a world without love and affection. It doesn’t make sense. Why on earth would an Arthur ever want to live without an Eames?” His voice cracked near the end, but he held Eames’ gaze like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

“Because Eames is a fool,” Eames said quietly. “Caught in the misery that comes from desperately wanting what you can’t have.”

“That sounds an awful lot like Arthur without Eames. An Arthur madly in love with an Eames he doesn’t think is sincere because Arthur can’t shake off his own uncertainty enough to see that the joke he thinks is being carelessly hurled in his face is in fact, a confession of love, masked by uncertainty and fear.”

Eames stared at him, hope and caution flitting across his face in equal measure. “You are quite terrifying,” Eames said, chancing a smile.

“And quite in love with you,” Arthur told him seriously, standing up.

Eames let out a choked sob, but his face broke into a grin. “And the chairs?”

“They’re comfortable. And Eames seems like someplace I’d like to rest for a while.”

“Just for a while?” Eames stepped forward, his hand skimming Arthur’s waist.

“Forever, if you’ll have me.”

“Oh darling, I will,” Eames said, pulling Arthur to him and pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Besides,” Eames pulled back a few inches. “Your look good sitting on an Eames.”

Arthur shook his head, but his smile was so wide it hurt his face. He kissed Eames again, his arms holding them together tightly.

They lost themselves for a while, clinging and touching, trying to make up for all the time they’d wasted. There, in the lobby of The Arthur, surrounded by Eames chairs, Eames finally got his Arthur and Arthur finally got his Eames.

“So,” Penny called out from behind them. “Does this mean I can change the dog’s name to Julip?”

#Inception #arthur x eames #The Arthur #Portland

[monarchstudies]

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way a licensed psychologist (as of yet), & so do not take this in the same light as you would a licensed psychologist. This is made to help future & current college students understand what it’s like to go through college with an invisible disability, as per my own experience of having invisible disablities, plus working at my job in my university’s Students with Disabilities Services office. This post is not excluding those with visible disabilities, but it is merely shining a light on something that isn’t talked about as much.

The term ‘invisible disability’ may confuse some people who have never heard it. According to the Invisible Disabilities Association’s website, the following is the official definition of this term: 

People often ask what the term invisible disability means. To define invisible disability in simple terms is a physical, mental or neurological condition that limits a person’s movements, senses, or activities that is invisible to the onlooker. Unfortunately the very fact that these symptoms are invisible, can lead to misunderstandings,  false perceptions and judgments. 

For the sake of this post, we will stick with the four I have personally been afflicted with: chronic insomnia, severe depression, arthritis, & anxiety. Below is an anecdote about my invisible disabilities & what I went through in college.

When I started college in 2015, I was already diagnosed with the four disorders listed above due to severe trauma experienced throughout my childhood & into adolescence. I had been going through psychotherapy as a result, but halted it because the distance was too great for me to travel (especially since I don’t have a car). I had also been diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome (a misdiagnosis upon my doctor’s part, which eventually got diagnosed correctly as arthritis), & it was difficult to write notes or even sit in class due to the almost unbearable amounts of pain in my left hand, plus my insomnia had been pretty much kicking my butt, & so I decided it was time to go to my university’s Students with Disabilities Services office (it may be named something different on your college’s campus). 

The front desk assistant (who became my co-worker) was very kind, but I was afraid to tell her that I really wanted help with my insomnia, depression, & anxiety in an academic sense, so I only talked to her about how I could barely write due to my carpal tunnel. She gave me some papers in regarding how to get registered with their office, as well as what forms to bring in from my doctor regarding my disability. 

The word disability made me not come back to that office until I started working there in August of 2016. This was because I believed that the word ‘disability’ was reserved for people who were in wheelchairs, or had lost limbs, or had traumatic brain injuries, or had Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Working for SDS changed my view on this, but it was that initial stigma of being labeled with a disability that halted me from getting the help I desperately needed for an entire year in college. 

Fast forward to October of 2016. I’m suffering. I finally got back into therapy thanks to my university’s counseling center, but I’m still suffering academically. There are days where I can’t get out of bed from my depression or my joints locking up painfully, days where I’m so exhausted I can barely see the board, days where I physically cannot be in the classroom or else I might have some form of an anxiety attack, days where my own professors ask me if I was okay because my eyes were red & I was trembling. My job at SDS is wonderful, & I started to learn about what’s known as ‘invisible disabilities’, which a lot of the students we service have. I learn from my Associate Director, who had been concerned about my change in persona at work, that I can register as a student with the office. I’m immediately getting those feelings of the ‘stigma’ again, but she assures me about the one thing our office holds to highly: confidentiality. 

In order to keep this story short, I registered with the Students with Disabilities Services office. I had to get some paperwork from my counselor & submit it, register online with the initial application, & then meet with my assigned coordinator about what they could do to help me better myself academically. Everything - as my Associate Director said - was confidential. The only people who knew that I was registered with the office was the SDS office themselves, my counselor, & my teachers, who I had to provide a ‘Letter of Accommodations’ that only told them that I had accommodations, but nothing about my actual disabilities. I was in control about who got to know about this.

Now, in my final year of college, I’m feeling ready. I have my university behind me every step of the way, helping me deal with my invisible disability as I finish off college. 

So future & current college students, take this away from this post:

If you have an invisible disability & it is hurting you academically, don’t be afraid to seek help through your university. Your school’s counseling center will not judge you. Your therapist outside of school will not judge you (if your school does not have its own counseling center). Your Disabilities Office will not judge you. They are there to help you, & they will do so with confidentiality & your best interests in mind. 

It is not like high school or middle school, where your parents had to jump through the fire hoops that is the school administration to get you the accommodations you need. YOU are in control of who gets to know about your disability, & that is a right you get while being in college. 

While perusing your school’s website, look through their Disabilities Office tab/website. Take some time to read through what they offer, or even give a call to their office to talk to someone on the phone about things you’re not sure about. Your counselor’s office is often linked closely with the Disabilities Office, & so you may also find help there with your own counselor. 

Do not believe in the ‘you won’t get this kind of treatment in the outside world’ talk you may receive from friends, family, or staff members outside of the Disabilities Office. Industrial/Organizational Psychologists are beginning to help companies & businesses understand the importance of positive mental health within the workplace. If employees have poor mental health, it will be detrimental to their business, & so more & more employers are trying their best to implement the ability to take Mental Health Days to aid in better employee mental health. 

And, most of all:

Whatever your invisible disability is, it is valid. It is real, & if it is affecting you, you have every right to seek help to try & find something/someone to help you get better.

If you have any further questions or concerns regarding this, feel free to inbox me at any point in time. Hope this possibly changed your mind or assisted in de-stigmatizing invisible disabilities. 

#studyblr #resource post #studyblr post #college resource #studyquill #lookstudyblr #studywithinspo #obsidianstudy #invisible disabilities #college #university #college tips #university tips #university student #college student #uni student #resource #disability #small studyblr network #Small Studyblrs Unite #monarchstudies #studyblr resource #studyblr resources #heystudyblr #studypetals #bujoblr #small studyblr #planner #studyign #monarchposts

[legalist217]

Do Voldemort/Snape/Umbridge lmao

I think you’re overestimating my ability to not be creative about the situation, as well as my self-preservation and my interest in women because that’s what makes Umbridge rank worst from an SO perspective. (she’s not even a pretty woman, she’s a super gross woman inside and out, so it does nothing for me on any level, meh, bleh, weh)

This got lengthy so it’s under a cut, you’re welcome, enjoy. And I bothered to put these into exactly no logical canon timeframe. 

Well get this out of the way, fake date umbridge. because I will find ways to mortify her. I will drag her to youmacon. I will point out a photograph taken of Nancy Pelosi in a pink suit with all the Senate pages and then assure her that, no, of course you’re just as pretty in your headmistress photo as that Muggle politician is. Why would there even be a comparison. dear. [this is a real photo that we saw being taken at the Capitol when we toured circa HBP’s film coming out; we had to stifle giggles] 

And then arrange a scenario where she’s jailed for tax evasion. I’m not marrying the toad; no fifth amendment protections for non-spouse SOs as I recall. I assume MACUSA can ensure she’s put somewhere good and tedious. 

(note: this is the only scenario where I envisioned it happening in america)

now, hm. I guess I would slow burn Voldemort because I reckon if you’re his stated enemy, that’s probably not a changeable status. He’s all emotionally stunted in that way. So enemies to lovers doesn’t seem plausible. So, then, I guess I’m some Bellatrix-esque tart, except, well, myself. So rather than wetting myself over THE DAHHK LAWD, I’m just mildly amused at his fascist goals. “That’s a way to do it, I suppose, but hate’s a pretty tedious method to carry on with the world, and let’s remember that you never actually held power long term *ducks AK* so maybe something less... Hitlery? Oh don’t look at me like that, you grew up in muggle-trash London, you know who Hitler is.” 

And it goes on and on and on and on and on and it is a slow burn because he’s incapable of love and I think the best we manage for much of the run before the author begins developing carpal tunnel is “I barely tolerate her because she has 0.01% of a point; I tell the others she is too amusing to kill.” At least now I have slytherin creds to brandish to get a foot in the door. 

And being endlessly at such a tenuous “I guess that was almost funny, so I won’t murder you?” stage, I don’t have to figure out how to kiss a noseless man or how to deal with a jealous pet snek. 

you’re going to regret this

Enemies to lovers is a very tolerable way to deal with Snape, given the options on this playing field. Professors who tell you that your answer is wrong only for the right answer to be “the same thing but because I said it, it’s right” are my least fuckin faves. Snape treads close to that territory. 

But again, I have slytherin creds now. I’m also quite impulsive, so I can see myself writing him an annoyed owl after a class detailing specific moments where his behavior decreased the educational advantage to Housemates and how this is him not being a benefit to team and should I go to Dumbledore about this; like give that one gryffindor kid double shit, dude might deserve it for all I know [I am bad at popular gossip when it comes to school IRL], but stop fuckin it up for us and maybe for other students who are genuinely trying, ya pissant. And while Snape is very much a pissant, I think he also cares a lot about the House. And to a degree, his job; he definitely gave a fuck when he was sixteen about teaching potions because he was rewriting the goddamned book. 

So, I dunno, maybe I can get through to him. I still get detention for unmitigated sass, but I knew that’d happen. Too bad he doesn’t realize how much I am wont to chat while working. And I have an IRL habit of roping even introverts into talking with me when I’m inclined to. What’s he gonna do, give me more detention? I don’t give a shit. I’ll clean this office and every office. Why the hell not. Castle’s an interesting place. How often do I get an elf’s eye view of the place? And anyway are there any good articles out on lacewing colony collapse disorder, because I hear that might screw over the polyjuice industry? Any good places to write? Lacewings are aptly named, you gotta admit. They need more words devoted to them. And then I force him to read my poetry because who the fuck else here knows about lacewings aside from maybe Hagrid who has automatic distrust of green robes? He tells me it sucks. I grin. (I cry later, but that’s not because he said it, just because no one wants to hear that their poem sucks in such flat words.)

In real life, I’m still in touch with some of my professors after graduation and some of them have outright said they think of me as a friend. I wouldn’t date them, because they are married and I am sensible and they are twice my age and the list goes on. But this is a forced narrative scenario, and given my dating history and its repeated Bad Calls, I can see me writing longer and more detailed letters than just “hey got a new job at Witch Weekly doing book reviews, it’s basically whatever’s on the Prophet’s best-seller list minus anything too difficult for a stay-at-home witch to bother with.” He writes back terse one-liners if I’m lucky. I still write a lot, because it makes me feel better about my sorta boring life. 

At some point, I dust off the old lacewing scroll and laugh at how bad it was. But the core idea of hiding oneself in another’s reflection has merit, so I rework it. Dredge up old textbooks to reference other ingredients of common potions, because Moste Potente Potions is still a restricted book so maybe not hinting at the recipe in a poem is a good call.  It’s eventually as done as this version’s going to be. I send it to him. 

It comes back around Christmas with the word “Better.” swirled in the corner. I tack it to the wall and write more. Sometimes they come back with tiny checkmarks by specific lines. I find myself quietly tallying those, like they’re gold stars and I’m back in primary school. And I have to stifle a gasp when one has a note saying he’d copied a version for himself. I can’t help imagining it pinned up on his fridge, him seeing it every day. That image is childish, but it gets me through bleak times. 

It’s a year before a poem I didn’t write comes back to me. It is so laughably bad that I’m in tears of laughter for half the night, but then, reading through it, they end up just tears. Who the fuck is this about, because none of the imagery fits me. It’s all flowers of the valley and gentle prey animals. Drawing from my name would be angels or wolves or birds of prey. Who the fuck, then, is this, and why am I sobbing. 

Printed at the bottom is a one-word question: Thoughts?

It’s all I can do not to crumple the stupid parchment and chuck it in the flames. Who is she. Who the hell would put up with such an obnoxious, icy, sneering, greasy, loser? I glance in the mirror. Who indeed. 

It’s a pathetic weekend spent balled up under a comforter trying to figure out how to rationally handle whatever the hell this is. But like I said, I’m impulsive. I have just enough Floo powder on hand, as well, and my head pokes out into a dingy flat. I think he nearly blacks out, he’s that startled. He does the many-blinking thing. 

I arrive swiftly at the point, which is to say that I sob inelegantly and the tears sizzle amid the flames. But I make my demands known through the mouthfuls of ash, both real and simply felt. Who is this other woman you’d write poetry to. 

Black eyes should be flat. His have too much depth at moments like these. There’s too much available to read. I don’t want to know that he knows I’m not crying on his behalf. He runs absent fingers through his hair as he looks at me, a gesture I’d forgotten to miss. Then he explains he wasn’t sure how to title it, which is why there wasn’t one. But it would have been an elegy. His way of burying the past.

I point out that repression isn’t healthy. At least, I think I do. Details are so hazy here in the fire. 

He kneels before me and says that is correct, if such be the case. But one must part with the past to allow for new beginnings. 

Lips brush there in the flames. And then I’m laughing. He pulls back, and I regret it just a little for how hurt those eyes are. Why do I laugh? “That poem sucked!” I shriek, before dragging myself back through the fires to my own hearth, where I lie laughing hysterically for quite some time. 

Years later, Elegy to the Valley is deemed complete. I walk with him as far as the gate, but let him enter the graveyard alone. It is summer, and I trace patterns in the warm metal, trying not to watch his shoulders shaking as he reads it to her. If he needs me, I can be there in a moment. But I would rather watch and mentally write my own poem of this moment instead. He will probably produce something about today as well. We will trade parchments and leave spare, biting comments. But our fingers will interlace at the end of the day. It suffices. 

The sky is tinged ruddy gold when he arrives back at the gate. We walk briskly to the end of the street. It’s not that we stand out; he still knows the Muggle ways. Still, this is a leonine place not meant for us. Time we made our excuses and left.

The corner is deserted. I see his eyes wander back over the church and the graves beside. I remind him he can always return. He shakes his head. “This is a parting of the ways.” He takes my hand, and we go twisting into the dark. 

so yeah, that’s what shipping me with snape looks like; any questions?

#tara what did you do to me #I don't even have strong feelings about snape #I just sat down and wrote it and now I'm sort of sad for it??? #fanfic #long post #alskaichou

[gadgetsrevv]

The Fiver | Sprinting in slo-mo and frolicking in the surf with Apollo Creed | Football

HANGING TOUGH, STAYING HUNGRY

After seeing his stand-in goalkeeper make the crucial penalty save to win a Super Pot on his first start for Liverpool, Jürgen Klopp couldn’t help but channel his inner Sly Stallone. “ADRIAN!” he roared down the camera in his post-match interview, mimicking Rocky Balboa’s emotional address to his wife after beating Apollo Creed to become heavyweight champion of the world. What Liverpool’s manager would do well to remember is that in a sequel to that particular success, the Italian Stallion got a little bit too fat and lazy and was subjected to the daddy of all beat-downs from Clubber Lang.

With a trip to Southampton looming in barely the time it takes to cobble together a decent training montage, his side cannot afford such complacency. “We have to find a way to be ready to win that game,” said Klopp, as his players warmed down by donning muscle vests and extra tight shorts, sprinting in slow-motion and frolicking in the surf with Apollo Creed. “Only one team celebrated more than us tonight and that’s probably Southampton when they saw 90 minutes, no decision!” Having bounced back from emphatic defeat at the hands of Manchester United with a far less emphatic defeat at the hands of Liverpool, Chelsea will host Leicester on Sunday.

With one paw already in a play-off against Torino to make the group stages of Euro Vase, Wolves entertain Pyunik of Armenia at Molineux tonight. With his team leading 4-0 from the first leg, Nuno Espírito Santo has stopped short of forcing his players to chop logs or chase chickens, but has warned against complacency. “It’s not over,” he said, even though it kind of is. “It’s going to be over at 10 o’clock. It’s not over. That would be a mistake.” Elsewhere in Euro Vase, the Pope’s O’Rangers will have seen, laughed at and hopefully learned from the Queen’s Celtic’s exit from Big Cup at the hands of Cluj on Tuesday and will try not to make the same mistakes in their match against Danish side Midtjylland. “My players need to take note of last night and make sure we deal with our second leg much better,” said $tevie Mbe, whose side lead 4-2, in the wake of a Queen’s Celtic’s exit that will have put a spring in the step of all O’Rangers supporters.

In other Euro Vase news, Aberdeen are 2-0 down and facing an uphill task if they are to avoid being eliminated the competition by Rijeka, from – Fiver consults Wikipedia – the Croatian port city of the same name on Kvarner Bay in the northern Adriatic Sea. And finally, in Wales, they’ll once again be dancing on the streets of Total Network Solutions, if The New Saints of Oswestry Town & Llansantffraid Football Club can somehow manage to overturn a 5-0 deficit against Ludogorets.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

“Barcelona don’t need Neymar. Where is he going to play? He would be a bomb inside the locker room. The Barça fans were hurt by how he left. They will not forgive him” – no, Hristo Stoichkov, tell us how you really feel about Neymar’s potential return to Barcelona.

Hristo Stoichkov: straight shooter. Photograph: Clive Brunskill/Allsport

QUOTE OF THE DAY II

“He’s like an empty crisp packet in the park, flying around all over the place” – Chelsea and Republic O’Ireland legend Tony O’Cascarino offers N’Golo Kanté some poetic praise.

RECOMMENDED LISTENING

Head this way for Football Weekly Extraaaaaa, where Max and Barry are joined by Jacob Steinberg, plus former Jamaican international and prominent podder Marcus Bean. Get it in your ears!

FIVER LETTERS

“While I’m as pleased for Adrián as any Liverpool fan, I can’t help thinking that his widespread description as a ‘penalty hero’ is a bit excessive, given he only stopped one in six (and sort-of gave one away). Still, this new 16.67% benchmark for heroic achievement is going to come in very handy during my next work appraisal” – Tim Woods.

“Noble Francis’ letter about The Queen’s Celtic (not to be confused with any of his other letters) actually did make me smile, which is quite something as I’m a Queen’s Celtic fan, so let me explain. His mention of the 2010 defeat to Portugal’s Sporting Braga created quite a bit of mirth from the Spaniards in the office. You see, braga means pants in Spanish. Rather ironic, considering it was Celtic who were pants” – Paul Dixon.

“Frank Lampard’s Chelsea’s Frank Lampard can be well pleased with his youngsters despite losing on penalties in Istanbul. But surely it was Frank Lampard’s Chelsea pensioners who stole the show. Old, creaky N’Golo Kanté and ageing wrinkly Jorginho were the stars of Big Pot. Might I suggest a comeback for Frank Lampard’s Chelsea’s Frank Lampard?” – Mark McFadden.

“The Queen’s Celtic must have thought their Big Cup fixture was a repeat of the old radio standby, ‘I’m Sorry, I Haven’t a Cluj’” – Nick Adams.

Today’s winner of our letter o’the day prize is … Paul Dixon, who wins a copy of 50 Years of Shoot! We have more to give away, so get scribbling.

NEWS, BITS AND BOBS

Sol Campbell and Macclesfield have mutually agreed that the former England defender be assisted through the door marked Do One. In other news, the League Two club are skint and facing a winding-up petition.

Sol Campbell: ready to try on a new scarf? Photograph: Matt West/BPI/Rex/Shutterstock

USA! USA!! USA!!! superstar Megan Rapinoe has hit back after equal pay talks stalled. “We show up for a game, if we win or lose we want to be paid equally, period,” Rapinoe told Good Morning America.

Things that probably won’t happen dept: Bury South MP Ivan Lewis has called on Manchester United and City to “step up to the plate” and help the crisis-hit club, who have had another League One game suspended by the EFL.

QPR are demanding strong action from Uefa after their U18s were subjected to racist abuse during a friendly in Spain. The Andalusían football federation have opened an investigation.

Meanwhile, Kick It Out has urged social media companies to clamp down after Chelsea’s Tammy Abraham was subjected to racial abuse on Twitter.

Conor Coady might have a touch of carpal tunnel after writing to all 48 Wolves fans who travelled to Armenia last week to watch their side romp to Euro Vase victory.

Flamin’ Newcastle Jets winger Joe Champness is taking a break from bothering A-League touchlines to focus on his hip-hop career. “He’s made inroads in the business and the opportunity to chase those dreams is one that’s too big for him to pass up,” smirked a Newcastle suit.

And Mesut Özil and Sead Kolasinac are reportedly back in Arsenal training after their recent security scares.

RECOMMENDED VIEWING

Colombian tyro Anderson Díaz bobs and weaves like a Tin-addled Weird Uncle Fiver, before adding the playground finish. Get it in your retinas.

Player dribbles past seven opponents to score stunning solo goal in Colombia – video

STILL WANT MORE?

Floating football brain in a jar Jonathan Wilson has done a book. About Hungary’s golden age. And here’s an extract on the roots of their Olympic success in 1952.

Turkish Super Lig previews: we got ‘em. And Emre Sarigul reckons the title race will go to the wire again.

Premier League footballers are more woke than ever before, writes Big Paper’s Toby Moses.

Christian Pulisic and N’Golo Kanté gave Frank Lampard’s Chelsea reason to chin up after their narrow Super Pot loss, writes Andy Hunter.

USA! USA!! USA!!!’s Alex Morgan thinks the country’s development model is broken, though MLS suits disagree. Who’s right? Steve Brenner discusses.

Oh, and if it’s your thing … you can follow Big Website on Big Social FaceSpace. And INSTACHAT, TOO!

THE FIVER FAILED ITS A-LEVELS, AND LOOK AT US NOW … OH

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#Uncategorized #Football #sport The Fiver | Sprinting in slo-mo and frolicking in the surf with Apoll

[frommountainstolonestars]

Cursed

Nearly six years ago, my life took a change for the strange. I have always had a fairly nice life. My parents are upper middle class, meaning that my sister and I knew we would be able to go to college (with scholarships and grants of course) and that we could have clothes (usually nicer ones) and secondhand cars. But almost six years ago, my older sister graduated from high school and my life changed.

That year (2011), my father had a stroke. He’s a good man, despite his asshole ways. He was the type of guy that threw you out of the house if you said the “n” word or called someone a faggot. But that stroke changed him. He became someone else entirely... add in his alcoholism and the stroke was a recipe for disaster for our family.

My sophomore year of high school was the start of hell. I was dealing with parents who constantly fought and acted like I didn’t hear or see it. I was dealing with the actual affects of my father’s alcoholism. He was not a good guy when he drank. He never physically hurt us, but his words cut deep.

As that year moved on, I was injured pretty badly playing competitive soccer. The right knee I had so easily depended on wouldn’t let me cut, wouldn’t hold my weight. I was suddenly unable to do the things I had been able to do for so long. 

As I was reeling from the effects of not being an athlete, my family life was still coming down in shambles. My mom (who worked three jobs) was rarely home and my father was drinking more and more. On the weekends, it started at 10 AM I no longer recognized that family. 

As time moved forward, and my sophomore year drew to a close, I started rehabbing my knee. It was tendinitis according to my doctors. But something strange happened that final week of school. An acquaintance of mine wrote me a ten-page love letter, front and back. We never hung out outside of school and we only talked every day because we were in an intense game of would you rather. She handed me this letter and demanded to not read it in front of others. (At the time, I still very much believed I was straight. Bi and proud now).

I, of course, didn’t follow instructions. It was the last day of school so my friends and I all went to lunch and read the letter. I don’t recall much of it, but it said some things like, “You’re my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night.” It ended with “I love you, (my name).”

I was 16, I had no idea what to do. So I deleted her number from my phone, talked to all my friends and my mother and even my sister (who was home for the summer). They all agreed I needed to set this young woman straight. I couldn’t let her believe that I loved her too. So I sent her a Facebook message and got the rudest message back. I blocked her from all my social media at that point.

Now, it’s summer 2012, and everything seems fine. I keep receiving random texts from a blocked number, but I ignore them and focus on my AP homework instead and soccer as well. My knee still won’t do everything I want, so I choose to focus on soccer. And my family is still a wreck. Dad drinks now more than ever.

Now, it’s my junior year of high school and I cannot wait to be an upperclassmen. The first day of school that same girl stops me in the hallway and tries to give me a gift. The year doesn’t go as planned. That first month of school, the girl’s friends threatened me and told me the girl wanted to kill herself and that it was my fault... so I talked to my adviser. 

The year proceeds and things are going okay. I’m doing Relay for Life since my dad defeated colon cancer. But Mom and Dad are still fighting. Dad is still drinking, and Mom is angry all the time. I delve into myself, writing more and more and immersing myself in music. I am angry, bitter and resentful. I hate everything about my situation in life.

It’s the week right before finals and I am panicking over Trig. I need to get a “B” to not disappoint my parents. If I do well, maybe I can keep their marriage together. I get a note while we’re doing final prep. It’s a note from an adviser, but not mine. I have to bring all my stuff with me, so I do. There’s the entire class period left, and I’m so upset because I have to leave. 

AS I’m walking down the hall, the girl who’s in love with me appears and I start jogging down the hall while she’s calling my name. She finally stops me by grabbing my arm and backpack loop so I yell at her to let go of me and go into this counselor’s office. Turns out the counselor/adviser didn’t even send the note, the girl did. I freak out, call my mom and a shit storm brews in that school. The girl is banned from campus for a week and a day and not allowed at my graduation the next year.

We also file for a temporary restraining order and I have to go to court in the summer. And then the summer. Oh... summer 2013... well... I was at Relay for Life when I get the strangest call from Dad. I race home, turns out Mom tried to kill herself because Dad gambled away money and lied about it.

It’s a strange feeling in the house. Later, it’s senior year and I went to court. Didn’t get my TPO, but she still can’t get near me on any school campus. Mom and Dad are still arguing and I am juggling school, track, and a constitutional debate class. I have my first panic attack. I discover Avenged Sevenfold.

That year sucked. I graduated on crutches because that same knee gave out. And then it’s my first year in college. It goes okay until I fuck up my right knee again. Back to the crutches. 

As I’m applying to be an RA, my best friend at school tries to kill herself. I saved her... according to her mom and my mom. All I did was make sure she coughed up the pills and took her into my room and got an RA. I got the RA job. Hail to the King got me through that semester.

Summer I break my right thumb at a death metal concert. I get back into A7X and fall in love with the City of Evil album. Now it’s to my rookie semester as an RA. I break my left thumb playing indoor. My stomach starts to hurt. I have an appendicitis and ruptured cysts.

The house sucks, Dad’s an ass. I don’t feel good. I get back to school. I dislocate my knee. Grandmo is dying... She lives.

My knee requires massive surgery. I “shredded” the ligament that attaches the femur to the patella. Mom wants to divorce Dad. Dad stole and gambled $3000. Grandmo dies the day of knee surgery.

Back to school. More cysts... five of them, the size of my uterus. Bless Avenged. They’re keeping me sane. My best friend leaves me, stops talking to me two days before my birthday. It was a shitty birthday.

Home, again. My dog dies. Cysts came back. 

Back to school. It’s 2017. My hands stop working. There’s something wrong with my brain or spine or I have carpal tunnel. Sunday... Dad has a heart attack. He goes into surgery Tuesday. He has another heart attack, goes back into surgery. His arteries are 100% blocked, didn’t tell the doctors he’s an alcoholic, blames Mom. Mom wants a divorce. My hands are still killing me. The cysts are growing. Dad is not okay. 

I am not okay.

I’m cursed.

My life hasn’t been easy for the last six years, and all I’ve ever wanted is to be a published author. When I started learning about A7X, all I wanted was to take pics of and with them and to write their biography. Now... now I just want to live. I just want my dad to live. Please, please, let me not have to have the scary surgery. Let me meet the guys who have saved my life. Let me write their biography. Please

#about me #long post #delete later