#and that this is so much darker than the rest of my december art

[tei-to-tei]

December 17 & 18 - Anniversary (Inside & Out)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

16 | 17 & 18 | ...

Technically Chapter Art, Link below cut:

#rottmnt #rise fanart #rise of the tmnt #rise donnie #ao3 fanfic #sorry this took me so long #and that this is so much darker than the rest of my december art #been fighting my mean little mental demons #it just be like that sometimes #exactly one year ago i started my very first fanfic #and i just had to push myself to update it no matter what #anyway... sorry dec 19 & dec 20 will be shoved together too and then i'll be back on track ;u; #if you're still reading i love you #ok bye <3 #*hides from social media for the next 24 hours* #teidoodle #tei's dec23

[20elements]

Two OCs from my Spy X Family AU whom I’ve drawn and shared a couple of times already. These two--Rafael and Lucius--are my ideas for Loid and Yor’s biological sons in the future who would have a story set 20+ years into the canon’s future. (And prior to Rafael’s conception, there are no longer any secrets between Loid, Anya, and Yor.)

I’m not a storywriter so there’s only so much I can describe. Ideally, I would’ve loved for their story to juxtaposed alongside the canon’s, alternating between arcs and masking their real family name with a forged “Aether”, until a late arc reveals they are the Forgers’ children. 

For now I’ll just list their names and key facts about them:

__

1. Rafael Forger (Age 19, born January 18) Driving Force: “Inspiration”

As a young child, Rafael idolized both his parents and fictional heroes. Dreaming of becoming similar a paragon himself, he would proactively take up martial arts training with his parents whenever time allowed. He also tailored his other hobbies--such as music and art--to help fantasize the kinds of journey he wanted to pursue. But despite being a prodigy in these fields, Rafael cares very little for a social life.

There are five things he considers to be great omens as inspired by his training (and works of fiction): (1) Waterfalls - Omen of Resilience; (2) Mountains - Omen of Triumph; (3) Full Moon - Omen of Detachment; (4) Wolves - Omen of Determination; (5) Dragon - Omen of Elegance.

Despite being naive at times, Rafael was often skeptical, if not paranoid; traits that would carry over into his job as a police detective. While diligent and reliable in his career, he is not above using violence and intimidation to extract information. Moreover, one of his motivations for becoming a detective was to keep any eye on WISE and Garden’s activities (especially the latter), both to help hide his mother’s tracks and make sure his parents aren’t wronged by their respective affiliations.

While fearless to most dangers, Rafael has a few specific fears and dreads. Similar to how his mother fears bugs, Rafael is comically terrified of slugs and worms. 

More notorious, however, is his inherent loathing of drunks, or “poison” as he believes. His family has a few different theories on where that came from, but either way it’s more instinctive than rational; even the mere topic can give him a foul mood. (Incidentally he is also deathly allergic to alcohol.) Rafael is aware of his overreactions, so he tries to keep it under wraps; he’ll usually just leave the scene. But piss him off when you’re drunk and you’ll receive a few bone fractures.

Rest assured, however, that he loves his mother unconditionally and always believes in the perfect image he had of his family as a child. Thankfully Yor quit before he was conceived, but if he were to find her drunk, Rafael would want to “save her from the poison”. Speaking of his parents, Rafael placed a blind faith on their careers, such that even questionable or darker activities would be justified (though he may still argue with them on some areas). He himself would also become extremely violent to anyone threatening his family.

In his sleep, Rafael often has dreams beautiful enough for Anya to deliberately enter them every night (her psychic powers have expanded to that by then). In contrast, when he is in a foul mood (aforementioned examples), Anya would sense a dark, cacophonic noise clouding his thoughts and even paralyzing her in fear.

__ 2. Lucius Forger (Age 13, born December 23)  Driving Force: “Ownership”

In contrast to Rafael’s admiration of heroes, Lucius was more inspired by the supervillains as a child. As soon as he learned the natures of his parents jobs, Lucius marveled at mom’s ability to kill and dad’s “info games”. And while Rafael generally inherited their parents’ more heroic traits (with an edge), Lucius got the antihero juice. For example, whereas Yor used to contemplate on killing her obstacles, Lucius would also suggest committing crimes and misdemeanors to get what he wants (though he’s more candid and less remorseful about it than his mother).

With mom and dad’s secret “badass” lives, Anya’s psychic powers, Rafael’s talents, and his own gifts, Lucius truly believes the Forgers are a power family that shouldn’t just settle for a humble life. Instead, he dreams of his family taking over the world and enjoys brainstorming comical “plans” towards that end. But more practically, Lucius does at least want his parents to be higher brass in their departments, in hopes of having both WISE and Garden under his family’s control.

While Rafael’s talents are mostly physical and artistic, Lucius is more gifted in intelligence. His passions and hobbies include video games and mechanics; i.e. he’s something of an “evil boy genius”. Needless to say, Lucius likes creating gadgets and hacking computer softwares. He has even taught himself to drive or pilot vehicles at a very young age.

Despite all these points portraying a supervillain in the making, Lucius is generally a very cheerful and optimistic boy with a mind full of jokes and wisecracks. Whenever presented with an obstacle or inconvenience, he usually just treats it as a brainteaser and finds/prepares/creates some loophole out of it. 

While a proud and loving son and brother, Lucius still loves teasing and poking fun at them, especially Loid. He will oftentimes sneak into Loid’s workplace and try to get involved in WISE’s agenda while trying to get him promoted, but even then he likes to pull pranks on everyone including his dad. Altogether, his mischief, quick thinking, and audacity make Lucius the most scolded child of the three, but also the hardest to parent or discipline (i.e. school teachers get even more headaches with him). He is slightly more intimidated by Yor’s anger, however, though she still often finds him funny and amusing.

__ Currently, Lucius supports Rafael as a detective assistant, providing with tools and methods to aid investigations. The two brothers have a bit of a straight man-comedian dynamic as well as brawn and brain. When they’re not working, their joint pastimes typically include video games, music production, table tennis, bowling, and capoeira.

Anyways, I ended up writing so much more than I had planned, so I may copy all this into a Deviantart Journal at some point (if anyone wondering why they’re seeing identical text).

#spy x family #spy x family au #loid forger #anya forger #yor forger #au #lucius forger #lucius aether #rafael forger #rafael aether #twiyor #loid x yor #loid and yor's children #oc #loiyor lovechild

[lwt28brave]

LT2 masterpost

If it was up to me, we would get an autumn or winter EP. Since it’s not up to me at all, here, enjoy this post with everything we know so far of LT2, which is to say, not much at all. Everything here is hypothetical. I’ll be updating every time I see something relevant. A little disclaimer that while this is a masterpost (kinda), it could be read as discourse (duh, it’s also a theory), AND it’s also by me, and you shouldn’t expect me to be serious at this point.

Due to me restraining myself, there’s no reference to any of the times he’s mentioned his guitar skills and him improving but I hope you know I cried every single time.

I’m also linking my old pinned here. It was written before AFHF and around the free merch thing that didn’t lead to much, but I still think I made some good points.

Possible tracks:

Copy of a Copy of a Copy

Change

Faith in the future??

369??

Possible names:

369

Faith in the future

When is the album coming out?

Your guess is as good as mine

Friday 28th of January 2022. Almost two years after Walls. It’s a Friday. It’s a 28th. What else can I say?

Here you can find @want-to-be-loved timelines for every month.

Here you can find @berlinini’s timeline of what Louis has been up to this year (2021).

The rest is under the cut. And here you can find a PDF version where Tumblr can't tell me how many pictures I can add.

2020

He said back on May 2th 2020 he wasn’t writing anything new yet.

(x)(x)(x)

Interestingly enough, he’s said many times after that that the album’s not ready cause he has no new experiences to drawn from. I won’t call him out because he does it himself.

May 4th. He liked a tweet from DMA’s Johnny Took saying they had to go write together again. Louis has been credited as an influence for them and (kind of) participated in their previous record, so I’m assuming he meant for their music and not his, but you never know.

Nothing(literally nothing??? how did we survive) until 11th of July. We all know what happened that day. We all celebrated it. Nonetheless, that’s not what I’m talking about here.

(x) So, by the beginning of July 2020 he was working on concepts and ideas for the new album. That was fifteen months ago. I know perfection takes time but…

Brief summary of important things that happened from then until the next mention of new music:

Louis left Syco!!!! 10 days later he rescheduled the tour for the first time. He followed Matt Vines on Twitter, probably so we could publicly shame him into doing something. Also, the 10thanniversary. He followed more people I wish he hadn’t.

Then more nothing until September. Not even a single tweet. The first merch drop was on the 28th of August but he just RT’ed the tweet. He first mentioned Free my Meal on the 25th of September. Then on October 1st Walls hit #1 on a lot of countries and Louis was incredibly happy and excited about it ^^

And then, that same day, October 1st, 2020, he dropped this bomb:

(x)

He also said it was too soon to be sharing new lyrics with us (x)

And, obviously, this tweet which is actually what made me start this whole post. I would hope you know mate.

(x)

He also told us he was cooking "banger after banger" and that he was incorporating more social themes into his music (x)(x) (I believe any social issue is a political issue but that’s not the point rn).

COPY OF A COPY OF A COPY?!?!

These next paragraphs are brought to you by my mind not remembering things and me not having any links. I’m assuming COACOAC came from those writing sessions that supposedly happened in October. Or in LA but I have no idea if he actually was in LA at any point other than a Daily Mail article putting him there on December which would have been too late, but I do remember that someone said he was in the studio in LA last autumn???? A rumor. Maybe. IDK. Did I mention already all of this is very hypothetical?? Well, this is it. I can’t even remember if this was October or November or what. So, take this with a grain of salt.

I’m also… taking the liberty to assume, if you must, that Copy wasn’t meant to be a Walls reject because it sounds more mature and darker and it has a vastly different tone that Walls songs. I know he’s said that song probably isn’t getting into the album, but I want to have faith (in the future) that I’m getting a studio version. (But also, Louis, if you’re reading this, first of all GET OUT OF MY BLOG second of all, please don’t ever feel pressured again to add a song to the album because we have already heard it before. It’s your art and it should always be under your own terms).

So yeah, I believe that Copy is either one of those four songs (then imagine the other three??!!) or was written around the 1st of October date.

---End of the Intermission---

Then not much important (other than sharing more about Marcus Rashford fight against food poverty and the 2nd merch drop) until he announced the livestream on the 24th of November. (x)

It wasn’t until a few days before the livestream date we even thought again about new music (jk, I know we’re always thinking about new Louis’ music). So, December 9th/10th, 2020. Nine months ago. We got our first taste of new music!

He made sure we knew Copy of a Copy of a Copy isn't a cover! (x) (x)

(x)

Ok, so that’s it for 2020. (I feel like I’m missing something from September 17th because tweet was deleted but maybe he was still talking about cucumbers. We might never know. Unless I understand how Tumblr tags work). Expected, cause Walls was released in 2020. We needed to let it sit for a while.

2021

Another Summary: Louis third tweet of the year was telling the UK government off. So was the fifth. What a good beginning. On the 26th of January, he said he prefers pancakes over waffles. I hope he meant pancakes other than his own. More importantly, he tweeted the infamous “you lot read into things too much”. Don’t get me started, Tomlinson. Don’t. Then the 31st came around and Walls was one. He tweeted this. How wise. And Project Defenceless happened!!

15th of February!! Who cares about Valentine Day when the next day we got this? ♥

(x)

(x)

So…AN EP?? AN EP?? PLEASE RELEASE AN EP.

“I’m sure I will have something out this year but unlikely that will be the album”. Unlikely but not impossible. Also. A single would be good. This is the second time he mentions releasing something in 2021 and he sounds surer about it than the first time around.

He also said that he isn’t sure we will get a studio version of Copy. And that the best bridges from Walls to LT2 are Walls, OTB, KMM and Copy. Can’t wait!

Then we jump to March 6th when he announced he was going to create his own management company. “Sometimes action is needed first to encourage the motivation and belief”. As we can tell he was already manifesting some stuff which will lead us to the numerology stuff/Tesla… kidding. Or not. We might never know.

On the 22nd of March he answered some questions:

He told us music was still his main focus ♥ mwha. (x) I included this tweet to guilt-trip him into giving us music in case he’s reading this even after I told him to leave. ILY.

(x) I’d love to get a visual EP this autumn. Just saying. It sounds like a lovely concept.

(x)

…next (I will get into it, I promise. I’m just mad).

On the 25th he left for Mexico until April 10th. You could assume it was just for the documentary where we got ten seconds of footage or admit the obvious: LT2 its a Mexican baby!!

On the 26th (so, not so far apart from that first 369) we got the first Faith in the Future mention: (x)

Back then we were innocent people who had no idea what was coming upon us. We still have no idea because what the fuck does he mean with these. Please explain. I have one braincell and I don’t use it enough for this. I’m linking some theories.

On the 30th of March he confirmed he was already working on the documentary. So AFHF was already on the works. Will it take this long for us to get the Veeps numbers? We also got this tweet: "Got a decent chorus idea down" (x).

Same person that got the “something out this year” exclusive. If you know something share with the class. Also. Is this Change? I feel like this could be Change but I also assume he wrote Change after hanging out with his friends or being in Doncaster. But who knows.

(x) And the second mention to 369.

(x) 15th of April. The second "Faith in the future".

On the 19th of April he announced that he had something BIG for us later on the year which turned out to be the Away From Home Festival ♥♥ (x) I love him so much.

Then on the 28th he announced the 369 merch drop (which it’s probably the Walls drop? Except that the TOU and KMM ones were “drop 1 and drop 2” and this was drop 369 which, again, makes no sense) but we still don’t know what 369 means.

Into May’ 21 we go.

He rescheduled tour again. And dropped another bomb (x).

He announced he has signed with BMG as an independent artist by RTing this tweet on May 10th. The article also says that he’s already working on writing and recording LT2. The timing… we don’t know. What this deal involves… we don’t know either. Bear with me here because I have a lot to say about this.

I think the deal is only a distribution one, but that BMG are interested in Louis and what he (us) could bring to the table. They were either present at the festival or watching it, but officially they had no involvement at all with it (everything is credited either to Louis own company, 78 Productions, or Charlie Lightening’s company). That’s the case for both giveaways too; the vinyl one and the tickets for the festival.

I think it would be an unbelievably bad move not to test the waters with BMG now or soon-ish. At least a single, to see how it performs. Due to the circumstances, it’s obvious there’re certain limitations on place but I want to see how they push it, whether the radio play exist this time around and if the song is playlisted and promoted and all that… I would also love to know, since it says he signed with BMG UK, but it also states it’s a global deal, how things are going to go on the US and other countries.

Yes, yes. I know those are all questions and no answers. But I know the same as you, sadly. If any of you know more than you’re letting on… again, share with the class.

Where was I? Yes, on the 25th of May Louis had a great day writing (x). Since the first time he had mentioned he was officially writing to this date there’s almost eight months. And I believe he was writing before October’ 20.

He followed Robert Harvey that day and, on the 28th of May (why is it always the 28th???) he was spotted at the studio for the first time.

June was an interesting month for the fandom ♥. Lots of LHL content which I will love and cherish for the rest of times. On June 4th, June 9th, and June 10th he was spotted at the studio, but I believe he was there more days.

(x)

This was posted on June 6th and captioned Studio. Charlie also shared it with “Mega tunes being put down, can’t wait for this @louist91 #louistomlinson #LT2” as the caption. This gives me 2019 (Elton-Joint) vibes. I like it. Feels like we’re getting closer to something.

He added the Milano date on the 9th too which I’m mentioning because I’m going alone. Anyone wanna go with me please? I’m nice and I never eat anything before a concert so you can have my food. On other news. It didn’t come home.

During July he was at the studio at least three days too. Probably more. Feels like more with all the fan pictures we got. Or was that June? Anyway, July 1st and 9th we got some videos from Robert Harvey and wearesuperhi, which is who Louis has been working with the most, that we know of. I don’t know for sure they’re from that day. And on July 5th we got an article and lots of pictures of Louis looking really good outside the studio.

On the 12th of July the first fans started getting the free, 369 bucket hat and print. We still don’t know what the purpose was other than to thanks fans. Maybe that was it. I want answers and I still think it relates to a future project (see theories above), but it could also just be a bridge with the Walls breaking.

He didn’t tweet about anything interesting for a while, mostly because he lost his phone (he either throwed it in the air or smashed it who knows). Then on the 29th of July he announced the festival!

I’m glossing over it because there’s already been a lot of talk about it (rightfully) and while it was a wonderful thing, it doesn’t have much to do with LT2.

Let’s talk Change!

On August 3rd he tweeted this about the setlist.

(x)

And this (x) on the 28th! I can’t stand him.

We didn’t get it, obviously. Because who was going to get that. But we read too much into things. Alright.

On the 16thof August Dave Gibson shared this post tagged #LT2 with the eyes emojis 👀👀👀. I believe this has to do both with Change but also with whatever else came out of that Mexico trip.

(x) Last relevant tweet related to LT2 is this one.

So, on the 30th of August we got Change and we cried, and we know that Change is going in the new album. He said it. With those exact words. He also said he was “getting a feeling for it”. This has to meant he already has a general idea of the vibe of the new album and what’s going in it!!!!!! (Right? RIGHT?).

Anyway, let’s go back a few weeks because some other things happened on August. He was at the studio a few more times. Or it was suggested that he was there. On the 17th and the 18th. (Why was it so time-pressing to be at the studio instead of rehearsing for the festival? There was no studio at all on the documentary. Which makes sense, but again, then why?).

On the day of the festival we got another mention of Faith in The Future that made me feel part of a cult ngl. The words were flashing on the screen for less than a second. Okay.

And then he tweeted those words again after watching the livestream/documentary on the 4th of September (x). This is what makes me suspect it's either the name of the album or of the single.

On the same day, we got some interesting quotes about LT2 on the documentary.

“Soon I’ll have to think about me second album, which in my head I’ll get the tour out of the way and then I’ll address that. So, I hadn’t really given it much thought, to be honest”.

“When every day is the same is hard to feel creative and it’s hard to have any kind of proper inspiration”.

“As season started to come back, I started writing again and it was great and some of these songs turned out alright”.

And I think this is it. I might be overlooking some important details but that’s what we know and what we don’t know.

So. Conclusions. That’s what you missed on Glee. I do believe the album is, if not mostly done, partially there. And yes, this post is pointless and never-ending but it’s all in here if you need to tell Louis “Hey, you said this, mate”.

#LT2 #Louis Tomlinson #Faith in The future #369 #Louis #LT #new music #idk what this is #but it's long #pinned

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

What will be in my bag? Pre-ordered Manga. Straight and Lez edition.

Here’s a list of English-released manga I’ve currently got on pre-order, and manga series I ordered before but won’t be continuing with the series.

As a note: Some of these titles have been released but I have not received them yet due to a issues with covid backlog effected how things are released.  I personally find that if you pre-order it tends to get you manga quicker.  It seems there is more pressure to keep up with the new release schedule than chip away at the backlog.

I’m starting with the stuff I’ve already read some of and confirmed enjoyment, then stuff I’m shooting in the dark for, and finally series I have tried recently and have discontinued.

Heteros

My Androgynous Boyfriend

Story & Art by: Tamekou      Publisher: Seven Seas

It is rare for straight shit to end up in my library but My Androgynous boyfriend is an exception that will surprise no-one since it’s pretty queer adjacent.  This story is mostly a couple being lovey-dovey between jokes about sexuality and gender but (so far) isn’t problematic at all.  The female lead is quite enjoyable as she’s well-balanced and has agency throughout. There’s even ace representation! It’s very low-stakes, wholesome, and sweet so far. (Volume 3 is set to release in November.)

My Excitement Level: The gentle about to sink into a bubble bath variety

Yuri/Lesbian

Even Though We’re Adults

Story & Art by: Takako Shimura  Publisher: Seven Seas

Takako is also the creator of Sweet Blue Flowers and Wandering son.  I have dipped by toe in to both those series.  I overall find their writing kinda meandering and tepid (might just be me) but technically pretty solid.  I am hopeful for this series since it features adults....if the title didn’t make it obvious.  I was intrigued by the one character being married but the man finding out about the affair quickly and reacting more realistically and interestingly than the average male love interest in a Yuri.  I also found myself relating at bit to Akari’s angst about being unlucky with relationships with women.  I also do enjoy the artwork! This one is the most likely of my followed series to be dropped at some point. (Volume 2 of this manga was set to release in June this year.)

My Excitement Level: Cautious Optimism

For more click the jump!

Kase-san and Yamada

Story & Art by: Hiromi Takashima  Publisher: Seven Seas

This is a series I keep going back to.  While it is the very typical low-stakes bubbly, cutesy School age Yuri...it is a very good version of that.  Just warm bubble bath vibes. (Volume 7 is set to release in February of next year.  I think it was originally supposed to be released this May but was bumped back.)

My Excitement Level: The gentle about to sink into a bubble bath variety

NOW ONTO THE SERIES I HAVEN’T READ BUT I’M TAKING A CHANCE ON!

Adachi and Shimaura

Art: Moke Yuzuhara Story: Hitoma Iruma  Publisher: Yen Press

This, as I understand it, is a slow-burn romance about two delinquent girls.  I have heard good things about the novel and the anime series!  However I prefer manga to novels and don’t have a funimation account so I went to snag it in manga form. (Volume 1 was set to release in February this year and 2 in September)

My Excitement Level: Cautious Optimism

The Girl I want is so handsome!

Story & Art by:Yuama     Publisher: Seven Seas

The premise is a young lady has a crush on a handsome older girl who’s oblivious to her advances.  When she tries to confess she instead gets roped into being the club manager of the basketball team that her crush is a part of.  So it feels like it may end up cycling through 2 jokes and be so deep in the stereotypical manga bullshit you can easily-predict its beats volumes in advance. HOWEVER that is also a premise that is similar to Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun which is legitimately a hilarious series. Also I fucking love butch/stud/masc-presenting women/AFAB people.  So I’m willing to risk “The same Anime bullshit” for good jokes and a cute lezzy romance with a beautiful butch.  (Volume 1 is set to release of December of this year.)

My Excitement Level: Pretty nervous actually.  I hope it works out!

Monologue Woven for You

Story & Art by: Syu Yasaka     Publisher: Seven Seas

A woman gives up on a career in theater gets tangled in a relationship with a woman passionately pursuing theater.  Since it is set between college age women, and appears to be about more personal and mature themes I am interested. (Volume 1 I BELIEVE is supposed to be released in February of next year.)

My Excitement Level: Cautious Optimism

Mizuno and Chayama (No page yet so far as I can tell.)

Story & Art by: Yuhta Nishio     Publisher: Yen Press

Two daughters of feuding families meet in secret.  This is by the same author of After Hours.  I read a bit of After Hours and found it fine but boring since it seemed without conflict.  Conflict doesn’t seem to be in short supply with a story like this!  While I enjoy the sugary-sweet high school lesbian romances...those are not in short-supply. So I am always hungry for something darker, meatier, more mature. (Volume 1 is set to release next February) 

My Excitement Level: Cautious Optimism

5 Seconds Before The Witch Falls In Love

Story & Art by:  Zeniko Sumiya     Publisher: Seven Seas

It appears to be a playful fantasy about a Witch and Witch-hunter who’s antagonism turns romantic.  This may end up one note and stupid...but I’m always hear for queer romances set in high-fantasy and I haven’t read a Yuri where rivals turns to lovers. (Volume 1 is set to release next February)  

My Excitement Level: Low-key

Catch These Hands! (No page yet so far as I can tell.)

Story & Art by: Murata     Publisher: Yen Press 

A former delinquent runs into her high school rival.  After losing a fight to her she agrees to her terms...her terms being to go out on a date with her.  I mean the title alone makes me want to pick it up!  It may run afoul of bad anime humor, but I’m hoping with the fact that it’s full of gay adult delinquents that it’ll be a little different.  (Volume 1 is set to release next February)  

My Excitement Level: Medium-key

Series I have discontinued:

I’m in love with the Villainess

Art by: Aonoshimo  Story by:  Inori   Publisher: Seven Seas

A woman gets reborn into her favorite Otome game but she wants to romance the villiain!  I had heard a ton of great things about the novel but I picked up the manga version. (If the novel is totally different I can’t speak to it.)  For me, the writing is ham-handed, the jokes flop 90% of the time, and the fact the lead’s only personality trait seems to be ~obsessed with a bully~ really dampens this title.  Her advances are so aggressive and unwanted I honestly started feeling bad for a spoiled rich bully.  I will say it’s saving grace is the fact that the lead is masochistically into the villainess’ tsundere abusiveness. For me I hate tsundere romances if framed like, “I like you DESPITE your insults.” It is only tolerable if it’s instead, “I like you cause you tell it like it is. I’m a dirty little pig. Please step on this bad little piggy!”

Our Teachers are Dating

Story & Art by: Pikachi Ohi      Publisher: Seven Seas

Well one reason I stopped the series is that cover you see up there.  The sex in this series is fade to black but FOR SOME REASON the 3rd cover has them both butt naked.  But on a less superficial note, the story is about two teachers who start dating.  And while cute at points, I was just underwhelmed.  I think a part of it, is the fact that this behaves like a stereotypical high school romance...and while set in a high school...these are grown ass women not 15 year olds.  So I have less patience with the, “Gosh when will I get to kiss my girlfriend?” bullshit.  I mean, I would hesitate to call it bad...but it’s just not a good version of it’s brand of bullshit.

Breath of Flowers

Story & Art by: Caly                       Publisher: Tokyopop

Absolute train-wreck, this is hands down the worst Yuri I have ever bought.  The story is nonsensical and all over the place.  There is a love rival who’s trying to break the two of them up so she can get with Gwyn...but then switches mid-gear to put in a lot of effort to bring them together intentionally...but she also still wants to hook up with Gwyn...it’s very ????????????  The main conflict of Gwyn is hiding their gender so they can play basketball on the boy’s team (not well explained) is built up hugely and resolved with a hand flick.  There is a melodramatic moment where a school nurse says more or less, “GIVE IT UP YOU’LL NEVER BE A BOY!” And it’s like “OH SHIT! The fact that Gwyn is on the basketball team is cause he’s a transboy trying to live life as a boy! Oh gosh it makes so much more sense now!”  But the author seems to not even know that trans people exist cause the story bumbles along as if that scene never happened.  The closest we get is at the end Gwyn is like, “Look I’m learning to do make-up on myself to make you happy lawl!” Which is I GUESS supposed to be, “NO NO DON’T WORRY ALL OF GWYN’S GENDER STUFF WAS JUST THERE TO MAKE THE MAIN CHARACTER SEXUALLY CONFUSED WHEN SHE DISCOVERS GWYN’S TRUE GENDER!  HER TRUE GENDER IS 100% CIS WOMAN CAUSE SHE DID MAKE-UP ONCE! IT’S FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!” Like whaaaaaaaaat?  And it ends on a very random scene which doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the story.  Ugh just very bad do not interact!

A White Rose in Bloom

Story & Art by: Asumiko Nakamura    Publisher: Seven Seas

At an all girls catholic school a young woman falls for a mysterious foreign student.  I grabbed this cause it’s gay and I overall like Asumiko Nakamura’s work (she also does Doukyusei, double mints, and others.)  However I was just not grabbed with this title.  I just felt like I wasn’t getting what was making the MC pants on head obsessed with Steph.  Also the lead’s mother tells her that she’s getting divorced and therefore will no longer have money to pay for the university and she’s framed like a super bad person for this.  Like I get why the MC (a teenager) would think that something like that is THE END OF THE WORLD! But I remember them really framing the mom like a selfish bitch for this...when like...it’s well established that her mom and dad’s relationship has been toxic for YEARS and that they TRIED SO HARD to fix it.  OH WELL!  This might be good but it just didn’t grab me in the 1st volume.

I’ll make a post on the BL titles later! Take care and Stay Rotten!

#preorder #my androgynous boyfriend #kase-san and yamada #even though we're adults #Adachi and Shimaura #the girl I want is so handsome #white rose in bloom #our teachers are dating #breath of flowers #catch these hands #I'm in love with the villainess #Mizuno and Chayama #monologue woven for you #5 seconds before the witch falls in love

[willowbird]

Hello! Can I request andreil Christmas morning with the foxes? Or just them?

Yes, yes you can <33

(Technically I have one more prompt before this one, but consider this my contribution to your asks for happy things~)

-----

Sleepy, cozy mornings were a new thing for Neil. Not that he’d never been tired in the morning, or had never been warm and comfortable. There was a difference. Sleepy, for one, implied a certain level of inherent safety and lack of urgency that even throughout his entire first year with the Foxes he had never had the luxury of. Similarly, cozy was a foreign notion to him that carried a downy reassurance of safety he’d never been privileged enough to even consider. 

Right now, though? Right now he was basking in what was decidedly a sleepy, cozy morning. 

Light was filtering through the slatted blinds of Andrew’s bedroom in the house in Columbia like ghost-breath, pale and ephemeral in the early morning. Neil’s eyes were open, but only just, and his mind was so peacefully blank that he spent what could have been ten minutes and could have been a full hour just watching the light steadily warm and brighten, igniting the floating specks of dust like tiny fireworks in a celebration of such unfathomable ease. Behind him were the low, steady cadences of Andrew’s breathing against his shoulder and his heartbeat against his spine -- a duet that Neil idly thought he’d be happy to play on repeat for the rest of his life.

So yeah, he was cozy. He was sleepy. He was... happy. And he was content to bask in that for as long as he could. Stray thoughts filtered through the haze of his only half-awake mind, none of them sticking, none of them elevating his own heart rate above its slow, relaxed beat. It was more that he just... noticed things, then let them go. He noticed the shifting of the light, he noticed the creaking of the house, he noticed that warm, pleased feeling that pulsed in his chest and spread all the way down to each finger and each toe when Andrew sighed and nuzzled his face against his shoulder, the arm around his waist tightening slightly. 

He allowed himself to wake slowly, and when he did feel alert and fully conscious, he remained in place to bask just a little bit longer anyway. 

“Hn..”

Behind him, Andrew made a small, sleepy noise of his own and tightened his arm around him again, fully hiding his face against the back of Neil’s neck. Since Andrew couldn’t see him anyway, Neil didn’t bother hiding the smile the action conjured. 

“Morning,” he offered in greeting, knowing the difference between Andrew’s unconscious movements and signs that he was actually awake but resisting it.

“Too early.” Andrew’s response was muffled, grumbled as it was against Neil’s skin, but decipherable. 

Neil shifted slightly, and Andrew instantly loosened his hold so that Neil could roll onto his side to face him. As much as he enjoyed being held by Andrew sometimes, it was still his favorite to lay facing him. He liked to be able to look at him, to watch his face and see the way light brought out new hues in his hazel eyes. They were almost green this morning, but flecked with brown that flashed gold when he narrowed his eyes into a glare. 

“What?” Andrew accused. 

Neil debated telling Andrew that he was beautiful, that getting to see his face first thing in the morning was his favorite thing about waking up in Columbia, that if it was the last thing he saw he’d count it worth it every single time. 

Instead he shrugged and said, “Nothing.”

Andrew’s glare narrowed and by the accusatory glance at Neil’s mouth, Neil supposed he must be smiling or making some other offensive expression that he knew Andrew must either like more or even less than he said, considering how often he would kiss it away.

Not this morning, though, which was preferable. Neil loved kissing Andrew. He did not like the particular vintage of ass that occurred first thing in the morning before either of them had a chance to brush their teeth. 

By the annoyed sigh Andrew made, Neil supposed he had come to the same conclusion. He didn’t resist when Andrew put his whole hand on Neil’s face to push it into the pillow, only humming in an amused way that he knew would annoy the other man. Andrew was already rolling out of bed when Neil heard the scoff that told him he’d succeeded on that point. 

Pleased with himself, Neil took an extra few moments to stretch, burying his face into Andrew’s pillow and inhaling deeply, allowing himself to go a little light-headed on the rush he got when his senses were flooded with Andrew’s scent. Andrew was gone by the time he’d fully roused himself and was back by the time Neil had changed out of his pajamas and into some lounge pants and a fresh t-shirt. They didn’t have any real plans for the day that he knew of and he was planning to hold onto this cozy feeling for as long as possible even if the sleepy bit had faded. 

Andrew was waiting for him in the hallway when Neil got out of the bathroom, holding a red bundle of knitted fabric in his hands. When Neil only raised an eyebrow, Andrew shoved it at his chest and said, “Nicky’s stupid tradition.”

Neil might have asked, except that he could now see that Andrew had pulled on a sweater over the shirt he’d been wearing when Neil had entered the bathroom. It was dark green with a gold and white tree on it, loopy knitted lettering proclaiming ‘Happy Holidays!’ with aggressive cheer. Now he knew he was grinning, and he didn’t even press a hand to his mouth to hide and cover it, because it felt nothing like his father’s smile. This was something entirely different, born of shock and awe and humor and affection in a combination Neil didn’t think he’d ever actually experienced before. 

“Put yours on before you come down,” Andrew ordered with a flat expression Neil didn’t believe for an instant. “I do not want to listen to Nicky’s whining.”

Then he turned and marched down the stairs, where Neil realized he could hear the sounds of quietly chipper holiday music and the rustle of bodies moving around. 

Neil looked down at the bundle in his hands and shook it out to see the design. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan at the image, which was probably the ugliest-looking rendition of a reindeer he’d ever seen in his life. Neil would never say that he had an eye for fashion or art, but this was just... sad. The shade of the nose was just slightly darker than the background of the sweater and he was pretty sure the animal was cross-eyed. 

Ah well, it wasn’t like he’d have to look at it if he was wearing it. With a shake of his head, he tugged it on and turned to head downstairs. At least it was warm. It was also big on him and knitted with something soft, so if Neil were to call it anything, he might say it was... cozy.

“Neil!” Nicky cheered from the stove when Neil entered the kitchen. He was wearing a bright green sweater with an elf on it. Or at least, he thought it was an elf. To his knowledge, elves didn’t wear purple eyeshadow, but hey -- he wasn’t here to judge. “You wore it! I knew it was the perfect sweater for you.”

Neil raised an eyebrow and tugged on the sweater, looking down at it. “Huh. It’s that Christmas deer, right? Randolph?” he asked, full well knowing the correct name. He’d lived on the run for half his life, not under a rock. 

Nicky made a pained, whimpering sound. “Dead. I’m dead. You’ve killed me. Neil, don’t... don’t tell me you’ve never heard of... of Rudolph..?”

Neil looked up at him and affixed something between innocence and confusion on his face. “Isn’t that the guy who makes that snowman. Uh. Freezy or something?”

“Frosty! No, he--”

“Nicky, he’s fucking with you.” This from Aaron, who had no right to ruin his fun when he was sitting there with (a distinctly cross-eyed) Santa Claus on his own sweater. Why did all of these characters have a vision impairment?

Nicky looked from Aaron to Neil, who just shrugged and moved to make himself a cup of coffee. 

“Aww Neil, you asshole,” Nicky whined, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the grin on his face as he turned back to the stove, where he was just finishing up the bacon. It appeared to be the last thing on the menu, because the table was already laden with every single breakfast food Neil could fathom. Three different kinds of eggs, toast, waffles, sausages, biscuits -- it was a regular feast and Neil’s stomach rumbled at the sight. 

“Wow Nicky, what’s with the spread. Did I forget someone’s birthday or something?” Neil asked as he took his usual spot next to Andrew, who’d been watching the whole previous exchange over the rim of his own coffee cup. 

Nicky turned around with the plate of bacon in hand, his expression stricken. “Neil you.. you do know what today is... don’t you?”

Aaron sighed and opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and glared at Andrew, who must have kicked him. Neil bit back a smirk and frowned instead. “Uh... December twenty-fifth? Probably?” He looked toward the fridge, where Nicky’s calendar hung. The twenty-fifth was circled in green and red marker with two smiley-faces and at least six exclamation points. 

“Shit, it’s your birthday isn’t it? Sorry Nicky, I forgot. I’ll make it up to--”

“It’s CHRISTMAS, Neil! Christmas!!” He set the plate down, like he needed to get it out of his hands before he dropped it. Or maybe so he could fee his hands to gesture emphatically at the sweaters they were all wearing. And the paper snowflakes in the window. And the Christmas lights strung around the cabinets. And the little snowman figurines arranged in various places around the kitchen (even the salt and pepper shakers were a Mr. and Mrs. Snowman now).

Neil followed each gesture obediently, then met Nicky’s eyes. “Oh. Is it?”

The sound that came out of Nicky was something between a scream and a sob. Neil reached across the table and pilfered a piece of bacon, munching on it as the twins also started to fill their plates and Nicky pulled himself back together again. 

This time, it was Andrew that took pity on his cousin. 

“Neil knows what and when Christmas is, Nicky.”

Nicky looked from Andrew to Neil, then to Aaron (who rolled his eyes and took two extra links of sausage), before finally settling his gaze back on Neil. 

Neil blinked at him, then smiled -- because.. well, he couldn’t think of a reason not to, and wasn’t that a weird reason to smile? Instead of commenting on any of that he stole two sausages directly off of Aaron’s plate and put them on Nicky’s, ignoring the affronted cursing from the other man. 

“Merry Christmas, Nicky,” he said pointedly, then went about loading his own plate. 

Neil had never thought much about Christmas before, it just hadn’t been anywhere close to his list of things to worry about. But now... now that he was able to think about things that, well, that weren’t worries he thought that maybe it was something he could kinda get used to. Maybe it was something he could like -- especially if it meant sleepy, cozy mornings and times like this, where he could be so comfortable, so happy, in the circle of his family.

#aftg #aftg fanfic #asks #100 followers #my writing #wolfstsrshipper #neil josten #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #christmas morning #christmas fic #holiday fic #nicky made those sweaters #he made them by hand #the twins have a silent agreement that they've never talked about #but christmas is the one day where they've always indulged nicky #its now they show their appreciation to him #they just kinda let him go nuts on christmas #and they go along with it #not without complaint #but without any real resistance #because of that christmas has kinda become the Ultimate Day Of Happiness for Nicky #and i just really like that hc

[radramblog]

Album Discussion- Floral Shoppe

Haha why do y’all let me do this.

It’s been almost a decade since Macintosh Plus (aka Vektroid, aka Ramona Xavier) popularised and codified vapourwave as a genre with its first actually popular release in Floral Shoppe. Since then this sub-sub-genre has developed its own subgenres and become its own flourishing marvel of internet music culture. But Floral Shoppe itself is worth examining- not to see where it all began (I haven’t even listened to Chuck Person’s Eccojams or Far Side Virtual yet), but where most people got into the genre. The lifting off point, as it were.

So grab your Arizona ice tea (don’t, it’s fucking awful) and lets dive in.

The first track, ブート(Boot), opens with a buttery smooth cymbal and saxophone line, obviously slowed down, but evoking a level of chill few songs manage to get to for their whole duration, in a total of approximately a minute. It’s a genuinely masterful piece of music. As the vocals come in, you hear them get twisted and chopped, distorted and looped, almost jolting you out of that trance, until it’s clear that the lyrics aren’t lyrics but another instrument, you get used to the nonsense, and you’re back in the zone. The looping with some of the instrumentation makes parts of it feel almost clockwork-like, in a very satisfying manner- especially as the majority of it gets muffled and you realise that opening bass/sax line has been running through the entire time. While the next track on this album tends to get most of the attention, I genuinely think Boot deserves just as much praise.

リサフランク420 / 現代のコンピュー (Lisa Frank 420/Modern Computing) is another one of those tracks where it’s just like, what could I possibly say about this that hasn’t been said. If you’re reading this, there’s basically no way you haven’t heard this song, so you know what I’m on about. It’s the quintessential vapourwave track, even if it’s showing its age a bit. It’s just so perfect. When I decided to write about Floral Shoppe, I didn’t really want to spend too much time here- me saying “hey I like this song everyone knows” isn’t the most interesting thing on the planet, I guess. I will say, it’s one of the few vapourwave songs you can actually sing along to, and that’s fun as heck.

Also, the lyric is “it’s all in your hands”, not “it’s all in your head”. To be fair, though, the distortion doesn’t help.

The album’s next track is 花の専門店 (Floral Shoppe, hey I didn’t know this album had a title song), a track that heavily relies on this really panned synth (you can’t even hear that on the left ear) and a lot of looping the same bit over and over again. Honestly, the first minute of this song gets a little grating, but it really picks up after that. It’s really fun and jazzy for a solid minute there, a lovely instrumental you can just groove to in your head. The fade out on this piece lasts wayyy too long for my liking, though- a full half minute of outro feels a little indulgent for this one.

Track four, ライブラリ (Library) is lowkey one of my favourites on the album- The slowed vocals work really well, and the instrumentation feels extremely deliberate and methodical. I think my biggest complaint with this song is just that it’s too short, considering Lisa Frank 420 is literally triple it’s length. But I suppose part of this project is how variable the track lengths are- it seems Vektroid was keen to work with these until she was out of ideas, and no longer, and I can’t help but respect that.

地理 (Geography) sounds substantially darker than the previous tracks, with incredibly low drones and a main line that… I mean I dunno how low it is but that shit is definitely in a minor key, you know. It’s also the sparsest track so far, with much more restraint in layering than anything else I can think of on the album. The atmosphere of this is heavy- I don’t know why, but it reminds me of that really creepy loading screen on the fuckin Magic School Bus goes inside the body Edutainment game. That’s probably a bit of a weird connection, but if you played that shit, you know how fucking eerie it’s soundtrack was, and that’s a bit of the vibe I’m getting from this track.

Our next track is a direct nod to Floral Shoppe’s predecessors in ECCOと悪寒ダイビング (Chill diving with ECCO), a reference to the aforementioned Chuck Person’s Eccojams Vol. 1 (itself a reference to the Sega Genesis/Mega Drive game Ecco the Dolphin), and Chill is absolutely right. While many vapour/synthwave pieces are more about entering an aesthetic or a vibe than actually listening to the music, as far as Floral Shoppe goes, that’s most true with this track. It’s also the third longest track here (behind Lisa Frank 420 and the next song), and while it doesn’t develop as much as one would hope based on that (or much at all), spending so long vibing out in a track like this is completely appropriate.

I’m going to be honest, I don’t care too much for the next track, 数学 (Mathematics). It might just be because it comes on the heels of ECCO, but the meandering in this doesn’t hit the same chord as that does. While I enjoy the saxophone on this song, all the shit going on in the background just kinda gets my anxiety going eventually. And by eventually, I mean about halfway through this near 7-minute monster. You’ve got these very chill elements that slowly get drowned out by the steadily rising and accelerating chaotic parts of the instrumentation that just take over eventually, and while it does chill back down again, that’s still a long time focussed on the worst parts of the song. This also really didn’t need to be as long as it is, considering the second half of the track is just, like, the same thing again…

We’re at track 8, and at this point I started looking at the Wikipedia page for the name translation and realising that I have no idea which song this is supposed to be. Like, the track lengths on the bandcamp suggest that this is the 2011 release and therefore this is 待機 (Standby), but it has the name of track 8 from the 2017 release, 外ギン Aviation (Foreign Banks Aviation)? This is confusing as fuck, but since this is the only track here with that issue, I’m assuming it’s actually Standby and someone fucked up somewhere. Oh right, the song itself. Well it’s fucking short, barely past a minute long, and doesn’t have too much going on. I’d call it short but sweet, it doesn’t overstay its welcome. Jazzy, loungy, kinda chill. I dunno.

て(Te) feels almost out of place on this album. I mean, the vibe is similar, but the birdsongs really come out of left field. This sounds like the track you’d hear in a video game after you’re finally out of a cave you spent hours in. If the build in this weren’t so intense, I think it’d fit right in on the Minecraft OST. That’s a compliment, for what it’s worth. It’s also worth noting this light at the end of the tunnel bit was absolutely intentional, because this used to be the final track of the album. However, there’s two more here, added in a 2012 reissue (originally they were unnamed bonus tracks), so we might as well check them out.

…under no circumstances should you check out track 10, 月 (Moon). I don’t know what vocal sample that is, but it is loud, and grating, and obnoxious, and the instrumentation is not doing enough to carry the repetition through. Holy shit, this is 6 minutes long. I’m going to be honest, I skimmed through this one, and it never changes what it’s doing. This is… a bold play, I’ll give her that, but it absolutely does not pay off. This has gotta be one of the worst songs I’ve heard in a very long time. What the fuck, Ramona?

Finally, 海底 (Seabed). This… is just like Moon, in that it’s a fucked up vocal sample that is looped over and over with little changing instrumental. The key difference is this one is less bad- the vocals aren’t as jilting, the instrumentation is chiller, and it is mercifully only 2 and a bit minutes. It’s far from good, but it’s not as immediately awful. Okay, it is pretty bad. These should probably have stayed as extras- and seeing as they apparently weren’t on the physical versions of the album (in fact a bunch of these songs changed for that), Vektroid appears to agree.

So that’s Floral Shoppe, and it’s really one of those albums that kinda drags on at the end. Frontloaded with the good shit, I suppose. Moon and Seabed aside, it’s not like anything is completely awful, but after 25 or so minutes you’ve kinda gotten the point. With that said, the album is as influential as it is for good reason- the first couple tracks are phenomenal, and once you’re drawn in by those, you’re probably going to appreciate the rest of it at least a little.

Modern vapourwave basically sounds nothing like Lisa Frank 420/Modern Computing, or Floral Shoppe at all- the genre has moved past plunderphonics almost entirely at this point, and the aesthetic has shifted to a more consistent, less memeable tone. Even Macintosh Plus is going new directions- the single released in December 2019 as a teaser for Vektroid’s next project under the name sounds nothing like this album, though it is completely fucking awesome (and completely fucking batshit). While it seems like the genre itself has moved past Floral Shoppe, though, it’s still the touchstone the majority of people, especially those unfamiliar with the genre, recognize as the herald of Vapourwave. I’m pretty sure this was the first album to do the whole pink aesthetic, marble bust, computer graphics style, and clearly that’s the style everyone thinks of when they make bad vapourwave art. That’s the aesthetic this album inspired. Long may it reign.

(Ok seriously though guys go listen to VAPERROR or George Clanton or something)

#ramble #music #vaporwave #vapourwave #america stop being afraid of the letter u

[staryarn]

the amount of shading you do on your art like holy shit. its so cool looking and i can only imagine how long it must take. your art looks really really good

Sorry about the long answer rip

It depends on how much hair it is and how i want the finished product to be in terms of uh 'showing off' lmao. In my current piece it will take a couple days to a week (or more if I really dont want to do it or pace myself weirdly). Considerung my current piece and that i want my end result to look sorta like a gem or fire (probably the former honestly bc I dont want to figure out lighting with fire hair) itll take a couple days (as in several hours straight each day working on this with the occasional break of staring off into space)

For my process I do a basic shading of where the darker spots are / to show depth, then i do the reverse and add the general highlights / lighting. After that I line each individual hair strand, blur that, and copy and paste it a few times. Then after that i hand select each strand, shade it, and hand blur it (with a brush) instead of using the blur filter. Then I repeat that process for the highlights and any affects /textures. If im doing mood lighting and shadows i repeat that process two more times. Hair like that should be like ten or more layers.

(As you can see, im starting my first layer of detail shading aka selecting each hair strand. This is to give more depth to the hair and also for my end result of looking more 3d and gem-like, April 2021)

(With this it was the same process but in a sense kind of simplified, march 2021)

I actually only started doing this process last december because I wanted to try it out, so this was my actual first attempt with it on a more detailed scale. (December 2020)

Though my process before I started doing this was much simpler (from an older art collab of mine from like december 2019)

So like if I really didnt care / went super low effort the hair would be done within 7 hrs to a day but if I put all my effort it can take more than a week depending on my time management and how busy I am.

I also hold my pen incorrectly bc I never properly learned how to hold it so thats a pain lmao ( im trying to relearn bc i get hand cramps a lot w my current way so ya)

EDIT: ik you didnt ask but the way you find out hair movement like this is pretend your character is either in space ,in like a swimming pool underwater, or like on a trampoline. If youre drawing floaty hair then your character should mostly be down while the hair is being pushed up and out. Kinda like a canon ball - the center / body is moving downwards so in turn the hair will 'float' up until its yoinked down with the rest of the body. The same can go for the opposite. If your character is moving up then the hair will flatten and come closer to the body.

Up motion = hair comes closer and is thinner in size

Down motion: the hair spreads out and is bigger and goes in more directions

(Something like this)

TLDR: it takes from a day to a week depending on how detailed I am and how fast I am.

#asks #anon #my art #hair #hair coloring tips #shiko speaks #ref #long post #please ignore my typos i'm very tired #art tips

[celiabowens]

CREATOR TAG MEME

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Tagged by @zenien, thank you so much!! fkcsdj your edits are stellar so.

So, I honestly haven’t posted my favorite thing I made this year yet (lol it’s always like that with me tbh), but it won’t be up before December 22nd so I’ll just share 5 things I’ve posted so far :) *this is me telling u to pls check back December 22nd for shameless self promo LOL*

This Death Parade edit I posted recently. Death Parade is one of my favorite anime and I’m quite happy with how this turned out. It was hard to visualise stuff for the anime and I didn’t have a lot of concept art to work with, which was both fun, because I had to make a lot of stuff from scratch, and difficult lol. Anyway I had a ton of fun making the billiard table and the arcade game.

This Shinobu edit. I had a lot of fun making this and I just still like the vibe it has which is pretty rare for me lol. It’s a relatively simple edit, but I like how the typography turned out and I think the first panel still looks neat lol.

This FMA edit I made for October 3rd. This was the first edit I made using AI and it was just fun to make + basically started my recurrent folded paper obsession which is still around in my drafts (I have two more in my drafts with these lol, someone stop me........). It’s darker than what I usually make because I don’t really use black and white a lot, and I like how the second panel is a nice balance to the rest.

This Addie La Rue edit I made for a friend. Funnily enough I didn’t like the book very much but this is probably the best lit edit I’ve made so far lol. I like how it turned out, from the beige bg and how clean it looks. It’s kinda minimalistic but I like how it turned out.

This KNY info gfx. I think I’ve made better edits overall but I liked this when I made it and it sort of got me into making info gfx. I still like a lot of the elements in it and I think the Muzan panel is one of my favorites I’ve made.

I think a lot of my mutuals have been tagged already, I’ll try to tag people I haven’t seen do this yet: @arriettvs, @baskrvilles, @osamusmiya, @blacktwiste, @laststop, @kikisdeliveryservices, @mafuyuh, @tcmiokas. Feel free to ignore!

#tag game #gio rambles #cdsjfv i just kinda really like my kags bday edit let me self promo it in advance

[heartbreaker-johnny]

Kinkmas Party 1- Legs

A/N: sorry this is so late! December is a rough month for me and work got very stressful and I actually a few times had a mental breakdown so I’m trying my best. Also, this is probably the worst thing I’ve ever written so whoops🤷🏻‍♀️

Warning: smut, thigh riding, bad author

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

You sat on the bed, watching as Seonghwa looked through his closet, trying to find the perfect outfit for tonight’s occasion. KQ was having a Christmas party and were allowing family and friends of staff to attend as well. It was a big deal for him since most of the company had never met you. Your relationship was kept pretty quiet, you really only spoke to the other members and his managers. He was excited to finally show you off, while you were a giant ball of nerves.

Your eyes followed down his back to the towel wrapped around his waist. The blue fabric clung to his hips, slightly lower than it should be. You could feel your own wetness starting to pool as you thought of taking the towel off him and spending the night in your bed instead of making small talk with strangers.

“You think this would look okay?” He asked, pulling out a hunter green turtleneck and turning to you.

You snapped out of your daze and blinked a few times before regaining your composure.

“Not the green one, it’s too typical, try the black one.” You said, voice slightly shaken.

“Stop staring at my ass.” He chuckled before turning back to the closet.

“Do we really have to go? I know they’re expecting us but, can’t you just tell them you’re sick or something? I wanna stay here with you.” You said to him, kicking your feet back and forth, trying to keep your gaze off him.

“You mean you wanna stay in bed with me and have me wreck you for hours.” You could hear the humor in his voice.

“Is that so bad?” You muttered.

He laughed again, setting the shirt down on a chair with the rest of his outfit and sat down next to you.

“Don’t you wanna see the boys? It’s been a while. They’ve been asking about you.” He said, brushing hair out of your eyes.

“Of course I do, I just....I feel like we haven’t had time together recently. You’ve been so busy and I understand and I’m not mad about it but, this is the first night we’ve had in weeks where you don’t have to be up early in the morning and we’re spending it at your company. I’ve missed you Hwa.” You pouted.

You knew it wasn’t exactly fair to complain about his work schedule since he had no control over it, but you had a point.

“I know and I’m sorry. I’ve been a bad boyfriend and I promise I’m going to make it up to you. Tomorrow we’ll spend the whole day together and I’ll make sure I get an extra day next week and I’ll take you out. You think you can put up with me being a bad boyfriend for one more night?” He asked, the sweetest smile on his lips.

“You’re not a bad boyfriend so stop saying that. Can we at least be late? I’ve really, really missed you.” You said, moving his towel away from his legs, exposing his thighs. You ran your fingers lightly over one, looking at him with the most seductive yet pouty face you could pull off.

“Baby we really don’t have time. San is picking us up and is already on his way.” He tried to persuade you.

“We can be quick.” You countered, your hand traveling higher up his thigh.

“You know I don’t like to half ass anything.” He said, earning another pout from you, making him chuckle. “Are you really that needy baby?”

You nodded, your own thighs pressing together.

His smile turned darker as he pulled his towel off, then pulled you onto his lap to straddle his right thigh. He tugged up the bottom of you dress to your waist, your core meeting his toned thigh, making you gasp.

“Will this do baby? If you ride my thigh, will that hold you over until I can get you home again and properly make love to you?” He asked, sweetly as if he were asking where you wanted to go on a date.

“Hwa,” You whimpered, grasping his shoulders for balance.

“Come on baby, we don’t have a lot of time and I don’t want you to be needy all night. Who knows who will take the chance to steal you.” He winked.

His placed his hands on your hips and started moving your hips slowly back and forth, trying to get you to move on your own. The friction felt incredible but you definitely needed more. You preferred his cock but you were more than fine with his thigh for the time being.

You leaned in and tried to kiss him but he leaned back, confusing the hell out of you.

“Don’t wanna mess up your lipstick baby. You spent an hour on your makeup and the least damage we can do to it, the better.”

As much as you wanted to kiss him, your heart melted at how considerate he was towards the art that was your makeup. He leaned in and pressed his lips to your neck, littering the skin there with kisses and small licks. He was careful not to leave any marks as much as he wanted to.

The love he was showing to your neck gave you the motivation to move faster on his thigh, finally allowing yourself to let the moans fall from your lips. Seonghwa flexed his thigh every now and then, squeezing your hips and ass, urging you to go faster.

“You’re such a good girl for me baby.” He groaned in your ear, you could feel his cock touching your leg, hard and aching to be touched. “How could I have left you untouched for so long? You deserve to be worshiped every second of every day. You’re an absolute goddess and I’m so lucky to have you.”

His words made you clench around nothing, the familiar feeling in your center starting to grow. Still this wasn’t enough for you. You reached over and took his cock in your hand and wasted no time in setting a fast pace. He hissed at the touch, his grip on you so hard he was sure to leave bruises.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He asked, not expecting you to touch him but definitely not upset by it.

“Want you to feel good too.” You panted. “Please, I need it.”

He groaned at your words, his head falling forward into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, I don’t deserve you. You’re so damn good to me.” He moaned, pulling your hips along his thigh.

It wasn’t long before he was at the same point you were. The fire ball in your belly was about to explode and you knew that he could tell by the way you were moaning his name.

“Come on baby, cum for me. I need you to cum for me babygirl. Fuck...you’re so beautiful when you cum baby, let me see your pretty face.” He said, pulling back to look at you.

You focused solely on the movement on your hips and the sounds he was making and when he let out one particular moan, you cried you, your hips stilling and your vision blurring slightly.

You fell forward, clutching onto him for dear life, trying your best to catch your breath. You hadn’t noticed when it happened but at some point, your hand had stopped moving and was now covered in his own climax. You pulled back to look at him, his hair slightly disheveled and his lips red and swollen.

“Did I get any on your dress?” He asked, looking down at your hand.

You looked yourself over, thankfully it appeared everything had landed on his own thigh or your hand.

“No, we’re good. Is my makeup trashed?” You asked him.

He shook his head, wiping your hand off with his towel.

“Not even a smudge.” He smiled sweetly at you.

“Thank god for Urban Decay.” You muttered, rolling off him and on to the bed.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” He said, wiping himself off. “It was supposed to be all about you. I could have waited.”

“Knowing I make you feel good turns me on more than anything.” You confessed. “I could listen to the sounds you make for hours and finish just by looking at you.”

Seonghwa blushed and leaned down this time to actually kiss you on the lips.

“You’re an absolute angel and I don’t know what I would do without you.” He said. “Now go change your panties. You totally destroyed these pair.”

“Yes sir.” You winked, hoping the pet name might rile him up again.

#KinkmasParty2019 #seonghwa smut #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa fanfic #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez seonghwa

[theda-rison]

Thursday Night Link Roundup - December 3rd

Hello! Happy end of Nanowrimo! I hope you won, and if you didn’t win, I hope you learned something important that will help you win next year :)

So I had to cool it on the Thursday Night Link Roundups for a bit; I just didn’t have the time to devote to arranging and having opinions about stuff (and then writing them down for you guys to read) between work and Nano. But, at least until the stuff for my Steno Keyboard gets here, I have nothing to do now (aside from work, but it’s not like I do that for fun or anything).

Anyway, let’s jump into it. *bad green screen of me jumping into the internet, à la a 90s infotainment VHS about the internet*

If you haven’t already watched it, here’s the third part of Ms Luna Oi’s series on Dialectical Materialism. After all the things she discussed in the other two videos, she discusses the three basic rules of Materialist Dialectics.

Since it’s been a while since I watched this video (because of my unintended break) so I can’t remember too much detail on it, but it is a good video.

This video… I can’t tell how old the two people in it are: they go back and forth between sounding like old codgers (at least) in their 50s and “the youngin’” because of all the Minecraft references. I am so confused. Untitled Engineering Disaster Podcast-like content Episode 1: The Silver Bridge Disaster by donoteat01, which later went on to become a podcast called Well There’s Your Problem, which has its own youtube channel.

I had no idea about all of this stuff about bridge building. I knew some of the details of the Silver Bridge disaster, but I didn’t know about the eyebars (or I forgot about it) or the rocker towers. Like… I can’t imagine the thought process that goes into “what is the towers themselves moved?” when like… normally they don’t? I’m not an engineer but it seems like such a weird way to solve a problem. “What if this gigantic, heavy thing weren’t solid and needed to be held up by these precarious chain links?” is not a thought I could imagine crossing my mind even if I were an engineer. 

Also: the sheer inanity of making something that you don’t have the technology to detect problems (the hairline crack in the eyebar).

I can’t understand why no one blamed the company who built the bridge, btw. They built a shit bridge and should have been sued.

When I was in my early 20s, I remember justifying my dropping out of graphic design “college” (it wasn’t) by saying something like, “Why the fuck would I want to spend my life convincing a bunch of people to buy shit they don’t need with money they don’t have?” when one of my parents’ friends told me I could have gone into advertising. Not the first time I’ve had thoughts of a popular philosopher in my youth without having heard of them beforehand. (“Do I exist because I think? IF I STOP THINKING, WILL I STOP EXISTING??” suddenly popped into my head and caused an existential crisis for a few days when I was in junior high.)

Tom Nicholas explains the Society of the Spectacle, which partly involves the explanation of how advertisement companies are selling an image rather than an actual product. Trying to game the “Keeping up with the Joneses,” idea, if you will.

I, like many kids, read Dr. Seuss books. They might be one of the things that really made me love the English language, just because of how he bent and shaped it into the amazing poetry that went along with his strange and wonderful art. I distinctly remember reading And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry street in the grade “before I was supposed to be reading it” and being asked by the teacher how I was even understanding it (I guess the rest of the class was on “See Spot Run” type of books or whatever). I can’t even remember my answer. Probably a shrug and then wishing they would leave me alone so I could get back to reading, lol.

But Dr. Seuss had even weirder art that I can appreciate now as an adult. Solar Sands’ video, The Secret Darker Art of Dr. Seuss, shows off some of his “Midnight Paintings” that he painted for himself. I need to see if there was ever an art book published of all or any of it, because they’re so interesting. You can still see his strangely whimsical style, many but with darker colors that almost make them seem more… horror-ish.

I forgot that I had the first part of this ProZD video in the list before this. Here’s the next part.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sasdCg4da4o

Ahh…. I miss Vine.

Songs of the Week:

KILL BILL (The Lonely Shepherd) by Luca Stricagnoli

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6ghK-z3qsY

I don’t know what the contraption is that this guy made, but it sounds really cool in the song. Also, props for making a whole little set to play in, lol.

Lamb of God - Grace (hurdy gurdy cover) by Michalina Malisz

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-W-s6yHlbtA

I will admit, I do not listen to Lamb of God, I’m not sure why but it’s a band I’ve never gotten into. However, I love the way this song sounds on Hurdy Gurdy and I might check out the actual band now. If I don’t like it, I’ll just listen to this cover over and over. 

Also, how is there not a Doom Metal or Ambient Black Metal hurdy gurdy band yet? Some amazing musician, please make this.

Djent 2018 by Jared Dines

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYrN7EIeXmY

I don’t know if I’ve ever even heard a Djent song before. Like, I could not tell you the name of a Djent band, and then all of a sudden - I guess around 2018 - my feed was filled with people making fun of it. I don’t know, I like the way this song sounds at least? Maybe there’s something about the vocals that makes it suck? I have no idea. I have no desire to investigate further.

I don’t know, it’s giving me strong Gojira vibes in certain spots.

Unlike my desire for a Doom Metal (or Ambient Black Metal) hurdy gurdy band, I’m fine with just this.

#3rd #December #2020 #December 3rd 2020 #luna oi #marxism #dialectical materialism #material dialectics #Well There's Your Problem #Silver Bridge disaster #Mothman #Guy Debord #society of the spectacle #advertising #philosophy #Tom Nicholas #Dr. Seuss #Solar Sands #The Midnight Paintings #ProZD #Vine #Kill Bill #Luca Stricagnoli #Lamb of God #Grace #hurdy gurdy #Michalina Malisz #Jared Dines #Djent 2018

[birdwholanded]

The Goldfinch (Spoiler)

If you want to read the Goldfinch for yourself to get your own understanding and opinion on it, read it for yourself before you read this because this is what I thought about it for myself.

    Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch is divided into the chapters Boy with a Skull, The Anatomy Lesson, Park Avenue, Morphine Lollipop, Badr al-Dine, Wind Sand and Stars, The Shop-Behind-the-Shop, The Shop-Behind the Shop, continued, Everything of Possibility, The Idiot, The Gentleman’s Canal, and The Rendezvous Point. At the beginning of the book there is a quote ,“He’s telling you that living things don’t last-it’s all temporary. Death in life. That’s why they’re called natures mortes. Maybe you don’t see it at first with all of the beauty and bloom, the little speck of rot. But if you look closer-there it is.” (24) I like this quote because I can relate to this. My grandfather passed away from cancer in December of last year while my aunt was also very ill with leukemia during the time. My hamster passed away and so did both of my parakeets. I didn’t know how to take it when my parakeet passed away at the bottom of his cage with his feet up in the air. It affected me a lot. My mom took him out of his cage and made him a nice home in a box with tissue paper and clothes so he could rest nicely in them. My mom and I had a funeral for him and said nice things about him and the memories that we had about him and then I buried him underneath a tree in my backyard. My hamster was breathing heavily and his heart stopped beating one morning when my dad woke up. He woke me up by coming into my room and telling me that he had passed away overnight. We put him in a nice box too and buried him by my parakeet. I did not know how to cope with the avalanche of sickness and death that has happened to my family members and my pets at the end of last year and the beginning of this year. I grieved in my own way because it was a really sad time. I felt like I shut off and became angry at the world because I did not understand why things happened the way that they did. My family also lost a distant family member this year from a heart attack.       People cope with loss in different ways too. It is very personal.       I enjoyed the section of the book where his mother gave him the painting to keep and hold on to to remember her by. It is a keepsake and an heirloom.   A mother was taking her student son to an art gallery in New York City but an explosion went off in the gallery while they were inside and everyone was rushing to try to escape the gallery. The son left, but the mother never did. She passed away in the explosion and the son has to come to terms with it and where he is going from there. He doesn’t have a home to stay at anymore so the social workers want to put him with his grandparents, but his grandmother’s back is going out and she can’t take care of him properly. He feels out of place and he doesn’t belong anywhere. “But suicide wasn’t the ansswer.” (93) He felt isolated and disconnected. He wanted to go back in time.     His father is not a presence in his life when he is living in New York. He is irritated and cold a lot of the time. He doesn’t  like to come home and wants to stay out drinking. It is described that he has a lot of stressors on his mind and that he even wants to move to Atlantic City and start over again. He is fearful. The son can’t look up to him because he doesn’t want to be involved with anything. The son is taken to a home where his friend is in AP classes and he is dedicated to his studies so he can’t do anything because all of his time is taken up. He watches old Turner classic movies to distract himself. Theo misses his mom and questions if he could have done things differently to prevent her death while he is staying at the temporary house. He wants to leave the house but he has nowhere to go. Theo wants to disappear and hide. He goes to therapy and while he is there he thinks about a girl named Pippa that he saw at the museum with his mom when the explosion happened. He cannot get Pippa off of his mind and he fantasizes about her. He meets with her and he finds out that she is moving away to Texas because her mother had passed away too so she is looking to start a new chapter in a new location. A fresh start.      He gets to move in with his father in Las Vegas and is charmed by his father’s lifestyle. It is a completely different lifestyle living with his father and girlfriend than living with his temporary housing family Andy and the Barbours. He meets a guy named Borris in his class in school and Boris lived in Ukraine and Russia and he introduced him to that culture. Boris is a main character in the book and is almost Theo’s wingman. Boris is not a good influence for him because he introduces him to a darker lifestyle.       Theo, the narrator of the story gets early admission to go to college and he goes into a European film class. His friends are taking classes like intro to Russian literature. The book, The Idiot by Doeskevsky is referenced too and philosophical things are taken out of the book and questioned by Boris near the resolution of the book. He has a painting called the goldfinch that his mother gave him. When the explosion at the art gallery happened, some paintings got ruined.       He discovers that his friend Andy had died and he is contemplating death some more.     I liked how the beginning of the book connected to the end of it in the way that it explains the characters’ fate and circumstances. At the beginning of the book he is in Amsterdam, but it is not explained why he is there until the ending of the book where he commit capital murder to save the painting his dead mother gave to him.  “It was a social and moral lesson, if nothing else. But for all foreseeable time to come-for as long as history was written, until the icecaps melted and the streets of Amsterdam were awash with water-the painting would be remembered and mourned. Who knew, or cared, the names of the Turks who blew the roof off the Parthenon? The mullahs who had ordered the destruction of the Buddhas at Bamiyan? Yet living or dead:their acts stood. It was the worst kind of immorality. Intentionally or no:I had extinguished a light in the heart of the world. An act of God:that was what the insurance companies called it, catastrophe so random or arcane that there was otherwise no taking the measure of it. Probability was one thing, but some events fell so far outside the actuarial tables that even insurance underwriters were compelled to haul in the supernatural in order to explain them-rotten luck, as my father had said mournfully one night out by the pool, dusk falling hard, smoking Viceroy to keep the mosquitoes away, one of the few times he tried to talk to me about my mother’s death, why do bad things happen, why me, why her, wrong place wrong time, just a fluke kid, one in a million not an evasion or copout in anyway but-I recognized, coming from him-a profession of faith and the best answer he had to give me, on par with Allah Has Written It or It’s the Lord’s Will, a sincere bowing of the head to Fortune, the greatest god he knew.” (701-702)      He describes going through drug withdrawals in some parts of the book and he talks about morphine, xanax, oxycontin, riboxycotin. He was snorting coke too. His father was taking vicodin which is hydrocodone. I didn’t expect for there to be so much discussion about drug use. The father relies on drugs to ease his situation. He got sober however. The father was addicted to drugs because of the relationship he had with his wife, the mother of Theo. The husband and wife got at each other’s throats and they would argue. He didn’t appreciate the situation he had when he was around her. He tried to escape. I think drug use is escapism but is also used for relaxation. Cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol are ok to use because they are soft drugs that put one at ease. When one starts to use hard drugs like cocaine, then it is not so good because they rely on it for its effects and get addicted to it. They have to get enough money for drugs too. It’s a cycle that is hard to break because one always craves the drug rush. I have smoked cigarettes and marijuana and I drink. I don’t care if people drink. I don’t care what people do unless it is illegal. I think that things are ok in moderation.     The Goldfinch is about appreciating every moment in life whether good or bad, its ups and downs because it's a very rare and precious thing. One has to appreciate life because at any second one’s relative could pass away in a car accident, shooting, etc not to say that it will happen, but anything and everything is to be expected and can happen. The Goldfinch is a rare creature that moves quickly. One moment it could be here and the next moment it can be flying away and migrating to a different location with its species to be never seen again for a while.  When I was reading this book, I went outside to sit in my backyard and continue to read and I had my parakeet and dog sitting outside with me. I went inside the house to get something, but my dog alo wanted to come inside the house at the same time while my parakeet’s cage was very close by. My dog was biting my pants trying to get inside the house first, and I had slightly kicked him trying to get him to stop biting me, but in doing that, my parakeet’s cage had toppled over into the flower bed by accident and my parakeet was free. She tried to fly away through a hole in our fence to get into my neighbor’s yard, however I was quick enough to come and get my mom to help save her, because I had thought that I had lost her. She did not go very far and was stuck in the fence. My mom was able to get a hold of her and put her back in her cage. I had fixed her cage after it had fallen down. It was scary because she could have easily been gone for good like my two other parakeets. My parakeet looks like a gold finch because she is golden and bright like the sun. I call her sundrop. Her name is Coronja.        ‘...if bad can sometimes come from good actions-? Where does it ever say, anywhere,that only bad can come from bad actions? Maybe sometimes-the wrong way is the right way? You can take the wrong path and it still comes out to where you want to be? Or, spin it another way, sometimes you can do everything wrong and it still turns out to be right?....What if all your actions and choices, good or bad make no difference to God? What if the pattern is pre set?...What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good? What if, for some of us, we can’t get there any other way?”  (745-746) This quote discusses predestination. The idea of if you will go to heaven or hell or some other universe. “Predestination is the doctrine that all events have been willed by God usually reference to the eventual fate of the individual soul.” (wikipedia.org) “Explanations of predestination often seek to address the paradox of free will.” (wikipedia.org) “Therefore as predestination includes the will to confer grace and glory so also reprobation includes the will to permit a person to fall into sin and impose the punishment of damnation on account of that sin.” (wikipedia.org)     “It’s not hard to see the human in the finch. Dignified, vulnerable. One prisoner looking at another...the bird looks out at us…” (766) From this quote I get the idea of reincarnation and that animals do have human characteristics. Animals have little souls that are like people. They have common traits that cannot be denied.       “...wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and heart open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time-so too has love. Insofar as it is immortal (and it is) I have a small bright, immutable part in that immortality. It exists; and it keeps on existing. And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers and the next.” (771) This quote talks about even though people are unhappy,achy, fragile, unhealthy and sick, there is still a bright side to things and to see things through, like my grandfather. My grandfather had given up in his elderly age and would lay on his couch and just watch the news or the stock market. He did not want to have that much of an existence when he got old. He had a stroke when I was ten years old and he could not get around that much and his speech was slurred. He had to go to physical therapy. The main message of the book is to say don’t take anything for granted and to be appreciative because everything can be taken away in an instant and your whole life can change by the small actions that you choose to make or not to make.  At the beginning of the story, the main character is on house arrest in Amsterdam and it ties in with the ending of the story to say that he is on House Arrest for the actions he decided to make. He cannot appreciate the city of Amsterdam and everyone there knows him as a criminal. He got charged with capital murder and has to stay where the cops knows where he is at.     People move quickly and do make poor decisions that affect them for the rest of their lives. Small choices have a great impact being if you commit a crime such as embezzling money, committing fraud, stealing, etc then you will have big punishments. It affects a lot of people in negative ways. People’s feelings can get hurt and everything can change for the worse in a matter of seconds.         It is difficult to deal with death of loved ones and animals and even the idea of it is scary and hard to come to terms with. When there are situations where one is faced with it, he or she can make harsh decisions that they will regret later on whatever they may be. Things can be altered so much that there could be no going back to the way things were. Small events can have a large impact. In the heat of the moment though, anything can happen, and regrets made. That is why it is important to be appreciative and loving to everyone, because people can grieve over the loss of their pet, over their loss of money, over the loss of a friend, etc. Even if you don’t want to wake up day after day after day because you did have loved ones pass away, you still need to wake up for yourself and see the good in everything because there are so many wonderful things to appreciate and cherish, so many opportunities to be had and loved and memories to be made. Love the pets that you have and love your family and friends. Cherish everything because everyone and everything is valuable and meaningful and adds to the quality of your life.       Theo comes to terms with his mother’s passing and grows from it and learns how to live with it.      Donna Tartt, the author of The Goldinch, puts in philosophical ideas and examples in this book that I appreciate. She uses quotes from Albert Camus, “The absurd does not liberate; it binds.” What I understand of this quote is absurdity doesn’t make one free, it ties one down and wraps one up. She uses another quote, “When we are strongest-who draws back? Most merry-who falls down laughing? When we are very bad,-what can they do to us?” This is said by the French poet Arthur Rimbaud. I get from this quote that who is there to watch people fall when times are hard? “We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves.” is a quote by François De La Rochefoucauld. Rochefoucauld is a noted French author of maxims and memoirs. He is part of the literary movement of classicism and is best known for his maxisms. “It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.” by Schiller. I like this quote because people have hearts and want to enjoy the good things and get past the bad things that happen.    “We have art in order not to die from the truth.”-Nietzsche.     Tartt grabs philosophical examples from The Little Prince in some parts of the book.  

#thegoldfinch #book review

[almondharry]

you look so good : two

you look so good [9.1k]

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. 

Arnold’s Singularity Theory

October 26, 2019

Her back was hunched over the wooden desk beside her bed. The high pitched ringing of her alarm snapped her eyes open at six in the morning. The sky was a navy blue; she could make out the few dog walkers on the street. It was her only day off, but the piled work on her table argued otherwise.

Genevieve was alone in her freezing apartment. The heating was broken and when she told Mr. Goldwin, her landlord, he didn’t have his hearing aid on. She had a routine for Sundays: Wake up. Do practice problems. Make a cup of tea. Sleep. 

A dull ache prodded between her shoulder blades, her spine was sorely unaligned. Her face was all sunken cheeks and shades of grey. The sweater bought last month suddenly became a few sizes too big. 

The sun created hues of orange and reds. The blue that slowly peeked out at the sides made it seem like a bowl of dirty paint water being stirred. The evening stillness in her flat was interrupted by the sudden roar of an engine. As she looked out the window, a car zoomed down the road with a blaring radio. An animated lightning bolt was left behind, its speed meant it was gone within a blink. An unsettling feeling made itself a home in the pit of her stomach. She pictured it as swirls, starting off as small slow circles, and eventually growing into sharp hurried edges. 

It was probably nothing, maybe university kids having a laugh, but she didn’t have the time to mull over it because the swinging of her front door and jingling of a bundle of keys sounded loudly. 

Meena opened the door to her refrigerator and the only thing there was a flickering light bulb and an empty box of orange juice. A high pitched shrill followed.

“Gen!” 

Genevieve was out of milk, eggs, and cereal.

She wouldn’t have given it another thought and might’ve ordered take out or popped in at the Smalls’ to split a pizza with Jonah, the neighbour’s kid who she tutored every once in a while. He was the only child of a single dad who worked too many hours at the construction site to make rent. He wasn’t home often and they had a silent understanding of popping in every couple days to keep an eye on him, much like Meena liked to keep tabs on Genevieve. Except, Genevieve wasn’t a scrawny teenage boy who needed to be looked after, something which Meena would refute without a shadow of doubt. At the current state of Genevieve’s flat, the jury would easily side with Meena Ahmed.

Meena had a hand on her hip, her lips pressed in a firm line. She took a deep breath, pinching the carton between her thumb and index finger. “Gen-e-vieve!” 

Meena put her foot down and opened the trash can only to find it overflowing. She held back a gag. 

“Genevieve!” 

After some rustling and movement on the other side of the wall, her feet stumbled out of her bedroom. An unimpressed snarl on her face, Genevieve’s body leaned against the doorway.

“I think by now everyone in this bloody building knows my name,” she said with a textbook in one hand and a pen in the other. She had not looked away from the pages. She hurriedly scratched an answer to her practice problems before it could float away from her brain. “That’s exactly the information they need to kick me out.”

Meena was in her work out clothes, a bright pink neon top with matching trainers. She looked straight out of a healthy living ad. She had glossy black hair, almond shaped eyes, and always smelled of fresh daisies. She had that all American smile and pearly whites that were blinding. She was into juicing, kale, and art history. 

“What is this?”

“What’s what?” Genevieve inquired, her eyes glued on the next problem.

When a moment of silence went by and no response was given, her head shot up.

Her eyes flickered from the trash can—she thought she saw something move in there— to the open door of her empty refrigerator. Her lips fell into an O shape. 

“When you told me you went to the shops on Tuesday, I didn’t know you were talking about two bloody weeks ago,” Meena huffed as she bent down to tie a knot on the black bag, her nose scrunched up. It was atypical to hear her accent try out British sayings, but amusing nonetheless. “Have you been eating?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I do have instant noodles on the shelf. And I mainly eat at the diner.” Genevieve shrugged, her attention migrated back to her pages. What at first glance looked like to be ten simple problems turned out to be a mess of numbers and formulas that weren’t making any sense. 

“That God awful place serves nothing but heart disease! It takes a whole stack of napkins to soak up that grease!” Meena scoffed as she replaced the bin with a fresh bag. On multiple occasions, she had cornered a frightened Walter to discuss his technique and may have even manipulated him to add a vegan alternative to his infamous pancakes. Thanks to Meena, Flo’s now served gluten-free, vegetarian, and no sugar added options. Genevieve firmly believed Walter did it out of fear, but he won’t admit it. “And instant noodles are not a meal, we have talked about this.”

“‘Course they are! An efficient one too.”

“What happened to ‘We’re gonna change things this year, Meena! Real changes! You won’t recognize me by the time I’m done’?” 

If there was one thing Meena Ahmed took seriously, it was New Year’s resolutions. She kept every one ever since she was old enough to make them. She hadn’t missed a gym day for the past three years. When she said she would take on meditation, she actually did. When her mind became set on studying abroad in London, on January first, she was boarding a plane. 

So when the following December 31st hit and Genevieve was one too many drinks in with Meena, she found herself making empty promises of eating better and taking care of herself. Little did Meena know that to Genevieve, resolutions were much like a two-week free trial. As soon as that time frame was up, you could up and go. 

“I put in a solid effort for a week, and that’s what counts!”

“We need to go to the shops. You have nothing here. You need a list.” The pen between Genevieve’s fingers was swiped and the tearing of paper was quick from her notebook. She was also very much into being intrusive. “Let’s start off with the basics. Eggs, milk, bread. Do you want tea?”

“I can do my own groceries! I’m not a child, Meena!”

“Could’ve fooled me. By the looks of it, you’ve been living off frosted flakes. Do you even know where the closest store is?”

Genevieve scoffed and propped herself on the counter with the back of her elbows. “Of course I do, I am very much capable of taking care of myself.”

Meena paused. Her body turned towards Genevieve with her full, utmost attention. Her eyes scanned her from head to toe, Genevieve was being appraised.

She didn’t put effort to hide the worried crinkle forming between her brows. “Have you showered today? Changed your clothes?”

Genevieve wasn’t a slob, but she did let herself go at times. It was something that Meena, who religiously went to get fresh manicures every two weeks, couldn’t quite grasp.  

“Oh, sod off! I was just about to run myself a bath before you came barreling in.”

She wasn’t, but Meena didn’t need to know that.

“Hm, what type of tea?” Meena asked after rolling her eyes dismissively. 

“Green, please.”

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. She sighed, getting Meena to budge was a faraway dream. She rubbed her strained eyes as Meena listed off something about the lack of vitamins in her diet. She was now on a tangent explaining how an increase in omega-3 and healthy fats in her diet could be beneficial when Genevieve's front door knob jiggled. There was a grunt and a strategic kick to the door, and it flew open.

“Gen!” he panted, his tongue slipped out unintentionally like a dog. His cheeks were flushed a cherry red, probably from the trek up the stairs. Jonah’s backpack was twice the size of him. He wore a shirt with his favourite comic book character, its armpits a shade darker than the rest of his shirt.

He had a ghost white face and his left eye twitched. “Hey, bud, you alright?” Genevieve raised a brow.

Little lungs took in a heavy breath, quite like pulling the handles of a bicycle air pump up.

“I don’t get the trigonometric equations! I have a test tomorrow! Mrs. Hansuld was going over the review in class and it looked like she was speaking Russian— and I know I should’ve been studying last week but they just released the new version of Triton Galaxy X and it was just so beyond cool, Gen. I am already on level twelve, and, well, now I have a test and I don’t know any of it. Nothing. Zero. I don’t think I can even add numbers anymore.”

Genevieve looked at Meena. Her mouth was parted from shock as she blinked at the frazzled boy in front of them. “You’re so tiny… but you, you speak so much and so fast.”

“Um, actually, you’re mistaken.” He raised an accusing finger. His height was a sensitive topic. He was at the stage where all his friends were getting growth spurts and growing like weeds, whereas he had yet to experience his own. “I am almost five foot and that is within the normal height range on WebMD, Docs4You and according to my pediatrician.” 

Genevieve found it amusing that his voice reached a higher pitch the more defensive he got. He was a whistle by the end of his sentence. It also didn’t help that his last name was Smalls and kids in school could be cruel. 

“‘Course, yeah, I’m sorry. My bad.” Meena nodded quickly. She knew she hit a nerve as she backed up slowly. She scratched the back of her neck. “Um, well, Gen and I were planning on picking up groceries, but I’ll go grab ‘em.”

“Great, I’ll go take my books out.” Jonah dragged his bag like a potato sack into the living room.  

“You really don’t have to, Meena.” 

“Gen, it’s no big deal,” she brushed off. “Anyway, I don’t think your pal wants me around much. I need an escape and maybe a magazine too.”

When Meena gulped uncomfortably, Genevieve shook her head. She pushed herself off the counter. 

“Here take my card.” Genevieve shoved the plastic rectangle into Meena’s hand. A comforting squeeze was given. “If you get him one of those milk chocolate bars, he will forgive you in ten minutes tops.”

“Right,” Meena laughed. “I’ll be back in no time.”

***

October 27, 2019

There was a buzzing.

The room was swallowed in darkness, the crescent moon that hung behind the window didn’t provide enough light to warrant a quick search. It was enough of a reason for Genevieve to shut her half opened lids.

Except that the buzzing began again. 

Genevieve groaned into her pillow until the nuisance came to a full stop. Whoever was beckoning her attention could do without it until the sun came up. There was an ache in her neck from the poor posture that her body folded in. To top it off, she had an 8:00 a.m. class. There were not enough hours in the night so she was clinging on to any thread of peace. She tossed and turned until she got the sheets pooled around her in just the right way.

Just when Genevieve was about to slip into the blissful state of unconsciousness, the aggravating buzz started once more. The less than pleased frown on her lips could surely make fresh flowers wilt. Her limbs were heavy with sleep as she moved her duvet to find the pesky device. Genevieve lived in a shithole. Labelling her room a shoe box would be bordering glamorous. Although, it did make it easier to find things. 

It took a couple of shuffles and twists to hear the thud of a screen colliding against the floorboard. The damn thing was still ringing. The brightness on the unknown caller screen made her face glow blue and the back of her eyes burn; she shut them while blindly hitting the green circle. 

“Hm?” Her voice croaked. 

“You know the time I got you out of a thing?”

Their words were slurred and the glowing digits on her windowsill read 5:26 a.m. This meant one thing only. “No, sorry. Wrong number.” 

Genevieve brought the phone away from her face, and just as her finger hovered over the red circle, a needy yelp cried out.

“Gen! Don’t hang up!”

Her eyes rolled with an aggravated sigh, fingers reluctantly pressing the device to the side of her head. There was sleep crusted in the corners of her eyes and she had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the darkness.“What do you want, Niall?”

“You see, I’m in this predicament… and I might need someone sober and with a car.”

“Then call a bloody Uber. Who do you think I am?”

“Look, I thought that. But—”

There was rustling on the other side. After some bickering, another voice spoke through the line. 

“Gen, come get this tosser or else he will pass out on my floor. I swear, I’ll lock up with him inside.” 

“How bad is he?” Genevieve was already pushing aside textbooks on her floor in search of a pair of trousers. With one leg inside and the receiver pressed between her cheek and shoulder, she hopped on her bedroom floor. 

“Not good. He is a right mess.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Just keep giving him water, please? Thanks for the ring, Ted.” She knew Niall well enough to know that this wasn’t his bright and shiny idea. If it were up to him, he would pass out on a park bench. 

“Got your number scratched on the wall for a reason.” The click sounded on the other side, then the line dropped afterwards.

It was true. If you looked hard enough you could make out the chicken scratched scribbles right under the faux payphone mounted inside The Cabinet, where the beers were cheap and Niall Horan was reachable at the slightest inconvenience that struck his life. Last week, it was because he had failed his mid-term. This week, the problem was blonde and walking across campus and shared one too many of his courses.

“No, Gen, she’s just too gorgeous, it’s unbelievable. I think I am in love.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to happen, but congrats.” 

Ted adored Niall immensely when he was bringing more business to the pub and getting the word out, not when he was a blubbering mess on the sticky countertops. He sipped his drinks like water to the point that Ted would morph into a psychiatrist. This happened so often that it had become a ritual. The day Niall stopped burdening him with his problems was a day that failed to exist. 

Much like her room, the small flat didn’t have the lights on. Genevieve didn’t need them to navigate her path, her fingers haphazardly pulled on her boots and plucked the bundle of keys from a mug. 

Her car, a well-loved hand-me-down, was nothing lavish. It got her from point A to B without much resistance on good days. Her foot eased on the gas, with the route was well versed and memorized. After a couple of stop signs, her destination would be reached. The streets were empty and not one car was spotted at any intersections. 

A light breeze roamed around and brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin. She should’ve brought a sweater, she thought, as her teeth began to chatter. Her dark hair was haphazardly twisted into a bun and rested on the top of her head. The car door shut behind her as she quickly jogged across the street to where the pub was located. 

The street was lonely. 

There were only a handful of people that would be up at this hour. This subgroup of people definitely did not include her. She thought she was still partly asleep when there was a familiar figure pacing down the sidewalk towards her. Maybe it was the dark, but even after she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms, the slope of the person remained familiar. As they got closer, the once blurred image sharpened, and she felt her stomach flip. 

A slight panic arose in Genevieve’s eyes. He was too close of a distance for her to dash through the doors, and it would’ve been clear that she was making a run from him. She doesn’t recall when exactly their encounters began to turn dreadful. But the reality of the situation wasn’t how, it was the fact that they had. This was the second time he stood across from her. The rate of their reunions was at an all time high after years spent apart. It made a heavy weight rest on her chest, her own personal Sisyphus boulder. 

Tiptoeing and maneuvering their way around each other was the hardest part. There wasn’t a book in the world that taught you how to stand across someone that you once spoke to every day. There was a time Genevieve could tell what each tilt, rise, and fall of Harry’s face meant. How do you go from sharing friends, laughter, a life, to becoming nothing short of hollow strangers? As they stood across from each other on an empty street, they only shared blank stares.

“Hi.” His breathing was a bit uneven, and Genevieve saw the beginnings of roses bloom on his cheek under the streetlights. His moose coloured hair was tucked under a beanie and there was a slight stubble on his chin.

“You are running?” Genevieve squinted at him. Navy gym shorts hung off his hips and a full sleeve athletic shirt was on top. “At five in the morning?” 

Genevieve hated how Harry looked brand new. In the midst of a mountain worth of chaos and hurt, how he managed to look shiny, pre-packaged, and unopened was well beyond her. She had to hold herself together with her bare arms when her seems unravelled. Harry was happier before Genevieve and it was something she had to be okay with. There was no specific reason why. It was just how reality worked. 

“By the time I’m done, it will be six. I’ll have to get up anyway.” His shoulders rose and fell in a mindless shrug. Genevieve brought her arms to fold across her chest, her fists cuddled under her armpits to trap heat.

“You’re insane.” Genevieve shook her head. The neon trainers he had on rivalled the brightness of the open sign hung on the doors of The Cabinet. When Genevieve thought she had made enough of an effort at a civil conversation, she turned around to push the heavy glass door. There was nothing else to say to him.

Conversation with Harry wasn’t always a chore. She was able to speak without having to think twice or second guess herself. Now, it seemed like every word led to a dead end of an inescapable maze.

Genevieve accepted that Harry was no longer the person she came to with her favourite songs, books and a cup of tea. She wondered if whatever reminiscent memoir she had in her memory of him served true till today. Her Harry was never the sober driver or the early bird runner. She did not expect him to stay the same. No, that would be cruel. But a small part of her wanted to know if she had known him at all. 

Before her weight gave to the door, his voice chimed up.

“You’re drinking?”

“God no, I’m, um—No. I’m here for a friend.” Genevieve paused, a deep breath circled her lungs and helped her string some words together. “He’s gone a bit over the top.” She chuckled. It wasn’t soft and light, but rather felt like sandpaper. 

“Oh, right. ‘Course.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck with his fingers. He blinked to the ground, the cracked concrete suddenly became much more of an interest. “I wasn’t— it’s just, I run this route every morning and I never see you and maybe I thought—”

“It’s okay, Harry.” He began to run his fingers through his hair, the beanie scrunched in his left hand. “I really need to help my friend, yeah?” 

“Right, I’ll see you around?”

Genevieve left his question hung in the air like forgotten laundry on a washing line. She thought it was better than saying I hope not. She didn’t want to mention that she tried to avoid him to the best of her ability. Genevieve knew his habits, his patterns. She had knowledge about places he went to, so, naturally, she didn’t. It was a triumph for her to go without months of seeing him. But there was only so much she could do. Juggling probabilities of his whereabouts would never assign her a one hundred percent assurance of erasing him, even with a ninety-nine percent confidence interval.

“Genny?” he called out again. The rational part of her wanted to pretend she didn’t hear him and walk through the door. Instead, she took a breath through her nose and turned around slowly. She wrapped her arms tighter together as the temperature dropped by the second. “Um, do you think we could talk sometime?”

There was a frailness to his voice. He was nervous. Genevieve knew this because he had made a mess of his hair with the number of times his fingers combed it back. 

The next words off her tongue painted a sad smile on his raspberry chapped lips. He looked exhausted, the grey shadows under his eyes beckoned her to not beat around the bush.

“We are talking, Harry.”

Confrontation was a foreign concept to Genevieve. Brushing it under the rug and forgetting about it seemed the best way for her. If it is out of sight, it will be out of mind. But Harry had other plans. He wanted to strip the house down and uncover every corner Genevieve thought to be her hiding spot. It was an intrusion and she didn’t want him to come knocking down doors. 

“No, I mean—”

“It was nice seeing you,” she said, her mouth set into a thin, straight line as she held eye contact. They were still the same deep green with golden flecks. She had seen them angry, hopeful, teary, but right now they were desperate.

The slight tilt to her head told Harry not to push it. To leave things as they were. He served as a walking reminder of loss and all the things she wanted to forget. Their situation did not have to go back to a normal distribution; their data was skewed, and the standard deviation was large enough to wedge a significant distance from their past to present.

Change was good, even if it was different. Over time, the further apart she was from him the better it was for her. And she hoped it was the same for him.  

No one warned Genevieve that holding a grudge required discipline and so much energy. She felt drained, her bones became weak enough they could snap in half. There was no brochure that outlined the ins and out of the process. Your brain worked overtime to disguise clenched jaws and tight fists without any compensation.

On the surface, everything appeared smooth and stonelike. Beneath, lied the hot white anger. That type of anger was something no one wanted to intentionally claim; it was an orphan. It builds and builds and builds until you cannot see through it. You’re blinded, you’re revengeful. 

“Yeah.” Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. He teetered on the balls of his feet and toes with his bottom lip caged between his teeth. He was debating on what to say next, and Genevieve wished it would be something short and quick. She wanted him to say a casual goodbye that was heard between strangers in a coffee shop or book store. Something that didn’t make her want to burst into a river of tears. “One more thing.”

“Hm?”

“Nice shirt.” There was a quirk to one side of his mouth where a dimple had coined itself on his cheek. It was an innocent compliment. Something a friend might say to another. Before she could give a reply, he had turned around and broken into a light jog.

Genevieve watched his figure become muddy until the darkness hid him completely. It was an odd thing to say, her appearance was something she could give less of a shit about at five in the morning. She had literally gotten out in the clothes she slept in. 

Genevieve brushed his words off. She wanted a dry goodbye and he delivered. It was nothing more.

Without thinking twice, she pushed the doors open and warmth from inside greeted her. The pub remained looking the same since she had walked in with her two best mates three years before. It was a hole in the wall, fixed in between a thrifting and convenience store. It littered with mismatched chairs and alcohol stains, a pool table and dart boards lined the further corner, and a random sports channel glowed on the box TV. Niall’s blond hair was easily spotted; it laid on the century old cherry wood bar. The posture his back was slumped on the stool insured neck cramps.

The doors behind the bar came swinging open as the bells above chimed of her entrance. A rag rested on his shoulder and he wore a well loved band shirt from his touring days. For someone who was found frowning on most days, Ted beamed a smile at Genevieve. 

“Good! You’re here!” His shoulders dropped in relief as she made her way closer to her friend. “He’s been miserable.”

“Gen? Is that you?” Niall grumbled from his position. “Oh, shut it, Ted. You’re giving me no option but to take my money elsewhere,” Niall slurred as he lifted his head off the wood. There were lines indented on his cheek from his possible snooze. 

“Those are empty words.” Ted rolled his eyes easily and used his rag to clean up the surface that Niall previously occupied. 

“You know what else is empty, Theodore? This glass!” It rattled against the countertop when Niall dramatically set it down. 

Ted’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, crinkles lining the corners of his eyes. “I’m not pouring you another drop, mate.”

“Who said it was for me? Have you seen Gen? She looks proper in need of a few.”

With a deep sigh, Genevieve took the stool beside Niall. Her head slowly turned to scan the pub. A place that was the heart of loud laughter and cheers was dimmed down since they were the only ones. With her elbows propped up on the counter, she pressed her index fingers to her temples. 

“You do look a bit poorly. Under the weather?”

“No, not at the moment,” she sighed.

“Well, you look like shit,” Niall blurted.

“Thanks, Niall, really.” Genevieve glared with a frown. “Remind me to never do a kind thing for you ever again. Sorry I wasn’t in full glam when you called at ass crack of dawn.”

“Did you see a ghost or something? You look sick.” Niall squinted his eyes and pinched her cheek between his thumb and index finger. It was rather quickly slapped away with a snarl. “Ouch!”

“Nothing a pint can’t cure.” A tall glass slid in front of Genevieve. Condensation dripped and pooled on the counter. The frothy foam rested on top and sat at the rim without tipping over. “On the house.” 

A Stella didn’t sound like a bad idea to Genevieve. She felt like she deserved one. After all, two encounters with the person she disliked the most was beginning to become exhausting. The car keys weighed down in her pocket, her bones ached and her temples pulsed. A tired yawn stretched her face as the drink laid rested on the cherry wood. 

Niall scoffed as Genevieve stared at the drink for a moment too long. “If you don’t take it, I will!” 

His fingers crept to grasp the glass, and Genevieve batted his greedy hands away. “Paws off, Niall.”

A cold drink couldn’t hurt, she decided. The first sip eased the tense muscles in her shoulders. Niall found a basket of chips to pick at in the meantime. He probably ordered them to soak up his alcohol intake.

Genevieve could hear Ted in the kitchen. The shifting of pots and pans meant that he was officially closing up for the night. She thought the least she could do was flip the remaining barstools on the counter. 

In the two seconds that she had abandoned her glass, she had turned to see Niall gulping like fish.

“No more!” He made a strangled sound as the rim was pulled from his lips. “Don’t need your puke in my car.”

Genevieve threw back what was left of the drink. “You could just pull the window down and I’ll mind me business.”

Genevieve squinted her eyes to catch a better look at Niall and she noticed he was turning a few shades greener. He had on a dopey grin and his eyes were almost shut. Niall became whiny when he got sick, and if Genevieve were to let that happen in the pub there would be no chance of him leaving.

“How about we get you to an actual sink, yeah?”

With an arm thrown over her shoulder and Niall almost near collapsing on her, she yelled a farewell to Ted. He was more preoccupied with rubbing the stove clean but he got the message, yelling muffled goodbye of his own.

The car parked across the street never felt further away. Niall was in his own world, mumbling some drunk words into her hair. Genevieve caught some that thanked her for taking care of him. She took each step slowly. 

Getting Niall into the passenger seat was a process, one she thought she had got down pat. She had done everything as planned, put his head to the right, made sure he had enough room to stretch his legs and of course, double checked to see if he had his phone and wallet on him. Apparently, this was taking too long and Niall reached over to slam the door shut.

Genevieve had jumped back just in time that no fingers were caught between doors. She sighed in relief before shooting a glare at Niall. He looked at the fabric that stretched from her stomach. “Oops?” 

Genevieve rolled her eyes at Niall, who burst into giggles because it turned out everything was more hilarious at 5:00 a.m. She tugged at the material.

It was old and ratty. It was two sizes too big and hung off her frame, there were stains, holes, some she never remembered putting in herself. It took her a moment, with the fabric bunched between her digits, the gears in her brain set into place. The sharp intake of breath hit the back of her throat and the air on the street suddenly froze.

***

October 27, 2019

“It’s stupid, Gen.” The clicking of a game controller didn’t halt. The animated character on the screen ran towards a glowing torch. Jonah adjusted the headpiece he had on over his ears, probably muting himself so the other kids wouldn’t hear Genevieve lecture him. Beside him sat a bowl of finished popcorn on the sofa, like his player two, and unpopped kernels rattled every time he enthusiastically surged towards the TV screen.  

“This is due in two days, Jonah,” Genevieve emphasized. She had unzipped his backpack. His agenda was hard to read, his chicken scratch writing almost made Genevieve mistake a significant date for scribbles. It was for his English class, something that he had yet to mention, which Genevieve found odd because he always told her about his school work. Okay, it was more like Genevieve made sure he told her, but same thing regardless. “How are you planning on starting and editing and finishing it?”

She knew better than to talk to boys in the middle of a game. There was no use. Her experience regarding it only went one way, everything went in one ear and out the other. It was fascinating, really; their eyes would glaze over and for a short ten minutes the real world wouldn’t exist. They would become so immersed in whatever universe was in front of them. It had been once explained to Genevieve as almost the same thing as reading a good book, but with the exception that the player was put in charge of the main character’s decisions. 

His tongue poked out at the side and the Playstation keys were innocent victims to his quick jabs. His shoulders deflated when the message on the screen informed him of the scoreboard. He grumbled something under his breath before his miniature joystick highlighted the option to opt for another round. “I’ll edit it while I’m writing it.” He shrugged mindlessly. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” 

“What’s up with you? You usually love finishing your assignments for Mrs. Yu’s class.”

“Look how stupid the prompt is,” Jonah grumbled. Genevieve’s fingers were already pulling out a crumpled rubric and pressing it flat so it stayed without folding in on itself. Eyes scanned the short blurb of instructions which Jonah soon summarized. “Pick a month and personify it. What type of pretentious—”

“I think it’s very neat. Creative. Have you selected a month yet?” 

“Sure.” His flat tone said otherwise.

Genevieve rolled her eyes at his antics. “If you don’t spend enough time on this, she will give you an easy fifty. That will bring down your average and universities look at that. What will you do then?”

She reached over to the table to take a sip from her water bottle.

The Smalls residence was the same layout when compared to her flat, so it didn’t take long to get familiar to it. Granted, it was more furnished and had Jonah’s gaming consoles already hooked up to use. The latter being the deciding factor of Jonah’s executive decision to procrastinate his work for another week. Usually, Jonah would pop in after school to Genevieve’s, but she had just returned from a shift at the diner and his door was cracked ajar.

Like many days, his father left for the construction site and wouldn’t be back until after dinner, and the only appliance Jonah knew how to use was a microwave. Genevieve had some food which Walter packed for her and it was more than enough to share with a growing boy. His diet was worse than hers. He could go weeks on Pop Tarts and Twizzlers from his cafeteria vending machine. Plus, he wasn’t bad company to have around. 

“Easy. Play the dead mum card. Works like a charm.” 

Genevieve spluttered the water out, coughing since it had gone down the wrong tube. 

“Jonah!”

Her jaw went slack and her eyes widened, a slight worry arose. She wasn’t well versed on the ins and outs of parenting—she preferred to see him as a younger sibling— or child trauma, but even she had a hunch that there was something troubling and incredibly off about the way he had referred to the passing of his mother so nonchalantly. 

“What?” Jonah asked, dumbfounded. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that!”

“‘Course I can. You have no idea the amount of pity and sympathy they throw at your feet. At first, I despised it, because obviously I wasn’t a knocked over puppy like they were making me out to be.” His character on the screen jumped to deflect an obstacle. A triumph smile was the direct result. “But then, I was like what the hell, you know? Like if it’s there already, why not play my cards right and score some sort of advantage from it?”

Genevieve blinked. She tilted her head to attempt understanding his analogy. 

“Well, that sure is one way to look at it,” she said after a short pause. “But I am not gonna let you do that to Mrs. Yu. Something tells me you’ve already done it one too many times.”

He paused his game and finally turned to her, giving her more than his side profile at last. A hellish grin split his face. “How else do you think I got a month extension on that book report and a perfect score on our last quiz?”

“I don’t know… I had assumed hard work and honesty?”

“Wake up, Gen! This is the real world and the rules are different in this game!” 

“Alright, bud, you’re cut off from this game.” Genevieve pushed the power button on the TV remote that laid limply to her right. The screen became black with a click. Jonah’s back hit the backrest of the sofa, the bouncy cushion slightly propelled him further before absorbing his weight. “Let’s at least get started on a rough copy, how does that sound?”

He groaned with his head tilted back and eyes shut. “Excruciating, torturous, maybe illegal.”  

“I’m asking you to get a start on your project, not abducting you.” His pace to grab the rest of his belongings from the table two meters away from him could rival a snail. “Now, do you have a month in mind?”

“I was thinking maybe like February, December, or even October.” He opened an empty page in his notebook and clicked the top of his mechanical pencil to give away some lead. “Because, like, it will be easy to build a character off them because they all have some sort of festive holiday thing to them.”

“That’s a great start. But don’t you think it’s a bit expected? It is a creative piece, so let’s maybe brainstorm something out of the box. Try picking a month that doesn’t have a holiday attached to it.”

He sighed deeply through his nose. The thought of putting in a smidge bit of effort was like pulling teeth.

Jonah had started to doodle in the margins. He drew three tallies, evenly spread, and added another row of them. He then connected them in a way which Genevieve recognizes to be the symbol on a superhero’s chest. 

“August?” 

Genevieve swallowed a bug.

“Why did you pick that? What significance does it have to you?” Genevieve doesn’t miss a beat, it aided to mask her surprise. 

“Well, I don’t know!” He throws his hands up exasperatedly. “You said pick one, so I did.” He pointed out, his tone reminded Genevieve of how a middle schooler says “duh”. 

“Come on. Think a bit.” 

“It’s like... sort of like the last month of summer and it brings in fall. Which is the season where we witness life slip away, but barely because it happens so slowly.” 

Genevieve’s heart swells for two reasons. Jonah was a bright kid, well beyond his age. It was something he hid and purposefully tried his utmost best not to let shine through. Genevieve had guessed the reason behind his reluctance was mainly because Jonah was at that age where he just wanted to fit in and not stand out like a sore thumb. But every once in a blue moon, he would slip up. When he allowed himself to think out loud, his ideas lined in a way where it wasn’t just the tip of the iceberg anymore. The depth gave away his brilliance. 

The first time Genevieve was left speechless by him was when he analyzed one of his favourite comic book characters with an intensity that put the burning sun to shame. Then again when he asked her to edit his essay on a world issue. And once more when he asked her how to approach a girl in his science class that he clearly fancied. Genevieve tried to define this tendency of his as a recurring variable in Jonah’s equation. 

In many more ways than one, August held an importance like no other to Genevieve. It was a month that was easily overlooked because it was caught in a war for attention between the summer months and upcoming winter holidays. Its propinquity to strong competition was something that made it easy to forget. If it was a person, she was sure it would be a quiet boy around her age. Probably with a penchant for befriending girls and breaking hearts so slowly that you don’t even know it’s happening. 

Genevieve hummed in agreement with Jonah. 

“Go on.”

“Let’s say if I were to go with this month, I wouldn’t focus on death because that would be something colder, like December or January or like the first snowfall.” His pencil sounded against his notebook. A string of notes were effortlessly coming together as Jonah continued. He suddenly stopped writing and his face scrunched in thought as he stared at the blank TV screen with as much focus that could convince you it was on. “I think August is knowing you’re losing someone or something without the assurance of finding them again... and letting it deliberately happen.”

“Isn’t that almost death?” Genevieve raised a brow. 

“Almost, but not quite.” He tapped his pencil to the metal like coils that ran down the side. “August is loss, parting away. You know, something along the lines of donating old clothes, a friend becoming a stranger, even placing car keys somewhere different.”

Genevieve knew exactly what he was talking about. She couldn’t really describe the feeling of losing a friend in words with sharp precision. It was the same as repeating a word again and again until it came to the point you deluded yourself into thinking it belongs to another language completely.  

Jonah peered up, awaiting a response or another prompt to further his development. Instead, Genevieve smiled sadly and shakes her head. 

“What?!”

“Nothing.” She laughed softly, a bit winded.

There was just something about him that was light years ahead. Something so pure and good and applaudable that made you think about the character that so many adults lacked and how it was sitting in front of you in a corked up bottle of a preteen boy. He had lost his mother, his father wasn’t around, he didn’t have many friends at school, and he picked the month of August. He had hit the nail on what it was so eloquently that Genevieve could burst into tears. But she refrained, instead opted to narrow her eyes jokingly his way.

“You’re just too smart for your own good, is all.”

That night she went to sleep thinking about August.

How he probably wore wrinkled shirts so effortlessly, with his hair in a gentle disarray. People would make a note to comment on his ridiculously long eyelashes, but she favoured his eyes. They were round and shiny and reminded her of a cloudy marble, the colour of slate. He was charming but had an air of coyness about him that was inviting and deliberate. With skin the colour of oat and a smile like rain, it came or it didn't, he was a knockout. She hypothesized the variable that contributed to his allure had less to do with his looks and more with how he made you feel. 

He made you feel wanted, he made you feel like you were someone. 

***

October 31, 2016

It didn’t take long for Genevieve to spot him, his back was slouched against the red brick wall of a tall building. A pair of old wayfarers sat on the bridge of his nose and his arms pretzeled over his chest easily. His jaw went slack then tight, this pattern repeated like clockwork until Genevieve got close enough to notice he was working a piece of gum lazily. With his head tilted to the sky and one leg crossed over the other, he was imitating textbook boredom. 

“Do you have it?” Dried leaves crunched beneath the sole of his boots as he unravelled his legs and stood up straighter than before as Genevieve’s figure approached near. She could tell he was raising his brows, but they didn’t make an appearance, still hidden behind his frames.

“Yeah.” Genevieve dipped her index finger and thumb to the front right side pocket of her jeans. It took some wiggling to pluck out a piece of metal, smooth on one side and teeth jagged on the other. The metal was warm when dropped into his open palm. “Why the sudden need for it? Have you finally taken up my advice on actually locking your doors yet?”

It was natural for him to give Genevieve a spare key, a strategy that had served him well on multiple occasions. He had lost his more than once within the span of the first two months of getting his flat. This habit had come to a point that recovery was not an option; he preferred to keep his door unlocked anyway. Genevieve pointed out it was a safety hazard, but he liked to call it being efficient. In between locking himself out or forgetting his own key, Genevieve was a dependable solution.

“Not quite, don’t get too ahead of yourself.” She had seen his long black eyelashes hit the inside of his sunglasses, a clear indicator of him rolling his eyes. “I need it for a friend. He doesn’t have a place to stay for a while, and I offered the couch. Are you done with your lectures for the day?”

“I’m afraid not. Got one more and I’m free,” Genevieve sighed defeatedly. She shifted her bag from her right shoulder to the left. Today, she only had her laptop and one textbook, but the strap of her bag still created red dents on her shoulders from the weight. “Did you end up going to your tutorial?”

He gave her a look that was enough of an answer. His glasses rose on his face as a result of him scrunching his nose up in disgust. The tips of his mouth pulled downwards as sourness glazed his features. 

“If it’s before noon, I’m not going; you know this, Genny.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his finger. “Can I tempt you to skip by offering the first round at The Cabinet?”

“It’s like…” Genevieve glanced at her wrist watch. “One.”

“I’m not hearing a no.” He grinned, a smile pressed deeply into his face. “Come on, Gen! You’ll get to meet my pal too. I think you’ll get along really well. And Ted is offering half off today. It’s a win-win. What could be more important than good company?”

“Dynamic Systems Differential Equations, unfortunately.” The course name was a mouthful and her dull tone was enough insight into what it was like.

“That sounds like a migraine.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” She laughed sans humour already picturing the formulas needed for her practice problems. “Speaking of migraines, what are we doing as costumes for Hannah Morton’s party?”

He squinted his eyes and paused for a moment. Migraine Morton was a nickname that stuck onto the bottom of your sneaker like chewing gum. “Is that tonight?” 

“Well it is the thirty-first of October.” Her arms stretched to gesture towards the building she had exited from. “Do the carved pumpkins and the stick on ghost figures not make that obvious enough?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” He winced in reply to her previous question. A fingernail scratched at the corner of his forehead. “I was thinking of piggybacking off whatever you’re dressed as.”

Genevieve’s brows creased and her head tilted. “What do you mean?” 

“If you’re Frankenstein, I’ll be the doctor.” He pointed to Genevieve and then to himself. “Bonnie, Clyde. Sherlock, Watson.” 

“You want to go coordinating? Isn’t that a bit…”

“What?” He prompted with a laugh spluttering from his lips. It was fresh and bright, and Genevieve didn’t know exactly when it would stop sounding like this. He had amusement glittering in his gaze, there was a youthfulness about him that was so prominent and bold. He leaned closer. “Are you too cool to go coordinating now? Don’t tell me you can’t sit beside me at the lunch table too.”

It was ironic because they both knew Genevieve had always chose him to split her fruit roll-up candy since pre-school. In return, he would never pick up the red smarties whenever they shared a pack because those were her favourite, despite the number of times you told her the colour doesn’t affect the taste. 

“I don’t know, a bit coupley? I mean, it worked well when we were eight. Would you think Hannah would mind?” 

To this, he scoffed.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. Why would she?”

“She’s clearly into you, like a lot, and I don’t want to get in the middle of that. And I hear she’s going around saying that she’s your girlfriend.”

He closed his eyes gently and breathes out a sigh. “She’s not my—”

“I know that! You know that! But does she?” 

His phone buzzed and the question hung in the air until his fingers stopped their dance on the screen. He looked over her shoulder as if waiting for someone. 

“Doesn’t matter, she will soon enough.” He shrugged, his voice was distracted and far away. And that was one thing about him that Genevieve couldn’t shake off no matter how hard she tried. He broke hearts knowingly, and did it anyway. “What time do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’m done with class at five. I’ll have to stop by Party City at six, then do my modules so that will take me till nine, then I—” Rolling tires sounded loudly against the pavement as they approached behind her. The closer they got, the less time she had to finish her train of thought. The radio was a few notches down from its max setting.

“Be ready at nine. No later.” He gripped her shoulders with both hands, brought her close and pressed a messy kiss against her hair. He smelled of cigarettes and toothpaste and beer. 

“No, I won’t be, I have to do my laundry and—”

“Great. Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” 

And he was gone. He opened and shut the passenger side of the beat up Honda Civic in two seconds. The driver was familiar to Genevieve, it was another blonde, not Hannah, with thick eyeliner. She was a regular turn up at every monotonous party thrown each weekend. She had seen her get too close to him on more than one instance. He convinced Genevieve to poke in at a few, but the scene was like a broken record and her lack of interest dwindled in them too quickly.

It once even prompted her to bring her textbook to do practice problems to keep her from falling asleep as drunk students lit up a joint around her. Every once in a while he would trap grey smoke in his cheeks and blow it directly on her face to elicit a scowl, something he found beyond hilarious when his inhibitions weren’t intact. 

The girl’s hair was knotted and she had a less than pleased demeanour, probably nursing a hangover of her own. She stomped her foot down on the gas. He didn’t even have his seatbelt done before their bodies lurched backwards and the car zoomed out from the parking lot of the mathematical sciences department building. The radio became only a faint sound away the longer Genevieve stood there. 

By the time she got to Party City, the student working behind the counter gave her an apologetic look. All the decent costumes were sold out. He led her to the back of the store where the remaining costumes were kept. Being a university student meant she couldn’t break the bank for something so trivial. In the plastic bin lied a pair of fangs and a deflated witches hat that had a tear near the rim. There were masks, but she would be better off by taking a paintbrush to her face. 

She sighed deeply, her lips pursing in thought. It was obvious her plans of coordinating were a dream far away. That was until she turned around. 

A long hat cowered in the corner. It had thick red and white stripes, she pictured it with eyeliner drawn whiskers and a cat ear headband from last year. Maybe even a red bow around her neck. What really sealed the deal for her was the red shirt hung on a hanger right above it. It had a white circle right in the dead centre. The font within the circle was a recognizable outfit from a famous children’s book character. Bonnie and Clyde, Sherlock and Watson, and now Cat in the Hat and Thing 1.

The relief that came along with not trying to maneuver creating an outfit at home was enough to get Genevieve to run to the till. Arts and crafts were not her strongest suits.

The same guy’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at her quick decision making. He shut his latest issue of Men’s Healthy Living and leaned his weight off his elbow. He scanned the items and Genevieve handed him the crisp bill. Before he could finalize the sale, Genevieve thought back to the couch friend that would be accompanying them tonight. Did he have a costume? Inferring from the fact that he didn’t have a roof of his own, a lousy Halloween costume was the least of his worries. But Genevieve found her feet trailing back towards the shop and grabbing the shirt that said Thing 2. The guy added it to her final bill and packed her belongings in a black plastic bag. 

He was late and Genevieve was thankful that her laundry was dry and folded neatly. 

---

© 2019 almondharry All Rights Reserved

Okay, I think I’m done introducing the main characters. We have quite the cast list, don’t we?

Let me know what u think! I’d love to hear your favourite parts and predictions!

Thank you eriza @booksncoffee for the banner! 

Thank you so much to my wonderful betas @adoremp3 @haaaaaaarrry @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1 Ayesha and Hamna! Without them, this would be a jumble of fucked up grammar bc I write at 3am. If you want to beta, shoot me a message!

Tag list: @infinitiae @sortaanonymous @sydneysuit @wonderonrepeat @confusedkiwifan @mylifeisatoilet @awomanindeniall @guccikingstyles @verorax @stylesfics-xx @stylishmuser @at-least-im-1 @mellamolayla  @thursday-iminlove @kizsyou @brassharry @kizsyou @thursday-iminlove @blue-eyes-freckles-and-a-smile @Hollydays @la-peonia

#1dff #1dff au #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x ofc #harry styles fanfiction #writing #ylsg2 #pls lmk what yall thought of this??

[arturcii]

                                   Or: A Bastard’s History

tw: mentions of drug use, alcohol, gambling

21 April 1992.

No one cheers for the cries of an orphan’s bastard child. Ana Joséfa should’ve known better, and she’s always known, which is why, she thinks, as soon as the bastard is out, perhaps they’ll welcome her back again. Salvador had always been kind to her. He had never raised a tone or a fist, and he had never touched her when she didn’t want to; no, his disappointment hurt worse. The divorce hurt worse. Ana figured  it was just punishment. She had tried to get the thing out of her – this shame, growing every day and heavier by the minute – and she died trying.

10 May 1992.

No one wants to hold that orphan’s bastard child. He’s born without a name but with a religion and a piece of paper that says: this is your mistake. It’s a quiet day for the Windsors. In this house, love is legitimacy and a staff to keep you you away from family.

6 June 1998.

Dr. Gileo smacks the back of his hand with a ruler.

“Again.”

“From the Plantaganets?”

“What else, you silly boy?”

“Mmn...” Something about it hurts. Small, stinging hands clutch onto the edge of his sleeves, nearly disappearing underneath. “Henry III, Edward I, Edward II, E-...Ed...ward... – n-no, Richard...?” Gileo raises the ruler and brings it down with the fury of disappointment.

“Once more, silly prince. No one wants a silly prince in here, do they?”

Arthur doesn’t cry because he’s right. No one wants a silly bastard child.

14 July 2000.

Arthur doesn’t want to go to school again. They stare too hard and point and say that he’s the prince, and now he’ll be sent to Scotland where the accents are funny and people speak in harsher tones. It’s all God etched in every stone there. It’s the summer of the new decade and he’s just had lunch with the Scottish princesses and he thinks of how it must be so cold for their eyes to be that shade of blue. In another life, his would be like that, too.

They curtsy to each other, just like they’re taught, and all Arthur wants is to reach across this distance without the imposing Kings and Queens standing over their shoulders to hold them still. Arthur holds his face still and trains it to smile. It’s defiance when he mouths, “hi”, and even more when he pretends to forget the name of his father. “I’m Art.”

No one wants a silly mistake from a bastard child. He spends the rest of the summer under the tutelage of Gileo again, this time turning the pads of his fingers red from the every day practice of a violin.

30 August 2001.

It’s the first recital of the term and Art messes up a note on stage. He’s the only one to laugh at and he freezes. How many has he missed now with all the beats thundering in his ears? It’s so loud, it’s so loud, it’s so loud! And they’re all staring! There’s a giggle from behind the heavy curtain. Who was that?

Someone gets up to leave. Who is that?

No one wants an embarrassing mistake from a bastard child. Especially not the King.

3 September 2003.

When he comes home, Natalia is accompanied by a strong woman when Arthur greets them, standing beside his father but never looking up at him. Natalia has eyes like the Scottish and a name like the French. Natalia is beautiful and small and Arthur wonders if that is why she’s wanted so badly by everyone in this place.

28 October 2005.

There is a long history of kings and leaders and power in these hallways, which is why Arthur knows the importance of watching his own back and knowing his own blind spot. His mother is a nobody, and not even a nobody wanted a bastard child. He stops the man there, and at thirteen, he swallows a thick helping of his own pride and takes the thin file and places it under his desk drawer. He doesn’t want to look at it yet. He just wants to know it’s there, like a secret kept against what he would become.

1 November 2006.

“C-a-n-d-y,” he enunciates, sticking his hand out to the staff member. They’re supposed to go around dressed like fantasies and beg around an old castle, but Arthur doesn’t beg. Beside him is a boy with lighter hair and a bigger smile, and they laugh when Arthur goes, “I’ll kick you if you don’t give all of it to me.”

They receive an armful and retreat to their rooms and stuff their faces with sugar until one of them throws up. They laugh, and do it again.

It’s only 7 in the evening, and for once, someone wants a bastard child dressed up like a pirate, making threats with a sword glinting in the moonlight. For you, he thinks, I’ll steal all the candy in the world.

25 December 2007.

It never seems to end, but Arthur grins and bears it and pretends that Christmas isn’t already a clusterfuck. He hides the pack of cigarettes in his inner pocket and sits at the table in silent acceptance of what he’s come home to.

His knuckles hurt from grabbing that boy in school – a remnant of a family that turned him into nothing, too – and from punching a wall and yelling at cameras who aren’t there. He’s learned to turn off the TV and sneak drinks from the Pop – those elite – and when he punches one in the face they laugh and give him another in return and say: “brutal, aren’t you, mate?” Everyone believes everything, and everyone else’s legitimacy stories are glowing and wonderful. Arthur swallows all of it like smoke and bourbon and shows up to the dinner table at Christmas, piercing it was a slam of his fist on the table and a laugh and saying, “Why’s everyone so quiet?”

No one wants  a bastard boy with no mother. Everyone else seems to have gotten one for Christmas.

14 February 2008.

Valentine’s Days and romances were always so cheesy. The girl beside him is soft and sweet and has hair darker than snow when they kiss against the pole at the corner of Saville Row. It’s midnight, and Arthur has come out to see her, and isn’t that just sweet, being a rebel in the middle of winter? He brings her to a hotel that night with a promise that they don’t have to kiss under candlelight, and tomorrow, it’ll just be more fuel for the fight.

19 March 2010.

A break-up and a melt-down and a graduation later, Art finds himself one month away from 18 in the dregs of Monaco, smoking tobacco and rolling chips with old men who smell like cheap bourbon. Friends will join him later. Friends will worry if they see.

“Full. House. Pay the fuck up, bastards.” He sweeps them off their feet, and retreats until the door is locked and the floor is the only bed he knows.

21 April 2011.

He’s tired and it’s only two in the morning. In Wales, there would a soft bed waiting and warm arms around him, and that he’s thinking of this more than anything makes him worry. There’s work to do and this year’s term to get through, but he’s already booking a one-way flight to see her. He already knows how it’ll be: her eyes will dart elsewhere and she’ll ask him why he’s there, why he hadn’t called, and that she could’ve been busy. He knows. But he knows he’ll talk his way into bed and wake up to her in the morning where she can’t run away, and he hates it when she runs away.

No one wants a bastard child at two in the morning, eyes straining the dark, with a mouth full of whiskey and not much else.

He’s got a birthday dinner to plan, and the guest list isn’t even done.

14 May 2014.

The man who’s yelling at him reminds him of Gileo. Preferential treatment, my ass, he bites back, earning him a hundred push ups. This is what running away looks like: right in the line of duty, into hands scraping against the asphalt of a runway when he’s told to do push-ups at five in the morning.  University has come and gone and so has a love he thought was love. It isn’t, and he knows that. He knows what it looks like and he knows that it isn’t with him, and there’s....nothing. There is nothing, and he feels nothing towards the empty well of boredom in his veins.

Look! Even he doesn’t want a bastard with nothing in their bones.

So, he avoids thinking about Gileo. He only remembers the face the poor man made when the boy bought him out of house and home. Arthur doesn’t wanna burst out laughing in front of his commanding officer. He’s done enough push-ups to last a lifetime. He’s done enough pretending, done pushing against the void to last a lifetime.

30 June 2016.

Loyal, golden Art with his fingers in the pockets of England licks them clean in the form of white powder on the curves of women he never remembers in the morning.

Loyal, golden Art spends his days marching on the streets and apologising in front of cameras on a pedestal of his own royalty, and spends his nights in the vast underground of his club in London, looking at the blood being spilled on the floors and running bets for whoever can splatter the most crimson on his newly polished shoes. Those are the fighters he likes the most.

Loyal, golden Art, with eyes only to the future, knowing that England is doomed to fail in the hands of people who think they can come into his home and run it like it’s theirs. There’s nothing to take from them yet.

Loyal, golden Art, who let the girl with Scotland’s ice for eyes look elsewhere, and whisper in the ear of someone who would agree with her more often.

In England, in Europe, in politics, loyalty and being golden means nothing. Family means nothing, and the only good thing that an old fool has given him is a useless name that’s gotten him into more trouble than it’s worth. He carves it out in paper with black ink, and in deals and trysts with red. He knows their secrets because he’s seen them at their worst. He knows what their faces look like contorted with fear, in its proper, genuine way – not like the sickening smiles and handshakes and talk of useless policy on TV. Even as everyone turns their backs, the gears continue to turn, and Arthur swallows his anger in bourbon and coke, if only to wait for the final result.

No one wants a bastard for a king.

Not yet, anyway. It’s not like they have a choice.

21 April 2019.

There’s no fanfare for a bastard on this self-made island of money and kings. Dubai is cut-off for ‘security’, but the cracks are starting to show, and Arthur doesn’t make a big deal of it when he arrives. It’s business as usual. He’s spent his whole life cleaning up after England’s mistakes. They call him a snake, here; an angry, bitter vulture ready to pick the meat off the bones of the nation. But the English aren’t dead yet, and he ignores the poisoned well and dives head-first to look for gold in the only way he knows how: in the dark, in their fear, in their desperation.

Maybe he would’ve been better off as the villain, after all.

9 April 2020.

There are unforgivable things he cannot atone for. There are missed calls buried somewhere in guilt that seems so out of reach. There are news of weddings and war. There are tensions in the seas and black in the air.

When the phone rings at four in the morning to a name he’d answer to, he pretends it’s the trilling of a bell, the rise and fall of a death toll he cannot admit.

In the morning, in the sun, they watch him again. They like looking at him, seeing the way the curls of his hair free themselves from the patted-down scalp, the way his smile reaches his eyes and is warm like the sun to hide all this cold on the other side. Mercurial, he comes and goes on this Venus-landscape of politics, all hellfire and brimstone, spitting ash and heat on open wounds. The King tears a seam open and Arthur’s work unravels, and this is how he looks at his father for the first time in his life: the ugly, bitter truth of madness and idiocy under layers of revenance and loyalty. But the King doesn’t look back at his son. Perhaps he never has.

In the ticking of every hand further into the night, he descends – further and further where the sun cannot reach.

No one cheers for the death of an orphan’s bastard king.

#hshqtask012 #BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE #now i can perish in peace #shoutout to ciara for da graphic #love u

[artistic-writer]

Alii Dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) - CS Werewolf AU - Ch 13

Title: Alii Dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) by @artistic-writer   artwork by @cocohook38 & @artistic-writer

Rating: E (overall rating) for explicit sexual content, language, and themes throughout. Trigger warnings will follow and be added as they are needed to avoid spoilers.

Art by @cocohook38 - Poster - Emma - David - Killian - James - Walsh - Graham - Liam

Chapter Art by @cocohook38 - Ch1 - Ch2 - Ch3 - Ch4 (NSFW)

Art by @artistic-writer - 1 - 2 - 3 -

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Ok, so, don’t hate me but this chapter offers you no resolution to what happened in the last one.  I’m sorry not sorry , but its another backstory.  This time its Brother Jones backstory, and we also find out how Walsh got the scar, as well as a few other little things.  Also, next week I will posting TWO chapters, because Ch 14 is very NSFW on the whump front, and as i understand this is not for every reader, I have written ch 15 so that you can skip Ch 14 if it is too much for you. 

Massive thanks to my wonderful betas, @hookedonapirate who is one of the best beta’s this fandom has to offer - I seriously love her guys, and she deserves all the good things <3 <3 and @kmomof4 to whom this fic is also gifted for her upcoming birthday, and creating the @cssns  Thank you to my crew, @hollyethecurious  @resident-of-storybrooke@courtorderedcake @doodlelolly0910 and special thanks to @killian-whump @killianmesmalls and @sherlockianwhovian for how they helped later on. And to @flipperbrain  who drew THIS piece of art for this fic in December, before it was even written!

Taglist: @cssns @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious  @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat  @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight@ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr@blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan  @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver  @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair

Want to be tagged/untagged? TELL ME HERE

——————————————————————————————

A decade ago

Liam Jones was too young to become a parent, or so he had thought, but the second his mother’s hand had gone limp in his and her last breath had left her mortal body, he knew his life had changed forever. He was twenty-two, barely an adult himself, and he was now in charge of his younger brother. Killian was just sixteen, not yet legally an adult, so Liam had stood in a solicitor's office and signed a single sheet of paper whilst an overweight, middle-aged man explained what he was signing.

In the absence of any remaining family, he was Killian’s new guardian.

In truth, he would not have had it any other way. His brother was just like their mother - a hopelessly romantic empath whose world crumbled when she had died. It wasn’t quick, nor painless, and both of the brothers had watched her slip from reality, fading away to nothing more than a grey shadow before their very eyes. Liam was older, stronger and had coped with the loss of a relative before - he was young, but he remembered his grandfather’s funeral. Killian, however, was not equipped to deal with the emotions he was feeling.

One doctor had called him delicate. Another had called him explosive. Liam had learned quickly that even if he had been a sixteen-year-old boy himself, he had never been a sixteen-year-old boy who had lost his world. Killian was angry, at everything, and only six years into his werewolf change. He had shifted and remained in wolf form for eight days. Liam had covered for him, telling his school he was under the weather, but he knew nothing but time would heal his wounds. And so he let him remain a wolf, curled up into a tight cat-like ball on the couch, fur greasy from where he had been comforting him with tender strokes and his heart breaking at each whimper his brother had emitted.

Liam understood the appeal of wolf form for Killian. It was where his brother felt safest, strongest and able to take on anything that came at him. He had been like that ever since his first change, obsessed with his wolf form, shifting whenever he could to escape humanity. Liam was the opposite, choosing to live as human a life as possible because even though their mother had always told them it was okay to be a werewolf, society would never accept them as such. Humanity would never know of their existence, and the Werewolf council would always make sure they didn’t exist, so what was the point of trying to belong where you were not welcome?

The funeral came and went, and for months afterward their little village was alive with rumours of a black wolf roaming the graveyard at night. Some villagers put it down to the caretaker having too much to drink, but Liam knew that if he had checked Killian’s bed at night, he would have only found a pile of discarded clothes. If Killian needed to sit on their mother’s grave until the wee hours, whining at her loss and howling at the moon, Liam would not stop him.

Even in human form, Killian tried to remain as close as possible to his mother’s memory. She had taught him how to play piano, her proudest achievement, but Killian’s selections shifted from jolly tunes to pieces of a darker nature, the tinkering of the high notes replaced by the low vibrating boom that reflected his feelings. Liam let him play whatever he wanted to, compose whatever he wished, even if he would often find him slumped over the ivories bawling his eyes out at the end of each session.

He endured nearly two years, until one day, before his eighteenth birthday, Killian surprised him with a proposition that wasn’t totally out of the realms of possibility.

“America?” Liam asked with a snort, the milk from his cereal spoon dribbling down his chin as it escaped his mouth.

“Aye, America,” Killian repeated eagerly with a nod.

“And why would we want to go to America?” Liam asked his brother, his eyebrow raised and the back of his hand catching more wayward milk.

Killian shrugged the way most teenagers do when they do not want to divulge all the facts. “It will be an adventure,” he smiled. He dipped his own spoon into his bowl, the metal clattering against the edge of the porcelain, and scooped up a spoonful of golden flakes swimming in milk.

“But why America?” Liam pried, watching his brother intently. Killian had never mentioned America before, apart from a teenage obsession with Ford Mustangs and a large dog-eared poster hanging proudly on his bedroom wall. “Plenty of other places to create mischief.”

“It’s far away,” Killian said softly, his words muffled by his chewing and his eyes fixed on his spoon. He gripped the implement awkwardly, tapping the side of the bowl with a sigh. “I can’t stay here, Liam. In this house, without her. I just…”

“It’s okay,” Liam soothed, stopping his brother’s emotional ramble.

“It’s not okay,” Killian told him firmly, letting his spoon slide out of his hand and slip against the side of the bowl. “I can’t wake up in this house one more day without seeing her face, or hearing her voice, Liam. I can’t.”

Liam sighed sadly, fingers toying with the edge of his own breakfast bowl as he watched his brother began to fall apart once more. He had suspected Killian was hiding his sadness, forcing a brave face for the rest of the world, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Killian snapped. He had expected more rage, more things being thrown or smashing doors, but Killian was at the bottom of broken, and more childlike than Liam had ever seen him.

“Why have you been pretending, Killian? The last six months have been…” Liam began, offering his brother a chance to explain, which he couldn’t seem to contain.

“Hell,” Killian admitted, lifting his gaze. Their eyes locked across the table, no bigger than the seats they were perched on and Liam knew his brother was not exaggerating. “I’ve been trying to be the person the world wants me to be and I’m exhausted. I just can’t pretend anymore.”

“I miss her too, you know,” Liam said softly, dropping his gaze. “You can always talk to me, brother.”

“I know,” Killian said with a small smile. “I love you, Liam. Truly.”

Liam was taken back for a second. Killian had never told him he had loved him before, even if Liam knew it. They were brothers, bonded by more than just blood, and now all they had was each other. “I love you too, little brother,” Liam smirked, knowing how irritated his brother became when he teased him.

“Younger,” Killian scowled, his lips twitching to avoid a playful smirk.

“Younger,” Liam agreed amicably, reaching across the table and ruffling his fingers through Killian’s lengthening, black hair. He was still a boy essentially, the faintest sprouting of facial hair threatening to grow on his jawline, and sometimes Liam found it hard to treat him as the man he was becoming. “So, tell me, honestly, why America?”

“Father is in America,” Killian said suddenly, swiping a hand through his cheek-length fringe and parting it to one side so he could see his brother’s shocked expression.

Liam frowned and tilted his head. “How do you know?”

“The dark web,” Killian admitted without falter. He wouldn’t lie to his brother; they had been through so much and Liam would find out anyway.

“Killy,” Liam warned.

“I know, it’s dangerous and I shouldn’t have, but I paid a guy to find all of the Brennan Jones’ who lived in America and…”

“Wait, with what?” Liam blinked, his voice an octave higher.

Killian’s cheeks pinked under his brothers gaze. “I sold Milah.”

Just before their mother had been diagnosed, Killian had pestered her for the weeks leading up until his fifteenth birthday with the request for a motorbike. He promised not to ride it until he was sixteen and wanted to learn how it worked before he got his license so he could fix it if anything needed repairing. She had said no, but unbeknownst to him, Liam had already procured him the bike, hid it away in a neighbour’s garage and had been playing along with his mother’s ruse.

On his big day, Killian had been handed a small package, which contained just a pair of socks, some new sheet music for his piano and lastly a replica model of the bike he had really wanted. With a disappointed smile, Killian had thanked his mother and hugged her tight, knowing she really didn’t have the means to fulfill his dreams anyway. It wasn’t until later that day when she had sent him to the neighbour’s to fetch a parcel they had been holding, when he realised what she had done.

Killian doted on his bike about as much as he doted on his mother, constantly tinkering with it, tuning it and modifying it for when he could finally ride her. He named her Milah, a name he didn’t really know but found himself attracted to all the same. For a whole year, he tended to Milah’s every need, changing her oil and washing her fairings so often Killian’s mother warned him he would wash away the paintwork, until he turned sixteen and got his license.

Milah still had the bobbles on her tires when Killian finally hit the road, taking a few laps around their little village, to the annoyance of a few of the more elderly residents, but his joy was short lived. Less than two months after his sixteenth birthday, and shattering his very existence, Killian was told of his mother’s illness after she collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. She had known she was ill for some time but had neglected to tell her boys, protecting them from the truth until she could no longer.

She was dying. Cancer. Killian put Milah into storage and focused all of his attention to caring for his mother.

“You sold your bike?” Liam gasped, trying to fathom what his brother had said.

“Aye,” Killian nodded.

“But she meant so much to you,” Liam blinked at his brother. “Why would you sell it to pay a man you do not know to find our father?”

“Because mother asked us to find him,” Killian frowned. Liam rolled his eyes in agreement. Of course, Killian was right. “And guess what?” Killian rearranged himself on his chair, leaned forward and pushed his half eaten cereal aside with the back of his hand.

“Go on,” Liam asked, only slight annoyance in his tone.

“Guess how many Brennan Jones’ live in America?” Killian smirked, running his tongue over the ridge of his teeth.

Liam narrowed his eyes at his brother, mirroring his know it all grin. “How many?”

“One,” Killian grinned excitedly.

“Well then, brother,” Liam inhaled hard, standing from the table and tugging up the waistband of his jeans. “Best start packing. We’re going to America.”

--

Two weeks had passed since the brothers Jones has set foot on American soil. They had arranged to stay with a childhood friend, Ruby Lucas, who had persuaded her father that the two strange British men who had shown up at their farm late one night were actually known to her. Ruby had gone to school in England, a boarding school near to where the Jones boys grew up, and when she had returned stateside, they had always kept in touch. Liam had reached out to her, knowing she would never deny his request of shelter and knowing her semi-secluded farmhouse home was perfect for a pining werewolf like Killian.

Ruby’s father, a widower, was ailing so in an attempt not to disrupt his life too much, Liam had suggested he and Kilian stay in one of the outbuildings away from the main house whilst they looked for a home in the city. They didn’t have anything but the clothes on their back and their life savings, but they had enough and it wasn’t long before Liam found work as a mechanic. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but it gave him the opportunity to save a little.

Ruby’s father, known only to him as Nemo - though Killian suspected that wasn’t his real name - a now elderly gentleman, took a shine to Killian immediately. He had heard stories from his daughter, and whilst he was sure she was in love with at least one of the Jones brothers, he preferred the younger one, Killian. Nemo often said how he reminded him of himself, a young and carefree gent with a depth that would set the most confident women adrift. If only the old man had known about werewolves, he would have realised how right he was.

On Killian’s nineteenth birthday and a year after they had reached America, the brothers were still living on the farm. Liam was a mechanic by day and attended night school whilst Killian helped out around the farm due to Ruby’s father’s age. Nemo was fragile, his grey hair long since turned yellow and a half chewed cigar always in between his chubby little fingers. He always told Killian that they were Cuban, but his little smirk afterward told Killian otherwise.

“Cuban, you say?” Killian smirked back, pulling the last knots out of the mane of the mare he was grooming.

“Always,” Nemo declared, leaning against the stable door as he watched Killian groom the horse in front of him. “I picked up many on my travels.” He decided to finish his daily pleasure and stubbed out the quarter length cigar on the stable door, careful not to knock off the cherry tip and set the whole place ablaze.

Killian snorted a little and dodged a flick of the horse’s tail. “Ruby says you’ve never left the farm.”

“My boy, I’ve sailed a hundred seas a thousand times over.” Nemo caught Killian’s eye, his eyebrow raised high up on his brow and the horse between them let out a low, rumbling sound followed by a whinny.

“She says you haven’t.” Killian nodded at him and motioned to the horse, resuming his long brush strokes through her brittle mane. The horse’s skin twitched where his hands touched her, but she was relaxed, a hoof resting upon its curve edge and her head hanging low. “And I believe her.”

Nemo laughed this time and the rattle of a hacking cough sounded through the barn. Killian paused his grooming, but Nemo waved him away with a hand, covering his mouth with the other as he coughed more violently than his body could take. Killian has seen this kind of coughing before, from his mother, but as much as he had come to love Nemo, he knew the man would never talk about his ailments.

“I have lived a long time,” Nemo panted, catching his breath. “And I have never seen a man and a horse have such a rapport.” Killian gave him a soft smile, his hand following the brush as he moved onto the horse’s coat. She was shedding for the summer, soft, fluffy clumps of hair coming loose in his hands and falling to the stable floor below. “She likes you.”

“She reminds me of my mother,” Killian said softly. It was the first time he had mentioned his mother to anyone other than Liam and for the first time, it didn’t feel lonely or sad to talk of her. He felt warm, her memory like a comfort in his mind. “She has a gentle soul,” Killian added idly, running his hand down the velvet soft hair on the horse’s long face.

Nemo nodded in agreement, shifting his weight so he was more comfortably balanced on his other hip. “Do you ride?”

“No, sir,” Killian snorted, stifling a laugh. “I grew up in a city, so the closest thing to a horse I’ve ever ridden was my motorbike.” A smile played across his lips at the memory of Milah and the hours he had spent tuning every piston, wire, and baffle before he was finally able to ride her. His smile faded and he sidestepped so he could reach the horse’s rump. “I sold her to come to America.”

“Oh, it was a lady?” Nemo teased, giving Killian a sly grin. Killian blushed and nodded. “They always are,” Nemo told him with a knowing wave of his hand.

“My mother bought her for me before I could ever legally ride. I spent hours getting to know her, making sure I could get the best performance out of her, learning what made her purr.” Killian smirked.

“As you should with any woman,” Nemo winked and let out a laugh, short-lived because of another hacking cough he could not recover from.

Killian dropped the brush in his hand and immediately moved beside his friend, offering him his arm as he led him to a small milking stool nearby. The old man sunk down onto the rounded seat, hand clutching Killian’s shirt in his feeble fingers whilst trying to wave him away at the same time. Killian fetched his bottle of water nearby and offered it to Nemo, telling him to sip.

“Are you alright? Should I get Ruby?” Killian wasn’t sure how to help the old man, apart from offering to fetch his daughter, who, as a trainee veterinarian, was more than capable of tending to his needs.

“Don't you dare,” Nemo rasped, glaring and sucking in a deep breath, the redness dissipating from his cheeks. He leaned back against the closed stable door behind him and emitted a heavy sigh. Killian knew his time was limited, but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place, so instead, he was simply there for the elderly man, holding him upright as he caught his breath.

“Can I do anything?” Killian asked gently, the almost see-through skin on Nemo’s hands white and ghostly as it rested in his. Nemo shook his head, breathing as deeply in and out as his failing lungs would allow. “Do you want to head back to the house?” Killian suggested. “I can finish up here.”

“How about we head out to the grey barn instead?” Nemo said between gasps. Killian looked at him with a frown. “There is something I have to show you.”

The grey barn was near the very back of the property, two buildings over from where Liam and Killian had been staying. The door was locked and to Killian’s knowledge, it always had been. Until now, neither Nemo or Ruby had ever mentioned it, or what was inside, and Killian’s interest was piqued as he helped the old man across the knee length grass field that surrounded it. Crickets chirped, jumping from the grass stems as they were disturbed by the two men, Nemo hunched over as he rattled a bunch of keys between his arthritic fingers.

“It’s one of these,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head and clicking his tongue behind his oversized dentures.

“Here, let me,” Killian offered, holding out his hand to the old man. Nemo smiled warmly, handing him the bunch of keys. Most of them were rusted and so old they had been worn smooth and Killian eyed them hopelessly.

 “It’s a long, flat one,” Nemo told him firmly, pointing to the keys. “Ruby insisted on a more modern padlock, so it looks newer than the others.”

Killian looked down at the keys in his hand and scanned them quickly, not immediately seeing what he was supposed to be seeing. They were all orange, oxidized by years of exposure, so he began running his hands over them, feeling for the roughest one. When Killian thought he had found one that felt newly rusted, he held it up for Nemo who nodded.

“That’s the one,” he rasped, coughing to clear his throat. The old man waved a finger at the huge, round padlock which was equally as rusted, and gave Killian an encouraging nod. “Behind this door is something very dear to me, something that I have neglected ever since my wife passed away.”

“What is it?” Killian asked eagerly, wiggling the key into the lock and trying to turn the rusted mechanism.

“You’ll see,” Nemo grinned. The lock in Killian’s hand clicked open, the tumbler finally falling into place and he slipped the metal loop free from the latch.

The doors were heavier than any of the other barns Killian had entered, so after handing Nemo back his keys, he put all of his weight behind pushing the faded, wooden doors open. The bottom of one scraped across the ground, dust dancing in the sunlight that flooded into the barn as the door creaked open. Killian’s boots scruffed the ground as he sought to find his footing and after a little effort, the door hinges balanced out the weight of the door and it finally opened freely.

Killian righted himself as the door swung beyond his reach, confused by the dusty, off-white tarp covering what was clearly some kind of vehicle in front of him. Nemo shuffled past him, the gentle clatter of disused tools sounding out overhead as a bird that had taken up residence in the upper rafters of the barn took flight, exiting through a broken window in the top of the apex roof.

“Now,” Nemo began, reaching the tarp and lifting it over the hood. Dirt and debris flew everywhere, and the old man flinched away from the particles of dust that threatened to make him cough again. “She might not look like much,” he continued, dragging the brittle covering back over the now exposed car windshield. “But she has all of the right parts in all the right places.” Nemo gave the tarp one last tug and it fell to the ground behind the car that was now bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun.

Killian stepped towards the car, his heart all but stopping in his chest. It was the car of his dreams, he would recognise it anywhere, even covered in patches of rust and newly welded areas. It was a Mustang, a ‘67, the original blue paint long since chipped away, but still visible in places. The tires were all flat, but the wheels were original ten spoke rims, he could tell, and the bodywork was something he had only ever dreamed of seeing in person.

Killian reached out, his hand nervously touching the cold, hard metalwork, his lips twitching into a content smile as he ran his hand over the length of the hood. It was broken, there was no doubt about it, but every spec of rust told a story and Killian could feel every single word the car was saying to him as he skimmed his fingertips up the windshield and over the solid roof.

“This is a Shelby GT500,” Killian whispered, almost to himself as he noticed the rear quarter window scoops exclusive to that model.

“She is,” Nemo boasted proudly.

“With a 425 cubic inch big block V8?” Killian asked excitedly, his hands skimming back over the roof over the car. He paused on the driver’s door handle, the bubbles of rust poking through the chrome there.

“You know your cars,” Nemo noted with a smirk.

Killian let out an ecstatic laugh, his eyebrow bouncing up on his forehead. “I know this car,” he said softly, still in shock. “It’s really a Shelby,” he all but giggled, looking up at Nemo with a juvenile grin. “I can’t believe I’m touching it.”

“Marvelous, isn’t she?” Nemo smiled, watching the young man in front of him lavish his most prized possession with as much tenderness as he had done the first time he had seen her.

“She’s beautiful,” Killian breathed, unable to take his eyes off of the car.

“She’s yours if you want her,” Nemo told him casually.

“What?” Killian laughed nervously, head snapping up to meet the greyed eyes of Ruby’s dad.

“Just promise me one thing,” Nemo told him as he watched his own gnarled knuckles stroke the rear of the car. “You paint her dark blue when the time comes. With the dual over the top racing stripes.”

“Nemo, I can’t…” Killian began, his face paling.

“You can, Killian, and you will. Call it a birthday gift.” Nemo moved around the car, holding onto the body for support. “Ruby doesn’t want her, and we both know I am not long for this world. I want her to be cared for, lovingly restored to her former glory, not rotting away in a barn.”

Killian felt his legs weaken. He was nineteen, barely old enough to know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, but he knew that what Nemo was offering was the one thing he had always wanted. “I don’t know what to say,” Killian said honestly, holding out his hand to the elderly man at his side.

“Say thank you,” Nemo teased, nudging Killian’s ribs with his elbow. He fiddled with the bunch of keys again, managing to twist a single ignition key from the bundle and offered it to Killian.

“Thank you,” Killian grinned, a wide ear to ear smile that made his ears bob up at the side of his head. He took the key, squeezing it in his palm before pulling Nemo into a hug. It was the first time Killian had ever had a father figure other than Liam and it meant the world to him that Nemo trusted him with the car.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough sappy business,” Nemo said gruffly, pushing Killian away weakly. They both laughed and Killian inspected the key in his hand yet again. “Back to work now,” Nemo ordered gently. “Those horses won’t groom themselves.”

“Aye, Aye Captain!” Killian grinned and took off out of the barn as quick as his legs could carry him.

--

Liam had always been a patient man, but over the last six months, Killian had really tested him. Ruby’s father Nemo had recently passed away and Liam had worried that it would affect Killian more than he would let on. However, after the funeral, Killian seemed just as happy, spending every free second he could with the car Nemo had gifted him. Liam wasn’t one for cars other than his job, but he knew what it meant to Killian and how, by restoring it, he would feel like he was honouring Nemo in the only way he could.

But he had spent too much time with it recently and Liam had decided to get his brother away from the farm and take him to the city. Ruby had some friends coming over to keep her company and if it were anything like last time, the sound of giggling women would keep him up all night, so he had planned a boys night out. He was twenty-five, approaching twenty-six, and Killian was still under twenty, so they would have limited options.

Unless they went underground.

Liam had been focusing on the underground Werewolf scene since they had arrived in the States, intently listening out for any chatter relating to his father. Killian brought them this far, albeit by illegal means, but it seemed a lot of the werewolf community operated under the radar. Liam was sure they would never find their father unless they went a little rogue, exploring the darker parts of humanity where most werewolves seemed to reside.

Liam had found a poker match, no limit Texas hold ’em, and he had managed to get two seats for them at the table. It would be full of werewolves, from all different packs and loners were invited too as long as no one found out they were mongrels. Liam hoped they could keep their heads down, maybe win some cash and find someone who knew their father. Or they would, if Killian ever finished styling his hair.

“Come on, Killian!” Liam barked, feet crossed at his ankles as he leaned against Ruby’s car. Liam flicked his wrist, checking his watch for the time and heaved a sigh. “Killian!”

“Alright!” Killian shouted, exiting the barn they called home, in a flash. He tugged his jacket over his arms, popping the collar on his shirt as he reached the car. Liam gave him an incredulous look and a twisted smirk. “What?”

“Out to impress are we?” Liam teased.

“You never know,” Killian told him with a wink. “I might have to seduce a lass to get information about father.”

“I highly doubt that,” Liam snorted, pulling the door of the car open and sinking into the driver’s seat. Killian got in the other side and gave his a brother a cocky smirk. “Alright, Casanova, let’s go.”

The alleyway behind the human nightclub was the perfect cover for an underground poker game, even if a little cliched. The bass from the music inside pounded so loudly it practically vibrated through their bodies as they made their way to the back door, the smell of alcohol-laced vomit and discarded food rife in the air. Killian scrunched his nose at the smell, but Liam ignored it, far more interested in the size of the doorman.

“Names?” The guard barked gruffly, eyes narrowing at the two younger faces in front of him.

“Barrie,” Liam said in a deep tone, peering down at the page. “B-A-R-R-I-E.”

The doorman ran his finger down the edge of the page, stopping when he noticed two identical surnames, one after the other. “Okay,” he said curtly. “Buy in is five grand a piece in mixed bills. We don’t have change.” He leaned behind himself and pushed open the door, the echoing thud of the bass tripling in volume as it spewed out of the club. “Down the steps, first door on the right. Password is Pan.” The guard pointed a fat finger down the corridor beyond the door and nudged his head sideways. “Good luck, boys.”

“We won’t need it,” Killian smiled as he breezed past the doorman. “But thanks anyway.”

When they finally made it to the room, it was far from what Killian had expected. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected to see, but years of American gangster movies had clearly set him up for disappointment. There were two tables, each seating eight wolves, one already full and a game in progress. Killian could smell they were all Were and in unison, six pairs of eyes turned and watched them approach the other table.

“About time,” one of the wolves snapped. He was slouched in his seat and had beady eyes and a bird like face, long with a pointed nose. He was clearly impatient, glaring at the youngest Jones brother with a cold, hard stare as Liam and Killian claimed their seats. “Bit young, ain't we pup?”

“No age rules,” the croupier spat, exchanging their money for chips. “Money is money, Walsh. You know that.” He sifted smaller bundles of cash onto the tray of a machine that whirred to life and flicked the notes into a small pile, automatically counting them as it did. When the bald headed croupier was happy, he slid each brother a pile of chips of various colours and denominations.

“No matter,” Walsh quipped, sitting upright in his chair. He laced his fingers together, pushing his hands out and cracking his knuckles. “You’ll be easier to beat. No hard feelings.”

Killian simply smirked. Nemo, God rest his soul, had been a lot of things during his time on this earth, and good at poker was one of them. Killian was a natural, learning the ways of the game quickly and then focusing his energy on noticing tells. “We’ll see,” he grinned at Walsh, the fair skinned wolf opposite him grumbling to his associate.

One by one, wolves dropped from the game and after several hours, many hours into the morning, the only two wolves left at the table were Killian and Walsh. Walsh had the upper hand with a larger pot, thirty grand to Killian’s measly ten. They had gone back and forth, each taking the lead, chips changing hands to and fro until Walsh finally had the advantage.

The dealer shuffled the cards, and Killian leaned his head on his hand, elbow resting on the plush, green table covering. Liam was at his side, out of the game but watching the scene unfold before him, hoping beyond all hope that his brother would not play the cocky hooligan any longer. Killian had managed to keep them in the game, and Liam had mingled with a few wolves at the bar, name dropping their father, but so far nothing had emerged. They couldn’t leave ten grand out of pocket, so Liam had returned to the table for the final hand, nervous and eyes fixed on the dealer as he shuffled the deck.

The buy in was up to five thousand and as the dealer slid two cards his way, Killian let out an exaggerated sigh. He was tiring, he knew it and so did Walsh, but his opponent was also running out of energy. Killian lifted the two cards, barely enough to see, and spied his hand; a ten of hearts and a five of spades. He let the cards slap back on the table and lifted his gaze to Walsh who was shuffling two stacks of chips into each other in a show of dominance.

“Ready to fold, young pup?” He said with a sadistic smirk. “You can’t beat what I’ve got.” Walsh motioned to his cards, his face betraying him. Killian had already worked out his tell, so he knew Walsh had a good hand. Maybe two face cards, maybe an ace, but Killian had also worked out that if Walsh thought he couldn’t lose, he’d get sloppy.

“Not this time,” Killian shook his head and pushed half of his remaining pot into the center of the table. Liam sighed, shooting his brother a panicked look that Killian ignored in favour of outstaring Walsh. “Pony up.”

The dealer gave Walsh a questioning glance and without hesitation, he threw a five grand chip into the pot. He slid the button back to its resting position in front of himself and then dealt out the flop - the first three cards - which came out as an ace of spades, ten of clubs and a five of diamonds. Killian refrained from smirking too obviously, casting a downward glance at his cards as he pretended to check them again, sitting back and watching the glee on Walsh’s face.

“Well now,” Walsh sneered. “How about that for interesting.” He gave a nod to the dealer and his face erupted in a darkly twisted grin. “All in.”

“Call,” Killian said without hesitation, eyes fixed on the wolf opposite him.

“What are you doing?!” Liam growled low, pulling his brother’s arm so he was able to whisper in his ear. “He clearly has at least one ace!”

“I know,” Killian murmured, watching Walsh’s revolting smirk grow wider.

“It’s so sad that I’ll only be winning an extra five grand at the end of this,” Walsh mused, sticking out his bottom lip as he picked up his cards and studied them again.

“Unless we make this even more interesting,” Killian told him, leaning forward and wrenching his arm from Liam’s grasp.

“Go on,” Walsh’s eyes lit up and narrowed as he leaned forward, mirroring Killian’s stance.

Killian reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to his Mustang, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger idly. The shine of the metal key glinted in the low lighting, and even through the smokey haze of the room, Killian could see Walsh grinning like a greedy child. “‘67 Mustang, Shelby GT500,” he clarified quickly. “Worth about twenty-five grand,” Killian said slowly, making sure Walsh was listening. He tossed the key into the middle of the table, and it bounced on the pile of chips already there. “How’s that for interesting?”

“Killian, don’t do this,” Liam implored his brother, watching the gollum like expression on Walsh’s face. The wolf was greedy, he could tell, and a darkness ran through him too. Killian ignored Liam’s pleas, raising an eyebrow at Walsh as he contemplated the offer in front of him.

“Alright,” Walsh said after a beat, nodding to the dealer who gathered all of the chips and the key into a pile in front of him.

“Players will show their cards.” He pointed to the both of them and they turned over their hands at the same time. Liam’s face turned white when Walsh revealed a pair of aces, one club, one diamond, and when he noticed Killian’s ten-five, he buried his face in his hands.

“Good luck, pup,” Walsh laughed, oozing arrogance.

The dealer dealt a fourth card, the turn card, and it was an eight of diamonds. No help to either player. It kept them as they were, Walsh with the better three of a kind and Killian with two pairs. Killian gulped nervously and Walsh ran his tongue over the point of his canine, rubbing his hands together. Statistically, he had won, Killian knew that. The only way Killian was going to beat Walsh now was if a five or a ten came up, but the chances were slim.

“What colour is my new car by the way?” Walsh taunted and Killian gave him a hooded stare. “Doesn’t matter,” Walsh shrugged, grinning like a mad man. “I’ll be spraying it red anyway.”

The dealer sighed and turned over the last card he had dealt, his mouth twitching into a small smile. He had been the dealer in this place for years, serving creeps like Walsh and his alpha James, so it was refreshing to see someone like Killian, a young nobody, come in and take him down a peg or two. “Five of clubs,” he smirked, extending an arm out to Killian. “Full house beats three of a kind. Barrie wins.”

“No!” Walsh growled, slamming a balled fist into the table.

“You won!” Liam exclaimed, not really believing the words spewing from his mouth. “You won!” he declared, jumping to his feet, hands on his head, mouth opened in a wide grin and eyes fixed on the forty thousand dollars being counted out in front of him. “You only bloody won!” he cackled, shaking Killian ecstatically.

Killian remained calm, letting his brother push him around in his excitement. He simply stared at Walsh across the table and his face was paled, void of any emotion except shock. Killian’s mouth twitched, pulling up at the corners into a tight lipped smile as the dealer handed him his winnings. He palmed the key, gripping it tightly and saying a silent prayer to whoever had watched over him, and a silent apology to Nemo before slipping it back into the pocket of his jeans.

Killian stood, offering the dealer his hand and giving the man a tip for his trouble. It was late, the game had overrun some, and he knew he probably wouldn’t be compensated any other way. It wasn’t like an underground croupier got paid a decent wage.

Liam was still celebrating, handing his brother a beer he had quickly acquired from the bar and tapping the neck of the bottle with his own. Both brothers took a long swig of their beer, the fizzy, hoppy drink filling their mouths and making their tongues tingle. Killian finished his in three big gulps and slammed the bottle down on the table, grabbing Walsh’s attention. “No hard feelings,” he smirked smugly.

After a few congratulatory handshakes from some of the other players, Liam and Killian were on their way out the door. The doorman patted Killian on the back as they left so hard that he stumbled forward into the alleyway with a chuckle. They had decided to cut through the woods on the way back to their car, the same way they had come, and Killian couldn’t help but recall the look on Walsh’s face as he had lost.

“Did you see his face?” he laughed, his pockets padded out with all of his cash.

“Aye, brother, it was a sight for sure,” Liam chuckled, nodding his agreement. “I’ll admit, I was nervous when you bet the car, considering its condition.”

“Well, he wasn’t to know it wasn’t in a state worth what I indicated,” Killian shrugged with a smirk.

“It’s a good thing you won then.” Liam blew out a breath, his nerves calming a little. He patted his own pockets, full of the bills too. Total prize money was forty-thousand dollars, money neither brother had ever seen before. “This is a lot of money,” he grinned. “Well done, brother.”

“I’m going to restore the car,” Killian smiled. “For Nemo.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Liam agreed with a proud smile. His younger brother was becoming a man and his heart swelled in his chest at how much he admired his determination to always do the right thing. Killian may have been a troubled young man, but he always had his heart in the right place.

“Well, well, well,” a voice sneered and they both froze in their tracks, boots skidding in the dirt. Walsh appeared from behind an oak tree, hands behind his back as he stepped into the middle of the pathway. Liam instinctively stepped in front of Killian to protect him from the older wolf. “Look what I’ve found.”

“We’re not looking for any trouble,” Liam said calmly.

“Then hand over the money and no harm will come to you,” Walsh smirked, his expression not filling either brother with any confidence.

“I won fair and square,” Killian growled, his jaw clenched together. He threw his head back a little, inhaling hard and finding no trace of other wolves in the wind. Walsh was alone.

“Oh, I know,” Walsh nodded, toying with his bottom lip. “Congrats,” he spat sarcastically, holding out his hand. “Now hand it over.” He took a threatening step towards the brothers and Liam took a step back, pushing his brother away from the menacing wolf in front of them.

“If you want your money so badly, then come and get it.” Killian pushed hard against the resistance of Liam’s body, wrenching his arms from his jacket, balling it up in his hands and throwing it to the ground.

“Killian,” Liam warned his brother darkly, the hair on his neck standing at attention. Killian was slightly drunk and had no idea of the trouble he was getting into. Walsh was a pureblood and while he didn’t know they were not, they still had the opportunity to talk their way out of the situation.

“You’re a real cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Walsh snarled, his lips curling over his teeth in a disgusting smile.

“Joke’s on you,” Killian sneered with a laugh. “My mother was human.”

“Oh no.” Liam pinched his eyes closed. The one thing he had not wanted to divulge had just come tumbling out of Killian’s stupidly drunk mouth.

“Was?” Walsh scoffed, his words vile as they left his mouth. He looked the wolves in front of him up and down, a look of disgust on his face as he spat at the ground between them. “Good riddance.”

Liam had no time to stop his brother, who pushed him out of the way and was already in wolf form before he reached Walsh. Their mother was a trigger for Killian, his rage surfacing quicker than he had taken to get drunk and his shift taking over him before he had even registered his emotions. Killian lunged for the wolf before him, his legs ripping through his clothes, teeth bared and eyes wide. Walsh didn’t even look surprised when Killian attacked him, laughing sadistically as he fell backward, and the young, black wolf towered over him.

“Is that all you got?” Walsh spat, fingers gripping the excess skin at the side of Killian’s head, holding the snarling wolf from his face. Walsh chuckled again, turning his head to the side when Killian began to drool, a thin drizzle of slobber slowly inching towards his face. “You filthy mongrel dog!”

Killian barked in Walsh’s face, foamy spittle flicking against the man’s face. Walsh grabbed onto a scrap of Killian’s shirt that was hanging loosely around his neck and twisted it tightly until Killian began to gulp furiously for air. Walsh took the opportunity to gain the upper hand, digging his knee into Killian’s ribs and tossing him over his head, Killian’s wolf form writhing mid-air awkwardly.

“Stop!” Liam roared, rushing at his brother. He left Walsh laying in the ground, rushing past him to his brother who was scrambling back to all fours, snorting dirt from his nose and his hackles raised. Halting Killian with a steady hand and a pleading glance, Liam shook his head gently. “Killian, please.”

Liam barely had the words out of his mouth when he cried out, the hot, searing pain of a bite shooting up the back of his leg. Walsh, now in wolf form, had sunk his teeth into Liam’s calf and was shaking his head back and forth, the skin under Liam’s jeans tearing open in no time. Liam turned to his attacker, punching Walsh on the top of the head in an attempt to get him to let go, but all he felt was his jaws clamp down harder on his leg. Liam fell to the ground, the pain in his leg too much to bear whilst upright, and he kicked out at the grey wolf who was tugging at his limb.

Killian sprang over his brother’s fallen figure, ears flattened to his head and teeth bared once more. Walsh released Liam’s leg in order to defend himself, twisting his body sideways and jumping backward, feet scuffing through the littered forest floor. He lifted a leg and clawed Killian’s face, the young wolf wincing away with a yelp as he felt the skin on his cheek open up and ooze with fresh, hot blood.

Killian shook his head, pawing at the side of his face as pain rocked through his head, blood coating his fur and almost blurring his vision. He saw Walsh circling around him, head low and growling, the sound a deep vibration in his throat. Killian circled the opposite way, darkened stare boring into the older wolf in front of him, sizing him up should he need a defense. It wasn’t long before Killian needed to execute his plan. Walsh ran towards him, feet skidding in the fallen leaves and as Killian dodged his charge, he sunk his teeth into the soft skin of Walsh’s neck.

It was so fast, all happening in a split second that left Killian with a mouth full of fur and skin and Walsh yowling in pain. Walsh had left his neck wide open for a bite and the momentum of his forward lunge had caused more damage than either of them thought possible. Killian’s jaws had grabbed a sizeable chunk of Walsh’s neck tissue, ripping it clean off and leaving the wolf with a jagged-edged wound that seeped crimson with every heartbeat. Walsh fell to the ground, squirming in agony as he clawed at the wound site, almost passing out from the blood he was losing and not seeing the huge tree branch as it struck his skull.

“Now stay down,” Liam growled at the unconscious wolf at his feet, throwing the huge, thick branch aside and panting from the exertion of swinging it.

“Is he dead?” Killian asked breathlessly, shifted back to his human form and stark naked behind his brother. His face was smeared with blood that coated his teeth, the red colour contrasting his pale expression. “Did I kill him?” Killian panted heavily, chest heaving, eyes dark with a beast Liam had never seen before. He wanted Walsh to be dead. He craved the feeling of having taken a life, a small twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Liam looked down at Walsh, the wolf out cold but not dead. He toed the canine body with his boot and it let out a gruff growl. He was injured, but he would heal. “He’ll live,” Liam assured Killian with a distasteful tone. “Unfortunately.”

“We should get going,” Killian said quickly, casting a glance around the secluded clearing. The scent of humans lingered in the forest and whilst there were none around at this hour, Killian knew there would be soon enough. “What are we going to do about him?” Killian motioned his head towards Walsh, bending down to retrieve his jacket, the last piece of clothing left unshredded.

“Leave him,” Liam shrugged, turning away from the wolf on the ground. “We don’t owe him anything.”

“Come on,” Killian urged his brother with a tug on his arm. “Let’s get you back to the farm so Ruby can take a look at that leg.” Killian lifted Liam’s arm and ducked underneath, letting his brother lean his weight on him as he hopped alongside him.

“Some night, huh, little brother?” Liam laughed, his chuckle cut off with a wince when he knocked his leg on a tree root that was sticking up out of the ground.

Naked and covered in blood, patches caked onto his skin and matted in his chest hair, Killian laughed dryly. “Younger,” Killian droned sarcastically. “Can’t wait to see what you have planned for when I’m twenty-one.”

#cssns #cs fic #cs au #cs werewolf au #cssns fanfic #Alii dimidium Lunam #the other half of the moon #killian jones #emma swan #wolves of misthaven #artistic-writer #temporary dog au #ch13 #brothers jones

[theteablogger]

I feel like I'm suffering from a Mandela effect or something and I can't find answers anywhere. I few years ago I came across DAYD, I loved it. I year or so later I went back to reread it, but it was gone, except for the epilogue. Everyone was trying to figure out what had happened in comments. It was soon discovered that the author had taken the story down because they had been mentally ill while writing it and had since gotten help; the rest i will put in another Ask

Part Two:

Hi again, continued question. They took the story down because it reminded them of a darker time in their life or whatever. I’ve done some research on Andrew Blake, so I realized this could be a lie, but I wasn’t sure because the most recent thing was him moving onto the supernatural fandom in like 2013. And this was more recent(like past three years). But I can’t find any of those posts or links anymore. Hope you can answer my question.

This is sort of a complicated question. I’ll address the mental health angle first.

While Andy was writing most of his DAYDverse stories, he was pretending to channel many of the characters (as well as his own OCs) and interacting with fans of his work as those characters. Some people initially tried to interpret this as roleplaying, but Andy was very clear about what was “really” happening. For example, when one reader asked “Luna” a question, Andy pretended not to understand roleplaying terms like IC/OOC (in character/out of character) and said, “…you’re not talking to Andy at all here.” (Conversation part 1 | part 2 | part 3) Via e-mail, in chat, and even in person, he convinced some of his readers that they were actually speaking with the characters and he was just the conduit. This went on for more than three years, while Andy abused his friends/followers in various ways, in what amounted to a fandom cult. 

Later, Andy claimed that this was all because of mental illness. One major problem with this is that (with the caveat that I don’t know whether he has any or all of ADD, PTSD, and depression) his alleged diagnoses don’t make any sense based on the symptoms he’s claimed, and most are nonsensical in and of themselves. The other problem is that he’d also used the channeling shtick to start his first cult in Lord of the Rings fandom, and had used mental illness to excuse that, too. He’d already claimed in 2007 that he was getting help and wouldn’t hurt anyone again, so it was suspicious, to say the least, when he said essentially the same thing in the wake of the DAYD cult.

Andy did move on to Supernatural fandom in late 2012, when the DAYD cult had pretty much wound down, but a lot more has happened since then. My “important posts” page covers a lot of it and there’s more in my Critical Role tag. The last couple of points on my one-page summary of Andy’s history include other people’s accounts of events that took place just this summer.

As for taking his fic down, Andy has removed some or all of the DAYDverse fics a couple of times. In April 2015, he pulled all of the side stories from AO3 and most of his art from DeviantArt, and deleted his LiveJournal. This was supposedly because a reliable source had told him that fanworks could be a liability when trying to establish himself as a professional artist. He also said it was because many people’s works from AO3, including his own, had been pirated by a paid ebooks website. He left everything on FanFiction.net at that time. 

In December 2017, Andy announced that he was removing all of his fanworks from the internet and would not be participating in fandom anymore. This was after warning posts about him had begun circulating in the Critical Role fandom and bloggers and anons had started to discuss how he was repeating some of his old, harmful behavior patterns. Andy claimed that he recognized that he’d “screwed [his] reputation in fandom permanently” and wasn’t going to be able to move forward and do things right in any fandom space, so everything had to go. As indicated above, the lesson didn’t stick.

Although he did delete his FanFiction.net and AO3 accounts in December 2017, at no time did Andy delete the DAYD LiveJournal community. Most or all of his DAYDverse writings are still available there, and the wiki remains online. The DAYDverse Facebook group also still exists, but he’s made it a “secret” group so that non-members can’t see it.

So yes, Andy did remove the DAYD fics from everywhere except the LJ community, but his claims regarding what mental illness(es) he has and what kind of help he’s getting are dubious at best. He didn’t delete things because they reminded him of a bad time in his life, but because he hoped it would convince people that he’d really, finally changed.

#andythanfiction #andrewmblake #thanfiction #andrew blake #andy blake #daydverse #leaving fandom #mental health #Anonymous

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

2021 Is The New Year, But I Feel Sad Tonight

things seem pretty okay at the start of this year.

still procrastinating, but if you feel up to doing what you make your goal

right away, then you should be able to try to enjoy a little relaxing, watching your favorite shows or movies, or maybe do some drawing and try to come up with ideas for future chapters for fan fic that you have to post in a different place than where you would normally post them.

but I’m sticking to that promise,

and just need time to get around to it a little more.

I’m crying right now, and not just because of the possibility of my pendulum being right about someone I considered a friend, doing something behind my back, and lying to others and well....I’m still gonna hope it isn’t true.

and my pendulum was just playing a REALLY mean prank.

I am also upset that ANOTHER person is stealing from Vivziepop,

and they can’t even understand why the Youtube User

who goes by [Redacted], is mad.

which I can understand why they are mad and well the other party who has done it might not realize it and need to be told in a gentle way about it.

and at least when others use drawings or clips,

to do dubs or music videos, they give credit.

I even mention in a journal over at the other place I go to,

about how someone else had broke the Pilot episode of Hazbin Hotel,

and even wrote for the title if Hazbin Hotel Was A Series.

I really REALLY hope both Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss,

get on Adult Swim, I need to look up to see when Cuphead Show is gonna come on, all I know it is suppose to be around 2021.

I think I feel a bit better now, when I had stop typing for a few or so on this,

I was talking to family, guess it helps to talk to family at times.

I still don’t like my pendulum giving me such replies about someone I trust.

I really don’t do well with betrayal, and plus the reason like I said before

about my reasoning for chickening out about telling whats going on.

well about what that one Youtuber from before was doing,

because I know it is possible I might just end up messing it up,

and possibly get my words misinterpreted, and I thought that 

I saw the number of one of the journals, and I ain’t pleased.

it would be different if it was just my fan art or whatever,

but  I had talked about it around December of 2020, which was last year.

maybe after I check out some stuff on here, I can go sign in to Rooster Teeth

and check out Red Vs Blue or maybe even one of the Death Battles.

I asked my pendulum if any of those who saw those journals, even care

about whats going on, and well it gave a “No” but it could only mean only half of them don’t care about it.

if I could use magic to it’s fullest power, I would open a portal and get out of here every once in a while and take a nice vacation.

I would make sure to come back here of course...

I’m kind of peeved off at most of humanity, even if there are still some good ones....which it is the good ones that make me not be full on Misanthrope.

so yeah I’m just Semi-Misanthrope.

I wonder if I have become a bit more sensitive than normal?

it could have to do with how I had got over a depression in 2015, but then the next year I ended up in a whole new mess...

I really need to try not to let myself fall into another depression after having recovered from one that was from what was happening at home.

well I was always sensitive and when I get really sad about something,

I would end up crying.

I just really hope that everything works out, and people who can explain what’s going on much better than me, will tell the team whats going on.

I just need to try not to worry about it too much about it.

another thing I should try not to worry about, is the fact my pendulum gives me a Yes, about being in love with...someone I can’t say the name of.

just because we MIGHT of been together in one of my past lives,

don’t mean it is going to happen in this life.

best to just try to ignore it and bury it deep deep deep very deep down,

or least try to.

having a crush I can handle.

but my pendulum has to be playing a really mean prank on me about who I am supposedly in love with.

I know I let things get to me too much, and well because of how badly I was hurt.

and how I had to give in to such unfair demands, that didn’t really fix the problem at all....and we could of worked it out if I was just told...

and if it was about a journal, then they could of just told me...

great now I’m crying again, and it isn’t just because of well that mess from a few years ago.

I guess even though I did get better after a second depression, which was partly my fault because I let what happen get to me too much.

and well it put me in a very darker place than what I was put in when that nightmare stuff was going on around at home.

I want to try to talk with friends more, but at the same time I still need to have time to myself, like a lot.

I am still tired of being hurt past my breaking point,

and I really hope that my pendulum is just playing a really mean and cruel prank, not from the whole me being in love with.......someone.

but because of the thought of being purposely hurt...

it is possible my pendulum when it doesn’t give me a truth, or a friendly prank.

like the one where Gaster being real and he implanted the idea of Undertale and Deltarune in Toby Fox’s Mind...

or the whole my soul despite being in a human body,

is a upside-down heart, which is kind of like the Monster’s Souls from Undertale....

those are fun pranks it does.

but anyway it is possible that it shows me worries,

things that I know would hurt me deeply.

maybe I should make it charge by the window again,

as well as take some food salt,

pray with it in my hands to the Divine Father & Mother,

and throw the food salt on to the pendulum.

I had discovered I can get rid of certain negative energies

that end up on some stuff we have, by taking some food salt

(that we normally eat with.) then pray with it in my hands,

then throw it on the said item.

well at least it is being honest about the whole embarrassing empath thing.

and about how the bracelets I wear seem to now protect me from such energies.

I’m not saying what it is on here though...

it could at least give a No about it not being true,

and it was just joking.

and maybe I shouldn’t be too mad at well the ones who couldn’t understand

what they were doing with Hazbin Hotel and even Helluva Boss.

but even if some people might stand up for them, and might even resort to some name calling.

but there are lines fans should never cross.

and even if fans do use some parts of clips, or mix clips up into a fan music video, it is important to make sure that those who see it,

will understand the clips belong to it’s original owner or owners.

otherwise it will be like that false report on the original Undertale Amv

yes someone did do some subs for it, but the one who gave the false report,

might of not bothered to check the day or month of the said two.

and I believe that the one who did subs for the Amv, did ask for permission.

I have mention before that I dislike the negative side of Youtube,

cause they let false reports happen.

I like the positive side of Youtube,

and I hope all of you understand what I mean.

maybe I should try doing mediation again,

but maybe I should wait until tomorrow....

I might not be in the right mood for it right now.

I got a violin for christmas, but I’m not very good at playing it,

but that’s fine, I don’t mind if I sound a little terrible on it.

another thing that my pendulum is full of Determination

to prank me with, is it still giving a Yes about Jesus Christ having Descendants.

and I guess since I know it is a prank, I can say it here.

I keep asking if Jesus is my Ancestor, and it keeps giving me a “Yes”

I ain’t telling my family I been asking my pendulum questions,

that need a “Yes” or “No” type of reply.

and i sure ain’t telling them that the pendulum keeps pulling the same prank about well Jesus who is suppose to be like a very distant cousin, being like technically my ancestor too...?

I think it is just one of it’s pranks.

maybe I really should get the food salt prepared to throw at it,

make it go into a time out and stop pulling such mean pranks.

at least it giving a Yes about W.D.Gaster being real and implanting the idea of the two video games of both Deltarune and Undertale into Toby Fox’s mind,

is a really good and funny prank it is pulling.

okay I think I feel better now and am not gonna cry again.

I know I had mentioned before about the whole being a descendant of King David.....which the Virgin Mary is the descendant of him too,

which makes Jesus technically a very distant cousin...

King David was a dysfunctional Dad, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Grandpa Solomon was the same...

even if you might end up with a really cool ancestor or ancestress,

there will always be ones that will disappoint you.

but anyway this ain’t about the dysfunctional ancestors....

I need to try to keep to my happy place and try not to let worries

and hope the whole stuff that I had talked about before.

oh and no matter if your religious or atheist,

it’s fine ya don’t think much of what was said,

after all it has to be my pendulum just pulling one of it’s pranks.

not about being a distant cousin thing,

I knew that way before I got my pendulum.

I think I might of known before I got it,

I know that someone in my family told me about

the whole we are family to Jesus...

you know if he did have a daughter way back many moons ago....

my pendulum gave me a truthful Yes, so yeah...

if he did have a daughter, he would of treated her better

and not be like King David and how he didn’t do anything to help Tamar.

but if anyone who is atheist doesn’t believe about all that,

I wont force ya, it’s fine if you don’t want to.

I mean I did once thought I was Christian, and even went by it for some time.

I can still have the same believes as when I did thought I was a Christian like the rest of my family.

but I am a Ma-Acolyte, I believe in well The Divine Father, Mother and Jesus.

but it is fine that no one believes the same as me, plus I don’t believe it is right to force convert.

if someone wants to convert, it should be of their free will.

you should never make them feel bad or tell them if they don’t,

they will go to hell.

well being “Gay” ain’t gonna be the reason you go to hell,

no matter how many times people say it will.

that is one of the honest and 100% truthful replies to my questions,

that my pendulum gave me.

so yeah being Gay ain’t a sin.

and my bigender identity & being Aroaceflux ain’t a sin either.

in case anyone doesn’t know about well the whole bigender thing.

it is like two gender identity,

for me I still see myself as my biological birth gender.

but at the same time I see myself as Non-Binary too.

so yeah I am Gyno-Agender.

it took me some time to figure out the true parts of me.

I’m listening to the parody of ADDICT right now,

it is nice that they make sure to put the original link to the original maker of the song as well as the music video that it was used in.

it suppose to be Valentino and Vox singing it.

(with Velvet too.)

why do I find Valentino & Vox’s voices attractive.

well I do find Stolas’s singing voice really charming.

well there are different ways to be attracted to others.

like a sirens singing voice, you can’t help but be enchanted.

I think after getting some feelings out, I really do feel better.

might not be able to do a lot of what I want to do on here right now.

so maybe just a few things, like how I heart/faved two posts when I had first signed on this year in 2021.

and by the way there was a reason why I put “Redacted”

it is like to censor a name, I even decided to do that after figuring out

about well what was wrote in that Five Nights of Flirting I had downloaded.

it’s basically a AU of a AU, but according to the person that made the fan game, the original creator doesn’t want to be named.

I really need to figure out how not to die so fast in that game.

at least it gives you a option of being Male, Female or Non-Binary/Genderfluid.

        and well I am kind of both of the Female and Non-Binary part.

but I can just pick all three for different routes.

but the game is “M” so it isn’t for everyone.

speaking of “M” rated, I need to make sure when a younger family members

come over, I need to make sure they don’t get their hands on my M rated games.

there are some things that a little kid should NEVER see, not until they are old enough.....

there is just some things you do not let your kids see,

and if they do, they might understand later on that they weren’t the proper age to see certain movies or shows, and they want to try to stop the cycle from repeating.

maybe I shouldn’t bother with placing tags for this.

I decided to ask my pendulum again about the whole friend thing

and if they were just joking, and I believe I asked it to be serious

and I felt mad too, so maybe becoming a little more mad at it, will give a answer that isn’t a mean prank that is from my fears.

I just don’t like being betrayed,

that had happen to me before, with a boy who I thought was my best friend.

the teachers were no help either,

couldn’t just understand from my point of view.

anyway maybe I will check out some stuff on here first,

then I will go watch some cartoons and try to stay in a happy place.

anyway see ya later, stay safe and happy late new year everyone. 

PS:

this time the pendulum had admit it was joking, so yeah it better not pull such a prank again....but I think for a few days I wont use it....

but I will throw food salt on it....that joke it was playing wasn’t funny.

it was one of the reasons I started to cry and worry.

so the pendulum is gonna get a timeout for the rest of the day...