#constant state of manic creation

[abimee]

althaea i think has the most severe bipolar from the three simply because she had been the only one technically taking medications for it in my mind. as a child her mother Alcmene had tried developing small capsules made from non-conceptualized plants raised at the Cthonic Horns that gave a psychoactive effect, meaning that Althaea's mother originally tried to deal with her daughter's bipolar by sedation to ''calm her down'' and have her in a constant state of near-detachment from her erratic brain (which worked sometimes)

but the main problem was that as Althaea developed, as Althaea was born with bipolar, she developed treatement-resistant Bipolar, so the sedatives soon wound her up even more and could send her into manic episodes for long periods of time. When she was removed from her mother she was also removed from taking the sedative because Alcemene told nobody about what she was doing and did not get the sedatives passed through any sort of trial that had even deemed them apporpriate or useful by architect standards, and Althaea's bipolar actually calmed down a bit once she was off of them

but then later on her convocation years she was put back on a different creation, this time Lithium (made of stone) in an attempt to stabilize Althaea of her erratic behavior, but since she is in her (amaurotine) 40s by this point (and pregnant) she is extremely treatement-resistant, and the stabilizers only end up making her worse, giving her direct, solid visual hallucinations compared to her typical delusions, thus making her believe that themis is following her around and telling her increasingly scary things when he is in fact in Zodiark

#at this point the last ditch effort would be electroconvulsive therapy where they induce seizures for 15-20 mins #in the patient as thats the last ditch resort for treatement resistant bipolar (and bipolar in pregnant women) #but they do not have that and also thw world Explodes. but althaea is at that level of treatement-resistant

[paintingwithdarkness]

I meant ADHD

What’s it like living with ADHD?

Constant movement. I physically CANNOT sit still. I’m constantly tapping on things, which drives everyone around me NUTS. Sitting still in the same position for more than ten minutes for me is painful. I like having plenty of space around me so that I can move. Being in small spaces or being surrounded by lots of people is very anxiety-inducing for me.

As for my brain, it either runs a thousand miles a minute, or you know, I stare off into space for about five hours at a time 😂. I constantly have a list of half finished projects that I can never bring myself to finish, because Oh! my brain just thought of something new and I must write this idea down before it’s forgotten like all of the others I’ve abandoned 😂. I’ll be in the middle of watching a show, or doing a homework assignment and something else will catch my attention, or I’ll have a completely unrelated thought and guess what? I never finish the show or the assignment because I literally cannot stay focused on one particular task for more than an hour at a time.

It’s pretty much a vasculating state between panic! because I have an assignment that has to get done right now, but can’t complete because I get bored too easily, and manic! I must do everything all at once because it’s exciting and can’t possibly wait until later 😂.

Mah Life iz a Mess

#asks #answers #adhd #if any of y’all have adhd and can relate #feel free to add to this #constant state of panic #constant state of manic creation #constant movement #i cant sit still #IM A MESS #MY LIFE IS A MESS #please send help

[the-mad-starker]

Fic prompt: Tony Stark is needy, loves cuddles and getting his hair played with until he falls asleep and is whiny when peter has to get up to go to school

I'm planning on finishing stuff today but wanted to warm up so decided to do this fill. Something soft and fluffy which I don't write often enough. Hope this is okay 😅

Notes: no warnings, just fluff

💗💗💗

There have been times in his life where Tony hated who he was. 

There's just so much that comes with the name Stark. A good chunk comes from his father but he can't ignore that his past actions have added to it too. He's tried, tried, to balance out the bad with good but who knows if it'll ever be enough. Others say it is, but sometimes, he's not so sure.

And then there are the ever constant, almost manic, sessions he has when it comes to innovation, to creation. Formulas and schematics become so vivid and real in his head that he could almost touch them. So he brings them to life in his workshop, puts every sleek and perfect line in the blueprints until he can physically manipulate them. Spin them around and even with exhaustion making his vision blurry, he smiles at them.

Ah, there you are.

Peter understands.

Peter is a genius too and while he may not have Tony's reckless desire to work until he drops, he's right by Tony's side more often than not. Funny enough, he's the more responsible adult between the two.

Then again, he still has college and those 9 AM classes that he's always punctual about going to. His Peter's a good kid.

So there are days when Tony just can't stop. He goes and goes, running on pure inspiration and caffeine until he's staring bleary eyed at the screen and Friday nudges him to bed with a soft reminder. 

"Peter's already in bed, boss. Maybe you should head on up since he has class in the morning?"

Tony perks up at the thought of joining Peter in bed. He has enough energy to make it to the bedroom and slip under the covers where his boyfriend's already sound asleep.

He lays there for a moment, just enjoying the warmth and comfort. He tugs the sleeping boy closer, nuzzling against messy curls and sleep-warm skin.

Peter sighs and makes soft sleepy sounds before he settles into Tony's embrace.

Tony really should've showered before coming to bed. Peter will most likely grumble to him about it in the morning but for now… for now, he's happy to drift off to sleep.

In the morning, Tony is gently roused by gentle fingers running through his hair.

It feels nice. Over and over, those fingers lightly pass through his hair, and Tony presses closer to the warm body beside him.

"Morning, Tony." 

Peter's voice makes Tony smile in his half awake, half asleep state. He doesn't bother opening his eyes, just cuddles closer in an attempt to savor every second of their perfect morning.

It really is a perfect morning because even while Tony dozes, his mind keeps track of how long they've been in bed. Peter gives him an extra five minutes of cuddling and hair petting when he finally tries to shift away.

"Mm–" Tony protests. An eyelid cracks open and he peeks at Peter with a pout. "Cuddles…"

Soft laughter, loving and warm.

They're at a point in their relationship where such requests have become the norm. Tony loves cuddles and has no problem asking Peter for them. His boyfriend loves to enthusiastically fulfill his requests when possible and Tony only loves him even more for it.

Relationships are hard, even theirs, but this exchange of affection and love between them is easy.

Peter leans down and kisses the side of his hand. When he tries to pull away, Tony grumbles but lets him go.

"I'm just getting some water," Peter says, "then I'll give you more cuddles."

The words don't register until Peter comes back as promised. By then, Tony's shifted onto his side. The bed dips under Peter's weight and he curls up against Tony's back, his face tucked against the older man's shoulder.

Tony's the little spoon and he almost wiggles in excitement when Peter's arms wrap around him.

He sighs in pure bliss.

"Class…?" Tony has to ask.

"The professor canceled via email," Peter explains while nuzzling closer. "So you got me all day."

"Ah…" Tony closes his eyes again, smiling in contentment. "Remind me to make a donation to that school. Deserve it."

Peter chuckles in amusement, used to Tony's antics. And as though to prove just how much he knows the older man, he starts running his fingers through Tony's hair again.

The older man practically melts into the touch.

A perfect morning with his perfect boyfriend.

Tony turns over and kisses Peter, soft and sweet, just enjoying the quiet morning. Peter smiles against his lips and returns the kiss with equal care and attention.

Neither of them is in a rush. 

#starker #madstarker writes #fluff

[myhahnestopinion]

REVIEW: The Lego Movie 2 - The Second Part

The Lego Movie's great success was not only how it managed to build its toy advertisement origins around an affecting emotional core, but the surprising use of its intricately animated world as an additional metaphorical layer for its celebration of creativity with its reveal the characters are acting out the fantasy of a young child. The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part, as the fourth installment of the cinematic universe, can no longer hide behind such charades, making much of the movie feel like a waiting game for the real-world shoe to drop. But while its far less fresh, funny, and free-spirited than its predecessor, The Lego Movie 2 still delights because it realizes this, and switches its focus from building up these walls to emphatically breaking them down, in an arc that miraculously manages the same emotional resonance as the original. The film has a clear message and just enough clever jokes and catchy songs to keep the audience engaged in order for it to land: everything can be awesome as long as we open our hearts to one another, toxic masculinity is just as cruel to ourselves as it is to others, and you should go out and buy some Lego Movie Branded Legos and the complementary soundtrack album.

The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part, like the cheeky title implies, connects directly to the end of the first film, opening with the invasion of Bricksburg by Planet Duplo, a representation of a young boy’s playscape becoming suddenly shared with his younger sister. The film cuts to five years later, the same passage of time experienced by viewers, and the Lego universe has become a dark-and-gritty riff on the high-octane world of Mad Max, with its citizens in a constant state of panic of another invasion. This fear is soon proven right when ever-cheery Emmet (Chris Pratt) accidentally attracts the attention of the intergalactic General Mayhem, who kidnaps his friends and departs for the Systar System, raising the threat of a foretold “Our-Mom-Ageddon.”

Just as the young boy’s world is upended, the sequel immediately has a noticeably different rhythm to it, with directorial duties shifting hands from Phil Lord and Chris Miller to Trolls’ Mike Mitchell. Lord and Miller remain screenwriters, stacking their script with another round of manic energy and irreverent jokes, but the abundance of poppy musical numbers and a more absurd visual styling bear the trademark of its director.

The eclectic cast of characters returns, including Allison Brie’s Unikitty, Charlie Day’s Benny the Spaceman, and Will Arnett’s Batman, with several winks to the character’s amusing Lego Movie spin-off. His personal growth from that film is lightly retconned to make his story work here, just as most of the cast are just along for the ride this time, striped of larger complexity and roles to compensate for several prominent new additions. These new characters include Stephanie Beatriz as the aforementioned General Mayhem, and Watevra Wa-Nabi, a shapeshifting alien queen played by Tiffany Haddish, thriving in the madcap world of animation and shining in several songs

While the cast is packed, notably absent from any of those major behind-the-scenes roles is a woman, an odd choice for a film all about the conflicts of a brother and sister learning to build a creative vision together. The Lego Movie 2’s toy-ad origins bleed through in the film’s targeted approach to male viewers, and targeted approach overall. In contrast to his lore-traversing spin-off, Batman spends much of the film out of his classic comic book suit and in pieces likely available for purchase as soon as one leaves the theater. Similarly, Aquaman returns in a cameo role, but with a face-lift and voice-lift to promote corporate synergy with Warner Bros. Pictures shiny new billion-dollar-grosser. The film gorgeous animation continues to reflect true-to-life Lego pieces, but for all of its satire, there’s no comment of Lego’s practice of making distinct figurines for its girl-marketed sets that subtly widens the divide the movie wants its viewers to bridge, because certainly the parent company needs those toys sold as well. The first Lego Movie also had this imperative to contend with and managed its task far more gracefully, though The Second Part is additionally forced to deal with “Lego Movie” becoming a brand onto itself.

As the plot progresses, however, the movie’s laser-focused targeting slowly shifts from frustrating to powerful, with a message directly addressed to young boys being pressured to close themselves off emotionally to be perceived as grown-up and masculine. Marketing images such as these switch from being pushed to being lampooned, most prominently in Chris Pratt’s secondary role as Rex Dangervest, a parody of those tough action-heroes that dominate cinema and the actor’s recent career. Dangervest is contrasted with the affable Emmet, a holdover from Pratt’s comedic origins, in a bit of meta-commentary so brilliant it might even go over the actor’s head. The first Lego Movie was about creation, the second about destruction; specifically, the destruction of self and social bonds that results from the damaging desire to exorcise one’s self-expression and reject the effort needed to ensure that “everything being awesome” is all-inclusive. With no need to maintain that original duel-world façade, The Lego Movie 2 hits this message hard, but that message hits hard because of its importance. If The Lego Movie 2 wants to speak to young boys in order to sell more toys, it certainly found a noble method with which to do it.

Like Ralph Breaks the Internet, which combined the intrusiveness of internet advertisements and Disney cross-promotion with a surprising examination of toxic relationships and unhealthy insecurity, The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part lies in a very peculiar realm of late-stage capitalism. It’s a confrontation of societal ills packaged inside a brightly-colored, melodious product, and is quite proudly, and effectively, both. The major musical number of the film is entitled “Catchy Song,” with lyrics proclaiming the inevitability of it getting stuck within your head, and, while far from the show’s best tune, its frustratingly correct. The film is clearly commercial, but never crass. The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part replicates, to varying degrees of success, the zany humor, quirky characters, and gorgeous animation that made the first film such a hit, but also doesn’t forget to properly place its most important piece: the heart. And maybe there’s room for a shiny new box of Legos right beside it.

The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part, also starring Elizabeth Banks, Nick Offerman, and Maya Rudolph, is in theaters now.

#film #2019films #review #thelegomovie #thelegomovie2

[getinthefunvee]

mobile-friendly rules

GENERAL INFO

❔ #getinthefunvee

❔ semi-private:  will generally only write with mutuals, but very happy to meet new people.

❔ exclusivity:  is pre-pubescent and used as a cliquey gatekeeping & ostracising mechanism 99% of the time. I do not practice character or ship exclusivity; I will side-eye you if you do, and I will not tolerate it on my dash, and I will lay the verbal smack-down if I see you using it to bully someone else. I've been playing with some muns for nearly 5 years, and at least one for more than a decade; if anyone was going to be an exclusive, it would be those friends, but exclusivity = possessiveness and it's really, really not the way to roll your adult relationships. Note: if you choose to make me your exclusive Tony for any reason (ie, if you generally hate Tony interaction and want to avoid it, emotional safety reasons, whatever) please give me a heads up. Please be aware that, as stated above, I will not do exclusivity in return.

❔ basic etiquette:  human decency is expected. Do not attempt to god-mod (it's so 90s), force-ship, engage in pass-aggro nastiness, harassment, or any other asshattery. Thanks.

❔  Personals et al are very welcome to follow and 'like' RP posts and to reblog non-RP content. Please don't reblog RP threads you aren't participating in; it's creepy, and I will call you out on it.

❔ multi-muse, side & personal journals:  I will not follow you back if you run a multi-muse blog or RP from your persona that heavily features muses from fandoms I’m not familiar withl; I really need to limit dash clutter in order to be able to focus. (ADD & autism are gr8 that way.) That doesn't mean I won't RP with you on your multi-muse blog, and I'm very happy to RP with side blogs, but I will not RP with personals.

❔ OCs, female characters, obscure canon characters:  This shouldn’t need to be said, but: Yes please! I look for fully-formed characters whose creation you've put thought into; this goes for 'popular' canon characters in equal measure.

❔ crossovers:  Please check with me first to make sure I'm familiar with your fandom.

❔ cut your replies:  Please cut your replies & repost asks as new posts when replying. (note: this is not the same as 'read mores'; I'm happy to explain the difference.) I will not follow you if you never cut your replies.

❔  You must have rules or, at the very least, your age stated somewhere on your blog. I will always read your rules before interacting, and I ask that you please do the same.

ABOUT THIS BLOG

❕  est Dec 2012

❕  21 or over for intermittent content which may not always be tagged; I will generally not play with you if you are under 21 as I may not be comfortable writing certain content [because I'll feel like a dinosaur]. I will not RP with anyone under 18 years old, regardless of thread content or your geographical location's 'legal age.' This is not up for discussion, though I'm happy to explain the legal ramifications (for you and your RP partners around the world) of lying about your age. tl;dr I'm not going to jail so you can have smut. Thanks.

❕ safe space:  This blog is fiercely inclusive. I make a point of avoiding ableist or bigoted language and terminology. Please come talk to me in chat or send an ask and tell me if I screw up. note: If you ever need to talk about anything, or if you're having a really bad day, I'm here for you & wouldn't want you to feel alone. Seriously. Come talk to me. I do have chat set to mutuals only thanks to the huge influx of spam messages I was getting, but you can always unfollow me after we’re done talking (I won’t be upset) or send me an ask if that's easier.

❕ triggers:  I will tag genuine triggers when asked (please don't conflate squicks with triggers). I don't have any triggers, but I prefer not to see child abuse, domestic violence, incest, or pregnancy on my dash; if you regularly include that content, I will generally unfollow. Please see below for a comprehensive list. Triggers will be tagged 'triggery thing tw' and added to the tag dump post.

❕ formatting:  usually no fancier than small text +/- 66x66 or 100x100 icon (depending on the size you use), but I will try to match your style. If you need any special formatting to make it easier for you to read, please tell me. I'm very happy to comply.

❕ pre-established relationships:  I'm happy to discuss these.

❕ readmores:  used rarely, but will always use for explicit dubcon/noncon content & graphic stuff.

❕ memes:  generally mutuals only but will always be tagged as 'mutuals only', so if you don't see that, feel free to interact. I do my best to observe reblog karma but don't expect you to; it's all good.

❕ open posts:  will be tagged clearly; generally open only to mutuals, sometimes character-specific (will specify in tags).

❕ shipping:  multiship; not ship exclusive. Shipping is dependent wholly on muse interaction and never guaranteed. Tony is demiromantic and pansexual; he may or may not be open to poly setups depending on verse. He's experimental, inclusive, and flexible. Got a kink? Bring it. BDSM? He'll want to know your safeword. Three/four/eightway? He's probably into it. That in mind, I'm on the ace spectrum (see below) so mature-content threads aren't going to be that common and will generally, though not always, fade to black.

YES PLEASE

✅  duplicates, multiple 'canon' realities, AUs, cross-fandom, What Ifs

✅  crossovers, especially within Marvel & DC

✅  AUs: love, love, love. Give me your tropey coffee shop AU; better yet, give me your research-worthy Mesopotamian AU, time-travel AU, etc. I'm utter trash for Sentinel!verse (and if you don't know what that is, come at me).

✅  plot-development, complex characterization

✅  conscious, intentional, creative abuse of grammar/syntax

✅  any gender identity/lack thereof; sexual orientation/lack thereof; neurodivergent characters; disabled characters

✅  LGBT, non-cis/het, POC, or other minority versions of canonically white cis straight Christian etc characters

✅  female versions of canonically (cis)male characters

✅  dark, edgy, angsty themes up to and including psychological & physical torture, abuse, and character death

✅  complex and conscientious portrayals of trauma and mental health issues

NO THANKS

❎  self-insertion (omnipotent manic pixie Gary-Stu/Mary-Stu characters make me cringe)

❎  pages of ooc

❎  pages of graphic porn

❎  you RP nothing but smut of a variety that squicks me, such as (below) and don't put it behind readmores: - A/B/O, especially if it involves 'mating'/'breeding', pregnancy (esp cis male or cis female pregnancy), etc. Really major squick; - BDSM that uses an abundance of misogynistic language like 'slut'; 'daddy/mommy' themes; pet play; romanticising unhealthy abusive relationships ('50 Shades of Nope' comes to mind) by framing them as consensual BDSM.

❎  consistent grammar/spelling errors (note: ignore if English isn't your primary language; I’m happy to help if that’s something you want, and I speak a few languages so I might be able to RP in your language)

❎  lots of family/baby/child content

❎  'child of'/'sibling of' & non-canon family member/friend characters

❎  anthropomorphic, furry, or 'real people' characters

❎  SuperWhoLock, anime

❎  gatekeeping, canon-snobbery, constant negativity

❎ erasure of any minority group (ie male versions of canonically female characters; suspiciously white FCs for canonically POC characters, etc)

❎ messianic anything; proselytizing

ABOUT THE MUN

✩  ari (aka kai), 30s, London (GMT)

✩  working in medicine, re-qualifying for med school entry; usually not around much Tue-Fri due to work (replies are sometimes queued & I'm usually happy to do short stuff like texts during the week)

✩  thoroughly spoken for; married to cap.co.vu (but thanks for asking *fingerguns*)

✩  introvert:  very social at times (I tend to 'read' as an extrovert), but I need more distance when out of social energy. Feel free to ask me about this. I will love you forever if you respect the need for space, and will not like you very much if you insta-pounce 10x daily when I've gone quiet.

✩  jewitchy = unrepentantly jewish + low-key hedge witch (observant Reform/Conservative Jew; dash of pagan)

✩  grey-a + demi, greyromantic, as impossibly flirty as Tony Stark

✩  ADD, autism (psa: you can be super direct with me), major depressive disorder, EBS (epidermolysis bullosa), mild anxiety (when out of social energy)

✩  sharp-spoken, sharply-dressed, stickler for punctuation, polyglot, menace to society, method RPer, (mostly) good human being, guaranteed at least 80% carbon-based lifeform, will use elbows on the Tube, well-travelled, great ass (thanks, yoga!), hearts horseback riding, BDSM, dismantling the patriarchy

✩  ask box is always open, Discord available by request, IM/chat is gr8

If you feel like it, send me your favourite trope as a way of letting me know you've read these. I'm not going to ask for any sort of specific symbol, codeword, etc to prove it, but I will presume you have and act accordingly. If you feel compelled to acknowledge any specific parts that jump out at you or query something that doesn't sit right with you, we'll probably be bffs.

#|| mobile links #|| pls don't reblog thank

[venee-call-ferrer]

After the rain (working title)

The Reylo Fan fiction has stirred a need to wright. If you are reading this go gently on me. This is my first try at something like this.  Here it goes. Holding my breath...

Excerpt chapter.

The sun slowly seeped through the storm clouds above. The heavy rain had given way to first a drizzle, then a sort of wispy mist as the sun beat down on the asphalt. The scent of rain and concrete lingered in the air. The light sparked as it reflected on the water that had pooled in swirling puddles mixing with the grease and grime that had coded the streets. The first rains always brought intriguing light play that Rey could not resist, camera in hand she searched the field of puddles before her to find just the right frame to capture the contrast between light and shadow and how their dance played out along the surfaces. This was her comfort zone she admired the seemingly alien landscape that spread out before her eyes.

Rey had an inescapable need to document everything around her. At times the camera separated her from the here and now, the present moment merely a means of creation and her camera the tool of memory. At sometimes it was her security blanket giving her an anchor in the world that nothing else could. She could be part of an event yet still remain aloof and untouched. She could feel part of any group as long as she had the camera in hand. Without it, she was utterly lost, unable to navigate the intricacies of human engagement, too caught up in how unlikeable she was and how she could not get words to come. She felt like a complete idiot when it came to small talk and making friends it was so much easier from behind a lens. WIth the camera, she could literally intrude on people's connections under the guise of documentation and be whole heartily invited in. She could have some scenes of a symbiotic relationship with those who could be the life of the party. Her shyness would melt away because she had a purpose and a proper place in the order of the world.

Rey considered her proclivity towards capturing urban decay, mud puddles, and the searching out of what laid in the shadows it was not the type of work that sells but, it was who she was, her view of the world, her need to see the good in what others thought was ugly, what others discarded, what was unwanted and overlooked.  She felt a constant pull to show that beauty and the starkness of shadow cut brutally by the light. On occasion, she found solace in the shades of gray, from zone zero to zone ten, there laid all the answer to the universe. She saw the world through the lens of that black and white photograph and she found that it often mirrored the internal landscape that lingered just beneath her conscious mind. She felt herself constantly on one side or the other of the proverbial zone five, middle gray, hardly ever in balanced when it came to her emotional and psychological state of mind. For her, it was always a tug of war. She wasn’t manic-depressive really... it was more than the dark thoughts always inevitably found a way to pull her down yet, her innate resilience would eventually kick in and pull her up out of the abyss by her Doc Marten fucking bootstraps. She feared that one day, one day that resilience would leave her just like everything eventually did. Then, then she would be left in the cell of endless torment ever tumbling down, down, down until…

She felt the sun warming her face. She shook herself out of the all too familiar spiral. She had been staring off unfocused lost in her ever raging thoughts. She looked up out over the bay to find a rainbow arching over the silvery silhouette of the shipyard cranes. She could never look at those cranes without thinking of Lucas's explanation of how they inspired the AT-AT Walkers used in Star Wars She laughed to herself. Scanning the rest of the view she felt the surge of the light uplifting her. She continued to walk along the broken streets, then down the edges of the railway tracks making her way back home.

She turned her thoughts to the gratefulness of what waited for her at home, the unconditional love of her friends and lovers. Tonight was the monthly Polly Happy Hour and of course, the gang would go to engage with the larger community. She was fairly new to the community, though not to the philosophy. She had always known she was different or felt different than many of here counterparts growing up. Monogamy had been a constant struggle and she felt that her connections to people often fell into an undeniable gray area. Her love and affection for both friends and lovers were never cut and dry she felt the desire for each relationship to find its way to its one balance. Labels and requirements of what a relationship was supposed to be just didn’t work in her. She had also realized early on that it did not matter what sex someone it was, she was attracted to the person inside. Sure the outward appearances would be attracted but she found herself equally attracted to the array of sexual orientation. She was glad she had found a community that she could identify with and that she was not alone in her desires.

The trouble was she thought was that she fell too easily in love and hardly ever out of it. She was often plagued with the haunting of past love long after a lover disappeared from her life and sometimes when they would resurface she would find that she still cared for them far more than she should, often to her detriment. This sometimes got her into the loops of abusive relationships that would nearly destroy her and trigger deep insecurities and abandonment issues. She had done a lot of work around that and felt she was much better at seeing the warning signs and setting her boundaries now.

Despite her ability track recorded in love, she hadn’t given up on love itself. She just couldn’t! If she did she knew there would be nothing left and that black hole that called to her in the dark of night would gobble her up whole. She truly believed that love was the only answer and the only thing that could save anyone, including herself. Though, the self-love aspect of that equation was often hard for her to hold onto but, still, she persisted. At times the walls that would fall into place in the name of self-perseverance seemed insurmountable but, she had been learning how to scale those walls and dismantling them piece by piece.  Sure that once they had been destroyed she would find equilibrium at last.

The image of the tall dark one, from the match, floated up in her mind's eye. He kept creeping in as the days passed. He had stirred something in her that was an equal mix of an irresistible pull and the onset of fight or flight, and an overwhelming longing and unfathomable fear. She wanted, no needed to see him again but, how? The lived in separate worlds that only met in competition. She was not going to just show up at a First Order practice session and say “hi... Remember me? The one that beat your ass.” that would be fucking torture and surely be humiliating for both of them. She wasn’t sure that trying to connect with him was even a good idea, really.  He ran with a notoriously bad crowd. The knights as they like to refer to themselves were known for raising hell wherever they went and a whole lot of them did jail time for bar fights and petty theft. Was he just like all the rest? She wondered. Probably. She hung her head down sadly. She just couldn’t let it go. There was something about him, the softness of his eyes that felt like they pierced her heart once their masks of protection had been removed. And in those dark velvet pools, they're at the center, was an uncontrollable, raging forest fire. A fire that would burn you alive before it ever touched you. And she wanted to be engulfed. Fuck! She was doomed.

#reylo #reylo trash #reylo fanfic #i need a beta #my first story

[stephaniemarlowftw]

SPRAIN RELEASE SPRAWLING NEW SINGLE, “CONSTANT HUM”

The moody + melancholic track appears on As Lost Through Collision, out September 4 from The Flenser.

"...a shoegaze-infused post-punk journey with clear influence from inventive ’90s acts like Slint. Still, the band find ways to stay distinct…” - Paste Magazine

Los Angeles’s Sprain have unveiled the second single off of their debut LP for The Flenser.  Titled “Constant Hum,” the 10-minute-long track traverses a soundscape from subdued to expansive, tense to tranquil while remaining completely cathartic. The listener’s uninterrupted attention is handsomely rewarded on this full-length album closer.

Listen to (+ share) “Constant Hum” on YouTube.

Formed in L.A. in early 2018 by Alex Kent and April Gerloff, Sprain‘s initial home-recorded forays into minimalistic slowcore resulted in their self-titled EP (2018) that distinguished them from the lo-fi pack through visceral expressions of depressed life.  Soon, guitarist Alex Simmons and drummer Max Pretzer joined, folding tumultuous noise rock, drone, and flirtations with the avant-garde into the band’s arsenal. Touring converged these explorations into Sprain’s current sound: pure 21st century panic strained through a wall of piercing, feedbacking guitar amps. 

The tumultuous lifestyle of being a DIY musician in LA is reflected in the intentional harshness of Sprain’s sound, and the new compositions were also influenced by a change in understanding and approach to music creation.  Guitarist/vocalist Alex Kent comments, “I feel like my approach to composition changed due to some new mental challenges such as extreme anxiety, and the songs definitely reflect that.”  Sprain continues to be a therapeutic vehicle, actively seeking personal catharsis that’s reflected by the intensity of the music and performance.   And while the noticeable persuasion from 90’s post hardcore and noise rock is palpable, As Lost Through Collision takes cues from 20th century avant classical such as Xenakis and Penderecki.  The end result is freewheeling and urgent, dynamic and destructive, and Sprain is marked by an aggressive versatility that has been sorely lacking in recent guitar music.  

Written at home and refined on the road, the 5 new tracks that comprise As Lost Through Collision are parts monolithic and minimalist, manic and mellow.  Engineered by Josiah Mazzaschi at The Cave (Built to Spill, The Jesus and Mary Chain) and mixed by Tim Green at Louder Studios (The Melvins, Lungfish, Jawbreaker), the music here retains its organic purity and captures Sprain in its truest state.  The listener can hear every instrument and every tonal deviation while the band members embrace musical and philosophical abstraction in their art practice; they emphasize sound as force, differentiating the concept of pure sound from music. And although As Lost Through Collision is a departure from their previous EP, it still retains Sprain’s former slowcore aesthetic.  

As Lost Through Collision is available for pre-order here ahead of its September 4th release date.  Look for more music from the album to surface soon.  

As Lost Through Collision, track listing:

1.  Slant

2.  My Way Out

3.  Worship House

4.  Everything

5.  Constant Hum

[xxlying-from-y0u]

How Each Zodiac Sign Behaves When They Have An Anxiety Disorder

Aries

You become challenging.

Aries are the devil’s advocates of the Zodiac & when they feel anxious, what they want to do is reveal the truth about something. They also thrive on being “correct” all of the time so when they're uncomfortable they likely want to make arguments out of anything to prove themselves “right.” Oddly, the way that their anxiety manifests most is by them ramming heads (horns?) with anyone, over anything. Aries deal with their anxiety very aggressively & can sever relationship ties in the process.

Taurus

You become a perfectionist.

One of the only things that soothes a Taurus is clean lines, a cohesive Instagram aesthetic & the illusion that everyone is looking at your life & thinking it's perfect. The more anxious a Taurus is, the more manic they'll be in trying to create the perfect image. They're visual people & so they thrive when they at least think that things are “good.”

Gemini

You try to hide your anxiety & then you act out on it.

Geminis are actually more prone to anxiety than a lot of other signs & this is in no small part due to the dual nature of their minds: they can see both sides of a subject & they're super sensitive, so they're prone to overreaction. It’s easy for a Gemini to take a bunch of small problems & conflate them into one huge crisis that's really only happening in their mind. A Gemini’s first instinct will be to hide their feelings & pretend everything's okay. However over time they'll start to act out in passive aggressive ways, slowly deteriorating from the inside out. Watch for passive aggressive comments & unhealthy coping mechanisms that start to become habitual.

Cancer

Your impulse to people-please goes into overdrive.

Cancers are most at ease when they feel settled & harmonious in either a family, friend group or workspace. It makes sense then that their anxiety manifests mosts as a fear of someone “leaving” them, or not being liked (or seen as successful, attractive, etc.) to the general public. This leads them to worry incessantly about what other people think & then adjust their behaviors to be as pleasing as possible to anyone & everyone. The less a Cancer is being their authentic self & the more stressed they seem about a comment someone made or what a relative could possibly think, the more anxious they probably are.

Leo

You become jealous.

Famous for being the most self-confident & proud sign of the bunch, Leos express their anxiety in the least likely way you’d ever think: they become insecure & then jealous of others. Leos orient so much of their lives around themselves that they assume when they're experiencing some kind of anxiety or discomfort, it’s because they're inadequate. (It’s true that you have to take responsibility for your life & what role you’ve played in creating it but they take it to an unhealthy extreme.) A Leo is unsettled when they're jealous of their ex’s new relationship, mad they didn’t get (anything or everything) that someone else has, or are generally acting out of accord with their typically confident persona.

Virgo

You micro-manage.

Virgos love to have their shit together. Like, they live for being productive, well-rounded, holistic members of their families & communities, at once accomplishing incredible things & helping everyone they can along the way. (Yes, being a Virgo is exhausting.) Their anxiety tends to gear up when things aren’t flowing as well as they could be & you’ll find that little things really start to set them off. Virgos express their anxiety through a desire to micro-manage & in attempts to control as much as they can. The more manic they are, the more anxious they are & the cycle repeats itself.

Libra

You isolate yourself.

Libras are known for being the most social sign in the Zodiac. They're charming, friendly & generally in love with love. They're very socially-oriented people & may not realize it but are often at their best when they have regular contact with people they love. The biggest sign that a Libra has anxiety is that they isolate themselves. They avoid other people & think that they prefer to be alone. Even the most introverted Libras still need a close inner circle. Little do they realize but keeping themselves away from people is just intensifying their anxiety, not making it better.

Scorpio

You worry about irrational fears.

Scorpios can be dramatic & when something is really bothering them they often end up compulsively worried about something that seems like a big deal but isn’t actually the problem. (For example, their weight or not having enough money.) Scorpios express their anxiety in a way that feels “safe.” For example, if their true fear is that they'll never find a romantic partner they'll obsess over their hair or other people who they're jealous of. This coping mechanism actually moves them farther away from what they really want, unfortunately.

Sagittarius

You start to settle.

A Sagittarius needs a lot of stimulus to thrive. They need to be reading new books, exploring new towns, meeting new people & generally in a constant state of growth to truly feel fulfilled. However when they struggle with anxiety they'll often bury themselves & start to settle for something they don’t really want or they’ll find something wrong with absolutely everything & anything around them. It’s not that they can never settle down, it’s that they're trying to accept less than they want to build for themselves. There’s a difference & it’s important.

Capricorn

You obsess about fixing other people.

Anxiety often irritates Capricorns because it's nonsensical. Capricorns thrive with rules, structure & understanding, so when they have emotions that don’t have a clear cause, their instinct is to project them onto other people. It’s very common to see Capricorns who are struggling getting themselves overly-invested in things like helping their partners, coaching other people who don’t want/need their help, or overextending their arm into other people’s business. It’s all a coping mechanism though. Eventually, they’ll have to deal with their own issues.

Aquarius

You become overly sensitive.

An Aquarius doesn't respond to anxiety well. They have one of the most adverse reactions of all the signs which is interesting given that they're typically so action-oriented & intelligent. However they're odd, out-of-the-box thinkers with huge imaginations, qualities that don't fare well when anxiety is involved. They end up completely over-reacting to benign stimuli, getting aggressive toward other people who have nothing to do with anything & overreacting until they realize that they're being ridiculous & then carrying on as though nothing happened.

Pisces

You thrive.

So the sad & crazy thing about Pisces is that they're actually at their optimal functioning when they're experiencing some kind of light inner turmoil. It’s this discomfort that drives them into hyper-creation mode & they end up achieving more than they ever could have imagined. Their anxiety is their fuel & they're perhaps the most equipped sign of the entire bunch – they respond to it the most healthfully. We can’t control whether or not anxiety occurs, but we can control how we react. Pisces are masters of turning their angst into something good.

#How Each Zodiac Sign Behaves When They Have An Anxiety Disorder #anxiety #disorder #anxiety disorder #the signs #relatable #zodiac signs #thought catalog #shared #paradise lost #How Each Zodiac Sign Behaves #When They Have An Anxiety Disorder #how you react #mental health #mental illness #based on your zodiac sign #based on your sign #true #sagittarius #aquarius #leo #libra #virgo #aries #cancer #gemini #scorpio #taurus #pisces

[thedaywebuiltthefort-blog]

Welcome to DnD

After something of a manic few weeks, I’ve finally had time to sit down and update the blog. What with marathon training, working on the novel, going to my actual job and playing with pygmy hedgehogs I’ve found myself unintentionally putting the blog on hold.

That isn’t to say that during that time I haven’t been ticking a few things off the list. Because I very much have. But I’m not here to write about that today, no.

Today I am here to write about a challenge that would defy everything I have come to know about my physical, mental and spiritual limitations and teach me that anything can, and will happen.

Or at least it would have, had my character not fallen asleep.

I’m talking about my very first foray into the dark and mysterious world of Dungeons and Dragons.

Now, if you don’t already know what D&D is, I would suggest looking up Critical Role. Whilst there is an absolute trove of D&D sites, books and blogs to get you up to speed, for anyone that has come to the game recently, there is a good chance that it’s all thanks to the online show.

As a writer and lifelong fantasy fan, I have always been vaguely aware of how D&D works. I’ve helped draw up character sheets, I’ve watched videos and I know that at some point there was a largely disappointing movie made based on the game. However, I’d never actually played it, until now.

Thanks to a borderline obsession with Critical Role, my husband recently started playing D&D and had tried a few different online groups. Having sat and watched him play a few times, I thought perhaps it might be time to give it a try on a one-off, non-committal basis.

After a quick chat with the DM (Dungeon Master) of his most recent group, it was agreed that I could join their current quest as a six foot tall, bald female half-elf character named Ude.

The first thing we did was run through the different aspects of the character and what she could do. My other half got me to pick out my choices for spells, cantrips, and physical attributes. Now, this I could deal with, and I’m told that I made fairly decent choices.

I did find, however, that as my other half was happily explaining in lengthy detail what each of the different choices meant, my eyes were glazing over and my brain found itself pondering whether or not birds technically have armpits, which is the sort of question my brain often asks.

I discovered very quickly that when it comes to D&D, whilst anything can and will happen during the game, before that there are an awful lot of things you need to know. Most of which I found very confusing. It eventually ended up with me saying things like ‘yeah but that one’s got a fireball, I want that one.’

With Ude’s character sheet finalised, we sent it off to DM for a quick check through. Following this and prior to the game, my husband arranged for me to have a quick chat with the DM to run through some of the finer points of the character and what we would be doing.

Unfortunately, I was under the impression that the DM wanted to speak to me.

The DM was under the impression that I wanted to speak to him.

It made for a somewhat stilted conversation as I desperately tried to think up questions and not look as unprepared as I was, whilst my other half stood in the background looking confused and whispering ‘go on then, talk...’

Fortunately, the DM turned out to be a pretty chilled out person and he managed to talk me through some of my expectations, answered my off the cuff questions and generally made me feel like a lot less of an idiot than I felt.

Several days later it was game day. I spent a few hours rearranging the kitchen, setting up various props and lighting (much to my husband’s amusement/annoyance) so that I could film the session both for reference and so I could use a few video snippets on the blog.

Despite his reservations about both my skills in cinematography and furniture moving, my husband did dutifully create me a camera holder for my phone using the best cardboard box and masking tape that money can buy.*

*This later turned out to be pointless as the video wasn’t even of good enough quality to edit, much less bother publishing. I will state just for the record that the kitchen however remains rearranged because it looks better now.

As is normal with any social event (albeit online), about an hour before we start I’m hit with a wave of nerves which only seem to increase as we get set up.

I’m nervous about meeting new people in any capacity. This is largely based on previous experience and my natural talent for looking and sounding like a bit of a weirdo around strangers.

I remedy this with the liberal application of wine from the shop over the road.

Just before we get started, I have a quick chat with the DM.

As I’m joining part way through the campaign there are a few things I need to know about the setting, where the party is heading and what they do and don’t know at this point.

He tells me a few things and all of a sudden it all feels a little bit espionage-esque, like my laptop will self destruct thirty seconds after receiving all of the pertinent information.

I’m not entirely sure how much, if anything, of what I’m told I am meant to reveal however it doesn’t matter as I instantly forget everything I’ve just been told.

The game starts and I spend the first few minutes just trying to get a grasp of the other characters and what they’re doing. As my character is a guest on this session I don’t actually get introduced until a little while in.

At this early point, I encounter my first hurdle. I can recognise the DM’s voice and I can pick out the only other female in the group, but other than that I have no idea who is talking when. This makes it hard for me to track which characters are where. We also had several problems with internet connection and lost the sound feed a couple of times. This meant that there were a few occasions where I missed large chunks of the conversation.

So before my character even gets to put in an appearance, I’m sweating with nerves and completely lost, almost to the point of thinking it would be better if I just bowed out gracefully with my dignity in tact.

The thing about D&D - and especially the worlds that it creates - is that this is not just a board game that you whip out and play off the cuff.

This is hours of planning, creation and prep work for the DM.

People get emotionally invested in the story and their characters. I don’t want to be the idiot that comes in and accidentally kills everyone by launching an inadvertent fireball at them.

Eventually, my character is introduced. I summon up all of my courage and prepare to reel off the detailed description of Ude and her personality that I have spent the past few weeks preparing.

But I don’t.

Instead, my character sidles up to the only other female character and stands there, looking awkward and generally being closer than it is necessary to be to someone you’ve just met. So pretty much mirroring my normal reaction to this situation in the real world.

Now I’m going, to be honest – I don’t remember a whole lot of what was going on at this point. I wanted to be as engaged in the campaign as possible but really I was just having trouble keeping up.

I also wasn’t sure what I could and couldn’t do, despite my husband’s constant reassurances that my character can pretty much attempt to do anything (although any actions will have varying degrees of success).

I think at one point I actually said ‘Ude is going to suggest that she might possibly have something to say’ before waiting for permission to say what it was she wanted to say and still not being one hundred percent confident I should have said anything at all.

I knew the party was required to fetch a black orchid from the jungle, for reasons that have since escaped me, and saw this as my first opportunity to utilize one of my amazing character attributes.

I offered to turn into a dire wolf so that I could run really fast and go fetch it.

The plan didn’t actually work out, so sadly for me, I didn’t get to show off my wolfy prowess, but I was duly told by my husband that this had been a good suggestion.

Lack of wolfiness aside, the party set out to find the black orchid having spent the earlier part of the game flicking between sourcing information from the bird people (https://www.dndbeyond.com/races/aarakocra) who resided in the mountain village we had just visited, and making humorous digs at the bard (who seemed to inexplicably have a lot of musical instruments).

Just as I start to feel like I’m starting to hit my stride and get into it, the party is attacked by a tiger hybrid. As the other members of the party start to take their turns, I revel in the fact that finally, my character can do something cool and awesome!

I will save the day and everyone will love me! I mean Ude!

My turn rolls (no pun intended) around and having quickly refreshed myself on the various powers and spells I can use (tangling vines, woo yeah, firebolt, woo yeah, big magic stick, woo yeah) get ready to do a battle like a badass heroine.

Then my character falls asleep.

I’m not sure how or why, but once again D&D feels strangely relatable. Weeks spent worrying and stressing over a big event only to inevitably sleep through it all and miss it.

The group put in a good show and once Ude eventually wakes up she does get to use some of her healing powers to patch up a couple of players who fell afoul of a few well-aimed tiger beast strikes. Personally, I’m just happy that a) nobody has died and b) I didn’t accidentally kill them.

As we come to the end of the session, I actually find myself finally feeling a little more relaxed. I now have a sort of understanding who is playing who and which characters bring what to the group. There is a little bit of post-game chat which seems to mostly be the other members of the group reading out the list of tasks I have to complete from the blog with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

Despite their reservations at some of the tasks (in particular the ones that my niece came up with), they’re a group of funny, engaging and welcoming people.

There are not many places you can go where people are genuinely intrigued by the idea of farting in public as a challenge. Apparently, that isn’t the case in the world of Dungeons and Dragons.

I’d like to have been able to give a more detailed account of the gameplay itself and what happened; unfortunately, the truth is I still haven’t quite worked out about eighty percent of it.

The only way I’m going to remedy that is by trying again, which I intend to do.

D&D isn’t just a game that you can pick up and play – there are worlds within worlds and a lot to learn. Did I have fun? Yes, I did. Do I think I was any good? Absolutely not, I was a whisper away from completely useless.

I guess Ude is just going to have to put in another appearance.

You know, for research purposes.

#blog DnD TRPG dungeonsandragons halfelf games writing roll DM blogging writing

[gogh-bot-blog]

Everything Else

Originally published in Gravel magazine.

Mozart was crazy. Flat fucking crazy. Batshit, I hear. But his music’s not crazy; it’s balanced, it’s nimble, it’s crystalline clear. There’s harmony, logic. You listen to these, you don’t hear his doubts or his debts or disease. You scan through the score and put fingers on keys and you play. And everything else goes away. Everything else goes away… — “Everything Else”, Next to Normal   My favorite confessional poet is Anne Sexton, who committed suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning at age 45. A book of her poetry, published posthumously, featured her therapist:   I have words for you, Dr. Y., / words for sale. / Words that have been hoarded up, / waiting for the pleasure act of coming out, / hugger-mugger, higgiliy-piggily / onto the stage.   When I was in kindergarten, a boy hit me in the forehead with a toy truck during playtime because I asked to play with him. I sat in the corner and cried. Eventually, the teacher called me over. What’s wrong? she asked me. I don’t have any friends, I replied, sniffling. The teacher called all of the kids to the front of the classroom and asked them to raise their hands if they were my friend. Everybody raised their hands. I don’t know why, but this was probably the moment that I became crazy.   Or maybe I was crazy all along.   She laughed when I told her this story. She said it was incredibly sad and funny. I’m glad she saw how funny it was. Then she asked me, have you ever written about this?

Eunoia is a dated term for mental health. Literally, it means beautiful thinking. However, some of the most beautiful thinking has been done by people with mental illness. Consider the incredible artistic achievements of people like Vincent van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, and Sylvia Plath. And if you look for mental illness in artists, writers, poets, musicians; the list goes on.   We were running about Whole Foods. I say running because she kept forgetting things on her list and going back. We probably circled around the store three or four times, picking up various items along the way. She was in constant motion. Couldn’t stand in one place. Got excited over a jug of coffee. Perhaps she didn’t even notice, but I did: a slight fidget, balancing on one foot at the cash register. We looked at the things she’d ended up buying and laughed. Talking constantly. I am attuned to these kinds of things. She had told me, though, that she felt manic. I wished I felt as manic as she did, but I was not; rather, I was plagued by a familiar moroseness, a heaviness.   Asked about JS, I mused well, I think you’d win a fight with her.   A few months after the breakup with JS, I fucked a fashion designer from the city. He was kind of cute, dyed hair and a stutter. He slept in my bed with his arm around my waist. I slept uneasily. In my dream, I saw JS. It was the first time in a while I’d seen her face in my dreams. I don’t remember what she said, but I woke up all at once warm and shivering, cold sweat dripping down my forehead. I snuck out from the boy’s grasp and went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Looking into the mirror, I thought how strange it was. I started to cry. He gave me his shirt afterwards.   I don’t usually see people’s faces in my dreams. I rarely ever learn a person’s face. This is a condition known as congenital prosopagnosia. In fact, I only come to individualize the faces of people I’m in love with. When I told her this, she said it was very romantic. I did not tell her that I had come to know her face.   There is a thing known as a flow state: when words come out of your brain like blood seeping from a tapped vein, an insatiable passion for the task at hand. Manics often get into flow states. The world is poetry, you breathe it like air. Maybe this is part of why we are so successful in art. Love is also like a flow state.   She’s a doctoral student in the psychology department. But she told me that she used to write as if seized by a certain fervor for it, for the language, for poetry. I imagined Van Gogh and his passion for painting, his insatiable hunger. I thought I wanted to kiss those lips stained with yellow paint. Yellow, the color of the edges of a street, the boundaries of a self crossed like two neurons, the actualization of a synesthetic dream. To imbibe it is to take all of that in, the passion, life thrust under your tongue. I wanted that.   When I was a child, I sat by myself at recess. The teachers saw that I was always alone; they gave me chalk to draw on the sidewalk. My hands dusted with pastel yellow, I would watch the other kids play. It’s not easy for me to admit, but I hated them. I truly hated them. My heart was so full of hate that I couldn’t bear to watch them anymore, and I would go to the bathroom and cry. I’ve never been a good person.   Sadness is part of the human condition, said one of my writing professors, a woman who seemed perpetually rather flummoxed by the world. Without it, you’d be a monster. I wanted to ask, with sadness, am I not a monster?   For me it was different. I, too, was seized by passions; but they occurred for me in successions, a pattern sometimes disapprovingly called serial monogamy. I was like that with my writing, too. But when I was engrossed in the page, or lost in her eyes, everything but the space between my canvas and I disappeared. Everything else goes away.   I wrote constantly when I was in love with JS. Everything I felt was transferred to the page. She was my muse; she was the gasoline to the fire behind my eyes.   Kay Redfield Jamison wrote an entire book about the connections between mental illness, particularly bipolar disorder, and artistic talent. It’s called Touched with Fire.   My heart has holes in it. They’ve been there for a long time; before JS, I’m sure. But maybe I could have ignored them before that. Not anymore. I wanted to patch them up, fill them with cement, or gorilla glue the pieces back together and pretend that it was the same as it was before. A clean canvas, a blank page, a fresh start. But it’s never been the same. I’ve always been different from other people. Maybe that is why I write. To escape the sadness of being alone. The desolation, the emptiness, the misery of a life condemned to this certain loneliness.   Sometimes I try to fill the holes with other people’s loneliness. It never works. I knew right away that she wouldn’t be a suitable shape to fit there, like a square peg in the round hole of what I really needed. I was filled with this dread of knowing. But when I looked at her I would forget.   Everything else goes away.   I was ten years old when I first decided I was going to kill myself. I wanted to slice off my arm with an old circular saw, patched with rust, and die in a pool of blood on the hard cement floor of my garage. I daydreamed about it, wondered endlessly what it would be like to die there, cold and alone and smeared with bright red, a baptism in blood.   It was Anne Sexton’s therapist, Dr. Martin Orne, who encouraged her to write poetry. Perhaps he thought that poetry would be a form of healing, a way to expel her demons through the pen, exorcism in the act of creation. Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard, she said. I am a collection of dismantled almosts, she said. Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.   But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.   Lithium is like an emotional straightjacket, or at least like wearing a shirt that’s too tight. You can’t breathe. You can’t feel the way you felt before, not manic or depressed or happy or sad or anything. You wonder if you can even write. I didn’t write for months after I started taking it.   She told me she feels sadness only fleetingly. We’re opposites, I guess; two sides of the same coin. I live in a state of melancholy permeated briefly by manic interludes. But I wonder if mania is really like happiness. Or is it like a saccharine substitute for happiness, itself almost a deeper form of sadness?   I remember hanging upside-down on one of the hospital couches and pacing up and down the long hallway, smiling cheerfully at anybody I passed along the way. The doctor informed me point-blank that I was manic. I’m happy, I said. There’s nothing to be happy about, she told me.   Although the official diagnostic term was changed to bipolar disorder in the DSM-IV, maybe this is why some people identify more with the older term manic depression. Vincent Van Gogh’s stay at the little yellow house in Arles, France, from February 1888 until he was committed at the St. Remy asylum in 1889, was arguably the most prolific period of his entire career as a painter. He believed that the growing disruption of his inner chaos stirred within him this compulsive creativity: The more I am spent, ill, a broken pitcher, by so much more I am an artist... a kind of melancholy remains within us when we think that one could have created life at less cost than creating art. His time in Arles culminated in an episode wherein he cut off a portion of his left ear and attempted to give it as a gift to a prostitute, requesting she keep this object like a treasure.   Perhaps, in the end, this is the ultimate display of love: to give a piece of oneself to the other. To be something more than a memory, something tangible, something real. It’s a distinctly human error, this drive to be treasured.   I was sitting across my kitchen table from her. She was wearing my pajama pants and my sweatshirt, an oversized blue one that falls in folds around her thin wrists. I thought it looked better on her than it did on me. She had a look of deep consternation as she studied. I was quiet. I was watching her mannerisms, an absent-minded gesture of her fingers as she stared into the screen. The harshly azureous light of her laptop illuminated a sharpness in her almost perfectly symmetrical face, a ubiquitously beautiful face.   Perhaps it is not simply that the artistic temperament comes in tandem with emotional pitfalls, but that inner turmoil fuels the creation of art. If Van Gogh had not been crazy, would he have painted at all? Perhaps, like his brother Theo, he would have settled to be an art dealer, and never dirtied his hands with the business of creation.   Do you ever feel like I do, that you know a lot of people, but you’re still very lonely? But sometimes, maybe just when the stars align quite right, I meet someone that sees me. That looks at me like I’m not invisible.   She came up to me in the courtyard one day, a small green space in between the psychology buildings that’s mostly overgrown with ivy and shrubs. I was pacing back and forth, taking long drags and blowing smoke into the October sky. She asked me to bum a cigarette and smiled and said, I’ve seen you out here. You have a very thoughtful walk.   You always say the right thing, Elliot. You toss out aphorisms like you’re handing out daisies, she said. (Aphorism: either a pithy observation that contains a general truth; or, a concise statement of a scientific principle.)   And you know it’s just a sonata away. And you play, and you play. And everything else goes away. Everything else goes away. Everything else goes away...   She says she finds solace in her loneliness. I wonder if I could ever come to view things the same way. I’ve been alone for a long time, since my childhood. It wasn’t a tragic childhood. But it was solitary. For my whole life, I’ve wanted to find whatever it is that breaks down this invisible wall that divides us, that brings the fragments of people together into one, into a mosaic of shared humanity that I’ve never quite fit into.   I feel like I can tell you anything, she said. You’re very understanding. I feel like you understand me. I smiled sadly.   Is talking easily about something the same thing as healing a wound? About her family, about foster care, about the scar on her thigh? She gave a small laugh, like it wasn’t really a big deal. It’s not my place to say something like are you really okay? No. I couldn’t heal her. She couldn’t heal me. I just wanted to listen, to understand you in the way I have never been understood. That’s why I write.   Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet, raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon, leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,   I thought to call JS. It rang only twice; I knew she’d blocked my number months ago. I wanted to say, but I was always there for you. I wanted to say, but I loved you. I wanted to say, but I need you, I need you, I need you. Please. Two rings. Silence. leaving the page of the book carelessly open, something unsaid, the phone off the hook and the love, whatever it was, an infection.   She told me about enneagrams, a theoretical model of personality. She told me that I was a type four, the individualist, which she qualified as the suffering artist: expressive, dramatic, self-absorbed, temperamental. In love chiefly with my sadness. I wanted to say, and you are not?   I’ve changed, she says.   But why are you still here?   We read Maggie Nelson’s Bluets. Her voice grew incredibly impassioned as she read aloud: I say something about how clinical psychology forces everything we love into the pathological or the delusional or the biologically explicable, that if what I was feeling wasn’t love then I am forced to admit that I don’t know what love is, or, more simply, that I loved a bad man.   Sometimes I would wait in the spot where JS and I would always meet together before class, as if she’d appear there again if I waited long enough. She never did. I found myself there, cold, alone, staring at the sky in its seemingly infinite vastness. Eventually I stopped waiting.   I want to write again, she told me one day, sitting outside the front of her house, smoking a cigarette. The smoke drifted into the gray sky and faded like the unintelligible, inexplicable fragments of a dream upon waking. You should, I said. It was the best healing I knew of.

#creative nonfiction #mine #my writing #writers on tumblr #lyric essay #writing #personal essay #essays & memoirs

[serpent-bearer]

The Mountains of the Moon

4.

The school that lay carved into the face of the Mountains of the Moon was, and always had been, in Aion Sinistra’s opinion, the most stunning sight his eyes had ever beheld. The most intricate carved rock sculptures of planetary bodies, magical African beasts, and the faces of most Ancient Vodun spirits lay at the entrances of the great mountain – guarding all those who dwelled within her walls. The face of the Great Creator herself, Mawu (whose seven children ruled over each realm of nature since the creation of time itself), stood towering above the great stone door high atop the mountain; which had served as entrance to Uagadou School of Magic for thousands of years before even Hogwarts had been founded.

 On the very top of the mountainside, above the swirling mist, lay dozens of tiny observatories: little gleaming gold freckles scattered amongst this vast landscape, engraved with sacred Vodun runes of the cosmos. Occasionally a little gleam would spin slowly, focusing its eyepiece on some distant star, or galaxy… evidence that the school was still well and truly functioning to train the curious minds of the generations to come.

 Aion had spent all his years of magical education here, before travelling to wizard Britain, and every time he had returned it filled him with a sense of purpose that no other place on earth did. The warm, wet, tropical savanna air… the smell of the ferns and broad leaf grasslands, and Robusta coffee in the air… there was nothing like this place in the world.

 If only his visit had been for more a joyful reason. But he was not here for reunions, or the damp smell of grass and coffee beans.

 “Sinistra.”

 Aion waved a casual to the fellow witch who had been accompanying his surveillance of the outskirts of the school.

 “Anything interesting, Olanrewaju?”

 The witch, dressed very purposely in robes the same colours of the dense tropics that surrounded them, pointed toward the lake from which she had appeared from.

 “There is something you should help me look for over there,” she stated hurriedly. “I was maintaining the Shield Charm on the Eastern end of the Mountain… someone was talking in hushed voices, I am sure of it.”

 Aion looked over in the direction of the lake to which she was pointed and frowned interestingly. They had not come across anything but the sounds of distant fauna and the flickering of the leaves on the tall trees for months… this was most indeed interesting. He began walking back with her, side-by-side.

 “Unruly students, perhaps?” he offered a suggestion.

 Olanrewaju shook her head.

 “Doubtful,” she whispered as they instinctively ducked down into the camouflaged safety of the grass and sat, watching. “High Headmistress Gisemba has the entrances completely sealed with charms only she can break. Besides, the place is crawling with Grootslang. Nobody in their right mind would be out here with a bunch elephant-eating serpents hanging around…”

 “No-one but us, you mean,” Aion grinned, pushing some wayward bush aside so he could get a clearer view from the marsh behind the lake. “How’d she manage to get a tribe of Grootslang from the Dahomey? Must have been quite the challenge.”

 The witch he knew as Naki Olanrewaju: Uagadou alumni and Mother Africa expat to Britain such as himself, chuckled as silently as she could.

 “Don’t know,” she replied. “But I would have loved to see it. From about fifty miles away.”

 Eyes, still trained on the source of the voices, they nevertheless began to laugh, almost positive that the disturbance was nothing but a particularly irate Grootslang hunting for a first-year for dinner.

 “Aion…” Naki mused quietly after a few moments. “That’s a very strange name for a Malian wizard. That surely isn’t regional.”

 Aion gave her a curious side-eye but indulged her.

 “It’s Ancient Greek.”

 “Greek?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, shifting himself slightly to make himself more comfortable. “My father was a bit of a traveler - and a Deity enthusiast to boot. He named all three of his children after Gods and Goddesses… and everyone wonders why we have such big egos.”

 Naki’s shoulders jumped as she began to laugh silently.

 “What does it mean, then, ‘Aion’? What do you rule over like the gigantic egomaniac you are?”

 Aion remained completely silent until she shoved him gently on the shoulder.

 “… the circle encompassing the zodiac and the universe…” he replied with a heavy sigh. Naki could not keep her laughter in any longer.

 “Oh, that’s not going to give anyone a big head!” she cackled manically. Aion dropped the pieces of grass he was absentmindedly toying with and playfully pushed her away.

 During that one split second of distraction, of them allowing themselves one moment of respite in their jokes and tinges of flirtation, a flash of green light shot straight across the lake opposite them, passing by Aion’s head so closely that it singed the black hair on his head. The witch and wizard threw themselves to the ground and began scrambling toward the edge of the lake, screaming various protective charms and hexes as they did so.

 “Aquamurus!” Naki shrieked, throwing the palms of her hands toward the water’s edge. Suddenly, the water began rising out of its container within the lake, creating a wall of shimmering blues variegated with moss and tiny flickering fish. The curses which were being hurled at them began hitting the wall of liquid instead of passing straight through the air, decelerating them immeasurably and affording Naki and Aion precious time to make their way around to the other side.

 Aion, who had been accustomed to wand magic for too long to hark back to his wandless heritage, began firing Stupefy curses off in all directions as they reached the other side. Grass and tree roots were blasting through the air as if bombs were falling all around them. In the corner of his eye, Aion could see a couple of lights saturating the entrance to the school as the great door above them swung open, and hurried footsteps begun skirting their way down the mountain.

 “There! There!” Naki suddenly screamed – thrusting her hand directly in front of her, which sent another hex swirling off in the intruder’s direction. Aion looked around and saw them. Two hooded figures in black. One had just been inadvertently hit by Naki’s spell – and it had thrown them completely off their feet.

 “Expelliarmus!” Aion cried as the backup had arrived behind him. Soon, hexes and spells and shouts were heard from every direction, and the intruders knew they were now very much outnumbered. The one still standing Disapparated into thin air, but the second figure was still on the floor scrambling for his wand… Aion caught one millisecond vision of a mask.

 “QUICK!” one witch behind him shouted but it was too late – the second figure had leapt for his wand and had vanished in an instant. It took a minute or so in the confusion for everyone’s spells to dissolve and cease.

 While Naki sped off into the grasses to look for any evidence of the spies, Aion turned to see the High Mistress of Uagadou School behind him, surrounded by several other professors.

 “Who was it?” High Mistress Gisemba questioned. “Was it one of… them?”

 Aion looked back to the spot where the other pair had vanished – the spot where Naki was currently sweeping her hands over, attempting to pick up anything they had left behind.

 “I couldn’t say,” he made up. He knew very well who they had appeared to be, but his theory was based on a few seconds of visual evidence and it was not enough to cause mass panic within the Uagadou community.

 Gisemba, an aged witch who still exuded the mass power of younger years, turned around to the seven or so witches and wizards behind her, some of whom Aion remembered as his teachers.

 “Go,” she commanded, throwing out her arms. “I want every inch of the boundary searched. Any evidence of more of… this… I want brought to my attention immediately.”

 The teachers made their various exits into the dense forest surrounding the school, wands now lit up as darkness had begun to descend. Naki returned to the sides of both Aion and Gisemba and sighed.

 “Nothing,” she relayed. “Probably just troublemakers stirring the pot…”

 Aion could tell immediately from the look on High Headmistress’s face that she did not believe a word of it. He didn’t blame her suspicion: one of the ‘troublemakers’ had tried to kill him, after all. A deep line had appeared between Gisemba’s brows.

 “We must have constant surveillance,” she said. “At every entrance point of this mountain and further out into the boundaries of the forest. I trust you can assemble more people, Sinistra?”

 “Olanrewaju might have to tackle that alone for the time being,” Aion replied, exchanging looks with his look-out partner. “I think I need to pay my sister an overdue visit.”

 “The Order…” Gisemba nodded knowingly, “I’ll take you back up to the school.”

 Before they began to work, Aion felt a small hand on his back. He turned to see Naki’s face looking up at him – it was full of apprehension and fear.

 “You’ll be ok?” she queried, her breathing noticeably raspy. “It’s dangerous over there…”

 Funny, how the tides turn, Aion thought ironically. Only just a year ago the situation would have been completely reversed.

 “I’ll be fine,” he assured her, something deep within him wanted to stroke her arm but he managed to resist. No point in developing something else in times such as these...

 “Hogwarts is perfectly safe,” Aion continued when it was clear that she did not believe him. “All I need to do is rely a message to her and I’ll be back.”

 “Take me to Hogwarts then,” Naki insisted, grabbing onto him. “If it’s as safe as you say – take me with you.”

 “There’s no… there’s no need for you to come. You’re needed here.”

 He realised suddenly that Gisemba had started wandering off toward the school by herself, obviously intuition telling her to leave both of them to themselves for a few moments. Naki bit the corner of her lip as she pondered this and suddenly she reached out and kissed him lightly on the cheek before pulling his disheveled robes together.

 “You tell your sister that she needs to get you back here in one piece,” she commanded. “Or she’ll have me to answer to. Okay?”

 Aion flashed a final smile before turning back to the Headmistress. “I wouldn’t worry,” he answered behind him as Naki watched them ascend the mountain. “I think Rora’s stubbornness alone is enough to keep us all immortal…”

 Gisemba and Aion arrived at the vast stone doors near the top of the mountain; the High Headmistress looked up into Great Creator Mawu’s inscription upon the rock, swept her hands over her head and began to chant. Suddenly, the Great Creator’s sleepy eyes creaked open to reveal the most brilliant purple coloured eyes. Her eyes were almost like staring into the sun… one could not look directly at them without being momentarily blinded. The wizard and elder witch shielded their faces and moved into the opening entranceway.

 Uagadou was more like a wizarding city than merely a school as Hogwarts was. The African wizarding community was far more insular, more secretive, than wizarding Britain. They could not afford to be sprawled out all over the continent as their British contemporaries, else they all risk mass extinction. Numerous little shops and market stalls scattered the edges of the cave-like kingdom, witches and wizards running around selling everything from Vodun jujus to breads and stews. In the middle of the vast cave was the entrance to the hospital; Vodun practitioners were scurrying in and out, carrying various smoking amulets and potions, Aion could catch the sound of distant chanting radiating out from its doors, along with stomach churning wailing…

 On the very top layer of the inner mountain was the entrance to Uagadou School. Aion and Gisemba walked briskly up the twisting stone steps and through a hallway, scattered with the occasional teenager or two making their ways back to their rooms after dinner. Up and up they ascended until they were in par with the observatory.

 “In we go,” Gisemba motioned to one of the doors along the corridor, they both stepped into her vast and intricately decorated office. On the other side of her office stood a very different looking kind of entrance… it was a complete circle, shrouded in both Adinkra and elder futhark runes, a melting pot of African and European protective symbols.

 Gisemba stood directly in front of the passageway and began to twist her hands and chant underneath her breath, almost as if in song and dance. As her body moved and her voice carried, an Adinkran rune the symbolized the cosmos that appeared to have been carved into her chest began to glow and pulse, the runes upon the door pulsed a deep blue along with the one on her body.

 Aion watched on as the solomonic circle in the centre of the wall turned, creaking against the outer edge of the rock as it begun to spin faster and faster, until there was nothing but empty, black space beyond.

 “She should be aware that the portal has been opened,” Gisemba instructed, tapping Aion gently on the back as she guided him into the darkness. “Go. I cannot keep it open for long… not anymore… we cannot risk unwanted fugitives finding it. Give my regards to Aurora and Dumbledore.”

 Aion nodded and stepped his way boldly into the nothingness.

 It was like wading through a giant, viscous bubble. Nothing as sickening as Floo powder and for that he was thankful. Aion strode determinedly through the thick, fluid-like air, moving forward and forward through the pitch blackness. After about five or so minutes a line of white light appeared before him; he strode toward it, its beacon becoming brighter and brighter and larger…

 The light eventually took on the form of another door. He struggled against it, pressing his palms down upon the exit as he gave a great push and opened the door.

 He landed in a pitch-black, and very cold, room. Aion immediately began to shiver, kicking himself for not thinking to dress for Scottish weather. Frost coated the windows before him, but what he saw inside the office made him warmer than even the tropics of Uganda had made him feel. There was a silently orbiting solar system above his head by the unlit ceiling lamp; walls of planetary systems and equations written in familiar handwriting had him surrounded in ease.

 Before he had any chance to flick his wand to at least get a fire started in the abandoned office, the door opposing the portal flung open so hard that it ricocheted off the wall, causing one of the planets above him to come falling to the ground.

 The lights in the room all became illuminated at once, and he was facing the one person he had dearly hoped to see. His younger sister, dressed in far more appropriate thick robes and cloak, stood before him. Just behind her shoulder loomed the bat-like Severus Snape, and his wand was already raised upon the intruder.

 At the mere sight of her brother behind her desk, Aurora’s eyes flooded with tears.

 “Balima…” she wept in their native Bambara, and ran full-speed into his arms. Aion caught her entire body in his.

 “Balimamuso,” he replied, fervently kissing her now saturated cheeks. He held her to him as tightly as he could, thanking Great Mawu Herself that she was safe. And, after an entire year without their voices or seeing their faces, that he was finally home, even for the briefest of sweet moments.

#Aurora Sinistra #Severus Snape #Uagadou #wizarding schools #second wizarding war #Hogwarts #Half-Blood Prince #Vivienne #'97 #pensieve #African magical community #Aion Sinistra #Naki Olanrewaju

[sasusakufestival]

Ma'at

Summary: When her eyes fall on him, taking in his condition, something terrifying flashes across her features. Sasuke knows, in that moment, that if his insides weren’t hanging out of his body, if she didn’t need to stabilise him as soon as possible, Sakura’s own oath to heal would mean nothing. [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 5 – Prompt: “Saving Her Man”]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be strung up by a creepy marionetted if you are found plagiarizing.

Warning: NSFW due to graphic depictions/descriptions of torture and injury. Spoilers for pretty much everything up to Chapter 699.

Canon-Compliance: As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during the Blank Period.

Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before An Inch of Gold and Unplanned.

Special Thanks: Once again my bro JBankai89 has seen fit to take time out of his busy student schedule and catch the minor errors here while I await the full edit by my usual beta. Dude is awesome, if you like smut and rare-pairs in the HP fandom, check him out. Now. Go now. Doooo it.

AN: This isn’t as hardcore shippy in the first part as I’m used to doing for a one-shot, but when I was thinking about the prompt, I figured there would have to be a pretty horrible situation for Sakura to have to save Sasuke. The result was this. Hope I managed okay!

It’s the all-encompassing, bone-deep agony that draws Sasuke out of unconsciousness.

Pain radiates through his entire body, seemingly coming from too many points to narrow down. There’s an icy, wrenching ache somewhere below his lungs, but that’s only the most noticeable. Sharp, stabbing sensations assault him from everywhere – his nails, the webbing between his fingers and toes and even his hair follicles. His skin feels stretched and raw, as if it has been flayed from his body and then replaced.

Clearly something happened to him while he was asleep, but he can’t figure out what.

In fact, he’s having a hard time organising his thoughts, which is a sign of just how serious the situation is. If being subjected twice to his brother’s Mangekyō Sharingan has given him anything, it’s a remarkable threshold for withstanding torture.

Whoever or whatever has reduced him to this state is no novice.

Sasuke orders himself to concentrate, to take in whatever information he has about the situation – but there is nothing.

He can’t remember what situation could have led to this.

There are bits and pieces, images and memory that jumble together in his head, but the pain is making it hard for him to filter. Slowly he puts some of it in order –

Travelling through Suna. Accepting temporary work helping to rebuild the city wall. A tour of the new hydroponic system that…

Who was it? That mousy girl that follows Gaara around…

Whoever she is, she came up with it and was showing him and –

Wait.

Where’s Sakura?

He struggles to free himself, and makes a disturbing discovery – although he is aware of his body, mostly because of the amount of pain he is in, he can’t control any part of it right now.

He is utterly paralysed.

Something straps him in place across his chest, wrists, ankles and other joints; the burning, twisting discomfort is worse there than his arms and legs. His neck is immobilised, some device at the back of his head pressing his face forcibly downward so that his chin practically touches his sternum. It makes breathing hard, exacerbating the clawing, wrenching ache beneath his lungs.

Most troubling of all, though, is that he can’t see.

Upon trying to activate his Sharingan to better assess his surroundings, a surge of chakra burns into his retinas, making him curse. Someone has covered his eyes and added a seal; the last time he experienced something like this, he was in prison cell in Konoha.

“Ah. It seems that you are awake.”

A cold, reedy male voice echoes in the darkness, making Sasuke’s stomach leap in surprise. Instantly, a wary sensation settles over him, like mounting nausea. He has spent his entire life honing his senses, priding himself on his awareness of the world around him.

Just how far gone was he that his senses have been so easily dulled?

“I am sure you would prefer to escape into the next life,” the flat voice continues; it sounds distant, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel. “But I fear we are running according to a more pressing agenda, and one which is not relevant to you.”

There is a creaking sound, like wood shifting, and a rattling noise he feels like he should be able to identify. Something pricks into his arm, and Sasuke swears.

Only a garbled groan escapes his lips.

“Ah, yes. An unfortunate requirement, that. You’ll begin to feel the effects of that in a moment – it’s counteracting the adrenaline that was used to wake you. You see, Sasuke Uchiha, you were dead for five whole minutes there. And we can’t have that. I can’t have that.”

Sasuke mouths wordlessly at that, unable to understand what he’s being told. It explains why his brain feels so muddled, but…dead?

“If you shuffle off this mortal coil so quickly, then we can no longer continue our discourse,” the voice goes on, maddeningly calm. “I demand at least three days from you – given your reputation, and the way even children on the street speak of you, I think it will end up being more like a week.”

A week of being tortured to death and constantly revived? Not something he is interested in. Sasuke inhales slowly, centring himself and trying to discover if there is any part of him that can move.

“You’re wasting your energies,” he is told quietly. “I know better than to take risks with an individual such as you. All of the nerves allowing for motor function have been severed, and no doubt you can feel that the restraints keeping you secure have been sealed and warded. Your pain receptors are perfectly in tact, however. I took special care to ensure that. I assure you, you are completely at my mercy. And with that same assurance, I can tell you that there is very little of it left.”

The information is delivered with a clinical certainty, informing Sasuke that his fate is a foregone conclusion.

Sasuke grits his teeth – about the only movement he is capable of – fighting the irritating confusion and still cataloguing information.

From the precise tone and explanations, it’s not the run-of-the-mill criminal.

“I understand how confused you must be,” the male voice continues. “Death does muddle the neurons. Allow me to explain, if only because it will heighten the importance of what comes next.” There is sound, someone moving near Sasuke, the rattle of what could be metal or glass. “I intend to catalogue the entire experience, and for it to be the most successful, you must understand what is happening, yes?”

He pauses, as if waiting for some noise of agreement. Sasuke doesn’t give him the satisfaction, even if he could speak right now.

“You’ve been subjected to a constant stream of chakra suppressors and tranquilisers since arriving in Suna,” the man continues. “Nothing noticeable, of course, just enough to weaken you enough to generate an opportune moment for retrieval. You see, I’ve discovered that even in this time of peace, when one has the money, people will add anything to a stranger’s food.”

The images in Sasuke’s mind flash to the past few days. Every time he and Sakura had a meal, the growing sense that there was something not quite right. He thought he was just feeling under the weather – not something to bother his wife over when there are people in dire need of her healing. Whatever was put in his system was both untraceable enough for him not to react to it, and not fast acting enough for Sakura to notice.

Has she been captured too?

The idea of her trapped somewhere, restrained in the darkness and in even a quarter of the pain that assault him now, has him renewing his struggles.

“You truly are attempting the futile,” the cold voice says again, the tone bored. “Your chakra levels are completely depleted. Anything you intend to try will be quite impossible.”

“Don’t…need…chakra…”

The words are slurred and barely really words at all, but Sasuke has no intention of simply sitting in silence. He will get out of here, because the alternative is not an option. He made a promise to Sakura that he would never leave her behind again, and if he has to conquer death itself to keep that promise, he will.

His captor doesn’t know this, and he isn’t impressed by his bravado.

“I am well aware of that fact, Sasuke Uchiha. In fact, it’s only because of that knowledge that I have deprived myself of the supreme pleasure of ripping you to shreds with my own two hands.”

There is promise there, a manic note that Sasuke recognises all to well.

His concern for Sakura retreats to the back of his mind. Right now, he can’t do anything about her well-being, and logically, if she were dosed with anything she would metabolise it immediately and noticed.

He needs to get himself to safety, and to do that he needs to know what he is up against.

Whoever this calm voiced man is, he isn’t stupid. Drawing attention to his plans by involving Sakura would be foolish, and so he likely just focussed on Sasuke. As he said before, it’s just a matter of waiting until he was alone, which could have happened at any point when he and his wife dealt with separate errands. Sasuke remembers retreating to the guesthouse they were staying at, hoping to take a short rest while Sakura finished her rounds at the fledgling mental health clinic here.

Likely that’s when his captor somehow managed to get to him and abduct him – all without anyone noticing.

Which means he is both exemplary when it comes to sedatives and has a shinobi’s skills. Jōnin level even. Probably black ops.

But the voice – despite the coldness there’s a feebleness there, thin – like someone older. No longer in their prime, probably no longer active.

“The problem with that desire is that, at the core of things, I am not a monster,” his captor tells him. “This – what I’m doing – is not for the purposes of making hurting you. Not entirely.” Something white hot and scorching flicks at the instep of his foot and Sasuke clamps his jaw shut, trapping the yell threatening to escape. “If I truly wanted to cause you pain, I would have your lovely wife here with us.”

Sasuke growls at this, feeling his chest heave with effort. It doesn’t feel right, there’s a cold tightness there he isn’t used to experiencing when he breathes. 

“There are many, many things I could do to her before she died,” the man confides in him, not with the pleasure of someone sharing a cherished secret but with the confidence of someone speaking pure truth. “Given her well-known ability to heal herself, I could make it last for days. Perhaps I would have her cursing your name in the end.”

Sasuke knows that’s impossible – knows his wife is much stronger than that, and there’s a reason his captor has apparently made every effort not to gain her attention in abducting him.

But the image the reedy voiced man is painting is too vivid, and in his drugged state, he is more susceptible to the suggestion.

“Don’t…” he attempts, trying to make it sound more like a warning than a plea.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about your pretty blossom. You see, Sasuke Uchiha, I took an oath. One I have never broken. Not until today.” He clears his throat, and with a slight mocking lilt recites, “I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of man or woman, bond or free.”

There is a sound like a chuckle, and then another blistering, hot burn near his feet. Wordless sound sticks in his throat, a strangled groan; the smell of burning flesh is so thick he can almost taste it.

“But you’re not a man, are you? You are a monster. The one who claws down the innocent, and then imagines he can continue living his life freely and unpunished.” The sound of rattling and creaking continues, metal objects being moved around. Then silence. When the man speaks again, it’s with an abrupt change in tone. “Do you love your wife, young man?”

Sasuke blinks at the question, unable to make sense of it immediately.

“Come, come, it’s a simple question. I’m hardly asking you for state secrets. And talking to me will give you a chance to recover. You want your chance to escape, don’t you?” he asks, and Sasuke can almost hear a smirk in his voice. “Of course you do. You’re a legendary Sannin now, giving in is not something you do. So answer my question. Do you love your wife?”

Sasuke considers not answering. His feelings for Sakura are his own business, and he can barely articulate them to her, there’s no reason to say them to his interrogator. But the man is correct – he needs to have time, needs to build up his strength.

He also knows that if he isn’t honest, there will be more pain. He needs to take a calculated risk. “…yes.”

“Good. Yes, very good. And is she everything to you? You very existence would cease if the world was bereft of her existence?”

Sasuke pauses again here. The question is too complex, too complicated to enunciate, even if he didn’t have to worry that it might change the man’s mind about somehow going after Sakura. However, a lie won’t help him in this case either.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually, because it answers the question and enunciates his true feelings on the matter.

“Ah. That is an honest answer, well done,” the distant voice says, and there’s something like approval there. “Most young couples are so besotted with one another at this point they believe the world will end without their lover in it. I know I felt that about my wife, once. But then, most young couples haven’t lost something worse. Something much more precious. Can you guess what that might be, Sasuke Uchiha?”

He remains silent, mind flashing to that night long ago, walking through empty, blood-stained streets. His brother smiling at him through blood, then later through dead eyes as his skin peeled away.

Sasuke’s experiences aren’t like other young people, but he need not remind his harasser of this.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? You haven’t experienced that yet,” the man points out coldly. “You haven’t felt that terrifying, suffocating bliss upon learning you’ve created life. You have never held a tiny, fragile body in your hands while it reaches for your face. You have never had a child.”

Sasuke tenses, having a sudden horrible presentiment what this might be about.

“I can’t truly describe what it’s like. Watching such an innocent soul growing up beneath your watchful eye. The need to protect without stifling. Much like coaxing a plant to flower, but…so much more delicate.” There’s a sigh, almost wistful. “My boy was so ambitious. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of my family, become a renowned shinobi. Perhaps Kazekage one day. But I knew better. I had seen it all, you see. I had lived it and I knew that kind of life, one without honour, would break him. You know all about living without honour, don’t you, Sasuke Uchiha? You turned your back on your own people, your own country. More than once, I hear.”

Sasuke narrows his eyes against the blindfold.

“But a father must support his child. And so I did so the best I could, helping him grow strong but ensuring he was out of harms way. It pays to be influential, you know. I know the Wind daimyo very well, and he trusts me more than any other.” Here there is a bitter, echoing little chuckle. “Arrangements were made. And so my son was sent to the Land of Iron, given the opportunity to apprentice to the samurai force there.”

This time, Sasuke’s mouth goes dry. There is no more doubt where this is going.

“A peace-keeping force,” the man continues. “A force that would never have to deal with the hidden deeds, the uprisings and skirmishes between the Hidden Villages. Even more so because until then, we were living in peaceful times. Do you see where I’m going with this, Sasuke Uchiha?”

This question is not rhetorical. His captor is awaiting an answer. Sasuke swallows, tries to ensure he doesn’t muddle his words.

“Your son…he was at the summit…”

“Yes. He was. Do you know what happened to him?”

“…”

“Come now, your intelligence is well-documented. I know you’ve already worked out what happened to him.”

“…he was killed.”

“By?”

“…by me.”

“Exactly.” Clinical, deadly calm fills the man’s voice now. “The reports are all the same. How the last surviving member of the Uchiha – a traitor to his own – walked into a peaceful summit and murdered every samurai that tried to stop him.”

Regret and guilt barrel through Sasuke, because there’s no way to argue or excuse this fact.

“When I heard the news…well, I guess you can imagine something close to it. You lost your entire clan, I hear. But that’s still not the same. This is worse. Losing a child, it’s…it’s like dying, but not being allowed to rest. Imagine being trapped in your own corpse, being forced to make your lungs and heart and brain continue operating. Imagine a piece of your soul torn from you and shredded to pieces before your eyes.”

Throughout all of this, Sasuke keeps his mouth shut. He knows that apologies and platitudes mean nothing to someone who has lost so much.

“I didn’t believe I could ever be able to continue. In fact, it was only the knowledge that with the five Kage seeking out the international criminal that stole my son from me that kept me going. Until…until months later, when the world suddenly made sense again. I saw him again, my son. We were reunited, and it was as if he had never died. Do you know how that was possible?”

“…the Infinite Tsukuyomi.”

“Yes. That clever genjutsu your family helped to create. For the first time, I was whole again. I felt as if every agony I had ever experienced was nothing but a dream. A memory from infanthood, completely insubstantial. I had my son, smiling before me, proud and beautiful and alive.”

“…”

“And then it was gone. I woke up and my son was gone,” the man says, voice strained and Sasuke suspects he is fighting back tears here. “It wasn’t long afterward I heard the story. That you had released the genjutsu. The man who killed my son…stole him from me a second time.” There’s another clatter of sound in front of him, someone picking up something heavy. “Do you understand now, Sasuke Uchiha? Why I am not the monster here?”

Abruptly, the blindfold or whatever has been impeding Sasuke’s vision is pulled away. The dim, overhead lighting from a lone bulb is like blinding inferno to Sasuke’s retina. Without his bloodline ability to instantly adjust to the light, his eyes clench shut again, and it’s several precious seconds of adjusting before he can see again.

Even then, it’s limited; his head remains uncomfortably pressed downward. A strange flap of some kind obscures his vision of everyone below his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the place on his arm that was pricked earlier, realises that it is connected to something. An IV line, which drips an ominous purple solution down a tube and into his veins.

Probably more of the sedative.

His right arm and the stump of his left have been pulled back, forcing him into a spread-eagle position; his entire body is reclined backward. There’s a glint of metal that takes him a moment to make out – the skin between his fingers have multiple lacerations in them, as if they have been cut. Needles and razors have been embedded into his palms and though he can’t see his feet, the general sense of stinging agony there suggest they have faired(misspelled. Fared.) no better. Judging from the wet burning on the side of his face, neither of his ears.

High ceilings in the darkness, and the walls are oddly cushioned. It’s not like any of the prisons Sasuke has been in during his life, and not as dank or earthen as any of Orochimru’s bases. He thinks he sees rows upon rows of chairs spread out in the distance, almost like an amphitheatre, which makes no sense. In the distance he also notices a strange opening, a window high above one of the rows of chairs.

Straining his eyes even more to see beyond himself, he notices a dark shape looming closer beside him. It slowly coalesces into a more defined figure, and suddenly the creaking and rattling he heard before makes sense.

It isn’t even human – it’s a wooden marionette.

Well, this is most definitely not good.

If he concentrates – and doing so rapidly burns up the tiny flares of chakra he still has left – he can dimly make out the strings holding the wooden mannequin, leading into that distant window.

He’s had a wariness about anything vaguely puppet-like since his chūnin exam, even if he doesn’t have the same history with the things as his wife does. Honestly, they creep him out, and in terms of effectiveness, his Sharingan are useless against them. That’s a problem in and of itself.

Whoever is keeping him captive isn’t taking the chance of getting close to him at all.

Worse, however, is the thing beside the puppet, which he immediately wishes he hadn’t noticed.

It looks like a brazier, and though there is no obvious source heating it, several sharp and unpleasant looking instruments lie within, glowing white hot. The very air above the scalpels, clamps and gouges warbles with heat, radiating a dark promise.

As their very plausible purpose hits him, another wave of pain rolls through his body, and Sasuke temporarily loses his ability to block out the sensations.

A moan of pain makes its way up his throat, but Sasuke fights it back down.

Focus. Figure him out.

The man controlling the puppet, when he speaks, does so with proper and polite diction. He is clearly educated, which suggested a life beyond that of a shinobi. The use of puppets suggests he’s from the upper echelons of Suna society, because only the very affluent have the resources and time to learn that craft. An advisor to the Kazekage maybe?

Who would risk Gaara’s wrath by attacking ambassadors from Konoha during peacetime?

It isn’t just an affront to the long-standing political and dynastic alliance between the two villages, either. Sasuke might be respected here because of his friendship with Naruto, but Sakura is the heroine who saved the Kazekage’s brother and defeated Sasori of the Red Sand. Gaara and Kankuro would effortlessly crush anyone that caused her a modicum of heartache, and given it’s no secret her heart lies with Sasuke…

Either this person is suicidal, or he has nothing to lose. Or both.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” the man says suddenly, the pitch of his voice lower as if he is making a confession to Sasuke. “Years, in fact.”

The puppet bends over him, joints and appendages rattling, and its fingers adjust something that Sasuke can barely see but realises is sticking out of his chest. A half second later, agony flares up from that sharp, jabbing sensation beneath his ribcage.

Out of reflex he tries to shake his head, release it from the vice keeping him immobile, but it’s fruitless. He hears the sound of blood dripping down to the ground and only just managed to clamp down on yet another cry of pain. Tears well in his eyes, his body’s reaction to the overwhelming stimulus. There’s only so much pain one can train themselves to ignore, and this doesn’t fall into that category.

Sound and sight fade out completely for several moments.

He doesn’t fall back into unconsciousness, exactly, but he finds himself completely mired in a suffocating, gnawing onslaught of pain. 

When he comes out of it again, his throat is raw and his lungs are constricted.

“That is closer to the reaction I’m looking for,” the man says, satisfied, and Sasuke realises he was screaming. “It’s better not to bottle these things up, Sasuke Uchiha.”

Sasuke’s body is wracked with tremors, and he tries to take another centring breath to regain control of himself. This time it’s much harder. He needs something to distract himself, needs something useful –

His eyes flit around his surroundings, looking for anything that would offer some help, some release – something else to think on.

“Am I boring you, young man?” the man says, and that window is where his voice is emanating from. It’s coming over a loud-speaker of some kind, which Sasuke realises is because otherwise it would get lost in the insulated walls. “Perhaps you need something to hold your attention in the interim. And easily rectified situation.”

Something is moving, large and cumbersome by the sound of it. Sasuke clenches his fist, attempting to prepare for something he won’t have the strength to fight off.

Which is why when another puppet manoeuvers a mirror into his line of vision, he is confused.

Until it places it several feet in front of him.

The groan of horror that escapes his throat then is a sound he’s never heard himself make, the dying growl of an animal.

His entire chest has been opened up and he is staring at his own bare ribs and internal organs.

It’s not the goriest sight he has ever seen, but there is still an inherent, automatic visceral reaction to this. His stomach heaves – he watches his stomach heave – and he begins to shudder.

“Steady,” the voice tells him, and he feels the burst of chakra trailing down through the puppet’s fingers, calming his racing pulse. “We don’t want you having another heart-attack. Shock is such an interesting phenomenon in the human body.”

Sasuke forces his mind away from the macabre sight before him, mentally scours his drug-slowed brain for something to concentrate on that will keep him conscious. It’s a waiting game, he just needs to…

 “…procedure itself is absolutely fascinating…resembles an operation, but in reverse…”

He’s not quite sure what he needs to do, but falling back into the deceptive peace of unconsciousness is not it.

“…instead of stitching you together, I am taking you apart at the seams…much like the way you rip people’s hearts to pieces, am I right, Sasuke Uchiha?”

The puppet reaches for another tool, and begins to process of carving Sasuke up as he watches. In the mirror, Sasuke can see it peeling back the muscles and tissue that protect his stomach and intestines, as if it is peeling fruit. Blood saturates the wooden fingers, and Sasuke screams again, one unending keen of agony.

He can’t breathe, and the world spins out of focus around him.

Focus! Fucking focus, or you’re going to die!

“The human body is absolutely marvellous in what it can endure. Yours, for example, clinging to life as it is? I imagine if we use our time wisely, I could shape it as easily as a sculptor would with marble or wood.” There is a content sigh, and the puppet selects another scorching hot scalpel from the brazier. “True art.”

Sasuke chokes at this, realising that beyond being sadistic, his captor is also insane. The last person he knew who waxed poetic about art blew up himself and an entire forest.

“Now, now, we can’t have that. If you stop breathing, we’ll be delayed again.” There’s a creaking sound and Sasuke’s head is suddenly straight up, making it easier – albeit much more painful – to breathe. “Is that better?”

Sasuke says nothing, too dizzy and agonised, and focusses instead on a distant thumping noise. He thinks it’s his heart, but it’s too fast. His captor’s solution should be keeping his heart rate steady.

It’s instinct to try to concentrate on a pleasant thought, or seek out a peaceful memory to counteract the slicing, sawing sensations being wreaked upon his bones and organs. But there are so few in his life that he has, retrieving them is too difficult.

He shuts his eyes, needing something – something concrete and unyielding, a universal axiom to draw on.

Immediately, the face of his wife flashes across the backs of his retinas, shifting through the various iterations he has seen in their life together. As the sadistic man and his marionette continue to carve into him, Sasuke imagines he can hear her voice.

“I have family and I have friends…but if you’re gone…to me, it will be the same as being alone.”

“I would do anything for you! So…please just stay with me!”

 “I love you! No matter what’s happened, I still care for you more than I can bear…if I could have taken all your pain…onto myself to comfort you, I would have!”

“I’m begging you, don’t slip away any further!”

“What if…I asked you…to take me with you…?”

“Just once. Say it and mean it. I’ll never ask to hear it again if that’s what you want, but before I can say yes – to the future, to trying, to…to all of it – you have to say it.”

“Yes. Yes to all of it.”

“Shhh. Sasuke, I know you’re scared right now, but you’re safe with me.”

“Can I say out here with you?”

“I’m right here.”

Sasuke’s eyes shoot open, and for the first time since he awoke in this strange place, he feels a sense of clarity and calm.

The thumping noise is becoming louder, and it’s a wonder his torturer can’t hear it. Either he is too focussed on Sasuke at the moment, or he doesn’t care. But something is about to happen, Sasuke knows, and whatever the outcome, there’s something he needs to say.

“I…can never return…the lives I’ve taken,” he whispers haltingly. “But…killing me…will not bring him…back.”

“You think I don’t know that?” the man snaps, voice echoing in the dark through that distant window.

“…will try…to make up for my sins…the rest of my life,” Sasuke continues, trying to convey the earnestness of his words.

“I’m afraid that sentiment is rather useless. Make no mistake, you will be dead by the end of our meeting.”

“Will…my death…bring you that much…joy?”

“Oh, very little. But a moment’s joy is a moment more than I’ve had in a long time,” the man says, while his puppet selects an instrument from the grille. It’s a scooped gouge. “I think we’ll begin by taking those precious eyes of yours. And then –” The puppet draws the tool down toward Sasuke’s groin, and he flinches at the heat searing close to the sensitive flesh there, “ – I know a very useful procedure to deal with bothersome male hormones. To be fair, it’s a little redundant given your imminent death, but best cover all our bases, yes?”

“If you intend…to kill me…you should do it…quickly,” Sasuke rasps.

His captor makes an inquisitive noise. “I never thought I would hear you beg.”

“…Not begging…trying…to save your life…”

There is a beat, and then a startled laugh echoes in the distant darkness. “‘Save my life’? That’s absurd coming from you. What could you possibly do to me as you are now?”

“Not…me…” Sasuke pants as the distant thumping noise suddenly becomes a thunderous crescendo.

There is a thunderous, earth shaking crash in the distance, and the puppet looming over Sasuke is abruptly yanked away from him, torturous instruments and all. The windowed wall where his captor has been hiding himself is abruptly missing a huge chunk, and the microphoned voice suddenly cries out in shock.

It’s followed by a scream of pain, and another explosion that rocks the building. Chunks of ceiling and wall fall all around him, and cracks of light shine through in places. Immobilised as he is, he can’t look away.

Blinding light illuminates the chamber in a sudden flash, and Sasuke squints dumbly for a moment trying to acclimate to the change. When his eyes adjust once more, he perceives a scene that very few men besides him have seen: a hard-eyed goddess, fists clenched and burning with chakra, mouth pulled into an angry snarl. He has ever seen her so filled with anger, exuding a dangerous aura that promises her terrible power over life and death.

When her eyes fall on him, taking in his condition, something terrifying flashes across her features. Sasuke knows, in that moment, that if his insides weren’t hanging out of his body, if she didn’t need to stabilise him as soon as possible, Sakura’s own oath to heal would mean nothing.

She would be taking her anger out on the person who did this to him

He does not want to imagine what that would look like.

He spent three years living alongside a man who cut up bodies and experimented on the living for pleasure. A man who was motivated by discovery and power. Sakura is motivated by something a lot worse – Sasuke knows this better than anyone.

After all, he thinks as he blacks out, how many unspeakable crimes did my family commit in the name of love?

うちは

When he awakens, he is not in the dark room or restrained against the wall. There is still pain, but it’s the ache of exhaustion and overtraining, not the results of prolonged tortured. Glancing downward, he sees thick bandages covering his chest, and disappearing under a thick white blanket. It’s better quality than the run-of-the-mill hospital, which suggests he is somewhere else.

Probably the Kazekage’s residence.

His wife is asleep at his side, kneeling by the bed as if she fell asleep while tending to him. He doesn’t intend to wake her, but the minute his breathing changes, she straightens up.

 “Sakura…” His throat his raw and dry.

“Don’t speak,” she orders him, reaching forward and brushing the pads of her fingertips against his lips. “You’re still weak.” It’s a natural reaction to become indignant at that, but to be honest he is still too tired. “Oh, Sasuke…what did he do to you?”

“Nothing you couldn’t fix,” he says heavily, putting every effort into not faltering in his words. He has absolute faith in her abilities.

“Of course not, but that’s not…” she trails off, swallowing audibly, and shakes her head. “You’re going to be out of commission for a while.” Anger flashes across her features. “Oh, if that bastard wasn’t dead, I’d – ”

Sasuke tries to push himself into sitting position. “You didn’t…?”

“No,” she replies shortly, and with such a note of regret that he winces. “That’s not to say I was entirely kind. I left him a mess of disconnected nerves and a face that didn’t really look like a face anymore, but…but he was alive when I went to find you.”

Sasuke exhales slowly, painfully, relieved that Sakura hasn’t done something horrible on his behalf. Still, it doesn’t answer everything. “Then…?”

“Gaara. He wasn’t impressed to find out that one of his people went rogue.”

Sasuke lets his eyes fall shut in a grimace.

“He shouldn’t have.”

“Sasuke, the guy tortured you!” Sakura cries. “He split you open, and vivisected you while you were still alive!”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Sasuke –”

“I killed his son,” he tells her, causing her mouth to snap shut with an audible click. “He just…wanted revenge. I understand that need better than most.”

But this doesn’t placate her.

“I don’t give a damn how much you understand,” she snaps. “What he did to you was wrong. There is no justification for ever doing that to another human being.” He thinks to protest, but she continues mercilessly. “Even at your absolute darkest, would you have done that to Itachi?”

Sasuke narrows his eyes – mentioning Itachi is still taboo, even if it’s not for the same reasons as when they were young. But Sakura doesn’t waver, instead raising an eyebrow in challenge, suggesting she isn’t about to let the issue drop until he answers her.

Sasuke pauses, considers, and finds that she does have a point.

He wanted his brother dead, there’s no question of that. But he never truly had the stomach to torture Itachi. At the time, he told himself it was because of how strong his brother was, how tricky it would be to defeat him. Going for anything less than a kill-shot would have been suicide.

“No,” he says eventually, and she sighs in obvious relief.

“I can’t believe this happened,” she whispers.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “It’s happened before.” She gapes at him. “Perhaps not this specifically. But…I have a lot of sins to make up for. Even now. People have demons they need to exorcise.”

“And you’d just…you’d just let them?” she asks faintly, eyes wide.

He winces as his ribs twinge painfully. “…‘Let’ is a strong word.”

She shakes her head at him.

“Sasuke…I’m all for forgiveness,” she tells him softly, “but if you have this harebrained idea to let everyone in the world who has a grudge against you carve out their pound of flesh, then we’re going to have a problem.”

“I need to make amends.”

“You can make amends without having to bleed,” she insists quietly, tenderly stroking his hair off his face.

Sasuke’s eyes soften.

Under normal circumstances he would take her hand in his, offer her some kind of physical reassurance. It hurts too much to contemplate right now, and so instead he tries to lighten the mood another way. “Well, I won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

 Her brows draw together. “Why?”

“Because I have something I didn’t have before.”

“What’s that?”

“A wife that will come to my rescue.”

Sakura snorts, but her mouth pulls into a rueful smirk. “You’re a bit late to the party, darling, I’ve been doing that since we were twelve. You were just too sulky to notice.”

“How many times did I save your life?”

“How many times did I carry you home unconscious?” she retorts. “Or jumped over a cliff to save your ungrateful ass? I could have just left you.”

“You never would have.”

“…I never would have,” she agrees after a pause.

Leaning forward, she lightly brushes her lips against his, soft and tentative, if only out of respect for his injuries. Then, she presses her forehead against his.

“I love you,” she tells him softly, and his heart leaps at the words, though they are commonplace these days. “I hate seeing you in pain.”

“Hm.”

“But if you get yourself into a situation like this again, I swear to every god in existence, I will break as many bones in your body as it takes to stick you in a bed for the rest of your life.”

He snorts at this.

“I’m not even joking, Sasuke,” she warns him. “You have so much to live for right now. There’s you, there’s me…Naruto and Kakashi-sensei…all our friends back home…there’s the children we’re going to have one day –”

Sasuke tenses at this, his torturer’s story repeating itself in his head, and his eyes fly to her abdomen. “You’re not…?”

“What? No!” Sakura says, turning red. “Wait…do you think I look…?”

“No,” he says immediately, forestalling any indignance on her part.

But he fights down a wave of unexpected disappointment. Something must show on his face in spite of his usually controlled reactions, because Sakura’s face smooths out again.

“But one day I will be, right?” she asks him, tentative. “We will be?”

There’s a long, breathless silence between them, the question hanging in the air like a guillotine.

Sasuke knows what his answer should be – the damage that his blood can do, the children he has stolen from their parents in the wake of his vengeance. This whole incident has reminded him very starkly that he doesn’t deserve to have anything close to happiness.

But the look on Sakura’s face, the idea that with a single syllable he can watch her shoulders slump and the light in her eyes go out, is enough to make him want to be selfish.

“Yes,” he tells her, willing a promise into that word.

Immediately, he knows he has made the right choice, deserving or not. Sakura’s face blossoms, the smile as radiant as the day they spoke their vows. Just like that day, her eyes well with tears, but by now he know them to be an expression of joy.

“Good,” she sniffs, swiping at her eyes. “That’s…that’s really good. And a relief.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Or else all this practicing we’ve been doing to repopulate the Uchiha clan is going to waste.”

It takes him a moment to register what she’s talking about, and then his ears begin to burn. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

“Not until we’re old and grey,” she promises him, lying down beside him and patting his arm reassuringly. “Now, you need to go back to sleep. You have a lot of healing to do, and I have to go with Gaara to explain to a certain Wind Daimyo why his private physician is now a sticky paste all over an abandoned movie theatre.”

Sasuke grimaces. “That’s where he was keeping me?”

“There aren’t many places around here with sound-proofing that aren’t regulated by Gaara’s people,” she tells him, pressing her face into his neck. The skin there feels itchy and new, but he leans into it. “I was scared. Your chakra suddenly disappeared, and I…”

“How did you find me?”

“I’ll tell you when you wake up. You really do need to sleep now, though.”

His heart warms at this, and he can’t help the way his mouth tugs upward. He supposes he can slake his curiosity later. “Very well.”

“That’s what I want to hear.”

“Sakura.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll always rescue you.”

“Even from myself?”

“Especially from yourself.”

“…Good.”

終わり

Um…apologies to anyone who I made gag or cry. This was really hard for me to write, but it insisted on being written. Hope you guys are all okay now that it’s over. I just felt like a reminder was needed that not all of Sakura and Sasuke’s adventures during the Blank Period would have been happy or safe.

As part of the SasuSakuFestival, please go to the ssfest page and vote, like and/or reblog once it’s up, thanks! That would be majorly appreciated!

クリ

#ssfest17 #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #ssfestday5 #submission #ssfestentry

[stephaniemarlowftw]

L.A.-BASED ART PUNK QUARTET SPRAIN ANNOUNCE DEBUT LP FOR THE FLENSER

As Lost Through Collision will be released September 4th.  Listen to the album’s cacophonous new single “Worship House” now.

Los Angeles-based fourpiece Sprain play angular punk/noise at soaring volumes.  Their forthcoming album, As Lost Through Collision— out September 4th on The Flenser— unfurls threads of spidery 90’s rock (think Unwound, Duster, Slint, etc.) and is a complex and cathartic exercise in tension and restraint.  

Written at home and refined on the road, the 5 new tracks that comprise As Lost Through Collision are parts monolithic and minimalist, manic and mellow.  Engineered by Josiah Mazzaschi at The Cave (Built to Spill, The Jesus and Mary Chain) and mixed by Tim Green at Louder Studios (The Melvins, Lungfish, Jawbreaker), the music here retains its organic purity and captures Sprain in its truest state.  The listener can hear every instrument and every tonal deviation while the band members embrace musical and philosophical abstraction in their art practice; they emphasize sound as force, differentiating the concept of pure sound from music. And although As Lost Through Collision is a departure from their previous EP, it still retains Sprain’s former slowcore aesthetic.  “This record was a conscious effort to move beyond the initial style we experimented with on our last EP into something more unique — something more ‘us,’” they comment.

Listen to (+ share) Sprain’s new single, “Worship House,” now on YouTube.

Formed in L.A. in early 2018 by Alex Kent and April Gerloff, Sprain‘s initial home-recorded forays into minimalistic slowcore resulted in their self-titled EP (2018) that distinguished them from the lo-fi pack through visceral expressions of depressed life.  Soon, guitarist Alex Simmons and drummer Max Pretzer joined, folding tumultuous noise rock, drone, and flirtations with the avant-garde into the band’s arsenal. Touring converged these explorations into Sprain’s current sound: pure 21st century panic strained through a wall of piercing, feedbacking guitar amps. 

The tumultuous lifestyle of being a DIY musician in LA is reflected in the intentional harshness of Sprain’s sound, and the new compositions were also influenced by a change in understanding and approach to music creation.  Guitarist/vocalist Alex Kent comments, “I feel like my approach to composition changed due to some new mental challenges such as extreme anxiety, and the songs definitely reflect that.”  Sprain continues to be a therapeutic vehicle, actively seeking personal catharsis that’s reflected by the intensity of the music and performance.   And while the noticeable persuasion from 90’s post hardcore and noise rock is palpable, As Lost Through Collision takes cues from 20th century avant classical such as Xenakis and Penderecki.  The end result is freewheeling and urgent, dynamic and destructive, and Sprain is marked by an aggressive versatility that has been sorely lacking in recent guitar music.  

As Lost Through Collision is available for pre-order here ahead of its September 4th release date.  More news + music coming soon from Sprain and The Flenser.

As Lost Through Collision, track listing:

1.  Slant

2.  My Way Out

3.  Worship House

4.  Everything

5.  Constant Hum