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anaveragebibliophile · 3 years

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Impossible

Carlisle Cullen x OC

Summary: Carlisle and his mate Eloise receive some shocking news that they weren’t necessarily prepared to deal with regarding her health. Instead of seeing what’s right in front of him, Carlisle believes that his wife’s health issues are stemming from other avenues. It isn’t until his wife makes a discovery that he alters his course of action.

Note: This is a deviation from what I normally post, but I hope that all of you will take the chance and give it a read. :)

“I can’t even believe this is happening again. And with your wife of all people!” Jacob Black shouted as he walked into the Cullen family’s wide, contemporary kitchen.

“Jacob, we’ve discussed this. Eloise isn’t like us. She isn’t a vampire, she’s a phoenix. As such, she’s capable of resurrecting the dead, the broken, the ill-equipped parts of us that are theoretically unsalvageable. And as things stand, we all know I’m infertile. Or that I was.” Carlisle explained. “Believe me, I’m just as overwhelmed as you are. Even more so because I’m still struggling to accept the fact that I helped someone--the woman I adore more than anything else on this earth--procreate.”

And it’s not like the couple had been trying either. Quite the opposite actually. Sure, both of them had done ample amounts of research--through legends and the like--to determine whether or not they would need to take precautions before having intercourse. From what little they could find, it appeared that exercising the freedom of caution was the best choice. Not only had pregnancies been reported, multiple births seemed to be a common occurrence. And even though Carlisle was reluctant to put his faith into these infinitesimal references, he still did what any self-respecting man would do: He made sure his strong, confident wife made the final decision about what she wanted to do. At the end of the day, her body would have been doing the brunt of the work had a pregnancy occurred.

Eloise thought long and hard about this and would even go so far as to test herself. Did she want a child? Yes. Would she be a genuinely good mother? She hoped so. But the ultimate question remained: did she want a child with Carlisle? More than anything else in the world. However, it just didn’t seem like the right time. The pack was going through organizational disputes, the Volturi were still trying to find ways to get her and Alice to join their coven, and Bella and Edward were in the process of adopting a child. There was just too much happening around her for that to work out. Or so she thought at that moment.

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About two months later, she started feeling a bit off-kilter. She was suffering from myriad migraine headaches, her stomach always seemed to be queasy, and she was dealing with some intense bouts of insomnia (which she had never experienced as a child or even during her adult life). Her husband was increasingly worried about her. So much so that he would have her in his office every day for testing. At that point, he was looking for a dormant autoimmune disease, cancer, anything that would highlight these symptoms. What he wasn’t looking for was a pregnancy, a fertilized egg within his wife.

One night, while the rest of the family was out hunting, Eloise and Carlisle were cuddling on the couch, her head in his lap. He was running his long, cool fingers through her hair and down her back, intermittently trying to coax her into eating a small piece of toast that he’d made for her. Yet every attempt didn’t do much. Regardless, he was hoping she would get her appetite back soon because her skin had started to take on a translucent pallor that he despised.

“Come on, honey, just one bite. That’s all I’m asking for,” Carlisle said, putting the plate in front of her face.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m just not hungry. The entire idea of food is revolting. Plus, I don’t really want to repeat what happened a few hours ago.” Carlisle hummed in understanding. While he knew that Eloise was being sincere, he wasn’t pleased that she was still feeling so fatigued and nauseated.

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A few hours ago, as he was attending to a broken rib of Seth’s at the reservation, he received a call from Alice. ‘Eloise has been throwing up for the last forty minutes, Carlisle. She didn’t want to worry you,’ she’d started. ‘But you need to get back here now. I’ve been sitting with her, and I’m worried she’s getting dehydrated.’ Heart in his throat, he quickly finished his session with Seth, letting him know that he had an emergency that he needed to attend to.

After parking the car, he ran into the house, heading straight for his and Eloise’s bedroom. And when he walking into the adjoining bathroom, he was shocked by what he saw: his wife, her cheek smashed against the toilet seat, breathing heavily in order to avoid another onset of nausea. In his peripheral, he saw Alice lightly rubbing Eloise’s back with her left hand and murmuring comforting words to her.

Instinctively, Carlisle moved towards his wife and took Alice’s place as the caretaker. “Hi, sweetheart. Alice called and said you weren’t feeling well. Can you tell me what’s been bothering you?” he asked, gently kneading the taut muscles in her lean back.

Eloise slowly pulled her face away from the toilet bowl and looked at him blearily. “My stomach just isn’t feeling super fantastic at the moment. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to keep anything down. I haven’t been able to since about two o’clock this afternoon.”

“Well, you haven’t been at your best recently. Do you think that may have something to do with it?”

“Perhaps. But I haven’t had this happen before. Yes, I’ve experienced nausea and some stomach cramping, but it never ended with me vomiting for hours on end.”

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And that was what still puzzled Carlisle in this moment. Why was this happening to her when nothing was physically wrong? She didn’t have AGID nor was there any evidence of malignant tumor growth. She wasn’t running a fever nor was she displaying any signs of infection. So what could it be? He was determined to find out.

He lightly ran the pad of his right thumb over Eloise’s cheek. “Sweet girl, I think it’s time that I do an ultrasound on your stomach. Maybe that will give us some answers. What do you say?”

“Alright. You’ll probably have to carry me though. I haven’t been doing well vertically,” she said, slightly smiling.

“Your wish is my command.”

He proceeded to carefully--oh, so carefully--move her head off his lap and onto a pillow (as a replacement). Then, when he was completely erect, he swiftly leaned forward and placed his forearms underneath Eloise’s lumbar vertebrae and upper thighs. Once she was secured in his arms, he gently kissed her cheek and proceeded to move them into his office, the one room in the house both of them have grown to resent.

Placing her on the exam table, he grazed his hand through her bangs in the hope of soothing the anxiety that was coursing through her. “It’ll be alright. You know I would never hurt you. Never.”

“I know. It’s not that. I just don’t want anything to be wrong. I want to be healthy,” she said, her voice on the verge of breaking.

“You will be. I’ll make sure of it,” Carlisle responds as he pressed his forehead against hers.

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Eloise smiled wanly as her husband went through his check-up regimen: ears, eyes, nose, throat, body temperature, blood pressure, then reflexes. While she may complain every now and then about his overprotectiveness, she really does feel so grateful and lucky to be married to a man whose compassion and kindness are limitless. This man always makes her feel valued, appreciated, and heard, especially apart from the rest of the world. And these are things that will never go unnoticed by her. He will never go unnoticed by her.

“How are things looking, Doctor Cullen?” she asked. “Am I passing inspection?”

Carlisle lightly laughed at her attempt at a joke. “So far things are looking good. I think we’re about ready to do the abdominal ultrasound and see what things are looking like down there.”

He moved over to his white, sterile metal cart that held the handheld ultrasound. The plan was for Carlisle to put the clear lubricant on her belly, place the ultrasound on it, and then wait for the image to connect to the screen to his right. From there, he’ll see if there are any obstructions or issues.

“Are you ready, honey?” he asked. “If it’s too cold, just let me know.”

Eloise held her two thumbs up. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

The exam began. For a period of time, the sound and echo waves were all they could hear. Eloise was holding her breath. Carlisle’s face was pinched, his eyes and ears hyper-focused on the task. Until the heartbeat-like echo struck back at them.

His wife lifted her hand to stop him from continuing with the examination. “What was that?” she queried.

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t know.” he said. “Let’s try again and see if we get the same feedback.”

He continued his inspection but still received the same results. The heartbeat was unlike any he heard before (besides his wife’s): strong, pure, yet calm in its essence. Before he could ponder any other reasonings behind this strange occurrence, Eloise interrupted him. “Carlisle, we both know that’s a heartbeat. You can question it and try to find other avenues to follow, but you know the truth. And a heartbeat can only mean one thing,” she smiled, so big that her dimples were more pronounced than ever before. “We’re pregnant. My magic enabled us to create a baby.”

He took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “We don’t know that.”

“But we do. Carlisle, all the signs have been pretty prevalent these last few weeks. I just never thought to associate them with pregnancy because we agreed we would wait to start trying. I guess the universe had other plans.”

“Eloise, honey…”

“You know it’s true. I do because I can feel our child. Now, after all this time, he or she has decided to make their presence known. The energy I feel--the positivity and contentment I’m now carrying in this moment--is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”

Carlisle looked at her, stunned. If she can feel their child, how could he dispute that? How could he challenge what she (and he) knew to be true in all its unlikelihood? It wasn’t like this was entirely impossible, especially after reading about other couples’ experiences. Couples like them.

Eloise took his moment of consideration to move his hand to her tummy. “I know it’s hard to come to terms with right now because we weren’t sure how true the reports were, but I think it’s time we start believing in them. Carlisle, you’re going to be a father, and I’m going to be a mother. We’re going to finally have the opportunity to expand our family.”

Hearing those words made Carlisle outright grin. They had been waiting for this moment for so long that he never believed it would ever actually happen. But now, he has everything he could ever want in the palm of his hand.

“Well, it would appear that way,” he said, leaning over his wife to give her a heart-stopping kiss. “And I must add that I’m excruciatingly happy. Thank you, sweetheart.”

#twilight #newmoon #eclipse #breaking dawn #pregnancy #phoenix #vampire #carlisle cullen #carlisle x reader #bella swan #edward cullen #jacob black #wolves #alice cullen #love #marriage #romance #babies

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thesiltverses · 4 years

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So what is Eskew? What does it want?

I’ve been reading some fantastic analysis on this topic which is far more thoughtful and sensible than anything I intended, and it got me trying to write out my thoughts about what, if anything, I actually *did* intend.

To me, Eskew (the city) was always a few different things at once, and it was those in a piecemeal kind of way that became a struggle to make cohesive by the time the finale came around.

I thought I’d share what I wrote in case it’s interesting to anyone - but obviously if it doesn’t mesh with your own ideas on that subject, feel free to ignore:

1) Primarily, I wrote Eskew as an amplified, literalised expression of a particular kind of fear that I’ve experienced in isolation and during past periods of difficult mental health challenges - when you find yourself second-guessing not just the random cruelties and kindnesses and reactions of the people around you, but the chaos of the living environment itself.

Did that car splash me because I’m a bad person? Are those people on the street corner laughing as I pass because they recognise something terrible and mockable innately in me? Why did I spill my dinner on the floor? Is all of this really arbitrary and random or is there a punitive sense to it? And if there’s sense to it, can I out-manoeuvre it?

Sometimes the world’s response to us - as individual entities passing through it - seems to make sense. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes you seem to be getting adverse results from a certain course of action...so you change your behaviours, but then the adverse results happen anyway.

2) I wrote Eskew as a literalised expression of the isolated person’s inability to just give up - the way that life and human connection keep on happening to us in spite of our best efforts, and we keep on dragging ourselves back to them.

That, to me, is a source of weary, absurd hope. But it’s also a source of terror and despair, because it’s systemic as well as psychological. ‘The real monster is capitalism’ is funny as hell in commentary across contemporary horror fiction, but, well...

I will wake up each morning, and go into the city, back to a job that corrupts me morally, walking past suffering people who are reaching out for my help and will not receive it, and I will pay money to get what I want from vast companies whose horrors will outlive me, and I will return. And the next day, I’ll do it again, and the best hope I have of living well is to stop thinking too hard about it and stop questioning the process.

In other words, I have to find a way of dwelling within the belly of this *thing*, because it won’t let me stop. I have to find a way of not minding that I’m being eaten away even as I carry on - but if I succeed, I’ll be shutting down my ability to understand what’s happening to me.

I think the traditional preoccupations of cosmic horror are ultimately charming and quaint in comparison to that endless atrophy - wouldn’t it be a relief to gaze into the maw of an eldritch god once, confirm the truth of existence, and lose your mind entirely?

At least that’d have a sense of resolution to it. At least then you could stop pretending that everything was fine.

3) Beyond that, insofar as Eskew had motives as I wrote them, they were purely cancerous. This is a harmful, inchoate thing that ‘s dreaming of being a city.

It wants to grow, like a city, and be dwelt in, like a city, and because cities are named, demarcated human territories, it wants to be recognised as a city.

But on some level it doesn’t understand how to be those things; on some level it can only ever wreak havoc upon the things it shapes, and it becomes spiteful when the objects that it’s trying to push around the gameboard don’t react in the right way.

That’s where the connection between the character and his nemesis comes in, for me - while the city of Eskew is not meant to be a literal manifestation of David’s state of mind, it is absolutely an expression of him, or at least a kindred spirit.

Both David and Eskew are struggling with a reality that will not respond logically, or favourably, to their efforts to control it - and they’re struggling with a reality that will never remain still or consistent for enough to become something certain.

My youngest niece plays with that building block game where you have square blocks, circular blocks, and triangular blocks - and correspondingly, you have this base with all the holes where the different shapes slot in.

When you slot the square block successfully into the hole, that’s one of the earliest empowering, orderly experiences that you have.

When the opposite happens, when you take your block and try and fit it into the hole, but it just smacks crudely into the sides and refuses to fit and you start crying your head off because there’s no sense or resolution to your own actions and you don’t know how to interpret this or fix the issue? That’s how I feel a lot of the time, and to me it’s as funny as it is horrible as it is worth writing about.

In all of these senses combined, I think the ending of the show is possibly overly optimistic, and even violates the essential nature of Eskew itself as a ‘character’ - but then perhaps I needed it to, to avoid some kind of Beckettian cliffhanger.

It was meant as expressing the hope that perhaps the dark cloud will lift, that perhaps whatever malign thing has its eye on us will move its attention on to somebody else - and we’ll finally be able to change. We’ll become something capable of moving free and unseen and easy through the darkness. The world won’t get better, but somehow we’ll have what it takes to exist at last.

Anyway, just some random thoughts - hope you’re all doing OK, and best wishes to you and yours x

#eskew #happymonday #horror #i am in eskew #horror fiction #death of the author #a bit bleak but then so was the show!

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annerly-san · 3 years

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Malignance - [Chapter 1: Anomaly]

Primary Character Pairing: Getou Suguru x Reader/Gender-Neutral OC Story Summary: You are a curse. A burden. You are a tumor that grows within me. A malignant cancer. Cursed upon conception at birth, “Akusei Shuyo” was born from the hatred and ire of humans to the form of a special human-curse hybrid. Knowing nothing but the foulness of human hatred, fear, and hostility, a single chance encounter with a human able to give something other than such putrid emotions opens up a dangerous relationship between a curse-human hybrid and a sorcerer that holds the potential ability to reign control over them. [A Getou Suguru x Gender-Neutral Reader/OC] Chapter Navigation: [Next chapter to be updated]

The building in front of them was ostentatious. Getou stared up at the towering black fence gate of intricate lattice work and geometric spires that pointed towards the clear blue sky ahead. All along his horizontal peripheral was an endless wall of modern-eqse beige and white concrete blocks that most likely bordered the perimeter of the entire area.

For a high school, this was overkill. Gojo, who was standing next to him with evident distaste on his face, seemed to share in his thoughts as the both of them shared a knowing gaze.

The duo had been standing at the front gate for an undeniably long time.

Getou was politely smiling at the guard positioned at the entrance as he stared and flipped through the papers and identification that Getou had provided him. Gojo, was glaring at the other guard at the post— lips pulled back to make a face full of confrontational disdain.

School security was important for sure, but the extent that this school had gone to was ludicrous.

“Tokyo Tech had sent you here on the request of the headmaster?”

“That’s correct.” Getou had maintained his calm smile, and it betrayed none of the growing irritation that was brewing within him— though that façade was quickly wearing thin. This was the fifth time the guard had asked.

“Hmm…” the papers were shuffled through again. “Alright. These seem legitimate, but let me ping the headmaster just to be certain.”

Getou began tapping his foot in impatience, and Gojo began to pace circles back and forth as the guard rang up the headmaster on his radio.

“Ah yes, I have Getou Suguru and Gojo Satoru here from Tokyo Tech at the front entrance and wanted to confirm that he has permission from you to be on the premises.”

The ring went through, and Getou simmered with an annoyance as the thought of why this was not done earlier crossed his mind.

“Yes. Yes. Alright, much appreciated, Headmaster.” The guard turned to him with an unwarranted look of doubt and disdain. “You can go in now.”

Getou nodded and waved a hand at the guard as he walked through the opening gates. He watched as Gojo stuck out a tongue and blew it at the guards before sauntering in, and Getou didn’t bother to stifle the laughter that came out of it.

The interior was more grandiose than the gate. It was to be expected, but it left him with a sickening sense of irritation given the circumstances he had faced only at the entrance.

Yaga-sensei had warned them about the school. It was an incredibly prestigious private high school in Tokyo that the rich often sent their kids to study at. Scholarships and admissions were also granted based upon merit and the school was known to turn out incredibly intellectual and talented students.

It seemed stifling to be honest, and given the amount of incidents that had arisen to warrant calling two special-grade sorcerers to the fray, the amount of cursed energy in the area should be crushing their bodies and souls whole. Yet, there was nearly no cursed energy in the area at all. Nothing.

Getou looked over to Gojo, who had the same look of confusion and bewilderment on his face.

“Do you think it’s actually a special grade object?” Gojo asked inquisitively as he pat one of the stone columns on the buildings they passed by. “From what the damage was, it has to be a higher-grade curse, and the fact that the place is as quiet as this is unusual.”

“Yeah,” Getou nodded in agreement. “I get it if there’s no lower-grade curses lurking around, but how is there just no cursed energy in this area at all?” He muttered as his eyes darted about the campus. Getou held out his hand and summoned a few lower-grade curses to help scout around the area. “It might make sense if it’s an object. But with how things have been, shouldn’t there be some residual energy leaking from loose seals?”

Their school had received a concerning request calling for the investigation and resolution of a series of unfortunate events that had been plaguing the students, faculty, and staff for the past year. From car accidents to suicides, to poisonings and to descents into insanity, the victims of the school were suffering from a wide array of misfortune that befell both themselves as well as their friends, family, and loved ones.

Getou could recall his first exposure to this mission in an unbearably vivid quality. It was a desecrated corpse that had been unclogged and pulled out of an apartment’s plumbing system a few weeks back. Mangled to pieces with organs strewn all over in an endless crimson pool of bloodied water overflowing in the sink, but what shook him more than the sight of the gruesome death was the pulsating mass of purple and green that had embedded itself into the decaying fragments of what was a human body.

Shoko, despite her tough stomach with her experience in handling corpses and the like in the school’s morgue, was the first to run outside the building to regurgitate any contents within her stomach, and Getou soon followed with Gojo in tow.

It wasn’t a curse but rather the residual of it. Each reported victim associated with the school had the same vein like mass attached to them one way or another. For the past several days, the trio had been chasing empty leads with the victims in the hopes of finding the cursed spirit, user, or object that had proliferated such a vile curse all over the area to no avail.

Gojo prodded the pale green mass and it blobbed about gelatinously before wobbling to a still on the head of a hospital patient who had gone brain-dead in a sudden coma.

“It doesn’t seem to be dangerous or anything-“ his musing was interrupted by the door of the room crashing open.

A family member of the deceased had chosen to walk in at the same time of their visit and the tears running down her face only marked the beginning fiasco of the hysteria she was about to let loose.

Getou and Gojo stood there awkwardly as they watched the girl cry hysterically as she clutched the arm of what appeared to be her deceased brother whilst she pathetically shook him back and forth. Getou, trying to avoid looking at the uncomfortable sight before him, made the poor mistake of focusing on the pale green blob as it jiggled back and forth with the sway of the vegetable on the hospital bed. Gojo must have been doing something similar as the quiet choking sounds of his friend trying to stifle a laugh served as an addition to the white noise of the buzzing hospital room. Getou nudged his friend and gave him a glare for his inconsideration whilst doing his best to not look at the bobbling elastic mass of pale green and lilac.

“A-are you two the ones that are looking into h-his… h-his a-accident?” The girl finally managed to choke out some amount of words before standing up with an uncanny rage burning in the back of her eyes.

Getou slipped his hands into his pockets as Gojo awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.

“Yeah, we are.” Getou responded calmly. “Our sincerest condolences for your loss.”

A slam echoed in the quiet room as the girl dropped her book bag on the vinyl floor with a resounding thud. A burning rage in her eyes ignited as she stormed towards the two of them.

Getou froze and Gojo tensed up as she grabbed his shirt in a pleading manner— desperately looking up to him in a cry for help.

“P-PLEASE-“ she barely managed to get out. “IT’S THAT FUCKING SHUYO. THAT AKUSEI-“

Her words stopped there.

The blob that had been benign for the past several weeks of its encounter had latched onto the girl with its vein-like tendrils wrapping around the girl’s mouth and neck in a chokehold. Muffled screams grew higher and higher in pitch as Getou quickly reached out to pry it off of her, but it was too late and to no avail.

A loud crunch and pop sounded out in the room as the mass squeezed the body with a blinding compression and crushed her skull and popped her innards all over the hospital room floor. The pressure of the blood in her body released all at once and sprayed the fragments of what was once functional organs and tissue all over Getou and Gojo’s clothes.

Rhythmic dripping sounded against the vinyl tiles that were now crimson and covered in a growing puddle of blood and gore.

Getou could not move.

Frozen in place, he eyed the green blob resting on the exposed white spinal cord amidst the mass of fresh blood and tissue on the girl’s corpse as it pulsated slower and slower until it was benign once more.

Getou could hear Gojo vomit in the background as he stared in shocked horror at the mass of pure malevolence in front of him.

“She said… shuyo, didn’t she?” Gojo muttered as the two of them continued to traverse the campus. “Shuyo as in tumor?”

The words were spoken as though it were an insult to a person. To call someone a cancer was definitely a rare and degrading insult, but the way it was spoken in conjunction with malignance or “Akusei” was peculiar.

Akusei.

Shuyo.

Akusei Shuyo.

The words combined were a creative insult for sure. But the conjoinment of the two made for something far too literal to be used as such.

Unless it was actually someone’s name.

“She couldn’t mean… a person… right-?” Getou commented nervously at the insinuation of his words.

Gojo stared at him with a strange look on his face before turning to face straight ahead. “Shuyo… Akusei…”

The words meaning tumor, and the words meaning malignancy and evil nature.

A cold chill ran down his spine as Getou recalled the pale, green mass on the desecrated corpse of the girl in the hospital room

The curse residual was not unlike a malignant tumor in nature. Getou’s thoughts wandered as he walked alongside Gojo on the campus. That girl had called out for a “Akusei Shuyo”, but there was no possible way that she would have been able to see the cursed residual on her brother’s body as she was a regular human being. That ruled out the perpetrator being a curse. The manner of speaking implied a person rather than an object. Getou froze as Gojo continued to pace on ahead.

“Is it a curse user?” Getou asked aloud.

Gojo stopped and turned back to face him.

Before Getou could receive affirmation or denial from his companion, the tolling of the school bell rung and the walkways were beginning to become quickly saturated with students and staff transitioning back and forth for lunch and break.

The two of them stiffened at the sight.

Discretely attached to each and every body of the student and staff population that they were able to see at school was a pale green cluster of cancerous cells at risk of becoming malignant at any given moment.

#getou suguru #geto #getou x reader #jjk fanfic

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smalltragedy · 3 years

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* natalia dyer, nonbinary + she/they | you know philomena carmichael, right? they’re twenty, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a day? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to the leanover by life without buildings like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole wind whipping around your hair, the gentleness of decomposition, a naked blur dancing around the flames of an everlasting fire thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is april 20th, so they’re a taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hi thank u all fr being so patient w me as i rapidly switch out muses n figure out wht the fuck im doing atm <3 also sry fr my rare presence work hs been kicking my ass like lets jst say i deserve 2 b smbdy’s housewife (misogny wins this time sry) so i nvr hv to work in my life <3 DFSLKSDHKGLFSHLKAGHLKAHLKSG this is a joke 2 clarify. anyways. this is philly she’s old bt she’s one of my very favorites ever. this intro is also old sry its nt in my usual. style. LKDFKHGLKGF

CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION, DEATH, GRAPHIC MENTION OF DECAY, INSECTS MENTION TW.

mini playlist.

the girl who stole my tamagotchi ;; hot sugar / i dropped out ;; and the kids / pork soda ;; glass animals / wonderfully bizarre ;; bendigo fletcher / (dream) ;; salvia palth / alien blues ;; yundabar / dust in your pocket ;; glass animals / warm honey ;; willow / bela lugosi’s dead ;; bauhaus / gecgecgec ;; 100 gecs / blinding ;; florence and the machine / nantes ;; beirut / cherry-coloured funk ;; cocteau twins / not allowed ;; tv girl / oblivion ;; grimes / space song ;; beach house / dog food ;; 100 gecs / the leanover life ;; life without buildings.

statistics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

birthday: april 20th, 2000.

zodiac: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

mbti & temperament: infp & improvisor / phlegmatic.

label: the halycon.

sexuality: demisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

cancer tw // it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long. end of cancer tw //

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

depersonalization / derealization tw // it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs. depersonalization / derealization end of tw //

death, decay. maggots tw // there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot. end of death, decay, maggots tw //

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

after ending up with warrants from their arrest in florida (after running from the law in texas), philly and elektra have wound up at irving <3 partially hiding from the law and partially bcos their trusty van’s broken down and they haven’t got the money to fix her up yet.

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been.

currently living in florence, their van, with her sister elektra <3 currently residing in lilac ridge.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. (smirks at leo)

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her (besides elektra).

has a certain knack for getting animals to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay.

wanted plots.

speaking through my third eye ... ;; philly is new in town n shes very strange. constantly lives in a state in which she does not exist (at least on the same plane). this is her harassing the locals. this is her slipping thru their fingertips as they attempt 2 understand her. they get close smtms bt philly jst. whisks herself away.

hollows of our eyelids ... ;; perhaps there is smbdy jst as strange as philly. i’m out here calling fr all the weirdos. lets be friends. lets hv philly n co go on adventures n discover horrible sites n uncover ancient secrets tht lie deep below irving. mayb nt tht. bt im jst saying. this is fr the dreamers. da weirdos. the jugheads. LHKDSHFSADLKGFHLSKADG fr those who also feel as if they r not real.

bills n aches n blues... ;; ya this is my call fr all negative plots. bills (catching philly be a thief and a fraud), aches (mayb heartache? unrecruited feelings or w/e theyre called?), n blues (ooooh so sad... so sad ... angst ...) obviously i am a genius. i wldnt say tht philly is here 2 make enemies bc philly doesnt care much abt ppl bt perhaps tht cld b an issue. tht she doesnt care much abt others. mayb ur muse is jst like. cn u pls care. n philly is like. i am incapable. sry. sucks.

n also ,, ;; like. anything i’ll. take anything. philly is weird lets come up w surreal plots tht verge on the edge of like. nt being correct fr this verse. suddenly theres vampires? or so they think ... smirks. anyways. shes been 2 jail n been in the circus (shoutout 2 kirby) n dances naked in the woods n hoards animals n treasures. we hv a lot to work with here obv.

#irvingintro #death tw #decay tw #maggots tw #dissociation tw #depersonalization tw #derealization tw #cancer tw #trauma tw #zooweemama #anyways. kira's will b up soon

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missweber · 4 years

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WIP preview - Jack vs. the Cup

I really, really want to finish my ‘Stanley Cup is Actually a Malignant Entity’ fic this year. Meanwhile, here is a chunk from chapter 1. It features a young Jack, and some allusions to RL players and things that happened to said RL players.

Anyhow, here is the account of a Stanley Cup win that didn’t happen. Or did it?

The third candidate for Jack's first memory was neither uncomplicated and peaceful, nor generic and heartwarming. It throbbed like an infected splinter in his mind while other, theoretically more important memories felt like stories he once read about someone else.

This was because in this particular memory, the memory of his father winning the Cup for the eighth time, everything was wrong.

It was wrong because everyone was so happy and so sad at the same time, and no one would tell him why, and it made his chest and stomach hurt so bad he was dizzy from it.

Everyone was supposed to be happy. Why weren't they happy? Papa and his uncles had won not just any old game (and of course they won because they were The Best), but the biggest game! They had won the Cup!

So why did Maman and his aunties hug each other and wipe away tears instead of just cheering like they were supposed to? You were supposed to cheer when you won games! Why did they whisper to each other like they did when they didn't want Jack or the other kids to hear them? What were they talking about?

He didn't know, and not knowing twisted in his belly.

He wanted to ask Maman what was wrong, but before he could, she dragged him out on the ice along with all the other families and it was so exciting that he forgot all the wrongness.

They'd never gone out on the ice like this before. It was exciting, but it was also loud, because everyone in the arena was still shouting.

They were shouting his name. Zim. Mer. Mann! Zim. Mer. Mann!

Jack knew they meant Papa, but the sound of it and the way it pounded like a drum was the most wonderful thing ever, and he loved it more than anything.

But then—just like that—it was too much and all he wanted was to cover his ears and curl up until it went away.

He couldn't, because Maman held his hand way too tight and pulled him though the crowd so fast he had to run, almost slipping on the ice. He wanted to tell her that she was hurting his elbow, but he couldn't make the words come out, and when he tried to pull his hand away, she only held on tighter.

When they got to Papa, he grabbed her in a hug that looked like it hurt. Papa spoke into Maman's ear, all close like he was going to kiss her. Her hair muffled the words, but Jack thought he heard the name of his favorite uncle, and he tried to listen harder.

"I know, Bobby. I wish he could be here, too," Maman said.

"Is there any news?" Papa asked, but Maman shook her head before he finished his question.

Jack wished someone would tell him what was wrong. He hadn't seen Uncle Mario and Aunt Nathalie in what felt like forever.

(He worried that maybe they were mad at him or Papa, but when he had asked Maman, she just smiled at him like she was about to cry and told him that Uncle Mario wasn't feeling good and that she wished he wouldn't worry so much. And that was all she would say.)

Before Jack could ask why Uncle Mario wasn't at the game (Papa played when he was sick all the time), Papa and Maman broke their hug, and said it was time to take a family picture with the Cup.

Papa winked at him. "Third time's the charm, eh, Jacky?"

Even though he had seen photos, Jack had always thought of the Cup as looking like the yellow and white mugs his parents used at breakfast.

It wasn't. It wasn't like them at all.

The Cup was nearly as tall as he was. And it looked so big, up on its stand. Too big. Bigger and more in a way that made him try to hide behind Maman's legs.

A firm hand on his back held him in place.

Sometimes, it felt like he had two Mamans. There was the nice Maman who would let him hide away and be quiet when he wanted to.

Right now, he had the other Maman.

"Smile, baby," she scolded through her own smile. The cameras flashed and flashed and flashed. "Everyone wants to see you smile real big, okay? Now here, stand next to the Cup."

I don't like you, he thought at the Cup. It glinted back at him, and the light looked the way mean laughter sounded.

He wanted to go home. Not the apartment. But home. Home home, where he could see their pond from his bedroom window and where he never had to speak English or speak at all if he didn't want to. Home wasn't Pittsburgh. Home was where things were quiet and he got to see Mémé almost every day.

"Look, Jacky," Maman said once the cameras stopped flashing so much. She bent down to point at one of the big silver rings that made the Cup's tower and he snuggled into her side. The hand on his back turned into a hug, and she was back to being the Maman he liked. "Do you see what's there?"

Jack was old enough to know his letters, but reading was still new and hard. He knew what his name looked like, though, even if he could only write the first part without help.

He nodded. "Papa."

"That's right!" Maman led him in a circle around the Cup, pointing to Papa's name each time she found it.

"Every person who wins the Cup gets his name on it, and your Papa has won a lot of times, more than almost anybody else. Now, look at this one!" He looked. Then, her finger dropped down to another ring. "And now this one! You sat in the cup both of these times."

"Sat and shat!" Papa said solemnly, and Uncle Murph and Uncle Yags laughed like it was the funniest joke ever, or like they hadn't heard a joke in a long, long time.

Jack's face went hot and he wished everyone would stop laughing at him.

"It's okay, Jacky. You were just a baby," Maman soothed, but she laughed along with the others and pushed Jack's hands down when he tried to pull his jersey up to cover his head. "Bobby, don't tease."

"I'm just chirping." Papa ruffled Jack's hair. Jack tried to bat his hand away, but Papa laughed as if it was just another kind of joke. "It's just what us hockey players do. You know that, right, bud? And you know what? One day, your name will be on here, too! Just you wait and see!"

Someone took a picture, and the flash made the Cup wink at him.

"Where's your name for this time, Papa?" Jack asked, blinking away spots from the flash. He still felt the adults' laughter squirming deep in his stomach.

Maman laughed again, but it was her nice laugh, rippling and kind and safe. "It's not on there yet, baby. No one knew until your Papa scored the very last goal that the Penguins were going to win." She sounded proud, but she also sounded sad for some reason. Jack crowded in closer to her as she pointed to a smooth, shiny part of the ring, next to a 1 a 9 a 9 and a 4 and a bunch of names he didn't know. There were no letters or numbers in the shiny part, just his face and hers squished up all curvy and long and wrong. She tapped the metal. "It will go right there."

Papa knelt down between Jack and the Cup. One hand was on the cup ("Christ, that's cold!") and the other hand clamped onto Jack's shoulder. He gave Jack a little shake, and Jack fought the urge to wriggle free. He wanted to get away. It was too loud and too bright and too cold and Maman kept telling him to look people in the eye when they talked to him even though he hated it. He hated it so much.

Papa could tell he was unhappy, but he got it wrong. He always got it wrong.

"I know bud. I wish your uncle was here, too. I'd give all this up if only—"

Papa suddenly sounded like he wanted to cry, and that scared Jack more than anything. He hid his face in Papa's jersey. Maman always said Papa stank after games, but to Jack, he just smelled safe.

Jack remembered the smell.

It smelled like Papa. It smelled like the ocean.

He remembered someone shhhing him.

He didn't remember falling asleep.

He half-remembered a dream of snow and wind that never, ever stopped and that hurt like mean laughter.

* * *

When Jack woke up the next morning, they were already back home in Montréal.

"You're up early, Jacky," Maman said when he came into the kitchen. "Do you want breakfast?"

Jack nodded. He tried not to be sad about sleeping through the trip from Pittsburgh back to Montréal. He liked airplanes.

"Use your words, Jack," Papa reminded him, earning a frown from Maman, who went ahead and didn't wait for Jack to say anything before fixing him a plate with a scrambled eggs, a slice of bacon, and a piece of toast to match Papa's.

"Thank you," he made himself say when she put the plate in front of him, because he hated it when Maman and Papa fought. He really hated it when they fought about him.

Slowly, the bad moment went away and everything was as it should be again.

"Mario called," Papa said as he poured himself another cup of coffee. "He and Nathalie were wondering if we wanted to come over to watch the game tonight—it feels wrong rooting for the Devils after they took us down like that, but crisse, it would be good to see the Red Wings go down in a sweep!"

Jack blinked at that. "Is Uncle Mario okay, now?"

Maman and Papa both turned to look at him, puzzled.

"Your Uncle Mario's been almost all better for a long time, sweetie. You know that." Maman stroked his hair away from his forehead, and he leaned into her hand when she patted him on the head. She sighed and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "I wish you would stop worrying so much, baby."

Papa spoke around a mouthful of bacon. "He told me the other day he's been cleared to come back next season. Your mother's right—there's nothing to worry about any more. The cancer's all gone. I promise."

Maman hissed out a Bobby! like he'd said something wrong, but Papa ignored her and held out his hand to Jack, pinky crooked, waiting.

Cancer? What does that mean? And why was everybody so sad yesterday? Jack wanted to ask, but he didn't.

He didn't want them to tell him not to worry again. It just made him worry more, which he knew was stupid, but he couldn't stop it.

So, he smiled and hooked fingers with Papa, completing the pinky-promise.

And that was it. That was the memory.

It wasn't very clear anymore, but it was still there, occasionally flaring to life when triggered by a stray flash of light, or drifting past when he was on the edge of sleep. Sometimes he got a flicker of it when someone asked him about his father's legacy.

It was always gone again with a shhhh before he could think to tell anyone about it. Or before he could think about it too much.

Or think about it at all—or at least not enough to wonder why it had only become his first memory when he was an adult.

So no, Bob Zimmermann's last Stanley Cup victory may not have been Jack's actual first memory, but it's as good a place as any to start our story.

#omgcp #jack zimmermann #posting this as motivation #and incentive to keep going with it

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saedii-gilwraeth-simp · 4 years

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I Knew I Loved You ~ Chapter 6

I would like it on the record that I did not intend for the angstiest chapter in this fic to be posted on April Fools but here we are.

Chapter 6: Arsinoe

~Perth, Scotland/Glasgow, Scotland~

“And that would be another $300 to me, thank you very much Junior,” Arsinoe laughed as her soulmate begrudgingly handed her the monopoly money. Jane giggled behind her hand. She was the first to go bankrupt at her brother’s skilled hands, but Arsinoe had bought all of the monopoly skill she had gained from playing with Jules for years. She wasn’t backing down and it was amusing to all except for Billy, who she was basically robbing. Christine as the banker was also trying to hold back her laughter. Billy was after all, meant to be an expert in real world financing.

“I’m never playing Monopoly with you ever again. You’re just cruel,” Billy pouted, prompting Arsinoe to poke her tongue out before rolling the dice again, landing on another of her own properties.

It took two more rolls for her to be crowned champion, much to everyone’s surprise. It seemed that her partner was usually the reigning champion.

They left soon after, Jane hugging her before they did.

Billy walked her to her door and just before he turned to leave, she took a deep breath and spoke.

“Do you want to come in? I wanted to talk to you about last night,” Billy frowned and followed her in to the living room, where she told him to wait on the couch, before receding to her bedroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath.

“Come one, Arsinoe, you can do this,” she says firmly to herself before going to her bedside table and picking up the photo frame that sat there. She glanced at it and returned to the living room, sitting at the opposite end of the couch to him and handing him the photo frame. She watched as he took in the photo taken on their 17th birthday, eating cake on a hospital bed. He takes it in before glancing to her, waiting for her to speak.

“Katharine is the bald one on the middle and Mirabella is the pretty one on the left. They are… were my sisters,” Billy’s eyebrows furrowed as if trying to figure something out. Arsinoe waited until his eyes lit up in recognition and then saddened.

“January 24th, February 1st,” Arsinoe nodded, her throat clenching. “Do you want to tell me about them?” Arsinoe nodded and let him take her hand in his own.

“Mira was older than me by 3 minutes and she was brilliant. After our parents decided they would rather get rich in Europe and Asia and left us an endless cycle of babysitters she became this super sister. She was beautiful, inside and out and she protected us like no one else would. Kat was younger by 10 minutes and she was the baby of us three. In high school, I got a suspension for breaking the nose of a boy that had hurt her. Mira and I both would have done anything to keep her safe. And then, just after our 16th…” she paused, brushing away the tears that had started to fall and taking a deep breath. “After our 16th, Kat started acting weird. She woke up one morning and had a seizure at the breakfast table. When we took her to the hospital… she had malignant brain cancer. Also known as the worst type of cancer you can develop,” as calm as she spoke, Arsinoe could feel her own throat tightening and she took another breath. Billy crossed the distance between the two and pulled her into his side. Arsinoe buried her nose in his ribs and tried not to sob. She hadn’t even finished telling the story yet. She pulls back from him and wipes away tears before continuing to speak.

“About a month after our 17th, I was with Kat at the hospital because the doctors had told us that she didn’t have much time left, so we were trying to spend as much time with her as we could. Anyway, she tells me that I need to go away and spend the day with my friends because Mira was on her way to the hospital. I only listened when she threatened to call security. I went to meet up with Jules and we were going to go to the movies. Just before we went in, I got a call from the hospital. I expected to be told that Kat had gone, but instead they asked if I was Mirabella’s sister,” she sobbed and Billy pulled her back to him gently, letting her sob grossly in his shirt until she was calm enough to continue. She didn’t miss the tears in his own eyes as she kept talking.

“Some asshole driving a semi-trailer wasn’t paying attention and had jack-knifed on the highway. He had swerved lanes and the car behind Mira didn’t break as fast as her. She died on impact,” she paused again.

“They put Kat on life support that night, told me that it was up to my parents to turn it off. When they called my mum, she told them to leave the choice to me. I pulled the plug the next week, after I had organised a funeral for the two of them,” Billy frowned.

“Where were your parents for all of this?” Arsinoe scoffed.

“On business in Tokyo. They came back to see the funeral they had paid for but eventually mum made such a scene that I kicked them out of the wake. I haven’t seen them since then and the last time we spoke I told them I was going to the army when I was 18. I’m better off without them anyway,” she sniffles and wipes her eyes. “Anyway, that’s it. So if you wanted someone with less baggage, the door is that way ,” she goes to stand and walk away away hurriedly only to be caught by Billy’s hand. He gently pulls her onto his lap and hugs her tight into his chest.

“I wouldn’t want anyone but you, Arsinoe. Why would your past make me want to leave someone so excellent,” she shook slightly, hugging her photo to her stomach and letting herself be calmed by his gentle hands at her back. “Besides, you didn’t think less of me for all that stuff with Jane so why would I think less of you for this?” He kissed her forehead and let his lips rest there, giving her time to calm down and rationalise her thoughts.

Eventually Arsinoe stands again, holding his hand still.

“Would you stay tonight?” Billy nods and stands, letting her lead him to her bedroom.

The first thing Arsinoe noticed when she woke up was that her curtains were open and sun was in her eyes. The second thing was Billy’s arm around her waist. She turned and watched him open his eyes. He smiled at her and she felt warm and fuzzy.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she whispered back.

“I love you,” her eyebrows rose slightly. It hadn’t been what she expected him to say at all.

“Do you want to come to a wedding in Croatia with me?” His eyebrows scrunched.

“Why?” Arsinoe shrugged as much as she could.

“Well if we’re in love and I’ve met your family, it’s only fair that you have to meet Jules and the rest of my crew sometime soon,” Billy smiled.

“How scary could that be?” Arsinoe laughed at his nonchalance.

“Jules is a Paralympic archer and Emilia is a decorated officer in the 2nd Commando Regiment in the army. So very scary,” Billy’s eyes widened only slightly.

“What exactly is 2nd Commando Regiment?” Arsinoe smiled and patted his chest.

“Special Forces. Kind of like Australian marines.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Are you okay? You’re looking a bit pale,” she leaned in and pressed a hand to his forehead, as though checking his temperature. He wasn’t pale at all, nor was his temperature rising, but goddess was it fun messing with him. But her teasing made his face calm and he grabbed her hand, kissing her palm.

“You know what? Sounds like fun. Maybe I can beat you a monopoly in front of your friends,” Arsinoe laughed and let him tug her into his arms.

“No can do. Jules says I’m not allowed to play monopoly with Emilia. We give each other bruises too often and then Jules quote unquote ‘has to deal with both of us’ and apparently we’re both pains in her ass so board games are no longer allowed. How good are you at Mario Kart?” Billy laughs.

“It’s been a while but I was a master at Rainbow Road,” Arsinoe gently pushes his shoulder with a scoff.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he kissed her.

“I love you,” Arsinoe smiled and kissed him.

“I love you right back.”

#three dark crowns #two dark reigns #five dark fates #one dark throne #kendare blake #queen arsinoe #billy chatworth #billy x arsinoe #queen mirabella #queen katharine #jane chatworth #christine hollen #jules milone #emilia vatros #ikily

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anosmi16 · 4 years

Text

a story

I felt neither good nor bad… A giant television on a metallic coffee table in the Hall Leopard print seats Wallpapers decorated with white roses Buffet full of colorful drinks A giant black air conditioner Wall mounted antique turntable setWe tied up on a handmade rug with a burgundy pattern. Stars were falling on us from the bright stones of the chandelier above us. For the first time in the light, I had the opportunity to examine everyone.If you ask me I'll tell: I'm 19; I'm not national yet. I made a living making french fries at McDonald's for a while. I make breakfast with milk and biscuits. I say I drink tea without sugar, but I don't drink much. My grandfather said I didn't have as much intelligence as open yogurt. Maybe he's right; my grandfather was a yoghurt man.

Every fall he falls in love again, chasing after racy women; I'll finally sleep in the bosom of honest women. When the rain comes down on the city, the wet bridge bottoms, I think of hazy parks. Although I'm very sorry, I don't like to give money to a beggar.

My boyfriend and I had been separated for a week. I worked for the White Pages cleaning company on minimum wage. That's where we met the trust. We were sent to wipe the window of a skyscraper.

The trust called me home on a cloudy April day. I set off at sunrise in the morning. The bus was full of breath. I put my head against the glass, wandering among the colorful flowers of the Rising Sun, I watched him cover the horizon with curtains between wine liquid and gold dust. My uncle next to me drove the worst Cologne on the market. Suddenly it started raining. Why does the rain suddenly start in my stories?..

My companion wiped the misted glass with his hand and created a space the size of a turtle. We were just watching it together. The rain descended into the city like a wall of water. Rainwater that fills the hole in the concrete, he ran Mother Nature, who made coffee with milk, like a “barista.” The same waters, in the soil, were a visual feast of chocolate pudding. Water gushed from both sides of the bus, which went like a knife. So to speak, his city was flooding; and so to speak, … I got off in Hatay and walked home. The rain stopped, and a silvery rainbow appeared. The last silver drops were creating Mercury-colored balls where it fell. The water dripping from the eaves to the tin roofs kept the rhythm. It was the oldest building in the area, with cracks in the wall in places.Trust Fish-stamp blue eyes, Auburn blunt hair, he was a boy with angular facial features, bright skin, a bird of prey look. The trust had interesting moves: He would turn his eyelids upside down, showing off his bloody skin. We went out on the balcony and watched the boys play ball. The ball was drawing muddy pictures on T-shirts, with the natural palette the street offered. At that moment, I loved those children more than he did.A sweet sun opened, caressing the hair of my arms. As the Rays descend in a yellow wave, a lemon butterfly flying upside down hit a clothesline and took off again. It was like I started life today. A happy baby giggled inside me. I hung from the balcony and looked down. On the lower balcony was an aunt who sang songs to the lovebirds. A grey cat was rubbing its nose against melted house slippers. As if at that moment, there was a softness of cat hair all over the city.

The floor was full of bait, and birds were placed on our balcony. His mother used to feed birds. The balcony was a dump. I got an idea! I collected all the bait and poured it all the way to the Hall. He came in eating about ten pigeons. We jumped them ... but one of them was caught. He fluttered his tail like a dying fish. We cut off his head and plucked his feathers and cooked and ate them.

Two hours later, his mother came home. She was one of the old Istanbul women. Her hair was Golden like a wet kadayif sucking sorbet. He wore glasses with a pink frame that were appropriate for this Color. He had an aquarium on his lap. A coral-colored goldfish was swimming in it. His mother looked at us with her blurred face after the cambered glass. His face was bigger than it was; or so it seemed to me. He didn't like slang, blasphemy, he was an obsessive type. When he saw me, he showed sweet kindness, which is trust.; - A few people from the apartment when we caught the pigeon. he was rude and swearing, but don't worry, we fucked them, too. quoth. 🙂

I showed the trust the fish; it raised one eyebrow and said, " Never Mind.” he made a sign like a der. Her mother told me when she went to her room: - Since the fish died last month. I think he thinks he'll die if he doesn't.

I was ashamed to see loyalty to the covenant that I had not seen in anyone in this woman… "Didn't you see the prayer necklace around his neck?, ” my mother is extremely distressed at the moment, " he said. 🙂 Substitute dementia drug Dozyl Easy she said she often took birth control pills. She lamented that she still couldn't forget her husband, who died of cancer. He made an arrow and showed me the photo on the wall. It was a picture of a man with a mustache in a striped short-sleeved shirt. He was a member of the Butchers ' Association. A meaningless expression sat on the trust's face.

I noticed that until that moment, he never mentioned his father.; I didn't know what to say. Did he expect me to laugh or be upset? It annoyed me that he determined my actions. I'm not sure I left the house and locked the door, I was in that moment of ambivalence between leaving and coming back. Fortunately, he dropped his eyes on the ground and moved on to another topic. I sucked my lips so I wouldn't laugh.

It was like our classic mothers.… Clicking on the icons in”quick launch " many times before opening… Bank passwords are 1234… He doesn't know the email passwords and gets a new one every month… Who never throws away yogurt containers… "Eat stale bread today, eat fresh tomorrow” what he said, entered the endless cycle of bread at home… Even for fresh bread to come in line, or guests to come or a few weeks had to pass…

They can't focus on anything but what they think! It doesn't matter what you ask, it matters what you think. That's why the answer you get with your question is completely irrelevant.

He said his mother locked the bathroom even when he was at home. - What, I said, Everybody does that. - He said I wouldn't. - But you love her, right? I said. - It doesn't matter to me! quoth. - How can it not matter, I thought it meant so much to you? I said. - He's important to me, not his thoughts! To see your dreams more clearly, do you know he's been sleeping with his glasses on for three days? quoth.

Suddenly his mother called out from the kitchen: - Guys, come on, I made tea!

I was so surprised when I walked into the kitchen. His mother filled the glasses with hot water and looked at us with candy in her hand. When I saw the empty water in the bottom and top teapot, I knew you didn't put the tea in. But he kept asking how many sugars we were going to throw in the water, as if nothing had happened. Confidence began to scream: - Mom, are you hard to tell, or is the signal late?

Apparently, until this age, he lived like a plant in a pot… If I'd stayed in that house a little longer, I'd have lost my mind!

2 Months Later… The fact that we rarely saw each other prevented our friendship from deteriorating. On a hot June night, my phone rang at three in the morning.

Güven: Brother, we're coming for you! “Yihuuuuu” sounds and shouts from behind… Girls with cracked, detonated voices mixed with road noise…

I'm wearing my best clothes; I think maybe I am. An hour later a grey Audi braked bitterly in front of me. There was confidence at the wheel. Because of two girls dancing in the back, Foundation, sweat, underarm, crushed lipstick scents wrapped the car like black tulle. Inside the car was so dark, their faces were mice, his eyes looked like a pinhead. A Midsummer Night's car that gives me goosebumps, he was moving forward, knocking down the trees he had dismantled on the windshield. The dark blue cool of the morning gave me the creeps, licking my face. He was driving full of confidence. He just turned and; – I have good news and bad news to you. Which one would you like to hear first? quoth. - The bad one, said one of the girls. - We're almost out of gas! - So, what's the good news? he shouted, another one. - But it's not over. When we arrived in the rich district of Hatay, Nokta, we got out of the car. The building was like a bright star rising stubbornly to the houses next to it. There was another bug-black Audi outside the door. Handan, - It's dad's spare car, they're in the summer, he said.Girls by word of mouth: "He left the key at home!"they shouted. The apartment was on the fifth floor. The balcony door was closed. - Is the balcony locked? I asked. - No, it's open, they always said it.The famous " free dynamite, let the ass explode!"I remembered our proverb. It was a marriage to climb that apartment for free. I hugged the ground floor irons running. I crossed the first floors like a spider. As I rose, an invisible, malignant hand hung down my shoulders. The month of June, the depth of the apartment… In that purple night that moves inside me… Rusty balcony irons soaked in moisture in the air…I wanted to go to the inside of the balcony on the last floor. I hung so hard on the iron that I watched tiny dust flow from the wall. I jumped in and looked proud from high to low. They raised their arms and applauded me. I was a rock star greeting fans on the concert platform. And they are poor "groupie"… Why didn't I fly at them? Only the shadow of that thought passed through my head!..I was afraid the balcony was locked. Fortunately, it opened and I barged in. The house smelled of fried apple peel. Completely different feelings in this rich house… Would I feel the same way if I went into a slum? Or would I feel patetic? I greeted them like the flirtatious Prince of the rich house.Trust my ear, when you see me climb Handan - Oh, I am doing sex with this guy, and he said he curtsy. I felt neither good nor bad… A giant television on a metallic coffee table in the Hall Leopard print seats Wallpapers decorated with white roses Buffet full of colorful drinks A giant black air conditioner Wall mounted antique turntable setWe tied up on a handmade rug with a burgundy pattern. Stars were falling on us from the bright stones of the chandelier above us. For the first time in the light, I had the opportunity to examine everyone. Handan He was medium-sized, fat, sparse red hair, with tiny eye sockets. His eyes looked like cigarette ash. He pulled a tight pair of shorts under a lion-patterned T-shirt. He had a Band-Aid on his heel. Her lips were purple and superimposed. His voice was”contralto". There was a” Hasbian " side. It was as if it had been cut from an old village photo and glued to this world. You know the story of the Red Chief's ransom: Guys kidnap a rich banker's kid. But the boy is such a pain in the ass that in the end, bandits, they pay the banker to get the boy back.That's what this girl had. He was the kind to love with gloves if he was a son…

Dilan She was a medium-sized brunette beauty. His shiny temples were dislocated. Her dark hair was falling out like a black stick of pasta. From him I smelled a clean aselbent. When you said his name, his black velvet eyes were wide open and greased. Her pink lips were healthy. The lip pit extending to his nose was as deep as a plain. She was a smart chick with a stupid look. His nose was upturned and bony. It was possible to see the bone from the skin of the nose. She wore a red dress that showed off her waist thin and spilled over her hips. Her well-groomed nails were transparent nail polish.

If you looked at him hard, a maddening smile would settle on his face. Maybe he was laughing to suppress his stress. His vervain-white teeth were as bright as candlelight. His voice was”soprano, " and his harrowing vibrations were sweet. You were afraid to touch the baby through the window because it would break. It was ringing like a crystal in the sun. Immediately after crying so as not to upset you, he looked like a woman laughing and wiping her eyes. It was a sharp and biting beauty. He noticed it when I took a picture of it with my eye and recorded it in hidden places in my memory. But he laughed again… It was locked in my eyes for ten seconds. All night long, I went crazy for him to do the same thing again.

One of the girls was sent by angels, the other was the devil's seventh daughter who ran away from home. I don't want to talk too bad, but, a homeless man who drank three bottles of wine could have slept with him when he was in an alcohol coma. I don't want to break your heart, but if you were left with him on a deserted island you'd jump in front of the Sharks and swim away. I don't want to overtax you, but, anyone who had sex with him would be sexually angry and asexual. If he slept with his math teacher, he'd be out of numbers. If he was a bodyguard, the teacher would be crippled. If he slept with a doctor, he'd quit the profession, if he slept with a cop, he'd shoot himself., if he'd stayed with the guard, he'd have agreed to life in prison. I don't want to exaggerate, but if he slept with a gorilla, he'd cool it off., if it had entered the zoo, it could have caused the shelter to move. If he fled the country to another continent, they would bomb the continent so that he would never be discovered again. If he went to Mars ... … They poured dry grass into a cloth and wrapped it in white paper. Handan burned the cylinder he made a cigar and handed it to me. When I pulled it out, I got red needles stuck in my throat. It was as bitter as a hard stove smoke. Handan Was Next. He drew a huge breath and blew a cloud of blue smoke. He was always shouting. His voice was so loud and he wanted everyone to hear him. Tropical fruits were on the table. He stopped drinking and spat the cherry core on the floor like a bloody tooth. I wasn't really interested in what he said. I was drinking cool drinks in colored glasses. I wasn't even interested in fruit. I Had My Eye On Dilan. His eyes were marijuana. He pulled his tongue out of the edge of his lip and drew half a moon in the air and pulled it back. With his sharp facial features, he was a real Amazon. Handan explained that he started a new book and solved telekinesis. He said he could influence people far away with his power of thought. It didn't even affect those nearby. With red lettering on the black cover, It said” techniques for developing spiritual powers." I felt like laughing when I saw the book come out of cross-border publications. 🙂At one point, he decked out and ran and hung out the window half to his waist! Only his butt in shorts could be seen “I am in love with love, as Zeki Moren said: I love it!.."he shouted.I was thinking about where it came from to Zeki Müren!…"Where is the strong man who will take this noble woman! HAAA, TELL ME! WHERE'S MY WHITE HORSE RICE?"he blared. "He's definitely not here!” I said to myself. 🙂 Returned to us. He was sweating like an appendage. He was the type to be a goalpost when he played ball in the street.He looked deep into my eyes: He had a side that humiliated people. It was as if he was looking from the opposite side of the binoculars to see them as small. I looked like a solid object.And then he started complaining about the hairdresser who cut his hair wrong. Filhakika's hair was cut like crazy girls in the neighborhood. Trust and I made eye contact. “You're getting the evil eye, girl, the evil eye!"he faded. He was comforted by taking refuge in this secluded port. I put a drink in Dilan's empty glass. He raised his head slowly and pinched his eyelashes. The heat wave in his eyes melted a grain of ice in my mouth. From the crease on the back of her dress, pink lacy underwear was visible. He had a provocative sexuality…*Handan suddenly turned on the TV. He changed channels so fast., one jumped to the other before it opened. He wanted everyone to see his satellite TV with hundreds of channels.So we like Güven ... "he has expensive TV"? We didn't have a TV in our house when we were kids. We were so poor that the word “poverty” came into the country after us. As he sleeps, he looks out the window and likens the rain to movie frames. I'd dream and just sleep…*I didn't see a clock on the wall; we didn't have the concept of time. In one canal, guests were like dogs barking into the opposite garden. The end of the argument bothered me that they hugged and came home. And at home, it was chaotic. I was in a good mood; I was singing a song I changed in a hoarse voice: When I say I want to tell a joke; Guven made a phone call with his little finger and scratched his ear hard. Dilan spoke little, listened with extreme interest. He was sensitive, like putting cream on a child's scrawny shoulder. Handan was playing with his phone. It was about shopping, jewelry, luxury cars, sex, and football. No one talked about poverty. Maybe this was the last place he would talk. I wish I'd been born fifty years ago and not seen today! Because that night, my head was like Ashura, and a Dostoevsky book flew out of my brain!*Everyone began to retreat to the rooms…We're alone with the trust; in a whisper; - I said I want Dilan. - He said My son Dilan had his period, or I'd have arranged it anyway. - Then we don't have to do it with Handan, even if we stick it in him, he won't feel it, chubby. He said If you don't sleep with Handan, you'll close our door in this house, you have all my hope. - Son, am I an English Kemal, what hope, what mission? Everything's gone, and I have to stick it in Handan? I said. And why aren't you going to bed?- My son is very close friends with my girlfriend. Then we'll break the plan. Brother, lay the pipe, please!I found the bedroom. My hand turned slowly on the knob of the door. As the Gladiators entering the arena said to the Great Emperor: “The man who will soon die greets you!” Every unwanted sex meant a little dying… He lay in his bed like a consul's dog. In the room, the Red Night Light was burning to death. The closed curtains were bindall red. The golden satin cover of the round bed was on the floor. ” You know how unworn underwear smells, and you smell like it, " he said. It turned and stuck to my lips. His mouth smelled of rotten straw. It got harder and harder; there were teeth marks all over me. He was eating me alive. His tongue went in and out of my mouth like a little snake. Enthusiasm is ecstatic and makes a person insensitive to the outside world. I patted his ass, like he was growing all the time.Her breasts and vagina were slowly bubbling like Well-fermented dough. I sucked your chest and wanted to split it. He was one of the infinite; he could not be cut off. Then it could be razor-sharp!For him, life was to go to bed, change men, and suffer. His excitement rose from his toes to his alarmed lips. Everything he touched seemed to warm up; he was obviously impressed with me.He took my dick in his mouth, and after a while he came out on top of me. It was narrower than I thought; I was rubbing it with sandpaper. It was an irritation of inverted hair. I just started sliding in. Fortunately, he came right away. Then I came too. I've always counted your reflex: 1-2-3… 19-20-21… The curtains of the room from the wind are like a cinema decor, he disappeared into the Red night and came back.Then I got up and washed. He was looking at me when I came in.I sat on the bed and I said,” Are we going to do it again?" “How is that a word, shame?" said. Right, it was a shame if he was asked, but it was good if he fucked up… I went quietly to the balcony; My Shadow did the same: Suffocating air approaching dawn Neighbor's noisy running air conditioner Television that no one watches Moneyed partisans with dung brains arguing on screen Baby crying from next door Primate who listened to arabesques in the park and broke bottles Spiritual fatigue collapsing on my shoulders Longing for my old blanketI put my back against the wall and fell to the floor. On the balcony, air conditioning water dripped where I was sitting. Listening to these life-shortening noises, I began to wait for the morning. I left the house this morning while everyone was asleep. I got on an empty bus and went to the back. My soul was crippled, I was humiliated. But I had a strange pleasure in pain.He was always going to live in that luxury house. The time will come, he will move into a skyscraper. And I was just a fingerprint on the window of that Skyscraper. I was a minimum-wage Nefer for a cleaning company.He had never suffered from misery; he did not know what absence was. He read books, but it was just licking pages with his eyes. Some think it's a fight book without reading Fight Club; others read the back of gum paper and discover the secrets of the universe.I was a baby rabbit that escaped from a snake. But the poison needed time to take over my body. Faced with this fact, the bodies of orphaned children cut me off. I could feel it, even my fingertips were aching with pain. And this action was against my team.*Flower dust from the garden The smell of food covering the apartment Ashy garbage barrel A gray cloud of flies resembling dust Dedicated to making you happy, more precious than first love That dirty stray animal that loves you more than your mother, waiting for you every day Feveran eden puberty cravings Here I was back in my friendly neighborhood, where I belonged. Actually, I didn't miss them, I missed myself in those years!.. A week later… Looking for trust: - Why haven't you called for how many days? - I'm the one who doesn't call when the phone doesn't ring. - One more word and I'll kill you!!! Don't even sneeze! - Why? - I know you slept with her! 3 if you entered the Oro*pu kids competition. I said You will. He walked away from the handset to avoid laughing. - Why 1. not? quoth. - Because Charlie Chaplin Is In Monte Carlo., He entered the Charlie Chaplin-like contest and finished 3rd. It has happened. I said. And I added: Trust ... I wish I hadn't returned your calls. I said, Maybe you'd come to see me, and I unplugged the phone.Human beings have beautiful periods of suckiness. All of us we tried. First barbecue with the Dragon, and then say, “my hair is on fire”! I chased a rich girl for one night!.. And it was my fault!So, which one tells me better: “If you can't figure out who the sucker is at the gambling table for the first half hour, that means you're the sucker!"the Rounders movie?He drove the royalties from his unwritten novel to the gambling table; and to himself, “When are you going to write a novel?"said the casino owner, “Here I am writing!” Dostoevsky, who can?“A woman presents herself as an idol to the powerless, an object to the strong.” he said and burned all his notes in his hotel room in Turin, Pavese, who committed suicide with 21 sleeping pills?Virginia Woolf, the mermaid who entered the River Ouse with stones in her pockets?Cut off the earlobe and put it in a napkin, Van Gogh who sent it to a fah thing in blood?“I was told I should be afraid of whites, but here all the crimes are committed by my race."the black artist who said" 2Pac? Tell me which one?..We're mad at them, but... aren't my brothers responsible? Doctrine: "when you're young, you think you can connect with anyone. And then you realize it's only gonna happen once in a lifetime.” – Before Sunset

#story #my story #author #funny #long reads #writers

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What Is a Vehicle Facelift? Can They conserve Me money?

Femiwand Vaginal tightening Edinburgh.

Content

What Is The healing process After getting Rid Of Benign Skin lesion?

benefits Of Cryotherapy Lipoglaze Treatments.

specialist Skin facility.

advantages Of Cryopen modern Technology.

all Set To learn more about just How Cryo 21 Can boost Your charm company?

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What Is The recovery process After getting Rid Of Benign Skin sore?

Simply 3 minutes at -110 ° C aids to reset the whole body and you arise really feeling both unwinded and boosted. Benefits to B12 shots include having much more energy, mental alertness and also endurance for everyday jobs, plus a healthier immune system. Currently you can get rid of a drooping behind, adding shape and volume as well as get fantastic outcomes without any threat or expense of surgical procedure. It is one of the most efficient means to shape the curves of your bottom as well as boost it along with erasing cellulite making use of the latest non-surgical development in body contouring. RF creates the look of an eyebrow lift, tightening of the forehead, firm of skin under eyes and likewise help with dark circles.

advantages Of Cryotherapy Lipoglaze Treatments.

Rarely there is capacity for surface nerve damages, depending on the location of the dealt with sore. This might trigger a temporary feeling of pins and needles or tingling in the area which might last for a few months. If a treated sore does not heal as expected, or there is discomfort or redness after a couple of days, then you must speak to the practitioner again as these can be indicators of an infection. Not to be used in Anybody that is otherwise healthy and balanced can pleasantly undergo a CryoPen therapy. There is likewise a X+ upgrade offered with features two extra, much longer applicator heads for dealing with condyloma.

professional Skin center.

Therapy will certainly not be suggested for expecting ladies or nursing mothers, as the risks are unidentified, and also you will be advised to wait till hereafter period of time before having therapy. How long you need to use the therapy prior to seeing results typically depends upon the dimension and nature of the sore. Nevertheless, for a typical, superficial, benign sore, it only takes 2 to 10 secs to finish the treatment procedure in one session. Results are usually observable within 1 to 6 weeks of therapy.

advantages Of Cryopen innovation.

It is important that you make an appropriate medical diagnosis prior to beginning treatment because we do not treat any type of malignant lesions as they are checked by the NHS. If a change is thought of skin cancer cells, it is suggested that you consult your General Practitioner as well as supply your condition and that the location can be treated with Cryopen. Due to the risk of damage to sensitive locations, treatments are stayed clear of near crucial body frameworks such as the eye. Therapy might happen on the face, scalp or body depending on the sort of skin lesion. It is feasible to deal with several locations in one session, however it is not advised for greater than 5 locations of treatment at once. Cryotherapy has actually long been developed as well as the danger of problems is less than for several other treatments. During the treatment, you may really feel small discomfort similar to the stress of the round pen on the skin, although the discomfort may be much more extreme when a longer freezing time is utilized in the larger areas of the treatment.

How much is the Mona Lisa touch?

The MonaLisa Touch laser ranges between $600-$1,000 per session, but the results can last a year or longer.

Throughout the treatment the practitioner will perform 2 freeze cycles on the targeted location using a high-pressure jet of laughing gas. As an outcome of the in-built precision of the Cryopen, there is no damages to bordering healthy tissue. Cryopen provides a safe as well as pain-free option for most benign skin sores as well as we believe that's something worth commemorating!. The treated lesions must entirely recover within 1 to 4 weeks as well as scabs formed around the lesion will certainly lose after a week to 10 days. Some individuals may establish a momentary adjustment in skin colour or mild scarring in the treated area-- pigment modification is more typical in darker skin types and also may not be momentary. Hair hair follicles can be damaged by cryotherapy so if the sore is within an area of hair, such as on the scalp, after that a percentage of loss of hair may happen.

This 2nd treatment should be done within 1 to 4 weeks of the very first. Cryosurgery is generally specified as the regulated damage of undesirable cells by the precise application of extreme cold throughout medical treatments. It is a well proved technique basically a damage of living tissue, due to the fact that typical and also diseased cellular aspects will certainly not make it through after going through freezing to minus (-) 27 ° C. In other words, how to accurately as well as successfully lower the temperature without collateral damage. Usual lesions dealt with are viral blemishes, skin tags, keloids as well as actinic keratosis; the latter which will be studied by us. In addition, it is necessary to get a result with the least damage to the bordering skin. In other circumstances, a deep lesion may take numerous hostile therapies to obtain results.

When the skin modifications near the surface nerve, treatment may take place nerve damage. In more fragile places a much shorter freeze time with repeat treatments may be required to get a result with the least damages to the bordering skin. In other instances a deep sore might take numerous hostile therapies to get results. Specifically, warts that do not have pre-treatment may take several ices up.

Can hot water tighten the Virgina?

Hot water or steam will do nothing to tighten the vagina. The warmth will probably make you sleep, rather than providing you with energy.

It reduces huge pores, lifting laughter lines, jowls as well as drooping around the jaw line, along with wrinkling along the neck and also décolleté. Our cryolipolysis, likewise known as 'Fat Freezing' device is one of the most innovative, non-invasive equipment on the market as well as features revolutionary technology. We make use of cookies to make certain that we give you the very best experience on our website. If you continue to utilize this site we will assume that you are happy with it.

ready To find Out even More about just How Cryo 21 Can increase Your charm organization?

A moderate analgesic ointment can be related to soothe the feeling. Most benign lesions are treated with CryoPen for just ₤ 50, even if there are several, tiny lesions. If you have greater than one comparable sore which is to be dealt with, after that you may be billed an additional ₤ 25+, relying on the number as well as dimension of all the sores as well as the treatment time needed. CryoPen treatment is a clinical procedure that includes the application of laughing gas gas ejected under high stress on the skin. https://angerfan11.wordpress.com/2020/11/06/hifu-what-is-it-and-also-what-does-it-do/ is really cool which helps to ice up and destroy any type of benign lesions. After this white location thaws, a flushing occurs as well as the location will turn red and also a weal will develop.

In some cases, one treatment will be enough as well as no follow-up is required for little, simple sores. However, if the lesion is as well relentless and also does not go away complying with the first therapy, a 2nd therapy can be done.

After 2-4 weeks, a see is suggested to evaluate the area to be treated as well as feasible resuming. For bigger areas greater than one see will certainly be called for, and one therapy is usually called for in tiny locations. Within a couple of days after surgical treatment, scabs are typically created, as well as the sore might be slightly red and also a little inflamed. This is a natural sensation in reaction to harm to infected cells. CryoPen is a medical procedure entailing using very high levels of laughing gas on the skin, where undesired changes are iced up and also destroyed. The coagulative effect is the creation of a thermal shock in the tissue, which results in fast decrease in temperature level.

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After 2-24 hours after being iced up the weal might turn into a blister which may take several days to dissolve, nevertheless this is very unusual. A crust will certainly develop over the sore, which commonly, after about 10 to 2 week, will fall off as well as the skin will then be healed. The skin might appear lighter in colour or pink, which then goes back to its normal colour over a duration of a couple of weeks. Sores treated on the legs commonly take a little bit even more time to heal.

Is FemiLift effective?

For many women the results of Femilift treatment can be life changing. Bianca, one of our patients at Health & Aesthetics, said that the results of the treatment mean her life-long debilitating urinary incontinence problem has been 85-90% cured.

It is essential to have a tool that can be adapt to variable dosing of power. Various shallow skin lesions can be treated with cryotherapy including viral excrescences, seborrhoeic keratosis, actinic keratosis and also other benign sores. It is necessary that a right medical diagnosis is made prior to therapy as we do not treat any kind of cancerous lesions as these are more suitably handled and also acted on the NHS. If a sore looks dubious of skin cancer cells, you will certainly be advised to seek advice from your Family doctor. The Cryopen ™ has millimetre precision and is a gentle, yet extremely efficient, treatment for the removal of benign skin areas on the surface of the skin. This ices up any kind of unwanted skin lesions and then triggers the skin's natural healing devices. The system delivers cooling down without the need for any kind of cryogenic gases, fluids or anaesthetics - making the treatment quick, efficient, virtually pain-free, and secure sufficient to utilize on children.

I have been going almost a year currently as well as am happy with all the therapies I've had, would not go anywhere else.

I am expecting participating in the facility to have some therapies very soon.

What sets them apart is that they go that added mile - absolute all-star team, likewise Charlotte is a magician!

They are so friendly and inviting and also make you instantly feel comfy.

limited-time offer have have had 3 therapies and also each time I have actually had amazing service.

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hoseoksactualass · 5 years

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Could you do a yoongi timestamp for like 2:00 am? Could you make it a smut+fluff also please?

idk if this is fluffy im sowwy

warning: a lil overstim? yknow – just a bit

[2:00 a.m.] pathologist!yoongi

It hurt him because the last patient he’d given that look was the local fishcake vendor. The mass was malignant, started depositing; surgical removal was the second option next to chemotherapy that the wee woman couldn’t afford, but Yoongi tucked away those thoughts for some shut eye along with the leather shoes he kicked off with numb feet. She was like a grandmother to him. Every old woman was like a grandmother to him.

“Hey, doc,” you titter. “I’m awake, so fill me in. How was work?”

“Shit. Literally. With blood,” he’s tugging his tie off, but the knot gets tighter. As long as it wasn’t any closer to his neck anymore.

“Not a first,” you push yourself up with your elbows, patting the space next to you like you were dusting.

“She’ll be okay.” He was convincing himself, but his belt had to differ, because it just wasn’t coming off. “She’s a nice lady, really - kind children - think she told me the second born was pretty well off - why the fuck isn’t this - fuck - ”

“Yoongi.” He wasn’t really one to like the eye you gave him at the moment. He’s rich and living good with you, but the overtax of having an innocent old lady getting diagnosed with colon cancer first thing daybreak wasn’t something he could pay for. You’ll take back your tone then. “Few days time. Surgery will do good. You’ll be recording the report on your phone, come home reeking of formaline, then I’ll handle the rest, hm?”

“Yeah… yeah,” then his slacks thud with the anchor of the belt on the floor and the tension rings softer.

You know you’re so used to him, because looking at his clothed dick always directs you to his hair, and he knows it, too, but the expression on his face is no joke. It’s good - tired with the lips pushed out, but the aura whispered self-congratulatory. The doctor knew he looked good. “Yeah, I promise she’ll be just fine. She screened early, didn’t she?”

“Well, it could have been earlier. Surgery team always aces it, but… waiting to see what happens? Just waiting? Sucks,” he gets too tired to undress, which means he starts crawling to get next to you in the awkward pairing of white boxers and an undone polo. But he crawls to get on top of you.

“Wanna get your head off it?,” you hang your arms around his nape. He smells like office.

“What can a housewife like you do?,” he snorts, but the self-satisfied kiss on your chest tells you he’s just reeling you on.

“Ooh, indirect sexism. Sexy,” your fingers are intertwined with the black locks of the back of his head.

“You know it,” he tugs the collar of the camisole low, tucks it under your breast, and they look prettily swollen. “Look at you,” his voice girdles against your chest, then he lowers his lips to kiss one breast. (that rhymed ooh)

You know you’re used to him, because you await the hot air that rises from your bodies. Tickles with love. “Mm, what about me?,” you hum.

But he responds with a tight suck on your nipple, and the sensation sears straight down to your core. You whine.

“That,” he points out, and he gropes your other boob like your innocence is slander. He peers at you. Your lip bit. Waiting. He’s hard, because it’s been days.

“Let’s get this out of the way,” you shove away the blanket you were tucked in, and the waft of wind is quickly replaced by Yoongi’s warmth. It’s abrupt, and it makes your face sweat. You pull your camisole off your torso and take him by the neck to kiss him.

It��s how synchronized your lips happened to be that makes you smile against the kiss, but that just gives him more access to scoop up your love with his tongue, and it makes you grind your hips up. Then he’s the one smirking. It’s the kind of smile you need to laugh off, or it doesn’t go away. “I missed this. Missed you. Etc,” he peppers your face with kisses.

You’re smiling. Your breath leaves your chest heavier, because he’s grinding his hard-on straight against your pussy. “You can have it for as long as you want now.”

“I can,” he clears his throat, tightens his chest like he’s bottoming out, but he’s just fucking you dry. His breath quivers to your neck. “God, you’re so - ,” then he lets a wet kiss to your lips finish his sentence. It’s open-mouthed, and not so in sync anymore.

He grinds slow. Good enough to coax the wetness out of you, and he could feel it breathing cold on the dry of both your underwears. A shivered breath leaves your chest. You moan messy against the kiss when Yoongi’s fingers become brutal, descending, pulling your panties aside and rubbing his digits in the slick.

“Huh. This is wet enough.”

“Yes. Fuck me.”

“Keep your eyes on me while I do,” then he holds your face in place with his pointer and thumb on your cheeks, the swell of your lips soaked and red. When he thrusts his dick inside you, you instantly fail, but it only makes him fuck you harder. Catching up on all the nights that biopsies and stacks of slides took away. “Feels — so fucking tight - ”

He’s basically drooling as he fucks you. Trapped in the trance of how every thrust makes you shift on the bed’s foam. And you’re caught in a chant of pathetic Ahs and Ohs.

Yoongi decides not to be silent tonight. “You look so good around me - so filthy,” he growls.

“Shiit, Yoongi,” you whimper, fingertips white with the pressure you press latching on his shoulders. Now all you want is for the pair of you to cum hard. “Your cock feels so good inside me,” you ramble, and the filthy shit’s supposed to be saved in your head, but he’s making your pussy clench throughout, and everything’s just — spilling. It’s good news, because it fuels his easy ego.

“Hm?,” a shaky breath leaves his nostrils. “You just become this filthy girl when my cock’s inside you, huh? Can’t take it when I’m fucking you this good?”

“I can’t - I can’t - fuck - !,” you exclaim, your eyes turning droopy, but you’re so turned on that he just needs them open so he could see himself fuck the fire out of you.

By the second, the scrunch of his nose gets prominent, because he’s trying to maintain his facade, but he’s fucking like he never has, and the groans just rip unpleasantly out of his chest.

“Nnggh - Yoongi - ”

He likes it when you say his name. “Yeah? There?”

“Yes - don’t stop - ”

He’s smug. “Look at you. Should I let you cum now?”

“I’m already - close - ”

“Ah - ah. We’re not stopping until I cum, okay?,” then his hips snap fast. Too fast to bare, and you think you’re already getting there. “You’re a good girl, right? You can take it.”

“Y-Yoongi - please - !,” your cunt clenches around him hard, and you could feel the overstress of the spot the tip of his cock kept hitting. Overwhelming. “I c-can’t - !”

His eyes are almost downcast. “Look at you - fucking cumming around me - ,” his hips start not making sense, but now, your eyes are shut and your thighs want to close. “I’m gonna - cuminsideyou - fuck - ”

“God - ohmygod - !”

“Yeahyes - Iloveyou— you'resogoodyou'resogood,” incoherent sentences roll off his tongue, but all your mind and pussy could grasp was the fluid that was filling you up. His hips stutter, and he finishes it with a sloppy kiss to your jaw and breaths with exasperated lips.

He might have to carry you on his cock to the bathroom to clean up, but he’s too spent to think. Still, he will carry you and your aching legs, or face coming home reeking of formaline to a bed reeking of cum.

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hookedontaronfics · 5 years

Text

A Beautiful Reason to Fight series - Chapter 1

NEW SERIES ALERT

Chapter Title: Diagnosis Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Slight cursing, medical drama (trigger warning) A/N: This is a new series that follows OC character Kinsey McCormick’s battle with cancer, and how Taron helps carry her through it. It’s a difficult subject to write about, so if you don’t want to read any kind of medical drama, this story is not for you. I enjoy writing stories that are real and gritty and human. I will never hide away from the difficult things we experience, and I feel there is something to be said for testing the strength of a character through the adversity they face. I have been touched by cancer in my own life and know many of you have been as well, whether it’s a friend or co-worker or loved one, or even you yourself. So I hope that the light, happy moments between the difficult ones will make this story compelling, and that you’ll root for a happy ending too. X

In typical me fashion, I was already running late for an important appointment. I’d snoozed my alarm far too many times, and I’d just gotten out of the shower and toweled off when my phone chimed.

<Hey, I’m here!>

I accidentally knocked my hand into the corner of my dresser in my haste to pick up my phone. “Ouch!” I screeched, clutching my hand to my chest for a moment and then nearly tripping over a discarded pair of jeans on the bedroom floor, which I grabbed and hopped slightly to pull on, struggling to clasp the button. I’m not sure when this pair had gotten too small for me, but I should probably lay off the late-night takeout runs, I thought ruefully.

<Be right down!> I texted back quickly when I regained the use of my hand. I pulled my wet hair into a quick bun and then rescued a day-old shirt from the corner chair. I gave it a quick sniff test before pulling it on over my bra. I didn’t have time for makeup but it wasn’t the first time my boyfriend had seen me that way. Believe me, after two years together there wasn’t much that could surprise him.

I flung my purse over my shoulder and managed to make it out of my apartment, locking the door behind me before pounding my way down the three flights of stairs and fairly bursting out of the building into the early morning sunshine. I spied my boyfriend’s car and ran across the dewy grass, not caring that it was soaking the canvas of my sneakers. I yanked open the car door and flopped into the seat, making my boyfriend chuckle.

“Glad you could make it,” he teased me good-naturedly, handing me a coffee that I graciously accepted.

“I’m an eternal mess. You know this, Taron,” I giggled slightly as he leaned in to steal a quick kiss. I could taste the sugary sweetness of his hazelnut latte - two pumps of syrup - lingering on his lips.

“I know it and I love it,” he said, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “So, are you ready for today?” he asked casually as I took a long sip of my coffee.

“I don’t know. I feel like I might puke,” I admitted, feeling a bit of a squeeze in my chest and unsure if it was only from nerves or one of the symptoms I’d started experiencing.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, squeezing my knee reassuringly. “Having an answer will be better than the unknown,” he said gently.

“I know, I’m just… nervous as hell. Everything in my life feels like it depends on these results.”

“Then we should get to it,” he smiled at me, though I could detect the anxiety and fear in his eyes that I’m sure was reflected in my own. He put the car in gear and we pulled out onto the streets of London. I tried my hardest to distract myself with the music on the radio, scarfing a breakfast sandwich that he’d been thoughtful enough to buy for me, as I’d had no time to grab anything to eat, and trying to pretend like this was just another city jaunt for us and not the life-altering appointment it would turn out to be.

After checking in, we waited in the lobby, my leg bouncing uncontrollably with the anxiety I was feeling. To his credit, Taron did his best to keep me laughing and smiling, but the wait and anticipation was killing me slowly.

“Kinsey McCormick!” the nurse called, and I looked to Taron and let out a loud sigh.

“This is it,” I said, and he threaded his fingers through mine, determined to not let me feel alone. We were shown to a room and made to wait a little bit longer, making even more small talk until my doctor finally entered the room.

“Kinsey, how are you feeling?” he asked kindly, also shaking Taron’s hand as well.

“Anxious. Nervous. Still alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, a bit cheekily. I couldn’t help it; my sarcastic side came out when I was feeling fearful and cornered.

“Well, I’ll get right down to brass tacks for you then. The results of your scan came back showing a malignant mass in your lymph nodes in the chest area. The biopsy came back positive for stage II T-cell lymphoblastic lymphoma, which is a rare and fast-growing but treatable form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. We’ll have to do more tests to see if it’s in your bone marrow, but the prognosis is currently good with aggressive treatment.”

“Cancer. I have cancer,” I said, barely able to put enough force behind the words to make them audible. I felt the room closing in on me, and it was difficult to breathe. I felt myself get light-headed but Taron was saying my name and stroking my face sweetly and trying to bring me back down to earth.

“Just breathe, just focus on that. It’s going to be okay,” he said while the doctor waited patiently, likely having been through many of these reactions over time.

“How good is good?” I finally managed to ask, squeezing Taron’s hand so hard it was probably hurting him, but he didn’t even flinch.

“93 percent for complete remission, at this point. I promise we’re going to help you fight this every step of the way. I’ve got a referral to an oncologist already set up for you. It’s not going to be easy, by any stretch, but there’s going to be a long, beautiful life for you ahead.” He was trying to be reassuring, but I couldn’t stop repeating I have cancer over and over in my mind.

Of course the diagnosis made sense of the symptoms I’d been experiencing, the night sweats and high fevers for no reason, the chest pain and shortness of breath doing simple things. I’d gone through plenty of other tests to try and figure out why someone so young was experiencing these things. The most uncomfortable had been the heart cath but my heart had come back completely normal. I was fit and in shape so why stairs had become a challenge had vexed my doctors for weeks. So yes, we had an answer, but that answer scared me beyond words I could express.

I was so grateful Taron had insisted on going with me to this appointment; I’m not sure I could focus enough to hear half of what the doctor was explaining, but Taron was listening intently. I would never be able to fully explain how grateful I was to have him in my life, and now in this battle ahead of me. I was also angry at my body for betraying me; I’d eaten the kale and went to the gym 4 times a week and did everything I could to take care of it and still it had grown a malignant mass. That phrase sent shivers racing through me and I felt the acid rising in my throat. I swallowed hard, not wanting to revisit my breakfast.

“It’s not a death sentence and I don’t want to treat your case that way,” I clued in finally to what my doctor was saying. “There will always be a risk of that with cancer, but modern medicine has come a long way in its treatment options, and new ones are being tested and approved every day. I know this is a difficult diagnosis to hear and to process, of course, and there will be many questions to come, but you will have a team whose job it is to keep you alive and they’ll stop at nothing to get you well again.”

“Right, thanks. I’m not exactly feeling the confidence at the moment, but I appreciate the honesty,” I said sarcastically, feeling Taron squeezing my hand in support again.

“I’ll have you schedule your follow-up appointment on the way out and Kinsey, stay away from Google. It will only serve to make you freak out. The best thing to do is just to talk to your oncologist, alright?” he said, anticipating the first thing I planned on doing as soon as I got out of the office. I had never heard of lymphoblastic lymphoma and I wanted to know the horror I would be dealing with ahead of time, but Taron seemed to take that advice to heart.

Once I’d made my appointment for the following week and we’d stepped back out into the day, he took both of my hands in his and pulled me in to him sweetly. “Hey, it’s Friday, it’s beautiful out, and you don’t have to work for once. Why don’t we go walk around the Strand? Get your mind off of this because stewing over it won’t solve it,” he suggested. I could only nod my head in agreement, not trusting my voice. The day was indeed beautiful, the sun full out and the temperature warm, but there was now a chill deep in my bones, and a tumor living in my chest.

“The best way to not let this cancer win is to keep living your life to the fullest,” he said softly. “And I’m going to be here reminding you to do that every minute of every day. We aren’t going to let this win, okay?” he said, brushing my hair back from my face sweetly.

“Okay,” I agreed, my eyes watering slightly. He gently brushed the tears from my cheeks with his thumb, just giving me the moment, aware of how much this news had just shaken me to the core. And there would be many more tears down the road, too, but I didn’t want to ruin this day I had with Taron either. Often we had stolen minutes during breaks at work, lunches or dinners together, falling asleep during late-night movies on the couch. But today was fully ours, and I wanted to make the most of it.

“Alright,” I said, taking a deep, shaky breath and wincing slightly against the pinprick of pain in my chest. That had been happening more and more often and now I was grateful I hadn’t ignored the discomfort. I didn’t know much about cancer, but I knew the first two stages meant we’d caught it early; it meant my chances of surviving were much greater and I had to hold onto that positive outlook.

Taron drove us across the city, having to circle a few times to find parking, but he knew I always loved popping in the little shops along the Strand and being able to lose myself amongst the tourists did lift my spirits a little bit. We walked hand in hand, browsing through the wares at the Covent Garden antique market, TopShop, Primark, Carnaby Street, the high-end Liberty department store, and even poking about in Lambert’s souvenir shop. Taron kept trying on kitschy Union Jack items and making me laugh, as he insisted that I take photos and I kept trying to pretend he wasn’t actually mine. Being able to laugh again somehow broke through some of the heaviness of the day.

We stopped at the Battersea Pie shop and managed to snag a spot at one of the busy counters, digging into our meat pies with gusto.

“We’re going to kick this cancer’s ass,” Taron smiled at me, leaning in for a kiss but I leaned away.

“Gross, I don’t want your meat-pie breath!” I teased him, so he reached over and tickled me in the ribcage instead because he knew I couldn’t stand it. “Taaaaron!” I squealed, laughing and slapping his hand away. “You’re such a little arse.”

“My arse is actually quite big, thanks,” he said with a wink, making me giggle. I set my chin in my hand and gazed at him. “What?” he grinned.

“Nothing. Just being reminded how much I absolutely love you.”

“The feeling is mutual, my love,” he smiled. “We have so far gotten through 100 percent of our worst days because we have each other. And I believe in that. This is just another one of those. And I know that this is going to get worse for you before it gets better, but I’m not going to let you go a day without knowing how loved and supported you are.”

“So you’ll love me even when I lose my hair and go bald?” I asked, trying to make a joke that felt flat even to me.

“I’ll go bald with you. I’ll take you wig shopping. None of that scares me. You’ll still be beautiful. That doesn’t define who you are to me,” he said, picking up my hand in his and kissing my fingers and making my heart soar. “I know your soul, your spirit, your heart, and cancer can’t take that away from you.”

“I’m scared that it might. That I’ll become unrecognizable even to myself,” I said quietly.

“I’m not going to believe that until I see it happen. Maybe things will get a bit shit for a while, but you’re a warrior. And I won’t let this break you, alright?” he said, fiercely determined to see me through. We sat like that in silence for a moment, lost to our own thoughts and emotions, before Taron suggested we keep moving along. We ended up buying a bubble waffle to share and retiring to the Victoria Embankment Gardens, one of my favorite places in the city.

The lunch rush was over so we were able to find a bench to sit on, which was a good thing because I was already feeling worn out. We took turns tearing off pieces of the waffle and scooping at the ice cream nestled inside, enjoying the treat and watching everyone else going about their business, having a jog or just meandering along the walk. There was a slight breeze off the Thames and it just felt quite nice to be there among the flowers and memorials with the one person in the world I wanted to spend all of my days with.

Of course between Taron’s acting gigs and my own full-time job and schooling, sometimes we had to spend time apart, but that’s what the internet and video chat was for. It certainly made the distance feel like less of a barrier and we were really happy. I could feel that as I leaned against Taron, his arm wrapped lightly around me, his chin resting on the top of my head. We didn’t even need words to know how the other was feeling. Of course I was feeling my world had gone off-kilter a bit, but Taron kept me grounded as well.

Because of my obviously waning energy, we decided just to go back to my apartment for the evening, where we could cook dinner and laze about watching some of our favorite shows together. One of those shows was “Million Little Things,” and the particular episode we were picking up with included quite a bit about Maggie’s journey with cancer. And I hate to admit it but I just lost it. I was crying so hard Taron had to pause the show and pulled me into him, letting me blubber all over his shirt.

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” I stuttered through my sobs.

“Yes you can, Kins. You have to,” he said patiently, staying calm while I broke apart, all of my fears and anger pouring out of me. He held me tightly while I trembled in his arms, stroking my hair and reassuring me as much as it was possible to do. This new reality was terrible and a part of me wished I could go back a day and freeze it there forever, the day before my entire world had tilted, started sliding toward oblivion. My future dreams, my hopes of having a family, of starting an amazing career, they were now clinging precariously to the edge. Cancer could instantly wipe those hopes out.

It took a while for me to calm down, but eventually I had cried myself out. “I’m sorry,” I managed after a bit, but Taron just shook his head.

“No need to be sorry to me. You needed that,” he said, and I saw him hastily wipe at his own eyes, which were a bit red.

“Oh Taron,” I said sweetly as he looked at me, trying to blink away his lingering tears as well.

“I love you so much, you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I could never stand to lose you. I’d lose myself, I think,” he said, his vulnerability tearing right through me.

“I love you too. You’re not going to lose me if I have anything to say about that. And we have plenty to say, like fuck this cancer,” I said, making him chuckle despite himself.

“You’re right, it can fuck right off,” he agreed, tilting my chin up and kissing me, our fears and worries still lingering between us but also so much love.

“We should finish our episode,” I said after we broke apart.

“You sure?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m good. I can be like Maggie. She’s indomitable,” I smiled at that.

“Okay then. Be like Maggie and her badass pink wig,” he grinned, nuzzling sweetly into my neck.

We turned the show back on and managed to make it through without any further breakdowns, but then decided to call it a night. I was absolutely knackered and had an early work shift the next morning, and I wasn’t looking forward to having to tell my boss about my diagnosis. I wasn’t sure how or when to reveal it to my co-workers either; I assumed at some point I would have to take leave from work. Too many thoughts were swirling through my brain as we got ready for bed. We didn’t live together, but two years into our relationship and Taron had his own toothbrush at my place, and some of his clothes had just migrated over, and vice versa. We spent plenty of time apart but occasionally we did spend the night; we had that level of comfort with each other now.

I was more than relieved to crawl into bed with him, our foreheads resting against each other’s for a moment as we gazed at each other. “One day at a time, Kinsey. We’ll beat this together,” he said, his sweet eyes searching my own tired ones.

“And when we’re on the other side of this?” I asked softly, running my fingers over the slight stubble along his jaw.

“Then I intend to make this a forever,” he said sweetly, making my heart beat faster. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it; when you’ve been together for a couple of years, the idea of marriage gets brought up. Of course you want to know that your relationship might move toward that eventuality even if both of you aren’t ready for it yet. But to hear him say it now, it gave me a beautiful reason to fight. I wanted that future he was offering me.

“You are my happily ever after, Taron. I’m so lucky to have you,” I said, as he kissed the tip of my nose and made me giggle slightly.

“It’s the other way around. I’m the luckiest bloke to have you,” he grinned, capturing my lips in more sweet kisses, until we both needed air. I tucked my head in against his chest and let him snuggle me in, pulling the blankets around us tightly, and in that cocoon we felt safe together. I slipped off to sleep, if not peacefully, at least feeling like I could face each day as long as I had Taron.

******

June 14, 2017

Dearest diary:

My name is Kinsey.

I am 25 years old and a total Virgo. I am earning my Master’s degree in Art History and Visual Culture from Richmond University in hopes of being a collections curator for a museum some day. I work full-time for a bookstore and spend time volunteering for a children’s cheer camp in the summers. I love swimming, horseback riding, long walks in the park [cliche but true!] and collaging.

I have the most loving boyfriend a girl could ever ask for, and I can’t tell you how absolutely lucky I am to have him in my life. We’ve been together for two years already, and he makes me ridiculously happy. Sometimes it is challenging to find time to hang out together around his work as an actor, but when we do have time we focus solely on each other. I adore everything about him.

I also have cancer.

Specifically, I have T-cell lymphoblastic lymphoma. And it’s trying to kill me.

I felt the need to tell you all of these things because I want you to know that I am more than my diagnosis. I am more than the treatments I will be going through. I am more than the bad days that will threaten to overwhelm me and make me want to give up. I am determined to defeat the statistics.

It has been one week since the doctor came back with the news. And I am still trying to come to grips with this new reality. Of course you hear all of the stories of the horrible side effects of chemotherapy; the exhaustion and nausea and losing your hair. The amount of information you suddenly have to deal with is overwhelming. I now have an entire “care team” meant to keep me alive. It makes me feel like a diva sometimes, but I also know there might be a time I’m too sick to wipe my own ass and I’ll need those people around me. And that reality is sobering.

I’m questioning basically everything at the moment; there are so many unknowns. So many more tests to figure out how far the cancer has invaded my body before we can even figure out a treatment plan. I know a part of that, of course, will be the multiple rounds of chemo to burn the cancer away, enough to make my head spin. I know it will make me sick, and I don’t want to be sick, but my only other choice is death, and I’m too damn young and I have too damn much to look forward to to choose that as an option.

So here I am, trying to write down the highs and the lows of this journey, to keep a record so to speak. My cancer therapist (there’s such a thing) said it would be a good idea, to keep me from feeling hopeless, so I’ll do anything they tell me to do if it means making me healthy again. If it means winning this battle. Even keeping this diary.

Because I’m determined to have a future with Taron, to give him babies and to make him ridiculously happy for the rest of our days. I can’t do that if I’m no longer a part of this earth. So I’ll survive the sick days, fight through the hopeless days, wear my bald head with pride if it means I get that future with him. Cancer can’t and won’t defeat me, not this time, not ever.

How will Kinsey’s journey unfold? Keep reading in Chapter 2 - Coming soon.

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron x reader #taron fanfiction

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imdoingthismspaintadventure · 5 years

Text

Worm 2.4 - In which Emma and her friends are utter monsters

“Nobody likes her. Nobody wants her here,” Julia said.

“Such a loser. She didn’t even turn in the major project for art, last Friday,” Sophia responded.

“If she’s not going to try, then why is she even coming to school?”

Ooh goodie! This chapter is already starting out fucked!

Despite the way the conversation sounded, they were talking to me. They were just pretending to talk to one another. It was both calculating in how they were managing plausible deniability while at the same time they were acting totally juvenile by pretending I wasn’t there. A blend of immaturity mixed with craftiness in a way only high schoolers could manage. I would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it, if it hadn’t been at my expense.

Wildbow captures the malignant pettiness of high school bullying so well. This is already making me mad with how ..real it is. The crude but effective phychological abuse.

The moment I had left the classroom, Emma, Madison and Sophia had crowded me into a corner, with another six girls backing them up. I was unable to squeeze past them without getting pushed or elbowed back, so I couldn’t do much more than lean against the window, listening while eight of the girls were rattling off an endless series of taunts and jibes. Before one girl was even finished, another started up. All the while, Emma stayed back and stayed quiet, the slightest of smiles on her face. I couldn’t meet the eyes of any of the other girls without them barking a fresh torrent of insults directly to my face, so I just glared at Emma.

I bet Emma is just relishing in all the social power she has here, letting her minions do everything for her and just looking amused at Taylor’s expense

Social hierarchy is such a cancerous thing in high school.

“Ugliest girl in our grade.”

They were barely thinking about what they were saying and a lot of the insults were wildly off the mark or contradictory. One would say I was a slut, for example, then another might say a guy would puke before he touched me. The point wasn’t being witty, being smart or being on target. It was more about delivering the feeling behind the words over and over, hammering it in. If I’d had just a moment to butt in, maybe I could have come up with retorts. If I could just kill their momentum, they probably wouldn’t get back into the easy rhythm again. That said, I couldn’t find the words, and there weren’t any openings in the conversation where I wouldn’t just be talked over.

They are taking the approach of trying to land as many hits as possible, without even bothering for coherency or effectiveness. Just a nice way for them to say to her how much they fucking loathe her.

Lovely

While this particular tactic was new to me, I’d been putting up with stuff like this for a year and a half, now. At a certain point, I’d come to the conclusion that it was easier to sit back and take it, when it came to most things. They wanted me to fight back, because everything was stacked in their favor. If I stood up for myself and they still ‘won’, then it only served to feed their egos. If I came out ahead in some way, then they got more persistent and mean for the next time. So for much the same reason I hadn’t fought Madison for the homework she had taken from me, I just leaned against the wall next to the window and waited for them to get bored with their game or get hungry enough to leave and go have their lunches.

Ugghghghghghghg

The whole situation is just horrible. If she fights back they would call her crazy or dangerous or pathetic and they will intensify their abuse. But just taking it like this can’t be good for her psyche, with all the constant and relentless aggresion.

“What does she use to wash her face? A Brillo pad?”

“She should! She’d look better!”

“Never talks to anybody. Maybe she knows she sounds like a retard and keeps her mouth shut.”

“No, she’s not that smart.”

No more than three feet behind Emma, I could see Mr. Gladly leaving his classroom. The tirade didn’t stop as I watched him tuck a stack of folders under one arm, find his keys and lock the door.

“If I were her, I’d kill myself,” one of the girls announced.

Mr. Gladly turned to look me in the eyes.

First off, that kys comment made me considerably even more disgusted

Second, Mr Gladly, you can see it happening, right now! Please do something! Even if it is just breaking this up with your presence.

“So glad we don’t have gym with her. Can you imagine seeing her in the locker room? Gag me with a spoon.”

I don’t know what expression I had on my face, but I know I didn’t look happy. No less than five minutes ago, Mr. Gladly had been trying to convince me to go with him to the office and tell the principal about the bullying. I watched him as he gave me a sad look, shifted the file folders to his free hand and then walked away.

GLADLY YOU INCREDIBLE PIECE OF SHIT

Way to prove how ineffective the school system would be, with just a single action

Most friendly and approachable teacher? More like most utterly spineless coward

I was stunned. I just couldn’t wrap my head around how he could just ignore this. When he had been trying to help me, had he just been covering his own ass, doing what was required of him in the face of a situation he couldn’t ignore? Had he just given up on me? After trying to help, in his own completely ineffective way, after I turned his offer for help down twice, he just decided I just wasn’t worth the effort?

I really hope Gladly isn’t just rationalizing this as being fine because Taylor refused his help. Because that ISNT HOW THAT WORKS

YOU’RE A GROWN-ASS ADULT, YOU SHOULD KNOW NOT TO LIMPLY WALK AWAY FROM A GROUP OF STUDENTS ABUSING ANOTHER STUDENT TO THE POINT OF CALLING FOR HER SUICIDE. EVEN IF SHE REFUSES YOUR HELP, IT IS YOUR DUTY AS HER TEACHER AND AS A FUCKING HUMAN BEING

“You should have seen her group fail in class just now. It was painful to watch.”

OH AND YOU ALL CAN ALSO GO TO HELL WITH THE ASSIGNMENT BULLSHIT

I clenched my fist, then forced myself to relax it. If we were all guys, this scenario would be totally different. I was in the best shape of my life. I could have swung a few punches from the very start, caused a bloody nose or two, maybe. I know I would have lost the fight in the end, getting shoved to the ground by force of numbers and kicked while I was down, but things would have ended there, instead of dragging on like they were here. I’d hurt physically for days afterwards, but I’d at least have had the satisfaction of knowing some of the others were hurting too, and I wouldn’t have to sit through this barrage of insults. If there was enough damage done, the school would have to take notice, and they wouldn’t be able to ignore the circumstances of a one-against-nine fight. Violence gets attention.

But things didn’t work that way here. Girls played dirty. If I decked Emma, she would run to the office with some fabricated story, her friends backing up her version of events. For most, ratting to the faculty was social suicide, but Emma was more or less top dog. If she went to the principal, people would only take things more seriously. By the time I got back to school, they would have spread the story through the grapevine in a way that made me look like a total psycho. Things would get worse. Emma would be seen as the victim and girls who had previously ignored the bullying would join in on Emma’s behalf.

One of the reasons why psychological abuse is so much more insidious than phisical abuse in many cases. It is so much harder to fight against.

“And she smells,” one girl said, lamely.

“Like expired grape and orange juice,” Madison cut in with a little laugh. Again, bringing up the juice? I suspected that one had been her idea.

Madison, fuck off

It seemed like they were running out of steam. I figured it was just a minute or two before they got bored and walked away.

It seemed Emma got the same impression, because she stepped forward. The group parted to give her room.

“What’s the matter, Taylor?” Emma said, “You look upset.”

Emma, fuck off

Her words didn’t seem to fit the situation. I had maintained my composure for however long they had been at it. What I’d been feeling was more a mixture of frustration and boredom than anything else. I opened my mouth to say something. A graceless “Fuck you” would have sufficed.

That Taylor is so jaded that this doesn’t even affect her that much is so fucking depressing

“So upset you’re going to cry yourself to sleep for a straight week?” she asked.

My words died in my throat as I processed her words.

.....You just pulled some psychological bullshit didn’t you?

Almost a year before we had started high school, I had been at her house, the both of us eating breakfast and playing music way too loud. Emma’s older sister had come downstairs with the phone. We’d turned down the music, and my dad had been on the other end, waiting to tell me in a broken voice that my mom had died in a car accident

....Oh no. No no no no

I see what Emma might have just done and it is fucking evil

And this confirms that her mom died instead of her and Danny just breaking up...Fuck

Emma’s sister had given me a ride to my place, and I bawled the entire way there. I remember Emma crying too, out of sympathy, maybe. It could have been the fact that she thought my mom was the coolest adult in the world. Or perhaps it was because we really were best friends and she had no idea how to help me.

....What happened to you Emma? What made you so fucked up? How did you change so much. You cried about her mom, you were or at least seemed decent once!

I didn’t want to think about the month that had followed, but fragments came to mind without my asking. I could remember overhearing my dad berating my mother’s body, because she’d been texting while driving, and she was the only one to blame. At one point, I barely ate for five straight days, because my dad was such a wreck that I wasn’t on his radar. I’d eventually turned to Emma for help, asking to eat at her place for a few days. I think Emma’s mom figured things out, and gave my dad a talking to, because he started pulling things together. We’d established our routine, so we wouldn’t fall apart as a family again.

Knowing Danny he probably blamed himself more than he blamed her. And he shutting down like that... oh god.

And the fact that Emma was a shining light in all this is just so... twisted

Now Taylor doesn’t even have the moments of respite and support from that anymore. When Emma betrayed her, she betrayed her completely and utterly. These memories are retroactively tainted because of her

It was a month after my mom had died that Emma and I had found ourselves sitting on the bridge of a kid’s play structure in the park, our rear ends cold from the damp wood, sipping coffee we’d bought from the Donut Hole. We didn’t have anything to do, so we had just been walking around and talking about whatever. Our wandering had taken us to the playground, and we were resting our heels.

“You know, I admire you,” she had said, abruptly.

This sad and beautifully bitterweet memory, absolutely corrupted

“Why?” I had responded, completely mystified about the fact that someone gorgeous and amazing and popular like her could find something to admire in me.

“You’re so resilient. After your mom died, you were totally in pieces, but you’re so together after a month. I couldn’t do that.”

Past Emma makes me rage and fucking cry.

She honesly seemed like a good friend and isn’t that terrifying? That a close friend, a trusted friend, could backstab you like that?

I could remember my admission, “I’m not resilient. I can hold it together during the day, but I’ve cried myself to sleep for a straight week.”

That had been enough to open the floodgates, right there. She gave me her shoulder to cry on, and our coffee was cold before I was done.

AND THERE IT FUCKING IS

Emma you fucking monster

How dare you

Now, as I gaped at Emma, wordless, her smile widened. She remembered what I had said, then. She knew the memories it would evoke. At some point, that recollection had crossed her mind, and she had decided to weaponize it. She’d been waiting to drop it on me.

You’re so fucking repulsive

Fuck me, it worked. I felt the trail of a tear on my cheek. My power roared at the edges of my consciousness, buzzing, pressuring me. I suppressed it.

“She is! She’s crying!” Madison laughed.

Angry at myself, I rubbed my hand over my cheek to brush the tear away. More were already welling up, ready to take its place.

“It’s like you have a superpower, Emma!” one of the girls tittered.

You all better be thankful you’re not bug food at this point

I had taken off my backpack so I could lean against the wall. I reached to pick it up, but before I could, a foot hooked through the strap and dragged it away from me. I looked up and saw the owner of the foot – dark skinned, willowy Sophia – smirking at me.

“Oh em gee! What’s she doing?” one of the girls said.

Sophia was leaning against the wall, one foot casually resting on top of my backpack. I didn’t think it was worth fighting her over, if it gave her an opportunity to continue her game of keep-away. I left the bag where it was and shoved my way through the gathered girls, bumping an onlooker with my shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. I ran into the stairwell and out the doors on the ground floor.

Ok Sophia you can go die as well.

What an absolutely horrible group of people, holy shit.

I fled. I didn’t check, but chances were they were watching from the window at the end of the hallway. It didn’t really matter. The fact that I had just promised to pay thirty five bucks of my own money for a World Issues textbook to replace the one that had been soaked with grape juice wasn’t my top concern. Even if it was pretty much all the money I had left after buying the pieces for my costume. My art midterm was in my bag as well, newly repaired. I knew I wouldn’t get any of it back in one piece, if at all.

God this feels so hopeless.

The school is watching this and seeing how it’s making her miss classes and violate deadlines and they do nothing

No, my primary concern was getting out of there. I wasn’t going to break the promise I had made to myself. No using powers on them. That was the line I wasn’t crossing. Even if I did something utterly innocuous, like give them all lice, I didn’t trust myself to stop there. I didn’t trust myself to keep from offering blatant hints that I had powers or spoiling my secret identity just to see the looks on their faces when they realized the girl they had been tormenting was a bona-fide superhero. It was something I couldn’t help but daydream about, but I knew the long term ramifications would spoil that.

That is a sweet revenge fantasy, but yeah, compromising your secret identity isn’t worth it. There’s already a crazy dragon who wants you dead if he ever escapes

Perhaps most important, I rationalized, was keeping the two worlds separate. What use was escapism, if the world I was escaping to was muddled with the people and things I was trying to avoid?

I feel you there, Taylor.

Even without any problems like you have, I would cringe if my different worlds (university, family, friends, online...) collided

Before the thought of going back to school had even crossed my mind, I found myself wondering what I was going to do to fill my afternoon.

...You’re totally going to consider TT’s proposal right now, aren’t you?

#Worm #Worm liveblog #worm parahumans #parahumans #parahumans liveblog #wildbow #Worm 2.4 #Arc 2

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brokasteltranslations · 5 years

Text

Fate/Requiem: Chapter 1

Once upon a time, there was a great war. It happened long ago, before I was born. And then it ended, and the world entered an age of peace.

–

In the modern era, each and every person held within their heart a tiny Holy Grail, which was nothing more or less than that person's preordained destiny. And each and every person was capable of summoning a Servant allotted them by fate, in accordance with the guidance of the Grail.

Servants were an information resource by nature, accumulated throughout human history. Their souls were enshrined in the Throne of Heroes, a place which transcended the bounds of space and time. By 'downloading' them from this Throne, it was possible to manifest them in our world.

–

The shape of the world changed greatly after the war. This town was born anew - reorganised into city units, known collectively as Mosaic City. Among them was Akihabara, the Maritime City, which I called home. Sea levels had risen dramatically as a result of global warming, and now the city quite literally bordered on the ocean. The Kanda river's name was nothing more than a vestige of the pre-war era; in reality, it was nothing more than a canal through which sea water flowed.

–

This town was watched over by the Holy Grail, and not a day went by when its citizens did not partake of its bounties. Those survivors from before the war had been given the opportunity to obtain a Grail upon its conclusion, while those young enough to have been born after the war, like Karin, possessed one within their hearts from birth.

The Grail had brought immortality to the masses. The principal causes of death in the old world – biological factors such as ageing, genetic degradation, infectious diseases, viruses and malignant cancers – had all been conquered. By expending Command Seals, one could even manipulate their biological age. In this city, one of humanity's oldest, dearest wishes – eternal youth – had been realised.

–

But I was different. I alone stood apart. I was the only citizen of this city who had not been granted a Holy Grail. I had been born into this new world, but I would age naturally – and, eventually, die – with all the senselessness characteristic of the old. An irregularity, born outside of the sight of the Grail. That was what I was – me, Utsumi Erice.

With no Holy Grail, I had no Servant to contract with as my partner. Every once in a while, someone would be unable to stifle the urge to ask me how that felt. If it were up to me, I would laugh at them, and tell them that they'd never understand even if I tried to explain – but I'd been chided no small number of times by my master for that. You would be remiss to be callous in your interaction with your social environment, if you wish to live peacefully in this new world.

So, for lack of anything else to say, I answered them like this:

“Imagine you were incredibly short-sighted, to the point where you could hardly see, but you were told you weren't allowed to wear glasses.”

“Imagine being told you had to travel somewhere on foot, while everyone else was allowed to use trains and buses.”

“Imagine going somewhere you've never been before, only to find that the navigation app on your smartphone was an unusable piece of junk.”

The question I had by far the most trouble with was the question of how I survived day-to-day life without Command Seals, which were one of the bounties of the Grail. On that point, no matter how thoroughly I tried to explain, most other people seemed to struggle to understand my situation any more than vaguely, and ultimately had no interest anyway. That was the ideal response, as far as I was concerned. I could find no fault with that.

There were also those who genuinely understood, and responded with exaggerated surprise and sympathy. Some would offer me the usage of their own Command Seals, assuring me with fawning pity that I could come to them if there was ever anything they could do for me. There were even a few so selflessly empathetic that they claimed to truly want to trade places with me – although always with some condition attached, by which they could return things to normal if they so pleased.

Every such encounter reminded me anew that I was nothing more than an amusement to them. A means of flattering their own altruistic sensibilities, and of relieving their boredom for a little while.

Akihabara was a labyrinth in three dimensions, not just two. In a block nestled a comfortable distance from the downtown area on the middle stratum, bordering a natural public park, stood a multi-storey building housing a collection of public service facilities. Contained on one floor of this building was the classroom I frequented.

I had arrived slightly late for the start time, and hurriedly took my seat. The wide, fan-shaped room was almost devoid of students. This was decidedly not a facility for compulsory education; it was offered the people at large educational lecture courses aimed at fostering lifelong learning. Citizens of all ages took the course, and attending every single lecture was virtually unheard-of. Consequently, I was known as something of an eccentric.

The people here knew nothing of the battle of immortals that occurred last night. Those kinds of incidents never made the news.

–

Well then – it was time for Pre-War Human History.

That was the name of the course I was taking. Unfortunately, it could hardly have been called the most popular subject. The content of the lectures was much closer to trivia than education. The main goal of Pre-War Human History comprised learning about the human race's greatest triumphs and blunders in the world of the past. It was...well, to put it bluntly, dry.

In the first place, Akihabara was Mosaic City's premier resort. Students who were sincerely striving to learn, or families concerned with the proper education of their children, would simply up and leave for another district. I had an inclination that this space only really existed to entertain the interests of the lecturer at the front of the hall – my master, Ms. Fujimura.

–

Oh, it looks like that girl's here again.

I cast a quick glance out over the lecture theatre from my usual perch at the back. A small, familiar figure was sat in the very front row, concentrating intently on the lecture. She had come again today. As a rule, I never saw students younger than myself attending these lectures, so she had stuck in my memory. She was a pale child, short in stature, and perhaps old enough to be at the upper end of elementary school. Her voice and attitude during the occasions that she posed questions to the lecturer had given me the impression that she was female, but there was no guarantee. All kinds of people lived in this city.

Her had was invariably pulled down low over her head, and her eyes were covered by her bangs, so I hadn't ever seen her face clearly. I had never engaged her in conversation, and I didn't even know her name. She appeared in lectures once a month or so; I felt a distinct disconnect between her keen attitude in lectures and her abysmal attendance rate.

Today, her standing record for youngest lecture attendee had been broken. The new champion was none other than my companion: the stray Servant I had taken in last night, the golden-haired child. He was at least sitting in his seat for now without making a fuss, but he was fidgeting constantly - rocking his body to and fro, and sometimes lying down as though trying to savour the feeling of the cool wood of the chair. Or so I was thinking, before he suddenly turned to peer into my face, obstructing my view of my tablet.

“You think you're a cat or something?”

“...Ca-...cat?”

“Maybe you're more of a dog, huh. Your hair's all floofy.”

“Dog?”

“Yeah, a dog. You know, woof-woof.”

“I know dogs.”

“Oh, really? Well, I'm glad for y- what the hell do you think you're doing!?”

He had scrambled up onto the seat of his chair, planted both hands on the desk and begun to howl, loud and proud.

Awooooo! Ow-ow-owooo! Awoooooo!

He finished his surprisingly accurate rendition, flashing a beaming smile. I sat for a moment in silent astonishment – and might perhaps have thought for a moment that it was a little endearing, although this really wasn't the time for that.

“Hey, stop that! Get down from there!”

Give me a break. I was just about to give you credit for at least not being as loud as Karin, and you go and pull this. The other attendees were turning back to look at us now, searching for the source of the noise.

“I'm sorry. We'll be quiet. I'm really sorry.”

My master had stopped giving her lecture, and was cocking her head at us. The girl in the front row was looking too. If looks could kill, the glare boring into me from beneath her bangs would have dropped me stone dead. Although I couldn't exactly blame her for getting annoyed at someone bringing this commotion into a class.

Yes miss I'm so terribly sorry I won't do it again...ugh, what did I do to deserve this...

I had no way of knowing how to handle a young child like this boy in the first place – but that said, I also couldn't possible have left him behind in my apartment by himself. And I had thought to myself that I might learn something about him if I brought him here with me.

“Don't dogs say “bow-wow” in English, anyway?”

“Boh-roh.”

“Not even close. Must be nice to be able to mimic things like that, huh...”

Ohh boy. Starting to get the feeling I'm not going to be learning much from today's lecture...

I rested my head on my hand and pouted. Gazing idly at the young boy's angelic face out of the corner of my eye, I cast my mind back through my memories of my baptism last night.

It had happened on the previous evening, after I had been fished from the riverbed by Karin and Kouyou on the wharf. To cut a long story short, I decided to take the boy back to my apartment and put him up for the night, still none the wiser about who he was or where he had come from.

–

I had been living on my own ever since parting ways with my grandmother.

In a quiet corner of Akihabara, there was a small, depopulated district that most people avoided. Before the war, it had comprised a collection of multi-purpose buildings crammed to bursting with shops, but they had all been abandoned after the Grail's large-scale restructuring of the city. My apartment consisted of a room in one such building.

The inside of the room was decorated in Victorian style. Every inch of floor was covered by wooden floorboards, and its antique interior had been preserved unaltered. Apparently, it had originally housed some kind of dubious culinary establishment known as a “maid cafe”.

–

My apartment wasn't exactly designed for ease of living, but it was furnished with a proper bathroom and bedroom, and was more than sufficient for one person to live in comfortably. It even had a veranda, albeit a small one. From the window of my bedroom I could gaze out over a small vertical slice of ocean hemmed in by the surrounding buildings.

–

My opportunities to invite another person back to this humble abode were rare. Considering my job, the risks involved in freely letting others know where I lived were far too high. The only reason I had brought this child back with me was that it would have been too irresponsible to leave him to his own devices. I didn't even know who his contractor was; to have allowed him to freely roam the town would have been unthinkable.

He might have manifested in the form of an innocent child, but that only set me more on edge. I had allowed myself to be disarmed by a target's outward appearance before, on a previous job, and had made a grave mistake because of it. A Servant I had believed nothing more than an angelic young child - like purity itself sculpted in alabaster - had harboured a terrible darkness. The Avenger, Louis XVII. The incident that arose around that particular monstrosity had ultimately claimed not only the life of his Master, but those of a great number of innocents as well.

At the time, I had not yet fully graduated from childhood. Louis and I had been similar in stature, and I had thought we could have been good friends. In the end, however, my friendship and goodwill had been used and turned against me. That incident was not one I would forget easily.

–

There was another reason that I had brought this stray child back with me: I had been driven to my wits' end in another sense. Frankly speaking, I could not take it any more: the rank stench that permeated the both of us had become unbearable, and I could not bear to go another minute without washing it off.

The culprit was the oil slick near the quay that I'd had the ill fortune to be dragged through when I was fished out of the Kanda river. Petroleum-based waste oil, that had leaked from one of the boats moored in the harbour. I had hardly had the time to worry about such things immediately after being deposited on the wharf, but now that I had returned to my senses the discomfort was driving me to distraction. Pouring water over myself or wiping myself down with paper towels would do nothing to remove this - I needed a proper bath.

I had been stopped by a worried Karin when I had tried to totter my way home, still bearing a serious wound that I had no right to have recovered from so quickly. She had only seen me off after I had explained about the charms and such that I kept in my house. She was easygoing like that.

I had tried to invite her to stay the night here, but she had breezily turned me down, saying that she had a friend in the vicinity who would put her up for the night. Karin's social connections remained as much a mystery to me as ever. Although she had given me a rueful smile, saying that her family would be angry with her for returning home the following morning.

–

In any case, I had finally returned home, and could allow myself to relax a little. I looked the boy over once more, this time with the aid of my apartment's artificial lights.

“Hold on. Hey, no, wait, wait, wait! Don't just go right in! Just stand here for a minute.”

I grabbed him by his sodden scarf and yanked him back, prompting a visible sulk.

“Uh...sorry.”

So he did possess emotions, and the capacity to appeal to them. That would be useful, at least.

Both of us looked ridiculous, soaked from head to toe and glistening with oil. I was at least wearing swimwear and a windbreaker in place of my ordinary clothes, but his lot was a much more miserable one. I could feel my memories of the unearthly spectacle I had witnessed below the surface of the water growing more distant by the minute.

Alll-righty. I pulled myself together, and sank to one knee in the entranceway, looking over this child once more from top to toe.

He at least appeared to be eight, maybe nine years old. He was Caucasian, with the pale features particular to Scandinavian climes - although given that Servants were as much concept as they were genetics, any attempt to determine their race was close to meaningless. His hair was a pale blonde, almost white, and it had been left to grow freely.

His scarf was sodden, and hung limp around his neck. Or maybe it was a muffler? Well, it wasn't as though it mattered. It was composed of fabric knitted from some strange, gaudy material – it was hard to say if it was actual gold, or just extremely intricate needlework. His clothing looked to be made of cotton, and had a simple design, reminiscent of a Greek-style tunic. He had a small embroidered design on his chest, which I made a note of as a potentially important clue.

His belt and shoes were made of the same material as his scarf. The heels of the latter had a strange design; they were tapered towards the back, like spurs used for riding horses. I could have taken that as an indication that in life he had been some sort of knight – but nothing else about him gave that impression. He's nothing like any other Saber or Rider-class Servants I've seen.

His pale blue eyes stared back at me questioningly as I scrutinised him. I was seized by a sudden rush of curiosity.

“Hey. Do you think you could tell me where you came from?”

He smoothly lifted an arm to point towards the ceiling.

“From the sky? From Heaven? You don't mean from the moon, do you?”

He shook his head at all of them.

“I've come...from somewhere very far away.”

“All Servants have.”

“...Really?” He must have found something amusing, because his face blossomed into a smile, and he giggled. I was relieved at the unexpected ease with which I was able to communicate with him, although it seemed like he was still struggling to understand what I was saying.

His first words had been in halting English, but from the way he had appeared to be listening in on the conversation between me and Karin I would venture that he at least understood our language. If he was a Servant who had been summoned legitimately, he would have been granted a bare minimum level of common knowledge about the modern era by the Grail, as well as the linguistic capabilities necessary to express himself to others naturally. However, now that I was trying to determine his true name, that was only serving to impede my search.

As I questioned him, I produced a pair of scissors and carefully snipped a five-millimetre length of thread from the back of his tunic, which I deposited in a zip-lock sample bag.

“Would you mind letting me take one of your hairs as well?”

It looked like he was giving me the ok. He did as I asked, without resisting, and as I did he asked me a question.

“Have you come from somewhere far away like me, Eri?”

“Don't call me that. Did you get that from Karin? Alright, listen here. I'm not “Eri”, I'm not “Old man Eri”, and I'm not “Eri-pie”. I'm Erice. Utsumi Erice.”

“Hmm.”

He remained staring at me, giving me no indication whether or not he'd understood. His reaction was a little dispiriting, but I continued anyway. If I kept talking, I might be able to glean something.

“It's not all that far away, really. I was born in Shinjuku. I'm fourteen now, so I guess you could call me a middle schooler, but I don't usually go to school anyway.”

“What's a 'school'?”

“A school is...it's where you go to learn. It's a big building where lots of children all go. Or at least, that's what I hear it was like before the war. They've changed a lot since then.”

“You don't go to school, Eri?”

“I told you to call me Erice. And I don't need to. I'm passing my academic evaluations, and I'm getting the credits I need from extracurricular courses. And I show up for health inspections and such.”

“You don't want to go to school, do you?”

I grit my teeth. He'd hit the nail on the head. He was annoyingly good at that.

“It's...not a matter of whether I want to go or not. I...I have more important things to do.”

“You're alone.” He cocked his head, and then broke out into another smile. “Just like me.”

I suppressed my irritation silently as I tapped at my tablet. I was trying a search for the symbol embroidered on his chest, but nothing was coming up. Just in case, I tried accessing the city network, but no-one had registered any missing Servants - although it wasn't as though that was a frequent occurrence anyway. I could ask my master about any information that might be being suppressed on a public level, but I could hardly go blithely to her cap-in-hand. Not after I had tried to hide from her that I had disobeyed her orders and let Kundry go.

Even so, there was one theory as to his identity that I had managed to come up with. Spurred on by that, I decided to bite the bullet.

“So, which Servant are you?”

“...?”

He tilted his head in confusion. Was he trying to play dumb? It didn't look like an act, at any rate. It seemed that somehow, he really didn't understand the concept of a Servant. Was that even possible?

“I'm asking about your true name. Although your nickname will do, if that's better-known.”

Once, Servants would not have revealed their true name lightly, but that was before the war. In the modern world, it had become more of a question of personal privacy. No small number of Servants had origins that could complicate life in Mosaic City if they became known to others, and the degree of discretion necessary might also change depending on their relationship with their Master.

This boy likely wouldn't talk about his true name if his unknown Master did not wish it. And all the more so if he didn't have one at all.

“Your name, I said. Tell me your name.”

“...Name?”

“That's right. Your name.”

“Don't you know it?”

“...Huh? Don't I...you mean my name?”

It was supposed to be me asking the questions here. I was starting to feel that if I just allowed this wide-eyed child to talk at his own pace, I would end up the one being profiled.

Abruptly, he opened his mouth again. “There's something I've lost.”

“Something you've lost? What did you lose?”

“I don't know.”

I heaved a sigh. At the same moment, a sharp stench once more pricked at my nostrils.

“It sounds like you're suffering from memory loss. I think things like that can happen after summoning...? Well, anyway, there's nothing we can do for now. And I'm about at my wits' end, so right now I'm going to have a shower. I'll let you use the bathroom too, so go on ahead.”

“Show-er?”

“A shower. You know, like a bath.”

“...A bath?”

“Wait, you really don't know? Don't tell me you don't even know what a shower is? Hang on, have you ever even had a wash?”

He shook his head. Apparently he really hadn't ever experienced a bath. Although even if he hadn't, surely the idea itself fell under common knowledge.

Do your job, Holy Grail.

For as long as I had lived here, my bathroom had been rather chic. It had a French-style interior, and was easily wide enough for two people. The star of the show was a shallow enamel bathtub, pulled straight from a western movie. Incidentally, the bedroom was decorated in equally charming fashion, and was the biggest reason I chose this apartment.

The design was uncharacteristically luxurious for a department store coffee shop. Either the owner had been extremely specific tastes...or from the beginning, this building had been designed with less-than-wholesome purposes in mind. Probably the latter. Not that that had anything to do with me; I was nothing more than a grateful beneficiary. But it did mean one more thing for Karin to tease me about.

I gritted my teeth, and led the boy by the hand to the bathroom. He was still dawdling, unsure as to what was going on. I had him take off his clothes and made him stand in the dressing room. Then I set to filling the bathtub, removing my own dirtied clothing as I did so. He's just a kid. What's there to be embarrassed about? Nothing! That's right, nothing at all.

There was still an outside chance that he would turn out to have the mind of a middle-aged man, but I'd cross that bridge if I came to it.

“I suppose I'd better put my swimsuit in to soak...ouch!”

Agony lanced through me as I twisted my body the wrong way. I re-treated the injury to my abdomen, and covered it over with a water-resistant patch. It was still undergoing accelerated recovery, and it was warm to the touch. The wound was serious enough that with the treatment methods of the past, oligemic shock and acute inflammation would have been unavoidable. But this new world had conquered death itself, and treatments for injuries and accidents had not been overlooked on the way. Many technologies had been developed during the war, and now I reaped the benefits.

“It looks like it hurts.”

“Well, maybe a little.”

His eyes were drawn to the scar on my ear, and he screwed up his face.

“It isn’t nice, is it? Every thorn-prick makes its own hole.”

“...You said it.”

Was he worrying that I might be left with a scar, in his own way? If so, he was quite the gentleman.

“But it's ok. Kouyou patched it up for me, so it'll heal with time.”

For my part, I carefully looked his naked body up and down once more. This was a vital step in my investigation, and thus an entirely proper and lawful act.

He was...definitely a boy, yep.

–

Once I had painstakingly washed away the cause of the stench, I finally entered the bathtub - along with the boy, who was trying to escape at any opportunity.

“It's hot.”

“That's what's good about it. Ordinary Servants love to take baths. They're all very happy to get in. There are even some who have baths as their Noble Phantasms. There's one who summons this great big bathchamber, called Terme di Caracalla...”

“I want to get out.”

He was pulling a very sullen expression, but at least he was being obedient.

I can't see any scars on him. His muscles and weight don't seem any different from a normal child's, either. I found it very hard to believe that he might be some kind of knight summoned in their youth. When he'd said that he didn't know what a bath was, the first thing I'd suspected was child abuse; Heroic Spirits who had come from such unhappy backgrounds were too numerous to count. But he showed no sign of having received that kind of treatment, or at least not outwardly.

My confidence in my hypothesis was growing stronger, and I decided to put it to the test.

–

I stretched out from the bathtub. With the steam-clouded mirror as my canvas, I drew a picture of a hat with my fingertip. It was a crude sketch of an old-fashioned, wide-brimmed men's hat with a slightly indented top, as seen from the side.

“Hey. Can you tell me what this is?” I asked him hesitantly, my chest pounding nervously. It only took a brief glance at the picture before he answered.

“It's...a snake.”

I started. For a moment, I was lost for words.

“It looks like it's eaten something big.”

He'd answered my question perfectly.

“It scares me a little.”

Droplets fell from his body as he shivered and turned away. I hadn't even imagined that he might show such a violent reaction. I quickly wiped away the picture on the mirror, and found myself patting his head to try and reassure him. I could feel the slickness of his wet hair and the warmth of his body through the palm of my hand.

“What about “B-612”? Or maybe you could call it “Besixdouze”?”

“Yes.” He nodded in answer. No hesitation.

“You know it?”

“It's a planet, isn't it? But there's no-one there.”

I was silent for a moment. That's right. It's a planet. Of course it is.

“I see...so there's no-one there. But I think...I might know your true name now.”’

B-612 was the name of an asteroid that orbited the solar system. It was not remarkable in any way, save for the fact that it had been discovered by a Japanese national. It would hardly be included in the common knowledge that the Holy Grail bestowed upon Servants. But that asteroid was named for a novella from a foreign country, and the title of that novella was “The Little Prince”.

On a sudden impulse, I embraced him. In the bathtub, I wrapped my arms around his narrow shoulders from behind, and squeezed him tight. So as not to break him. So as not to hurt him.

“If only...if only you had been my Servant...”

He showed no sign of answering me.

Before entering the bathtub, as I was washing myself, I had checked everywhere. Desperately, I had searched to see if Command Seals, the proof of a contract with a Servant, had appeared anywhere on my body. I had strained my eyes in the mirror, checking my back, beneath the translucent medical patch, even the soles of my feet. But they were nowhere to be seen.

Then I was no-one's Master. I could not have made any contract with this boy through the Grail. I was just the Reaper, the same as I had always been.

In that case, what had that sense of foreboding been?

What had that trembling been in my chest? That sense that something had begun that would change my life forever?

In the end, it had all just been my own wishful thinking.

–

After the bath, we retired to my living-cum-dining room, where a mahogany table had stood ever since this place was a cafe. The boy sat in a chair, working his way through a lasagne that I had microwaved from frozen. I was recording the day's events, tablet in hand and a towel around my head, and I was blushing as red as his bolognese sauce. I felt incredibly embarrassed. This boy hadn't even yet come of age, but I had suddenly embraced him, whispered something that felt almost like a confession of love, and then ended up crying. While naked, no less.

His only response, after a while had passed, had been to furrow his eyebrows and complain “It's hot”.

“Is that good?”, I asked.

“It tastes.”

“Really? Sounds great.”

The samples I had taken earlier were on the table. Both contents of the zip-lock bag had vanished, just as I had expected. Separated from his body, his hair and the thread from his tunic had ceased to exist in their pseudo-physical form, and had reverted to being part of his mana. In other words, his body and the clothes he wore were woven from the stuff. That made for strong evidence that he was a Servant - but it was unneeded, because an easier way to tell was right before my eyes. The clothes that I had left on the floor of the dressing room had since returned to a clean, dry state.

The scarf that he wore around his neck floated freely, with no regard for the laws of physics. Even while he was eating, it fluttered gently, as though rising upon the wind. Needless to say, there was no wind inside my apartment.

He couldn't be the Simoun...could he? The poison wind?

–

The night had grown late, and I wrestled with the sleepiness and exhaustion that assailed me as I stared at my tablet. I thought back to the words I had exchanged with the Flying Dutchman, Captain Van der Decken. Every word of the warning he had given me lay heavy on my breast.

Until it became clear that our enemy was the mad queen, he had maintained a policy of non-interference, and only once had he commented on my methods. He had been cursed by a devil of the ocean. My lot was not too dissimilar - for I too was cursed, and possessed by evil spirits. Living my life beyond the sight of the Grail, I might as well have been a naked offering to them. But that was also the reason that I'd lasted as long as I had in this job.

I had let my guard down. I had allowed myself to believe that Captain Van der Decken and I might have been able to find an understanding, as bearers of the same fate. But he had seen through those naïve expectations, and had roughly spurned my advances.

“You have grown to feel joy in the act of slaying Servants, under the pretence of executing the authority of the city. Though you think yourself the master of your spectres, they in turn use you.”

He was telling me, in a roundabout way, that I was intoxicated by the idea of being a superhero. That what I had believed to be pride was in fact conceit.

“Someday, Erice, you will call forth a great evil. And when that time comes, that which you have clung to so dearly will instead force you to your knees.”

Unable to accept his words and fiercely ashamed, I had retorted with some frivolous argument - although I could admit now that it had just been something I had cooked up to make myself feel better. At the time I had thought he was just trying to put me in my place, but thinking back on it now, his words might have been as much in reproach of himself as they had been for me. His relationship with his contractor Aheseurus - equal in spite of being Master and Servant - spoke more eloquently of his sincerity than words ever could.

“Are you paying attention, Erice?”

I was brought out of my reverie by my master's polite chiding.

“You seem very tired. Perhaps it might be for the best if you took a moment to rest in the break room? I can prepare the lecture material for your perusal later, if you'd like.”

I let out a whimper. This was embarrassing. My second disgrace this morning. I shook my head vigorously. My master nodded, and recommenced the lecture in a soft voice.

–

Her name was Caren Fujimura. She was the lecturer responsible for this class, and also my master. I had known her for as long as I could walk.

Outwardly, she appeared to be in her twenties. She had light amber eyes, and wavy, pale grey hair that cascaded down to the small of her back. Her body combined a slender build with voluptuous Hispanic curves. Most notable of all, however, was her impeccable sense of style. Nobody else could come close to its audacity. Today, too, she looked sharp as a knife.

Or at least, I thought so, but waxing lyrical on the subject only seemed to earn me pained smiles from Karin and others. Well, it wasn't as though I cared anyway. If I was the only one who could understand her magnificence, so be it.

“...?”

The boy, who had been quiet at my side for a long time, had begun focusing on my master when she had spoken to me. Now he turned his gaze to the skirt of my school uniform, then to his own trousers, and cocked his head. He turned his head to make one more pass, carefully comparing, and then spoke with some conviction.

“She isn't wearing anything down there.”

“That she isn't.”

My master really was incredible.

It was not on account of her position as my lecturer that I called Caren Fujimura my master. Nor was it on account of her being my fashion role model. She was inhuman, in every way, and not in the sense of being part of the new postwar humanity. She was an artificial intelligence – an AI.

More precisely, she was the municipal administration AI tasked with the management of the Akihabara ward. A human interface that allowed the Grail to communicate directly with the people of the city. A hybrid intelligence – the most valuable in the city – born of the fusion of summoning magecraft, modelled on the kind that called forth Heroic Spirits, and cutting-edge information engineering technology. Such was the true nature of Caren Fujimura.

–

Ms. Fujimura's lecture on pre-war human history continued. Today's topic was the history and profiles of the great pioneers. Those brave adventurers who sailed west on crude wooden vessels, carving a path to an unknown lands. Those bold explorers who discovered – or rediscovered – the distant new world, and secured the shipping routes that would become the lifeblood of a global civilisation.

–

She spoke of Eric the Red, who crossed from Europe to Greenland and settled there. Of his son, Lief Ericsson, who made landfall in the northeast of North America and named it “Vinland”. Of the roots of the Polynesians, who propagated across the islands of the south Pacific in canoes little better than rafts, and were sometimes set adrift by rogue currents to journey thousands of kilometres.

Of Christopher Columbus, the conqueror who never once lost sight of his dream; who sailed to the farthest reaches of the western sea aboard the legendary Santa Maria, and there rediscovered the new world. Of Vasco de Gama, who crossed the Cape of Good Hope and pioneered the Indian trade route. Of the Cape itself - the southern tip of the African continent and one of the great perils of the Age of Discovery, where Captain Van der Decken's Dutch galleon met its fate upon the rocks.

She told of Ferdinand Magellan, whose vessels first circumnavigated the world. Although he perished before the completion of his journey, his feat proclaimed to the world beyond all doubt that the earth was not flat, but round. Through him, the people came to know that the world they lived on was just one more celestial body like the moon or Mars, forging silently onwards through the void.

And here too was the first captain to circumnavigate the globe: Francis Drake, the privateer! Ah, here was the magnificent Golden Hind! I had already been absorbed in the lecture, but here my excitement reached its zenith, my mind filling with daydreams of the open sea.

From Servants who had lived through the same era, I had heard tales that Drake, the admiral who broke the back of the invincible Spanish Armada, had in truth been a woman more gallant than any man. That the man who set the sun had, in fact, been the woman who set the sun. I personally found them impossible to believe, and I'd also heard them refuted by other pirate Servants. Stories like that ain't nothin' more'n piss in the wind, girly. Drake was a man, sure as my beard is long.

It was a common enough story when it came to Servants. Some ages of history had placed little importance on gender distinctions. Conversely, in others women had been so oppressed that they could only perform heroic deeds whilst disguised in men's clothing. Such confusion was liable to muddy historical records.

Even if Drake had been female, it would do nothing to tarnish the glory of her legend.

–

My enriching study time was now approaching its end, although I had struggled to focus on all of the contents of the lecture.

“I would like to give a brief introduction to one final figure. An American man whose one small step signified a giant leap for mankind.”

The screen changed in sync with Ms. Fujimura's commentary. Now it displayed a world of extreme contrasts: a sea of grey regolith, and the dark vacuum of space. Within the shadow thrown by a lunar lander, a figure in a space suit descended a ladder to stand upon the moon's surface.

“This was the first man to stand on the face of the moon. He, too, counts among the great pioneers of the human race.”

“...Eh...?”

A single voice arose, quavering not with wonder but with astonishment.

“A human went to the moon...? A living human?”

The source of the voice was none other than the young girl in the front row.

“Indeed. It would be fifty-six years before the modern day. Three astronauts ventured to the moon, and two among them descended to walk upon its surface.”

“More than half a century ago? There weren't even control units back then capable of calculating orbital trajectories-”

“There were.”

Another video resource flashed onto the screen. This time it showed a bulky copper box that must have weighed dozens of kilograms, and a small keyboard. The commentary indicated that this was the Apollo spaceship's guidance computer.

“Single-core, 8-bit. A most splendid computer to be mounted in the lunar lander. It likely had less than one ten-thousandth the processing power of the smartphones you all have in your pockets. And yet it was enough to guide the lander by autopilot, even though human error necessitated its rebooting just prior to landing.”

Ms. Fujimura sounded almost triumphant now. There had been a strange change in her expression, although it was so slight I doubted anyone but me would even have a chance of noticing. Perhaps, for an AI, it was a point of pride to be able to talk about the vital contribution a computer had made to one of humanity's most historic achievements.

No, that's not it...

She was delighting in the shock her student was experiencing, from her first contact with this knowledge. She was revelling in it. The girl retracted her body and sat back down in her seat, fuming.

“That's irresponsible. It's reckless.”

“Indeed it was. It was one of the most reckless ventures in human history, and precious lives were lost along the way.”

“That's all the more reason it could never have happened!”

As though scoffing at our worries from across the ages, the portly figure of the spaceman upon the screen began to moonwalk, gleefully bounding across the moon's surface. He was humming to himself merrily, like some shameless delinquent.

“Rather carefree, isn't he? One would never think only a thin spacesuit separated him from the zero-pressure vacuum and the hellish 110-degree temperatures outside.”

My master smiled faintly, as she expressed her admiration for the men in the video. Even when they raced their moon buggies across the lunar plain, they were rough and careless, as though they were driving go-karts at some amusement park. The girl at the front returned to gazing at the video, a flabbergasted expression on her face.

“Ah...ahaha...!” I couldn't help bursting out in laughter.

Her shoulders trembled a little. I'd picked an awful time.

–

The “Great Pioneers” instalment concluded by saying that although the human race had raised its flag in one great unknown after the other – first the new world beyond the seas, then the distant skies, and finally the void of space – landing a group of carefree delinquents on the surface of the moon had marked the end of their exploits. Not once since had they set their sights on anything farther. The Apollo generation's dream of a grand conquest of the stars remained a dream to this day. Mars, Venus and the outer space beyond the solar system remained unknown to the print of human boot.

I wondered if perhaps the human race had, somewhere along its way, lost sight of something incredibly precious.

I wondered if perhaps someday there might rise once again, on the edge of the farthest frontier, someone worthy of being called a hero. Someone who would lead mankind forth once more towards a new world.

“Hey, there you are, Eri-pie! Wanne grab some food?”

Karin burst into the classroom just as the lecture had ended. She must have guessed where I would be. I had thought she might have returned home after the events of last night, but she must have remained in Akihabara.

“Oh, it's you, Karin. I'll hold off for now. I've still got things I need to do.”

“Ehh? Hasn't your class just wrapped up?”

“Well, yeah, but I'm not talking about class.”

“Oh, the shrimp's tagging along? Good, good. You put some proper breakfast in him, right? What's he been eatin'?”

“Cereal. And some water.”

“Oh, ouch. You know that's child abuse, right? Like, I should probably be calling a social worker about now?”

“Just give it a rest, geez...”

I hadn't been back to my apartment for the past few days, and my reserves had all expired, so I had ended up with very little by way of food. I hadn't so much as forced cereal and water on him as noticed his interest in the food I was hurriedly shovelling down and shared a little.

Servants didn't typically require meals in the usual sense, but in the post-war world where they had become commonplace, more care was being paid to improving their quality of life. There were even some citizens' groups that insisted that they had a right to live the same as humans. In my view, Servants were fundamentally inhuman existences, and I saw those attempts to impose human restrictions on something unbound by the framework of nature as little more than evidence of their Masters' egotism – although I couldn't deny that might just have been the bitter prejudice of a have-not speaking.

“Sssssssup! Morning, Caren!”

“Good morning to you too, Karin.”

Ms. Fujimura approached the two of us.

“Karin...and Caren...?”

The boy looked between the two, confused.

“Yeah, you got it. Pain in the ass, right? The Caren in Akihabara has this kinda grown-up, sexy feel to her. The one back home is a lot more, uh...wha-chaa!”

“What's “wha-chaa!” supposed to mean? And you should be calling her Ms. Fujimura.” Karin had drawn one knee up to strike a kung-fu pose. I gave her a smack.

“Karin lives in the Shibuya district. The me who lives there is a drawer for a Chinese restaurant.” My master smiled gently. I wondered what it felt like, to know there were different versions of herself active all over the city.

A few elderly students were still hanging around in the classroom, chatting amongst themselves. My master ushered us from the room, and we relocated to a terrace protruding from midway up the building. This was a leisure space, and it commanded a wide view of the sprawl of Akihabara. At this early hour, the sea breeze was light, and the sun was not too strong. It was just cool enough that that shaded areas were still a little chilly.

The distant rumble of a train smoothly pulling in from the oversea viaduct drifted to us from across the water, along with the faint toot of its horn. Beyond the horizon, where the railway vanished, lay Shinjuku and Shibuya.

“So this child is the Servant with the unknown Master?”

“That's right.”

I had already informed her about the situation in advance, but I took the opportunity to introduce the boy to her in person.

“To tell the truth, I already have a good guess as to his identity. Although he doesn't really react to what I say most of the time. He doesn't seem to be entirely all there.”

I took the plunge, and told her about last night's discoveries – hoping somewhere deep down this made up for the regret I felt at keeping quiet about Kundry's flight and the events that had followed.

“Antoine de Saint-Exupéry...? A French author, as I recall, and one of great renown. He was also an accomplished pilot, and served in the Second World War. You believe this child's identity to be this Saint-Exupéry?”

The object of our scrutiny, the child in question, showed no reaction to the name. He took a sip of the freshly-squeezed orange juice that Karin had bought from a juice stand, and pulled a face. Sour.

“His appearance is a poor match, even taking into account the age difference.” I could sense my master checking records in the background, and cross-referencing them with the child in front of her. I pressed on with my next hypothesis.

“I think he's the Little Prince. Don't you think he looks just like Saint-Exupéry's illustrations?”

The Little Prince was an allegorical short story. It was the last completed work by Saint-Exupéry, who passed away at a young age. Whether online or in physical bookshops, one would inevitably find it in the children's book category, but it couldn't be more different to the fairy tales it rubbed shoulders with on the shelves. That said, nor was it something like the Bible, whose every line existed to be quoted and venerated. It was a comforting presence, like a familiar friend at your side, always ready with a lighthearted quip or a sobering anecdote. Or so I thought, anyway.

“Eh? So you're a prince, are you? Hmmmm? Now you mention it, he does look kinda regal. Think he'd make a good match with my Momi? She is a princess, you know. Whaddaya think?”

Karin pinched the boy's cheek, grinning wickedly, and he turned his head away in clear discomfort. I decided to leave them to it, and added to my master that last night the boy had answered my riddle with the keyword that only the Little Prince would know.

“I see...” She struck a contemplative pose as I continued.

“I'm aware that he doesn't look very much like Saint-Exupéry. That's why I'm wondering if he could be an author Servant who's taken on the form of a character from one of his own works. I'm sure there are examples of that.”

“There are indeed. Many authors' works leave a far greater impression on the world to come than the men themselves. Many more choose such forms of their own accord. However, if you would permit me my personal opinion - ”

She left a beat, pushing up her glasses.

“ - I would conjecture that Saint-Exupéry would project himself not onto the Little Prince, but onto the Pilot who narrates the story. It was, after all, his own experience of crash-landing in the Sahara desert that formed the basis for the book.”

“Ah...yes, I...I suppose...”

She was right. Given the content of the book, it was an entirely legitimate criticism. She was saying that this child was likely something fundamentally different to just some writer Servant with perverse tendencies and a strong capacity for empathy.

While I hadn't been watching, the subject of out conversation had begun sipping on a honey-lemon drink. He must have traded his orange juice with Karin. This was evidently more to his tastes; he was smiling broadly.

“I have conferred with the Caren units in the other districts, but he does not appear to match any Servant under our jurisdiction. I cannot even venture more than vague hypotheses as to his class.” It seemed that as an AI, she was capable of communicating with her other units in the background even as she talked with me.

So he wasn't a lost Servant who had wandered in from some other district. At the very least, we now knew that there was no record of Saint-Exupéry being registered as a Servant anywhere in Mosaic City.

“Please do not be disheartened, Erice. I do not mean to dismiss your opinion; the possibility remains. And just by having secured him, you have already done a wonderful job.”

“I suppose...”

“He seems to be stable, aside from his memories, so I will fit him with a classification tag. For as long as he continues to reside in this town, I will refer to him as “The Little Prince (TBD)””.

“...'Brackets...TBD'...?”

“Guess so. Would be a pain in the ass if he didn't have a name, right? Brackets, TBD.” Karin cheerily patted the Little Prince (TBD) on the head.

“Um...about last night's incident...” I straightened my back, and tried to change the topic to my report of the previous night's events – and suddenly my master stood up from her seat, looking at me ruefully.

“I owe you an apology, Erice. A matter has sprung up that requires my urgent attention. Would you mind submitting your report as a brief text document?”

“Eh...? I mean...of course.”

I felt relieved, but at the same time more concerned. Whatever this urgent matter was, this was the first I'd heard of it, and my master was not known for changing her schedule lightly.

“But what do you think I should do about him?”

“That was my next point. I am sorry to ask this of you, but would you mind taking charge of him for the time being? If his identity becomes clear during that time, all the better.”

“Eh-?”

My master's eyes narrowed into a smile as my mouth clamped shut. The already-unusual situation had just taken a turn for the stranger.

“No way, no way, no way. Isn't that going to be a problem? With my job and everything?”

“No other individual in Akihabara is so equipped to tackle as exceptional a case. To call you a specialist in the handling of Servants would not be an exaggeration.”

It would. It absolutely would. My specialisation was not the handling of Servants - it was murder. Restraining the most villainous of Servants, and keeping them under strict surveillance, I could do. But I was not nearly so capable of attending to the needs of a young boy, barely any different from an ordinary human child, who didn't even know his own name.

Karin chipped in. “Can't he just bunk at my place? What's an extra brother or two, anyway?”

“Quite a lot, I think...”

Karin's suggestion was extraordinarily irresponsible, but my master only inclined her head. “My thanks for your hospitality Karin, but I am afraid that I cannot yet say what threat this child poses. I cannot permit him to reside with ordinary citizens.”

“I'm tellin' you, it's cool. I've got Momi, don't I? It'll be fine!”

Karin dug in deeper, and my master responded with another polite but firm refusal. In all honesty, it would have been a weight off my mind – although I wouldn't say that the notion of Karin taking responsibility for a portion of my job didn't grate on me a little.

Just as I was becoming aware of my own troublesome misgivings, a newcomer hurriedly approached the recreation space where we were conversing.

“Caren Fujimura? If you wouldn't mind, there's something I'd like to ask you.”

It was her – the girl in the hat from the front row. She had run out of the classroom just before the lecture had ended, conversing with someone over her smartphone. She must have returned now that her conversation had ended.

“It's nice to see you, Haruko. Do you have a question for me about the lecture?”

“That's right. I wanted to ask about the role of astrology during the Age of Discovery-” A sudden squall blew through the terrace, and she clutched at her hat, pulling it down tightly over her ears. I saw my chance and hurriedly forced my way into the conversation – although really, she had been the one who had interrupted us.

“H-hang on a moment. I was already talking with Ms. Fujimura...”

She glared at me in silence. Her brilliant peppermint-green eyes glinted from behind a parting in her fringe. “It was only thanks to the repeated interruptions from you and your Servant that I didn't have the opportunity to ask these questions during the lecture.”

“Well, I'm...I'm sorry about that. But, well, you see, he's not exactly my Servant...”

“Is that so? My apologies. But as his guardian, you should be more conscious of your responsibility to ensure he does not cause trouble for others in public spaces.”

Her motions – her gait, and even the way she was holding down her hat - were clipped and precise. She was barely taller than the innocent child drinking juice by my side, but she somehow seemed many years his elder. Beneath the white gown I had seen so often in lectures, she was wearing a slightly old-fashioned bright yellow blouse.

I'm positive...I've seen those clothes before somewhere... Now where was it?

“Um...you mentioned astrology, didn't you? If you're curious about the involvement of magecraft in human history, why don't you go to the library? You'd be able to research it as much as you wanted.”

I'd intended it as a sincere and respectful recommendation...but instead she expelled a short, sharp sigh, and her attitude became palpably frostier. This was getting awkward.

“You're telling me to go to the library? That would be far less efficient than asking an administrative AI – I mean, Ms. Fujimura directly. I would have thought that someone who went to the trouble of attending lectures would be cognizant of the vast difference in value between the vague knowledge one can acquire through reference materials, and the clear and consistent explanations that can be gained through conversations with an expert in the field. And if you do not understand that, then I must ask why you insist on wasting others' time with your indolence.”

“W-what do you mean, 'indolence'...?”

“Well damn. Kid's got a mouth on her...”

Things were going from bad to worse - now Karin had taken an interest. If I left this alone, it could easily easily escalate beyond my control and into an all-out brawl. She was free to pick whichever fights she wanted, but I wanted to avoid any risk of worsening my relationships with other students and ending up barred from attending.

“Come on, Karin. Cut it out. I'm not mad or anything.”

“...Hm? Wait a second, I'm sure...” Karin looked as though she'd just noticed something. The girl hurriedly pulled her hat back down over her head. My master had called this girl Haruko, hadn't she?

“I too have important matters to attend to. I really do have to hurry.”

“I...I see. Sorry about all this.” She had come all the way to this terrace searching for my master, and I wanted to show some recognition of her dedication. In that sense, we were kindred spirits. “If I'm not mistaken, you don't come to lectures very often, do you? If you wouldn't mind, I could let you borrow my old notes...”

“If you're going to mock me so, I hope you're prepared for the consequences.”

“Eh? Did...did I say something wrong?” How short was this girl's fuse? I desperately looked to Karin for help, but she only shook her head as though to say there was nothing she could do. And then, in that moment -

“I think that's quite enough, Erice.”

Another newcomer – a woman, who had not been in the classroom – strolled towards us, calling out to me with uncomfortable familiarity. Her footsteps clacked on the floor as she approached.

“Welcome. Your arrival is earlier than I had expected.” Ms. Fujimura, who had been maintaining a position of neutrality in our argument, greeted her in an oddly forced tone of voice.

“It was your message that hurried me here, Caren. You said that I might have the opportunity to see something interesting.” She was dressed in a vintage black sailor uniform, and her long silver hair was left to hang freely. I knew this woman – this woman who looked so out-of-place in Akihabara, who clad herself in an elegant shroud of bygone days.

“Chitose... What...what are you doing here...?”

Now it made sense. Caren's urgent matter must have been her.

The girl in the hat must have caught my murmured whisper. “Chitose...? What kind of civilian could call directly on a municipal administration AI without an appointment...?”

I heard the rushing sound of an intake of breath, and she turned sharply back around to the woman once more. Now that they were standing face-to-face, her small frame meant that she had to crane her neck to look her in the eyes.

“You aren't...Manazuru Chitose, are you...? The Stigmata?”

“...I am indeed. It's been a while since I last heard that name.”

The girl let out a whimper. “How could this happen...”

Her reaction was so violent, I thought for a moment that they might have been about to duel it out on the spot. In stark contrast to her brief reverie, now she was tripping over herself to be polite. She scrambled backwards three paces, and lowered her head woodenly. Her ears were glowing bright red, and from the glimpses I could catch through her bangs her cheeks were similarly flushed.

One of her fingers brushed against the side of her hat. With a swish, it folded in on itself and collapsed into a hairband. With her face now exposed, she bowed her head once more.

“I apologise wholeheartedly for my insolence, Stigmata.”

Chitose only shook her head quietly. “You had business with Caren, did you not? I do not mind waiting a while.”

“I-it was nothing! Certainly, nothing of consequence next to your duties.” She was so stiff and anxious now, her haughty demeanour not two minutes ago seemed like a distant memory. It was actually a little adorable - although in general, I found people's tendency to become so ill at ease in Chitose's presence rather hard to deal with.

For her part, Chitose might have been responding amiably, but that should not have been mistaken for warmth or compassion. Her gaze fell upon the boy seated at our table, and for an instant, her eyes were those of a serpent that had found its prey.

“Yes, that's the boy”, she said, as though talking to herself. “I can't even tell which class his Saint Graph is. I suppose the world is full of surprises.”

I confess - my interest was aroused, and I couldn't suppress a sadistic curiosity. What reaction would her gaze stir in him? Would he show awe? Animosity? Would he ignore her completely, as though erasing his own existence?

But instead – he smiled. A beaming smile, like a shining star. A clear window straight to his heart.

Silence reigned for a second, and then Chitose smiled back at him thinly. Next to me, I felt the girl with the hat flinch. And then, her expression relaxing into a slightly mischievous smile, she approached me, and laid a pale white fingertip on my shoulder.

“I charge you with monitoring this child, Erice.”

“Understood”, I muttered. She gave a small shrug at my disgruntled response.

It looked like our conversation was over. Once Chitose had made a clear decision, my master would abide by it. I stood up from my seat, bowed to my master, and accompanied the boy from the terrace as I'd been instructed.

“Who the hell was that?”, Karin asked breezily, once we were in the corridor. “Gave me the creeps.” Just this once, I was grateful for her laid-back demeanour.

“And what's up with you, anyway? Didn't you have something to ask Caren about? You sure you're ok just leaving like this?”

“It doesn't matter. Let's just go.”

I put the building behind me, as though I were running away from something.

#Fate/Requiem #translation #light novel

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ts1989fanatic · 5 years

Text

A more in depth personal review of Lover, the album dropped last week and because I had issues downloading it from iTunes (what else is new) I did not really have time for anything other than a cursory listen before heading to bed.

So now a week has past and I have had more than a few listens (who am I kidding) a hella lot more than a few, my wife and I went on a road trip Sunday 250 Blissful Kilometers of just me and my Lovers.

Still a little haunted by Soon You’ll Get Better I was very emotional after listening to this song and still am truth be told, almost everyone has that person in their life who has been touched by cancer. And just like Taylor when it’s someone close to you like a parent or a Lover it’s downright terrifying.

Lover the parent as opposed to Lover the child (more on her later) is a more mature in control Taylor Swift bringing us the wild abandon of Red’s lay it all out on the floor with the sonic cohesion achieved with 1989.

To me Lover nods in passing to reputation, but as I listen to the album in more depth it to me is a continuation of where Taylor was heading after 1989, it still holds a little shade in the finger snapping I forgot That You Existed a song all about as Taylor herself has said letting go and stepping into the daylight don’t confront the haters and exes just be indifferent to them it’s a lot less toxic.

If there is one consistency on Lover, though: it’s Taylor’s love for, love. The entire album is predominantly romantic and seems to track the timeline of a relationship, from its beginnings to the final realization that the situation is serious. Taylor leaves it up to us the listener to theorize that Lover is about her relationship with Joe Alwyn.

There’s nothing on Lover that mentions him directly but there is more than enough within the lyrics on various songs to speculate. Half the fun of being a Swiftie is coming up with theories, you have your opinions I have mine. So go through the track by track list below and decide for yourself what song is about who.

“I Forgot That You Existed”

Taylor starts Lover not with a love song, but a song in which Taylor Swift seems to have moved past the drama on “I Forgot You Existed.” Who it is heavily speculated on that this song is about CH, is it only Taylor herself really knows. Looking at the lyrics it could also be about any of her exes that did not end the relationship on the best of terms.

“How many days did I spend thinking about how you did me wrong?” “I lived in the shade you were throwing till all of my sunshine was gone.” Then in the chorus she declares, “I forgot that you existed, and I thought that it would kill me, but it didn’t the meaning behind this song for me? Taylor has shed the snakeskin from the reputation era and is has moved on not with hate or anger JUST INDIFFERENCE

“Cruel Summer”

Those early flirtatious sometimes tumultuous stages early on in a new relationship. “It’s new, the shape of your body. It’s blue, the feeling I’ve got,” “It’s cool, that’s what I tell him. No rules…. We say we’ll just screw it up. In these trying times, we’re not trying.” This speaks to the drama that can happen in any new relationship before things stabilize and you can think about introducing them to friends and family.

“Lover”

To me this song and video are a throwback to the 70’s era country songs about love that I grew up on and after listening to Keith Urban cover it live you can see how it would be a smash on country radio stations. These lyrics cry out COUNTRY to me.

“Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?” she sings later on. “Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? ’ve loved you three summers. Now, honey, I want ’em all.”

“The Man”

Not a love story, here, on “The Man.” Here more of a social commentary on society in general and the gender bias that still exist today despite the best efforts of a lot of WOKE people.

Taylor highlights how her career and reputation would have played out in the media if she were born a man rather than being named after one.

“Every conquest I made would make me more of a boss to you,” “I’d be just like Leo in Saint Tropez.”

“They wouldn’t shake their heads and question how much of this I deserve, what I was wearing, if I was rude…. If I was a man, I’d be the man.”

“The Man” is one of the boppiest bop on Lover and deserves to be the next single.

“The Archer”

On “The Archer,” Taylor finds herself questioning her situation with her partner. Is it the real? How long will it last? These are relatable questions most of us ask once the honeymoon phase of a relationship draws to a close. “They see right through me. Can you see right through me?” Taylor sings. “Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?”

“I Think He Knows”

By the time Taylor reaches this song,” She has answered that question: she wants her new relationship to work, and she’s not afraid to say so. “I think he knows when we get all alone, he’ll want me to stay,” “I think he knows he better lock it down, or I won’t stick around” cause good ones never wait.”

“Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince”

Some see this as a love song, personally I see it more as a protest song, Taylor has become much more political and outspoken on the issues since Trump took office this is an “us against the administration” mind-set. At first listen it may not sound like a protest song, but to me and I follow US politics very closely it certainly speaks to what has happened over the last few years.

When the White House responds to a song then I think you can safely say DAMN STRAIGHT it’s a protest song. Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince is not a Rage Against The Machine protest song, it’s a song full of metaphors and because of this it draws you in and makes you listen closely and get behind and beneath the symbolism.

“American glory Faded before me now I’m feeling Hopless”

“Paper Rings”

Taylor joking about marrying her lover one day or is she joking. “I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings. That’s right, darling. You’re the one I want,” definitely a love song about a serious relationship, does it mean Taylor and Joe are engaged (not according to Tree)

“Cornelia Street”

“Cornelia Street” is when our story takes a dramatic turn. It’s important to know that, at one point, Taylor rented a carriage house on Cornelia Street in New York City while her place was being renovated. The lyrics of this song suggest Taylor associates Cornelia Street with a relationship getting more intense.

“I hope I never lose you. Hope it never ends. I never want Cornelia Street again,” “That’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend.”

“Death by a Thousand Cuts”

This comes through as a breakup song, but a breakup with who not Joe from all appearances, possibly to a past relationship. “I get drunk, but it’s not enough, ’cause the morning comes and you’re not my baby,” Taylor sings shortly after saying, “Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts.

"I look through the windows of this love, even though we boarded them up” and “You said it was a great love, one for the ages. But if this story’s over, why am I still writing pages?”

“London Boy”

With a Cat’s co-star cameo from Idris Elba, Taylor is back to singing about love of a guy and a city, not with great accuracy I might add as an ex-pat who lived and worked in London for ten years. But hey she’s a writer and allowed poetic license.

“Something happened, I heard him laughing. I saw the dimples, first, and then I heard the accent,” “They say home is where the heart is, but that’s not where mine lives. You know I love a London boy.”

“Soon You’ll Get Better” (featuring Dixie Chicks)

Sorry for the language but this song fucked me up, Still a little haunted by it. I was very emotional after listening to this song and still am truth be told, almost everyone has that person in their life who has been touched by cancer. And just like Taylor when it’s someone close to you like a parent or a Lover it’s downright terrifying. I lost my mother to cancer my father in law to cancer and the love of my life has been diagnosed three times twice benign once malignant (God that’s an ugly word)

“In doctor’s office lighting, I didn’t tell you I was scared,” “Soon you’ll get better. You’ll get better soon, ’cause you have to.”

If I am honest here I really want to fast forward past this song but it’s so emotional and raw that I find myself having to listen to it over again.

“False God”

On “False God,” Taylor recognizes the issues that can lead to the breakup as in “Death by a Thousand Cuts.”

“I know heaven’s a thing. I go there when you touch me. Hell is when I fight with you,” “But we can patch it up good.” She doesn’t dig any deeper here, though. That comes later.

“You Need to Calm Down”

After the backlash Taylor faced from 2016 she found her voice not just in speaking out about equality but encapsulating it into her music. YNTCD is a synth heavy pop bop that calls out Internet Trolls and boldly champions the LGBTQ community, franklt it’s a fucking bop with a message and both my wife and love it.

“Say it in the street, that’s a knock-out” “But you say it in a Tweet that’s a cop-out” (advice to live by Mr. President)

“Afterglow”

“Afterglow” Is an apology song.” Here Taylor opens up about how a relationship can implode with a partner and the role her own behaviour played in it imploding. “I blew things out of proportion, now you’re blue,” she sings. “I put you in jail for something you didn’t do…. Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves.” “Why’d I have to break what I love so much? It’s on your face, and I’m to blame,” “Hey, it’s on me in my head. I’m the one who burned this down, but it’s not what I meant. Sorry that I hurt you.”

“Me!” (featuring Brendon Urie of Panic! at the Disco)

A tongue-in-cheek, extension of “Afterglow.”here Taylor can laugh about the drama. Not only that but she own up to her faults on this song, Taylor lays out that it’s those faults that make her the perfect match for someone.

“I know that I went psycho on the phone. I never leave well enough alone. And trouble’s gonna follow where I go,” “Afterglow.” “Baby doll, when it comes to a lover. I promise that you’ll never find another like me.”

“It’s Nice to Have a Friend”

A lot of the theories I have seen about this one revolve around her relationship with Joe “Church bells ring. Carry me home. Rice on the ground, looks like snow.” It certainly sounds like they might be gearing up for that next step. But I don’t read this the same way, it reads more like a first love narrative.

“Sidewalk chalk covered in snow lost my gloves, you gave me one” “Twenty questions, we tell the truth”

“Daylight”

A dreamy romantic song that is filled with words one would say on their wedding day or just after getting married. They sound a lot like vows. “I don’t want to look at anything else now that I saw you. I don’t want to think of anything else now that I’ve thought of you. I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night, and now I see daylight.”

Taylor says “I want to be defined by the things that I love. Not the things I hate. Not the things I’m afraid of, or the things that haunt me in the middle of the night. I just think that you are what you love.”

This is Taylor Swift at her ultimate best, crafting lyrics that we can all relate to at whatever stage of your relationship you are in. This is Speak Now and Fearless Taylor all grown up but still crafting a story of life with her lyrics in her own unique way.

Where reputation was dark and moody even though in my opinion still a very relatable album, who has never faced criticism and wished that they had the skills heart and wit to respond as Taylor did, Lover is all vivid colors and predominantly bright and cheerful music with certain exceptions this is Taylor in full flow and form. Taylor the story teller Taylor the lyrical master Taylor the ARTIST.

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