#JustShowerThoughts….again!

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I’m back! And I have more random thoughts and questions to share! Dare you tread upon the insane (and reference-ridden) mindscape that I call my own?

Well, this is what happened to the last person who did.😉 What is it with the Halloween’d theme all of a sudden? Behave brain!

  1. How is it that when I was actively looking for clips of the Japanese version of Yu-Gi-Oh!, the whole of YouTube was void of them and now they’re suddenly, like, second video on the list?
  2. Why do people feel a compulsive need to ship? I mean, I do it too. Doesn’t mean I get it.
  3. Why  do shoes hurt your feet? Weren’t they invented to protect your feet from hurt? (and cold…and sharp twigs…)
  4. Why are razor replacements so expensive if the fashionable norm is to be clean-shaven?
  5. For the matter, how come guys don’t get the nifty razor heads that have shaving jell already attached to them?
  6. Can a full moon make you crazy (or turn you into a werewolf) if it’s too cloudy to see it?
  7. Why would a temperature-controlled swimming pool be too cold to be comfortable?
  8. Why would anyone leave a frying pan for over a week without washing the damn thing? It’s already soaked enough! (-glares at unnamed flatmate)
  9. Why do clouds sometimes look two-dimensional and sometimes 3-D?
  10. Why do the shops all start huge sales the day after I resolve not to spend too much from now on?
  11. Why do necromancy jokes keep popping up on my Facebook feed when I’m not even that interested on the subject?
  12. Why doesn’t anyone ever point out that according to the new movies James Kirk’s dad is frigging Thor? (DON’T TELL ME IT’S DIFFERENT UNIVERSES!)
  13. Why can’t I psychically materialise chocolate whenever I fancy it? I really, really, really want some right now!

…aaaaand I just spent 20 minutes actually trying to answer my own rhetorical questions. I think this is as good a time as any to sign out!

Sands of Time chapter 5

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Author’s note: And we finally reach the 20th century and the other character who, in my humble opinion, did not get nearly enough screen-time. About Ryou’s age in this one…I’ve watched Season 0 and in that flashback scene Ryou seemed to be about five or six when he wished for friends, so I figured he must have got the ring around then… And maybe I wanted an excuse to write the Thief King with a little kid… At this point it’d be pretty pointless to put an OOC disclaimer. I’ve read a theory that explained Yami Bakura’s mercurial moods (especially in the Millennium World manga, yes I’ve read the mangas!) as the result of him being the result of a fragment of Zorc merging with the soul of the Thief King, one side being more prominent at times than the other. In this case, no random Zorc fragments littering the Ring, which would probably make for a much different first meeting between the two.

Preaching over and done with, on with the show!

***I share my world with no one else/ All by myself I stand alone***

The Thief did not even bother moving from his bed when he felt the Ring. It had moved through various hosts over the centuries and he had noticed that none of them had lasted long before going insane. Instinctively he knew what this had meant: that the poor soul was not the Ring’s destined carrier.

 

Even from within the apathy that had taken over his mind and heart he could feel his host’s excitement and admiration for the shiny gift. A young one, Akefia mused, feeling a tinge of regret for the boy’s inevitable fate. His eyes drifted again to the only source of light in his soulroom; a mural of her enveloped in his arms as she had been the day they declared their love for each other. He was half-asleep when a wave of fear and alarm hit him.

 

Without thinking, Akefia jumped to his feet and raced to the door. He closed his eyes when he crossed the threshold and when he opened them again he found himself in control of the body of a young boy. A barrage of memories pelted his mind, shocking him with their intensity. At his feet lay the body of a little white-haired girl whom he instinctively recognized as his host’s sister. Her blood had painted the ground red and the Thief knew that she was dead. Looking around, he noticed another body nearby.

Mother, he recognized her. No, not his mother, the boy’s mother. The line was blurred at the moment. A man approached him and Akefia tore himself from the sight and followed him. No child should have to see what he had just seen.

 

Ryou woke up in a strange room after he cried himself to sleep that night. His father had stayed at the hospital and so the little boy had been alone for the first time in his life. Looking around curiously he took stock of the soft light, the various games scattered on the white carpet and finally his family’s photo at his bedside. Feeling the tears coming back the little boy blinked and stood from the bed. His new Ring’s weight felt comfortable around his neck. For the first time he noticed the door on the far wall.

 

Curiously Ryou opened it and found himself on a shadowy corridor. At the exact opposite wall there was another door, this one made out of rough wood and the eye from his Ring engraved on it. Ryou felt something pulling him towards the ominous door and hesitantly pushed it open. The room he entered was made out of stone and almost bare of things. At the opposite wall there was the engraving of a fierce-looking monster that made Ryou gulp nervously. Looking to his right he saw the picture of a man and a woman hugging, surrounded by neat columns of hieroglyphics. Finally, on the wall opposite of the picture, there was a bed and on it a sleeping man.

 

As if he sensed another presence nearby, the man’s eyes snapped open and landed directly on the boy. Ryou took a step back, scared by the glare he received and rushed to the door. He tried to pry the heavy door open but he wasn’t strong enough. A sigh came from the bed’s direction and its occupant stood up and walked over to the boy. He rested a hand on the wood, over his host’s head.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked the boy. Ryou looked up to him, tears ready to fall from his eyes.

“I…I…I’m sorry!” he stuttered nervously, looking up at the man. “I didn’t mean to bother you sir.”

 

Akefia was taken aback at the boy’s response. In all his years no one had ever addressed him with any type of courtesy. He just might like this host of his. Kneeling so that he would be at the boys eye-level he made an effort to smile.

“You did not bother me Landlord,” he said calmly. The boy was traumatized as it was. “I have been meaning to meet you soon.” As he said the words, he realized that they were true. For the first time in millennia he could feel the Ring accept its bearer as it had welcomed him when he gathered it from that Priest’s corpse. Ryou looked at him confused.

“Why am I your Landlord?” he asked, gathering courage now that he knew he wasn’t in trouble.

“You are the owner of the Millennium Ring,” the Thief King explained patiently. “I live inside it, so that makes me your tenant and you my Landlord.” The boy nodded in understanding. Then looked up in confusion again.

“But why me?” he asked innocently. Akefia bit back another sight and settled down for a long conversation.

“Let me tell you a story little Landlord…”

 

I’m cooking again

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I might seem small, especially considering that when I’m at home I’m mostly in my PJs, but I am cooking again! So far it had been mostly small stuff, mostly because, I kind of need to eat… But today I was fixing supper and I suddenly wanted to make fajitas of all things! With all the trimmings at that! Good thing tomorrow is grossery shopping day. I need to stock up my fridge. Hey, who knows? Maybe this time next week I’ll have cooked more days than I just ate whatever was already on the fridge. Here’s to staying positive!

P.S. I’m listening to the soundtrack from an anime and I have to wonder…How bored would you need to be to name your tracks Creepy #1, Creepy #2, and so on up to number 4?

Tea with Molly Bloom

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One of the greatest lies anyone will ever tell you is that following your dreams is the way to go. I don’t mean you shouldn’t. In fact you should, and if you actually make it to your personal pot of gold at the end of your rainbow more the power to you! The problem is that when someone tells you to follow your dream, they usually mean what they think is your dream. It’s not even because they think they know better (ok, there’s always the occasional asshole that thinks so and will not hesitate to tell you). Most of the time they genially have you’re best interest at hand. They truly, wish for you to be as happy and safe and secure as possible. So you pluck up the courage and confess what your secret labour of love is. And with a snap of your fingers, the light of encouragement fades a little, their smile becomes a little forced.

 

Because you told them your dream and it’s not something easy, or –what’s that other expression career advisors like to throw around? – marketable, or even the kind of thing that you talk about at family reunions and can easily attach the word “successful” to. So you begin to compromise, because you care about them and the last thing you want is to make them worry. Alright, you say, it’s a bit out there, and of course I will look for something that pays the bills first but, you know, as a hobby? On the side? And if it ends up being the main thing I do, then great! But I’m not going to be heart-broken if it doesn’t work out. Except you will be. And you will become bitter and sad. Because while you work that in-between job you’ll realise that when you get home tired, and there’s nothing prepared to eat and you still need to do the laundry, there’s no time or energy left to do what you like. Of course some people find both these so elusive things. Me? I know myself well enough to know that once inertia has settled it won’t matter how much I love that hobby. The very idea of moving from whatever flat surface I’m lying in will be too much to consider. And no, the advice “force yourself to do it and eventually the mood will come” is about as stupid as advising someone with a broken leg to work on their marathon time.

 

Or you will choose to fly in the face of adverse winds, do the improbable degree, dare to apply to jobs that tickle your interest. And with every non-answer or negative answer to your applications you’ll get more disappointed, more convinced at your uselessness. Don’t get me wrong, dear reader. While this may apply to you, it is also (mostly) a letter to myself. So where was I? Oh, yes, my sparkling, glitter-sprinkled future. Or rather how easily “I’ll chase my dream job, I don’t care what it takes” became “I just need someone to trust me enough to give me a job so that I don’t have to look at the end of my degree as the start of a free-fall without a parachute”. Less than four years to reach that conclusion and I’m not even twenty-five. And it’s harder when people believe in your dreams (or their idea of them) more than you do. How do you explain that you care more about a steady source of income, even if it doesn’t relate to what your degree says it’s about?

 

How do you make the older generations understand that even a cinema ticket or a night out for drinks have become so loaded with guilt (because you’ll see what’s left in your current account and it’s always so much less than you thought it’d be and never mind that you have a savings account these are savings they’re for emergency you shouldn’t touch them and you thought you had finally figured out budgeting but you didn’t because no one has shown you how ever and suddenly the idea of living off crackers milk and apples sounds appealing) that you cannot even consider it seriously? How do you explain the sensation of never being good enough, even though you try as much as your mind will let you, because when you have it already weighting on you that in the end it won’t really matter because someone more qualified will always be there to make you look worse? How do you explain the tears that aren’t really triggered by anything in particular, at least nothing apparently serious, but you’ve been holding it for so long that even something as little as a broken light is enough to have you curled up with your pillow and sobbing like someone just died?

 

How do you communicate the crippling fear that hits you every time the phone rings and you have to speak to someone or, even worse, when you need to be the one to make the call? How do you translate the constant feeling that people around you just tolerate your presence, that even when they seek you out they don’t much care about what you need to say? How do you get over the feeling that those feelings are confirmed because you tell them something and then two days later they text you like what you said didn’t even register? (Apparently “I’ll be sleeping at the library this week, I have work to do” has the response –before the week is over- “Come over tonight, we’ll have fun” No, actually we won’t. I’ll be tired and just want to get home but I haven’t yet found out the proper way of explaining that just because we seem to be having fun together I actually want the company. Because most of the time I don’t.) How do you illustrate the internalised panic attack you have at any given professional, semi-professional, or potentially-professional scenario because all this is running through your head and you don’t know what is expected of you because you cannot understand the rules of the game but just this once you want to play because you hope that if you won even once (no matter how small the victory) then maybe next time it’d be easier?

 

How do you give up something as small as living in a place you know you’d be happy in because it’s small and therefore jobs there are even harder to find? For how long can you stop yourself from screaming at them, telling them that you don’t want to be this messed up, you don’t want the voices or the fears or the nightmares or the feeling of being a failure but you can’t help it? Not when you cannot remember the last time anything that comes with the word “finances” attached to it came without any stress or frustration. Not when everyone went out and did things while you stayed inside and watched movies because you were tired of how loud everything out there had become. Not when you feel too young for everything expected of you and at the same time too old for it all.

 

Not when the few times you manage to open up to anyone and explain why you are angry and don’t want company you feel even more horrible afterwards because everyone has their own problems to deal with and who are you to hoist upon them your own or because you’ve done everything short of screaming “LEAVE ME ALONE!” and they offer company. The whole “no means no” concept is not a joke and does not only apply to the dating scenario. There’s precious few people whose presence I can tolerate for any length of time and a friendly smile does not immediately mean that I want to be around you. Just because what is inside my head is dark and horrible and most of the time yields a particularly sharp scythe doesn’t mean that I will instantly act like a bitch. I am Slytherin enough to understand that social interactions (not hanging out, that’s different) have their uses. And damn my madness even with all this (or maybe because of it) I want to help other people feel happy. If stitching a smile on my face and swearing everything is peachy is the way to do it, well lies have been said for worse reasons. Besides, the line “I’m never ok” sounds overdramatic when spoken aloud, don’t you think?

3 Days 3 Quotes – Day 1

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Oooooh, a tag! Haven’t seen one of those in while! (Well if you bothered to actually stick around on WordPress for more than 5 minutes at a time…)

-ahem- Big thanks to the ever-lovely Irena S. for the nomination! Not sure if I’ll manage to do the full thing, small as it is, I’m on essay writing mode right now… Here goes anyway!

The rules:

  • Thank the person who nominated you
  • Post three different quotes in three consecutive days
  • Nominate three new bloggers each day

And quote #1, from literally the first book next to me right now. It’s from Diary of a Witchcraft Shop by Trevor Jones and Liz Williams and every page of it is hilarious!

“Walking down the High St last night, I was suddenly accosted by St George, in full armour and a sword, who leaped out of the doorway of the George and Pilgrim, exclaiming, ‘Ah! A damsel!’ I explained that I was not, however, in distress and St George disappeared. But it’s the thought that counts.”

If you fancy seeing what living in as crazy a place as Glastonbury is like, I’d say check it out.

Now…who to nominate…Oh, I know! -cue the Pokemon theme- I choose Cora and Brittany! Yes, I know it says three people on the tin but my list of blogs I follow isn’t exactly huge, so if I’m going to do all three days I need to have people to keep tagging! Of course, since the people in question are not stuffed in Pokeballs, there’s no pressure to do the tag. Gotta admit it’s fun though!

Sands of time chapter 4

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Author’s note: I don’t know, Viva la Vida always seemed such an appropriate song for Yami B’s storyline…

***Just a puppet on a lonely string, oh who would ever want to be king?***

He lay at the outskirts of the desert, struggling to breathe; his battle with the Pharaoh and the summoning of the Dark One had left him spent. In retrospect he should have understood this was a mistake. His Phoenix had always protected him, he should have heeded her warnings and tears. She had told him that Zorc was treacherous, that he did not care for justice but he had been drunk with power, so much power cursing through his Diabound. Now there was nothing in him to remind the people of the once fearsome Thief King. He was only twenty-five yet he felt his life slipping out of his body.

It was only a matter of time before the shock of the outcome of the battle left everyone and he was found. They would execute him, he knew as much. Closing his eyes Akefia wondered if there would be a chance to see his people before Ammit devoured his heart. Maybe if the gods were merciful he would die before they found him. Warmth enveloped him and he felt like he was soaring at the skies. If that was what dying felt like, he didn’t get what there was to worry about. With a light smile he allowed himself to fall asleep.

When he woke up again he knew instantly that he was most definitely alive. His body still felt like lead from the exhaustion and the heavenly warmth had receded. Forcing his eyes open Akefia took stock of his surroundings. He was back home in Kul Elna. The spirits’ presence was hardly there, exhausted as they were from Zorc draining their hatred. Something moved in the corner of his eyes and he struggled to turn his head to see who was there. A flash of golden eyes greeted him and his mouth tasted bitter with regret. They had parted fighting, why did she save him?
“Because I love you,” she answered the unspoken question. Elena sat next to him and traced a hand over his scar. “That will never change.” He wanted to answer, apologize, tell her that he loved her too with all his soul. He didn’t get the chance.

Elena had hoped that the Pharaoh’s men would fear the spirits of Kul Elna and avoid coming to the village. The shouts that suddenly tore through the streets proved her wrong. The blue-eyed priest charged inside the house they had been living, flanked by two soldiers. Akefia tried to stand, summon Diabound, anything to protect Elena. He had no strength left. It all happened in an instant.

One of the soldiers saw him move and, fearing that he was about to fight, threw a knife. The weapon arched through the air and started falling, a graceful arc that would end in his heart. Elena threw herself at him, taking the knife for him. Her blood sprayed everyone around, painting her white dress red. She smiled at her love one last time before darkness claimed her. Akefia held her frozen, feeling her heart stop. Her dead face was the last thing he saw before his soul was torn from his body and imprisoned within the Millennium Ring.

One that makes you larger, one that makes you small

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Rest on my table by my bed

In your brightly coloured dress;

Signs of were and is and might still be

All piled together in white and pink.

I may acknowledge but I resent

I want what it was and what it wasn’t.

These days I can’t seem to make

My own mind amidst the contradictions.

It’s not your fault-

Or maybe it is- I know not.

So I keep staring.