#This is kind of a exercise/idea dump to get myself writing again

[youraveragedeltafan]

Idea: Crossover/AU where Chloe Bourgeois gets on the Infinity Train and joins the Apex

Idk how niche this is, but I just had a thought once a little bit of my old and slightly older brainrots came back to haunt me: Chloe Bourgeois and Infinity Train, more specifically book 3. Since I have been grasping at creative straws for 2 months, here are a few bullet points/ideas that I may work with later. Big maybe, this newfound motivation might die tomorrow lol. Either way, hope you few people who find this interesting enjoy!

Also mlb season 5 spoilers I think? I dunno I just kind of read episode summaries now I have no idea what season we're on.

Imagine if at 15, Chloe Bourgeois unknowingly escapes to the train right before she was forced to live with her mother, but instead of going on a journey of self discovery, she has the 'fortune' in bumping into the Apex instead.

(oh also while all of this is very found family like, I acknowledge that under the surface these are still three flawed extremely traumatized kids feeding into each others problems and creating/building a cult that kills denizens/destroys cars, like that's all still happening in the background of this LMAO)

When the crying teenager is brought into the mall by the few younger members of the group, it's more of the same for Grace and Simon, and the normal Apex welcomes begin.

Nobody really realizes or cares who Chloe is, due to their ages when boarding the train. It would bother her on a normal day, but given everything that has happened prior to boarding, it kind of sends her spiraling into more crying/anger.

While Simon is in no mood for it, Grace goes into full damage control mode, comforting and leaving her alone in one of the nicer areas of the mall car so she can fully calm down.

Simon is annoyed by it, but Grace plays it off as playing the long game so to speak in order to get Chloe to join. It's a half truth, as she feels empathy for Chloe after hearing a small bit of the events leading to the train picking her up. (mainly that someone left her, bringing up memories of Grace's first time meeting Simon)

Speaking of empathy, this is dialed up to an eleven when Grace gets to know her better, and finds out about her kind of similar living situation (neglectful parents) and her history of friends/conflict at school (she doesn't really go into the whole superhero thing because she feels like it would take attention off her. Besides, they don't seem to know or care much about what's going on outside anyway)

Now friends, Grace decides to take Chloe to her first car raid with just her and Simon. Chloe goes along with it to both get her anger out on something and impress her new friend. I'd expect they'd hit an 'easy' car first, like the cube car from Book 2.

Simon is now annoyed and jealous now that Grace is giving more of her attention to someone else, but after the car is thoroughly destroyed Chloe gives more information on how she got onto the train. As soon as she mentions being essentially abandoned and replaced by her father, he empathizes with her immediately and actually gets pissed off for her as well (Brought to you by Samantha fueled abandonment issues). They bond over the trash talking of her dad, and they become official friends soon after.

With Chloe fully on their side (and their friendship growing fast), they finally decide to tell her about what the Apex is all about. Full theatrics, conductor and everything.

Knowing the crazy stuff that happened in Paris on a daily basis (which is only reaffirmed by the train), she doesn't doubt the existence of the Conductor, but has reservations about his godlike status among the group ("Are you serious? That thing is probably just a glorified sentimonster!"). However, she keeps these to herself, as she deep down, she doesn't want them to abandon her.

What she lacks in 'belief', she makes up for in fierce loyalty. The only thing Chloe has to her name now is her found family The Apex, and she's not just gonna lose that, no matter how many nulls have to pay. Besides, just because she doesn't believe in the Conductor's power, doesn't mean that she isn't greatly invested in beating the train...

(Oh also, a little bonus. Depending on if the headcanon/theory is true, I'd imagine Simon and Chloe would speak to each other in French on occasion to mess with Grace.)

#It was just a passing thought until I realized it would fit nicely within the suspected timelines of both shows. #Chloe Grace and Simon are all around the same age according to both wikis #Miraculous is still stuck in 2015ish while book 3 took place in/around 2020 #sorry if any of the lore is off I'm rusty with Infinity train and EXTREMELY rusty with miraculous #This is kind of a exercise/idea dump to get myself writing again #mlb season 5 spoilers #idk is that a thing still? I don't even watch miraculous anymore I just read the synopsis/watch clips lolol #infinity train #miraculous ladybug #chloe bourgeois #grace monroe #simon laurent

[galina]

Heya, I was wondering when literary theory / critical theory really clicked for you? I’d love to be able to throw myself into it, and I do find it interesting, but there seems an inexhaustible quantity and tbh I struggle to understand a lot of it. I’m in the 2nd year of a literature course - did it take you a while to learn to navigate/appreciate theory, or is it just naturally your cup of tea? xx

Hi – tricky one, I think it all happened quite holistically and very slowly, it crept up on me. The short version is I spent many years faffing about and then it all kind of came together when I realised reading and writing theory is very personal/like a conversation. The long version is below the cut, seems the button isn’t coming up on the blog so click here if that’s the case

In my second ever seminar at university we talked about theories of interpretation and it was like a big light that had been off in my head for my whole reading life suddenly came on. I was excited, because the death of authorial-intention-based approach gave life to theory, empowered readers to enter into a relationship with the text that was meaningful and new. It made me feel like I could use my experience as a frame through which to view literature rather than just searching for a right or wrong answer to unlocking the text. Despite this I thought reading the actual theory was exceptionally boring (probably Saussure’s fault, or rather my fault for being too stupid to understand the genius implications of Saussure) and struggled to connect my excitement at reading fiction theoretically and, well, actually reading theory texts.

I was on a joint honours creative writing programme which I had been accepted to based on a portfolio of my prose, but my first year was terrible. It wasn't even that I was a bad writer, I was just painfully mediocre and felt I had nothing to say. I constantly felt I was contriving to make something meaningful, my tutor was encouraging enough that we shouldn’t wait for a muse or a moment of inspiration to write but though I pushed through I was consistently marked down in submissions and peer reviews. It was really tough and I wanted to drop out many times, to go and pursue art which was becoming a bigger part of my life all the time – I was making work with other artists and entering into the world of art school which seemed more exciting. At the end of my first year I was seriously thinking about dropping out to pursue fine art full time. 

Something made me not do that, and I think it was theory – probably in the disguise of modern poetry. I had really enjoyed reading poetry before university but I was convinced I was not good enough to write or write about poetry myself. The class made me realise that poetry was a perfect example of the kind of reading and thinking I really loved: poems are puzzles, often they read like a big knotted textural wall of words at first, and then one line comes out like a thread and you pull it and it all starts to become understandable. The thread lodges itself in you, or becomes part of your own tangle. That’s like how theory feels to me, like the tangle of texts and ideas coming together to tell us something about our own tangles. I wanted more of that.

I had to choose whether to take a prose or poetry focused class in my second year creative writing programme, and given how poor I was at prose I decided to take a leap and try poetry. I still had a year to go before I had to choose for my final dissertation portfolio, so I figured it made sense to get a bit of both anyway. Basically I resigned myself to being lost and looked for guidance. I also took classes in the most basic principles of literature and culture – a class on Shakespeare, a class on Modern literature, a film class. 

I fell in with a group of incredible young poets in my second year class. Their grasp on it was already so well-formed, they could do things with words in a ten-minute exercise that I couldn’t write in ten years. I fully assumed the role of the blank canvas and let the class shape my writing. I had some good tutors too who were hard on me at times but ultimately completely changed my approach. I think it’s something to do with having gone in completely humble to it second time around rather than in my first year when I thought I had an understanding already. One of the poets was really into theory. They showed me how it wasn’t all boring, how some of it was really radical and pushed the boundaries. 

It wasn’t until my final year that I put two and two together I think. It was the thing of experience, reading, writing, all becoming the same process, informing each other. I chose poetry fully, threw myself into it, and I also discovered creative non fiction. The two together led me to theory in a big way – writing about my experience, reading about others’, writing about both. I don’t know if that even makes sense but that’s what it felt like. My portfolio, on liminality and duality and transnationality, argued for a personal, subjective approach to poetry, not an objective one. That was when it happened for me, reading about things I understood not because I was smart but because it spoke to me and my experiences, became part of my ‘tangle’. 

Anyway this is a very long way to say theory is deeply personal and that approach worked more for me than any amount of academic commitment to marks, grades or careers. It’s a deep seated need to understand myself and the world that takes me to theory again and again. And the understanding too that the process with theory is never over, there’s always more, but not being overwhelmed by it – I find it comforting to know how little I know. That’s where my appreciation for it and my way of navigating it come from, just knowing it’s bringing a personal and subjective view as part of an enormous collective dialogue between all these different minds across all of time. The texts talk to each other and they talk to us, you just have to enter the conversation.

whew that was quite the brain dump!

#studyblr #bookstagram #bookblr #literature #literary theory #theory #long read

[wild-aloof-rebel]

i’m gonna take a minute here on new year’s eve to do a little self-promo for the writing i’ve done over the course of this year, the same as i did last year

it’s been a weirdly productive year for me. though i spent much of the first half of the year not writing anything at all, it eventually became one of my biggest coping mechanisms, and i’ve managed to end up with over 103k words posted to ao3 in 2020, which is the most i’ve ever published in a single year. it took a hell of a lot of effort in a year when it’s been hard to focus on... anything at all, so i’m really proud of that, but i’m also kind of hoping that maybe next year i won’t quite make it there again because at some point i’ll be busy out doing other things and not sitting at home feverishly dumping words into a google doc to think about something other than the anxiety crawling under my skin

thank you to every single one of you who has read, kudos’d, commented, or bookmarked one of my fics or liked, replied to, or reblogged one of my posts about my fics. you have been a bright spot in these bleak times, and i appreciate you more than i can say! 💗💗💗

on to the fics...

*

happy endings are new beginnings Thoughts on homes and happiness and having to say goodbye. 

this little fic written back in february is about missing things before they’re even gone, which was definitely a big watching s6 mood. it’s a bittersweet thing, and it’s not really canon compliant at this point of course, but i still like it a whole lot

*

bloom Patrick gives David a one-month anniversary gift.

savor Patrick gives David a two-month anniversary gift. 

sing Patrick gives David a three-month anniversary gift.

this little series of fics that i called tempting fate was salvaged from some old google docs from 2019, where they were originally chapters of a longer fic about a full year worth of monthly anniversary gifts. sometimes ideas don’t pan out the way you want them to, but that doesn’t mean the effort you put into them was wasted and that there weren’t good things to be found there. it feels like a very optimist-in-2020 mood to have gone back to resurrect these nuggets of joy from something otherwise abandoned and lost

*

just wanna tell you how i’m feeling I Really Like You: a mixtape for David Rose, carefully curated by Patrick Brewer

the idea for this one came from an ask here on tumblr, and it was a lot of fun picking out what songs patrick would put on this mixtape. it’s just a sweet, happy early relationship fic about the ways we show that we’re falling in love before we’re able to say the words

*

the most important thing (isn’t baseball) David Rose insists he is done letting baseball players into his bed and his life.

Of course, it would be easier to believe him if he could stop thinking about the cute but cocky catcher he met at his parents’ annual All-Star party.

this of course is my big, 18 months in the making, nearly 65k word labor of love for the year. yes, it’s a story about baseball, but much more than that, it’s a story about falling in love, not just with a person but also with the things that are important to them. it is by far the work i am most proud of, and even though i know that many of you who have read it are not at all interested in baseball, i appreciate so much that you gave it a go anyway. and an extra thank you to everyone who followed it as a wip and commented along the way—thank you for trusting me and being so supportive at every turn

*

hopes as high as a kite When Patrick goes home for the holidays to come out to his parents, he discovers it’s harder to do than he had expected.

A story about leaving things behind, letting go, and learning to fly.

this is a fic that’s been bouncing around in my head since spring of last year, but i think that maybe it could only have been told this year. it’s been a year filled with fear and frustration and longing, and i think all that made its way into patrick’s story in a way it wouldn’t have before, so i’m glad i waited to tell it. ultimately, it’s a holiday story that’s a little sad while still being so hopeful, about the friends who show up for us when we need them and get us through the hard times, which is something that feels particularly relevant to me this year

*

if the fates allow Through the years, these two will be together.

A lifetime of Christmas parties spent at the kids’ table.

i kept toying with the idea of trying to publish something else before the new year and had ultimately decided to focus on other things, until i watched a dustin milligan movie randomly one night and immediately started outlining this fic. as you may have noticed, i am typically a fairly slow writer, so it was a fun challenge to try to turn off my inner critic and editor and just pump out a fic as quickly as i could. i definitely don’t want to write that way all the time, but it was an exercise in leaning into my instincts and not second-guessing myself so much, which i think we can all use a reminder of sometimes

#schitt's creek #schitts creek #david x patrick

[goingcheep]

Monday 21st June: Well…

Hello, anyone still reading this.

Well, goingcheep is back, for at least the next eight weeks. Because, as mentioned a few days ago, I’m kicking off the blog again and I’m a fool to myself.

This place was always intended to be a daily brain dump, something to get the writing muscles exercised, but I’ve been entirely negligent. And on previous occasions, it’s turned into almost a mini-blog, feeling like I have to have something to say to justify my posting something. Not this time; we’re going back to basics.

A couple of hundred words every day solely to loosen up the fingers, on whatever strikes me at the time. Free association writing, no real idea when I start the post where it’s going to go, and what’s going to be posted when I hit that ‘post’ button.

Today, for example, I’m writing this while Law & Order is on the telly in the background. I’m continually fascinated by this show, how something so intentionally formulaic manages to - for the most part - stay fresh. In part, it’s because of the regular changes of main cast, but after watching entire seasons, I don’t think that’s the whole answer.

Part of it is the differences in the interactions between the cast members. Some characters like each other, some tolerate each other, and some - very obviously but smartly shown - very much don’t like nor trust each other.

There’s the occasional inconsistency in how that’s shown, and some duff episodes, but with almost 500 episodes, you’d kind of expect that.

There’ve been a few spin-offs of course, some I’ve wholly enjoyed, some I’ve very much not. Not sure why I’ve never taken to SVU; everything is technically great, but the show’s never clicked with me. Law & Order: LA would have been a great show had it ever made up its mind what show it intended to be. It was a mess from start to finish.

Law & Order: Criminal Intent I go back and forth on. The episodes I’ve watched, I’ve mostly enjoyed without any wish to watch another one.

I loved the single season of Law & Order: Trial By Jury. Not even kidding. Thoroughly enjoyed every episode.

But I really, really liked Law & Order | UK. It was part of the reason I was confident when Bradley Walsh (who played the Lennie Briscoe equivalent) was cast in Doctor Who. Never really enjoyed Walsh as a ‘light entertainer’, but I really rate him as an actor.

And then there’s Law & Order: Organized Crime. Hmm. It’s an enjoyable enough show, but I struggle with it even being considered part of the Law & Order franchise.

There are, apparently, two new shows coming down the pipe: Law & Order: Hate Crimes and Law & Order: For The Defence. Again, I get why the former is a good hook; it’s basically the hate crimes equivalent of SVU. But the latter? Hmm. I’ll wait to see.

#law & order #tv #brain dump

[rewolfaekilerom]

hi there.

//NOTE: This is transferred from Wordpress. It was originally posted on 04.11.2021//

This is my blog, and it’s exclusively for me. I’m starting this because I need somewhere to write my ideas. I’m 2 years out of the PhD, which means I’m feeling withdrawals from writing and creating and regurgitating ideas into print. I’m not sure I’ll stick with this, but I think it’s good to have a place to write down ideas that come to mind while reading.

I should also say that this is inspired a bit because I’m really trying to make reading for fun into a thing I just do. It wasn’t before. I hardly had hobbies in grad school, and I’m starting to pick some up now. So I won’t only write about books here–I’ll also write about the other nonsensical ways I spend my free time. COVID has me picking up hobbies, and it was only a matter of time before I switched from that little notebook where I sobbed my ideas onto paper to something digital, something that I can edit anywhere and that can’t be destroy by, say, fire or water. Whatever.

So, hobbies. I’ve been reading more, of course. I’ve been trying to play more video games. And I’ve been crocheting–a lot. Well, not as much in the past few weeks because it’s starting to get warmer, but I’ve been making doilies, of all things. I’d like to get good at making them so I can start making funky ones. I imagine I’ll eventually start making enough that I can begin selling the ones I don’t want to keep. A girl can only have so many doilies, right? I feel like my grandmothers would be proud. I have some of the ones they made, and they’re works of art. Honestly. I don’t think people appreciate how much skill goes into making these things, and now families just throw them away or tear them up or hide them in cabinets as some antiquated cast-off that no one wants but everyone feels too bad to throw away. They’re beautiful and meant to be used, and maybe that means turning them into something else, but they should be appreciated at the very least.

One of my resolutions for 2021 was to listen to more music. I’d been aiming for an hour a day, but that got away from me. Some days I listen to music for 8 hours–that is, while at work and exercising–but then other days I don’t listen to any. I count it as a success that I’ve listened to more new artists in the past three months than I had in YEARS. Grad school dulled some of the brighter parts of life.

That’s not to say I’m not proud that I went to grad school, but the longer I’m away from it the more I realize that it wasn’t necessarily the best environment. I made good friends and I learned so much, which is definitely the point, but I also think I lost touch with who I am or what type of person I wanted to be. Or maybe it made me into someone and that person is just different from the person I was before, which is a natural part of life. I’m not sad for who I am right now; I’m just fascinated by how I got here and a little puzzled at the ways that 7 years of grad school slowly transformed certain characteristics and made them life-defining qualities while it dulled, muted, or suppressed others. I talk about grad school like it’s this amorphous entity, this Sauron, this mythic beast. It kind of is. We all talk about it that way. I doubt I’ll break that habit.

So, I’m not ashamed of having gone to grad school, and I’m also not sad or regretful that I did it. I’m pretty impressed with myself. I’m happy to have had the experiences and to know myself in a way a lot of other people just don’t get to know themselves. But I am also acutely aware of what grad school gave me and what it took away. I’m especially aware of the ways I’d like to stop defining myself in relation to grad school, which is hard when that’s something you did for close to a decade. And of course I’m aware of the irony of saying that in the same text where I’m talking about how tied I am to it. Ugh.

Anyway, I’m reading more. I’m crocheting more. I’m listening to more music. I’m painting more. I say “more” when I should really say “again.” Whatever. I’m doing those things, and I’m realizing that I have a lot of thoughts about those things that maybe I should write down so I can keep a record of them. I’m on a computer 9+ hours a day, so it makes sense to have a digital brain-dump rather than a physical paper one, which I also have but which is not something I find myself reaching for. So maybe I’ll reach for this. Maybe not. We’ll see!

xoxo, you know.

[temilyrights]

in this space with you

Summary:  Jack Sloane x Reader. Ellie and Reader stumble across Jack on a date. Jack assumes that Ellie and Reader are on a date themselves. 

Word Count: 4422

A/N: This was meant to be angsty and then became fluffy and cute and honestly that never happens with my writing...Light angst, fluff, emotions, the usual. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated:) Enjoy! 

Read on AO3

“This was a great idea.” Ellie praises between a mouthful of food. It was Tuesday evening and you already couldn’t wait for this week to be over. You’d caught a case in the early hours of the morning, and it’d been nothing but hell. Lying witnesses, cryptic descriptions of what the Lieutenant was working on. It just seemed like no matter what leads you followed someone was blocking your path. Everyone was frustrated but when it hit 8 o’clock and the leads were dying out, Gibbs had sent you all home. 

Apart from home didn’t sound like the best idea, not when your mind was still spinning from the case. You’d noticed Ellie’s hesitation as well. Alcohol would usually be your go-to, but it was Tuesday and you needed to be sharp for tomorrow so, instead, you’d agreed on dinner. You hadn’t realised how hungry you were until you arrived at the restaurant and the smell of food filled your senses. Your mouth was practically watering by the time your lasagne arrived.

“So much better than drowning myself in alcohol.” Ellie laughs at your quip, placing her fork down to take a sip from her glass of wine, the glass stops inches from her mouth as her jaw hangs open in shock. “What?” You frown. 

“Ok, don’t look now but Jack’s sitting at a table by the side of the room...I think she’s on a date.” Ellie’s voice drops to a low whisper and you swallow roughly as an odd feeling rushes through you, a mixture of disappointment and jealousy which has no right to appear. Ignoring Ellie’s ‘don’t look’ you turn around and feel your heart drop into your stomach when you see Jack’s hand entangled with a man’s as they sit across from one another. You kind of recognise him but don’t know where from and the fact you could only see the left side of his face wasn’t helping. You know you’re staring but can’t seem to get your head to turn away. Her hairs tucked behind one ear allowing you to see the smile on her face. She’s wearing the same beige blazer from work but instead of the matching slacks, she’s paired them with blue skinny jeans. “Y/N?” Ellie’s voice is full of confusion. You take one last second to take in the scene before plastering a smile on your face and turning to face the concerned blonde. 

“Do you recognise him?” You ask, hoping Ellie will just pick up the conversation and let your odd reaction go. 

“He works at the NSA. He’s the analyst we worked with last month.” You nod as you think back to the case. His name was Matthew? Michael? Marshall? Something boring and easily forgettable. You couldn’t imagine why Jack would ever even consider a date with the man. He was nice looking, sure, but he’d been dull and pompous as hell and definitely not good enough for Jacqueline fricking Sloane. “What’s happening here?” Ellie’s watching you closely, eyes examining you as she tries to work it out. 

“Nothing.” You try to sound unbothered, shrugging as you return to your food but Ellie’s eyes just narrow staring at you until suddenly her eyes widen in surprise. 

“You like Jack?” It’s said in a terrible attempt of a whisper. Panic rushes through you as you jump further upright in your chair. 

“No.” It’s said too quickly, and your voice is like 3 octaves too high for it to be believable. “I-I’m just surprised Jack’s on a date with him of all people. Didn’t he drive you insane on the case? He was so far up his own ass I’m surprised he could see anything.” 

Ellie snorts a laugh. “Sure, he was annoying but he’s handsome,” Your face scrunches up and Ellie rolls her eyes playfully. “He is! And maybe he’s nicer outside the office.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” You sigh, dropping your fork onto your plate suddenly no longer hungry. 

“Oh wow, you really like her.” It’s a statement, not a question. The sympathy in Ellie’s voice makes your voice catch in your throat. 

You cough in an attempt to clear it. “It’s just a crush. Harmless, I’m basically over it already.” It’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told Ellie. You’d had a crush on Jack since the moment she’d turned up to NCIS 3 years ago and it’d only grown since so there was definitely no chance of you just getting ‘over it’ anytime soon (but you could dream). 

“So, if I was to tell you that Jack and Mark were currently kissing,” Your head swings around, a blush covering your face when you realise the two of them were not kissing and were instead just chatting. “It wouldn’t bother you at all.” Ellie’s voice is full of mirth, a shit-eating grin on her face that just earns her a glare in response. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not, but that’s only because now I’m thinking about it, the two of you, It makes sense. There’s always been something between you both, none of us really understood what it was, but this makes sense.” 

“You’re reading too far into this. I don’t even know if Jack likes women, and even if she does...She doesn’t like me, not like that.” 

“How can you-” 

“Can we just drop this? Enjoy the rest of our dinner.” Ellie wants to protest but instead, she sighs and goes back to her food. You smile, taking a bite from your own food which is now slightly cold. “How was karaoke night with Nick?” 

Ellie doesn’t try to protest again, instead, describing Nick’s terrible re-enactment of ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. It’s not long before you’ve both finished your meals and begin to make your way out of the restaurant. You’re too preoccupied telling Ellie about the lunch you’d had with your mother the previous weekend that you don’t notice that Ellie’s led you around the long way just so you have to pass Jack’s table until it’s too late. 

“Jack, fancy seeing you here.” Ellie’s voice is gleeful. You glare daggers into the back of her head but she only smirks when she turns to face you. You were going to kill her.

“Ellie, Y/N.” Jack’s voice is full of surprise, her cheeks heating up as she looks between the two of you and her hand slips away from Matthew’s? Michael’s? You couldn’t remember his name and truthfully you didn’t care. Your glare has subsided, instead replaced with an awkward smile as you try to think of a way to hurry out of the restaurant and to the safety of your car. “What are you guys doing here?” Jack’s eyes narrow. 

One of your brows raises, a smirk tugging at your lips. “We had dinner like one usually does when at a restaurant.” Ellie snorts. Jack’s eyes are still flicking between the two of you as if she’s trying to put together a puzzle she doesn’t quite understand. A waiter goes to pass you, your arm comes to rest on Ellie’s back as you move her closer to the table to allow him to pass. Jack’s eyes zero in on the contact, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Mark, Hi.” The man who you’d half-forgotten about speaks up, extending his hand to Ellie to shake. 

“Right sorry, Yes this is Mark my-” Jack clears her throat. You shake his hand, probably gripping it a little tighter than you should as you plaster a smile across your face. 

“Date.” Mark grins and honestly, you want to punch him.

“Yes. Date.” 

“Well, we don’t want to intrude,” Ellie says as if that isn’t exactly what she was doing. “We’ll see you at the office in the morning.” 

“Bye Jack, Michael.” It’s petty, and Jack will see right through it, but it’s worth it for the way he stutters to correct you. Jack’s eyes are narrowed but you just smirk at her. 

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Jack says. Mark’s hand reaches out, tangling their fingers back together. It makes your chest ache and you quickly avert your eyes, all your humour gone as you follow Ellie from the restaurant making sure to never turn back around. 

Ellie starts talking the second the door shuts behind you. “I mean she totally likes you right? There was no other-” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You cut her off, really no longer in the mood for this and cursing yourself for ever even suggesting tonight. You should have just gone home, maybe alcohol would have been the better option, probably would have hurt less. 

“Wait, Y/N.” Ellie starts to follow after you, distress filling her voice. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You manage a small smile, which Ellie returns, before turning back and making your way to your car. 

You ignore the pit in your stomach. Try to block out the images of their hands intertwined and Jack’s smile. Try not to think about them back at the restaurant, about the possibility of them kissing, about Jack settling for some mediocre man that definitely doesn’t deserve her. You take a long shower, allowing your tears to mingle with the water and then put on your comfiest pyjamas, wrapping yourself in a blanket and settling on the sofa. You pick out a movie on Netflix and hit play, snuggling further into the pillows as you allow the film to distract you from your thoughts. 

You wake up at 5, still on the sofa, having fallen asleep at some point during the movie. You chuck on your gym clothes, pack your stuff for the day and make yourself a cup of coffee before heading to work. It’s barely 6 when you arrive. You head straight to the gym, dumping your bag in the corner as you put in your headphones and crank your music up high and let loose on the punching bag.

You head up to the bullpen a couple of hours later, freshly showered and now donning a work-appropriate outfit, one that left you feeling confident and ready for the day. “Morning, Gibbs.” You say, smiling when you notice the man sitting at his desk. You put your bag away and take your own seat. 

“You’re here early.” He comments, looking at you from his desk. 

“Not really it’s already 8 o’clock.” 

“And your car was already here when I arrived an hour ago,” Gibbs smirks, eyes curious.

You shrug. “Wanted to get in some exercise before work.” You walk over to Ellie’s desk, grabbing the case file you knew she’d had the night before. You flick through it as you sit back down, focusing on the folder and finding new leads instead of Gibbs’ interested eyes and the fact you could hear the elevator opening and the familiar click of heels making their way to the bullpen. 

“Mornin’ Jack.” 

“Good morning, Gibbs, Y/N.” You look up long enough to flash her a small smile before returning to the folder in front of you. You can feel Jack’s eyes flicking to you as she speaks to Gibbs. “Is Ellie in?” 

That gains your attention, the way Jack’s trying to sound casual but it’s anything but. You look up just as Gibbs responds. “No. Why?” He’d noticed as well then. 

“Oh, just wanted her opinion on something.” Jack swings on her heels, her voice too light. The elevator doors ding open again, Ellie and Tim make their way over, laughing.  

“Good morning.” Ellie sings, she heads straight to your desk and hands you a cup of coffee. “Sorry for last night,” Ellie speaks quietly so not to be heard by anyone else. 

“It’s fine, really.” You smile softly. “But thank you for the coffee.” You take a sip of the drink, humming in delight. Jack’s glaring at Ellie the whole exchange, watching your soft smiles and quiet words makes her blood boil, her hands grip so tightly on her bag that her knuckles turn white, but by the time you look at her she’s got a slightly strained smile on her face.

Jack points in the direction of her office. “Well, I should get to work.” She waves goodbye and starts to exit. 

“Jack, didn’t you want to talk to Bishop?” Gibbs calls after her, halting Jack’s steps and causing Ellie’s head to perk up in interest. 

“Oh, right yes, uh, are you alright if we go to my office?” 

“Sure.” Ellie shrugs, getting up from her desk and following Jack from the room. Both you and Gibbs watch them leave, both confused by how Jack was acting. 

Ellie returns about 15 minutes later. Her eyes are filled with determination as she hurriedly makes her way over to you, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you in the direction of the elevator. 

“Ellie? What’s happening?” You try to protest, eyes wide in shock. Ellie doesn’t respond, just pushes you into the elevator as Jimmy exits. 

“Hey, guys-” Ellie slams the close button, cutting off Jimmy’s words before hitting the emergency stop.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Ready to tell me what the hell that was about?” 

“I think Jack thinks we’re dating.” Your mouth drops open and you can’t do anything but stare at Ellie in shock. “She got me to look over some paperwork, but she kept asking questions about last night and just us in general.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like if we did anything nice after dinner and if we have plans together anytime soon. She was trying to be subtle but when I told her we were planning a weekend away she looked about ready to snap the pen in her hands in half.” 

“We aren’t planning a weekend away.”

“I know that, but she didn’t, and I wanted to see what her reaction would be,” Ellie smirks, shrugging. “I know I said I’d drop this, but Y/N I really do think she likes you.” 

“She was literally on a date last night. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t.” You roll your eyes, trying to stamp down the hope that you could feel brewing. 

Ellie’s smirk only widens. “A date which I asked her about, and she said she wasn’t seeing him again!” 

“Doesn’t mean she’s interested in me. What’s his face was dull as hell.” 

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Mark! And are you serious? I swear to god if you don’t go and see her, I’m going to go tell her myself.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Wanna bet?” You both stare at each other, waiting for the other to back down. There was just no way Jack liked you. Surely, she would have said something if she felt anything for you, she’s not the type of person to wallow in her feelings. Although she was more touchy with you, you’d always put that down to the fact you were good friends. You think about the way her head had rested on your shoulder when you’d been around her house the week before watching some shitty tv show she loved. You think about the way even at the office she always touched you in some way, a hand on your back, on your shoulder, on your arm and even occasionally a small grip to your hand before she let go. She didn’t do that with anyone else.

 If you went and talked to her at least there was a chance to gauge the situation without admitting anything. You sigh, dropping Ellie’s gaze. “Fine.” 

You glare at the blonde as she grins. “Yay.” She disables the emergency lock and presses the button for the next floor. “Now, go talk to her.” You get off the elevator, Ellie descends the stairs and you avoid looking at her, and the curious eyes you can feel on you from the bullpen as you make your way across the landing and down the corridor to Jack’s office. 

You stop outside, wringing your hands before knocking on the door. “Hey.” Your small, unsure smile is reflected back at you when Jack lifts her head. 

“Hey. Everything ok?” 

You take a couple of steps into her office. “Yeah. I just wanted to speak to you about something.” 

“Sure. Take a seat.” Jack signals to her sofa. You make your way over, kicking your shoes off as you bring your feet up, wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your head on your knees. Jack shuts her office door before making her way over, she pauses by the chair opposite you. “Are you here to speak to me as a psychologist or as a friend?” 

“Friend.” Jack nods, bypassing the chair and taking the seat next to you on the sofa. A smile tugs at your lips. She isn’t wearing shoes, probably kicked off somewhere behind her desk like usual, so she crosses her legs, sitting sidewards so she’s facing you. You shuffle round to face her two, putting your head back on your knees. Jack’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern and you want nothing more than to lean over and kiss the worry away. 

“What’s up?” 

You chew your lip, noting the way Jack’s eyes momentarily focus on the action before she’s meeting your eyes again. It gives you a little confidence. “Ellie told me if I didn’t talk to you, she would.” At the mention of Ellie’s name, you see Jack’s walls slam up, her smile faltering and you realise Ellie might have actually been right. A smirk tugs at your lips. “I’m not dating Ellie.” 

Jack’s eyes widen in surprise. You think you see a glimmer of hope shining in them but she’s looking away before you can be sure and when she meets your eyes again her walls are back in place. “Ok?” Jack says, prompting you to continue. 

Your nerves come right back. The next step was going to involve you admitting to Jack that you liked her in some way and once that happened there was no going back, no matter if she returned your feelings or not. You don’t realise you’re fiddling with your fingers until Jack’s hand reaches out to cover them. 

“Hey.” Jack’s smile is soft as she waits for you to meet her eyes, only continuing talking once you do. “You know you can tell me anything.” Jack’s thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of one of your hands. 

You take a deep breath, lifting your head from your knees and moving to copy Jack’s crossed leg position. Jack pulls her hand away from yours but before it can retreat all the way back to her lap you cover it with your own and then very slowly link your fingers with hers, watching closely to see her reaction. Jack’s mouth hangs open slightly in surprise, her eyes darting between your eyes and intertwined hands. 

You chuckle awkwardly. “You know, I was so content just suppressing these feelings...but then I saw you at the restaurant with your hands interlocked with his and suddenly my heart was in my stomach and all the feelings that were under lock and key came bursting out and all I wanted to do was steal you away from the douche, that by the way, totally doesn’t deserve to even be in like 10 feet of you let alone on a date.” Jack releases a watery chuckle along with a playful roll of the eyes. “But I couldn’t do any of that because I’m your friend, and friends aren’t meant to get jealous of their friends being on dates.” 

“They aren’t?” Jack’s lips twitch into a smirk, her voice barely above a whisper. “Guess I missed that memo.” 

“Yeah, I think Ellie would agree.” You tease, voice as quiet as Jack’s. Her cheeks prickle with heat but her eyes don’t leave yours. You don’t know when it happened, but you’ve moved closer to each other, Jack reaches out and cups your cheek. You instantly lean into the touch, loving the way Jack smiles and her eyes twinkle.

She hums. “I guess friends probably shouldn’t want to kiss their friends either.” You swallow roughly as Jack’s gaze falls to your lips before slowly making its way back to your eyes. “I suppose we aren’t just friends then.”

“Hmm...That seems like a theory that needs testing out.” Your eyes darken, tongue darting out to wet your lips in anticipation. With a laugh, Jack tugs you closer, your breath catches in your throat as she stops centimetres from your lips. Your heads are titled, her heavy-lidded eyes darting between yours and your open mouth in question. Your hand goes to the back of her neck and you close the last bit of distance. The kiss is soft and slow and, despite your slightly awkward crossed-legged positions, better than anything you’d ever imagined. Your hands tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck as you explore one another’s mouths. It’s over too soon, Jack pulling back slightly to rest her forehead against yours. You’re grinning like a maniac but you’re too happy to care. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Jack breathes. Your cheeks heat up from the combination of her words and the intensity of her gaze. You pull her back in, placing a soft peck on her lips. Jack stops you from pulling away, releasing a breathy “Nuh-uh.” and bringing you right back to her lips. The kisses heat up as she pulls a throaty moan from you, tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. She finds her way into your lap, moans erupting from both of you as she grinds her hips down and cups your breast through your shirt. 

You pull your mouth away, both of you breathing heavily. “Work.” 

“I really don’t care about work right now.” Jack grinds her hips again to prove her point and you’re so tempted to say screw it but you know this case is important. 

“You will when I inevitably get a message telling me to get my ass back to work.” And you weren’t about to start something you couldn’t finish. Jack sighs, knowing you’re right. She goes to shuffle off your lap, but you stop her with a hand to her waist. Jack brow raises, smirk back on her face. You take a moment to admire her. Her slightly ruffled hair from where your hands had been, swollen lips from your kisses. She was stunning.

“Y/N?” Jack asks, eyes softening as she reaches out to cup your cheek. “What are you thinking?” 

“I like you a lot, Jack. I just need to know if this, us, is something you want.” Tears build behind your eyes as your insecurities rush through you. You needed to be sure that she felt the same things you did before you let yourself fly away on cloud 9...before you got hurt. Jack clicks her tongue, eyes unbelievably soft and full of emotion as she places a hard, passionate kiss against your lip. When she pulls back, she makes sure your eyes are open and on her before she speaks. 

“Yes Y/N, I want this. I want you.” A tear escapes your eye and Jack wipes it away, leaving a kiss in its place. She moves to your other cheek, placing another kiss before capturing your lips again. 

Jack’s office phone starts ringing, and she groans, placing one last peck to your lips before getting off your lap and making her way to her desk. “Jacqueline Sloane.” Your eyes trail over her body as she perches herself on the edge of her desk. She’s wearing one of her fitted pantsuits. It’s dark green with a white shirt underneath and honestly, it should be illegal to look that good. You couldn’t wait to get her to your house, have the time to explore every inch of her skin, see her laid out underneath you with messy hair and a satisfied smile. God, she was-

“Hey!” You jump as a lollipop hits you in the chest. “What was that for?” You pout, taking the lollipop out of its wrapper and placing it in your mouth. Mm, your favourite. 

Jack puts the phone back in its holder. A brow raised as she huffs. “Oh, Please. As if you weren’t just undressing me with your eyes.” Your cheeks pink, as you make your way over to Jack. You pull the lollipop from your mouth, twiddling it between your fingers as you smirk.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I know you too well to let your innocent act fool me.” Jack pulls you to stand between her legs, hands resting on your hips. 

“Oh no!” You fake gasp, humour seeping into your tone. “Can’t have you knowing all my secrets.”

Jack hums, her voice lowering to a sultry tone that makes your legs wobble. “Baby, I already do.”

“So not fair.” You mutter. 4 words, a sultry tone, and her smirk and you were already putty. Jack’s office phone rings again. She leans over and grabs the phone, keeping a hand on your hip so you don’t move away. 

“Jacqueline Sloane.” 

“Tell Y/N to get her ass back down here. She’s not getting paid to make out with you.” Gibbs' gruff voice rings through the phone. Jack’s head tilts back, pure laughter escaping her throat as your face heats up. 

“I’ll send her down.” Jack doesn’t wait for a response, just hangs up the phone. A devilish smirk on her face when she faces you. “I think we should make that a game, how many times in a day can we make out without getting caught.”  

“Make it a competition and add in how often we can distract each other as well.” 

Jack’s eyes darken. “Are you prepared to lose? I happen to have quite the competitive streak.” 

“Oh, I know. All the more fun.” Jack’s toes curl as you capture her lips, drawing moans from her throat as you nip at her lip. Jack’s hands tighten on your waist as she tries to pull you closer, but you pull out of her grasp, breaking the kiss with a smirk. “Got to go to work.” You place the lollipop back in your mouth, leaving Jack as her swollen lips hang open in shock. 

“You play dirty.” 

“Oh, baby.” You grin as Jack’s eyes darken, nostrils flaring. “You’ve got no idea.” You close her office door behind you, basking in her frustrated groan as you walk back to the bullpen with a skip in your step and a smirk on your face. 

#jack sloane x reader #jacqueline sloane #jack sloane #ncis #maria bello #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #but i'm in this space with you #light angst #fluff #fem!reader

[soldouthaz]

I really want to start writing fics because writing has always been a passion of mine, and what better way to use it than to write about and interact with a fandom i'm passionate about as well, right? the problem is that i'm a 'gifted kid' with both adhd and depression, which makes for both lack of motivation and lack of attention span, even if I'm mentally obsessing over what I'm working on, I'll have a lot of trouble actually doing it. (1/2)

On top of that, I tend to back away or give up completely if I don't have an immediate knack for something or if I hit a roadblock of sorts. Do you have any tips for me, and, more specifically, for how to explore your passions even when your brain chemistry is kicking your ass? (2/2)

hi!! what a good question!!! I've always struggled with some of this myself so I'll do my best to give some good advice below the cut!!! 

- just a quick tw for anyone who may be sensitive to topics including depression or other similar mental health conditions! -

(i’ll talk about a few things regarding the adhd/depression and then I'll include some advice at the end for you!!! this got kind of long (sorry!) but if you read anything, make sure it’s the end!)

so this was something I struggled with big time for a while when I first started writing! I don’t have ADHD but I do have OCD, which is also quite the cocktail with depression so I feel your pain! i understand how frustrating it is because writing is very two sided in my experience, meaning on one hand it’s cathartic and eases anxiety, but on the other hand it can induce those negative feelings just as quickly as it got rid of them if you’re too overwhelmed while doing so.

depression is always the heavy hitter for me personally. I can have so many ideas and so much excitement for them and yet when I sit down to write everything seems so overwhelming that I end up backing out of it and leaving it for later for the millionth time. mine is mostly seasonal as well, so i go through periods of time (like these past few months) where i get very unmotivated and don’t write much at all. it’s an annoying cycle to then feel unproductive and know that you want to do it but you don’t do it but you feel like you should etc. etc..

the ADHD (or OCD in my case) seems to always be more of an environment issue for me. I really can only write more than a few sentences once I'm alone in the dead of night, when everyone else is asleep and I'm in control of my surroundings -- for example, the volume (music, fans, tv, etc), position (where I'm sitting, what’s around me), and being comfortable (comfy clothes, blankets, etc). I'm a big sensory person so if something’s even slightly brushing my arm in the wrong way, I can’t get into what I'm doing.

but i also understand what you mean strictly focus wise, when you’re trying to plan out your ideas and just keep jumping from one thing to another! (by the way i love that you mentioned when you're not good at something immediately you tend to give up - i do the same thing!) this is where i’ll try to give you some of the tips that helped me personally!

not too get too sappy, but to me the beauty of writing has always been that there is no right or wrong way to do it. the most difficult part of it is nailing down the fact that you should write for yourself and not simply to get hits or kudos or comments or anything. it should be fun and ultimately rewarding, and if it isn’t, don’t try to force yourself!

this is where the flip side of the adhd/depression + writing debate comes in -- finishing a piece of work can be one of the best feelings in the world, no matter how big or small or if other people enjoy it or not. because now you’ve got something that you can point to and say hey, i did that! i created this thing and put it into the world regardless of the challenges i might have encountered along the way or anyone else’s judgement! and that’s a wonderful feeling, especially if you’re like me when you feel lazy or unproductive half the time and the other half of you is constantly restless, full of energy with no other outlet for it.

so my advice to you would be to start small. it took me months to finish the first fic that i published because i split it up into portions and didn’t force myself if i truly didn’t want to write that day. to elaborate about ‘small’, there’s several different options!

before i got into fandom writing, poetry was the holy grail for me because it didn’t require much effort! i used my phone or the nearest notebook i had to just scribble down my feelings in just a few lines. it helped me feel better quickly just to get it off my chest, it wasn’t time consuming, and there was no planning required so it wasn’t overwhelming to me! poetry is fun to just play around with and you can kind of make up your own rules, so feel free to try that as a warm up or experiment as well!

but you mentioned specifically fics and fandom writing, so there are some options for that as well!

drabbles are a great idea as an intro to writing in my opinion! they’re wonderful practice for finding your ‘writing voice’ and learning which genres and topics you enjoy writing about before diving headfirst into a long fic! if you plan on publishing it, they’re also a great way to set the tone for readers of what your future works will be like! (another exercise similar to this is word prompts, where you choose a random word and just try to write and see what comes out!)

WIPs are fairly controversial, but who cares? if you’ve got something you want to write and you want to publish a chapter indefinitely throughout the year just when you feel like it, go for it! it’s still a creative outlet and it’s still you expressing yourself, which means it’s fully worth it.

that being said, my entire world changed after i started outlining. if you want to write a full fic to be published at once, the most helpful thing is to have a plan. it doesn’t have to be nailed down or perfect, but even just scribbling down some random scene ideas or plot points can help! from there, if you feel like it, you can go as detailed as you want and add things like goal word count, character bios, etc. until it begins to take the shape of a full story!

while keeping all of this in mind, i know i’m stressing it but it’s so important to remember that how you view this can be the change in how all of this pans out. writing for yourself is the goal here -- getting attached to hits or kudos or reblogs only provides temporary validation. it’s nice but it’s not going to give you that emotional payoff.

you mentioned that writing was a passion of yours and writing can be extremely cathartic, especially when you’re writing about an interest or something you love! no part of it should be extremely stressful or make you more anxious than when you started. i honestly can’t recommend it enough, even if you don’t share your first drafts or if you end up scrapping parts of it later on. no matter how long or short it is and no matter if it’s something you think people will read or not.

with depression and ADHD especially, writing is the perfect mix of pushing yourself and achieving goals without going too far, and it’s helped me in my own mental health journey immensely. (most of my works are just emotion-dumps where i use my characters and storylines to cope with whatever’s going on in my current life!) it’s a type of therapy in itself, and to be able to share it in a community of people that view it the same way is just an added bonus! 

speaking more generally regarding your point about trying to enjoy your interests while also dealing with mental health conditions that limit your ability to do so, my go-to method is always just to take it as it comes, or break it down into easier sections to deal with. if i’m doing something and i’m aware of and actively trying to fight an OCD tic (or in your case ADHD behavior), it’s only going to make me more anxious. so my advice would be to take a break and do something comforting to calm down, then return to what you were doing before. we have to remember to be kind to ourselves, especially in this weird time!

conversely, with depression, i try to push myself just slightly. my brain usually wants to give up and shut down and sometimes that’s okay too, but it usually pays off for me if i bargain with myself to keep going or keep trying, like promising myself a nap or some relaxing time if i can finish x amount of whatever i’m working on, if that makes sense. a little bit can go a long way!

ahh sorry, this one kind of got away from me! i’m sorry it’s so lengthy but i hope some part of it resonated with you! the ask touched on a lot of different things so if you need me to clarify anything or elaborate or if you have any more questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me again! i also made a post about my writing process a while ago if that’s something you’d be interested in, and this post from the other day has some other tips on dealing with grief/anxiety that may also be helpful for your situation! 

(also, I'd just like to point out that just from your ask alone I can tell you write really well! I would be very interested in reading something of yours in the future!) 

I'm wishing you the best of luck with your first venture into writing and fics, and I'd be more than happy to help you in any way that I can! I can’t wait to see what all you do <33333 

#ask #misc #about me #advice

[gaylotusthatexists]

something wrong

pairing: logicality

summary: Logan feels like there’s something wrong with him. Patton helps him to realise there isn’t.

trigger warnings: break up, questioning sexuality

word count: 1500

a/n: day twenty two!!!! today’s prompt was ‘self discovery’. this was a lot of fun for me to write (although i am sorry for. the bit in the middle haha sorry pat). i hope y’all enjoy this <3

ao3

Whenever anybody asked Logan who his celebrity crush was, he never knew what to say. Same with when he was asked when he was going to get a girlfriend, or if he liked anyone from his class. Or when they were doing a writing exercise in English and had to describe their dream date or their dream girl and Logan couldn't picture anything for the life of him.

He would sometimes lay in his bed at night, staring at the ceiling, and try to figure out what was wrong with him. No matter how hard he tried, he could never imagine himself in a relationship with a girl, couldn't even figure out why somebody would want that. Every time his friends would inform him of a new girlfriend, he'd always just scoff and ask them why, and they'd always look at him like he was insane. So he'd clarify, asking them why they wanted to be in a relationship in the first place, and then his friends would get offended and leave, and he never understood that. He supposed that having a girlfriend could be nice, somebody to talk to perhaps, but... well, the idea of kissing and holding hands with a girl didn't appeal to Logan at all.

So, for a while, he thought that maybe the problem was that he was trying to imagine himself with a girl. He was fourteen when he first learnt what the term 'gay' meant - a sheltered upbringing paired with growing up in a fairly conservative town meant he'd never been told about any of that, or even thought to question it - and, for a while, he considered that maybe the reason he wasn't 'falling in love' with any girls was because he was actually attracted to guys. He experimented a little - not a lot, more just looked at some guys and tried to figure out why he didn't particularly want to date any of them either, or why he didn't find any male celebrities particularly attractive.

He thought that maybe this whole crisis would be put behind when when he met an actual gay person, by the name of Patton - a new student in his class, who'd quickly warmed up to him. He was bubbly and sweet and kind of cute, in a way, with curly hair and round glasses and a contagious smile. Logan enjoyed his company, loved how Patton would listen to him to info-dump and how Patton would sometimes sing and how Patton would always sit with him and talk, no matter what. A couple months into their friendship Patton asked Logan to be his boyfriend, and Logan didn't really see a reason to refuse. Patton was nice and Logan wouldn't have minded spending the rest of his life with him, so being his boyfriend would make sense, right?

That crisis was over. He was gay, probably, and did want a relationship, maybe. With Patton, specifically.

Except... things still didn't feel right. He somewhat felt the desire to go on dates now, he supposed - any time hanging out with Patton was perfect, and the fact that they now referred to these outings as 'dates' didn't really change a thing - but Logan still found himself... pushing Patton away. Patton would kiss him sometimes, even just tiny pecks on the cheeks, and every kiss left a weird feeling in Logan's stomach. Patton would always greet Logan with a hug in the morning, which he did before anyway but as a couple it felt different, and Logan wasn't sure if he liked it. Even the word 'boyfriend' tasted sour on his tongue, like it didn't describe the relationship he wanted with Patton.

When things started becoming even more physical with Patton, Logan said nothing. He allowed Patton to kiss him and hold hands and cuddle him during movie nights, because he hated the sad look on Patton's face whenever Logan would push him away. He tried not to show how uncomfortable he was during all of this, because logically he shouldn't have been uncomfortable with any of it - he did love Patton, Patton was the most important person in his life, he just... didn't seem to love Patton in the way he was supposed to.

Maybe those kids from school were right. Maybe Logan was incapable of real love.

Eventually, it all became too much. Logan... didn't want to do this to Patton, but he didn't want to hurt Patton, or himself, any more. So, one day, Logan sat Patton down for a talk.

"I..." Logan was usually so good with words, so why was he struggling now? "I- I can't do this."

Patton frowned. "Can't do... what?"

"This." He breathed in and out. "Us. I- I love you Patton, I really do, but..."

"Are you... breaking up with me?"

Logan glanced down the floor, unable to bear the look in Patton's eyes. "I... think it's best for us to do so."

Patton fell silent, and that broke Logan, to the extent that he felt like he may cry. He didn’t know why - he wasn’t exactly happy in a romantic relationship with Patton, so really ending things should make him feel better, right? Or maybe...

“It’s nothing to do with you,” Logan promised, looking back at Patton only to find Patton avoiding his gaze. “It’s... It’s me, really. I- I think you’re amazing and perfect and I absolutely love being your friend, I wouldn’t even mind still being in a... close relationship to you, I just... All this romantic stuff doesn’t feel right. I don’t- I don’t think I’m into guys, really.”

Patton frowned. “Are you straight, then?”

“No, I...” Logan breathed in. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never- I’ve never really had the desire to be in a close, physical relationship with anyone. You’re... You were the first people I could actually imagine myself spending a significant amount of time with, but... I don’t know, being your boyfriend just feels...” He trailed off. He didn’t know how to explain himself, and Patton only seemed to be growing more and more upset.

Logan stood up, going to pace around the room. It felt weird sitting still, with Patton staring at the floor. Surely there was something wrong with him - if he loved Patton so much and it hurt him so much to end things with him, why didn’t he want to be in a romantic relationship with him? It didn’t make any sense.

Logan ended up going home, parting ways with Patton. They were still... sort of friends, he supposed, but things still felt weird between them. Perhaps because Logan knew how Patton really felt about him, and it pained Logan that he physically could not reciprocate those feelings. He wanted to, wanted to have that closeness they used to have even before they dated, but... things weren’t the same.

Until another day, a month or so after things ended, when Patton approached Logan and sat down. “I have something you may find interesting,” he said.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” It had been ages since Patton had gotten straight to the point like this - over the past month, they’d settled into a routine of awkward smalltalk before the real conversation.

“I was doing some research the other night,” Patton said, “because of some stuff you said when... y’know.” Logan did know, and he didn’t particularly want to be reminded about it. “You said that you... didn’t feel the desire to be in a romantic relationship, right?”

Logan nodded. “Yes. I- I don’t know. It just... feels uncomfortable, imagining myself in one.” He didn’t mentioned that he’d also felt uncomfortable being in one, for fear that that may upset Patton more than necessary.

“Yeah, so, I found this term some people use,” Patton continued. “A couple terms, actually. I...” He dug through his bag and handed a notebook over to Logan, with a page filled with definitions open. The very first one struck Logan in a way he’d never felt before.

aromantic: a lack of romantic attraction

Logan blinked, over and over again. That... “There’s a word for that?” he whispered, glancing back at Patton.

A small smile grew across Patton’s face. “Yeah. I- I don’t know if that’s you, but... I don’t know. You said you thought that something was wrong with you, but there... there’s other people who feel the same way.”

“I’m not alone.” Logan scanned over the rest of the definitions, making some mental notes to research more into it later. But after a while of sitting in silence, Logan smiled and turned back to Patton. “Thank you. I- I think I...” He didn’t finish. Patton just smiled back, looking happy that Logan had figured something out.

Logan still didn’t know what to say when people asked him about crushes or relationships, but at least now he knew why he never knew what to say. He didn’t feel like he needed a romantic relationship, and that was fine. There was nothing wrong with him, at all.

#prideprompts2020 #thomas sanders #sanders sides #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #aromantic!logan #tw break up #my writing #my fanfic

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Whoops everyone’s poly

You guys remember that Mal/Jay/Evie/Carlos/Ben/Jane/Doug/Lonie post I made forever ago and said I probably wasn’t ever gonna write? Well. Turns out I’m gonna write it.

“You don’t have to be.” Mal says it with such conviction that Jane looks up from her shaking hands, blinking in stupid confusion at her. 

“What?”

“You don’t have to be a better daughter,” She says, firmer, and with none of the slow over-enunciation that usually accompanies her mother when Jane forces her to repeat herself. “If she refuses to be a better mother. It’s a two-way street, and since she’s the one who dragged you kicking and screaming into this world, she’s the one who owes you more.”

Oh. Oh, of course. For a second, Jane had forgotten who she was talking to, and now that she’s been reminded -- goodness, she’s so selfish, whining about such trivial problems to the isle kids. “It isn’t like that,” Jane rushes to explain. “It isn’t like --” The way Mal barely sleeps and Evie barely eats and Jay can’t stand being touched sometimes and Carlos has scars on every inch of him. “She would never hit me,” Jane says, instead of any of that. “She’s never once laid a hand on me.”

Mal breathes slowly out through her nose. Shakes her head. Meets Jane’s earnest stare with her own gaze too soft, too understanding. Says “She doesn’t have to.”

~~

Doug slams the side of his fists against the countertop, so full of rage and weariness that he’s sick with it all the way up to his lungs. It tastes like acid in his throat, spilling out past his lips. “We’re not human!” He snarls, angrier than he’s let himself be in a long, long time. “Dwarves and fairies and- and- genies and mer! We aren’t just humans with some extra pieces! We aren’t just different phenotypes, we’re completely different genotypes! It’s disgusting, the way they expect us to live!”

It isn’t fair to let this out in front of Jay. Doug feels kind of stupid about it actually, like a puppy yapping at a grizzled old police dog. His anger must look as pathetic as it feels, coming from someone like him, but -- dammit. 

“I am so goddamn tired,” He says, “Of chopping off pieces of myself so I don’t make some rich, spoiled asshole uncomfortable.”

His pitiful ranting sputters off into incoherent, angry noises. He thumps his fists against the counter a second time. A third, before he calms down enough to acknowledge that even though he’s sturdier than a human, his fists will still break before the marble does. He presses them down instead, palms flat against cold stone. Feels the hum of it under his hands like a struck anvil, ringing out.

In the sudden silence of the kitchen, he gasps “Sorry. Sorry, that -- I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

Jay doesn’t answer. For a second, Doug thinks he must have left the kitchen when Doug started throwing his little temper tantrum. Serves you right, he thinks. Other people shouldn’t have to listen to you whining.

Then he jumps a mile in the air, because without making a single sound Jay crosses the kitchen and gets close enough to reach out and tug on a lock of Doug’s hair.

Jay doesn’t laugh at him for startling and whipping around though, doesn’t even poke fun at Doug’s raised hands, like he thinks he’s tough enough to win a fight against anyone. Jay just looks at him with his easy smile and reaches up again, pushing Doug’s glasses up from where they’d slipped down his nose. “Want me to braid your hair?” Jay asks.

~~

“Hold up.” Lonnie rounds on Carlos so fast he jumps. “You’ve been holding back on me?!”

“No, no!” Carlos waves his hands in front of him like he’s trying to blow away the very idea. “It’s just, I’m used to fights where people are trying to kill each other! Like, for real kill each other? And those are really hard! But here it’s hard in a different way, because we aren’t trying to hurt anybody and there’s rules about what moves I can and can’t use and it gets kinda confusing! I guess I just… have to concentrate more on doing things differently for ROAR because I learned a totally different way, and it makes me slower and, like. Clumsier. I guess.”

Lonnie groans, bringing her hand up to her face. “Okay,” She says, after taking a minute to contemplate this new information. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna get dressed, I’m gonna go get my sword, and we’re gonna meet in the training room in fifteen minutes to have a no-holds-barred, actual sword fight, and you’re gonna show me what you can really do. Got it?”

‘Uh. Now?” Carlos glances at the clock, brow furrowing. “But it’s already past curfew? And, I heard you saying you had a test tomorrow, don’t you wanna stu--”

“De Vil!” She cuts over him. It’s kind of cute, how quickly and how easily he jumps to attention when she calls on him. “Fifteen minutes. Do you need me to say it again?”

“No, Captain,” He says. When he shakeshakeshakes his head his curls go flying everywhere. That’s kinda cute, too. “I’ll be there.”

Lonnie lets her stern expression drop, grinning at him, and then grinning wider when his shoulders slump and he smiles shyly back at her. “Good,” She chirps. Then she turns on her heel and marches out of the room.

~~

It’s half past one in the morning. Ben will blame that for why he can’t seem to smile wide enough, can’t bring himself to brush off Evie’s concerns with quite enough grace. It’s half past one in the morning and Ben needs to be up in three and a half hours to meet with his financial advisors and he has two tests tomorrow that he hasn’t studied for and He’s expected to give a speech at the Gala this weekend and he’s still fighting with his counsel over housing arrangements for the new wave of isle kids even though they’ll be here in barely a month and he just. He can’t. Smile. Right now.

Weak, he thinks. You’re so weak.

Evie’s hand is small and warm and so gentle when she rests it against his arm, peering up at him with worry all over her face. “Ben?”

To his horror, he feels his eyes start to sting. He turns away from her, clenches them shut, hoping against hope that she hasn’t noticed. “I’m sorry,” He gets out through the sudden knot in his throat. “Sorry, I’m. I’m just a little over tired is all, I was just --”

“Getting coffee?” Evie accuses, not unkindly. “At almost two am?”

“I have. Paperwork.”

“Ben.” She doesn’t try to force him to look at her, which is a good thing, because his fight against the tears is a losing battle. It’s all he can do to breathe instead of break down sobbing. “Ben, sweetheart. When was the last time you slept? Or…” A thoughtful pause. A dangerous pause, because Evie is observant and she pays attention to everything and the only person better than her at noticing things Ben would rather keep hidden is Carlos, who Ben has managed to avoid.

When Evie speaks again, her voice is even softer, practically whispering to him in the low light of the kitchen. “Or ate? Or got some exercise, or did something you enjoyed?”

He can’t answer her. He’s too busy trying to stop crying. Part of him is almost grateful for it, because it means he doesn’t have to admit that he doesn’t remember.

“Oh, Ben…”

He risks a look over his shoulder. Through blurry eyes, he sees her, looking at him with such open heartbreak on her face. Whatever defenses he has, they aren’t strong enough to withstand that. He crumples forward against the table, buries his face in his hands. “I don’t--” He hiccups out. Coughs. Swallows. Tries to breathe. “I don’t know what to do.”

#Descendants #Disney Descendants #Jay ibn Jafar #Evie Grimhilde #Carlos de Vil #Mal Bertha #jane descendants #Doug son of Dopey #Ben Florian #Li Lonnie #I'm not tagging ships #uh... I don't think anything here needs a trigger warning? #Ask to tag #I'm prioritizing TKAAR so this will be slow coming but it's in the works #alice writes #snippets and teasers

[otterenergy1962]

Letting go of old beliefs - part 3

In part 1 and 2, I wrote about life situations that caused me to have limiting beliefs about myself. For this entry, I am focusing on one that has run through the core of my being and has been persistently there for my entire life. As I examine it, I am starting to locate the actual point(s) in time that caused this limiting belief.

I am plain and unattractive.

It is a simple fact that I don’t always see why others people think that I am attractive. Some people even go as far as to say that I already know that or that I take advantage of it. I’ve been accused of being an attention seeker for posting a picture of my weightlifting progress… Many people just make assumptions and seem to be quite willing to express the same to me because they feel safe behind their keyboard.  Would any of them have the courage to say so in front of my face?

One of my old desires was to look like a Tom of Finland drawing. For my straight friends, Tom of Finland was an artist who drew gay men in a hyper-masculine manner. The men were often extremely muscular and well-endowed. I always thought that I was a man who was too far from even being close to resembling a hyper-masculine caricature. I felt very different inside. I was still that overweight kid that had low self esteem and low self worth.

Sometimes guys project their ideas and feelings onto me. I’ve gotten friendship requests on FaceBook from men who seem to be a really nice guys. Once friended and without my request, a dick pic (or other parts of the body) shows up and I feel disappointed because they must only see me for what they believe I am. If I post a picture of myself without my shirt on does that mean that I am a whore and want others to automatically think think that I am seeking such? That I am willing to toss them a nude shot of me without any self-respect?

My ex husband would often say that I was the straightest gay man that he had ever known. He said this because I would often wear jeans and a t-shirt, didn’t seem to have any fashion sense or didn’t partake in the stereotypical gay man’s activities. I didn’t want to sleep around with everyone, didn’t obsess with HGTV, didn’t go to raves stoned on various drugs or believing that the grass might be greener on the other side of some stupid fence so that I could dump one man for a better one…. He even said that I didn’t have the gay designer gene!

After all, I didn’t fit the Tom of Finland stereotype. I liked reading, writing, science fiction, gardening, cooking and more. I liked walking on the beach and camping.   I didn’t ride a motorbike or wear leather and role play hyper-masculine fantasies. So, why didn’t I start acting like I was a Tom of Finland man so that I could PRETEND that I was something that I was not? My ex husband, Henry, did that all the time. I used to giggle about his desire to be a butch leather fantasy man who loved doilies, frilly antique pieces and miniature doll houses! I didn’t deem it necessary to pretend that I was something that I wasn’t.

In my journey of self discovery, I have learned that it is okay to be silly, dance to Madonna in my underwear while making dinner or singing Donna Summer tunes while cleaning the house. By the way, I clean my house in jeans and a t-shirt! How “un-gay” can that be? I love otters, not in the gay sense, but the animal. A gay otter is a man that loves bears. Bears are big and hairy guys. So, I’m not a gay otter, but am nicknamed Otter because I want to be playful like my spirit animal. A friend recently told me that one of things he loves about talking to me is how I say goodbye on a FaceTime call. I wave bye-bye like I do with my students! He says that I have this cute child-like grin on my face and wave quick little wave. He says it is really cute!  Okay, definitely not Tom of Finland! What makes it okay is that I don’t have to conform. I can be anything I want.

As I write this, I think back to when I was a child. I loved to play ball tossing games and skipping rope. Tom of Finland guys don’t skip Double Dutch… or do they? This brings up a question that my friend, Gary, recently asked me. “What would you say to that little kid that loved Double Dutch and tossing a ball against a wall whilst singing songs? Why does he like doing those things?” He would say because it was fun. There wasn’t a rule that said I couldn’t do those things. I didn’t like playing sports that much and seemed to enjoy the girls’ company more than the boys’.

It wasn’t until I was a few years later that I found out that being different would surface in a negative way. Suddenly, the word “Fag” starting being heard. The Double Dutch guy was a fag who felt dumpy and nondescript. I think that I was trying to make myself that way to avoid being noticed. If you made yourself as nondescript as possible, the bullies wouldn’t notice you as much. Duck your head and look the other way! I can even remember telling my mother that I didn’t feel good about myself. She just said that I would grow out of it…

I didn’t. I took that idea into my adult life. I continued to believe that I was nondescript and unattractive. When I came out, men liked me because of my age, or so I thought.  I figured that being young made you attractive. It never occurred to me that I was attractive in some other way.

I’ve already written about the AIDS crisis and how it affected me. When you are HIV+, you see the world through a different lens. In the early years of AIDS, people like me were considered pariahs. You were considered so because people were afraid. I remember the stories of the early years where men who had this unknown disease were isolated in rooms at hospitals, their food trays left in the hallway for fear of getting this unknown disease. For more information, read this article: https://www.out.com/positive-voices/2016/12/01/woman-who-cared-hundreds-abandoned-gay-men-dying-aids#media-gallery-media-1 . Like the men in the story, I felt abandoned. My partner at the time was so afraid of the syndrome that he refused to touch me. In my mind, he abandoned me, so I  abandoned him and tried to move on. Relationships became more and more difficult.  Even hook ups were impossible because I didn’t want to infect someone else by accident. So all those years of dealing with HIV had a major affect on my view of being unattractive and undesirable. It fortified my original concept of myself. Gradually, as I met more HIV+ men, I began to have relationships that were more comfortable, but the effect of the situation has stayed with my all of my adult life.

I’ve also written about how exercise saved my life in those times. I’ve been exercising ever since in the form of weights, aerobics and group fitness classes. I also taught them from 1990-2013 and developed a real sense of physical fitness. In those times, I developed the belief that to be attractive, one had to be muscular and fit. I was able to hide my disability though exercise and bulking up. In all that time, I never considered the possibility of looking inside and seeing the person or soul who had the muscular, fit body. All I could see was an imperfect body, never fit enough, all the flaws with my face, my body, and my soul. I could rally a major list of flaws, but seldom looked at the positives.

It has been in the last few years after major relationships ended, and dealing with cancer that I have come to see what I need to see. I began to look inside for the answers. I am still on that road to understanding and loving myself. I can honestly say that I am an attractive man, not totally because of my outside appearance, but what is also inside. My friend, Gary, again come up with a nugget of wisdom one night as we discussed the difference between being attractive, being desirable, being appealing etc. We even discussed who we thought was stunningly beautiful! The nugget was, “Keep your eyes, ears and heart open to an opportunity to try something new!” I’ve opened all of my senses to take the opportunity to see what is beautiful in me!

So, I was curious about what people thought of me. I asked a group of friends, some of them have been sexual partners and some have been platonic friends. The answers stunned me. The points that came up the most were:

“… you are a man that speaks and acts from your heart and have nothing but the best intentions for those you care about most.”

“You’re incredibly kind and caring. You’ve been kind of like a "Daddy" type to me by nurturing me and giving me tough love when needed. You're an animal lover. You’re intelligent. Strong. All of that. Confident.”

“Your eyes are intense, showing your beautiful soul and genuine warm and caring smile.  Then you’re so warm, kind, respectful, affectionate...  fun and adventurous.”

“You come across as what we call in Arabic, ‘the combination of the opposites’ - you are silent and brooding but at the same time really kind and caring, and you can be goofy and fun when the time calls for it. You are a serious man who has no problem showing emotions and vulnerability. You are strong, yet fragile.”

“You’re kind and easily let people in. And it’s just very easy to be around you, a very welcoming presence.”

Where there examples that showed that they thought I was attractive?  You bet! However, they have been tempered with the above points, telling me that it is more than just what is on the outside, and that the inside is just as important:

“Physically, for me you are definition of what I consider hot, attractive, not pretty girly but stern masculine look and a warm beautiful smile, you’re tall and muscular and very aggressive sexually chemistry that just is a drug to me.”

“Obviously you’re extremely handsome and built. You’re into a lot of fun and hot things, such as rubber and kink.”

“Superficially, you’re ruggedly handsome.”

“Ok, here’s my honest answer: physical aspects: silver, salt and pepper hair and beard are very attractive to me, combined those signs of a well seasoned man with the body of a well trained one and then you have a lethal combo that many can’t resist.”

“And top if off, you’re a very sexy and handsome man. ❤️”

So, can I honestly say that I am attractive? Am I a Tom of Finland kind of guy? The answer has been coming to me more lately. I’ve taken a few selfies and I’ve looked past the crooked smile and the grey hair. I’ve ignored the wrinkles and saw the warmth and beauty in my own eyes. There is a softness and a love that I’ve not noticed before. Is it selfish or conceited to find the self love and the things that make me attractive to myself?  I’m going to have to say no. If anyone says that I am posting pictures of me with my new glasses to just to get attention or to make me feel better by hearing everyone’s opinions… I have have something to say: These guys need to push off and find somewhere else to dump their own insecurities! They need to acknowledge their projections and their own conceptions of self onto me. I’m not a narcissistic man who posts pictures and says, “Look at me! Hello! I am here! I am beautiful and don’t I know it?”  Give me a fucking break!  All I am is a man who looked into the mirror, deep into his own eyes and found the soul and heart of a man that people find attractive and beautiful for many reasons.

I’ve since had that conversation with the little boy inside who thought he was nondescript and unattractive. We’ve consoled each other and come to love each other for all of our traits. Thank you guys (Gary, Bryan, Seann, Ray, Masoud et al), for your comments. Thank you for helping me see that being attractive starts at home in the belief of the self. I love you guys!

Carpe diem!

#self love #hope #love

[sometimesiwrite]

Dump It Out

A scene for two—originally written as Man (M) and Woman (W) but could be any gender with some textual adjustments. I wrote this years ago as an exercise to challenge myself to write conflict (I’m very bad with conflict. Writing it, or engaging in it) and I’m pretty proud of what came out. Enjoy!

Content notes: Coarse language, arguing with ex, ex lives close by, alcohol, smoking, discussion of cunnilingus/inability to climax, brief reference to infidelity, the general angst of trying to stay on good terms post-relationship.

Scene1:

M and W. Apartment living room. A ticking clock is heard.

W: So.

M: So...

(Pause)

W: That’s it? “So”? That’s all you’re going to say to me?

M: I guess so.

W: ...Can I have my book, please?

M: You’ll have to be more specific, there were so many books.

W: Come on, don’t—

M: On the stairs, on the bedroom floor, in the kitchen, on top of the TV under the TV…

W: I forgot how petty you are…

M: In the bed, let’s not forget. Christ, I think you spent more time with those books than you actually spent with me. In bed.

W: Well, maybe if you had bothered to brush your teeth before you came to bed it would have been a different story.

M: And here I thought true love was supposed to defeat evil and transcend bad breath.

W: Well, the storybooks were wrong.

M: I don’t know, it depends which stories you read.

(Pause)

W: Can I please have my book back?

M: If you can find it.

W: What?

M: If you can find it, you can have it.

W: I thought you had it.

M: I do.

W: But you don’t know where it is?

M (lights a cigarette): No clue.

W: Come on, I know you have it.

M: Clearly not since you keep asking me for it.

W: Well, I don’t know where it is, though, do I?

(M shrugs)

W: Oh my God, you don’t have it. I swear if you tossed it—

M: I haven’t done anything with it since you lent it to me. Can you please stop rifling through my things? My things that I have in specific places for a reason.

W: Calm down, it’s just your obsessive compulsive disorder talking.

M: I’m not OCD, I’m tidy. There’s a difference. I like to keep all my books in one place.

W: You can push my buttons all you want, I’m just here for one thing.

M: You sure about that?

W: Why, did you hoard other things of mine that I don’t know about?

M: I know, to prevent you from turning my place upside down, we could look for it together.

W: Please for the love of God let’s not do this together.

M: Come on, it’ll be fun!

W: Uh-huh, just like the grocery shopping, and breakfast, and lunch breaks, and going out with friends, and going to the gym, and going to the dentist, and getting our hair cut, and going to bed. You’re right, how could I forget that every single thing in my life was a million times more fun when we did it together!

M: Can’t blame a guy for trying to foster a stronger connection.

W: You came with me to the gynaecologist!

M: It’s an intrusive process, I wanted to be supportive.

W: It’s private! You didn’t even ask if you could come with me, you just showed up.

M: I wanted to surprise you!

W: It was humiliating!

M: I was being a good partner.

W: No, you were feeding an obsession and it’s weird.

M: I forgot how hard you can pull away when you want to.

W: Yeah, because I like to do things on my own.

M: If by “things” you mean literally everything.

W: Can I just have my book, please?

M: It’s in the house.

W: But you have no idea where it is.

M: Oh my God, you’re so intuitive. It’s like you can read my mind. Whoa, get outa my head—

W: Fuck off.

M: I thought I had.

W: Yup. Almost. Now where’s my book?

M: Which one? The book you were fucking? I told you, if you can find it, you can have it. I’m not putting in anymore effort so you can cheat on me with half a tree.

W: This isn’t some game, just give me the book and I’ll get out of your precious space.

M: Mmmm such spacious space.

W: Damnit. Tell me where my book is.

(Silence)

W: Do you have any idea where it might be?

M: I think it’s... Okay, yeah,  sorry, I remember now… it’s definitely somewhere in the house

W: Well, are you going to help me look for it, or are you just going to sit there snarking into your cigarette while I go through your stuff longing for the day when your lungs finally collapse out of rebellion against your constant abuse and you slowly suffocate to death?

M: Wow.

W: Sorry.

M: That came out of left field.

W: Can I have my book back?

M: No.

W: Excuse me?

M: You don’t want it back.

W: Yes, I do.

M: Then buy a new copy. It’s not old, so it wasn’t a rare find. It’s barely flipped through, so you obviously didn’t use it that often (also, if you did, you wouldn’t have lent it to me in the first place).

W: That’s not the point.

M: Then what?

W: It’s my book and I want it back.

M: And you wanted to see me again.

W: Don’t be pathetic.

M: Oh, come on! If you really didn’t want to see me ever again for as long as I live — as you put it — you could have said, “forget it, I can live without that book” and never seen me again. This is classic you.

W: Excuse me? “Classic me?”

M: You want to talk about something but are afraid of being vulnerable and just saying, “Hey, honey, can we talk?” so you cook up some excuse to meaninglessly argue nothing until you can covertly segue into the thing you actually wanted to talk about in the first place.

W: For your information, even though it’s NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, I have an audition next week, and I need one of the monologues from it.

M: So Google it! Go to the library! I mean, Jesus, if you want to see me, see me, but don’t bullshit around with an excuse. It’s impolite.

W: I have a bunch of notes in there from the last time I worked on it and it’s the only copy I have.

M: Oh.

W: Yeah.

M: I didn’t know that.

W: Clearly.

(Silence).

W: Could I bum a drag off that?

M: No, you cannot! I swear I only ever smoked half my own cigarettes. “Can I have a drag?/Sure babe, no problem” Then, five seconds later: “Can I have another drag?”

W: …Can I have a whole one?

M: Only if you keep it to yourself.

W: I’m confused on whether that was a yes or a no…

M: Go on, then, help yourself.

W: Thanks.

M: Probably yours anyway.

W lights a cigarette.

M: You still not inhaling?

W: You still drinking your whisky with mix?

M: Touché.

W: Thank you!

M: You always did have the best comebacks, babe. I’ll give you that.

W: You set ‘em up, I’ll take the shot.

M: Cheap shots.

W: Best kind there is.

M: Boy, you’re something else, you know that?

W: So you used to tell me.

M: I still mean it.

(Pause)

W: You’re not so bad yourself.

(Silence)

M: I’ll be back in a second.

M exits. W sits for three seconds. Stubs out cigarette. Rises. Leaves. M re-enters.

M: Well, well, well, look what I… found…

Lights fade to black

Scene 2 M and W. An apartment livingroom—different from, the same as, or similar to, the one previous. A ticking clock is heard.

A vigorous knock on the door. W rises, goes to the door, opens it. M pushes in.

W (facetiously): Hi, honey, nice to see you too, please, come on in, make yourself at home—get out of my apartment!

M: What the hell was that?!

W: What?

M: What do you mean “what”?

W: I mean, “what?” as in “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

M: Gee honey, where should I start. Maybe let’s start with you leaving my apartment without saying a single word.

W: You left first.

M: That’s an old card and you’ve already played it once.

W: Oh, come on. What’s the big deal?

M: The big deal is you don’t get to do that anymore. It’s common human courtesy to let someone know when you’re leaving their living space.

W: Why? Never seemed to bother you.

M: Oh my God, I’m not getting into that right now. It’s just something people do.

W: Like who?

M: EVERYONE.

W: Like I said, you left first. What did you expect.

M: I was out of town for five days. I came back; you moved across the hall.

W: No, you were gone for months. Sure, you were there but you weren’t there.

M: You know, I’ve always had trouble understanding you when you’re too straightforward. Could you be a little more vague for me?

W: Go ahead, snark it off. Avoid the actual topic by manufacturing confrontation that doesn’t need to be there.

M: Arguments are more fun than conversation.

W: Okay, fine, whatever! You win! Just try to keep your voice down.

M: Never bothered you before.

W: That’s because I was the one yelling.

M: Oh, what, so I’m not allowed to yell?!

W: No, not in my apartment.

M: Why should I give a fuck what I do or do not do in your apartment? You clearly don’t care what you do in mine!—Or who—Here, want a cigarette? Mind if I smoke?

W: I cannot believe you are being so childish about this one, meaningless—

M: —Mmmm the sweet smell of tar and rat poison—

W: —Minuscule lapse in social etiquette.

M: So you admit that it wasn’t normal.

W: Yes. Fine. Could you put that out, please? 

M: Then why did you do it? Why did you do it if it wasn’t normal?

W: Drop it.

M: No.

W: I wasn’t thinking clearly.

M: Not buying it. No one forgets to tell someone they’re leaving.

W: Wanna bet?

M: Stay on topic.

W: I thought I was.

M: Why?

W: I didn’t want to be there anymore.

M: And?

W: That’s it.

M: Nope.

W: Stop it.

M: You said you came to get your book.

W: Yeah.

M: You left without it.

W: So?!

M: So you couldn’t have wanted it that badly.

W: Maybe I changed my mind.

M: No. No, no, no, no, no, you wanted an excuse to see me.

W: God you’re pathetic.

M: Okay, yes. Yes I am, I’m pathetic. You didn’t want to see me AND you didn’t want your book. Se ya!

W: Let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.

M: It doesn’t close on its own.

W: Fuck you!

(Pause).

W opens the door without looking at M.

W: I wanted the book so I went over to get it; I started feeling weird and wanted to leave so I did. Now are you going to start acting like an adult and give me my book and maybe, just maybe, leave me alone?

M steps back into the entranceway.

M: See? What wasn’t so hard, was it? This is the one you wanted, right?

W: Yeah. Thanks.

M: Happy to help. Anyway, I’d better—

W: You want a beer?

M: It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.

W: Nevermind.

M: I didn’t say no.

W goes into kitchen, returns with beer for both.

M: Is there anything you want to say to me?

W: I don’t want to talk about things. Not right now, anyway, I’m too pissed off.

M: Why am I drinking a beer in your living room, then?

W: Because I don’t want it in my fridge.

M: And why’s that?

W: You bought it.

M: Then why didn’t you just throw it out? Pour it down the toilet?

W: Because I didn’t. Jesus, why does every little thing I do have to mean something?!

M: I’m just saying, why keep it if you don’t want it?

W: Listen. Stop it. Whatever it is that you’re doing, or hoping, or wanting, just stop it. Right now.

M: Tell me about work.

W: What?

M: You know, work? That thing you do to make money. I’m trying to make small talk, here, cut me some slack.

W: It’s shit.

M: Oh ya?

W: Yeah.

(Silence).

W: You know those little bottles of hot sauce they have on the tables there?

M: I always thought they were kinda cute. Made me feel like a giant.

W: Yeah, me too until I spent an entire shift refilling them and hand washing the caps.

M: Now, who wouldn’t love that.

W: Best part is, I went to take a shower that night when I got home and my bathroom still smells like cayenne pepper.

M: I thought you were going to find a new job somewhere better. What happened with that other place you applied to?

W: Apparently my tits aren’t big enough.

M: Your tits are perfect.

W: They told me I didn’t fit the “overall aesthetic standards”

M: Bullshit. And I should know, I’ve spent quality time with your overall aesthetic.

W: Knock it off.

M: I’m just saying, you’re a very attractive woman. I’m allowed to still think that.

W: Thank you… I hate this. It feels like I never get to be myself anymore, everything’s an audition for something.

M: Not everything is an audition, you know.

W: It’s easier said than done. Everything feels like a new role to play, like everybody needs something different from me.

M: You realize it’s not suppose to be that way with everyone, right?

W: What?

M: Well… Ah, I shouldn’t get into this now.

W: No, go on, say it.

M: When we were together I could never get you to follow… I could— never get you to, well, come with me.

W(offended): Well maybe if you bothered to focus on someone other than yourself—

M: No, no, no I tried everything. I don’t think you realize just how hard I tried to get you there.

W: Oh come on, it’s not like you never had any hangups yourself.

M: It’s biology, it happens sometimes—you know what, no, leave my dick out of this, he has nothing to do with it.

W: It’s not a person!

M: It may as well be, it feels just as confused and unsatisfied as I do with our current situation.

W: How?!

M: Do you have any idea how frustrating it is living across the hall from a woman you are still wildly attracted to despite the whirlwind of domestic dysfunction that follows in her wake? Every day, I go down to check the mail, and I can smell that you’ve just gone out. It’s like this cloud of you that hovers outside my door every time I go anywhere. Poof! There you are, and suddenly I’m having some Vietnam-style flashback and we’re in bed together and I’m stuck with my head between your legs and you’ve just got this vacant expression in your eyes and I’m trying to talk to you, trying to get some sort of response: more hands, less hands, faster, slower, a green light, a red light, anything. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? I’ve got months worth of Cosmo issues hidden under my bed. I’ve got seventeen tabs open on my computer about the complexities of the female orgasm and the importance of partner communication during oral sex (by the way, did you know that the Swiss have a completely different technique?). I now know more about the anatomy of female sex organs and hormone cycles than most med school graduates! If the police raided my apartment, I’d probably be put on some sort of registry!

W: I know how frustrated you were with the fact that I have trouble. And I knew you were trying hard because every single time, all I could feel was you wanting to get me off. It stopped being about us having fun and feeling good and just started being about how badly you needed me to have an orgasm so you could feel validated as a partner. And God help me, I tried to make it up to you, and I did a damn good job if I say do so myself.

M: Here’s a life tip for you: if you’re going to be with someone long enough for them to know your habits, don’t run lines when you’re trying to get him off.

W: That was one time—

M: And if you weren’t running lines, you were a completely different person. I would look into your eyes and see a stranger, you even felt like a stranger, it was weird.

W: It still worked, didn’t it? You got what you wanted, what’s the big deal?

M: Jesus, I wanted connection, I wanted for us to actually be together with each other. It was never about me just getting off to you—oh my God is that—What is wrong in your head that could ever make you think that that was what I wanted?

W: How much more connection do you need?! We spent every free second together. Every day. Every night. There I was, connecting with you.

M: You were always somewhere else, though. Somewhere in that book, in one of your monologues, in one of your audition rooms, with one of your directors… You were never just with me. There was always something or someone else in the room with us.

W: Well maybe I didn’t want to be the person who was with you.

(Pause)

M: You want to rethink the wording on that? Because that is one hell of a bomb to drop.

W: I don’t know.

M: You actually meant that.

W: I think so, yeah.

M stands

M: I’m going to leave now.

W: Okay.

M: Thanks for the beer.

W: You can take the rest, I don’t want it.

M: Dump it out.

W: Okay.

N: If you need to get anything else from my place, I’ll be at Tom’s for the next two days. I’ll leave the key in the mailbox.

W: I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.

M: Don’t wear any perfume if you go in.

W: Can you stay for a bit? We can talk this out.

M: No, we can’t. I need to be alone right now. I’ll see ya around.

(W remains seated. M exits) (A few moments of silence) (Fade to Black)

#scene #theatre #dialogue #creative writing #acting #argument #breakup #friendly exes #messy breakup #trying #this isn't working #you left first #couple fight #couple argument #one act play #one act #two actors #i didn't mean it #incompatability

[ficauthor]

Just a tiny misunderstanding

This is for @sugarglider9603‘s monster pat AU, people have been tossing around this idea of Virgil accidentally marrying Roman for awhile now and I could not help myself. I have been writing this for two days now, sorry if there are any grammar mistakes.

And thank you sugar for answering my asks about the au, and @broadwaytheanimatedseries thank you for telling me about the lore and different things about the universe. I hope you both enjoy.

Also I’m gonna post this on my ao3 of the same name so don’t freak if you see it there.

(also I based the fae marriage thing on how the Greeks used to propose cause I’m a nerd)

((Also also Roman’s mothers names are based off of names from the Victorian era cause why not))

Word count: 8,124

Honestly Virgil wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, he wracked his brain to think but honestly, there was nothing. The only thing that he’d done that could have been of some concern was when he was hanging with Roman he tossed him an apple and had misjudged the space thus hitting the other in the face. But that was an accident and Roman didn’t really seem hurt.

That’s Fae magic for you, his only response was to grin widely and kiss Virgil passionately. A strange form of reassurance but Roman had been and reacted weirder so Virgil had tried to brush it off. But over the next few weeks he was acting…

Strange

Not in a bad way, but he was more affectionate and…

More protective?

Virgil couldn’t be certain about that one though that was until.

“Your fairy prince is acting unusually,” Logan commented hardly looking up from his book. It was a formal title for Virgil’s boyfriend, but it was far less formal than it used to be.

The statement, however, sent a small shock of panic through Virgil’s system, if Logan had noticed to then…

“Care to explain that statement, Lo?” Virgil asked fear encroaching on his mood, but he only let frustration taint his voice.

Logan saw right through it, he sat up straighter in his chair, placed his bookmark (a woven charm from Patton) into his book (again from the kind-hearted giant) and spoke again, however his voice was much softer like he was afraid of spooking Virgil. Like Virgil was a deer in the woods that needed to be coaxed.

“I’m sensing you noticed it too?” Logan asked though he wasn’t great at reading other peoples emotions he’d known Virgil for almost all of his life.

Virgil sighed and collapsed on Logan’s lap rather dramatically (what could he say Roman was rubbing off on him) his back leaning on the armrests.” Don’t get me wrong I appreciate all of the extra affection he’s giving me… but,” Virgil furrowed his brow remembering the other night.

They’d just finished, well a rather heavy make-out session, they hadn’t gone much farther but they both were certainly on an emotional high. Then Roman had looked out, to the side just beyond Virgil, he’d gone to follow his gaze but the other took his cheek gently in his warm hand,” don’t worry about it love,” the way he said it sent a shiver down Virgil’s spine, that someone so powerful would care for him so much. But there was an underlayer there, something under his affection that he couldn’t quite place.

Which was fair the other wasn’t quite human, so of course, his expressions would be different than Virgil was accustomed to, but this was one he’d never seen before. It was almost guarded, but then it was gone and Roman was asking if Virgil wanted to cuddle and watch a magic projection.

Virgil of course agreed, the system of crystals that the fair people had that could broadcast moving images that told stories was breathtaking to the dark man, it wasn’t anything like human’s modern technology.

“Virge? Virgil?” Logan was shaking his shoulder.

Virgil was on the floor now and Logan was kneeled in front of him, his brows furrowed as he gently shook the younger male.

“Huh?” Virgil was dazed the dregs of the memory still pulling him in, and there was something…

Something there in the corner of the room.

“You weren’t responding, you appeared to be, ah, spacing out.” Logan spoke his normally restrained tone painted ever so slightly with a thin coat of concern.

Virgil blinked further pushing himself out of the memory, he also tore his gaze from the spot he’d been staring at blankly, there was nothing there anyways,” had I?” the blue-clad man nodded,” sorry L, it’s just,” he chewed his lip back and forth playing with the muscle nervously trying to  calm himself. “It’s just that roman is starting to worry me.”

Logan made a face,” if he’s threate-“

“No nonono!” Virgil cut him off frantically, he didn’t want his friend to enter what he’d dubbed, the mama bear mode,” if anything he’s been much more affectionate than normal, almost like he’s making up for something. And he’s always so tense, and even when we’re cuddling it’s like he’s waiting for something,” Virgil felt ill at the thought a pressure rising in his throat at what could cause his boyfriend to be…

“It’s almost like, he’s scared…” Virgil’s voice was small.

Logan nodded,” well perhaps there is some sort of fae event going on currently, perhaps he is just nervous,” Logan offered,” to be far he does participate in the fae equivalent of professional make-believe perhaps that is what has put him on edge.”

Virgil shook his head, he wasn’t looking Logan in the eye anymore the overwhelming sensation that he was going to throw up was tangent and pushing in on all sides now. “He doesn’t have a performance coming up, and that’s different, he’s always,” Virgil searched around the room eyes flitting from corner to corner as he tried to find the words,” more collected. I don’t know.”

Virgil’s voice cracked at the last three words; he’d been really trying to figure out what was wrong. But every time he asked Roman managed to distract him or change the subject. Did he hate him now? Was he being overly affectionate to make up for the fact that he was going to break up with him soon? Was he-

“Virgil,” His friend made a face, his perfectly pushed back hair falling out of place slightly,” in for four Virge,” he said calmly.

The dark clad man was already hyperventilating he hadn’t even noticed he was so busy trying to figure out what was wrong with his boyfriend that he was hardly able to focus. His sweaty hands were balled up clenching his tattered cloak the familiar coarse fabric bringing him to reality a little bit.

But still the worried thoughts dumped on him like a snowstorm, kicking up occasionally appearing to get lighter but then the heaviness was there again, thick, cloying and sticky, not leaving and chilling him to his core. His head felt like it was being squeezed he couldn’t leave, and he felt like he was watching a stranger in a daze.

Logan’s soft words filtered in and out of his warped pained reality, it was like his ears were an out of tuned radio struggling to stay connected and pick up a signal.

Thoughts blurred…

Was Virgil even breathing? He felt constricted and hot and like he was gasping for breath like a snake was constricting on his lungs.

What was that voice?

Who was there?

  Why were they helping him?

His focused on the sounds of the voice, it finally registered, that was his best friend. And slowly his breathing slowed a little and the violent feeling that he was going to throw up subsided a little.

Once he’d finally managed to school his breathing again Logan was still going through his breathing exercise count.

They were silent for a moment, nothing exchanged between the pair as Logan allowed him to catch his breath,” I am going to get Roman,” Logan said.

Virgil was frantic again,” what no what if someone in the village sees him? What if the others fre-“

The other put up a hand to stop him his dark brown eyes swirled with concern,” one,” he raised a finger,” this house,” he gestured around for emphasis,” is just around  the edge of the monster forest, nearly outside of the main radius of the village.”

That made sense to Virgil, he couldn’t really argue with it, his and Logan’s houses were both on the outskirts of the human civilization. Virgil for his anxiety and natural skittishness around others, and Logan because he enjoyed the quiet that then allowed him to do his work. Not to mention no matter anyone’s opinions on monsters and whether they were good or not very few ventured into the forest.

“-econdly,” Virgil hadn’t heard most of the others statement for the first one. Damn it he’d spaced out again, what was with him this afternoon he kept looking into that corner of the room and getting so damn distracted. “Our village was one of the first ones to agree to a tentative peace deal with the monsters under the rulers Joan and Tayln’s behest. This is one of the most open-minded villages to be a part of. No one will attack him.” Logan smirked,” besides most people are afraid of the fae it’s hardly likely they will even have the courage to speak to him to realize he’s far too dramatic and good-willed to actually hurt anyone.”

Virgil chuckled a little,” he is a dork,” he smiled fondly the sentiment loud and clear despite the fact that he hadn’t said it.

His dork.

Logan stood up and brushed off his pants and shirt,” now if you excuse me, I will go fetch his royal pain in the ass and you two will sort out your drama or so help me.”

Virgil nodded, “thanks Logan,” he smiled.

The other nodded and in the next few moments, he was out of the house, the door closing with a soft click. And like that Virgil was left alone in Logan’s house, the sound of a soft fire crackling merrily his only true company.

Virgil eventually stood up his knees creaking slightly in protest, his bones tired from sitting in the same position so long. He stretched his back out arms extended outwards, he slouched over immediately afterwards his back falling into its normal slump.

He needed to do something with himself, something that would take a few moments and free up his mind a little bit from its thoughts.

But what?

He scanned his best friends home searching frantically for something to distract him, he didn’t understand Logan’s collection of crystals. And frankly he was scared to fiddle with them, he’d never been particularly interested in Logan’s books. Even the ones written by Patton bored him. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. He and Logan had been some of the smartest kids at school, but academia was not something that interested him. And the second he was allowed to he dumped any tolerance he may have had for it.

His gaze flitted to the kitchen, there were pots and pans, and

A tea kettle.

Virgil was up in an instant busying himself with the actions of filling the kettle, setting up three cups and preparing three separate teas. The loose leaves piled in the bottom. Now all that was left for him to do was wait, the soft rumbling of the slow simmering water being a soft comfort.

But his nervous gaze was already searching, around the room some and he searched for some form of entertainment. Again, the crystals were out of the picture, some had enchantments, and others were attached to a system of wires that Virgil didn’t trust his luck to try to tamper with.

The tall bookcases were all filled with research notes, there was only one shelf that Logan had that wasn’t strictly non-fiction. However, even then those were scribed oral folktales that their village had been passing down for generations. Virgil could mess with the fire or cuddle up to the heating stone, but his mind was racing far to fast for that.

Again his gaze snagged on that damn corner, Logan’s house was one of a simple and efficient layout, the kitchen, main entertainment area, and dining room (well it was intended to be a dining room but Logan had long since converted it into a lab and office combo) were all one space divided by small half walls pillars and furniture, the only real rooms were Logan’s bedroom and Bathroom. And there in the far-off corner closest to a window was something.

He couldn’t really see anything at first, but it eventually grew more prominent as he stared on, it was like a mirage in the distance, a distortion from the heat, something intangible and uncertain. In a daze, Virgil stepped forward trying to get a better look at the strange corner.

The house plant in the corner was, well it looked like it was waving, it was akin to when you looked through bubbles but there was no shine just distortion.

Shaky step after shaky step Virgil was feeling his thoughts start to melt away and a soft warbly kind voice was speaking to him.

At first, it was unintelligible, just syllables and letters he was aware of almost as if his head was underwater, but slowly the words grew clearer, as he stepped closer.

He  p

Wee  wa  t   he p

Fo  ow   s

Follo

We want to help

Follow us

Yeah, that sounded reasonable to Virgil for some reason, there was a small worry in the back of his skull, jiggling around something that sounded an awful lot like Logan trying to supply him with information, but his mind was in a daze.

Wil-o’-the-wisp.

The voice told him firmly and helpfully. They were guiding lights, some benevolent, some cruel. And that voice that was supplying the information about them told him not to follow. That it was foolish. But the rest of his mind felt like it was submerged.

Let us help you.

Virgil was tentative that last string of common sense telling him to not listen, telling him to run in the opposite direction. And he almost tugged himself via that string… but then, they said all the needed too.

Answers about Roman

And like that, they had the scissors that they’d needed to cut his link to reality. He was moving forward and was almost within arms reach of the wisp.

It popped out of existence and then it was by the window, the sound of there whispers was drowning it was almost like a shrill loud whistle, it kept his thoughts from functioning and their magic had him ensnared.

Like a fly in a spiders web, he did exactly what it wanted, he opened the large window, an idle thought to close it behind him was there for only a moment but it was quickly abandoned as the honeyed words of promises led him closer and closer to the spider's den.

“You left him at your house alone!?” Roman asked concern lacing his normally regal tone.

Logan’s brow furrowed,” yes what is the matter, Roman? This is exactly why I came to ask you to talk to him. He has been very concerned and your acti-“

Roman was stepping back running forward his wings flapping, he was five feet away almost in the air when Logan jolted realizing the other’s actions were strange. “Roman!” he bellowed as he ran after him.

He’d never quite trusted the fae and this was not helping his case. He wanted to trust the fae, for Virgil, but every time he did the man did something foolish or reckless, or just without any common sense. It was like for him logic was metaphorically thrown out the window. Logan loathed such a thought, he ran after the prince his breath growing labored, “Roman!” he shouted. “Wait just on mome-“

Harsh pressure was digging into his upper arms, and the ground was falling away. A scream ripped out of Logan’s chest as he swung his feet violently, his hands covering his eyes. He’d been comfortable with Patton picking him up, the others large warm hands always stabilized him, and made him feel safe. But this was not safe, Romans hands were warm yes but not the comforting warmth of his Patton. They were long thin spindly fingers and it almost felt like a bird had grasped him.

Logan was swearing up and down his normally low voice a breathless shriek.

Roman apologized but he left it at that until they were descending on Logan’s front lawn.

“What the” Logan took in a few breaths schooling his words and expression,” why Roman?” he asked teeth gritted as he tried to calm his seizing respiratory system.

The prince was shushing him holding a hand to his ear,” do you hear that?” Roman asked with a faint whisper.

“Hear what?” Logan asked voice at a normal tone.

Roman stepped forward and with a quick flash of red magic, he unlocked Logan’s front door and entered his home.  Then Logan could hear it: the loud shrill shriek of his tea kettle screaming through the small house. It was a deafening noise in the otherwise silent home.

Roman was moving through the house frantically examining the rooms, his eyes flashed a glowing red a few times. The smell of oranges, nutmeg, and sandalwood, which were the familiar smell of Roman’s magic wafted through the entire house as Roman seemed to perceive something that Logan couldn’t, and a disconcerting growl escaped deep from his chest.

He took the kettle off of the hot eye a puzzled expression flitting across his face, but then he sized up the teacups and he seemed to be putting together something that Logan couldn’t.

“Roman?” Logan asked he was wrenched with worry his stomach tied in knots and fear was threatening to engulf him.

He’d noticed that Virgil was gone, how could he not, the window was wide open chilling his house with the late fall air and the tea kettle had been screaming only moments before. And Romans actions were not helping with the thick foreboding air that had descended on Logan’s small home. Logan was normally so calm, so collected, he normally put on this front, this air that he couldn’t be affected, but this rattled that like an earthquake to a shabby but well-presented hut.

Roman didn’t respond he was muttering in a language that Logan could not understand and a small flicking blue light that he couldn’t focus on for longer than a few seconds was hovering right by the prince. He continued in a language that Logan could not understand the prince was yelling, shouting something. And while he couldn’t decipher the words, he understood that it was filled with rage and disbelief.

The wispy creature, a wil-o’- the-wisp if Logan was correct (And if he was that thought chilled him to the bone) continued to talk to Roman for what felt like an eternity, and then it vanished, just a pop and it was gone.

“Roman?” he called out again in concern.

Roman jumped he looked over the human a few times, it was like he’d forgotten about him,” Wait here,” he begged.

“If I don’t?” Logan asked the tone catching him off guard.

A sorrowful expression, that’s all Logan could describe of the others face,” then I’ll have to make you stay,” the hollow way he said it, it wasn’t a threat it wasn’t even a promise, it was a regret.

“I’ll stay,” Logan whispered.

Roman nodded the thanks apparent in the motion,” I-I’ll be back.” He walked to the front door before stepping back,” I’ll tell Patton to come over so you’re not alone,” And with that he left Logan alone in the house.

Half thoughts and words were starting to swirl in Virgil’s head again, the blank nothingness that had encompassed his being was fading away, and he was shockingly aware that he was alone in the forest in the center of a damned fairy circle. This was not Romans circle though; this one was circled with entirely different plants and flowers than Romans. Suddenly there was a flash and a tall woman appeared before him.

She was breathtaking, if Virgil wasn’t as gay as they came, he’d probably be taken with her. She like most fair people looked like she could be both 20 and 60 aged and ageless. Virgil realized as the last dregs of the wisp magic faded just how lucky he was that he’d stumbled into Roman’s circle instead of this one all that time ago. Roman looked like a man. A stunning breathtaking man that also looked like a piece of artwork, but except for a few things he looked relatively normal.

This woman, however, defined otherworldly, she looked like she brought definition and weight to the scared whispered folklore of Virgil’s childhood.

The lady spoke, but Virgil didn’t understand the language, she paused and swapped to another. She continued in a few others before Virgil spoke up.

“H…h-hello,” he made a gesture with his hand that might have been intended to be a wave, but he wasn’t quite sure himself.

“Hello,” she paused before smiling,” Anxiety, I believe my son calls you?”

Virgil must have made a face, but he couldn’t be sure his heart was beating so loudly he couldn’t think. None the less she supplied an answer,” Roman,” Virgil nodded now in understanding.

The smile was wider,” you’re so cute I could eat you up!” she exclaimed.

Virgil whimpered, he’d heard that phrase before, from humans and even Patton but this woman, he wasn’t sure of her intentions, regardless of who’s mother she claimed to be. Virgil wrapped his arms around himself hiding them under the cloak so that he could grip his hands around his iron daggers.

Maybe it was a little distasteful to have iron weapons when you had a boyfriend whose main weakness was said weapons and almost those alone, but Virgil liked to think about it as protection in case Roman couldn’t protect him. He didn’t draw them out yet however, the fae were powerful beings with important laws that dictated their magic. If he were to draw a weapon, she’d have grounds to use it against him.

He may be in her territory but because of the circumstances, the law of the fair people might just allow him safety for a bit longer. He just had to watch his next few actions carefully and not offend her.

“Now I know you’re a little skittish but me and my wife have been dying to meet you and Roman has refused to bring you along.”

She said it all in a way that reminded Virgil of his own mother (well it reminded him of the few memories he had of her),” can you believe that? Won’t bring you to meet his own mothers,” she said it was such an air it was familiar enough to Roman’s dramatics that Virgil was relaxing slightly, his grasp on the blades slightly looser, but the grip was tighter in an instant.

He couldn’t be tricked by them even if they were Roman’s parents. The woman walked forward her hands held outwards dramatically,” just so you know there is no funny business, I’m going to take you to my home for tea with my wife.”

Virgil made a noise of protest his hands moving off of his daggers in shock as she put both hands on his shoulders and there was a flash of magic that dragged with it the smell ginger, and a fruity smell he couldn’t place.

Roman was terrified, the second he’d spoken to that wisp he knew that it was one of the chaotic ones, it had chirped off gleefully that it had directed his sweet anxiety to another fae, and not just any other fae his mothers. Gods that made him nervous, if his mothers talked to him? The anxious butterflies that were only caused by his sweet husband were starting to tear up his stomach.

Husband.

If that word didn’t stir up a lot of emotions in him. He was glad that it was Anxiety how had taken the step, he’d long since learned not to push the dark clad man. And he absolutely adores the idea of spending forever with him, but they’d not been dating for that long and had known each other for barely much longer. The commitment of it was terrifying, he barely felt ready for it. But he couldn’t tell the other, not after he’d been so courageous to do so, not after he’d been so bold when he was normally so, well, anxious.

“Roman!” A peppy voice called out.

He looked down, oh it was Patton, good because he didn’t want to make another stop or to search for him,” can you go to Logan house and stay with him something is going on and I told him I’d send you over.”

“Is he okay?” Patton asked his pointy ears tilting down.

Roman was already looking off in the distance,” oh, yes he’s fine, I just uh my mothers, uh, Anxiety, I gotta go.”

Patton nodded and began the trek to the scholar’s home.

The prince hardly thought as he made the trip to his mothers’ home, his all-encompassing thoughts were:

Get to Anxiety

Make sure he wasn’t having a panic attack

Protect him.

His mothers had never really been part of the human hunts that so many of their elite fae peers had been a part of, they were ahead of their time in that aspect. But they’d also never interacted with humans directly, their circle was too deep in the forest; when the peace treaties were sent by the two human rulers the messengers ended up finding Roman instead. Which was fine his mothers’ didn’t find an offense to that they enjoyed their seclusion, but they didn’t understand humans’ limits, they didn’t-

Roman’s stomach churned at the thought, if they exposed him too much to certain magics, he might fall ill, that was a mistake they’d fallen upon a few months back. The human vessel just wasn’t durable, it was fragile and as strong as his beloved was, he still was limited. Roman’s stomach felt much like it had a mind of its own crawling up his throat, Anxiety had iron daggers. He hid them from Roman and tried not to show them to him.

But none the less Roman knew about them, how could he forget when anxiety had pulled them against him at their first meeting. A guarded man like him, of course, had weapons, and considering that he had to fight from an early age to survive Roman didn’t care, Anxiety would never hurt him, and considering how much power he had he couldn’t blame him if maybe Anxiety just wanted something to make him feel safe.

But if Anxiety got scared he might pull them on his mothers, and then, then Roman’s mothers might get offended and his mothers were forces to be reckoned with when they were offended.

Before the prince knew it he was at his mothers’ cottage, they did have a castle but they often stayed in the cottage for comfort, and from what Roman had told them they knew that Anxiety had a nervous disposition and was prone to getting scared easily.

Roman threw the door open to the main entertainment space,” Mother! Mama!” he shouted,” were is he!”

Virgil was quite nervous there were two very powerful fairy queens attending to him handing him food and drinks and talking to him. The taller very muscular one, the one that had greeted him in the clearing was sat on a chaise. She’d greeted herself as Ada after they’d gotten into the fairy realm. Once she had directed him into the home she was covered with a bright flash of warm light and her appearance fell. She was still beautiful, still had terrifying pointy teeth but she looked far more human. She still had the pointed ears and the face and body markings that denoted she was something else but the aura she had before faded away.

As it did she apologized informing him that she still had to keep up appearances and if she startled him it wasn’t her intent.

And the other slightly shorter one was sitting in a wood carved chair that was decorated with the most dramatic curls and delicate flower petals. She was also beautiful, she had a round large nose and big expressive eyes, but they were lined with dramatic face markings and makeup. She was kind of adorable in a strange sense, very round and huggable, but there was something behind her eyes that told Virgil that he should still be weary of her.

And they were doting on one another, they threw soft actions and kisses at one another like he and Roman threw nicknames and cuddles.

“I-is it safe to eat or drink this? Uh- your majesties?” Virgil asked the women holding a sandwich nervously.

The shorter one smiled,” Oh our roman got himself a clever one, didn’t he?” she asked looking up at her wife,” he even makes sure the food won’t trap him!” she preened. “also call me Evangeline, your majesty sounds so formal! And we're practically family!” she smiled at him.

The other woman smiled,” anxiety how did you meet our son?”

Virgil chuckled,” I sort of fell into his fairy circle after getting lost.”

“Why were you lost?” Evangeline asked. “Also, yes you can eat the food we have no intent on trapping you.”

Virgil ducked his head,” well human’s don’t have the best perception of monsters and my best friend was dating Patton-“

“Oh,” Ada cut in,” the giant boy? He’s a friend of Roman’s.”

Virgil nodded,” well I didn’t know Patton was a cool person yet, and I was scared cause all I had been taught was to fear monsters and because I didn’t know how to react I tried to walk home but I’d never been in that section of the forest before and after hours of wandering I fell down a small cliff and into the circle.”

The two women nodded in sympathy,” our raisings were much of the same,” Evangeline added on,” don’t trust the humans don’t talk to them the normal nonsense.”

Ada nodded,” we’re very eager however for this promised new era of peace between us and the humans, the royal Joan and Talyn have only been able to extend to us informal treaties, but we understand it’s tough to erase the years of misunderstandings on our end as well.”

Virgil nodded his arm that had been under his cloak was loose around the hilt almost in a resting state. He picked up his teacup and took a tentative sip. It was a nice spiced blend with just enough sweetener, it was one of the best teas he’d ever tasted.

Suddenly the door was being busted down and the sound of Roman shouting was filling the room.

Logan was pacing up and down up and down, he wanted to follow the fae prince get answers, but something had rattled him and if that were the case then it could be nothing good. Logan’s floor was no doubt being rubbed down from the pacing the varnish slowly getting removed. But Virgil was out there having probably been swept away by the wisps. The situation did not lend itself to, particularly pleasant thoughts.

There was a slight shaking of the ground, Logan’s heart skipped a beat, he knew that thudding rhythm, he flung the door open. Patton wasn’t far away just at the edge of the forest only a few dozen feet from Logan’s house. Logan ran forward the jumped up into Patton’s arms. Patton scooped him up in his arms the warm embrace surrounding Logan and calming his thoughts.

He was able to think more logically now, his thoughts slowly organizing as Patton kissed his forehead,” you okay Lo-lo?” he asked his voice a low rumble.

Logan nodded,” better now, do you understand what’s going on?” he asked.

Patton smiled,” let’s get in your house first and I’ll tell you while we cuddle.” He said stepping forward putting Logan down on the grass gently

“Do you have a potion on you or do I need to grab one from my stash?” he asked, unfortunately his house was far too small for his boyfriend so he had to drink a shrinking potion, both so he could fit for them to cuddle, and so Patton didn’t draw any un-needed attention. While their village was one of the more open-minded, there still were hunters that passed by.

He shook his head nuzzling into Logan’s side,” I don’t have one on me no.”

“I’ll go grab one,” Logan left a soft kiss on Patton’s knuckle.

Patton chuckled at the soft gesture, Logan was only in the house for a second his crate of the potion was right by the door and in a moment Patton was shrinking.

For some reason, maybe it was just the ingredient ratio, whenever Patton took the shrinking potion he was shrunk, thankfully with his clothes, down to a height shorter by just a few inches than Logan. Patton wasn’t holding back anymore he was running forward jumping into Logan’s arms a kiss a whisper away.

He was only a hair away, that question in the air as Logan held him up under his thighs, Logan vanished the remaining distance surging forward. Patton’s tail was wrapped around Logan’s leg , he smiled into the kiss and he could feel the other smiling back as he stumbled into the house eyes closed.

They were chuckling into each other's lips, Logan raised a hand to Patton’s face, he backed away catching his breath. “I love you,” Patton whispered.

“I love you too,” Logan returned the sentiment. He backed away though reality returning to him.

“You’re worried about him aren’t you?” Patton asked.

“Roman told you what was going on?” Logan searched Patton’s face as if he was trying to find an answer.

Patton’s expression was soft,” yeah he told me a little bit, enough that I could gather that his moms had basically kidnapped Virgil.”

“They won’t hurt him right?”

Patton shook his head,” Nah,” he plopped down on Logan’s bed. Logan sat next to him and began to play with his soft hair,” Roman’s just a little bit worried because he doesn’t want his moms to talk to his husband.”

Logan sputtered,” when did they get married!? Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding!”

“Wedding?” Patton asked,” they got a fae marriage.”

“What does that entail? And why didn’t Virgil tell me?!” Logan was standing now Patton’s head falling from his lap and onto the bed.

“Lo-lo,” Patton sat up and wrapped his arms around his lover,” I’m sure there’s a good reason he didn’t tell you. I didn’t even go, apparently, Roman was really caught off guard about it. It hit him in the face so to speak,” Patton chuckled.

“Hit him in the? Patton dear I’m lost what are you talking about?”

“Virgil threw an apple at him and it hit him in the face.”

Logan was blinking taken aback,” apple?” he paused his mind trying to add two and two,” do you mean to tell me that a fae proposal is throwing an apple at your lover?”

“No, that’s the marriage.”

Logan was silent, he was at a loss for words the way Patton said it, so nonchalantly,” okay, you got me, dear, I almost believed you.” It was a good joke, Logan had to admit, that something so mundane something that humans do literally all the time could have such weight attached to it.

Patton’s expression remained serious,” is this not the same for human culture?”

Logan shook his head,” of course not that would be ridiculous, if it were then me and Virgil playing catch with apples as kids would make us married ten times over.”

Patton covered his mouth with his hands,” this means that for Virgil he’s been put into a marriage with Roman for two months that he doesn’t even know about! He hasn’t even told Roman his name yet!”

Logan nodded part of him found some humor in this and eventually he would tease Virgil about this but for the moment being, “I do not believe that this will go ideally, most likely Virgil is going to panic.”

“It’ll work out,” Patton said nuzzling into the scholar's neck pulling him onto the bed,” Roman revealed to me that them being married made him uneasy since they hadn’t been dating that long but he was under the impression that it was what Virgil wanted.”

Logan groaned chuckling all the same,” they are fools sometimes but at least Roman is not being reckless by desiring to marry a man he when he doesn’t even know his name.”

Patton sighed,” I’ll be glad when Virgil finally tells Roman his name, it gets confusing sometimes to keep straight what I’m supposed to call him.”

“I agree, but it is a big step for him, he doesn't want to just tell him he wants to give it to him.”

Patton sat up,” give it to him? Does he know how big of a deal that is?”

Logan nodded, once he and Patton had introduced themselves, they had said ‘you may call me’ it was subtle but very deliberate. They couldn’t have it used against them because of very careful wording, not that Roman would but it was good practice to measure one’s words exactingly near the fae.

“Virgil is very aware, he’s wanted to tell him for a while, but he keeps getting frightened, not that I can blame him it is a rather large step in their relationship.”

Patton snorted,” Bigger than accidental marriage?”

“Yes, well,” Logan was chuckling too,” biggest intentional step then.”

They were laughing now holding one another in each other’s arms just enjoying each other’s company. Logan felt calm and at peace, it wasn’t very often that his mind could be calmed, a good book, some fascinating research, those did the trick for a while, but nothing really relaxed him like his boyfriend.

Patton was swirling patterns onto his arm eyes closed, Logan took in the sight. His soft turquoise almost star-studded fur, his slight under bite. His round nose and glasses

All perfect.

Logan raised a hand an lightly brushed his thump on Patton’s cheek, the other opened his blue eyes lazily. They looked like perfectly cut crystals to Logan, magnified perfectly by his slightly askew glasses.

“Do you ever think about it?” Patton asked softly his purr vibrating loudly in the cold tinted fall air.

Leaning into the hand his own still idly drawing swirls and patterns into the others dark skin.

“Think about what?” Logan asked his heart melting at the way Patton’s face squished into his hand.

Patton was quiet for a moment, Logan almost thought he fell asleep, but his eyes were open again and his words were tentative and soft,” us, one day, getting married?”

Logan’s heartbeat went up to levels that probably put him at risk of a heart attack,” I-I,” he stuttered his mind reeling from the idea. He’d never actually thought about it, he was always so caught up in the moment that honestly, a future was intangible. But hearing that right then,” I am now,” he admitted sheepishly.

“And?” Patton asked voice soft and gentle as he snuggled closer to the scholar.

Logan swallowed his pooling spit and collected his thoughts,” I am not opposed to it, but I am nervous.”

Patton turned his head slightly a brow softly quirked the question in the air,” it is just that, Human’s right now are turning finally to see that just because you’re monsters it doesn’t make you inherently evil, and I will admit the thought of those few that won’t listen to reason scares me.”

Patton grumbled lowly,” well I won't ever let them hurt you Lo-lo.” Patton hugged him close nuzzling his face into Logan’s chest.

“That is not what I am afraid of,” Logan ran his hand through the other's hair, he accidentally bumped his hand into the base of Patton’s antlers. They were just as soft as the rest of him. “I’m afraid of what they will do to you,” Logan admitted not much louder than a whisper. But the words might as well have been a shout.

Patton detangled himself from Logan,” It won’t happen,” Logan went to speak unwanted tears forming in his eyes,” No,” Patton cut him off,” sweetheart listen, it won’t happen. We’re friends with the next in line of the fae royalty, and we know people with direct connections to the human throne, we’re safe.”

Patton grabbed Logan’s hand which was still pinned under his face, he held Logan’s hand to his heart,” I’m safe.”

Roman scanned the room and there closest to the door was Anxiety, he scanned him up and down nervously. One hand was out of his cloak that was good, but the other was in it, no doubt wrapped around the hilt of his dagger.

“R-roman,” Anxiety said, his face relaxing slightly.

Roman put a hand to his husband’s face, Anxiety leaned in ever so slightly,” are you alright my love, no panic attacks?” he asked his red tinted brown eyes scanning his fae for every expression and microexpression he could.

Anxiety smirked,” I’m fine princey, just a little surprised, it’s not every day you get magically kidnapped by fae royalty.”

Roman looked down ashamed,” I supposed that might be my fault, they’ve wanted to meet you for a while now and you’d think they’d have the patience to wait but no,” he looked up at them and shot them a look.

“They did seem eager to meet me yes,” Anxiety agreed, nerves still an undercurrent to his tone but his tone was as calm as it’d been since Roman had heard him that afternoon.

Roman’s mama clapped her hands,” well if you’re done modeling after your mother and being overdramatic,” Roman’s mother made an offended noise, Anxiety made a near-silent chuckle,” we were just about to show your husband your baby portraits.”

“WhAt!” Anxiety shouted his face red as he stood up.

The three fae looked at him bewildered,” is there some sort of human taboo against showing newlyweds one another’s baby portraits?” his mother asked in concern. It was a fair question one he himself was actually wondering now considering his husbands panic.

“I-I no, we,” Anxiety was looking between all three,” married? When?”

Roman studied him carefully, did he hit his head? Had the magic from traveling between realms altered his memories. Roman stepped closer,” are you okay, love?” he put a hand on the others forehead,” are you feeling unwell?”

Anxiety’s eyes were filled with fear and confusion as he looked frantically around. “Hey, hey, hey,” Roman repeated himself a few times,” what’s the matter? Anx dearest,” Roman spoke carefully after he waited for the other to breathe for a moment,” are you alright?”

Anxiety looked up panic still splayed on his face but he was already attempting to cover it up with his normal disinterested expression,” s-since when were we married?!”

“When you threw that apple at me?” Roman said confused.

This deepened Anxiety’s troubled expression,” humans,” his eyes darted to Roman’s mothers. “we, it’s not, I didn’t. besidesIhityouinthefacethat’shardlyromantic!” Anxiety looked over at the two women,” not that I wouldn’t but we just,” he looked back at roman,” we haven’t been dating that lo-“ his voice died in his throat as he gestured wildly trying to explain himself.

“Oh,” Roman said softly as he added it together,” Oh!” he exclaimed hitting himself in the head,” I’m sorry Anxiety I completely forgot humans have different customs.”

Anxiety’s rapid breathing slowed,” you’re not mad at me?”

Roman shook his head, at that moment however his mother decided it would be the perfect moment to speak up,” you-you’re not married?”

Virgil was jumping up again he’d seemed to have only for a moment forgotten about the two women,” no- not that I would- I just- it just- humans don’t normally- after such a- a short period of time.”

Roman was elated, Anxiety didn’t want to get married just yet either, part of him felt bad for feeling relieved but he was glad that they were still on the same page relationship-wise. “Well then,” Roman spoke up,” Mother, mama, this is my boyfriend.”

Anxiety smiled at Roman a soft look in his eyes, they’d have to talk more later but for now, they had Roman’s mothers to talk to.

“So, baby portraits?” his mama asked, perhaps she was trying to smooth over the afternoon, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes that definitely suggested otherwise.

“Mama!”

“So, humans have an exchange of rings and a huge party?” Roman asked a slight bit of excitement peeking through his voice.

Virgil giggled at his boyfriend, his reaction caused his entire being to feel like it was being swaddled and hugged. It had been a few hours since they’d gotten back from the fae realm, and because of the magic exposure, they decided to continue their conversation at Virgil’s house. His house was much like Logan’s but instead of science stuff and crystals and books, he had different trinkets from Roman, posters of his favorite bard groups, and general décor that tended to fit the macabre.

“Yes, it’s incredibly dramatic,” Virgil said drinking in the others face as they lay next to one another on Virgil’s old rickety bed. “but don’t let that fool you the wedding industry is a sham.”

“Wedding,” Roman said testing out the word as if he were tasting it, Virgil’s heart fluttered at his expression,” Well when we are ready for marriage, I will sweep you off your feet!”

His stomach was exploding with butterflies his heart squeezing at the words ‘when we are ready’ not just him both of them. “So, you’re not disappointed that we aren’t actually married right now?” Virgil asked voice small.

“Anx,” Roman said softly as he pulled the shorter male closer,” of course not,” he was quiet for a beat,” I was actually scared after the initial shock wore off because I hadn’t really realized that I wasn’t ready either.”

Virgil hugged him, Roman embraced him back his fingers playing with his hair they were quiet for awhile neither speaking just enjoying each other’s presence. “Roman?” Virgil eventually spoke. The fae hummed in response his fingers continuing their ministration in Virgil’s messy hair,” sit up?” he asked him.

The prince did disentangle himself with a grumble,” I wanted to cuddle,” he pouted.

“W-we can get back to that,” Virgil promised running a hand through his hair as he too sat up,” I wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay? Roman asked his expression mainly blank but Virgil could see just a small little inkling of confusion.

“My n-,” he took in a shaky breath, he could do this, he wanted to,” My name is-“

His gaze darted up to Roman who’s eyes were as wide as Virgil had ever seen, his mouth was open slightly in shock. “I-I,” Virgil clenched his fists letting the sensation of his fingernails biting into his flesh ground him,” sorry I just got nervous.”

“Anxiety you don’t ha-“

“It’s Virgil!” he exclaimed, he nervously started muttering to himself,” it’s like a band-aid you just gotta rip it off.”

Roman took Virgil’s face in his hands gently,” Virgil,” he said in an almost reverence, it was like before when he was playing out the syllables of 'wedding' but now instead of just tasting it, he was savoring it. “Virgil,” he repeated clearly enjoying the way the word fell off of his tongue and into the air between them.

“I’m going to kiss you now, is that alright with yo-,” Roman warned but Virgil beat him to it, he surged forward his lips crashing into the others. Romans lips were soft plush and felt like he moisturized them regularly. Virgil knew that his were chapped but Roman simply pushed back into the kiss meeting Virgil’s passion.

Roman accidentally pushed too far however and Virgil fell back onto his bed bouncing up a little as they detached slightly. Laughter burst from Virgil’s chest and Roman laughed back, he began to pepper Virgil with kisses every time he came up, he whispered his name like a quiet prayer.

“T-that tickles roman,” Virgil attempted to hold back his laughter.

Roman quirked an eyebrow as he hovered over the other,” oh tickli-“

A knocking from the front door interrupted them, Roman groaned and Virgil let out a laugh,” that’ll probably be Logan, you did just leave him with no expli-“

“I will be opening the door in one minute, if you are not fully clothed by then, then it is your fault!” Logan interrupted again his tone not betraying any amusement.

Virgil could hear Patton exclaim in shock, he laughed as he clambered up to answer the door, and for once there was nothing wrong in his life.

#monster pat au #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #prinxiety #logicality #platonic analogical

[lesty-xx]

thank you @fanfictiongreenirises for tagging me! The last part was especially fun (haha, are you happy I’m actually doing these now, now you’re not tagging me in vain!)

rules: spell out your url with song titles, answer the quarantine questions, and bold the things that apply - then tag 10 people

This is quite long so I dumped everything under the cut =D

let's goooooooooo

L - Learn to Let Go by Kesha

E - Eden by Sara Barellies

S - Something by The Beatles

T - Treacherous by Taylor Swift

Y - You Gotta Die Sometime by Andrew Rannells in Falsettos

I have no songs for X, I know none, I have over 2,000 songs in iTunes and not ONE starts with X, so I think we're stopping here then? This is a sign that I need to evolve out of 2012 and remove the "-xx" from my user name.

~*~

where are you isolated?? at home! I’m quite lucky because I get to hang out with my dog everyday

what are you currently reading or watching?? I'm rewatching Doctor Who right now! I went in reverse order by doctor (13, then 12, then 11, etc) but having to witness Clara die then seeing her again all bright and bubbly with 11 was painful, and I realised I couldn't go through that pain again with Rose so I skipped 10 and went onto 9. I'm now half way through 10's first season, and I’m so excited for when Martha and Donna rock up as the God Tier companion duo of NuWho

if you can go outside, what do you like to do during this time?? Sometimes I sit in the backyard and listen to the birds, my dog likes to come out with me and roll in the grass.

any fascinating concept you’re studying?? ummmmm I've just finished all my uni coursework (just finishing up a prac assignment at this rate), but the most interesting thing I got to study this semester was the development of white nationalism as a culture. It was awful and somewhat traumatising at times, but thoroughly interesting in a perverse, macabre way. 

what kind of acts of creativity/forms of art are you currently doing?? I'm kind of flip flopping between different things because I keep getting new ideas of things to try. I've been writing, experimenting with new watercolour techniques, I did some spray painting and gave myself a minor asthma attack, it's been fun!

a song that resonates with your state of mind at the moment?? Kings and Queens by Ava Max! It's such a great bop to jump around in your bedroom to, and lately that's been my perpetual state of being

favourite impulsive/”bad” coping techniques?? p r o c r a s t i n a t i o n, I keep waking up going "okay, I'll get this thing done", but first I've got to shower, then I need to have a coffee - oh, that one didn't wake me up enough, better have another one! Oh no, now I have too much energy, let's do some spontaneous cardio in the living room, oops, now I need another shower - and then this just continues until it's 10pm where I'm like "ah, now it's too late to start anything, I’ll do it tomorrow".

favourite healthy/”good” coping techniques? I'm starting to exercise which I thought I'd hate but I'm actually enjoying, it’s nothing intense or committed, but it’s nice to get some movement into my life.

~*~

APPEARANCE i’m over 5′5″. i wear glasses / contacts. i have blonde hair. i prefer loose clothing to tight clothing. i have one or more piercings. i have at least one tattoo. i have blue / green eyes. i have dyed or highlighted my hair. i have gotten plastic surgery. i have or had braces. i sunburn easily. i have freckles. i paint my nails. i typically wear makeup. i don’t often smile. i am pleased with how i look. i prefer nike to adidas. i wear baseball hats backwards.

HOBBIES AND TALENTS i play a sport. i can play an instrument. i am artistic. i know more than one language. i have won a trophy in some sort of competition. i can cook or bake without a recipe. i know how to swim. i enjoy writing. i can do origami. i prefer movies to tv shows. i can execute a perfect somersault. i enjoy singing. i could survive in the wild on my own. i have read a new book series this year. i enjoy spending time with friends. i travel during school or work breaks. i can do a handstand.

RELATIONSHIPS i am in a relationship. i have been single for over a year. i have a crush. i have a best friend i have known for ten years. my parents are together. i have dated my best friend. i am adopted. my crush has confessed to me. i have a long distance relationship. i am an only child. i give advice to my friends. i have made an online friend. i met up with someone i have met online.

AESTHETICS i have heard the ocean in a conch shell. i have watched the sunrise. i enjoy rainy days. i have slept under the stars. i meditate outside. the sound of chirping calms me. i enjoy the smell of the beach. i know what snow tastes like. i listen to music to fall asleep. i enjoy thunderstorms. i enjoy cloud watching. i have attended a bonfire. i pay close attention to colours. i find mystery in the ocean. i enjoy hiking on nature paths. autumn is my favourite season.

MISCELLANEOUS i can fall asleep in a moving vehicle. i am the mom friend. i live by a certain quote. i like the smell of sharpies. i am (was) involved in extracurricular activities. i enjoy mexican food. i can drive a stick-shift. i believe in true love. i make up scenarios to fall asleep. i sing in the shower. i wish i lived in a video game. i have a canopy above my bed. i am multiracial. i am a redhead. i own at least three dogs.

Tagging: It’s been so long since I was active on tumblr that I kinda feel at a loss at who to tag, so this is basically my awkward way to reach out to some mutuals who I still see on my dash and adore even though I never speak to you because communication and I *are not* on speaking terms

@ohloverbcy @hiimcanadia @just-emerly @dirigibleplumbing @hailey813 @funky-lil-cowgirl-yeehaw @protectcombeferre @shakespeareanqueer (there’s no pressure to do this btw! I’m just stumbling back into this website with a flickering torch)

#lesty: speaks #ask meme #wowza this is long #I had a lot of fun though! #except the first part with the song titles #that one gave me anxiety

[thirstyforred]

I played The Wretched by Chris Bissette [it’s currently in the bundle] and since part of the game is to create a log I guess can share mine. It’s also kinda fun writing exercise even tho I died before I could save myself and the log just ends abruptly. I really recommend this game, especially to if you like things like Alien movies or survival horror in general [or if you’re easily spooked you can imagine your character with GLOOcannon from Prey 2017. GLOOcannon makes everything better]

Day 1, salvage ship The Wretched. Flight Engineer Martin reporting. The other members of the crew are dead and the engines remain non-operational, though ship integrity remains good and life support systems are still active. I successfully jettisoned the intruder from the airlock. With a little luck, I can repair the distress beacon and somebody will pick me up. This is Martin, the last survivor of the Wretched, signing off.

Day 2, salvage ship The Wretched, Flight Engineer Martin reporting. At 0300 fire alarm and fire suppression systems were activated. I started auto diagnosis on all systems but I'm still not sure what caused the fire. The damage is hopefully fixable. That alarm woke me up and I couldn't sleep anymore... I found a journal of A. He wrote like a whole list of things he wants to cook and eat one we get back home. Even here A managed to make something edible out of nothing. I think I was so tired, after waking up in the middle of my sleeping cycle and monitoring all systems for other fires and then reading that damned journal for hours, that- I think I heard something. Something like a whisper coming through the comms. I don't know what was it. Maybe I should also put comms through that diagnosis check? Of other things: water smells kinda like ammonia. The purification system works, just seems to be less efficient. Maybe I should be disgusted by this, I don't know, I'm just too tired to care I guess.

Day 3. I was so wrong. I was in the Mess trying to eat something when I heard that scraping sound from the corridor. I managed to duck behind the counter before it reached the open door. Thank gods, it didn't decide to actually enter! It moved past, somewhere in the direction of the Bridge, and then, I think entered the vents. It certainly knows I'm here.

Day 4. I'm carrying weapons, electric baton and a handgun, on me all the time, even tho I know it will only slow down that thing. But also I can't spend all the time locked somewhere wishing for it to be gone. So, one of the things I did today was checking my food supplies. There wasn't much to begin with, and now, that mold took over, there's even less. I can't exactly dump it, so I locked it in one of the cabinets. Maybe mold won't spread. I also managed to lock myself on the Bridge. Or it was that alien. I'm starting to think that it was the thing that I heard over the comms 2 days ago - if it can access and operate the comm system why would it be able to mess with the doors? It might be also responsible for the failure of the generator that happened 4 hours later. And failing of the backup generator as well. I had to use parts of the backup generator to fix the main one. So in case, the power goes out again it goes all down... Yeah. But after another fire alarm, I straight up jettisoned that section of the ship. It was the Crew Quarters, so all that's lost in just my sleeping bag. Maybe the alien asshole was caught and is now drifting out of the station. I can only hope.

Day 5. I spend the whole morning trying to pull the engine together. I may have an engineer as part of my title, but honestly, rocket science is beyond me. I'm afraid I only made more mess. The airlock I jettisoned alien thought the first time is still unsealed. The one in Crew Quarters locked back properly, but that one I just didn't manage to fix it properly. There's now only a single door between me, the interior of the ship, and that thing. Since it already got inside once, I guess it's only a matter of time till it finds a way to walk around it again or pry it open, and then I'll be the one that's jettisoned. There's nothing I can really do at this point.

Day 6. There's still a lot of internal damages I'm tracking down and fixing. Tiny but vital things. Like the door to the Docking Bay that M jacked to give us more time running away. It worked, even if soon later alien discovered that it prefers vents anyway. Part of the unblocking process involved cleaning whatever was left of M there - I already stalled long enough. When I finally went back to the Bridge I got to hear the last seconds of signal from some far-off vessel. I couldn't signal them back, I lost it. "Dear listeners..." they said. Might be some audio drama, sounds like fun. Also, It got back on the ship. Persistent beast. I hid in the locker when I heard it moving in the vent above. Either it missed me or just really loves to fuck with me, because it didn't immediately go for my very obvious hiding spot. But it knocked one of the desk lamps with its tail and I think got spooked. It ran back to the vents, which I soldered as soon as I was sure it's not nearby. Should have done it days ago.

Day 7. And that's a full week of living with an extra passager on my ship. At this point, I maybe should give it a name... I almost got a heart attack when I saw it on the camera feed of the corridors I have access to on the Bridge. It moves like a spider. Mr. Spider. Before it all, K told me about a children's book she heard once about. One of the spooky kind. I hate those so I kindly told her to fuck off, but now looking at that jumpy camera feed of Mr. Spider - how can stories for kids be worse than reality?

Day 8. I can no longer focus on anything. My every thought is like 'It's here! It's here!'. I'm so tired. It was here for the past week. But I got to do some spacewalking, first and let's hope the last time. I wasn't sure what to do to ensure that Mr. Spider won't try to stop me from my attempt to boost the antenna, but I opened the mold cabinet in the Mess and it seems that awful smell managed to get its attention. The antenna works, now to repair and activate the distress beacon.

Day 9. The Mess is unsalvagable. It looks like Mr. Spider decided that it's its nest now. Good thing I already moved all my things to the Bridge. Since Mr. Spider seems to be preoccupied with the mold cabinet, I decided to take care of the last of the bodies in the storage room in Engineering. That's the place we wanted to hole up in, but the vents... It doesn't like the ones there that much - too near the cold hull of the ship if I had to guess - but used them anyway to get to us. Now I also had to squeeze there to fix some cables that might help me with boosting that beacon. It was an experience. I still periodically check sensors and monitors to see if by chance there are some other vessels nearby. Of course, that's mostly wasting my time.

Day 10.

I spend some extra hours on the beacon instead of sleeping and I managed to finally fix it! Now all I have to do is wait for someone to catch my signal. I soldered the Mess door so it has only the vents if it wants to get back inside. I did it mostly for my own benefit, so when I'm going around trying to fix this rooting ship I don't have to look at things that are inside. I refuse to even guess what Mr. Spider is doing there. If it's really building a nest or something like that, it would mean that I'm the asshole for invading its territory. But on the other hand, it killed the whole crew of The Wretched, I would say that's a bit too extreme reaction on Mr. Spider's part. That being said I decided to make the list of my top 5 hiding places:

the Bridge - the real commanding center, now with soldered vents

storage room next to the Medical Bay - small and cozy, perfect for napping

Crew Quarter - already jettisoned once, so maybe Mr. Spider wouldn't look for me there

office in Life Support - mostly because it is Life Support and I would like to believe it will support my life

life capsule that's broken and can't leave its dock

I don't really intend to move out of the Bridge, but man I need some backup plans... I somewhat prepared them all today - I had to use K's keycard to get into her office in Life Support.

Day 11. I don't know how, but Mr. Spider managed to detach the whole module holding Crew Quarter from the rest of the ship. Now it's just drifting nearby. I don't know if it read my list of potential hiding places or just decided that it no longer vibes with it. Shame that the Mess didn't drift away as well. It's weird enough that it wasn't the part of the Crew module in the first place. Mr. Spider would be pissed that its nest-mess got jettisoned away... Sometimes I wonder what it calls itself. I guess something less stupid than Mr. Spider or Gorlam the Brave, my old teddy who now drifts somewhere in the space. RIP Gorlam. And I guess soon RIP me... There are weird noises in the Life Support. Not the crazy creature from outer space kind of noises, more like the machinery is failing and there's no one with enough knowledge to fix it. I'm starting to think that lying on my resume was a bad idea... At this point, I might be a better funeral official than an engineer... Today I jettisoned the last bodies. There wasn't really that much to say, so I just mostly cried.

Day 12. Gravity drive crashed today. It was real hell to drag myself all the way to it and fix it, but I managed. I should get a badge or something. The rest of the day I spend monitoring the beacon signal. It looks good. Like it might actually work kind of good.

Day 13. I fixed one of the small leaks of oxygen in the hull. I wonder how I didn't see it before. Spend a few hours walking cluelessly around Engineering trying to fix anything. I even finally cleaned M's rifle that I found by him, but I have seen no sign of Mr. Spider in the past 2 days. I wonder... [log abruptly ends here]

#the wretched #yes those are refs to w395 and tma #My writing

[creativity-is-rebellion]

Life on Intermission

So, for mental health reasons, I have decided to put my law studies on hold for six months while I gather myself. The thing I am supposed to be mostly doing is resting (which is the hardest thing in the world for me - I always need something to do). I think the main reason why it is difficult is because for the majority of my life I have had too much cortisol running through my body. When I was a kid (and teenager), I grew up in a tumultuous household with a narcissistic mother and an enabler for a father. I had to parent and counsel my mother day and night for her unresolved issues surrounding her own traumatic upbringing and stressful early life, which led to a transference of generational trauma from herself to me. I was both psychologically, (and one time) sexually abused by her. Adding to this, there was a constant money shortage, sometimes to the point of relying on food stamps, and I was bullied terribly at school. At 16 years of age, I was raped by a guy who had been my boyfriend of 3 months, and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse.

I graduated from school with a relatively good result, and thus was able to gain entry into the university program of my choice. Or rather, it was my parent's choice. I had won a few poetry competitions which had been published in some anthologies. I wanted to study creative writing, but my parents thought it would be better I learned something "more stable" (which is ironic), so I "decided" to study psychology, my third choice. Regardless, I thought this would be a way to start over, and leave the horrors of high school behind me. But because of my family's lack of money, it was impossible to move out on just the income I was getting from the casual job I had whilst supporting myself at university. And then, along came my first love, who I had a tumultuous relationship with. We were on again, off again for many months, in fact, many years. We first met in 2003, and parted ways for the last time at the beginning of 2006. In hindsight, I think he loved me, but just couldn't say it. At the time though, it was devastating. I moved states and universities to get away from the situation, first to Canberra (but I have followed me there), and then to Brisbane (but I have kind of followed me there too). 

I was able to make a life for myself in Brisbane for a time, despite still living with my parents (who had followed me up there), but then the loneliness I felt, mixed with being given the wrong meds, led to my first full -blown manic episode. I was spending money I didn't have, and wracking up a debt on 3 credit cards and 2 personal loans. In 2005, I tried to take my life again, which (again) was unsuccessful. Towards the tail end of this spending spree, I met my future husband. This was a brief reprieve. I decided to take a year off uni and work full-time to pay my debt back, and my future husband and I moved in together. Within 7 months, I was pregnant with our first son, and, even though I went back to university, I kept having to defer because of money issues. After giving birth, I went though a pretty bad bout of postpartum depression, 

In 2010, we got married, and things went well for a couple of months, until the financial situation became critical. We decided to move back to Norway, my husband's home country, despite me never even visiting, as he could get a better job there. I graduated with just one half of my double-degree, and off we went. Initially, things were good when we moved; I worked toward my master, learned the language, got a few jobs which allowed me to focus on practicing the language, and was of the impression that I would be able to study psychology in Bergen once I finished my language courses. But then, in 2012, I found out that I had been given the wrong information about this, and it was no longer an option. I wanted to leave, as there were no jobs available in my specialized area. I was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts for the first time ever in 2012, but there would be another 3 times after that over my time in Norway. In 2013, I gave birth to my second son, which was truly a joy, and for which I didn't get any postpartum depression, but, at that time, my actual Bipolar was bad enough. My husband's career was taking off, and I felt my problems were ignored, and that he was leaving me behind. We didn't move back to Australia (my home country) until 2017. Again, there was another promise of a fresh start.

After working with my degree for a few months, I decided to do my PhD, which was awful (I covered that in a previous post). I loved teaching and participating in conducting research, though. With my income from these gigs, and my husband's income, we were living the high life. Until the teaching dried up and my husband's company folded at the beginning of 2019. The pressure of all of this led me to be hospitalized again in the psychiatric ward 2019 for 3 months. Afterwards, as soon as I came out, I had to look for work, due to our dire financial situation. We had been in the throes of building a new house when times were good, and now we were in more debt than we had ever been. My husband found work, but was now earning half of what he was earning before. I've applied for 600 jobs before I've got to his first job interview. I ended up getting casual work, but couldn't find anything permanent, and it didn't pay enough. I started my law degree, which got off to a prosperous start, but I was also diagnosed with Lupus, which would explain why I not only felt mentally shit, but also physically shit. And that takes my biography more or less up to the present (with some stuff most likely left out).

But now, I am taking a break. I am, for the first time, deciphering what happened to me, trying to process all of the trauma, in order to become a better version of myself. Here are just some of the things I am doing during this coronavirus lockdown to self-improve:

^ Here is book I need to read whilst in the throes of finally finishing my first novel. It's only taken me 13 years. Not biggie. I need to procrastinate less. But also be less harsh on myself. I've had some really dark periods in-between that have lasted years. Sometimes, I just feel like I lose so much time when the depression is particularly bad. It makes me overdo myself when I actually feel OK for once.

^ This is a picture of my jewelery projects and couch-side workroom for when I am on hiatus. I'm going to try to get my jewelry business in order during my time off, but it's all about moderation, as my jewelry-making sometimes becomes obsessive because I get a rush of ideas. For example, yesterday I made 3 necklaces and 4 bracelets in a trance-like state. It might be impending mania, and I have to try to keep track of it, and approach it in a healthy way.

^ My fitness and health has been a personal concern of mine for a while now. Due to being diagnosed with Lupus last year, the sedentary life of being a student, and having to take mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics for my Bipolar, I have put on a little bit of weight that I want to shed, but because of the physical pain I experience due to the flares, sometimes it's difficult to do anything but light exercise. It's all about baby steps. Daily walks are also good for boosting my mood.

There is also a number of boxes awaiting my attention in the garage, which I suppose could be seen as symbolic of me unloading both emotional and literal unwanted baggage / rubbish. Its a long road, but at least I am finally taking the necessary steps for dealing with unresolved trauma and ridding myself of painful secrets that have haunted me for the longest time. All I have to do now is to remind myself to breathe.

#trauma #childhood trauma #mental health #mental illness recovery #mental illness #bipolar i #just breathe #on hiatus #dealing with trauma #trauma recovery #just create #exercise #just write #be creative #live in the now #live in the moment #healing yourself #lockdown #coronavirus lockdown #creativityisrebellion

[arcticdementor]

“Bourgeois Values,” “Anti-capitalism,” and Restoration.

(Time for another exercise in wasted effort in writing a long post nobody’s going to bother to read.)

Now, I don't exactly like using the term "bourgeois," what with the Marxist baggage and polysemy leading to ambiguity. But, lacking a better term for "bourgeois values" — as used by the likes of Amy Wax — I find myself using the term in this essay.

Now, per the polysemy mentioned above, the values of the "bourgeoisie" have been characterized in a number of ways by different folks from differing perspectives. "Materialism" — particularly in the sense of prioritizing material concerns over spiritual or other non-material concerns — is common, as are "philistinism" and conspicuous consumption. Or, there's also there’s more positive formulations, like that of Deirdre McCloskey, or the description from Wax and Alexander:

Get married before you have children and strive to stay married for their sake. Get the education you need for gainful employment, work hard, and avoid idleness. Go the extra mile for your employer or client. Be a patriot, ready to serve the country. Be neighborly, civic-minded, and charitable. Avoid coarse language in public. Be respectful of authority. Eschew substance abuse and crime.

I'd definitely rate this sort of thing as better than the kind of alternative one sees in places like the "hillbilly" communities suffering in the opioid crisis, the "rust belt," dysfunctional inner cities, etc. Now, the criticism of this I see is almost entirely from the left, and mostly consists of posing these values as some matter of "-ist." For example, Elie Mystal attacking Robert L. Woodson's defense of Wax, Alexander, and bourgeois values, as Uncle Tom groveling:

If a white guy said this, the only people defending him would be Nazis, but because a black guy wrote it, it falls to me to point out that this right here has ALWAYS BEEN the argument deployed by House Negroes to justify their position. I PROMISE YOU that if you went back to 1830 and asked the chuckling HNIC how he can live with himself, he’d say: “Look at my back. It ain’t got no scars because I reject undisciplined and irresponsible behavior. Without me, this whole damn plantation would fall apart. Now please excuse me, it’s time for Master to take a dump and I need to be there to wipe his ass.”

I point out that Woodson’s argument is steeped in the long history of coonery not to denigrate Woodson — his own words have done that far better than I could — I point it out to show that large swaths of Black America have adopted “bourgeois values” from the very beginning. Post emancipation, the bourgeois blacks actually won out. Now, most all of us African-Americans have totally adopted the white man’s cultural norms and are just trying to get our share of the rewards.

(I'm not unsympathetic to the argument that it's a foreign imposition of "white man’s cultural norms," and that resistance in favor of defending one's indigenous culture and values against such foreign impositions is valid; I just wish it were applied more consistently and broadly for all rival cultures to "universal culture,” as well as recognizing the tension between rejection of an alien culture's values and yet expecting said culture to provide you with all the benefits of those values all the same.)

But I'd like to push back from the right.

First, there's how the American right has deeply internalized these norms, and how this affects the issue of political organization and activism — or lack thereof — on the right versus the left. Especially the sort of thing David Z. Hines talks about. When you ask you're average Republican voter why we don't do this sort of thing, the usual answers are some variety of "nobody's got time for that; we've got jobs to go to and bills to pay—" (as if the left were composed entirely of college students, welfare layabouts, and paid astroturf) "—and besides, that's Not Who We Are." (As Hines put it: "THAT’S NOT HOW THE RIGHT DOES THINGS, they bellow, by which I assume they mean unpleasant stuff like “winning.”")

I'd like, some other time, to explore this in further depth, but in short, these replies all reduce to the same thing — the tactics are rejected because of incompatibility with the above "bourgeois values."

But our choices aren't only "bourgeois values" — with concommittant dedication to being dignified losers who will somehow win through our willingness to let the enemy destroy us — or Detroit/Middletown. Because, consider, what would Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, think of those sort of "I've got a mortgage to pay" excuses? Or Otto, Fürst von Bismarck, Herzog zu Lauenburg? Charles the Hammer? Godfrey of Bouillon? George Monck, 1st Duke of Albemarle? What would the sort of man who rated non-material things like *honor* highly enough to risk their lives over them think of this sort of "think of the bottom line" mentality? What about aristocratic values?

I'm also somewhat hesitant about using the term "capitalism" unqualified, for the same Marxist-baggage-and-polysemy reasons as "bourgeois." On the one hand, I've seen people both on the far left and the far right use "capitalism" to mean pretty much anything short of outright Communism, and on the other, there's the "real capitalism has never been tried!" libertarians for whom the existence of a single business regulation renders a system "non-capitalist." Add in that I accept the arguments, by Jim Donald and others, that the Marxist model of "Capital" as entity/class is fundamentally inaccurate, and that "capitalists" are never actually the people in charge.

That said, this is where I have some overlap with what is often characterized as "anti-capitalism." Because I'm against the system which promotes and selects for the above "bourgeois values." Not in the sense of wanting to replace them with some sort of "socialist values," or with the antithesis of Wax and Alexander's list, but in the cause of restoring aristocratic values. As I once said a couple years back at Slate Star Codex:

But competent at what is key. Here, it’s “the aristocratic being overwhelmed by the competent” at making money. After all, there was a previous period where being competent at making money didn’t let you “overwhelm” the aristocrats. And, of course, there’s the issue of how the aristocrat lineages became such in the first place, which was, basically, as warlords. They were competent at being and leading a warrior elite. So there was a time when being capable at breaking faces on horseback was more important than being capable at making money, so the leaders-of-face-breakers and their descendants ruled.

Of course, I now dispute the idea that it was the money-making "bourgeoisie" who actually "overwhelmed" the aristocrats, or that it happened at the time the conventional narrative places it. For example, Wikipedia has it as "the late-16th and early 17th centuries" when the developing urban business class "had become the financial – thus political – forces that deposed the feudal order."

A better model, I'd say, is that changes in military technologies — particularly, the decline of castles — led to a trend of centralization of power away from the distributed feudal hierarchy (with weak, "first among equals" monarchs) towards "absolute monarchy" and the rise of modern states, and that the "bourgeoisie" were an effect, not a driving cause, a useful foil for centralizing monarchs to leverage against an aristocracy based in control of agricultural lands. Aristocracy and "military power in the realm of politics" looks to have still been pretty powerful, at least in most of Europe, through the English Restoration, and through the Napoleonic wars. From the very same Wikipedia page:

The English Civil War (1642–51), the American War of Independence (1775–83), and French Revolution (1789–99) were partly motivated by the desire of the bourgeoisie to rid themselves of the feudal and royal encroachments on their personal liberty, commercial prospects, and the ownership of property. In the 19th century, the bourgeoisie propounded liberalism, and gained political rights, religious rights, and civil liberties for themselves and the lower social classes; thus the bourgeoisie was a progressive philosophic and political force in Western societies.

[Emphasis added.]

Nor is the rise of science as big a factor as some portray; after all, "father of chemistry" and pioneer of the scientific method Robert Boyle was the son of Richard Boyle, 1st Earl of Cork, and it was the restored monarchy of Charles II that chartered The Royal Society out of Boyle's "invisible college." The scientific progress of the likes of Newton thrived under the Restoration aristocratic system. So, I reject the idea that aristocratic virtues are achievable only by reversion to "ignorant superstition" and 1400s technology.

That is, it looks like 1848, and the surrounding decades, were more of a turning point with regards to aristocratic values than any time in "the late-16th and early 17th centuries." The Crimean War, with Jim's favored example of the smearing of Lord Cardigan and elevation of Florence Nightengale, is another mid-19th century case. And, also [https://blog.jim.com/politics/defining-restoration-and-reaction/]per Jim[/l], this looks driven less by "capitalists" as by "priests." Wikipedia, again, has the "capitalists" having ascended to "the upper class" only by the end of the 19th century. And there, it looks to me like the elites at the forefronts of the various social reform movements, most with roots in one or another (mostly Protestant) religious "awakening," were clearly more powerful than "capitalists," whose influence is frequently overstated. That is, in line with Jim's recurring thesis, "warrior rule" was slowly replaced not by "merchant rule," but by the "priestly rule" of the post-Puritan religion, still headquartered in Harvard and Yale, with continuity of organization, personnel, and institutions all the way back to the Roundheads.

I see no reason why "bourgeous values" must inevitably displace "aristocratic values," nor that the latter is, as some claim, fundamentally incompatible with scientific progress. So, how do we of the “Red Tribe” go about prying ourselves away from our stubborn, self-defeating adherence to bourgeous values and shifting the system toward selecting for aristocratic ones again?

#long post #tl;dr #nobody's going to bother to read this #why am I wasting my time on this? #bourgeois values #aristocratic values #what would lord wellington do? #what would charles martel do?