#am i ambitious or is it because i was told ill never achieve anything in my life

[tchaikovskym]

Is it my personality or is it the consequences of the trauma

#textpost #shitpost #trauma #personality #do i want to do everything myself or is it bc i was not taken seriously for a long time #am i ambitious or is it because i was told ill never achieve anything in my life #am i shy or am i just afraid to speak my thoughts bc i was told i am too naive and cannot possibly understand how things are #do i like science and academia or is it because my teachers and supervisors were the first ones to take me seriously and not belittle me

[mikaze-discord]

OG Heavens: Love letters

For these Heavens posts, I had reached out to a few people who just never ended up responding. With projects like these, please at least hear them out, you don't have to do it because I know its a huge project but at least tell them you won't be doing it instead of ghosting them. But apart from that little road block, this project was really fun!!

Please enjoy under the cut!!!!

EIICHI OTORI

From @milkmateartist:

I have always leaned towards megane characters and Eiichi is no exception. However, it's not often you see idols wearing glasses, and that is something I appreciate about Eiichi's design. His color palette also intrigues me since I love deep shades of blue. His royal blue jacket is very attractive, and the way he pops the collar also makes me go "kya!".  His voice is also very sexy as well and is pleasing to the ear uwu. I love how egoistic he is too. Being incredibly ambitious he has been able to reach amazing heights that surpass other idols. The one thing that seems to make him unique though is that he really gets zealous and overly passionate when it comes to the power of music, so much that it makes him physically tremble. You could get high off that shit literally. His entire being is centered around being an idol, and all the components of him go above and beyond the requirements. It's not just a job for him or something that simply makes an earning or brings satisfaction. It's pretty much everything to him. For that reason he has made it to the top. There is also the component where he's lonely and isolated emotionally that interests me. Despite being a beloved idol, he clearly didn't get the love he needed growing up. Even though he had Eiji I feel as though his nature was more to protect Eiji and shield him from whatever terrors would arise. I admire his ability to come through all of that and pay attention to the things he really cared about. Eiichi can be himself, his strange, sexy self, but also he acknowledges the lonesome darkness within too. I think that component makes him incredibly powerful.

Extra Details:

While appearing to be a bad guy in the anime (at least), Eiichi seemed to be that typical bad boy idol that would steal away Haruka from the main group. The time when he approached Haruka and took her by the chin is a perfect example. How dare this new guy just think he can have his way with our protagonist!  To be honest I liked that aspect about him a bit. While I can't remember my first impression of Eiichi aside from not knowing how to feel about that, he slowly grew on me. He had the appearance of just another selfish idol, demonstrated by swiping the mic away from the announcer at one of his concerts and immediately declaring their foreseen victory. So far that looked rather bland to me, and I was still cheering for STARISH. They really made him out to look like some bad guy who would not play fair and do whatever he could to take the throne (and the girl).  It's not surprising his glasses shine adds to his 'freaky antagonist' vibe that the show seemed to try to give off, but however for me I love the glasses beam, thus having the opposite effect.

And then there is the Next Door episode. Now here's where we got to see more of Eiichi aside from when the HEAVENS Dragon demolished the entire stadium. Aside from kya-ing over the EiichiOtoya content (especially where he goes behind otoya and covers his eyes), I got to see more of him here. It surprised me that someone so cocky and confident was actually the same depressed, lonely person that Otoya was. But it was also evident to me as well that he did care about the effect it had on Otoya as well after he sort-of-well mind broke him. I like how he is ambitious but also still caring, as compared to an antagonist that would stop at nothing to achieve their goal regardless of how much pain they cause.

I also enjoy Eiichi because I feel like I can roleplay him well. Usually for me, roleplay has to achieve some kind of goal since I tend to be business oriented. I think to some degree I'm able to practice being a eboy idol through Eiichi, as I do enjoy charming the fans. It also helps that I can naturally play characters with an inflated ego who enjoy charming people.

From @/egoisticCEO on twt:

July 2019. When Eiichi was first introduced to me via his voice, I hated him from the very beginning. His singing, his appearance, his personality – everything about him made me despise him. It’s funny looking back and seeing how quickly my attitude changed towards him, realising I’d been biased against him because of a friend. Finding more about him, hate turned to interest. It seemed like his life hadn’t been the best. Maybe that was why he acted in such a way? Interest turned to liking him more. Maybe I’d misunderstood him. I’d made the mistake of taking him at surface level.

December 2019. Like was slowly turning to love. More and more, I found myself looking at him instead of my current favourites. I found myself wanting him to actually be a part of Egoistic. Once I started devouring HEAVENS Radio and unveiling his true character, it was shocking how quickly I fell. He truly acted like a father to everyone in his band. Giving them what he never received. Everything was for them to thrive.

2020. With how much I was at home, it only made sense I grew more obsessed. I found Life with Thanks’ translation. “We’re irreplaceable to him,” he tells us, and that made me certain that his heart wasn’t as evil as some people liked to believe. He’s a caretaker, someone who wants everyone to feel like they matter. Even at his own expense. Instead of selfish, he’s selfless.

I related to him more than I have to any character – it was comforting. Seeing someone have no choice but to put on a brave face, even when his confidence was at an all time low. 2020 got a lot harder for me, but when I recovered, Eiichi was like a home to go back to. Time and time again, I’d have to break away, but I’d always be invited back in by that stupid smirk and overexaggerated ego and the warmest heart you could ever find. Every scene I watched with him would make me smile. I’d tease him to myself. I still do.

2021. That brings us to now. I can’t see my love for this one of a kind man dying any time soon. I don’t want it to, either. Just looking at him makes me happy! He’s the type of character with so many facets to his personality that you can keep digging and never reach the end. So, in conclusion, I hope I never stop finding new things out about this wonderful idiot. More than anything, he deserves all the love he gives to others, and I’d love to provide it tenfold.

KIRA SUMERAGI

From Anon: 

Many have their reasons to love their favorite characters. As for me, why Kira Sumeragi is my favorite character is because there are several things about him that I can relate myself to and there are a few qualities he has that I like about him. If many do not know about Kira that much, they’d look at who he is. He may look intimidating at first and may not talk much, when in actuality, Kira is a considerate, dependable, and mindful guy. Mainly, he is the type of guy that lets his actions do the explaining. He is a hard worker, as an idol, he looks after his bandmates, HEAVENS, like family. It’s like what Eiichi said in HEAVENS Radio about Kira, “he is HEAVENS’ pride!” Although he may not say much, Kira is very observant of his surroundings and never hesitates in his decisions. The members of HEAVENS understand and acknowledge Kira, knowing that he means well.

You can even tell in his solo music! Although there are only two solo songs for Kira, if you read the lyrics carefully, Kira’s thoughts and feelings are shown. Kira always knew that if he cannot explain his feelings through words, then he’ll let his songs and his actions do it for him for you to see.  Although the anime doesn’t show much of Kira, the only way to get to know him more is through HEAVENS Radio, also drama CDs like Paradise Lost, and other media like LINE Messenger Japan. There’s still much that I’d want to know about him, but as a start, these things are what makes Kira my favorite character for HEAVENS.

From Anon: 

Aside from my huge bias towards OnoD the first thing that drew my attention to Kira was his design. Dark haired anime boys with bright eyes have such a vibe and I loved how mysterious he was set up to be in season 2. But the thing that really hooked me a lot was the found family that Heavens became over the progression of the anime.

Particularly since people in the fandom have a bunch of funky headcanons about Kira being the mom friend in the group, which is incredibly wholesome. Kira’s very quiet and reserved but clearly holds a deep caring for his group members and does what he can when needed which is one of the reasons why he became so loveable for me.

NAGI MIKADO

From @/_PXRFECTIONIST on twt: 

If I managed to stan Nagi, so will you.

Greetings. I present to you, once more, a story of how I came to love a character that I wished I threw hands with.

So.

Nagi Mikado.

The possible only utapri character that Shinomiya oshis despise. Thanks to what happened in the anime.

Truth be told, I too was one of them. Until I came to love Both Shinomiya and Nagi. Reason?

Research.

Ya see, it is universally agreed upon that the way Nagi was pushing and pulling at Shinomiya's trauma and DID was… Not okay. So I said "yeah okay what an obnoxious kid i dont think ill ever like him lol" especially since I never come to really warm up to people younger than me.

Boy was I wrong.

My heart really sways easily when I go deep into characters, and why they act the way they are. And also because I chose to roleplay as him, but let's not. Speak of that.

(its actually the main reason i like him in the first place who am i fooling)

Nagi is… Indeed obnoxious, and really has bad manners that are covered up by his cute looks and fame, especially since he's one of the original HEAVENS members, but once you get to really know him.. It makes sense why he's being such a brat. And that is sort of endearing. And knowing how his group is like family to him too, it becomes harder and harder to completely dislike him.

….

He really is a boss man.

He knows what he wants, and how to get it. He knows how to get people to like him without handing over the tiniest sliver of his weaknesses. He acts in his own way that shapes his personality to suit him, yet still manages to be caring and helpful, even if it's hard to see tenderness and good will through his aggression.

Reading his solo lyrics, listening to the drama CDs, even thinking of headcanons due to lack of lore, it all slowly comes together like a lovely parfait to suddenly make you realize..

'Wow…'

'I really do like that rat.

#utapri #utanoprincesama #uta no prince sama #eiichi otori #otori eiichi #Kira Sumeragi #Sumeragi Kira #Nagi Mikado #Mikado Nagi

[gretaes-blog1]

yup !  i’m nearly the last one to post my intro i think ( ︶⌒︶ ) took five naps.. head going boom boom. but hello!!!!!!!! i’m jay , i’m twenny one and livin breathin the eastern timezone. i am very excited to introduce u my baby greta. my intro will not do her justice but i hope time will. if i haven’t imed u already pleeeeeeeeeeease reach out to me ( even if u are stuck on plots ) we’ll brainstorm something really good. i’ll be switching between ims and my discord ๑•ૅㅁ•๑#4035 for convenience. i promise to get to everything as soon as i can. ill say the end cause i never know how to end those byeeee

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠  here  and  do  i  have  the  tea  for  you  .  greta  is  back  on  campus  ,  which  is  surprising  considering  the  threatening  note  i  left  them  .  yes  ,  i  know  all  about how she hides her sexuality to maintain a relationship with her conservative family because  of  their  greed  .  imagine  the  tabloids  and  how  the  navarro  family  would  feel  for  such  information  to  come  out  ,  not  to  mention  the  reputation  of  kappa  because  of  their  actions  .  at  this  rate  , she  is  better  off  staying  put  in  palo alto  ,  california  and  living  off  that 7.9b  family  net  worth  .  what’s  the  point  in  studying  pharmaceutical  science with  plans  to  create  accessible  healthcare  ,  is  it  worth  it  with  what  i  know  ?  anyways  ,  they  may  want  to  continue  to  be  ambitious  &  reliable  because  the  domineering  & sarcastic  attributes  make  me  want  to  spill  .  (  alexa demie  ,  j  ,  est  )  .

family ties 

the name navarro has definitely been painted gold for a while. greta is the child bruno navarro who was passed down his fortune of nava pharmaceuticals - an internationally recognized healthcare company which deals with pharmaceutical merchandise and diagnostics 

she has two brothers which would’ve undeniably been first in line to take their father’s place if they played their cards right

her mother was an ambassador for the company but her voice always meant very little. she never complained though.. being ambassador meant long business trips to places she would never get a chance to visit and live a lavish life without being too burdened 

greta was awfully competitive though and never let herself be thrown to the side. the female roles instilled in her brain seemed like a waste of time and she wanted to be the best , especially in things that others told her she wouldn’t be 

when she was little, it was about the adrenaline of proving everyone wrong but when she got older, she realised her need to succeed and be seen was more deep rooted than that. it wasn’t unusual for greta to feel alien to her parents but seeing as all her private school friends could relate, it didn’t bother her too much. it was the values instilled in her family that were a harder pill to swallow

at the dinner table, greta had to listen to slurs thrown left and right at people who didn’t fit into their conservative agenda. she had to sit through an hour of her father chanting about gender roles and sickening politics that put everyone , except his own empire , at the bottom of the food chain. they knew their power and the only goal was unwavering cash flow

and that is about the only thing greta and her family had in common. her GREED. although her morals didn’t align with the values of her father , her eyes were set on the price. breaking the tradition of men owning their biggest investment and becoming the chief officer of nava pharmaceuticals. and if biting her tongue and faking a smile meant knocking the king over from the top of the food chain then.... CHEck MATE Bitch <3 

but obviously, its not easy living under pressure. especially when the reality is so far from the mask u wear to get what u want

meet greta

under that mask is a greta that is the complete opposite of what her father painted her out to be. she is independent, sometimes even selfish . she is strong and brilliant. she’s determined and ambitious . she challenges herself , she’s eager to excel, to be more than the best. she wants to surprise people with the extend of what she’s capable of. i honestly don’t think greta has even dreamed of what she wants to achieve yet ????? but she knows she has a deep yearning for it. the feeling of bliss and a peace of mind when you’ve gotten everything u worked so hard for.

unfortunately, it’s important to take time and recenter urself from time to time in the chaos of striving for perfection. greta has lost that ability and often impulsively runs off the tracks. u won’t ever see her tripping over her feet at the party but u will probably catch her lying about the amount of alcohol she had if u are sober enough to notice. she’ll let u unbutton her shirt, only if u promise not to tell. she’ll tell u she’s okay and she thinks she is even if she really isn’t 

greta was good in everything except in love. it was hard for her to entertain one night stands unless she had steam to blow off , she always had something more productive to do. she’d lie in bed and battle those thoughts, wondering if she’s only making excuses .... after all , she’s a pretty girl. but those who got to taste her cherry lips were always left with the memory they were told not to share with anyone. she would always find excuses, letting good things pass her by. she didn’t know then what was causing her scattered affection. but it was often because in order to know what u want, u can’t censor thoughts and treat them as distractions. greta has always treated romance as a distraction and consequently, she never let herself reflect on what makes her happy for too long. but, of course , sleepless nights would often lead to her having to face herself. truly. she would think about the people she considers her friends and how she hopes she doesn’t lose them in the process, she daydreams about the future and freedom to speak her mind even when the voice in her head tells her not to. and she thinks about girls..... a lot 

greta hasn’t thought about it enough to put her sexuality on a spectrum. she knows she’s dated boys and she liked it. but, it’s also the only thing she’s known. having her family instil in her brain that being attracted to the same sex is not right and knowing that she needs to play her cards right to be considered worthy of the fortune, it was settled. she would dig a hole in the ground and bury those thoughts deep down under. knowing that if her family finds out she’s been with girls or even felt attracted to them????? her dreams would be crushed and she would be lucky to still sit at the dinner table. 

she battles those thoughts and often gets caught up in them. kissing girls in places where nobody sees and keeping it a secret or turning to lying, saying they’re pathetic for falling for it. basically being a shitty person because she knows there is no way she could ever get away with it??? safe to say, having to feel guilty for the things u cannot change, doesn’t make her the happiest kid on the playground and with knowing how word travels fast, it makes her paranoid to even consider risking her future for that. she continues to strive for perfection instead of wholeness :/

on a lighter note.... she obviously studies pharmaceutical sciences. she sees a future for the company that her father fails to acknowledge. her father doesn’t know it but she aims to take the empathic route and use her fortune for a better cause.. to help make healthcare accessible for all. she’s got the fattttttest heart i tell u and believes in good karma. 

i said this in the app and ill say it again........... Loves cheese bread. honestly bribe her with cheesy bread i dare u. it will work (  almost always )

runs track.... Just as good at this one as she is in running away from all her problems. Stellar performance

reads those motivational books.. ( yup. those ) 

studies hard. really will study all night and fall asleep with a notepad on her face and highlighter stain on her forehead. again, anywhere where she has to compete for first place, she will do anything to get that first place. and if she doesnt ???????? shes a thunderstorm. angry music plays in the background. she storms off. lips pursed. and takes days to recover 

really loves mysteries. and crosswords. the process of figuring out how to get from point a to point b... thats greta. 

and if she doesnt focus and set boundaries in her head, she doesnt know where to finish. she is the most Opinionated bitch. like she has a strong opinion about everything. even whether tomato is a fruit or vegetable. like she knows its a vegetable. Ok? 

she’s the biggest know it all!!!!!! she won’t ever shake on anything and if it comes to it, she will stand by her words until she’s thought about it in her bed for days ( even made a list of rights and wrongs to weigh out how truly “””””’wrong””””” she is ) it’s hard for her to back down. of course.... she definitely is wrong sometimes even if she claims otherwise </3 

basically always a spitfire... always thinks shes right. and to be fair , she kind of always is. greta is stubborn and sarcastic. her facial expressions are transparent ( almost to a fault ) and she has an unwavering determination to be the best....at everything. she wants to be in control of everything in her life, unfortunately thats not always possible and that’s when greta finds herself feeling tense, paranoid and anxious. but she’s got a good head on her shoulders... she’s curious and easy to feel comfortable around even though she is bad tempered 

kind of stupid extras

neat freak..... bacteria be gone!!!!!!!!!!

always called her parents by their name

doesn’t really have a relationship with her brothers but its because they treat her as less and she will not have that so again keeps contact to a minimum and bites her tongue when need be 

pays attention to her nails.... really likes when theyre painted pretty 

has a butterfly necklace.. its a symbol she can relate to :)

here’s the pinterest !!

and the playlist !!!!!

and stats but theyre so bad. ill fix them later </3

       beep me reach me for the wanted connections page weeeeeeee 

#holling:intro

[eilonwiiy]

Bookends ; a Witchlands AU

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children's Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, minor Ryber/Kullen (and more... stay tuned!)

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

chapter 1

811.34 Courrier

811.34 Gaines

811.34 Vasiliev

Iseult reached for another book from the cart.  She ran a pale finger along its spine, noting the title vaguely, before settling on the call number at its base.

813.01 Balthazar

Her gaze lifted to the long line of books shelved in front of her, scanning for one in particular, before bending low and craning her neck to read the next row underneath. A twinge of discomfort radiated through her neck protesting the awkward angle, but she stayed hunched over, reading the call numbers until she found what she was looking for.

813 Allein

813.2 Husmond

Ah. She slipped Balthazar’s book neatly between the two titles, then drew herself up with a tired slowness. Stifling a sigh, she rolled her shoulders and let her head loll back before rotating it from side to side. Standing upright was decidedly more comfortable than the 90 degree angle she’d bent in and out of all throughout the day, but no amount of stretching seemed to ease the ache in her neck and back. An unavoidable caveat of working at the Venaza City Library.

Five months ago when she’d taken the job, Iseult det Midenzi had not considered the physical toll books could have on a person. Sure, she had read Eridysi’s Lament enough times to know books could break your heart worse than any one person could. But books existed to exercise the mind. The most Iseult had exerted herself for a book was forcing herself to stay awake long enough to read just one more chapter a dozen or so times before resigning herself to being a filthy liar. And that was admittedly more a testament to her mental willpower than any physical endurance she may have possessed. Besides, the price she paid for a sleepless night was well worth the reward. It certainly didn’t leave her physically disabled.

Yet here she was, 22 and condemned to live in the body of a 90-year-old woman. All because she shelved books for a living.

Safi told her she’d have the ass of a model by the time she quit, what with all the squatting. Iseult had yet to notice any improvements. (Not that she was checking, of course.)

Maybe it really was time to go back to the gym, she thought as she massaged the painful knot at the base of her neck. Finally start going to yoga again like her best friend had been nagging her to do every Saturday morning since school term had started. A year ago it would have been Iseult dragging Safi out of bed at 7 A.M., succeeding only by using the one means of bribery she possessed: the promise of a double chocolate double whip hazelnut macchiato from the campus coffee cart, followed by a hash brown heist from the dining hall. Nothing quite curbed a sugar rush more than an adrenaline rush and some grease.

Iseult dropped her hand. The spot on her neck faded into a dull throb at the thought of her and Safi running from the dining hall, pockets stuffed with hash browns wrapped in napkins and a breakfast sandwich fisted in each hand, while cafeteria staff shouted after them as they escaped with their spoils.

No. She hadn’t stepped foot on campus since she dropped out. She wasn’t about to now. And not just because she and Safi now had copies of their student I.D. photos posted on the community board in the dining hall asking students to keep an eye out for the notorious thieves.

Drop out. There wasn’t an aspect of her life that didn’t seem to revolve around those two words. She could hear Safi scolding her.

“Don’t say that! ‘Drop out’,” she'd said one evening while they closed up her uncles’ coffee shop shortly after Iseult had made the decision. “You didn’t drop out of anything. You made a graceful exit. To do something more noble than any of those old toads sitting cushy in the administration have likely ever done, might I add! They should consider themselves lucky that you’ll even be coming back!”

Iseult fingered through the books on her cart. Well. That had been back in September. It was now January, the first week of second semester had just wrapped up and Safi had changed tactics.  Instead, she ranted about how the collegiate system was the world’s biggest scam, squeezing their generation of every last drop of money and happiness they had, and that she should drop out too just to have the satisfaction in giving Dean Henrick a big FUCK YOU. It was a touching offer, though, not exactly the most ambitious plot for revenge. Safi was running on a free ride. Henrick’s deep pockets wouldn’t be any lighter if she left. He’d still be sitting pretty on the proverbial throne.

“Iseult.”

Iseult looked up to see Evrane gliding down the aisle towards her, thoughts of school and Safi interrupted. As always she was impeccably dressed, from the silver dangling from her ears all the way down to the perfectly polished stilettos she wore. Her long white hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, leaving her bronze face bare, radiant even under the library’s miserable lighting - a feat aided by sorcery, Iseult could only assume. It was a wonder what patrons must think of her roaming the halls, what with her pale moon skin and midnight hair. She looked more like the ghost that was rumored to haunt the library tower.

But Evrane wasn’t the library’s director for her otherworldly cheekbones or dazzling emerald eyes. She was also the sharpest person Iseult had ever met and someone she couldn’t believe she had the privilege of calling a mentor.

Iseult hastily tugged off her earbuds. “Hi Evrane.” Her voice cracked; sshe cringed inwardly. She hadn’t spoken a word to anyone during her 8 hour shift. Evrane didn’t seem to notice.

“How are you, dear?” Evrane asked. She nodded to Iseult’s cart of books. “Tackling the nonfiction, I see.”

“Good,” Iseult replied, this time willing her voice to sound normal. “I’m almost done with the nonfiction, and then I have some books I need to bring down to Children’s. I think someone may have mixed up the carts. My shift ends soon, but I could stick around to shelve them. There aren’t too many but...��� She trailed off watching Evrane shake her head, as though amused.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, then adding, “Pleased as I am with your progress, I was actually wondering how you were doing… How was your trip home?”

Iseult stared blank-face at Evrane. She should have expected this. Evrane had taken to Iseult from the moment they’d met, always seeking her out between bookshelves, pulling her aside to talk about the latest book Iseult was reading or simply inviting her back to her office to join her for tea. Secretly, Iseult was pleased. To have a woman like Evrane be genuinely interested in what Iseult had to say… well.  It was more than she could have dared to hope for.

Which was exactly why couldn’t help asking herself, why?

Iseult never did come up with an explanation for why Evrane hired her in the first place. She could only assume the woman had done it out of pity. Her resume had been woefully thin to the point of being downright pathetic with only her part-time barista gig at Mathew and Habim’s coffee shop to her name. She had no other achievements. No special skills. And of course, now, no academic prospects to boast. Iseult had nothing to offer.

And yet... here Evrane was asking the one question Iseult wished she wouldn’t.

Home was the same as always. Saldonica never changed. It was still the grimy, cut-throat city it had always been, with its streets teeming with crime and illegal trade. That was the accepted way of life there. But it didn’t phase Iseult. She never really considered it home anyway. She hadn’t grown up there. There was only one thing, one person, who made Saldonica home.

Her mother. The true subject of Evrane’s inquiry.

So how was she?

Sick. Very sick. And showing little improvement. Though, she’d probably be worse if not for Alma caring for her day and night. If not for the money Iseult sent home each week to ensure she was getting the medication she needed. If not for her mother’s damned stubbornness to shirk life’s more unsavory aspects and persist in the face of uncertain fate. That in itself was likely aiding Gretchya more than Iseult and Alma’s contributions combined.

“Fine,” Iseult said, expression unchanging. It was automatic. Succinct. Gretchya would have approved.

Evrane merely hummed, bowing her head slowly. As though Iseult’s meager reply required deep and philosophical deliberation. “You know,” she continued after a moment, “I know this,” her eyes panned the bookshelves on either side of them, “wasn’t exactly where you expected to be by now. I am sorry your plans to return to school didn’t work out as you had hoped, Iseult… but I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’m happy to have you with us for a little longer.” Evrane raised a hand to Iseult’s arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze, a gesture that should have been comforting, yet only turned Iseult to stone. “If there’s anything I can do to help, my door is always open.”

Iseult tried to nod. Swallowing suddenly became painful. Speech, impossible. Mercifully, Evrane let go of her arm and changed the subject.

“Now tell me, where is that cart you were talking about?”

“O-oh you d-don’t have to -” Iseult stammered. She immediately snapped her mouth shut. Hell-gates, did she have to stutter like that now?  In front of Evrane!

The woman seemed to take no notice and simply waved a hand. “I am the director of this institution, am I not? I think I am more than capable of handling a couple books.”

“By circulation,” Iseult forced out. Evrane gave her an appreciative smile, then walked away, her silver circlets tinkling prettily in the quiet of the library.

For a moment, Iseult simply stood there, staring down the aisle where Evrane had left. Eventually, she untangled her earbuds and popped them back in. She opened Spotify on her phone and swiped through the playlist she’d been listening to before Evrane showed up. However, after a few minutes of mindless scrolling, stuffed her phone into her back pocket, abandoning her search. Silence filled her ears.

Iseult grabbed a random book off her cart. She read its cover, though not really taking in the the words, and when she went to find its place on the shelf, it was as though she had not read it at all. This happened with every book she picked up over the next ten minutes, and when she finally forgot the author of The Autonomy of Dalmotti - a book she had personally read at least five times - she finally gave up.

Frustration prickled the back of her throat. Gripping the book tight, she leaned her forehead against the oak bookcase. The smell of old paper filled her nose as she let her eyes to sink shut, breathing in the musty air through her nose. What she would give to fall head-first into a book right now...

Stasis, she told herself. Stasis in your fingers and in your toes.

Gretchya sick.

Stasis.

Evrane. Broken words. Broken.

Stasis.

Drop out. Drop. Out. Drop. Out.

Stasis. Stasis. Stasis.

Over and over again Iseult silently whispered this to herself, until a familiar calm resettled in her chest, until every last thread of emotion was pulled tight. Nothing out of place. She took several more slow, deliberate breaths for good measure, then, she opened eyes.

That’s when she saw them.

Through the narrow opening between shelves, Iseult spied Evrane standing by the circulation desk. But it was who she was speaking with that caught Iseult’s attention.

It hadn’t taken Iseult long to familiarize herself with the people who passed through when she began working at the library. Though Venaza City was largely populated, the library had its regulars, and even those who visited only once in awhile had become catalogued in Iseult’s memory like the books she shelved. In fact, on more than one occasion, she found herself recognizing patrons outside of work - an oddly unpleasant experience. She already spent enough time dodging former college peers whenever she ventured out into the city. They now had competition.

That being said, Iseult knew nearly everyone who came to the library. Except for this man talking to her mentor.

Even from behind, there was something striking about him. He towered over Evrane, his imposing figure standing impossibly still in dark form-fitting jeans and a muddy burgundy leather jacket. Iseult wished he’d turn around so she could see his face. Regardless, two features immediately stood out. Or rather, accessories.

First, a blue, opal earring in his left ear. And second, the child held in his arms.

These two things seemed to clash together in Iseult’s mind. The girl, she guessed, was no more than five. A mop of dark hair obscured most of her face with only a red, chubby cheek visible resting on the man’s shoulder. As for the earring, Iseult wasn’t old-fashioned enough to believe men couldn’t wear jewelry. In fact, depending on the piercing’s style and placement, she found them rather appealing. However, the more closely Iseult looked at the gemstone, the more it called out to her as some sort of statement - and not one of the fashion variety. It lent little to the rest of his dark ensemble and stuck out like a sore thumb. It was too ornate. Too deliberate. Something worn out of habit.

Iseult inched forward, bracing a hand along the edge of the shelf as she watched from her hiding place amongst the books. She knew she was teetering on the edge of polite observation and straight-up creeping, but she was too curious to care. Evrane stood close to the young man, too close for him to be an ordinary patron. And there was something in the way that she looked at him that gave her the impression that she wasn’t simply giving him a book recommendation. Even through the warmth Iseult was so familiar with in her expression, she couldn’t miss the urgency in her eyes. Her lips were moving carefully, and she imagined the melodic gentleness of her voice, the same voice that had spoken to her only moments ago. Soft words only meant for him.

As if on cue, Evrane reached for his arm.

Iseult immediately noticed the mystery man’s shoulders stiffen. It was the first indication of life she’d seen from him during the entire encounter. A pulse ticked in his jaw, the only sliver of his pale face she could see. Evrane had stopped talking, but kept her hand on his arm, her thumb gliding back and forth, and appeared to be listening attentively to the man’s response. But as the seconds dragged on, her eyes - never wavering from his - glimmered with a touch of something new. Sadness, perhaps. Her expression dimmed, and eventually the hand holding his arm stopped moving and returned to her side.

Iseult’s nose was practically brushing the books blocking her from view now. Who was this guy? Evrane had never spoken of family or a significant other. On one occasion, she had mentioned a nephew - something about how he’d just returned home after studying abroad. But other than that, no one else. This couldn’t be him, could it? He had a child with him. A child who - Iseult suddenly realized with a jolt of horror - was staring right at her.

“What are you doing lurking in the shadows?”

The Autonomy of Dalmotti dropped to the floor with a rustle of paper and a soft thump as she whirled around. How her best friend had managed to sneak up on her in the dead silence of the library without her hearing, Iseult didn’t know, but the self-satisfied look Safi was pinning her with made her curse the Moon Mother for turning her momentarily deaf.

“If by lurking you mean shelving books,” Iseult replied smoothly, kneeling down to pick up the fallen book as though nothing had happened, “I’m working. It’s kind of in my job description.”

Safi cocked her head to the side, eyebrow arched. “Is spying on hot guys in your job description? Can’t see his face, but the view from behind is certainly enough to go on.”

Iseult felt a rush of unwanted heat flood her cheeks, but aside from that, her face betrayed nothing. Yes, she had been spying. But not in the way Safi thought, and the idea that she had been caught not only by her best friend, but by that strange little girl made her want to tear every book from the shelf and bury herself underneath them.

“What?” Safi persisted innocently as Iseult turned her back to her. She slipped The Autonomy of Dalmotti between two volumes, not particularly caring whether or not that was where it belonged so long as she didn’t have to see the infuriating smirk on Safi’s face. “I don’t blame you. You can’t be expected to stare at dusty, old books all day - no matter how much you love them.”

“Wanna bet?” Iseult muttered. For all her love of the library, she had thought she’d be back in school by now, trading in its dusty, old books for overpriced textbooks.

“I’d love to. Tonight, in fact. At The Cleaved Man.”

“I - ” Iseult began, but Safi’s hand slashed through the air cutting her off and she pointed a finger in Iseult’s face.

“Don’t say you can’t! I’ve barely seen you all week!”

“As if that’s my fault,” Iseult countered, grabbing another book and the opportunity to turn the tables. The last thing she wanted to do right now was spend the night in an overcrowded bar. “Where were you last night? You never came home.”

Safi picked up a book from Iseult’s cart and examined its cover. “Polly’s.”

Iseult paused mid-shelving. “Leopold’s?”

“Mhm.” Safi opened the book, casually flipping through its pages.  Silence stretched.  She looked up. “What?”

“I thought you weren’t going to see him again,” Iseult said, watching her friend carefully.

Safi lowered the book and frowned in confusion. “Not see him? What are you - ?” But as soon as the unfinished question left her mouth, Iseult saw the life in her eyes freeze for half a heartbeat, and comprehension slowly dawned on Safi’s face. A second later, her expression hardened. “Hell-gates, Iz! I didn’t mean him.”

Him. Or as he was known as in their apartment, the Chiseled Cheater. To the rest of the world, he was simply Caden. Handsome, strong-jawed, infuriatingly charming Caden.

Safi gave Iseult a disparaging look before snapping shut her own book and stuffing it onto a shelf where - Iseult noted - it should not be. Now wasn’t a good time to be pointing out mistakes. The hard line of her pursed lips may have grown taut like she was fighting to feign indifference, but Iseult knew when her best friend was hurt. And this time, it was her fault. Safi crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“Like I’d ever,” Safi huffed, tossing her unruly sun-streaked hair over her shoulder, looking anywhere but Iseult. She let out a strained laugh and shook her head as though the thought of her and Caden together was ludicrous - though, it didn’t stop a tinge of pink blossoming across her cheeks. “Spend the night with him. Honestly, Iz. You know we’ve never - I’ve never -”

Pink turned to a vibrant red as she struggled for words before making a disgruntled noise and giving up.

“Sorry,” Iseult murmured, her expression void of all emotion. “I was just worried.”

Safi finally met Iseult’s gaze. The silence of the library was deafening. Then, she shook her head. “It’s fine,” she relented, and Iseult was relieved to hear sincerity in the statement that was universally known to mean the opposite. “I don’t blame you. I mean... he is Polly’s roommate and it’s me so…” Safi’s eyes darted away self-consciously and she took a fortifying breath, arms unwinding from her chest and hands bracing themselves on her hips. When she spoke next, there was no question as to whether or not they were moving on from the subject of the Chiseled Cheater. “By the time we got out of Two Left Feet and grabbed dinner, it was so late that I just ended up crashing at his place.”

“Two Left Feet?” Iseult repeated.  

“Modern dance," Safi replied, as though this was the most ordinary explanation in the world.

“Oh.” Iseult wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I didn’t know we had a modern dance company.” Or that Safi was interested in modern dance. “Um, how was it?”

“If that’s what modern dance is, then I’m not sure what I’ve been doing at the club all these years.”

“Two Left Feet.” Iseult paused. Her mouth twitched. “Seems like a counterintuitive name.”

“Ohh no trust me, they hit the mark on that one.”

Any hint of a smile left Iseult’s face. “Please tell me you didn’t heckle them.”

Safi’s hand flew to chest and she gasped. “Heckle? Us? Two purebred members of high society like ourselves? You insult me.”

“Don’t scoff. Last year you two almost single-handedly disassembled Pobody’s Nerfect.”

Safi shrugged half-heartedly. “It was an improv show. It’s supposed to be interactive.”

“You made that freshmen kid cry! I could have sworn I overheard him talking about transferring as we were leaving.”

“Audience participation was encouraged!” argued Safi. “Besides, the fact that we even went to their little dance performance was generous enough. You think I wanted to spend the first Thursday night of the semester watching people roll around on the floor trying to sell it to me as art?”

“Then why did you?”

“We were expanding our horizons?” Iseult rolled her eyes and turned back to her books as Safi laughed. “I don’t know. We were walking around campus after class and saw the sign and I was like, “Well, I have nothing else to do” so -” She stopped suddenly, as though a thought had just thought of something. “Should I have texted you? It didn’t even occur to me that you’d want to go to something like that.”

The concern in the question made Iseult pause… which irked her. The concern or the pause, she couldn’t tell which. Maybe because if she had been on campus with her and Leopold, there wouldn’t be a question of whether she’d have gone. Safi would have dragged her in there whether she liked it or not, and Iseult would have gone along with whatever Safi wanted to do as she always did - good idea or not. Modern dance would have been decidedly not. That never stopped Safi, though. Or Iseult.

“No,” Iseult simply answered.

Safi nodded, and though it was almost imperceptible, Iseult saw her lips purse, like she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Next time,” she only promised.

“There’s going to be a next time?”

“You never know.” Safi’s sea-blue eyes flashed mischievously. “Come on, I’ll show you a couple moves I learned at the Cleaved Man.” She gyrated her hips for emphasis, causing Iseult to look away embarrassed on her behalf. This only prompted Safi to bump Iseult’s hip with her own.

“Saf, I wasn’t kidding before,” Iseult insisted, stumbling over her feet as Safi went in for a second, more forceful hip check. “I really can’t -”

“Hey, you owe me after that comment about Chiseled Cheater!”

“30 seconds ago you were saying that I was right!” Really, the grudges this girl could hold. Iseult almost felt sorry for Caden.

Safi heaved a wistful sigh. “You know, if I could come keep you company at work, I would.”

“I’d never get anything done,” Iseult said, gesturing the pile of untouched books on the cart between them.

“Right. As if I’m the one distracting you, you little stalker.”

“I wasn’t -” Iseult began to protest, but Safi was already backing away down the aisle, doing what had to be the world’s worst attempt at the moonwalk.

“I’ll be warming up the car!” Safi whisper hissed, rattling her car keys in the air for emphasis. When she reached the end of the aisle, she spun around on the spot theatrically, and then she was gone.

Iseult shook her head after her ridiculous, wonderful best friend, then peered down at the pile of books in her cart. An hour ago she had been daydreaming of ordering the Arithuanian take-out that Safi never wanted to get and hunker down with one of her all-time favorite books, The Raider King. She’d be in bed by 9 and asleep by 9:15.

So much for that.

It was ironic, really. Safi could rant all she wanted about the injustices of the modern day collegiate system, but no amount of theoretical scheming to take down the patriarchy would change the fact that Iseult missed college.

She missed waking up every day and knowing where she was going and what she was doing. She missed her textbooks. She missed late night cram sessions at the university library with Safi and getting nothing done, aside from gaining 15 pounds from vending machine snacks. She missed misty morning walks to her 8 A.M. seminar. She missed the notes Leopold would pass her during Professor Rosa's soul-killing lectures. Heck, she missed her lectures.

And of course, she missed the dining hall hash browns.

So naturally - naturally - the only thing she didn’t miss about college was the one thing she couldn’t escape.

The college bar scene.

Iseult hadn’t taken Safi seriously when she announced one day just before summer break that she would be getting her bartender license. It seemed to be the thing every college student said the second after they turned 21. For Safi to voluntarily subject herself to 40 hours worth of training courses was enough to give Iseult doubt. However, unlike the rest of those drunk idiots, Safi was true to her word, and in no time, she started bartending at Venaza City’s most popular college bar, the Cleaved Man.

Moon Mother, kill me now, Iseult prayed as she pushed her book cart down the aisle. Its rickety wheels squeaked horridly in the cavernous hall. She cringed inwardly knowing that the second she turned the corner, all eyes would be narrowed on her, silently shaming her for disturbing the peace. Halfway down, though, she hesitated. The wheels grinded to a halt.

Ignoring the sick embarrassment bubbling in her stomach at what she was about to do, Iseult cast a look over her shoulder to make sure Safi was truly gone. Then, she leaned forward and peered between the stacks of books.

The mystery man and his little companion were gone.

#the witchlands #witchlands #baesult #iseult det midenzi #aeduan #witchlands fanfic #iseult x aeduan #safiya fon hasstrel #merik nihar #safik #truthwitch #mine #my fics

[thedepressionchronicles11]

Self-Esteem and Depression

Depression is an illness which brutally batters a person's self-esteem. Low self-esteem can sometimes be deeply rooted and in many cases can be traced back to childhood. The times you were not hugged and kissed, the times they told you that you were ugly, the times when you were bullied and teased, the times you got your heart broken, the times you were overlooked, the times you felt like you just did not fit in, the times you were treated like the outcast of the family, all have shaped you into the person you are today. Persons who struggle with low self-esteem normally lead a very sad life. They never feel worthy of love or praise and as a consequence oftentimes resort to isolation because they are sure that they will not fit in with the general population.

At some point in our lives, situations arise which may make us question our worth and value. It is the constant feeling of unworthiness that defines low self-esteem, therefore, you can see how easily those who struggle with low self-esteem can fall prey to depression. They already feel bad about themselves so if a few things happened to them that they perceived as negative then it would be easier for them to slip further away and into a depressive state. If you observe a person who has self-esteem issues long enough, you will see that they are usually quick to blame themselves for everything. In some cases they might even do an excellent job but the pre-disposition to self-bashing and blaming will always be evident. When you have lived your life for such a long time not realizing how valuable and worthy you are, you become apologetic for everything.

Tips for Building your Self-Esteem

Do something you enjoy- Doing something that you enjoy and that you are good at can build your confidence and increase your self-esteem. This could be anything from volunteering, paid work, caring or a hobby.

Work- Work can provide identity, friendships, a steady routine and a salary. Some people thrive in a busy environment and enjoy working to ambitious targets. Other people see their job as a means to an end or work in unpaid, volunteering roles. Whatever you do, it is important that you feel confident and supported in your role and that the balance between your work and home life feels right for you.

Hobbies- This could be anything from learning a language, to guitar playing to a painting class. Think about where you feel you have some natural ability or things that you have always wanted to try. Try to find activities that will not challenge you too much to begin with so that you can feel you have achieved something and have a chance to build your confidence.

Try to build positive relationships- Try to associate with people who will not criticize you and who you feel able to talk to about your feelings. If you spend time around positive and supportive people, you are more likely to have a better self-image and feel more confident. In return, if you are caring and supportive to other people, you are more likely to get a positive response from them. This will help you to feel better about yourself and how others perceive you. If you have low self-esteem, there might be people close to you who encourage the negative beliefs and opinions that you hold. It is important to identify these persons and take action to stop them from doing this, perhaps by becoming more assertive or by limiting how much you see them.

Learn to be assertive- Being assertive means you value yourself and others and can communicate with mutual respect. It will help you to set clear boundaries.

The following things will help you act in a more assertive way:

Pay attention to your body language as well as to the words you say. Try to be open and confident.

Try to express your feelings if you have been upset-wait until you feel calm and express clearly how you feel.

Say no to unreasonable requests

Tell people if you need more time or support with tasks that you find challenging.

Try to speak in the first person where possible. This allows you to explain what you want to happen without appearing aggressive or scared. Assertiveness can be a difficult skill to learn and you may need to practice by standing in front of a mirror or with a friend.

Look after your physical health- Looking after your physical health can help you feel happier and healthier, thus improving your self-image.

Physical activity- Physical activity helps improve people’s sense of well-being and image of themselves.

Sleep- Lack of sleep can cause negative feelings to be exaggerated and means you can feel less confident so, it is important for you schedule enough sleep in your daily routine. Having a set bedtime is also a good idea.

Diet- Eating a well-balanced diet at regular meal-times with plenty of water and vegetables will help you to feel healthier and happier. Stopping or reducing your alcohol intake and avoiding tobacco and recreational drugs can also improve your general well-being.

Set yourself a challenge- If you set yourself goals and work towards achieving them, you will feel satisfied and proud when you achieve your goal and feel more positive about yourself as a result. Make sure the challenge you set yourself is one that you can realistically achieve. It doesn’t have to be anything particularly large but should have meaning for you.

Learn to identify and challenge negative beliefs- If you are going to improve your self-esteem, it may also help to understand more about your negative beliefs about yourself and where they came from. This could be a painful process so it is important that you take your time and ask a friend or partner to support you. If you are feeling very distressed, it might be better to seek professional help from a therapist to help you do this. It might be helpful to write down notes, and questions such as these might help to structure your thoughts:

What do you feel are your weaknesses or failings?

What negative things do you think other people think about you?

If you could sum yourself up, what word would you use- “I am……”

When did you start feeling like this?

Can you identify an experience or an event that might have caused this feeling?

Do you find you have certain negative thoughts on a regular basis?

As you identify what your core beliefs about yourself are, and where they come from, you can begin to challenge and change them.

Focus on positive things- If you have low self-esteem, it can take practice to get used to thinking more positively about yourself. One way you can do this is by making a list of several things you like about yourself. You might include:

*things about your personality

*things about the way that you look

*things that you do

*skills you have developed

Take your time and aim for at least forty different things, even if this takes several weeks. Keep this list and look at a different part of it each day. If you are feeling down or worried about an upcoming event, you can use it to remind you of the good things about yourself. Another technique is to write down at least three things that went well or that you have achieved that day before you go to sleep. You can also create a feel-good box where you keep memorabilia to remind you of all the good things you have done and your achievements.

#depression

[strangephiti]

Control

Written for University last year. Prompt: A wager (mild violence, some swearing)

Control

I am timeless. I did not begin in the Garden and I will not end with Ragnarök. I am everything and nothing. I am one of you; And I am so much more than you can ever conceive. 

I watch you, all you dull, unimaginative people. You’re lives are so... pointless. I blink, and you are gone. So many of you sit there, wishing your lives away. You  watch successful people and wonder: “why them, and not me?” Most of you have never even picked up a guitar, or sat down with a brush, or planned your wonder emporium. But still: “why them, not me?”

I listen to you. You think that it’s all luck. You struggle to scrape together the months rent and so you think: “why work so hard for nothing? The rich are only rich because they got lucky.” You mope about lost time, and sit around, wishing for a better tomorrow.

I have nothing but tomorrows. 

I feel so very little for you all. And yet you fascinate me. I envy you. I envy your limited days. I envy the ticking clock that pushes your peers to achieve, to grow.  Without the pressure of mortality I have no ambition, no desire. So I have had to get creative with my time.

...

Kyle Hawkins isn’t a bad person. He is polite, takes care of his parents as well as his senile, happy, Nana. He is the youngest of five children - but his eldest brother got the best of both parents: the looks, the smarts, the luck. As it filtered down through the siblings the gene pool began to dry out, leaving Kyle with nothing but the dregs. At least, so he believes. What hope could poor Kyle have in a world where “like only goes to like?” 

He goes through the same drudgery day after day. Works at 8am, completes the same chores; eats the same sandwich at the same sandwich bar; the same shops on the way home – groceries for him and groceries for Mum and Dad. Then home for dinner, and streams of videos.

Weekends aren’t much better. On a Sunday he visits Nana. She makes him laugh with her confused ramblings, and breaks his heart when she forgets his name. He cheers himself up with a pint at the local, where he and the boys talk the same rubbish each week.

Even the successes of his friends don’t inspire Kyle.

“It’s alright for some,” he scoffs into his pint.

So narrow is his sight that he scarcely noticed me slip into his peripherals and from there on into his life. I’ve sat across from him for many years now, listening to him whine about his lot. He likes to talk to me because he thinks I am just as worthless as he is: No wife, no kids, no hope. We just sit and drink and talk. And I wait. I wait patiently for him to say those fateful words:

“What I wouldn’t give...”

I shrug at at him. “Nah mate. Opportunity could come dancing through that door with neon lights and a siren blazing, and you’d still be sat there on your fat arse, looking at your phone.”

“Ye ‘hink so? Listen… If Ah’d been given the chances some folk have...”

I don’t listen. Never do. It’s the same excuses again. And I’ve heard them before. Different voices, different faces, but the excuses are always the same. Then I say to him:

“Wanna bet?”

He scowls at me but says nothing. I take a coin from my pocket, a shiny silver American dollar. I tell him I got it on a family holiday when I was twelve, when dreams still lived, and that I told myself I would go back to this “land of opportunity” and make my fortune. I kept the coin to remind me. But I still hadn’t gone. It hadn’t helped me. Maybe it would help him, I said.

“You think it’s all about luck? And Fate? Why not let my little coin decide for you?”

I turn the coin between finger and thumb, making sure to let it catch the light above us, and trace it across his drunken, hazy eyes. As he watches I say:

“Chances are all around us, all the time. But you just sit there, fat, forty and failing.”

He grunts at me. He knows I’m right. So I go on.

“It’s easier to do the same thing everyday, every weekend, because you don’t have to try, don’t have to fail.”

His eyes start to glaze as he watches the coin. I twirl it, effortlessly, between my fingers, the light dancing across his face.

“But what if something else made those choices for you? Would you grab those opportunities?”

I know when I have him. The light from the coin fills his eyes. Letting this thing decide for him appeals to his lazy nature.

“We can start now,” I say. “Loser buys the next round. Heads I win, tails you lose,”

“Heads,” he slurs pointlessly. I try not to sigh at his idiocy. I toss the coin high, its streamlined edges whipping the air with a soft zing-zing-zing. The light flashes across his face with each rotation, and his eyes can’t seem to focus on anything else. I smack the coin down on the back of my hand.

“Tails,” I say. “You lose. Get us a packet of crisps when your up, mate.”

With a grumble he drains the last of his pint and shuffles off to the bar. I call after him, equally as pointlessly:

“That’s half the trouble with you, mate: You don’t pay attention!”

We begin immediately, before he has time to change his mind. I take him out the very next day.

“Chances aren’t given. They’re taken,” I tell him. “You have to pay attention. You have to make a choice. Either you or the coin.”

The coin takes all responsibility away from him. It is a thought that appeals all too much to Kyle.

We start small: a new sandwich at the shop? Heads. It’s tasty, that’s all. No regrets. No real interest. Scratch card? He wins £10. He chuckles a little. He’s not that impressed, but the seed has been planted. It’s Sunday. Visit Nana or not?

Tails. Not.

That doesn’t sit well with Kyle, so he goes anyway. He can’t not see Nana. She waits all week to see him. They sit for hours and, mostly, he listens. His heart is heavy when he leaves. She thought he was the man come to fix the television. She kept asking him when the Queen’s Speech would be on. It is not the best state of mind for Kyle to be in for a chance encounter with his ex.

Sara.

She looks so good. Kyle swears she sparkles. They talk awkwardly for a bit: Hubby is doing well; The kids are growing so fast; work has her snowed under. She smells like summer fruits. He remembers that scent from when she used to squeeze her body next to his in bed. She could have been his if luck had been kinder. But of course, it wasn’t. He wasn’t “ambitious” enough for her. 

“You could make so much of yourself...” she told him.

He scoffed. Fat chance. So they took a break. He gave her space and time - in truth he wallowed on his couch, eating and drinking and moping. Then Mr Perfect rolled up in his perfect electric car, spouting about his perfect carbon footprint, and she was hooked. Off they went together to live the “organic” life, climbing hills, and furrowing their brows at the “serious issue of austerity” - while planning another holiday abroad. They even took to the front line soup kitchens. Kyle found that strangely sickening. The idea of ladling spoonsful of cheap soup to the less fortunate, a factitious smile on their faces, knowing they’re going back to their cosy three bedroom house, and their fridge bursting  with food and shelves sagging with their weekly Waitrose groceries.

He hates that about them. He loves that about her.

My voice cuts though his thoughts: You could follow her.

There is a beat. I hold out the coin. Kyle hesitates.

“No.”

We go a for a few drinks to chase the day away. We forget the coin. I leave it dormant on the table. But somehow, it manages to slip into his pocket, as if by chance.

When he crawls out of bed the next morning, cursing his luck and blaming me for that fifth pint, he finds the silver dollar on his kitchen counter. He is still not sure how it got there. Such a silly little thing. Completely worthless here. But then, hadn’t it won him a tenner? And if he’d listened to it and not visited Nana, he wouldn’t have bumped into Sara – Beautiful, glowing Sara. It wouldn’t have brought the memories back. Or the pain.

Always a man to blame his circumstances, Kyle pondered. Anything he did as a result of this coin toss wouldn’t really be his fault. Would it? Blame free. It wouldn’t be his fault. It would be the coins fault – my fault.

He flips the coin. It hurtles and zings.

“Go to work today or not?”  

He smacks it down – heads: no work today. He smiles and makes his way to the couch. With remote in hand his finger hovers over the buttons - but then he stops and thinks.

“Stay home? Or go out?”

Flip, zing, catch – tails. Better get dressed then.

Kyle has no idea where he is going. He tells himself how stupid this is. Opportunity isn’t going to suddenly leap out at him. But there is a voice in his head, now, that isn’t his, and it whispers:

What if?

He goes to the newsagents to peruse the photography magazines – another would-be hobby he had given up on. He reaches into his pocket for change. The coins feel dull, chalky and thunk against each other, indistinguishable one to the next. Then there was that silver dollar, pushing it’s way between his fingers. Its cold face presses into his palm and sends a shiver up his arm. It seems to whisper to him.

“Buy it?” or Steal it?

He trembles. Like a naughty child he gives the shopkeeper a few fervent glances over the magazine. Flip.

It’s surprisingly easy to walk out of the shop. His heart is thumping so loud he’s sure someone must be able to hear it. But no one hears. No one sees. He’s terrified. He’s thrilled. He wonders if he could pick up a camera that easily as well!

He parks himself on a bench, contemplating. The chills of excitement soon leave him as he flicks idly through his ill-gotten magazine, barely noticing the words. It’s only his stomach protesting that makes him get up, and his feet carry him to the sandwich shop.

Bad move and just his luck! His supervisor is here, picking up his own lunch. Usually he’d have someone else pick it up for him – usually Kyle. But Kyle hadn’t gone to work that day. Stupid mistake! He knows he should leave... but he doesn’t. The coin finds it’s way into his hand once more.

You’ve always wanted to tell him want you really think of him, it whispers.

Flip. Zing. Heads. He smiles.

The profanities that he lets fly seem unsuited to the gleeful grin on his face. Everyone in the shop has frozen, listening to this tirade. Time itself is holding it’s breath. Kyle, once begun, cannot stop. Electricity is buzzing throughout his body, powering his words. His supervisor is too stunned to respond, his face white. When twenty years of bitterness has been exhausted, Kyle wishes his former supervisor a nice day and leaves.

He can’t keep the smile from his face. He wonders what else could he do?

Zing! Zing!

Kissing the beautiful girl at the bus shelter was a big mistake. His throbbing cheek could attest to that.

“Not right. Not worth it.”

But I got I kiss out of it, the coin whispers in a voice that sounds like Kyles.

What was that saying? Regret the things you do and not the things you don’t. He took a chance. He got what wanted out of it. She got her revenge and moved on. What harm was there?

While he contemplated this, three young boys walk by. They were typical lads, hoods high and trousers low. Their height suggested age, but their gangly limbs betrayed them. Fourteen? Fifteen? If that.

Wham! An explosion of white, viscous liquid erupted against the glass, barely an inch from Kyles right ear. Milkshake spattered across his face and seeped grotesquely beneath his collar and through his shirt. The lads cackled.  

“Fat Fucker!” One of them shouted.

Normally Kyle would hang his head and walk away. But today was anything but normal.

Flip. Zing! Bam!

Blood spurts. He knocks out two front teeth from the closest boy. Who knew he could hit so hard?

The boys reel. They hesitate, gesticulate. But in the end they simply grab their friend, his bloody face in his hands, and drag him off down the road, hurling foulness back across their shoulders and threats of “next time.”

Kyle’s smile grows broader.

“That’ll teach them.”

Will it?

“They’re just boys. Just kids doing stupid things.”

They’re just stupid boys. Someone needs to teach them a lesson.

Zing. Zing. Zing.

He follows. 

There are a lot of bricks and broken bottles in the alley beside the liquor shop, where the boys have chosen to regroup. There is a loose fence post, long and heavy. Kyle unhooks it from the chain link. It fits perfectly in his hand.

The boys are making too much noise to hear him approach, the one cursing through fat lips, the others jabbing him with jibes of “you got clocked by an old git!” 

Kyle tightens his grip.

The metal bar knocks the laughter out of the tallest boy, the next boy folds around the swinging fence post as it hurtles towards his gut, and the third boy receives a crushing headbutt. The boys are a little tougher than their skinny frames suggest and land a good few blows on Kyles flabby body. The pain feels exhilarating! Even when the boys are writhing on the ground he finds he can’t stop.  

“That’s enough!” He hears himself scream.

Is it? Aren’t you enjoying it? Asks the coin.

“No.”

Yes, Kyles voice answers. They’ll think twice before they shit on me again!

He leaves the boys crying and bleeding.

I can do whatever I want. His heart beats in his ears.

“What do I want?”

Sara.

Sara is always pleased to see Kyle. She thinks it’s wonderful that they can still be friends. Kyle thinks he hears a glimmer of regret as she speaks of “still being close.” But her face isn’t glowing today. It pales as she answers the door. Her eyes trace the line of blood dripping from the corner of his swollen right eye, follows it to the fat lip, the scratches on his neck. When she reaches out to touch his arm, her face concerned, Kyle feels that spark once more. It pulses through him stronger than ever.

Zing. Zing.  

He kisses her. She reels away. But she doesn’t react the way the girl at the bus stop did. She understands. She smiles. It is her pity smile, her soup kitchen smile, the one reserved for “poor unfortunate souls.”

“You’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?” She sweetly coos.

She pities him. She has no idea! He is better now that he has ever been! She pities him? How dare she? Everything was her fault anyway! She was the one that left! She was the one who fell into the lap of luxury and left Kyle in the gutter!

You were mine first, his strange voice growls.

Zing. Zing. Zing.

You’re mine still!

The look of pity vanishes from her face as her back slams against the wall. She screams, but he muffles the scream with his own mouth. Her flailing arms are no match for his strong hands as he slaps her hard and pins her to the floor. The voice in his head is stronger than ever.

Regret the things you do.

As they struggle, the silver dollar rolls from Kyle’s pocket - as if by chance. Kyle doesn’t notice. But as it trundles away, the scrape of it’s edges on the wooden floor growing fainter and fainter, he suddenly begins to see her face.

She is glowing. A red glow. Her cheek is welted; her mascara smeared. She looks at him as if he is a stranger – a monster. He reels back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in his own feeble voice.

She runs. He runs.

There is no light left in the day and no life left in Kyle’s voice as he tells the officers everything. He confesses about the girl and the boys. He confesses about Sara, with a catch in his throat. He even confesses about the magazine, as if that mattered at all anymore.

The boys’ parents have already filed their report. They had stormed the station en masse and had not long been satiated and sent on their way before Kyle arrived. 

Sara had not been seen.

“When she does come in, or calls,” he croaks, his throat dry from crying. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

They won’t. 

He doesn’t really want them to. 

He doesn’t want to be forgiven.

...

Kyle Hawkins wasn’t really a bad man. He was lazy and unambitious. He refused to accept responsibility for himself and was too stubborn make good choices. Now his choices are made for him. He sleeps and wakes at the same time every day; Eats the same food from the same plastic tray; Completes the same chores; Stares at the same walls and faces day after day after day.

Who will he be when parole comes around?

Flip. Zing!

Heads I win. Tails you lose.

#Horror supernatural short story

[myrastuff]

Messing around with a new Mad Scientist character for Gothic World, whose influences should be painfully obvious to anyone who looks at my last page of reblogs. In my defense, I’m also blatantly stealing from two or three other existing characters I love.

Story to go with the pic:

"Just keep your head down, my dear," her father had told her, "for the men at the Academy are very cruel, and they should like to see you fail."

They left her on the doorstep of her first class, wearing her Sunday best and a frown. The buildings here were so large and old, not at all like those back home, and it seemed as if the whole coal-soaked edifice might reach down and devour her. But she had been bright enough to be accepted under full scholarship, she would be bright enough to ignore her fear and follow her father's advice.

The building did not eat her, and she began her higher education. She had a knack for pharmaceuticals, so they told her to pursue medicine. Such a soft-spoken and gentle girl, she would make an excellent nurse.

Years passed, and she excelled, and she was ignored.

"You must not underestimate the importance of dressing smartly," Professor Morrison began his lecture as he always did, smug and sharp in his three-piece suit. "A well-cut shirt and jacket, neatly tailored, is the mark of an ambitious and well-educated man. I shall accept nothing less in my classroom." The professor's favourites sat upright and beaming in the front row, their appearances impeccable. "Of course, the fairer sex is not able to achieve such a fashion, nor such ambition, and so I cannot expect it of them." She sat in the back row, in her simple grey dress, and said nothing.

In biology, with Professor Edwards, their honours experiment would be done in groups. Each student would submit a proposal, and the professor would select one per group to move forwards. "I'm sorry, my dear," he told her in private, after choosing Thomas's, "your science is flawless as always, but you know how Thomas can get when he's upset. I just don't want him disrupting the class, or taking his temper out on you." She nodded, and looked at the ground, and made no complaint.

The next day was Saturday, and she woke up early and walked into town. She stopped in at the tailor, and then at the apothecary, and made arrangements with each. Professor Morrison was a creature of habit, his hours easy to track, and Thomas could never let a weekend slide past without drinking himself into a stupor. She was very bright, and very invisible, and it was almost too easy.

The hardest part was taking the scissors to her hair. Not for sentimentality, but simply because it was rather hard to reach.

On Monday morning, in the laboratory, her classmates saw her for the first time. She wanted them to see her. She walked up to Professor Edwards in her three-piece suit, hair short and sharp, eyes cold and certain. "I'm sorry, Professor. It seems Thomas has fallen quite ill, and he has not seen fit to leave us his notes. I've taken the liberty of preparing my own experiment in its place, if we might have your leave to begin?"

Professor Edwards had taught at the Academy for too long to say anything but yes. It was a matter of self-preservation.

She met Professor Morrison by the gate, just as evening was falling. His suit was old and ill-fitted, found in some old storage box or borrowed from a colleague. Red welts peeked out from beneath the too-short sleeves and too-low collar. It took him several moments to recognize her.

"You're in my anatomy class" he said at last, sizing her up from top to bottom.

"I am," she said, unmoving.

He too had taught at the Academy for many years, long enough to know the signs of a mind that worked in that very particular way. Some would call it madness. He would call it greatness, and his noble patrons would agree. It was strange to find it in a girl, strange and a little infuriating, but she was standing here with an olive branch and an unspoken threat to do more than poison his wardrobe. Ambition and distaste warred in his mind, and as always, ambition won. "Perhaps then, miss, you should sit in the front row during tomorrow's lecture."

The faint smile on her lips told him he'd read the signs perfectly. "Thank you, professor. I believe I will."

#gothic world #I Can't Believe It's Not Moira

[writingguide003-blog]

44 Writing Hacks From Some of the Greatest Writers Who Ever Lived

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/44-writing-hacks-from-some-of-the-greatest-writers-who-ever-lived/

44 Writing Hacks From Some of the Greatest Writers Who Ever Lived

Writing looks fun, but doing it professionally is hard. Like really hard. Why on earth am I doing this?-hard.

Which is probably why so many people want to write, yet so few actually do. But there are ways to make it easier, as many writers can tell you. Tricks that have been discovered over the centuries to help with this difficult craft.

In another industry, these tricks would be considered trade secrets. But writers are generous and they love to share (often in books about writing). They explain their own strategies for how to deal with writers block to how to make sure your computer never eats your manuscript. They give away this hard-won knowledge so that other aspiring writers wont have to struggle in the same way. Over my career, Ive tried to collect these little bits of wisdom in my commonplace book (also a writers trick which I picked up from Montaigne) and am grateful for the guidance theyve provided.

Below, Ive shared a collection of writing hacks from some amazing writers like Kurt Vonnegut, George Orwell, Stephen King, Elizabeth Gilbert, Anne Lamott, and Raymond Chandler. I hope its not too presumptuous but I snuck in a few of my own too (not that I think Im anywhere near as good as them).

Anyway, heres to making this tough job a tiny bit easier!

[*] When you have an idea for an article or a bookwrite it down. Dont let it float around in your head. Thats a recipe for losing it. As Beethoven is reported to have said, If I don’t write it down immediately I forget it right away. If I put it into a sketchbook I never forget it, and I never have to look it up again.

[*] The important thing is to start. At the end of John Fantes book Dreams from Bunker Hill, the character, a writer, reminds himself that if he can write one great line, he can write two and if he can write two he can write three, and if he can write three, he can write forever. He pauses. Even that seemed insurmountable. So he types out four lines from one of his favorite poems. What the hell, he says, a man has to start someplace.

[*] In fact, a lot of writers use that last technique. In Tobias Wolffs autobiographical novel Old School, the character types the passages from his favorite books just to know what it feels like to have those words flow through his fingertips. Hunter S. Thompson often did the same thing. This is another reason why technologies like ebooks and Evernote are inferior to physical interaction. Just highlighting something and saving it to a computer? Theres no tactile memory there.

[*] The greatest part of a writers time is spent in reading; a man will turn over half a library to make one book. Samuel Johnson

[*] Tim Ferriss has said that the goal for a productive writing life is two crappy pages a day. Just enough to make progress, not too ambitious to be intimidating.

[*] They say breakfast (protein) in the morning helps brain function. But in my experience, thats a trade-off with waking up and getting started right away. Apparently Kurt Vonnegut only ate after he worked for 2 hours. Maybe he felt like after that hed earned food.

[*] Michael Malice has advised dont edit while you write. I think this is good advice.

[*] In addition to making a distinction between editing and writing, Robert Greene advises to make an equally important distinction between research and writing. Trying to find where youre going while youre doing it is begging to get horribly lost. Writing is easier when the research is done and the framework has been laid out.

[*] Nassim Taleb wrote in Antifragile that every sentence in the book was a derivation, an application or an interpretation of the short maxim he opened with. THAT is why you want to get your thesis down and perfect. It makes the whole book/essay easier.

[*] Break big projects down into small, discrete chunks. As I am writing a book, I create a separate document for each chapter, as I am writing them. Its only later when I have gotten to the end that these chapters are combined into a single file. Why? The same reason it feels easier to swim seven sets of ten laps, than to swim a mile. Breaking it up into pieces makes it seem more achievable. The other benefit in writing? It creates a sense that each piece must stand on its own.

[*] Embrace what the strategist and theorist John Boyd called the draw-down period. Take a break right before you start. To think, to reflect, to doubt.

[*] On being a writer: All the days of his life he should be reading as faithfully as his partaking of food; reading, watching, listening. John Fante

[*] Dont get caught up with pesky details. When I am writing a draft, I try not to be concerned with exact dates, facts or figures. If I remember that a study conducted by INSERT UNIVERSITY found that XX% of businesses fail in the first FIVE/SIX? months, thats what I write (exactly like that). If I am writing that on June XX, 19XX Ronald Reagan gave his famous Tear Down This Wall speech in Berlin in front of XX,XXX people, thats how its going to look. Momentum is the most important thing in writing, so Ill fill the details in later. I just need to get the sentences down first. “Get through a draft as quickly as possible.” is how Joshua Wolf Shenk put it.

[*] Raymond Chandler had a trick of using small pieces of paper so he would never be afraid to start over. Also with only 12-15 lines per page, it forced economy of thought and actionwhich is why his stuff is so readable.

[*] In The Artists Way, Julia Cameron reminds us that our morning pages and our journaling dont count as writing. Just as walking doesnt count as exercise, this is just priming the pumpits a meditative experience. Make sure you treat it as such.

[*] Steven Pressfield said that he used to save each one of his manuscripts on a disk that hed keep in the glovebox of his car. Robert Greene told me he sometimes puts a copy of his manuscript in the trunk of his car just in case. I bought a fireproof gun safe and keep my stuff in therejust in case.

[*] My editor Niki Papadopoulos at Penguin: Its not what a book is. Its what a book does.

[*] While you are writing, read things totally unrelated to what youre writing. Youll be amazed at the totally unexpected connections youll make or strange things youll discover. As Shelby Foote put it in an interview with The Paris Review: I cant begin to tell you the things I discovered while I was looking for something else.

[*] Writing requires what Cal Newport calls deep workperiods of long, uninterrupted focus and creativity. If you dont give yourself enough of this time, your work suffers. He recommends recording your deep work time each dayso you actually know if youre budgeting properly.

[*] Software does not make you a better writer. Fuck Evernote. Fuck Scrivner. You dont need to get fancy. If classics were created with quill and ink, youll probably be fine with a Word Document. Or a blank piece of paper. Dont let technology distract you. As Joyce Carol Oates put it in an interview, Every writer has written by hand until relatively recent times. Writing is a consequence of thinking, planning, dreaming this is the process that results in writing, rather than the way in which the writing is recorded.

[*] Talk about the ideas in the work everywhere. Talk about the work itself nowhere. Dont be the person who tweets Im working on my novel. Be too busy writing for that. Helen Simpson has Faire et se taire from Flaubert on a Post-it near her desk, which she translates as Shut up and get on with it.

[*] Why cant you talk about the work? Its not because someone might steal it. Its because the validation you get on social media has a perverse effect. Youll less likely to put in the hard work to complete something that youve already been patted (or patted yourself) on the back for.

[*] When you find yourself stuck with writers block, pick up the phone and call someone smart and talk to them about whatever the specific area youre stuck with is. Not that youre stuck, but about the topic. By the time you put your phone down, youll have plenty to write. (As Seth Godin put it, nobody gets talkers block.)

[*] Keep a commonplace book with anecdotes, stories and quotes you can always usefrom inspiration to directly using in your writing. And these can be anything. H.L. Mencken for example, would methodically fill a notebook with incidents, recording scraps of dialogue and slang, columns from the New York Sun.

[*] As you write down quotes and observations in your commonplace book, make sure to do it by hand. As Raymond Chandler wrote, when you have to use your energy to put words down, you are more apt to make them count.

[*] Elizabeth Gilbert has a good trick for cutting: As you go along, Ask yourself if this sentence, paragraph, or chapter truly furthers the narrative. If not, chuck it. And as Stephen King famously put it, kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribblers heart, kill your darlings.

[*] Strenuous exercise everyday. For me, and for a lot of other writers, its running. Novelist Don DeLillo told The Paris Review how after writing for four hours, he goes running to shake off one world and enter another. Joyce Carol Oates, in her ode to running, said that the twin activities of running and writing keep the writer reasonably sane and with the hope, however illusory and temporary, of control.

[*] Ask yourself these four questions from George Orwell: What am I trying to say? What words will express it? What image or idiom will make it clearer? Is this image fresh enough to have an effect? Then finish with these final two questions: Could I put it more shortly? Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly?

[*] As a writer you need to make use of everything that happens around you and use it as material. Make use of Seinfelds question: Im never not working on material. Every second of my existence, I am thinking, Can I do something with that?

[*] Airplanes with no wifi are a great place to write and even better for editing. Because there is nowhere to go and nothing else to do.

[*] Print and put a couple of important quotes up on the wall to help guide you (either generally, or for a specific project). Heres a quote from a scholar describing why Ciceros speeches were so effective which I put on my wall while I was writing my first book. At his best [Cicero] offered a sustained interest, a constant variety, a consummate blend of humour and pathos, of narrative and argument, of description and declamation; while every part is subordinated to the purpose of the whole, and combines, despite its intricacy of detail, to form a dramatic and coherent unit. (emphasis mine)

[*] Focus on what youre saying, worry less about how. As William March wrote in The Bad Seed, A great novelist with something to say has no concern with style or oddity of presentation.

[*] A little trick I came up with. After every day of work, I save my manuscript as a new file (for example: EgoIsTheEnemy2-26.docx) which is saved on my computer and in Dropbox (before Dropbox, I just emailed it to myself). This way I keep a running record of the evolution of book. It comforts me that I can always go back if I mess something up or if I have to turn back around.

[*] Famous ad-man David Ogilvy put it bluntly: Use short words, short sentences and short paragraphs.

[*] Envision who you are writing this for. Like really picture them. Dont go off in a cave and do this solely for yourself. As Kurt Vonnegut put it in his interview with The Paris Review: …every successful creative person creates with an audience of one in mind. Thats the secret of artistic unity. Anybody can achieve it, if he or she will make something with only one person in mind.

[*] Do not chase exotic locations to do some writing. Budd Schulbergs novel The Disenchanted about his time with F. Scott Fitzgerald expresses the dangers well: It was a time everyone was pressing wonderful houses on us. I have a perfectly marvelous house for you to write in, theyd say. Of course no one needs marvelous houses to write in. I still knew that much. All you needed was one room. But somehow the next house always beckoned.”

[*] True enough, though John Fante said that when you get stuck writing, hit the road.

[*] Commitments (at the micro-level) are important too. An article a week? An article a month? A book a year? A script every six weeks? Pick something, but commit to itpublicly or contractually. Quantity produces quality, as Ray Bradbury put it.

[*] Dont ever write anything you dont like yourself and if you do like it, dont take anyones advice about changing it. They just dont know. Raymond Chandler

[*] Neil Strauss and Tucker Max gave me another helpful iteration of that idea (which I later learned is from Neil Gaiman): When someone tells you something is wrong with your writing, theyre usually right. When they tell you how to fix it, theyre almost always wrong.

[*] Ogilvy had another good rule: Never use jargon words like reconceptualize, demassification, attitudinally, judgmentally. They are hallmarks of a pretentious ass.

[*] Print out the work and edit it by hand as often as possible. It gives you the readers point of view.

[*] Hemingway advised fellow writer Thomas Wolfe to break off work when you ‘are going good.’Then you can rest easily and on the next day easily resume. Brian Koppelman (Rounders, Billions) has referred to this as stopping on wet edge. It staves off the despair the next day.

[*] Keep the momentum: Never stop when you are stuck. You may not be able to solve the problem, but turn aside and write something else. Do not stop altogether. Jeanette Winterson

That taps me out for now. But every time I read I compile a few more notecards. Ill update you when Ive got another round to share.

In the meantime, stop reading stuff on the internet and get back to writing!

But if you have a second…share your own tips below.

Read more: http://thoughtcatalog.com/

[yourstrulyash]

January 2nd, 2018

9:57pm

 I hope this year I can finally allow myself to be open with people. I’ve never been a fan of exposure; I make jokes out of EVERYTHING. My mental illness, my thoughts, my family dynamic. I think this is why no-one takes me seriously until they have a really emotional conversation with me, and I end up either crying or vomiting. Honestly, I’ve been feeling intense waves of nostalgia and sadness. I’m constantly surrounded by family but I can’t help but think about how insignificant I am. Hopefully, this year I’ll let people in. I can’t help but think about the first ever crush I had. Brown hair, brown eyes, philosophical thinking, and incredibly ambitious. I don’t think I ever fully opened myself up to you; I never told you anything too personal. If, by the chance you see this and realise it’s you, I just want to tell you I’m happier now than I was before. I’d also like to thank you, for distracting me when I felt like absolute shit, and I had no where else to turn because I lacked a support system. Thank you for being there for me, always. I hope you continue to reach your goals, I know I'll try reaching mine. 

For this whole ‘blog’ I don’t know what I want to achieve. Maybe, it’s purpose is so I don't overshare on twitter, or depend on my friends too much. It’s the start of a new year but I’m constantly thinking about the past. For instance, I'm always asking myself why I run away. Do I ever get tired? When will I stop running? For a person who overshares constantly, I sure don’t like dealing with feelings. 

For my second ever crush, boy does this blog not mention you at all. You were the boy I cried about the most. You were the one who gave me the most damage. We’re still cordial, and we still have periods where we miss each other and reach out. You deserve happiness. You truly do, and I’m sorry for being cold. Crying for the majority of 2015 gets exhausting, I hope you understand. It truly does cement the heart. I know we’re strictly platonic, but I would give anything for you to call me every night for a simple goodbye, but result in you begging me to stay. I miss the hushed whispers over the phone, because my whole family was asleep but I desperately wanted to talk to you. I miss the way we misused ‘I love you’. I don’t think I've ever met a boy who affected me as much as you. I wish you well, and I hope you still think of me.

[florrescentadolescent]

11/16/17 anger &denial

From everything I’ve seen it looks like you’re moving on and doing great, so maybe you won’t care at all, but i want you to know I forgive you. I am still hurt but I miss hearing from you and I still worry about you. I’ve learned a lot from this and am grateful for those lessons. Maybe one day when we’ve both healed and moved forward from this we can keep in touch or be friends I don’t know what you’re looking for. If it’s comfort or helping you justify your actions by telling you it’s okay, I’m not in a mental space to provide that to you. I’m torn between being okay and still having a lot of questions and wondering where things went south. I don’t hate you, at no point in this did I feel hate toward you. I am upset with the choices you made and how deeply they affected me , but I also may have forgotten that you’re in a different place in your life and in your relationships and have a lot of growth to achieve still, and maybe I expected too much from you by trusting that you could be open with me. Regardless, I would like to offer you forgiveness. Additionally, If you have any desire, I would like to stay in touch in the future on a platonic basis. I still worry about you. I know I never have the right things to say, but if your depression, or anything else for that matter, is bothering you I am here to listen. I just ask that you be real with me. (( I don’t know how much of this was playing up your mental illness as an excuse and how much of it was real symptoms)) I'm not telling you this to make you feel worse , I just really hope you learn from this and learn to work through your issues so you never make this mistake again I just wish I knew at what point were things not working out, idk why it would matter now, I probably couldn’t have saved it then. But maybe it would give me an idea as to how real this was to you. I think at this point it just sucks cause I'm realizing you were never really mine and now you want nothing to do with me. I don't know if you care at all, but I'd like to tell you after having this time to reflect and process, I'm going to take the mindset that the majority of you is a good person, you just made a terrible ongoing mistake. I am still hurt in a lot of ways but I would at least like to let you know I forgive you. Maybe one day when we've both healed we could be friends. But until that point I hope you're doing okay and I wish the best for you. I have a pretty good idea as to what happened; you weren't getting the same satisfaction with me as you used to and your depression was acting up and making you feel less valuable. To combat this , and to get away from your own thoughts you felt that you needed validation and attention. You sook out attention from girls and eventually found one (or more, who knows ) that you liked and you needed to prove that you were able to still make girls fall for you and this would give you some sense of value. You sweet talked her and hung out with her and were ready to just jump into that relationship without a second thought. I know I can't compete with some shiny new exciting girl. I know you think you got all there was from me and you lost interest. I wish you loved me and respected enough to tell me what was going on at the time, because If what I'm predicting is correct I would have understood completely. a part of me thinks maybe we could have continued to work out because if you had told me, I really wouldn't have cared if you get attention from other women or if you sleep with other women as long as its strictly psychical. But maybe that wouldn't have worked out for you because I don't think you wanted anything to do with me anymore. And in all honesty I would not have been okay with you having an emotional and psychical relationship with someone new and continuing with me. If the case was that you were completely done with me and you were able to communicate that to me , I would be sad , but I could have accepted that and we could have ended things amicably and gone our separate ways. Instead you did the one thing I was terrified of you doing and went behind my back and pursued other girls and hungout with this girl hours before we hungout and slept with her and tried to be monogamous with her before you ever even told me anything was wrong between us. All while making the excuse you're distance was strictly due to your depression. I was so worried about you until I saw what happened Monday night. I am devastated. I have some irrational idea that maybe talking all of this our will make things okay. But then I remember how good and convincing you are at saying the right thing and doing something completely different. I believed you when you said you were just too depressed to talk/see me this week , but you were all smiles hanging out with her instead. I can't get that image out of my mind. I hate that I'll just be another girl on your list, another heart you broke. And you'll just move on to the next one. I really wonder if I hadn't found HER and informed her of your infidelity if you'd even be bothered by this. I just wish things were different, maybe I wish you were different. I wish you were actually the person I believed you to be. Because I don't want that person to suffer the way I'm suffering. You clearly have the mindset of jumping from one relationship to another to try to make yourself feel good with no consideration of the damage you bring onto everyone else involved. I still have love for the person I thought you were I don't want to see you suffer like you made me suffer. I understand that hurt people hurt people. I wish way before this you were able to open up and get help to actually address whatever is going on in your head. I can pretty much guarantee you will never be truly happy or at peace until you do that. I believed what you told me and I believed we were close enough that you would communicate your problems with me, but that wasn't the case. I feel so dumb for trusting you or having any shred of hope that this would have worked out long term or you actually loved me. I've seen now how manipulative you can be and how you play both sides. That is where I hold most of my anger; there's a part of you that's a complete stranger to me. You were single in your head and able to fake it with me for I don't even know how long. You tried to set up a new relationship before you ever informed me your feelings had changed. I think back to all the other sketchy things I found during the time we were dating and have to think she probably wasn't /isn't the only one. I feel so invalidated and I wonder if any part of our relationship was real to you. I knew you would get bored with me, I just thought you'd have the decency to tell me. Part of me is still extremely hurt and livid and wants nothing to do with you. Part of me wants to stay friends and help you through anything if you would let me - however I know I will lose it when you start dating someone new; which I'm sure won't be too long from now. I hate how unfair this is. I loved you. You look to other people to make you happy or to distract you from your own issues. Life doesn't work like that. You're never going be able to permanently fill that void with drugs like you tried in the past or with women like I believe you try to do now. Those butterflies and excitement or whatever will always fade away and you'll be left with the same problems you tried to push down and distract from. You will have to learn how to work through and cope with your issues before you'll ever really be happy. But it sounds like thats a lesson your not willing to address yet, I hope you'll consider it for the future. I agree with you that we are two different people; although I believe we have been since the beginning. I craved stability and honesty in a relationship. I wanted someone who was a friend and a partner. Someone who was ambitious and supportive who I could grow and build with. But also someone who could balance me out and go on adventures and be spontaneous and silly- and for those latter aspects you were beyond perfect. However I don’t think you wanted routine and stability, I think you enjoy the drama and chaos of nightlife and everything that comes with working at a bar. I think you see women as entertainment and temporary fixes to your problems, and you need constant company or your eyes start to wander. There’s nothing wrong with that in and of itself. And I guess there’s no way I could have predicted in the beginning that our lifestyles and ideal partners would have such vastly different needs. I wish by the time you realized this you communicated it to me so if there was any chance of making changes , the attempt could have at least been made and if it failed we could walk away knowing we both tried. A part of me still wants to believe this isn't real, that you are the genuine and kind person I thought you were. But I've seen now how manipulative you can be and how you play both sides. Maybe deep deep down some of that act is real. I am still extremely hurt and upset with you but With time I would like to be able to forgive you because holding on to anger only hurts ourselves. I saw those texts to her and it's like you're a completely different person. I think back to all the other sketchy things I found during the time we were dating and have to think she probably wasn't /isn't the only one. I'm hurt that you went behind my back when you didn't have to. I feel so invalidated and I wonder if any part of our relationship was real to you. I'd like to say I'm here if you need to talk, platonically of course, just for support. But I'm not ready to do that. I'm still too hurt. And I'm still hurt and betrayed that you're not the person you tried convincing me you were. Not that it would matter because you clearly didn't feel comfortable really opening up to me in the first place. I just wish I listened to my gut feeling because I knew you would get bored. I wish this hadn't ended as Badly as it did. I would like to say let's stay friends. The person you showed me is a special person and I'd to be able to stay in touch, however I know I will lose it when you start dating someone new; which I'm sure won't be too long from now. I hate how unfair this is. I loved you ****. I haven't been hurt this deeply before I wish you had done all of that reflecting weeks before all of this. You could have saved everyone from so much pain. You know **** I have pages on pages written about how much hurt you caused me but I don't think sharing that with you would do any good. Instead I hope you use this experience as an opportunity to learn something. You look to other people to make you happy or to distract you from your own issues. Life doesn't work like that. You're never going be able to permanently fill that void with drugs like you tried in the past or with women like I believe you try to do now. Those butterflies and excitement or whatever will always fade away and you'll be left with the same problems you tried to push down and distract from. You will have to learn how to work through and cope with your issues before you'll ever really be happy. But it sounds like thats a lesson your not willing to address yet, I hope you'll consider it for the future. I can't put into words how awful I feel. I am torn between agony , anger and denial. I still can't eat, I Havent slept since Sunday night, I almost had to call into work this morning because my face was too Swollen from crying for the past day and a half. I know you could care less about me. The only reason I'm telling you this is I still hold on to some shred of hope that maybe you're not the aweful person that all the evidence is reveling you to be , and maybe if you have any empathy you would learn from this and avoid hurting someone else in the future. I love the idea while I'm fucking sobbing over you you're out with some new girl, not wasting anytime in replacing me, not that I meant shit to you in the first place. You know, up until now I felt bad for you and was eating up all those lines you fed me about all of this being due to your depression that you weren't thinking and made a mistake . I thought Maybe you actually felt some remorse or you actually had some idea of the amount of pain you caused and were genuinely sorry. But I guess that's bullshit too since you turn your whole story around depending on who you're talking too. I am so grateful that the girl you decided to cheat on me with has been so open and honest with me. I have to say you have good taste, too bad you don't deserve either of us. I thought you would maybe learn a lesson from the hurt that you caused me; learn that you could have avoided all of this pain and loss if you were just honest. But no, you are continuing to lie to her and deny you have any idea what's happening so you're obviously familiar with this game. I wonder if you took me seriously, or if you even loved me at any point during this. Not that it matters now. I don't know you. You're not who I believed you were. I feel so betrayed and stupid for ever putting trust in you. I've spent most of the day outside of work and crying trying to process how I feel. Initially I was too hurt to put into words.Although after some light was revealed on who you really are and the additional actions you've been taking , I think I feel anger and regret for ever opening up to you. I am livid that you were able to go behind my back and try to set up a new relationship while we were still dating, I can't believe that you never communicated your feelings to me at any point during this. I am upset that you already moved on weeks before I was even informed. I have lost any respect I had for you. I don't know who you are, maybe I never did.

[artkidartkid]

Hola Osito! It’s G. I know you must now be thinking that you don’t want to hear from me. But here I am sending you this. The mentally ill friend? Boyfriend? Lover? Soulmate? I don’t even know what I was to you, still. Anyways. I’m not that ill anymore, I do have anxiety and depression still affecting me, but since I had some therapy and pills to treat those and was diagnosed with some PTSD not long after that but I’m doing okay. I brought that to myself. And I have to pay that price. Right now it’s two am and I cant go to sleep because I had to write you something. After what I read on your blog. Ever since the last time we talked I have never checked on anything where you have a profile because I thought that would be best for us, for me. It was a struggle. But I’ve always kept an unnerving feeling. And today I broke that rule. And now I have been thinking and thinking and thinking and know I need to say something. I don’t know where to start... ok let see I have sent you a letter and I don’t know if you have received it but it’s not a nice letter and I apologize for that. I must explain why. The reason I wrote and sent that letter was because I wanted for me to answer all questions I still have and finally have a “full circle”. Failed miserably. I still have questions and I’m still missing answers. My main concern was that I felt betrayed, it still affects me every day. Every fucking day. No matter what I do to change that. We still have things to work out but probably never will. Also, I know I put my bracelet there. This was in order for you to give this to someone you really care about in the future. I don’t think it’ll ever get back to me but if it does then I’ll be honored to wear it. It is yours to decide whenever it’s right for you. Our time in Barcelona was truly beautiful and left a huge mark on me but it also left me with a lot of doubts. Some have haunted me without realizing it. I remember I always had to tell myself: I love him but he must not feel the same way about me, not at this moment. That broke me internally everyday. I never said anything because I wanted to look strong to you. And I said to myself it didn’t matter, but it did matter. Maybe that was the right time for me but it wasn’t for you. I’m sorry I insisted and tried to push us meeting when you probably thought it was a terrible idea or didn’t want it. And also apologies for going to Granada. I know that was the least of places you wanted me in. I invaded your territory and am sorry for it. And my last apology is for my physical state, I was in the middle of the breakdown waiting to happen. But I will always be thankful for those memories. I also believe that through the last months we became strangers in our own relationship. I never got the chance to see a side of you and unfortunately that’s the way it had to be. You can never truly know a person completely. Plus I fucked up a lot. I could’ve talked about it but decided to stay silent. And that’s the worse thing one can do during a crisis. I have to say there’s just one thing I wrote in the letter I first sent you where I expressed my love that wasn’t true. That I was scared too. I was never scared of building our lives together. I would try my best to be there at the same time and space. There is no doubt about that. You know i could achieve that, and maybe that got you scared. I was empathetic, seeing your perspective and I understood a lot of things but not everything. I failed you. But thank you for never giving up on me. There’s another thing I have to clarify. I know it was wrong. I’ve had a professional diagnose me for BPD after I’ve told you and said I don’t have it but I could develop similar traits if I fed my brain with information regarding it. I used BPD as a shield to catalyze you leaving me. I did fed information from what I saw online and I acted as one and I’m sorry. I needed you to be the one to cut off our relationship. I wanted you to do it . So you knew you were capable of doing it. I had to. I couldn’t leave like the other guy left. I could never think of it. And I don’t think you’ll ever let me go just like that. I tried and I couldn’t. It had to be done by you. I said I would send back the things you sent me but I’ll never be able to do it. Those things have enormous personal value to me and they’ll go wherever I go. A reminder of better times. They always be a reflection of me and you. Our time apart has done me some good and bad. I had to completely kill everything I knew and start rediscovering and reshaping me from scratch which has been an extensive process. I f don’t watch a single film since we stopped talking until recently, in September. I’ve missed you. I’ve cried for you. I’ve cried for me. I’ve missed me. I hope you were able to get that honors degree, or still working at it. It must be very hard for you at this time but I believe in you. You already have your bachelors! Congratulations 🎊🎉! Adelaide is unbearable to you, i know, but remember that the world is at your feet and you decide which way it rolls. Maybe you can start by looking for schools in Europe, and in the case you seem uninspired by that the English citizenship could help too :) You had your 22nd birthday a few months ago. I wanted to message because you were my thought all day long. But I know I couldn’t. I’m not allowed to. Feliz Cumpleaños Osito 🐨💕 There’s not one day without me thinking of you. Not one and pretty much everything around me has a connection back to you. It is pleasant. I know there’s a long path ahead for you, personally and professionally. There will be a day when you’re at your most secure, ambitious self. There will be a day when I read about you on the papers, at bookstores, online and I look forward to it. I just know it. Be strong, I believe in you. You can accomplish anything in this life. Be proud of who you are and what you believe in. You’re beautiful and you still make me wish I was a better version of myself. After all, I still care about you and I love you forever. Lots of love ❤️ I no longer live where I used to. And will not be living where I’m at now in the near future. I’d love to hear from you but I know it’s best not to talk. At least that’s what i picture. Take care Osito, I’ll have your back if you need me to. Some songs. I know you’ll like them: Day One One - Nils Frahm & FS Blumm Therapy - yaeji Colours- Roosevelt Fig in Leather - Devendrá Banhart i - Kendrick Lamar Touch & Go - Bob Moses Evergreen - Dillon La met est calme - Ben Mazué

#saving this here #in case my phone crashed and I lose this