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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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Injury II

Characters: Kaeya, Ningguang, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,650

Warnings: Various injuries, blood, burns, minor villain death

Premise: Sometimes the pain of others can hurt even more than one’s own. In which the reader is injured.

Author’s Note: Okay so after the mind numbing fear of my computer almost dying and now maybe emitting a weird smell I’m five seconds away from pure panic. But the show much go on! Even if my word document keeps blacking out.

This is my first time writing for Ningguang! I hope I do my girl justice, she’s voiced by my fav VA, she’s a total powerhouse, I love her so much.

I tried to make all of the injuries personal to each character in some way. Funny enough Zhongli’s was the hardest to figure out. I eventually settled upon the act of you being injured causing Zhongli’s personal angst, rather than the cause of the injury. I hope it came out well!

Kaeya

Kaeya didn’t often let himself fall into fear. Not since he’d been young did he feel that he could indulge in such a sentiment. True to his vision he’d frozen that part of himself, and now when panic seized him he could feel nothing but stone cold determination, and the need to continue forward without hesitation. Fear was hardly alien to him, he could conjure up the emotion all too well, but it had been dulled and replaced by cynicism and coldness. And occasionally guilt.

Looking back on it Kaeya wasn’t even sure why the two of you had strayed so close to Dragonspine, so close snowflakes were congregating in your hair.

You’d called him a winter fairy in jest at the time, wondering if he wasn’t truly the ruler of that mountain of frost. He’d laughed then, before threatening to take you away to his fairy court. “That would be quite an easy task.” You’d replied. “You’ve already captured my heart after all.”

The two of you were strolling on the rocks that lined the river which separated Dragonspine from the greater Monstadt area. Although adventurers usually roamed the area in the daytime it was now evening, and the lack of people certainly made up for the cold in Kaeya’s mind. He could only be his true self around you after all. Otherwise it was the charming and slick Cavalry Captain, a man who always knew what to say and never harbored any doubts in his mind. Not that he wasn’t still charming around you, he loved seeing you blush from his effusive praise, loved the way you buried your head in his shoulder if the flirting and the teasing ramped up enough. But there was a sincerity to his words that one couldn’t find normally in Kaeya, and he loved to show you bits and pieces of his soul, relieved to finally have someone to talk to.

“Watch your step.” You warned, grabbing onto Kaeya’s hand as he slid a little ways along a rock.

“Thank you darling, although I daresay I’m more worried about you. After all who’s the snow fairy here and who’s the wind sprite, liable to blow away at any moment?”

“So cheesy.” You mumbled, shaking your head, though Kaeya could’ve sworn your cheeks were slightly redder than they were a few moments ago. Laughing he wrapped his arm around your waist. You snuggled into his fur lined coat. “Cold.” You murmured, though you made no move to disconnect yourself. Kaeya smiled and brought his other hand around you in a soft embrace.

“Sorry my dearest, but you’re in love with an icicle.”

“Only terms of magic.” You shot back. “Otherwise you’re a nice warm fire. And don’t you forget that.”

The two of you headed a little ways down, closer to the river. A small group of frost flowers had made it to this side of the banks, and you were adamant on picking some. “They’re so beautiful!” You explained to Kaeya. “And incredibly strong, I can’t believe they managed to grow in that permafrost. They’re simply lovely.”

“Just be careful.” Kaeya commented, standing a little ways back. He didn’t like getting near the river, a river so cold it was always at nearly freezing at the bottom. Cold water and a vision of Cryo didn’t mix well.

“I’ll be fine.” You hopped to your feet, a bouquet of pale blue in your hand. You were smiling from your victory, face full of light and happiness.

It was an expression that changed swiftly as you lost your balance and plummeted into the freezing waters.

Immediately Kaeya leapt down from the rocks he was standing on, kneeling near where you were standing a moment ago. The river wasn’t very fast, bogged down by its width and how far it was away from the waterfalls in the warmer parts of Monstadt. Still it cut off very quickly, having barely the semblance of a beach before opening into a deep chasm, and anyone who fell in it would quickly fall into cold shock. Already your limbs had started seizing, and you were hyperventilating hard. Your arms felt like dead weight, and every second that passed your head dipped lower into the freezing water.

Kaeya gingerly put his hand out to make a platform of ice for him to stand on. Whatever happened he couldn’t fall in as well, it would mean the death of you two. Fear had reared its ugly head again and Kaeya twisted those feelings into action. No matter what he had to act fast and sure. Hesitation was fatal.

Plunging his hand into the water, sucking in a deep breath as the ice that still coated his palms and fingers made contact with the freezing river Kaeya hauled you up onto the icy platform. Taking off his coat he wrapped you up. Removing your gloves so the frozen water wouldn’t be in contact with your already freezing skin Kaeya cursed as he ran towards Springvale, the nearest place he could think of. He’d lugged you onto his back, and could feel the freezing water through his shirt. As he ran he kept up a stream of slightly shaky conversation, rattling off what little he knew of hypothermia.

“It’ll be alright darling, I promise it’ll be alright. You’re just going through shock right now, okay? You’ll be alright, I promise. Just stay awake a little while longer. I know you must be tired from all that excitement, but just stay awake a little longer, just a little longer and then you��ll be nice and warm, just stay awake right now okay?” His voice became more and more desperate as his fear started to tumble out of his grasp, but he kept moving. He wouldn’t lose control of himself now, not until you were safe.

Finally he arrived at Springvale and you’d been rushed to the village doctor. Kaeya was told to go and wait somewhere else, and preferably change out of his freezing cold shirt, but you’d grabbed his hand as he turned to leave and after that he refused to budge, instead borrowing a shirt from the village. He’d reimburse the people who let you two borrow their clothes later.

The entire process was a terrifying one, as you were slowly brought back to warmth. Kaeya took the opportunity to learn as much as he could, noting that you shouldn’t massage limbs back to warmth for fear of heart attack and – much to his chagrin he later joked when the situation was far enough in the past – alcohol was too much of a depressant on your system and could lead to death. All throughout he kept talking to you, even though there were times you didn’t seem to hear, times when he thought his heart would split in two.

Still it was evident you were going to survive and when you’d finally finished being warmed up Kaeya thought he could cry in relief, if only he’d been numbed from such an act for so many years. You’d run into some sort of rock in the water, and the long gash down the side of your leg was later determined by the doctor to reveal torn muscle. It’d take about a month and a half for you to recover. Kaeya thought he should’ve felt worse about it, but in the moment he felt nothing but relief, utter relief in the knowledge you were going to be fine. Utter relief that came with having almost lost you.

Kaeya had carried you back to Monstadt, much to your consternation. All the ways back you mumbled about how his penchant for drama seemed to have increased tenfold. Kaeya simply shook his head, not bothering to ask how you would’ve gotten back otherwise with your leg in the shape it was. Still it was a relief to both of you to see the city walls. Even more of a relief when you finally arrived home, safe and sound.

“I’m so glad you were there.” You confessed as Kaeya sat you down on the couch, propping up your leg and pulling a chair up next to you. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had I fallen and you weren’t there.”

“You probably wouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Kaeya remarked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. You brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned into it slightly, grateful for the contact between you two. It’d been hours but the panic that he’d felt still tugged at his consciousness, as if any moment you might slip away again and leave him panicked and alone.

“Were you afraid?” You asked.

“Of course I was afraid.” Kaeya’s reply came swift and sure. “I was terrified, terrified in a way that I haven’t been in years.” Kaeya’s eyes clouded over, as if reaching deep into his memories. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then your palm. “I thought that you might die, and in that moment I was ready to curse the world all over again.”

“But I didn’t die.” You said solemnly.

“No, you didn’t.”

“And that’s because of you. Because you reacted quickly, because you had the magic with which to do so, and most of all because you never hesitated. And because of that I’m alive and well now. Injuries aside I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Kaeya knew you were right. You were alive. You weren’t going to go where he couldn’t follow. The fear coiling in his stomach began to subside. He’d been so afraid, yes, and in that fear he’d managed to find the strength and determination to save you. But now you were safe and he no longer needed to rely on that strength; he could give into his relief. Realizing this, realizing how frightened he’d been and how that was now part of a past he could move forward from, could truly forget, Kaeya could only marvel at his relief. Only then did the tears begin to fall.

Ningguang

If there was one thing Ningguang wasn’t expecting out of today it was your leg collapsing and her winding up in the waiting room of the Liyue hospital, mind replaying the last week or so, wondering where she might’ve realized something was wrong.

It seemed like the kind of thing Keqing would make a joke about. Here Ningguang was, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, the most powerful woman in the trade capital of Liyue; here she was, her world completely gone awry, completely shattered by your injury.

A stress fracture, the doctor had said. It was the kind of injury that developed slowly and came about after weeks instead of in moments. The initial strain was usually something mundane, a sprain, a bruise, maybe you’d walked on your foot for too long. But after sometimes weeks of ignoring pain and swelling your body couldn’t take it any longer. Ten weeks, that’s how long you would be laid up. And Ningguang couldn’t help but feel every one of those ten weeks was her fault.

She should’ve noticed it. That train of thought continued all throughout the process of you being treated at, and eventually discharged from, the hospital. You weren’t just one of the people she worked with daily, weren’t just her closest colleague. You were the person that Ningguang loved more than anything in this world. How could she possibly not have noticed the signs?

Ningguang found herself obsessively trying to connect the warning signs that must’ve been there. She knew that your foot had been aching for some time, but though she’d been vaguely concerned she’d said nothing other than a simple “be careful”. She’d never thought to check after you later, sure that it was nothing. Now she felt nothing but shame, both that of a personal and of a greater kind. How could she manage looking after all of Liyue if she couldn’t even look after you?

You noticed Ningguang’s silence as you two made your way out of the hospital and towards the apartment you shared. Although Ningguang was perhaps seen as a reticent individual you’d found her surprisingly open, always ready to discuss things that were of interest either to you or to her. She wasn’t the kind of person to walk along in silence; not when she was around those that she cared for, not unless she was thinking about something important, not unless…

Finally you two arrived home. You collapsed on the couch, tired and ready to either read or nap. Ningguang was preparing some tea and a various array of fruit, not that there was much food in the lavish apartment you two shared. Considering the workload between the both of you it was perhaps unsurprising that there was nothing much to eat. That would have to change, Ningguang noted; she’d make sure that you were recovering in the most comfortable way possible. It was the least she could do.

“Are you feeling well?” Ningguang asked, placing the food and tea on the table in your room. You nodded.

“I feel fine, although I’m not looking forward to the walk to the Qixing headquarters. I have to admit dear this might be the only time I’m a bit glad that I don’t have to make my way to the Jade Chamber every day.” Ningguang smiled at that, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sat silently, sipping her tea slowly. Your expression clouded over. “Hey, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing my love.” Ningguang spoke up quickly, leaning over and kissing you on the cheek. “I’m just sorry to see you like this.”

“Well you can’t blame yourself. You know that, right?”

Ningguang found she couldn’t bring herself to lie to you. Your gaze, though soft, seemed to pierce right through all her excuses and all her bluffing. She sighed softly. Maybe it would be better to be upfront about it, clear and concise, how one should always be. At least then she could apologize properly.

“In truth I do blame myself. I can’t believe I was so neglectful of your health, so blind to your pain.” She shook her head, staring at the hand that was holding yours. A disconnected part of her thought of how well the two fit together, fingers intertwined softly, your palm warm and comforting.

“If you were blind to this then so was I.” You spoke softly but firmly, refusing to sugar coat your words. Ningguang admired you for it, even if she didn’t believe you, something painfully clear in the expression on her face. “You cannot blame yourself.” You continued, “I won’t let you. I don’t want you beating yourself up for something that neither of us predicted. If you feel the need to blame yourself for this you must also blame me; I was the one walking on the injury without paying enough attention.”

“But – ” Ningguang paused, realizing the truth behind your words, slouching slightly she sat in deep thought. “I… I realize there’s not a lot of logic behind my thinking.”

“Well feelings are hardly logical.” You pointed out, squeezing her hand. “And because they’re illogical they don’t go away quickly. But I at least want you to try and combat your guilt with what I’ve told you. Because just like you hate seeing me in this cast I hate seeing you in pain.”

Ningguang nodded, heart filled with a deep sense of love and tenderness. Leaning over to give you a kiss she smiled softly. You did too. For a moment you two basked in each other’s presence and happiness, before you smile turned mischievous.

“Although… I won’t object to a little pampering.” Ningguang chuckled, shaking her head. But her smile was real this time, and you wouldn’t ask for anything more.

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I know I am.” You replied. “And you’re lucky I adore you.”

“I am.” Ningguang’s reply was just as sure, was full of quiet but strong emotion. She was lucky. And she would never take you or your love for granted. No matter what.

Xiao

By the time he’d met you Xiao had long come to the conclusion that he’d never find it in him to like humans.

Humans were dirty, they were untrustworthy and full of darkness, they broke things without thinking about it, mangled their own people, their own families and friends and countrymen. Humans slaughtered one another without thinking of how it might stain them, and when they weren’t killing they were stealing and lying and ruining the land around them. How could he, a being designed solely to destroy the darkness in the world, ever find in himself the will or the ability to look past all that?

When he’d met you and had fallen in love in earnest this view had still changed ultimately very little. But even if you’d admitted that what he said was mostly true, you’d found that you still wanted him to learn to care at least a little bit about humanity. I mean you were ultimately one of them at your core. It didn’t feel right to prop yourself up as the one great exception, not when there were other people who were certainly like you in mind and in morality. Xiao silently disagreed with this analysis; to him there never was and never would be someone like you, in all of Teyvat. Still, he felt compelled to try, though more for your sake than for his, and as the weeks had gone on he’d begun to look at humanity not with any sort of respect or hope but with a sort of begrudging curiosity, and an admittance that maybe, just maybe, there was a bit of that light you saw in it.

What a fool he’d been.

Although Xiao was aware of the growing threat of treasure hoarders across Liyue – so widespread that they’d even managed to eat away at the tranquil lands surrounding Jueyen Karst – he’d never considered them a serious threat. So when the two of you accidentally ran into a group of them while exploring some of the older Liyue ruins Xiao didn’t bother to do much more than wrap an arm around your waist, sure that even the most idiotic of treasure hoarders wouldn’t be so foolish as to pick a fight with either an adeptus or their beloved. You seemed unfazed at any rate, explaining that the two of you were simply passing by and had no desire to pick a fight; if they’d be so kind the two of you would be on your way.

Perhaps the treasure hoarders were well aware of the fact that you could report them to the Liyue Qixing. Perhaps they were simply in a bad mood. Either way your words apparently did nothing. Xiao was becoming tenser and tenser, feeling as if something catastrophic was about to happen. That moment came to pass when one of the treasure hoarders pulled out a knife and threw it, lodging itself with deadly accuracy into your torso.

At that point Xiao felt himself overcome with a supernatural sort of calm, a calm which raced to cover up the anguish and rage that was coursing through him, threatening to burn him from the inside out. He only paused to make sure you didn’t hit the ground hard, before summoning his spear. Ignoring the cries of the treasure hoarders he made quick work of disposing of them, for what was a measly human, a piece of trash, when compared to that which had slayed countless demons? A small part of him cried out against the act, pointing out the fact that every time he wielded his polearm to kill it might bring him closer to the precipice, the fact that you were hurt mattered more than revenge, the fact that he was going to regret killing in front of you. He ignored it. At that moment there was nothing in his mind, it was as empty and staid as a clear pool of water. The only ripple in it was the way you’d jolted back in surprised, and the way you’d let out a cry before crumpling.

Xiao didn’t look back to see the havoc he’d wreaked. Instead he ran to your side. Peeling off his gloves, worried that they might bring infection, he pressed his bare hands to your wound, desperately trying to staunch the blood that was spilling out, ignoring the shocks that jolted through his hands, the result of the dagger somehow being infused with electro. The feeling of blood, your blood, beneath his fingers was nauseating, and for a moment Xiao felt his head filling with static as the pure panic that he’d felt began to overcome the initial rush of adrenaline. Snapping out of it when you let out a groan of pain Xiao looked into your eyes. They were clouded, and for a moment the adeptus was afraid you might be on the verge of passing out – had you really lost so much blood? Holding you tightly, one hand never leaving your wound, Xiao summoned a burst of air. His thoughts were still too chaotic to be processed, there was only one thing connecting them all. Let them live. If there’s any justice in this world, please let them live.

Verr Goldet had grasped the situation as soon as she saw Xiao appear on the balcony, face contorted in fear. Taking you to her room, she’d instructed Xiao to get one of the doctors from Liyue while she and the resident apothecary took care of you. Xiao did the task without thinking, and once he’d arrived with the doctor he refused to leave your side. Xiao knew death better than most adepti, certainly more than most humans. It was cold and unfeeling, and had a nasty habit of leaping onto people when they least expected it. It didn’t matter to him that all three, Goldet, the apothecary, and the doctor, said that you would be fine; Xiao was going to be there the entire time.

Eventually you managed to rouse yourself from the pain induced stupor, and when you did you saw Xiao first, eyes wide with fear and relief, tears threatening to spill down his face.

In the end you’d been lucky. Although the dagger had ruptured your spleen Xiao had acted quickly enough to avert catastrophe. You were going to survive, though it’d be 12 weeks most likely until you were completely recovered. The moment of crisis having passed the two of you were finally given a moment alone.

“Are you alright?” Xiao immediately asked. You didn’t make a move to answer, instead cupping Xiao’s cheek before moving to take his hand. At that moment how Xiao remembered. Oh; the blood. Quickly moving away he ran to the nearest basin of water, scrubbing furiously. As the water turned red a faint smell of iron filled the air; it was the most disgusting thing Xiao had ever smelt, and he scrubbed even harder. You waited silently as he finished cleaning his hands and disposing of the water. Finally he came back to sit next to you, still hesitating a moment before placing his palm in yours.

“I… I don’t understand how you could ever like humans.” That was the first thing Xiao could think of. “They betrayed you. Without even blinking. That man, all those men and women, they would’ve ended your life without even thinking about it. They would’ve killed you and lived without ever having such a thing weigh on their conscience. Humans never think about the weight of their sins. They just keep committing atrocities.”

“And what about you, Xiao. Will their deaths weigh on you?”

“As much as all the others.” Xiao wished he could be matter of fact about it, but he found that trait of his had somehow disappeared. Instead an emotion washed over him, so unfamiliar and unexplainable it seemed to choke him. “Perhaps more.” He managed to get out, before beginning to cry in earnest.

You would’ve died. If he hadn’t been there you would’ve died. For you he gladly shouldered the weight of human life, would do so again and again if only to ensure your safety. And yet it was such a heavy weight, and no matter how many Xiao killed it wouldn’t heal you.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out. You shook your head.

“Xiao I always knew that you weren’t going to be able to see humans as I see them immediately. And I know that you have a relationship with death and killing that most humans, most beings, will never have. I’m not going to blame you, nor will I turn on you. I cannot pretend that what happened didn’t make me angry. In retrospect it made me incredibly angry. It’s also true that – had you not been there – I would’ve raised my own weapon in self-defense. But now I’m going to ask you for one thing, and one thing only.”

“What?”

“Help me recover. Help me recover and let me help you recover. If there’s one thing I don’t want to happen now it’s for you to turn away from me and from everyone else, to let yourself be consumed. I want you to have somewhere you can let your feelings exist, and I want somewhere I can feel happy and comfortable as myself. You make me feel that way, so even if it’s selfish I don’t want you to turn away. And I don’t want you to grieve for me. Injured as I may be I’m not dead.” There was a pause as you let yourself catch your breath, having gotten more and more excited as you went on. “I realize that’s more than one thing.” You concluded, a bit sheepish.

Xiao said nothing for a while before leaning towards you. “May I?” He whispered. You nodded and Xiao pressed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t one of fire or passion. It was different, defined within the parameters of fear and relief, there seemed to be a sort of desperation in it, yet it was surprisingly sedate. Pulling away Xiao buried his face in your neck, careful to make sure he wasn’t touching where you’d been stabbed.

“I will. I promise.” He whispered. You nodded, smiling softly. But Xiao couldn’t bring himself to smile, not just yet.

Xiao couldn’t understand humans. They were dirty and cruel and lived without fear of consequences. Their actions haunted him and he found them easier to hate than to understand. But for you he’d try, because to him there was one thing strong than all, strong than fear, stronger than mistrust, stronger than hatred.

And that was the love he held for you.

Zhongli

If there was one thing Zhongli hadn’t been prepared for when it came to falling in love with humans it was their combination of fragility and utter ignorance to said fragility.

One of Zhongli’s favorite things to do was to simply sit and listen to you talk about your life. Humans fascinated Zhongli, it was one of the reasons he’d ultimately given up his place as Rex Lapis; inside him lived a desire to interact with humanity in a more intimate way, to know what made people behave as they did and to perhaps grow closer to them in the process.

But despite all that he still wasn’t ready for the utter fear he felt when listening to the stories of you getting hurt. You’d laughed off scrapes and bruises and fractures. The time you’d accidentally ripped off your nail was a painful yet funny anecdote, and the fact that you’d fractured your kneecap as a child was something you now looked back on with an odd sense of nostalgia.

Zhongli didn’t understand why these stories frightened him on such a visceral level. Such injuries were nothing to gods and adepti. Although the idea of a broken bone was certainly an irritation there was nothing more in it, and the kind of injuries that could easily kill humans would to Zhongli be the kind of thing that would be unpleasant for its novelty, not for its potential fatality.

He didn’t bring up these thoughts to you, feeling as if they’d somehow place an undue burden on you, or perhaps he was afraid you’d stop telling him about yourself. Still it lurked at the back of his mind, the fear of what might happen to you.

The fears that Zhongli harbored were proven in the most mundane, and thus most poignant, way. The two of you had been preparing a meal when suddenly you’d stumbled on an uneven part of the floor. Reaching your hands out to steady yourself your arm had landed flat on the hot stove, the stove which had been heating up for the past fifteen or so minutes. The scream that you let out sent a shock through Zhongli which shook him to his core. It rang through his ears incessantly, a terrifying reminder of how breakable humans were.

You’d immediately yanked your arm off from the stove but the sight that met both his and your eyes was a ghastly one. The skin on your arm was charred various colors, white blisters mixed with black flaky skin, all outlined in a terrible circle of red. You were shaking, and you face had turned a frightful ashen color. Springing into action Zhongli wracked his brain for all he could remember about burns. If the burn is serious enough go to the hospital. Never try to treat intense burns yourself as the burning has gone deeper than the initial layer of skin, raise your burn above your heart. Go to the hospital. Slinging your arm around his shoulder so that it was raised, whisper soft words of reassurance as you let out a shriek of pain, Zhongli half walked half carried you to the hospital, all while the same thought was running through his head.

How fragile humans are.

The doctors had insisted you stay overnight. Apparently the burn was bad enough to require surgery. Zhongli’s stomach had dropped as he was told that, but he managed to nod in response. Walking back home Zhongli felt all in a daze. He barely made it in the door before he collapsed, fear having seeped the energy out of him. The world pressed down on him, heavier than it’d ever been before. At least you’d be okay, he reminded himself. If he had anything to cling to at least he had that.

Zhongli was the first visitor to arrive at the hospital, having given Hu Tao the run of the funeral home as he spent as much time as possible with you. You were well enough, although a bit bogged down from the painkillers you’d been given. You’d once offhandedly commented that although magic infused medicine tended to be safer for the patient – more successful and less addictive – it was also more powerful; now Zhongli could see you weren’t kidding.

Your burn was wrapped up carefully, the doctors had managed to take the charred skin of, you’d explain, but now the burn had to be treated with the utmost care until the surgery later in the afternoon, infection was no joke.

“Well this’ll certainly be an interesting anecdote.” You let out half a laugh. “Not that I’m happy this happened, but at least this will shut up the next person who complains about how cardio was the most painful thing they’ve experienced.”

“I don’t know how you can be so cavalier about it.” Zhongli replied, tone soft and introspective. “It seems to terrifying to me, how easily humans are hurt.”

“Hey, I’ll be fine.” You assured him, voice soft but firm. “I understand how to adepti and archons and gods this might be terrifying. I’d be the first to admit we can’t really keep up with you in terms of pure healing and resistance to injury. But we’ve continued on this far haven’t we?” You smiled softly. “I promise I’m not about to die from something like a kitchen accident.”

“But what if next time it’s not your arm?” Zhongli replied. “What if it’s your neck or your chest? What if you cut yourself too deeply, what if your cut becomes infected. There are so many things I haven’t thought about until now, so many things that could hurt you. It frightens me terribly.”

“I’m very grateful that you’re worrying for me like this. But Zhongli?” You waited for his eyes to meet yours, smiling once more when he faced you. “You cannot be consumed by your anxiety. Believe me humans worry about these kinds of things. What if I tripped and fell and broke my neck, what if I scratched myself and developed and infection, what if I choked on an apple? These fears live with us, sometimes constantly, but we cannot let them consume us. As much as I’m flattered and glad you care for my wellbeing so much, I also don’t want you consumed by it, nor do I want to be treated like glass.”

“I cannot understand how you’re so resilient.” Zhongli replied after a short pause. You shrugged.

“We are because we must be.”

Zhongli knew in his heart that these fears he harbored weren’t going to go away. He knew that they were going to become more and more apparent through the month of your initial recovery, and through the longer period too as scar tissue formed and subsided.

Humans were indeed fragile. But if there was one thing stronger than said fragility it was their even greater determination to supersede it. Humans may be fragile in body, but they were stronger in spirit even than the gods.

That was something Zhongli wasn’t going to forget. Not for a very long time.

#my computer's about to die but this was totally worth it #also I never want to learn that much about burns again oof #tonight was wild #also I love ningguang so much aaa #kaeya #ningguang #xiao #zhongli #kaeya x reader #ningguang x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #scenarios #my writing

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south-park-meta · 3 years

Note

How would you describe Stan and Cartmans relationship?

Cartman seems to respect him the most from the group.

Stan and Cartman's relationship is...weird.

Cartman's jealous of Stan and doesn't have the same kind of ammo against Stan that he has against Kyle and Kenny.

As far as jealousy goes: Of the four, Stan is the one the kids turn to as leader most often and Cartman loves power. Stan has a supportive 'conventional' family with two parents, a sister, uncle, grandfather, who he sees all the time. Stan is loved by them, and he loves them. Even WITH saying he outright hates Randy now, I think their relationship could be repairable if they weren't on the farm. Stan is generally good at making and keeping friends; even if he mostly hangs out with his gang, he'll make comments like 'so and so is our friend' or 'she's cool' or 'he's nice'. Cartman is very much not. He's hated by most the class and tries to separate Stan and Kyle frequently to get them to hate each other and like him instead.

As far as ammo goes: There's very little stuff that will really hurt Stan and could make him easier to manipulate. Kyle is Jewish. Kenny is poor. Stan is...Stan. I mean, in newer seasons Stan's depressed, he's cynical, he's pissy, but by and large the things Stan are can't be used against him. Like Cartman will call him a pussy, but like-- 'Okay I care about animals, I'm nice to people, so what?' -- that kind of an attack is on a trait he's grown more comfortable with about himself. Stan might not care at all about Cartman's insults, he might already know the situation sucks and is critical of it so anything Cartman says means jack, or he can mask the way it hurts him and deal with it privately. Compared to most, if not all, other characters, he is very good at not being hurt often by things Cartman says and not giving Cartman a strong reaction when he is hurt.

Not giving Cartman something to work with forces Cartman into the position of mostly being nice to him. If Cartman tears into him about being miserable jackass living alone on the farm with no friends nearby and Stan's response is 'uh yeah, ik. It fucking sucks.' instead of an explosive response like 'Shut the fuck up Cartman! I still have friends!', then there's nowhere to go. Stan wins the argument by shutting it down. So Cartman is less likely to even try engaging it.

This situation is also something Cartman's less prone to make fun of because it's one of the few times Stan's been consistently giving him the time of day without involving Kyle somehow. Cartman's come to his house. They've played games together. Cartman and Stan BOTH leaned into the bullying video because it stroked their egos. Until blowing it to pieces with the Vaccination Special, Cartman was actually getting more frequent friendship moments with both Stan and Kyle.

On Stan's end, I think Stan knows and has known from the start that Cartman's an asshole and not a good friend. Like if he wasn't friends with Kyle who actually deep down wants Cartman to turn things around and be a good person, Stan would have told him to fuck off ages ago. Cartman was just part of the package of Kyle and Kenny, grandfathered in to the group.

Their dynamic's changed a little, but this core thought hasn't. Stan's gotten more and more depressed, and feeling more and more like he's a piece of shit, too. So he and Cartman have been feeding into each other's bad habits more. He's been indulging the smaller ways that Cartman's been an asshole, like spying on people with drones. He didn't actively engage in it, but he didn't shoot it down like Kyle did. Stan let Cartman sing about his vagina in the anti-bullying campaign because Stan also used it as an opportunity to stroke his ego. They probably wrote it together going Yeah we're gonna look so good, dude! Previously it's seemed like Stan hangs out with Cartman, alone, least of all of the four, and when he does it winds up like Beaverton where they do something bad and then he feels bad about it. But in recent seasons instead of doing something with Cartman, having it end up worse than he thought and feeling bad, he's used Cartman's friendship so he can be a bit of an ass. Either he uses/plays into Cartman's behavior to verify his depressive negative internal monologue that he's a bad person, or like in Butterballs, he and Cartman feed off each other to get external validation to prove No! Really, they're actually GOOD people.

Stan didn't engage in anything too terrible that way. When Cartman does worse than 'kind of being a dick' moments, Stan still calls it out. But Stan was still being less caring of other people's feelings and more self-centered. The Vaccination Special was the kick in the pants Stan needed to finally realize it was all too unhealthy to continue.

So on Cartman's side: Basically he wants to be Stan. He wants to be liked, and athletic, and have a family who loves him, and have the natural leadership skills Stan has that makes people follow him. He thinks Stan has what he deserves.

On Stan's side: Basically Stan wants to be anyone BUT Cartman and thinks Cartman's an ass. The friendlier he is with Cartman the more he's either 1. being self-destructive in the same vein as yelling 'Fuck you!' at Kyle-- He's being an asshole to prove to others he's the asshole he thinks he is. Or, 2. because he really DOESN'T want to be seen as an asshole, he's engaging in 'please like me' behavior like the ego-stroking video in Butterballs.

#stan marsh #south park meta #eric cartman #long post

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wegotstory · 4 years

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Writing With Depression

Mark Twain. Stephen King. Sylvia Plath. J.K. Rowling

- Just a few successful writers who *suffered* from depression. I highlight ‘suffer’ because, contrary to many of the articles I found in preparation for this post claimed, depression is not for spicing up writing skills or sprinkling on for emotional depth. It’s often a crippling and debilitating illness. The writers above wrote *in spite* of their illness, which is remarkable, but most importantly their depression should not be romanticised as a muse for creative outlets.

If you are experiencing depression, how can you make sure your love for writing doesn’t fall by the wayside?

How To Write While Depressed

Let’s say you are experiencing a bout of depression, or you have been in a constant fight with it for some time, how can you make sure your love for writing doesn’t fall by the wayside?

Do it for you - Writing with the notion another set of eyes will judge you is a sure way to kill your confidence. So do it only for you. No pressure, no expectations, no chance of failing.

Every word is a win - Listen, any productive activity, however small, is a step in the opposite direction of what your depression would have you do. Celebrate every paragraph, sentence, phrase and word.

Do what is fun - Do you enjoy writing lists of names? Do it. Want to write a blog post on that obsession you have today? Go for it. Feel like joining a role-playing group? They’re waiting for you! You’ll be honing your skills without even trying.

Two words: Fan Fiction - Writing fan fiction is often looked at with cynical eyes, notions of unoriginality and ‘playing at being a writer’ making it seem like a step in the wrong direction. This is ridiculous! Writing FF requires an original plot, never-before-said dialogue, management of scenes and a dance with words unique to you. And since it’s for you, who cares what anyone else thinks?

Try something different - Before I experienced true depression, I did none of the suggestions above. I enjoyed writing stories and that was it. When my feelings got in the way of doing my usual, I felt like a failure. When a friend introduced me to new writing ventures she did for fun, I flourished. After a while, I was having so much fun *not failing* (after all, I had no expectations and no bar to reach) I slipped back into story writing as my barriers weren’t as hard to overcome. Most recently, I have tried my hand at poetry when I’m feeling overwhelmed. Why? Because I truly suck at poetry. I stink. And it’s okay because I’m doing it for me and occasionally, when something not-terrible comes onto the page, I feel proud of myself.

Set yourself up to win - So, you put time aside to write but when the time arrives you find yourself doing other things because the task of writing is intimidating. Boy, can I relate. Try this: before you reach your ‘writing time’, have 1 sentence that - once written - allows you to walk away. Maybe it’s that bit of dialogue that you thought of, or a 1 sentence summery of a fan fiction you’d like to read. When the time comes, write it. It’ll take less than a minute. If you keep writing beyond that, amazing, if not, you still wrote in your writing time. Win.

Write about it - It’s a common activity to write your pain and confusion into words, and if that helps you express some of your emotions then please do it! But if you aren’t ready to get deep or attempt at making beauty out of it, I still wholly recommend writing factually. Don’t litter it with metaphors or self-indulgent phrases when you do this, be blunt. Be honest with yourself, even if you want to delete it after you write it so no one else can see. Writing out your truth in a true and raw way can feel amazing and help sort out your thoughts later.

Never try to deal with depression on your own, from experience you can break out of it, or at least manage it better, with a little outside input. Friends. Family. Your community. There’s also a fantastic writing community online, and many will be feeling exactly as you do. If you need help finding a solid writing group, I’ve always got time for that kind of thing! ❤️

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takerfoxx · 5 years

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Looking back, was Madoka Magica really that dark? Only three characters actually die, two of whom are later resurrected through the power of love. Blood and gore wise, most blood is offscreen, and that which is shown is fairly tame compared to other dark magical girl shows. Yet somehow, this show the show managed to hit me in the gut more than far more horrific and bloodier dark magical girl shows ever have. Why?

That doesn’t sound surprising at all, and it all comes down toexecution.

See,people often have this false idea when it comes to “mature” stories, inthat things like character deaths, blood and gore, and suffering are thebuilding blocks of maturity. But they’re not. They’re tools, and like all tools,they can be wielded correctly and incorrectly. Quite often, less is more, andtoo much grimdark results in an edgy, tryhard mess of a thing that isn’t maturein the slightest. This is one of the reasons why Blood-C got such a negativereaction, or why Elfen Lied is so divisive. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loveme some Elfen Lied, but even I admit that it’s a schlocky white-hot mess. Itjust so happens to be my kindof schlocky, white-hot mess.

So yeah, I know this is weird coming from the apparent king ofTouhou Grimdark (cut me some slack though, I learn as I go), but gratuitousviolence does not, in of itself, equal maturity or anything of substance. Atbest you get the adolescent view of maturity, which is just so cynical andtiresome.

Madoka Magica, on the other hand, is a different sort of beastentirely. That show’s been out for years, but I am continuously impressed byjust how well-crafted it is, and how the creators used the tools at theirdisposal to get so much out of so little.

First of all, there’s the genre itself. Now, darkdeconstructions of Magical Girl shows are nothing new. Utena had already poppedthat cherry years ago, and you already mentioned how others had…less of animpact than PMMM did. But even so, the Magica Girl genre is one that’s almostuniversally associated with little girls. So, lots of bright colors, optimism,and cute, and the good guys and bad guys are easily distinguishable, and goodalways triumphs over evil. So even if new viewers know that something is up,their guard is still automatically going to be dropped, at least a little.

Second, we have the art style. Now, this is very interesting, inthat they went with a very Hidemari Sketch sort of style, where the girls allhave designs that are cute, appealing, and very distinctive, but never goingoverboard with the cuteness to the point where it becomes obnoxious. Even withthe fairly cartoony designs, their actual movement is pretty realistic, and isnever exaggerated for comedic effect or goes super-deformed and all that.Furthermore, rare for something of this nature, they are never objectifiedand/or used for fanservice in the slightest. A more realistic or a more adultstyle wouldn’t have been nearly as effective, nor would something sexier. It’sjust enough to make you like the girls and want the best for them, but notenough to get annoying or ruin the mood with unnecessary fanservice.

So basically, to get a little neckbeardy with it, the art styleis meant to make the viewers want to protect and comfort the girls, but notstrangle them for being way too moe, or fuck them for that matter.

…

Well, I mean, lots of people still do, but it’s the internet,so…

…

Moving on.

Anyway, continuing with theanimation, let’s talk about the witches. In sharp contrast to the somewhatcartoony designed but mostly realistically animated real world, the witchbarriers go for a surreal, dream-like feel, with the weird, jerky, low framerate movements of the witches and their familiars to the bizarre designs thatstick more-or-less to aesthetic themes but still have no explanation and anoverall look that, rather than being overly and obviously dark and evil, isinstead…wrong. Off. Alien. Discomforting rather than outright scary. Thewitches are meant to clash with the characters’ animation in a way that isdeliberately uncomfortable without spilling into cheesy. I mean, puffballs withbutterfly bodies and big handlebar mustaches? Spotted mice in nurse hats? Howis that scary? But just look at how they move, how they sound, and it becomesincredibly unnerving. Even before the big episode three twist, until which PMMMcould still pass for a more standard Magical Girl show, it still stood out withjust how bizarrely disturbing its monsters are. There is something genuinelyunsettling about them, a sense of dread that just permeates their every scene,even when our heroes are victorious.

And with that, I’ve exhaustedmost of the synonyms for “disturbing.” Let’s move on.

So, we’ve gone over how theart and animation is carefully crafted to evoke a specific reaction from theviewers, but what about the story itself? Well, like what was discussedearlier, part of what makes PMMM work so well is that despite its grandambitions and epic feels, the bulk of the show is…actually pretty small. Imean, save for the universe-changing repercussions of Madoka’s wish at the veryend, most of the focus is kept away from the world at large and remains on asmall group of characters and how being sucked into the contract system affectsthem. The story revolves around these five girls and is all about theirpersonal lives, and the whole Incubator thing is portrayed as alarger-than-they-can-imagine thing that’s been going on since the beginning oftime that they can’t do anything about, so why even bother trying? For Kyubey,it’s pretty much just business as usual, with the gang just being another setof marks in a long, long line of them, to be chewed up and spat out by the cogsof his machine.

And that takes us to what youmentioned earlier, about how PMMM has fewer character deaths, less violence,and nearly no gore in comparison to other shows, but somehow manages to leave abigger impact. And that comes down to one of the most important rules aboutstorytelling: it’s not what you’re about, it’s how you’re about it. Killing offcharacters doesn’t make a story mature, hurting your characters doesn’t makeyour story mature, or even using something as risky as rape doesn’t make yourstory mature; those are just the catalysts. Rather, maturity comes fromexploring how those things affect your characters, how it changes their livesand how they change and grow in response to them. Mami’s sudden and shockingdeath had profound effects on Madoka and Sayaka, and it’s by exploring thoseeffects that it feels like it has such a big impact, in that it shatteredMadoka’s perfect world and sent her into a bout of depression while motivatingSayaka into recklessness to compensate for her guilt in not being there to helpMami and overcompensate in trying to take her place. The reveal of the MagicalGirls as liches with their souls literally contained within their soul gems wasa big twist in of itself, but by taking the time to show how it set Sayaka intoher downward spiral into self-destruction coupled with having the oppositeeffect on Kyoko by jarring her out of her self-centered nihilism and motivatingher to start reaching out to Sayaka it really does feel like it has actualmeaning beyond shock value. And their deaths become even more tragic, asKyubey’s later monologue shows that they were doomed from the beginning, andnothing other than a damned miracle was going to save anyone. And being that hehad the monopoly on miracles in that universe, the audience is left bitingtheir nails and hanging on the edges of their seats through the climax, prayingthat an out would be found while fearing that there would be none to be found.Which just makes Madoka’s loophole of a wish all the more gratifying, whilestill being bittersweet. Because a happy ending just wasn’t possible, but shefound a way to prevent an all-out tragedy, a way to alleviate the bulk of thepain. And all it cost was her earthly existence.

Anyway, we’ve talked aboutthe visuals and story direction, so now let’s talk characterization. This is yetanother place where this show shines. Becauseeven though it only had a few episodes, the relatively small cast and focus ontheir personal problems allowed for a lot of character development. It helped that,save for Madoka’s, each of their wishes was something small and easilyunderstandable. Mami just wanted to live, Kyoko just wanted people to listen toher father, Sayaka just wanted her close friend and crush to get better whiletaking up Mami’s responsibilities, and Homura just wanted to save her dearfriend, who had been one of the few people to ever give her positive attention.Hell, even Madoka’s original wish was to save a cat. And like their designs,their personalities are all distinct, balanced between likeable strengths andtragic flaws: Mami is stalwart and nurturing, but also tripped up by hercrippling loneliness. Sayaka is determine and has a strong sense of justice,but also brash and prone to self-loathing. Madoka is kind-hearted andencouraging, but held back by her lack of self-esteem. As for Homura and Kyoko,they’re introduced us when they are at their worst, but do to cleverstorytelling and exposition, we then see the goodness in them and what theyused to be, and it becomes all the more easier to understand how they becamethe way they are. And again, despite its small number of episodes, the showreally takes the time to show how these personalities bounce off each other andconflict, while also showing how the consequences of their actions change them.I really like how they did it two: the show is essentially divided into fourmini-arcs of three episodes apiece, with the main focus on a different girl perarc, with Madoka being something of a passive POV protagonist throughout the wholeshow: first it’s Mami, then Sayaka, then Kyoko, and finally Homura. And as isexpected, each mini-arc ends in a tragedy, from Mami’s death to Sayaka’srealization about the truth of soul gems to Kyoko’s final stand to Homurafeeling as if she’s lost Madoka forever. But even with all that dark, it stillends on a note that is, while bittersweet, is still optimistic. Madoka is stillgone and Sayaka is still dead, but they seem to have come to terms with that. Also,Kyoko and Mami are alive and on good terms again, Homura has something new tofight for, and the universe is a little less cruel, showing that despiteeverything, it was all worth it in the end, and all of their struggles, pains,mistakes, and tears mattered.

I could go on and on and on,but let’s sum it up with a tl;dr: Puella Magi Madoka Magica may not have had nearly the amount of death and despair as other shows and very littlegore, but it had a far greater impact because it was carefully and brilliantlyconstructed from top to bottom to hit you right where it hurts, twist theknife, and still make you thankful for the ride. And I wouldn’t have it anyother way.

#pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #Madoka Kaname #sayaka miki #mami tomoe #kyoko sakura #homura akemi #gen urobuchi

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foursideharmony · 4 years

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That Thing Where We Post About Our Own Sides

I realize that the fandom is currently hanging around the intersection of We’re Not Talking About That Anymore Street and NEW CONTENT NEW CONTENT NEW CONTENT Boulevard, but I’ve been sitting on this for MONTHS and it’s about time I got it out there. Here, then, are my own Sides--names, functions, descriptions, and relationships with each other.

Sophia is my Intellect—a combination of reason, curiosity, objectivity, pragmatism, and a dash of pedantry. She is the nominal leader of my Sides, if only because she is the only one with any decent organizational skills whatsoever. She wants to learn everything and is deeply frustrated by all the things she doesn’t know, as well as any absence of sense she perceives in the actions of others. She takes on the responsibility of reining in the others’ wilder, more “unrealistic” impulses, but at her core she just wants to get along with them better. She is half the reason I have so many bookshelves, and is definitely behind my preference for linguistic precision. Her key element is Earth, the element of the tangible and material. Motto: “Catalog the world.” Fashion sense: Business casual.

Solena is my Introversion/Independence—the “go it alone” facet. She is proud, stubborn (they’re all stubborn, but she tops the list), quiet, and sometimes a little rude in a standoffish way. It’s not that she doesn’t like people, but she doesn’t understand them very well. Her key element is Wood—like a lone tree atop a hill, she stands on her own, bothers no one, and asks nothing but to be unbothered in turn. Motto: “Ignore the world.” Fashion sense: Casual

Wanda is my Wonder—my inner child, the part of me that is absolutely gobsmacked by how amazing the world is. She is an unabashed sensualist, bordering on a hedonist; she loves food, music, movies, nature, culture, art, science, and fantasy. (She is the other half of the reason I have so many bookshelves.) She is also largely responsible for my spirituality—if the things we can see and prove are this astounding, imagine what the things we can’t see and prove are like! Her key element is Water, the element of emotion, change, and variety. Motto: “Experience the world.” Fashion sense: Whimsical/Fantasy (she likes “witch” clothes)

Madge is my Creativity, which makes her a multifaceted facet—she writes, sews, does all kinds of crafts, sings, and tells jokes. She usually sports at least one or two Band-aids on her fingers, from pin jabs, hot glue burns, and paper cuts. She is very much a perfectionist who often consults the other Sides to make sure she hasn’t overlooked anything. Her key element is Air, the element of ideas and freedom. Motto: “Reinvent the world.” Fashion sense: Cosplay and/or period costume

Justine is my Justice—my moral center, which is based on fairness and equity. Nothing enrages her more than bullies, cheats, and oppressors. She was pretty quiet, humming along in the background, for most of my life, but suddenly got angry and LOUD…oh, around November 2016. She is a crusader…a paladin, in D&D terms, though she’s more of a chaotic good “Holy Liberator” than a standard lawful good paladin. She means well, but she tends toward knee-jerk reactions and has trouble with the idea of compromise. Her key element is Fire, the element of will power and zeal. Motto: “Save the world.” Fashion sense: Superhero + protest buttons

Melanie is my Pessimism—a knotty ball of anxiety, depression, and cynicism. Her main talent is seeing the worst in every person, situation, or thing she encounters. She claims to be keeping my expectations low so that if there are any surprises, at least they’ll be pleasant ones, but she’s not happy and she knows it. None of the others like her much, even though they need her to balance out the team. She doesn’t like herself much either, but she’d rather be who she is than disappear, and due to her worldview, those are the only two options she can think of. Her key element is Ice, the element of stasis and gloom. Motto: “Avoid the world.” Fashion sense: Pajamas

And finally, the true villain of the piece:

Sadie is my Cruelty/Vengeance, the part of me that wants to take all my hurts and turn them back on those who hurt me, those who stood by and let it happen, and everyone else in the vicinity just in case they were thinking about fucking with me. She often tries to convince me that she’s Justine having a bad day…and she honestly might be; they’ve never been seen together. But that doesn’t mean Sadie is just another way of being righteous—she’s my ideals turned inside-out and toxic, and I shut her down as much as possible. She leaks through in little acts of pettiness and spite. Her key element is Metal—hard and sharp, sometimes appearing to shine brightly but only because there’s a light source nearby (i.e. possessing no light of its own). Motto: “Burn the world.” Fashion sense: Supervillain

Relationships:

Sophia/Solena: Get along great, but low energy. Perfect for working and studying with no distractions. Sophia reminds Solena that I can’t spend all my time alone.

Sophia/Wanda: Share a love of new experiences/information as well as science. There are plenty of activities that allow them to enjoy one another’s company. On the downside, Sophia finds Wanda a little too flighty sometimes, and Wanda finds Sophia to be a bit of a buzzkill when it comes to magic and fantasy.

Sophia/Madge: Complicated. Sophia provides Madge with a lot of inspiration and checks her work for accuracy and “correctness,” but she also holds her back from really cutting loose with wild ideas.

Sophia/Justine: Sophia does research so that Justine won’t be fooled by spurious claims that play to her biases. She also helps Justine strategize her actions. Not exactly a friendship, but a good working relationship.

Sophia/Melanie: Tense. Sophia considers Melanie’s negativity to be intensely unhealthy, but she looks to Melanie to spot problems that she can solve. Melanie, conversely, appreciates Sophia’s attempts to use rationality to ground her, but is convinced that she doesn’t properly understand where the negativity comes from.

Sophia/Sadie: These two don’t directly interact much. Sophia is too amoral to be either tempted or horrified by the prospect of revenge, so Sadie has no way to hook her.

Solena/Wanda: No major clashes, although Solena sometimes finds Wanda’s energy to be overwhelming. They both appreciate things like a walk in the woods.

Solena/Madge: Plenty of conflict here, but it’s not rancorous. Madge is the most extroverted of the crew, which naturally clashes with Solena’s definitive introversion.

Solena/Justine: Fundamental incompatibility—Justine wants to HELP ALL THE PEOPLE, while Solena's not interested in people at all and would rather stay home than march or phone bank.

Solena/Melanie: Pretty harmonious, but not always stable. Solena's preference for solitude gives Melanie space to sort through her many, many issues...but that space can easily turn into an echo chamber where the issues reinforce each other instead.

Solena/Sadie: They can agree on one thing: People suck. But even Solena finds Sadie's response to social disappointment to be monstrous. Why go out of my way to hurt people when I can just withdraw? Sadie thinks merely withdrawing is recklessly inadequate to protect me from further heartbreak.

Wanda/Madge: These two form a intoxicating feedback loop of inspiration and creation, occasionally requiring one of the others (usually Sophia, but sometimes Melanie) to step in and stop them before they drain too much of my function. A very high-energy pair.

Wanda/Justine: They don't have much to do with each other most of the time, but certain things leave them both clutching each other, breathless with awe...things like people coming together to multiply their power for good.

Wanda/Melanie: Wanda thinks Melanie is an absolute, 100% spoilsport. Melanie thinks Wanda is a naive idiot. Not much love lost here.

Wanda/Sadie: Wanda is terrified of Sadie, whose mere existence brings into question Wanda's foundational belief that the world is basically good and magical. For her part, Sadie is even more contemptuous of Wanda than Melanie is.

Madge/Justine: Almost the opposite of Sophia/Justine—these two get along very well, but Madge's fantasies tend to distract Justine from buckling down and doing the necessary work of her various missions. All the same, Madge is the one who gives Justine an end goal to aspire to.

Madge/Melanie: Another fundamental clash, but there are exceptions—Madge's perfectionism means that she sometimes appreciates a harsh critic to point out weaknesses in her work. Sometimes. Meanwhile, Melanie is holding out hope that Madge will invent some miraculous solution to my mental issues. They want to like each other better.

Madge/Sadie: Madge is actually the one best able to rein Sadie in, by feeding her outlandish revenge scenarios involving things like time travel or voodoo magic, thus distracting her from plotting more realistic forms of revenge that would definitely end badly for me.

Justine/Melanie: Justine is trying to improve the real, actual world. Melanie's constant pronouncements of doom are Not Helping.

Justine/Sadie: As previously mentioned, these two might actually be “flip Sides” of each other. They certainly never directly interact. Their ideas about how to handle wrongdoing are completely incompatible and if they did somehow meet...violence would almost certainly ensue.

Melanie/Sadie: Sadie is actively trying to recruit Melanie to her cause, and even use her as an unwitting agent to get the other Sides either on-board or shut them up. Melanie knows this, and she's terrified about it. What if Sadie succeeds? What if she's right? Whatifwhatifwhatif...

#sanders sides #not exactly fanfiction #introspection #self-indulgent #come inside the Me Museum #take a look around #no refunds

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comingupforblair · 5 years

Text

There’s a common claim I see a lot from people with negative opinions on the DCEU, that their negativity towards the films is built entirely around what they see as their failings as films.

They will say that it has nothing to do with the tone or intention of the films but everything to do with the execution of such intentions.

That is, to put it simply, total horseshit.

The tone and intention of the films has been arguably the biggest source of negativity directed towards the films and a major cause for many of the other criticisms to either be noticed or treated as more damning when the MCU and Arrowverse do similar things and are given a pass for it. Look at any article or video about “fixing” the franchise and they will almost invariably bring up the more serious tone as a central issue, usually followed by saying they need to follow the “fun/hopeful/optimistic” tone of the Arrowverse or the MCU or whatever. Words like “nihilistic”, “cynical”, “bleak”, “depressing” and “grimdark” appear with such frequency a drinking game revolving around them would be ill advised, lest alcohol poisoning occur.

If it really were about the execution, they wouldn’t be trying so desperately hard to frame Zack Snyder as a guy who is an active burden to the franchise or a man who fundamentally misunderstands both the heroes and altruism as a concept.

I wish such a narrative were true. If people were willing to take these films for what they are and what they’re trying to be and basing their criticisms around that, it would make the discourse around the films a whole lot easier and more pleasant.

If all those articles and videos about how to “fix” or “save” the DCEU were focused on how the film makers can improve at and achieve the goals they’ve set for themselves, I wouldn’t have an issue with them. I’d still disagree with some points and call out what I see disproportionate harshness where I see it but I wouldn’t have the reaction to them I have now.

If they had been saying “if they want to make more serious films, here’s how they should do it” or outlining how they can improve at executing the vision behind them and if the calls for lighter films had been built around the idea that some characters shouldn’t be written in that same way or calling for tonal variety across the franchise or saying that they did the more serious films so it’s best to move on to some lighter ones as a way of finishing off the arc and progressing the franchise, I wouldn’t have an issue. Shit, if they’d been saying how it’s okay to make more serious films like MOS and BvS but try to add some more levity to balance things out a bit better, it wouldn’t bother me, at least not as much.

But none of that has been the case. It’s always been about framing the serious tone as an issue in itself that needs to be gotten rid of and the lighter films are seen as the way all DC films should be made now, not as equal partners among the more serious ones. Man of Steel and Batman v Superman are being framed as mistakes never toe be repeated and to be avoided at all costs, even if it means getting rid of actors loyal to Zack Snyder and his vision.

Someone may read this and snidely claim that they “suck at the darker tone” but that proves my point. If they don’t have an issue with it but simply the execution, why are all their efforts to improve the franchise built around abandoning such an intent. They will also sometimes respond that deconstructions are fine but only when the people doing it “understand” the characters which they accuse Zack Snyder of not doing. But this is undermined by how other directors, whom they claim would have a better understanding, are expected to distance themselves from such ideas.

The other response is that they don’t mind more serious films but not with Superman. Superman is supposed to be [insert meaningless word here]! Which is undermined by the fact that they aren’t suggesting any alternate characters, even ones ideally suited for such an adaptation. To say nothing of how it ignores all the more serious Superman stories out there.

This is a major reason why the people who hate the franchise and those of us who love it have such a hard time putting our difference aside and why the divisions between the two will always be strong and bitter. We simply have two differing ideals for these films and we can’t chalk it up to “we both care, we just have different views”. They, too often, see DCEU fans as not being real fans and as people trying to change “their heroes to fit our agenda”. We see them as toxic fans dead set on reliving their childhood indefinitely and who expect the world to cater to their unreasonable expectations.

People with negative views refuse to accept these films as they are and won’t stop until they have been altered to better fit their views on how they are supposed to be and they have repeatedly demonstrated that they don’t care about anything else in the pursuit of such a goal, least of all the feelings of DCEU fans who are deeply angry and resentful of the way they treat the films we love, a level of anger they refuse to understand.

Their adamant opposition to more serious adaptations is so intense it shows up even with shows like Titans, which got much better reviews despite being far more overt with it’s “edginess”, and they will never advocate such tones even for characters that would suit them. They even call for Batman, the hero whose darkness is his defining trait, to adopt a lighter tone. Titans proved that you can make a DC adaptation with a darker tone work, even with characters generally associated with a lighter one, but it hasn’t caused people to reevaluate their feelings towards the films.

Even now, they call for a Flashpoint style film or reboot to erase such moments from continuity, the effort WB have expended to distance themselves from being them being seen as insufficent, and every film with a lighter tone like Aquaman or Shazam is mentioned and praised specifically for not being “grimdark” like the earlier films.

So the idea that it’s all about the execution and the films and not the tone and they’re open to more serious adaptations is a bunch of fucking nonsense.

#dceu #man of steel #batman v superman #zack snyder

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ravenwings-noyreallyback · 5 years

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Emotions and socialist theory

This is long as fuck but I think it's important and it's broken up by topic. Tldr stop telling people they need to read a book, stop shitting on potential allies, and start asking them what they're thinking about, what worries them, and appeal to those feelings with emotionally honest radical wholesomeness of your own.

---

I want to do something in the local person to person community that gets to people. Something to get people interested and invested in small ways that can grow legs and develop something good, and isn't bogged down in Party Politics.

People know the world's bad. They know capitalism sucks. They don't need a book or a working theory. They need hope and action.

The situation

People are feeling shock, panic, depression about the news in general. Nothing can be done etc.

People feel a sense of being a burden on others when they express that. People want to tip toe around things so as not to freak everyone out. To avoid the morbid grief and anger and fear. They still have it but nobody wants to talk about it in a personal way.

People have a need to express that fear but not in a therapy kinda way, or rather the therapy way would make it very very difficult to maintain and do appropriately for even skilled activists. Folks talk about not pouring from an empty cup? This is like trying to fill a bathtub with a cup and the tub isn't plugged.

Marx wrote a lot about alienation from daily life, not just economic job alienation. Similar to today?

People like radical compassionate sensitivity. There's a need for that.

People don't want a fuckin art installation theatre play or a communist party paper article thing they won't read. If you're reading this it's a fucking miracle. Nobody wants "here's the economic theory about why you're sad and what to do about it maybe it'll work if literally everyone does it" tbh. They engage in memes, in self destructive self care, hedonistic stress eating, drinking, sex etc. And that's okay. That's honestly probably good. Better than being depressed and doing nothing. But they can't go too hard because they don't have to put much time into because life's busy. Fuck is it busy. And every moment you try to get someone to go do theory based activism that isn't Shock and Awe or Radical Wholesomeness, it's just a dull hell grind.

The dsa in the states and corbynism in the uk is good actually, fuck it, for all their problems the ndp in Canada are worth working with. Leftists saying they're all bad because they're socdem really discount a couple things.

A, the massive political emotional energy behind those movements lately.

B, the people in those movements that are absolutely skeptical at least of capitalism. And many are legitimately radical but sticking with it because it's a structure to organize in.

Some history

Marx wrote during a time where theorists were bogged up in utopian socialism, where there were ideals of the kind of world they wanted to live in, but no means to make it happen. Marx wrote it to apply to everyday life in the industrial revolution, and establish an actionable plan for a better world.

Now today, things are in the rosiest of terms, not looking better in a lot of ways, and not optimistic in any. People are almost crying out for some emotional honesty and vulnerability and wholesomeness and just general heartfelt spirituality and human connection in uncertain times. Do I need to tell you how much the youth of today like games and shows that have this zeal of positivity these days? How much energy there is in queer movements? (oh yeah if you're anti LGBT, or honestly even just passively okay with it but not enthusiastic in your socialism, you will be left in the dust by today's movements tbh.)

Marx of course wrote a bit about that alienation shallowness of society thing in terms of talking about cultural alienation (more than just jobs) and the use of religion to people who have nothing else, etc.

Current responses

Today in response to that alienation, we've got irony poisoned reactionaries who don't want to engage with reality, and when they do, hide behind layers of "just kidding" etc and generally want to distance themselves from their victims. Big focus on nostalgia for when things made more sense, idealistic past worlds that never really existed in the first place. Maga and qanon conspiracies about how it all fits together and there's actually a pattern in the chaos. They end up isolated from all but their echo chambers until the pain of not being able to relate to society in healthy ways makes them go and do terrorism out of their conviction that the world is so broken and their way is right.

Meanwhile, good voices with good spiritually connective ideas like the almost saturday morning shoujo cartoon optimism and heart of Marianne Williamson connects with people, but offers no substance (and is backwards as fuck when it does) and proposes a world where if we hope hard enough, we can stop hurricanes and shootings. All for the benefit of selling self help books and crystals. But people still eat that up because it's hopeful and optimistic and fuckin romantic. People go nuts for that kind of optimism. Why don't we have that with good faith?

We do, but not enough of it. Artists and people who are out there pouring their hearts out are doing that good shit. But we need more of that. Hell the dsa is better at inspiring people to get involved with it than the left is.

Voices combining hope and reason and sincerity like AOC and the squad bring what people need, but tearing them down for not being radical enough is kind of stupid. The far left isn't organizing to connect this message of hope to people. We've got cynical takes and hell world worst timeline jokes. We've got theory as dry as Lenin's preserved corpse. We're right about the world being this awful, but God damn that's depressing.

Good responses in the past and today

I think the black panthers got this. They knew this and spoke to it. It was community solidarity first and foremost. People joined up and felt good about it being the right thing to do. It threatened the government in ways no internal western movement ever has, except probably the IRA but I'm not that spicy.

Regardless black panthers good. Standing rock good. Ferguson good. Unist'ot'en good. Antifa good. Soup kitchens and food banks good. Unions good when they actually stand up and challenge unfairness beyond their immediate industry connections. But throwing books by musty ass old men (and Rosa) hasn't worked. Even when they're right and relevant is still an implicit way of just saying "read more and maybe once enough people understand the theory, the revolution will come".

Still read, but don't tell other people to read unless they ask is all. Reading won't inspire revolution. Newspapers and blogs won't either. Informative podcasts aren't.

It's not gonna come that way. People don't respond to theory. Fuck, people barely care about facts.

Idea

Anti theory Theory: peoples' desires for emotionally honest and sensitive narratives isn't reflected in our theory at present. Potentially in part due to the materialist foundations of marxism, and certainly in the often dry motivations and spurs to resistance and revolution, which seems far off and at odds with the timeline of climate change that is weighing on peoples minds. Yes making good differences isn't a timeline thing, but people feel pressure to do it, which makes them even less effective at doing community action. Fear of collapse replaces will to revolt. People want to do something certainly, but lack the emotional connection to revolution. You could say something about base and superstructure being at odds, but I'm not as fluent in those ideas as I'd have to be to articulate.

Regardless, people want hope. Not as a slogan or buzzword, but as an action and a personal connection. They know society's in a bad place. They know there's something deeply wrong with capitalism, if not in general then at least with how it's being used right now. But when theory speaks mostly of society, or our place in it, but never asks "hey, you seem kinda hurt... how are you doing? What's on your mind? Can I listen?", people feel disenfranchised.

So on that hopeless emotional raw angst? Maybe folks just want to be heard and given permission to talk about the things they're told not to talk about? Climate anxiety, job stress, wanting someone to just talk to because social media is alienating and brief and temporal. Like, I'm not gonna interview them, but the right wing reactionaries are scared too. That's why they do what they do. Or at least that's what leads them into the irony poisoned spaces they go to.

Maybe some kind of local project of interviews in a humans of new york kinda way, or a postsecret way, or some other kind of way to ask and get people to tell us "here's what I'm thinking about that I'm afraid to tell even my best friend or my wife" "here's what scares me" "here's what I care about".

Maybe take some time to map out the things people are talking about? Use that as a source of identifying needs. Any excuse to get out there and listen to people instead of telling them things, which they won't always be ready for anyway.

Dunno how much solidarity it would build or who it would reach but it can open up conversations, not to radicalize but just to build a sense of human compassion and connection? Because really, if there's gonna be a left movement that takes off and gets things done, it's not coming from the communist parties, it's not coming from existing anarchist movements, it's gonna be something new and multilateral. People don't respond to theory they respond to emotions and passion projects and stories that get to them and tell them they're not alone. Hell, people say populism is bad? No, it's been used by bad people, but it's just another tool to get people on your side. And thinly veiled racism is only one direction it can take. Populism can help us if we're just straight up about compassion and empathy and listening.

Just fucking close your mouth and open your ears I guess is the point. If we want to be vanguards, we want to know where the movements are, facilitating them, not creating them ourselves.

And that takes listening.

#Socialism #Communism #Dsa #Marx and shit #Sorry this is long but like #Just care about people more and stop listening in order to speak #But in a structural sense

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nomoreemails · 5 years

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why aren’t we all talking about how bad it feels to be alive

Sometimes, when I’m on drugs, I have a great time and can watch a whole season of Planet Earth and be totally ecstatic about sloths, or lie on the ground in the dark joyfully listening to a really bad album on repeat. But recently, more often than not, I’ll think one single solitary thought about climate change or mass shootings or U.S. imperialism or the opioid crisis or the state-sanctioned obesity in the Pacific Islands and spiral until I’m thinking about all of those things at once and having a complete fucking meltdown. I’ve also developed pretty bad insomnia since moving to New York. You can probably guess why.

I’ve finally come to accept that I mostly hate living here. There are a lot of reasons, chiefly among them that everyone here is obsessed with developing a brand and also that in most cases I would rather individually pull 30 hairs out of my head than try to get from point A to point B. But living here also forces you to face the reality of the United States, which is that economic and social mobility are a lie. Cities like this are sites of two class tiers, one for the “knowledge class,” college-educated people who work in fields like engineering, writing, business, policy, etc — for whom upwards mobility actually is attainable — and then the other sector that performs service work for them.

Obviously there’s some overlap (if I hear one more Brooklynite who works in publishing and went to an Ivy League lament their second restaurant job they need to pay the bills, I’ll scream), but if you’ve ever lived in a major U.S. city you’ve probably observed this too. Every day I watch my Twitter feed (mostly white, liberal, college-educated folks who also work in journalism) wring their hands over Amazon warehouse conditions and taxi driver suicides and wage theft at the hands of the gig economy, and then we all go home and open packages delivered Amazon workers, take Ubers because they’re cheaper, get food delivered by some guy who almost died five times trying to bike to your place and then gets his tips stolen by his employer. I don’t think it makes you a bad person to use these services. But, personally, every time I think about how boundlessly I have exploited labor invisible to me for the sake of minor conveniences, I want to stab myself in the face. Does everyone else feel like that?

All this to say — I feel suffocated, on a daily basis, by all the ways that I’m complicit no matter what I do. I’m overwhelmed by everything all the time. It’s hard to respond to texts or be present in my relationships when so much of what’s on my mind is so abjectly wretched, especially when the source has little to do with me and my choices (which my friends can advise me upon) and everything to do with the external world (which they can’t).

A few days ago I posted something to my Instagram story in the middle of the night, after hours of staring at my ceiling in the dark. Against a black background, it read: “Do u ever get super stoned and end up on the most depressing rabbit hole imaginable on wikipedia and cry and lie in bed awake thinking that all of human modernity was a mistake and that u wish we could all just die off immediately in a mass extinction? 🌟it’s great🌟”. This seemed to hit a nerve among my friends: within minutes, one responded with that laughing-but-also-crying emoji; another said “tbh yeah,” another said, with utmost sincerity, “every time, which is why I can’t get stoned anymore.”

So, everyone else does feel like this? Is any of this normal? How is anyone expected to be functional under the system of exploitation designed hundreds of years ago by a bunch of megalomaniacal men who created the self-destructing dystopia we live in? Every day I trudge to work, sit at my desk, read the news, wonder why I bothered to get out of bed. Am I actually, I don’t know, clinically depressed and anxious, or am I just experiencing run-of-the-mill side effects of living under the circumstances we do?

For many of my peers and me, it feels especially cursed to be in in our early twenties right now. On top of everything else….. our personal lives suck, by definition, and nothing we care about matters. Why try to improve your work situation (in which you’re likely getting underpaid in a position you’re overqualified for, or being treated like a weasel, or maybe both), pay off your student debt, learn anything about personal finances, figure out what you want to do with your life, have any long-term dreams at all when there’s a very real possibility you’ll die suddenly in a shooting or slowly, excruciatingly, with climate change?

I used to despair over other things, like: whether to choose an easy, comfortable lifestyle by becoming an engineer, or going another route. If working any job at all would inevitably compromise my principles, one way or another. Whether I felt authenticity and fulfillment in my relationships. The yearning for community and belonging. The moral backing of my day-to-day actions, or lack thereof. (And also, obviously: whether to buy those shoes, what to do with my eyebrows, if I was gaining weight, if I was losing weight.)

I still think about most of those things, but now it feels luxurious to agonize over interior minutiae, to ignore the larger existential scarcity of participating in a society and a world in decline.

I find it frankly insane that in the span of one hour I can think such thoughts as “if Tobin Heath and Christen Press aren’t secretly married I’ll kill myself” and “I wonder how much money is in my 401(k)” and also, as I survey the absurd amount of trash my household has generated in two days, “what’s the point of existing if all I do is put permanent garbage on this planet?” I mean, I’m not even going to see whatever’s in my 401(k) until the year 2060 — what am I expecting, to have a totally normal and chill retirement because the world in 2060 will be totally normal and chill? I’m not even really expecting to be alive in 2060. What’s the point of plotting out my trajectory, financial and otherwise, for even the next ten years, much less 40, when pretty soon we’re all probably going to be living in bunkers eating cockroach jelly as we watch artificial projections of polar bears and sequoias?

Being alive right now kind of feels like experiencing the churning annihilation of stability, of beauty, of moral purpose, of all the things I’ve believed since childhood I would live my life pursuing.

On an ethical basis, I want to resist cynicism, keep myself from acclimating to the barrage of atrocities brought upon by the Trump era, stay despairing, stay angry. On a practical basis, I also want to remain functional. It’s an impossible psychological position to straddle, like giving myself a black eye every night to remind myself to feel pain while doing a job that fully depends on my having an unbruised face. When, for example, another mass shooting happens, I almost feel myself having an out-of-body experience, knowing that it never stops being sickening and astonishing but also that it has become common, unremarkable, and that to be able to get out of bed and go to work and blandly say good when someone blandly asks how are you and see my friends and talk about anything other than how awful everything is, I have to be able to raise my own misery bar. But that, of course, only adds to the cycle. It’s almost worse to know you’re capable of adjusting.

Recently I logged back into Tumblr for the first time in years, just to see how things are over here. One post read, no context necessary, “looking for a group of 5 to 7 women who will sit on the floor and wail with me in grief.” Another: “why are we still here? just to suffer? every day i get emails.”

Why are we still here? Just to suffer, beg hot celebrities to dismember us, try our best to ignore the cognitive dissonance of our constant warring desires to live ethically and also to enjoy our lives, both impossible? Every day I get emails; every day I want to reply, just once, I am not going to uphold my responsibilities because we live in a ravaged world. I feel sick with anxiety pretty much all the time. Do you, too?

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ghostmartyr · 6 years

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Okay. Let’s try this again. But healthy-like.

...Which, since it’s me, means religious stuff. I understand if reading about how I want to blow my brains out is easier to stomach.

Things are bad, but not insurmountably bad. I have a solid support system. The monetary side of that support system scares me to death, but nothing has gone away yet. Even if it does, I am supposedly devoutly religious enough to believe in miracles, and believe that divine intervention is very literally the only reason any of my life has been possible.

There’s no reason to think that’s going to change. The fact that I don’t find that entirely comfortable is between me and God, and the more energy I put into that, the more it’ll be okay. Life is bad enough that only a miracle can save me, and I believe in miracles. That’s like the opposite of a problem.

In theory. Practical application of said theory is lost somewhere between wanting to shoot myself and deciding to announce to the general public that I want to shoot myself. Every time I point out to myself that my faith says I’ll be okay because God’s always there for me, another, deeply cynical part of me points out that He was also there for me when I had sepsis, and if I’m being honest, that was the most horrifying experience of my life.

Knowing that I can come back from anything really just fills me with existential dread, because you know, I have seen a fair share of ‘anything,’ and I don’t care for it. I don’t want to know that I can survive anything. I want to be safe from anything happening to me.

Historically, I am the person who ends up eaten by a whale. Or I guess it wasn’t actually a whale? My Bible literacy is made of fail, but the point is, me and God are still in the “Do I have to?” phase of our relationship.

The current unwanted task is living.

To which the answer is no, I don’t have to keep living. However badly I screw this up, there’s an eternity waiting for me, and I can flip the switch whenever I want.

This life doesn’t have an eternity. It’s a unique, temporary, instant of existence.

Putting off forever for one more sliver of that instant, just to see where it goes, isn’t that hard. I do it by accident all the time. I go to bed, and wake up breathing.

I like my bed. It has a tiger bedspread. It’s thinner than it used to be, and I can’t make myself make the damn thing, but it’s snug, it’s mine, and I don’t see a problem with it. I feel pretty confident in saying that death would irrevocably change the interaction I have with my bed.

It’s temporary, so I should make the most of it. No one else is going to care about my bed or how my bookcase is organized, and even though I have days I don’t care either, there are days when I do, so what the hell.

Everything hurts a lot right now. I have zero control over the physical. Again, miracle needed, so I can just relax and coast and. you know, suffer. A lot. A real awful lot. An unfair lot.

...Yeah, no happy silver lining answers for the bad days or moods. They’re bad, I tolerate them badly, and I scare people. But I’ve been having a bad day for months now, and it hasn’t stopped me from doing things that aren’t so bad. Infinity War was amazing. I wrote 9000 words of a hs au my brain is convinced no one cares about. Several people have told me they enjoy it, so I know my brain’s lying about that, but believing that no one cares means that, while no one’s cared, I’ve written 24k words of story in a handful of months. Story I kind of dig. All while being horrifically depressed.

I think that turned into a silver lining answer.

Fuck, I don’t know, man, if I’d offed myself I wouldn’t get to write about Ymir wanting to bang a cheerleader, and that’s clearly the pinnacle of what I should be doing with my life.

I can never remember any of that during the bad times, and that sucks, but hey, maybe writing it down will make the memory a little deeper.

So, uh, positives.

Despite certain inclinations, I have not actually committed murder. Every tiny setback right now feels like the end of the world, but being able to wake up in the morning and hate the world would seem to indicate that it’s still there, so it’s just a very, very bad feeling, not real.

I have very little concept of what’s real or not, since my emotions sort of exist in peekaboo limbo. Babies have no concept of object permanence, and right now, neither do parts of me. On the one hand, awkward, on the other, it means that the tempest of rage is only summoned when provoked. Yay team.

Less positive, it is not good that suicidal rage has developed as a coping mechanism to doing slightly poorly in a video game, and once it’s started, it’s hard to shut off. I get it. I don’t feel like a person, so I judge myself based on accomplishments, and because of my health, those accomplishments are things like doing slightly okay at a video game, and I’m letting my entire sense of worth hinge on that. Along with other external factors.

This is bad, and unhealthy, and since I hate myself, I’m probably going to keep doing it. Not in a, “oh you scamp, haven’t you learned yet?” way, it’s just entirely possible that the fact that I can sometimes aim in a video game is really the most positive thing I can say about myself some days, and I can’t see a way to delicately switch myself over to understanding that it really doesn’t matter without losing one of my few bright spots.

But I am clearly overly investing in certain things, and I need to get into the habit of just turning the damn game off if it’s making me that angry. I know the moods come on fast, and I know I have delusions of conquering them before they go anywhere, and sometimes, I even break through the other side.

Oh well. I don’t like feeling like that. I hate that feeling enough that I should get into the habit of cutting my losses at the first sign of self-loathing. I know I feel like there is nothing else I can do with my time, but there is. I can watch anime. I can play other games. I own a game where the entire strategy revolves around killing yourself. I love it, and it keeps failure entertaining. I have other outlets.

Also, obsessive cycles have tripped me up my whole life. This is just one more, and it needs to be handled the same as all the others. No, it won’t be fun, and maybe I will be bored out of my skull, but that’s better than frothing with rage.

And I really should be watching more anime. I don’t know what it says about my mental health that I am actively avoiding things I have a long history of loving, but I’m guessing it’s nothing good, and even if I can’t fix the underlying problem, I can address the symptoms. Go watch more cartoons. Write more. Any day now, I can lock myself in my room and finish my Lego X-Wing (Poe’s, so it’s black, and so very badass, and no, I don’t know why it’s been collecting dust, but again, I’m sure it’s a sign of nothing good).

So the argument that I need to keep doing the things that make me angry is moot, because it isn’t actually all I have. It just feels that way, and all of my feelings are wrong and damaged, so I should stop listening to them.

...In a healthy, rising above way. No a repressing way. That is at least half of the reason posts like these end up happening.

None of this is really making me feel better right now, since I’m in a moment where I’m less than sure I have feelings, but that isn’t the point. I learn better when I put things into my own words, and I haven’t been taking care of myself lately. I don’t know that it’s even possible for me to do better than I have been, but the end result is the same, and the end result has me really tired.

This is like a benign to-do/ponder list. Maybe it will make an impression, maybe it won’t, but at least one more time, I went through the motions of trying to sort life and its greys out instead of painting the whole thing black.

Hopefully that something something. I dunno, I’m kind of a wreck, and I lost my perceived point more times than I want to count. I think I’m done here.

Except for saying thanks to the people who responded to the more... head explodey post. I’m bad at saying thank you, and letting people know how much they mean to me in general. I get embarrassed. Usually, when I hit my meltdown point, I know, on some level, I will find my calm again. Receiving kindness when I could have kept my mouth shut and gotten over it makes me uncomfortable. Especially when I know it’s probably going to happen again. People help me out so much, and with such regularity, and it kills me that it’s not enough, because it’s more than I could have ever asked for. I don’t know how to say thank you without feeling ashamed the next time. It’s like I failed, and dragged all of you down with me by letting you believe you helped me.

When that’s a really, really incomplete view. It helps. It always helps. It isn’t the magic bullet, but it always means the world, and it always bolsters me for whatever the next thing waiting for me is. I really wish I could say that more often, because it would be great if you guys could know it. But, you know, shy. Cagey about being vulnerable. Suicidal ponderings okay, heartfelt appreciation of someone’s value is overly mushy and something to fear. Obviously.

Also, I’m me. I let loads of stuff go unsaid because with the important things, there are times I feel it strongly enough that the thought of bringing it back to earth where you need to tell people that it exists for them to know that---unspoken understandings shade a lot of my relationships. Then I end up horribly insecure because I don’t know how many boundaries I made up or we actually both agree on, so I don’t know why I keep thinking it’s a good way to treat people.

What I mean by all of that, is thanks. For being a large part of why I’m still here. I wish less of you knew what I was going through. I hope things improve for all of us, and I hope we’re all around for a good long time to share the evidence of that.

#x is totally a fandom

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dere-fication · 7 years

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song

i love happy endings and all but... really thinking about it, realistically, I can totally see Ed and Winry divorcing somewhere down the line.

It’d a looong time, like at least 5-6 years, but a lot of little things just add up. Winry gets pigheaded and tries to take the world on her shoulders, Ed has a LOT of trauma he’ll never totally heal from. If they never fully work things out, they’d totally go back to being just friends.

And it sucks cuz they tried, man. They tried so hard to make it work cuz they still love each other, they love their kids, but so many little things get in the way. Between the arguments, Ed’s PTSD symptoms, Winry’s emotional issues, and trying to raise two kids on top of all that, it just can’t last.

But that’s ok.

Ed keeps traveling the world and doing research, making advances in science and alchemy, helping out every community he visited as a teen with charity work (especially the Ishvalans). Winry raises the kids while running her own automail business out of her home in Resembool. Who knows, maybe after Pinako passes away (rest her soul), she starts trying to expand the business by moving closer to the middle of town to help Resembool’s economy. And if that doesn’t work, hell, just move everything to Rush Valley. she’s guaranteed to make great profits there, plus she can work with her old teacher and hang out with Paninya again. (and shippers can read into this as much as they want)

Ed still visits as often as he can, and stays as long as he wants to. And even when he’s not there they keep in touch via phone calls and letters, and the kids never feel completely forgotten. Daddy’s just busy all the time, that’s all. And you know when he’s traveling, he’s spreading the word about the greatest automail mechanic in the world - want proof? he’s walking on it. (his automail leg, that is)

Of course, Ed still feels bad about it - how could he not? in his eyes, it seems like with every passing year he’s turning more and more into his father, and he hates it. besides the physical changes as he grows older, he’s haunted by his past, stricken with wanderlust every time he tries to settle down, can’t hold down a spouse or raise his own children.

But that’s not really true. He’s fine. Just the depression talking.

Because he’s not abandoning his family, for one. He keeps in touch all the time, visits as often as he can, tells them he loves them, and means it. He’s successful, and he’s already saved the world and been thru the worst of his life, so now he’s just... living it. Moving forward thru the rest of his life, making the best of it.

If the kids grow up to be traveling alchemists too, (or something along those lines) so much the better. he’ll make sure that they’re better than he was back then, or at least better prepared for what alchemy, and life in general, has to offer. he’ll tell them his stories, all of them, especially the worst parts, with the harshest lessons. he’ll tell them how he really lost his leg, because it wasn’t really an accident. he tells them about the grandparents they’ll never meet.

and if they’re not grateful, at first, they will be. at least one of them probably resents Ed for his absences and talking such big game about Alchemy when he can’t do it himself, at least not anymore, as he claims. and honestly, that’s fair. because of course one of them would turn out to be just like he was at that age, angry and cynical of their own father.

but they’ll learn. they’ll have their own adventures and trials through life, with whatever they want to accomplish. And Ed and Win will be there to support them through it all, like their own parents never got to.

(and once again I wish there’d been sequel series for FMA, cuz exploring all this thru something like that would’ve been soooo perfect. cries.)

#mun text #edwin #edward elric #winry rockbell #hhg this is long sorry #i have Thoughts

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pelle-lavellan-a · 7 years

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Parting Words - Pavellan Drabble

Pelle had been lingering in the garden for hours now. He stared blankly into the walls of stonework walls examining every groove, every line, every crack in the walls hiding corridor after corridor of the castle. He found himself at a loss, he should have been happy, he knew that.

They had won, Corypheus was dead, Thedas was safe--for now at least. There had been concerns that had risen such as the sudden disappearance of Solas, but that was not the cause for Pelle’s stagnant state. It sounded terrible to say the least but Solas was the least on his mind at the moment.

He had been happy earlier, celebrating with the others, it was all very joyous as it should have been. Then a dreadful thought struck him, a thought so dreadful to him that it had sucked the joy from him like a leech. When he really thought about it, perhaps he never wanted this day to come. It meant he had to have a conversation that he wished he could put off forever.

The conversation was one Pelle knew he wasn’t going to like, there was no conceivable reason he should. Perhaps that was why the man in question had yet to approach him on it, or perhaps he felt it was too soon to mention it. The topic had been brought up but one time between them only to be cast aside for the day that it mattered.

And now that day had come.

Pelle expected to be searched for eventually. Sure his sense of presence was almost as bad as Cole’s at times, but that did not mean that the Inquisitor would go unmissed at a time like this. Pelle simply couldn’t bring himself to linger amongst the happy while his mood deteriorated, he would have felt like a killjoy. The last thing he needed were people fussing over his mental state, asking him questions. Questions he did not wish to answer.

“Get sick of the fun?” Asked a familiar voice from the shadows of the late night garden.

A halfhearted smirk played at Pelle’s lips. He did quite detest social gatherings didn’t he? That was obvious by the way he often kept close to the wall and spoke only when spoken to. He often his behind a cup of wine and hoped no one would feel compelled to strike up small talk.

“I just needed some air.” Pelle replied his voice low.

“Did you need air or did you need a silent place to let your self destructive thoughts flourish?”

Now the grin could not hide. Pelle did not know why he’d even smiled at the remark. Was it because it was true? Did the truth really hurt so bad that his only defense against the pain being thrown at him so casually to smile in the face of it all.

“You’re awful confrontational for someone who looks like they’ve just witnessed a wolf devour the small life of a poor rabbit.” Pelle remarked.

Perhaps his company had forgotten that elves could see relatively well in the dark. They could sound as tough and forward as they wanted but the look on their face communicated to Pelle the concern they felt for him.

“And you’re awful bitter for someone who just saved the world from spiraling into chaos.”

“Ah yes but to what end Dorian?” Pelle retaliated quickly.

To this Dorian only sighed. “I know what you’re thinking about Pelledir. I worried you might rush ahead to less favorable part of all of this.”

Pelle scoffed. “I learned from the best.”

A silence fell between the two of them. It was true that Pelle had grown a little more cynical the longer he lingered in the Inquisition. Not that he was a ray of pure sunshine before leaving home but he was undoubtedly happier--about as happy as he was capable.

To be fair he was more innocent then. He was brilliant, but he was naive, blind, and far more short sighted than he could have ever imagined. When he and Dorian had first kissed one another all Pelle could think of was that kiss. It devoured his thoughts, enchanted his entire being. He’d never experienced any like it nor the things that followed it. He should have prepared himself for the possibility that such a thing could end. All good things did and what he and Dorian had was far more than good. It was perfect.

“I told you I would like to talk about--this...more. Did I not?” Dorian reminded the Inquisitor his tone starting to lose it’s boundless charm. Even Dorian knew that when Pelle had allowed himself to spiral into ill thought that he ought to keep his quick remarks to himself.

“And we did.” Pelle acknowledged. “You told me you wanted to return home, change things you said. And I completely understand. Remember?”

Dorian shook his head. “Pelledir--” Dorian had started to speak before Pelle cut him off.

“Please don’t make this hard.” Pelle begged him in a hushed whisper.

Dorian’s gaze lowered to the ground. He would be lying if he said he didn’t empathize with Pelle’s feelings. He too had been in a way dreading the day that the promise they’d make those months ago might come to pass. He’d spent several sleepless nights trying to perish the thought of how Pelle might feel once it came time for him to return home. He’d spent even more of those nights watching Pelle sleep and wondering how he would fare without him around. While he knew Pelle had once lived without him and gotten by just fine, it was different to get by on your own once you’d known what is was to love someone. While Dorian knew and surely hoped that Pelle knew as well that this was not the end of them, he had known he would have to console Pelle when the time came.

He was also very aware that Pelle would push him away believing wholeheartedly he was doing them both a favor.

The Altus stared at Pelle who’d averted his gaze in a pathetic attempt to seem above the siutation. He wondered did Pelle know that when he looked away like this it only made his vulnerability that much more prominent. His eyes were like the legs of his heart desperately trying to flee the situation. Only know his heart’s legs were broken.

“Listen, we may be apart physically. That does not mean that I intend to severe everything we’ve built.” Dorian tried to assure him.

Pelle shook his head. “I know Dorian.” He spoke softly. “You know I can’t follow you, and you know that you cannot predict what might happen when you return. You don’t know long you’ll be gone, and you know that things blow with a particular wind that you will remain gone...and time and space do things Dorian-- time especially.”

“What are you getting at?” Asked Dorian.

“I am getting at the fact that what we have, it’s never intended to end. That is why people get married, that is why they bond with one another, it is why companionship even exists. And all of these things have but one thing in common, they are all wonderful and perfect things that at some point must end. And what takes them? Distance, Time, War, Death? Should you leave and find you cannot return, in ten years will your convictions remain the same or will I just be someone you used to love?”

The look on Dorian’s face had told Pelle that he’d said too much. His mind was a rather destructive force, much more than he had ever been capable of. He could see it in Dorian’s eyes that he’d hurt the Altus’ feelings somewhere behind that composure. He felt terrible t even doubt the way he did, but brains did that sometimes. He’d never been anyone of any importance to keep anyone around for extended periods of time in the past. Not that he believed Dorian would seek for closer companionship in Tevinter--still he couldn’t contain his impulse to ponder over the possibility of their unavoidable end. Whether it ended within two years or within fifty, one day it would.

Pelle shook his head slowly. “Don’t answer that--I’m sorry.” He apologized. Maker he couldn’t even look Dorian in the eye after spouting something so venomous and hurtful. “If I were more honest, I would tell you I want you to make it difficult, though I would positively hate myself for it once you’d gone.” He confessed.

The confession had earned him a request granted. Pelle hadn’t even given it a second thought when Dorian turned Pelle’s head to face him before planting a soft kiss to his lips.

“Pelledir, I meant it when I told you I loved you.” was the first Dorian said once they’re lips parted.

Typically, Pelle wouldn’t think nothing of something like that. But he knew Dorian. He knew that while Dorian could be cocky, narcissistic at times, and was certainly overflowing with sarcasm, he never said anything he did not mean. He was an honest man and while sometimes his honesty came off as arrogant and self indulged, Pelle appreciated it. It felt good to know that you weren’t being lied to even when it was unpleasant. Because when it was pleasant--there was no room for doubt.

There was that broken smile again, come back to play a second time. Pelle had no words to argue, there was no need. Instead he simply allowed his previous statement of wishes for this to be a difficult parting take flight. He replied to the confession not with words but with another kiss, slower and more passionate this time. Pelle never got sick of the warmth that Dorian’s lips brought him, nor the way that Dorian’s strong arms around tugging him into a web of affection seemed perish any baggage that was weighing on his heart for a time.

Once their lips had brushed against one another’s Pelle knew he was all too defenseless to even use common sense. He’d foolishly asked Dorian to disregard the fact that all of this would feel rather depressing once they were apart, and now he found himself caught in a trance that made his heart pound briskly against his lover’s chest.

Slowly and rather reluctantly, Pelle broke the kiss between them his breath reduced to a soft pant. He stole a gaze at Dorian’s eyes, curious as to how the Altus had reacted or even felt about being suddenly kissed deeply like that. It was--easy to expect for Dorian to be used to the sort of thing, so the slight surprise Pelle found instead was almost unsettling.

Pelle had been bottling up the dread he felt about this moment for days, weeks even. He often told others it was no good to do so and still he did it himself. he-wasn’t thinking clearly when he returned the affection, if he had to explain himself he would say that he’d simply finally exploded from all of the emotions he’d been tying down.

“I--” He thought to try and explain, but knowing Dorian he was sure that the Altus had all but read him like an open book by now. He was after all wearing his heart on his sleeve like it was a fashion statement. How could he really even hope to hide a thing from Dorian when he was so blatantly transparent at the moment? No, he gave that thought up quickly.

“I--suppose we’ve talked about it more...in a way.” He remarked faintly. “I suppose there weren’t too many helpful words exchanged and neither of us have any idea what we’re doing or what to expect but--this--this is fine..” And now he was babbling.

A soft chuckle was the response Pelle received to his discombobulated ramblings paired with a loving hand cupping his face just before fondly caressing his cheek.

“The nonsense you speak.” Dorian whispered.

#drabbles #idk man it's late and I was feeling angsty af #fanfiction #Pavellan #Pavellan fanfiction #angst #This might be terrible but ah well #It was late #XD

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wendigod · 7 years

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Being Single + LDS Sucks

I’m graduating this July and I should feel great, but I don’t. I joined the church in 2012 as soon as I turned 18. I wanted to serve a mission, but my parents weren’t members at the time and were against it. Even after they joined they were against me serving a mission and getting married. About a year and a half ago, both my parents (on separate occasions) called me and asked why I hadn’t served a mission and why wasn’t I married yet? It hurt for obvious reasons. They had been so against both that I quit talking about it and focused on my studies instead. Everyone tells me to enjoy my youth, but how can I enjoy it when all my friends are getting married and having kids? How can I enjoy it when I have nobody to spend my time with? Sure, I get to go back home to Texas, and Texas is a huge state! But other than family there is nothing there for me. I’ve been to stake dances, I’ve gone to countless social events, and I’ve even gone to away events in hopes of making friends or meeting someone special. Nothing has come from any of it. When my parents were against me serving a mission, I was hopeful that I would find someone during my time at BYU-I. I was very hopeful in fact. Countless people told me I would get married within my first year, and I was very excited for the new experience to meet people who shared my same views. Well, I did meet people, and it was not a good experience. I quickly learned that even though people share my same views that it doesn’t mean they follow them. I won’t go into detail with my experiences with men up here in Idaho, but just know that it wasn’t good. One of them left me in the rain because he didn’t want to walk me home, and it only gets worse from there. It made me feel worthless. I still feel worthless. I shouldn’t, but I do. I’ve met plenty of good people, but once again they’re mostly all married now. “You’re the problem.” Is what I’ve told myself, and so I tried to be more like married girl friends. I tried to dress and act like what many would call a Molly Mormon. It wasn’t me, and do not jump to conclusions on what that means. I follow the Word of Wisdom, I follow the school rules, and I attend church every Sunday. As a convert from an extremely strict religion (inbox me if you want details). it is difficult for me to want to do certain things that I’ve noticed life timers have no issue with. It’s second nature to them, and for me? Not so much. I tried so hard to dress more Molly, I read my scriptures, I went to the temple as often as I could, I talked with the bishop (a big deal for me since that’s not something I was raised with), etc. That didn’t work. In fact, it made me even more depressed. If you’re in a similar situation, don’t change yourself. It’s a horrible idea. Backup. Erase it. “Would you marry yourself?” A senior missionary asked me. How rude. Yes I would marry myself. She asked this because of my personality. I can attempt to change my outside, but no matter how many time you reboot my personality, you’re still going to get cynical ol’ me! Apparently that is a turn off, but yes I would marry myself. I think I am awesome, which is why I am so dang confused as to why heavenly Father has put me through so much in the past 5 years. “Just don’t look for it and it will happen.” I did that for the first three years. Now, I’ve realised that I’m leaving Mormonville. Unless the lord transplants my future husband into my YSA ward back home, it’s hopeless. I don’t doubt Heavenly Father’s games though. I do however question if he’s forgotten he hasn’t killed me off yet. Guys, really. I promise I’m a happy person. I know it doesn’t sound it, but it’s 4am, I’m sunburned, and I’m in physical and mental pain. I pray for my future husband every night. It may sound stupid, but I figure if I’m going to marry him in the future then I must love him. It will be worth the wait, but for various reasons (one is bigger than the rest), I hope we find each other soon. I really don’t want to be like the women in my YSA ward back home who are all angry 28+ yr olds that bicker at the youngin’ for dating men 2yrs older than them. I pray he is having a good day, and that if he’s not that something will come along to brighten it. I pray that he is happy. Then I wonder what his dating life has been like. But I mostly pray that he is happy. Goodnight, Tumblrstake. And if you managed to read all of this, thank you. Feel free to inbox me.

#tumblrstake #lds #mormon

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potka91 · 6 years

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Why not? Not like I’ve got anything better to be doing and it might be fun to read in a few years.

1) Name: Samuel

2) Age: 27

3) 3 Fears: Never finding love, being alone, being right that I am a worthless person

4) 3 things I love:

Madison: She was the first and only woman I’ve loved who truly seemed to love me back simply for who I was. Sadly I wasn’t enough as I didn’t believe in her invisible friend and wouldn’t lie to her that I did (this is unfair and rather disrespectful but I’m feeling especially bitter right now. I’ll regret it greatly in about 10 minutes but oh well). I pushed her away by pushing too hard and I regret that every day of my life. It was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. If you ever see this (you won’t as you blocked me) I miss you, Fae.

My Guns: Violence is the base currency of the world. This may seem cynical but look around you. When society breaks down what is left? Force of arm. I’m not a fighter. I could probably hold my own against a single attacker but I couldn’t defend a loved one competently. My guns let me do this and so I practice with them every chance I get. When I have the money I will also carry one with me at all times. A restraining order is just a piece of paper, a gun is a physical response.

My Library: My books offer me an escape from an otherwise dark and inhospitable world. They let me be somebody else for a time. Somebody who still might find love. They give me hope. Hope can be a cruel bitch but when it’s literally all you have . . .

5) 4 turn ons: Trust, Will, Intelligence, honesty. Of course there has to be a physical component in there too (I’m perfectly willing to admit to a level of shallowness on my part) but those four are the core traits I look for in a partner. There is very little sexier than the trust of a woman. For me this is often embodied by her neck. The neck is VERY vulnerable and a woman letting me touch her neck as such shows an enormous amount of trust which just gets me. Similarly Will has a physical embodiment for me which I find in hands. Hands are your direct vassals in the world. They go out and do your bidding so feeling a woman’s hands on me and knowing that they are there ONLY because she WANTS them there is intoxicating. Intelligence I feel is pretty damn straight forward. There isn’t any embodiment or anything, smart girls rock. Honesty because I’m TERRIBLE at reading people. Please, just TELL me and tell me truly. Even if I don’t like what I hear at least it’ll let me try to fix things.

6) 4 turn offs: Well this is just going to be the opposet really. Being untrustworthy, apathy, willful stupidity (not to be confused with ignorance), and (yes, I know I’m shallow) obesity. I just can’t find it sexy. I’ve tried to get over it because it rankles me that it bothers me but there you go.

7) My Best Friend: Erik. Has been for years, hopefully will be for years to come. He’s an abrasive asshole but he is ALWAYS honest with me and I have no doubt he’d move heaven and hell for me if I needed him. He’s solid, he cares (in his own way), and above all he tries.

8) Sexual orientation: Straight as can be. Possibly slightly demisexual as I’m not interested in random sex /at all/ but I’ve not had enough experience to really say one way or another so we’ll leave it at heterosexual.

9) My Best First Date: Not sure if they mean best I’ve had or ideal thought for one. Best I had was a movie and hitting a restaurant after which honestly is my most HATED concept for a date. Ideally I’d like to go do something active like go swing dancing or skating. Maybe hit a bookstore after or if we’re starving something quick like IN-N-Out and then go eat outside. Something were we’re not worried about decorum and are just being honest about ourselves.

10) How tall am I: 6′ 1″ last the doctor checked. Taller with my boots on.

11) What do I miss: The future that could have been. I miss the future Madison and I dreamed up. I miss the future I used to dream of where I had a wife, good career, kids, and a home. Basically I miss what I’ll never have.

12) What time was I born: February 8th, 1991. Not sure the exact hour. Think it was about 5am though.

13) Favorite color: Well black would be my first answer but as it’s not really a color I’ll go with either metallic blue or purple. Both are good and my prefrence changes with my mood.

14) Do I have a crush: Eh. Not as such. I’ve got a few ladies I’m passingly interested in but they’re all /studiously/ not interested in me so doesn’t really matter.

15) Favorite quote: I had one for this but honestly my memory is failing me. How about “Hit the lights” from the Selena Gomez song of the same name? It’s one that’s always inspired me to try and keep going whenever I feel like giving up. That should qualify it for a high ranking spot.

16) Favorite Place: Patrick’s Point. Just a gorgeous little spot on the Northern California coast. Up by Humbolt.

17) Favorite food: Potatoes. Just can’t fuck em up no matter how hard you try.

18) Do I use sarcasm: No. :P

19) What am I listening to right now: Literally? Roundtable Rival by Lindsey Sterling. Generically? A LOT of EDM music, specifically S3RL, The Fat Rat, and Krewella.

20) First thing I notice in a new person: If they’re a threat. I’m more than somewhat paranoid.

21) Shoe size: Uh . . . 10E in boots I think?

22) Eye color: Blue

23) Hair Color: Red but it’s fading to a kinda brownish.

24) Favorite style of clothing: Practicle with lots of pockets. I like my clothes to offer some armor so I always wear steel toed boots, long cargo pants, generally a graphic t-shirt, and when I can get away with it my trenchcoat.

25) Ever done a prank call: Nope. Don’t fuck around with phones.

26) Omitted from the list

27) Meaning behind my URL: That it’s the generic one assigned by Tumblr and I was too lazy/uninterested to change it.

28) Favorite Movie: Trick R’ Treat. There is a lot of nastalgia tied up in this movie. The first time I watched it I hated it and thought it was stupid. Then I re-watched it years later and was entranced by how they wove all the little stories together. Been my favorite ever since.

29) Favorite Song: Don’t really have one, there are so many that mean a lot to me. Angel with a Shotgun by The Cab. Endlessly by The Cab, Whispers in the Dark by Skillet, Butterfly Girl by S3RL. Bunch of others.

30) Favorite Band: Same as before. I like songs, not bands but lets just go with the ones named in #29

31) How I feel right now: Depressed. Hopeless. Unloved. Have you not been reading? (of course you haven’t)

32) Someone I love: Madison.

33) My Current relationship status: Forever alone.

34) My relationship with my parents: Always had a strong and loving relationship with my parents. I’ve been very fortunate with my family.

35) Favorite Holiday: Halloween. No questions asked.

36) Tattoos and piercings I have: None. Don’t expect I ever will either. They creep me the fuck out. I enjoy them on others but not on me. The only one I would ever consider getting is a wedding ring tattooed on my ring finger if I ever get married as in my line of (desired) work wearing something like that could get you sucked into a piece of heavy machinery and killed.

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medproish · 6 years

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SPOILER ALERT: Do not read ahead if you want a completely spoiler-free experience going into “Avengers: Infinity War.”

“Avengers: Infinity War,” a.k.a. “What If Marvel Threw a Superhero Party and Everyone Came?,” feels like a movie that the American Entertainment State had to get out of its system. It’s the 19th entry in the Marvel Comics Universe, but it’s the first to push to the wall, to the max, to the ultron the notion that the MCU really is a universe: a vast intermeshed thicket of comic-book icons, destined to be an army that’s greater (in theory, at least) than the sum of its parts. If, for decades, the metaphor for propulsive blockbuster filmmaking was the “ride,” then watching “Avengers: Infinity War” is like going to a theme park and taking three spins on every ride there.

Set in deep space, and in half a dozen lands (New York, Wakanda, Titan, Knowhere), the film presents a galactic battle for the fate of the universe that throws together the six original Avengers; the follow-up wave of Marvel superheroes who’ve only recently been given their own origin stories (Black Panther, Dr. Strange, the rebooted Spider-Man); the Guardians of the Galaxy; and a sprinkling of other figures who’ve been there on the fringes. (I had to scratch my head to remember what Vision’s powers are, but he remains the coolest shade of Revlon.) The movie is a knowingly gargantuan Marvel mashup, so jam-packed with embattled uber saviors that you may feel, at times, like all that’s missing is Dwayne Johnson, Jesus Christ, and the cast of the last two “Star Wars” films.

More Reviews

So is the movie a jumbled, top-heavy mess of cynical franchise overkill? Sort of like the bloated and chaotic “Avengers: Age of Ultron” taken to the second power? Far from it. It’s a sleekly witty action opera that’s at once overstuffed and bedazzling. The directors, Anthony and Joe Russo, as they proved in the two “Captain America” sequels, are far more stylish and exacting filmmakers than Joss Whedon, who made the first two “Avengers” films. “Infinity War” is a brashly entertaining jamboree, structured to show off each hero or heroine and give them just enough to do, and to update their mythologies without making it all feel like homework. At the same time, you may begin to lose hold of what made each of these characters, you know, special.

Early on, a donut-shaped alien spaceship lands in midtown Manhattan, allowing the effete Continental sadist Ebony Maw (Tom Vaughan-Lawlor), who’s like a kick-ass version of the Ghost of Jacob Marley, to ring-lead some FX street mayhem. Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), after trying and failing to match Ebony in wisecracks and firepower, gets sucked into the ship, and it’s up to Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) to rescue him, with an assist from Spider-Man (Tom Holland), a pop-culture geek who wonders if he’s in the middle of an “Alien” film, and who Tony outfits with anti-gravity armor. Once Tony and Strange are thrown together, you can’t help but notice that both are imperious quipsters with matching goatees, and they razz each other exquisitely, the main difference being that Strange keeps forming those light circles that look like they’re made out of sparklers. Tony, of course, has his zippy metal power suits, but a number of the other characters do, too, including Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo), who after the opening fight spends the entire film trying and failing to call forth his inner Hulk.

“Avengers: Infinity War” can, at times, make it feel like you’re at a birthday party where you got so many presents that you start to grow tired of opening them. But taken on its own piñata-of-fun terms, it’s sharp, fast-moving, and elegantly staged. It also has what any superhero movie worth its salt requires: a sense that there’s something at stake.

The urgency derives, in this case, from the film’s villain, Thanos, the malevolent Dark Lord of the wrecked planet Titan, played by Josh Brolin (in a supremely effective motion-capture performance) as a towering armored walking-statue demon with a chin sculpted like Abraham Lincoln’s beard, and a demeanor of soft-spoken Nietzschean intelligence. He’s like Hellboy, the Hulk, Darth Vader, and Oliver Stone rolled into one eloquent sociopath. Thanos’ master plan could hardly be simpler — and neither, despite its gushing river of characters, could the film’s storyline. Thanos is on a mission to gather all six of the Infinity Stones (candy-colored gems named for Mind, Soul, Time, Power, Space, and Reality), several of which are in the hands of our heroes (Vision, played by Paul Bettany, has one of them embedded in his forehead). If Thanos succeeds, it would allow him, in a mad instant, to destroy half the beings in the universe.

This seems like the most dastardly of plans, and is. Yet Thanos thinks of himself as a genocidal humanitarian (sort of like Chairman Mao). The universe’s resources are limited, and he intends to slice the population in half so that what remains of it can thrive. Brolin infuses Thanos with his slit-eyed manipulative glower, so that the evil in this movie never feels less than personal. It also feels like a force that might just require 20 superheroes to stop it.

At a few key moments, the war really does get personal, as when Thanos is reunited with Gamora (Zoe Saldana), the adoptive stepdaughter he rescued as a girl in the midst of wiping out her planet. She won’t give into him now, even when he’s got her android half-sister, Nebula (Karen Gillan), suspended and torturously stretched into her metallic body parts. Saldana, in a ripely emotional performance, plays Gamora like a raging refugee from an abusive home, and the resolution of her conflict with Thanos gives “Infinity War” the (rare) moving moment it needs.

Gamora’s fellow Guardians, meanwhile, are off doing what they do: saving the cosmos (to the tune of the Spinners’ “The Rubberband Man”), but never letting that endeavor get in the way of their ability to take the piss out of each other. The two Marvel franchises come crashing together — literally — when the bloody, barely sentient Thor (Chris Hemsworth) bumps into the windshield of the Guardians’ ship. There is much mooning over his muscles (Drax: “It’s like a pirate had a baby with an angel!”), which is funny, and so is the rivalrous back-and-forth between Thor and Star-Lord (Chris Pratt), who in contrast to the stentorian stud of Asgard has never seemed more of a dude. He feels like he’s got to lower his voice just to keep up with him.

The Guardians split into two factions, with Rocket (Bradley Cooper) and the sulky, video-game-playing adolescent Groot (Vin Deisel) heading off with Thor, who refers to Rocket as “the rabbit.” Then, just when you’re sure that the film has more than enough spinning subplots, along comes Steve Rogers, played by Chris Evans in a beard that, frankly, is less becoming to his role than the one sported by Thor. Hemsworth wears his facial hair as a sign of the character’s battered-but-unbowed soul, but in Evans’ case it looks as if it’s not just Rogers but the actor who has grown a bit depressed at the prospect of being Captain America. The team he’s leading — he’s got Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) and War Machine (Don Cheadle) in tow — feels like the least exciting, and the most extraneous to the main action.

“Infinity War” brims with tensely spectacular combat sequences, even if the question of who’s going to win each one has that extravagantly arbitrary could-Mighty-Mouse-beat-up-Superman? quality. Luminous daggers get plunged into bodies, to no effect. Thor, after meeting with his weapons guru (Peter Dinklage, acting very Shakespeare) and bracing himself against the burning force of a star, gets a new super-hammer — an ax, actually — which is presented as an ultimate tool until it fails, at a crucial moment, to do what we think it’s going to do. (The weirdest thing about superhero movies is that they’re bombastically physical…and metaphysical. Which often doesn’t make sense.) The climax is set in Wakanda, where T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman) doesn’t have much to do besides orchestrate a battle against an army of squishy alien beasties. It isn’t until the arrival of Thanos that the sequence takes off not just visually but dramatically.

Of all the things that have ever happened in an MCU movie, there will be much chatter about the ending of “Infinity War.” It is dark and spooky and, in its way, chancy and shocking. Do any of our beloved characters die? Well, yes. But, in fact, the ending is so audacious that you realize it’s all an elaborate card trick. Despite what it shows us, these movies are rarely about more leading to less. Count on the sequel — due one year from now — to demonstrate that more, in the MCU, will lead only to more.