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theseerasures · 3 years

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I'm loving your "I was right" energy so: where do YOU think everyone will be at the end of the volume?

y’all are REALLY just encouraging me at this point, aren’t you? who knew my supervillain origin story would be getting exactly what i want in a televisions

E(VACUO)TION 2021: CALL NOW TO VOTE

IN VACUO

Oscar, Ren, and Emerald are stuck there for the duration. even if they had a way to go back, they’re a tad busy right now.

IN SUPERHELL

Yang is same and same.

AT AND AROUND GRAND CENTRAL STATION

Ruby, Weiss, and Blake are going to superhell. the only reason i’m a fraction less sure of this than with Team Green is that Team Green is already there. my prediction--and preference--is that they decide to voluntarily go after the climactic showdown wraps up, but i also have no idea how THAT’S going to happen, so.

Fiona, Joanna, and May are going to Vacuo. they’ve taken on the duty of protecting Mantle, and Mantle is going to be in Vacuo. the only reason they’d go back to Mantle-the-place is for Robyn, but a) they don’t know that Robyn is currently dogfighting with her minivan over Mantle’s skies, and b) even if they did know, that the Huntresses can and will work autonomously without their leader has been emphasized this whole season.

Penny is...likely to be in Vacuo. i won’t completely write off the chance that she joins RWB in superhell, but i also don’t think it’s going to happen. if anyone is RWBY’s fifth it’s Penny Polendina, but going to superhell just feels like a RWBY classic exclusive trip to me. Penny loves her friends, but she’s also a Maiden with a duty to Remnant. she set that aside for Yang in Worthy, and that was VERY MUCH a mistake, so having her double down on it when it’s not a heat of the moment thing feels wrong.

Jaune and Nora are likely to be in Vacuo as well. they’re not going to superhell, and the only reason they’d be in Atlas is if the portals closed before they could get there. another Renora separation would certainly be ripe for juicy angst, but right on the heels of them deciding to be independent together it feels arbitrarily backslide-y. my guess is we have another “so long for now” scene between Ruby and Jaune a la season 6, and JNPER as a whole goes with Penny to lay the groundwork for Vacuo.

Cinder, Neo, the Lamp, and the Staff: i’ve tentatively grouped them all together because i think they will all be in Atlas, but how much i’m certain of that varies. Cinder is not going to Vacuo; her primary objective is the Staff and even if Penny manages to take it through a portal there’s no way for Cinder to hide her presence, and we’re not going to end the season mid-brawl. Neo...might end up in Vacuo if someone just kicks her through in all the chaos, because she can stealth it up a lot better than the living fire tornado. i’m not going to discount the idea that one or both of them end up in superhell, but that seemed a lot more likely when we thought RWBY would fall, instead of jump. finding each other and exploring whatever newfangled dimension they end up in feels like more than enough plot without Team Rocket trying to kill them all the time in it. the Lamp is likely to stay where it is, with Neo, since it’s a much lower priority target now. the Staff...is likely to end up with Cinder (and by proxy Salem), if only because having a do-anything device (even with its limitations) feels like it would make certain logistical issues in Vacuo much easier than they should be (give me the forbidden refugee narrative Mr. Teeth do it do it)

LAST SEEN AROUND SOLITAS

Pietro and Maria are still on Amity! we haven’t seen them for this entire back half, and my guess is that we still won’t in the finale. odds are that if anyone has already rendezvoused with the mythical reinforcements from Menagerie, they have, and when folks get wind of what the fuck is happening (which...could take a while, depending on how/if they take care of Watts) they’ll take the long way to Vacuo, whereupon Pietro will meet up with Penny again and our hearts will collectively explode from joy and radiant warmth.

IN ATLAS/MANTLE

Salem is going to respawn on Atlas. what shape Atlas is going to be in when she does is...who the fuck knows, honestly.

Watts and Ironwood are not leaving Atlas. my guess is James Ironwood will breathe his last before the portals even close. the same...might be true of Watts, because i still lean towards Cinder did him a sabotage, but even if he lives to the end of the season he’s not leaving Salem’s side, and Salem is on Atlas.

Winter...is not leaving Atlas. out of everyone who i think will survive to season’s end on this side of the portal, this one is the one i’m most sure of. if Winter were going to step through the portal the story would have already let her; there was no reason she and Ironwood couldn’t have had their showdown in a separate corner of Grand Central Station instead of right next to its entrance. people have talked about the angst potential of Winter walking in just as Weiss takes the plunge, but tbh this again worked better when we thought Weiss was going fall. if Weiss is jumping then it just turns into a locked-out-of-the-loop thing that can get immediately resolved as soon as Winter talks to...i dunno, anyone? and on a metaphorical level: almost-Maidens don’t make it to the Promised Land. not through the easy way.

Willow, Whitley, and Klein are likely going to be in Vacuo. i’m not going to completely rule out “Klein Sieben runs James Ironwood over with a fucking airship,” but...okay, i am, for the Winter reasons above. there’s just no reason for them to stick around in Atlas when they know that in all likelihood Atlas is going to be rubble (it probably won’t be, but they don’t know that). this means that after their fleeting reconciliation all the Schnees will once again be scattered to the winds, and Whitley is--again--alone with Willow. at least Klein’s here this time.

Qrow, Robyn, and the AceOps: i don’t actually think ALL of them will be stranded in Atlas/Mantle, but some of them will be. if Marrow and Elm are still in Atlas they’ll make it to Vacuo, but if not things are dicier for them. Harriet and Vine are more likely to stay, but the long and short of it is that the AceOps might be split between continents. as much as i desperately want Robyn go to Vacuo so the rest of the Happy Huntresses can do the three-on-one version of the Madagascar hug scene...the thing about Robyn, in this season especially, is that she forms teams and coalitions wherever she goes. that would be useful in Vacuo, but it would also be useful for organizing the leftover stranded civilians and mediating whatever tensions might bubble up, should some or all of the AceOps stick around. i don’t see Qrow breaking off from Robyn for the time being, so: if Robyn stays he stays, and if he stays Harriet is also likely to stay. depending on how the “Salem in Atlas” plot shakes down (or opens), they might also join up with whoever signed Ghira’s Change.org petition this time. interestingly, this might mean that if/when Tai and Raven join up none of TRQ will know that...well, that both their kids are dead. (well. Raven might.)

and...that’s everyone, i think. see you Saturday, when all of this will be proven wrong because Salem is actually already in Vacuo and has turned Shade Academy into Mecha Godzilla

#Anonymous #rwby

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bates--boy · 2 years

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Naseem wasn’t home.

Of course, he wouldn’t be, because he was at work, and then afterwards, he would likely either rehearse at Stockholm for that play that he should realize was going to be a fluke, or recording at the studio. Ashira was used to this sort of absence, even at times when he was going behind her back and plowing someone else’s ass for batting their lashes at him. This time around, however, she was feeling it acutely, from the clacking of her keyboard that seem to drum on the walls, to the impractical urge in her to go pick Hasan right back up from his grandmother and great-grandmother

There was no special reason for her to feel like this now, though: Naseem wasn’t cheating, only because it didn’t count as cheating within the parameters they’ve agreed to. So why was she feeling this now? Why was her need to call Naseem and demand he come see her during his lunch break stronger today?

She could very easily blame Peter.

Because Naseem was spending so much time with that man, both in and out of the studio. Because Naseem was so invested in that man, in his music and story and their romance, and it came so easily for Peter; that junkie had Naseem wrapped around his pinky and probably didn’t even know it! And most damning of all was the thing that Ashira’s thoughts circled back to.

... I still like you and admire you...

In that one-minute temper tantrum, Peter had confessed his... not love, obviously, but some sort of adoration and gratitude. Naseem could sweet talk -- he could spin poetry about the objects of his affections so spellbinding that even when Ashira was done with it, exasperated even, she was already crawling into bed with him. But that wasn’t exactly the proclamation of deep-running affection, was it? In fact, Naseem hadn’t professed anything like that to her, with so much boyish earnest, in...

How old was Pakiza? She was almost five.

So... seven years.

Tension had bloomed in Ashira’s stomach, spreading up to her head and decaying into a painful migraine. She and Naseem, especially Naseem, were supposed to have their fill of Peter, get it out of their system, and be done with it so they all can move on with their lives. She would say that she hated this crap shoot of a man for making everything so tricky, but... at the moment, she was too tired for hatred. Too lonely. And she was sure that, unlike Naseem, he didn’t have a set schedule to adhere to...

Saving her progress on her work, Ashira picked up her phone and opened the chat box.

[Ashira] Hey, Peter, how are you?

[Ashira] I was thinking about you and our date the other day.

[Ashira] I truly am sorry for being so stiff towards you, but I do want to get closer.

[Ashira] Mind coming over and hanging out with me? I can make you something to eat.

She would have to wait for his answer, but Ashira already had a better looking lounge wear that she could change into in mind.

The phone buzzed beside Peter, and he was tempted to not check it. He was in multitask mode, a delicate balance of answering business emails, making last-minute itineraries for the tour, squeezing out deals and dodging hefty last-minute fees for those itineraries, ringing out a few lyrics before his creativity backslid into writer’s block, and jotting down sparks of inspiration for the Radio Kings’ complementary podcast. It was a challenge, at first, to keep focus while drowning in the buzz of conversations and kitchen machinery while quartered in the Lion’s Den, but he made it work.

And it would have continued to work if his phone hadn’t buzzed three more times.

Peter finished the email he had been working on, a post-tour scheduling proposal with a charity organization for a benefit show, and saved it in the drafts to look over before sending. Taking a sip from his coffee, Peter flipped the phone over and opened the message. His face puckered at the third message; he personally felt that “rude” was a more apt word to use instead of “stiff”, but did it matter at this point? This was her second time apologizing.

[Peter] sure, ill be there in a bit.

[Peter] no need to cook. i can bring something from the lion’s den. what would u like?

Peter tried to put the date’s fiasco behind him, but as he stepped up to the townhouse’s door with the paper bag in hand, he couldn’t help but wish that he had waited until Naseem was at lunch and called him over. Naseem would know how to handle his wife, maybe give Peter those oh-so vital tips Peter still wished he had.

Peter stopped at the door, closed his eyes, and breathed. It would probably help him if he stopped seeing Ashira as a viper with her fangs poised for attack. He rang the doorbell.

“Just a minute!” Peter heard Ashira call out.

Peter lifted the bag of their food into the crook of his arm, then sat the other hand on his messenger bag. In the half-minute that it took for Ashira to come open the door, Peter started humming and looking around, going over his mental list of tasks he still needed to complete after his chill time with Ashira was over. Or would Ashira not be bothered if he did some work while they hung out--

She opened the door, and Peter swore that he felt drool trickle from the corner of his mouth.

Powder pink was definitely her color, and nothing demonstrated that fact better than the silk camisole pajama set Ashira wore, the shorts riding high enough on her thighs to sap away the ability to think coherently out of Peter. And it was no secret that Ashira was busty, but there was a difference between seeing the shape of her bust through sweaters and jackets and having a low-dipping neckline, with lace trimming to pretty up jiggling cleavage, to never let a person with the libido of a fourteen-year-old ever forget.

The first thing Peter thought, when coherent thinking came back to him, was, No, she’s not seducing me, because Peter had a set or two of pajamas like that at home that he would relax in, and why wouldn’t he and Ashira wear something cute even to lounge in? It felt nice on the skin and everything.

The next one, when he watched Ashira shiver from the cold air sweeping in and one of her nipples getting pointier through the fabric, and a touch of what might have been her brown areola peeking above the lace neck line, was I am going to take so many cold showers after this.

Ashira stepped aside to let him in, and she was saying something about making him wait at the door for too long and Hasan being away at his grandmother’s until the evening, but Peter could barely hear shit through the ringing in his ears and the blood leaving his head.

Peter was about to set the food on the coffee table when Ashira turned back to grab his wrist. She shook her head. “Not here,” she said.

Oh, right, the kitchen, Peter thought as Ashira started pulling him from the living room. Except they weren’t going in the direction of the kitchen. Peter felt the moisture leave his mouth and flood his palms when they approached the hallway. “Sheer...”

Ashira stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, finding him practically leaning away. “What?”

“I just...” Peter looked down, then back into her eyes. He shook his head. “I don’t think... I mean, Nazz must have told you about...”

“Date night?”

Peter nodded.

“I know,” Ashira said. Then, her shoulders drooped a little, the smile on her face less ardent, with the sort of humored disappointment that a person who thought they won the lottery before reading the rules would have. She opened the bedroom door open wider. “We won’t do that. I just want us to hang out.”

Peter followed her inside and let her take the bag of food to set next to the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. She parted the curtains so there would be more light in the room besides the flickering lights of the candles on the beside tables and the dresser.

“You can set your coat and shoes over there,” Ashira said, pulling her thick black waves of hair back into a loose and messy bun. She watched Peter take the items off, and if she hadn’t known that he was the type to try to escape just from getting easily embarrassed, she would have giggled at how pink his ears were. It was... fine, it was adorable. She crawled into bed, sitting up against the pillows. She patted the spot next to her.

Peter climbed on next to her, keeping his eyes away from her cleavage. Of all the times to try to be decorous, it of course had to be when a gorgeous woman was practically shoving her tits in his face, and skimming her fingers delicately along his palm as she clasped her hand in his, and rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand. They should say something, because it was too quiet and if Peter could hear the low crackle of the flames in the candles, he knew Ashira could hear the uneasy hiss of his breathing, or his heart trying to break out of his chest, or the strain of his pants fabric as he fought a losing battle.

“...Do you want to have lunch?” Peter said. “Before it gets cold.” He would have suggested also having the chocolate-covered strawberries before the coating melted and the fruit would get too mushy, but he could imagine that leading to him feeding her, her feeding him, then him eating it out of her mouth and her eating out of his and the two ripping each other’s clothes off only for it to end as disastrously as it had with Naseem.

Ashira shook her head, her eyes trained on the set of candles on her side of the bed. “No. Actually...” She moved so steadily, taking her time, giving Peter a window to stop her if he wanted to, and yet he was still caught unawares. Keeping their hands locked together, Ashira turned and climbed on him, setting her knees on either side of him, straddling him and laying her hand on his collarbone.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

Is this okay, she asked him while already sitting on top of him. He could snort at the absurdity of the super belated question if he didn’t fear accidentally letting out a weak, shivering, surprised moan.

This close, Peter could smell the faint vanilla rose perfume on her neck. Bathed in golden candlelight, Peter could see the shimmer dusting her décolletage, and the undertone of brown in the locks of hair spilling from her bun and framing her face. The candlelight flickered in her eyes; the flecks in her deep brown eyes didn’t become the gold of a burning sun like Naseem’s eyes, but the deeper gold of caramelized sugar -- still simmering, still tempting, filling Peter’s head with so many lyrics that he will need to get down on a piece of paper or napkin or something.

Peter swallowed and said through a tight, low voice, “Y-yeah. Yeah, this is okay.”

“Thanks,” Ashira said. She focused on her fingers stroking Peter’s chest, feeling the unsteady rise and fall of it through the cashmere fabric. She had half a mind to toy with him. Even if he didn’t want to fuck, it would still be fun to see how many different tiny tricks she could pull to drive him insane. She would enjoy watching his face flush deeper, watch him fidget and squirm and try to keep his eyes respectfully away from this treat she had prepared specifically for him. It would have been delightfully funny to see this loud, hubristic, hedonistic, temperamental leveled more and more until he was as meek as a good little church boy too pure to even look at a pair of naked ankles.

But then this Bambi-looking asshole turned his big blue eyes up at her, and a shy smile twitched at the corners of his rosy lips. “Thanks for... for inviting me over.”

Just because she agreed to Naseem’s idea of dating this man didn’t mean she had to have genuine romantic interest in him; at the most, she planned on tolerating him, maybe keep things pleasant between them whenever she wasn’t bouncing on his cock. It was unnerving to find that the way he looked at her stirred within her a disturbing mix of maternal instincts and lust. She wanted to make him a mug of hot chocolate while Peter ate her from behind.

...She was too bored and lonely.

Peter looked down at her fingers as well. “So... do you want to talk, or...”

“In a second,” Ashira replied, leaning in closer and running her hand up to the back of Peter’s head to guide him down to her.

She took her mouth in his, relieved to find that for all of this shy and virginal posturing, his mouth was open and so willing to have her. He was surprised to find how undemanding she was this time. Yes, she was still directing him to get her own delights, but she was less forceful this time, more coaxing and teasing, falling back occasionally so Peter wouldn’t be so scared to explore her mouth and see how far he could take things. Their hands roamed all over each other, not with the fervent groping that could lead to ripping clothes off, but slow and exploratory, drawing out tremors and goosebumps and gasps.

Peter kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, and worked his way down to her craned neck, his hands rubbing along her back and waist, down to her hips. She was soft. Just... soft. The deep curve of her waist sloped softly; her thick hair tickling his cheek was feathery; her breasts like pillows that Peter wanted to rest his head on and forget about the world; when his touch reached her thighs, Peter wanted to test how pliable they were, see if even the most gentle squeeze of his fingers would leave red marks He trailed kisses along her shoulders, and lord help him, he was tempted to slide the strap off, let the top fall away and take that supple and heavy tit in his hand, maybe even knead the creamy skin of it with his teeth, but he stopped his lips at the end of her shoulder.

It was over too soon, though they panted as if they had been at it for hours, Ashira resting her head in Peter’s shoulder, Peter’s head leaning back against the headboard. One of his fingers lazily trailed up and down her back, his other hand resting on one of Ashira’s thighs. With his eyes closed, he didn’t see the way Ashira bit her bottom lip. He only knew she was awake, instead of half-asleep in pure bliss like he was, when she pressed a light kiss to his neck. He opened his eyes when she put her hands on his shoulders and straightened up. Blushing cheeks and half-lidded eyes really suited her.

Ashira glimpsed down and back up quickly, her long lashes flickering like fans. “Um... Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of this?”

Peter will forever be astonished that Ashira could make such an offer sound so cavalier, like offering to scratch his back or help him move to a new place, while parting her thighs wider and bearing her weight down on him. She slowly rolled her hips twice: once to show him what she’d meant, twice to let him feel her cunt twitch for him, needing him inside. He somehow knew that she wasn’t wearing underwear without needing to look, and later on, he’ll find a whitish dry streak on the front of his pants; in the privacy of his home, he’ll allow himself a tiny fantasy of taking Ashira up on her offer, feeling how warm and moist and inviting she was as she took him before taking that cold shower he planned.

“...I’m sure,” Peter replied, because he could want her and Naseem all he wanted until he blue-balled himself into oblivion, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he wasn’t ready. And Ashira might not be as forgiving as Naseem if Peter ended up sending her flying to the dresser, or holding a curled up and bawling grown man.

Ashira gave him one more kiss on the lips, and bent his head so their foreheads would touch. “Okay. We can chat, then.”

“Cool.” As Peter spoke, he gently grazed his nails on Ashira’s thigh, up and down. “I was thinking, Sheer, that after the tour you, Nazz, and I can go on a date together. If you’re not opposed to ice skating, we can go to this really lovely rink in Örebro.”

Ashira tapped a finger on the tip of his nose. “That sounds wonderful, Peter. I’d love to.”

#The MizFists #life thus far ( story )#droid noodles ( writing )#ain't safe for lookin'#ish

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thanatophobia-thoughts · 3 years

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Daily life with Thanatophobia!

I was asked how to “cope” with Thanatophobia, and really, that’s what all of this blog is about. In particular, I was asked how to cope with the idea of eternity and non-existence. I don’t have a good answer for that. I wish I did. It’s my fear, as well. I just have tools that I use.

Perhaps the best way to show those tools is to compare what my life was like pre-November, to what it is now.

Pre-November 2020, between June and November (when things were really bad), my life involved going to work, sending messages to my health team, checking symptoms on WebMD, overreacting to anything my mom or dad experienced, worrying about all the things I hadn’t gotten to do yet, making plans for if I have a year left to live and realizing the pandemic is ruining all of them, suffering from the pandemic in general, and feeling as if I had no one to talk to because I couldn’t see anyone. I would occasionally distract myself with video games, but I couldn’t focus. I had difficulties sleeping and spent many nights crying.

November 2020, I start to break down and realize I can’t go on like this. There were other breakthroughs before this time, involving starting therapy, and starting to take birth control, which has substantially helped with pain management, thus helping my anxiety.

My weeks now have structure. I can start to make plans again. I have a routine.

My usual weekday involves: waking up, going about my morning routine, exercise (sometimes), start work, meditate either at 10:30am or 3:30pm for 10 minutes, lunch at 1pm, drink an average of ~60-70oz of water/juice/milk/latte/etc., get off work, exercise (if not in the morning), work on any writing I have to do, eat dinner around 7pm-8pm (working on getting it closer to 7pm), shower, turn on something to watch, and prepare for sleep.

Wednesdays I also do some errand running, and sometimes therapy.

Thursdays involve organizing my meal plan for the week and going grocery shopping.

Friday usually involves a treat, like curry, sushi, Impossible Whopper – food I don’t have to make. It also involves a few clean-up chores before going out to get food.

Saturdays and Sundays involve video games during what are weekday work hours.

I’ll usually find ways to work in reading comics or manga, though I’m behind on that. Sunday also includes making the meals for the week (Buddha bowls lately). I want to get back into just reading novels, but I still haven’t been able to do that since I started working from home.

The death anxiety hits in moments around sleep time, which is why I tend to keep the TV on. It keeps me distracted for a while. When it fails, I’ll resort to other things, like turning on a show that I haven’t seen before so I can focus on it. This delays sleep and I don’t enjoy this much. I also have melatonin supplements, ASMR, and things like that which can help.

It doesn’t always work.

I’ve found that restoring a routine, meditation, and getting back on track with taking care of myself have helped immensely.

Pre-November, I wasn’t thinking much about what I’d eat. I’d go to the grocery store without a list, or a list of comfort foods, and that was that.

I wasn’t exercising.

I would vary between days I went to get food at the grocery store. It wasn’t great.

Routine has helped me, because it offers me the illusion of control. I know any day I could die. I know any day, this could be it. I could go to the grocery store, and get hit by another car, and die.

When I think of it, though…of course, I’m upset, but would I do anything different? Would I rather go back to having a life without routine, without this illusion of control, where I was suffering daily, for hours on end? No, obviously I wouldn’t.

My time of suffering has become limited and far more manageable.

There are still days of terrible sleeplessness and restlessness. There are still nights of crying. There are still frustrations with the things I haven’t done. And there’s the ever present fear of the End, that is the End. Not the end of a video game that can be replayed, not the end of a book that can be re-read, but The End.

The Experience is Over, never to be enjoyed again.

My cat Mashpotatoes will never experience life again. When I want it to feel real, I think of that. It’s as close as I can get to touching what that’s like. I have two other cats now, Tarkin and Eriadu, and I love them. Their presence does not replace Mashpotatoes, though. Not that I wish not to have them in my life, or would trade one for the other – far from it. I have enjoyed each of them, uniquely.

Tarkin is my fierce mouser who is timid and prances around the house. Tarkin is the cat we shame for getting stuck in vents.

Eriadu is the cuddly sadist who drowns mice. Eriadu has the loudest purr I’ve ever heard. Eriadu is bolder than her brother.

And Mash was the most affectionate cat I knew, but she hated all other animals. Every human was her friend. She had the most calming blue eyes, and a cry that sounded like an infant – though she was Siamese, so that’s to be expected. She was with me through school, and died shortly after I was done with it. She lived with me for at least fifteen years, though I suspect she was at least sixteen.

And she will never live again. She will never return to me, or to anyone. She will no longer kill doves, or sleep besides me as I play video games. I will never hear her meow again.

I’m not okay with it, but I cannot change it.

Just as I cannot change that I was not there to celebrate Christmas one last time with my grandmother Mimi, and she will never know how sorry I am. She will never know anything.

How do I live, day to day, knowing this?

I just do.

I remind myself that they are indeed gone. I will one day be gone. And I will one day be nutrients for life. I go about my routine, and face these fears at night, and think of how nice it was to know them – Mimi and Mash. How nice it is to have my parents, for parents. How much I adore my Tarkin and Eria. I think of the preciousness of living now, with Star Wars and Lord of the Ring films.

I think of what good I know.

There is good I will miss.

But happiness, as a feeling, is the same. So is gratitude.

I am missing out on experiences in the future. I have missed out on experiences in the past.

That is our lot in life.

But we have gotten to live – and what a wonder that is.

I’ve found my way to help combat this dread in routine, in meditations, in thankfulness, and in not hiding from it. Yes, it’s terrible, yes it still makes me tear up, but it’s no longer ruling my every day.

This is the progress I’ve made.

This is the progress I am still making, because this is an EFFORT to stay true to these commitments to myself, when any day I could backslide because it’s easier to do less.

This is the progress I hope for you – I hope you find your tools in routine or spontaneity, in positive thinking, and in whatever else helps you.

I hope Death Anxiety ceases to rule your every day.

#death anxiety #death anxiety talk #thanatophobia #death anxiety help #existentialism #existentialist crisis #existential angst #existential dread #existentialism talk #existentialism help #routine #meditate #meditation #personal

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mechmech · 3 years

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Ok so I know this is like my first post but I’ve been working on it cause a friend did it for their dnd character and I was like this could be fun and give people some insight. Questions wandered as Mecha 1-100

Smell like: oil, sweat, and more recently baby spit-up

Voice: Not many people will understand this fem-V from cyberpunk. Sorta gravely

Motivator: Research mostly. Finding out new things and applying them. More recently though her kid and making a better world for them.

Most embarrassing memory: She doesn’t like to share this story, but when she was younger and moved around with her sister mecha, she was afraid to GO in the woods because she accidentally wandered onto a farmer’s land and was caught pantsless.

How do they react to pain: “ You wanna hit me go ahead, just stay away from the hands and eyes” She can deal with a great deal of physical pain but when it comes to emotions and others she is like a mage named Corren

Wear: Normally throughout the day, she wears her metal armor. Outside of her armor, she wears a simple black dress when relaxing, a work apron while working, and always Always gauntlets and a blindfold

Most positive relationship: THis is difficult because so many of them have done different things, but most probably Corren and her want to be more good like him

The weirdest thing I have ever eaten: Correns cooking

Sleep: “Alister! Corren! Cuddle me!” Yea she will cuddle up with almost any person who trusts and it depends on the person. Alister: Alister is the big spoon and mecha buries herself into his chest and stomach. Corren: Mecha is like a koala to Corren and just hugs onto a single leg.

Favorite food/ kinda food: Vegetables honestly, but also baked goods like bread

Most insecure about: How others see her

Like to wear: adaptable clothing, something that can be used for many different functions and also gotta be able to get dirty and clean when you need it

How do they react to feelings of guilt: Previously they bottled them up, but more and more they are learning to talk to others about that guilt. Ultimately she always feels guilty for something

React to betrayal: Depends on the person buuuttttt, angry, blames themself for part of it, tries to move on quickly

Greatest achievement: MOCHA

Too little sleep: quiet and most likely taking a nap in the skeleton’s arms. That's If she is actually tired. Shel heals fatigue in an instant.

What are they like a drunk: If she drinks and gets drunk and that's a big if she becomes an I love you drunk and we'll just tell everyone what she likes about them before passing out.

Music likes: A lot of Rock and techno music, a little bit of pop only because it fits.

Right or left-handed: She always works with her hammer in her right hand.

Fears: Being completely alone, losing her friends, losing Mocha, destroying the world, the unknown, diseases, being like her mother

Favorite weather: Nice sunny days with a slight breeze

Favorite color: it’s hard because it's between gold and blue

Collect anything: besides random trophies, rocks that she sometimes gives away.

Hot or cold weather: Hot because you can cool down easily.

Eye color: Goldenish/ yellow

Race/ ethnicity: Well Gremlin in Sekrezia, in the real world through it's between Brazilian and Irish

Hair color: Ginger/ red

Happy where they are currently: Nope, not even a little bit. She's upset because she believes she has possibly doomed the world and has actually found someone she can connect with/ has some feeling for and they just keep backsliding her. She also hates that she has to leave her new daughter.

Mounting person: YES!!! Up early to get shit done

Sunrise or sunset: Sunrise is extremely pretty to watch especially when you can but caves are a thing.

Messy or organized: Like myself, it's a chaotic form of organization

Pet peeves: Jumping to conclusions, mistreating machines

Objects of significant importance: Her forge hammer which is like a badge of office saying she is a member of a smithing guild and her evil eye because a really good friend helped her make it.

Least favorite food: The rock she accidentally tried to eat while she was tired delirious one night in a cave.

Least favorite color: Kelly Green. Look it looks like puke, nothing against other greens but this one ugh

Least favorite smell: Decaying flesh

The last time they cried: mhhh a few weeks but it's gonna be soon. Definitely the birth of her child.

Anybody with them: entire party forMochas birth, but other than that Corren and Alistar

The time they got injured: Well getting crushed by a giant cube was bad, the worst injury would probably be getting dragged into lava by her own creation that she loved.

Scars: Nope none so far that are physical. Some mental ones that she's working through.

Mental health issues: Paranoia, Depression, Suicidal thoughts, low self-esteem, PTSD

Bad habits: Shutting everyone else out.

Why might someone dislike her: SHe can be a bit standoffish and definitely hard-headed.

Why might someone love her: He has a big heart for those she cares about, she's smart and also creates a lot of small gifts that aren't for value but personal reasons.

Believe in ghosts: Literally was in a plane of the dead, soooo yes

Anyone they would trust with their life: Corren, Alistar, Torvid, Simple,

Romantically interested in anyone: Spectra, depends on the person. ACE and Demiromantic

Dating/ Married: Complicated is what it is. Yes dating somewhat but it’s not a good relationship

Like surprises: Yes, surprises are nice and add a bit of fun to life. Other than a somewhat surprising pregnancy.

Birthday: I honestly forget but it's their weave day

Celebrate their birthday: Only with those they care about, which is few but some members of the party yes.

Family: Dad is dead, Mom is alive supposedly but she was supposed to be dead, and sister is possibly dead but in a bit of denial about it

Close to their family: Chosen family yes.

MBTI type: ISTP

Zodiac signs: I forget the sekrezian one but in real life Aquarius

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Alignment; Chaotic neutral/ good

Nightmares: Losing the entire party in ways that they caused ore were directly a part of.

View on death: CHanged a lot as their questline has gone on but “Once someone has passed from this world and seen the raven queen and chosen their afterlife that is it, they are at peace and will stay there unless the gods dictate differently. Past a resurrection people should not come back. I have learned this the hard way and watched what happens when you play with death”.

Something they always laugh at: Corren getting flustered and digging himself into holes he can't get out of.

When bored, what do they do: Read a book/ tinker with new experiments

Enjoy the outside: yes, especially new areas where there are unexplored places.

Accent: Somewhat of a german accent but I’m no good at replicating it

Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, the first reaction: “Who left this perfectly good piece of cake here?”

If they knew they were going to die what would they do/ say: Alister: Be a good father to Mocha, Corren: Be a good stepfather to Mocha and make sure Alister stays on the right path, Simple Geoff: didn't like you at first but your apart of my family now, Maple: Live your best life and don't let other people tell you what you can be also given up on revenge it's never as sweet as you think, Lautrec: (Opens box) sorry it took a while, Vlog: “you don't like me, I kinda like you, protect your own but never stop learning and exploring.

Feelings about sex: Mecha doesn’t want sex and feels really uncomfortable with it especially around people she doesn’t know, but around friends, she’s willing to talk about it but will also respect preferences.

Sexuality: questioning, but Grey-ace

Squeamish around blood: Nope “ I saved a man that had a lethal arrow through his neck”

Anything they find gross: Living hair/ hair constructs

TV trope: Reclusive nerd with a big heart

Enjoy helping people: Yes she really likes to help those who need it, but if she believes you can help yourself she will leave you to it.

Allergies: Seasonal/ pollen

Pet: Multiple constructs that range from a skeleton to a walking piece of glass

Quick to anger: No, she has somewhat of a calm head that eventually boils over and then causes a big yelling fight/ random actions such as throwing a stick of dynamite in a graveyard.

How patient is she: Rather patient especially when listening, not the greatest responder though

Good at cooking: Hell yea they are, give them a pan and they'll make you a feast

Favorite insult:” I'm coming for your knees” “Don't make me get the fume engine”

How do they act when happy: Huge grin on their face and they start fidgeting.

What do they do when they learn about others’ fears: Tease them slightly in private but keep the information to themselves.

Trustworthy: yes and very loyal to her friends.

Do they try to hide their emotions: Definitely but not always the greatest at hiding them cause everyone has a great sense of motive.

Exercise regularly: We walk and adventure every day while she carries probably over 25lb of mechanical items so yes.

Comfortable with the way they look: Mhh sometimes, but not always. She really doesn't like that she reminds herself of her sister or that she has distinct eyes.

Features they find attractive on others: Not really features, she's more into personality but she does like people’s eyes.

Personalities they find attractive: Protective, Kind, Smart, honest, loyal.

Do they like sweet foods: definitely into the sweeter things in life,

Age: in sekrezia: 204, equivalent age is like 45-55

Tall or short: 3ft pretty short but and on the shorter side of her race

Glasses or contacts: Nope just a cool ass blindfold and no it's not for BDSM

Consider herself attractive: Nope, not at all. SHes surprised if someone likes her in that way.

Sense of humor: Both dark and sexual but at the same time dad jokes as much as possible. Also random improv she comes up with on the spot, which is slightly me

What mood are they in most often: THe mood of trying to figure out how something works

What angers them: Hurting children, hurting the party, destroying art and machines, using others to your own gain, rape, slavery

Outlook on life: “Life is full of twists and turns. There is never bad without good. Take your time and really think about what you do, but don't forget to also just let go and go wild every now and then.

What makes them sad or depressed: THinking of their family/ friends being gone, children with no home, Mocha growing up alone.

Greatest weakness: Turning the mind against them/ lack of belief in herself and that she is not responsible for the world.

Greatest strength: Open mind and somewhat open heart.

Something they regret: not letting them self grieve for pax in a different way than hunting them down and screwing the world.

Biggest accomplishment: Having a kid

Hope for the future: open an orphanage and continue helping the Fucks make the world at least a little brighter.

#rpg #dnd #personal #source: scatterpatter

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abigailnussbaum · 4 years

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Harley Quinn, She-Ra, and the redemptive power of friendship

I watched the first episode of DC Universe’s Harley Quinn cartoon last year, and concluded that it was well done but not for me. The show seemed a little too in love with in-your-face violence, a little too deliberately outrageous. The positive reactions convinced me to give it a second look, and as it turns out Harley Quinn really is as good as everyone has been saying. You do need to accept a cheerfully cavalier attitude towards a lot of gruesome violence as the show’s buy-in, but I was actually impressed by how deftly Harley Quinn walks the line between humor and violence, while still stressing that some things are out of bounds for (some of) its characters. Add to that a well-crafted portrait of Gotham complete with a lot of familiar faces, some great storytelling and character work, and impressively gonzo set-pieces, and it’s easily one of my favorite superhero stories ever, not just in animation.

I was struck, while watching the first season, by the similarities between Harley Quinn and She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Obviously, the two shows are very distinct despite both being female-led animated shows. She-Ra is an all-audiences series with an earnest tone and a strong emphasis on heroism. Harley Quinn is entirely unsuitable for children, and nearly all of its characters are villains. But both are also series about the redemptive power of friendship, and female friendship in particular (also, from what I’ve heard about Harley Quinn’s second season, a friendship that eventually turns romantic). In Harley Quinn’s opening episode, she escapes Arkham Asylum with the help of Poison Ivy, after waiting a year for the Joker to rescue her. Ivy helps Harley realize that the Joker never really cared about her, and that she can be a better and more successful supervillain without him. The rest of the season concerns Harley’s attempts to prove just that.

I found myself thinking that Harley Quinn addressed a lot of the problems I had with how She-Ra depicted this theme, while at the same benefiting from its distinct tone and subject matter. I’d like to talk about some of the things it does better.

For starters, Harley Quinn treats friendhip as an ongoing process. Harley and Ivy are already friends at the beginning of the series, and it’s their friendship that gives Harley the strength to break with Joker, and to believe in her own ability to become an independent supervillain. But Harley also backslides over the course of the first season. She takes the Joker back and regrets it. She ignores Ivy’s advice, especially about the types of people she should be associating with and the organizations she strives to join. And when she achieves professional success, she ignores the needs of not just Ivy, but of the crew she’s recruited over the course of the season. Harley’s journey throughout the season is one of realizing that she’s been a bad friend to the very people who have helped her to grow beyond the Joker, and of figuring out how to be better to them - in other words, the very things that She-Ra lets characters like Catra or Entrapta off the hook for.

At the same time, Harley Quinn also condemns toxic relationships and argues for their dissolution. This is most obvious in the case of the Joker, who repeatedly makes overtures towards Harley only to betray her. But if the Joker is too obviously untrustworthy, engaging in classic abusive behavior such as gaslighting Harley, belittling her abilities, and working to isolate her from her friends, there are also other characters throughout the season whose relationships with Harley initially seem more nurturing, only to reveal themselves as predatory. Harley bonds with the supervillain Queen of Fables over the difficulties of being a female supervillain, but eventually realizes that the other woman will happily stomp over her to achieve her own goals. And she tries to reconnect with her family, forgiving her gambling-addict father’s past exploitation of her, only for him to turn around and try to make money off of her again. Again and again, the show concludes that there are some people whom it is right and proper to shut out of your life - even to extent of acknowledging that when Harley apologizes to Ivy for letting her down, it is entirely possible that Ivy might still decide to end their relationship. To me that’s an essential corollary to She-Ra’s emphasis on friendship and second chances, the recognition that some people aren’t worth the effort.

Harley Quinn doesn’t pretend that becoming a better friend makes you a good person. This is, of course, my core problem with She-Ra, the way that it conflates personal friendship with a more global morality, and allows characters who have done a great deal of evil on the latter front to skate off with hardly any condemnation or consequences, because they’ve become someone’s friend. Harley Quinn is better at realizing that the two don’t really have that much to do with one another. To be clear, this is much easier to do when you’re telling a comedic story about unrepentant supervillains, than in a straight-faced story about heroes saving the world. But another way of putting that is that She-Ra fatally splits its focus whereas Harley Quinn wisely narrows it in a way that more successfully brings its message across. All of the show’s supervillain characters are capable of emotional growth and of choosing to be there for the people they care about (though a lot of them, like the Joker, choose not to do that). But this has nothing to do with their willingness to kill, maim, and cause general mayhem, because how you treat the people closest to you often doesn’t say much about how you view humanity as a whole.

Finally, and despite the above, Harley Quinn doesn’t ignore the difference between good and evil. One very easy approach to take in a story that prioritizes personal relationships above all else and sets itself among villains is to make the “good guys” look just as bad - corrupt, or inept, or priggish. That’s the approach She-Ra creator Novelle Stevenson took in her graphic novel Nimona, in which the league of superheroes are basically keeping themselves in a steady supply of villains by engaging in autocratic, abusive behavior. Harley Quinn could have easily taken this path, but it doesn’t. Though superheroes appear only rarely in the show, they are uniformly depicted as positive characters, good at their job and usually on the right side of things. When they say that Harley and her crew should be sent back to Arkham, you can’t help but conclude that they’re right, and the only reason we don’t want that to happen is that we like Harley. More than that, we like watching her relationships with Ivy and the rest of her crew develop and deepen. Again, this is the show walking an incredibly narrow line, getting us to root for a villain on emotional grounds, without ignoring the actual evil they’re doing. Harley Quinn is almost certainly never going to pivot its title character to full-on good guy status (even when Harley does heroic things, she usually only saves her friends, not the rest of Gotham), and that’s fine. We can enjoy the show as a story about one woman’s growth towards better emotional health (not to mention, a funny and violent cartoon) without pretending that she’s something she isn’t.

#harley quinn #she-ra and the princesses of power

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chronicallylatetotheparty · 3 years

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Two Gods, One Braincell Ch.6 Blessed Blade

Summary: Quest Complete!

---------------

Kagami glared at the intricate lattice of glowing green symbols that hovered over the entire city. Web-like strands reaching down, connecting to every resident. The curse circle was directly over the hall of judgement slightly off the city center. For kilometers around tilled farmland lay barren.

Adrien was trying very hard not to be smug. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we have our work cut out for us." She scanned over the phrasing of the curse, noting subtle variations as the wording repeated itself in multiple languages. "Couldn't make it easy, could you."

"Where's the fun in that?" Adrien grinned, pleased with Kagami's difficulty in breaking his curse despite that being the goal of this quest.

Glancing at Nino, Kagami saw him indecisively switching from being proud of his best friend's work one moment. To bordering on terrified of the lingering rage emanating from it the next.

Nino pointed at the third seal drawn around the curse circle, which prevented it from being broken on any day of the year save one. Today. "Was that really neccessary?"

Adrien shrugged, almost achieving the air of nonchalance he sought. "I was angry."

Kagami's absent scales prickled as Nino shuddered. She still wasn't sure what was more impressive. That Adrien could cast such a complex curse in the heat of the moment. Or that the mortals down there did something that made Adrien angry. Adrien didn't get angry.

It was quite frustrating if Kagami was being honest.

"Alright," Kagami rolled her neck and stretched her arms. "Here's the plan."

---------------

The priests' offerings smelled of hypocrisy and corruption. Nino wrinkled his nose, covering half his face with a sash to keep most of the smell out. That done, he made himself visible above the desecrated altar.

"Mortals!" Nino boomed. "Your penance has been found... wanting."

He knew Adrien would've made a more dramatic entrance but this was just as effective. Judging by the way most of the priests scrambled back, dropping their tools to the ground. All except one who lifted incense that burned with narcissism in Nino's direction.

With a flick of his wrist Nino's hexagon knocked the offensive stench out of the priest's hands.

"However... through no virtue of your own the Great Dragon Kagami has decided to show you mercy!" Lifting his arms heavenward Nino directed their attention to the sky. "Witness her clemency!"

Finishing his speech Nino vanished from their sight and rose above the smells that burned his nose.

Adrien grinned. "You make a good herald."

"No thanks." Nino sniffed his armor. "Ugh, I need a bath."

"Well you're in luck!" Adrien dumped shoulders with his best friend before the smell hit him. He sprang back, pinching his nose shut. "You weren't kidding!"

"I feel so loved right now," Nino deadpanned.

"Just..." Adrien waved him closer to the gathering stormclouds. "Stand over there. By destruction, that's worse than I remember it! Kagami's doing her thing."

---------------

Far above the curse circle Kagami adjusted her grip on her tsurugi. Focusing all her power on her mother's blade. Picturing it as the eye of the storm.

She moved into the first stance. The smell of rain filled her nostrils, unreleased lightning charged the air and ran across her skin.

Slashing the wind she moved into the second stance. Her clouds rose higher than mountains, covering the sun. Lightning arced from cloud to cloud. Her heartbeat accelerating with the coming storm.

Again Kagami changed stances. Thunder roared with the voice of a dragon. With the tip of her blade Kagami wrote her name on the sky itself. Wind and rain and lightning burst from the kanji.

Raising her sword Kagami turned to face the city below her feet. Then she raced earth-ward. Her storm following in her wake.

The curse roared like a lion. Three consecutive circles bursting to life above its main body. Raindrops hung suspended in midair and lightning froze in its tracks. The wind raged above it but did not come down.

Only Kagami's blade sank into the first seal.

"I am the Great Dragon Kagami!" She announced, voice booming.

The first circle broke and her sword found the second. Wind howling as it battered the second circle.

"Only daughter of Tomoe the Unyielding Storm!"

Cracks spread across the second seal and it too broke. Lightning joined the wind in its assault. Kagami forced her blade into the third seal.

"Greatest sword master of Heaven!"

The final seal screeched in protest as it shattered. Rain fell past her, washing away part of the curse as it went. Wind shaking apart the glowing words. Lightning burning away its lines as it flashed. Still the curse roared in defiance.

"In my Name I break Destruction's curse!"

Kagami's blade sliced its core in half.

Far below the mortals rejoiced as rain quenched their empty fields after a yearlong drought. Some danced in relief, others brought out empty jars, children and adult alike opened their mouths and drank from the sky. Afterward some would say they saw Kagami through the clouds, scarlet scales shining in the flash of lightning.

Nino opened his arms and let Kagami's storm wash the stench from his armor.

Adrien sent a marble sized orb of darkness toward the hall of judgement. The great doors burst open, letting in the wind and rain. Letting the elements cleanse what the priests had tainted.

Kagami shifted out of her dragon form, a grin spread wide across her face. Kimono soaked through with her own rain.

"Tackling it head on, huh." Adrien smirked.

"It worked didn't it."

He nodded. "Impressive as always." Wiping his wet hair out of his eyes Adrien returned the grin. "The greatest sword master in Heaven, huh?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you deny it?"

"Nope! It's been millennia since our first duel and you've only gotten better." Adrien's eyes gazed at her with admiration.

Despite the chill of wind and rain Kagami felt heat creep up her cheeks. Strangely she didn't mind it.

"Gods, look!" Nino pointed down toward the temple complex.

A squad of guards were escorting the priests out of the temple to the cheers of the other mortals. Apparently, they'd also had enough of the hall of judgement being profaned.

"Oh, now they decide to act!" Thunder rumbled with Kagami's annoyance.

Adrien just smiled. "I dunno, Ryuko. Sometimes," he took a deep breath. "You need something to look forward to."

Kagami eyed him skeptically but she inhaled through her nose. There, buried under her own magic and the lingering stench of their transgressions, was the tentative scent of hope. "Hmm, I guess so."

"Either way the prophets and oracles will notice heaven is answering their calls again," Nino pointed out. "They'll need the guidance." He slumped as realization dawned. "That means I'll have to do it."

"Think of it this way," Adrien wrapped an arm around Nino's shoulders. "We all played an important role! I cursed the city. Kagami lifted it. And you get to make sure the mortals don't backslide!"

"Well..." Nino gazed down at the city. Going through the best ways to encourage these particular mortals. "Alya will relish the challenge, at least."

"That's the spirit!"

Kagami smiled, letting her storm calm down to a drizzle. (Didn't want to wash loose soil away after all that, now did she.) Storm gods, particularly dragons, usually had very little direct interaction with mortals. She preferred it that way. Dealing with most other deities was already exhausting. Having to interact with thousands of mortals that hadn't even hit their first century yet on top of that? No, thank you. "I don't envy you."

"Ha!" Nino held out his fist.

Beaming, Adrien did the same.

Raising an eyebrow in amusement Kagami met them with her own.

Light sparked from their three magics.

Letting go of Nino, Adrien pulled Kagami into a kiss. No less passionate for its short length. "Home?"

"Of course," Kagami intertwined their fingers. "We have to tell Mother the news."

She was thrilled to see Adrien turn red at her words. He buried his face into her shoulder. Which must've been awkward considering how tall he was. Adrien mumbled something against her kimono.

"What was that?"

Lifting his still red face, Adrien gave her a shy smile. "I'd like that."

Shifting in unison Kagami and Adrien raced across the sky. Scarlet dragon with black cat. Nino waving after them.

Once they were specks in the distance Nino lowered his arm. "Good luck with the council. Celestial paperwork is a devil."

@kagamiappreciationweek2020

#ml #ml fanfic #god au #kagami tsurugi #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe

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sextonsharpwinhalstead · 3 years

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Finally caught up on Med...

I have to say they are still on their bullshit but for the first time in I don’t know how many seasons the show feels like it’s moving towards something big as in the finale would be huge.

Every single character feels like they have some kind of growth or that they are moving towards something bigger, there’s definitely a momentum that I can’t quite put my finger on. There are so many moving parts and stories and for the first time since season 1 I actually feel some of the familial/friendly feels that they used to have.

Maggie has a real story, and we got backstory about a baby girl she gave up for adoption when she was a teenager who she has decided to actively look for! And how did we find this out? I wish that I could say it was something she disclosed to Natalie but it was to Sharon. This still backs up what I’ve said in the past that they aren’t as close as the show tells us they are (Maggie + Natalie). When Maggie needs to open up and get vulnerable it’s with Sharon, Will, or some of the nurses like April and Monique. But it’s not a shit on Natalie moment, she asks and offers to be there for Maggie more than we’ve seen in a while. I just wonder why Maggie doesn’t open up to her...like really open up.

Speaking of opening up I really like that all of the doctors are seeing Daniel, it allows for a lot of missing interpersonal communication that has been severely lacking in past seasons. I also love that issues like Ethan’s PTSD haven’t been forgotten. Daniel’s sessions with the characters feels more organic this season, the conversations aren’t written off a cliff and he always follows up and touches on issues that they spoke about in the past. It may seem small but it’s big thing for Med to keep the continuity going.

Sharon was MIA for the first few episodes but having her back once again feels organic, her story doesn’t feel shoehorned even though I’m sure some see it as “a lot” it feels right. I hope that there is a resolution with her son going forward and she isn’t caught in the middle much longer with his ambitions and her duty to the hospital.

Daniel’s custody battle is wild to me considering that I’m still in the middle of writing “Let Me Re-Introduce Myself” and I have him losing custody there too. Albeit for different reasons lol. I’m not a huge fan of Anna, I hope that Daniel gets a chance to be a good dad to her, with maybe a Robin sighting somewhere in the mix.

The show has managed to discuss and incorporate Owen more than they have in the last three seasons and I think that’s really cool. Natalie gets to be a mom and I think that’s needed for her character’s growth. I’m still really annoyed that they wrote her taking all these huge risks with her career last season just to have her leaning on Crockett every two seconds. That’s one of my biggest gripes with their writing of her. When she was closer and even in a relationship with Will it was the same. They were always on cases together and she was always getting a second opinion i.e second guessing herself. I don’t like that for the ONLY female doctor on the show. They are the only thing that feels sequestered and like the “old Med.”

The Crockett-Natalie relationship to me is manufactured chemistry which is this case for almost all the ships on the show. They write what they want, because screen tests are not a thing anymore. I like that he finally has someone to open up to and he has a place to finally be vulnerable. I don’t think any of this is meant to last. If this is the season for continuity than we cannot forget that Crockett watched Phillip slip a ring on Natalie’s finger and didn’t say shit...that will always be a yuck spot for me.

Manstead is DEAD in the water right now. But the Crockett-Natalie ship feels like Jeff and Natalie. She is like “yeah sure....maybe” I just don’t buy it for longevity. Crockett is going to end up hurt before she finds her way back to Will. And speaking of Will...

Will is criming every episode. Like the way this dude is head-on backsliding into the illegal nonsense, from giving/taking bribes to unblinding the study and then lying to Virani about it...this is building into something really awful guys. And also, what in the world is going on with the Virani-Will-Ethan weirdness. I think Virani is fond of Will maybe even a little attracted to him but she is flustered around Ethan. I don’t know if he is ready to move on but when he does, I could definitely see her going out with him. What’s odd is that the show after like two seasons finally has Will working with April and with the proximity to Ethan and Virani and all the clashing Will and Ethan have had this season...I don’t know where this is going...nowhere good though.

Ethan is a the best fit for Chief. I’m so grateful that we still see Lanik, I can’t get on board with them calling him Jim...that is a white guy manning the grill at some random neighborhood barbeque. I’d rather them call him James. Anyway we all saw the drill sergeant coming a mile away. I knew he was going to be crazy. I didn’t expect him to be stupid. He had gallbladder surgery and then came to work? C’mon dude. However, I feel like that was Ethan’s second biggest misstep the first was hiring Dr. Archer. Guys, he gives me DARK vibes. Like, Gwen and Jimmy, and Ava, and even Cornelius NEVER had the creep-factor that this guy has. There is something malevolent and downright violent about him. I don’t know if it’s the actor or just his portrayal of the character but I feel like at his most benign he would sue the hospital for wrongful termination, cause lets face it he is not going to make it at Med, or he is going to do something that is really awful. I could be wrong and maybe I’m channeling that feeling into a fic but I got my eye on that one.

And last but not least, April. I worried that she wasn’t going to get much to do and would go back to being a supportive character this season. When she isn’t in a ship she is completely ignored. But they haven’t been so terrible with her. I do feel like they could’ve written something a little bit more articulate about why the Covid-Unit was so important to her. Like we as an audience know April is empathetic but I wanted to hear what that felt like for her, maybe tie back into some of the things she’s given up for this job. I absolutely did not miss her saying that she felt like she was apart of something bigger and that “Ethan took that from me.” It felt like what she was saying had some double meaning, Ethan ending the engagement and ending their relationship as well as her saying he was his own worst enemy felt oddly therapeutic and somewhat foreshadowing of what’s to come. It’s clear that they still have feelings for each other. I just hoped for once that there had been a little more attention given to why she felt such a huge purpose from that work. I’m glad that she is helping with the trial. I have more Sexstead gif opportunities than ever before! Did anyone notice that scene was in the promo pics between her and Will and where she’s crying were deleted? I really want to know what happened, because those tears look like a patient she was closed to died or she was falling apart at the idea of not being apart of the trial anymore.

All the same this season isn’t that bad. What I’m not crazy about I can tolerate and for once I’m curious to see what they are going to do going forward.

#ethan choi #sharon goodwin #maggie lockwood #april sexton #crockett marcel #natalie manning #will halstead #daniel charles #chicago med

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selestialhealing · 3 years

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With May being Mental Health Awareness Month, I thought I’d share that I have every intention of taking care of myself and seeking help to get back to the person I know I can be. I’ve struggled with waves of not being well since I was a child, but this past year has really affected me in ways I never expected.

Not only did everything change in the blink of an eye with everything being shut down and moved online, but I also entered a new program with a lot more responsibility. I’m happy to know I finished strong, but I still sit here and think of all the ways I could’ve performed better and gotten through the days easier if only I had taken the time to take care of myself and get back into therapy. I look around and see so many others doing the same thing, and I’m hoping we can all work towards doing what’s truly best for us.

I’m tired of feeling overwhelmed from the moment I wake up until the moment I lay my head down, only to stay up for hours struggling to slow down my mind. I’m tired of feeling inadequate because I fail to do what I used to do so easily and what I know I’m capable of. I’ve struggled a lot with imposter syndrome, wondering if I belong where I am after being so certain this was where I was meant to be—living life on screen and away from others has proven to be difficult, sucking the creativity and ability to relax out of me. I’ve struggled to create. I’ve struggled to write, especially over the past semester. I’ve struggled to sleep, to get up in time, to stay on top of everything, to allow myself to be human—all while dealing with technological issues and adjustments and balancing the obligations I feel to others, myself, and the many things I choose to be part of.

Since I first started experiencing symptoms of anxiety, depression, and OCD in elementary school, I’ve struggled with convincing myself I’m okay by consuming myself with distractions—more specifically extracurricular activities, taking care of others, and my education. Sometimes, I get so angry with myself when I feel like I’m at my breaking point because I know I spread myself too thin. I convince myself everything’s fine and I’m just overwhelmed with my workload or the responsibilities for the day when it’s not that simple. My symptoms have only gotten worse: not eating, not sleeping, not drinking water, not exercising, not feeling, not waking up until I’m no longer stuck in a vivid dream (and y’all, I really mean STUCK). I’ve been on the same medicine since high school, and it hasn’t seemed to helped a bit since we first returned to school in the Fall. I haven’t been back to counseling because of the influx of new patients and backed up waiting lists in surrounding areas. I haven’t been back to counseling because I keep putting it off, because I don’t have insurance, because I don’t want to deal with paperwork or making appointments. I haven’t been back to counseling because I’m scared.

Mental health is not talked about or taken seriously enough in a time that everyone is truly being affected. Since I’ve officially submitted my last final for the semester, the first thing on my to-do list is to find an office to start counseling with. The next is to follow up on new medication. And after that, who knows... Lots of healing. Lots of accountability. Lots of doing the work no matter how unfair it is.

I want to write. I want to read. I want to sit outside because I can, because my soul demands it. I want to dance and listen to music and play music again. I want to socialize and connect and be the best version of myself, the person 12-year-old me would think is the coolest. I want to take selfies again. I want to look in the mirror and see a twinkle in my eyes, to wake up and feel worthy and deserving and alive. I want to feel more than a heavy weight in my chest or my mind being crushed by the feeling of impending doom (over something as simple as waking up later than I intended when my body clearly needed rest). It is so exhausting to live a life where you feel you’re just going through the motions, not making memories or processing everything you’re experiencing. It’s scary to forget the feeling of lasting joy, to wake up and feel like nothing you do can make things better, to realize you just keep distracting yourself and setting yourself up for failure just because you’re “making it” through.

I am so much more than I have been lately (and lately dates back to a long time ago if we’re being wholeheartedly honest), but I’m trying to be kind and forgiving and patient and gracious to myself just as I would be to any other person struggling to get through the day. I’m trying to tell myself it’s not too late, that it’s worth it, that it will get better—even when my mind tries to convince me otherwise. I haven’t been as transparent as I used to be, acting like everything’s fine and posting the most put-together-looking versions of myself and only sharing the good parts—if I even have the energy for that.

The truth is there have been lots of cloudy days over the past year, lots of tears, lots of out-of-character moments, lots of backsliding in any progress I’ve ever made, lots of falling back on unhealthy coping mechanisms I spent months unlearning. There have been lots of moments of almost giving up, of being mean to myself, of doubting myself and my ability and my worth. Our minds are so powerful, carrying the power to build or destroy. Mine has been destroying me, little by little, every day. I haven’t slept or eaten like I should. I haven’t listened to my body. I’ve pushed aside the obvious symptoms and convinced myself it could be dealt with later, all while knowing I’ve been sinking deeper and deeper. Every. Single. Day.

Here’s to going on this journey once again and hopefully staying on top of it, giving myself the time and space to thoroughly heal. I’m so used to pouring myself into others, into a paper or my classes, into organizing events and performing jobs that drain the little bit of energy I can muster up (and yes, these things are rewarding when I accomplish the task at hand... but I’m still not okay). So much of my worth has been tied to the accomplishments I achieve. This will be my third time scheduling a consultation with a therapist. This will be my third time switching medications after building up a tolerance or dealing with side effects since the age of 17. I don’t like to think this will be forever, but until I do something, it will be.

Life is hard, especially with everything going on. Please check in on those around you. Check in on yourself. Encourage yourself to do what’s necessary to stop giving into what you have the power to change, even if it takes a bit more time or energy than you’d like. If you read this far, thank you for taking the time to do so. Thank you for caring. For once, I’ll say openly and publicly I’m not okay. Most days, I’m far from it. And I haven’t been for quite some time. In so many ways, I’ve been in much lower places mentally. Yet in other ways, I’m lower than I’ve ever been before. I’m tired. But I’m tired enough to do something to change this narrative before I’m too tired to do anything at all. And I’m hoping if you feel this too, you will hold yourself to the same standard. Reminding myself and everyone who’s read this far that progress is never linear, but that doesn’t mean progress isn’t obtainable either. I hope you learn to remind yourself this too.

That degree isn’t everything. That job isn’t everything. That inconsiderate person in your life isn’t everything. It is not the end of the world, no matter how much it feels to be crashing and burning down around you. And nothing you do or don’t do matters if you’re not capable of soaking in the moment, if you’re not all here to experience it. I hope I can learn to remember this. I hope you can too.

#text #mental health #mental heath awareness

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

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29. The Altar of Grace

Previous Word Count: 4535

“Worship me,” Grace whispered, smiling. Hazel walked back into the room and she hung up the phone and set it aside. Simon didn’t call back. The commandment sounded final for the conversation. The challenge, hardly one at all. He did that every single day. With the exception of when he was at his sickest, backsliding, they would call it in the church - a problem that his mother often saw herself as having when she was younger, because she refused to ever acknowledge that maybe her problem wasn’t spiritual. She gave up even trying after they lost Hope.

The Laurent family lost Hope, and Faith followed shortly after. But Simon? He found Grace. He was more used to the concept of grace than she was. The only time her family ever stepped foot in a church was for political reasons or at the very least public opinion. The little that Grace knew about any of that was stuff that she’d seen in media, and stuff that Simon had programmed inside of him. She’d once joked that he was going to start an Apex megachurch (there were megachurches all over California, and he had grown up in a church house), but the way that his mind went from outlining a few ground rules for the Apex to taking his knowledge of church legislature and formatting a very religious like experience in both praxis and adherence made her let the joke die off fast.

The Apex had been no joke to Simon. It had been, for lack of better comparison, his megachurch. At the center was Grace, and he worshiped at her altar, spreading the gospel of the Apex, the gospel of Grace. He wasn’t just making things up, in his mind. He was just telling others of his vision, of the world at her feet, of himself at her feet. The Bible often spoke of grace, but Simon was never sure of it before her, and once he was sure, his mind easily melded together the concept of grace with the incarnation that was Grace. She hadn’t asked for it. She was born into what she was. She had never really seemed to care one way or another about all of her faithful followers, the mass he organized at school, the branches of his discipleship that spread far and wide online. She had only ever cared about her chosen one. He was that. The one at the right hand of the throne of God, herself.

Grace’s commandment wasn’t unclear, nor was it new to him. It was simply her paraphrasing the Word of God, that he had always been familiar with to some extent. He had memorized verses in his youth. He had heard prayers throughout his life. He knew what she meant. He told her that he would do anything. Threw himself at her mercy to beg forgiveness. He was ready for her to give him his punishment, to give him his instruction, and her response, whether she realized it or not, was one wrapped up in the grace the preachers always spoke of. Because she gave him no punishment, just something that came as naturally to him as breathing - worship me… and she would give him what he was requesting… herself, which was everything he needed.

Sure, one could argue that this was the temptation of Satan. “All this I will give you, if you bow down and worship me.” Simon never believed in Satan. He didn’t really believe in God, either. But, the programming, the ritual, the practices… those were ingrained in him. He simply needed something to sit in the throne of his heart. He could see her there, as clearly as if she were in an actual throne… The was going to MAKE her an actual throne!

Simon sat his phone down and went back to his workspace.

The weekend with Hazel was exactly what Grace needed to rediscover her equilibrium as single mother, independent woman, career lady, etc. Hazel was exhausted, but Grace was revived. Did she wish that she could still go for spontaneous jogs and not have to worry about leaving Hazel for a little bit? Sure, but she had an in home dance studio that she could work off just as much… toxicity. Simon hadn’t contacted her again. But, he was posting every day.

She wasn’t checking, but someone still to this day insisted on tagging her to things or sending her things. Some of these people HAD to make backup accounts, because no matter how many people her social media reps blocked for that, they continued coming. It was actually a few weeks later that she got a call from her contact assistant. She was in the middle of rehearsals for her next music video, as she was planning to finally release an album during her 23rd year. “Yes, Ma’am?”

“Hey, Grace… I don’t know how else to word this but to say that I’ve gotten several calls to ask you about Simon Laurent’s current… situation and it seems like one of his worst meltdowns yet.”

“What? I JUST saw and talked to Simon a few weeks ago for my birthday and he was fine. Although… his mom is dying, so he may be taking that harder than he wants people to know. Just, send them the statement that Simon and I aren’t close enough that I know what is happening with him at all times, but hopefully he will receive the help that he needs in this instance, just as before.”

“Of course that’s my general answer, but there are some very specific concerns that I believe would matter a little more to you.”

“Like?” Grace asked, worried. If Simon had done something violent, or mean, or explosive, she was ready to cut the cord. She had an album, a child, and her 23rd year, and she was not going to waste as much time as she had in the past on overlooking things.

“Well… The first one is the hashtag The Apex Resurrected… it makes people think that you and Simon are mending things, which many people have thought for months, ever since his birthday in California and the family trip in Belize. Now, there are others coming out with accounts of having seen you two in the Bronx for your birthday - the elevator incident at the club, a few crude videos of you… um… dancing with him that night… and now this, weeks later.”

“The Apex Resurrected? I actually haven’t had anything to do with the Apex in a very long time. The Apex became Simon’s and as far as I knew, it was still a thing amongst the stans. You can release the statement that I don’t know anything about that, nor am I interested in learning.”

“Got it. Next cause for concern - He seems to be collecting various professionals in the Apex, or old Apex, or whatever it is for various tasks. Architecture, and other things. He has been making announcements about making a throne, about worshipping you, and about how he backslid…”

Grace bit her lip, “Okay… I may know something about that. Okay. Ummm… I’ll talk to him about it. What else should I be on the alert about?”

“He’s buying a place in Riverdale.”

“Did he get the job?”

“Nothing that I’ve found mentions his job, but that he is buying a house. Grace… That’s not that far from East Village… Is it possible that he knows where you are?”

“No. I’ve been extremely careful and Hazel has too, to not mention things that may give way to our neighborhood. But, he was staying in Riverdale a few weeks ago whenever he was here around my birthday, so maybe he just liked it.”

“Well, he’s been speaking about researching if he can grow hazel trees in New York, because he apparently wants those trees on the property, specifically.”

“Okay, that’s a little concerning, maybe.”

“Moreso whenever he begins to poll followers to ask what type of accommodations they would suggest for child quarters for a female presenting child between the ages of 10 and 13.”

“Okay, no. That’s very concerning.”

“People are speculating that the two of you are moving in with him, or at the very least will frequent his home.”

“Shut it down with a simple ‘I didn’t even know that he had found a place in New York.’ We don’t need to tell anyone about Hazel and I being secretive about our neighborhood, as that will probably make people more curious and for all I know, there are Apex people sprinkled around here. Give me a moment to call him, then I’ll call you back for further updates.”

Grace took a deep breath and called Simon. “Grace! I’m so happy to hear from you! I was afraid that I wasn’t doing enough.”

“Simon… from what I’ve heard, you’re doing way too much, Dude. What’s uh… what’s going on, on your end?” He held the phone for a while, confused. “Simon?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t understand the question.”

“Okay. Well, my rep called me to say that she’s being contacted by outlets that are concerned about some of your behavior lately. Are you… okay?”

“I’m better than I’ve been in years! Everything is returning to normal, going back to the way things are meant to be.”

“Well… Now, I’M the one who doesn’t understand. What do you mean by returning to normal?”

He laughed. “Grace. I asked you what I needed to do, and I heard you. You’ve missed it. Your power, your following, your praise… and I am going to give it all back to you. I’m going to elevate you again, the way that I used to, the way I never should have stopped… I worship you. That’s what you told me to do to fix this.” He sounded very desperate, but hopeful. He also sounded like he knew that saying this out loud to her… they had a miscommunication. “Grace.” She was silent, but he knew that she was still there, doubting him, doubting herself. “What’s wrong with it? What’s wrong with worshiping you? In my own way? It never caused us any pain before. That pain didn’t begin until my love was stifled, and twisted in ways that didn’t feel natural. Are you going to tell me that you don’t think about where we might have been if I had just been allowed to love you like I knew how?”

“What you called love became unbearable for me,” she said.

“It won’t this time! You control whether or not I even get to see or talk to you. I just have to be patient. I have to remember that it isn’t about me. I have to thirst for what you’re willing to give me.”

“Simon, that’s extremely unhealthy.”

“I’m never going to have a healthy relationship! My background, my childhood, my conditions… I’m always going to struggle with normalcy and reason. Relationships will always be difficult and strange… But, does that mean that I can never be happy? That you can’t? The things that have made us happy in the past were things that were so extra to everybody else. You’re just as unhealthy as I am, you were just forced to face that sooner than me. That’s why even though you could have any man in the world, probably any woman, if we’re honest, you haven’t let go of me. I’m always with you. Even when we were broken, beyond reasonable repair, both of us kept holding on to all those fragments. We… belong, Grace. We’re family.”

“Simon… Hazel is my family…”

“Too.” he said. “Hazel is your family, too.”

“We can never be what we were, Simon. Worship me… I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I was being playful. Treat me super nice and buy me things. Fool around a little when we both have time… not… rebuilding the poison that we were together.”

“That poison is who we are. Even with help. We're never going to fully get it out of our systems. We just are learning to live with it there. You rush to save me any time you think I need it. I defend you before I even know a full story. That worked for us, for you and I, until I got greedy. I wanted more, when everything was in perfect harmony. I know that now. I won’t do it again.”

“Simon…”

“I’m making room for Hazel, as well. I’m not trying to take you back or move her aside. I want all of us…”

“In this poison???”

“Unfortunately, Grace… just like us, that kid was born into poison. But, look at how good for her you are, and how good for you she is… And yet… you still hold on to me. Why can’t it be all of us? Working together and healing together? Why can’t I worship you and love Hazel, too?”

“Because I already made the mistake of trusting you and it went miserably! It’s still affecting me, to this day!”

“I know. It maybe always will, just like your parents always will, just like things that will happen between you and Hazel eventually will. Everything in our lives affects us in different ways and I affected you in a really bad way when I knocked you off of your pedestal..”

“It was YOUR pedestal! I never ASKED you to be that person! Then, I had to try to fill shoes that I didn’t even want!”

“But you want them now. Tell me that you don’t want me to faithfully follow you, to do whatever you ask, to atone through my acts for you. Tell me in honesty that you didn’t mean anything by telling me what you told me, and I’ll leave you alone.” They were both silent for a while, then she heard him exhale, relieved. He knew he was right. “Grace… I won’t hurt you again. I swear on everything that we could be together.”

“I’ll… see where you’re trying to go with… whatever you’re doing right now. But, we can’t just go back to normal, Si. Sometimes, just the thought of your face enrages me. Sometimes, I want to visit you JUST to punch you in the gut. We’re not gonna be just okay, even if we work at it.”

“Okay. That’s better than nothing. I had a mom who attacked me every time she saw me. You have no idea what I’m willing to go through to be close to you.”

“Therapy. We should… engage in at least combined therapy, and that’s before jumping to any conclusions that we’re going to be friends again or whatever. Also, I need to talk to Hazel, to see how she feels about you and even the idea of us reconciling to restore friendship for real.”

“She approves,” he said. “She thinks her mom OUGHT to be worshipped.”

“I know you didn’t talk to my baby about this.”

“I asked her for your hand in worship.”

“Ugh. STOP TALKING. I’m gonna… give you a little bit of space while I speak to Hazel and my team.”

“I’m going to continue what I was doing.”

“Are you… sure you’re okay?”

“I feel like you’re trying to ask me about my mental health. I’m fine. I’ve started even seeing a grief counselor that my therapist suggested, for the situation with my mom. I’m going to ask him about a couple’s therapy plan, since that’s important to you. My most recent meds are agreeing with me. I promise… I’m not having an episode, just further epiphany. I want you to have what you were content to have before… do you remember?"

"No. I barely remember my order at my favorite Ethiopian food place."

"You had a wonderful person that you loved and wanted to spend all of your time with.” She vaguely remembered that conversation now. It had been so many years… She didn’t know if she remembered the feeling. She remembered that she had been honest that day, but she honestly couldn't even place herself in the headspace of her 15 year old self. Of… 10-20, even. She had a rebirth at some point. That Grace was dead, as far as she knew and realized… but… she dared to presume, and hoped to guess… maybe that Simon was dead too. The things that they went through still happened, but only in an anecdotal retelling. The man on the phone… she HAD shared a portion of life with him, as well. A sit down, a death scare, recalling their past, birthdays, a sexually gratifying (less traumatizing) entanglement… He was correct. She hadn’t been able to let him go. There was no way to explain it, but if she was going to latch on anyway, they might as well make the most of it.

“Are you in New York?”

“Yeah.”

“Same place as before?”

“No, that was a rental, but same neighborhood.” She could tell he was smiling.

“IF my talk with Hazel when she comes home from school goes in your favor, we’ll stop by with a housewarming present.”

“I would like that.”

“IF Hazel feels safe with it.”

“You’re a lot more afraid of me than Hazel is,” Simon said.

“I’m older and wiser than her.”

“Ehhh… Definitely older.”

“WOW! What part of worship is you roasting me?”

“You told me that your definition is be super nice, get you stuff and go down on you whenever you want… so… I feel like I can make fun of you whenever appropriate.” She blushed. “But, you’re wise. Just… maybe not as wise as Hazel.”

“Speaking of… the trees and trying to set up quarters or whatever… that’s a bit much.”

“I don’t think it is. If we’re going to be establishing a new normal, she’ll have to have as much space in my home as she does in her own. When have you ever known me to half ass something important? You and Hazel are important.”

Grace held the phone tightly. It… mattered that he said that. Regardless of her reservations, of his probable episode, and the sheer amount of nonsense that her rep told her was happening. It mattered that he told her that she was important. That they were.

Hazel and Simon seemed to have been plotting on her. Hazel was a little too comfortable with the thought of them “being friends” with Simon, with the thought of group therapy, home visits and the like, and her saying, “I’ve lived life as a turtle. I don’t think Simon’s episodes are any more peculiar than that,” only made Grace feel guilty about her immediate thoughts - that Simon was having some type of meltdown.

Now that she thought about it, those usually began with him feeling very bad, but that 16th birthday party… that particular whatever it was began with a similar mood - Simon hearing what he wanted to hear, doing too much for her, being very excited about things that had NOT been promised to him. “This is the 16th Birthday Party level meltdown!” Grace said, when it occurred to her. “Abort!” She said.

Hazel looked around the shop and then at her, “Abort buying Simon a housewarming gift?”

“Yes! We… are gonna ghost him!”

“No… We’re not gonna ghost him, because that will take a 16th Birthday Party level Simon and send him into a Pre Hospital level Simon.”

“I just…”

“Grace, do you think that I’m ever going to stop turning into a turtle?”

“Yes. You do it less and less as time goes on.”

“But, what if I don’t? Will you stress out and worry and treat me like there’s no hope?”

“Hazel, that isn’t the same thing.”

“Simon had some type of psychosis going on whenever you two were going through that. He’s spoken about visions of the Void, and you know for a fact that some of the delusions that he projected had no prompting from you. But, he’s been in therapy for a few years and on meds, and doing everything that he can to make amends and clear your name. I know that he’s the one who messed it up in the first place, but look…” She took Grace’s hand and traced a scar on it. “I look at this a lot.”

“My old scar?” Grace asked, chuckling.

“My old bite mark,” Hazel corrected her. “You never seem to think that I’ll bite you again. Simon was doing bad and you don’t have to forgive him or trust him, but if you never will, you should tell him that, not ghost him. And if you won’t forgive him or trust him, it would be better to return to the format of a clean, easy break. What do you think of this hedgehog planter?”

Grace smiled, “I don’t think that fits Simon.”

“I meant for me. He’s really cute. I can put some herbs or a little succulent in there…”

Eventually, Hazel decided on a mini lamp shaped like a white cat. It didn't look like Samantha, but she liked it for her anyway. Grace bought an attachable bidet. Simon was at home, shirtless, in some pajama bottoms and slippers that looked like wolf feet whenever he heard the door. He threw on a tanktop and opened up. “Happy Housewarming!” Hazel cheered. She was holding a gift bag with tissue paper stuffed in it and she pushed it forward.

“Thank you, Hazel!” Simon said. He accepted it and Hazel walked in, immediately going to Samantha so that she could come see the gift too. Simon and Grace were staring at each other. He turned towards Hazel, “Wow… this is a really cool lamp. It’s gonna go well with things too, because everything in here will be white or earth tones. Like the rental, but like… MY style stuff. I’ll give you a tour.” There were boxes still unpacked in each room, all labeled as the room that they were. The only thing set up so far was his workspace, bed, and master bathroom. But, he told them some of his plans for other space and rooms… and he really HAD thought of everything that Grace would have tried to think of if making space for herself or Hazel… even if she WASN’T planning on them ever living here. Hazel was excited about the prospect of a “second home.” ‘WE should help you throw a proper housewarming!” Hazel cheered.

“Who would I invite to that?” Simon wondered.

“Grace’s friends!”

“No!” Grace and Simon both said, then laughed.

“My friends, then… and their parents,” Hazel said. Simon looked to Grace for confirmation. She shrugged her shoulders. “In the event that Grace does not have an opinion on the matter, the natural response should be to seek out my opinion.”

“Okay. Then, you do that, then.” He smiled and leaned against the counter as Hazel started speaking of her decorating plans and other party details.

“You are going to unleash a monster,” Grace said.

“You’re one to talk. She was spoiled whenever I met her. I’m just matching the kid’s energy. What’s that?” He nudged his head.

“Oh! It’s a bidet. Didn’t know if you had one or not…”

“I do not and I do need one, so thank you!” He accepted it and set it aside.

“So… Can… we maybe move her tea set here? You’ve got A LOT more space than my place and it isn’t so far away that it’d be a huge jump to host her tea parties here, if that’s okay?” Grace looked at Simon and saw him processing this question. He looked like he didn’t want to get his hopes up, but also couldn’t shield his excitement.

“Hazel is perfectly welcome to move her tea party set here and her friends are welcome to throw them here, as well.”

“I’ll be here. It won’t be like… me leaving her with you.”

“That’s even more fun,” He said. “Do you need me to rent a moving truck to get it here?”

“No… I’ll handle that part.” So… there was still a level of distrust. But, this was still very big for him and he was going to count his blessings. “Come on, Hazel! We’ll be back around.”

“Bye, Simon! Thank you for the amazing quarters!” He walked them outside and to the car. Grace was reluctant to hug him or anything like that, but she smiled and wished him good night. Simon watched her drive away and looked up at the stars. It didn’t matter if anybody was there or nobody was. Hazel and Grace had made a decision to give him a chance. He didn’t know yet what, but he wasn’t going to let either of them down.

Whenever Grace and I were younger I used to give her tribute. That was what it was called. It started really simple. She defended me against some bullies and after we took care of them, I snatched a couple of things, as souvenirs for her. Then I just continued to do that all the time. I began to do it on a daily basis. I convinced others to do it too. It was never an obligation. She didn't ask me to give her something. She didn't demand that others paid her tribute. I made a conscious decision that she was worth that offering. I spread word to others about it. It was an act of worship. I built her altar with my own hands. I molded her believers with my words. If you asked me back then she owed me everything.

Fortunately now I know better. I'm older, I like to think I'm wiser. It was always I who owed her. I owed her for defending me. I owed her for befriending me. I owed her for lowering herself to my level, even if she just did it so she wouldn't be alone. I thought too much of myself. Convince myself that I deserved everything that she had been gracious enough to give me. I didn't appreciate the value of my riches in Grace.

Life has a way of working things out that aren't meant to be. I was never meant to be the king. Always the servant… Trusted, certainly. But there for the sake of the one who mattered the most. I did everything in my power to be on top. When something isn't meant for you, you can't take it away from someone else. In the process of flying too high, I made myself have to fly solo. Grace had been the wind beneath my wings that made me fly as high as I was flying. Without her there I fell. I crashed.

She was too busy trying to keep herself elevated. She didn't even really witness it - the way that life gave her back what she deserved while I plummeted. She moved on to things on her level. She had chosen me to come with her. I tried to replace her. Now she's soaring, and all I can do is watch from the ground. Proudly, certainly. But forever with the knowledge that I was once next to her, that I could have stayed there had I not tried to snip her wings…

#If They Didn't Get on the Train #AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics

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syntaxeme · 4 years

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One Good Turn ch. 5 [end]

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter] Rating: M Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss. Note: I did have another chapter planned for this story, but I’ve gotten so thoroughly invested in my Giardino Segreto AU that I don’t think I’ll ever get around to it. Besides, this isn’t a terrible place to leave off!

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Angel’s back was pinned against the wall in the hotel’s abandoned excuse for a ballroom. The room was mostly dark, a little light from the setting sun bleeding in through dingy windows while he lazily observed one of his fellow patrons trying to make a move on him. The other demon was a little taller than Angel himself, a little broader, and he used his extra bit of height to his advantage, leaning forward against the wall to bear down on Angel.

“You talk a pretty big game, sweet thing.” His name was some kind of music joke: Jazz or Ska or House or some shit. “I’d sure like to see you put your money where your mouth is.”

“I can think of better things to put in my mouth,” Angel snickered. As the other demon grinned and reached up to pet his cheek, Angel slapped his hand away and went on, “But your dick ain’t one of ‘em. Fuck off and find someone else to bother.”

“Are you serious?” Maybe-Jazz growled. “You sit there makin’ offers all through Charlie’s sessions but you won’t follow through?”

“Offers? Please. Look, I ain’t serious about any of that shit; I’m sayin’ it to fuck with ya, not to actually fuck ya.” This wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain this over the past week or so, but truth be told, he was kind of enjoying having the freedom to say ‘no’ (not that his sex drive wasn’t as strong as ever, but he’d gotten pickier about who he was willing to spend it on—a lot pickier).

“Well I’m not into being teased, so maybe you better reconsider.” Jazz snaked an arm around Angel’s waist, incorrectly thinking this was a situation he could brute-force his way through. As if his vague bullshit threats were anything compared to what Angel had been through in the past.

Cute. His body moved almost by reflex, one hand grabbing Jazz’s shirt to reverse their positions and shove him back against the wall. His other hands reached into his jacket and drew out a matching set of three pistols, pressing one to Jazz’s temple, one to his chest, and aiming the last at his crotch.

“Which trigger should I pull first, ya think?” Angel asked casually, enjoying the shocked and disarmed look on the other demon’s face. “You could probably live without your balls, but I feel like you don’t get much use outta your brain, either.”

“Hey, cool it,” Jazz grumbled, raising his hands in surrender. “You know killin’ me’d set back your redemption plan pretty far.”

“Ha! You must not know me very well, sweet thing. I’m a backslider from way back; wouldn’t be the first time my virtues got a little blurry.” After another moment of enjoying the tension, he released the other demon’s shirt and took a step back. “But fuckin’ you up isn’t worth listenin’ to Charlie gripe. So how ‘bout you get the hell outta my face and we call it even?”

“Fine. Shit.” With a bitter, disappointed glance in Angel’s direction, Jazz shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked out of the room. Angel twirled his guns once before tucking them back into his jacket. He was just in such a good goddamn mood lately, and he didn’t have to wonder why; true to Alastor’s word, none of Val’s guys had shown up at the hotel since their little ‘chat,’ leaving Angel free to enjoy his independence and sexuality—or lack thereof!—whatever way he chose. Since he’d been working for Val so long, it was refreshing to be back in control of himself now. And he hadn’t forgotten for even a second who he had to thank for it.

Alastor had been acting a little weird since then, though. Looking at him funny, not responding to his playful flirting right, and then there was that word—cher—he’d started using. Angel might not have the best grasp of French, but he was pretty sure he recognized that term. Enough to know what it meant but not what it meant.

As he strolled out of the ballroom Jazz had dragged him into without warning, he found Alastor standing outside, clutching his staff tightly in both hands. “Angel,” he said a little too cheerfully. “How are you? I thought…well, I could’ve been wrong. It sounded like you and Jazz had a bit of a disagreement.”

“Is there anything in the hotel you don’t hear?” Angel tried hard not to think about how many times he’d moaned the Radio Demon’s name into his pillow over the past few nights.

“Not much.” Alastor’s default expression didn’t shift in the slightest. It wasn’t easy, but Angel was making a point of learning to tell one smile from another. How else would he ever learn to read the cryptic bastard? “But you look fine. I suppose you took care of it.”

“Y’know, it’s pretty cute, you gettin’ all protective,” Angel said with a knowing grin, “but don’t start thinkin’ I can’t handle myself with jerk-offs like him. I’m not gonna ask you to step in for me again any time soon, don’t worry.”

“Right. Of course! No, I know you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself.” He was doing it again, getting all awkward and distant for no reason, avoiding Angel’s eyes, his usual smooth attitude stuttering a little.

Angel Dust had never been much good at quiet contemplation or impulse control, so instead of keeping his concerns to himself and giving Alastor space, he asked directly, “What’s goin’ on with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit. Don’t act like you haven’t been lookin’ at me different since you got back from Val’s place.” Or maybe it was the kiss. “You act like you’re happy to see me, you start talkin’ to me like normal, then you clam up all of a sudden and run off. You were always a little weird, but you’re weirder lately, and I feel like it’s got somethin’ to do with me.”

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit to think that Alastor was mad at him or something. Despite his best efforts at resisting, Angel had developed a sort of attachment to him, weirdness and all. Maybe out of gratitude. Maybe something else. He already knew better than to expect Alastor would ever start feeling something similar about him, but he’d thought they were at least on some kind of friendly terms.

The Radio Demon was silent and still for just a moment too long, and Angel let out a frustrated sigh, throwing up his hands and starting past him toward the elevator—but Alastor caught his hand to stop him.

“If anything I’ve done has made you feel like you’re in the wrong, I’m sorry,” he said plainly. “I’ve been keeping my distance while I decided how to talk to you about this. And, obviously, I haven’t had any luck. Now might be as good a time as any.”

“For what? What d’you want to talk about?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alastor seemed to realize he was still holding Angel’s hand and released it. “I’d rather have the conversation in private, if you don’t mind. We could use one of the conference rooms or—”

“Isn’t your room closer?” Angel asked, raising his eyebrows, and Al’s throat constricted with a reflexive gulp.

“Yes. That’s also fine. If you like.” He turned on his heel to lead the way down the hall to room 313, then held the door open and gestured for Angel to go ahead. The room was surprisingly minimalist, not reflecting the beaucoups of personality that showed every time Alastor opened his mouth. But that was better than the hellish horrors some other Overlords might decorate with.

“So what’s the deal?” Angel’s instinct was to seat himself on the bed, but he resisted it, not wanting Alastor to think he was being pushy.

“The question seems simple enough, doesn’t it? Yet as hard as I’ve tried, I can’t seem to answer it as clearly or eloquently as I’d like. That’s part of the reason I haven’t mentioned it to you; I felt there was no point bringing it up until I actually had something to say.”

“Funny. Most times, it’s a lot harder to make you stop talkin’.”

“Believe me, I know exactly how unusual this is,” Alastor sighed, releasing his staff and letting it vanish, “which is most likely why it’s been so difficult for me to form it into a complete, polished statement.”

“Give it to me messy, then.” Seeing how rigid Alastor had gone, Angel winced and tried again. Sometimes his mouth just formed innuendos without any effort on his part. “I’m sayin’ I don’t need it to be super-organized and flawless. Just tell me what you’re thinkin’.”

The Radio Demon took a deep breath and, without looking anywhere near Angel, confessed, “I want…you. That’s the clearest way I can think to say it.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, obviously frustrated with how inelegant the words were. But they were enough to hold Angel’s attention regardless.

“Oh.” He was about to ask Alastor to elaborate but quickly realized that was the part he was having trouble with. So he asked a different question. “When’d that start?”

“Roughly twenty-four seconds after you kissed me,” Alastor said matter-of-factly.

“After? So that’s not why you helped me with Val?”

“No. I don’t think so, at least. And I didn’t want you thinking so, either. But then—” He choked out a laugh. “I don’t have a definitive answer for why I did that, either, so maybe I’m fooling myself. It’s hard to say.”

“Well, if you can’t tell me what ya want, it’ll be awful hard for me to give it to ya.”

Red eyes lingered on Angel’s lips, and Alastor wet his own. “But you’re willing to agree, just like that? Without even knowing what I’m asking for?”

“Al, I’m gonna be totally honest with you,” Angel said, drawing closer and bending down a little to meet his gaze. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little bit of a freak. I figured I was wastin’ my time, thinkin’ about gettin’ with you—”

“You’ve been thinking about that, have you?”

“—but I’m pretty sure whatever you wanna do with my body, I’ll enjoy it,” he went on, draping his arms over Alastor’s shoulders, not missing the shiver that went through the Overlord’s body. “I trust you.”

Those were apparently the magic words; Alastor’s eyes widened, and he dragged Angel into a firm kiss. And he participated much more actively this time! He slid one hand into Angel’s hair to draw him downward, forcing his posture to bend, but he was too absorbed in the experience to be bothered.

It all seemed to happen much slower than he expected. Alastor’s tongue traced his lips, stealing his breath, then slipped inside, everything soft and wet and warm. Even as Angel pressed in closer, arms tightening around Alastor’s shoulders and waist, Al refused to let him take things any faster. It seemed like he was intent on exploring every inch of Angel’s mouth in his own time, and—God—his tongue was longer than expected. When Alastor moaned into his mouth, Angel’s heart practically stopped, and he forced himself to break away for a breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hanging off Al for stability.

“That’s a nice sound, cher,” the Radio Demon purred, allowing his free arm to wrap around Angel’s slender waist and hold him close. “I wonder what it would take to hear more of it.”

“Uh. My voice?” Angel asked, embarrassed at how turned on he’d gotten from just one kiss (albeit a very deep, very thorough kiss).

“That’s right. I know for sure that I want that. The question is how to go about getting it.” Using the grip in his hair, he turned Angel toward him for another kiss, one every bit as hot and intense as the first, and Angel found himself moaning softly with every breath from having his mouth full. How ironic that someone so indifferent about sex could excite him with hardly any effort. But after so long doing without, every little bit of pleasurable friction made him eager for more. If this is his first time, is he feeling all that too?

“H-hang on,” he whimpered, reluctantly pushing Alastor away so he could catch a breath. “You probably can’t hear me really well if my mouth’s covered.”

“Fair point.” Al grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the bed, then pushed him forward to kneel on the mattress. Stepping in close behind him, Alastor wrapped both arms around his waist, chest pressed to Angel’s back. With Angel on his knees, Alastor’s mouth was at just the right level to meet his neck, lips and tongue and teeth teasing to send hot shivers down his spine.

“That’s…nice, baby,” Angel sighed, and he could feel Alastor tense up behind him. “What? Somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t care to be called that,” the Radio Demon said plainly. “Try again, cher.”

“Oh. Well, what d’ya like, then?” Angel was struggling to focus on talking as Al easily unbuttoned his jacket and stripped it off him to toss it to the floor. So much for shyness! He knew some part of what he wanted, clearly.

“Surprise me,” Alastor chuckled. “Something unique. Something you wouldn’t use for anyone else.”

“Okay. How ‘bout, uh, dear?” That one was a lot more wholesome than he was used to.

Al laughed against his skin. “Yes, that seems appropriate.” His hands drifted down to unbutton Angel’s shorts, drawing a breathless moan from his lips.

“Alastor…”

“Simple, but I’m surprised at how much I enjoy hearing it.” As he talked, casual as could be, he slid his hand down the front of Angel’s shorts to tease a desperate whine from his lips.

“Y-y’know, you’re makin’ this…kinda hard for me, honey,” he moaned, cheeks flushing with heat. There was another term he didn’t use often. It always felt too sweet, too familiar to call a stranger. But of course, Alastor didn’t fall into that category anymore.

“Oh, I like that very much, cher,” he purred, his hand meeting Angel’s bare skin without any sense of reservation or discomfort. Angel whined and writhed, embarrassed at how hard he’d gotten already but not trying to escape.

“Hang on. Lemme…do somethin’ for you too.” He tried reaching back with his free hands to grope between Alastor’s legs—but the Radio Demon moved away before he could.

“That’s not necessary.” The shadows in the room came to life and bound Angel’s wrists in front of him so he couldn’t reach. With a snap of Alastor’s fingers, the room went utterly pitch black, forcing Angel to feel everything else even more. It seemed unfair that with hardly any experience, he was still doing everything just right. “If you want to please me, speak to me, moan for me—sing for me if you like. I can promise no one else will hear. And I intend to keep it that way.”

So there was a little possessiveness in him somewhere. Not that Angel minded. Even if it wasn’t the same kind of sex he was used to having, he was still 100% engaged and eager to do whatever he could to make it good for his partner too. He moaned wantonly, trying and failing to keep his hips still, dropping his head back against Alastor’s shoulder just to be closer to him. The Radio Demon chuckled at his enthusiasm and nibbled along his neck, sharp teeth deliciously dangerous against soft skin.

“Harder,” Angel whispered, and he obliged without hesitation, biting down hard enough that Angel was sure he would have a bruise—but he still wasn’t satisfied. “I said harder, honey.”

Alastor hummed his approval and sank his teeth viciously into Angel’s neck, the force enough to buckle his knees. Good thing he was kneeling already. Al made a point of lapping up whatever blood he’d spilled, even gathering a few stray drops with his fingers and licking it off. Meaning that when his hand slid between Angel’s legs again, it was slick and wet, enough to pull a shocked cry of pleasure from his lips.

“I didn’t…I really didn’t expect you to be this good,” he laughed shakily.

“No? What did you expect?” Alastor’s other hand slid up the curve of his waist and into the thick fur of his chest to banish any space between them. “I’m curious, chéri: what have you been imagining?”

“Well. I figured you’d be kinda…forceful like this,” Angel answered, trying to distract himself from the slow strokes on his heated flesh, the way Alastor’s fingertips seemed to be mapping out every curve of his body. So calm, so thorough, and shockingly effective. “But, uh…I dunno, maybe a little clumsy? So much for that.” It was also surprising him how difficult holding a conversation was; normally guys weren’t interested in talking to him, especially in bed.

“Why bother doing a thing if you aren’t going to do it well, that’s what I always say.” Alastor took his hand away, and Angel almost whined, almost begged him to keep going—but his breath caught as something else curled around his erection, something slender and flexible like a… Like a shadow tentacle, he realized. Holy shit. The Radio Demon was apparently kinkier than he let on, but Angel could hardly complain when it all felt so good.

As his body was burning up and he was really losing track of his breath, he rested his head back against Alastor’s shoulder and turned to murmur into his ear. “Will you, uh, kiss me again?”

“Hmm. You like having your mouth full that much?” Al teased, and a shiver of hot embarrassment (and something else) rushed through Angel’s stomach.

“Well, I”—he swallowed hard—“I like when it’s your tongue.”

Alastor let out a low groan and held him even tighter. “Whatever you need, chéri.” One of his hands found its way into Angel’s hair again, and this time his kiss was brutal, bruising, urgent. Perfect. But he was no slouch at multitasking, his shadow magic just as precise and attentive as his hand was, and all this friction between Angel’s legs and lips was driving him out of his mind.

Remembering what Al had said about wanting to hear him, he didn’t bother stifling his moans, not for a second, his pitch and volume rising every moment that Alastor toyed with him. Fuck, it’s so hot. I can’t handle it! I… He could hardly even keep his own thoughts straight, too lost in feeling every single second of this, getting closer and closer until his willpower finally broke and he came with a breathy scream. His instinct was to pull away to catch his breath, but Alastor kept him trapped, apparently content to swallow every deep, desperate whimper that slipped out of his lips as he rode out his orgasm.

Eventually, after several more seconds of enjoying his mouth, Alastor drew away and let him gasp for air but still refused to allow any space between them. He even nuzzled his lips slowly against Angel’s neck, and a different, totally non-sexual warmth flooded through him. “That…that was… Uh, wow,” he laughed, and Alastor snickered along with him.

“Good to know my ‘weirdness about sex’ didn’t ruin it for you.”

“No way. It was better,” Angel told him without thinking. “Maybe just cuz it was you.”

“Ahem!” He could imagine Alastor’s bashful smile, which was very slightly different from his nervous smile or his apprehensive one.

“So?” Angel shifted carefully to sit up, tugging at the bonds still holding his wrists. “You gonna let me spend the night or…?”

“Let you? I would be bothered if you didn’t. Besides.” With another snap of Alastor’s fingers, a lamp in the corner glowed to life, casting soft red light across the room. Shouldn’t that be creepy? Unnerving? Angel felt totally comfortable. “I think you’d find it difficult to get upstairs in your state.” To illustrate, he pushed Angel forward lightly, and he easily collapsed against the bed, shaky now that he was no longer being supported.

“Twist my arm, why don’t ya,” he answered, wriggling out of his shorts and kicking them, along with his boots, to the floor.

“Oh, is that something else you enjoy? I’ll keep it in mind.” After stripping out of his coat and hanging it in the closet, Alastor unfastened his cuffs and unbuttoned his shirt a little, then came to crawl into bed still mostly dressed. Angel decided not to question it; if that was how he was comfortable, then fine. When he noticed Angel’s shaking wasn’t stopping, he tilted his head to one side and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Angel tried to still himself, hoping not to ruin the mood after everything had gone so well. “I’m fine. Just…tryna calm down.” That was a pretty intense session, after all, so his body and mind were still a little overwhelmed.

“I see.” Moving slightly closer without touching him, Alastor instead asked, “Would you like to be near me while you do so?”

His reflexive and honest answer was yes, please—but he hesitated to speak it, not wanting to come off clingy or weak. “I mean, you don’t hafta do that. If you gimme a couple minutes, I’ll—”

“You aren’t answering my question, cher,” Alastor pointed out, very carefully brushing his thumb over Angel’s cheek. Even that tiny bit of gentle affection was a huge comfort after so much intensity. Angel’s resistance quickly broke.

“Yeah. I would.” He wriggled a little closer under the covers to put himself in Alastor’s arms, and the Radio Demon held him without question, stroking his hair and humming to him softly while he slowly relaxed. So weird. So different. But different in a way Angel could definitely see himself getting used to. “You better be careful, honey. Keep bein’ this nice to me and I might start gettin’ confused about what you actually want here.”

“That would make two of us,” Alastor answered quietly. But he didn’t back away, didn’t get uncomfortable, didn’t kick Angel out of his bed. He didn’t make any effort to insist that this was just about sex (since it obviously wasn’t) or that Angel shouldn’t get his hopes up for anything more. Which was a good thing, because as he leaned down for another kiss—slow and soft this time—Angel’s hopes were rising higher and higher all the time. How long had it been since he’d felt hopeful about anything? He wasn’t even sure what he expected to happen, but damn it: he’d forgotten how good it felt to believe in something.

#RadioDust #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Alastor #look I have a lot of feelings okay #One Good Turn #Radio Dust #Angel x Alastor

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honestlyhufflepuff · 4 years

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Nesting and Resting

Jam Week Day 5: Home. Summary: Steven gets a little too into decorating Connie’s dorm. Word Count: 2203

Steven surveyed the dorm room, trying to figure out what it was missing. He was sitting on Connie’s loft bed, the highest vantage point of the space, trying to get a feel for the room’s flow. The first place his eyes were drawn to was the plush Papasan chair by the bay window- mostly because of who was in it. Connie lay curled up under a white faux fur throw, dust particles dancing around her in in the setting sun. The golden light illuminated the errant hairs of her thick ponytail to make a glowing crown. She looked like a small bird in a nest of wicker and cotton.

The chair took up far too much floor space in the modest room, but Steven insisted they could make it work by raising the bed to make room for her desk underneath it. He said he just wanted to be sure she felt comfortable.

Connie kicked out her legs, dangling them over the edge of the giant chair’s cushion, and looked up at Steven.

“It looks great,” she said with a tired smile, “We’ve done enough decorating for today. I don’t think it could feel any more like home.”

He sighed, tearing his gaze away from her to scan the room once more “I know, there’s just something I’m forgetting.”

She groaned and threw the blanket off her.

“I know you’re tired,” he cooed from his perch on her bed, “Take a nap. I’ll be quiet.”

“No, I’m hungry,” she popped out of the chair, “Let’s go check out the restaurants near campus! I saw a really good looking boba tea place on our way in.”

“I’m really not hungry yet, and I want to finish some stuff in here. Why don’t you grab some stuff from the kitchen, and we can go out to Boba afterwards?”

She sighed, looking like she wanted to say something about his decorating obsession, but thought better of bringing it up when she was getting hangry.

“Fine,” she said, “but we are getting boba afterwards. Promise?”

He nodded and reached out to squeeze her hand, “Promise.”

He sat still as she left, and he could hear the indistinct chatter she was having with one of her new suite mates.

The room was lush and bursting with stimuli that elicited comfort. Connie had kindly endured months of dorm inspo videos on TubeTube as Steven picked her brain for what she would like the most. A Pothos Ivy and a succulent of green pearls were cradled in macramé that hung from the ceiling by the window. The new plants looked so small and fragile in the pots at the nursery, but one kiss each from Steven sent streams of emerald growth almost down to the floor. He wished growth in humans was as easy as that.

The bay window was easily the best feature of the room and looked out on a courtyard filled with crisp fall leaves and bustling new freshman. The sunlight filtering into the room was softened by gauzy white curtains, that faintly glowed with twinkle lights. Not many dorms were lucky to have so much natural light, but Gale was an old, uppity university with a certain standard of living expected by the students. Even with Connie’s mom being a doctor, they could not have afforded it easily had Connie not gotten a full ride scholarship. She was the Valedictorian of her high school, an ethnic minority, a classically trained violinist, and a woman going into STEM. Apparently, all those things meant she practically had colleges fighting over her, and she was a shrewd bargainer. Gale was her dream school, but she acted aloof until they offered her a single unit dorm, a bunch of sweet collegiate merch, and meal vouchers to try nearly every restaurant around campus at least twice.

No colleges were fighting over Steven. He sat on top of a blue and white striped comforter with the college’s regal crest emblazoned on it. Connie’s drawers and wardrobe were filled with blue, a way for Gale to mark her as theirs. Even Steven wore a blue hoodie from her with the school’s name stamped to his chest, but he was not theirs. He was hers. All this blue crowding him was from a new phase of her life, one that involved him being two states away.

Throughout the room, the blue warred with the pink- with remnants from the past. On top of the Gale comforter was a throw pillow made from one of Steven’s old pink t-shirts. The gold star in the middle was more faded than he remembered when contrasted next to all the vibrant, new, blue items around it, including the stuffed poodle that rested on top of it.

Steven thought a poodle was a stupid mascot, and carefully rearranged the pillows on the bed so that the star was more prominent.

He looked for other pink things in the room. Connie’s sword was mounted above her bed, ready to grab at a moment’s notice, although she would probably never need to. He ran his hand along the artfully crafted hilt, a surge of confusing nostalgia settling in his chest, and felt pained when his fingers came away with dust on them. Was it normal to miss a time of war when people were constantly trying to abduct or kill you?

A massive pink shag rug covered most of the hard wood floor. Connie loved it the moment she saw it in the store because it reminded her of Lion’s mane.

Steven climbed down the ladder at the foot of the bed and wiggled his toes in the rug’s fibers. He wandered around, brushing the tops of the items that composed Connie’s small, new home with his fingertips. There was the noisemaker he got her for when the old pipes and creaky floors in the colonial dorm building were too creepy at night. He turned it on and found the sound of the ocean, hoping that one was her favorite.

There was the bar cart in the corner stashed with tea, mugs, and snacks. There were the tiny potted succulents and air plants in corners where more energy flow was needed. There was a hanging stack of organization cubes filled with linens, cleaning supplies, and toiletries. Then there was her desk, under the bed. That was the part of the room she wouldn’t let Steven touch, as she was more particular about her study area than anywhere else. The entire upper half of the wall under the bed was covered in cork board, which was scattered with pictures from their childhood pressed in by little star thumb-tacs, and interspersed by Connie’s fanart drawings, photos with her family, and with friends from school. Next to the picture board was a dry erase calendar, blank and crisp before being filled with responsibilities. By her desk there was a short bookshelf filled with all the fantasy novels she gushed over with him as a child, as well as new titles that were too technical for him to understand.

He was looking at some old, silly pictures of them when his eyes were drawn to the desk. Amongst the lamp, the laptop, and the new textbooks already tabbed and highlighted before the semester started, there was a mug of writing utensils with a familiar bracelet looped around a portion of them.

He lifted the small loop of pink plastic, held it under the lamp, and cupped it to his face, shielding out the light to try and make it glow once again. He knew the glowing properties had left it long ago, but for some reason he felt compelled to try, just as Connie had felt compelled to keep it even when its designed purpose was over with.

Steven had been doing a lot of work on himself the past few years, trying to not constantly feel aimless or abandoned, but as tears began to well up in his eyes, he couldn’t help but think he was backsliding. It was normal, his therapist had said, to feel sad about his best friend leaving for college. Was crying over an old glow bracelet normal, though? Was it one step away from spiraling out of control again like what happened back when he would glow pink at the slightest exacerbation of his insecurities?

Just the thought of going back to that stage of his life sent a jolt of anxiety through him, and he clutched the bracelet to his chest as he plopped in Connie’s desk chair with his knees pulled up under his chin.

“Steven?” Connie stood in the doorway, two bowls of steaming ramen noodles in her hands and worry on her face.

He must have been quite a sight, he thought to himself, tearing up and huddled in the corner over an old glow bracelet with calming ocean noises playing.

“Hey, Connie!” He wiped his face quickly before he looked up at her, “You didn’t have to make me anything!”

“It’s the least I could do for you making my room look like it belongs on a Mumblr aesthetic blog or whatever.”

She placed the bowls on her bar cart and trailed her hand down Steven’s arm until she was grasping the hand that held the bracelet. He was sure she’d noticed the red and the wetness in his eyes, but she didn’t mention it.

“You said you wanted to finish stuff in here. What were you working on?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, “It’s perfect. I guess I was just looking for something wrong with it so I could have something to fix. Sorry- you know that’s a thing I do.”

“I know,” she said, and booped his nose, “but at least you’re aware you were doing it. Now eat your ramen.”

Steven obediently took his bowl and slurped up the warm, wavy noodles. “You sure you can feel like this place is home?”

“You mean a place away from you?”

He nodded.

“Well, I know the twin bed is a little small, but you could always sleep in the Papasan. Just live here and we won’t tell anyone.”

“What if your dorm police find out?”

“Again, Steven, they’re called Resident Assistants. And if they come by you could just shapeshift into a cute emotional support cat or something.”

“Nope!”

“What?”

“I don’t do cat shapeshifting. No way.”

Connie laughed and slurped up another noodle so fast it splashed broth in between her eyes. It was second nature for Steven to wipe it off with his thumb without either of them missing a beat in the conversation.

“Ok, so the place is a little cramped for you to live in my dorm, but you could always live here in Blue Haven. If you wanted to.”

“What? And just leave everything back in Beach City?”

“I understand if you don’t want to, but all the coolest things you’re doing in Beach City you could also do here.”

She hid her face in her bowl and came back up with her cheeks red as she looked at him again.

Steven did have a lot going for him, even if college might not be his thing. He had a successful vlogging TubeTube channel. It was an eclectic mix of space adventures with Lars, pranks with Amethyst, original music and covers from animes, reaction videos, cooking tutorials, and music tutorials. He had no idea how he got almost 9 million subscribers, but it was enough to support himself easily without his dad’s help.

He was giving music lessons, which was a rewarding way to help people.

He even made emergency calls to the hospital when Dr. Maheswaran needed a spit healing, but they’d found out the hard way he couldn’t overdo that, and it wasn’t exactly a board-approved practice.

He couldn’t think of any reason he couldn’t do those things in the same town as Connie. Being in such a culturally vibrant college town could be good for connecting with other content creators.

“Also,” piped up Connie again, “you’re a space prince with a magic Lion who could easily warp you back for a visit once a week- or more if you got the right treats for him.”

“That’s true,” Steven said, “Lion only shows up when he wants to, though.”

“Well, I guess if you really need to you can just take your car like the rest of us lowly humans.” She winked at him.

“Heh, yeah. So, do you want me to move here?”

“I want you-” she stood up with her empty bowl and bent down to kiss his forehead, “-to do what you want to do. We’ll make it work either way. I’m sure this place will feel like home after a while, when I make some friends and get to know the campus.”

“Maybe,” he smiled at the idea, and plopped the rest of his ramen into his mouth, savoring the salty flavor.

“There’s no time to decide now about moving now,” said Connie, “because there’s something more important we have to do.”

“Hmm?”

“Boba?” She raised one eyebrow at him.

“Boba,” he agreed.

They strode out of the dorm, leaving Connie’s sword, instead ready to take on the world armed with bubble tea.

#jamweek #connverse #i did way too much research on yale #just so i could make up a college named gale #steven universe fanfic

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initiumseries · 4 years

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I have seen you talk about the relationships on PLL with Ezria and Spoby Haleb but I want to Know your thoughts on the Emily ships and mainly Paige. I really hope you are not another one of those Paige haters who can’t let go of that “drowning incident.” Because I swear if I were a drinking game out of that my liver would be destroyed. I always appreciate and respect your opinions

Uh, well Emily and Paige always seemed like a fraught relationship. I think the way they got together was, from my recollection, relatively organic because Emily wants nothing to do with her after she tries to drown her, which made sense. But I always kinda felt like Paige and Emily were together because Paige was the only queer girl the same age as Emily in that school, so they just kinda...were together. They argued, and saw things fundamentally different and ultimately Paige wanted to leave town to get away from the craziness where Emily wanted to fight for her right to exist there. So I feel like I never really got the sense that they were a “forever” couple like all the other ships that came full circle over the series. Whether that’s fair or not to Emily, I mean, I honestly think Emily just deserved someone who was completely on her wavelength the same way her hetero friends did. I feel like Emily struggled through relationships in a way her friends didn’t and as the only queer person in the group, it’s hard to not see that as homophobia working itself into the writing of her relationships. I don’t really understand the choice to make Emily so aggressively against Maya being bi/pan. I would have preferred if the show was more evolved, and made the issues more about Emily being jealous Maya found someone else and less about the fact that that someone else was a guy. It could have been a refreshing take, but PLL isn’t exactly the bastion of path paving forward thought. So, what we got is Emily being with a flighty, unreliable Maya who is murdered (very tacky trope), then a hostile, rigid Paige, who eventually softens, but they’re just not on the same wavelength. That chick she was with for 5 minutes (Rebekah fr TVD) before A made her flirt with her other friend, was so fleeting it’s almost not worth mentioning.

I dipped out of PLL toward the very end, but I’m given to understand that there was a lot going on with Allison and Emily and Emily’s eggs or some shit and I thought that was utterly ridiculous and backsliding. Emily had grown so much beyond her unrequited crush on Allison that whatever they did at the end there seemed like, once again an unnecessary disservice to her character. Overall I feel like Emily deserved that Big Love that she could have stayed with longterm that she meshed with as well as the others and while I don’t dislike Paige, I don’t believe Paige was that either.

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hatari-translations · 4 years

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Hi! There is a radio interview from december 31st called "Á síðustu stundu" (rás 2 kl 12:40) . Would you like to translate what they are saying? :)

The show can be found here, with the segment that Matthías is in starting at roughly fifteen minutes in. It’s quite long and most of the segment isn’t relevant to Matthías or Hatari at all, so there’ll be a lot of omissions here, but I’m translating or summarizing everything substantial that Matthías says, as usual. They actually talk about the international fanbase a little!

(Also: I’m bad at voices, I may be wrong somewhere in here on whether a host or a non-Matthías guest is speaking, please forgive me)

He is introduced as a “Matthías Tryggvi Haraldsson, I’m going to say playwright…” “Thank you.” “…singer…” “Okay.” “…activist…” “…Sure.” “And hater/Hatari.” Matthías then again says “Thanks for ‘playwright’.” I love that people do introduce him as a playwright a lot; I get the feeling that may be the work he’s proudest of, and he likes it when it’s acknowledged.

They talk about global warming a bit and denialism; Matthías contributes, “Denialists don’t want to be called denialists. It offends them.”

He’s asked if he’s doing anything special in his life for the climate; the other guy being interviewed talked about sorting his garbage. “Other than sorting garbage? Well, one should attend those protests [the youth Friday climate protests, which the woman being interviewed was part of organizing]. I haven’t done so thus far, I must admit.” They talk about how most jobs won’t let you just disappear off to a climate protest every week. Then he says “In the meantime, maybe I should buy a ‘Rótarskot’ from the persons of the year.” [The “Person of the year” was announced earlier in the show as the Icelandic Search and Rescue organization. For many years, their primary source of money was to sell fireworks for New Year’s Eve; in 2018, they started also selling ‘Rótarskot’, for those who don’t want fireworks, which is essentially funding the planting of trees and Search and Rescue at the same time.]

After talking about Search and Rescue for a bit, Matthías is asked about Eurovision, “all this… hullabaloo”. Matthías says “Yes. That’s a good choice of words.”

Host: “Have you recovered?”

Matthías: “No, I’ve just been kind of bit by bit regrounding myself. Then of course we get the New Year’s Comedy tonight and that’ll be a backslide. And then of course there’ll be another Eurovision Song Contest, and that’ll also bring it back. But then I think we’ll be rid of it, in the summer. May-June-ish.”

The host talks about how Eurovision is so huge here and people often think we’re the only people who care about it, which is a myth. He says he runs the social media for RÚV and put a photo of Matthías on Instagram when he was on Kappsmál, no gimps or leather, just Matthías (“I was wearing a green shirt,” Matthías adds), and that this photo got a lot of likes, almost exclusively from international Hatari fan pages.

Matthías: “hatarii with two i’s underscore belarus.”

Host: “Matthias I love you…”

Host: “Pics of matti…”

Matthías: “Matthías smiling is one. Hatari memes.”

Host: “Is this something that you sense in your everyday life, or is it just there?”

Matthías: “It comes up in the unlikeliest moments. Just some child pointing, or a woman at the store complimenting you out of nowhere.”

Host: “People are still thinking about this?”

Matthías: “Yeah, it’s still…”

Host: “But what about the foreigners? Are you still getting a lot of attention from abroad, messages or love confessions or…”

Matthías: “Uh, I get messages. I’ve stopped looking at my requests, long ago. Of course it’s calmed down a lot. It was real chaos back in May/June. But yeah, there’s still… you get weird tags on Instagram from all these pages. But of course, when you’re in a nation of multi-millions, the contest is a lot more niche. Even though it’s big, it’s not this unifying public thing, like it is a bit here, even though it has a large fanbase. It doesn’t dominate society in Britain or Germany like it does here.”

Host: “Here and Sweden.”

Matthías: “Yeah.”

They start talking about podcasts for a bit; Matthías says he associates audiobooks with that as well. He’s asked if audiobooks have become mainstream, and he thinks yes, at least for him this year. Somebody asks if it’s the authors reading or actors, and Matthías says he thinks it’s actors working as contractors.

A bit later they start talking about whether this is actually the start of a new decade, and Matthías opines that he feels it is. They talk about how to celebrate that; the woman host says she just bought more fireworks than usual for 2010, but today that’s not really the zeitgeist (there’s been a lot of discussion in recent years about how the ridiculous amounts of fireworks Icelanders set off on New Year’s Eve create serious pollution). The guests agree they haven’t been doing a lot of fireworks recently; Matthías says last year he just bought one rocket and one Rótarskot. Host suggests then he rocket was already carbon-neutralized. “Yes, I’m allowed.” Matthías talks about how in Sweden there’s a law where you have to prove you attended lessons before you can set off fireworks.

It’s suggested maybe there should just be one fireworks show. Matthías agrees that he likes that idea, that there’s one show and if you want to see it you just go to a certain place to watch it. Somebody says “A state show,” and Matthías says “Yeah, the state - or you could have private enterprises bidding on it.”

Eventually Matthías is asked what’s next for Hatari. “What do you do next? It’s a lot of performance art. How can you top yourselves?”

Matthías: “A good question. Well, we’ll probably take one step at a time. There’s an album in January, and a release gig, both an evening show and one the next day with no age limit. It’s all on tix.is, just to mention that. But then the future will show what we end up doing. Personally - well, you don’t want to say too much. But just continuing to surprise, introduce unexpected elements into the staging. We’ve been working with opera singers, a choir, a violin player, an accordion player… just trying to get in new elements, use the dance in a new way, just back to basics, thinking about the staging.

Host: “Will Europe crumble?”

Matthías: “Well, yes. That’s clear and that’s why we named our tour Europe Will Crumble.”

Host asks him about how they’ve got a show for all ages now, and they could hardly have imagined when they started this that they’d have children on board. He brings up Ash Wednesday and all the BDSM children running around.

Matthías: “I didn’t actually see that. But no, we weren’t expecting that. But we were to some extent conscious that we were going to slip away from the audience’s expectations. If we’re part of some scene or some particular demographic is into us, we try to surprise them and throw ourselves into some other scene. So Eurovision was in some ways a part of that. At first it was mainly metal fans who liked it. We went to Eistnaflug and it’s the first time I sing on a real stage that’s not at a bar or something. And after that we start getting more into rap, and publish a song with CYBER, and yeah, we try to demolish expectations.”

Host asks if Hatari have to restrain themselves a bit with the wider age demographic.

Matthías: “Nah, we’re just doing the same we’ve always been doing, and developing that show further. But yeah, of course the audience has changed, and we’re still trying to put our finger on exactly what group it is that’s attending our shows. It depends on the country a bit too, and place in the country. We still haven’t figured out who the typical Hatari fan is today.”

They discuss the current President of Iceland, Guðni Th. Jóhannesson, who is pretty universally beloved.

Matthías is asked for his plans for New Year’s Eve.

Matthías: “I’m getting nut roast at my dad’s, then driving home, where I rent with five cool kids, and we’re having a party. I’ve never done that, hosted a New Year’s party.”

The segment then wraps up pretty quickly after they’ve talked about what they’re doing for New Year’s.

#hatari #matthías tryggvi haraldsson #interview #translation #Anonymous

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