#i’m not saying all sentiment is trite by this or anything i too am a silly little man in love and yeah | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hamliet · 3 years

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Ahhh well, I have written much on Romeo and Juliet before, because it's one of my favorite works of Shakespeare and of literature itself. It is criminally underrated and scorned because of sexist anti-romance sentiment. So uh, yeah, I'm more of your opinion.

To start with, I wrote this here, and highly recommend this old post by someone else as well. It's quite comprehensive.

But, because I love Romeo and Juliet and the more I learn about it, the more impressed I am with the absolute art of the story Shakespeare told, I have more to say. Essentially:

Juliet is one of the most astounding female characters in all of literature, and most of her brilliance has been lost with the loss of Shakespearean context. You see, Juliet was a deliberate deconstruction of the idealized, virginal, holy creature of Woman. Yes, that's how the medieval poets like Petrarch (the inventor of the sonnet, which Shakespeare adapted and wrote his own versions of in Romeo and Juliet and hundreds more on their own) and even Dante Alighieri (yes, that Dante, the Inferno guy) wrote their women. For Petrarch, Laura (whom he like, never talked to) was the object of all his love poetry. For Dante, Beatrice was written as his spiritual guide into Paradise in Paradiso.

Not to simplify their love for these women, but Shakespeare was essentially like "RIP but I'm different." He wrote Juliet as a human character with flaws (hardly a spiritual guide) who was not this virginal, holy creature. She starts off the play extremely obedient to her family and polite, almost like that ideal, but as the play goes on she begins to let her fire grow.

Romeo's poems for Rosaline are deliberately trite and parody Petrarch's sonnets, as well as other sonnets from the day (for example, Rosaline is literally sworn to chastity forever, which wasn’t even the case for Laura or Beatrice). While the fact that Romeo can switch loves from Rosaline to Juliet so quickly does indeed emphasize his flaw (impulsivity and deep passion), it also thereby emphasizes his humanity, because the unique imagery Romeo uses with Juliet show that he is really in love with her as she is--not as an idea like with Rosaline, but as a human being. As with many of Shakespeare's other renowned plays' characters, Romeo's flaws are also his strengths. He's complex--human.

So what am I going on about? Why did Shakespeare write Romeo and Juliet this way?

To emphasize their humanity. Which is interesting, because Romeo and Juliet's first meeting, the one where they both create a sonnet together, is all about idolatry:

Romeo If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Juliet Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Romeo Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Juliet Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Romeo O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou lest faith turn to despair. Juliet Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. Romeo Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. [He kisses her]

He describes her as a holy shrine and a saint, but the more their romance goes on, the more human she becomes. He kisses her right away. When they meet in the balcony scene, Juliet herself tells Romeo that the only thing she wants him to swear by--no gods or moons--is himself. In other words, Romeo and Juliet can be seen as a deeply humanistic play.

Also, the more their romance continues, the more human they become and yet the deeper their love becomes. As one of the posts I linked above states, Romeo loves Juliet more after they’ve had sex, not less. Juliet loves Romeo more despite the fact that she knows he killed her cousin--and she is not happy with him for that, either. The more they learn of each other, the more they love each other.

Oh, and about the extra gross modern take that "it's actually a story about a 13 year old and a much older man"--that is complete bogus, as the above post says. Romeo is almost certainly 15 or 16. While people can be squicked out by it (as it was designed to do with some Italian stereotypes), to say it shows anything creepy is basically literary blasphemy and betrays an utter lack of reading comprehension.

Juliet sets the parameters in their relationship: she tells him if he really loves her, he has to marry her before she will sleep with him, and Romeo does. She muses herself how much she wants to sleep with him in a way that clearly expresses Juliet’s very human desires. Juliet is going to assert who she is and go after what she wants.

So to go back to your question, it’s not just about their families, but about society as well, as Prince Escalus says in the final scene:

Capulet! Montague! See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.

Everyone is punished for participating in the feud, which, keep in mind, we were introduced to via an intro fight scene between the servants of the respective families joking about raping the women in the opposing family. Yes, really. It’s almost like toxic masculinity was being called out before its time.

Society is extremely sexist, as we see when Juliet’s father essentially sells her to Paris for the sake of having political clout to win the feud (literally, as Paris is the Prince’s kinsman) and threatens to send her on the streets to prostitute herself if she wants to survive for asking him not to make her marry Paris. But the cat’s out of that bag: Juliet is not going back to being the docile, obedient idol. She’s decisive. She wants to write her own story, and if that makes her a sinner, well then, she’ll go to hell. In the end, when the Friar suggests that Juliet come with him so that he can hide her away in some convent (after Romeo’s death), Juliet refuses and kills herself. She is not going back to being a figure shrouded in some kind of ethereal, unknown glow. She is a person, and people die. But she shouldn’t have had to die for people to see her as a person.

There’s also another layer here: the imagery Romeo uses for Juliet (the sun) and that Juliet uses for Romeo (the moon) is the inverse of how imagery was typically presented in those days. The moon was feminine; the sun, masculine. Even if we look at Romeo and Juliet’s respective character traits, Romeo is the flighty, impulsive, love-struck one who cries all the time, while Juliet is the decisive, bold, and loyal one. That’s the first thing Juliet declares to Romeo in the balcony scene: that she will always be loyal, and she shows this in every choice she makes in the story.

In other words, Shakespeare was deliberately playing with gender and its stereotypes in the play, which gains an even more interesting layer to it when you consider that Shakespeare was himself almost certainly bisexual (his sonnets are preeeetty explicit). It’s not a patriarchal narrative; it can well be seen as a queer narrative in a patriarchal society. And it shouldn’t take two kids having to kill themselves to get society to realize how effed up it is. It isn’t an out-of-touch play, but instead one extremely relevant to our society 500+ years later.

But, Romeo and Juliet’s story is also one of hope. Because instead of no one listening, finally, Montague and Capulet realize how wrong they’ve been. They grieve together, and Capulet vows to let Romeo remain in his family’s tomb, by Juliet’s side (also different, you know, that the husband stays in the wife’s tomb). Montague vows to build a statue for Juliet:

For I will raise her statue in pure gold, That whiles Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Gold is associated with the masculine as well; silver with the feminine. She is remembered as someone “true and faithful,” aka for her loyalty and bravery.

But no statue can bring Juliet back. She was not an idol, and it’s tremendously unfair that that is all she can become now. Same for Romeo. Even so, the fact that their deaths have finally brought peace to the city means that there is life growing from their deaths. They will never be able to birth a family of their own, but the city will grow and live, because of them.

#ask hamliet #shakespeare #romeo and juliet #juliet capulet #romeo montague #romeo & juliet #sorry i accientally posted this before i was finished so had to delete it #and thus the ask is a screenshot

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caimkairos · 3 years

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@kcnhaji said: "...would you be offended if I said that the pain may be worth it? It hurts, it may always hurt, you may never recover - but it is also proof that such things mattered. That we were seen, held and loved, even if for only a moment."

“Yes, I am very offended, how dare you.” It’s a trite and immediate response. Little more than a quick quip. (Though there is a sentiment of genuineness, of ‘how dare you attempt to know me’, because the safest option is to not be known, because she has spent so much of her life safer not being known, safer and unharmed and never, ever supported.) Though eventually it settles down, an odd silence.

She’s not used to this kind of thing, after all. To speak of caring? To care for more than just one person?

“...I’m not used to it.” It’s quiet, not spoken with any confidence. The words of a mortal, yet the mind of something not quite, not quite. “The pain is what I’m used to. All this- concern? That’s what’s too much.”

“I don’t care about people because when you care about them, anything that happens to them is your fault.” It’s spoken like something clear as day, such distorted thinking. Like it’s totally normal, like it isn’t a flawed view at all. “Besides that most people don’t matter. I don’t care about random people. I... I’ve tried, before.” When she wanted to deny how much of a mage she was. ��But I can’t. I genuinely can’t.”

Sure, she makes it out as a joke, makes so much about herself light and humorous. But can someone fake empathy so well they genuinely feel it?

Sophia can’t. She can’t.

“The more people I have to care about, the more they all depend on me. The more I have to give up... I’ve already been one person’s everything. I’ve sacrificed everything so that she can have the happiest life possible. I was told this was right, this was how something like me was to care for others. But I can’t give up everything for multiple people, y’know? And now she says she wants me to not give up everything, and...” Because that’s what it means to care for others in her eyes. To care is the ultimate sacrifice. To care is to give up your own life, your own joy. It’s always such a dramatic thing, always such an extreme.

(Yet it was never asked for. It was told. Her only choice in life was to love her sister, but her parents approved of such devotion from a tool, didn’t they?)

(Ah, even escaping them, dead, her own person, their trace still leaves stains across her entire being.)

(She has never been pure, has she?)

After all, she’s a mage more than a human. Something more fitting to a fae circle or a monstrous collective in its extremity of feeling. Longing for something sweet in a world now bitter like a rotten candy. That concern is such a nasty tasting thing, such a weight upon shoulders. So heavy, that responsibility, that she has cracked and formed into abnormal shapes to escape it.

A chipped nailpolish finger points to the heart from where it rests under her chin.

“I have been solely devoted to one person for so long, and devotion hurts. Responsibility hurts. Caring for people hurts, and it’s exhausting, and I always have to be the one holding up the weight, and I... I don’t want it to matter, I just... want it to stop being so heavy.”

But her feelings would always be so heavy, wouldn’t they? Inhuman extremes in a human heart.

#i've been shackled to my burdens so long.sophia ic #to ask is to receive.ask

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kainhurst · 4 years

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Hey, Alex. I hope you don't mind this inquiry. I have been following you for a few years now, on Twitter. I admire your openness when it comes to mental illness. How have you been during the quarantine? I am having a very hard time. This is the worst I have been in years and its horrifying. I've never thought so much about death. How do you manage? feel free to ignore this if its too invasive.

First off, thank you for reaching out. If you’re anything like me, I know how difficult it is to speak up when emotions are heavy. This is a huge step. I’m proud of you. Truthfully, I’ve not being holding up too well, as I am sure you’ve noticed. My tweets have been...all over the place, to say the least. I can only play so many games and listen to so much music before it all begins to feel the same. However, I will help in whatever way I can. It’s important to be patient with yourself. Your feelings are always valid, especially when things seem so uncertain. Allow yourself time and space to be sad, angry, and scared. Not a single person with sense will fault you for it. You don’t have to be productive, nor must you prove yourself to anyone or anything. It’s okay to do nothing. Sleep all day, eat shitty food, play your favorite video game for the 16th time; do whatever you must to improve your mood.

If/when said feelings create too much pressure, it’s okay to talk to someone about it. Again, I recognize the difficulty behind this (hell, I am advising you to do something I still have trouble practicing), but while you may be physically isolated, these sentiments are shared. It is something so many of us can empathize with. I understand the struggle with opening up, but allowing your loved ones to see your vulnerabilities isn’t a burden, or weakness - it’s freeing, it’s strength.

I’m sorry it’s so hard right now. And while I won’t go into details, allow me to say that you’re not alone in the darker thoughts, either. It’s common to entertain these ideas during times of high-crisis. While you may not see it, you are truly loved and valued. Remember that it will get better. I know that’s trite, but it will. It may take a while to settle back into a routine, but this isn’t something that will persist. Things will return to normal, moods will lighten, and you’ll be okay. I promise. When your vision is clouded and it’s hard to see the light at the end of this very dark, unsure tunnel, send me a message and I will reassure you in whatever way I can. I hope this helped, if only a little. I am going through it myself, but I am here for you, nonetheless. Hang in there, my love, and remember to be as kind to yourself as you are to others.

#Anonymous #alex answers friends

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dredshirtroberts · 4 years

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I’ve never been in a position where I felt homesick from reading a fic. I mean I’ve done that thing where you read about a world that you desperately want to go to but you can’t because, well, fantasy. But like actively I miss home right now...my home.

Ugh it’s disgustingly sentimental and trite and i hate every second that I’m feeling this way but I’m already in a delicate state from the past few days and knowing it doesn’t make it better but at least I’m aware.

My hometown isn’t great. It’s small and southern and slightly backwater and if it weren’t for the local universities it wouldn’t even count as a city and yet somehow it does?? There’s some negative opinions about everything I am and everything I choose to be that are endemic to the area and that sucks. There’s too much Jesus and booze and not enough casual acceptance of people just being people.

Except...there is. In little pockets, among friends, surrounded by people you grew up with and who know you. There’s nothing pressuring you to do anything but there’s nothing saying you can’t do anything. And maybe I’m romanticizing it a little but I miss what I had growing up. I don’t believe in the whole Christianity thing, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to go into the church some sunday mornings and sit through the routine, see all the people who helped raise me in the community, feel like I have somewhere I can go and no one’s going to turn me away.

An invitation to get togethers where there’s beer in the cooler and food on the grill - or wine on the counter and everyone brings a dish and you filter yourself through the food room and stand around someone else’s house and just get to relax a bit. Singing in the choir - god I miss singing in the choir. My choir ladies were my favorite people for the longest time, and I miss them.

Anyway this fic author has been very patient with me going through their entire Dragon Age collection as well as several other of their fics already but they’re going to get a very long comment on this one because my heart hurts and I wan to cry but like in an almost okay way?

If y’all wanna help me try to save up enough to move back out to my hometown, I’ve got a ko-fi now.

#*sigh* just being a little melodramatic today it's fine #everything still hurts and i feel a bit like shit mentally still #but at least there's things i enjoy in life yeah?#the captain rambles #long post #I'm choosing not to put this under a cut because...idk really #just...felt like too much hassle lol.

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onwesterlywinds · 5 years

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Nothing to be Feared

Ashe cursed at herself for wearing white. Now that she was in the Undercity with the coat she'd picked out that morning, she felt rather like she was glowing throughout her trek into the waterways; without any indication of who might have been watching her, the sensation was unnerving. Less importantly, she'd already received some sort of grease stain on the front of her coat, and the smear did not inspire any confidence in her own preparedness as she arrived at the proposed meeting place.

She did not have to wait long for Hawthorne, whose arrival was audible only from the barest movement of fabric. The man strode into view straight-backed, with the result that Ashe, not recognizing him in the dim lantern light without his customary slouch, very nearly made to ready her gun.

"Oddly appropriate location," he said by way of greeting. There stood between them an ancient table, perhaps more than six fulms in breadth, and Hawthorne approached it with long and languid strides. "Apologies for asking you to come alone. But - one of us does have a reputation for grandiose... 'retaliation.'"

Already she was uncertain which of them he was referring to.

"And," he continued with a slight nod, "I in particular am not sure how this conversation will go. Good to see you're well, however."

"Why should this conversation go poorly?" She winced slightly at her own tone of voice, at the way its high pitch carried along the brick-lined tunnel. She continued in a whisper, "You said you may have need of a favor?"

His letter hadn't requested a favor outright, but she knew Hawthorne. She knew, too, that she yet owed him much - not only for the role he'd played defending the Undercity during the day of Ala Mhigo's liberation, but for the guidance he'd shown her throughout the past year at the least. "...I wouldn't outright refuse a favor for you, of all people."

Hawthorne gave a slight wave of his hand, coupled with a shrug. "The 'favor' is that we came to talk at all: a request that you pull away from your work and your business and your friends - pleasant as I am to talk to." Before she could compose a response to his sarcasm, he went on, "This is about your new position within Gyr Abania's brand-new circle of representatives. ...So maybe you're not pulling yourself away from work. Regardless, we'll start with a premise: do you know of any men named Lodewijk?"

She mulled the name over but shook her head.

Hawthorne pulled out a chair from the table and invited himself to sit in it. He performed the gesture with such self-certainty that Ashe found herself somewhat in awe: it was as if the scene around them - the dimly-lit nook, the stifled air, the clandestine meeting - molded to him rather than vice versa. He might as well have crafted that table with his own hands. He looked as though he belonged in the Undercity, and she envied him for it.

"Lodewijk Silverbrand," he clarified. "He does not make himself particularly known except to those who garner his attention. And, with everyone and their third cousins axed off at the hands of Ala Mhigo's many pitfalls, that's gotten a bit easier. Which is also particularly why you're talking with me, and not my father. It could well be believed that all the Alliance aether in the air would abysmal for the old man's health." He smiled. It was not quite a kind smile. "Gods know my father's estate was sodden with the air of 'valiant efforts' for several months, after he asked your father over for tea to discuss his actions at the Temple of Rhalgr."

Her gut clenched at the mention of the Fist's destruction. "I take it he wasn't fond of my father." The words felt trite at once. Anyone who remembered twenty-five years of Ala Mhigan history would have great cause to despise the name Riot.

Sure enough, Hawthorne shook his head. "No, no. It's that it's quite difficult to be fond of a man that keeps putting his foot in the family business." He leaned back in his chair and gave a quiet chuckle, counting off on his fingers. "No smuggling - king's orders. No trafficking - king's orders. No substance abuse, no highwaymen, no prostitutes. No downtrodden scavenging their way through life, or unlucky fellows working for the tithe. Though he did thank Ashley for gifting me more free time. And that's mostly what he's seeing now. One Riot, the hand of the King, working to make a more able working class. And now, Riot Junior, the 'spokeswoman for the Undercity', looking to..."

Hawthorne trailed off, raising an eyebrow in her direction as he let the pause linger, and linger it did. Anyone less skilled in the art of enduring difficult conversations might have withered under the weight of that silence. It was a silence fit for the Undercity.

"You are not your father," he said at last.

And thank the gods she was not.

"Can you tell me first what you anticipate to come of shoving the Undercity into the light?"

Even with the full intent of his gaze upon her, she summoned an almost definitive answer. She had prepared it. "I do not seek to bring the Undercity to any public notoriety. However, I wish to ensure that its people are given a voice in the city's future, and that they will be accounted for if the city needs to be defended again. Anyone who knows of the Undercity knows that the moment the Garleans set foot in its cellars was the moment Ala Mhigo was truly lost." She cleared her throat and continued when Hawthorne did not interject. "And in the event that someone seeks to control the Undercity as a tyrant would - as has happened in the past -" It was as direct of a reference as she could make to the things that she had heard from her father about the assassin Blackram - the man who had killed her grandmother. "-council recognition of the Undercity would enable swifter and more direct action to be taken."

Hawthorne only nodded - a simple token of acknowledgement that revealed nothing. "Well," he said, "that is a venerable cause," He leaned away from the table, twisting his brawny frame to rest an arm against the back of the chair without breaking his eye contact. "And are you equipped to handle any retaliation that may suggest, say, cutting off this den of thieves at its head? Lyse and Raubahn both have hearts that stretch further than their gaze, but I do not expect the citizens of Gyr Abania's townships to want to put in protection for the kind of people that would beat their brothers and toll their caravans. When most people learn about the Undercity... they see it as an invitation to rid their livelihoods of the men and women that tend to cut short a life. Your father, notably." And then he smiled - a dangerous smile, not directed at her or at anything in her vicinity, which made the expression all the more unsettling.

"At the risk of being overly sentimental," she interjected, "what of the countless, untold children for whom the Undercity is the only life they will ever know? Plenty may succeed as cutpurses or even as honorable people in their own right, but-"

Hawthorne cut her off with an exaggerated gasp, lurching forward in his chair so suddenly that she nearly startled. "Children?! I didn't know there were children in the Undercity!"

She continued as though he had not interrupted her. "I am, of course, prepared to defend the Undercity's traditional and varied ways of life as I possibly can. And I have no intentions of becoming its savior in any sense."

"Yes, we all know how the infallible charity of adoption centers and foster homes of the overworld can be. But... I would urge you to work on your rebuttal. I'm not wanting to get into any kind of mock argument with you about how much easier the governing of a new Abania would be, were we rid of all the deceit that goes on only underground, and never in the governing house or the homes of 'good' men. But those whose hearts fill with light are always rapt with retaliations that show only how much they care. For the good men, of course." He cut himself off abruptly, only for a much sterner expression to cross his face. "Tangents aside, I'll move on. And, trust, I do intend to get to the point somewhat quickly. How much of the Undercity then do you know? Do you know the roads? The gates? Family names outside of 'Silverbrand'? Do you know things like the Undercity's cant, or bespeakings of passageways? Or all the little bureaucratic intricacies that dark hearts are obsessed with?"

"I know more of the passages than one might think." How much of it can be attributed to her father, not even she knew, but she could suspect that it was a fair amount. "I know that the magicks binding doors and gates are called sigils, and that their keys are shared either through a spell or a relic or both. I know of the Duskwight clans living in their own caverns and the limestone quarriers and others; I know of the underground market that changes location with each meeting. I don't remember as much of the cant as I used to, though I believe I knew more of it as a child. And I know of some... relatively recent histories. Dark things hidden in the catacombs that my father put to rest. I believe you helped him in that regard, did you not?"

Hawthorne let out a loud laugh - the first thing he'd done to betray the secrecy of the atmosphere that had been lain for their meeting. The laugh echoed, crashing agains the walls and the motley of boxes around them, following into the deep and dark that surrounded them where they sat. "I have never helped Ashley Riot with a thing in his life," he said, still grinning. "And whether or not your old man attests to that, I can promise I will only ever continue to be that proverbial thorn in his side.

"Now, Ashelia, Grand Steward of the reformed and not-aligned-with-the-crown Riskbreakers, helping hand in the liberation of Ala Mhigo, Fiend to the Imperials and Spokeswoman of the Undercity - you're gaining quite a lot of titles, aren't you? - I am going to urge you tonight that you put your best into getting very very good at lying."

The word gnawed at her heart, but Hawthorne continued before she could so much as open her mouth.

"A woman whose soul aches for the many impoverished that exist beneath the salt, but does not know the entryways. The cant, the families. Of course everyone knows Silverbrand, and of course everyone's met one or another soul that's climbed their way out. But in short, however good you get at getting people to believe there is some spark of this world worth saving, the reason we are having this conversation tonight is because my father is quite concerned for the city's safety. Do you understand you are a threat?"

"I understand," she replied, before the word and its possibilities could begin to settle on her. "And I can imagine that it won't be as simple as convincing him of my 'good intentions,' or that I'm nothing to be feared."

"Many people with good intentions fuck it up," Hawthorne pointed out. "I have no belief that you are going to come rushing down, gun in hand, to set a city right after you have gained the trust of any of the suffering. Nor do I believe that you are looking to weave your way into the ranks of politics and 'accidentally' light a fire that would see Ala Mhigo cleansed of every man's suffering. But a smart man puts just as much fear on a crusader with a righteous vision and an axe as he would on a capable young woman who probably has too much experience with deep waters and getting into things over her head."

He smiled at her again - this time an encouraging smile, the sort of smile that made her want to smile back. Before she could do so, it dropped from his face like a hundred-tonze weight.

"What I mean is, should anything happen in the Undercity - even should the Resistance place one foot too far - it would be all too easy to tie it back to you, truthfully or not. A lapse in speech, a political suggestion worded a bit wrong. The wrong person noticing the wrong thing about the girl who wants to save the villains but treads to odd places at night. And then, well... you and I would be having an entirely different kind of conversation about that."

Once again, she could only ponder his words. "I'd like to thank you for your... candor." Perhaps that was the wrong word, given that so much else yet remained for him to divulge. "Given everything you've told me, do you have any recommendations for how I should proceed? Aside from dropping all involvement with the Council and never setting foot in the Undercity again, that is."

Between Gisfrid's reemergence and a thousand other tiny threats, she had too many things clamoring for her attention - too many people asking for her favor with the new government. It had already become exhausting, nigh on overwhelming, and yet she would have to manage so much more of it in the days ahead.

Hawthorne leaned forward again and crossed his arms atop the table. "Steel yourself." He stared up at her. "Not against Garleans or horrors, but against the good-meaning people of Gyr Abania, above and below, who want only to keep their families safe. And maybe, too, against your morals. As I said, there's worth in what you want, and even my father can agree there can be benefits to him as well from this..." His head tilted, like a visual discard of one or several words that he rifled through quite quickly before landing on one. "...new opportunity for the Undercity."

"If-"

"Those we can talk on at a later time. But you will be the subject of no shortage of scrutiny from any angle, and you will need to be ready for what is asked of you. Work on your rebuttals, polish up your lying, pretend you don't know anything; that will put you at a good headstart from both your political opponents and my father's ire. But, do be aware, after all that gets cleaned through, if your head is still where it should be on your person, Lodewijk will also have requests of you and your representative position that will be a lot harder to counterpoint than the ones I am sure you are already receiving. And I suggest you make ready for that, in whatever way you best see fit."

"You're saying I should... act as if I know nothing about the Undercity." The proposal felt counterintuitive, particularly since she was still doing her best to learn more about it day by day; she doubted she could feign ignorance while searching out more answers about the passages beneath Ala Mhigo and those who lived there.

"You cannot accidentally reveal information you do not, figuratively speaking, know. If you are explaining the need of, say, children, to use your example... you hear about them all the time. You have friends who came from that life. You have children at the Sandsea who you have found stranded in the mountains that have such an affinity with locks or a strange way of talking about things. 'But, no Lyse, I do not know what they're saying, or exactly where they were found. The mountains are big, after all, and I grew up in Thanalan.' You know the Undercity is ripe with drug addicts who are looking for recovery because you have met them here in the Ala Mhigan Quarter, and they only want a chance at hope. But, where had they gotten their supply? 'No, I do not know. They are making a strong recovery and it would be unsafe to reopen wounds.'" Hawthorne nodded at the understanding surely dawning on her. "You might get kickback about being a shortsighted upstart who needs to do more research into the causes she's helping, but you can tell them you're guided by your heart and all that flowery, earnest talk they love. After all, you're the one who raced into a fight against Garlemald headlong. I think the image is fitting."

She nodded again. His words offered a reassurance - a tenuous one, but even so. "And as for Lodewijk, I should simply keep to my own business and hope that he does the same?" It felt presumptuous in a way that she was not comfortable with; relying on chance and leaving her wellbeing in another's hands had never been her preferred strategy. Yet perhaps her only other choice would be to launch a full-scale surveillance initiative against one of the most notorious men in the Undercity, and not even she was that reckless. "That should be simple enough." She smiled a little wider, though she could not suppress the barest hint of a smirk. Hawthorne mirrored the expression. "Was that all? I am grateful to you for your guidance, of course, but I was under the impression that you had summoned me here to discuss a way in which I might help you. Unless that's simply by keeping my nose clean."

"That is precisely it. That, and the favor of allowing me to to talk uninterrupted and at length, a task which at least your father loathes." She giggled. "At least, he makes it seem very tasking. If anything my father does needs to concern you, you will be told about it. Otherwise, as everything else, my suggestion for him is that you keep yourself in the dark and remember that I do not have my sister's blessed disconnection from my family. Very many things still reach my ears, though I am just an old and out-of-date man with too many plates in my house and too many adventurers trapping about my ceiling."

"I think you have the perfect amount of plates," she teased.

Hawthorne laughed, and stood in a single movement. "Focus on your politics, and a public image - and the Silverbrand family will continue to see that the Undercity both thrives and serves its own."

Ashe inclined her head in a gesture that was almost a bow, and when she looked up, the former monk was gone. Only once she was back in her house did she start to wonder if she made a mistake in meeting him in the Undercity of all places.

#Ashelia Riot #Hawthorne Silverbrand #Understory

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baronessblixen · 6 years

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Hi. So I am sick rn and IMO there is a dearth of fanfic about Mulder taking care of Scully when she is sick and onscreen it was only Penny Northern who got to comfort her through chemo in one tiny scene when my little Shipper heart wanted it to be Mulder! So I guess the prompt would be the scene with Scully and Dr Scanlon 'I know the chemo's gonna make me very sick,' and Dr Scanlon says 'You're gonna feel like dying.' Scully sick and maybe hair loss like Penny? Mulder as tender caretaker TIA

This is one of my oldest prompts. I apologize to anon (and sincerely hope they’re well again!) for taking this long. This anon probably no longer follows me, but I am determined to work on my prompts. So here. Tagging @today-in-fic

They thinkthemselves safe after the first chemo, after the second. Dr. Scanlon's wordsthat she's going to feel like dying were a constant sword of Damocles over herhead, over both their heads, until it wasn't. When Scully didn't feel sick afterthe second round and assured everyone that she did indeed feel fine, the wordsdissolved into a distant memory, into mere smoke. No fire, not here. Not untilchemo number three, that is.

Before thetreatment started, Mulder prepared himself as well as he could. Hiding hisfeelings, throwing himself into work (and sometimes Scully, too) into work; anythingto distract himself from what was happening right in front of his eyes. Allthese weeks in and he is still hiding his feelings, watching Scully out of thecorner of his eye. Scully, after all, doesn't want him to hover. From time totime he is convinced she doesn't want him to care at all. If he's honest, lateat night when he's missing her, when wanting to see and touch her manifestsinto physical pain spreading through his veins like a phantom cancer, he wisheshe didn't care either. Most of all he wishes she'd never met him. Never methim, never joined him. Just never. But there is no going back, no changing thepast. They're doomed, both of them.

The chemo is onFridays. Scully chose that day so she can rest over the weekend. She leavesearly, unable to just stay away all day. Mulder contemplates wishing her goodluck, but doesn't; the sentiment too trite. Instead he helps her into her coatand startles when he realizes how tiny she is, how fragile. His hand againsther back is comically large and he draws it away.

"See youon Monday," he mumbles, his voice a vulnerable mess. Scully, alwaysstronger than he could ever be, nods and manages a smile before she leaves himalone in their office.

It's quietthere without her, feels like a grave. Mulder spends his day checking hiswatch, reiterating what Scully is going through. He knows the procedure. At 4pm he leaves, knowing it's about the same time they're taking Scully home. Bothhe and her mother offered to drop her off and take her home after. Her only answerthen a 'don't be silly'. They both kept quiet, biting their lips. So Scullytakes a taxi, every time.

The call comesat 8 pm. Mulder is half-heartedly chewing on a cold piece of pizza that he foundin the fridge when the phone rings.

"Mulder,"he answers and there is silence for a few seconds; they stretch on so that healmost hangs up again.

"It'sme," Scully says then, not sounding like herself at all.

"Ohhey," Mulder stumbles over his greeting. He swallows and sits upright onhis couch, as if that would make a difference. He turns down the volume of theTV. "How – how are you feeling?" There's more silence, graver thanbefore. Mulder expects the worst, even if he can't say what that would be rightthis moment. His throat is dry and he swallows again.

"Can you…I don't think I should be alone tonight." Even now she can't ask him. ButMulder, after all this time, can't blame her. He turns off the TV, searches forhis shoes.

"I'll beright there, Scully."

He's beenpreparing himself, or trying to do so, but when Scully opens the door he has toface the fact that he is no prepared for any of this. Her robe hand hangs offher carelessly, her skinny frame disappearing in the fluffy fabric. She leansheavily against the door, barely able to hold herself up; her face showsshadows of exhaustion and pain. Mulder doesn't say a word; he's not even surehe could say anything. He puts his arms around her and she lets go, gives in.She is way too light in his arms, her weight barely there. In tiny steps theymake it over to the couch where they slump down together, Scully against him.She's cool to his touch, yet sweaty. Her eyes are ablaze, her skin ashen.Mulder has never seen her like this and he wants to look away almost. He wantsto see Scully the way he knows her, the way he's always seen there. He can'tlook away, he never could. So he reaches out to tug a strand of hair behind herear. The long lock of fiery red hair remains between his fingers and he staresat it, tries to make it disappear before Scully sees it.

"I'msorry," she chokes as if any of this was her fault. "I didn't wantyou to see me like this." Like what, he doesn't dare to ask. She's human.She's sick. She's still his Scully, though.

"What can Ido for you?" Mulder asks her.

"Just behere," she replies with a sigh. "Be here and…" But she doesn'tfinish; she doesn't have to continue her sentence. Be here and make sure Idon't die are the words she doesn't utter, the words Mulder hears anyway.

Mulder doesn'tsleep. He urges Scully to go to bed several times (each time they return fromthe bathroom after she's been sick). Each time she says no. At 1.30 am with hermind broken, everything about her empty, she lets Mulder carry her to the bed,crying soft, desperate tears he pretends not to see or feel. He stays with herand puts another blanket over her when she shivers in her sleep. Not once doeshe take his eyes off of her.

"Goodmorning," he greets her with a smile he can't hide shortly past 9 am.She's slept for seven hours straight without being sick. If that's not good,then what is? Scully blinks at him and her complexion is a bit rosier, a littlemore like herself. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"You sure?"She nods, but doesn't attempt to get up. It takes her a moment to realize whereshe is; Mulder sees the thought processin her eyes. She blushes briefly when she puts the pieces together. "Youalways tell me it's not good for the back to sleep on the couch," heexplains, blushing himself.

"Thankyou, Mulder," she says, her voice soft and steady. They don't talk aboutthe night before or any of it.

Throughout theday Mulder watches her like a hawk. Scully doesn't ask him to leave and hemakes no move to do so either. They spend the day on the couch like a youngcouple in love, cuddling and watching terrible movies together. Scully driftsin and out of consciousness. When she's awake Mulder makes sure she drinks enoughfluids and eats some broth. It's all she dares to try. He brews tea every two hours,knowing it needs to cool. Earlier Scully drank hot tea and it made her sick.The only time so far this Saturday. In the evening Mulder is hopeful that it'sover. Scully has been awake for almost two hours and she's chuckling at themovie they're watching.

"Hmmm,"she says, her eyes glued to the screen.

"Hm? Youneed anything?"

"Thatbread," she points at the screen where a family of three is sharing a bigloaf of bread, "I really wish I could have some of that warm, tastybread." She licks her dry, cracked lips and moves her mouth as if she werechewing.

Five minuteslater she is fast asleep and breathing deeply against his chest, where a planis brewing. Mulder maneuvers Scully into a laying position and makes sure shedoesn't wake up. There is no bread in her kitchen. He considers making it fromscratch, but how would he even start? Mulder doesn't think long; there's one thingto do, only one person to call.

"HelloMrs. Scully," he says into the phone, trying not to sound like a youngboy.

"Fox?"Mrs. Scully is as surprised as she is concerned when she hears his voice."Is it Dana? Is she not feeling well?" He thinks of last night. Thephone call that brought him here. Scully being sick again and again. But shecalled him, not her mother. This is not his story to tell.

"She'sfine," he lies, "but she's been craving bread and since she hasn'tbeen eating well, I thought…" On the other end of the line Mrs. Scullychuckles.

"That's mybaby girl," she sighs, "her grandmother used to bake bread for herwhen she was sick. It's her comfort food."

"Can youtell me how to make it?" Mulder asks, afraid it's some complicated thinghe won't ever understand.

"Ofcourse, Fox. Of course."

Scully haseverything he needs for making the bread from scratch and Mulder follows therecipe to the letter. It has to be just right. An hour later the tiny loaf ofbread is in the oven, baking and growing.

"Mulder?"Scully's voice comes from the living room and he races back to her side. Hefalls to his knees right in front of the couch.

"You okay?"He touches her cheeks and frames her face. To his greatest delight Scully rollsher eyes and smiles at him.

"I feelfine, really, but… am I crazy or do I smell my grandmother Scully's magicbread?" Any notion of joking with her, of telling her she's imaging thingsflies out the moment he looks at her. Her face is so open and her eyes morehopeful than he's ever seen them. In this moment she is young, carefree; heronly concern that she'll get a slice of warm bread. In this very moment shedoesn't look sick. She's just herself. She's Scully, living and fighting.

"Itis," Mulder admits, unable to keep her guessing any longer. "I askedyour mother for the recipe.

"OhMulder." Scully kisses his cheek; she smells like sleep and toothpaste,like steel and the faint odor of hospital gowns, of sweet and sour vomit. ButMulder doesn't care and just grins at her.

They sit infront of the oven like a bunch of school children and watch the bread grow,grow and grow. They chatter and laugh; Scully talks about her grandmother andhow she raised six children by herself. How she always wanted to be as badassas grandmother Scully. Before Mulder can assure her that she is the most badassperson he has ever known, the kitchen timer dings.

"I'm soexcited," Scully giggles.

"Metoo," Mulder says but watches her. He doesn't care for the bread, for thetaste of it. All he cares about is her. The bread shimmers golden as Muldertakes it out. As he cuts into the steaming load, a delicious, warm and sweetscent fills the small kitchen. Scully, her eyes closed, takes a deep breath.

"Here,"Mulder offers her a small piece and Scully takes it from him. Her eyes are onhim as she bites into it. Mulder is certain he can taste it from just watchingher.

"Tryit," Scully whispers and offers him the other half. "You did itperfectly. My grandmother would be so proud." He chews carefully, thetexture heavenly soft.

"I did itfor you, Scully." He would do anything for her. Any little thing. Bakebread or find a cure to save her. He'll do it. There's no other choice.

"Let'stake it to the living room." They cut off a large chunk of bread andsettle back on the couch. They feed each other small bits, not saying a singleword.

"I'mfull," Scully says too soon and Mulder leaves the rest of the bread on thecoffee table in case she changes her mind. Exhaustion catches up with him andhe falls asleep holding Scully in his arms.

He remembersthe moment, the bread and her face, and cherishes it hours later when Scullywakes up with a haunted look on her face. They barely make it to the bathroomthis time; this wave of nausea hitting them both out of nowhere, surprisingthem. Mulder strokes her clammy back as she leans over the porcelain, her bodyunable to keep anything it, to accept nourishment.

Mulder whispersa constant string of 'I'm sorry' and 'you'll be fine' and it falls into a canonwith Scully's own words of apology and shame. He touches her neck where astrand of hair has come undone. He picks it up and marvels how soft it is. Forthe first time he notices the small patches of baldness on her head. Tearssting in his eyes. He takes a shaky breath before he kisses her neck, rightwhere her pale scar winks at him.

"You'll beall right, Scully. I promise you. I promise you that," he whispers withdetermination.

#i wrote a thing!#i wrote this in my notebook first #if handwriting is the cure to writer's block then #i guess here we go #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic #Anonymous

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sugar-petals · 5 years

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Hey. As I said in my previous ask, I think you are so darn smart, and I love your writing skills. If it's not going to bother... Could you, please, read my recent oneshot (akai-ito)? I need honest opinions on it, mainly coming from someone who writes and has no sentimental connection with me. (Only if it's not going to bother you) Thank you :)

Honest and a writer 😄 You’re at the right address I’m thinking. For a sweet please and Yoongi fics I’d probably do anything. The infamous review it is. I employ my classic critique structure (title-description-plot-characterization-grammar-dialogue), as always with strengths and improvement points, hope it is helpful, and here we go.

Title: As most pieces on your m.list, you possess good sense when it comes to selecting what catches the eye and stays memorable. Definitely unique and a summary of the story, although much like with ishin-denshin, it took me a while to figure out what it’s about. That can be a strength (innovation/tension!) or a weakness (confusion). Make use of the former by giving the reader bread crumbs. Authors have to play Hansel and Grethel as we say here in Germany. For instance, maybe you’ve seen it, some fic writers give definitions to foreign or complex words under the title right away, maybe you can drop at least a hint about the yarn and that the idea is from a manga/series, important crediting there. Something else that might also be relevant according to recent events, be careful there with using Japanese words should you not be a native speaker. The Ariana Grade tattoo effect is very real and a slippery slope. Solution: Best clarify everything at the start, or make a disclaimer. Other than that, you don’t need much advice with titles imo, never change a running system.

Description: It strikes me that you are an advanced writer. There’s solid attention to detail. Definitely keep that up. The common downside, and here is the crux, is trailing off. Bear in mind to tailor detail according to relevance versus background story and worldbuilding. Each piece needs to interlink with something else sooner or later, repetition matters as an emotional anchor. That’s the extra mile to go and the step from advanced to senior writer. The key to describing, unless your name is Oscar Wilde, is often linearity. You can only break it up once you’ve mastered it. Good news, I think you’re already getting there. I see things like consistent tense, great syntax variation, and a POV switch at the right point in time.

Plot: What you are excellent at is creating ups and downs. A lot of effort went into this. That can’t be messed with. An important component, however, is missing. Most authors turn defensive when I point it out so I’ll word it step by step and show a trick to solve it. The alpha and omega of Caro’s advice remains nailing a character’s actions to hook the reader, not just during the smut scenes. A crucial example: The boss firing Jade is not placed at the start — as the most dramatic event in the earlier sequences — and thus loses momentum. It’s a well-orchestrated event and twist, that’s why it’s so essential to add emphasis. The characterizations + foreshadowing that led up to it are proper. But it has to come down like a hammer; not with indirect phrases that make it seem like something trite. Which it is not given how dear work is to Jade as a comfort zone. You describe her leaving angry, but not her face, what she does, the environment, other characters. It’s only trailing off into a semi-monologue with background information that should be self-evident through things that happened earlier. I want to see the hammer. You only bring it in the dialogue but there, it’s secondary to the verbatim of the characters, as it should be, mind you. Solution: Draw the hands-on sentences from the dialogue into the plot. Then we’re good to go. Problem solved.

Characterization: Little to no objections here on the other hand, very well done. It’s one of the pillars of your writing. I’ll tell you why it is good. It maps out the different lifestyles from your characters which creates a nice contrast, especially with Jade’s concerns in life, and her core motivation (stability). Yoongi’s portrayal impressed me, too. All quite effortless. Even the names themselves, I quite like them, brings a lot of pizzazz. Definitely use them often, things like “the skinny man”, “the woman”, “the dark-haired female” are best converted into simple adjectives for description along the way. The Chaos Club: Also a good idea to have.

Grammar: Pretty salient, I see it in the way you chop your subclauses which I love. Not much to improve except the bit with caps. If you want to use texting sequences in your fic, definitely don’t hesitate. It may read as off in the paragraph but sits just right in a written message exchange. Which also depicts reality well. Now, the reason why I have issues with caps is that you only need them once emphasis is not clear enough through context. You can test out whether italics are a more sophisticated fit, it depends on the scene. If someone yells, incorporate that in the description, put an exclamation mark — yes, the old-fashioned way, I’m a conservative critic I know, it’s annoying. The only caps you need are the ones for saying korean - nations always with capital, geography pun intended. No other grammar concerns, that’s basically it.

Dialogue: Interesting how you use hyphens there. It’s much like everything about your style, very much in its own bubble. That can be a good sign of authenticity. Took a while to get accustomed to it for me, but it’s a stylistic and individual choice, whatever works best and is comfortable. The reason why I probably missed the quotations marks is not an aesthetic one, but because the words of the characters blend into description quite seamlessly. It’s hard to picture their voices that way. What other readers think about it, maybe gather some more opinions how they get by with the hyphens. If I were to use them, my trick for next time writing would be to start a new line for each particle of speech while the description is not attached after the hyphen. It makes it very deliberate and sets pace, too. It gets rid of ‘said’ quite conveniently and brings out stronger verbs. As in:

The man binned his cellphone in one of the back pockets.– Nice to meet you, Jade.

That has suspense and sex appeal. See how it differs from the original:

– Nice to meet you, Jade. - The man said and binned his cellphone in one of the back pockets.

Apart from that, something else to improve in dialogue is not stating the very obvious sometimes, but letting readers put things together in their head. That’s harder when Jade uses the exact tone of the narrator and not her own. Examples: ‘I’m visibly punchy’, ‘Before listening to his depressive songs and staring at his cute eyes and cheeks, I was satisfied with my nonexistent romantic life, now I’m considering the idea of nurturing a very dirty business.’, ‘I never felt another warm sensation other than tears, whilst watching some emotional crap on Netflix’. Dialogue does well contrasting to how the story is told. Bring all the slang, make it fragmented like real speech, fuck it up, it’s the fun part. You do have the registers and pull them off, that’s not the issue, only finding the right place to use them is the challenge.

Other: Something funny happened. I missed the URL mention and thought Jade was an OC and not an existing person! 😅 Took some time until I managed to immerse myself in the story because I’m not used to seeing singular users inserted as readers. It’s one-to-one and hard to get into as an outsider, which surely is not the purpose, but it would help to understand who Jade is in relation to you, and how the fic idea came about. That can be quite entertaining as well in the author’s notes. That being said, she is living the dream and being Yoongi biased myself I feel rather envious which means you achieved plausibility in your fic. Maybe it’s because he has black hair and round cheeks in it. Am very endeared.

PS: I get paid in fic reblogs for reviews 😉 Am half kidding. Speaking of the devil, for the love of my dash, please insert a keep reading so I can reblog.

#unimpressedperson #ask #bts fic #fic rec #rec #fic review

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blueduckie · 5 years

Text

Fantasies...

So we all have fantasies - right? I thought my fantasy was pretty tame and harmless but also ridiculous and unrealistic. Books and movies portray it as romantic and a fun adventure🙄😳🤦‍♀️let me just tell you, there is a fine line between fantasy and reality and it rarely ought to be crossed - if at all.

My fantasy - having a stalker/romantic interest😳😳😳😬😬it’s actually rather embarrassing but I can’t help but laugh at myself for being so naively foolish.

The only reason it “works” in books and movies is because the main character is portrayed as being overprotective and domineering and plays hero, “rescuing” the “helpless” female either from herself or from someone with nefarious intent - which causes her to forgive his bossy, stalker, creepy like tendencies and personality.

As a plot point it works just fine and provides a pretty good, if not fairly trite and redundant, story. But - we all keep buying into it because deep down in our sentimental romantic hearts, we all want a hot secret someone to pay attention to us and “rescue” us from something🙄🤦‍♀️🤨if nothing else Disney has taught us it is expected and sought after.

🤔🤔🤔

Yeah - no.

Back in reality land, if you do have a stalker, chances are extremely high that he’s a creepier and has misguided possessiveness and anger issues. There’s nothing romantic about that. If anything it’s inviting trouble and being unnecessarily naive and foolish.

At this point you’re probably thinking I’m a bitter old hag who’s a man hater. And that’s not true at all. I freely admit that I am rather jaded, a bit cynical and distrustful of the opposite sex but it’s only because I’ve had to grow up very quickly and I have to live very firmly in reality, leaving make-believe and fantasy far behind - occasionally my inner child comes out, but it’s very rare.

I like men - I do - I think they’re funny and I enjoy most of their company, it’s just that I haven’t found one I relate well with and the ones that do come around, either don’t know what to do with me or think they can bully me into being someone I’m not.

There was a guy I was corresponding with last Fall who, despite professing to respect my opinions and decisions, completely disregarded and ignored everything I had to say, giving me the equivalent of “there there” and a pat on the head and tried to act like he knew what was best for me even though we hadn’t met in person yet🤦‍♀️😳🤦‍♀️

You may not agree with my opinions but I do know my own mind and you will respect it.

There was another guy that I went on one date with - ONE - and he took that as an invitation to blow up my phone with over 250 text messages in less than a day. It sounds like an exaggeration but I promise you it’s not - I was so perturbed I specifically remember looking up that months cell phone bill - and there it was in black and white.

I don’t mind texting family and friends but if you’re going to be constantly texting me stupid asinine questions every couple of minutes, even after I’ve told you to stop because I’m either trying to sleep or am at work and nothing has changed since the last time you texted me two minutes ago - I am going to get mad at you. There was absolutely no respect of my personal boundaries going on. He was actually the first person that I legitimately on purpose ghosted and blocked on Facebook. But not the last.

Which brings me back to the guy I “met” last year on Facebook - we’d been messaging each other for all of a day before he started in with how much he believed we were soulmates and we going to get married someday and have lots of kids together - every red flag in the book popped up at that point🚩🚩🚩even after I told him he was going way too fast and he needed to slow down and back off, he kept right at it🤦‍♀️

He was the second person I blocked on Facebook and - ironically enough, the third as well.

After months of blessed silence I got a “friend request” from a guy who looked remarkably similar and had a very similar name from the exact same area as the other guy🤔🤷‍♀️😬🤦‍♀️I don’t believe in coincidences - I also don’t believe in “soulmates” or “destiny” - we make our own destinies. Yeah - he got blocked too.

I did feel bad about that - for about a second and a half - before I remembered that I had told him last Fall, before I blocked and ghosted him the first time, that I didn’t like what he was doing and he needed to stop - that was actually the second time I’d told him that - some might consider it heartless but as far as I was concerned, I’d given him ample chances to change. I’m not so hard up and desperate for companionship that I’m gonna put up with that kind of nonsense, especially from the get go.

There’s been guys I’ve met online, and in person, who have a one track mind - how fast can we go from zero to sixty?😳dude - I met you five minutes ago, calm down. That is not what I’m looking for🤦‍♀️Or - people I don’t even know, who start messaging me and want me to move across the country and be a stay at home caregiver for their child while they’re gone overseas for half the year - again five minutes after “meeting” them😳🤨🤦‍♀️😬say what?

While I do not believe in “fate” I do believe I was born under a mostly unlucky star ✨💫🌟✨at least when it comes to dating.

There was a guy I went out with from work(don’t do that btw - not the first time I’ve done this, you’d think I’d learn🤦‍♀️) - we had fun, nothing to write home about but I’d had a good time. I was actually looking forward to seeing him again and getting to know him better despite being coworkers - right up until he started blowing up my phone with countless asinine questions when I was trying to sleep or was at work😡😤🤬I completely shut down after that - Fort Knox isn’t tighter.

He told me afterwards that I had ghosted him - at the time I didn’t mean too, I didn’t realize what was happening until after it happened - but as soon as he started in, I flashed right back to that guy from years ago who kept pushing and pushing despite being told no and all my “walls” instantly went back up.

I thought I was over it and had moved on - hell I don’t even remember his name - but I sure remember what he did - evidently it made more of an impact than I thought it did🤔And oh yeah, btw - it’s now very awkward at work because he’s trying to be all buddy-buddy and I’m not even remotely interested right now, and somehow he’s not getting that.

So - what I’ve learned from all this ridiculousness - is that dating websites and meeting new people on Facebook aren’t working for me. And I am much better off without the ensuing drama.

I’m a strong, independent, stubborn woman with an excellent work ethic and I’m not just going to roll over to save your fragile little ego - that’s disgusting🤢🤮🤢 - I’m opinionated and I have a hot temper, I’m also going to challenge you and make you think - deal with it. I’m looking for a partner not a child.

To paraphrase a book I read recently: he wanted someone he could be himself with; he wanted someone to need him - he wanted to need someone.

That’s what I’m looking for. A REAL man.

It may be an overgeneralization but I think that’s what everyone is looking for - to be needed and wanted by someone else.

#fantasies #relationships #no stalkers #real man

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cuddlycap · 6 years

Text

Snow (Loki x Reader)

A/N: This is the first of what will probably be a little winter collection, so stay tuned for more or request one of your own! (gif not mine)

Warnings: none really

Words: 1,633

Your eyes flickered back and forth between the wide widows on the walls of the Avenger’s facility and the ground to make sure you didn’t stumble over your snow boots as you ran for the door. In reality, your mobility was limited due to all the layers you were wearing.

This day was a long time coming, a day you had been waiting for ever since the leaves began changing color. When you saw the first few snowflakes beginning to fall from your window, you dropped everything, fearful you would miss it.

Loki was in the front room, licking a finger to turn the page in the book he was reading from his favorite chair, only to pause and raise an eyebrow as you waddled by, furious determination on your face. He only grew more bewildered as you wandered by, his presence going unnoticed due to your focus, until he spoke up.

“Is that really necessary?” You barely stopped.

“Oh yeah.” Tony spoke up from somewhere behind you; he had been following you down the hallway laughing to himself so you were sure he had been recording you to laugh about later. “The last time she was out in the snow, she caught pneumonia so bad Thor had to take her to Asgard because we were convinced she was going to keel over. Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, indeed.” Loki murmured, his eyebrows furrowed. You ignored them both, throwing the door open and passing Steve on your way, who sighed but stepped aside.

“Y/N, do you really think—”

“Yes.” You cut him off. “Please, Steve. Christmas and the winter is the one time of year that my soul comes alive, let me have this.” He gave in with a light smile, watching as you took your first step in the delicate blanket of white that was beginning to develop. You let out a giddy squeak as the white sparkles began tickling your face.

After a moment, you heard the door open and close again behind you. Standing a bit away from you was a lithe figure that you knew immediately to be Loki from the way his arms were crossed behind his back.

“Perhaps someone at such mercy of the cold shouldn’t be in it.” He spoke up, to which you scoffed.

“Well, we often love things that aren’t really the best for us, don’t we.” You shot back dryly, turning back away from his thoughtful gaze. It wasn’t until he reached your side that you realized he hadn’t gone away.

“I don’t really believe that to be so.”

“I’m not really in the debate kinda mood…” You teased him, only halfway joking as you turned your face upwards the watch the snow. “But I’m just saying, I probably like caffeine more than I should.” He chuckled a bit beside you.

“I can’t relate.”

“Yes, I know. Which is why I always take Thor with me on coffee runs.”

“I meant, the things I enjoy bring me pleasure and relief, therefore they can’t be all that bad.”

“Like what?”

“Literature, for instance. The stars at night. Watching Thor make a fool of himself.” You chuckled now, turning to look at him, feeling your heart jolt to find him smiling at you.

Loki’s presence always befuddled you. He was almost in an odd spot, where he was almost beginning to be trusted by every member of the team, enough so that he was able to go about the facility as he pleased and occasionally had pleasant moments with almost everyone. Mainly being, you.

The two of you almost fed off of the other’s quips, or energy while borrowing the same room. His attitude towards humans at first was of course unimpressed, and that included you, but one day he just started acting nicer. Decent, like asking how you were, what you were reading, what your thoughts were—and always with genuine interest most people didn’t have. Somehow, out of all your friends, he was the one that listened the most. It always seemed to be next to you where he felt most comfortable, or where he wanted to be. But maybe that was just you.

“Why are you so fascinated with the snow anyways?” He asked, lifting his hand and watched as a flake instantly dissolved.

“A lot of people here don’t really get it. I grew up where it was much warmer. I didn’t see snow for the first time until I was 18. Everyone here just kinda gets annoyed by it, but…I still get a little excited when I wake up in December and remember I actually get to enjoy a white Christmas, like the songs always talked about.” And like always, Loki was listening intently to your every word, his eyes flickering with heavy thoughtfulness. “What?”

“It always just seems to be the little things with Midgardians. That is such an…insignificant but intense love for something so trite.” You rolled your eyes.

“Sorry, I suppose it isn’t world domination.” This banter wasn’t anything new, but you were surprised when his expression fell a bit, and no quip came back.

“You know, sometimes, when you truly enjoy something, you merely have no choice but to admire it from afar.”

“And why would I do that when I can enjoy it up close and personal?” He blinked, his eyebrows furrowing as though he were stumped. You wondered why it felt as though you were speaking of different things.

“So being out here really means that much to you, that you’re willing to nearly die from it?” You giggled a little.

“Okay, I didn’t almost die, it wasn’t that bad.” His incredulous face stopped you. “Fine, maybe it was, I can’t remember. But yes. It is. Maybe that’s too sentimental for you to understand.” He merely looked up to the sky, watching the snowflakes with almost an entirely new expression.

“Perhaps.”

You didn’t get sick. There was now a running bet with the other Avengers about how many days it would take until you were. Loki was the only one who didn’t partake in it. Instead, he was out there in it, by your side. You didn’t ask why—you never made anyone feel as though their presence was ever an issue, and you wouldn’t do it to Loki either.

You would explain snow angels (“So, you roll around in the snow?”), fantasize about making a huge igloo, and throw snowballs. All the while, Loki was very attentive, as well as flabbergasted, and almost unimpressed. So much so that you wondered why he continued to come out with you every day.

“We’ll need sticks for arms. A carrot for the nose, of course. And your scarf.” The snowman the two of you were working on was nearly done, and you extended your hand expectantly. He scoffed at you.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Does it look like I’m joking? He’s going to look very dashing.” His eyes glinted a bit as a slow building smile danced on his lips.

“Does that mean you think I’m very dashing in this scarf?” If the way his smile had turned into a smirk didn’t make you so nervous, you would’ve laughed, but all you could do was swallow.

“I—uh…” you were suddenly very shy, and unable to string together a sentence. His eyes softened as he stepped closer towards you, flickering in between the both of yours with the sincere attentiveness he always gave you. “…Do you want the truth?”

“Always.” His murmur was solemn, his breath hit your face.

“I always thought scarves looked tacky.” His face fell abruptly, and he chuckled, making you laugh nervously. “…Until I saw you in one. But besides that, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look anything other than dashing.”

It was as if your bluntness had caught him off guard—you yourself didn’t know what you were saying anymore and thankfully, your cheeks didn’t give yourself away since they were no doubt already rosy from the cold. Finally, the most tender smile graced his features and his delicate fingers cradled your face as though he was holding both something precious and a weapon all at once.

“Perhaps you are right after-all, Y/N.” Your name rolling of his tongue sounded like a poem on its own. “I am tired of admiring from afar.” Before you knew what he was doing, he leaned in and placed a sweet kiss on your lips that held you in place. After a moment, you kissed him back, smiling into the kiss and using his scarf to pull him even closer to you. Your smile grew wider as you slipped the scarf from his neck completely.

“I’m still going to need this.” You whispered against his lips, pecking him once more before taking the scarf and arranging it on the snowman. Loki chuckled, amusement twinkling in his eyes, and…adoration. It looked to be adoration, if you had to guess.

Thor was wearing a broad beam as you both entered inside where it appeared he was waiting expectantly, clasping two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. You took yours in delight at the sight of extra whipped cream, and Loki reluctantly took his, nearly spilling it on himself as Thor clapped him on the back.

“I hope when the snow melts away and the earth blooms, Loki will sit you down in a meadow and tell you about his adoration for flowers.” You smiled at Loki who was only staring with narrowed eyes at his brother. Thor put his other hand on your back a bit more gently, giving you a warm smile. “Or at least, this partnership doesn’t fade with the season. I’m rooting for it.”

“Well, fear not brother. One reason in the intimate company of our lovely Y/N wouldn’t be enough for me.”

#loki #loki x reader #reader insert #marvel #mcu #loki imagine #loki one shot

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ecstasyandwine · 4 years

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My Baseball Allegiances:

Orioles: They blow rn but their history is cool and I support them generally

Red Sox: Cool history, we Cubs fans historically commiserate with Red Sox fans but right now I am not trying to see the Red Sox win anything

Yankees: I'm a Yankees fan in the sense that I am a baseball fan. You can't have a greater conversation about baseball without talking about the Yankees. To me being staunchly anti-Yankees is almost as boring and trite and insufferable as actually being a terrible Yankees fan

Tampa Bay Rays: Cool weird team

Blue Jays: Damn where'd all the dudes on this team go lol they were stacked and then they were just a fuckin mess. All these young dudes are fun to watch but idk about what's going on with the pitching

Chicago White Sox: Already better and more interesting than the north side team. Growing up in my household, we were Cubs fans first and foremost, but we were to always respect the White Sox and root for them if they were in the playoffs because there was no way the Cubs were ever going to win shit ever

Cleveland Indians: Next step: Officially change name to the Cleveland Tribe

Detroit Tigers: Mindbendingly awful

KC Royals: My favorite shitty team

Twins: Cool weird team

Astros: They are making me seasick and it's getting harder to respect them or root for them

Angels: Both the best and worst team to watch

Athletics: Cool weird team, love their shitty ballpark

Mariners: I'm sorry, I can't anymore. No playoffs for twenty years? I'll start caring when they can get back into the playoffs. I'm so upset that Felix Hernandez will retire without a postseason appearance, it is a stain on the sport of baseball

Rangers: Love them lol but they are such a mess

Braves: NL East team of choice. I'm close to a lot of people with Georgia ties. I always support Georgia and Atlanta stuff

Marlins: 😂

Mets: Who?

Phillies: Get real

Nationals: ...I enjoyed being a casual Nats fan for the entire time I lived in DC. So in a way, I support. During that time, they were always a suuuuuper super frustrating team. I've gotta be honest and say that I really never thought they were gonna be able to pull off a WS until after a full rebuild, so I mean I'm levelling here, I never really had faith. I like them a lot more now post Harper

Cubs: Hometown team, team of choice, ultimate allegiance for better or worse. I actually cannot stand many if not most Cubs fans. Such a grand lack of perspective from a hundred and eight years in an isolation tank of utter failure. To be fair, most Cubs fans do not like me or understand my views either

Reds: My dad grew up in Ohio as a Reds fan during the Big Red Machine era so there's that connection. Can't say I really have too much sentimentality for either Ohio team but I enjoy watching Ohio baseball well enough, pro or otherwise

Brewers: Love them, people around here are mad into Wisconsin sports. Love their ballpark

Pirates: Cool team, respect, history, Tough going lately but I support

Cardinals: Yes, I am both a Cubs fan and a Cardinals fan. I have too much of an STL connection to not support and be interested in the Cardinals. Tell most any baseball fan that I am into both the Cubs and the Cardinals, and they will just shrug and say Well I don't know what the fuck this guy's problem is. People just don't accept it. Good thing I don't have to explain shit to haters

Diamondbacks: Cool weird team

Rockies: Lol this shit is getting pretty grim

Dodgers: Always used to love them until they eliminated the Cubs at Wrigley and it was super ugly and they were grandstanding and desecrating the sacred grounds of Wrigley. At that moment it was like a switch went off in my head and I immediately placed the Based Curse on them and have resented them fully ever since. It has truly been my pleasure to see them get eliminated in spectacular fashion for the last three seasons

Padres: Cool weird team

Giants: Whatever Haven't cared in a while. No more rings for these guys for 30 years. Love Timmy Lincecum

#Sports #Baseball #MLB #Major League Baseball #Cubs #Chicago Cubs #Chicago #Personal #DC #Washington DC #Yankees #New York Yankees #Dodgers #Nationals

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lessonsinkindness-blog · 7 years

Text

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.

I've just come back from a much needed weekend away with my brother. Getting out of town for 2 days was bliss. The scenery was beautiful, I got to spend quality time with my brother and boyfriend, and for the first time in a while, I could hear myself think.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about what I want out of life, or more specifically, what I want to feel different about my life. Unusually for me, I have fought against my natural urge to be impulsive and have had to keep reminding myself to do it properly and really think things through. Consider the practicalities - money, timeframe, resources. Mull over any possible implications. Scrutinise whether these changes are really going to deliver what I want them to, or whether I'll still be having these same conversations with myself this time next August. Getting my ducks in a row.

Typically, when I feel as down as I have lately, or as anxious, I have a tendency to respond in a knee jerk, throw-the-baby-out-with-the-bathwater type way, because of the immediacy of how unhappy I feel and how desperate I am to feel better quickly. The result of this tends to be an immediate rush of relief and excitement, followed by the dawning realisation that I've just created the same old conditions, just in a new, shiny context. I'm trying really hard not to put myself there again.

But what this means is that at the moment, the level of tension I can feel between where I am in life, and where I want to be, can feel unbearable. It doesn't feel like a feeling I can sit with for months on end. It feels like something that's really going to drag me down if I let it.

So I've been following some advice that I used to give to people struggling with addiction. The advice was - instead of focusing on what has gone wrong for you at a time when you relapsed, think about what went so right that you managed to - in their case - stay clean for those few months, or stay out of trouble. So transferred to me, this would be - instead of thinking about what has made you feel depressed or trapped in the last few months, what is it that has seen you through, got you up in the morning, despite those feelings?

I don't know how helpful this will be, but for anyone struggling, these are the ways I try to keep my head above water. I'm not saying they'll work for everybody, and you may read them and find them trivial or cheesy, but all I know is, these are things that help me.

Small Rewards

Some days just feel like walking through quicksand, from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep. Sometimes I don't even feel like this on the days that make sense. I may wake up in a highly motivated mood on a day which is going to be really challenging or busy, but then on a day I should be relieved for some quiet, wake up and feel like I'm wading through treacle. But as we all know, depression doesn't really care for logic! One thing I try to do is give myself something, however small, to look forward to. Because there's usually a reason I'm having to be careful with money it can't be anything too crazy, but it might be as simple as buying myself a glossy magazine on the way home to read on the train (something I can escape with, with no serious connection to the "real world"!). I really enjoy taking long baths (I think it's something about the solitude and getting rid of aches and pains) and watching my favourite programme on my phone while I'm washing my hair. Or sometimes it might be a nice walk on the way home instead of getting the bus. I realise these suggestions might seem a bit trite, and no amount of reading Vogue is going to make your problems vanish away, but I think the sentiment I'm trying to get at here is choosing something that a) is positively selfish (something that is all about something you enjoy doing that doesn't benefit anybody else), b) allows you to get out of your mind and focus on happiness, or if not happiness, calm, for a little while and c) gives you a sense of reward for a tough day.

Recognising the bubble

The best advice I think anyone ever gave me is to see certain compartments of life as a bubble. This doesn't work so well for really serious, entrenched issues in your life, but can work well for things like dealing with difficult people, work problems, or feelings of self-consciousness in a social situation. I guess it's a form of mindfulness. Recognise what is unfolding before your eyes as what it is - a social vacuum in which these things matter to these people, because of the strange, often bizarre social constructs that define this particular nook of the planet. But try to see the meaninglessness outside of this environment. For example, in a work setting, it might be the end of the world to your boss that you didn't finish that report for that Director by 5pm. That can truly be their day's biggest priority and the most important thing for them in that office. Okay, yes, we shouldn't go out of our way not to do our jobs just because our boss's priority isn't our priority, but think about it: outside of this company, and this week (or even day), does this have independent meaning? Will it impact on yours or others' lives to a significant degree? Will anybody genuinely suffer as a result of you not meeting your deadline? Think about the relationship you have within that bubble, and think about how that relationship changes outside of it. Inside the bubble, there is a power dynamic between you and your boss. Outside of it, you are both just humans. And nothing more or less to each other than that. Sometimes adding a little humour makes me realise how ridiculous some of the things I beat myself up for are.

Recognising the bubble doesn't have to mean finding humour or trivialism in the other person or situation, but it can mean understanding that people's negative behaviour or responses towards you (perceived or real) are often a product of their other "bubbles" in their life. So for example, I really hate when people snap at me, particularly if I'm being polite to them, because I feel it's unfair and a misuse of power because they know I am a more passive person. However, I have learnt to start seeing that there is such a back story behind what drives people's moods (they could have had an awful row with their partner before they came to work, they could have a particular insecurity which manifests itself in how they speak to people, they may be worried or anxious about something that ends up coming off as irritability), that actually, taking a step back and pretending to watch them from "the outside" can put things into perspective. It sounds weird, but I often imagine myself watching someone from behind a fence or pane of glass, as an exhibit. If I wasn't so emotionally invested in this situation, what more objective conclusions might I come to?

Anchoring

The word anchoring is used for various mindfulness and CBT techniques but the way I use it is a word that reminds me to connect to my life outside of a situation when I am finding it stressful. This helps me remember that whatever discomfort I'm going through, there will be an end to it, and there is an "outside" to it. So if I'm upset at work, I make a point of calling my Mum or texting my boyfriend in my lunch break, because they remind me that when I pack up and leave the office, they're waiting for me. Hearing their actual voice helps. Or if I know I'm going to struggle in a social situation, sometimes I'll wear something that reminds me of something positive. Which I know might sound naff, but it does help just a little for me. Or if I'm able to, I'll make conversation with someone about a mutual interest we have, so even if I'm not comfortable in the actual scenario, I'm recalling something that makes me feel safe, for want of a better word.

Staycations

People often say they "live for the weekends" and I think I've become more like that over time, as I've started to lift some of the significance (and pressure!) that I attach to my career. My version of that isn't necessarily going out to a club or whatever because I'm not a big drinker, but I have started to plan out my weekends more. My natural preset when I'm feeling a bit down is to not want to do anything at all on my weekends, and just slob. Sometimes, this is genuinely what I need (so for example, I literally have every day of every weekend booked up with something or other until October, so come October, I will relish in a slobfest) but I've recognised recently that kind of feeds a vicious loop. The more I sit around, the more I ruminate about things I don't want to think about, and the less in control I feel of any of it. Then I beat myself up for "wasting" the day, and before I know it, Sunday night's come around, and I've got nothing to show for it. So every few weeks, I plan an actual itinerary, either for myself, or to do things with my boyfriend. Naturally as I have a partner, we spend a lot of our weekend together, but equally, if you're single, you can think about things you enjoy doing by yourself or family. This makes even a rainy, skint Saturday feel more exciting. It doesn't have to be things that cost much or any money, but it should just feel as though you have activities planned out a bit like a holiday from home. Staycation activities should be things that feel a bit out of the norm, maybe things you don't often have time, or give yourself permission, to do. So for example, me and my boyfriend have had weekends where we find a big country park or forest, and plan out a really long walk that takes most of the day, maybe with a stop for lunch (packed sarnies like at school if on a budget, or a local pub if you can stretch to it), and by the end of the day, it feels like an achievement, we've got out and done something active and memorable, and it stops us from staring at the walls. Or we might cook a really nice meal together and make the table nice like we're at a restaurant (I know this sounds cringey but trust me we're NOT the romantic types yet still this feels special not icky). We might end the day with a movie and some snacks. Simple things that don't have to be expensive or too quirky but I might turn my phone off for the day so I can disconnect a bit.

Escapism

After everything I've said about not slobbing out, this is going to sound a contradiction but there are times when it's absolutely fine to just veg out and do nothing. When we're dealing with stressful or demoralising things like being depressed, worrying about work, getting anxious about things, we're using a lot of brain energy. I don't know about you, but sometimes my mind just feels tired. I'm the kind of person who likes to learn, but sometimes that means cramming my head full of quite frankly, ill-advised grit and gloom, that can exacerbate my mood or feeling of fatigue. Sometimes I don't want to have to put loads of thought into anything. So as much as I love documentaries, and debating politics, and reading books about crime (and so on and so on!), sometimes all I want to do is watch something completely mind numbing, upbeat, uplifting, like a reality TV show or kid's film. Or shock horror...read Heat magazine. There's a lot of elitism that goes on when people discuss what they do in their spare time, where they go on holiday, what food they eat. I think when you couple that with constant Facebook updates about every minutiae of people's lifestyles, we can feel under some kind of silent pressure to out do each other with our leisure pursuits, likes and dislikes, or interests. If our Saturday consists more of climbing through series of the Kardashians than Mount Kilimanjaro, does that mean we're a failure? No, it just means we're human, and our minds, as well as our bodies, need a break. And often, we're comparing ourselves to others with no good reason.

Permission to worry

I once read an anxiety tip that at first I dismissed for being a load of nonsense. I don't believe that you can "tell" someone not to worry, in the same way I don't believe you can tell someone not to be shy, or tell someone not to be depressed. I also don't think it's healthy to suppress feelings, at least for any significant length of time. But I've tried this tip and it does actually work, but takes some practice. The tip is that you allow yourself 10-20 minutes of the day when you can worry for as long as you like about anything you like, however ridiculous it is. During this time slot, you can give yourself permission to really focus on your worries and not even try to be rational about them. Run the worst case scenario through your head ("I can't get this task finished in time, so my boss is going to be angry, then they're going to put me on a performance plan, then I'm going to fail that and be fired, then I'll be homeless" etc etc) and allow yourself to really think about that possibility. But the rule is any other worry that comes up in your head outside of those times you "defer" to that time zone rather than dealing with it right there and then. You're not dismissing it because you're acknowledging it (you can even write the worry down on a notepad so you don't forget), but you are simply promising yourself you will give yourself "proper" time to worry about it at that time (rather than now, when say, you need to be present on the task at hand). It does as I say, take practice, but over time, I've found it a little easier to compartmentalise in this way. The point is supposed to be that rather than simply using the "snap out of it" mode of thinking, that we know doesn't work, you are allowing yourself dedicated time to really focus on what it is that's worrying you, and releasing the tension that comes with that. What it does reduce though, by giving yourself an allocated time, is the disruption of those constant "whirring" anxieties to day to day things that you need to be able to get on with (like writing the essay you need to finish, or getting things done around the house etc). The premise is that when we worry all through the day our mind is actually "flitting" between subjects, and doesn't actually resolve anything because it never actually follows through on the thoughts, so they just stay there in a state of "limbo". By allowing yourself time to follow them through to their dramatic conclusion, it often enables you to recognise how unlikely or unrealistic the worst case scenario is, in a way that doesn't feel flippant. Also, sometimes by the time you get around to your "worry slot" you might find the worry may not seem so significant any more after all.

I don't know if I explained that one very well...but I hope you get the jist!

So I guess my point is, none of these things are going to make a drastic difference to how life with depression or anxiety feels. But they can add up to make things more endurable on days where you need a little extra TLC. They don't have to cost money, and they can at least help you be kinder to yourself.

"Nolite te bastardes carborundorum"

Or, "don't let the bastards grind you down".

#blog #kindness #mindfulness #anxiety #depression #coping mechanisms #worry

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mothergayselle · 3 years

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Marionette Demon // Obey Me! // MC x Lucifer

rating: T-M words: 5k (but y) summary: the brothers watch MC and Asmo make out during his birthday & Lucifer has something to say about it afterward lel (a n g s t)

xxx

read on AO3

xxx

“I can’t believe we have to just stand here and watch this.”

Mammon’s voice slipped over the unnatural stillness, bringing life to what the rest were thinking. Other voices could be heard in the background -- Asmo, sounding particularly oily today, and unfortunately… Freya.

For the rest of the brothers, it was their job to remain inert and quiet so that they may finally be able to put the mystery of Asmodeus’s stalker to rest and reveal who was behind the unnecessary ordeal. The plan depended on each of them to keep their mouths shut and remain in the shadows so Asmo and Freya could draw out the culprit, but…

It was, for lack of a better word, obnoxious.

Even so, Mammon’s voice afflicted Lucifer, and he couldn’t restrain the scowl growing impatient on his brow and mouth. He’d been concentrating on the scene about to unfold before them, the most abominable display of affection ever spawned.

As his younger brother drew Freya closer, Lucifer’s gaze was drawn to their hands interlocking, the coy, libidinous smile glowing on Asmo’s face, and then Freya’s playful return.

Lucifer studied the smirk she threw back at Asmo. Just how enthusiastic was she? Did the gesture reach her eyes and fill them with warmth? Was the blush on her face the product of her oversized sweater or Asmodeus’s advances? She’d agreed to the plan of course -- nothing was ever too crazy for that human -- but did she agree for the fun of it or for the fun of it?

Bah. Idle thinking. Would they just get on with it already? He wasn’t sure how much longer he could control the nervous flock of demons crowding the already-limited space behind the bookshelves.

“Same here. I’m getting seriously hungry and Freya was supposed to eat lunch with me,” Beel rumbled somewhere behind him.

Levi shifted uncomfortably beside Lucifer, his shoulders slumped, bowed more than usual. “And Freya said she’d help me with a dungeon, but it’s tonight and at this rate we’re going to miss it…”

“Oh, hey Levi, I’m supposed to log on with you. I asked Freya if I could and she said yes and told me to tell you, but I fell asleep.”

“Hmph,” Satan scoffed. “Do any of you actually give her time to do her schoolwork?”

For a moment, the chorus of their incessant voices disappeared in a vortex of heat and adrenaline and Lucifer was left alone as Asmo wrapped one arm around the small of Freya’s back. His brother’s expression was triumphant, overjoyed, and the sun seemed to emanate from a space just above the crown of his head.

Even Freya seemed to feel its rays as they poured over her. Fresh, newly oxygenated blood and contentment seeped into her cheeks and lips, filling them with the color of spring.

As Asmo rested the other hand upon her face, cradling it, Freya melted into his touch as if she was a body of water the morning sun favored over all else. Lucifer examined this too -- her easy acquiescence, the tilt of her chin protruding, how her full lips parted for his brother, the serpentine way each arm locked itself around his neck.

It was so effortless, their affection. As if it’s already played out a thousand times, a script within their love etched onto itself over and over again. The realization was a single, sinking pebble, burrowing into his chest and then exploding… leaving every shard to settle between his airways.

It was ridiculous to feel this way, so pointless, so incorrigible, completely asinine and no doubt due to the lack of sleep that’s been plaguing him recently--

The scuff of a shoe kicking the ground and then, “Pfft. I’m sick of this. I say we barge in and demand whoever’s been kickin’ up a fuss to come out already.”

“Seriously. How am I ever supposed to sleep again with the image of those two kissing branded into my head?”

“Agreed. Some of us live forever and I, for one, am not pleased I will have to remember this for the next thousand years.”

“Guys. I’m starving. I can’t handle waiting here for much longer.”

“Shut up, Beel. The kitchen will still be there when this is over. But Asmo finally getting Freya to kiss him… that’s a once in a lifetime thing.”

“Well… we hope.”

“Shut it, Satan! I don’t wanna think about that. Makes me nauseous just to hear it.” A pause. “Oh, man, did he just put his tongue in her mouth? I’m going to be sick. UGH. If he even tries to touch her butt I’m killin’ him. Done-zo.”

Lucifer bristled at the turn in conversation. It was true -- Freya bent under the command of Asmo’s embrace, yielding to his form, just as her mouth responded to the slip and slide of his lips. She seemed to kiss him with gusto, as if she really meant it, as if his fingers enmeshing in her long, curly hair had been wanted all along and she’d just had to wait for the opportunity.

He would rather die than admit it, but Lucifer concurred with Mammon. Asmodeus was tantalizing to the most hardened of humans. Although Freya was immune to his magic, one couldn’t help but wonder if she’d finally succumbed to the natural instincts within that screamed for his beauty, desiring it… craving for the littlest taste, despite knowing of his innermost nature as a vile, indiscriminate demon.

It was obscene, the reverence with which Asmo kissed Freya. He was courageous and forward and took care to kiss her with depth -- not just with his tongue but with his whole body. Asmo held her and that was the most painful part of it. Freya was an iceberg thawing in his arms, leaning forward even as he pulled away to gaze at her probably because she needed more, and the lazy grin bubbling on the surface of her face was louder than anything Mammon could ever yell because it spoke of joy and bliss and--

Yes! There it was!! The trickster, the artifice, the sly, impish -- dare he say, demonic -- swindler he knew and hated, even as it amused him. The spirit who defied him, ascended the staircase, freed Belphie against his wishes... subjugated, albeit willingly, all of his celestial brothers because she could and wanted to. There it was, burning beneath her hazel eyes, broiling within the smile she beamed at Asmodeus.

One only had to look closely to see the sharp, compacted twist of her brows to see the devilment there, or perhaps, the slight narrowing of the crow’s feet lightly stamped across her outer eyes. A quick glance at Asmo revealed he saw none of this -- his glee was unencumbered by doubt of any sort and was blazed freely within the auras around them.

“Hey, why is Lucifer smiling?”

“Yeah. What could possibly be humorous at a time like this?”

He froze, and both of his arms petrified where they’d lain across his chest. Had the relief he’d felt inside somehow made its way to the surface? How… trite.

There was a need to answer in a way that mitigated their sudden suspicion of him. What would satisfy their unwanted curiosity?

Aha!

Still frozen, Lucifer jerked his chin in Asmo’s direction. “Look. Someone took a picture.”

The brothers all stiffened and turned to where he motioned. Asmodeus and Freya were extricating themselves, limbs and fingers untangling in a way reminiscent of sticky, processed syrup coagulating.

Their gazes swept the room for the culprit, though Freya directed most of her attention to the bookcase they hid behind. Lucifer shifted against the wall and for a moment, their eyes met, and there was an odd sentiment lingering behind her bright gaze. It almost looked like… hunger.

A terrible, gargantuan, bottomless pit split open inside his belly. He couldn’t stop the image of himself crossing the classroom from churning within his mind’s eye. He would tear Freya free from Asmodeus’s grasp and seize her into his own arms. She would be flushed with shock and surprise and then stare at him in wonder, and he would cover every inch of her slender form with his body in a desperate, ungodly embrace that would last until they both turned to dust.

He would hold her the way she deserved to be held. Not in jest, nor for sport like Asmo. But because she was her and he was him and she was a bellflower destined to fade one petal at a tim--

Stop.

No goodness could come from such a train of thought. It was imprudent, greedy. Not befitting for a demon of Pride, a prince of Hell. A careless mistake he would not dwell on again.

He winked at her instead -- a playful gesture -- and delight softened her features. It was less radiant than Asmodeus’s, untameable vanity, not so much a sun than a bonfire on a tepid, summer night, but infinitely fuller.

Lucifer allowed himself a sliver of the luminescence spilling into her face and it warmed him.

“All right, what the hell was that?” Mammon. He strode past Lucifer, emerging roughly from the bookcase. The others followed, leaving Lucifer last in line.

Asmo positively glowed with satisfaction. Freya, meanwhile, also vibrated with some sort of gratification as they all approached the couple, her lips curled up in a smirk that did not dissipate.

Lucifer resisted the urge to gag. The contentment coiled off her aura in palpable waves, the thrum of a job well done lapping at his side. So, she had wanted to kiss him after all because… fun. Would the human’s foolishness never cease?

“A camera?” Mammon exclaimed. “Seriously?”

Satan touched a finger to his chin. “How interesting. A camera acting with full autonomy. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like that before.”

The thin timbre of Asmodeus’s voice permeated the classroom. “Of course the camera is in love with me! My beauty is irresistible! Isn’t that right, Freya?”

Something like steel stretched out in the following moment. All eyes were on Freya as she prepared to answer and Lucifer felt an eyebrow sail to the top of his forehead, awaiting.

She didn’t hesitate. “Oh, totally, dude. You are definitely the most scrumptious demon in all the land.”

The brothers grinned at the obvious sarcasm, though Asmo continued to glow with the compliment.

When Freya met his gaze once more, he felt the side of his mouth twitch up. She was immune to Asmodeus’s charm, no matter how frivolous the kiss, no matter available he made himself to her. The world was right once more.

Nevertheless, it was time to meet with the angels to discuss their plan for trapping the camera. With a fair amount of space now separating Asmodeus and Freya, the brothers were physically more relaxed than before, the jealousy leaving their bodies with ease despite Asmo’s overt contentedness.

The conversation turned into a jumble of ideas, thoughts, and schemes on how to reverse the magical curse put on the camera. All baseless, of course. Senseless rambling from idiot demons, but it was a start.

Lucifer caught Freya just before she exited the classroom, touching her on the elbow. She paused.

The space was suddenly quiet without the others, and it soothed something inside him as she gazed into his face, the mischief in each iris momentarily disabled in place of sheer curiosity.

“Yeah?”

Her attention was pure oxygen rushing into his bloodstream, pumping health into his body from the inside out.

“Hi.” He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face.

Freya retaliated in kind, and she veered in Lucifer’s direction so that they were face to face. When she leaned against the doorway, the features on her face soft with sincerity, lightning struck the lines of his palms. He rubbed each thumb across their respective forefinger to dispel some of the energy.

“Hi,” she chuckled. “Did you enjoy the show?”

A grimace found its way to his mouth, and he suppressed it half-heartedly. “Of course.” Her lips were still red and swollen from Asmo, the color shouting at him in mockery.

“So,” he sniffed, disapproving. “Are the legends true? Does the Demon of Lust satisfy? Should I assume he is, in fact, an adequate kisser?”

Mirth expanded her eyes in surprise. “He’s pretty good. A little sloppy. Too much tongue in the beginning, but overall, yes, I would say he’s adequate.”

It wasn’t exactly pleasant to hear, but banter with Freya was always a luxury, a dessert snatched and gobbled up whenever he had time away from his work.

A proud, avaricious shade of desire rippled down his spine, snaking over his body from head to toe. Lucifer ignored this as well, stuffing the emotion into a place where it couldn’t publicly make a fool of him.

“It sounds as if he would benefit from a bit of restraint,” he replied, heat bleeding into his voice. “Rushing so often ruins the experience of intimacy, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lucifer caught Freya’s gaze as it dipped towards his mouth, and the desire roared from its prison.

Freya scanned him over, scrutinizing him as if she could see what he buried. “I do agree. However, sometimes rushing is necessary, or even a product of that intimacy. Of something bottled up or denied.” One cheek bulged from her tongue pushing against it.

“Some of us are only human, after all.”

Ah… there was always so much tension, so many challenges and dares which bordered on outright demands whenever they conversed.

At any other time, Lucifer would digest these provocations and rebound with one of his own, but the image of her in Asmodeus’s arms, liquefying her mouth to his, detonated at the forefront of his mind.

The darkness of a demon’s craving was something to monitor, to keep in check. However, such constant monitoring bred exhaustion, and the sharp retort on his tongue withered away.

His next exhale was a sigh breezing through his nose. Freya’s brow momentarily curved, analyzing, and when he met her stare, Lucifer knew all mockery had left his face. He was tired.

What did that leave, exactly? Unabashed affection? Neutrality? He searched for how his features felt -- they felt slack. Fatigued. But he also couldn’t hold back the pleasure being with her brought him, and his lips widened in jubilance.

“We should fix your hair before meeting up with the others, or else a demon may get the wrong impression. Devilgram remains ever the cesspool of lousy rumors, after all. And since we’re apparently dealing with a demonic camera...”

The confusion on her face was a cherry blossom unfurling in the wind. Lucifer approached her as she straightened from the wall. He could feel her breath on his cheeks, lukewarm and serene.

Freya looked up at him, and it was as if the ocean itself rushed over everything he was, so charged was the atmosphere around their bodies.

“Why? Do I have bed-head or something?”

Lucifer stilled as Freya unconsciously leaned towards him. Only human, indeed.

“You definitely have bed-head,” he replied, deep laughter stirring inside his chest. Her normally-curly hair was bushed out in awkward places, remnants of Asmo’s passion, and the effect was almost hilarious… like a briar bush untamed and stomped over by a wandering traveler.

Her jaw was the gloss of an unburned candle as his hands skimmed over her skin, pulling each curl back into place and twisting it anew.

Freya -- who so easily melted for Asmodeus -- stiffened, the dark vines of her lashes closing shut at his touch. She swayed a little on her feet as if her body couldn’t decide whether to remain or surrender, an old pendulum too drowsy out to spin true.

She spoke with her eyes closed and her voice was lower, slurred in the way a person speaks before awakening. “How lame. For a fashionista, he couldn’t have been more considerate about my hair? Asmo of all people should know never to mess with curls after styling them. Hmph.”

Lucifer grinned at that. “Like I said. He would benefit from some restraint.” A shudder ripped through her when his hands brushed by her neck. Warm, her pulse slow and sleepy.

“To be honest, bed-head isn’t your worst look,” he said, correcting her part. “Hm… the sea-witch aesthetic after that snowball fight with the others was probably worse than this.” His grin opened at her scoff.

“‘How gracious of you.” Did she realize she was humming?

“Also, you seem to be making it a habit of yours to groom me, Lucifer.” The sound of his name from her lips jolted him, and as if she knew, Freya lifted her eyelids, eying him with accusations. “Have you noticed?”

For a moment, he had no idea what she’d meant by that. Then it clicked.

“Oh, yes. When we shot Diavolo’s movie, right? During makeup?”

Extraneous ringlets waterfalled over his fingers when she nodded. The sensation was cashmere. Bottled rose oil from the purest blossom.

“Not that I’m complaining. Feel free to play with my hair anytime.” Her eyes closed once more.

The invitations came so freely from her! So much different than her embrace with Asmo. In private, her affection was honest, a candor crystal buried beneath sarcasm and parody.

With Asmo, it seemed as if she’d given herself completely, wholly, without reservation or even a shred of contemplation.

With Lucifer, her affection was given only when revealed, or pried away from her stubborn grasp. He knew this because it was the way he expressed love -- through gritted teeth and compulsory confrontation. That was the difference between truth and artifice. One was easier than the other because it was easier.

“I appreciate the permission,” Lucifer murmured, “However, my brothers may make a fuss should they see me interact with you in any way that doesn’t involve a lecture.”

Which was unquestionably true, and Freya’s nose knew it, even as it snorted.

“As much as I enjoy your lectures…” She giggled at his subsequent glare, the silly staccato becoming phantom birds which danced around them. But then Freya opened her mouth, and nothing else came out of it.

Lucifer frowned. His prompt was silent, a tenderness sprouting from the tops of his brows.

And then her eyes flashed open and it was like the world vanished, folded in on itself. Paper crumpled up because it was used and worthless, and whatever remained was omniscient, a singular power separate from the cosmos.

That’s what it felt like when she looked at him, the core of her being consuming the space behind her eyes, eating up whatever was in its way. Her voice was a whisper, a thread of the power left behind, the only sound within their absent universe.

“Lucifer… enough.”

The breath in his lungs glaciated.

“Just this once.”

The words pierced each tendon in his hand, suspending them, even as they rested within her curls. The brown in each green eye simmered almost angrily, but Lucifer caught the drained affectation slackening her jaw. She was tired, and for the first time, she’d dropped her guard.

What could he say? What did she want to hear? His tongue would not obey her. The hands in her hair were the question marks in questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Freya’s stare pinned him to the floor though she didn’t move a muscle. Her gaze had hands and fingers that reached into him and yanked at his lapels, fisting the fabric together in a knot he couldn’t undo.

All his eyes could do was beg. Beg for answers. Beg for her to take it back. His heart began to sprint.

Freya paused. “Interact with me. The way you want to.”

Could a heart run itself into nothingness? What was she asking of him? This was a breach in their meta, their subliminal agreement for, well… restraint! They’d had moments before of course, had come close to crossing that line, but this was a shattering of the entire wall. What lay behind except for the unknown? The risk? The ache?

He was not like Asmo. Lucifer could not, would not yield so easily like he did, capitulating to his most base instinct. It simply was not in his nature, regardless if his body coveted hers. Still…

If he closed his eyes, he could see it. A pathway. A compromise. A single, golden, gentle thoughtform arose from the bottomless cavern in his belly, looping to the roof of his mouth and then taking root like a tree. It filled his limbs with will. His will. Independent of another. Removed from even Diavolo.

When he opened his eyes, the fatigued, expectant glare on her face was feverish. She was angry at him. At them both. But her command was the only permission he needed.

Lucifer’s hands trembled, and his pulse slammed against his throat as his palms came to rest on Freya’s shoulders.

Freya did not stiffen again, but nearly sagged with relief. The naked abandon of her body was almost too much to bear. It was further destruction of the wall once between them. Another step forward into the uncharted territory behind it.

But for all of his refusing, he could not refuse this one request. What did she think of his shaking hands? That he was weak? A coward too afraid to pursue what he wanted?

Freya’s arms were lithe, sinuous vines he could discern through the tattered long-sleeve sweater she wore. Warm and healthy even through the cotton, pulsing with mortal life. Her eyes watched him, flickering from head to chest. Surely the pulsing organs within were visible, knocking at his sternum as if they sought passage, and surely she could see their frantic rhythm.

His fingers skimmed over her ribs, down, until reaching her waist, which elicited an obvious shiver. Slowly, without meeting her eyes, Lucifer pulled her to him until they were pressed together -- tremoring sternums and all.

She stopped breathing for the most minuscule of moments before picking up again, akin to a hummingbird’s flight. There was so much being said. Their bodies positively howled at each other.

When it was time to look at her, his gaze was hesitant, unsure, but then their eyes locked and something important broke and whatever she saw in his face made her gasp.

“I see,” Freya breathed. The very outline of her pupils appeared to vibrate.

It was done. She’d perceived something secret within him. A locked chest smashed open and exposed. There was a sudden pressure in his chest, a block of clouds stirring together and graying as if in preparation for a storm. It almost felt as if something was taken from him.

Lucifer’s next exhale came sharply, and he fastened Freya’s arms around his waist. She responded immediately, flexing each hand into the bow of his vertebrae, and the image of her staring up at him in wonder -- as he’d imagined -- came to fruition.

Just this once.

His reflection mirraged and beamed back at him from the shine of her eyes. He thought he looked fractured, punched through, and familiar, alien burgundy burned through him.

What did the color feel like to her? It was so inhuman... so foreign to the complexions of the human realm. Had his red eyes ever repelled her? Scared her? Had it ever triggered a subconscious, mortal impulse to protect herself from him?

But then the golden thoughtform returned, and with it, the warm peace of certainty. It beckoned him forward, encouraged him to reach forth, to caress the knolls of her cheekbones as he cradled her face in his hands.

Freya’s lips parted, the exhale slipping into his nose and mouth. It did not resemble her encounter with his brother in any way. She was too fixed but somehow too eager, her breathing too uneven to be a frivolous, physical attraction like she had with Asmodeus.

For a moment, all they did was eye each other. Her neck was an olive-colored bridge, arching to fit his towering height. Her lashes, shredded umbrellas shimmying in strange dances, guarding each eyelid from debris. Lucifer stroked the spaces just underneath the lash-line, and her next blink was heavy.

If someone were to walk in on them, what would they see? Two lovers embracing? A couple of friends succumbing to primality? One, eternal demon and one human resisting whatever doomed fate loomed behind the shattered wall?

The pressure in his chest convulsed and Lucifer swooped down, tilting her face to the right angle, and their breaths caught the second their noses touched, and then their cupid’s bow and then--

Their mouths halted, paralyzed, as they collided with one of Lucifer’s thumbs so that it obstructed all contact.

He had shifted his hand at the last possible moment, slipping between their faces and lips.

Freya froze. She pulled away a bit and her subsequent words came through slightly muffled.

“What are you--”

Regret. It stormed into him, marching into his forehead and jaw just to twist the muscles in defiance. He didn’t want to see her disapproval. So, he kept his eyes closed a little longer. When they finally did lift, they latched onto the thumb on her lips.

She searched his visage for an explanation, features tightening in bewilderment, but all it could do was bend in repentance.

“Not yet,” he murmured, pressing lightly onto her mouth. Their eyes shifted over each other -- carnelian and nephrite. “Not after Asmo. Not in response to him.”

If they were to ever fully give in, to surrender all, the experience could not be associated or tethered to his brothers in any way. Lucifer knew Freya had flirtations with a few -- and one could hardly fault a human for falling star-struck, even if they were hopeless idiots -- and so if the time came where she were to choose him and he were to choose her… well, he’d want her fully. Even if it was selfish of him. Especially if it was selfish of him.

He could not deny his biggest sin or the demonic nature inside which fueled him, the same which made his wants necessities. And so… he could not kiss her now, despite the chained longing deep down which thrashed and struggled against his rational mind.

Lucifer wasn’t sure how Freya would respond to this. If she would see his reasoning as childish or perhaps, self-flagellating.

But, instead, she nodded and released a sigh which cut through him. He was determined not to show it.

“You’re right,” she said. His center of gravity deviated when she squeezed him. “Okay.”

Was it?

The need so restrained rose up and tangled with the golden thoughtform in his limbs and overlapped it and Lucifer, in an adjustment so fast he hadn’t realized he’d used his celestial speed, swiftly undid her arms and instead, looped them around his neck.

Reverence could be paid to more than just the lips. If this was all the time they had, so be it.

The height difference yanked her up. It very nearly lifted her feet off the ground, but this was a fleeting observation as he buried his face into her neck, willing the universe to stop, for his brothers to take indefinite vacations, for the curly hair swathing his neck to never vanish.

Lucifer thought Freya felt the same. There was no mistaking her hummingbird heart, for one. Clothes and flesh may have separated their bodies, but the frenzied songs of each reverberated through every atom, until Freya’s breath was his and the length of her spine was what upheld his legs and the small of her back was the sky and the knocking of their sternums might finally be a door that opens

until he released her and stepped away, the only evidence of the moments before set aflame in each set of eyes, the rapid inflation of their chests.

The universe had returned, bringing along with it the smell of books, wooden desks, and chalk -- though the scent of Freya’s conditioner lingered in his airways. Lucifer combed through Freya’s expression, searching for any sign of disappointment or rage, but all he found was reddened cheeks, the ghost of excitement… and maybe, perhaps, the littlest, tiniest fragment of awe.

Which, in fairness, could have easily been his ego.

Their masks slipped back into place with ease. Its tangible energies were more than familiar, a protective covering opposite the sea of hunger which left them shipwrecked on discordant islands.

Lucifer suspected that Freya was just as relieved as he to be able to crawl underneath its shield once more. That was… a lot. A highlight reel of memories he’d undoubtedly replay in his head until the imaginary film frayed and snapped, but still. A lot.

The air was filled with their subsequent breaths.

“How’s my hair?” Freya asked, smirking. There was a breathlessness to her voice but she hid it well enough. The relentless, demanding stare from earlier was also completely absent.

Lucifer surprised himself and laughed. The result of the oxytocin flooding his body, or her sheer audacity?

“It’s perfect. Not a strand out of place.” Which was true, even in his rapture he’d had enough sense to leave her unruffled. Sloppiness was for lesser men.

This answer pleased her. Freya hummed the next exhale, taking care to crack every finger and joint before bouncing once on her toes.

A little jittery, are we?

Already the highlight reel endeavored to waltz in his mind. It was a quivering, persistent urge -- one, he bemoaned, he would be forced to ignore vehemently in the coming days. Ugh.

“I’m sure the others are wondering where we are,” Freya said. She rolled her eyes, probably for his benefit more than anything else.

Boo-hoo. It must have been so hard being the nucleus of so many demon’s lives. Still, he thought her amusing.

“Shall we go before they send out a search party?”

A grumble thundered in his throat. Now, that was too accurate an assessment for comfort.

He scowled -- a natural gesture which arose whenever said brothers were mentioned. “We shall. I suppose.”

When he extended his arm to her, Freya took it without hesitation, only a normal amount of elation allowed on her face. Back to their routine, it was.

They approached the doorway and he paused, lingering until she slipped through the door ahead of him. She didn’t let go of him, though.

“Hey, Lucifer?”

His eyebrows furrowed at the question mark in her voice. “Hm?” He cast his gaze back onto her as they scoured the hallway, but she wasn’t looking at him.

“Why did we dawdle for so long anyway? I can’t seem to remember.”

The pressure on his sternum knocked once more. He buried it, shoved it down… but grinned when she finally did look his way. Especially when she winked, as he had earlier.

“Well,” he said, returning his gaze to the hall. “It was our logistical responsibility. As the camera’s still on the loose, it’s only fitting that we be thorough in our search for it. Yes?”

She hmphed in agreement.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

#this is so much angst good god i need therapy #obey me #shall we date? obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus x mc #lucifer x mc #fanfiction #writing #mine

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yvaquietdays · 6 years

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No Excuses (but also some excuses)

Warning: the following post contains a lot of naval gazing...

I should probably apologise for the lateness of this blog post. Or maybe, on second thoughts, I shouldn’t apologise at all. I never intended this to be constant, bi-weekly affair. Just something I’d use as an outlet for any thoughts, opinions or feelings I had that I felt were worth sharing. In true me style however, updating this thing became a source of anxiety for me. What if I had nothing more to say? What if it’s already been said? What if people will expect more of the blog and I don’t deliver? What if my lack of studying in writing and literature becomes painfully apparent and the blog just becomes a viral embarrassment? Seriously. I know it’s irrational, you don’t have to remind me. But I did my best to quash those nervy b’s, to smash them into the ground with my sturdiest Doc Martens (which I’m excited to share have been worn in again now that the grass-scorching heat has dissipated and that gorgeous northern brew of rain and cloud cover has blessed the streets of London) with vigour, and perhaps a few beads of sweat from my upper lip. Sometimes they’re just whispers, in the back of your head, gently feeding the self doubt with seeds of dissent, until the crop grows more fully into something weedier, which is much harder to stamp out. It’s importantly quell those sneaky whispers regularly. Luckily, I kept doing just that; I only needed to update the blog when it was relevant, and if I didn’t feel like it, I didn’t have to. In the end if I have to apologise, it’s to myself (I am sorry if anyone was waiting on another post; I know I’m being pretty self absorbed here). I mean, I don’t think I kept any of you awake at night, clutching at your bed clothes, covered in tears and mud and ghosts, shrieking “WHEN WILL SHE UPDATE HER BLOG? I PRAYED TO THE HEAVENS AND I CALLED DOWN THE SPIRIT OF UNANNY AND STILL I AM LEFT HERE TO CRY ASUNDER?!” Or something along those lines.

(I don’t know who Unanny is.)

So if I don’t feel like it, I don’t have to. That’s kind of been my modus operandi of late; if I’m not inspired, the universe just isn’t open for business. She ain’t sellin’. I try not beat myself up when I can’t execute an idea, or when I’m trying to write a draft for my novel and my neural pathways seem to be blocked up with desire for cheese and Harry Potter instead of lyrical wit and literary glory. I actively choose not to berate myself, but treat myself. I’ve been working steadily for the past year to nurse myself with kindness and to give myself more respect than before, to step forward in small steps of positivity rather than falling backwards into regret and self doubt. It’s constant, small work, rewiring your brain. But I think it’s been working. Some days I’m not certain, but for the most part, yes.

See, I figured if I pushed myself when I wasn’t jiving with it, if I tried to scratch down the words or search the heavens for the melodies, to pull a sick “beat” out of my arse on Logic, it would certainly be insufferable. The worst kind of creativity. Just awful. If I try to force an idea, it won’t feel good, and that is in direct assault with my philosophy of kindness. I know what you’re thinking though, you have to fail in order to succeed, and I’d agree that is another trite but true platitude that I’ve been trying to adhere to. I’ve spent years avoiding true creativity or expression in the event that it will be the worst thing anyone (myself included) has ever heard, read or bore witness to in the history of all creative outputs, and that’s including Friday by Rebecca Black. Banger.

Eventually, I switched myself off from it, I turned away and kept myself in the dark, only trusting the light when someone had the good grace to give me a compliment. But there’s only so long you can rely on others for your self worth. And that time is finite, my friends. So I’ve been very focused on complimenting myself, on sitting in the light, in trying, failing, trying, failing. Life is a cycle, it all moves, life and death, we all get to start again. All of it. And I do believe that. I do. Just recently I’ve been working and writing and recording some things that have been purely experimental for me; I’ve so enjoyed fleshing out parts and lines, tearing my lyrics apart and compromising and hearing the bad sections and replacing them with better ones, only to change my mind about it being there in the first place, and all of this being a very good, very productive, very nourishing thing.

But when the goddess ain’t calling, I don’t call her and ask her why she isn’t picking up the phone. Instead, I'm just grateful in the moments of proper creativity; I write down my moments of inspiration, I note down the lyrics that flow unbidden into my brain, I find images that source the artistic ideas I want to follow up and I record melodies and song ideas into my phone. In those moments, however fleeting or short, I find comfort, and I thank myself for being such an incredible fucking genius.

OKAY RON. You’re right. I’m not a genius.

My other motto in life is something an old friend said to me, and it has resonated with me ever since. Know what you’re good at, and know what you’re not. Know your skills and worth, but have the grace to admit your flaws and the things that have you stumped. Be strong enough to admit that you’re not perfect and when you can ask for help, you can usually take down anyone who looks at you condescendingly for not knowing just by saying that to them. You’re stronger and wiser for it, I think. There is nothing wrong with not having all the answers. And the guy (and it’s always a guy that laughs at me for asking...sigh), who thinks he is the pot of all knowing is usually stumped by your lack of shame or embarrassment.

So the one thing I’m not good at is persisting. Whether that’s at picking up my guitar more, playing the piano, learning to use Logic or getting to grips with music production. Or maybe it’s just persisting in the face of my fears. I’m not sure, man. Is it the anxiety, or a genuine unease and lack of musical ability that stops me? I’m painfully aware that my knowledge of chords is slim, but I’m also horrendously aware that it’s because I don’t practise enough. So I’m not perfect, I’m not the best at this. I still have some ways to go in improving as an artist. I’m a lazy arsehole, and imma tell you all that.

Frustratingly though - and this is kind of what I wanted to get on to - I keep seeing my former good vibe sentiment all over social media. You know, the one about being kinder to yourself, taking more time, forgiving yourself; “thank your inner diva!” And while I obviously think this a very commendable and instructive philosophy, I also believe it willfully ignores the hard, teeth baring work we have to do to undo all the negativity we’ve practised over the years. I’m a firm believer of the philosophy that we have to be kinder to ourselves to lessen the mental load, but we also have to graft and get our nails dirty, we have to be able to face our fears and we must not become complacent. This is my biggest fear (alongside being alone, failure, tiny clusters of small holes and little girl ghosts), that I’ll become a haven of positivity and light and a beacon for hope and transcendence in my downward dog pose, but I’ll also become a lazy fucker who’s convinced herself she doesn’t have to learn all the chords because the “universe hasn’t made me yet.” We have to tell ourselves when we’re being an insufferable twat, and fast. Pride is no longer fashionable to me. I know this makes me sound like a full tilt bozo, but it’s a genuine concern. In the last year I’ve fully inserted myself, bellend first, into yoga, mindfulness, meditation, exercise and being a zen queen. I’ve challenged myself mentally in ways I wouldn’t have even considered when I was younger, I’ve accepted blame and flaws about myself, I’ve done it all. But my pale white scrotum is still so very privileged and doesn’t want to do the hard work. It doesn’t want to fertilise the soil. I just want to plough into it ‘cos it feels good. But what if I wake up one day, with my pale scrotum in hand, ready to fertilise, and I’ve been left barren and empty? What if I’ve wasted it all trying to save it all up for that one good plough, but then the opportunity never comes? WHAT IF I MISS THE OPPORTUNITIES AND THEN ALL THE FIELDS HAVE BEEN FERTLISED BY SOMEONE ELSE?!?? Okay. So I have to do better. I have to play when I don’t feel like it. I have to learn musical theory so it is ingrained in my synapses. I have to fertilise the bloody soil with all the creative jizz I can muster; whether it’s good, nutritious, exciting stuff, or whether it’s weak and half-arsed. The field doesn’t mind. Any jizz is good jizz. I’m sure you’re wondering where I pulled that analogy out of but I’m sure you can all guess. Hint: you sit on it

The following excuses will not fly; • I don’t feel like it • I’m not inspired • I went for a run this morning and I’m tiiiired (whiney voice required) • I have to finish this Herbology class on my Hogwarts Mystery game • I worked for a whole four hours this morning • The onions made me cry • I’ve already written some lyrics this week (whiney voice also required with this one) • I have no money • I haven’t showered yet • The plants need watering, the towels need washing, need to buy food, all the chores etc. • Charlie Weasley wants to be my friend on Hogwarts Mystery game and I’ve always wanted to be a Weasley • I spent two hours looking at houseplants online and didn’t buy anything • I’ve been trawling the internet for pictures of James McAvoy and his girlfriend to see if he’s truly happy and wouldn’t rather be with me instead Ultimately the only acceptable excuse I will accept is that I’m menstruating. So I urge you all to do the same (persist, not menstruate). Please let me know that you’re guilty of this too. I’m tired of seeing all these bloody proactive “influencers” pouncing out and assaulting me with their life positivity and perfect, shiny, stylish lives.

Ok. I’m looking forward to my next post a little more now. And talking about something else other than jizz and scrotums.

Let’s keep trying. xxx

#mentalhealth #goodmentalhealth #mentalhealthblog #mentalhealthwarrior #socialmedia #thequietdays #blog #mentalhealthblogger #lifestyleblogger #zenqueen #productivity #pressure #anxiety #livingwithanxiety #anxiety issues

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kevinmoyer · 7 years

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Delightful At-Home Wedding in Virginia :: Meg & Rue

Photography by Sarah Mattozzi.

I am completely besotted with this wedding! Meg & Rue married in their apartment surrounded by ten family members – including their officiant, Rue’s sister! – and then walked through the rain to celebrate with twenty-seven guests at a favorite local restaurant. Even though the whole day was so intimate, I think my favorite part was the one with no guests at all, when they read their own vows to each other in their new home.

The Ceremony

Why did you choose this location for your ceremony? We had planned on getting married at a park here in Richmond, in the neighborhood we were about to move to. But Hurricane Matthew was making its way up the coast, and Richmond was getting a lot of rain. Luckily, we had just signed a lease on our new apartment the weekend before so when it became evident we were going to be rained out on our wedding day, we decided to get married in our new home. It ended up being perfect and beautiful and just really, really special. And now we have those memories around us every day. I’m so happy it worked out that way!

Your ceremony in three words. Intimate, heartfelt, simple.

Meg & Rue waited to see one another until their ceremony. Says Meg, “I’m a pretty emotional person and didn’t want to start crying before the ceremony even began!”

Who officiated your ceremony? How did you choose him/her? We asked Rue’s sister to officiate our ceremony. We knew we didn’t want a religious ceremony but still wanted an officiant who meant something to us. Mary immediately came to mind. Mary is just such an incredibly thoughtful person and I knew she would find the words that would be heartfelt and genuine, without being overly sentimental or trite.

How did you go about planning your ceremony? We were very much on the same page about the overall tone and vibe we wanted for the ceremony as Mary was. I just told her we wanted her to say a few words about love and our relationship in her opening remarks, and have a reading or two, before we exchanged vows. She took over from there and it was wonderful. I really liked that we were hearing it all for the first time that day.

What was your ceremony music? None! I didn’t even process in!

What were your vows like? We wanted vows that meant something to us and were true to who we are as a couple, so we decided not to use to the traditional “in sickness and in health” vows. So after some googling, we found a few non-traditional vows and combined the parts we liked to create vows that were significant and important to us.

What were your ceremony readings? We didn’t have any formal readings, but our officiant included a quote by Alain de Botton; a passage from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letter to a Young Poet; and an excerpt from Justice Anthony Kennedy’s opinion in Obergefell v. Hodges (which made my attorney/SCOTUS nerd heart smile.)

What was your favorite thing about your wedding ceremony? We only had ten family members there and we were all crowded into our living room. Everyone was standing around us and you could hear the rain outside and it just felt so loving and cozy. There was so much love in the room, it was overwhelming. We were passing a tissue box around!

Is there anything else that helps tell the story of your wedding? Before we got engaged, we always said we would just elope. The idea of planning a big wedding felt very stressful – so many details and traditions and expectations that we, quite honestly, just did not want to deal with. It felt like that would be a bunch of noise that would distract us from what a wedding was really supposed to be about. But then we got engaged and we realized we did want to celebrate with friends and family. More than that, we wanted to celebrate our friends and family, who have only ever loved and supported us. Going small was crucial for us. It allowed us to focus on the things that were really important to us and create a day that honored who we are as a couple. The entire day felt like a dream.

What advice do you have for other couples in the midst of planning a wedding? Be true to who you are as a couple. If there are traditions or customs that don’t feel right to you or make you think “that would just be so awkward” – don’t do them! It’s your wedding and you want it to feel like your wedding. The people who love you will recognize that the wedding is true to you all and celebrate that.

Do you have any budget tips for other brides? Especially for brides with a limited budget, I’d recommend first deciding what you want to spend money on, rather than how much you want to spend overall. There are a thousand things you can spend money on when you’re planning your wedding, but when you really stop to think, a lot of those things might not be that important to you. What are your priorities? My bouquet, the photography, and getting my hair done were my priorities. Custom calligraphy on the invitation envelopes wasn’t. Having a list of ‘musts’ made it really easy to spend more on those things because I knew I wasn’t going to be spending money on other details.

Meg told us, “I have to mention my bouquet and the amazing Deanna at Strawberry Fields Flowers & Finds. I spent every summer when I was a kid with my grandparents and their backyard was filled with wildflowers. My grandparents passed away when I was in college so it was very important to me to find a way to include their memory in our day. When I met with Deanna, I told her I wanted a bouquet that looked like I had just picked it from my grandparents’ backyard, and when I picked up the bouquet on the day of the wedding, I burst into tears. She totally captured that feeling, and every time I looked down at my bouquet that day, I felt like my grandparents were there with me.”

Meg & Rue wanted to share their own personal vows on the day, but felt it was too intimate to do in front of others. Instead, after the ceremony and while they were alone, they read out letters to one another in the front room of their apartment. How romantic!

What was the best advice you received as a bride? It was some very practical advice from a friend who used to be a wedding photographer. When it was forecast for lots of rain and I was going to order a bunch of umbrellas, she told me to order white ones. She said they let the light through and work really well in photos, and she was right!

The Reception

How would you describe your reception? My favorite dinner party ever!

Why did you choose this location for your reception? We decided fairly early on that we wanted to do a sit-down dinner, instead of planning a full blown wedding reception. I just knew I was just not the person who could handle all that stress and anxiety. We started looking at restaurants in Richmond and when we found out Acacia did private events, it was a no-brainer. Their food is amazing and it is one of our favorite restaurants in Richmond. Aline Reitzer, the owner, was fantastic to work with, and I hardly had to worry about any details! It was perfect!

What was your favorite moment or part of the reception? It’s hard to choose! But I’d have to say when we first walked in. All of our friends and family were there and it was just overwhelming to see all of these people who love and support us all in one place. Someone put a glass of rose in my hand and we just walked around the room, getting to hug everyone and introduce friends to other friends and it was really wonderful.

Please tell us about any other special details or moments from your reception. We had a very small number of guests, just our absolute nearest and dearest family and friends, and we wanted to get to really spend time with them. It worked out so well – we had four tables and four courses, so we actually moved to a different table for each course. So often you’re at a wedding and you only get to spend a few minutes with the bride and groom, and then you don’t see them for the rest of the evening. But this way, we got to talk and laugh and drink champagne with everyone. It was so much fun.

What inspired you when you were planning your wedding? A photo I had seen of another bride’s reception – there was candlelight and the table was cluttered with wine glasses, and the bride and her sister were laughing, and I was like “Yes! I want a dinner party where everyone eats really good food and gets a tipsy and laughs a lot.”

If you had it to do over again, is there anything you would do differently? Not a thing!

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