#like i have been so severely sick that it's inspired me to drastically change my entire life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vizthedatum · 1 year

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One of the college admission essays I wrote in 2007... or "how I downplayed the amount of trauma I was going through and masked so fucking hard to get into college"

The inhabitants of this Earth revolve themselves around certain procedures, schedules, and mannerisms that are unique to them, but are they so unique? Perhaps, we simply mimic or take inspiration from other lives, add our own personal touch, and call them our own, but a certain consistency is apparent in everyone's routine. In my case, I'm not so fortunate.

On an average day, I wake up at 5:50 AM, bang my head on the wall adjacent to the closet, and get ready for the long day in front of me. During the school year, I diligently attend school with a few minor complaints and learn how and what to study for the betterment of my education. While I involve myself in school and the work that pertains to it, I look for outlets that will help distract me from my schoolwork. These outlets are my extracurricular activities. I've been involved in orchestral work, which concerns my violin playing, academic teams (such as math team, future problem solving, and quiz bowl to name a few), and volunteering. This is simply an overview of my daily schedule, while quite frankly, this average day is not quite accurate.

As I began my freshman year of high school, I found that my "average day" was slowly changing. Though I kept up with my schoolwork and activities, I constantly felt deprived of energy. At least once a week, I would get an almost unbearable migraine and would have to lie down until it got better. The only reason why I survived my first term of high school was because I only had 2 academic subjects, Math and French. That term I was involved in the Pitt orchestra for our fall school musical, Oklahoma. Practices would run up to 6:00 each day, and after my mom picked me up and dropped me off home, I'd collapse on our living room couch for 2-3 hours.

Freshman year wasn't so bad though, because I'd try and keep my headaches under control as well as trying to keep myself healthy so that I could function. When sophomore year began, I had a fail-proof plan to succeed in school as well as taking the necessary rest I needed to keep focused. Everything drastically changed when on September 19th, 2005, my father suffered an almost fatal stroke. For a week, he was in a coma. I also remember that the Friday of that particular week, I had an AP European History test. I didn't study. North Memorial Hospital became my second home. I would go there after school every day and sometimes, stay overnight. For months and even today, I couldn't sleep at night. I did my homework during class and in passing time. Not only had everything gone out of control but my mind had as well. My grades got worse than usual, and I didn't care what happened around me. Nevertheless, I tried to make it to school every day even though my work output was of low quality. My father stayed in stroke rehabilitation for the rest of the 2005 year before finally being discharged from the hospital. Even though, he was discharged, he was half paralyzed, and his speech was severely impaired. Three times a week, he would go to the hospital for therapy, and most times, I would come too. During that year, I felt really empty and alone. I felt that my dad was going to drop dead and I would never see him again. I felt like I would collapse into tears every few minutes, and I did so a few times in the school stairwell. Then again, I felt guilty for feeling alone and helpless. My friends surrounded me with a protective coat of support, and my aunt and uncle helped us resettle into our new lives. Furthermore, my mother and my brother needed me. While I managed to go to school every day, my brother couldn't as my mother took him with her to take care of my father.

As if it weren't hard enough, when my father became sick, he lost his job. We were a family of four who depended on a sole financial provider, my father. We also lived in an apartment for which we had to pay a monthly rent. We then had to live off of Social Security, which was not so sufficient for the room and board of our whole family plus gas bills. It was very difficult especially since I tried to continue all of the activities I was involved in at school.

My father resumed going to work in the summer of 2006, but he mostly worked from home. When I started 11th grade, things were somewhat better. Whatever happened in the past was horrific to think about, and every day I would be reminded of it. My headaches also started getting worse. Second term of 11th grade was especially hard for me, because it seemed like I acquired every flu/cold in existence. Third term was even harder because I began experiencing sharp pains in my lower left abdomen. It turned out I had an enlarged ovarian cyst. For months after that, I experienced the same pain for unknown reasons. My headaches became migraines, and I found my body limiting my actions such as going to school. I was determined to not let that bring me down. My grades did suffer a little bit, but I took the responsibility to teach myself the subjects I signed up to take.

The summer before my senior year was a happy time for me. My migraines were getting worse, but I was getting treated for it. Though I wasn't getting any relief and felt guilty because of the waste of money all this was turning out to be, I spent my summer making myself happy with who I was. I hung out with my friends, happily taught swimming, and volunteered as much as I could.

Senior year started, and quite frankly, I was really excited. I was signed up for really great classes with teachers that I knew and trusted. The not so exciting part was that I didn't even get to fully enjoy it; I missed more than half of the first term. Every week, my mom rushes me to doctor after doctor to find an absolute cure so I can go back to my life. I recently got put on two new medications, and I hope they'll help. Meanwhile, I'm going to keep on keeping my commitments to school (even if I don't always attend), learning, and the activities that make me happy and build my character.

So many things I didn't say:

my ongoing suicidality and depression

the physical and mental abuse from my parents

the physical and mental abuse from my high school boyfriend

everyone disbelieving my pain

the abuse from my doctors

my PCOS, undiagnosed endometriosis, undiagnosed bladder pain

the absolute brutality of what it takes to get into college when you're poor

my undiagnosed anxiety disorder and PTSD

#college essay #i was only seventeen #harm #abuse #high school #college admissions #migraines #pain #doctors #doctor #prose #essay

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linked-heroes · 3 years

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Yandere Chain and the New Goddess of Courage

So a week or two ago, I got hit with sudden motivation and inspiration (thanks to posts by the awesome blogs of @luimagines, @yandere-linked-universe, and several ppl who sent things to them!) with a scene from one of my several yandere au ideas! So here is the first part of it! Ofc the wonderful Nordictwin helped me with this. She’s my partner in crime ❤️

Featuring my Oc Navya. (Note that this is a different au from the Usurper Queen piece that @nordictwin wrote for me)

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Navya feels herself settle, any doubts washing away at that moment. Sometimes you need moments like this to help accept and come to terms with things.

She is sick, no, she is furious of this little child and her mortal descendants harming, taking, and claiming what was hers.

Mine mine mine

How dare they take what's hers!

Navya breathes in deeply, and then lets it all out. She lets the small little ball of power and energy that has been dormant in her grow and spread out through her being. With slow confident steps, she prowls toward the mortal Hylia.

Kill her, spill her blood

End her reign before it can begin

With a sharp smirk, she speaks.

“Little goddess, do you know my name?”

The spoiled, defiant goddess opens her mouth, but Navya gives her no chance to respond.

“It’s Navya, in honor of the goddess of wisdom, Nayru. Funny, isn’t wisdom supposed to be yours? Yet you seem to lack it entirely.” Navya stops in front of Zelda, Sun, Hylia herself, for a moment before slowly circling her.

It would be so easy, a flick of the wrist and she could end Hylia here and now

Hylia makes a noise of offense “Now see here-!”

Navya continues as if the other woman hadn’t spoken.

“They say I was chosen by all three of the goddesses, and I was. I was named in honor of one goddess, who claimed me as hers. But do you know who it was who actually blessed me? Who, claimed me and in her blessing, declared me her successor? Bestowed upon me her power to inherit and take her place?”

Here Navya stops behind Hylia and turns to face her, to face the group of heroes in front of her, now behind Hylia.

She can see them all, ready to jump in and start fighting if they need to. They keep their eyes mostly on her, but don’t neglect to watch their surroundings for enemies (it breaks her heart to see them all so broken and battle ready, they shouldn’t have to be so watchful. They shouldn’t have to suffer as they have).

How dare they make her heroes suffer.

Navya slowly lets her power build, letting it slowly be felt by others. She can feel it seep into the air, and can feel the changes the magic is doing to her.

She can see the moment that Hylia senses her power, realizes what it is and what it means. The woman’s eyes bulge and she gapes at Navya. Her skin pales drastically before her face turns red and the defiant rage flares back into her.

That’s right child goddess, feel fear

Bow down to your betters

Navya doesn’t fight the cold smirk that slides onto her face.

She leans in and says:

“It was Farore”.

She can see her men, her partners, her heroes, (heroes just like her) all startle and focus all of their attention back to her.

Hylia, as typical of her, throws a fit. “No! You can’t, you have no right to them! They’re mine, I love them!”

Navya glares at the woman who was nothing more than a child.

“I am the heir of Farore, I am the Goddess of Courage. They are my heroes. You have no claim to what is mine little mortal goddess. They are blessed with courage, my courage, and you cannot have them.” She declares, power leaking into her voice and words. “You say you love them, yet all they have had is suffering and loss because of you. They have gained nothing from your so-called love.”

You hurt them!

I will make you suffer!

“They are my heroes! I chose them, I blessed them!” Hylia shrieks, her own power starting to leak out.

They were never yours!

“You condemned and cursed them is what you’ve done! Starting with First! You say you loved him, but he never loved you! You cursed him and part of his soul as he was dying! It brought him back as a deity against his will! And then when he tried to fight it, fight you, you cursed and exiled him into the mask!” Navya snarls, her rage building.

How dare you!

You took him from me!

“You can’t take them from me, You’ve already stolen Sky! And you have no right!” Hylia is shaking in her own anger, her power building and Navya senses it flowing into her hands, and immediately, she knows what Hylia was planning to do.

“They are mine Hylia, and I am theirs.” Navya smirks coldly at the young goddess in front of her and whispers, “and they will always choose me.”

The look of petulant fury bubbling under the surface is unbecoming on an otherwise pretty face. Poor girl, whoever she was before Hylia went and took over, Navya thinks. Sky has spoken of her compassion and sweet nature, but there is nothing of that now.

Instead Navya sees through Farore’s eyes the same brat she dealt with aeons before, acting the exact same way.

Of course it culminates as it always does.

The child lashes out when she can’t have her way, and the slap stings - no, it burns, the little shit had infused it with holy magic - as Hylia’s hand makes contact with her cheek.

Navya’s head snaps to the side and she can feel her skin blistering and bubbling and - fuck it hurts- she doesn’t doubt that there’s a handprint burned into her skin.

Navya sees Hylia raise her hand again, prepared to lash out even more (such a child) when she can’t think of anything else to do. What the goddess doesn’t realize is that Navya let her get the first slap in. Hylia has never been good at seeing the underneath, seeing how to use situations to her advantage. Hylia did exactly what Navya expected and wanted her to do.

So when her holy infused hand flies through the air to strike her again, it’s stopped.

Everything stills, as if time itself has frozen.

It is quiet.

Hylia stares at her, wide-eyed and pale, and by the Ancients, Navya can’t stop the smug, vindictive feeling that bubbles up in her chest when she slowly turns her head up and up and up.

Time smiles down at her, her wrist held in a vice grip that gets tighter… and tighter… and tighter.

Until she’s struggling, crying out in pain and discomfort, trying to reach Time’s hand and make him let go. Until that thin little wrist bends unnaturally, until it cracks like a dry twig and finally breaks and falls over, limp and useless.

Only then does he let go, still smiling, the perfect example of polite professionality.

That is, until he opens the other eye and the expression shifts to something a touch more deadly.

“Raise your hand against her again and it won’t just be your wrist that breaks, milady”.

The silence is deafening, and Navya… oh, Navya knows.

The paradigm - the world as they all know it - is shifting right in front of her, and it is glorious.

(Bells ring from somewhere unseen. A new era is dawning, with someone else in charge).

(She can’t wait to watch it unfold).

#yandere goddess au #yandere linked universe #yandere au #yandere #star writes #oc: navya

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

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Heart of Thorns

Genre: Beauty and the Beast!AU, Romace, Angst

Paring: Tao x Reader

Inspired by: These moodboards created by @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme (x) (x) and my absolute obsession with Beauty and the Beast

Summary: Lost in a forest during a storm, you find shelter in a crumbling castle that had been hidden away for years. The master of the house shut himself away, refusing to engage with the world. Too intrigued and running away from your own fears, you refuse to leave no matter how much he tells you to, wanting to try and find the heart within the beast.

Part One I Part Two I Part Three

Everyone knew the story of the man in the forest mansion. He’d once been the son of a prominent and just lord. The people of the land praised the lord’s name as he was always fair and practiced justice amongst all his subjects. It was a month of mourning when he passed away from sickness, but there were high hopes for his son to carry on his legacy. And at first, all was well.

But something happened that changed his heart.

A woman appeared; beautiful, alluring, and sweet. She captured his heart and they say he adored her, showering her in gifts of gold, jewels, and fine cloth. No one knows what happened for sure, only that the lord’s son went mad. There was a fire and the woman died. Most say that he started it with the intent of killing her.

Soon after, the son turned out all the servants and secluded himself from the rest of the world. Whispers popped up that the woman he killed was a fairy or a nymph and for killing her he was cursed. Some say that he was now a beast, sporting fangs and claws where his human teeth and fingers once were. Others say he was now a creature of the night and stalked the forest when the moon is high for wandering prey.

No had seen the son or the castle where he supposedly lived in years. The excuse that the grandmothers gave was that the forest had grown too thick from the trees and vines for the castle to be found. Since the son had turned out all the servants and land workers after the fire and there was no one to keep the paths clear.

You didn’t believe a word of it. A man with fangs and claws hiding up in a castle to terrorize anyone who came too close was utter nonsense; a fairytale to scare the children and keep them within the town walls. Even if there were such a man, you hardly considered the possibility that he was cursed.

“It's only because you moved here a few months ago,” Mrs. Mooney crooned. As the wife of the town butcher, she was privy to all the gossip that passed by the family shop. She often stood outside, keeping the stall for the smaller scraps or animals they hadn’t managed to sell to the more prestigious customers. “But we older folk remember the little boy who used to run around here while his father conducted business. Spoiled little thing. Always had a pretty pony and the finest clothes. Stuck his nose up at playing with the other children just because they had dirt on their sleeves. Serves him right, what he got.”

“You don’t know what he deserved and what he didn’t,” another graying woman chimed in haughtily. Her dress, though still rough like a peasant’s, was much nicer than the other villagers. Silver curls spilled out from under a white bonnet. Her hands looked coarse from hard labor and her skin kissed for years under the sun. Crinkles stayed permanently in the corners of her eyes, letting you know that she did smile on occasion. You’d never seen her before when you came to the market, but Mrs. Mooney seemed to know her well.

“You would know better than anyone, Feifei,” Mrs. Mooney sneered.

Though now you were intrigued, Mrs. Mooney did not elaborate how the other woman would know anything about this make-believe man.

“That tongue will get you into trouble someday, Johanna.” Adjusting the basket hanging from the crook of her arm, the old woman spared no glance at the meat as she walked away.

Mrs. Mooney clicked her tongue. With a shake of her head, she turned back to you. “So, milady, do plan on any wares today?”

“No, my father already sent Claudette earlier this week,” you said. The smell of the meat was starting to get to you, but you tried your best to keep it off your face. “I simply came down to escape the confinements of home.”

A huff pushed past her lips. “Oh, yes. I’m sure that large stone house must be suffocating.”

Though lashing out would have been easy, you bit your tongue. This butcher’s wife didn’t know your history. She didn’t know that compared to your previous home in the city, this new place was a shack.

It was your mother’s inheritance that kept you, your siblings, and your father afloat. The home, bought long ago by your grandfather who was now passed, was a honeymoon paradise for your parents. After your mother died giving birth to you, the house was locked up to be a refuge only to spiders and rodents since your father couldn’t bear visiting the place alone. He’d poured himself into his work, curating business as he brought investors and merchants together. When a major client lost his ships at sea, one of his managers took off with most of the assets and funds, leaving debts and loans in their place. To pay off the leeches, most of your possessions had to be auctioned off and the home that had sheltered you since childhood was sold to a new family.

Life away from the bustling city wasn’t too awful. You didn’t have to worry about being run over by a carriage since most of the residents here couldn’t afford one. Everyone seemed to know everyone, which was both intriguing to you while also a little bothersome. At first your family, being new, was the center of all the gossip. Rumors of your father or brother gambling the fortune away or you and your sister having scandalized the family and caused you all to hide away ran rampant. Eventually, the mill settled down and you were left in peace. Some of the villagers still gave side eyed glances, but you’d learned to brush them off.

Thinking it was time to head back home, you said goodbye to the butcher’s wife and followed the brown dirt street beyond the wall that surrounded the town until the scenery turned to fields of wildflowers and small farms. You took a right at the fork, already seeing the two-story country home come into view. The tan brick was a bit faded from the sun and thick vines grew up the sides and around the windows. A small garden grew out in front. There was a fairytale essence to the home that made you love it more. In the back, Claudette would be hanging the laundry to dry in the subtle breeze. Father was most likely in his study, shuffling through papers and letters to find a way out of this place. Cosette was probably lying on the old couch in the front parlor, constantly fanning herself as she whined of the woes she was forced to live through. Your brother, Lu, would be sitting on a log, writing in his journal when he was supposed to be chopping wood.

Cosette was right where you had guessed she was. As soon as you walked through the door, she jumped up and hurried to you with her skirt crumbled in her hand.

“Where have you been?” she screeched, her dark hair pulled back into an intricately braided bun. You tried not to be annoyed. She must have had Claudette do her hair when both of them were supposed to be helping with the washing. “Father has news that he’s been dying to share with us, but he refused to divulge what it is until you were here.”

You rolled your eyes at your sister’s impatience. “Surely, you must have known I would have been home eventually.”

She “hmphed” at you before whirling dramatically and stomping off towards your father’s study. You followed her slowly, your stomach swishing with nerves.

Truth be told, you didn’t mind it out here. The country was a great deal quieter than the city, the air cleaner too. The greatest unexpected gift, however, was how often you saw your dear father. As a child, you had to savor every dinner, every private concert in your living room, and the short moments you were able to spend with him in between his travels or meetings. Claudette never carried as she was more invested in the connections she was making with the other well-to-do families and Lu was often tagging along with your father as the eldest and heir apparent. Now the four of you felt more like a family. If you were, by some miracle or fashion, to go back to the city, routine would fall back into its previous structure and you would be alone again.

Lu surprised you by already being in the room when you entered, seated in a corner with a hardened look on his face. It was strangely out of place given his boyish looks often kept his expression soft. Your father looked up from the papers that were neatly piled up on the desk. “Aw, (y/n)! You’re back from town. Did you have a nice walk?”

“Yes, I did,” you aswered cautiously. “The market was full today.” Your eyes flicked towards Cosette, who had taken the only other chair, continuing to fan herself even though the temperature wasn’t anywhere near that drastic. “I heard you wanted to see us all together?”

“Yes! Yes! Um.” Your father looked around, perhaps to see if there was another place for you to sit. As there was none, he went on. “I received a letter from Lu’s old friend, Lin Gao.” Lu perked up at the mention of Gao. None of you had seen him since you came here, thinking that he, like the others, had abandoned you all when the money was lost. Now, that didn’t seem to be the case. “He has worked with several connections and can bring us back into good standing with society. He’s even convinced a few merchants and investors to allow me to broker deals again.” Your father cleared his throat. “There is, however, one condition.”

“What is that, Father?” Lu asked.

“He asked for (y/n)’s hand in marriage.”

The quietest gasp escaped your lips. Gao wanted… to marry you?

As the baby sister, you tended to follow your brother and his friends around, begging for attention and often they obliged you, as long as the setting was appropriate for a child. All of his friends had treated you as their own sister, equally protecting and caring. You’d never suspected them to have thoughts that led into the contrary as you’d grown up.

Lu’s eyes landed on you for a split second, studying your face enough. “Did he say (y/n) specifically?”

“Yes, why (y/n)?” Cosette scoffed. “I would be more than willing.”

“He specifically asked for (y/n)’s hand.”

Cosette closed her fan with a snap. “Well, then. Arrange the wedding so we can get out of this dumpy town.”

But wait. Did you not get a say in this?

Your father leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “The help from Gao would be tremendous. But I will not force anything on to any of you. (Y/n),” he looked at you with conflict in his eyes, “if you do not wish to marry Gao, I will send him a letter politely declining the offer. I can find other means on my own.”

He was giving you a way out, if you so wished. But you couldn’t deny the help this would bring for all of you.

“Can I think about it?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes, of course.”

“What do you mean, think about it?” Cosette nearly flew out of her seat. “What is there to think about? If we are to get our fortune back, then (y/n) must marry him. I would in a heartbeat if he had asked for me.”

“But he didn’t ask for you,” Lu said.

Your father insisted. “Let your sister think about it. To force this upon her would break my heart. I will not have her live unhappily.”

“And what about me! Why should I live unhappily?”

“Enough!” Your father stood to his feet and he slammed his fist down on the desk. You flinched at the noise the collision created. Rare was it for your father to get upset like this. He was usually very levelheaded. “I am still head of this household and you will accept my decision. Now, go!”

With a stomp of her foot, Cosette stormed out of the room like a spoiled child told that she couldn't have a piece of candy. Eyes trained down on the floor, you quietly excused yourself and went upstairs to your room.

Your favorite place in the house was your room, the smallest besides Claudine’s on the first floor. But the trade for it was the reading crook by the window, overlooking the garden. You liked the isolation you could feel when you sat on the bench, knees pulled up close to your chest as your skirts fell over the side. The window was cold as you laid your forehead against the glass. A breeze was moving through, swaying the leaves in the trees and rattling the vines against the stone walls of the house.

What would living with Gao be like? You had never thought of your brother’s friend in a romantic light. Would there be any romance between the two of you? Or would you be condemned to a loveless marriage like so many other girls? Could you live like that?

You had no answers at the moment. You weren’t sure if you would ever have an answer. But a compromise was coming to the forefront of your mind. You didn’t have to say yes right away. Maybe you could meet with Gao, get to know him more, in a different way that how you knew him before. And, if you decided that he was not the kind of man you wanted to spend your life with, if there was no possibility of love between the two of you, perhaps you could convince him to help your father anyway, for sake of his friendship with Lu.

You pictured Gao’s face in your mind, willing yourself to love it. But all that did was churn your stomach.

Your father had sent the letter asking if a visit to the city would be possible for you. Gao’s reply came back quicker than expected: yes. He made all the arrangements; he hired the carriage, sent money so you could rest in an inn for a night before arriving in town the next day. Barely a week had gone by since you were first told of this offer and now you were traveling by yourself for the first time in your life.

Cloak wrapped tightly over your shoulders, you kissed your father goodbye on the cheek. Tears were swelling behind your eyes, but you refused to let him see them.

“Be on your best behavior,” he teased. You were the last out of the three to get into trouble. “Write to me as soon as you arrive. Alright?”

“Of course,” you smiled.

Lu patted your shoulder. When you were a child, he showed you affection freely, but now that you were grown, he’d become a bit awkward when other people were watching. Cosette didn’t say a word. She simply fanned herself at a quick rate as smirk rested on her lips. All she carried about was getting back to high society, to the parties and the searching for a husband who possessed a fortune large enough to keep her satisfied.

Your father glanced up at the sky. “Better go now, my dear. The clouds are growing darker. I want you at that inn before the storm comes through.”

“The only way to do that is to go through the forest,” the driver commented from atop the carriage.

Your father seemed unnerved by that observation but gave no protest. “I will wait to hear from you.”

You gave one last kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Goodbye, father. Take care of him, Lu. Will you?”

“Naturally,” Lu said with a chuckle.

You merely nodded to Cosette before stepping into the carriage. The cabby lurched forward and you allowed the small smile that had been straining on your lips to fall away. Anxiety settled in your stomach. You wanted to have a positive outlook on this whole thing. It was better to possibly marry a friend of the family rather than a complete stranger twenty years your senior.

Unclasping the hook that held your cloak together, you let the soft fabric fall behind you on the seat. The literal weight off your shoulders helped you to breathe easier. You closed your eyes and leaned back. There was still a long journey until you would arrive back in a city that you hadn’t seen in months, although it felt more like years. That was another life to you, a past self. One you had been okay with letting go. And now you were uneasily walking back into its arms.

The ground shook, rattling the walls of the carriage. You pushed the curtain out of the way and peaked out the window. Flashes of lightning so bright that not even the thick trees of the forest could keep them back splintered across the sky. The storm had come quicker than anticipated. Raindrops splattered against the dirt floor, starting out slow then growing in pace. Soon it was impossible to see more than five steps in front of you.

The wind grew untamable. The carriage rocked from side to side, the thin wheels ricketing against the strain. A bolt of lightning screamed too close for comfort. The horse reared back in fright as the carriage passed by a ravine. It was all too much. The carriage toppled over, falling down the side of the ravine. You were tossed around the cabby like a rock between a group of children. When the falling finally stopped, you let out a cry of relief. A second cry left your lips, this time for the driver. But no reply came.

The carriage had landed on its side, but thankfully, it had another door to escape through. You clasped the cloak around your shoulders once more and pulled up the hood before pushing the door open and climbing out.

You were soaked as soon as you stepped out of the carriage. The driver was gone. You didn’t know if he was dead or if he had ran away. The horse, the poor thing, didn’t move or whine. Water was slowly rising in the creek from the rushing rain. You had to get out of here. With what little strength you had, you managed to climb back up the side of the hill. A chill froze your fingers and chattered your teeth. You walked in the opposite way that you thought the carriage was heading. Getting back to your home was your only hope. You had never been in these woods and the sky was too dark to tell directions from the sun. The rain was pouring down harder. Each step you took grew weaker. An unseen tree root stuck out of the ground, catching your foot. Shock ran up your arms as you tried to catch yourself when you fell. You couldn’t go anymore. You were too cold, too tired. So you lied there in the mud, wishing for a miracle. The rain soon came to a stop, but you were still too exhausted to push yourself up. Your eyes grew tired. Finally, the lids closed. The sound of horse hooves against the mud grew near, but you couldn't be sure if it was real or simply your imagination clinging to hope.

“We can’t just leave her here, Xao.”

“But what would the master think if we showed up with her?”

“So, you would leave her to die?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then we take her with us! The castle is big enough that he would never even have to know.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Someone lifted you up from the ground, but before you could discover who it was, you lost consciousness completely.

You weren’t sure what woke you up. It could have been the splitting headache that pounded at your skull. Or it could have been the shouting coming from the other side of the door.

“Get her OUT of here!”

“My lord, please, see reason. The poor child was dying in that storm.”

“I don’t care. She’s alive now, so get her out!”

“But she’s still sick. The poor thing has a fever. She’s been sweating all night.”

“I do not want her here. No one is to come here, you know that!”

“Let me take care of her. Once she’s on her feet again, I’ll take her back into town.”

“Fine!”

Heavy foot stomps echoed off the floor. One side of the double doors opened and inside stepped the old woman from the market.

You?

“You’re awake,” she sighed. “I can only imagine what had woken you up.” In her hands was a silver tray of different morsels and a tea kettle slowly letting out a flow of steam. Seeing you struggle to sit up, she hurried to set the tray down on the nightstand and help you. “Don’t overexert yourself, miss. You’re not fully recovered from that awful storm yet. You’ve been asleep for two days now.”

Two days! Your father must have been losing his mind when he never received word that you had arrived in town. A coughing fit of your own started up. The old woman gave you a glass of water to calm your throat before adjusting the pillows behind your head. You took in the bedroom that you were housed in. The light gray drapes that hung from the bedposts were old and a little faded but still made from an expensive velvet fabric. The blanket that covered you was soft and warm and smelled of lavender. Cosette would squeal at the size of this place. It was even bigger than her room at the old house in the city.

“Where am I?”

The old woman’s hands stopped before she could pull out the warming pan from the foot of the bed. “You're at the lord’s estate.”

You frowned. “What lord?” As far as you were aware, the closet lord was at least several days ride from town. And you doubted he would have allowed a room to go untouched like this one obviously was.

Sadness fell upon the old woman’s face. “He’s a good man. A good man with a tragic past.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the old woman folded her hands and laid them in her lap. “Do you remember the story Mrs. Mooney was telling you at the market?” You nodded. “This is his home.”

“He… exists?”

“Yes. Though the awful rumors….” She shook her head. “Anyway, yes. But his lordship isn’t accustomed to visitors. I apologize for what you might have heard.”

Perhaps it was the fever, but your curiosity was now out of your control. “Why doesn’t he want anyone here?”

The old woman stood up. “Never you mind. We’ll get you back on your feet and then Mr. Chan will take you back into town.” She poured a fresh cup of tea, handing it to you carefully.

“Do I have to go back to town?”

“We don’t really have a choice, dear. You heard the master.” She eyed you as you sipped on the warm, caramel colored tea. “What is it? Why don’t you want to go back to town?”

You finished off the tea before explaining. “My family wants me to get married, to help the financial situation. At first, I thought I was willing to at least try, to see that man again and find out if I could love him. But… now I’m grateful for the storm.”

“If you don’t wish to marry him, why not say so?”

“Because if my father never restores his reputation and our family falls further into ruin, it will be all my fault.”

The old woman shook her head. “You poor thing. That’s too much weight to bear.” She let out a long sigh. “Try to eat and then get more rest. Your eyes look heavy. We’ll see if we can’t delay your being cured by a few more days.” She headed for the door. After opening on side, she halfway turned back around. “I’m Mrs. Chan, by the way. If you need anything, pull on the cord by the bed. I’ll hear the bell and come to you. Now, rest.”

As soon as the door closed and you were alone again, you felt the weight of your lids growing. Reaching over to the tray, you tore off a piece of the bun and chewed on it slowly. Eventually, you nodded off into a dreamless sleep.

Over the next several days, you passed between peaceful sleeps and uncomfortable awareness. Your fever broke on day two, but you still felt weak. Mrs. Chan checked up on you often, keeping you well fed and making sure there was a fresh pitcher of water or tea for you to drink. When you stopped sleeping as much, she brought you a book to occupy your time. But you read through the comedic romance quickly. A tingling was coursing up and down your legs. They needed to move, to be used. You’d been lying in bed for so long you weren’t sure if they even worked properly anymore.

Earlier, Mrs. Chan had stopped by to say she was going into town to pick a few things up at the market. Mr. Chan was to be out on the grounds so if you needed anything it would have to wait for her return.

Curiosity was a dangerous thing. On one hand, you could find nothing of interest in this ancient castle. On the other hand, you could find yourself in the absolute wrong place and have yourself thrown out into the cold before Mrs. Chan could come back and rescue you.

Silly. All of it was. A little walk wouldn’t do any harm. You would make sure to stay near your room and if you heard footsteps, you would run back here in an instant.

With your feet bare and the nightgown Mrs. Chan had given you made of a thinner material, you were a bit cold as you left the comfort of the blankets. But you pushed forth with your curiosity. This grand room was all you had seen of your haven. You wanted to know more about the home of the lord whose memory haunted the village. You stuck your head out first, looking down the hall from either side. It was empty save for the polished suits of armor that lined the sides, sitting between old portraits previous tenants. As quietly as you could, you closed the bedroom door behind you and softly stepped further into the hall. Through the long space you made your way, glancing at every painting as you passed. Some had chipped paint while others’ frames had dulled over the years, but each one was still magnificent, the subject stunningly beautiful in their own unique ways. You weren’t sure if it was the magic of the artist or if the family was truly blessed in that manner.

Every so often you would peer into a room when the door was unlocked. Most of them were bedrooms or small studies. By the collection of dust gathered on most of the furniture, they hadn’t been used in quiet a while. Soon, the hall took a turn, spilling out into the Grand Hall where the other hallways met. You started to go right when a set of double doors down a shorter hallway in the other direction caught your eye. They were bigger than any of the other doors you had seen so far. You hurried to that one instead, intrigued by what might be behind it. Barely able to get it open with your weak arms, you squeezed through the space and stumbled inside. Then you gasped.

When Mrs. Chan had described the library to you, she had said that the family had a fair collection of books. You might have to clarify with her what a “fair amount” really meant.

The library was housed in the back most tower, the shelves built into the walls and going higher than your eyes could see. Ladders made of wood and metal were attached to the spaces between the shelves. They moved freely from side to side to put any book within reach. As a child, you thought your father had the biggest collection of books by any one person in the world. How silly you were. This place could hold twenty of your father’s old library. You whirled around and around, taking in every detail. It was like a fairy tale.

You stepped closer to the wall and ran your hand over the leather bindings. It had been so long since you’d been able to take in the smell of old books. You had only been able to save two of your favorite novels from the auction. They were currently hidden under your bed. If Cosette ever got a whiff of them, she’d sell them to pay for a new dress. As you made your way around the library, you spotted another door, one that nearly blended in with the shelves. Feeling brave from your latest discovery, you tried the handle. It turned with ease. You pulled the door towards you. Sunlight spilled into the library. The secondary room was mostly empty – save for one object. A piano.

Bang!

The door shut in your face, startling you backwards. You stumbled into something hard. Turning to see what it was, you gasped in fright

A tall, dark hair man with the left half of his face covered in a white mask glared at you.

“What are you doing in here!” he shouted, face glowing red with fury.

“I-I-I’m sor-sorry,” you stutter as you scurried back. The door to the room stopped you from going any further. You were trapped with no way to escape. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You were supposed to say in your room,” he continued to bellow, not concerned at all with your fear. “Stay away from this room! Go!”

That last command was enough to send you running, passing the man and leaving the library. You hurried to the Great Hall, to get back to your room as quickly as possible. Looking back over your shoulder, you checked to see if he was coming after you. The hallway was empty behind you. Once safely back in your room, you scurried under your covers as if they would protect you from the masked man.

Mrs. Chan gave no indication that she was aware of your little adventure. If the masked man – the lord of this castle, you presumed – had told her, surely you would have been thrown out by now. She did, however, seem upset about something.

“Is everything alright?” you asked before she could leave the room with your empty food tray.

“Oh, it’s nothing I want to trouble you with, dear,” Mrs. Chan said.

You smiled at her. “I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

A second went by and then Mrs. Chan sighed. “It’s just the master. He wasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been wondering through the west wing lately and I’m worried about him.”

The west wing? That was where you were headed before the library stole your attention. “What’s in the west wing?”

“Nothing of importance,” Mrs. Chan snapped. It was a harsher tone that you were used to. You lowered your gaze remorsefully. “Oh, dear. I’ve upset you. Don’t worry about and try to get more rest. You need color back in your cheeks.” She left the room, blowing out the lamp before shutting the door and leaving you in darkness.

You woke a few hours later to a loud bang. At first you thought of ignoring it. Then the thought of something happening to Mrs. Chan came into your mind.

Throwing a blanket around your shoulders, you carefully relit the lamp and stepped out into the hallway.

“Hello?” you called out softly. Another bang answered you. It was faint, not coming from this hallway. You followed it, occasionally calling out again. No human ever replied.

You passed through the Great Hall and into the west wing. You should learned, really, from your earlier excursion. But the thought of someone being trouble refused to let you turn back. Now that you were closer to the source, a soft moaning could be heard among the silence. You pressed your ear from door to door, trying to see if it was coming from behind one of them. It was the door on the very end that held back the sound. With enough moonlight coming from the wide window at the end of the hall to see by, you put the oil lamp down on the floor out of the way and went inside.

Even in the darkness, you could see the smoke and soot stained walls. The remnants of a bed stood in the middle of the wood. Hanging behind it was a portrait of a beautiful woman with golden hair and rich brown eyes that stuck out even with half of the painting burned and curled.

“What are you doing in here!”

You gasped as the lord of the castle stepped out of the shadows. His mask was gone, but he kept the left side of his face covered with his hand. In his other hand was a small torch. With its light you could see the scars on the back of his hand, the tight and lifted skin usually caused by fire. You said nothing, too stunned to find words.

Dropping his left hand, he reached out and grabbed you by the wrist. The scars on his face were now partially visible, but still mostly hidden in shadow and by the locks of hair that had fallen. From what you could see, they matched the scars visible on his hand. “I asked you why you are here!”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice came out in squeaks, fear running you cold despite the proximity of the flame. “I heard noises. I thought someone might be in trouble.”

He sneered at your answer. “If you’re well enough to walk around then GET. OUT!” He practically threw you out of the room.

You landed on your knees but didn’t stay there for long. You scrambled up to your feet and took off down the hall, leaving the oil lamp behind. The nightgown caught on your foot in your haste as you passed the staircase. You went tumbling down the marble stairs, a scream piercing your throat. You couldn’t stop no matter how you tried. When the bottom of the staircase finally came, you were out cold.

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parentsnevertoldus · 3 years

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PMDD AND AUTISM: SENSORY OVERLOAD BY LAURA MULLEN

From SeeHerThrive

October 01, 2018

I’m Laura, a 34 year old, neurodiverse mother of two beautiful neurodiverse girls and wife to a wonderful neurodiverse man. I have struggled with PMDD, Post-partum Depression and Psychosis, and Menstrual Psychosis in my life. I’m passionate about learning and advocating for others who are suffering menstrual related disorders and advocating for the autistic/neurodiverse population. I talk openly about my own experiences through out my life, including my suicide attempts due to my menstrual related disorders.

I have two passions in life, which both relate to myself and my kids: autism and menstrual mood disorders.

I’ve been part of the Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder scene longer than I have been part of the autism scene, but both felt like home immediately. We talk about finding our tribes, our homes, with people who immediately understand us without questioning what we are going through, without invalidating our thoughts and feelings. Imagine my surprise when upon finding my autism crowd that many struggled with PMDD or other menstrual/hormone related disorders too. See, in the neurotypical world, PMDD is little known and talked about. However, in my autism support group, it’s not uncommon to see it in discussions.

I’m not formally diagnosed autistic. I self-identify and after a few years of research (which started because of my daughter’s diagnosis) quickly became a special interest of my own when I started to relate so much myself.

Women and AFAB individuals often experience autism differently than male/AMAB counterparts. We are often discounted or ignored because we are more social, and we tend to mask our struggles.

Women as a whole are expected to mask their struggles in life, neurodiverse or not.

Classic theories of emotion posit that awareness of one's internal bodily states (interoception) is a key component of emotional experience (Jamil Zaki, 2012).There is talk in some autistic groups I participate in of PMDD or hormonal mood disorders being more prevalent in those that are autistic. This leads me to believe that this sensitivity to hormone fluctuation may be part of the interoceptive sense. When a person has a sensory disorder, we think most commonly of touch, auditory, taste, sight, and smells. Sometimes vestibular and proprioceptive sense is included.

What is rarely discussed in sensory disorders is interoception sensory issues/processing and just how it can affect a person and what it can actually mean for mental/emotional health when its processing is disordered. Yes, for a sensory avoidant person such as myself who shies away from bright light because it hurts or loud noisy areas because those too are painful and overwhelming, my interoception sense is also avoidant and extra sensitive to overwhelm.

But what is interoceptive sense and why in the world would there be a connection to PMDD?

For a long, medical definition of interoception you can read more here. For a simpler definition I am borrowing a passage from www.inspiredtreehouse.com:

Interoception refers to our perception of what is going on inside our bodies and is responsible for feelings of hunger, thirst, sickness, pain, having to go to the bathroom, tiredness, temperature, itch, and other internal sensations. What’s even more interesting about interoception is that it goes deeper than physical sensations because – as with all of our sensory systems – when our brains receive these internal signals, we interpret, attend to, and analyze them. So interoception is also associated with our sense of well-being, mood, and emotional regulation. (Heffron, 2017)

We know that the interoception sense is often part of a sensory processing disorder. We also know that under stress or overwhelm that our interoception is affected, often greatly. Think of our heart rate increasing during a panic attack or irritable bowel issues due to anxiety. And these also affect our emotions, maybe our heart rate is faster than normal, so we become anxious, creating a more rapid heart rate.

”Influential theories suggest emotional feeling states arise from physiological changes from within the body.” (Hugo D Critchley, 2017). Now, we know that PMDD has a physiological response system. The rise and fall of hormones within the body triggers a physical response from several systems in our body, not just ovaries and uterus, but deep within our gut, adrenergic systems, our cardiovascular system, and our brain.

Compare the response of a sudden surge of progesterone in the late luteal phase to that of an individual with sensory processing disorder being overwhelmed by a sudden shove into a noisy gymnasium, with bright lights, many bodies, smells and a cacophony of sounds. Said individual would likely go into either shutdown or meltdown mode, as they were unprepared for such an assault on their system and may even have difficulty regulating their emotions; in fact their temper may become frayed quickly, they may find themselves having a panic attacks, anxiety may overwhelm them, their body may start producing pain signals to the overloaded senses, they may even collapse under the weight of it all.

A person without the sensory issue may find this environment exhilarating. I would certainly be huddled in a corner until I felt that I could safely slip away unnoticed. Or, I would start to snap at those around me because of a desperate need to get away.

During the monthly cycle, my sensory system would be overwhelmed by the rise and fall of hormones and I felt completely out of control, emotionally.

Because I was out of control. My sensory processing could not keep up with both the physical and emotional toll of what my body was going through. I see so many sad stories of young girls starting menses and the emotional outbursts and meltdowns make absolute sense if you think of hormones as overwhelming a sensory system that just cannot handle it. Any homeostasis change in our environment is difficult to cope with, especially drastic hormone fluctuations during the menstrual cycle.

It’s not that there is anything abnormal about the menstrual cycle itself, but rather how our body processes the sensations and systems that cause a rise and fall outside of the comfort zone.

I believe that this can explain why women are affected by PMDD and how it all works. We found out in the last couple of years that there is a genetic link to PMDD. We also know that it is a sensitivity to hormone fluctuations, not the hormones themselves. Putting two and two together is what led me to this thought process, that it is part of the sensory systems and a processing disorder that causes a severe response, or meltdown, to our hormonal cycle. Obviously, not every woman who experiences PMDD or PME or other menstrual related disorders is autistic or has a sensory processing disorder; however, many are highly sensitive, both physically and emotionally.

Sources

Heffron, C. (2017, February 27). What is Interoception. Retrieved from The Inspired Treehouse: https://theinspiredtreehouse.com/what-is-interoception/

Hugo D Critchley, S. N. (2017, October). Interoception and emotion. Retrieved from Science Direct: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2352250X17300106

Jamil Zaki, J. I. (2012, 05 12). Overlapping activity in anterior insula during interoception and emotional experience. Retrieved from Science Direct: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1053811912005009

#autism #mental health #periods #queeriods #menstrual cycle #menstruation #sex education #neurodivergent #neurodiverse #neurodiversity #sex ed #queer sex ed #anatomy #physiology #women #nb #trans #gender #queer sex education

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freddieofhearts · 3 years

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Bye bye, dears (for now!)

I know there have been a lot of rumours and some posts about me leaving, so here I am to set the record straight and say a quick ‘au revoir’. This post is long, and I don’t expect everyone to read the whole thing—if you just want information on how to keep in touch, or about access to my removed fics, scroll to the bottom. ⬇️

Why are you leaving?

Firstly, of course I’m not leaving Freddie. This is just an ongoing hiatus from the social side of fandom, because while I have some incredible friends here, who have done all they can to support me and have made this experience wonderful in lots of ways—it’s also true that the social space has become more and more toxic for me.

I get a wild amount of hate. Despite never having my ask box enabled on here, people create new accounts just to message me and tell me all the problems in this fandom are my fault, that I’m faking being sick, that I should kill myself, that I’m fat, etc. I also very regularly get hateful comments on AO3.

Obviously I realise that I’m not the only one who receives these cruel attacks, but it’s become increasingly hard to handle them—especially as some people (‘real’ accounts, not faceless anons) do continue to blame me for wider problems in the fandom. It makes me feel consistently sad, anxious, and paranoid, so that I can’t focus on anything Queen-related that I enjoy.

More pressingly, it’s affected my mental health, which is—imperfect at the best of times. As I’ve occasionally alluded to in older posts on this blog, I have a history of anorexia, OCD, PTSD, and some other overlapping issues. Most people who know me in the fandom are also aware that I’m ‘clinically extremely vulnerable’ to Covid-19, significantly immunocompromised, and have been isolating at home for eleven months.

The combination of all of these things + the constant toxic messages has really been triggering me, and leading to an uptick in disordered behaviours, which my body cannot sustain. Every new instance of hate from an anon—every time there’s another indication of groups in the fandom wanting to ostracise me further—my reaction is deeply self-punitive and unhealthy. Ultimately I need to be out of this environment for, at least, a protracted period. My therapist, my partner and my close friends in the fandom support this decision.

So, what went wrong?

In 2019, I expected to be an absolutely tiny blog in the Queen Tumblr landscape. The fandom was already well-established, and I have never worked to ‘build a following’ on here—I think I’ve linked my own fic a maximum of three or four times!—in fact, more or less the opposite. As I mentioned above: ya girl is nutty as a fruitcake. As a result, I often avoid extremely niche things in daily life which cause severe anxiety for me, Relevant examples here: I never look at my timeline. I never intentionally look at my follower number. Yup, it’s strange, I fully admit it, but it’s best for me to go with these things—usually. In Queen fandom, however, this avoidance both of analytic stats and of most direct engagement led to some problems... My followers grew without me realising, and way more people were reading my blog than I was aware of. I was still in a—“Wow, this fandom is very frustrating, and rife with ableism, racism, etc., so how do we fix this???”—mindset, and I wanted to share my opinions, sure! but I also thought I was sharing them with 15-20 like-minded people.

Now, intent is not impact, and I recognise that I was brusque, didn’t phrase things particularly sensitively, and absolutely did hurt some people by criticising the fandom so freely. I still regret this—and I regret just as much the fact that some assholes have used my criticising the fandom on my own blog as implicit justification for attacking authors. I have said on here many times that I don’t condone that behaviour—but I also think there’s some truth in the presumption that these anonymous malcontents felt my critiques somehow ‘permitted’ them to engage in abuse. For the first few months, though, I genuinely had no idea there was a link at all—and so I was initially slow to condemn this abusive behaviour in public, because I was taking it for granted all authors agreed it was shitty. It took someone directly telling me (shoutout to @a-froger-epic) that people had identified a connection between my posts and the anons, before everything fell into place.

I would like to offer my apologies to the fandom at large for not being more quick on the uptake about this, because I feel that had I realised sooner that these people were taking ‘inspiration’ in some way from me, it might have been easier to put a stop to it. It does seem that there is still a lot of confusion about whether I support them and which of their views I agree with. Let’s be 100% clear on this: I do not support the anonymous commenters on AO3. At times there is some, limited overlap between parts of their views and parts of mine, but even that is less than you may think—I often see anonymous comments from so-called ‘Freddie fans’ that I substantially disagree with.

Perhaps even more importantly: I do not support anyone who sends anonymous hate on Tumblr.

What’s all this about ‘overlap’ with the anons?

Let’s do a mini-summary of the myths vs. the truth. There are views I hold which are genuinely unpopular in the fandom—but which I own up to completely, and have never tried to hide in any way. I’ve never needed to use anonymous to share my opinions because I’m completely open about them! What people who don’t know me tend to have ‘heard’ about me, though, is usually a drastic distortion of my real opinions.

What people think I think:

- Freddie should never top.

- It’s okay to send anon hate if someone writes Freddie ‘wrong’.

- It’s more important to correct ‘wrong’ portrayals than to respect other writers.

- It’s inherently wrong to be more interested in band pairings than canon pairings.

- Freddie should be overtly written as a r*pe survivor/victim (and not doing this is wrong).

- Freddie should be overtly written as having an eating disorder (and not doing this is wrong).

- Kink fics are wrong.

What I actually think:

- I believe Freddie did have a strongly defined sexual identity with marked preferences, but I don’t think Jim Hutton lied when he said that Freddie topped. I believe Freddie did top, but this isn’t the time or place to get into my thoughts on why/when/how much. I do believe that my analysis of the sources relevant to this subject is as historically accurate as one can reasonably be in matters of sex (where historical accuracy will always be particularly limited and imperfect)—but I don’t think it’s morally wrong to write Freddie as topping more than he probably did.

- I don’t believe there’s only one ‘right’ version of Freddie (all others being ‘wrong’). I do believe it is possible to be more right or less right—but I’m also conscious of the fact that this scale of value is not one by which everyone measures fanfiction. As a result, then, I don’t think that any perceptions surrounding ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ justify sending anonymous, non-constructive criticism, or outright hate.

- I do believe constructive criticism is a good thing. I welcome and appreciate it myself; I have received it on my fics in Queen fandom, and it has made them better. I have been in writing workshops which included very forceful criticisms, and the value of such feedback has been intimately and immediately part of my life as a writer for years. However: in this case, I have accepted that my opinion differs from the general community preference, and so I no longer offer any constructive criticism (outside private beta-reading). I haven’t changed my view, but I’ve changed my practice to align with community norms.

- I do not think any single, individual writer has a personal responsibility to write about Freddie Mercury in any given way. That ranges from including the more distressing topics to which I’ve devoted attention (such as trauma)—to concentrating on ‘canon’ pairings like Jimercury—to, even, focusing on Freddie at all.

“Now, that doesn’t sound like you, @freddieofhearts,” you might be thinking. And I know it doesn’t; I think something I’ve done a poor job of articulating is the difference between how I view each individual fan—namely, as free to shape their creative experience at will, even in ways that I might find distressing or offensive; even in ways that you might find distressing or offensive—and the way I view the Collective. I think people have interpreted some of my critiques of ‘Queen Fandom’ as meaning something like: “You-in-particular, a specific Queen fan, are doing it wrong and should change everything about how you do it; also you don’t really care about Freddie.”

And—that’s not it. What any given fan, as an individual, does, isn’t a problem. And that can be true alongside—concurrently with—a multivalent critique of how the fandom is lacking in representation of Freddie’s life, with all that that (wonderful, deservedly celebrated, but also profoundly traumatic) life entailed. I still hold that view; I still have myriad problems with ‘the fandom’ (structurally, collectively, historically and presently—from the 1990s to the 2020s). Some of what I want to work on (away from the social life of fandom) is expressing those critiques with greater nuance, in ways that can’t be misinterpreted as shading any particular fanfiction author or subgenre of story.

In brief: I haven’t changed my mind, but I think Tumblr is an untenable environment in which to discuss the things I want to analyse, especially as there is an ever-present danger of hurting someone.

Can we keep in touch? Where is the fic?

I will drop by this account periodically to check out posts that friends have sent me, so you can always sent me a private message to ask for my contact details on the other app that I’m using now for fandom friends. Multiple Freddie conversations and projects are going on over there, off-Tumblr, with a much ‘gentler’ environment and no bad actors—I personally love it!

All my fic has been downloaded and saved. I don’t want to deal with constant harassment on AO3, but I’m happy to share a copy with anyone who missed it and wants to read/re-read something. I also saved everyone’s lovely comments and thoughtful con-crit, so none of that has been lost or erased.

Thank you to everyone who welcomed me to the fandom, made me think, taught me, shared with me, sent me into fits of the giggles, collaborated with me creatively, and otherwise made this one hell of a ride! Love you all. ❤️

#au revoir my dears #lil gay bby

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empaths-hsp · 4 years

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The Link Between Highly Sensitive People and Chronic Fatigue

HSPs tend to do more mental work than others — one of the key causes of chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS).

Chronic fatigue is one way that our body expresses what we’ve been unable to. As a highly sensitive person (HSP) — someone who feels deeply and easily gets overwhelmed — I tried to push past these traits for years. I pretended to be less affected by time pressure, (emotionally) stressful situations and loud, crowded environments than I was. I simply adapted while doing my best to not expose how rattled or upset such circumstances actually made me feel.

I didn’t realize it, but pushing myself to be something I wasn’t, forced my body to speak up. Thanks to the demands I put on it, my energy levels began plummeting drastically, and I experienced different symptoms, including weight loss and brain fog.

At first, I thought it was because my digestive system was out of whack, but blood tests didn’t show anything wrong, and the changes I made to my diet seemed to help only a bit. But I couldn’t shake feeling totally wiped out, and that level of exhaustion often came with muscle aches, poor sleep, and even feeling as though I was coming down with the flu.

The Road to Chronic Fatigue

I decided to visit the doctor’s office to see what was going on, and it was unsettling. The doctor was new at the clinic — a peculiar old guy with a dry sense of humor. Initially, he didn’t show much empathy, exclaiming, “Well, there certainly isn’t much meat-juice left in you!” Despite his demeanor, though, he actually said a few spot-on things. I thought my thyroid might be overactive — the symptoms seemed to match — but he brought up another possibility: chronic fatigue.

“We won’t take any more blood tests since it’ll only repeat your feeling of not being seen,” the doctor wisely said, sharing insights gained from a lifetime of experience. “Focus on building yourself back up again.” His secretary, who afterward kindly comforted me, stated that “I looked like something the cat had dragged in.” And while I could’ve taken offense at her words, it felt more like a breath of relief. Finally, someone was taking my anguish seriously and acknowledging how sick I felt!

The Connection Between Sensitivity and Fatigue

HSPs, like introverts, tend to reflect deeply on the world around them, and do lots of ”inner labor” that remains invisible to those around them, and therefore isn’t considered valuable.

We’re constantly trying to adapt to a pace not aligned with our natural tendencies — and a value system that prizes achievements and accomplishments rather than internal developments — all of which takes a toll on us, as many HSPs can attest. Whether it is habitually tightening our muscles to keep ourselves together or clenching our jaws to ”power through” something, our bodies take the hit.

Too much and our bodies will start speaking up, as mine did. Chronic fatigue doesn’t have a known cause (though depression and overwork are associated with it) and rest won’t make it go away. But I believe that several high-stress incidents — like taking on limiting familial beliefs, or unwittingly absorbing and feeling trapped in loved ones’ crises and stresses — impacted me as a highly sensitive person, and by ignoring them or trying to respond in a way that wasn’t true to my sensitivity, I developed the condition.

Repressed anger played a role as well for me. Anger can be a scary emotion and HSPs are often softhearted empaths who struggle with expressing it constructively, if at all. Unfortunately, we tend to suppress it or turn it towards ourselves in destructive ways, all to our detriment. Instead, we could use this vital life-force energy for healthy boundary setting, especially for shielding our sensitivity and for building a sense of personal power and agency.

I have a suspicion that my illness is linked with forcefully pushing myself in an attempt to live up to the norms and ideals of society. On top of absorbing emotions and repressing anger, I come from a place inhabited by mostly practical-minded people with a traditional work ethic. Beyond a certain age, they frown upon behavior that seems lazy (because it’s not as productive as they think it should be), so being a deep-processing, quietly-observing, and emotionally-responsive person isn’t always understood or appreciated, let alone celebrated.

Like what you’re reading? Get our newsletter just for HSPs. One email, every Friday. Subscribe here.

Recovering from Fatigue as a Highly Sensitive Person

My recovery hasn’t been easy. I still feel physically sick if I go into negative thought loops. And I don’t seem to be able to cope with pressure, from outside or inside. Recovery almost resembles taking care of an infant.

I suppose I must accept it and learn how to become a responsible, loving caretaker of my physical, mental, and emotional needs by giving my body sufficient rest, plenty and proper nourishment, and living as free from stress as possible. To use mere willpower to make my body do something or push myself doesn’t work. I can’t do it anymore.

I have to be in tune with my needs and make appropriate decisions, moment by moment, based on my body’s signals. If I don’t, I reap painful consequences almost immediately. My body is a strict teacher, speaking in capital letters if I don’t treat it exactly how it needs, now.

Channeling My Experience into a Creative Project

My exhaustion took a very serious toll on my body. But it had one upside: it made me put pen to paper. I felt an acute urge to express myself, to explore inner workings and themes.

Last year, I wrote a novel titled What’s the Matter with Maria? It’s a tender tale about a sensitive and introverted little girl, Maria. And although my book is fictitious, it‘s inspired by my personal experience pushing myself to adapt to the kinds of outer demands which often produce some degree of internal agony.

Thinking about the inspiration for the book takes me back to that taxing time when I first fell ill. The memory is palpable — I can’t help recalling how awful I felt both physically and emotionally. I know my little protagonist Maria’s anxious alertness well, her feeling of not being enough, falling short, and that her highly sensitive traits are wrong or inferior.

My wish for all highly sensitive people — both children and adults — is that they understand and respect the language of their finely-sensing bodies from an early age. A proper education in how best to preserve, protect, and nourish our precious energy is crucial to prevent steady energy drains and leaks. With its advanced capacity for sensing subtleties and fine distinction, let your highly sensitive body be your primary guide in life — allow it to be your personal compass.

Please don’t ignore or downplay the symptoms and sensations your body so generously provides. Even if nobody else seems to understand or see good reason for them, the warnings will turn up the volume to catch your attention. Instead, honor your innate sensitivity by being responsible, which means being responsive and making every adjustment to maintaining your health that you possibly can. After all, you are the only one who knows exactly how you feel.

You might like:

For HSPs, Compassion Fatigue is Too Real

How to Stop Feeling Exhausted All the Time as a Highly Sensitive Person

13 Problems Only Highly Sensitive People Will Understand

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#Empaths #Introverts #Highly Sensitive People #Tips

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

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Fic: Someday

Relationships: Hiei/Mukuro, Hiei/Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi, one-sided Yuusuke + Hiei

Characters: Hiei, Youko Kurama, Mukuro

Additional Tags: One-Sided Attraction, Past Relationship(s), Developing Relationship, Loss of Trust

Summary: An ultimatum, and an impossible choice. The consequences. Hiei/Kurama, Hiei/Mukuro, hinted Yuusuke/Hiei.

Note: Written in 2006. I think the irony here is that this fic, which I started in Summer 2003, has very personal resonances for me. This is ironic because the echo of this fic in my own life didn't come until Spring 2004, when I had set this fic aside because I didn't have time to work on it. The more I think about it, the more I see the presentation of the choice with consequences echoed in my own life. It's a long story, but I decided, just as Hiei did, that someone who gave me a choice so impossible and with such a high threat associated with them wasn't worth my time. This fic was heavily inspired by Morgan D's Eien no Hakusho timeline.

AO3 link

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He had made things very clear through his actions, in Hiei's opinion. Things were over between them. Kurama preferred the Ningenkai, and had rejected the Makai. Hiei wondered what the youko would do when his human body died. Would he accept it, or would he do as he had before: escape death. Would he return as the youko? The fire demon quickly decided that he didn't care. It changed nothing.

Hiei scowled in the direction of the portal. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it. He had known that Kurama was going to decide to remain in the Ningenkai. It had been all too obvious. The fox had his mother and family in the Ningenkai. It had hurt that he wasn't going to leave, to come to the Makai, but Hiei had known that he wouldn't, and the knowledge took some of the sting away. But the rest...

He felt dense, because he hadn't seen it coming. He had expected the fox to decide to stay in the Ningenkai, but he hadn't considered that Kurama would also cut him out. He had thought that Kurama's choice would just mean that their relationship would be long distance. Instead, Kurama had essentially delivered an ultimatum.

"Perhaps it would be better if you stayed in the Makai, Hiei," Kurama had said. He hadn't really even broken it off. His message had been that Hiei had to choose between their relationship in the Ningenkai and his place at Mukuro's side in the Makai.

The memory was painful. He had been too shocked to protest, choosing to leave instead. When he had tried to return the next night to ask Kurama what exactly he had meant, he had found the window locked, as it had never been before. It had been a clear message that Kurama had, in fact, meant that it was over unless Hiei did something drastic to negate that. He couldn't help but feel that he had deserved it.

He had been prepared to live completely between the worlds, taking every opportunity to visit. That had changed. He would visit, but his visits would now be infrequent and short, with most of his time devoted to serving Mukuro as best he could. And even on his visits, Kurama would no longer be a priority. Yukina would be the one he visited. He owed it to her for being too much of a coward to tell her who he was. He owed nothing to Kurama; not anymore.

Hiei battled his way to Mukuro's fortress, dealing with the idiots who wished to challenge him harshly and quickly. He would continue to serve Mukuro and only her. There was nothing left for him except that, and he had essentially promised her that he would not strive for death again. Instead he would be her heir, and live only for that purpose.

Hiei entered Mukuro's chambers to find her waiting with tea. He scowled as he realized that she had been expecting him. He sat in the seat across from her and accepted the cup that she poured for him, noting with approval that it had been liberally spiked and pointedly ignoring the implication of that.

"He broke it off," Hiei said after his second cup. His voice was casual, as if he were conversing about the weather.

"I know," Mukuro replied, her voice somber. "He rejected the Makai, Hiei. You are a part of the Makai." There was an uncomfortable silence before Mukuro spoke again. "I'm sorry, Hiei."

Hiei downed another cup of 'tea' before responding. "Actually, he implied a choice..." He looked up, then back down at the empty teacup in his hands. "Stay in the Ningenkai with him, or leave permanently." He set his teacup down and walked to the window, refusing to look at Mukuro, not wanting to see the look on her face. "I suppose I deserved it." He looked out at the landscape, at his decision.

The fire demon didn't realize that Mukuro had moved until her hand was on his shoulder. He risked a glance at her and found her gazing out the window with an inscrutable look on the uncovered half of her face. He looked back out the window, not bothering to shrug her hand off.

"Hiei, there is no excuse for what he did." Her thumb moved, massaging his shoulder lightly in a comforting fashion. "I'm angry partially because he issued you that choice, and it could have meant that I would lose you. But I'm mostly mad because you deserve better than that." Hiei didn't respond. "You were willing to take the hard road. Instead, he gave you the short end of the stick." She turned him around and looked at him closely. "That wasn't fair to you. You don't deserve to be abandoned like that."

Hiei's eyes widened at her words. The word 'abandoned' echoed in his mind, calling up unwelcome memories. He stood there for a while, his face expressionless, his eyes faraway and pained. Then he shook himself out of his stupor and shoved past her, breaking her grip on his shoulders. He was out of the room before she could call his name.

She sighed and leaned against the wall near the window. He was grieving, at least, which meant that he could get over it. She hadn't wanted to say it, but it had been necessary to gauge his state of mind. He had reacted, but his expressionlessness worried her. She wanted to follow him, but she knew he needed time alone to think. If he hadn't returned in a few days, she would go find him. She would just have to deal and ignore her worry until then.

Hiei found himself sitting on a tree branch, looking at the sunset without seeing it. He fingered the gem hanging from the leather thong on his neck, his mind lost in turmoil that belied the tranquil surroundings.

Mukuro had been right, though he didn't want to admit it. He had hated her for saying it at first, but he realized now that she had only been speaking the truth, as much as it had hurt. It had taken him a day and a half to understand. Kurama had abandoned him. He'd done worse than that, really. He had tricked Hiei into opening his heart, and then he had shattered the illusion that he finally had somewhere to call home. All that was left of what the Jaganshi had thought they'd had was broken promises.

It was the Koorime all over again.

The thought made him clutch the tear gem in his fist as he fought the emotions that came with it. It cut deeply into his soul. He had thought Kurama loved him. Hiei stood, finally seeing the sunset as the sky turned a familiar shade of red. He wondered if he would always be reminded of the fox by mundane things. He answered his own question as he noticed that the leaves of the tree he was in were the same color as Kurama's eyes.

He ran from his feelings.

Hiei returned three days later, bloodied from battle and exhausted from using the kokoryuha. He had been at the border, routing out trouble, Mukuro knew. Her scouts had reported his whereabouts, along with the not-so-mysterious disappearance of a gang of ne'er-do-wells that had been terrorizing border villages. She had been meaning to deal with them, and was glad that her heir had taken the initiative.

Hiei slept for nearly twenty-four hours after he returned, and afterward maintained a silent, impassive façade that cracked at nothing less than complete exhaustion, when vulnerability took over his features as he slept. Mukuro didn't worry at first, and in fact relished their training battles, in which they fought until Hiei had exhausted his youki. But after several months of this with no change, she was starting to feel irritated.

Hiei had withdrawn from the world, throwing himself into training and his duties. He was barely alive, with no fire in his eyes, as he had been when he had come seeking death in the battle against Shigure, before he had believed he found a home. He spent the entire day moving, fighting, anything to exhaust himself and keep himself from thinking. When he was idle, the fire demon stared blankly into space, removing himself from the world, to a place where he didn't have to think and simply existed.

Mukuro was, frankly, sick of it. Nothing she had tried worked. She'd been hard on him, completely dominating him in battle and giving him no room to move. She had once left him on the training field, unconscious, in pouring rain, and he had woken six hours later completely soaked and filthy. Even giving him mundane duties did nothing. He never complained or even looked at her reproachfully. It was like he wasn't even there.

Finally, she tried one last tactic. During training she didn't lift a finger against him. She barely defended herself, deflecting his attacks just enough to leave her without injury. She let him wear himself down, expending all of his youki while she did nothing. When he collapsed to his knees, panting and sweating, he still didn't look at her.

"How much longer are you going to go on like this, Hiei?"

The fire demon finally looked up, exhausted and confused. "Like what?"

"Like you've already died."

Hiei flinched. "Does it matter?"

Mukuro stepped forward and knelt beside him. "Yes. It does."

"Why?"

She frowned at him. "Because you're not dead, and cutting yourself off from the world isn't going to make it stop hurting."

"Maybe I should be dead."

Mukuro hit him across the face, none too softly, watching as his head snapped back at the force. He stared at her, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "You're alive, Hiei. I'd prefer that you stay alive."

She pulled him to his feet, but he pushed away, sprawling on the ground, unable to stand up again. "What does it matter, Mukuro? What's the point?"

"Why doesn't it matter?" she countered.

He stared at her silently for a moment. "Because I'm tired of it mattering. I'm tired of the disappointment. I'm fucking tired of being unwelcome."

They stared at each other for several minutes, Hiei's breathing short and exhausted, Mukuro's quick and angry. Finally, she responded. "You're welcome here, Hiei."

"For how long?" the sanjiyan demanded. "How long until you get tired of me? How long until you're finished with me?"

Mukuro bit off the angry response that was on the tip of her tongue and resisted the urge to hit him. It hit her suddenly: that was the reason for his behavior the past several months; he assumed that she would abandon him as well. He was distancing himself. She regarded him silently and chose her words carefully. "As long as you need a place to rest and call home, you're welcome here."

He looked at her suddenly, and she could see the tumult of emotions in his eyes: relief, confusion, pain, exhaustion, sorrow, grief, love. Then he averted his eyes, breaking contact. "Thank you," he whispered.

When she pulled him to his feet this time, he slumped against her, unconscious, and she tenderly picked him up and carried him to the fortress. She brought him to her quarters and set him on the bed, leaving him there to sleep as long as he wanted.

The Makai had been, for the most part, a peaceful place since Yuusuke had returned ten years prior, when Keiko had been killed by a vengeful demon. She had been nearly fifty, but Yuusuke had barely aged a day. He had approached Hiei, but the fire demon had refused his advances, happy by Mukuro's side and in her bed. Instead, they had trained Yuusuke, and he had, three years later, gone on to win the Makai tournament. He had been in power of Raizen's old kingdom since, winning a second tournament. He would, unless a suitable challenger appeared, win a third time in another two years.

Despite the peace, the three kingdoms continued their border patrols, which was what Hiei was doing today, separated by a bird call from the rest of the squad. He didn't expect the vines that attempted to trap him, but easily destroyed them nonetheless. Having seen the vines, he wasn't surprised by the voice that called out from the foliage.

"You've grown." The voice was playful, amused, and filled with lust.

"What do you want, Kurama?"

The youko stepped from the ferns. He approached Hiei, his gait slow and provocative. He finally stopped less than a foot from Hiei. "You."

Hiei snorted. "You had me, and you told me to leave."

"That was fifty years ago." The fox moved to hold him, kiss him, and Hiei sidestepped him.

Kurama smelled of musky roses and something more indistinguishable, a strange mixture of human and animal. It was fitting, given that the creature before him was no true youko. But where the scent had once evoked lust, Hiei felt nothing. "Did you really expect me to wait, Kurama?"

The youko seemed taken aback, and Hiei continued. "You rejected the Makai, fifty years ago. How ironic that you changed your mind. Didn't want to adhere to the short human lifespan?"

The youko lips thinned. "My mother died a month ago."

Hiei turned away. "My condolences."

"I'm free to be with you, Hiei."

"But I'm not free to be with you."

Kurama's eyes narrowed. "Mukuro. That bit-"

"Mukuro, Yuusuke, Bui, Shigure. It doesn't matter who." The Jaganshi cut him off, glaring. "You were free fifty years ago. We were together fifty years ago, but you sent me away. Now your mother's out of the way, so I'm supposed to throw myself into your arms and let you fuck me until you get bored again?"

Kurama moved to slap him, but touched only air. "Fuck you."

"I don't think so. Those days are over, Kurama." The youko stared at him. "You can't just abandon me and expect me to wait around for five decades. You made a decision, and now you have to live with it."

They stared at each other for several moments. Finally, Kurama spoke. "I missed you, Hiei."

"And I missed you. I missed what we used to have. But we can't go back to it, Kurama. It's too late." He closed his eyes, warding off regret. He had nothing to regret. "It was too late when you gave me that ultimatum."

The youko was silent again for a few seconds. "I'm sorry, Hiei."

Hiei smiled sadly. "I'm not." He left Kurama then, continuing his patrol. The past was behind him, and there it would stay.

#yu yu hakusho #yu yu hakusho fanfiction #yusuke urameshi #yuusuke urameshi #hiei #hiei/mukuro #hiei/kurama #kurama #my fanfiction

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thoughtsofhem-blog · 4 years

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(This is for the people who love reading, who is philosophical, who is a deep thinker and people who loves me😊)

• I bet you, you are going to enjoy this article in a beautiful way.

• Definitely, you will get positive vision about something that is unknown.

• I knew there are plethoras of grammatical errors if you’re going to judge me on the basis of a perfect writer which I’m not😊.

• My purpose is always expressing my thoughts through the magical words and convey a right message to right audience.

• Keep patience and read it fully

My New Article on:

Spirituality Vs Religion:

I know its a sensitive topic to be discussed or write about, but being a writer too, I always have advantages for using ‘freedom of speech’ . Still, I personally don’t want to hurt anyones sentiments related to this topic but I still want to express my perspectives on this topic.

I born in a Hindu family, and now I am following spirituality, which is helping me to perceive something deep & raw information about the Holy Spirit or god or infinite energy who runs this entire universe. Therefore, I want to say that I born as a Hindu, Currently, I am not following any religion. Its like; Either, I don’t follow any particular religion or I follow all the religions equally. Following a religion or being religious is not a wrong thing but it has many consequences like religion can mislead people from true realisation about god, Religion create categorisation among humans and it spread hate more than love and tranquility. If I talk logical, religions created for believing in god with different concepts of different religious views, We all should beautifully respect & accept those differences instead of fighting who is the best among all of them. None of religion teach us to spread hate or create any negative chaos or superiority ! for example many people stupidly believe that they are following most superior & best religion else are fool whose following another religion. Without any true knowledge and any deep research about such existence people blindly follow all these false perceptions about god in the name of religion and spread hate.

Firstly, god never set any kind of rules & regulations to follow him, its all human made perspectives, myths & rules which they had added on such holy books and smartly, they created a kind of fear in others mind to strictly follow those concepts in the name of religion.

On this earth, many Holy Spirit born as a great spiritual leader to spread brotherhood, love, peace among humans and saving them from all the evil deeds, healing them with their pure energies and inspiring them to follow a right path. You must concentrate on my words, `I said, ‘spiritual leaders’ None of them are god but still part of god, a shred of his pure & infinite divine energy for example ShriRama,Krishna,Jesus,buddha,mahaveer,gurunanaka,Saibaba,J. Krishna murti, Swami Vivekananda,Osho,alike more great souls.

A human never can be a god, God is an infinite energy which is so divine and pure who hasn’t any shape,colour,size or gender. God is a light. This pure energy exist everywhere, ‘whereas we impure humans never can met him unless we get enlightened. Such holy spirits never wrote any books to fix any rules to achieve god. If you research you will find that they all had similar purpose to take birth through this human body and given similar messages to us. Even an average human can be like them by working on his/her own mind & soul for years by deep levels of meditations,yoga,self control,balancing three levels of minds(conscious, subconscious,unconscious)by knowing self existence & self-realisation.

It doesn’t matter what kind of person you have been yesterday, It was a past and its already gone, when you start to work on your own energies it will change your entire existence. Everything here is in a form of energy if you will deeply analysis it.I won’t go so deep because few people only get what I’m trying to say, other will take it for granted or misunderstood me because their thought process are so limited & they can’t accept beyond their limited thoughts. Truth is we’re not only a part of our physical body, we all are souls, which is existing as a form of energy and this human body is just a temporary outfit for us to do our Karma’s in this birth. This physical Body, this world is an illusion, there is an another world which known as a molecular world, that is our real world where all energies have to return from this illusionary world to molecular world. People get mad if I start to go deeply into this. I’m very grateful that I’m working on something exceptional which people realise in their last phase of life,sometimes not even in this birth, sometimes they realise truth after several births and then start to work on it. When we get true knowledge which is existing in ourselves, we just need to realise it but we spent our life on superficial things which never help us to grow spiritually and mentally.

Being religious has one beautiful benefit !that is, it helps you to concentrate on that divine energy by consciously imagining & focusing on that particular image through pray method. Pray is a technique which heal our soul and it helps our subconscious mind to work in favour of our great desires. If anyone think that by following some myths & rules blindly and worshiping god all the time you will get god or peace I mean 'Moksha’ It will never going to happen. Usually, You connect to god with your own good karma’s, we all can fool each other but not that great father, he sees everything, he hears everything, he knows everything, infront of him we all are nude, we human fake ourselves too much infront of another human to get any kind of validation, neither we are perfect nor another human.So there is no need of impressing another human, let people judge you, spread rumours about you, let them hate you, let them do whatever they want to but you do not contaminate your own soul with such negative energies, any bitter experiences or people.

If anyone has desire to discover how to find themselves, endless joy, peace then I can give few suggestions here which I had acquired through my inner strength and self-realisation. In my opinion, no one is bad, I really pray for such souls who is damaged, in pain, in jealous, in guilt, in hate, in anger , in regret or in any kind of negativities. If I talk personally about my experiences then I would like to say as a human I was never been perfect, not even now and not in the future. I never can be perfect because a human never can be perfect one but still I can minimise my negative sides by consciously working on it. I am very expressing individual and I love to do it for those who follows me as their inspiration or who seeks anything through me, who doesn’t like me they definitely can ignore anything related to me, there is no hard feelings for anyone. For example : as I said I was not perfect and not even in present & not in the future but I worked a lot on my soul which has changed my life. In the past, I also made wrong choices, worse experiences, judgments, being revengeful, went through traumas & depression, drastically manipulated byhaters,heartbreaks,beingbetrayed,humiliated,isolated, bullied by others for my outer appearance like my dusky complexion, body shape or my English ascent, specially when I was a teenager. If I talk about study, I always have been an average student sometimes below than average 😂, people who can relate this, I want to tell you for your own motivation that research, history and google 😂are the evidences of datas of most successful people in this world most of them are school drop outs, whether they’re an eminent scientist, a successful business icon, or a great player or a worlds top writer, brilliant actors, a great politicians. Intelligence is nothing related to profound in particular language, getting good ranks or scores,many certificates. Intelligence is beautiful weapon which we can transform in any field and getting enormously successful in that field. It doesn’t mean education is not important.

We often get bullied by our peer groups or by our relatives or teachers or sometimes from our own parents for not getting fit into their expectations. That is perfectly fine. I strongly say, never follow crowd, never copy anyone, your uniqueness make you exceptionally beautiful and it does separate you from the crowd to create your own history. But still people can’t be so insensitive, they never understand by cornering a growing adult how much it can affect them psychologically. Not everyone enough brave to mould their life in a positive manner after experiencing all these mental traumas. To be honest, I also got affected by all these things and became a frustrated, extremely aggressive and a bitter person with low confidence whereas I was completely turned into a negative person. I’m sharing all this because may be it will help someone like me to change their life by having a true example. I always been courageous and after experiencing hell I took a decision to live for myself, working on me, I never had a quitting attitude in my life. it was not about working on outer appearance only, Honestly, your outer appearance never matters, it only judged by sick people with narrow mindsets. Everyone is beautiful in their own way, because god never creates anything ugly, its we human who sets parameters for everything even about religions. You have to be your own hero in this journey, being honest to yourself help you to evolve spiritually. Accept the way you’re, you don’t need to change for another human, you only need to change for yourself. Appreciate who is better than you and motivate who is lesser than you. With this attitude and acceptance you never develop any kind of jealousy or an egotistical competition inside you.Never compare your self with another people or with their life, if you do you are insulting yourself. Whatever made you hurt or bitter in the past let it go, forgive yourself and forgive other people who were the reasons for your pain, you need to be healed and moved on in life, in this healing process you need to pray, you need to be positive, be with more good people who will help you to evolve. Embrace nature. Be grateful for all little things you have. Learn to appreciate good things. Replace all your negative thoughts by your positive one’s with the better intentions.Be your own motivation. Read good inspiring books 📚. Work on your hobbies. Meet new & positive people. Ignore & eliminate people from your life who is not good for your soul & mental health. Never indulge yourself with negative gossiping. Leave people behind, who is not good for your growth, people who take you for granted, avoid people who take your advantages. Stop having evil thoughts for others. If we focus on right and positive things in our life, our life miraculously get changes. And just ignore whole world if they giving you any kind of negativity or demotivation. I can give you a simple formula to never get affected by others judgement on you, that formula is 'whoever judging you is another imperfect & fool human like you’ and their opinion about you or your life never ever matters. Make your aura so strong that you will not get affected by any negative energies. So it need a lot of work, patience and compassion within yourself for yourself.Be kind to yourself in the processing of healing.

Now come to the point, here I would give one more suggestion in order to make it easier for people about spirituality. Although,Humans are extremely greedy that after deeply working on their mind & spirit, having powerful concepts about spirituality, meditation and god or any kind of deep intelligent knowledge, They use to play and fool other people through marketing it by taking advantages of people’s weaknesses instead of healing them. They knew that its all mind games and how to take benefits from people by giving them false beliefs for their insecurities. I must say, a genuine spiritual leader or guide never pretend themselves as a god and make it a business to earn money or boosting their ego by pretending themselves as a god, or enjoying adoring themselves by huge number of followers. for example I can see many advertisements even on social media’s like - contact for healing from the past experiences, for psychic remedies,how to get back your ex😂, how to make love failure work, how to improve infertility,how to keep in-laws in your favour, vashikaran,for getting succeed in career, your dream partner, marriage/love solutions, or any kind of solutions bla,bla,bla😂... never fallen into their trap for your solutions its all mind games they’re playing in the name of religion or spirituality or magic or whatever. There are two things with such marketing,either its fake or has a power acquired through negative energies like black magic or something like that and I aware you all ..you guys believe it or not but everything has its opponents. By jumping into such shortcuts it will make your life worse. We all have to face our own karma in this same life so let it be like that. Never play with nature and its pace. Thus, never go for them. Another thing is, I’m on my spiritual journey and I don’t follow any particular organisations or guru related to spirituality for example I grasp good or knowledgeable things from everyone but I don’t follow anyone blindly. Anything that is related to god, about spirituality never can be paid or for personal benefits. We humans are blessed with lots of talents for earning money to spent a better life, but for money we don’t need to be so greedy to harm another beings or chose a wrong path to earn it because such money never give you peace ✌🏽. When we are so talented, hardworking, educated and smart enough to achieve anything then why we tend to believe that its ok to do anything for money even if you know that is wrong. So never follow anything blindly, awake your own intelligence & conscious, use your brain and keep faith in yourself. To recapitulate it, I would say for getting god you really don’t need to be aggressively religious or walking into a tough spiritual path with all the sacrifices, its a choice not anything forcefully to follow or do with. Never indulge in anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. Being in your domestic lifestyle you can achieve it through your good karma’s,honesty, pure soul, empathy,compassion, justice for truth,good intentions. for example whatever you’re doing suppose you’re an employee just do your work honestly, you will get god. You’re a spouse or a parent just take care of your family with all the honesty, you will get god, whatever you do, do it with pure heart, loyalty and good intentions you will get god. By,Writer Hema .P

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heliotrope-journey · 4 years

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Good evening, vampire hunters.

As you may have seen on my latest Instagram post, a leprechaun with sickly green skin was spotted next to a preview of the four-leaf clover patch that has been released on my Society6 store yesterday. “What’s the matter with it? Is it sick?”, some of you may be asking. While this leprechaun isn’t under the weather per se (I was last weekend because I had the flu and that experience partially inspired the appearance of this creature. Good grief. >_<), its monstrous appearance is the result of excessive acquisition of black magic. In other words, the leprechaun along with its fellow brothers and sisters living in present-day Ireland, were once humans that had hunted magical creatures down like game back in the late 1100s when the British invaded the land.

https://society6.com/product/lucky-mountain-clovers_carry-all-pouch

So let me explain to you how magic works in Heliotrope Journey’s lore;

Anyone, mortal or not, can acquire the ability to manipulate aspects of the world as they see fit. They don’t have to be born in the magical sector to achieve it. All that it takes is the careful observation of one’s environment. Many have subconsciously failed to do so because they preferred to stay in their comfort zones and quietly refuse to take risks. The reoccurring witch trials and continuous persecution throughout world history have also damaged any chances of curious mortals to come across a mysterious otherworldly artifact and get lucky. Or randomly receive a letter of acceptance from an isolated wizarding school’s admissions office. Life is full of surprises either way, right?

Magic is distinguished into two types; white and black. White magic is acquired when a mortal is given a deity’s blessing. It is often recognized for its passive spells such as healing abilities, communicating with animals, growing crops with the flick of one’s finger or wand, change one’s hair color like a photograph’s hue in Photoshop, and conjure up powerful shields to defend their allies from harm in combat. For example, a mortal that had been given Apollo’s blessing can conjure up palm-sized suns to supplement their light-based sorcery without relying on the sun. He or she may also have increased attention to detail and can likely become an excellent healer. The first magic practitioners that came into existence were obviously the gods and over the years, their half-mortal children such as Heracles have inherited a portion of their power. The demigods then passed it on to their children and so on. This enormous ancient family tree reveals that white magic is hereditary.

Black magic is acquired when a mortal commits a crime against nature. A common act that constitutes as such is the killing of a magical creature. Black magic can also be acquired when a mortal is enrolled in The Scholomance, an underground wizarding school in Transylvania that is notorious for siring vampirism. However, the process is much longer and can increase the target’s vulnerability to sunlight. Black magic is recognized for its combative elemental spells, necromancy, draining a victim’s life force to extend the caster’s own, summon a demonic entity from the netherworld to gain an unfair advantage in battle, and manipulate the weather to apocalyptic levels. For example, if a mortal was lucky enough to slay a minotaur, he or she would gain super strength at the cost of becoming prone to going uncontrollably ballistic. One must be extremely considerate with black magic because if we can take away how the leprechauns were born during the Middle Ages, it’s that obtaining too much can result in a mortal becoming bestial in appearance and their human emotions will gradually recede. The changes to their bodies vary depending on the magical creature they have killed and whether they’ve attended The Scholomance or not. Black magic is not hereditary compared to its white counterpart, but the leprechauns’ ancestors trifled with black magic so severely that the physical and psychological changes inflicted in the process have cursed their descendants as well. Black magic is overall a punishment for the death of an extraordinary and innocent animal.

Michaela is a well-known individual who is no stranger to black magic but she is not power-hungry. She had acquired elemental powers from eight magical creatures she had slain during her travels as a young woman. Why her appearance and personality have not been altered drastically as a result is because eight is a relatively small number compared to the amount of slain magical creatures that gave the leprechauns their present forms. In addition, Michaela’s incorruptible moral code and strong-willed attitude gave her the willpower to forcibly reject additional incoming energy from other creatures she had killed either because her life was threatened or she was trying to protect Einsam from getting captured. On top of that, every vampire hunter that sparred with Vlad the Impaler and the Veiled Nocturne throughout history possessed some degree of black magic despite claiming they were good men and women that seek justice. Although it sounds like they are hypocrites for doing so, the truth is that their abilities do not make them good or evil. It is their choices alone that decide where they stand in this never-ending battle. It causes the subject regarding black magic to fall under a gray area.

Speaking of magic, Advarsky, an independent game developer our team is currently partnered with, has been tasked with designing some of the new monsters for the third pilot episode, including the titular boss. Please do take a closer look at these monstrous amphibians because they will be encountered over the course of the installment. Plus, Advarsky has been doing an amazing job with the artwork and he’s been a real lifesaver due to my busy schedule with the development process and IRL. ^_^

Sincerely,

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nemesesengine · 5 years

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Interview with Fear of Water

It's been quite a while since I wrote an article here. Fact of the matter is, for the longest time I was afraid that I was falling out of love with music. In today's cesspool of djenty 0-0-0-1s, bro-metal and achy breaky heart related subject matter, I started to feel suffocated, desperately reeling towards that windowsill, clawing at it to get a breath of fresh air. Originality had become a dying art. All hope was gone.

UNTIL I stumbled upon this crazy talented guy here on instagram @fearofwater

[Subject : Dave Perry]

[Designation : Drums/Vocals/Guitars]

I was searching for Sevendust covers one day to inspire doing one of my own, and what was awaiting me was the FRESHEST take of their acoustic song 'Bonfire' off of Time Travelers & Bonfires. People usually cover a song note for note, with a last minute vocal melody change towards the end, but this - This was... HEAVY. Groovy. Yet melodic. There was a Clint Lowery PRS as a weapon of choice in the thumbnail, so I knew this guy was serious about his shit.

"What the fuck?" I muttered, as I played it.

And from the moment the crunch kicked in, it hit me like a flying brick to the face. Instant K.O, ladies and gentlemen!

I tried getting up, but the man was owning every instrument in there. There's a MEAN solo in there too... I'll post an embedded video down below shortly, but in that moment I KNEW that I had to talk to this guy. He made this song his own, and his work was the shot in the arms I was looking for.

I recently got to sit down with him and have a chat.

So what got you into music and how long have you been doing it for?

I had extensive bouts of sickness and infection from birth which caused long term damage on my hearing and other aspects of my health. Several surgeries, a dozen medications and years of speech therapy helped me finally get back to somewhat normal but from a development standpoint, I was years behind kids my age. I struggled greatly with all my academics, any form of memorization and even a large amount of motor skill related tasks. I have always gravitated towards music, even when I was clinically deaf due to my illness as a child. My family has VHS tapes of baby Dave sitting next to giant speakers because I could feel the vibrations of Genesis, The Stones and Springsteen. Once I regained my hearing, I would OBSESSIVELY listen to any and everything, actually gravitating towards jazz early on. That being said, I had zero musical abilities or talent.

I tried out for band in 4th grade, I wanted to play sax so damn bad. In my mind, that instrument was the epitome of cool. My try out on a plastic recorder was beyond horrible, so the band director relegated me to the percussion section. It quickly became clear that drums were for the rejects that wanted to be in band but couldn’t hang with the other performers.

At first I was biter but I quickly discovered Nirvana, Metallica and NIN. I quickly understood that rock doesn’t live without drums and I became dedicated to embracing this instrument. I struggled for two years, had absolutely zero ambidexterity. I felt like a marionette and I couldn’t clip the strings. I tried and tried to no avail.

Then in the spring of 1996, I very vividly remember listening to Load by Metallica, specifically Ain’t my Bitch. I was listening to the song over and over, air drumming on my lap during a multi-hour car ride when I felt a very distinct “pop” in my head. All the sudden I felt like the strings were finally clipped and I finally achieved ambidexterity. Over the next year, everything fell in to place: my academic drastically improved, my memory came back out of nowhere and I became obsessed with drums. From that point on, I knew that music was going to be an integral part of my life so I dedicated the vast majority of my free time to learning as many instruments and music as possible. 24 years later I’m still going.

What was the first song you ever learnt?

Ohhhh....good question. On drums it was In Bloom by Nirvana. That intro/hook drum fill was my absolute favorite. On guitar, probably anything/everything on SMASH by Offspring.

Most people spend the better part of their years learning one instrument, but you're pretty much a one-man-band. What was the driving force behind learning more than one trade?

Going back to my first answer, I came to the understanding that I had unlocked this skill set and I needed to explore it as much as I can. I’m still learning new things every year. My mom’s side of the family has been incredibly musical for several generations so I’m starting with a good tool kit.

(Embedded below is Dave's kickass cover to Sevendust's 'Bonfire')

What's your go-to song when you pick up the guitar or sit behind the kit?

Drums: March of the Pigs by NIN. It was the first “complex” beat I ever learned. The idea of playing in 5/4 initially blew my mind but once I got it, I couldn’t stop.

Guitar: Sad but True by Metallica. It will forever be the ultimate metal song to me.

Your biggest inspiration?

A three way tie between Trent Reznor, Dave Grohl and Clint Lowery. They are all multi-instrumentalists that are great people who have maintained a strong career through changing genres and tough times (addiction, loss, legal battles, etc.)

What's your fondest musical memory?

That “pop” in 1996 was pretty damn magical. In recent history, it was playing to a sold out crowd opening up for Pop Evil last year in Wisconsin. The crowd energy was electric and that feeling is addictive!

As a casual bedroom guitarist myself, I feel like very often we reach plateaus and don't even realize it - After doing music for so long, how do you think one can assess their skills?

I think it’s important to always be trying new things, especially if you’re uncomfortable with it: new styles, new tubings, new instruments, writing original when you’ve only done covers. If you’re really struggling, then that’s a benchmark for that moment but now you have a goal, set your sights and push through.

Are you happy with where the rock scene is currently at? How do you think we can make it better?

Yes and no. The music industry as a whole will never be the same with the advent of streaming and stealing music. It has made an already unlikely career a near impossibility for most. That being said, newer tools allow for more casual musicians to get their music in front of people they never could have otherwise. Specifically Rock: it’s still a live in several different genres. I know my generation will keep it alive as long as we can.

If you were stuck on an island indefinitely, what one album would you take with you?

Assuming I have a device on which I can play said album? 😊 The Colour and the Shape by Foo Fighters. It’s a masterpiece.

Who's one lesser known musician you think people should know about?

Danny Schmitz (from Milwaukee, lives in NYC). He has a killer band, Lost in a Name, and is also a stellar solo artist & producer. The man can shred and we’ve collaborated on a few songs that you can hear at www.facebook.com/TheFearOfWater

And what does the future hold for Dave Perry? Any closing words?

A metric shit ton of music! You will be able to find four albums of Fear of Water music on all major steaming and download sites over the next couple of months. I also have several new videos that I’ll be publishing on YouTube and Facebook this winter as well. 🤘🏼🤘🏼

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serafxn-a · 5 years

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(( Hey guys. Mun here. I know, I know, I’ve been relatively quiet lately. For... a while now. I should probably give a life update. A bit more of a comprehensive one.

After a simultaneously wild and dull 10 years of my life beginning with university, which included a lot of online and a little offline drama, the end of a 7 year relationship that I’m still kind of reeling over several months onward, and a whole lot of paranoia and health problems both mental and physical... My life situation IRL took a drastic turn and almost brought my online presence to a screeching halt. Around May-June of this year, I moved back in with my parents, got a job at a major UK toy store chain, and have no longer been able to sustain my wild-ass 10am-5am living due to changes in schedule and having major responsibility for the first time in my life. One such responsibility being not keeping my parents awake til fuck knows in the morning, ahaha. And, y’know, actually getting decent sleep before work... (something I’m failing a little at right now,,,)

I’ve got mixed feelings about it, but overall... it’s actually been a pretty positive experience. Being definitively useful, wanted and moreover needed does a lot for one’s self-esteem. Knowing I’m good enough at doing something that people will take my advice, and that I will get called into work for more hours instead of having my hours cut, is kind of a good buzz, even if it’s taken a lot of getting used to and been stressful for my RP life. Not having any friends IRL sucks hard when I can’t talk to my online ones as much but... I’m trying to deal as best I can.

But right now, let’s forget all that. It’s time for me to be sappy, because it’s late at night, I’m sick, and it’s almost Thanksgiving. ))

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(( Now, I know I’m not American, so when it comes to Thanksgiving, I don’t go there. I might have humoured a “turkey” dinner of my own for a couple of years just so I wouldn’t be left out. Which I guess might be kinda sad but I prefer to think of it as an act of sentimentality.

And, what can I say? I’m a very sentimental person.

That sentimentality is what leads me to make this post. There’s so many important people I’ve met that I’m grateful for. I’d like to talk about some of them, because I don’t think I should be particularly shy about this. I might not get all of them, because I’m kinda scatterbrained (and at least as of making alterations to this part of the post mid-way through typing it it’s 11:30 and I have to get up at 8).

First off: if you’re in the Sunny Day Café server? You fucking rock! Even if you don’t talk too much in there, your continued support of my first real attempt to run a relatively public RP server is really appreciated. In particular on this front I’d like to thank Rose (blogs: @kxndncss @grxxnheart @hopxlcss), Shad (blog: @flapsinhands) and Ozi (blog: @magicbyhalves) for helping me with moderating the place. I’ll be the first to admit that my moderation skills are a bit... well, 👋. I’m often not a good judge of situations, and find it difficult to trust my own judgements. It’s something I’m having to learn. So the help is really important to me.

Of course, these three (who I will dedicate more time to in this post later for sure) have also been really helpful with plot stuff. There’s a particular group of people who’ve been helpful with plot stuff, actually, aside from these three, and I’d like to mention them too.

Let’s start with Ziz! (blogs: @unseenbutnotgone @seenbutgone @unheardanduncaring @distastefulblossom @setebcs)

My memory is trash, but I think Ziz and I started talking over Wings wanting to get to know Fin back when he was Sleazy? Because he was getting involved with his son, and of course a good dad would want to make sure his son is in good company. He wasn’t, but Fin grew from that, and I’m thankful for that too, but also I’m thankful for what happened when Fin ended up applying this relearned kindness when Wings’ son was forcibly fused with a corrupt fragment of his.

And then it all went really gay from there, and now they’re married and have spread the gay even further. It’s not even over yet, there’s so much potential for Reset and Fin still and I’m eager to explore it and fit them into this intricate new world that I’ve never really touched on in RP before. And to write with someone as caring, empathetic, funny and smart as Ziz? I’m really honoured. They’re really inspiring to me and I adore RPing with them. They put so much work into their muses, visually and historically and meaningfully and I just... 💋👌 Mwah. Ziz as a writer, and an artist, and as a person too - I look up to them so damn much.

And I definitely cannot mention inspiring people without coming to talk about Rose. She and Ziz were ultimately the reason I started to invest so much in my Gasters, they’ve provided constant encouragement with my writing, I’ve been able to bounce ideas off of them not just for my stories but for theirs too. They’ve been emotionally supportive and emotionally constructive too, which is honestly fantastic. I know I’m someone who has a lot of growing to do. I appreciate that there’s people who’ll stick by me while I’m doing it and help me along.

Rose is such a pleasure to write with. Her prose is utterly gorgeous to read, it feels like seeing the individual threads coming together in a tapestry. Her talent for finding mood music is fantastic and something I honestly aspire to, because mood music for writing or setting a scene is so so important. Her characters are always really well researched and have so much depth to them, and it’s really great seeing her influences because damn she has good taste too. And what’s more, I honestly do look up to Rose, because while her life experiences may not be perfect she’s accomplished a lot of things I would love to accomplish myself. She’s really inspiring to me.

While these are the two folks I talk to most, particularly about RP stuff, there’s a whole gang of bastards I’m thankful for... I’ll have to bullet point these guys because there’s a good few blogs associated with them and I want to try and include all the active/main ones?

Rav - @imbreaking-sans @imdespondent-sans @mraudio-the-audacious

Bets - @fellythealphaskeleton @xa-eviterx

Situ - @shadowbirdsitu @sourtrout

Del - @skellie-bean @pocketpunk666

Collectively these are people I know I can come to when I need help with things, RP or otherwise, people I can vent to, people I can share experiences with, and people I can laugh with and listen to and just generally hang around and be myself with. Which is kind of really important, especially when I don’t entirely feel like I can be myself IRL still.

Rav honestly has such a good way with words, both when it comes to people and when it comes to prose, and seems wise way beyond her years at times. Her level-headedness has sometimes been a little intimidating to me, but possibly because it’d been a rare quality in people I’d known prior, and something I’m often lacking in myself. I look up to pretty much everyone for different reasons, or sometimes similar ones. Rav is one of these people I look up to, in part because of this level-headedness. (And also because holy shit she’s dealt with so much and still come out on top!!) She’s a lot of fun to write with and a very trustworthy person I’m honoured to call a friend.

I think, if my memory serves me right, when I was really starting to talk to this group as a group - not as it is now, but as it had been, with a few different people there or not there - it was Bets I’d first encountered. And, well, I didn’t make the best first impression, I don’t think... but I like to think it got way better afterwards. Bets is honestly a really fun and wild character whilst simultaneously having that level-headedness I really admire in people? And like, she has wack plotlines (I’m looking at all the Felly stuff especially with fuckin BIRDSCAPE), but it’s so much fun to see them unfold and be a part of them! I consider her one of the comic masters of the group alongside Ziz, and though their styles are fairly different I have a high respect for both of them. And what’s more, I’ve always found Bets super easy to approach, which is invaluable to me as someone who is very shy and unsure of themselves.

While I say Bets was one of the first people in this group that I encountered, but as the group stands now it was actually Situ. Prickly and Fin had this thing going between them that grew into joke-flirting that became actual flirting, because when you do something like that it’s almost certainly going to stop being a joke if you keep doing it. If there’s one thing I’m a sucker for it’s slow burn and these two delivered so wonderfully. Situ has always been super friendly, super eager and super full of enthusiasm! And while I regretfully haven’t always been able to match that, I have always had fun RPing with her. I love her art, her muse designs, and - honestly this might seem out of left field one day could you gimme a hand with my hair? Yours always looks so good!! ... Er, that aside, you’re another really approachable person who I appreciate a lot. (I also admire your muse dedication like holy shit how many blogs do I have now)

I absolutely have to open with the Del paragraph by stating she is fucking hilarious. There’s a reason she’s using the Jevil icon on Discord at the moment; she’s definitely our Joker. I’m legally obligated to state she’s full of beans (it’s funny because the beans are her muses), and I respect her so much for sticking with child muses and RPing them so well when it must be really damn difficult at times. There’s a lot of challenges that come with child muses for sure. Del is also a great listener, an enthusiastic plotter, and an incredibly sweet person. Fun fact: she sent me a plush jackalope a while back and he’s sat by my bedside ever since, receiving cuddles when I needed them most! Another fun fact: she’s usually the person who initiates the “hewwo??” in voice calls. Chaotic alignment as hell.

I’ve talked a lot about a particular group of friends but they aren’t really the only people I interact with... and while the people I interact with regularly has dwindled a little, there’s two people not in this specific group who are still super important to me, who I mentioned earlier, actually.

I’ll mention Shad first - blog linked further up - as someone who I’m really glad I grew closer to? We’d shared a few friend groups but it took a bit for us to really start interacting, and I’m so glad we did. She has a fucking killer sense of humour and it bleeds into her RPing in the best way. Being involved in her plots in any way is freaking awesome, and she’s been super great about getting involved in mine in a way that’s really fleshed them out and given them direction and form. Not to mention she was one of the reasons I got back into Guild Wars 2 and we have such a good time playing together and talking.

I think at least for now the last person and absofuckinlutely not least I’ll talk about is Ozi... whose friendship with me long pre-dates my current blogs, as we started RPing together in the League of Legends community. She’s a really positive influence in my life, and I’m honestly really grateful that she’s stuck by me through our changes in fandom. Seeing her grow and improve as an artist has been an absolute pleasure, and her writing has always delighted me. The development turns she takes are fantastic and really well thought out, and that she can work with so little and make so much is inspiring as all hell. (I’m mostly talking about the amount of work she managed to put into fleshing out Thresh back when we were in the LoL fandom but damn she’s doing such a good job with Shantae in this regard too?? Thresh was just a lot more... bare-bones. Ba dum tsch.)

It’s about now that I’ve run out of steam and it’s past my bed time but I would like to say that this list is by no means exhaustive. There’s a lot of people who have put me on the path I’m on today, some who I may not talk to as much, some I talk to more, some who I don’t talk to anymore at all. Maybe they left my life on a good note, maybe on a bad. But each and every person we meet leaves some kind of mark, however big, however small.

I’m grateful for all the people who’ve not only left kind marks on me, but stayed, too. ))

#{}{} OOC #long post ))#(( sorry if this came out dumb or if there's any missing or incorrect details ))#(( i'm sick and very tired which is not helping my usually poor memory in any way ))#(( but pls know that i love u ))

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mizmahlia · 6 years

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Angst Prompt: You Broke Me

Taken from this list here.

This was inspired by yet another play-through of Batman Arkham Knight. During the scene where Batman’s being hauled off to Arkham to confront Scarecrow, Alfred tells Bruce he’s being tracked through the city. Bruce insinuates that Jason is the one tracking him, and my brain went “WHAT IF JASON TRIED TO STOP THAT TRUCK TO TRY AND FOIL SCARECROW’S PLAN BECAUSE HE HAD A CHANGE OF HEART?”

And, well, now we have 4.4k words of angsty Jason Todd fic.

Spoilers for Batman Arkham Knight

I borrowed a few lines of dialog from the game, as I wanted to fix the ending. Because of reasons.

Warnings: Mentions of torture, some swearing, Jason does shoot some people, and there are some mental health issues depicted.

Jason ripped his helmet open and leaned against the fire escape, trying to catch his breath. The sensor on the building where Scarecrow demanded Batman turn himself over was tripped five minutes ago and he'd sprinted over the rooftops from halfway across Bristol. He knew he didn't have much time until the truck left, taking Batman to Arkham for his unmasking, but he knew he had to try to stop it.

He hoped Bruce noticed the red Bat symbol hastily painted on the building when he'd gone in. He climbed down the fire escape and crept across the street to a deserted SUV that somehow hadn't been vandalized yet, breaking the driver's side window. He got in, hot-wired the engine and brought up his gauntlet screen to check the GPS tracker. At the same time, he tapped into the audio feed from the back of the truck. He was already listening to the audio feed from Bruce's cowl and had been most of the night.

The red dot on the screen began to move and Jason put the SUV in gear and pulled out into the street after it. He heard Alfred tell Bruce the truck's movements were being tracked. Well, that was quick. What no one knew was that Jason installed the tracking device and microphone to make sure Scarecrow didn't double-cross him. He'd wanted his chance to end Bruce, after Scarecrow had his fun. But after their confrontation at the mall, Jason's mission objectives changed drastically and it went from being an assassination mission to a rescue op. Oh, the irony. So between the hacked comm feed and the microphones in the truck, he could hear both sides of the conversation. He rolled his eyes when Bruce replied. "I knew he would." He stomped his foot to the floor and took off after the truck, chasing it out of Kingston and over Mercy Bridge. He knew the fear toxin levels in the back of the truck were rising rapidly. He listened as Scarecrow taunted Batman, telling him the nightmare was almost over and his failure was almost complete. Jason's gut rolled at the thought he'd helped orchestrate this. He knew he had a lot of shit to work out now, but he couldn't allow Scarecrow to finish their plan. Not after what happened earlier. Not after he'd seen the look on Bruce's face. You can't fake that kind of shock, not even if you're Batman. He raced over the bridge and through the side streets of Bleake Island, the truck only a few blocks ahead of him. He just needed to stop the truck before it crossed onto the bridge to Arkham Island; if it reached the bridge, there was no cover and no way to get Batman hidden long enough for the fear toxin to work its way out of his system. As he rounded a corner, he spotted the truck at the next block. He needed to nudge the bumper with the SUV to force it off the road. He grit his teeth and gunned it through the intersection, ignoring the blaring horn from a car that had the right of way. The car clipped the rear passenger side of the SUV, sending him careening off course. "Fuck!" The SUV fishtailed as he tried to keep it from sideswiping a burned-out garbage truck. He cranked the wheel and caught up to the truck. "Brace yourself, Bruce," he muttered. Jason mashed his palm against the horn before colliding with the rear bumper, watching as the truck swerved and hit the curb, rolling into a vacant lot before coming to rest on its roof. He parked the SUV behind an empty school bus and climbed out, staying low and in the shadows as he crept toward the truck. In his ear piece, he heard Bruce groan, apparently still in the back of the truck in range of the microphone. "Mother, don't go. Please.." Jason froze and flattened himself against the side of a building, guilt and panic and fear churning in his stomach. He sank to his knees and clawed at his helmet, gulping in the cold night air when it opened. Bruce was reliving the night his parents died. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to pull himself together. It had only been a few hours since their confrontation, since he'd learned Bruce actually believed the Joker had murdered him almost three years ago. Hours since he realized every single reason he had for planning this entire op was bullshit; that the Joker and Harley had beaten him and scrambled his brain until he honestly believed Batman would give up on Robin. That Bruce would give up on him. He scrubbed his hands over his face and choked back a sob when he realized how thoroughly fucked up this all was. He was furious with Batman for seemingly abandoning him, for letting this happen and replacing him. He'd been through absolute hell- the beatings from the Joker, the meds Harley forced down his throat, the days and weeks of isolation. While most of it blurred together, he remembered the day he broke with absolute clarity. The exact moment he knew he was never going to go home, when he wished they would just kill him. It was the day the Joker showed him the photo of Batman and Robin. A Robin that wasn't him. He felt sick all over again at the memory and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. When he was sure he wasn't going to vomit he sat back against the building. He was shaking. The Joker did terrible and sadistic things to him just to spite Batman, because he wanted Batman's attention. And after everything Joker did, no matter how horrific, Batman never did what was necessary to stop him. It was a vicious circle of murder, terror and nightmare-inducing behaviour that Jason got caught in the middle of and had paid the price for. But then Bruce had seen his face and he'd been genuinely surprised. That's when the small glimmer of hope, hope that Bruce hadn't really forgotten about him after all, took hold and royally screwed everything up. Anger replaced the fear and the panic and Jason laughed, and it sounded so, so wrong. Suffice to say his mental and physical well-being were treading on some pretty thin fucking ice at the moment. A groan from the overturned truck drew his attention and he turned, leaning around the corner. The driver pulled himself from the cab and crawled toward the back of the truck. One of his legs was clearly broken. Jason took several deep breaths to ground himself and he stood up, drawing his sidearm and securing the helmet in place once again. He stalked around the corner and stopped in front of the driver, cocking his head to the side. The driver looked up at him, relieved at the sight of the Arkham Knight standing in front of him. "Sir. We got run off the road, I didn't see who it was." He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked up at Jason, the grimace when he jostled his leg replaced by a confused frown. "We heard you split after your fight with the Bat- you okay?" Jason flicked the safety off his gun. No, I'm definitely not fucking okay. "I'm fine. Change of plans. I'm personally escorting Batman to the Asylum." The driver nodded and leaned against the side of the truck. "You sound so different without the voice modulator. So young." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting the last one and tossing the empty pack back toward the cab. "The guy in the cab is out cold and my leg's broke. Wish I could help you get the bastard to Arkham." The memory of Batman standing over him earlier, offering to help him, saying they could fix this, flashed through his mind and Jason flinched. "Your help won't be necessary." He fired a round into the driver's chest and he went still, the cigarette dropping to the asphalt next to him. Jason knelt behind the truck and pried the door open, revealing a semi-conscious Batman. He holstered the gun and reached in, dragging Batman out and clear of the truck. Jason knelt next to him and studied him. The suit was in tatters; in addition to the bullet he'd fired into Batman's abdomen hours ago that appeared to still be lodged there, there was now a new hole in the right side of the Bat symbol on his chest. The armor plating was scratched and filthy. The cowl was scuffed and dented, and Bruce’s nose was definitely broken underneath it. He had some nasty bruising forming along his jaw. The cape had holes in it and his gloves were coated in grime and blood. All to try and save a city that tried to kill him on a nightly basis. "You look like hell, B," Jason said quietly. "You just don't know when to quit." At the sound of his voice, Bruce's eyes opened and he looked up at Jason. His pupils were dilated, the blue of his irises almost non-existent; he was still deeply under the influence of the fear toxin. Before he realized what he was doing, Jason released the catch on his helmet and opened it again, allowing Bruce to see his face. His eyes widened and he reached a hand toward Jason. "It can't be..." "Yeah, it can be." Jason sighed and his chin dropped to his chest. "We've gotta get out of here; Scarecrow's going to realize the truck isn't on schedule. C'mon." He tugged on Bruce's arm to get him to stand, but he remained on his hands and knees. "You can't be him. I watched Joker shoot him." Bruce's voice went eerily quiet. "I watched Jason die." "I wish I had," Jason muttered. "But we don't have time for this." Bruce backed away from Jason and shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "No. I failed him. I need to find him. He was right here the whole time and I..." His eyes darted frantically around the empty lot, no doubt searching for the car. "I need to tell him that I didn't know." His eyes met Jason's and the despair in them made Jason shiver. "I searched that asylum for weeks. How could I not have known he was there?" Jason bit his lip and closed the front of the helmet again before he lost control of his emotions. He's afraid he failed me? He heard the rumble of a large truck down the street. "We need to leave. Now." He pulled Bruce to his feet and led him toward the back of the lot, away from the street. There was a mechanic's garage the next block over that probably had a vehicle they could use to get Bruce back to the cave. As they walked, he looked back over his shoulder at Bruce. He was completely lost in his own head and unaware he was being led through Gotham by the man who'd helped orchestrate everything he'd been through. But considering he was allowing himself to be led around meant he didn't believe himself to be in any danger. Something no one (apart from Superman) could do was force Bruce to follow someone he didn't trust. Jason wanted to cry at the irony. He picked the lock on the door of the garage and pushed Bruce through before closing and locking it behind them. He steered Bruce toward a chair and he sat the moment the backs of his knees hit the seat. "Hang tight while I find us a ride." Jason started rifling through the rack of keys hanging above the counter, momentarily forgetting about Bruce until he started talking again. He froze and dropped the set of keys he was holding. "I'm still in control, Joker. You won't get the upper hand." Jason turned and leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge tightly. "What did you just say?" Bruce looked up at him and Jason swore his eyes were a neon shade of green. He backed away from Bruce, knocking over a canister of rusted bolts. The sound echoed loudly throughout the shop and Jason flinched at the noise. Bruce was looking right through him and spoke to whoever it was he saw. "You won't break me, Joker. You can't." Bruce looked down at the floor for a moment before glancing up at Jason. His gaze was still vacant, his mind was long gone at the moment, but at least his eyes were back to blue. "I'm already broken." Jason picked the keys up off the floor and glanced out the window, using the key fob to find the Chevy they would use to get Bruce back to Alfred. It was parked just across the lot from the door and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Come on, Batman. We need to get you back to your butler." He turned back to find Bruce watching him. And he was lucid. "He'd love to see you, you know." Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. Despite Bruce not being able to see his face, his focused his gaze on the floor anyway, too embarrassed and ashamed to look him in the eye. "I highly doubt that, after everything that's happened tonight." Bruce stood, carefully making his way toward Jason. He stopped several feet away. "We all thought you were..." he trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. "I meant what I said, earlier." It's not too late. We can fix this... Together. Jason felt the anger rising again. "Not that simple. You have no idea what he did to me." The look on Bruce's face said otherwise. Jason narrowed his eyes, forgetting Bruce couldn't see it. "Based on what I saw in the video he sent me, I have an idea." Jason shook his head and turned toward a sedan with its tires missing. He punched the trunk, leaving a considerable dent. To hell with being quiet any longer. "That was five minutes, Bruce. He had me down there for OVER A YEAR!" Bruce, to his credit, said nothing. "You have no idea what they did to me," Jason continued, trying to keep from getting hysterical. "I held out for six months before I gave anything up. Six months! And do you know why I finally gave up, after everything they put me through?" He retrieved a photograph from his back pocket and flipped it at Bruce. He reached for it and turned it over, his face growing even paler. "Yeah. I found out I was replaced. So it turns out you deserve all the credit for this one, Batman," Jason said, his tone pure venom. "You broke me. Not the Joker, not Harley. Not the guards who took turns beating me. It was you." "I'm sorry about all of this, Jason. But you need to know there's more to it than that. Consider the source. Please." Bruce put the photograph on the chair behind him. "You know what the Joker was capable of." "I certainly do now." Bruce sighed deeply and his hand went to the wound on his abdomen when the muscles tensed painfully. He looked much older and wearier after the events of the night. He sat down again and reached for the medical pouch on his belt, before remembering he'd removed it. Jason reached into his own belt and fished out a small bottle of pills, tossing it to him. "Here. It's hydrocodone. Should take the edge off." Bruce nodded and took three of them. Before he could speak, half a dozen members of the militia stormed through the door. "Sir? You found him! We're here to bring Batman to the asylum. Scarecrow is waiting." Bruce looked at Jason and gave a subtle nod, a look of determination back on his face. I'll do it for you, if that's what it takes. Jason turned toward his men. "Get him there in one piece, or you'll all wind up like the driver. Are we clear?" "Sir, yes sir." "And don't tell Scarecrow I had to round him up. He's got enough to worry about." Bruce stepped in behind several of the militia and headed toward the door. He glanced behind him before he stepped outside in time to see Jason nod once. You won't have to. I'll get there.

Based on the radio chatter he was listening to, Scarecrow had indeed changed the plan. The militia were now under strict orders not to let the Arkham Knight anywhere near the Asylum. Their orders were to shoot him on sight and shoot to kill. It didn't bother Jason in the slightest. Considering the one man who'd been kicking their asses all over Gotham that night was the one who originally trained him in the art of covert ops?

He'd take those odds any day of the week. But one thing he wasn't ready for was how he'd feel being back on that godforsaken island and staring at the Intensive Treatment building. It wasn't even where he was headed; Scarecrow was set up in the mansion to the east, but in making his way past armed guards and sentry guns, he had to go the long way around Intensive Treatment to get there.

He barely made it to cover behind an overgrown hedge of ivy before he was throwing up, once again feeling the sting of the cold water they poured over his face and the phantom pains of a crowbar, and hearing the sizzle of a branding iron as it was held to his cheek. Strangely enough, it was Robin's voice in his ear piece when he spoke to Batman that brought him back to the present. He forced himself to focus as Scarecrow and Batman started talking. He shook his head and climbed to his feet when Scarecrow bragged about robbing Gotham of hope. He'd been robbed of that, too, once. There was no way he could let Gotham be robbed of whatever hope it had left after tonight. He was only a few hundred yards from the mansion and there were five men between him and the front door. Jason changed the display in his helmet to night-vision and quietly assembled his sniper rifle, taking position on his belly. On his next exhale, the man closest to him went down, followed by his partner ten yards to the right. And when the other three came to investigate he hit them with a smoke grenade before coming up behind them, choking them out. As he was dragging them into the bushes, he heard Commissioner Gordon and Scarecrow arguing, followed by a gunshot he heard both through the ear piece and through a broken window of the main entrance hall of the mansion. Jason froze. Gordon and Bruce were talking now and neither of them sounded like they were in pain, which means Scarecrow likely just shot Robin. Something in Jason broke loose, something he hadn't felt in a long time. An urge to protect someone. He knew full well Tim Drake could hold his own in a fight and he'd tested that himself on several occasions. But the fact a Robin was just shot so someone could prove a point? He didn't care who it was- the son of a bitch would pay for that. Jason sprinted toward the mansion, taking the steps two a time and running a thermal scan of the entrance hall. There were only four people on the screen: Gordon, Bruce, Tim and Scarecrow. He was about the kick the door in when he heard Scarecrow's voice, full of surprise and amusement. "Wayne? Bruce Wayne?" He was too late; he hadn't made it in time to stop Scarecrow from broadcasting Batman's identity to the world. Had he not panicked when he'd seen the Intensive Treatment building, maybe... With an anguished groan, he slid down the door and buried his head in his hands. But he heard Bruce's voice in his head, from when he was much younger and worrying too much about things outside of his control. What-if's don't help people, Jay-lad. Focus on what you can control. He opened his eyes and stared at the Intensive Treatment building, resolve replacing the panic. He could still stop this- he could still stop Scarecrow from killing Bruce, Tim or Commissioner Gordon. Jason stood and brought up an old floor plan of the building in his HUD as Scarecrow continued talking. "Now the world can see you for what you truly are. A legend laid bare. Powerless. Human. Afraid." He heard Bruce moan in pain after the telltale hiss of Scarecrow's injection delivery system pumped him full of the liquid fear toxin. He had to get in there as soon as possible if he was going to get them out alive. But he couldn't barge in the front door and risk Scarecrow shooting any of them just because he could. There was an old service entrance to the kitchen around back that he could use to gain entrance. He made his way around back through a maze of tangled shrubs, broken shutters and fallen bricks, listening to Scarecrow drone on to his live audience about fear and how necessary it is, and how useless Batman was now that he'd been unmasked. No wonder he'd been so insistent on killing Batman before their plan really got off the ground- the man talked constantly. Jason broke the lock on the door and carefully made his way in, listening as Scarecrow continued taunting Bruce, this time about his friends being hunted down and killed for his actions as Batman. It wasn't Bruce's reply that made his blood run cold, but the laughter that followed it. That cackle, the way it made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It sounded just like the Joker. Jason rushed to the sink and retched, the sound of that laughter too much to bear. His heart pounding in his ears muffled the sound of Bruce being injected with another dose of toxin. He struggled to breathe normally, growing lightheaded as he began to hyperventilate. He could hear Scarecrow getting angry that Bruce wasn't playing along anymore and Jason knew he didn't have much time left to intervene. He turned and studied the floor plan, following the maze-like hallways until they opened up into the rear of the main entrance hall. He stuck to the shadows and made his way toward the light thrown off by the bank of television monitors mounted against the eastern wall. Bruce was strapped to a gurney that was tilted upright, Gordon knelt on the floor next to an unconscious Robin, and Scarecrow was grandstanding in front of a lone camera. Jason watched in horror as Scarecrow turned from the camera and injected Bruce a third time. He chambered a round in his rifle and lined up his shot, but hesitated when he heard Bruce speak. "I'm not afraid, Crane." Scarecrow stepped back as if he'd been slapped, drawing a gun from his waistband and holding the barrel against Bruce's forehead. Now or never, Jason. Show him you're still here. Jason shouldered the rifle and looked down the scope, the laser sight landing on the gun in Scarecrow's left hand. One shot sent the gun flying. The second shot broke the restraint holding Bruce's arm. Bruce grabbed Scarecrow's wrist as he was going to inject him again, wrenching it around and forcing the maximum dose into Scarecrow's chest. "What's wrong? Scared?" Bruce towered over Scarecrow as the toxin took effect and as he let him go, Jason could see the panic on Scarecrow's face even from his vantage point. Scarecrow stumbled backwards, right into Gordon's fist, and wound up unconscious on the floor. Bruce looked up from where the shots were fired, immediately finding Jason's position. Jason froze, not knowing what to do or say. All he could manage was a nod. I'm late, but I'm here. For everything he'd been through tonight, Bruce managed a small smile and a nod in return. I knew you would be. With that, Bruce crouched next to Gordon and Tim. As Jason turned to leave, he heard Gordon tell Bruce that Tim would be okay. He made his way back out the way he entered and stood at the fence, looking out into the bay and back at the lights of the city. The skies were clearing and he could see the first signs of dawn off in the distance. "Are you going to be alright?" He startled when Bruce's voice came through his ear piece. That meant he was wearing the cowl again. Jason chewed his lip for a moment. "I really don't know." There was a pause and Jason could hear the jet approaching the other side of the island. He turned and watched Batman grapple up into the cockpit. "When all of this settles, whenever that may be, I'd like to talk. If that's okay with you." Jason's eyes watered and he swallowed hard before he answered. The jet hovered over the north end of the island and Jason would be money Bruce was scanning to see where he was. "I.. I'll be around. You'll know where to reach me." The jet banked and headed off toward the Manor, not back into the city. "I left something for you in our usual spot." Jason turned and began the trek back across the island, giving the Intensive Treatment building a wide berth. "The keys to the Bentley?" He could feel Bruce's eye roll through the comm link. "Information. Resources. Something to help you settle into life again." Jason stopped next to his motorcycle and shook his head. "When the hell did you have time to do that?" Bruce answered without missing a beat. "I have a butler, remember?" The link clicked off and Jason got on his bike, heading back into the city. He had some things to take care of before he went back to his safe house, mainly rounding up straggling members of the militia for the GCPD. Then he'd make a stop by the Gotham Knights baseball stadium, where they used to watch ballgames every Saturday, and see what Bruce left for him. He had no idea what his future looked like or what it had in store for him, but the very fact he was planning for one meant he was headed in the right direction. For the second time that night, he allowed himself to hope. And that felt pretty good.

#Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #Batman Arkham Knight #MizMahlia's fanfiction #Angst like whoa #Fic Request

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ollyarchive · 6 years

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LET IT BURN: YEARS & YEARS

With Years & Years’ second album ‘Palo Santo’, Olly Alexander is smouldering away all negative energy and shaping communities from the dancefloor.

By El Hunt on 27th April 2018

Years & Years’ ringleader Olly Alexander - clad in a magnificent pair of PVC overalls; his second costume change of the day - is currently milling around an East London photo studio, thoughtfully munching on cookies, and discussing Mariah Carey in great detail. The megastar pop icon has hit the news this same week after speaking publicly about her bipolar disorder diagnosis for the first time, and Olly’s quick to commend her bravery in letting down her barriers. “I think it would be nice to believe that pop stars and famous people are just incredibly happy and fabulous; that they move glitteringly through the world, and that everything they touch turns gold,” he reasons. “But it’s a fantasy. Actually, I think vulnerability - and being able to be vulnerable - is a sign of real strength.”

You sense that Olly Alexander lives by these same words as he navigates the landscape of being a pop star in 2018. In the three years following Years & Years’ rapid rise to the highest echelons of the charts, Olly has gradually morphed into something of a public figure, too. A prominent spokesperson on mental health and LGBT activism in particular, Olly dedicated the band’s landmark Glastonbury show in 2016 - which took place roughly a year on from the release of their debut album ‘Communion’ - to pride, promising to “shove a rainbow in fear’s face” in an emotional speech to the assembled crowds. A year later, Olly took a camera crew back to his unassuming hometown for a moving BBC documentary titled ‘Growing Up Gay’, and was very honest in discussing his experiences with bullying, eating disorders, and anxiety. ‘Palo Santo’ - Years & Years’ second album - is a continuation of this, combining ridiculously overblown, brilliantly lavish sci-fi landscapes and gigantic pop ambition with an amped-up sense of honesty, and a space-reclaiming edge that defies the presence of negative energy. Today, Olly observes that one of his chief goals as an artist is to write the songs that would’ve lifted him up as a teenager still searching for a community.

After spending several years moving around the country living next to a variety of theme parks - the singer was born in Blackpool, where he lived next door to the Pleasure Beach, before moving down the road from both Alton Towers and Staffordshire’s Drayton Manor - Olly Alexander and his mum settled into rural Gloucestershire life when he was thirteen. Trading in the garish Blackpool illuminations for the distant glimmer of the Severn Bridge, it was a drastic change in pace .“It always gets described as sleepy, Coleford,” Olly grins, having swapped his neon-orange PVC vest and chain necklace (another of today’s outfits) for something a little more practical. Up until it became the hometown of Years & Years’ frontman, the small market town boasted a ukulele expert as one of its most famous residents, and was perhaps best known for being the location of the world’s only Ribena production plant. It wasn’t exactly the epicentre of queer culture for a teenager searching for a community, especially given that the nearest gay bar - Flamingos - was thirty miles away in Bristol, and located the other side of a toll bridge.

“I was actually too scared to go to Flamingos,” Olly remembers, laughing. “I love that as a name for a gay bar. Flamingos!” he announces, with grand intonation. ”[Coleford] was never a place that felt connected to anything queer when I was growing up.”

“I did like growing up around trees and fields, pretending I was a fairy,” he adds, chirpily. “I enjoyed getting that experience.”

“Being able to be vulnerable is a sign of real strength.”

Rather than heading to the now-closed Flamingos (R.I.P), Olly surrounded himself with a sea of pop bangers growing up instead, worshipping at the altar of Christina, Britney and TLC. And speaking of worship, he also remembers taking notice of another prominent community in the town: the church next door to his house. Though organised religion wasn’t his bag, the strange rituals - decorating an orange for Christingle, reciting the Lord’s Prayer at his local Church of England primary school - proved intriguing. Later in life, he’d grow to view songwriting as a cathartic and mysterious kind of healing ritual, as well as noticing odd parallels between a church’s sense of belonging, and the celebratory freedom that exists in a space filled with dancing, thrashing bodies, and filthy, sexy pop.

As Years & Years were starting to etch out the first strokes of ‘Palo Santo’ at the beginning of last year, Olly explains he was “newly single”, and reading a lot of books in his spare time. Besides taking on the mammoth task of conquering David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, he also picked up Andrew Holleran’s cult novel Dancer From the Dance; set amongst New York City’s LGBT disco scene in the 1970’s. As well as being flamboyant and fun - presenting a campy, fabulous surface world that’s soundtracked by The Marvelettes and Sister Sledge - it’s also a heartbreaking read, documenting the “psycho-sexual drama” of desire, and touching on both loneliness and immense inequality. It’s a double-edged sword that also exists in ‘Palo Santo’.

“It talks a lot about how the club is like a church; a church for gay people to go and dance, and I was like, yes!” Olly says, excitedly. “This is putting into words how I’ve been feeling for so long, and what I’ve been trying to communicate in music. It really inspired me to write a lot,” he says. One song on ‘Palo Santo’ directly credits the book as an influence. ‘I breathe the rituals of the dancer’s dance,’ Olly sings on ‘Sanctify’.

“When I see dancers, their body is their medium,” Olly notes. “The art is their body. What an amazing embodiment of creativity, to literally be your limbs and your expression and movement! I’ve always been enchanted by dance,” he says. “Plus, I think a pop video should have dance in it, too. It’s a prerequisite! A bit of choreography! You want that fantasy moment where everybody’s going to burst into dance. Some choreo! I just think, if you can’t do that in a pop video, where can you?”

Such considerations rule on ‘Palo Santo’, an album that pushes every last bold facet of pop to the maximum extreme. Set in a high-concept, futuristic world which plays on traces of real life to sneaky, allegorical effect, it also sees Years & Years more fearless than ever. One pulsing highlight, ‘Hallelujah’ dives straight onto the dancefloor to find healing in letting loose, while Olly’s current favourite ‘Lucky Escape’ confronts the more unlikeable aspects of our own emotions. “It’s such a petty song!” he reasons. “I was quite sick when I recorded the vocal for it, and I can really hear when I listen to the song that I’m not feeling very well. I don’t like the person that’s saying those words in a way, but it’s an honest reflection of what I was feeling at the time. I’m proud to put that on there.”

“I’ve always been enchanted by dance.”

Over the past three years, Olly says, he has started to realise that pushing his own boundaries reaps creative rewards. “Putting yourself in an uncomfortable position - in terms of the creative process - it usually means you’re going to get something worthwhile,” he adds. “I really had to get past the levels of pettiness…. sometimes it made me laugh. I’d be writing a song when I was so angry at my ex boyfriend. I would never want to present this to the world, where I’m just this bitter ex who’s still hung up on him!’ Olly admits. “[But] actually, sometimes we are hung up! It’s an ugly, but also truthful and beautiful, side to our humanity. I had to be okay with it.”

Another standout track called ‘Rendezvous’, meanwhile, contains hints of Jennifer Lopez’s euro-banger ‘On the Floor’ (“it does!” Olly exclaims in agreement) and explores hook-up culture, along with unpacking his immediate feelings as a relationship draws to a close. “After a relationship you think, maybe the things they did weren’t as well intentioned as I thought they were?” Olly says. “I was in my petty, angry phase. I have had a lot of experiences with guys where the sex has felt like this depressing inevitability. We’re gonna meet up, and we’re going to have sex. That’ll kind of be it, and then onto the next person. What’s happening in that interaction, and what happens in that interaction when it’s someone you want more from?” he asks, pausing. “I also just really wanted to write a song called ‘Rendezvous’!” he adds. “I think I’d smoked a really big joint before I wrote that song, so there’s that, too. Beyonce would have a song called ‘Rendezvous’ and she’d kill it! She has ‘Deja Vu’, of course. Britney loves a French moment, too. With stuff like that, you just need conviction.”

Conviction is a world that springs to mind easily when you’re talking to Olly Alexander. As well as his commitment to sharing his own experiences with unwavering honesty, this new era of the group feels like a step onwards from the anonymous throngs of bodies that once grabbed at Olly way back when the band released their video for ‘King’. Performing solo gyrating routines for a panel of extra-terrestrial judges as Years & Years returned with ‘Sanctify’ - a bit like a filthier Strictly Come Dancing if it were set in an alternate universe - it’s the very definition of conviction. And with his bandmates Emre Turkmen and Mikey Goldsworthy also taking on a slightly different role this time around - acting as behind the scenes production wizards and, as Olly puts it, “his musical husbands” - there’s a sense that he’s also careful when it comes to handling his newfound platform responsibly.

“What is the point of a pop star in 2018? What should they be saying?”

“What is the point of a pop star in 2018?” Olly asks nobody in particular. “What should they be saying?”

Heading into ‘Palo Santo’ with the aim of creating a record that tackles the intricacies of belonging in a world that feels increasingly dangerous and fragmented, the band crafted an entire fictional landscape to explore the darker grit. “It felt too monumental, hard or depressing to set everything in our real world,” he reasons. “I thought a lot about where I could make a place where we take out all the rules surrounding gender identity and sexuality. I thought, well, why don’t we just have everybody be androids?” Olly laughs.

“I’ve always loved artists that take people to their mad world with them, like Bowie, Prince, Gaga. I thought, I want to do something like that, and go as big as possible,” he concludes with resolve.

In ‘Palo Santo’, Years & Years have done just that, flinging open the doors on a vastly ambitious universe that ignites life’s bullshit in a blaze of euphoria. Infiltrating the mainstream with dagger-edged pop - and doing it in fantastical, glittering style - Olly Alexander might just be the most important pop star we have in 2018.

#articles #years & years #yearsandyears #photo shoots #photo shoot #olly alexander #diy #cover #interviews #news

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vixxpirational · 6 years

Text

Stranger Danger (AU) | Part 2 of ?

Inspiration: The need to write and my lack of ability to actually do it in a timely manner Group: Taehyung/BTS (and some other lovely lady but you don’t know who she is yet. Imagine all the sexy noonas). Warning: Blood lust Words: 3637

Taehyung wakes up but things have drastically changed

Taehyung woke without his shirt and curled on the cold pavement. He was sweating, his body on fire; everything seemed to radiate from his chest. He rolled onto his back with a low moan, his body sore and screaming for him to be still. Even his eyelids felt stiff as he blinked them open slowly.

The full moon was high in the black canvas of night and, for some reason, that registered in Taehyung’s mind that it must be a little after three in the morning. The last he remembered, it was about ten o’clock when he had settled down in the graveyard to work.

The graveyard.

He sat up, too quickly, his head spinning, his stomach lurching. He looked around. His canvas was still blank and intact, his pencil had rolled in the dewey grass. His toolbox of brushes, paints, charcoal, his life was untouched. His shirt was folded neatly beside him, a small note pinned to it. The writing was neat, cute, feminine.

Thanks for a good time. See you soon, handsome.

“What the fuck is this?” he mumbled as he stared at the pretty lettering. Whoever it was would need to learn the that even the smallest prick into his expensive clothing was unacceptable. He carefully removed the safety pin and note, setting it on the canvas so that he could shrug his shirt back on. He didn’t remember taking it off in the first place.

He didn’t notice the marks on his chest.

He reached for his phone next, swiping through the notifications. He stopped at the fourteen missed calls from his roommate and frantic texts of “where are you” and “are you okay” and “if you’re dead, i’ll bring you back to life so i can kill you again.”

A cold wind swirled the fallen leaves around the trimmed lawn and headstones. It was a wind that should have sent a nauseating chill to Taehyung’s bones, but it felt more like a gentle, warm beach breeze. The thought was pushed from his mind as he remembered the woman, her plump breasts and flawless legs, her tempting eyes and sexy smell. His crotch immediately began to swell and he groaned. His chest still hurt.

His phone buzzed with another text. “if you don’t answer in the next five minutes i will call the cops.”

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile. Jimin had a knack for being dramatic, but he meant well. Taehyung went into Jimin’s contact, saved as Chimichanga, and pressed his phone to his ear. For sitting in the cold for so long, it should not have felt warm against his skin.

“You’re alive?”

“I’m calling from beyond the grave—” Taehyung started.

“Fuck you, Taehyung.”

“—to let you know you cannot have my Gucci collection.”

“Prick.” The relief in Jimin’s voice eased the pain radiating from Taehyung’s chest.

“Why are you worrying so much? You know how I get when I work.”

“How often do you paint in a graveyard?”

Taehyung laughed. “Good point. I may have dozed off a bit. I’m packing up now.”

“Can I still call the cops? You’re technically trespassing.”

“Sure.” Taehyung reached for his pencil and tucked it over his other ear. “I’ll make sure that I use your car as collateral on my bail money.”

“Prick.” Jimin’s soft giggle was soothing even after he cut the call off.

Taehyung gathered his things, and stood up. He had mastered the delicate balance of carrying too many art supplies in his arms, making it look easier than it actually was. Everything didn’t feel quite as heavy as normal. His chest still ached, but he ignored it as he loaded his truck and drove back to his dorm.

Jimin was hunched over his desk, anatomy book propped open to the a diagram of the cardiovascular system. Lines of red and blue curved and twisted inside of a grey silhouette of the human body. Taehyung’s mouth began to water as his tired eyes followed the arteries in the thighs, arms, neck. Sinking his teeth in would give the most blood, the loudest screams of pain.

“You okay?” Jimin’s voice pulled Taehyung back. He nodded and set his stuff on his bed. “You look like shit. You’re pale and clammy. Are you getting sick?”

“Don’t ‘doctor’ me, Chim,” Taehyung snapped. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so irritable. Maybe he was hungry? His stomach felt empty and his chest was still hurting.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m not feeling myself, I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” Jimin made his way over. He felt Taehyung’s forehead and frowned. He massaged Taehyung’s neck and something set his lips deeper. He pressed two fingers to the vein in Taehyung’s wrist, his eyes darting to his watch, and counted before stepping back.

“What? What is it?”

“You’re dead cold to the touch and your heart rate is dangerously low. How did you drive here? How are you even standing?”

“Dangerously low?” Taehyung rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt off and tossed it to his hamper. Jimin gasped.

“What is that?”

“What is what?” He looked down. His chest had been on fire since the moment he opened his eyes in the graveyard, but now he understood why. There were marks in an oval pattern on his chest that looked like the imprint of human teeth. Where the canines should have been were two wounds deep enough that even Taehyung knew there should have been a pool of blood around him when he had woken up. There was a deep red lipstick kiss in the middle.

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“No. I'm going to is my bed.”

“You could have died with where that’s located. How deep is th—”

“Jimin, I’m alive. Can I just sleep?”

“What happened?”

“Paint brush accident?”

“Very funny. If I let you sleep now, even against my better judgement, will you go to the hospital in the morning?”

“I’ll consider it.” Taehyung’s face twisted in exaggerated irritation as he stripped out of his jeans and into basketball shorts. He cleared off his bed, setting his supplies on his desk and situated his canvas on the easel. He climbed up onto his bunked bed, settling down for a hard, restless sleep.

He slept through his first alarm to shower. His second alarm woke him but only enough to remind him he had class in forty-five minutes. He turned it off, the effort to reach for his phone making him moan. He felt like his arms were ten times heavier than normal. His mind was hazy. His stomach rumbled in hunger. His chest wasn’t hurting anymore.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. It was too warm in his room. He scratched the back of his head and yawned, forcing his legs over the edge of his bed. He slide down his lofted bed and fumbled to reach for his lamp. His hand caught the line of sun peeking through the curtains as he did and it burned as if someone were holding a lighter against his skin. He jumped back and cursed, hand yanking on the cord of the lamp and pulling off his desk. It felt to the floor, the light bulb shattering.

He didn’t care about the racket as he stared at the burn on his hand. He watched the skin knit together and heal at an ungodly, scarless speed.

“You can’t do anything gracefully, can you?” Jimin whined from his pile of blankets. Taehyung looked up and smiled.

“Just burned myself. Sorry. Go back to sleep.” His roommate sat up slowly, strong arms stretching above his head.

“How’d you burn yourself?” he asked, voice strained in a yawn. “You literally just woke up.”

“The sun.”

Jimin tilted his head, tired eyes narrowed in a threat Taehyung was all too familiar with. He had learned to hold the sarcasm until after breakfast because of that look.

“I’m not kidding, Jimin. I watched it on my hand disappear too.”

“You’ve sniffed too much paint.” Jimin hopped down from his bed, landing with athletic precision that Taehyung had always been envious of. He held out his hand, fingers wiggling, the all-too-familiar gesture of give me your hand and shut the fuck up because I know more than you.

“Your fingers are really cold. You still look pale.” Jimin moved his hands to Taehyung’s neck, fingers pressed to his jugular. “Your heartbeat is really slow still. How you’re functioning is a miracle.” His eyes darted down. “That’s already healed. It’s just a scar. Were you bitten by a radioactive spider?”

“I’m going to class.”

“No, you’re going to the hospital, remember?”

“Jimin, I’m swear I’m fine. And Peter Parker still went to class after he was bitten by a spider. Why can’t I?” Taehyung brushed passed his roommate to go to his wardrobe. His left foot stepped into the line of sunlight on the floor and he howled, falling back into the shadows. He watched his skin sizzle for a moment before going back to normal.

“What the fuck—”

“Can you develop a severe allergy to the sun overnight?” Taehyung asked, looking up at Jimin and unable to hide the fear this time.

Jimin stared at his roommate for a moment and shook his head before walking out of the dorm, leaving Taehyung confused and cowering under his desk.

Taehyung watched as the lines of sunlight moved across the floor of his dorm room. His stomach rumbled with hunger and he felt light-headed, irritable, scared. His throat was dry and scratchy; he had never felt so thirsty. He didn’t know what was happening to him or why Jimin just left him, but he was too afraid to know why at this point. It wasn’t until the two-in-the-afternoon sun finally left his room in completely in shadows that he finally climbed out, stretching his stiff limbs. He reached for his phone and climbed back onto his bed, reading through his messages.

NamJOON of Doom

you weren’t in class today? it was nice not having you answer all the questions. got to prove i’m actually the smart one. :P jimin said you weren’t feeling well, though. hope you get better soon, man. :( if you need anything, let me know. <3

JungSoup

did u finish the fear painting assignment thing for tommorrow? mine is shit so im gunna reserve a studio for tonite if u wanna join me. u know how creepy they are at night. nvm jimin hyung told me ur sick pls dont come and make me sick ur prolly jus hungover arent u hyung pls come cuz i dont wanna be alone with the studio ghost

Moldy Suga

you missed class. don’t die pls

He could feel the weight of everything lifting just a bit as he filtered through his friends’ messages. Everything felt almost normal. Even with Jimin’s reminder that something didn’t make sense, he found a way to find relief.

Chimichanga

sorry to bolt like i did. i’m going to help you figure this out. i know how to help. sit tight and stay out of the sun. if you’re going to die it’s going to be on my operation table and it will look like an accident ;) no way the sun is going to get you first

Everything faded away when he got to the next text.

Unknown Number

Meet me in the graveyard tonight. Our spot. You know the one. 11 o’clock. I will explain everything to you, handsome.

The woman from the night before came to mind, her perfect, alluring body; her smokey feline eyes; her soft, sultry voice. His hand pressed against his chest, fingering over the two scars on his chest and the faded red kiss mark.

He knew she was the reason this was happening but he wanted her back, wanted to be around her, learn from her. He felt drawn to her, connected in unexplainable ways.

Taehyung jumped when he heard doorknob rattle, cowering under the blankets on his bed. He didn’t understand why he was so jumpy.

“Jimin?”

His roommate walked in followed by a small, mature looking woman with short, blonde hair.

“Taehyung, this is my cousin, Choa. This is my dumbass roommate that got himself bitten by a vampire.”

“Vampire?” Taehyung asked. The other two ignored him.

“I’ve heard a lot more about you than just that, I promise,” she said with a friendly smile. Her presence was far more nurturing than Taehyung expected. She bowed to him before she made her way over to his desk. She delicately moved his toolbox to the side, setting her purse down.

“Jimin, what’s going—”

“She’s going to help, Taehyung.”

“How?” he asked as he watched the woman pull the largest bottle of sunscreen he’d ever seen from her bag.

“Doctors run in the family, but I am the black sheep that has her master’s in paranormal studies. I know more about your physiology now than future-doctor-conformist over here.” She pulled at hat out with rounded bill out of her bag.

“When you’re old and having heart problems from sleeping in haunted buildings your entire life, who will you go to?”

“Don’t trust him,” Taehyung said with a grin, sliding off his bed and landing on his feet with grace he’s never had before. Something about her presence was making him feel relaxed. “He’s always telling me that he’s going to make my surgical death look like an accident.”

Jimin rolled his eyes as Choa snickered. “He’ll have a hard time of that now, won’t he,” she said, patting his shoulder. She was much smaller up close. Taehyung could hear her heart beating. She smelled metallic and warm, making his mouth water and his throat ache.

“What’s happening to his eyes?”

“He’s hungry, Jimin. Why do you think I asked you to steal blood from my dad’s clinic on the way back?”

“Oh, right. I left the cooler in the car. Please don’t eat my cousin while I’m gone, Taehyung.”

He blinked and turned to look at Jimin, his head spinning. He hadn’t heard anything his roommate had said.

“What’s happening to me?” Taehyung asked as he watched Jimin leave their room. Choa reached up to touch his cheek and he could feel the blood pulsing in her palm. His eyes rolled closed and he took a deep breath. She smelled so… delicious.

“You need to eat, sweetie. Jimin will be back with something that will help settle your stomach. That will help with your anxiety.”

Taehyung nodded and leaned against his desk. She smiled and reached for his hand. She felt for his pulse in his wrist before feeling again in flat of his elbow, then at his neck. The closer she came to him, the more he could hear the sound of heart beating. He knew it was hers. She smelled delicious.

The sound of Jimin barreling back into the dorm room pulled Taehyung back.

“Do you know who turned you, Taehyung?” Choa asked softly as Jimin set a cooler next to her. She opened it up and pulled a plastic bag out, red liquid sloshing in it. She handed it to Taehyung.

“I remember her, but I never met her until last night,” he said as he stared at the bag. There was a cap on it where the line, connected to a needle, had carried their blood in. The small twinge of guilt was a flicker on his conscious compared the rumble in Taehyung’s stomach. He opened the cap and brought it to his lips, squeezing gently as if he were drinking from a juice box.

Taehyung had never tasted anything more delicious in his life. It was cold, but it didn’t matter the temperature when he could himself going back to normal with every luxurious swallow.

“Conversions aren’t very common anymore, right, unless there is a direct threat to the current population,” Jimin said, looking at his cousin. “Is there anything that you’re aware of going on?”

Choa shrugged. “I heard something about animal attacks, but that was on the other side of the country. The images I saw definitely didn’t come from an animal, though. I do have a connection with the local coven but they haven’t mentioned anything to me.”

“What does that mean?” Taehyung asked.

“It could mean anything, kiddo. I’ll keep in touch with you and check up on you, answer any question you have as best as I can.” She touched Taehyung’s cheek again, in a motherly way, her eyes suddenly sad, as he continued to suck the bag dry. “But you’ve got a rough road ahead as you adjust, especially if you don’t know who turned you.”

Taehyung had to convince Jimin that he was perfectly fine going out on his own. The sun itself had completely set for the evening and he still needed to finish his assignment. He had the sunscreen and hat that Choa had brought packed in, just in case he wound up staying out all night, and her instructions to reapply as often as every 30 minutes, depending on the sun’s intensity and Taehyung’s comfort level. It would prevent his skin from burning visibly, but he’d still feel the sun more than ever before. It was all he could do until the semester ended and he could adjust his schedule.

He texted Jungguk back, letting him know that he would come to the studio with him. He packed his things, Jimin watching apprehensively.

“Text me if you need anything.”

“Jimin, I’ll be fine. I’m just paining.”

“Did you eat?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes and held up the insulated lunch box that he had kept stored under his desk. He never thought he’d actually use it.

“If you’re going to have to kill a human, though, Jungguk would be a good start. You’d be making the world a better place…” Jimin smirked and crossed his arms. He acted as if he hated Jungguk, but everyone knew that they were close.

Taehyung didn’t respond, though. The thought of having to feed on a human for survival wasn’t something he had really thought about. He didn’t want to; the stollen blood bags were bad enough.

“Be careful, okay.”

“Promise,” Taehyung said as he walked out of their room. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should go. But he hoisted his canvas bag up his shoulder and started down the hall. He had to keep some normalcy in his life.

He started at the moon as he made his way across campus. There were still tricklings of pink and orange on the horizon, but the sun was completely gone. The moon was too bright. He knew just from the location of it that it was just past 9:30. He only had about ten hours of freedom to exist before he was bound to the shadows. He didn’t know how he knew that.

The smell of the art studios was always a comfort for Taehyung. He felt his muscles relax and his mind clear of everything as he made his way inside and through the halls to the studio Jungguk booked. He was home in his art, knowing that nothing would strip away his joy of creating something from nothing but pigment and paper.

“Took you long enough,” Jungguk huffed as Taehyung slipped inside the small room. There was already an easel set up for him.

“Got held up with Jimin. Just a bit concerned with how I was this morning.”

“You’re okay, though? Not contagious?”

Taehyung laughed. “Only if I bite you.”

Jungguk rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Taehyung watched him dip his brush into a deep red oil paint, making his mouth water. It looked like blood. He stepped forward, eyes not leaving the color, his nose picking up the smell of something metallic. He could hear a resting heartbeat, pumping delicious blood; Taehyung wanted to hear it; he want to feel blood trickle rhythmically into his mouth with his teeth clamp hard on Jungguk’s neck.

“You sure you’re okay, hyung?”

Taehyung blinked and stared at Jungguk for a moment. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind. Sorry.”

He pulled out his blank canvas. He stared at the few faint pencil lines of the gravestone he’d been staring at the night before, when his biggest fear was still death. Taehyung was pretty sure his biggest fear was his own reflection now, a creature he didn’t recognize anymore, a creature that wasn’t exactly alive.

He set it on the easel, taking in everything he remembered about the night before. He was so sure he’d finish, so inspired by the name and dates on the stone. Then she showed up. Taehyung touched his chest as she flooded his mind. She was so sexy, so easy to talk to, so easy to trust. She told him it was a big mistake to trust her, but he didn’t think so at the time.

The text message came back to mind. She had to have been the one to send it. He didn’t remember anyone else that night, not even a security guard. She had to be the one that turned him. And she wanted to meet him at eleven.

He pulled out his phone, looking at the time. 9:45. He could leave and come back. How long would Jungguk be there? Would he have time to finish his assignment if he left? Why should he even go. He didn’t need anything explained to him; he had Choa that did that. Right?

He glanced at the canvas again. Painting a headstone, painting death as his greatest fear, it seemed foolish now. He dipped into his toolbox, pulling out his eraser. He’d paint what he had become. He’d paint her.

#kpoptrashtag #bts #taehyung #au #vampire

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agentaw · 6 years

Text

Detroit: Become Human - Funny story...

Okay... so Story Time because my friends pointed this out and it’s been fucking with me ever since.

This is the story of how I kinda...sorta wrote/ predicted parts of DBH about...2 years ago. Just hear me out...okay?

So this all started similarly to how DBH started, with that dope-ass demo back in 2012. My 15 year old self became enthralled in it, much like I am now enthralled in the full game. I’ve always loved story telling and had a sort of soft spot for digital modelling. So that demo was a masterpiece to me, it had a great concept and beautiful design. It was a short obsession but it had an impact.

And that was the last piece of news I’d ever hear about it until a month after they released the full game. I remember hearing some rumour that they weren’t gonna make it a full game or something and left it at that. I didn’t hear anything about it’s coverage at E3 because while I like video games, I become absorbed in different obsessions from time to time.

And two years ago I was obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons, the thought of creating a whole world and having others enter it was fascinating. And while I tried to create worlds from scratch, I had a problem.

I had never been too interested in Fantasy things, I liked fantasy characters but tended to focus on too much of the political aspect of fantasy worlds and not the fun stuff like slaying dragons and stuff.

The return of an old obsession began to try and take my focus off of DnD but I wasn’t ready to let it go yet.

So I merged them, DnD didn’t have to be fantasy, I didn’t have to invent a world from scratch and luckily my old obsession had a world pre-designed. Marvel, specifically MCU had a treasure trove of lore and I could take a number of rules from DnD 5e and tweak them to suit the change in genre.

So I started off with a one shot campaign, set in a HYDRA base. My three player characters would be playing themselves and making decision based on how they’d react. They ‘woke up’ in a white plastic robot body. Singular, all three were in the same body, looking through the same eyes and rolling for control over said robot body. It was entertaining to watch them figure out what they hell was going on organically. They quickly met the first NPC an old doctor/sciencist who was a very nervous person. He explained that they’d all been loaded into the same body by accident and that he was just testing out that his creation (the body itself) was working correctly. So my players decided to answer the jumpy doctors questions and let one of them take control as the doctor got them to walk around while still connected to the computer around them by a bunch of wires connected to the back of their neck. The doctor left the room briefly (to report to his superiors) before returning and calmly explaining that he’d need to shut them down before making the rest of the bodies. Yes, this was heavily inspired by the demo but the players didn’t notice or didn’t comment on it at the time. And they genuinely really like the one-shot. So, I started writing more, growing the campaign and expanding my list of NPCs.

Now I know what you’re thinking, “wow...you ripped off the demo and think that counts as writing a whole game” but I never said I wrote the whole story, that would be mental. But as both me and my players have pointed out, there is a large number of similarities which is spooky because as i already stated I didn’t know anything about DBH until almost a month after it’s full release.

The first and most profound is Amanda. Or my Amanda, who’s called Ruth LaRue. Dr. Ruth LaRue, the trio’s psychologist/co-creator who acts pleasant (too pleasant) towards them...unless they disobey or resist their training to become Hydra Assets. One of my players is rebellious and LaRue has tried to manipulate and coldly threatened him as a result. While another obeys and gets praise and rewards as a result. Also she looks like Amanda (a character i didn’t even know existed), I originally described her as the same race, hairstyle, though slightly younger. And then I drew her (poorly) for my players to get a better idea of how she looked and Jesus Christ they look the same.

Another is the fact that I have three player characters. There was a possible fourth player but work and life made it difficult for her to be a part of the game. Also my players are two boys and one girl. And while that’s all freaky, their characters appearances/designs are extra weird. Originally, after all getting their own bodies, they all had white plastic robot bodies, all male design (which female player wasn’t happy about because she missed her boobs). The only way to tell them apart was voice and the nervous doctor had given them different coloured eyes. Creating robots came with the challenge of figuring out how their bodies worked (one player was particularly interested in this). Once again inspiration partly came from the Kara demo, the robots are a water (blue liquid) based system, a pump (heart) transports water, which is collect in bags (lungs) through the robots absorbing moisture in the air (through breathing), around the machine frame (body). The water has two purposes, to thinly coat the white plastic casing (skin), which allowed the robot to feel pressure but not texture and also to keep the pump valves going, which creates the energy the machines (players) are run on. After learning that the white plastic version could be easily broken during training, the nervous doctor created a second batch of models, this time made out of metal (female asked for a female body and therefore the doctor gave her a large dent in her chest plate, she was pleased). They then get a new model, ones that are designed to blend in with humans. And this is where this section gets super freaky. The player got no say in how they looked because in game they wouldn’t.

The female is the shortest model as well as they palest model with loads of freckles, the similarities with Kara stop there but the female player has been gifted a female kitten (thankfully named Cookie, not Alice) as the reward and is quite paranoid about it being taken off her or harmed (calm down, I haven’t hurt the cat...yet).

One of the males is only slightly more tanned than the female with considerably less freckles and markings. He’s the tallest and the player has been surprisingly obedient, only "failing” when he doesn’t understand what’s happen or doesn’t think something will benefit HYDRA. Because of this he’s been promoted to team leader by the powers that be. He’s logical and is usually thinking about training and what’s going on in the NPCs’ heads.

Lastly we have the second male who looks southern European (Spain, Italy, Greece and could probably pass as Mexican but the story is set in central Europe) so a different ethnicity/race to the other two. This is the rebellious player who generally plays pranks, cracks jokes and says “fuck you” to authority. Like I said before as a result, he tends to be the one looked down on and oppressed by the powers that be. He generally has a very clear line which he won’t cross no matter what and is willing to stand up if he views something as drastically wrong (refused to hurt his friends or pick up a gun).

Also when asked what they wanted to be called (I.e What’s your name?) The players decided to to sick to what the nice nervous doctor had designated them, i.e the colours of their eyes. Rebellious is Red. Logical is Blue and Female is Purple (name later changed to Violet).

Next is three more NPCs, who have enough in common with the DBH characters to mess with me.

The nervous doctor, Dr. Thomas Thornley, while having a completely different personality, has formed relationships like Hank. A number of the players refer to him as “Daddy Thornley”, not to his face but when talking to each other in game. And most disturbingly the rebellious player has implied on several occasions that he “ships” the logical male player with father-figure Thornley, jokingly of course. And while in the beginning Thornley may have viewed the robots as a project or experiment, he now appears quite protective and fond of them. Even displaying discomfort when one is broken or completely destroyed.

Their combat and gun trainer, Agent Woodrow who is ex-military and treats the robots exactly like you’d expect he would, like machines. He could either be Gavin or Captain Allen but either way he’s a genuine aggressor and dislikes/hates the robots.

The Head of Hydra, Director Malachi Storm who has an air of mystery around him and commands any room he enters. He’s considerable less creepy than Kamski but is an “all-knowing, all-powerful” character. Also I guess I’m technically also Elijah Kamski (a.k.a GOD) and my players pointed out that i have his sadistic, power hungry play style (thanks, guys).

Lastly is a few game mechanics and events i put in the game. The players have always been able to telepathically talk to one another, they can also transfer images to each other. If broken beyond repair (i.e Killed) they now get automatically rebuilt, similar to Connor. I made LaRue give them a morality test which was mostly the “Track dilemma” which is similar to both the driver-less car AIs and the Kamski test. I actually did the motherfucking Kamski test with one or two of my players (but with humans instead of androids lol). Also the players believe they’re alive (which technically they are). They’ve literally been give zero context as to how they are in robot bodies in the MCU, specifically they’re last memories before the start of the game are of going to sleep in their beds in the real world. They are literally three robots walking around stating that they’re alive.

And yes, I realise that Cage took shit from other movies but it have seen any of those movies so...:P

If I looked hard I could probably find more scary comparisons but a) I don’t particularly want to show all my cards, in case my players read this post, and b) I appear to have written a fucking TED talk out of what was supposed to be a short funny story.

#dbh #dbh connor #dbh kara #dbh markus #dbh hank #dbh amanda #dbh kamski #dbh everyone #custom dnd #dnd shenanigans #story time #freaky #what is life #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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